XV. FIGHT CLUB
After I read Harry's mind(-shit, after I fell so deeply and so uncontrollably into his head I almost drowned myself)as he was looking in the Mirror of Erised, and my subsequent breakdown(that I refused to talk about-after a while, Harry got the message and reluctantly dropped it), it became even harder to deny what I could do and I could feel myself cracking. It was also harder to block it out, something I did subconsciously for as long as I was ignoring it, and it was like I was going through a kind of sensory overload. And after what I told Harry in the mirror room, I had to work twice as hard to hide my feelings and act like my usual sarcastic self-because I knew, from now on, he'd look closer than anybody.
The students excitedly flooding Hogwarts castle for the new term both made it worse and gave me things like classes to distract myself with.
I could tell Harry noticed something a bit off about me, but he left it alone-probably assuming I'd come to him if it was anything serious.
Like hearing voices, seeing things, and my mind, more or less, feeling like it's unravelling from the inside out-you know, anything like that.
I know it's bad, and that I need to do something or tell someone before I completely lose it, but I can barely admit it to myself, let alone anybody else.
Thinking you might be able to read minds, in the magical world or not, doesn't seem okay.
It doesn't seem-
Normal.
Anyway, in Harry's defence, he's had a lot on his mind.
Ever since our talk with Dumbledore, he's been having nightmares-dreaming over and over again about our parents vanishing in a flash of green light as a high voice cackled.
"You see, Dumbledore was right," Ron said when Harry told us about his nightmares, "that mirror could drive you mad."
I just went really quiet.
While I haven't been having nightmares, I have been pretty screwed up emotionally. Seeing my mirror self, and what happened with Harry, really messed with my head(the only good thing that came from it all is that-after seeing myself in his head, what I confessed about my reflection in the mirror and how I feel, and him comforting me as I broke down-Harry and I have been feeling kind of closer; I've also been feeling strangely more in sync with him ever since I left his head).
At least Pansy Daphne and Tracey are back-the girls looking startled when I practically tackled them in the Entrance Hall, thanked them for my Christmas presents, and made them promise to never leave me alone in our depressing, empty dorm ever again.
I played it off like I was being melodramatic, and I was just bored, but I honestly missed them.
When Malfoy sauntered over with Crabbe and Goyle and made a snide comment about his new bedtime companion, Hugsy bunny, I could've kis-hugged him. To his bewilderment, I sat next to him at dinner and spent the entire meal goading him into insulting me.
"Okay, Potter, what's wrong with you?" he finally demanded.
"Nothing more so than usual," I quipped wryly.
"Then why are you sitting with me and not Greengrass Parkinson and Davis?" he countered. "Or even Potter Granger and Weasley?"
"Oh, sorry, I didn't realise there was a seating chart," I shot back sassily, green eyes brightening noticeably. "What does it matter if I want to sit here or not? What, do you own this spot now? Since when were you the king of where people sit?"
Looking at me like I'd gone mental(...more so than usual), Malfoy moved to retort-when understanding and disbelief crashed over him and he stopped short.
"Wait...are you-enjoying this?"
Something flashed across his grey eyes, too quickly to name.
"No-I don't know-" I snapped uncomfortably, "-shut up-"
Malfoy quirked an eyebrow, gazing at me consideringly.
For a second, I could've sworn he was happy about his realisation that I enjoy bickering with him, but brushed it off as his usual smugness.
"If you're this desperate for intelligent conversation," he remarked, "Potter and Weasley must've bored you out of your mind."
"You have no idea," I muttered unthinkingly. "Do all Gryffindors go about trying to get themselves killed with their stupidity, or is it just the Gryffindors I know?"
To both of our surprises, Malfoy let out a sudden snort of laughter.
"I think it's all Gryffindors," he said, looking at me in appreciation. "But mostly Potter and Weasley."
I huffed quietly, unable to argue with that.
"I don't know what everyone's on about; Slytherin's the only sane house in this place. I mean sure, we have a bit of a dark reputation, but I like that! We're driven, devious, self-reliant badasses! And at least we don't run about jumping blindly into stupid situations like arrogant morons...unless we have a good reason-" I sheepishly thought back to the Trudy incident(not that I could call my brief lapse in self-preservation a remotely 'good reason'), "or step over each other for good marks-and I'm pretty sure the Hufflepuffs are all secretly sociopaths, ruled by good old U.S.'Southern hospitality'...or high-no one is that nice-"
(all seriousness though, Hufflepuffs aren't "weak" or just "the nice ones"-they uphold loyalty, open-mindedness, hard work, and seemingly neverending patience-and, with Helga Hufflepuff preaching "acceptance and kindness" all over the place, she would be open to teaching anyone who wanted to learn, so they're also the ones who don't conform to the other houses ideals which, really, make them the "heavily underestimated/overlooked wild cards"...which is why I genuinely think half of them are serial killers-
Ravenclaws are a mix of academics, which is a pressure cooker all its own I did not want to dive in willingly, and creative butterflies-
And Gryffindors are both the brave, brash, bold heroes...and the glory-seeking, reckless, conceited assholes-
And Slytherins might be known to be elitist and underhanded, but we're also strategic/cunning, clever, determined, adaptable, resourceful, natural leaders, confident, shrewd, admittedly pragmatic, determined, ambitious/driven/goal-orientated, and we protect our own/otherwise known as, loyalty-and you can't deny we get shit done and, unlike Gryffindors, we don't get caught; and let's not even go into the rest of the schools screwed up holier-than-thou attitude towards my house-which makes them any better than they think we are how exactly?, the toxic stereotypes, or how we force each other into boxes we were placed in at age eleven, as if that really says anything about us as people beyond a handful of our childhood character traits and what our pre-teen selves found important-
Also, "all the evil people come from Slytherin?" Ha, sure-more like the rest of the houses have dickheads in them, who go on to do shitty things, but unlike them we Slytherins go evil with flair-and we always aim for the top).
Malfoy blinked in surprise before smirking approvingly.
"I did try to tell you, Potter," he said smugly. "Slytherins the best house."
"Don't push it, dingbat."
As the Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw match approached, Quidditch practices started up again with a vengeance, which was a very welcome distraction(and hitting Bludgers is a fantastic way to vent your emotions, and I had a lot to vent)-and gave me the opportunity to try out my new bat.
It was also the perfect out when it came to the search for Nicolas Flamel(although, the others had almost lost hope, which gave me mixed feelings).
Once again, we were back to grabbing ten minutes here and there in the library during our breaks and trying not to piss off Madam Pince and get booted out on our asses.
Hermione was disappointed we hadn't found Flamel over the break, but more horrified that we'd been sneaking around after hours playing with cursed mirrors("If Filch had caught you!")-especially with Harry, who had snuck out three nights in a row and dragged me along for two.
When I wasn't in class, or pretending to be diligently searching for Flamel(but, instead, internally struggling and dancing on the edge of a nervous breakdown), I was being put through hours of gruelling Quidditch practise(which, in my current state of mind, I really needed; bashing Bludgers until some of the pressure on my chest was relieved)in the pouring rain by Flint-who, in a lot of ways, is as bad as Oliver Wood(and, according to Harry and the twins, Wood's flat out obsessed). After practice, I just wander into the common room, dripping with rainwater and mud and bruised from head to toe, and flop onto the nearest sofa face first.
More often than not, I'm asleep before my head hits the armrest.
Everyone's too used to it to even notice anymore.
