XVI. HARRY & JEWEL [PART TWO]
Ever since our argument after the Lions V. Badgers match, I've been very short with Harry Ron and Hermione and I can tell they've noticed.
The first thing they did the next morning was corner me at breakfast to apologise for what happened(after having spent all night wallowing in guilt), but I was still upset and I wasn't exactly being subtle about it.
I'm sick of them throwing my house in my face, and acting like being a Slytherin is a bad thing when it isn't-and all that stuff about Professor Snape...
So what if I like him? So what if I trust him? Why does that have to mean I'm immediately against them because I think Professor Snape is innocent and they're being unfair?
And that bullshit about assessing my loyalty...Harry is my brother, of course I have his back-but why does that mean I have to follow him around blindly without any sort of opinion of my own? Why does that have to mean I have to agree with everything the three of them say?
Not believing Professor Snape is pure evil doesn't mean I'm not on their side.
But do you know what was the worst part?
They didn't believe me.
And that-that was worse than anything they could've said about me, or Professor Snape, or Slytherin house. The second I looked at them, and heard the things they were thinking, and realised they didn't believe me...it was like having the ground wrenched out from under me.
They didn't believe me.
I know they don't know, that they wouldn't understand why that's such a thing with me, but that fact didn't do anything to stop how I felt.
They didn't believe me.
Contrariwise...Professor Snape did.
He looked at me, in a way no one had ever done, and he believed me(with no reason, evidence, support, anything to prove that Quirrell isn't on the up and up; just took me at my word, like it was the easiest thing in the world)-and that had the opposite, but just as profound, effect as Harry Ron and Hermione pretty much laughing in my face despite seeing how upset I was.
They didn't believe me...but Professor Snape did.
I took a leap, and I didn't land on my ass.
-that's a first.
If Professor Snape wasn't my favourite teacher before, he is now.
And inwardly I promised myself that, with him protecting me from Quirrell, I'd do what I could to protect him(before I left his office, Professor Snape told me to stay away from the s-s-stuttering professor and act normally and he'd do what he could to put a stop to whatever he's up to; highlighting how seriously he was taking everything, he even said that, if I ever don't feel safe during a Defence Against the Dark Arts class-though he doubted Quirrell would do anything in front of so many witnesses, I can just walk out whenever I want and come straight to him and he'd cover for me-saves me going to all the trouble of getting myself thrown out).
I think I've figured out why I can see through Quirrell where nobody else-aside from maybe Professor Snape, to an extent-seemed able to.
In a class of eleven-year-olds, stammering his way through his lesson plan, his guard is down.
There's no reason for it not to be.
Or for him to think there's a first year girl in the back row, sensing things from his mind against her will-and getting herself thrown out when it becomes too much.
(it hadn't even occurred to me to wonder why just being around him made my scar hurt).
If I subtly monitor Quirrell, I can tell Professor Snape if something changes or if I pick up anything that could explain what he's doing betraying Dumbledore and trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone.
Not to mention that stunt I'm convinced he pulled during Harry's first match.
While I found myself seeing the Potions Master in a better light, he seemed to feel the same way about me for whatever reason-something about me going to him, trusting him, and that bit I let slip about defending him to Harry and the others, I figure.
In fact, during our next double Potions lesson, he stopped the class-and, to my astonishment, told them to come have a look at how flawlessly I'd brewed my potion.
He told them that, as far as he was concerned, I was the standard that no one, aside from perhaps Mr Malfoy, had thus far met and awarded Slytherin house ten points.
That was the first time a teacher-I mean, no one had ever-none of-I swear, even my bloody finger paintings weren't-
I couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the lesson.
And, I could almost swear, I think I saw Professor Snape smile slightly too.
After a few days, Harry Ron and Hermione silently decided to give me space to cool off-but the more space they gave me, the worse it seemed to get.
I was distancing myself, and I could feel it, but I couldn't stop it.
I'm not even sure I want to.
They didn't believe me.
I couldn't get it out of my head, and every time I look at them I just think-"they didn't believe me". And I guess that kind of made me-pull away. Instead of lashing out, or losing my temper, I just kind of...curled in on myself. It wasn't a new sensation, or the first time it had happened after something like this. I felt like I'd put my hand on a stove, and now that I'd been burnt I was recoiling.
They didn't believe me.
I almost wished I could just yell at them.
I'll be the first to admit I have a predominant fiery streak.
Sometimes, I just get so angry and hurt that I want to lash out and find a way to get back at the world for everything I've gone through.
