Glitter In The Air

by TheEmpressOfWhoAskedYou

IN WHICH Jewel Potter would rather think she's having a psychotic break than admit to herself(or anybody else)that she's uncontrollably reading people's minds, and Draco Malfoy is a stuck-up dingbat that likes to play with fire. [humour/hurt&comfort/angst/slow burn]

30. XXVIII

XXVIII. CARPE SYNTHEHOL

Thursday couldn't have come sooner.

Hilariously, I wasn't the only one who fell asleep in the common room Tuesday night-which led to an awkward walk of shame the next morning when Pucey decided to take pity and wake us up on his way to breakfast. It was fun, though; especially when we got over all the messy personal shit and moved on to telling funny childhood stories. Mostly mine. I've gotten up to a lot of random/crazy shit growing up-to no one's surprise.

Pansy even suggested we make this a regular thing.

Daphne said that we should have a sleepover in the common room every time Harry Ron and I(-and more often than not Hermione)do something insane.

They're projecting sometime next week.

After realising I might've been a bit of a prat-even if it wasn't intentional-I made a concentrated effort to be more aware/sensitive about jumping between my Slytherin and my Gryffindor friends, which I could tell Tracey appreciated(and she and the others had also cooled it a bit with the jokes about my mental status, even though I reassured them that I love a good self-deprecating joke-I make constant cracks about my diagnosis' from my therapist, I think I can handle being called 'weird'-).

And, over in Gryffindorland, Ron's wand backfires were only getting more and more spectacular every time he tried to use it, Hermione was her usual overachiever self, making the rest of us slackers look bad, Fred was awaiting his destruction, much to George and Lee's entertainment, and, ever since his first Defence class, Harry had been dodging out of sight whenever he saw Lockhart coming down the corridor(something I was 100% guilty of but still shamelessly teased him about).

Hedwig is also still super pissed at him.

And then there was Colin Creevey.

Having seemingly memorized mine and Harry's schedules, he'd taken to popping up at odd times to say, "Alright, Harry?" and "Alright, J-Jewel?" over and over again throughout the day and hear Harry's exasperated, "Hello, Colin," and my cheerful, "Hey, Colin!" that always made him blush as red as Ron's hair.

I think he might have a crush on me.

-who am I kidding, I smiled at him yesterday and he walked into a wall; he's done for. He's even worse than Seamus(which is saying a lot, because Seamus Finnigan is one of the least subtle people I've ever met in my life).

It was flattering, sure, but I made a mental note to talk to him about it if it gets out of hand(well that and the, you know, minor/relatively harmless stalking-).

And then, finally: Thursday*̥˚✧!

"You're awake," Tracey said blankly, gawking at me as I bounced in place by the staircase leading up to the girl's dorms.

I was already in uniform, hair still a little damp from my shower and my worn denim messenger bag swinging from my shoulder.

"Great! Took you long enough-"

I snatched her wrist, beginning to drag the dumbfounded dark-haired girl across the common room and past random startled Slytherins.

"You're awake," was all she could say, stumbling after me.

"Yes, yes, I'm awake-come on, breakfast-don't wanna be late-"

"What?" Tracey sputtered, at a loss. "You, Jewel Potter, don't want to be late? Wait, never mind that-you're awake?! Like, on your own? Like, you went to sleep last night, then you got up this morning, and you didn't even need to be dragged out by your ankle?-"

I stopped just short of the wall and turned to her, slightly affronted.

"I'm not that bad!"

"As the one that has to drag you off the common room sofas every bleedin' morning, I can confidently say, yes you are-"

"I don't always sleep on the sofas-"

"-not to mention all the times you actually do use your bed for sleeping instead of storing your stacks of library books-you just grab onto the headboard-"

"You're being dramatic-"

"You kicked me in the face!"

"I kick a lot of people in the face, suck it up-"

Tracey stared at me incredulously.

"Look, can we do this in the Great Hall?" I urged with an eye roll, still bouncing in place, "I wanna get to class early-"

"You want to what?!"

"I don't see why this is so hard for you to grasp-" I sighed, exasperated. "I want to get to class early. So, breakfast. Ruffles says we've got pancakes today. Bit of maple syrup. Sugar and butter. Whipped cream! Yum. An argument can be made for ice cream, but I think it just makes it all soggy and-Okay, refocusing-let's go-"

"Wait-but-huh?" Tracey blinked at me rapidly. "Alright, who are you, and what've you done with the crazy smart slacker/time management nightmare who once said, and I quote, "Arriving early is for teacher's pets and people who support how many bloody staircases this stupid place has" I call one of my best friends?"

