Hooked on a Feeling

When I went down for a belated lunch later that day, the hall was blessedly empty of all but a few students. I'd seen a steady stream of students head towards the Quidditch pitch earlier that morning, so I'd known it was the perfect time to eat peacefully.

Ignoring the scattered students (five Ravenclaws all deeply engrossed in study), I grabbed a hearty helping of shepherd's pie and, flipping my log book open, began listing possible potion ideas. Cerebral capacity enhancing potions were always popular, and demand would skyrocket once the N.E.W.T.s came along this spring. I paused, tapping my quill against my chin.

N.E.W.T.s. represented the culmination of one's education, a signal that one was ready to enter the adult working world. It affected everything from job placement to lifestyle. I'd always assumed that I'd continue the same self-sabotage tactics, but now that I considered the subject more, why should I? By that time the year would almost be over, and I wouldn't need to continue my charade any longer. Besides, if I wished to appeal to future investors, I needed some way to prove that my charade had been, well, a charade and not the product of stupidity.

My eyes fell on my wand, which rested inertly beside my plate, and I stiffened automatically. Ah. That was why. Perhaps I was proud; I didn't want to admit that even if I tried I would be unable to score any higher than a D in all subjects save those that didn't rely on wandwork.

Besides, did I need stellar or even average N.E.W.T. scores to have my business succeed? True, investors would be more likely to give if they thought I was a genius, but as long as I received an O in Potions, shouldn't that be enough? I'd have to start ramping up my potions performance at some point, though - not too rapidly to draw attention, of course, but I did need to start getting grades better than T if I didn't want my O on the N.E.W.T.s to cause suspicion.

My thought trail was abruptly halted when Lucy dumped herself into the seat beside mine.

I stared at her, my potato-laden fork suspended halfway between the table and my mouth.

"Why aren't you at the Quidditch match? Isn't Hufflepuff playing?" I asked. I had no idea if Hufflepuff was playing, but I figured I had a decent chance of being right.

Lucy shrugged. "I'll catch the last half."

My brow furrowed. While my sister certainly wasn't Quidditch-crazed, she rarely missed a social event.

Well, she would tell me why she was here soon enough. I turned back to my log, adding "sleep substitute" to the growing list.

"Merlin, Willa!" she finally exclaimed.

I sighed, swallowed my last bite of my food, and turned to her. "What?" There went my chance at having a peaceful meal.

She looked at me disbelievingly. "Come on, even you can't be that oblivious! Do you really have no idea why I'm here?"

I sniffed. "I am not oblivious. If I were oblivious, do you think I could have cultivated a completely clandestine potions bus-"

She waved her hand impatiently. "Yes, yes, I didn't mean it like that. I meant, why in Merlin's beard were you and Remus Lupin huddling in the library together?"

I blinked. "Who?"

She stared. I stared. Really, we were the epitome of ideal familial communication.

"Remus Lupin. The Gryffindor," she said flatly.

"Oh," I said, turning back to my log book. Perhaps I ought to expand my line of calming draughts; I could think of at least one person in dire need of one. I glanced at my sister again. Her pale eyes were almost feverish with excitement. Yup. I should definitely expand my line. I made the note, humming softly as I began listing the ingredients I would require.

Lucy groaned. "Oh? Willa, Remus Lupin, besides being bloody beautiful, is one fourth of the most outwardly Gryffindor bunch in the school. Everyone knows who he-"

She paused, fixing me with an intent look. "Were you trying to recruit him for your business?"

I shook my head. "No, he seems like the moral type. He'd turn me in."

She nodded, pursing her lips. "True, but he does seem to allow his mates to get away with everything," she mused.

"Lucy, don't you have a Quidditch game to get to?" I said bluntly.

She pouted. "Fine, fine, I can take a hint," she said, getting to her feet.

I watched her flounce away, shaking my head when she paused to smile flirtatiously at one of the Ravenclaws.

When she'd left the Great Hall, I grabbed my log book and approached the same Ravenclaw, casually seating myself beside his heavy tomes.

"Chang," I greeted quietly.