Sometimes, I want to make the people around me feel how I feel-to turn into a total jerk like Malfoy and take it out on a bunch of innocent kids to make myself feel stronger, and bigger, and less weak and powerless.
It's an icky feeling, and a pretty terrifying one.
I think the only reason it hasn't taken over, and I haven't turned into someone I don't even recognise, is because I refused to be like the people that hurt me.
It's supposed to be a cycle, right?
Hurt people hurt people, and all that.
Personally, I don't really believe that.
Some people just like it.
I know that better than anybody.
As the weeks wore on, Quirrell looked worse for wear.
He seemed to be getting paler, and thinner.
One afternoon, eager to get something to tell Professor Snape, to find a way to show him how much him listening and believing me meant to me, I even tried to carefully probe his mind-but, the second I did, the walls seemed to slam down so suddenly that it stunned me.
It was like the mind-reading equivalent of having a door slammed in my face.
I'd already started to jerk away, anyway-because, the second I peeked inside his head, a white-hot pain suddenly stung my scar, my face and neck flushed, and I was almost suffocated by this overwhelming cloud of wrongness. Seeing Quirrell suddenly go stiff, like he was listening for something, then frantically dart his eyes about the classroom forced me to pull up my textbook and pretend to read, struggling to hide the agony and fear on my face until the pain in my scar went away.
"I did a bad thing," I blurted.
Professor Snape rose his eyebrows-taken aback after I'd burst into his office, shut the door with a bit more force than I'd intended, and sprinted up to his desk.
"Okay, not bad," I corrected after a slight pause, aware of how breathless I sounded(but, to be fair, I did run here), "just-Gryffindor level stupid."
Professor Snape looked wary.
Which is fair, considering the situation.
"What happened?" he finally said.
"I wanted to do something to thank you for believing me-and looking out for me-" I admitted rubbing the back of my neck, startling the professor, "so I've been kind of...monitoring Quirrell-and I wasn't really subtle today, like I usually am, and he noticed-not that it was me," I hurried to add when I saw Professor Snape's expression, "I'm pretty sure he isn't onto me-but he'll be on his guard now, so I don't know if I'll be able to find much else out in class. I could follow him arou-"
"You will do no such thing," Professor Snape immediately stated sounding mildly exasperated. "I told you to stay away from Quirrell and to let me handle it," he added pointedly.
I winced sheepishly.
"I know," I groaned, "I just-I wanted to help. You told me you'd have my back, but no one has yours."
Professor Snape didn't seem to know what to say to that, his stern expression faltering.
"It-it meant a lot," I mumbled, not meeting his eyes, "you believing me about Quirrell even without concrete proof or a real explanation about how I know what I know. I'm not used to that. People don't-" I sighed, "I just wanted to find a way to-I don't know. It's stupid."
I crossed my arms, biting the inside of my cheek.
Something in Professor Snape's dark eyes softened.
"I don't find it stupid at all," he said quietly before clearing his throat, and my eyes flew up in surprise. "What I do find stupid," he added firmly, "is following Quirrell around. I know you want to help, but I can assure you I have things handled. If you want to do something for me, then stay out of it. I don't want to have to worry about you on top of dealing with Quirrell."
I nodded reluctantly.
Professor Snape hesitated.
"What do you mean by monitoring?" he asked slowly.
I immediately stiffened.
"-It doesn't matter-especially considering I didn't get anything new," I finally said pulling a slight face, once again avoiding meeting the Potions Master's sharp gaze.
After scrutinizing me for a long moment, Professor Snape nodded.
I didn't risk it after that, and Quirrell's head was a lot more well-protected.
That part was a relief, even if it did mean getting intel was almost impossible; it was easier to be near him when he was actively trying to hide all of the wrongness in his head.
Seeing Harry smile at Quirrell, and witnessing Ron tell people off for laughing at his stutter, made me feel ill and it just made that feeling worse.
It made me pull away further, and the rift even wider.
They didn't believe me.
Knowing Fluffy is guarding the Stone made me feel better(I go by every day, pressing my ear to the door to hear Cerberus growling inside, and I'm sure the others had been too).
With Professor Snape watching his every misstep, Quirrell has to be even more careful.
For now, that meant the Stone was safe.
The end-of-year exams, which are set for ten weeks' time, were a distraction-but not a very welcome one.
Hitting Bludgers at my fellow teammates?
That's a welcome distraction.
Hermione hijacking the wagon, lecturing everyone on the importance of studying while she obsessively drew up study guides and colour-coded her notes, and the professors sadistically piling our homework so high I found myself lying on the common room floor in front of the fireplace, during the Easter holidays no less, with a stack of last-minute assignments spread out in front of me?