On the upside, my mood took a slight upswing when we crushed Ravenclaw in our match(I even slyly hit Walsh in the head with a Bludger and made it look like it was the Ravenclaw Beaters-with a little help from Lee Jordan, who was happy to toss his 'commentator integrity' out the window to help me get revenge on the prick that gives me hell during every single practice we have together).
Some older students even threw a party after in the common room, it was great.
And definitely a dangerous ego boost.
January blended into February and, soon enough, the Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff match was fast approaching.
Sitting in the library one afternoon, alone for once, I found myself flipping through books on wizarding afflictions and ailments-skimming through several chapters in one on strange maladies before realising this book, like all the others, wouldn't be of any help.
After the mirror room, where I may or may not have read Harry's mind, I decided that, if I wasn't going to ask for help, then I'd have to figure this thing out on my own-for my own mental health/wellbeing(and so, if I did accidentally delve that deeply/uncontrollably into somebody's head again, I wouldn't lose myself like I did in Harry's, which was terrifying). With Flamel research, classes, and Quidditch it's almost impossible for me to get time alone in the library without Harry Ron and Hermione appearing out of thin air-but, whenever I can get it, I flip through wizarding Healer Books in the hopes that this is a minor thing I can somehow fix.
A month and a half later, mind-reading is seeming more and more like the only logical option-which I'm still too stubborn to admit or face just yet.
It's Occam's razor; the simplest explanation is usually the best one.
If only the simplest explanation wasn't 'mind-reading'.
Slamming the bookshut, I dropped my head on the table in front of me in barely bridled frustration, muttering to myself.
I needed to figure this out, somehow-the mirror room just proved that, as much as I'd rather snuggle up in denial forever, I can't keep going like this. This isn't just about my insanity anymore, it's a massive invasion of privacy. Hearing people's unguarded, genuine, vulnerable thoughts...it's like I'm reading their diaries. At least I only seem to be touching on surface thoughts and, after Christmas, I was determined not to go any further than that-unintentionally or otherwise.
Or maybe I'm not mind-reading at all, I considered almost positively, maybe I'm just suffering a nice normal psychotic break?
I mean, I don't feel psychotic, but I hardly think psychotic people notice they're psychotic until a medical professional tells them they are. Or maybe they do, I don't know, I don't think I've ever been psychotic before. Then again, I haven't done anything particularly psychotic lately-unless you consider using the Invisibility Cloak to trip Malfoy on his way to class last week psychotic-
"-An In-depth Guide To Strange Magical Maladies?"
I jumped violently and whipped around, my hands latching onto the back of my chair to keep myself upright(and stop it from tilting sideways).
Malfoy let out a snigger at my reaction.
He straightened up, having been peering over my shoulder.
Surprisingly, his bodyguards weren't with him.
"What are you doing here?" I blurted rudely.
"Sorry, I didn't realise I needed your permission to enter the school library," he said sarcastically.
"Well, now you know," I shot back wryly, "now go away."
"See, I would..." he trailed mockingly, "but I can see me being here annoys you, so..."
I rolled my eyes hugely, pulling a face.
"You're such a pest," I huffed. "Where's the Malfoy repellent when you need it?"
"Someplace far away," Malfoy drawled, "next to the Potter repellent."
"So it's just your face?" I quipped instantly.
"I said far away," he said flatly. "I'm literally right in front of you."
"Oh," I said with feigned innocence, unable to help myself, "is it near Ron?"
Malfoy snorted loudly at that.
"But then again," I added cheekily, "he and Harry are practically joined at the hip. You think, if I asked, they'd name their first kid after me?"
"I think it's ridiculous your parents named you Jewel in the first place," he stated.
"I think it's ridiculous my dad gave me the same initials as him, J.P," I said matter-of-factly, "and named Harry, Harry James. I also think it's ridiculous that my full initials spell J.E.P like 'jep'. What does 'jep' even mean? And when I spell it out it sounds like jeep. Who the hell am I, Daphne from Scooby-Doo?"
"-Who?" Malfoy asked oddly.
"Jeepers!" I quipped with a joking look of shock.
Malfoy looked confused.
I need to go find myself some Muggleborns, none of these prats get my jokes.
"And I would have gotten away with it too," I added under my breath, "if it weren't for you meddling Purebloods."
"What?"
"Nothing," I said quickly.
Malfoy rose his eyebrows but dropped it.
"Seriously, though," he said, "what are you doing reading a book on strange maladies? Plan on taking over Pomfrey's job after Hogwarts? I can't say much about your bedside manner, but-"
"Oi! My bedside manner is spectacular," I interrupted, weirdly a bit offended.
"And I'm a hippogriff," Malfoy snorted.
"If you're a hippogriff," I was quick to snarkily retort, "then I'm a 400 ft tall purple platypus bear with pink horns and silver wings."
Malfoy shot me a 'so, you were saying?' look, like I'd just proved his point.
"I'm a joy!" I insisted only to pout at the deadpan expression on his face.
"You saw me in here, and basically told me to piss off immediately," he stated.
"Yeah, well, you're a prat," I reasoned with a shrug.
"And you'd be a rubbish healer," he said.
"I'd be a great healer-"
"You have the attention span of a toddler on a sugar rush," he rattled off in a flash, "you don't even really like people all that much, you're rude, selectively tactless, you can't keep your mouth shut, you swear a lot,you'd probably offend every single patient that walked through the door, and you'd be bored out of your mind staying in the hospital wing healing students' injuries and putting up with sniffly first years all day-I can literally see you telling them all to 'suck it up'-or bashing your head against a wall just to put yourself out of your misery-"
"...shut up," I grumbled, my pout having grown deeper as he spoke.
Malfoy smirked.
"Whatever, I don't even want to be a stupid healer," I said petulantly.
"Then why are you reading so many books on healing?" he countered, looking pointedly at the stack of books on the table in front of me, all with similar titles.
I faltered so briefly it was barely noticeable, but his eyes still narrowed.
"I like reading," I said, my face carefully neutral/bland. "And I haven't gotten into healing magic yet-and, with Quidditch practice," I added wryly, "I bloody well need it. Do you know just how much I've been to the hospital wing this year? Pomfrey and I are on a first-name basis."
"You're lying," Malfoy finally stated.
I looked up at him, startled.
"Excuse me? I'll have you know, I love reading-and Poppy and I, despite my bedside manner, happen to get along swimmingly-"
"Not about loving reading," Malfoy interrupted, eyes sharp, "or Pomfrey-I don't doubt the two of you are on a first-name basis-every time you leave Quidditch practice, you look like you've lost a fight to a wily garden gnome-or you've just come from a fight club, which is something I can see you being into with the way you hit Bludgers-" he added under his breath, "but you are lying about why you're reading so many healing books."
I opened and shut my mouth several times.
-well, shit.
"Uhhh, I-excuse-what makes you th-"
Seeing my composure drop, Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"You aren't as good a liar as you seem to think you are, Potter," he deadpanned. "Your friends are just idiots."
A sudden scowl eclipsed my dumbfounded expression.
"They are not-Hermione-"
"-hasn't noticed how weird you've been acting since the break," he interjected. "Even more than usual-and that's saying something," he added with a snort. "And the fact that you went straight for Granger, and had no one to follow up with, kind of proves my point for me, so thanks."
Turning fully in my seat, I crossed my arms over the back of the chair.
"Says the boy who slicks back his hair," I scoffed.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Malfoy demanded a bit defensively.
"It irks me," I stated exaggeratedly, staring at his hair intently and feeling my fingers itch with the urge to mess it up and watch it stick up at odd angles.
"'It irks you?'" he repeated.