"Okay, look-" I paused, surprised, "Wait, I'm one of your best friends?"

"Jewel-"

"Alright, alright, keep your hair on-look, it's Thursday."

I looked at her expectantly.

When she just stared back cluelessly, I sighed again.

"It's Defence Against the Dark Arts day!" I dropped her wrist, waving my arms about to emphasise my point. "I heard from a girl over in Hufflepuff-Susan, something-that Lockhart just recited from one of his books in their lesson yesterday, but that doesn't mean he won't do something mad again like he did with the Gryffindors-"

"Hang on, you want to be early..." Tracey said slowly, disbelieving, "because you're hoping Gilderoy Lockhart sets wild magical creatures loose on us?"

"Who wouldn't be?"

Before the incredulous girl could argue with that, I grabbed her wrist again, dragging her out the common room and for the Great Hall.

"Come on, Trace-the game is afoot!"

"-What does that even mean?!"

Pansy Bulstrode and Daphne were equally as floored/astounded when they arrived at breakfast to find me stuffing my face with pancakes and bouncing in my seat as I waited impatiently for them to finish eating so we could all get to class. The second they were done, I was ushering them all up, skipping out of the hall with a bubbly, "See you at lunch, Scotchy!" and a wave in the direction of Gryffindor table.

The others struggled to keep up on my heels, stupefied.

"You're early-" Malfoy commented almost warily as he snagged the seat directly behind me, "and in the second row-you always sit as far back as possible-except for Potions, then you just sit wherever Potter Weasley and Granger do-"

Daphne groaned and faceplanted into her arms.

"Why is it always me?"

We ignored her.

"I almost sat in the front-" I replied airily, casually rocking on my chair, "but it goes against my religion-"

"Hi, Draco," Pansy said, fluttering her eyelashes from the table in front of me.

Bulstrode was sitting next to her, while Tracey had the table to the left of mine and Daphne's to herself.

"Yeah, hi-" he nodded distractedly before looking me up and down, eyes narrowed. "You, Jewel Euphemia Potter, almost sat in the front row?"

"Your middle name's 'Euphemia'?" Tracey repeated in surprise before pausing, baffled. "Wait, why does Malfoy know your middle name?"

"Same way I know his is Lucius-" I informed her with a shrug, "he got sick of me making up middle names for him and, when I still wouldn't stop even after he told me his middle name was Lucius, retaliated-so, being a career smartass, I joined in, and it kinda became this whole thing; I was happily living as Jewel Elvendork Potter before I finally just told him my real middle name-three weeks later, mind you-"

"I can vouch for that-" Daphne deadpanned, looking put out.

"'Elvendork?'" Pansy echoed weirdly.

"Works for a boy or a girl-"

"Are you ill?" Malfoy seriously wondered, ignoring the conversation detour(knowing that I have a tendency to get off tra-who am I kidding, I get my hands on the wheel, veer off the tracks, and go on a joyride down the street-). "Is McGonagall threatening you with homework again? Is this a dare, or a bet? Because if it has anything to do with good behaviour, I think you should quit while you're behind-"

"Oi, I could be good if I wanted to-"

The blonde snorted a laugh.

"Hey, I didn't know you were funny, Potter-"

"First of all, I'm hilarious-and second-"

I flipped him off, and he smirked.

"Didn't sprain anything on that argument, did you, Potter?"

"Oh, shut it-dingbat-"

"That's enough!"

Daphne slammed her hands on the desk, making us both jump.

She stood up, chair scraping.

"Daphne-" Tracey hissed, shaking her head.

"Nope! No! I can't do it!" she exclaimed, ignoring the wide-eyed looks and whispers from the rest of the class who were still filing in. "You and you, up. Now."

"What? No," Malfoy said, taken aback.

"Come on, Daph-up is so far and I'm all-"

She glared at us dangerously.

Sharing a look, we decided to just get up for our own good.

Daphne shoved my bag at me before grabbing my arm.

Startled, I just let her drag me, stumbling over my sparkly purple flats.

Pausing by the table in the very back corner, she narrowed her eyes as she measured the distance between there and where she was sitting-then walked to the opposite side of the room and forcefully sat me down.

-so much for sitting near the front for once.

Daphne turned back to the platinum/white blonde(she's more of a buttery blonde)and pointed at the chair to my right.

"Sit."

Malfoy sat.

