A/N: I don't own any HP characters, they, of course, belong to the wonderful JKR, so don't sue, I'm not making any $ off of this, it's purely for the entertainment value it may have. I do own any original characters, and the plot I suppose. Review. Review. Review. Reveiw. Please? Review. Review. You know you want to. Please? Pretty please? (I'm not really this pathetic...really...)
~*~Explanation time! Yeeha!: Alright, this chapter mainly focuses on Philomena and Fiona...I love making Slytherins miserable *evilgrin* But, of course, it wouldn't be HP fan fiction without Harry, so just hang on.
CHAPTER THREE (Of Cottonballs and Scars)
Next to her cheap silicon I look minimal
That's why in front of your eyes I'm invisible
But you gotta know small things also count
You better put your feet on the ground
And see what it's about
--"Objection (Tango)" by Shakira
Philomena stared awkwardly at her hands and tried to remember where she had left her Muggle Studies book. She remembered having it a lunch, but after that it was a stange blur.
"Where did you have it last?" Margaret asked. Philomena sighed.
"At lunch...in the Great Hall," she answered, biting her plump lip.
"Well then, c'mon, let's go check," Margaret said, pushing away from the library table and charging towards the door. Philomena followed, nearly killing herself as her robes got caught on a chair and chocked her. She heard someone snicker behind her and turned to see Draco Malfoy smirking at her.
"Ever the picture of delicacy, Bell," he sneered. She flushed, and opened her mouth to answer him, but was quickly steered away by Margaret.
"Forget him," she said quietly, leading Philomena down the hall, towards the Great Hall.
"It's not that easy. Everything seems to go wrong when there's a Slytherin around. I swear they all hate me," she grumbled.
"They hate everyone."
"Yeah, but...it's different now, I'm actually related to one."
"So? I thought you said Fiona made it quite clear that nothing would change between the two of you.."
"Well, she did, but-"
"Stop worrying, please! Before you get yourself killed," Margaret exclaimed, pulling Philomena out of the way of an opening door. Philomena grumbled as she tried to straighten her robes. They entered the Great Hall, but found nothing. Philomena sighed and slumped against the wall.
"Great...just great," she muttered. Margaret was quiet.
"Fiona?" she asked, hopefully. Philomena let out a great sigh.
"I guess I'll have to ask," she said.
"Do you even know where the Slytherin enterance is?" Margaret asked.
"Well...no, I thought you did."
"Why would I know?"
"I don't know...so, what to do now?"
Philomena was quickly deflating and Margaret worried that her friend would soon collapse into a heap on the floor if something didn't happen soon.
"Alright, uh...what about Malfoy?" she was desperate. Philomena's eyes widened.
"What? No!" she sputtered.
"You need those books! We have a huge assignment in Muggle Studies tonight!" Margaret exclaimed. Philomena covered her face with her hands and started rubbing her eyes. With a dejected sigh, she nodded.
"Alright. Let's just get this over with," she muttered.
***
"You what?" Draco Malfoy asked, nearly chocking as he listened to the Hufflepuff talk.
"I need those books...and I need to ask if Fiona has them," she answered.
"You left them in the Great Hall," he answered flippantly, looking away. Philomena glared at the top of his head. Margaret had slowly inched herself away from the two and was trying to looking busy as she rifled through her own bag for her books.
"How would you know?" she asked. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Because you dropped them right in front of me."
"Well, they aren't there anymore..."
"Why would Fiona have them?"
Philomena was on the brink of a nervous collapse.
"Alright, never mind then!" she sputtered, turning on her heal and nearly colliding with another student. Draco silently cursed to himself as he watched her pout at a nearby table, trying to stare at him maliciously, but only managing to look like a moody five-year-old.
He got up, gathered his books, and made for the door.
"You can follow me if you want, I need to get something from my room anyway," he muttered, walking by her table. Philomena got up slowly and trailed him, feeling not unlike a hopeful puppy dog, following an abusive master.
"Fine," she muttered, trying to mimic Fiona's uninterested tone. She was nearly running, trying to keep up with the taller Slytherin as he breezed through the school, towards the dungeon. He muttered the password and had almost disappeared inside, before Philomena spoke up.
"Uh...can you check if she has them?" she asked tentatvily. Draco froze and turned around. His gaze was steely and a smirk was forming on his lips. Philomena realized her folly and quickly looked to her feet, preparing for the barb that was no doubt about to come.