"It's too neat," I said distractedly, "and all-gelled and stuff. It isn't natural."
"This coming from a girl who looks like she was dragged backwards through a bush," Malfoy retorted. "Do you even own a hairbrush?" he added snidely.
I ran my fingers through my untidy red hair with a tongue-in-teeth grin.
"It's my mane," I informed him smugly.
"It's a hazard," Malfoy deadpanned.
"How on earth is my hair a hazard?" I laughed in disbelief.
"I'm pretty sure it's literally on fire," he said, squinting at my head.
"At least my hair isn't so white it's blinding," I snorted.
Malfoy moved to retort only to stop short when he realised how skillfully, and unintentionally, I'd completely derailed his attempted interrogation.
"Quit distracting me-" he bit out in frustration.
"But you make it so easy," I said mockingly.
Malfoy just looked at me steadily, stubbornly refusing to take the bait and snipe back.
"Why are you being weird?" he questioned sharply, "and why are you all of a sudden reading all of the healing books in the library? And why are you being so evasive? And why-"
"-why is it called tourist season if we can't shoot at them?" I rattled off sarcastically, cutting him off, "If a turtle loses its shell, is it homeless or naked? Do you need a silencer if you're going to shoot a mime? Why do doctors call what they do 'practice'?-What's with the third degree, Malfoy?"
"-What?" Malfoy said blankly.
"And what do you mean, 'why am I being weird?'" I added. "According to you, I'm always weird."
"Weirder than usual," the blonde corrected shortly.
"How would you know what's 'usual' for me?" I shot back. "Maybe I've just been warming up the past couple of months-for all you know, I'm being mellower than usual."
"...I sincerely hope not," he deadpanned.
"Hope is for idiots," I said pessimistically. "And it breeds eternal misery."
"That's nice," Malfoy replied sarcastically. "When your future career as a healer falls through, you should write greeting cards."
"I just might," I wryly agreed with a snort.
"Seriously though Potter, what are you hiding?" he pressed, grey eyes once again narrowing piercingly. "I'll figure it out eventually," he added surely, "so you might as well get it out with."
My eyebrows shot up in disbelief.
"Really?" I deadpanned. "'I'll figure it out, so just tell me'-that's what you're going with? That seems foolproof," I snorted sarcastically. "Do you seriously think I'm dumb enough to fall for that?"
"I know you aren't dumb, Potter," Malfoy said with an eye-roll, "but, eventually, I will find out what's wrong-more wrong," he corrected, "with you than usual."
I stared at him stupidly, taken aback.
"Wait-did you, in your own weird backhanded Malfoy way, just call me smart?"
Malfoy looked at me in disbelief.
"That's your only takeaway?"
"Occupational hazard," I quipped.
He rolled his eyes hugely.
"Look, you've been..." he grimaced in thought, "weird. I've seen how you get when it comes to Quidditch but, lately, you've been pushing yourself past the point of exhaustion and passing out in the common room-and not because you were reading by the fire, because you were so dead on your feet you couldn't possibly make it upstairs. You've been doing your homework-and jumping from distraction to distraction like, if you stop to think for a second, the castle will collapse."
"Wow, Malfoy-you almost sound worried," I taunted tensely in an attempt to cover up how on edge I suddenly felt, my stomach clenching-
Not to mention caught off guard at the realisation that Malfoy, of all people, had been paying that close attention and noticed how bad off I'd been ever since the mirror room where no one else had, not really(Harry's half-distracted with his own stuff and everybody else's just writing my semi-erratic behaviour off as 'Jewel being Jewel' without bothering to look any further).
"And maybe, for me, if I think the castle really will collapse," I added darkly before he could retort. "Maybe, the whole world will. Maybe not thinking is the only way I'm coping right now and, if I let myself rest for too long, I feel like I'm losing my bloody mind."
Malfoy was silent for a long moment as he stared at me, a look of surprise, uncertainty, and undeniable curiosity flaring in his pale grey eyes.
"I thought some moron just pissed you off," he admitted slowly, "like when Flint wouldn't let you try out...but this is different, isn't it?"
I just stared hard at my folded arms, jaw tightening.
"What's going on with you?" he asked seriously after a minute or two.
Then, seeing the look on my face...
"Wait, you do know what's wrong, don't you?" he said.
When I wavered, realisation and disbelief flashed across his face.
"How can you not know?" he demanded.
"Maybe I don't want to know!" I abruptly flung back in retaliation to the overwhelming pressure on my chest, green eyes flashing. "Maybe the only thing it could be is insane! Maybe-maybe I don't want to be any more of a freak than I already am!"
My sudden burst of anger vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Malfoy looked slightly speechless.
Looking away, I pulled my arms up to cross them properly and frowned deeply.
"If you ask me," he said slowly, breaking the tense, and loud, silence that had settled between us after my mini-outburst, "not knowing sounds like it would just drive you crazier-at least if you know, you can do something about it. Whatever it is."
Slightly frazzled and conflicted, I stayed silent.
"You aren't a freak, you know," he added quietly after a pause, throwing me for a loop. "You're weird, and annoying, and sarcastic, and you don't know when to shut up, and you drive me crazy-"
"Wow, thanks," I snorted sarcastically, "do you write poems? I can see them now-'how do I love thee? Let me count the ways; you're ugly, you smell bad, you're shallow, you annoy the shit out of me...okay, so maybe I don't love you all that much-'"
"The point is," he said sharply, "you aren't a freak. So-stop wallowing in the library reading healing books, Slytherin house has a reputation to maintain. You're being pathetic."
"Is this your idea of tough love, or are you just an asshole?" I quipped.
Despite that, I felt almost relaxed and, shockingly, just a tiny bit better.
"Whatever, Potter," he rolled his eyes. "Enjoy being crazy."
"Enjoy being a prick," I retorted lightly.
With an eye-roll, Malfoy left, not even bothering to press me anymore knowing he wouldn't get anything else out of me(and mulling over what he had, which was more than either of us expected).
After he was gone, I leant back in my seat, frowning pensively at the cover of An In-depth Guide To Strange Magical Maladies for the longest time.
"...Dammit, the prick's right," I swore silently, running my fingers roughly through my messy red hair and setting my jaw. "I have to know."
Standing abruptly, I turned on my heel and strode determinedly through the aisles with my jaw set grimly, knowing all too well exactly where I had to go after avoiding it for months. It didn't take me long to find several books that looked promising, pulling them from the shelf and settling down on the floor.
I cracked the first book open and started skimming pages.
Twenty minutes later, the cold hard truth was staring me almost mockingly in the face:
Nicolas Flamel is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone.
꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ
So, I don't have a mental illness...why I was rooting for that over mind-reading, I don't know, but it probably says a lot about me as a person...
I hate to admit it, but Malfoy was right.
Yecch, that feels wrong.
Finally staring the harsh tangible proof of what I can do/had been doing in the face, while sending me reeling, was honestly a relief after weeks of tirelessly searching library books on magical illnesses for the root of this thing going on in my head-that can't seem to stay out of other people's.
Not knowing really was driving me crazier.
It was better to crush the hope that this is just some kind of mad wizarding cold with the heel of my boot so I could move on, find some way to accept/deal with this, and figure out what this even really is-because there has to be a name, or a reason, for it in the wizarding world.
The Sorting Hat's words, drifting back and finally making sense, just corroborated that.
"You have a rare, and potent, developing natural ability, one that you, for one reason or another, are too scared to face-and are yet to fully understand or admit..."