"Every bloody class you sit by her-" she spat at the grey-eyed Slytherin, who wisely chose to keep his big mouth shut for once, "and every bloody class one of you start something-and, somehow, I'm always stuck in the middle; well, no more. I'm sick of third-wheeling your demented 'I-hate-you-but-let's-hang-out-all-the-time-and-drive-everyone-up-the-flipping-wall!' relationship. You can sit together from now on, contain your-bullshit-" she gestured furiously at the air around us, "and give the rest of us a bit of peace!"

With a huff, she spun on her heel and stormed back to the front.

"Davis-"

She pointed at my old seat.

Tracey almost fell over in her haste to take it.

"Wow-" I whistled, shaking my head, "we really made her snap, huh?"

"Yeah, no kidding," Malfoy snorted, still looking a bit stupefied.

"I don't know about you," I joked, running my fingers through my hair and ruffling it carelessly, "but I'm proud of us-"

"Honestly-" he drawled, snapping out of it, "I expected Davis to snap first. Isn't she the one they make deal with you in the mornings?"

"I'm not that bad!"

"I distinctly remember you rolling under a sofa yelling "bright light! bright light!" back in June during exam week when Davis tried to get you up-"

"I was quoting the Gremlins movie!" I defended, face going pink, "and I was off my head on caffeine and totally sleep-deprived-"

Knowing what was making it so hard for me to sleep(at least from a Voldemort/Quirrell standpoint), Malfoy dropped it.

"Seriously though, the front row?" he said. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Ha, ha-" I shot back sarcastically, "I'm fine. I'm just excited for Lockhart's class-"

His face twisted in disbelief and disgust.

"You're just what?"

"Not like that-" I pulled a face, "who do you take me for? That lot?"

I gestured my head at the front of the room and all of the students eagerly awaiting our famous 'professor'(based on Mrs Weasley and Hermione's behaviours, I expected it to be mostly girls but, surprisingly, a lot of the class seemed excited-guess they haven't met Lockhart yet-poor bastards-).

"Then why are you so excited that you're early?" he countered, arching an eyebrow. "You make it a point to never be early for anything, ever. Last year, Granger intentionally gave you the wrong time, because she wanted to trick you into thinking you were late to class so you'd be on time for once, and when you arrived at Transfigurations and realised you were early you left and rolled into class ten minutes late!"

"I usually know when people are lying-" I said sheepishly, running my fingers through my hair and tugging on a loose curl, "but I was distracted and in a hurry. I'm far from infallible. Kind of just the opposite, actually. And it was my fault for asking Hermione. And I'm early," I added obviously, "'cause Lockhart set Cornish Pixies on the Gryffindors and I'm hoping he gives live magical creatures another shot-duh-"

"So, wait-you're early, because-" he stopped briefly, letting that sink in, "Okay, yeah, that explains it-"

"Plus, apparently he's making all his classes do this quiz-" I added, lowering my voice, "it's literally all about him-I had Harry Ron Dean Seamus and Neville tell me what the questions are gonna be so we could brainstorm all the fun ways I'll answer them-"

"I have a bad feeling about this," Malfoy drawled, but he was smirking.

I grinned mischievously, tongue poking out between my teeth.

The door opened, drawing our attention.

Lockhart came sweeping inside, periwinkle robes swirling behind him.

To my internal alarm and dread, he caught sight of my red hair from the corner of his eye as he passed and looked over.

A bright smile overtook his face.

"Ah, Jewel! I thought I'd be seeing you this morning!"

I slowly sank down.

"Yep," I agreed sardonically, awkwardly returning a thumbs up. "Here I am."

Completely missing the total lack of enthusiasm in my response, he flashed me a last blinding smile before continuing on.

Malfoy immediately started sniggering, and I elbowed him.

"Shut it, you," I hissed before slumping moodily in my seat, arms crossed and pouting.

The blonde just grinned at me smugly.

Stopping at the front of the classroom, Lockhart snatched up a nearby student's copy of Voyages with Vampires and spun to face us.

He held the book up beside his head.

(...hang on, so we're expected to fork over all this money to buy almost every book he's ever written because they all arguably fall under the Defence Against the Dark Arts umbrella, but the bloke can't even pick up a copy of his own? Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool-It's a wonder he didn't find dealing with household pests relevant to the subject, or decide to call 'Magical Me' an introduction to him as our teacher and, ergo, vital to our studies-).

The whole class went quiet, either excited to see what he'd do, given his reputation, or wondering where he was going with this.

-with a bit of dispiriting hair twirling thrown in.

The portrait on the front of the book winked and smiled dazzlingly.

"Me," Lockhart said, winking too.

I grimaced deeply, which Malfoy seemed to take pleasure in.

"Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award-but I don't want to talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

He paused for laughter, but only got blank faces in return.

