"So you promise to write?" Mum questioned, her hands trapped around my cheeks. I attempted to mumbled a response, but failed due to lack of jaw movement, so I just gave her a flat look and hoped to convey my message in that way.

"Sorry—it's just this is our last time for you and it's quite—" Mum started, cutting off and looking down at her feet.

"Are you getting weepy on me?" I managed to marginally get out. Dad took mercy on me and grabbed Mum's wrists, lowering them to her sides.

"No of course not. I'm thinking about how soon Christmas Holidays are. It's not long enough between breaks from you," she replied, sniffing loudly.

"It's quite alright, Mum. C'mere," I announced in a slight baby-voice, holding out my arms and wiggling a bit. Mum launched herself in them, making me stumble slightly and broke down to sobs.

"You're—just—growing—up—so—qu-qu-quickly!" she declared. I gave Dad an alarmed look. This is rather out of character. She's not usually the weepy type. Dad looked only slightly less uncomfortable than I did and gently took Mum into his own arms.

"There, there, Angie. We've still got another one to say goodbye to. It'd be wrong to forget about her. I mean you might as well be locking her up in a cupboard at this point. Why don't you give her some love," he sighed, patting down Mum's dark hair. Roxy merely looked alarmed at the prospect of having a wailing mother in her arms and started edging towards the train.

"Oh look—Molly is boarding the train," she declared, laughing awkwardly and attempting to pick up her trunk by herself. I don't know how in the world she manages to gain enough strength to lift a beater's bat and hit a bludger when she can hardly lift anything else. "I'll just be off, then."

"Freeze young lady!" Mum snapped, lifting her face from Dad's chest. "I will get a proper goodbye from you if it kills me. Mostly because I am emotional and I'm going to milk the situation for all that it's worth."

Roxy cracked a smile and gave Mum a huge hug all while waving to a few of her mates behind her back. Mum hefted a sigh, obvious to the fact that Roxy wasn't exactly concentrating on her heartfelt goodbye, and released her.

"Go—you great big ingrate. Don't forget to write," she commanded, swatting Roxy on the behind as she dragged her trunk and ran as fast as such would allow towards the train.

"I'm just not going to tire out the poor owl by writing you Mum," I sighed. She glared at me. "Why bother really? You'll find out exactly what I'm up to from Longbottom's owls."

"Fred, can't you behave yourself?" Mum sighed.

"Mum! It's my last year! Why ever would I do that? I've still got to beat that bloody swamp in the Charms corridor," I snorted. Dad perked up at this, looking immensely proud at his past achievement, but faked sternness when Mum glared at him.

"Behave," he stated, admonishing a finger at me. I saluted him and hefted my trunk up, allowing one last kiss on the cheek, and slipping into the throngs of students entering the train. There was a hold-up and, after shoving a few of the smaller first years aside, I discovered it was my sister trying to lug her trunk up the steps.

"You're pathetic," I groaned, thumping my own trunk on top of hers and lifting the two easily. "You call yourself a beater, woman? Now which compartment?"

"Erm—Somewhere down the middle of the train, I believe. Taylor shouted at me as she breezed past," Roxy ordered, starting off down that direction. I edged around people as best I could and froze for a second when something caught my eye. I thought for a mo' it was Molly or Lucy and was going to tease such appropriately but I ended up dropping the trunks out of frustration. Or surprise. Whichever comes off more manly, I suppose. I sufficiently blocked that night from my mind. There she was, bloody sitting there like she owned the place, and looking immensely board. With her stupid fire-red hair and even stupider piercing blue eyes, I just wanted to hit something. Why'd she have to sit there like she hated the world—it made hating her difficult because I was raised to attempt to befriend those people because they needed it the most. Well sorry Weasley Philosophy—not going to happen. I'm going to avoid her like she's a bloody effing basilisk.

"Fred! Hurry it up, will you? I don't want to get squished in the middle seats," Roxy shouted, doubling back. She peered in the compartment as I was restacking our trunks, accidentally jostling our owl (Ginger) in the process. She gave an extra-loud screech, making Adder's head pop up and make eye contact with me. She smirked, giving me that stupid bloody look. I didn't intend to give her any reaction—just pretend she wasn't anybody of importance—but my jaw locked in place and I could almost feel the fire boring out of my glare. It only made her smirk more.