So it's a natural, and developing(which makes sense; it had been different for a while now), ability-and potent, which made me feel weirdly smug(I mean, if I'm gonna have this insane thing going on in my head, it better damn well be 'potent', you know?).
Judging by that, it has to be something known to wizards.
I'd ask someone(I tried to research telepaths in the school library, but I couldn't find anything on the subject and, from what I understand about telepathy from-well, comic books, what I can do feels different; I don't get these structured sentences beamed conveniently into my brain, it's more like I can just tell what people are thinking and feeling; impressions, flashes of feelings, and sometimes mental pictures, but it isn't all neatly spelt out for me-it's more like frustrating, confusing, cryptic hit-or-miss guesswork clairvoyance)but I'd barely admitted it to myself, saying it out loud felt too...big.
But the fact that I was admitting it took a huge crushing weight off my chest, which was a start, and I was slowly working on accepting it.
When I eventually find the cause, that might be a bit easier.
I debated whether or not to tell Harry Ron and Hermione that I'd found Nicolas Flamel(and knew what Fluffy was guarding)for a few reasons-one being that they'd immediately pin it on my Head of House, another being that I think we're all better off not knowing and butting the hell out of it(I have a feeling if they know, I'll end up being dragged into another batshit crazy stupid situation like Trudy the troll-and Fluffy-and the Mirror of Erised-)...but, finally, decided to get it over with.
After 'helping' so much the past few months, I figured I owed them one.
It helped that Neville cheered me up earlier that afternoon.
Apparently lurking around the library again, Malfoy had cornered him, said he'd been looking for someone to "practise on", and left him trapped under a Leg-Locker Curse(it basically just binds the legs of its victim together). I found him hopping comically/clumsily down the corridor-and, with a shrug, started to bunny hop down the hall with the bewildered Gryffindor.
The looks on the faces of the people we passed were amazing.
Then we got to a staircase and, after watching Neville almost kill himself as he hopped/flopped from step to step(he was desperately trying to get to Gryffindor Tower, and help), I got bored-
So, I pulled out my wand and casually undid the curse.
"You couldn't have done that three corridors ago?" Neville blurted in disbelief.
"What can I say?" I drawled playfully, twirling my wand, "I'm a rascal."
That night, I had the thick tomb I found Flamel in under my arm as I waited in the Entrance Hall to corner Harry Ron and Hermione to stop the madness.
Not having to search the library for Flamel anymore weighed fairly heavily on my decision.
Not thinking it was safe to talk about this out in the open, the second they made their way down the marble staircase, I pounced-dragging them off to the empty chamber across the hall, which is becoming a bit of a bad habit(well, I dragged Harry-Ron hastily followed, and Hermione was on his heels).
"Jewel, what-?"
Letting Harry go, I slammed the door shut behind Ron and Hermione.
They stared at me strangely.
Grabbing the book from under my arm, I flipped it open, tucking my dark green and gold Holyhead Harpies bookmark behind my ear(it's a professional all-girls Quidditch team that plays in the British and Irish League)and looking for the right passage.
I cleared my throat.
"'The ancient study of alchemy,'" I theatrically read aloud, "'is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal'."
When I looked up with a dramatic pause, it was to find Harry and Ron staring at me blankly while slow realisation and a mix of shock, disbelief, and sudden hope washed over Hermione.
"A magic stone, that's cool-" Ron said impatiently, "but couldn't you of told us all this at dinner?"
"You didn't," Hermione breathed.
When I started to grin, she covered her mouth in an attempt to contain her excitement.
"She didn't what?" Harry interjected.
"I can't believe you found it!" Hermione squealed.
"Found what?" Ron wondered.
When we ignored them, they shared a confused and slightly annoyed look.
"Where was it?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"Where was what?" Harry pressed.
"The library," I answered cheekily.
"Oh, I can't believe this!" Hermione beamed.
"Would one of you start making sense?" Ron moaned. "I'm hungry!"
I shared a look with Hermione, smirked slyly, and hefted up the book again.
"'There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel-'"
Ron and Harry jolted, their eyes going comically wide.
"'-the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle(six hundred and fifty-eight)'."
"You found Flamel too?" Harry exclaimed.
"Should I be insulted by how shocked you sound?" I wondered dryly.
Then, I paused.
"Wait, too?"
"Here-"
Harry hastily dug through his pocket and held out a Chocolate Frog Card.
To my surprise, it was Dumbledore's.
"What does Dumbledore enjoying ten-pin bowling have to do with-?"
"No, above that-"
"-ten-pin bowling...chamber music...Nic-" seeing what he was getting at, my eyes widened, "and his work in alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel."
"Neville came into the common room earlier," Harry said quickly, "saying that Malfoy cursed him-" the look he shot me said he'd mentioned my involvement in his impromptu game of hopscotch, too, "and I gave him a Chocolate Frog to cheer him up-he gave me the card, and I read the back, and-"
"-you found Nicolas Flamel," I realised. "No wonder it sounded familiar-we read Dumbledore's card on the bloody train back in September!"
"But we hadn't had a chance to look in the library for him," Harry added. "Now, thanks to you, we know what Fluffy's guarding. The Philosopher's Stone."
He looked so proud of me that I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt.
"Yeah, thanks to me," I mumbled under my breath.
"I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him," Hermione figured, "because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"
"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" Harry said. "No wonder Snape's after it!" I pursed my lips, but they didn't notice. "Anyone would want it."
"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," Ron added. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"
Harry Ron and Hermione seemed satisfied now that they knew what Fluffy was guarding on the third-floor and who Nicolas Flamel is.
I wondered wryly how long that would last.
If I get thrown into another wall by a troll, I'll rebel.
And, as if they weren't set against Snape enough, that same day they'd apparently found out that he was going to referee Harry's upcoming match. Despite thinking he's trying to murder him-and steal a powerful and priceless magical artefact, Harry seemed more worried that he'd ruin Gryffindors chances then, you know, try to off him(Hermione suggested that he pretend to break his leg, and Ron that he really break it, but, in the end, Harry decided to play because he didn't want the Slytherins to think he's afraid of Snape-and he wanted to wipe the smiles off their faces if they win, a comment that earnt him a slightly too hard to be playful punch on the shoulder from me)-not that Snape was the one to curse his Nimbus in the first place.
And besides, even if he did jinx the Scotch tape Killer(which he didn't), Snape wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything this time around.
Once is a 'freak accident'.
Twice and everyone knows someone's trying to do the Boy Who Lived in.
Snape's the bloomin' King of the Slytherins-and us Slytherins aren't known for being stupid, we're known for being crafty motherforker's.
I was almost insulted on Snape's behalf when Hermione and Ron started to furiously(and secretly-I don't even think Harry knew)practice the Leg-Locker Curse to use on Snape if he "tried anything".
-there is so much wrong with that plan, it hurts my brain.
"He won't try anything," I told them with a hint of indignation. "Not in front of all those witnesses, and not when he's the bloody referee. And after the last match, and with all those eyes on him, he'd have a job making it look like an accident. People would wonder. Nah, if he wanted to do Harry in, he'd probably slip something in his breakfast. There's loads of poisons that are undetectable-and can make it look natural. He's a potions teacher, he'd know."
"-You have to know how that sounded," Ron said seriously.
"What, so now I'm trying to kill Harry?" I demanded in a dangerous voice. "What, because I'm a Slytherin?"
"Well-yeah!" he shot back. "I mean, can you blame me? You literally sound like you're plotting his murder-and you keep defending Snape!"
