A/N Well, I'm back from Mexico. It was a lot of fun- warm, sunny, and I got to snorkel, go to the beach, and visit the Mayan ruins. Thanks to everyone who wished me a good trip!

I've noticed there are a lot of people who have this story on alert but still aren't reviewing. It only takes a second, and I appreciate it very much: it is part of what makes posting this worthwhile. To all of you who do review, many thanks, and here's the next chapter!

She couldn't believe that Malfoy was actually about to do this to her. She shut her eyes tightly, hoping that it would be over quickly. She felt his hands sliding down her sides, then felt them fall away from her, catching slightly on her shirt. Malfoy was on the floor, a huge black dog on top of him, looking ready to tear out his throat. Malfoy screamed. The dog's lips were pulled back from its teeth as it growled. He had dropped his wand, so he only had his hands to hold the dog away. His arms were already covered in bleeding bite marks.

The dog's sharp teeth were snapping, its muzzle bloody, the red stains shining in the dim light. Its big paws held Malfoy to the ground, unable to move as it mauled him. Malfoy finally managed to shove it off of him and ran, without a backwards glance, limping slightly on his wounded leg, his shredded robes billowing behind him.

Mac unfroze, and collapsed onto the floor in a small heap. The dog came over and nuzzled at the heap. A hand emerged and ruffled its fur, not minding that it was covered in blood, so it knew she was all right. It curled around her protectively and the two, minutes later, were asleep.

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The next morning, Mac woke up and wondered, groggily, where she was. Then she remembered the events of last night. She had woken up sometime in the early morning with a fluffy dog pillow, just like the morning in the Room of Requirement. She had gotten up, stiff from sleeping on the cold stone floor, and headed back to her dorm. After all, that hall was heavily traveled and she didn't want to be found there in the morning, since she knew that whoever found her would not be sympathetic. They never were.

So Mac had walked back, leaving the dog to sleep. She decided that, since it was apparently a homeless dog, it was used to the hard floor and probably had nowhere else to go, anyways, except the Room of Requirement. Normally that thought would have brought her to wonder how a dog got into the Room of Requirement, but she was exhausted, both physically and mentally, so she had just stumbled to her bed.

She had fallen asleep as soon as she clambered into her bed, and now, upon waking up again, she just wanted to go back to sleep. It wasn't so easy this time, however. Her mind kept replaying the horror, repeating, "What if? What if?"

She tried to push the thoughts away, rolling over and pulling the emerald green covers more tightly about her body, still clothed in the jeans and t-shirt from last night, now slightly bloody, and even her shoes. After five more minutes of this, she had given in and rolled out of bed. Peering around the room, she realized she must have slept late, as none of here dorm mates were present. Luckily, it was a Sunday. Not that she particularly cared if she missed classes; she just wasn't in the mood to make up excuses.

She stood, rubbing at her eyes, then went to her trunk at the end of her bed. Undoing the locking spells she had placed upon it to prevent her roommates from snooping, she flipped open the lid and rummaged around for new clothes. Finding some near the bottom, she straightened and made her way into the bathroom. She was going to burn everything she was wearing: she never wanted to see it again.

After locking the door, she turned towards the shower stalls, thinking that the massaging hot water was just what she needed right now. She did a double take and turned back towards the wall with the sinks and mirrors.

When Mac saw her reflection, she clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent the scream that had been bubbling up from escaping. She couldn't think coherently, she was completely shocked. She had known Narcissa Black would get her revenge, but she hadn't expect it to be this quick or this painful.

If she had been any other girl in the school, she would have started to cry. The situation warranted it, but Mackenzie Rush did not cry over such paltry things as hair. In fact, Mac didn't cry at all: being the Slytherin outcast had toughened her up. Showing emotion was dangerous. But it was horrible, what Narcissa and probably her band of bitchy followers had done to her.

Her hair was red with gold liberally interspersed: Gryffindor colors, and it clashed horribly with her shade of skin. It also flashed slightly, drawing even more attention to itself. But that wasn't the worst part, not nearly the worst part. Someone had charmed her hair to spell out words on its own, and the things it was saying about Mac weren't pretty. It seemed to switch every few minutes, between, "Mudblood Whore" and "Gryffindor's Slut" and other such pleasant names.

She pulled herself up onto the black marble countertop next to the sink. She sat there, swinging her legs and hitting her heals against the cabinets, as she tried to decide what to do. She knew that there would be no way for it to come out for at least a few weeks: Narcissa was, after all, a Slytherin, and she would want her revenge to last.

If she had been a Hufflepuff, she would have just worn a hat for a week. If she had been a Ravenclaw, she would have holed up in the library, trying to find a countercurse. If she had been a Gryffindor, she would have laughed and let everyone see it, then hexed Narcissa to smithereens. But she was a Slytherin, so her response had to be clever, unexpected. After a while, she suddenly grinned and, hopping off of the counter, left the bathroom.

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Sirius and James had been bored. It was a Sunday morning, and they had nothing to do. James didn't know that Sirius would rather have slept, as he had gotten into their dorm at five in the morning. Sirius wasn't about to tell him. So they decided to take the secret passage into Hogsmeade, visit Zonko's for more equipment, and then plan a wonderful prank. They actually did that a lot: neither was full of original ideas for curing boredom, from which they frequently suffered.