"Is that her?" Roxy questioned from my shoulder. I forgot she was standing there and whirled around—knocking down a second year in the process. I seem to be knocking down many people today; maybe it's to supplement my knocked down ego? It burns, I tell you, burns.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I sniffed, starting back off in the way we were going.

"Can you try that again without the estrogen laced throughout the words? It was a tad too female for my liking," Roxy snorted. "Was that the girl that denied you access to her Chamber of Secrets?"

"Okay—one, I do not want to hear those words come out of your mouth ever again, Roxanne. You are fifteen—you should not know about innuendos at your age. Two, I'm not talking to you about any things of that sort, it's completely wrong. Again fifteen and the whole younger sister part comes into play. Three, she didn't deny me anything. I'm a studly man whom women can't resist."

"That was far too much of a 'Dad Lecture' for my liking. Lay off the over-protective brother thing, it's overdone. Oh for the love of Merlin—Dominique! Please talk some sense into Fredrick here? He's turning into a girl before my very eyes," Roxy declared, grabbing Dom's arm as she started past us. She had a large bulky case on her back in addition to her trunk and didn't look happy about having to stop before unloading it. She took one look at me, however, and sighed.

"C'mon to the 'Prefects Car'. We have a bit before they all join us," she declared, motioning to the large red-curtained car a few spaces down. I deposited Roxy's trunk (taking care to shake it as much as possible just out of spite; she shrieked at me so I felt accomplished) and followed Victorie down to the space. I was impressed, to say the least. It was at least double the size of a normal car and very spacious with tubs of pumpkin juice and baskets of snacks spaced throughout.

"Right—what's got your knickers in a twist?" Dominique questioned after she successfully stored her luggage.

"What's in the black case?"

"It's Leanne," Dom replied impatiently. "Now back to your knickers."

"There's a person in there?" I questioned.

"It's Cameron's guitar. He lent it to me for the school year. Now quit changing the subject and tell me what's going on?"

"I'd rather avoid this conversation—thanks."

"It's about whatever went on after I left the other night, yeah? You craftily change the subject whenever James or I ask about it."

I didn't reply. I merely took a jug of pumpkin juice and took a gigantic swig, just for loss of things to do. I'd rather not share with James nor Dominique about what went down. It was too—well embarrassing to say the least. Frustrating would be closer. I was downright livid to be completely accurate.

"You're turning red, Freddy dear," Dominique giggled. It exploded out of me so fast I sprayed my mouth full of pumpkin juice across the car.

"I got played! Completely and utterly played! She tricked me into caring about her—well start caring anyhow. It was all some gigantic game to her! To get me to be all invested, or whatever the bloody hell she was going on about, because it was entertaining to her. She bunged up my feelings because she could," I declared, stalking up and down the car. When I ran out of space I abruptly flipped around and went the other way.

"So here I am—being completely and utterly pathetic because I thought she was this misunderstood person and had a lot to deal with. That she didn't need another guy trying to score with her—that maybe she just needed a friend!" I was on a full on rant now—all the stupid thoughts that have been cycling my mind all last night coming forth in a spew of run-on sentences and incomplete thoughts. Dominique was perched on one of the end benches watching me practically destroy the air with frustrated punches and kicks.

"And then after this heart-bearing speech that rivals the things bloody Molly reads about in her little fairy tales she fucking kisses me! And being a normal bloke I reciprocate and it's a rather good snog and I just thought she was so moved or whatever by my speech. But no—she kissed me to prove that she could make me care and then crush me! Who the fuck does that?!"

Dominique just stared at me—her mouth slightly open and a small crease between her eyebrows.

"Are you going to say anything, then? You practically beg me to tell you what's going on and then you just bloody sit there looking like a ruddy first year in their first transfiguration lesson!"

"You have to give me some time to process that—erm—colorful rant, Fred. It's a lot to take in," she snorted, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She frowned for a moment before laughing slightly.