When we walked into the Great Hall for lunch, Ron looked like he'd been attacked by a flock of pissed off birds-rubbing his arm, wincing with every step, and his hair and robes all messed up-after I'd hit him repeatedly with Hermione's book bag and chased him around the courtyard.
Despite disapproving of my violent methods, Hermione told him, flat out, that it was his own fault.
Ron just scowled, disgruntled but very well knowing she was right.
When he overheard me telling Pansy what happened, Malfoy cracked up(and spent the next week making fun of Ron for being beat up by a girl; considering the girl in question was me, everybody else just winced sympathetically).
After the library, it didn't take long for the blonde to notice I'd taken his advice-mostly because I wasn't acting as 'weird' anymore.
Sure, I still push myself pretty hard at Quidditch practice, but I hadn't been collapsing on the common room sofas like the Bludgers had beaten me into a gelatinous state-and I was back to only doing my homework at the last second when Hermione forces me.
As you can imagine, that just made him even more annoying in his pursuit of what the hell was going on and why it made me so weird.
My lovely performance in the library didn't help.
The main motivator, however, seemed to be a hefty dose of boredom.
I figure, after a while, he'll stop bugging me about it when he gets the memo that I'd tell him what was going on the day a snow cone factory opens up in hell.
With the Lions V. Badgers match on the horizon, the Gryffindor Quidditch Team and Harry became more and more on edge.
Apparently, no one had overtaken Slytherin in the championship in seven years-but, with a biased referee, they weren't sure how they'd manage it.
I'm also pretty sure Harry's falling into paranoia because he seems to think Snape's been following him just because they keep running into each other. With how increasingly horrible he'd been to him in potions lately, he had even worried that the Potions Master somehow knew that we'd found out about the Philosopher's Stone-something I would've rolled my eyes at if he hadn't admitted that, sometimes, he had the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.
I laughed him off but, inwardly, my heart jumped.
And, as unlikely as it is, I couldn't help but almost longingly wonder if maybe he was right.
If maybe Snape was like me.
Following Hermione and Ron to the Quidditch Pitch that morning(I sat with Daphne Pansy Bulstrode and Tracey last time I was a mad spectator and Hermione said they needed "back up", even if I don't believe Snape would be dumb enough to try anything-or was up to anything at all), just as the match was about to begin, I dropped into the seat by Neville on the Gryffindor stands.
"Hey, Nev," I said casually.
"Hi, Jewel," Neville replied with a smile but eyed Ron and Hermione's grim faces in confusion, not understanding why they had their wands-or why they looked so worried.
My hair was in a messy ponytail, just so I could put my wand in the band of my hair tie.
Hermione wouldn't let me leave the castle without it.
"Now, don't forget," Hermione muttered as Ron slid his wand in his sleeve, "it's Locomotor Mortis."
"I know," the redhead snapped. "Don't nag."
Seeing Neville still looking at us all strangely, I shot him a lazy grin.
"So, you going for Gryffindor or Hufflepuff?"
Neville blinked.
"Uh-Gryffindor."
"But that's so-" my face twisted, "predictable."
"But I'm a Gryffindor," he said.
"Fine, I'll let you off for house pride, I guess," I told him offhandedly.
Neville looked even more bewildered than before.
"Are you going for Gryffindor too?" he wondered.
"Nah," I said with a playful wink, "predictability, Neville, my good man. I try to avoid it."
"Then you're going for Hufflepuff?"
"Nope," I grinned cheekily. "I'm going for Lee Jordan and McGonagall. Their team-up is a comedy special and I'm here for it. Though," I pondered, "me going for Lee and McGonagall might be predictable because I'm me and I do weird shit. Maybe, if I want to keep people on their toes, I should be unpredictable by being predictable and going for Harry-like a normal, supportive sister's probably meant to."
"Uh, maybe?" Neville replied unsurely.
"Then again, Harry's a Gryffindor," I added, "and I'm a Slytherin-and, no offence, but I'll be cheering whenever anyone on the Gryffindor team gets hit by a Bludger-I want my house to win the championship again; from what I hear, we've got an impressive streak going."
"I don't want to sit with you at matches anymore," Ron told me, overhearing the end of mine and Neville's conversation and looking at me flatly.
"I don't want to sit with you usually so that's fine with me," I quipped.
Ron rolled his eyes hugely.
Hermione was too busy anxiously watching the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams make their way onto the pitch to notice anything going on around her.
For whatever reason, Snape was looking especially pissed(and by that I mean he looked angry, not that he looked like he was intoxicated). Probably because it's a weekend and he didn't want to put up with this bullshit-which just begs the question; why is he refereeing at all?
"I've never seen Snape look so mean," Ron said. "Look-they're off-Ouch!"
Somebody behind us poked the redhead none too lightly in the back of the head.
"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."
The second I heard his cold drawling voice, I let out a loud prolonged groan.
"No, no, no-" I moaned, "I'm sitting with my Gryffindors-you aren't meant to be here-Dammit, Malfoy, this is my off time!"
When I looked back, Malfoy just rose an eyebrow at me, still grinning broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.
"Hi to you too, Potter," he said sarcastically.
"Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a Malfoy handler!" I suddenly exclaimed, banging my fist on my seat.
"-I'm not even going to bother with that," Malfoy decided slowly. "Or ask who Jim is," he added.
I turned fully around in my seat.
"You don't know Jim Kirk?! He's the literal captain of the starshipUSS Enterprise! Do you Purebloods live under rocks or something?"
"So it's a Muggle thing," Malfoy noted, scrunching up his nose.
"Oi! Watch it, you-overgrown jackrabbit! You elf with a hyperactive thyroid!"
"-What?"
"Of course you don't understand," I continued to quote. "You don't have the brains to understand. All you have is printed circuits."
Malfoy just stared at me weirdly.
"The next thing you're gonna say," I went on, ignoring his confusion/taken aback at my seemingly random insults(that become less random when you realise I'd taken the opportunity to quote Jim Kirke from the series), "is that you don't know Spock or something insane like that."
"Who?"
I was mildly tempted to resort to violence, but restrained myself.
"You know what?" I huffed, doing the Vulcan salute, "live long and bloody prosper, you stuck-up eejit. Or, in Vulcan, dif-tor heh bloody smusma."
You know, I mused, I'm Leonard 'Bones' McCoy, according to Alistair, so I probably should've called him a 'green-blooded hobgoblin'.
That feels like a missed opportunity.
"Is whatever you're on about as nerdy as it sounds?" Malfoy remarked after I'd turned back around. "Or does it just sound worse because it's coming from you?"
I flipped him off without looking.
"Ponfo Miran."
"I don't know what that means."
"Good," I snorted. "I hope it haunts you wondering what I could've possibly just said to you. Just to give you a hint, it wasn't complimentary."
On the field, Snape awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George hit a Bludger at him.
Seeing that, despite liking Snape, my sour mood lifted and I chortled.
Hermione squinted up at Harry as he circled the sky, her fingers crossed in her lap.
I did my best to ignore Malfoy, getting into the game.
Snape awarded yet another penalty to Hufflepuff for-
"Did Snape just award a penalty for no reason?" I realised, unable to restrain my grin. "What, were the Gryffindors existing too loudly or something? That's amazing-"
Catching sight of Ron's glare, I made a concentrated effort to look contrite.
"-ly terrible, ah, poor Gryffindors-darn-that's so unfair-"
The second he looked away, my grin was back.
Malfoy snorted behind me.
"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" he commented after a moment, and I fought the urge to glance back over my shoulder. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents-" I stiffened, face hardening, "then there's the Weasley's, who've got no money-you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."