I mouthed 'oof' with a wince.

"Ba-dum-tss," I whispered jokingly to Malfoy.

"Am I supposed to know what that means?" he muttered weirdly.

"...You depress me."

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books-well done," Lockhart was saying(and I see you haven't, I thought dryly, well done), "I thought we'd start off by reviewing possibly my very favourite book-Gadding with Ghouls-and end with a fun little quiz. Nothing to worry about-just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in-"

"Reviewing" Gadding with Ghouls somehow turned into Lockhart acting out how he'd trapped the last of the ghouls with a tea strainer.

The students that seemed to be under the preconception that Lockhart isn't an idiot seemed genuinely interested in his account.

Others, like Nott and Zabini, ranged from 'wtf' to boredom.

And then there was me and Malfoy-silently dying from laughter in the back corner and doing a horrible job of hiding it.

We literally couldn't even look at each other because we knew, the second we did, we'd completely lose it.

Lockhart was so into himself that he didn't even notice.

I was too focused on not full-on cackling...and subsequently falling sideways off my chair as I clapped my hands like a wasted sea lion to bother paying attention to how long that gloriousness went on for-but, judging by Lockhart's startled reaction when he finally took notice of the clock, we'd obviously gone into overtime.

Clearing his throat, the wavy blonde straightened out his periwinkle robes and announced it was time for the quiz.

I already knew, but it still blew my mind that his idea of a "fun little quiz" was three pages and fifty-four questions long.

-no wonder Hermione has the hots for him.

"Question one: what is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?" Malfoy read out in disbelief.

I just sat up straighter, rubbing my hands together in anticipation.

My grin was decidedly devilish.

"Oh, this is gonna be fun."

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?

Drunk-Tank Pink.

"It's lilac, by the way," I told Malfoy casually after writing down my own answer.

Malfoy looked over at me, eyebrow arched.

"And you know that why?"

"Read the books. It's your fault. After Flourish and Blotts and the you-know-what, I had to focus on something else to keep myself from totally spiralling-so, I read Lockhart's books, front to back-they're actually kinda brilliant-almost tricked me into thinking he might not be an idiot-I'm honestly convinced he made most of it up-"

"Hang on-" the blonde interrupted, catching sight of my quiz, "Drunk-Tank pink?"

"It's a bubblegum-pink that Muggle psychologists started to use for jail cells in the early '80s after discovering that it calmed down violent prisoners. I even had my bedroom walls painted pink because of it."

"Why do you know that?" he questioned incredulously(deciding to ignore the fact that I'd indirectly called myself a "violent prisoner").

"I've been told I have an "unquenchable thirst for knowledge"...but am ironically rubbish in learning environments-" I shrugged, smiling dryly, "and a close family friend of mine is always spouting random fun facts. Usually, they're science-related-but, other times, they're about how the colour Drunk-Tank Pink was introduced to Muggle institutions like prisons and mental hospitals after a study that dates back to the '60s; a Muggle researcher named Alexander Strauss was studying the psychological responses to colour based off another psychiatrist's findings that colour choice can reflect emotional states-he wanted to prove that the reverse was true and, according to his findings, having someone stare at a Drunk-Tank Pink card would slow heart rate, pulse, and respiration-they wanted to see if they could use it to neutralize hostility and placate violence in aggressive inmates/patients. And, in the '70s, the military ran tests that showed that painting the walls that specific pink can make people lose 30 per cent of their strength. It's like bloody real-life Kryptonite-"

"...Right," Malfoy said slowly, blank-faced.

Mostly, he was taken off guard by another of my out-of-the-blue 'damn, Jewel Potter's actually kinda smart' moments.

I bit back a smirk, twirling my quill and going back to my quiz.

2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

To have a psychiatric disorder named after him.

(narcissistic personality disorder was already taken)

3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

Tricking Dumbledore into hiring him.

4. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite food?

Raw Chicken.

(it's healthier that way)

5. Which animal/and or magical creature did Gilderoy Lockhart keep as a pet growing up, and what was its name?

A pet rock with a photo of his own face taped to it named Lil' Gillie/and or a wild Fwooper named Fluffernutters.

(either of which could explain some things...)

After a while, despite my best efforts, I found myself zoning out-compulsively shifting in my seat, and knees rapidly bouncing(which I do anyway, being a super restless/hyper person by nature; just forcing myself to sit still is a nightmare-by the end of class, I have so much pent-up energy that I could just about run up the walls-and let's not even mention how stir-crazy double lessons make me-absolutely drives my dormmates nuts-), as the voices ran wild through my head, getting louder and louder, until-

"Hey, you doing okay?" Malfoy suddenly murmured, startling me into dropping my quill.