"This girl is more of a deranged bitch than I am," she finally stated. "We did warn you not to get involved."

"Yes—thank you Dominique. If I wanted a fucking 'I told you so' I would've gone to my Mum."

"Sorry—I'm still slightly reeling over the fact that you're so worked up over this," she sighed, grabbing my wrist as I made another pace by her. "Usually you let everything just roll off your back. You don't get upset about this sort of stuff."

"I'm just angry at myself for falling for it," I sighed.

"Why didn't you just gain some semblance of self-control?"

"Because when a very fit bird is rubbing up on you and then snogging you senseless all your self-control flees out the window!" I snapped.

"Erm—bad time, then?" Hollis Fairwright (Hufflepuff) questioned from the doorway to the car, his Head Boy badge glinting on his sweatshirt.

"Let me just round off this rant," I sighed, holding up a finger to Hollis. "In conclusion—I'd rather clean all the toilets on the grounds then ever even speak to her again. No—I'd speak to her only if every single suit of armor the castle owned danced on her face!"
I paused then—genius dawning clear in my mind. Oh this is good. This is really very good. Brilliant even. But I'm going to need to work it out.

"Fred—you cannot make the suits of armor dance on a human's face! Even I can't let you off for that." Dominique snapped—noticing (and almost correctly interpreting) the look on my face.

"I wish—but, no. I just came up with a brilliant idea. So brilliant, that all the anger from my spiel is gone!" I grinned, the light feeling spreading in my chest. There's only one thing that can solve any foul mood. "Have an enjoyable train ride. I am off to solve my rubbish attitude by something perfectly productive."

"Should we do something to stop him?" Hollis questioned hesitantly. Ah—my reputation is just so crystal.

"I suppose McGonagall will be a better option later on. Might as well see how this plays out. At least he's not acting like a dragon anymore. It's a step up, trust me," Dominique shrugged. "Your bounce-back time is outstanding, really. I'm impressed."

"We will come back to this subject later," I declared, hefting up my trunk. "But for now—I have discovered something that brightens my day exponentially."


Adder


"An Auror will be here moments before the train departs to return your wand," Steven declared, hoisting my trunk on the overhead rack. Miles was standing outside of the door—his back pressed against the glass of the compartment door. Steven stood awkwardly across from me, his hands shoved in the pockets of his robes. They hadn't left my side all day yesterday, pretty much since I'd arrived back to the inn very drunk at a very late hour. Let's just say my hangover didn't compute with two young men that talked far too much for their own good.

"So are you excited for the year?" Steven questioned awkwardly. I gave him a flat look and continued to examine my nails—it was much easier to ignore him than resort to sass. After I won the battle at the club I've made no more attempts at seduction techniques—I was far too worn out and hungover yesterday to do such and as for today…well today ranged on the negative of my happiness scale at the moment. I was in a rotten mood, one that wouldn't be able to produce any sort of emotion beside contempt and anger; let alone cunning.

"Look—you did your job. I'm alive and not wandering the English countryside. You passed. Congrats. Just—don't talk to me," I announced as he looked at me expectantly. He was obviously surprised by the dismissal and there was even a flicker of insult across his features.

"Well—Miles and I will leave you be, then. But don't think that we're leaving the train completely. We'll be at the end of the corridors. So…don't try anything," he declared, going over and exiting the car without any semblance of a goodbye.

I wish I had my wand. Then I could just step off the train and apparate to anywhere. I didn't particularly care at the moment. I just wanted to be alone. Apparently 'alone' wasn't a word in the British dictionary because nobody seemed to get the hint. There was a sudden screech outside the door and my head snapped up in surprise. There he was, picking up two large trunks like they weighed nothing and snapping something at a slight girl with dark skin and hair and Fred's nose. She glanced at me through the window—obviously taking in my every feature before turning back to her brother and speaking again. Fred looked towards me again, clearly disgusted, and pushed past the girl and out of site. I felt a feeling in the pit of my stomach.