I was about to turn around and kick his ass when, suddenly-
"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," Neville stammered.
My head whipped to the side and, honestly, I was too surprised he'd stuck up for himself to retort myself-or even feel all that angry anymore.
Pfft, as if he hasn't said worse-and vice versa.
"You tell him, Neville," Ron said distractedly, still watching the game.
Malfoy Crabbe and Goyle were howling with laughter.
"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."
"And if I lit your tongue on fire, you'd be a jackass-o'-lantern," I shot back. "Piss off, Malfoy."
Neville looked at me in surprise.
Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"I'm warning you, Malfoy-" Ron snapped, on edge(and at his breaking point over his anxiety about Harry), "one more word-"
"Ron! Jewel!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed, "Harry-"
"What? Where?"
I jolted upright, my heart stopping-
Only to relax in exasperation when I saw Harry doing an impressive dive as the crowd cheered and gasped.
He didn't even have a splinter or anything.
Hermione stood up, missing my disgruntled look as she crossed her fingers in her mouth.
"You're in luck, Weasley," Malfoy said, "Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!"
"Money on the ground? Seriously? That'sweak," I scoffed. "Of all the-"
Looking back, I stopped short with my mouth hanging open.
Having clearly snapped, Ron had vaulted over his seat and wrestled the Slytherin to the ground.
To my further astonishment, after hesitating, Neville clambered over to help.
"Come on, Harry!" Hermione was screaming as she leapt up on her seat.
She didn't seem to notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her, or the violent altercation going on between Crabbe Goyle and Neville.
I didn't know where to look(the game, or the fight going on behind-and beneath-me)-and I could barely even see Neville around Crabbe and Goyle and the flurry of fists.
Suddenly, Neville was unconscious on the floor, Crabbe and Goyle standing over him with those nasty little grins of theirs.
Green fire lit my eyes.
"Hey!" I found myself snarling as I stood up on my seat, "You stupid-bricks!"
"'Bricks?'" Crabbe repeated dumbly.
My face was hot with anger and my fists clenched on my either side.
"Step away from the clumsy Gryffindor," I growled, "and nobody gets their faces bashed in!"
Despite having seen me with a Beaters bat, they took one look at me and started to laugh.
"You're going to bash our faces in?" Goyle sniggered.
The heat in my face intensified and my eyes spat vicious flames.
"What are you gonna do, Potter?" Crabbe sneered, "it'd be you against the two of us, and you're just a-"
Whatever he was about to say was cut off when I impulsively put my foot on the top of my chair, leapt, and tackled him to the ground.
"Yippee-Ki-Yay, Motherfucker!"
(I'm allowed to swear, colourfully, when I'm quoting Die Hard-it's weirdly specific, but makes sense after you've watched it with Dakota; it's her favourite movie-so much so that it's actually a house rule that, if you're quoting Die Hard, you have to do it properly, swear words and all).
Crabbe let out a shout.
"Get this crazy-" I interrupted him by socking him soundly in the jaw, "Get her off me!"
Goyle tried to grab me but, my temper well and truly overtaking any and all thought in my head, I kicked him where no boy ever wants to be kicked.
A bit of a low blow, but hey, I'm a Slytherin.
With a strangled sound, Goyle fell over.
Crabbe and I rolled around the stands, biting kicking and scratching in my case while he struggled to get me the hell off him-and protect his lower regions.
Suddenly, the crowd was cheering wildly.
"Ron! Jewel! Ron! Where are you?" I could hear Hermione shrieking. "The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!"
I was distracted and, in that split second, a recovered Goyle took the opportunity to grab me around the waist and drag me off his bruised and bloodied friend.
The next thing I knew, my arms were being harshly held behind me.
Looking up at Goyle's nasty grin, despite the situation at hand, I couldn't help but be more annoyed than anything that Slytherin wasn't in the lead anymore.
We can still win if we murder Hufflepuff and Gryffindor doesn't make up the points against Ravenclaw.
"Nice face," I threw back at Crabbe as he stumbled to his feet-because my sense of self-preservation seems to of stepped out for the moment.
Crabbe had a nasty bruise on his jaw and scratch marks on his cheek and neck.
There was a lovely bite mark on his arm.
When he looked at me threateningly, I grinned, ignoring the sting from my split lip.
"You're going to regret that, Potter," Crabbe sneered.
"You mean like your dad regrets not pulling out?" I quipped crudely.
"You little-"
"Crabbe! Goyle! Come on, what are you-?"
Malfoy stopped dead.
He had a black eye, courtesy of Ron, but still looked a sight better than Crabbe-or even Goyle, who had a few battle scars of his own from trying and failing to pry me away from Crabbe.
"Malfoy," I greeted blithely, like I wasn't being restrained and threatened by his pissed-off bodyguards.
"What's going on?" he demanded.
His gaze flickered from me to Neville still old cold beyond us and back.
"I bit Crabbe," I told him carelessly, "and pulled his hair...and punched him in the face...and I'm not sorry. And you don't wanna know what I did to Goyle-"
Malfoy stared at me.
"We knocked out Longbottom, and Potter attacked us," Crabbe grunted.
Goyle's grip cruelly tightened on my arms, and Malfoy's eyes seemed to sharpen when I winced.
"Alright, let her go-" he said, surprising all three of us.
"What?" Goyle said stupidly.
"You heard me," he snapped dangerously. "Let her go. Now."
Goyle reluctantly dropped my arms and I let out a sigh of relief and rubbed them.
They were actually aching from how hard he'd been holding them.
"Come on," Malfoy bit out.
Crabbe and Goyle stiffly walked over, Crabbe bumping my shoulder harshly with his as he passed-and scowling at my mocking smile.
Before following, Malfoy shot me a look.
"Really?" he deadpanned.
"They pissed me off," I defended with a shrug, adjusting my ponytail(which had come loose)and retrieving my wand from where it'd rolled beneath the seats at some point during the fight.
"When I made that comment about you joining a fight club, I was joking."
"Oops. Sorry, never have understood sarcasm."
Malfoy didn't dignify that with a response.
Like pointing out that sarcasm is one of my core personality traits.
-or how sarcastic that entire sentence was.
"Honestly," he drawled, glancing behind him, "I'm almost a bit secondhand embarrassed that Crabbe and Goyle were beaten up by you at the same time."
"It was more like I beat up Crabbe, and took Goyle out of the equation," I corrected with a pointed look.
"What do you mean you-"
The second it clicked in his head, Malfoy cringed.
"I'm a Slytherin-" I said sassily, crossing my sore arms, "if you want fair play, go sit with the Hufflepuffs. If you don't want to get kicked in the nuts, don't piss me off."
Malfoy had a weird look on his face as he stared at me.
"You might actually be crazy."
He sounded almost a bit admiring.
"But next time you attack people bigger than you," he added, "don't expect me to jump in and save you."
"I don't need you to," I stated. "I can handle myself."
"Yeah, it looked like you really had it handled when I arrived," Malfoy scoffed, "what with Goyle holding you back by your arms like that."
I childishly poked out my tongue and, with an eye-roll(I almost thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch up, but figured I imagined it), Malfoy left.
When I made my way over to Ron, who had a bad nosebleed, he looked at me in astonishment.
From what I picked up when he saw me(which is not easy in such a charged environment on the best day-and even less so when you're on the winning House's stands-I have the worst headache, but tackling Crabbe was a fun distraction and a new kind of pain relief; as if I'm not already overloaded enough from just spectating but, you know, totally dealing with it like a champ-ha, as if I actually have any other choice-), Crabbe and Goyle had just angrily passed with Malfoy looking like they'd been attacked by an edgy badger with anger issues and a grudge.