The seventh year, without glancing over, slid a frosted glass canister across the table. I slipped it smoothly into my pocket.

"There are two there, but unfortunately the supply will have to be stopped for the next month or so. Kettleburn's becoming suspicious," he muttered, still staring intently at his Transfiguration text.

I frowned. "Noted," I said finally.

He peered at me from behind wire-rimmed glasses. "I also looked into the collapsible pellets," he whispered.

I perked up. Tired of carrying bulky glass vials around, I'd asked Jasper to look into easily transportable microcontainers that disintegrated upon abrupt impact. Besides being my main contact in Ravenclaw, Jasper Chang earned the highest marks in Transfiguration and had a keen mind - if anyone could engineer a new potion delivery system, it was him.

"And?" I prompted.

"I've created a prototype, but it's hard to find that crucial balance of making them durable enough to withstand accidental jostling yet sensitive enough to burst open upon impact. I considered tying them to one's magical signature - that way they'll burst with a surge of magical activity - but that was too unpredictable. I accidentally destroyed the whole lot in my sleep - bad nightmare," he whispered, his dark, hooded eyes assuming a haunted expression.

Speaking of nightmares - I reached into my pocket and slipped him six vials of Dreamless Sleep.

"Six? You only owe me five."

I nodded. "You deserve the extra one; thanks for all your work."

He flashed a grateful smile, pocketing the vials quickly. "It's a fascinating challenge, really. I'm going to owl my father - he's a Muggle bioengineer, but the methods of thinking are similar - to see if he has any ideas," he continued.

"Great," I said, stepping away from the Ravenclaw table. "Let me know if there are any further developments."

I exited the dining hall and headed directly towards my laboratory. I had three batches of Essence of Aphrodite to prepare for the Gryffindor, and the frozen Ashwinder eggs Jasper had given me would thaw quickly if I didn't store them soon.

I entered the Room of Requirement and, gazing happily at the rows of bubbling cauldrons, immersed myself in the comforting world of Potions.

xxxxx

I encountered the Head Girl much in the same manner that I had encountered the Head Boy in. In other word, I crashed right into her. Merlin, I was suffering more clumsy mishaps than ever before. This time, though, the fall wasn't my fault - not that it made my arse any less sore.

Head Girl had blustered out of the library's double doors just as I was entering them. Head Girl fell down, I fell down, much outraged yelling was to be had (from her, of course; my yelling was internal). I scowled down at our tangled limbs, more annoyed than anything.

Head Girl was the redhead Slughorn was so boastful of, and she was admittedly not undeserving of his praise; in fact, she took one whiff of my bat spleen-stained robes (an essential ingredient in Babbling Beverage, one of the potions I was studying for my line of joke products) and said through a mouthful of my robes, "Baw-shpeen? Wha' oo 'oing with tha'?"

Her words were, of course, muffled by my robes, and I pretended not to understand her question. Instead, I tried to think of a way to untangle myself. Her long, wavy red hair was caught in the metal clasp of my messenger bag, and my wand was somewhere among her spilled books. Besides that, my knee ached horribly where I'd banged it against her nose, although it seemed as if she'd gotten the worse end of the stick there - already her nose was starting to swell angrily.

I had a potion that could fix that easily, but something told me she, like the Lupin bloke, wouldn't entirely approve of my business (or the source of most of my ingredients). Speaking of potions - I had a glass vial of modified Babbling Beverage in my pocket. I'd altered the formula to be, like most of my potions, activated instantly upon contact with a human being. If that vial broke on my body...

I shifted carefully, wincing as my knee protested with a loud creak, just as the library's doors swung open once more, revealing (who else?) Head Boy and his merry squad.

If my face were more expressive, it would be displaying an almost-comical expression of outrage. As it was, I was famed for my indomitable "poker face," and all Head Boy saw was a sullen Slytherin accosting his precious Head Girl.

In other words, I soon found myself (again) at the end of his wand.

"STOP MOLESTING MY LILY!" he bellowed, and the dark-haired bloke beside him whipped out his wand as well. Brilliant.

