What Kind of Medical Insurance do Goblins even have?

Author Note: Still sick (blargh). Thanks to everyone who has read/reviewed! Congrats to Deathly-Hunger-Jackson and Ergelina for winning the two chapters in advance :) Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it and happy holidays to everyone! =D

Disclaimer: Only OCs belong to me

Omnomnom.

Merlin, I love bacon.

Rose had returned 5 minutes and 32 seconds later with a platter full of crispy bacon still sizzling from the pan.

As I steadily devoured my way through the platter (there were precisely 12 slices), Rose kept making disbelieving noises.

Finally, after the fifth gasp, I looked up, still clutching the twelfth strip.

"What?" I mumbled, spraying bacon bits all over the blanket. What? I'm nothing if not a lady!

I TOOK BLOODY LADY LESSONS FOR THREE YEARS.

"Aren't you…full?" Rose asked, looking a tad queasy. I shrugged, swallowing the last bit of bacon.

"You can never be too full for bacon!" I said brightly, my mood considerably improved. Rose blinked before shrugging.

"You're just like Al," she observed, vanishing the empty platter with a brisk flick of her wand.

What.

No.

SHE DID NOT JUST SAY THAT.

SOMEONE WAS GOING TO DIE.

"He loves bacon. Grandma Molly has to literally wrestle it away from him sometimes," she continued, oblivious to my indignant spluttering.

Right, time to change the subject. WHY OH WHY DID SHE HAVE TO TAINT BACON FOR ME? Now I couldn't eat it anymo-no. Potter would just have to stop eating bacon.

So there.

Oh, stop scoffing. You would do the same if you knew just how infuriating he is. Need I bring up the infamous First Year encounter again?

Yeah, didn't think so.

Rose smoothed her skirt primly, tucking her auburn hair behind her freckled ears. She really was quite pretty; I could see why Scorpius had snogged her.

Noticing my gaze, Rose raised a questioning eyebrow. I shrugged before telling her Numberita's currenty hypothesis.

To my surprise, she bristled, her ears turning red (again).

"Right, because all Scorpius cares about is if the girl is fit. No, not intelligence – that would be way too much to ask for!" she shouted derisively, flinging her hands around in a somewhat worrisome manner.

"Erm," I said intelligently. Wow, Adela. You certainly do have a way with words. Maybe you should consider a career in journalism.

…

I really do need to stop referring to myself in the third person.

Rose fumed silently, her hands wringing my blankets. I eyed them nervously before venturing, "Scorpius really does fancy you."

She scoffed, slamming the blankets down (at which I winced; what? I only have one blanket! GIVE ME BLUDGER BLANKETS OR GIVE ME DEATH. Right, not sure if that was used properly. Oh well. Muggle history has never been my strong suit).

"Right, that's why he went and snogged that blonde bint not even a full week after we snogged," she said, sarcasm dripping vehemently from each word.

I winced; well, Scorpius certainly screwed things up. Good thing he had Adela Lancaster on his side! It was odd, really. I had no idea why I was so…well, invested in their relationship, but somehow I really wanted them to be together. As in, I stayed up all last night scribbling down battl-erm, matchmaking strategies in my Awesome Journal.

Oh, sod off. It is not a diary. It's just a notebook that I write my thoughts in. And plots to get Seth into trouble, now that I think about it. And some potential petitions (that bed sheet one is still bookmarked).

"He's a prat?" I offered weakly. She rolled her eyes before sighing, her back slumping.

"Yeah," she said quietly, absent-mindedly trailing her fingers around a bludger. "He is."

She seemed to shake herself, her body convulsing a bit (OH MERLIN WAS SHE GOING TO DIE ON MY BED? I WAS TOO YOUNG TO BE THROWN INTO JAIL!).

"Right, I have no idea how we ended up talking about my issues," she said briskly.

Oh. Gah. Initiate innocent whistling!

Blersp.

I spluttered in a vague attempt at whistling, my lips pursing as flecks of spittle flew out. Oops.

Right, note to self: learn how to whistle.

I'd better write that down in the Awesome Journal.

Rose politely ignored my pathetic attempts, instead leaning forward and asking, "Are you sure you're alright?"

Her brown eyes peered upwards, searching my soul (INVASION OF PRIVACY ALERT BEEP BEEP BEEP).

I nodded, looking away.

Strangely enough, I did feel better. I no longer wanted to tear my heart out or whack random objects with ol' Bessie.

Alright, so maybe I still wanted to hit things. But that was normal in the life of Adela.

"Yeah, actually. I mean, I'm sure I'll find another decent bloke at some point, right?"

"Right."

I smiled at Rose.

"Thanks again."

She grinned back, lurching forward and flinging her arms around me.

GAH. SOCIAL AWKWARDNESS AT DANGEROUSLY HIGH LEVELS. ADELA DOES NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO.

Thankfully, she disentangled herself from me after 2.3 seconds, still grinning broadly.

"Right, want to go down to the kitchens?" I asked, my stomach rumbling a bit. Rose looked a bit horrified. What? Was my hair green again? I reached behind and roughly yanked a bit of hair forward, peering at it. Nope, still the same boring brown.

"You just ate a whole platter of bacon!" she said after it became clear that I had no idea what she was thinking about (really. Did the girl think I was bloody telepathic or something?).

I blinked; so? Hadn't we already gone over this? Bacon (and chocolate, now that I think about it) does not fill you up at all. Which means, by the Awesome Transitive Property of Adela, that it's about zero calories.

Yup, it's a scientific fact.

She rolled her eyes before getting off the bed and moving towards the door.

"Oh, alright," she said wearily. I knew there was a reason I tolerated her!

I jumped off the bed, quickly darting back to grab ol' Bessie before following her out.

