A/n: Here are Nell and Ida to fill you in on their days!

Nell

Where is he? I wonder as I stand in the Entrance Hall, waiting for my buyer. Looking down at my watch, I realise that he's seven minutes late. What I he already came down? What if he can't find me? What if he already found me, but thought that I looked so horrible that he didn't want to spend his day with me? How does my hair look? Frizzy? My make-up? What If I smudged it! Dom spent half an hour working on it! Do I look fat? I told Amelie that these jeans were too tight! What if he thinks I look bad? Damn it, since when do I care?

On the verge of a melt-down, Arne Corner finally finds me. I'm so relieved that he came that I nearly launch myself into his arms and thank him. Somehow, I remain poised and dignified.

'Sorry that I'm late.' He says sheepishly as he leads me over to the line of stragglers making their way to the carriages. 'Klause spent an hour trying to drill into me that fraternising with the enemy – yourself – is bad.'

'McLaggen is a prat.' I announce, scowling.

'He's my best mate.' Arne smiles at me.

'Oh- ' I say, trying to think of something nice to say about him instead, but I can't bring myself to lie. 'That still doesn't remedy him of being a prat.'

'Yeah, I know.' Arne runs his hand through his hair in a nervous fashion. 'He's alright most of the time, but when it comes to quidditch or you he's a downright git. He told me last year that you pushed him out of a tree house and broke his nose. Half the time I can't tell if he's being serious or not.'

'Erm, that time he was serious.' I say, biting my lip and grimacing a little when he turns to me with a questioning look and helps me into an empty carriage.

'And the time he said that you charmed his underwear to sing Celestia Warbeck songs non-stop?'

'In my defence, he baked spiders into a pie and brought it to a family dinner. He is just as childish as me!' I cry.

'I am well aware.' Arne laughs, then pauses. 'Would it be cruel as me as his best friend to tell you a little secret of his?'

'No! Never!' I say, leaning in close. The carriage jostles as it starts to move and his fringe brushes my cheek. 'Tell me everything.'

He smiles at me. 'Well, for one he's really afraid of frogs. Like, wet his pants afraid.'

I smile. Nine-year-old me might have had something to do with that.

'He's also really paranoid about people seeing him in his shorts. You know that dream that everyone has where they go to class in their underwear? He lives in fear of that ever happening to him.'

'Huh, you'd think that it'd be the opposite with McLaggen. Have you ever questioned his sexual orientation?' I ask, sitting back and raising a brow.

'Klause is no pouf.' Arne laughs, and then becomes serious. 'And if you ever decide to use the information I just confessed to you in any way, shape or form, I will deny vehemently that we've ever spoken.'

I mime the action of locking my lips and throwing away the key.

Our carriage shudders to a stop and we hop out. The cold air bites at my hands and cheeks and I pull up my scarf and search for my mittens, but Arne suddenly takes my hand and drags me into the quidditch store. When he releases me I shove my hand in my pocket and try to ignore the tingles that remain.

'I think they have it…' He trails off, fingers skimming the covers of the magazines next to the counter. 'Here,' He says, pulling one out after a little searching. 'I noticed that you were flying on a school broom during our match, and I thought that you might want your own broom. This magazine is good, it advertises them properly – some others rage on about things that aren't even important, like the colour of the wood.'

I smile warmly as he passes it to me. 'Thanks Arne. I've been thinking about getting one for a while now, but I don't really know anything about them.'

'Well, The Nebula, on page thirteen, is a good one.' He helps me turn the pages to a sleek, dark-wood broom. 'It's got great acceleration. There are others in here too – you know what, I'll just buy it for you to read.'

The clerk watches, laughing a little, as I argue with Arne and try to wrestle the magazine out of his hands. He's taller than me though, and Arne reaches over my head to pass the clerk the money owed. He tucks the magazine under his arm then and takes my hand again, steering me out into the street. I allow him to pull me around, stopping for sweets at Honeydukes and tricks at Zonko's. Our final stop is the Three Broomsticks, where Arne lets me pay for two butterbeers and a plate of fries, and we sit down to look through my new broomstick magazine.

'This one is nice looking,' Arne says, leaning towards me and tapping the picture of a broom called The Skyscraper. 'But it isn't sensible for a chaser – it has absolutely no shock resistance. If you were hit with a bludger, it wouldn't survive. It's better for a beater because they hardly ever get hit.'

'What about The Boomerang?' I ask, flipping the page.

'The handling is superb, and it corners well…' He reads the paragraph written about the broom. 'I think that it would be perfect for a chaser.' He smiles up at me. 'But you might not want to take my opinion of this. I am the competition after all…'

'Merlin!' I laugh. 'You sound like Amelie. She's always going on about that sort of thing.'