That's my literal interpretation of purgatory.
Usually, I do my homework in the library with Hermione-where I can make some sly comment and send her off on a tangent where she accidentally does my work for me(all I have to do is copy down whatever she says-in my own words, and with a few added facts, of course).
Without her, I actually had to use my brain.
It was exhausting.
The only assignments I really even put much effort in is Transfigurations, Potions, and Defence; Transfigurations, because I needed to work hard to come up with jokes to entertain McGonagall while she's grading, Defence, because I find joy in watching Quirrell grudgingly give me 'A's' and 'E's'(the grading system is different for wizards; it goes 'O' for 'outstanding', 'E' for 'exceeds expectations', 'A' for 'acceptable', 'P' for 'poor', 'D' for 'dreadful', and 'T' for 'troll'), and Potions because Professor Snape is a hardass-and because he's my favourite teacher and I genuinely like his class.
That day, I found myself once again laying on the carpet by the fire, chewing mindlessly on one of my Sugar Quills and glaring at my Herbology textbook and the blank parchment next to it.
"'...Devil's Snare-'" I read under my breath, "'magical plant-composed of soft, springy tendrils and vines that possess some sense of touch-resembles the Flitterbloom'-Flitterbloom?" I flipped back several pages, "'Flitterbloom; magical plant-has long, swaying tentacles-bears a superficial resemblance to the deadly plant, Devil's Snare, but is harmless-kept as an indoor plant-grown in gardens-'" I turned back to the chapter on Devil's Snare, "'-uses creepers and tendrils to ensnare anyone who touches it, binding their arms and legs and eventually choking them'-bloody hell, should they be teaching this shit to impressionable children?-eh, it's probably fine-'the faster a person struggles, the faster and more tightly they're bound'-well, that's horrifying-'if the victim is able to maintain their presence of mind and relaxes, the Snare will relax its grip-struggling or resistance causes it to exert a greater force of constriction-'...I'm not even going to bother commenting on that-'prefers a dark, damp environment-will stop its movement in the environment of bright light-recoils from heat-a well-placed fire or light-based spell will effectively drive it away'-ha," I snorted, "so it can't be exposed to light? I'm assuming it shouldn't be allowed to come into contact with water either-and, above all, fed after midnight-"
Chuckling to myself, I put my Sugar Quill back in my mouth, sucking on it.
"Leaving it a little late, aren't you, Potter?"
My first reaction was to hit the floor beside me.
"Dammit! Go away, yougreen-blooded sonofabitch!"
"'...Green-blooded?'"
"You wish," I huffed.
Malfoy rose an eyebrow.
"Snappy, aren't you?" he taunted. "Wait, haven't you been at this since breakfast? I'd be doing mine, too-if I, you know, had any seeing as I, unlike you, don't leave everything to the very last second-"
I fought the urge to pelt textbooks at him, shooting him a dirty look he just smirked at.
"Go-have tea and crumpets with Darth Vader and Angelica Pickles or something-" I snapped, still sucking on my Sugar Quill as I shooed the blonde Slytherin away. "Maybe tell ole' Darthy to send Boba Fett over so he, Khan and I can play poker and debate whose franchise is better."
Personally, I'm a fence sitter, I love them both.
Alistair prefers Star Trek, but that's because he watched it first and it's a symbol of his childhood(where he was somehow an even bigger nerd than he is now; he's the one that got me into Star Trek and Star Wars-and taught me several handy Vulcan phrases), and if she had to pick Dakota would be more of a Star Wars girl-she won't admit it, but she's a sucker for Han Solo.
"Who?"
I physically twitched.
"If you keep saying that," I warned casually, glancing back at the pages of my Herbology textbook, "I'll snap-and they'll never find the body."
"If I go missing," Malfoy deadpanned, "you're literally the first person everyone will think did it."
"They can think what they want," I quipped, "no body, no crime."
"What, so you'd bury me in the backyard or something," Malfoy said sounding morbidly curious, "dust off your hands, and skip away like nothing happened?"
"That," I said lazily, "or I'd make it look like an accident. I mean, if a mountain troll could wander into the castle almost undetected, it begs the question of what else could-and what could wind up in your dorm room. And what do you mean bury? I'd just roll you into Black Lake."
"-Should I be seriously worried?" he drawled.
"Depends."
"On what?"
A wry shrug.
"My mood, mostly-" I eyed my stack of parchment and textbooks critically, "At the moment, I might just murder you as a happy distraction from all this."
After a beat, Malfoy muttered, "This is such a messed-up conversation," and sighed.