Aside from my wild hair and robes, I only had a throbbing split lip and aching arms.
"You took on Crabbe and Goyle alone-" apparently, he and Malfoy saw me leap over my seat and were briefly distracted gawking at me before remembering they were supposed to be fighting too, "and you've only got a split lip? And how are they worse than you? They went by a second ago with Malfoy looking like they had a bad run-in with a rabid racoon and wanted to commit bloody murder! I was about to go ask Hermione to help me find your body!"
He looked at the ground beyond me.
"I mean-we already know where Neville's is," he added.
Neville was still unconscious.
I winced sympathetically.
"We...should probably get him to Pomfrey," I said dryly.
꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ
After leaving Neville-still KO'd-in Madam Pomfrey's capable hands, Hermione Ron and I set off to track down Harry, who nobody had seen since the match finished(and it was almost dark).
The only real reason I tagged along was because if I went back to the common room I'd probably end up being cornered by Crabbe and Goyle.
I don't think I should sleep downstairs for at least the next week.
But damn if it wasn't bloody worth it.
We finally stumbled onto him as he wandered distractedly down the corridor, a deeply pensive look on his face.
Hearing some of the thoughts running through his head, my smile slowly fell away.
His mind was so jumbled that it was hard for me to get all the facts, but I got enough of the gist to immediately find myself being put on edge.
A yellow rubber band snapped.
"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione asked him in a squeaky voice.
"We won! You won! We won!" Ron shouted as he thumped my twin on the back, still hyped up from the match/fight. "And I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! He's still out cold, but Madam Pomfrey says he'll be alright-and then Jewel actually took on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed-talk about showing Slytherin!"
Despite being preoccupied, I instinctively lashed out without fully processing it, and Ron jumped back and grabbed his injured arm protectively.
"Bloody-" catching sight of the unfriendlylook on my face, he quickly moved on, turning back to Harry but watching me warily out the corner of his eye, "Everyone's waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."
"Nevermind that now," Harry said sounding breathless. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this..."
After checking for Peeves, Harry ushered us into the nearest empty classroom and shut the door behind us before quickly explaining what had happened.
After the match, he left the locker room to take Killer, his Nimbus Two Thousand,back to the broom shed-only to spot a hooded figure swiftly coming down the front steps of the castle, and heading into the Forbidden Forest. Just by his prowling walk, he could tell it was Snape, so he followed-and, flying over the trees, ended up eavesdropping on the Potions Master threatening Quirrell.
The second Harry said Quirrell, I felt my stomach drop.
Apparently, Snape had him meet him there to "keep their discussion private" seeing as students "aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone"(I would've snorted at that if I didn't suddenly feel so sick). Snape asked him if he'd found out how to pass "that beast of Hagrid's" yet and told Quirrell that he didn't "want him as his enemy". Before he left, Snape said that they'd "have another little chat soon, when he'd had time to think things over and decide where his loyalties lie".
"So we were right, it is the Philosopher's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy-and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocus'-I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break-through-"
Dumbledore let Quirrell help guard the Philosopher's Stone? I couldn't help but mentally snort in disbelief, despite the general nausea and heavy foreboding air, I'd trust a cupcake-an inanimate, frosted cupcake-to protect the Stone before I'd trust Quirrell.
Shit, I'd have Gollum and Two-Face stand guard with pointy sticks before I'd trust Quirrell.
"So you mean," Hermione realised in alarm, "the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?"
"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," Ron said.
"But it doesn't make sense-" I insisted, and they all looked at me in disbelief, "why would Snape go to Quirrell of all people? He'd be better off slipping Hagrid some whisky-or truth serum, which is a thing by the way-and tricking him into telling him how to pass Fluffy-I mean, that's how I'd do it-if he gets him hammered, then laces one of his drinks with Veritaserum, there isn't anything he wouldn't tell him if asked directly. Even better, if he gets him blackout drunk, he won't even remember he'd told him anything. And even sober, he could probably get Hagrid to accidentally let something slip-I mean, Hagrid's one of my favourite people, hands down, but he isn't exactly Fort Knox-four first years got him to let Fluffy's and Nicolas Flamel's name's slip, how hard would it be for a Hogwarts Professor he trusts to do the same?"
"Jewel-" Harry looked impatient, "I get Snape's your Head of House, but-"
"No, Harry, you don't get it!" I interrupted in frustration. "You're all so blinded by how much you don't like Snape, and how absurdly suspicious he looks, that you aren't thinking!"
"I don't think we're the ones that aren't thinking," Ron stated. "Or the ones that are being blinded."
"Why would Snape risk threatening Quirrell and revealing what he's doing?" I flung back with a fierce scowl. "Why would he trust Quirrell to not blab to Dumbledore that he's up to something nefarious? And I get you think he went to Quirrell because he'd crack and do whatever he wants, but that is a big loose end I can't see any self-respecting Slytherin leaving! Why risk it when he could get the information without Quirrell's help? And what are you on about, 'Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through?'" I added to Harry, scoffing, "From what I've heard, Snape's had his eyes on the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching post for years-if he's so keen on the subject, he must know his stuff, which means whatever Quirrell did to protect the Stone is a cakewalk. It's probably the only protection Snape wouldn't have to worry about. Plus, it's Quirrell."
"Look, I don't know about all of that stuff-" Harry said, refusing to admit I had a point, "but I know what I heard-"
"You heard what you wanted to hear," I retorted.
"And you haven't been?" he shot back.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, raising my voice.
"I mean-you are kind of-"
Harry tried to find a way to describe it in a way that wouldn't set me off but, knowing exactly how that sentence ended in his head even without my 'quirk', I felt my expression go suddenly cold.
"Me being a Slytherin has nothing to do with this."
"Jules, that's not what I meant-" Harry defended quickly.
"Oh, but I think it is," I laughed harshly. "That's what this whole thing is about. I'm a Slytherin, so I'm biased in Snape's favour-but none of you has even stopped to think that the same thing can be said in reverse."
"Jewel, you aren't listening-" Harry snapped, "Snape-"
"No, Harry, you aren't listening!" I exclaimed, fed up. "None of you are listening!"
"So, what?" Ron countered looking a bit red in the face. "You say it isn't Snape and we should just drop the whole thing? Snape tried to curse Harry's broomstick! Why can't you just accept-"
"Because it was Quirrell!" I almost shouted.
My chest was heaving, my face flushed red, my bottom lip throbbing, and my fists clenched.
There was a long, echoing silence.
"It was Quirrell?" Hermione repeated, looking at me uncertainly. "Jewel..."
Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I crossed my arms tightly and looked away.
"Quirrell?" Ron scoffed in disbelief. "Are you having the mickey?"
"Jewel, Quirrell couldn't have-" Harry said slowly.
"Why not?" I fired back. "Because he has a stutter? Well, I don't buy his nervous act-it's probably just a cover so nobody would ever suspect him-"
"His nervous act?" Ron echoed incredulously. "Jewel, come on-"
"He's wrong!" I exclaimed strongly, refusing to let what they were thinking get to me. "There is something wrong with him! He gives me-really bad vibes. He's not right."
"Now who's blinded by their dislike of a professor?" Ron remarked darkly. "Honestly, maybe Quirrell isn't the only one who should be assessing their loyalty."
The second it left his mouth, and he saw the hurt on my face, I could tell Ron regretted it.
"Ron!" Hermione said, shocked.