'Klause too, get your head in the game, stop getting distracted!' Arne imitates his captain, then stops. 'There he is at the door now! Should I wave, or pretend not to see him and then we'll sneak out?'

I'm about to cast my vote, for the latter, but McLaggen spots us and calls out.

'Arne! There you are mate!' He squeezes through the crowd, then stops at our table and finally notices me. 'Oh, so you did go out with Dortan.' There's bite in his voice.

'Of course, I paid for it.' Arne replies airily. 'Won't you sit down?'

McLaggen pauses for a moment, then sees my frantic expression and plants his rump in the seat opposite mine.

'So, what have you two been up to?' He asks, taking a fry and dipping it my butterbeer. I roll my eyes, it's the only way he eats fries.

'You know, the usual.' Arne shrugs.

'No Puddifoot's?' McLaggen presses, brow raised.

'Of course not.' Arne scoffs. 'Last time I went in there I was choking up confetti for weeks.'

'You're right. Besides, Dortan really isn't that kind of girl. She doesn't do glitter or dainty tea cups, or anything girly whatsoever. Puddifoot's would probably give her a heart attack.' McLaggen speaks as if I'm not even there.

'Excuse me?' I cut in. 'I can be girly! I can do glitter and tea and confetti and all that shit!'

'Girls don't cuss.' McLaggen reprimands me. 'Girls sit there and look pretty and keep their traps shut. You couldn't do that even if you tried.'

I hiss at him and he looks a little scared.

'Come on, it's been a nice day, let's not fight.' Arne says, placing a hand on both of our arms, trying to calm us.

'Take me out.' I say, surprising both of them. 'Take me to MadamPuddifoots.'

McLaggen stares, and then smirks. He pours butterbeer over the remaining fries and scarfs them down in a matter of seconds. We stand together and put on our jackets, then turn to Arne expectantly. He gapes at us.

'Are you coming?' McLaggen asks.

'As long as you're paying.' Arne jumps to his feet, sliding his arms into his jacket and slipping his hand into mine. If McLaggen notices, he doesn't comment.

When I open the door to the ghastly pink teashop, I'm greeted by an explosion of little confetti hearts that cling to my hair and clothes and enter my esophagus, inducing a coughing fit. The room isn't particularly large, crowded with tables and loveseats and poufs for people to sit on, and in the corner there is a violin and a harp and a piano, all of which are carrying a tune of their own accord. Everything is a different shade of pink. It hurts my eyes and my brain.

I nearly turn around to leave the place, but Arne has his hand on the small of my back and he leans close to whisper in my ear: 'Come on Nell, show Klause that you can handle this.'

I gather my courage and step forwards, an overly sweet smile on my face, to talk to the elderly lady at the counter.

'Table for three.' I tell her. 'Please.'

She surveys our trio with a raised brow, then gathers some menus and leads us through the maze of tables to one in the back near a large fern.

Are ferns romantic? I always thought they looked a little like leafy spiders.

The lady removes one seat from our table and the boys take the chairs next to each other, forcing me to sit next to the spider-fern. She turns to me then, quill poised over a pad of pink parchment, waiting for us to order. I look down at my menu but find that I don't recognise anything there. Is it too much to ask for a simple butterbeer and fries?

'Um, could you give us a minute?' Arne asks, equally lost.

She sighs, obviously irritated with us, but moves on to another table.

I'm about to comment on the fact that for a place that's supposed to be all hearts and love, she's got a rather foul personality. But then I meet McLaggen's gaze. He's waiting for me to say something.

'It's nice here, isn't it?' I say instead, not even a little hint of sarcasm in my voice. Both of the boys seem surprised. 'So, what are you going to order?'

'Orange spice tea with a piece of their white chocolate raspberry cheesecake.' McLaggen replies. It's my turn to look surprised. He throws his menu down on the table and shrugs. 'I've been on enough lousy dates here that I know what's good and what's not.'

Arne raises a discreet brow at me, then looks down at his menu. 'I guess I'll have a… fruit tart? Yeah. And coffee. What about you, Nell?'

'I was thinking lemon ginger tea and some of that chocolate cake.' I say nodding my head towards the tasty treat sitting on the counter.

'It'll go straight to your hi-ips.' McLaggen says in a sing-song voice, then hails the waitress and relays his order. I purse my lips and glare at him under my fringe, then smile sweetly at the woman.

'An extra-large serving of that chocolate cake there.' I say when she asks about my dessert. She stares at me for a moment – I don't blame her, every other girl here is eating a fruit salad – but complies.

'Mmm…' I moan, slipping my first bite onto my tongue, savouring the taste. 'That's heavenly.' Nearly everyone in the room watches as I slowly press another forkful of cake past my lips, looking up at McLaggen through my eyelashes as I do so.

He glares at me.

I return with a sugary sweet smile and another bite.

Merlin, he's fun to toy with.