"You knew what you were getting into when you came over here," I countered dryly.
"I never know what I'm getting into when I talk to you," he stated.
"So don't talk to me."
"Wow, should I be offended by how hopeful you sound?"
"Massively."
Malfoy snorted.
"You've been in here a lot more lately," he commented pointedly and my gaze dropped determinedly to my Herbology book, "and you haven't been going over to Gryffindor table, not unless you're talking to those Weasley twins or Longbottom-and you've been sitting by Davis Parkinson Bulstrode and Greengrass in Potions and partnering with Nott-and don't you usually do your homework with Granger?-"
"So?" I tensed up against my will.
"So," Malfoy echoed, sounding closer and no doubt noticing the sharp change in my mood and body language at his line of questioning, "it makes me wonder...what on earth did Potter Granger and Weasley do to piss you off so much that you've been avoiding them since before the Easter holidays?"
"Nothing," I stated defensively. "We're fine. I've just been busy with practice-and all this BS homework the teachers are dumping on us-"
"I've seen you," Malfoy said bluntly, sounding closer still, but I stubbornly kept my eyes on the pages in front of me, jaw clenched. "You can barely even look them in the eye, and they look insanely guilty and pathetic whenever they see you-"
"That's none of your-Bloody hell!"
Finally looking up to find Malfoy's face inches from mine, the blonde having sat down by me while I was scowling at my Herbology book, I jerked back so fast I almost headbutted him.
"Merlin! Haven't you ever heard of personal space?"
"Haven't you ever heard of a straight answer?" he was quick to retort.
"Ponfo Miran, Malfoy."
"Eventually, you're going to have to tell me what that means," he drawled.
"Until you know who Spock is," I deadpanned, "you don't deserve to know."
"Potter-"
"Ponfo Miran, Malfoy, Ponfo Miran."
Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"But seriously-what'd they do?" he asked eagerly.
"Sensitive as always, dingbat," I snorted sarcastically.
"Yeah, well, I want to know what they did to make you avoid them," he shot back, "you know, just in case I need to get you off my back for a couple weeks."
I flipped him off, and he smirked.
"Isn't there somebody else you could be tormenting? Anybody else?" I said sharply. "I have homework to half-ass."
Malfoy scrutinised me for an uncomfortably long moment.
"Grudges don't suit you," he told me finally.
"'Grudges don't suit me?'" I repeated in disbelief.
"No, they don't," he stated. "At least, not when they make you all-this," he gestured at my general self, which was not at all insulting. "Not to mention that, now you aren't running around with Potter and his lot, you're around constantly. If we don't get a break from each other for at least a good hour or two a day, I honestly fear for my life. And sanity."
"Oh, suck it up," I snorted. "You think it's a picnic over here? And besides-spend enough time with anyone and I guarantee you'll want to kill them. I haven't met a single person I haven't felt the urge to bludgeon to death at one point or another-it's normal. People are frustrating. It doesn't help that you and me-we're natural enemies. Like Klingons and Tribbles or Winnie the Pooh and honeybees or Jedi and Sith or H.Y.D.R.A and S.H.I.E.L.D-or cats and dogs," I added with an eye-roll when I saw his blank expression and realised all of my awesome references were going clean over his head. "At this point, it's like putting a wolverine and a peacock in a box and hoping they don't kill each other-"
"And I'm the peacock?" Malfoy interjected in disbelief.
"Duh," I said.
"And you're a wolverine?"
"What can I say?" I shrugged, "I've been really into X-men lately."
"Who-" seeing my lethal expression, Malfoy cleared his throat. "Right. X-men."
To my surprise, I found myself suppressing a grin.
"Even if we didn't bicker every time we're anywhere near each other," I reasoned, "we'd still drive one another up the wall if we didn't have at least some time apart. I can admit that my smartass remarks and attitude can get annoying sometimes-"
"'Sometimes?'"
"-and then there's you, the most punchable person in the history of humanity-"
"Thanks for sugar-coating it, Potter."
"You're welcome."
I shot him a cheeky look, and the blonde rolled his eyes.
"The point is," I continued matter-of-factly, still mindlessly chewing on my Sugar Quill, "no matter how much you like or hate a person, sometimes you just need your own goddamn space. You can't spend every second of the day with someone, it'd drive you nuts. That's why humans invented this great word to make annoying prats go away-it's fantastic-let me show you how it works-"
I put on a big sarcastic smile and wove.
"Piss off."
Malfoy snorted.
"Haha, very funny."
My smile briefly widened before jokingly dropping.
"I wasn't kidding," I deadpanned.
Malfoy just rolled his eyes again, and I bit back a smirk.
