HPFF3
CAREFUL KIDS THERE'S SOME
PRETTY RUDE LANGUAGE IN HERE..
"Can you help me with this?" Phebe asked Terry. They were sitting in the common lounge and doing Arithmancy: Phebe was trying to do Arithmancy. Terry was explaining.
"Sure," Terry said graciously. Terry Mada was a seventh year Hufflepuff. He had short, dark hair and greenish-blue eyes. And he was quite a little Arithmancy genius, too.
As Terry explained the problem to her, Phebe aha-ed and ok-ed but her mind wandered and she found it impossible to concentrate. Phebe could not help being afraid that any second, Harry, who had grown absurdly bossy and overprotective of her in the last weeks, could burst into the common lounge and have a temper.
She was getting sick of being careful about talking to male friends whenever Harry was around. He would be absolutely furious, Phebe thought, if he came in here and saw me with Terry. The evil part of her almost wished he would. But it was better not to take any chances. When Harry was moody and it was always better not to aggravate him. His caprices usually had reasons.
"You know what," she interrupted Terry, "I'm going to work this out with Hermione later."
"Oh, ok. But did it help?" Terry inquired.
"Yes, thank you." Phebe gathered her books and scrolls and hurried toward the exit of the lounge. She ran smack into Ron and dropped everything. Books, pens, quills, and paper went flying everywhere. It really wasn't her day.
"Oh!" exclaimed Ron, "Sorry about that! Let me get it."
They knelt on the floor and began to collect Phebe's things. "No, no, it's ok!" Phebe assured him, "I should have been watching where I was going."
Phebe thanked Ron for his help and then he dashed off. Harry appeared with a scowl on his face. It seemed he always wore one lately.
"What exactly," Harry implored skeptically, "were you and Ron grubbing about on the floor for?" He gave Phebe a look that suspected an unwelcome answer.
Phebe was not in a good mood. She did not enjoy being bossed around and she was not going to take it anymore. This was the last straw. Ron was his best friend for chrissakes! Dropping her books, she curtly grabbed the front of Harry's robe and pushed her boyfriend against the nearest wall.
"Now, Harry, I do not want to make a scene," she whispered into his ear, "but I think you are going too far." Harry was silent. "If you are so paranoid to think that I am fooling around with every Tom, Dick and –" Harry inhaled sharply, "– and Malcolm," Phebe continued, her anger rising, "I must tell you that you are very much mistaken!" With that she let of his robe.
"You're the one that's always sneaking and creeping around with as many boys as possible! You know what, Phebe?" Harry inserted a cruel pause, "It almost seems like you're trying to make me jealous. It's not like I have enough problems already without having to worry about my girlfriend's fidelity."
"Why are you always doubting me?" Phebe queried, narrowing her coffee-brown eyes, "What have I done to make you mistrust me?
"Why do you always ask me that?" Harry countered, clearly annoyed.
"Why are you always so fucking assertive?" Phebe sneered. "Why does it always have to be your way or none at all? Do you even know how to spell the word compromise?"
"Hey! I am not assertive!" Harry's eyes flashed angrily. If there was one thing he hated, then it was being called assertive. He was so not assertive.
"I give up!" Phebe announced, throwing her hands up in defeat. She bent down to pick up to retrieve her twice-scattered belongings. Harry straightened his collar and watched Phebe collect her possessions.
"That's so like you," Harry scoffed.
"Shut up!" Phebe hissed, trying hard not to lose the little patience and composure she had left. "You're such a prick sometimes."
By this time, it was far too late to avoid a scene, and a small crowd of onlookers swarmed around them. Everyone loved witnessing couples fight, especially if it was the famous Harry Potter and his significant other.
"And you can be quite a moody cow," snarled Harry.
"You're a paranoid freak!" Phebe sneered.
"Slut!"
"Wanker!"
"Bitch!"
"Faggot!"
"Whore!"
"Loser!"
"Midnight!"
"Fine!" Phebe huffed and ran off.
The horde cheered.
"Walk on!" Harry yelled, in an attempt to disperse the mob, "There is nothing to see!" Then he pushed his way into the lounge.
* * *
"What?" Isabella Mortimer exclaimed when she heard the latest Hogwarts gossip. "They've fought again?" Wera nodded. "I need to hear Phebe's side!" Isabella said and strolled leisurely to the Ravenclaw dorms.