I make sure to stick out my pinkie finger as I sip my tea, and that the cup and saucer never clank together, and that my face is never dirty. My napkin is folded neatly in my lap and I don't spit out my tea on the fern next to me when I accidentally choke on a tea leaf.

Well, I do. But I wait until McLaggen isn't looking.

By the end of the meal he's getting antsy and it's pretty obvious that he wants to get out of there. He helps Arne into his jacket before nearly pulling him out of the shop, not before paying though, as he promised.

'So,' I ask Arne as McLaggen scampers on ahead, never going too far though. 'Have I proved myself? Am I dainty and girly enough for you?'

'You don't need to be. I like the Nell who kicks Klause's arse in everything he does and looks mighty fine after a rough quidditch practice and does what she wants when she wants.'

'That's good,' I tell him, slipping my hand into his. It feels good. 'Because she's sticking around.'

I aim a kick at a small rock and it sails through the air for a moment before hitting McLaggen in the back. He turns around, glares at me, then flips me the bird.

Nell: 1

McLaggen: Nil.

Ida

'Mmm…' Vicker closes his eyes and savours the taste as he pops sweet after sweet into his mouth. 'You have got to try these.' He shoves a handful of chocoballs in my direction and I shake my head.

'Vicker–' I begin.

'Call me Damon. It's my name after all.' He searches in another candy bag. 'How about some Drooble's blowing gum? It creates bubbles that don't pop for days!'

'No thanks, Damon–'

'How about a chocolate frog then? No one can deny a chocolate frog.' He waves one under my nose.

'Fine!' I cry, snatching it up. He looks immensely pleased with himself. 'Damon!' I grab his arm as we come to a stop next to Zonko's joke shop and I pull him down on a bench. 'I need to ask you something.'

He looks at me with his wide, deep blue eyes, dark fringe falling into them and pouts a little, glancing between me and the joke shop.

Gods. Since when are Slytherins such lookers?

'What is it?' He asks me as I fumble to regain my ability to speak.

'Iwantedtoknowwhyyouboughtme.' I ask all in one breath. He looks over at me, surprised.

Well. This is awkward.

Not that that's any different from the rest of our day.

I don't know Damon Vicker. He's in Slytherin. He's a chaser. That is the extent of my knowledge. So meeting him by the marble staircase because he bought me for a day for thirty-five galleons was a little strange. We didn't talk the entire ride to the village, and into the first store. Well, he tried to talk. About school. As soon as he brought up the topic, I flushed a horrible red and stumbled over my reply of: 'Of course I'm good in my classes, I'm a Ravenclaw after all.' Then I brought up quidditch and he rambled on for a while about his favorite team, the Montrose Magpies. When we entered Honeydukes the conversation died, thankfully, as we roamed around the shop tasting the new sweets.

But it's been growing in the back of my mind, the question of why did he buy me, like an itch I can't scratch no matter how hard I try.

'Well,' He beings. 'I was at the auction with my mates. They're the type who would buy you in order to make you their servant. It's Evert's turn to clean the bathroom and he keeps putting it off. Anyways, they were bidding on you and I figured that you wouldn't want to spend the day cleaning, so I joined in. So, I guess you could call me your knight in shining armour.'

'Hmm, well, thanks.' I stand and nod my head at the joke shop.

'Not to say that there weren't other reasons,' He says, chasing after me. 'I mean, you looked like you were a nice girl, and you've got nice legs, and my mum always told me to talk to someone new every day.'

'What?' I turn on him, wondering if I'd heard him right.

'What?' He mimics me, then moves on to an exploding snap display.

I look down at my jean clad legs. Maybe I should have worn a skirt…

'I'm going to get a deck.' Damon announces, tapping the pack of cards in his hands. 'My mates keep stealing mine.'

I go to stand next to him as the clerk rings up the deck. 'My mum always told me not to talk to strangers.'

'I'm hardly a stranger, if you're using that as an excuse for why you've hardly spoken a full sentence to me since we left the castle.' He nudges me, laughter in his eyes.

I scoff. 'Hardly a stranger? I hadn't even heard of you before last night.'

'Well then, stranger, let me introduce myself. My name is Damon Fallon Vicker and I'm a seventh year Slytherin at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' He tries to take my hand to kiss it, but I evade him by quickly moving to collect the deck of cards the clerk is holding out, an amused expression on his face.

'I like just about every sweet there is at Honeydukes, I play as a chaser on the Slytherin quidditch team,' He tells me, following me out of the store. 'And my best subject is Ancient Runes.'

'You take Ancient Runes?' I exclaim, turning around to point a finger at his chest.

'Yes indeed. Is that so remarkable?' He quirks an eyebrow at me.

'Yes! Yes it is!' I poke him in the chest with each word. 'Ancient Runes is the hardest course at Hogwarts! That's – that's not fair! I flunked out!'