"Wait a minute-" he suddenly stopped looking exasperated, "how the hell did we go from me asking you why you're mad at Potter Granger and Weasley to how no one can be around the same person all day, every day, without wanting to kill them-and how we're somehow a wolverine and a peacock in a box?"
"We do tend to get off topic a lot, don't we?" I mused.
"Potter," Malfoy said, shooting me a look.
"Stuck-up," I countered, childishly mimicking his expression.
"You are so bloody-" he let out an irritated sigh.
"Once again, you came over here-that's on you," I retorted. "And if you think we're spending an unhealthy amount of time in each other's orbits, then just go do something somewhere else-or don't come over. You know I usually hang out in here when I'm with Daphne Pansy and Tracey...and Bulstrode,I guess, but neither of us really like to acknowledge it-and that, when I'm not with them, I'm with the twins, on the Quidditch pitch, by the lake, or in the library-it isn't that hard to avoid those places if I'm driving you a bit more nuts than usual."
"That's-I mean-"
Malfoy almost looked embarrassed.
Before I could figure out why, someone called my name and our heads snapped up.
"You're still doing homework?" Tracey said in disbelief as she approached, slightly breathless. "I thought you'd procrastinate less when you did it alone-How is it that you're probably the smartest person I know, but you can't do your schoolwork to save your life?"
"It's Potter," Malfoy deadpanned, "the same girl that suggested to McGonagall's face that we all ditch class-on the first day-because the desk she transfigured into a pig was turned back and she wanted to hold a funeral for it-what did you expect?"
Tracey started, looking at the blonde in surprise, having apparently not noticed him.
She looked between the two of us warily.
"You're looking at us like you look at Illyius," I commented wryly. "I promise we haven't bitten anyone."
"Didn't you bite Crabbe?" Malfoy said dryly.
"That was ages ago-I doubt he even remembers," I replied offhandedly.
Malfoy scoffed.
Probably because, ever since, Crabbe and Goyle have been following me around, attempting to trip me in the halls, and smarting for a rematch I wasn't in the mood to give them.
Or dumb enough.
"You know, when normal people hate each other," Tracey remarked slowly, "they usually stay away from each other."
"Since when have I ever been accused of being normal?" I countered.
"That's a good point," she muttered.
"It's not my fault Potter's obsessed with me," Malfoy drawled casually.
I looked back at him sharply.
"Me obsessed with you?" I scoffed loudly. "Please. If anything, it's the other way around-"
"You just tell yourself that, Potter."
"You came over here-"
"And who sat by me at lunch earlier?"
"Pansy was sitting near you and she saved me a seat-"
"Didn't mean you had to take it-or immediately turn to me and start talking-"
"You were being a jerk-I literally turned around and called you a stuck-up prat-but no, clearly, insulting someone to their face is the first sign of obsession-"
"Glad you can admit it."
"I am not-!"
"Oh my god!" Tracey groaned sounding fed up and we both quickly looked back at her in surprise, like we'd forgotten she was even there.
"What?" we said.
"Can you even hear yourselves?" she asked us seriously.
"Yes?" I said blankly.
She massaged her temples in frustration.
"...no?" I corrected unsurely.
"Nevermind," she sighed. "Look, dinner's probably already started, we should go-"
"Thank Merlin's clip-on beard!" I exclaimed dramatically as I slammed my Herbology book shut and pumped my fist in the air, "Freedom!"
"You know, if you didn't procrastinate so much," Tracey huffed, "you would've been done ages ago. You'd also be allowed to study with us again."
"You don't let her study with you?" Malfoy said in mild surprise. "That's probably smart," he added dryly.
I poked his leg, hard, and he flinched and scowled at me.
"She did, when she first got into it with Potter and them," Tracey replied, "but no one could get anything done-Jewel's procrastination is infectious. With all the homework we've been getting, we can't afford to fall too far behind, so Daphne and Pansy banned her from studying with us. The only person who seems to be able to get her to focus, without getting distracted themselves, is Granger-and if she'd just make up with her-not even Potter and Weasley, just Granger, I'm not fussy-"
Seeing my flat expression, Tracey groaned.
"At least tell me what they did," she pleaded, "so I can go kick their asses for making me put up with you 24/7-sending you off to them was the only time I got a proper break from your crazy ass-"
"I know, right?" Malfoy said derisively.
"Shove off, stuck-up," I snapped.
"So you don't know what's wrong with Potter either?" Malfoy noted, ignoring me.
Suddenly, a thought popped into his head, and I immediately stiffened.
He looked at me quickly.