Isabella, also a seventh-year, had thick, dark hair and creamy pale skin that was dotted gracefully with pastel freckles. Her eyes were dark brown and expressive. Isabella was one of Phebe's oldest friends. They had attended Beauxbatons together for four years.
"Banana trauma," Isabella said to the Ravenclaw portrait hole. It let her in.
Phebe was sitting placidly in front of the large Ravenclaw hearth. She was absently reading a copy of TeenWitch.
"Hi, Izzy," Phebe greeted her friend.
"Tell me about it!" Izzy exclaimed, getting straight to the point. "Was there any blood?"
"No," Phebe said, looking perturbed. "Bad news sure travels fast."
"Oh, yes," agreed Izzy, taking a seat by the warm fire. "Hogwarts is the gossip metropolis when it comes to such things." She flicked imaginary lint off one sleeve. "So .. no details?"
"Don't pry," Phebe reprimanded her.
"I didn't pry!" assured Izzy, "I was merely inquiring."
"Hrmph, ok," Phebe said and told Izzy the whole story.
"You've been fighting pretty often lately," Izzy remarked. "I hope you don't expect anyone to pull a lounge-clearing stunt like last month again."
"I don't," Phebe sighed. "I can't always let everyone else fight my battles."
* * *
Cerise did not like going to the library. She had, however, only two choices: one, ask Hermione and get a lecture or two, go to the library. Much as she adored Draco's voice, she was getting rather un-fond of hearing it inside her head all the time. There just had to be a book about reversing these kinds of acquired traits.
Cerise was very shocked to find Phebe, of all people, sitting not only alone, but she was also poring over a Muggle novel in the farthest reading corner of the large, old library.
"Where's Harry?" Cerise wondered.
"Where's Draco?" countered Phebe, looking up from her book.
"Obviously, he is not here," Cerise informed her suddenly-bookish friend.
"Actually, that was a trick question," Phebe said, yawning, "I just saw him speak to the librarian out of his own free will three minutes ago."
"Did you?" Cerise coaxed Phebe to continue.
"He was definitely headed towards the non-fiction books. Personally, I think that someone's taking the Imperious Curse a little too far."
"I'll be right back," Cerise said and began to search for Draco.
She found him in the Condition Controlling section and watched him from behind a bookshelf for a moment. Draco was very engrossed in a copy of The Thought-Control Manual for Bloody Beginners.
"Boo," said Cerise, startling him. Draco dropped the book. "What is this?" she asked, pointing at the Thought-Control Manual.
"It's a .." Dray stuttered.
"I know," Cerise smiled. "This whole thought-thing is getting pretty annoying."
"It's not what I thought it would be," Draco admitted apologetically, bending down to retrieve the book.
Draco headed for the front desk to check out the book and Cerise returned to the reading corner to check on Phebe and her Muggle book.
Phebe's abandoned novel lay facedown on the table. She was otherwise occupied.
"I thought you two were in a fight," the Slytherin commented dryly. Harry and Phebe continued making out. "I think I am about to have a PDA overdose."
"With a remark like that coming from someone like you, we must be getting pretty heavy," gasped Phebe, who had stopped to catch her breath.
"Make love not war," Harry said and returned to his previous pastime.
"Oh yes," cried Draco enthusiastically, appearing suddenly behind Cerise, book in hand. "Yes, let's."
Cerise rolled her eyes. "Let's leave these two alone," she hinted and dragged Draco to the Slytherin dorms.
* * *
"What in the world have you been doing?" Phebe inquired with astonishment. She had run into a very tousled Wera outside of the library.
"M-m-me?" stuttered Wera and attempted to smooth down her robes. "Nothing, really."
"Are you sure?" asked Phebe suspiciously. "You look so .. disheveled."
"You look quite harried yourself," said Wera, pointing at Phebe's unkempt hair. Straightening his glasses and clearing his throat, Harry shuffled up beside Phebe.
"Hullo," said the Gryffindor huskily.
"And I think I know why," remarked Wera deprecatingly.
Phebe smiled sourly. "What a pun."
"What?" asked Harry, lost.
Moments after the three friends began their pilgrimage to the seventh-year lounge, Professor Finstad stepped from a nearby hall closet. He looked right and left, adjusted his robes and strode confidently towards his DADA classroom.
