Chapter Four: Sorting...the Queen of Spades

*Ron's POV*

I sat in Potion's class, my eyes half closed. Snape was rattling on about Shrinking Potions and ever few moments I had to shift positions, trying to find a comfortable spot. Periodically I opened my eyes fully just in case Snape was watching me, I couldn't afford to be dosing in class, at least not by him. But of course he wasn't staring at me, or anyone else for that matter, except for Annie Whiting, 'Queen of Spades,' 'Goth Girl', Gryffindor but Potions genius. Malfoy was right she was Snape's Pet. It was sickening the way he looked at her. But what did you except from a Slytherin? A sick, sick Slytherin. In fact it seemed that all of the Slytherin's looked at her. I mean, she did belong in their house. How she ever got into Gryffindor I'll never know. But she is a hell of a Quidditch player. Very good in fact, and we need her skill. She had sure showed Harry up. Outstripped him on that Nimbus 200 of hers and clearly wasn't afraid of anything, much less the bludger. It had seems that 'Goth Girl, Queen of Spades' has shown us all up. Blimey, she's good. I found my eyes wandering to a few desks in front of me and Harry, and threw slinted eyelids stared with out realizing for a moment. She was lounging there leaning back, hands folded behind her head, legs crossed. Her black hair, that seamed to get longer at an extraordinary rate made her skin glow. Suddenly, I get this heat rising to my face along with some thoughts my mother would smack me for. Ron, what the hell are you thinking? I berated myself, burning my reddening face my hands. When I looked up Harry was looking at me weirdly. So to pass the time, I took out my sketch book and pencil. I needed to get my mind off dark eyes and pale skin. My hand moved methodically and intricately across the white parchment. It called to me, called to my fingers, to release, to release everything. I felt the bursqueness of the rough pencil between my fingers that had collected small drops of sweat, that seemed to add to my need. So to make Snape think I was listening I stared at the bored. My fingers sketching over the course of the hour, began to cramp. But my brain chanted draw...To get away... For god sakes what are you thinking Ron! Harry nudged me, so hard I jumped and muttered to me something like, class is almost over. I settled back into my seat, closed my sketchbook, right as Snape gave out the instructions for the next essay. Damn that man!

"It needs to be at least, at least four pages long, I don't want three and I don't want five, Miss Granger. Class dismissed." I saw Hermione blush and got up to go talk with her.

"What the topic?" I absent mindedly asked.

"Ron, weren't you listening?! I suppose not. Shrinking Potions. Listen I got to go." Hermione left looking thoroughly flushed.

*~*

A few days later, I sat on my bed. I had made it a rule not to look at what I had drawn the last couple days. But now my fingers itched to have them shown. Picking up my beloved sketch book, I opened it up, feeling the soft, grained pages. The first two, had landscapes from ages ago, maybe last year. I really don't know. I turned the page and almost killed myself there. Sketch, after sketch, drawing after drawing was the one thing I was trying to forget about. I flipped threw twelve pages front and back and moaned. The only thing I had drawn in the last week was Annie Whiting. I studied what I had drawn, some were good and worth keeping, if I didn't think the idea of me being the crazy, repulsive. I had no idea I had drawn her, but she did seem a good excuse to release. Damn! Why her, of all people, why is picture after picture Annie Whiting!

*~*

A few weeks had passed and I had resolved never to draw Annie Whiting again. She was getting to me, getting to me a little bit too much. It made me mad, thoroughly mad and she got on my nerves constantly. We had a game against Slytherin today, so I had gotten up at five thirty on Harry's orders to be in the Common by six. I hate it when he makes us get up early, on a Saturday. He's turning in Wood! Ahhhh....run away run away. But anyway...Slytherin. First match. I hope I stay awake...oh don't worry I will.

"RON!" Harry's voice sounded extremely loud.

"WHAT!" I yelled back.

I walked down stairs ready to get ready for the game.

"You didn't have to wake up the whole dorm." I said

"Whatever Ron, lets get going."

The crowds cheer seemed louder on a broomstick than I had expected. We were up Fifty to Ten, and Harry was zooming around trying to find the snitch. I sped down the pitch with increasing speed, following Tara who had the Quaffle under her arm. So far it was a pretty uneventful game, a few goals, no fouls which I was pretty amazed at. I was sure Slytherin had something up their sleeves. But, on the other hand, Annie was giving them a lot of trouble. She knows all of their tricks, how, none of us know.

"And she makes it...Gryffindor scores, Sixty to Ten!" A voice blares over the loud speaker as Slytherin had called for a time out.

I don't like it, but then I don't like them. No it's worse than that, I loathe them. Malfoy the worst, he's been tagging Harry all game. Slytherin broke out of their little huddle and game began. Annie was suddenly right next to me, hovering.

"Here!" She three the Quaffle at me.

I grabbed it sprinting down the pitch, Tara following right across from me. A bludger swerved right in front of me so I went into a roll. There were two Slytherins between me and the goal. Tara was too far behind, to throw it to her. So I tried to take a route around them. As I swerved, something knocked into me, then something was violently tugged from my arms. I had lost the Quaffle. Damnit! Cursed Merlin!

"Almost Dante! Sytherin scores Sixty to Twenty."

That's when the true game began, a few rough fouls and goals later it was Seventy to Fourty. No matter what I did I couldn't get the Quaffle. Damn that ball anyway.

"Seventy to Fifty!"

"Ron!" It was Tara.