It had to be pride. That's what always brews there. A sense of accomplishment, accomplishment that I made this guy feel the sense of loss. It was a feeling I was often mildly disgusted with. It was a bittersweet feeling—I won, but at what cost? I never thought I would feel this way. Getting my rocks off of shocking people and making them realize I really was a force to be reckoned with. I felt the disgust with myself almost boiling over completely. I knew why it was worse this time, because I'd never struck a guy this nice.

Yes, I mentioned in my inner monologue that the nice guys were a special sort of breed to break, but I didn't go around making a habit of it. I only did such when it was absolutely beneficial to my own personal gain (like my plan to get out of this forsaken country). Usually I stuck to the demise of the douche bags and the cocky pricks. It weighed much lighter on my conscience to bring down those who've hurt before. I could tell myself I was being a vigil-ante when my thoughts got ahead of me.

It was rare—my feelings bubbling up after the fact. Usually I create a shield around my heart and gut, so when I do wrong I don't feel as bad. But sometimes it melts—I do have feelings. Even if I deny them presence on my face and with others. I could never do that—let others into my feelings. Feelings only made things worse when people knew what was going through your mind. It was much safer to keep them to yourself. You don't get hurt. I wasn't looking to get hurt. Not again.

There was a firm knock on the doorway to the compartment. I let my eyes flick away from the dead air they were picking apart and immediately shifted them back again. The Head Auror somehow took my lack of response as an affirmative and the door scraped against its mechanics.

"I've brought your wand," he declared. I allowed him a small flick of my eyes again and held my palm out flat. My fingertips warmed at the touch of the smooth wood. I curled my fingers around the handle and felt anxiety I didn't realize was there flow from me. I felt whole again.

"I heard you had a nice time out," Potter declared after a small throat clear. I let one shoulder rise and fall noncommittally and determinedly kept my eyes trained forward, all while flexing and unflexing my fingers around my wand. I could see the distorted image of him in the glass of the window. Beyond the image the platform was still packed to the brim of parents—but there was an obvious absence of students milling around. The train was really just about to leave. "Right then. Have a good term."

And he left without another attempt of coaxing conversation. I didn't move from my stubborn stance until I felt the train start to roll. Slowly it went along and then it began to pick up speed. Once I was sure it was at the point of nobody entering the train (and unfortunately no chance of me getting off), did I move. I dug in my bag and extracted my metal tin and sketch book. I withdrew a carbonized pencil and flipped to a new page before immersing myself. I had a whole plethora of new lines and curves to bring to a page.

People fascinated me, and I don't just mean how easy it was for me to decipher them, I mean their looks. As much as I hated pretty much everyone, I loved to draw them. Everyone was different. Nobody—not even twins (as I discovered) are exactly alike. Everyone translates differently onto a page. So I drew—I drew every face that came to mind. I allowed my fingers to guide the pencil in sure and smooth strokes. I find sketching and drawing completely meditative. Here I don't have to stand to the expectations or goals I put myself to. I find that I can actually relax fully. I didn't have to be so tense when I drew the world because it was all right there on paper. I didn't have to live in it as I drew it.

"Excuse me?"

My head snapped up and I drew a disgusting line through my current face. I felt the fire course through my veins. It was coming along perfectly and now it was ruined.

"Sorry—but I lost track of my boyfriend and brother and was looking for somewhere to sit before the Prefect meeting. I couldn't help but notice that you're alone. Could I sit in?"

The girl was small and slim with her chestnut hair piled up top her hair in a long pony tail (with its length I couldn't imagine how long her hair actually was). She rolled onto the outer edges of her tall brown leather boots and shot me a hopeful look, clutching her large book to her chest. Did it honestly look like I wanted company?

"Are you honestly not going to give me an answer?" she sighed, her eyes flashing slightly.

"I was just trying to figure out what exactly I was doing to make you think I wanted company," I stated flatly, looking abruptly down at my portrait and using my gum eraser to try to salvage it.