Head Girl muttered something from underneath my cloak that sounded suspiciously like "Sod off, Potter, I'm not your Head Girl." Head Boy pretended not to understand. Ah, well, at least we had that in common - not that it endeared him to me. At all.

The short one was staring eagerly at us, his beady eyes gleaming as he drank in our intertwined position. Creep.

I wondered distantly where the other one - Lupin - was. He seemed the most sensible of the lot, and this situation would benefit from at least one more level-headed person.

I tried to remove myself from Lily's stomach once more, but the sudden, white-hot pain sparking from my knee stopped all movement. At least the movement shifted my robe from Head Girl's face, as she sucked in a grateful breath before snapping, "Levitate her off, you dolt!"

Head Boy blinked sheepishly. "I was going to do that, Lily darling," he said.

Seeing her glare, he hurriedly waved his wand at me, levitating me roughly off of Head Girl. I wheezed at the sudden movement, seeing stars, and let out a strangled yell when he deposited me none-too-gently on the hard stone floor. I heard a crisp tinkle as the glass vial broke in my pocket, the shards piercing into my side, and had a moment to think blearily that, well, at least it hadn't been anything lethal.

The library door opened once more, revealing an exasperated-looking Lupin ("What is going on?"), just as the potion gripped my tongue with a mighty wrench.

Right. This should be fun.

"I HAVE CHEER YES I DO. I HAVE CHEER WHAT 'BOUT YOU?" I bellowed from my curled position on the floor, cursing myself for having made the potion so powerful. Maybe I shouldn't have added that extra ounce of bat spleen - this much power was far too much for anyone to handle.

"What's wrong with her?" I heard Dark and Hostile mutter as he lowered his wand slightly, his lips curling into a sharp smile.

"WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE. A YELLOW SUBMARINE. SUBMARINE SANDWICHES ARE A DISGRACE TO HUMANITY."

Fuck. If I kept spouting Muggle references from my childhood, they were bound to catch on at some point. I could only hope that they were all Purebloods and thus wouldn't get any of the references.

Head Girl, who had managed to pull herself up (while thoroughly ignoring Head Boy's offered hand), stared at me in abject horror.

"CH-CH-CH-CH-CH-CH-CHEERRRYYY BOMB!"

Fuck.

"Dear Merlin," she whispered, recognition dawning on her bright green eyes. "She's Muggleborn?"

Fuck. That wasn't even true - at least not completely. I was technically a Half-Blood, but my mother's Squib status made my heritage even more questionable. Still, if they thought that I was muggleborn, everyone would soon know, which meant the Slytherins wouldn't be able to continue ignoring my less-than-stellar heritage.

I threw a panicked glance at the Merry Four, but luckily they didn't seem to have heard Head Girl.

I tried forcing my mouth to spout benignly magical references, but for some reason the Babbling Beverage had unleashed a torrent of late 60's to 70's lyrics that could not be stopped.

"KEEP YOUR 'LECTRIC EYE ON MEEE BABEEE. PUT YOUR RAY GUN TO MY HEADDDDD!"

Dark and Hostile let out a short, barking laugh. "She's mental!"

I felt my cheeks burn, and, to my utter horror, felt tears burning in my eyes. Merlin. I was not going to cry in front of the Gryffindor cheer squad. I tried hoisting myself up - if I couldn't stop the traitorous fountain that was my mouth, at least I could remove myself from the situation - but faltered when the combination of glass shards in the side and throbbing knee sent angry signals to my brain.

"I'M HOOKED ON A-"

I had to go. I had to go. My life - my business - was in danger. I had to go.

I heaved myself upwards, weaving unsteadily, and braced myself against the wall.

"A FEELING!" To my horror, my blasted eyes began leaking tears, making my surroundings even more bleary than they already were. Bollocks.

"I'm taking her to the Infirmary!" I heard someone shout, but the sound was muted and sounded like it was coming through a distant tunnel.

"COME AND GET YOUR LOVEEE!" I managed, my throat hoarse, before slumping, unconscious, into someone's arms.