Author's Notes

Okay kids, I know you're all upset about what may or may not have happened to our beloved Jeffey-poo, but sadly, you will not find out in this next installment.

But instead, I have another Jeff-based surprise for you! Since everyone seems to love him so much, I decided to write a little present for all the fine people who reviewed; a flashback chapter, narrated by everyone's favorite pansexual-transvestite, Jeffery Flanders! In this super-special chapter, we will get a glimpse at how Jeff grew up and how he met all three of his girls. We also get to see the much feared old-Violet. I hope you like it, and we will resume our main story arc in Chapter Twenty-Six!

*

I was three years old when I first realized there was something different about me. They say you don't have any vivid memories of your early childhood, but this is the sort of thing one doesn't forget. My father came home from work early to find his wife passed out on the sofa and his son in the bathroom, trying on his mother's lipstick. He was completely furious, and I was too young to understand why. All I knew was that I looked pretty.

I never liked my father. He lacked any sort of personal style; always wearing plain black dress robes and slicking his hair back. I always thought he looked like a bird, and I always feared someday he would accidently poke my eye out with his pointy nose.

A few years later, my mother – a tall, round thing I always found extremely dull - enrolled me in a daycare so she could go back to work. Most of the other children there were still in diapers, but there was one other kid my age; a cute, bubbly girl with dark hair and chubby cheeks. Her name was Ashley.

"I am so happy!" she giggled over and over again as she pulled me upstairs to her bedroom. "Someone to play with! Someone to play with!"

Her room was the most amazing place I had ever seen. The walls were painted a brilliant shade of pink, and were covered with pictures of unicorns and kittens and other girly things. Her toys were scattered everywhere; dolls, stuffed animals, plastic tea cups, and dress up clothes almost completely covered the floor. A play kitchen was set up in one corner, and a huge dollhouse in another.

"It's so pretty…" I said in amazement.

She laughed, "Do you want to play with my dolls, Jeffey?"

"Am I aloud to?" I asked timidly. I could picture my dad's furious face in my mind clearly, he would probably beat me if I even thought of me playing with dolls.

"Of course you are!" Ashley said, thrusting one of her natty-haired figurines into my hands. The doll's hair was a frizzy mess, and someone had drawn a star on the side of her face with a marker. It was the most beautiful doll I had ever seen.

"My dad said I'm not allowed to play with dolls," I said, cradling the figure gently. I was afraid that if I griped her too tightly, she would shatter in my hands. It never occurred to me that she was made of durable plastic.

"Well, I don't care if you play with mine," Ashley said, pulling me over to the dollhouse. "I'm really good at sharing. And you won't drool on them like the babies do."

"Okay," I said, smiling while she explained what each individual room in the dollhouse was for. It was the neatest dollhouse ever; it even had a special room for the pet dinosaur. Thoughts of my father vanished instantly. If Ashley said it was okay, it was okay, right? There was no harm in it if Ashley said I could. They were her dolls, after all.

I had never been happier. Every morning I woke up excited to go back to Ashley's house. It was like stepping into another world. She taught me how to play dress up and how to braid hair and how to make pretend cookies. It was the first time I ever felt like myself.

But all things must come to an end.

When we were about six years old, Ashley and I put on a show for her neighborhood. It was an original script about two princess-sisters fighting over a button that could tell the future. Ashley's parents and neighbors thought it was hilarious. My parents, however, didn't find the sight of their one and only son in a frilly lavender gown amusing. My father drug me off the stage before we were even half finished, and I was never allowed to go back.

Despite their efforts to make me into a "normal" boy – enrolling me in an all-boys muggle elementary school, buying me toy trucks and race cars, ect. – I couldn't ignore how I really felt. As the years went by, I built up quite a collection in my closet; a few dresses that I purchased from garage sales, old makeup my mother had thrown out, fashion magazines, and anything else I could find that made me feel good. The phrase "in the closet" suited me perfectly.