He seems crossed between showing offence or pride. In the end he puffs out his chest and grins at me, linking arms with me and starting off down the street.

'Now I know three things about you, other than your name and house.' He says.

'What else do you know about me?' I ask, confused.

'I know that you like butterbeer and long, romantic walks on the grounds.' He smiles, still immensely proud of himself.

I snort. 'That would be Amelie's doing. I had no say in my advertisement for the auction.'

He scowls. 'But you wouldn't be against a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, would you?'

'No, you got that one right.'

'Good, that's our next stop.' He guides me into the crowded inn and secures us two stools at the counter. 'Two butterbeers, please.' He asks the woman serving drinks. He then pulls out his pack of cards and begins to shuffle them. 'Well then, if you don't like long romantic walks on the grounds, you owe me one personal detail.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, you know three things about me, and I only know two about you, so I figure that I'm in the right to ask you for one more.' He shrugs and starts dealing out cards.

'Well I…' I'm at a loss for something interesting to say.

'I like the colour orange.' He says, passing me a pile.

'Stop it!' I swipe at him. 'Now I owe you two!' He opens his mouth to input. 'My favorite colour is razzmatazz – after the 1993 crayon! And I like the smell of – of apricots!'

'… Apricots?' He raises an eyebrow.

'It was the first thing that came to mind!' I stare down at my cards. My best cards are a cyclops, a giant squid, a manticore, and some old man with a crazy beard. His name reads Nicholas Snaggs. I sigh. They're crappy cards.

He chuckles and plays a card much higher than any of mine, and I lose my cyclops to him.

It's busy at the inn, and by the time we get, and finish, our butterbeers, it's nearly five. We get through two rounds of exploding snap in this time, me losing both times. We shuffle back to the carriages, hands frozen from the chilly air and feet from the slush-covered ground.

'So,' I ask him as we plough our way up to the school. It's begun to snow and the flakes are falling heavily. 'When is your next match?'

'About two weeks – the last match before the holidays.' He says, brushing snow from his hair. 'We play Gryffindor. When's yours?'

'I don't know. A while still. I think we play Gryffindor.'

'Hey! Damon!' From inside the Entrance Hall calls a voice. The doors are cracked open and students are filtering into the school, but one boy is quite intent on coming out. He pushes past a pack of third years and flies down the steps towards us. He slows and stops, pushing his hair out of his eyes to get a proper look at me.

'So this is Ida Winters in person!' He crows, leaning close and smiling. 'How much did you pay for her again? Thirty?'

'Thirty-five.' Damon wraps his arm around my shoulders and steers me up the steps.

'And was she worth it?' The other boy keeps pace with us.

'Yeah, we had a lot of fun, didn't we, Ida?'

I nod numbly, keeping an eye on this other boy. His hair keeps getting in his eyes, and he keeps flicking it away.

'Why don't you just get it cut?' I ask him.

'What?'

'Your hair. Why don't you just cut it, if it bothers you so much?'

He grins and shoves his hands in his pockets. 'It looks best this way. More rogue. The girls love it.'

'What girls?' I quirk a brow at him.

'The girls.' He waves a hand dismissively.

'I guess I should introduce you,' Damon says. 'Ida, this is Evert Fells. He's kind of a prat.'

'But I'm his best mate, so Damon puts up with it.' Evert smiles. 'Are you two eating at the Slytherin table tonight? The others want to meet Ida.'

'The others?' I turn on Damon. 'Why?'

Neither one of the boys answers me.

We enter into the Great Hall and I find in unnerving to turn to the left to reach the Slytherin table, instead of the right, to the Ravenclaw one. I'm lead down the aisle to a group of seventh years, who all stare at me as we approach. Evert hops the table, earning a disapproving stare from his Head of House, and Damon pulls me down beside him into an empty space.

There are four of them, two boys and two girls. They scrutinize me and I self-consciously draw my jacket closer.

'This is Hans Aunst,' He gestures to the dark haired boy directly across from me. His green eyes flit over me, but don't really seem to look.

'Niles Charlemagne,' The blond boy on his other side leans across Damon to shake my hand, seeming ten times friendlier than Hans.

'And Amity and Posy Thorn.' The former smiles pleasantly from her spot beside Hans and pushes her waves of lovely auburn hair from her eyes. The latter, who I assume is her twin sister, scowls at me from beneath her bangs.

'So, this is the great Ida Winters?' Posy sneers.

'Oh, piss off Posy.' Amity says. 'It's nice to meet you. Damon has told us so much about you.'

'Oh?' I ask, severely confused.

Posy attacks her meat and mutters angrily, just loud enough for me to hear. 'Why wouldn't he? You are his girlfriend after all.'

A/n: I may be biased towards Slytherins. I find that I like them so much! But what is Damon up to?
First upload from university!