"Wait-is it because of whatever's been going on with-"
Glancing at Tracey, he left it at that.
The dark-haired girl rose her eyebrows looking confused.
"No, it isn't," I said firmly, shooting the blonde a look stating that I knew where his mind had jumped and it wasn't that(even if it did play a part).
"Then why-?"
"I'm not going to let you pry into my problems as a way to feed your boredom!" I bristled, gathering my things. "It's none of your bloody business!"
As I stood up, my face flushed an angry shade of red, Malfoy eyed me closely.
"Whatever they did, it was really bad, wasn't it?" he realised slowly.
I scowled at him but, when he just kept looking at me steadily, felt myself begin to deflate.
"...They didn't believe me," I found myself saying numbly, hugging my denim bag to my chest and swallowing thickly through the lump in my throat.
Malfoy and Tracey looked taken aback.
"So, wait-" Malfoy said incredulously, "they didn't believe you about something-that's it?"
I went quiet and, as he stared at me, the blonde's expression slowly changed.
There was a pause.
"Believe you about what?" he asked cautiously.
For a moment, I found myself at a loss.
"You-you just don't get it!" I spat emotionally, the feelings I've been struggling to suppress bubbling back to the surface. "Neither do they. They had to of seen how upset I was, but they still didn't believe me-they're supposed to be my friends-and Harry-" my voice cracked, surprising them, and Tracey looked worried, "he's meant to be the one person that believes me, but he didn't. I told him-but he just thought I was-because Professor Snape's my Head of House and I'm a Slytherin-and none of them were taking me seriously-and they kept thinking about-" I stopped so abruptly it was almost jarring. "I could tell what they thought," I corrected quickly, "and it wasn't-" my shoulders slumped, "they were supposed to believe me. Now, every time I look at them," I admitted bitterly, "all I can think is...they didn't believe me."
Malfoy and Tracey traded a glance.
"Believe you about what?" Malfoy repeated.
"It doesn't matter," I muttered thickly, still sounding bitter and almost defeated, and Malfoy frowned. "You won't believe me either. Nobodyeverdoes."
Something about my voice, and the shadow that crossed my face, seemed to stop them from asking me anything else-which probably meant I looked pretty pathetic, I figured.
"Come on, Jewel," Tracey said quietly, putting her hand on my shoulder and squeezing bracingly, while Malfoy went silent, still staring at me in a way even I couldn't read. "Let's go eat."
꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ
It would take something pretty damn spectacular to mend the ever-growing rift between me Harry Ron and Hermione, I thought.
The longer it went on, the bigger it became, and the harder it felt to cross. I wanted to just get over it, especially when I fought so hard to open up in the first place(and to build my relationship with Harry, something we both desperately want-needed), but every time I tried something stopped me.
They didn't believe me.
Two days after my 'talk' with Malfoy and Tracey(not even Malfoy could bring himself to ask for more details, not after the way I looked when I said they didn't believe me,and Tracey had stopped trying to get me to 'make up' with Hermione and the others-and, from the looks of it, told the others to drop it too)Harry finally had enough and decided to take matters into his own hands.
I guess he knew, if he didn't, nothing would go back to the way it was.
And he was desperate to go back.
To fix this.
He just got me-he didn't want to lose me again, especially not over some stupid fight about Professor Snape Quirrell and the Philosopher's Stone.
I was sitting in the Great Hall for lunch, boredly throwing cut-up bits of sausages into the air and catching them in my mouth(and attempting to get the girls to do it too-they refused, and I couldn't help but miserably think 'Ron and Harry would've done it'). When Harry came over, I didn't notice at first(my scar faintly tingled in warning when he got close enough, but I wasn't paying attention-and I've gotten so used to the sensation that it was easy to ignore).
Tracey went quiet, sharing a look across me with Daphne and Pansy.
"Uh, Jewel-" Pansy said slowly.
Startled by the sudden interruption, I flinched back causing the cut-up bit of sausage I'd thrown into the air to hit me in the cheek, inches away from my eyes.
"Come on, I had that one!" I complained, catching it before it could fall and popping it in my mouth.
As I wiped my cheek with my sleeve, Pansy wrinkled her nose.
"What?" I said. "It hit me in the face, it didn't fall on the floor-"
"Still," she muttered.
"You're such a girl, Pans-"
"-Jules?"
Hearing Harry's voice, I found myself stiffening.
Tracey looked at me worriedly and, feeling suddenly unsure, I hesitated before cautiously turning around, not quite looking my brother in the eye.
"Harry. Hey," I said shortly.
Harry looked uncomfortable but determined.