I was both excited and terrified when I received my Hogwarts letter. The boys at school teased me and called me names, - for both my crooked teeth and for my girlish demeanor - and I would have preferred being at a school with other wizards. I packed my bags – bringing along as much of my secret collection as I could – weeks in advance, and I spent every second of free time I had imagining what Hogwarts would be like. I spent most of that time thinking about which house I would be in. The Flanders clan was primarily sorted into Slytherin, something my father was very proud of. However, my mother had been a Ravenclaw. I hoped I would be, too. I didn't want to be like my father.

Somehow, boarding the Hogwarts Express was both liberating and oppressive. I was overjoyed to be going off to the greatest school in the world, but the other, older students looked eleven feet tall and completely frightening. I found a car with another first year inside; a girl with beautiful auburn hair, whose name – I would learn later on – was Violet Carroll. She had her feet propped up on the seat across from her and was focusing on a book.

I tapped on the window, peeking inside, "Um, excuse me… But do you think I could-"

"No," she said flatly, not even taking her eyes off of the page to look at me. "Leave me alone. I'm trying to read."

"Oh… Sorry," I said, sulking away to find another seat. It suddenly occurred to me that all girls might not be as cheerful as Ashley had been.

"Are you looking for a place to sit?" A girl in another compartment asked. She had short, fluffy hair and large green eyes. "There's room in here."

"Alright," I said, feeling uplifted as I took my seat.

Another girl sat in the compartment as well. She was a bit chunky, and wore her dark brown hair in pigtails. She eyed me suspiciously for a few moments before she broke out into a huge smile, "Jeffey?"

My jaw dropped, "Ashley?"

"It is you!" she squealed – in the same way she did when we were little – as she dove into my arms for a hug. "Oh Jeffey, I knew we would see each other again someday!"

The blond girl smiled, "I take it you two know each other?"

I nodded, "Ashley's parents used to babysit me."

"This is my friend Aria," Ashley said, pointing to the other girl. "Ari, this is Jeff."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said politely. "I think the three of us will be great friends."

Perhaps Aria really does have the sight; that prediction proved to be true enough. The three of us soon became inseparable.

My first few years at Hogwarts were what you might consider normal. I did have gobs of natural talent, but I had no taste for studying, something Professor Flitwick often scolded me for.

During my second year, I fell in love for the first time. His name was Phillip Winters, and he was one year my senior. Phil was tall, blond, and handsome; with prefect teeth and a flawless complexion. It was innocent, pure love; the kind you can only have when you're that young. On Valentine's Day, I asked him to be my Valentine. He broke my jaw and knocked out three of my teeth.

While I was in the hospital waiting for my jaw to heal and my teeth to grow back, Dumbledore came to visit me. I was sure he was going to punish me; boys weren't supposed to fall in love with other boys. I was so afraid I thought I would pee my pants.

"Good evening, Mr. Flanders," the headmaster said, sitting on the edge of my bed.

"I'm sorry!" I cried. "I'll never do it again!"

He tilted his head to the side, confused, "Do what, Mr. Flanders?"

I gulped, "You know… Tell a boy that I like him…"

"There's nothing wrong with liking someone," Dumbledore said, laughing lightheartedly.

"No," I shook my head. "Not just like, but really like…"

"I know what you mean," he said, smiling at me. "You should never have to apologize for loving someone, Jeffery, even if they don't return your feelings."

"B-b-but," I stammered, bursting into tears. "It's wrong, isn't it?"

"Of course not," he said understandingly. "Love comes in all shapes and sizes. Have you always liked other boys?"

"Well, not specifically…" I said, blushing boyishly. "I like everyone about the same, really."

Dumbledore ruffled my hair, laughing, "You're a very special young man, Jeffery Flanders. From now on, I think it would be best if you be who you are."

"But what if-"

He held up his wrinkled hand, "If anyone tells you to do otherwise, you can tell them I told you that you don't have to hide anymore."