"You weren't. I was just trying to find a compartment that wasn't loud," she replied stiffly. And without another word she slid the door shut and plopped down on the seat across from me. I glanced up briefly through my eyelashes to look at her. She didn't look much younger than I did—probably only about a year. I didn't encounter many people like her—ones that ignored the venom I shot at them. Those types of self-assured people made me nervous. I didn't like how our personalities meshed—it was too easy of an opportunity to become friends. I never look for friends.

"You're the American Minister's daughter, aren't you?" she questioned. My head snapped up again—hoping to give her my best sneer. Unfortunately, she wasn't even looking at me. She had her eyes trained firmly on the pages of her book.

"Doesn't anybody mind their own business?" I snorted, roughly flipping the page of my sketch book and starting a new drawing. This one of the girl. As much as I hated her presence, it was picturesque how she was curled up on the cushion with a book the size of her entire lap.

"At this school? Never," she answered, lifting her eyes from the page to look at me. Her lips pursed slightly and her turquoise eyes flashed briefly before she returned her focus downwards. "You get used to it. Word travels faster than a Nimbus 5000 at Hogwarts. You learn to keep your deepest secrets to yourself or shared in complete solitude. Any place it can be heard, it will be heard."

"Thanks for the advice. Honestly, I won't have to worry about it. I'm not going to be there long enough to share anything. Not that I would anyways," I snapped.

"I thought you were here for the year," she commented lightly.

"I'm supposed to be. But I never do anything I'm supposed to do," I shrugged. There was a small span of silence before the girl let out a small giggle.

"Good luck with that. It's been a while since Hogwarts has had a rebel."

I felt my jaw drop. A rebel! That's what she thinks I am? I have far surpassed the term rebel. I wasn't only trying to rebel against things anymore, I was trying to turn everything upside down. It was the most logical path to follow. The term rebel was simply insulting. I wasn't here to make labels. I was here because my father didn't know how to deal with press and he thought it was easier to get rid of the problem. I wasn't here to stir up trouble. Trouble was only a bonus to what I was trying to do.

"Look, sweetheart. I don't know who you think you are—coming in here and judging me. I don't know who you've heard your rumors from. I, frankly, don't give a shit. All I want is to be left alone so I can make enough of a nuisance of myself to get sent home. What I do to accomplish such is none of your business. I'm not looking to make friends. Just leave me the fuck alone," I snapped, my temper rising with each word. The girl looked back at me wide eyed, snapped her book shut and stood. Her wand was out in a flash.

"Look—I get you hate it here. I get you're just this icy cow to the soul. But don't take out your anger on me. I'm not going to be the one that's going to fulfill whatever you're after. So just leave me out of your warpath. Or I just might do something about it," she stated. Her voice wasn't angry. It wasn't even falsely sweet. It was just normal. Conversational. I tossed my sketch book aside and stood so I was facing her. I was average height—but I dwarfed this girl. She was positively tiny.

"I'd like to see you try," I remarked, trying to hold back my laugh.

"Don't test me. I may be small and I may not be speaking to you in a threatening manner—but I'm a force to be reckoned with." She replied with a small shrug. And then she turned on her heel and left. I watched her go until she was completely gone from sight and then settled back onto the seat. I had my sketchbook grasped in my lap and was attempting to finish the sketch of this girl. I couldn't. The unsettling feeling was back in the pit of my stomach. I hated myself. Really I did. But at least I can add her to the slowly growing list of enemies I'm building at this school. The bigger it gets—the better my chances.


A/A: Alrighty—a tad bit on the boring side I suppose. But I wanted to get you guys something to read because I don't know when I'll be able to update next. I know a bunch of you were like—eh I'm kinda okay with Adder, wait strike that she's a bitch! But trust me—there's reasons she is the way she is. It's a new development for me to be writing a POV from the view of what would be classified as the 'protagonist' but stick with her. Hopefully this chapter (ugh—I hope it's not too lame) gave you some things to think about in terms of Adder. Let me know your opinions—I love to hear them!

In fact—I was on break at work when I got a majority of your reviews and there I was sitting in my break room grinning like a complete loon. They made my night completely! I love all you all and want to give a couple of thanks: laura. , the always lovely Zepheus, and whoever reviewed as lovely. You guys made my night.

Forever yours magically,

Emily