"I'm really sorry," he blurted.
"Harry..." I trailed quietly, looking down with a tense frown.
"No, just-listen-" he pleaded. "We shouldn't of said all that stuff-I shouldn't of...I just want to make things okay with us again, but I don't know how. Just-just tell me what I have to do to make it up to you, and I will. So will Ron and Hermione. We all feel really awful-"
"Do you?" I found myself scoffing bitterly, despite knowing they really do feel terrible-despite not fully understanding why I was so upset.
Harry's face fell.
"When we saw how upset you were," he said, "we should've taken you seriously, it's just-you can't blame us for not thinking that-"
He glanced awkwardly at my dorm mates, who didn't even pretend they weren't listening.
Daphne and Tracey traded a look; torn between telling Harry to back off, letting me handle this myself, and demanding to know what the bloody hell we were on about.
Bulstrode just rolled her eyes, thinking some not very nice things, and turned back to eat.
Pansy outright glared at him.
Surprisingly, she seemed to take them upsetting me more personally than either Tracey or Daphne-and, after seeing how bad I really am, Tracey went from being frustrated that we hadn't just made up to subtly scowling at Harry Ron and Hermione whenever any of them came near me.
I think Pansy might be trying to make up for how she acts when Malfoy does the same thing-but, to be fair, I give as good as I get in that regard.
I looked up at him numbly.
"It's not that-it's the fact that you didn't believe me."
"I know," Harry said miserably, "I should've. I do."
Seeing my hardened expression, he was quick to continue.
"I mean, I won't lie and say I've changed my mind, or the others have, or I suddenly think the same thing you do-but I'm willing to believe that, whyever you think that, you have a really good reason. Hermione says that we have a difference of opinion, but that that doesn't have to come between us. As long as we respect each other's opinions-and Ron shuts up, we should be fine...Right?"
He looked so hopeful that my chest ached.
And, looking at him, I could tell he meant what he was saying; if I really think Professor Snape's innocent and Quirrell is behind all of this, he'll respect that and do what he can to back me up(and so will Ron and Hermione)-as long as I can do the same with them and Professor Snape.
The problem was, I wasn't sure I could.
And neither was he.
"So, what, Hermione had to coach you before you came over here?" I remarked.
"What-no-I mean-"
When he saw the hint of an amused smile on my face, Harry stopped short.
"Maybe a little bit," he admitted, if only to keep that smile on my face.
To his disappointment, it quickly faded away.
"I want things to go back to normal," I confessed quietly, "but it's not that easy for me. Every time I see you, all I can think about is that the one person who was supposed to believe me didn't."
A wave of guilt washed over Harry's face.
"I'm really sorry," was all he could manage to say.
"I just think I need some time-" I said uncertainly, my chest tightening.
But we both knew that, judging by the past few weeks, more time would probably just make things worse.
Not to mention, make it harder for us to get back to how things were.
Harry wavered in place, desperately thinking of something that would-
Suddenly, a familiar tune popped into his head, and his eyes widened slightly.
Watching him look between me and the Slytherins, torn between his desperation to fix things and impending humiliation, my eyebrows shot up.
There's no way he's gonna-
"With the heartbreak open," he awkwardly but determinedly sang, his face already looking a bit pink, and I stared at him in astonishment, "so much you can't hide, put on a little makeup, makeup, make sure they get your good side, good side-"
Pansy Daphne and Tracey looked about as speechless as I felt.
Bulstrode coughed up a mouthful of chicken.
Several Slytherins and Hufflepuffs jerked around to gawk at the singing Boy Who Lived-especially when he started to uncomfortably bop along(and not well).
"If the words unspoken, get stuck in your throat, send a treasure token, token, write it on a pound note, pound note. Goody two, goody two, goody goody two shoes, goody two, goody two, goody goody two shoes-don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? Subtle innuendos follow, there must be something inside-"
People started to snigger, or just outright stare, at the comical sight-and, after a stupefied/dumbfounded silence, all you could hear was Malfoy Crabbe and Goyle roaring with laughter.
"What on earth is Potter doing?" Malfoy wondered loudly, gaining more attention across the hall.
Harry went red with anger and embarrassment but ignored him.
"We don't follow fashion," he sang, watching my reaction hopefully, "that'd be a joke, you know we're going to set them, set them, so everyone can take note, take note-"
I felt something in me go all soft.
Goody Two Shoes, Adam Ant; the song that got us to finally feel like we were connecting as siblings, as twins, and the first song I taught him from my neverending playlist...not to mention the fact he was willingly humiliating himself-and in front of Malfoy(who we both know will never let this go-and probably bring it up for weeks to come)-to sing it, just to get me to forgive him.