"Why wouldn't I be-?"

He pointedly looked at my quiz-which is about when I noticed the messy, rambling scrawl up and down the paper(becoming more and more nonsensical thanks to absentminded corrections from all the minds shouting at me).

I swore under my breath, rubbing my face.

My head was faintly pounding.

"I got distracted-" I admitted, disheartened.

A purple rubber band repeatedly snapped(stopping only when my fingers made random, compulsive trips through my hair).

"This happen a lot?" he asked, an unreadable look on his face.

"I'm pretty sure all our professors think I'm mental-" I mused wryly, knees once again starting to bounce beneath the table, "or that I have some weird form of dyslexia-or, more accurately, dysgraphia-that only hits when I take tests-both of which I've also been tested for. That, and ODD-which is ridiculous. I'm mouthy and fiery and I don't take well to people in positions of authority-ooh, somebody call the nice people with the straight jackets. Thanks to the thing, my-the Dursleys were convinced that there had to be something wrong with me-they were determined to slap a diagnosis on me to explain my-general self-" I sounded sardonic even to my own ears, grimacing to myself before shaking my head, "McGonagall's already tried to talk to me about it-she thought I was just mucking about-I mean, it's not like I could tell her the truth, you know?-now, I think it just worries her-"

Looking over my quiz, I almost swore again.

"I need to go back and try and make this make sense-" I half-sighed/half-groaned, speaking more to myself.

Glancing back at Malfoy, I found him staring at my wrists and the continuous *snaps* of my colourful rubber bands.

An unexpected-to say the least thought crossed his mind.

My knees stopped bouncing.

"...You'd really do that?" I blurted out, answering unthinkingly in my shock, before pausing, eyes slightly glazed over. "Oh, ha, knew you'd want something-alright, fine-quid pro quo-works for me-"

I clicked my tongue with a grin.

Malfoy looked taken aback.

It took me a second but, realising I'd just casually answered what he was thinking out loud, I was momentarily thrown off balance.

I mean, I haven't done that since I was about nine-convinced and scared stiff as I was that, if I ever did, Dakota and Alistair would get rid of me.

-wouldn't be the first time.

"Shit, sorry, I-"

"I don't mind," he said quickly, "just-" his ears went pink, and he looked a bit embarrassed, "warn me or something before you-"

With a swift glance to make sure nobody was paying us any attention, he subtly tapped his temple like I did the other night when I was referencing-this exact same issue.

"-you don't...b-but, I-you-" I floundered, face totally blank.

I was too taken off guard to even snap myself.

"What? I can't be the only person to tell you that they don't min-"

Malfoy stopped short, his expression slowly shifting when he saw my uncomprehending one and realised that he might actually be the only person to tell me(-Professor Snape aside)that they didn't mind my telepathy.

A few things were slowly starting to click in his head.

("Maybe I don't want to know! Maybe the only thing it could be is insane! Maybe-maybe I don't want to be any more of a freak than I already am!" "-it's been a fun two weeks worrying about how the hell you knew, who else knew, and if I'd come back to school and end up being universally ostracized or something-" "I've gotten used to pretending like I don't want to put my head in a blender set to puree in public-I kind of had to, growing up-that, and figuring out the difference between what people say and what they think so I don't accidentally answer their thoughts-it freaks the Muggles out, you know?-" "I didn't have much of a childhood, okay? I never got to just be a kid-which is so bloody ironic because that's literally why Dumbledore sent Harry and me to the Muggles in the first place-" "Thanks to the thing, my-the Dursley's were convinced that there had to be something wrong with me-they were determined to slap a diagnosis on me to explain my-general self-").

My throat tightened.

"...Potter-"

"Lockhart's ideal birthday gift is "harmony between all magic and non-magic people"-" I abruptly rattled off, voice still lowered and glancing around to make sure no one noticed our-interagency cooperation, "he mentions it in Wanderings with Werewolves and it is total BS-his secret ambition is "ridding the world of evil and marketing his own range of hair-care products", because of course it is-" I snorted derisively, starting to ramble now, "and if he could be any season, he'd describe himself as "summer", which I can totally see; I mean, with summer comes heatstroke, which can cause delirium, confusion, nausea, and headaches-all of which I associate with Lockhart-and, aside from the great Quidditch weather, summer just kinda sucks, doesn't it? Sunburn, sweat, bugs everywhere, skin cancer, all the ice cream melting way too fast, blankets and sleep-which is an absolute nightmare, having to drive somewhere and feeling like you're trapped in a hot box of death, the power bill after you've had several fans going all day and night because of the overwhelming heat, the sun slowly trying to both simultaneously roast us all alive and blind us-summer!-"

I did mock jazz hands.