Maybe I could get some more bacon!

xxxxx

Blargh.

I hate mornings.

The (unfortunately) familiar feeling of a sharp claw prodding into your side arose. I groaned, shoving myself upwards and blinking blearily in the morning light.

My stomach gurgled a bit unhappily; the previous day I had gorged myself on chocolate ice cream and bacon and found that my Awesome Property did not hold true for all occasions. As in, I spent the majority of last night throwing up/cradling the toilet. Woo for inventive ways to spend a Saturday night! While everyone else was attending some Gryffindor party (seriously. Don't they ever get tired of the constant partying?). Adela Lancaster: breaking teenage stereotypes for sixteen years and counting!

It was not fun.

Prod. Prod. Prod.

This time, a claw dug in deeper, cutting into my skin. I hissed (drawing disgruntled moans from my pathetically hungover dorm mates) and jolted off the bed, muttering curses under my breath.

I yanked my trunk open, rummaging a bit before finding the canister of owl pellets that I kept nestled in between some cardigans (SWEATERS ARE EVIL) and some chewed-up boots (Sir Archibald decided to use it as an appetizer while I was in the infirmary). I pinched my nose, wrenching the top off with a slight wince. The acrid stench of owl vomit wafted through the room as I inverted the canister 120˚ and dumped two pellets on the royal blue carpet. Sir Archibald scurried over, licking them delicately three times (oh, it was a good day! On bad days he licks it twice) before pouncing on it and devouring them whole. The sound of bones crunching filled the room and my dorm mates groaned again, some muttering something about "finding a special home in the lake" for Sir Archibald. Hah. I'd like to see them try.

But seriously – the sound of Sir Archibald chomping away at owl pellets certainly did not help my queasiness.

I glanced down at my pajamas (the same smiley-face ones from before) before shrugging and heading out the door. I'm sure no one would be out in the Tower; after all, it was only – I quickly glanced at my watch – 7:32 AM on a Sunday.

My pajamad feet (alright, so I wear footsie pajamas. YOU WOULD TOO IF YOU KNEW HOW BLOODY COLD HOGWARTS FLOORS ARE) padded down the marble stairs. I gripped the bronze railing for support as my feet slid a bit on the stairs (note to self: file a petition for some rubber mats or something on the stairs).

GAH.

Three steps away from the bottom (so close!), my right foot (the traitor) slipped, causing my body to fall backwards and my arse to hit the very edge of the fourth stair.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

I tumbled downwards, my hair whipping into my eyes (GAH. THE PAIN) and my injured arm managing to fling itself at my nose.

Well, I'm certainly the epitome of gracefulness.

…

Is it possible for someone to be addicted to sarcasm?

Hm.

Numberita says no.

I groaned from my heap on the floor, my face firmly pressed against the cold marble.

"Not very graceful, are you?"

Sigh.

I pushed myself upwards, brushing off my pajamas with as much dignity as I could muster.

"You caught me at a bad time," I said coolly, meeting the amber eyes of a certain Xavier King.

He glanced at my pajamas, his smirk widening to a full out grin.

UGH WHY DID I LEAVE OL' BESSIE UPSTAIRS?

"Nice pajamas," he chortled. I crossed my arms, glaring.

"Why are you up so early?"

"Why are you?"
"Sir Archibald."

"Right. The demon cat."

"He is not a dem-er, well, yeah, he kind of is," I admitted, thinking back to the time where he scratched me so deeply that I had to get stitches.

Laugh. Chortle. Giggle. Oh, right, because Sir Archibald's viciousness is so funny.

"But he's really sweet once you get to know him!" I continued hotly. He rolled his eyes before collapsing on a nearby couch.

"Going off to see ickle-Jamesie?" he asked, amusement running through his voice.

I paused; he knew that I fancy-er, fancied him?

Catching my horrified expression, he rolled his eyes (again!) before saying, "You really are so obvious. Anyone could tell by the way you pined after him…you bloody well drooled right in front of everyone during dinner the other day."

Well. I hadn't drooled – Adelas do not do anything that remotely disgusting (oh, sod off. I can see that snide look). I'd merely…admired. From a distance.

Anyway, I certainly wasn't going to stand around here anymore.

I stalked off towards the direction of the door, calling out, "Have fun with ickle Katesie!"

I didn't bother waiting for a response; I slammed the door behind me (Dobby wasn't very happy with that) and ran down the stairs, holding onto the railing for dear life.

Right, I probably should have thought this through. I was standing in the middle of the corridor in my footsie pajamas, and it wasn't like I could go back to my dorm – Xavier was probably just waiting to shout out "I told you so!" or something like that while dancing like a muggle disco person.

I don't know where I come up with these scenarios.

I sighed wearily before beginning to walk, each foot lifting approximately 4.67 inches before dropping back down.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Left.

I paused in front of the right-hand bend to gaze at the corridor.

Hm, that painting was new. I examined it with detached interest, noting that there were 32 miniature goblins currently battling it out on the canvas. 32 goblins…60 arms. Why 60? Well, two of the goblins were one-armed, probably a result from the battle…I wonder what goblins did for medical insurance coverage they get…do they even get medical insu-wow. Am I really wasting Numberita's valuable brain space on this?

"I AM SO BLOODY BORED!" I wailed into the empty corridor (by now I was somewhere on the first floor), the sound echoing eerily.

"Lancaster?"

Oh no. I'd know that (admittedly nice-soundin-ERM I MEAN HORRIBLY RASPY AND DISGUSTING) voice anywhere.

My heart sinking, I turned around slowly.

"What?"

A dark eyebrow was raised as the boy smirked a bit before answering. Git.

"So, you fancy my brother."

AN: Thanks for reading! Please review!