"I'm not you're lap dog, go do it yourself," he spat, turning on his heel and disappearing through the gap in the wall. She sighed. For a moment, she had almost thought he was human. Slowly stepping into the common room, she jumped as the portrait slammed shut behind her. Instantly, she felt their eyes on her, accessing her with an icy detachment, and ultimately, finding her lacking.
"What are you doing here?" a boy she recognized from the sorting ceremony asked.
"I..I...I want my-"
"Well, out with it already, we haven't got all day," another exclaimed.
"My books," Philomena said, on the brink of tears as they stared her. There was silence, she thought she heard someone start laughing quietly. She didn't move, just stood there, looking quite pathetic. Taking a deep breath, she surveyed the small group of unfriendly eyes and found Fiona.
"Did you pick them up?" she asked, looking to Fiona, who, up until now, had ignored Philomena's very existence. She snorted and let out a slight laugh.
"Why would I keep track of /your/ smelly books?"
"I.." she didn't bother to finishe her sentence. She turned around and nearly ran for the portrait hole, which, she thought wryly, seemed to also be laughing at her. It opened and she threw herself into the abandoned dungeon corridor. Infuriated, she stalked towards the stairs. It wasn't asking all that much for them to be at least civil! How was she going to do her homework? Her mind raced as she continued towards the Hufflepuff tower. There was a blind corner just before the staircase that everyone had sense enough to approach with a certain amount of caution. Everyone, that is, excecpt Philomena who barelled around it and crashed into an unlucky Slytherin.
"Draco Malfoy! What on earth! You just went to your room for Merlin's sake! How many times do you have to enter and exit in one day!?" Philomena sputtered.
"Stuff it Bell, if you hadn't been completely careless, this wouldn't have happened," he snarled, a hand over his eye.
"Oh please, of course, blame this on-what happened?" she said abruptly, watching him cover his left eye with his hand.
"I'm bleeding," he said dryly. Her eyes widened and Draco swore he heard a whimper.
"You're bleeding?" she asked softly.
"Yes, it would appear so," he muttered, getting back on his feet. She had already produced a cottonball from her robe and was preparing to dab at his eye when he glowered at her.
"A cottonball?"
"It's all I have...it will have to suffice until we get you to the Madam Pomfrey," she said, starting for the staircase.
"I'm fine," he mumbled, preparing to go back to his room.
"No, you're bleeding! You're coming with me," she said, placing her hands on her hips and matching his gaze. With a sigh, he relented and started for the stairs.
"Here," Philomena murmured, batting away his hand and dabbing at the cut above his eyes. They were sitting in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey was busy rooting around for a specific potion. Draco had closed his eye and was trying, without much success, to wrench the cottonball from Philomena's grasp. She whimpered again and then a small sob escaped. He jerked his right eye open.
"Are you crying?" he sputtered. She quickly turned away with a sniffle and soon began to hiccup. Draco stared at her in disbelief.
"Good god, get it together woman, I'll not have you poking at my eye if you're in tears...honestly, a five-year-old has more control than you," he muttered, continuing to bat away her hand. She finally looked back at him, glowering.
"Oh, shut up," she said, dropping the cottonball and flopping onto the bed next to him, her arms crossed. Draco finally relaxed, figuring she had given up her proddings for the day. However, as a small drop trickled down his forehead, she attacked again with renewed energy.
"Honestly, put the cottonball down! I'm fine!" he snapped. Philomena sniffled again and he let a loud, pained sigh.
"No, you're not! And this is all my fault!" she cried. Draco would have agreed with her, but figured if he did, she would fall to pieces. Finally, with a small groan, she stopped and, again, flopped down beside him.
"Alright...I'll stop," she murmured, staring at her feet. He glanced over at her with his good eye. She was a pitiful sight, puffy eyes, tear stained face, frown creasing her face, arms crossed.
"You're rotten...the lot of you," she said, barely over a whisper. Madame Pomfrey had returned triumphant. Philomena didn't look at him or talk to him as she left the hospital wing, tramping back to her tower, very, very far away from any Slytherin. The entire day had been a complete and utter lose. Her books were gone, she supposed she could borrow someone else's books tonight, but tomorrow, during class...how would she explain it this time? She had just made a complete and utter fool out of herself in front almost the entire Slytherine house, and now, she had all but beheaded Draco Malfoy, though, she thought bitterly, he did sort of deserve it.