Malfoy just stared at me for a minute.

"Skin cancer and bugs-that's nice-" he finally sarcastically drawled, deciding to not push it for once, to my relief.

"I put in that he'd describe himself as sinkhole season-" I added, grinning cheekily, "you know, because if you look through one of his ears all you see is an empty, dark chasm-only, in his case, you can see light on the other side-"

Malfoy sniggered.

"Alright, that one wasn't-terrible-" he conceded.

"Admit it, you think I'm hilarious-" I teased.

"Don't push it, Potter," he shot back, smirking slightly.

꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ

For the rest of the lesson, Malfoy and I slyly helped each other with our quizzes.

I told him the right answers, and he helped me salvage mine-and come up with even better ones. And, whenever the voices thinking at me made me zone out, he was quick to snap me out of it. You know, when we aren't constantly fighting, we actually make a pretty good tea-okay, let's pretend I didn't just think that.

54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

1898. And His ideal gift(s) would be:

A life-sized statue of Mr Bean.

Clinical Strength Deodorant.

(please)

A more convincing man girdle.

Teeth whitening strips.

Erectile dysfunction potions.

An ear and nose hair trimmer.

(and, if not, I'd rethink some things, mate)

Jenga.

"Why 1898?" Malfoy wondered as I sat back to admire our handiwork.

"Remember that family friend I mentioned that has a thing for eclectic fun facts? Well, apparently, pathological self-absorption-also known as narcissism-was first identified as a mental disorder in 1898, sooo..."

Malfoy snorted a laugh, shaking his head.

"He's going to murder you."

"And I'll enjoy my high-publicity trial after I murder him in self-defence," I countered blithely. "I'm an adorable twelve-year-old girl, the Girl Who Lived to boot,and I have a tragic backstory that is so widely known that any witch or wizard chosen for the jury will know it-not to mention the money my dead parents left me and Harry in Gringotts, and I'm white," I added pragmatically, "so, you know, good luck getting me convicted. I mean, I look white-I wouldn't know one way or the other. Or is that just Muggles? I'm still catching up on wizard culture-you don't find a lot of in-depth articles on racial politics and the state of the magical judicial system in Witch Weekly-their quizzes and their recipe section are fantastic, though, and it's a good resource on magical pop culture-Pansy helped me get a subscription last year-"

Malfoy just stared at me for a beat.

"I don't think I give you enough credit, Potter," he finally said.

"No one does," I snorted before smirking and ruffling my hair cockily, adding, "but I'll take that as a compliment-"

Because Lockhart's performance ran longer than intended, by the time everybody finished their quizzes the bell had already rung.

Lockhart just had us put them in a neat pile on his desk to be graded before heading off to the Charms corridor for our next lesson.

It wasn't until I was halfway through packing up when the perfect way to destroy Fred suddenly occurred to me.

A wicked, Cheshire cat grin lit my face.

"I just had the best idea-" I told Malfoy brightly, quickly grabbing both of our quizzes, "come on-you won't want to miss this, believe me-"

"You aren't going to make me help you roll Lockhart's body into the lake, are you?" he drawled, "because I'm-not against the idea-"

"No-well, maybe later-"

Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I grabbed his wrist, dragging the surprised/questioning blonde towards the front of the classroom.

As always, Crabbe and Goyle were quick to follow.

"I need to talk to Lockhart about something-" I told Daphne Tracey and Pansy, stopping briefly by their desks, "just go on without me and I'll meet you in Charms. If Flitwick asks, tell him I'm on my way-he's used to me coming in late, anyway-and if he asks about Malfoy, just shrug and say 'who cares' or 'I was wondering why there was so much extra space in here, what with how much that massive head of his takes up'-"

"First of all, the second one's a bit wordy-" Malfoy remarked, "also, ha-you're one to talk about massive heads-"

"You're voluntarily hanging back to talk to Lockhart?" Tracey stressed blankly before I had the chance to shoot back a snarky retort. "He came down the corridor yesterday, and you tried to jump out the window-"

It didn't help when she registered that I'd included Malfoy too, or when she noticed that I was holding onto his wrist-

"I'll explain later," I promised. "Oh, and take dumb and dumber with you-"

I gestured behind me, and Crabbe and Goyle scowled heavily.

After observing me for a moment, Malfoy glanced at his bodyguards over his shoulder.

"Go-" he nodded at the door, "I'll catch up."