They had gone past the stone witch statue and through the dark, dirt tunnel into Hogsmeade. When they emerged, under James invisibility cloak, in the cellar of Honeydukes, they snuck out into the crisp morning air of Hogsmeade. When no one was looking, they took off the cloak. They looked old enough not to be caught as students who weren't supposed to be in Hogsmeade that day.

After restocking their pranking supplies, buying dungbombs, biting teacups, and more, they wanted to hang out for a bit before returning to the castle, so they wandered into the Three Broomsticks for a drink. They both gave Madam Rosmerta, the young bartender, their trademark grins, to which she rolled her eyes, and then they settled down in a corner booth. She knew they weren't supposed to be there, but nothing she could do discouraged it, so she put up with their visits. In their own way, they were good boys, she thought. And they were only a few years younger than her.

"So, Padfoot, what's been going on? I've noticed you haven't been around as much lately," started James, leaning across the table and looking into his best friend's gray eyes.

Sirius groaned, averting his eyes, then muttered, "I should have known that you had an ulterior motive for suggesting this trip."

"Of course I did. I'm a Marauder," James grinned. Sirius rolled his eyes and replied, "I thought it was a Marauder rule that one Marauder can't use his Marauder skills against another."

"What number rule was it?" asked James.

"I don't know, does it matter?" answered Sirius.

"You can't get out of something using the rules unless you know which rule it is. So answer my question," said James smugly.

"Is that a rule?" asked Sirius. James nodded. "What number?"

"Two hundred eighty three," he replied. At Sirius' moan, he explained, "I thought that was a good one to know the number of, because it's kind of useless if you don't. Now, stop procrastinating and answer."

"But we all know I'm good at procrastinating…" At the look on James' face, Sirius backtracked. "Fine. I've just wanted to be alone. I've been going to the Room of Requirement a lot."

He felt bad that he wasn't telling his friend the truth. He tried to convince himself it was all right, that it wasn't actually lying, just not telling the whole truth, but he still felt bad.

James probably saw his upset expression, because he decided to drop the subject. That was a first, Sirius thought: James being tasteful. To change the subject, James said, "Oh. Well, what have you been planning for our next prank? I thought that at breakfast next week…"

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Mac had put on her black beanie, hair tucked up underneath it, and a green sweatshirt with her jeans and headed towards the passageway. She knew a place in Hogsmeade that would be perfect for her plan. She checked that no one was coming down the hall, then muttered the password to the statue of a witch, which slid to the side. She slipped into the dark passage it concealed and lit her wand when the statue moved back into place, completing the darkness.

She walked along in the semi dark, black sneakers scuffing at the dirt floor. She was so lost in her thoughts that she barely noticed the chattering of voices growing closer. She turned a corner and looked up, seeing two figures, which had also stopped and were staring at her. Potter and Black.

"What are you doing here?" all three said in unison. She rolled her eyes and said, "Obviously, I'm going to Hogsmeade. I don't really think it's any of your business why."

Black's eyes were sliding away from her face, but not in the direction that they normally went when he was looking at a girl. He stared at her hat. "It isn't that cold out."

Mac was getting a little nervous. No one should see her with her hair like this.

Black noticed that her hair was all tucked up under the hat. Why was that? Curious, he slowly pulled out his wand and said, "Accio hat!"

Mac made a wild grab at it and missed. It zoomed out of her reach and into Black's waiting hand. Then suddenly both Black and Potter were gaping at her. They had seen her hair. She pulled out her wand, snarling and ready to hex them both, when Potter choked out, "Who did that to you?"

Mac wondered why he wasn't laughing. For some reason she actually answered, "Narcissa Black. And probably her idiot friends, too."

Black flinched slightly at the name. Mac knew that Narcissa was his cousin, and that Black had been disowned and was considered a bloodtraitor. He probably didn't like to hear about any of his family members, of which there were many in her house. Mac was still confused, though, so she asked, "Why aren't you laughing?"

They both looked shocked, and then insulted, which just confused Mac even more. Black spoke first. "You honestly think that we would laugh at something that cruel? When have we ever been that mean?"

Mac answered, truthfully, "Yes, I'd think you would laugh. You laugh when you hurt Sev, or prank innocent bystanders. You think it's funny, even when they get hurt. How is this different? Or is it just not funny because you didn't cause it?"

"This is different," protested Potter loudly, trying to think up something that was a better argument. His retort had been weak, and he knew it. Black hadn't even bothered to say anything: he couldn't think of an adequate response, a way to tell her that those people, for some reason, deserved it.

"Of course it is," she replied, her tone laced with sarcasm and malice. She had started out just explaining her confusion, but now she was angry.

With that she walked over and snatched her hat back from Black. She proceeded to brush past them and then stalked off down the corridor to Hogsmeade. She had more important things to do than to talk to those prats. The two boys stared after her, wondering why they thought they were different than those Slytherins. They knew they were, though. Weren't they?