***
Harry would have enjoyed very much rubbing this in Malfoy's face, had Philomena not been involved, he would have charged right in. In fact, the whole scene, a small, concerned girl poking at Malfoy's eye with a bloodstained cottonball and Malfoy, looking quite indignant, and not at all his usual calm, collected self, trying to defend his eyes as best he could, seemed oddly surreal.
Harry had momentarily forgotten the reason he had trudged to the hospital wing in the first place. Madam Pomfrey regarded him as he walked in, looking for any bleeding wounds or dismembered body parts. When she found none she abandoned Draco, who was no patched back together.
"Oh, Harry, dear, what's wrong?" she asked. Harry bit his lip and absently brushed his unruly hair out of his eyes.
"I have an amazing headache," he said, rubbing his head. Pomfrey nodded and vanished again, rooting around for another potion or serum. Draco leveled a glare at Harry and arched an eyebrow.
"A headache?"
"What's it to you?" Harry shot back, his head throbbing as he spoke. Draco just laughed and sauntered out the door.
Pomfrey reappeared and handed Harry a small vial.
"Here, this should help," she said. There was a pause as Harry downed the solution, his face twisting in disgust as the bitter liquid washed through his mouth. She regarded him slowly.
"Was it your scar?" she asked blatently. Harry nearly choked as he swallowed.
"No...just a headache," he said adamanetly. Pomfrey nodded and Harry relaxed as the acheing seised. The truth was, it had been his scar. But he was afraid of sending the whole school into a panic. He could just imagine Colin running after him with a camera, hoping to get a shot of him groping at his forehead. It had happened at Hagrid's, he had been down to make up a missed homework assignment, when he had suddenly felt it start to throb. It didn't burn, like it had years ago, but it ached. It was a disconcerting feeling, still, he wondered what else could go wrong, what other danger he would have to face. He sighed, how many more times he would have to face down death simply because he had lived. He laughed, and that was painful truth. Simply because he had lived. Ironic, funny even, if only it had been that simple.
***
Fiona glared at the Slytherine portrait hole as it opened. Draco emerged, still absently swatting at his eye, just to make sure the flesh was still connected. He noticed Fiona's glare, and Pansy not far behind. He didn't bother to stop or ask what, exactly, they were staring at.
"You have a cottonball sticking out of your robe," Fiona called after him.
___
Alright, I admit, bascially fluff...little plot, or so you think ::cackle:: Aren't you just itching to review? Of course ya are! Right?
~*~Explanation time! Yeeha!: Alright, this chapter mainly focuses on Philomena and Fiona...I love making Slytherins miserable *evilgrin* But, of course, it wouldn't be HP fan fiction without Harry, so just hang on.
CHAPTER THREE (Of Cottonballs and Scars)
Next to her cheap silicon I look minimal
That's why in front of your eyes I'm invisible
But you gotta know small things also count
You better put your feet on the ground
And see what it's about
--"Objection (Tango)" by Shakira
Philomena stared awkwardly at her hands and tried to remember where she had left her Muggle Studies book. She remembered having it a lunch, but after that it was a stange blur.
"Where did you have it last?" Margaret asked. Philomena sighed.
"At lunch...in the Great Hall," she answered, biting her plump lip.
"Well then, c'mon, let's go check," Margaret said, pushing away from the library table and charging towards the door. Philomena followed, nearly killing herself as her robes got caught on a chair and chocked her. She heard someone snicker behind her and turned to see Draco Malfoy smirking at her.
"Ever the picture of delicacy, Bell," he sneered. She flushed, and opened her mouth to answer him, but was quickly steered away by Margaret.
"Forget him," she said quietly, leading Philomena down the hall, towards the Great Hall.
"It's not that easy. Everything seems to go wrong when there's a Slytherin around. I swear they all hate me," she grumbled.
"They hate everyone."
"Yeah, but...it's different now, I'm actually related to one."
"So? I thought you said Fiona made it quite clear that nothing would change between the two of you.."
"Well, she did, but-"
"Stop worrying, please! Before you get yourself killed," Margaret exclaimed, pulling Philomena out of the way of an opening door. Philomena grumbled as she tried to straighten her robes. They entered the Great Hall, but found nothing. Philomena sighed and slumped against the wall.
"Great...just great," she muttered. Margaret was quiet.
"Fiona?" she asked, hopefully. Philomena let out a great sigh.
"I guess I'll have to ask," she said.
"Do you even know where the Slytherin enterance is?" Margaret asked.