They made to protest, but a sharp look from the blonde shut them up.

Sharing a look, they reluctantly left.

Daphne Tracey and Pansy, on the other hand, didn't budge.

Bulstrode was waiting impatiently nearby with a mean expression on her face.

"Okay, seriously, are you feeling alright?" Pansy was the one to ask, which said so much about how genuinely concerned they were for my state of mind.

Her eyes narrowed on mine and Malfoy's hands.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" I groaned, messily running my free hand through my hair, "seriously, I'm fine. I'll explain it all in Charms or at lunch or something. And trust me-" my green eyes sparkled, "it's so good."

"-I always get really nervous when she looks like that," Tracey said, pointing at my renewed Cheshire cat grin.

"It's not just you," Daphne deadpanned, eyeing me sceptically.

Pansy mm-hmmed.

"I think it's a survival instinct thing-" Malfoy wryly threw in.

"Ha ha, you're all bloody comedians-" I sarcastically huffed with an exasperated eye roll, "Just-go, would you?"

While obviously wary, they decided to listen-if only because they knew that trying to press for more information was pointless(from experience, they knew I'd fill them in later, or I wouldn't-it's as simple as that).

I waited until most of the class had filled out before pulling Malfoy forward, releasing his wrist to put his quiz at the top of the pile(before sneakily slipping mine at the very bottom).

"Hello again, Jewel!" Lockhart greeted, showing off his teeth per usual(is it in his contract that he has to flash them every time someone looks at him? Blimey, his dentist must be living pretty damn comfortably-and you just know toothpaste companies send him swag whenever he finishes a tube-). "And, uh-?"

He glanced at Malfoy expectantly.

"Draco Malfoy," the grey-eyed blonde drawled.

"He's with me," I said, quickly throwing an arm around the startled Slytherin's shoulders, "he's my, uh, frien-best-um-ha, you know-we're, er, super close. Isn't that right, buddy?"

Malfoy rose both his eyebrows at me.

I shot him a look to play along.

"That's right-" he mockingly agreed, "Jewel and I are practically inseparable-"

(-a memory of Tracey and Pansy having to physically separate us early last year while I struggled, determined to wipe the smug smirk off his stupid face, came to mind-).

Fortunately, his sarcasm went right over Lockhart's head.

"Ah, well then-" the Defence? Professor clapped his hands together, smiling at us brilliantly, "is there something you wanted to talk to me about? You'll have to make it quick, my next class should arrive any moment-"

"Yes, actually," I said, moving away from Malfoy to lean on the desk, smiling charmingly. "You've got the Gryffindor fourth years now, don't you? I only just remembered but, last night during dinner, my good friend Fred Weasley just so happened to mention that he also has you this morning-"

"Hm...yes, I believe do. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you see, Freddie is a huge fan of yours-" I informed him, barely managing to force back the mirth bubbling in my chest, "he's been following your career for years, but he admires you so much that he's too intimidated to talk to you about it-he can be a bit shy, you know?-covers it up with jokes, the poor dear-it'd really mean a lot if you'd introduce yourself to him after class-maybe even sign his school books and tell him all about some of your most daring feats. We have lunch right after this, so you'll have plenty of time to chat-and if you go with him to Gryffindor table, you could even ask Colin Creevey if he could take your picture together-and maybe even sign it after he gets it developed-it would just mean so much to Fred, you know?-"

Behind me, I could just hear Malfoy's stifled laughter.

Lockhart's ego visibly swelled.

"I'd be delighted to-anything for a fan! And it's Fred Weasley, wasn't it?"

"Yep, Fred Weasley," I confirmed, biting back a devious/satisfied smirk. "Flaming-red hair, freckles, stocky build, and a stunt double. You can't miss him. And thank you so much, Professor Lockhart-really-"

The added use of his 'professor' title only stood to stroke his ego even more.

"We should get going-" Malfoy said, struggling to keep a straight face himself as he grabbed my arm, nodding at Lockhart, "sir-"

If we'd stuck around any longer, we both knew we would've cracked-a fact we proved only seconds later down the hall and out of hearing distance.

"So, mind letting me in on what Weasley did, or-?" Malfoy drawled once we'd gotten a hold of ourselves, but he was smirking, clearly impressed.

"Three words: Flourish and Blotts."

"Right, I almost forgot about that-" he sniggered, recalling the incident, "Ha, no wonder you're still holding a grudge-"

I pulled a face at him, tongue sticking out childishly.

Malfoy just grinned broadly, unrepentant.