Smiling hurt my mouth, but I couldn't help myself, "Thank you, Professor. Thank you so much!"

Dumbledore had given me the one thing I had needed all my life; approval from an adult. With his words in mind, I flourished. I started wearing makeup to classes, and dresses and skirts on the weekends. I kept my hair relatively short – just above my shoulders – but I decorated it with clips and glitter. Walking in three inch heels came naturally. I gained overwhelming confidence and vanity that rivaled that of the noblest wizards.

Ashley and Aria were both quick and eager to accept me, for which I was grateful. At first, I was mocked ruthlessly by my other classmates, but I decided not to let that bother me. In fact, as time went on, I learned to make fun of myself; I think that helped people understand, somehow. By the time we reached the end of our fifth year, I was comfortable enough with myself that I decided to tell my parents.

The second the word "transvestite" slipped past my lips, they threw me out. Suddenly a homeless pansexual-transvestite, I found myself wandering the streets for several weeks before I was – by chance – found by fellow Hogwarts student Margret Cambell, who allowed me to stay at her home for a few days; during which time I contacted Ashley, who eagerly invited me to spend the rest of the summer with her.

Our sixth year started out just like every other; I boarded the train, Violet Carroll and Margret Cambell mocked Ashley, Aria, and I, and at last we arrived at school. Looking back on it now, it's still hard to believe that the carefree students of Hogwarts would soon be under attack. If you had tried to warn any one of us, I'm sure we wouldn't have believed it.

Professor Flitwick gathered all of us in the common room on Halloween – the evening Filch's beloved Mrs. Norris had been petrified – and confided in us something Professor Dumbledore had advised him not to. However, Flitwick always placed great trust his students, and elected to share with us the legend of the Chamber of Secrets. Most of the students shook it off as just superstition; it was far more likely that a student was playing a prank, – and Flitwick even admitted it – there was no real danger.

One who did take the warning very seriously was Violet Carroll. Perhaps it was because she was a muggle born, but regardless of the reason, she was never the same again. As the attacks became more and more frequent, people started taking bets on how long it would take her to completely snap. My money was on early-February.

It happened much sooner than that, – in mid-December, to be exact – and at the time, I considered myself very lucky to witness the grand event. A younger, muggle-born student had been attacked, and the whole school was terrified. None more so than Violet; she hadn't bathed for days and her hands were shaking constantly. Her hair stuck out of her pony tail in every direction, and the dark circles under her eyes proved that she hadn't been sleeping. There was a rumor going around that she was being kicked off of the Quidditch team, and I knew that her prefect status was in question (Margret Cambell made that no secret).

"Just look at her," Ashley whispered to me as we sat in the library, working on our History of Magic presentation. "She looks like she belongs in a loony bin."

"How can she write like that?" I asked. "I can hear the parchment shaking from all the way over here."

"Don't talk about her like that," Aria said somberly. "Don't you even feel just a little bad for her?"

"No," I said quickly.

"And you know you're a bitch when Jeffey can't sympathize with you," Ashley said dreamily. "He's a transvestite with a heart of gold."

I sighed, "I donno, I just can't make myself feel bad for her. She's beautiful – or at least, she used to be – but she's so… cold."

"Violet, I need to talk to you," Margret said in her most cheerful voice. As happy as the rest of us were about the tyrant's fall from grace, Margret relished in it.

"S-s-sure," Violet stuttered. It was so hard to believe that her voice used to send shivers down my spine. "What's up?

She sighed with fake sympathy, "Violet, I don't know how to tell you this, but… Well, your prefect status is being revoked."

I swear, Violet's jaw hit the floor, "W-w-what?"

"Professor Flitwick, the rest of the prefects, and I sat down and talked about it," she said, doing a terrible job of hiding her delight. "And we think, given your current… state, that this is for the best."

There's no way this was Flitwick's idea, I knew. He adores Violet. Margret must have pushed him into it.

