It was the same as it had been for the years past - Peony
entered the first class of the day, late, as she was accustomed to
being on the first day back. And, alone - no one, not even her
closest and treasured friend accompanied her. There was only one
difference in this morning, this stormy day (her favourite kind of
day.) Oliver had saved her seat and as soon as she had rushed
through the door, he had waved her down. Most - sitting, mouth
ajar - so surprised that a 'popular' person would even give a
second glance at the misfit Peony.

Peony herself was surprised. She had been so sure when she
fell asleep in Oliver's bed last night, that it would be last time
she ever touched anything that had been so close to him, as well as
speak to him again. She believed that with her final awakening that
morning, with him gone and the room looking desolate and lost without
his radiant glow illuminating the room, it would be the last time he
would ever cast a word toward her.

For a moment, she lingered by the door; her mouth as well was
open. But, when she did begin to move again, all went in a motion
slower than a snail. She casually caught glimpses of students on
either side of her, but all the way her mindset stayed on him. He
had the inferno of a lop-sided grin on his face; clearly he was amused
at her astonishment. And, by now her entire face was a flame.

As she slid into the seat, Peony could feel warmth radiating
from Oliver's body. She glanced nervously at him - he caught her eye
and offered a beam. She gasped softly and looked forward, attempting
follow instruction. Another boring lecture echoed through the room.
Slowly, though she tried firmly to hold off the waves of drowsiness…
Then, so quickly - a jab in her ribs that made her yelp in surprise.

"Huh? What?"

Giggles from the glass and a menacing glare from the professor
were issued in her direction. A stray piece of parchment was pushed
toward her with her name written on it. She casually opened it - she
stifled giggles. Hung upside down from a tree, was Marcus Flint, being
beaten with a spikey stick. Peony smiled brightly and wondered if the
paper could act as a voodoo doll. She picked up her own quill and
sketched an Adrian Pucey whipping Flint. Passing it over to Oliver,
she allowed herself a glaring glance at a Slytherin that had many a
time hurt her.

Suddenly, Peony ceased and turned to face forward.
The movement was so quick it knocked the paper out of Oliver's
hand and slid away. She did not notice though - she wondered
how she could be acting so - so - out of character. This was
her, was it not? She wanted to fight back - to no longer sift
throught he hallways alone and be frightened. Peony looked over
at Oliver and her mouth dropped open as she followed his eyes.
One of the Slytherins had picked up the paper and was sharing it
with the others.

"Maybe they won't know it was us," she whispered.

Oliver leaned forward and she reveled in the feel of
him. A scent must drifted off his robes - Peony grinned. He
leaned down and gently touched his lips to her ear. His breath
was warm, gentle, and so sensual that a chill ran down her body.

"Um - your name's on it,"

Peony clenched her jaw shut and grinded her teeth for
a moment. He was right - her name was clearly spelled out on
the back of it. "Don't turn it over - don't turn it..." The
pleading thought was not finished. The Slytherin flipped the
paper over, with a scowl on his face. "Don't be able to read -
don't be able..." The boy looked up at her, his eyes boring a
flamed hole in heart. "Crap!" Then, he smiled, knowlingly.
As Peony saw the boy fold the paper carefully and put it in his
pocket, she knew Flint would see by the end of the day.



She did not even bother to go to dinner. Flint would
be there - the demon with a smile. Peony shivered at the thought
of his entire existence. Not even Oliver could quell that man's
wrath. Why was it that Slytherins hated so many. Why was it that
their abhorrance could not be depleted? And most of all, why was
it that Flint hated her? She longed to know these answers. From
her first day of school, she had been treated as an outsider -
because of her corpulent exterior. Because of being a 'mudblood'
she was left out of many things. But, then there were those that
actually did not care for such trivial things as who ones family was.

A knock at the door startled her. Peony clutched her
heart and felt it beat vivaciously. She timidly threw her
legs over the side of her bed and stepped onto the floor.
It was cold, the stone which usually was warm at this time,
chilled her. The hairs on the back of her neck stuck up in
apprehension. "Be Karen - be Karen - please be Karen." She
walked toward the door and cleared her throat.

"Yeah?"

"Peony - it's me, Oliver,"

She breathed a sigh of relief and un-locked the door.
Peony smiled at Oliver - even the blank expression on his face
gave her comfort at the moment. Oliver stepped through the door
and gazed around at the room. He walked with a cat's grace as
strode about, inspecting objects that caught his fancy. She
grinned at him - a moronic expression plastered on his face.

"Oliver - um, are you okay?"

He stood up straight and peered around at her.
Oliver offered smirking smile. Peony tilted her head,
she had never seen him wear that before. It looked odly
familiar in a disturbing sense. In her cogitation, Peony
missed his striding toward her. When her mind did come back
to the present, she saw him before herself. He was smiling
calculatingly - thinking - planning...

Oliver grabbed her waist and jerked he forward, swiftly.
Peony yelped in pain and surprise at his forceful actions. His
mouth enclosed hers - probing - exploring the caverns. It then
struck her - the memory of that horrifying night... She pulled
back and stumbled to her knees.

"Flint?!"

He smirked once more and was upon her. Somewhere amidst
the tearing of her clothes he had cast a charm to silence her.
But that did not stop the tears leaking forth from her eyes.
She loathe him more than ever. With his weight pressing down
upon her body and the manical gleam in his eyes. Forever, would
the image of his rampage be carved into her heart and mind.