"Well...no, I thought you did."
"Why would I know?"
"I don't know...so, what to do now?"
Philomena was quickly deflating and Margaret worried that her friend would soon collapse into a heap on the floor if something didn't happen soon.
"Alright, uh...what about Malfoy?" she was desperate. Philomena's eyes widened.
"What? No!" she sputtered.
"You need those books! We have a huge assignment in Muggle Studies tonight!" Margaret exclaimed. Philomena covered her face with her hands and started rubbing her eyes. With a dejected sigh, she nodded.
"Alright. Let's just get this over with," she muttered.
***
"You what?" Draco Malfoy asked, nearly chocking as he listened to the Hufflepuff talk.
"I need those books...and I need to ask if Fiona has them," she answered.
"You left them in the Great Hall," he answered flippantly, looking away. Philomena glared at the top of his head. Margaret had slowly inched herself away from the two and was trying to looking busy as she rifled through her own bag for her books.
"How would you know?" she asked. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Because you dropped them right in front of me."
"Well, they aren't there anymore..."
"Why would Fiona have them?"
Philomena was on the brink of a nervous collapse.
"Alright, never mind then!" she sputtered, turning on her heal and nearly colliding with another student. Draco silently cursed to himself as he watched her pout at a nearby table, trying to stare at him maliciously, but only managing to look like a moody five-year-old.
He got up, gathered his books, and made for the door.
"You can follow me if you want, I need to get something from my room anyway," he muttered, walking by her table. Philomena got up slowly and trailed him, feeling not unlike a hopeful puppy dog, following an abusive master.
"Fine," she muttered, trying to mimic Fiona's uninterested tone. She was nearly running, trying to keep up with the taller Slytherin as he breezed through the school, towards the dungeon. He muttered the password and had almost disappeared inside, before Philomena spoke up.
"Uh...can you check if she has them?" she asked tentatvily. Draco froze and turned around. His gaze was steely and a smirk was forming on his lips. Philomena realized her folly and quickly looked to her feet, preparing for the barb that was no doubt about to come.
"I'm not you're lap dog, go do it yourself," he spat, turning on his heel and disappearing through the gap in the wall. She sighed. For a moment, she had almost thought he was human. Slowly stepping into the common room, she jumped as the portrait slammed shut behind her. Instantly, she felt their eyes on her, accessing her with an icy detachment, and ultimately, finding her lacking.
"What are you doing here?" a boy she recognized from the sorting ceremony asked.
"I..I...I want my-"
"Well, out with it already, we haven't got all day," another exclaimed.
"My books," Philomena said, on the brink of tears as they stared her. There was silence, she thought she heard someone start laughing quietly. She didn't move, just stood there, looking quite pathetic. Taking a deep breath, she surveyed the small group of unfriendly eyes and found Fiona.
"Did you pick them up?" she asked, looking to Fiona, who, up until now, had ignored Philomena's very existence. She snorted and let out a slight laugh.
"Why would I keep track of /your/ smelly books?"
"I.." she didn't bother to finishe her sentence. She turned around and nearly ran for the portrait hole, which, she thought wryly, seemed to also be laughing at her. It opened and she threw herself into the abandoned dungeon corridor. Infuriated, she stalked towards the stairs. It wasn't asking all that much for them to be at least civil! How was she going to do her homework? Her mind raced as she continued towards the Hufflepuff tower. There was a blind corner just before the staircase that everyone had sense enough to approach with a certain amount of caution. Everyone, that is, excecpt Philomena who barelled around it and crashed into an unlucky Slytherin.
"Draco Malfoy! What on earth! You just went to your room for Merlin's sake! How many times do you have to enter and exit in one day!?" Philomena sputtered.
"Stuff it Bell, if you hadn't been completely careless, this wouldn't have happened," he snarled, a hand over his eye.
"Oh please, of course, blame this on-what happened?" she said abruptly, watching him cover his left eye with his hand.
"I'm bleeding," he said dryly. Her eyes widened and Draco swore he heard a whimper.
"You're bleeding?" she asked softly.
"Yes, it would appear so," he muttered, getting back on his feet. She had already produced a cottonball from her robe and was preparing to dab at his eye when he glowered at her.
"A cottonball?"
"It's all I have...it will have to suffice until we get you to the Madam Pomfrey," she said, starting for the staircase.
"I'm fine," he mumbled, preparing to go back to his room.