"So please," Margret said, holding out her flawless, manicured hand. "Give me your badge. This really is for the best, Violet. You'll be much happier without the extra respons-"

"Fine," Violet snapped, ripping her badge off of her robe and shoving it into Margret's grasp. "Take it. I don't care anymore."

"Which is exactly why it has to be this way," said Margret. She ran her thin fingers over her new treasure fondly before she slipped it into her pocket. "And just a tip, you might want to work on your penmanship; how can you expect anyone to read this?"

"Wow, that was harsh," Aria whispered as we watched Margret glide gracefully out of the library. Violet went back to work, her parchment rattling more than ever.

"You know, I think I never really noticed what a bitch Margret was," Ashley said absently. "Violet was always queen bitch, and now that she's been tossed from her throne, Margret's really starting to shine."

I nodded, "She really seems to be enjoying this, huh?"

"That's why I feel so bad for her," said Aria. "Margret used to be her friend."

"She wasn't really her friend," Ashley reminded us. "They used to spend all their time trying to think of ways to beat each other. It was all just for show, on both sides."

"But I just can't feel sorry for her," I said. "After the way she's treated everyone all these years, I can't help but feel like she deserves-"

"I know you're talking about me!" Violet snarled. That was the voice that made little children cry and elderly women weep. "I'm not deaf, you know!"

Aria forced herself to smile, "Violet-"

"Oh, shut up!" she screamed. "Just shut up! I don't want your fake pity, Aria! I am so sick of you feeling sorry for me! Shut up! Shut up!"

"Miss Carroll!" the librarian gasped. "You cannot yell in the-"

"I'll yell wherever I want!" she bellowed at the poor old woman, who looked a bit terrified. "I'll yell wherever I damn well please!"

"Get out of my library!" the wrinkled old witch said, pointing towards the door. "Right now!"

Violet's face scrunched up, and I expected her to completely erupted, spilling hot, molten word-lava all over the little, poorly dressed old lady. However, all that came out was a tiny, "Fine." Violet returned to her table and started shoving her books and papers into her bag with shaking hands, not seeming to care of her parchment got wrinkled and ripped.

I gulped, finally understanding why Aria felt sorry for her. Her whole world was falling down around her. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to have to constantly worry about dying every time you turned a corner. Taking a bold step forward, I placed my hand on her shoulder, "Violet, please-"

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked, glaring at me with tear-filled eyes as she pushed me away. "Don't you ever touch me! I'll hex you if you ever touch me again!"

"Okay…" I said, watching her storm out of the library. Poor Violet…

Later that night, I awoke to the sound of whaling cries and sobs. I tried desperately to get back to sleep, but it was no use. At last, I allowed my curiosity to get the best of me, and I slipped into my fuzzy bunny slippers and snuck down to the common room.

"I'm j-just so frightened!" I heard Violet sob as I approached the bottom of the stairs. "I'm frightened Aria! I've never been this frightened in my entire life!"

"There there," Aria cooed. I watched her pull Violet into her arms, stroking her tangled, unwashed hair. Only a true mother would want to touch that. "It'll be fine. Shhh, don't cry."

"I feel so pathetic," Violet whimpered. "Every time I'm alone I start shaking and crying… What if I'm next? Oh I just can't take it! I don't want to die!"

"Shhhhh," Aria whispered. "You'll be alright, Violet dear. If being alone bothers you, I… Well, I'll just make sure you're never alone."

It was the single most touching thing I had ever seen. I felt like I would explode from overexposure to cuteness as I dove onto the sofa, wrapping my arms around the two girls, careful not to get anywhere near Violet's nasty hair. "Awwww! That's just about the sweetest thing that's ever happened!"

"Jeffery, let go!" Violet hissed, trying to wiggle free.

"No," I said, giggling. "From now on, you're my baby girl. I promise to take care of you forever and for always!"

"Wonderful," she grumbled darkly. "I think I'd be better off as monster bait."