* * *
Draco wrinkled his nose. "It smells of feet in here," he remarked, not terribly impressed by the fifty floating candles Cerise had magicked into her empty Slytherin dorm room.
"That's very possible," Cerise admitted. "I have feet."
"Nice feet," complimented Draco. He decided not to push his luck.
Cerise smiled and shook her head. "You've totally ruined the atmosphere now." As they embraced, Draco began to fiddle with the buttons on Cerise's black blouse.
"Drat," muttered Draco.
"You're a wizard," Cerise reminded him.
"Alohomora," he said sarcastically, opting instead to tear the blouse. The buttons popped off and clattered to the floor.
"That," Cerise said, crossing her arms, "was perfectly unromantic."
"This isn't about romance," Draco tried to justify his rash actions, "It's a matter of preventing war."
"Oh?" asked Cerise, completely unconvinced.
"Yes, Potter said so," Draco beamed.
"Well, he would know, wouldn't he?" Cerise agreed sarcastically. "Shhh," she shushed, putting a finger on Dray's lips before he could open his mouth to speak again. "One more un-poetic word from you and you are out of here."
"Just one more thing, Cherry," Draco mumbled, kissing her finger. "Can you turn off those candles?"
"Aahhhh!" yelled Cerise in an outburst of frustration. She pushed Draco away from her and walked to a trunk at the foot of her four-poster bed. Cerise dug around in it for a second and then pulled out a fresh blouse. She put it on.
"Hey, don't do this to me!" Draco protested. The black buttonless blouse flew at him in a high arc.
"You better fix that," Cerise said and left Dray standing there, dumbfounded.
Draco stuffed the blouse into his robes. Hermione would have to help him with this. Repairing blouses was not exactly his specialty. He heard Cerise stomping angrily down the girls' dorm stairs. Plucking his wand from his sleeve, Draco shouted "Evaporis!" to rid the room of candles.
"Rosa Nori!" he yelled, pointing at Cerise's four-poster. Black roses rained all over it. Then he turned and left the room.
Draco met Blaise in the Slytherin common room. With a heavy sigh, he took a seat next to his old pal.
"Having problems with your chick?" Blaise inquired bluntly.
Draco scowled. "I believe you mean 'woman.' Why?"
"The lady of fury just stomped out this way," Blaise gestured with his thumb over his left shoulder.
"I thought so," Dray nodded.
Blaise looked at him in surprise. "Is there something wrong?" he asked.
"Not at all," Draco answered, wishing for a cold alcoholic drink. Little did he know that his prayers were about to be answered.
"You're going to the Halloween party tonight, right?"
Draco slapped his forehead. Damn selective amnesia. "I completely forgot about that."
* * *
"What's up?" Phebe asked Terry, who was sitting in the common lounge with Jack McFelton, a fellow Hufflepuff. They were absorbed in the scrutiny of a college brochure.
"Check this out!" Terry yelled, whisking the booklet out of Jack's hands and waving it in Phebe's face.
"What's this?" Phebe asked.
"Mystweed!" exclaimed Terry excitedly. "It's a college in the Netherlands!"
"Aha," Phebe said. Hermione appeared in the doorway. She spotted them and made her way over.
"Hi," she said.
"Look," Terry said, proudly.
"What is it?" Hermione asked. She glanced at the pamphlet. "Mystweed? The Netherlands? Doesn't sound very prestigious." She sniffled. "What are you going to study?"
Terry found it impossible to answer as he and Jack were busy trying to stifle their laughter.
"What are you planning to study, Terry?" Hermione repeated her question.
"Herbology," Phebe answered for him.
"She .. doesn't get it!" Jack managed to choke.
"Well, I was going to leave anyway," Hermione announced.
"See ya," Phebe waved.
"She doesn't get it!" Jack laughed.
"Oh gawd!" Terry piped up.
"So what are you up to today?" Phebe questioned Jack.
"Freegliding," Jack grinned, "I got a sponsor!"
"Who would that be?" Phebe asked, yawning.
"Kitus Broomstick Paraphernalia," explained Jack. "They sponsor three other freegliders."
"Hey, Pheebs, going to that Halloween party tonight?" asked Terry.
"Hmm, dunno, are you?" Phebe wondered.
"Yeah, me and Jack are going to be bartenders," Terry smiled proudly. "We're just perfect for the job."
"And modest, too," Phebe smiled.
* * *