"Jules, I didn't-I mean-" Ron looked suddenly guilty, his ears going red.
"I like my house," I said quietly, my eyes dark and flickering with green flames. "I'm proud of it. And I even like Snape, even if he was a jerk to me at first and literally hates my brother's guts. You say he favours us Slytherins, but with the way you lot act someone bloody has to. And-" I took in a slightly shaky breath, "and if you won't listen to me about Quirrell, well then-then I'll just have to find someone who will-someone who'll actually believe me, for once."
Ignoring their attempts to get me to come back-all of which contradicted the thoughts in their heads, I stalked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me.
To my surprise, not long after, I found myself standing in front of Snape's office, building up the nerve to go in and say what I knew I had to.
I'd never forgive myself if something happened and I'd kept my mouth shut.
Finally, I knocked.
There was a pause.
"Come in," Snape's voice said from inside.
Grasping the doorknob, and taking in a deep breath to steel myself, I turned it and walked inside.
I hadn't been in Snape's office before.
It was gloomy, and badly lit, and the walls were lined with shelves with different coloured potions with gross-looking bits of plants and animals floating in them. There was a fireplace and, in the corner, Snape's private storage cupboard.
"Potter?" Snape looked at me from behind his desk, genuine surprise on his face. "What on earth are you doing here?"
For a moment, I just wavered in the doorway.
"Well?" he snapped impatiently.
"Ihavetotellyousomething," I said really fast, the words coming out in a garbled whoosh.
Snape looked confused.
"Slow down," he instructed with a sigh, "and repeat."
I swallowed thickly, torn between just blurting everything out and not wanting to betray the others confidence and what we knew-as pissed off as I am at them.
"I have to tell you something," I repeated slowly. "It's important," I added.
Snape looked like he was going to brush me off, but something about my uncharacteristically serious expression and tense posture seemed to stop him.
I don't know what he saw when he looked at me right then, but I suddenly had his full attention.
"What is it?" he asked seriously.
Running my fingers roughly through my hair, an action that made Snape grimace, I bit the inside of my cheek and I mentally formulated my response.
"It's about-"
Looking around, I hastily stepped into the room properly and shut the door firmly behind me.
Snape quirked an eyebrow.
"Professor...it's about something I know-" I said cautiously, "and I can't tell you how I know it, but I need you to listen to me and believe me."
He frowned imperceptibly.
"Miss Potter-"
"Professor," I interrupted, walking over to his desk and stopping in front of it. I put my hands down on the surface and looked him steadily in the eye, ignoring the way my voice thickened with emotion and broke slightly, "I need you to believe me."
Snape's frown deepened and he looked slightly concerned.
"I need you to take me seriously," I continued, clearing my throat forcefully, "because no one else will, not even Harry, and this-this is important. I tried to tell him-and Ron and Hermione-but they won't listen to me. They just kept saying that I'm just trying to defend you-because I'm a Slytherin and you're my Head of House-and they're being so bloody-"
I hit the desk with my fist only to stop and stare at it in surprise, not having realised I'd mindlessly clenched my hands on the desktop.
"'Defend me?'" Snape echoed, eyebrows furrowed. "Potter, what's going on?"
"There's something wrong with Quirrell," I told him firmly.
Snape stiffened.
"Miss Potter..." he said slowly, suddenly wary.
"No, you don't get it-" I let out a frustrated huff and hit the desk again, "there is something wrong with Quirrell! When I look at him, he's-he's just wrong! I met him before school, at the Leaky Cauldron when I went to get my school supplies with Harry and Hagrid, and I could tell he was up to something-he gave me weird vibes-but he was still normal enough, you know? But then I saw him again in the Great Hall and-" against my will, I physically shuddered, and the potions teacher's eyes focused sharply on the reaction."He's different. I can't tell you how, but he is. He changed. Between then and Hogwarts, something happened. Something bad. I don't think he's who everyone thinks he is. He puts on that stupid, stuttering, nervous act of his-but there's something so, so wrong about him. Something...dark. I mean, why the hell do you think I do everything I can to get him to kick me out of his class? I can't stand to be anywhere near him! He-he-"
Realisation slowly sank in and my shoulders fell.
"He scares me," I breathed, more to myself, in a slightly hoarse voice. "He actually bloody scares me."
I looked up at Snape, my eyes slightly wide.
Now, his concern was unmistakable-but, beyond that, his eyes looked somehow darker.
Something about me admitting how scared I am of Quirrell put him on edge, and there was almost something protective about the set of his jaw.
"I don't expect you to do anything," I went on in a strained voice, "but I had to tell you. If something happened, and I didn't say anything, I never would've forgiven myself."
"So, you came to me?" Snape said slowly.
"I think I...trust, you?" I admitted, to his surprise-and mine. "I don't know when it happened, or why, but I do-I trust you-" this time, I sounded more sure of myself, "and I just had a big fight with Harry and the others about all this, and Quirrell, and all I could think about was going to find someone who would listen to me and take me seriously-who would believe me-and I found myself outside your office. I would've thought it'd be Dumbledore, but..."
I bit my lip and compulsively ran my fingers through my hair again.
"I just-I wanted you to know," I said plainly.
It's not like I could tell him Harry followed him into the Forbidden Forest-and, in that, revealed that he was the only other person in this damn castle who isn't falling for Quirrell's crap...but, the more I thought about it, the more I realised how genuine I sounded. The more I realised I did want him to know, and I would've ended up here regardless-because, subconsciously, when I stopped being wary of the fact that I can't hear Snape, he became someone...safe. That echoing, dark nothingness turned to relief-a balm for the wild mess of emotions and thoughts I fought so hard to push away during the day, scared they'd drown me if I didn't.
(never mind my history with teachers-more back at Muggle school than Hogwarts-and how it feels when he walks by my desk with nothing bad to say, or corrects me in a way that feels constructive and not condescending like it does with people like Neville or Ron...so long as I'm not doing anything really obviously dumb, or gives me a good mark on the homework I'd stayed up for hours working on while neglecting/half-assing everything else because he's a total hardass and, for some reason, that made me care enough to try, to show him I'm trying...something I kind of gave up on when I was a kid, and I realised that I'd just keep failing no matter how hard I worked, and that everything was ultimately pointless, so why even try?-and how, with that new motivation, I'd found a genuine interest and passion for potions; he doesn't discount me, or think I'm stupid, or make me feel stupid, even with how godawful my test scores are because I think he understands that I'm bad at tests, and that they don't in any way show my knowledge or capability-and I-).
If Ms Dodds were here, she'd call that a bit of a breakthrough for me.
And, for once, I wouldn't of been able to argue with her.
(with everyone else, I can hear their thoughts, get a sense of their intentions-but this...I was taking a blind leap, something I honestly didn't think I was capable of-something two years ago me could never of done).
Snape was silent as he took all of that in, processing what I'd said.
Something in his eyes went soft.
"Jewel," he said, startling me both by the use of my first name and the seriousness and resolve in his expression/voice, "I can promise you, Quirinus Quirrell will not lay a hand on you, not as long as I'm here."
"Don't underestimate him," I warned sternly, surprising him in return. "That's what he wants. That's what that whole s-s-stuttering P-P-Professor Q-Quirrell bit of his is about. He's lowering everybody's defences. He wants you to think he's scared of you, and you're superior to him, so you'll be overconfident and let your guard down-and if something happens, his name won't even pop into people's heads. And I don't know why no one else seems to see it but me. He's wrong."
Professor Snape nodded shortly.
And, looking at the man across from me, I knew he believed me.
My entire body sagged in relief.