She was being hounded by a few Slytherins. She passed me the Quaffle, but I hadn't been watching where I was.

SMACK!!!

Pain shot through my back as I doubled over my broom. When I came to, Slytherin had the ball agian. Damn you Ronald Weasley. Oh gosh that sounded like my mother.

"Spectacular save by Dante Grissim!" I saw Tara's face light up. She and Dante, had been going out, for well years now. From my groggled memory, it seemed they had always been together.

But Slytherin got the ball back and scored on a foul by Dean, which was incredibly stupid. I was Seventy to Sixty. Harry dammit, catch the snitch I wanted to yell at him, but I knew that the score was partly my fault, I was just having a bad day. Fred and George, had them...well maybe that's a bad example...but still. I saw one of the Slytherins with the ball about 100ft behind me. Annie came out of nowhere, did some fancy flying, I could hardly see, to trick him and grabbed the Quaffle, then threw it at me. I grabbed it, flattened myself to my brown and headed for the Slytherin goal. Dodging a few blugders that undoubtedly had been aimed in my way. I went for the score. I couldn't believe my eyes. I had missed, missed really, really badly. Damn, I cursed myself. The Slytherins were smirking. I had been so mad at myself I hadn't realized that the Slytherins were about to score. Annie was down there wrecking havoc, in complete Annie fashion. On of the Slytherin was attempted a goal, Annie swerved in front of him and he falter, that was all she needed she came up from underneath and knocked the Quaffle out of his hands. In the far corner of the pitch I saw Harry catch the snitch, there was no sign of Malfoy. I felt useless, utterly useless. I felt queasy in the put of my stomach, and felt it souring my mouth. Well, Gryffindor wins but no thanks to worthless, useless me.

The water was cool on my flushed face, it trickled down my forehead, along the creases of my closed eyes and nose, brushing against my lips, dribbling down my chin, spreading a tingling feeling all through my body. I felt sick, sick to my stomach and I didn't want to see anyone.

"Ron, what are you doing, trying to drown yourself." Harry was standing, striped to his waist drying off his hair with a maroon towel.

"Nope, its next to impossible to do with the amount of water that come out here."

Harry looked at me strangely, as if I had grown two heads, he knew something was wrong. He quickly changed the subject.

"That was a pretty good game we had out there." Harry stated, I knew he was trying to get somewhere with this.

"No thanks to me."

"Oh come on Ron, you did fine. Is your back all right, or is it your head that got hit with that bludger?"

I lied and lied badly, because I knew that those green eyes of his had figured it all out.

"Okay, whatever Ron. See you later."

And he left and for the first time in my life, I was glad he did. You just didn't talk about your fucked up mind with the perfect Harry Potter did you? No.

I stood there for a few more movement, got dressed and headed up to my room. Whenever I am in need of release I draw, so in more was than one I am back to the drawing board.

I opened the window, there was a nice breeze and the Fall sun shone in through the window, at the right angle. I set up my easel near the window, sat down with my watercolors and assortment of brushes. This time I was painting on canvas. I can't take it anymore! My mind screams for me to pick up a brush, and smooth it over the surface of the white, virgin canvas. I was painting on canvas because it gave light to this painting. It had to be good. And with that, I finally had forsaken any dignity I had left. I knew who I would paint. I knew the release would come with her. I started with the lines of her body from her face, her long fingers, her lazy hips and long legs. I painted in those full lips of hers, black, her lovely dark eyes, and longish ebony hair. I managed to find an outfit that suited her. A black shirt, black jeans and long flowing golden jacket. I gave her the black shoes I had frequently seen her in. I made sure I captured all the essence of her from her dark makeup, to her devilish smile. Brush stroke, by brush stroke, dab by dab, she came alive and all my from my incessant memory. Boy, your are a hopeless case, aren't you Ron! Well, if I could have her in flesh, I would on paper. God, what was I thinking! But this would be the last time I would draw, the sensuous beauty, My Queen of Spades. I let it dry, watching the sun drift down through the sky in all the hues my paints were. Yes this would be the last time I would ever draw her, so I took the dry watercolor canvas of Annie Whiting and placed it on the bottom of my trunk, covered by an old cloak.

Annie lounged in the Common Room working on something she had found in her old things. She had first remembered when the manuscript itched to be touched and traversed. It was a manuscript called the Phoenix Dawn Star, old magic and when Annie had found it, it was so covered it dust she feared it had been forgotten for too long. She was intrigued by the power of the words, the little piece of parchment held. She was drawn, somewhat magically and nonmagically to it, like nothing before. She was almost done translating it, when Hermione scooted over, paper in hand.

"Excuse me. Annie."

"Yes." Annie met with Hermione's brown again, in there she saw questions, far too many than she wanted to answer.

"Um...I...was...well...I was...well...you're." Hermione had started to fidget.

"Yes, you were..." Annie prompted to her as Tara, red hair up in two buns as normal slid over.

"Could you help me on my...my...Potions homework...since-you-are-so-good-at-it?" Hermione's voice rushed to get the question out, she looked as if she was about to cry.

"Of course." Annie said lightly, turning to Tara.

"Hey." Tara whispered.

"WHAT." Annie whispered back, looking at her new friend, a slight smile on her face.

"Dante...Dante and I were wondering if you could meet us, you know where...you know where, since you beat it out of him with some stuff." Tara pointed her tall, sandy haired, handsome boyfriend.

"Sure. I'll see you later then."

Annie said quietly turning back to help Hermione.