"No, you're bleeding! You're coming with me," she said, placing her hands on her hips and matching his gaze. With a sigh, he relented and started for the stairs.
"Here," Philomena murmured, batting away his hand and dabbing at the cut above his eyes. They were sitting in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey was busy rooting around for a specific potion. Draco had closed his eye and was trying, without much success, to wrench the cottonball from Philomena's grasp. She whimpered again and then a small sob escaped. He jerked his right eye open.
"Are you crying?" he sputtered. She quickly turned away with a sniffle and soon began to hiccup. Draco stared at her in disbelief.
"Good god, get it together woman, I'll not have you poking at my eye if you're in tears...honestly, a five-year-old has more control than you," he muttered, continuing to bat away her hand. She finally looked back at him, glowering.
"Oh, shut up," she said, dropping the cottonball and flopping onto the bed next to him, her arms crossed. Draco finally relaxed, figuring she had given up her proddings for the day. However, as a small drop trickled down his forehead, she attacked again with renewed energy.
"Honestly, put the cottonball down! I'm fine!" he snapped. Philomena sniffled again and he let a loud, pained sigh.
"No, you're not! And this is all my fault!" she cried. Draco would have agreed with her, but figured if he did, she would fall to pieces. Finally, with a small groan, she stopped and, again, flopped down beside him.
"Alright...I'll stop," she murmured, staring at her feet. He glanced over at her with his good eye. She was a pitiful sight, puffy eyes, tear stained face, frown creasing her face, arms crossed.
"You're rotten...the lot of you," she said, barely over a whisper. Madame Pomfrey had returned triumphant. Philomena didn't look at him or talk to him as she left the hospital wing, tramping back to her tower, very, very far away from any Slytherin. The entire day had been a complete and utter lose. Her books were gone, she supposed she could borrow someone else's books tonight, but tomorrow, during class...how would she explain it this time? She had just made a complete and utter fool out of herself in front almost the entire Slytherine house, and now, she had all but beheaded Draco Malfoy, though, she thought bitterly, he did sort of deserve it.
***
Harry would have enjoyed very much rubbing this in Malfoy's face, had Philomena not been involved, he would have charged right in. In fact, the whole scene, a small, concerned girl poking at Malfoy's eye with a bloodstained cottonball and Malfoy, looking quite indignant, and not at all his usual calm, collected self, trying to defend his eyes as best he could, seemed oddly surreal.
Harry had momentarily forgotten the reason he had trudged to the hospital wing in the first place. Madam Pomfrey regarded him as he walked in, looking for any bleeding wounds or dismembered body parts. When she found none she abandoned Draco, who was no patched back together.
"Oh, Harry, dear, what's wrong?" she asked. Harry bit his lip and absently brushed his unruly hair out of his eyes.
"I have an amazing headache," he said, rubbing his head. Pomfrey nodded and vanished again, rooting around for another potion or serum. Draco leveled a glare at Harry and arched an eyebrow.
"A headache?"
"What's it to you?" Harry shot back, his head throbbing as he spoke. Draco just laughed and sauntered out the door.
Pomfrey reappeared and handed Harry a small vial.
"Here, this should help," she said. There was a pause as Harry downed the solution, his face twisting in disgust as the bitter liquid washed through his mouth. She regarded him slowly.
"Was it your scar?" she asked blatently. Harry nearly choked as he swallowed.
"No...just a headache," he said adamanetly. Pomfrey nodded and Harry relaxed as the acheing seised. The truth was, it had been his scar. But he was afraid of sending the whole school into a panic. He could just imagine Colin running after him with a camera, hoping to get a shot of him groping at his forehead. It had happened at Hagrid's, he had been down to make up a missed homework assignment, when he had suddenly felt it start to throb. It didn't burn, like it had years ago, but it ached. It was a disconcerting feeling, still, he wondered what else could go wrong, what other danger he would have to face. He sighed, how many more times he would have to face down death simply because he had lived. He laughed, and that was painful truth. Simply because he had lived. Ironic, funny even, if only it had been that simple.
***
Fiona glared at the Slytherine portrait hole as it opened. Draco emerged, still absently swatting at his eye, just to make sure the flesh was still connected. He noticed Fiona's glare, and Pansy not far behind. He didn't bother to stop or ask what, exactly, they were staring at.
"You have a cottonball sticking out of your robe," Fiona called after him.
___
Alright, I admit, bascially fluff...little plot, or so you think ::cackle:: Aren't you just itching to review? Of course ya are! Right?