It's like our song.
"When they saw you kneeling, crying words that you mean, opening their eyeballs, eyeballs, pretending that you're Al Green, Al Green. Goody two, goody two, goody goody two shoes, goody two, goody two, goody goody two shoes-"
"Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do?" I sang suddenly and Harry stopped short. "Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do?"
Seeing the growing smile on my face, the relief on his was almost staggering.
"Subtle innuendos follow," he finished, grinning stupidly, "must be something inside."
"You might be as crazy as me," I told him playfully. "Nowhere near as shameless, but crazy-"
If anything, Harry's grin got wider.
"So...are we okay?" he asked desperately.
"Keep singing, and we'll see," I quipped, nodding at him to continue.
He didn't even argue, which spoke to how much he wanted us to be okay.
"No one's gonna tell me, what's wrong or what's right," he sang. "Or tell me who to eat with, sleep with, or that I've won the big fight, big fight-"
"Oh, yeah!" I clapped mockingly, tongue curling behind my teeth as I grinned, "why don't you add a bit of a twirl for us, Scotch tape?"
"Look out or they'll tell you, you're a 'Superstar'," Harry kept going, shooting me a look, and I waggled my eyebrows, "two weeks and you're an all-time legend, I think the games have gone much too far-"
I wolf-whistled, and Harry struggled to keep a straight face.
"If the words unspoken, get stuck in your throat, send a treasure token, token, write it on a pound note, pound note. Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do?"
"Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do?" I sang along.
"Subtle innuendos follow," we belted out together, myself more dramatically and carelessly than the pink-faced Gryffindor, "must be something inside. 'Cause I don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? Subtle innuendos follow, must be something inside. 'Cause I don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? Subtle innuendos follow, must be something inside. 'Cause I don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? Subtle innuendos follow, must be something inside. 'Cause I don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? Subtle innuendos follow, must be something inside."
I finished with a laugh.
Harry, a loud sigh of relief.
"-Okay, what the hell just happened?" Pansy wondered blankly.
Daphne Bulstrode and Tracey just kept gawking at us.
Slightly breathless, I slid out of my seat and moved to stand in front of Harry.
He looked suddenly nervous and unsure.
"You are such a sap, Harry James Potter," I finally said, shaking my head as I pulled the startled Gryffindor into a tight hug he was quick to return.
I won't lie and say he was the only one that could've cried out of relief.
"So, we're good now?" he mumbled into my hair.
"No one's ever publically humiliated themselves like that for me before," I said, clearing my throat and feeling weirdly emotional. "No one's ever really cared if I talked to them or not."
"You're my sister, Jules," Harry stated, "of course I care."
Having no idea what to say, or feel, I just gripped him tighter.
"And I swear," he added seriously, his voice lowered so only I'd hear him, "next time, I'll listen to whatever you have to say. And, even if I don't agree that it's Quirrell behind all this and not Snape, I promise I'll be careful around Quirrell-and, if you're right, I'll back you up."
"-Thanks, Scotchy," I managed to choke out.
"'Scotchy?'" Harry repeated in surprise.
"It's a nickname," I told him.
"My nickname has a nickname?"
"Damn right it does."
Letting out a slightly hysterical laugh, despite the fact it wasn't that funny(it was more out of relief than anything), Harry squeezed me back.
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry too," I added uncomfortably. "It's just-this is really hard for me and I didn't know how to-and when you didn't believe me, I kind of just...shut down, I guess. And the longer it went on, the worse it got, and going to see you-or trying to just get over it-just got harder-"
"Jules, it's okay," he said firmly.
I nodded, more relieved than anything that he'd let me off the hook so easily.
"...we've been hugging for a really long time," I remarked after a moment.
Harry chuckled.
Finally, we pulled away.
Reaching up, I messed up Harry's already messy black hair.
"Look at us, making up after our first big fight," I teased.
Harry tried to look annoyed as he quickly fixed his hair, but he couldn't stop smiling.
"Come on, Scotchy," I added, wrapping my arms around him, "let's go find those wankers we call friends-Do you think, if I make him feel bad enough, I can get Ron to sing for me too?"
"I doubt it," Harry said with a grin, his arm going around my shoulders.
"I'ma head into enemy territory-don't wait up!" I called to Daphne Tracey and Pansy before turning on my heel and heading across the hall with Harry.
"...Seriously, what just happened?!" Pansy exclaimed, gesturing in mine and Harry's direction incredulously.
"Potters," Daphne snorted, rolling her eyes. "Mental, the lot of them."