"I was gonna set off wet-start, no-heat fireworks in his underwear while he was wearing them-" I added slyly, "but there were logistics issues-and, you have to admit, this way, the punishment fits the crime-"

"-I don't even want to know the thought process that went into that. I mean, how on earth did you plan on setting off fireworks in his-?"

"I told you, I had-logistics issues. I mean, if he wears boxers, I guess I could shrink the fireworks and slip them in with the elastic, but I couldn't work out how I was supposed to make them go off without asking him to stand still while I poke him in the ass with my wand and hope for the best-or maybe spill something? on him or attack him with that spell that makes water, Aguamenti?-and if he wears briefs, I have no clue-and if he walks around all free and breezy, I did not want to live with that information-"

Seeing as we were already late, we started in the direction of the Charms corridor.

Malfoy glanced at me sideways, smirk reappearing.

"So...'buddy?' Really?"

"Shut up-" I groaned, embarrassed.

Heat crept up my ears.

"I really don't see how I can do that."

"I'll stab you-"

"Why would you want to stab me when we're so close?"

"...I hope you die in a fjord."

"A what?"

"Fjord. A long, deep, narrow body of water, often set in a U-shaped valley with steep walls of rock on either side. They're mainly found in, like, Norway, Alaska, Chile, Canada-etcetera, etcetera. So, basically; go die in a long, deep, narrow body of water, often set in a U-shaped valley with steep walls of rock on either side, mainly found in places like Norway, Alaska, Chile, and Canada."

"Wow, tell me how you really feel."

"I just did. I feel like stabbing you and leaving you to die in a fjord."

"You know, you should really be nicer to me, buddy-"

It was a reflex-I swear.

I honestly didn't even realise I'd stuck out my leg until Malfoy had already tripped head-first over it with a shout.

-and, come on, he was totally asking for it.

"And you should really watch where you're walking, buddy," I quipped matter-of-factly after a beat, once again having to struggle to keep a straight face.

Judging by his expression, I wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"Seriously?"

I just smirked and, to his further disbelief, kept walking.

"You're not even going to help me up?" he called after me.

"I think you're mistaking me for someone with a stronger moral sense-and, you know-" I stopped, turning back around so I could gesture at him up and down, "this seems like more of a you problem, so-"

With a mock cheerful smile, I twirled on my heel.

And, despite himself, Malfoy bit back an amused grin before hastily pulling himself to his feet and dashing after me.

By the time we reached the Charms classroom, Flitwick was mid-lecture and we were roughly fifteen minutes late.

Luckily for us, he likes me-and, after I lied about Lockhart holding us back to talk to me about something, he understandingly wove us to our seats without punishment.

Sometimes, it really is too easy.

We sat together again to "contain our bullshit", but ended up by the others anyway seeing as they wanted to know why we'd hung back.

The pure poetic justice made a lot more sense, and was easier for them to appreciate, after I'd explained Lockhart's book signing in Flourish and Blotts and Fred's betrayal.

Suffice to say(aside from a few hiccups here and there), I was having a fantastic morning-that only improved when I walked into the Great Hall for lunch and spotted Colin Creevey taking Fred and Lockhart's picture by Gryffindor table. Even better, he'd caught sight of Harry and was quick to engage the Boy Who Looked Like He'd Like Nothing Better Than To Dig An Escape Tunnel Through The Stone Floor With An Ice Cream Scoop.

"I have a feeling I won't be welcome over there today-" I mused, smirking and ruffling my hair as I took my seat at Slytherin table(making sure to leave myself a clear view of Lockhart tormenting Fred and Harry).

"Your brother is going to kill you," Tracey commented, observing that hilarious mess with a spark of wry humour.

"If Harry manages to bump me off, all the power to him-" I joked, tongue poking out between my teeth and eyes glinting impishly, "and hey, at least I'll get a good laugh in first-"

We dished ourselves lunch, my dormmates moving on to talk about random topics while I focused on savouring my revenge, waving cheerfully with that same wicked, Cheshire cat grin whenever Fred looked in my direction.

(evidently, Lockhart had obliviously let it slip that I'd sent him to talk to the 'shy fanboy'; Harry especially didn't seem to appreciate being a casualty in my war against Fred, but George looked more amused than anything).

"I'm glad I know you, you know," Tracey said out of the blue.

I looked over quickly, caught off guard-not just by what she'd said, but by the sincerity in her expression and how serious she suddenly appeared.

She glanced over at the others, making sure they weren't listening, before moving closer to me, lowering her voice.

"I mean sure, you can go-overboard sometimes, but it's not like it's necessarily a bad thing. You're like this...unpredictable, chaotic, bubbly whirlwind. Sometimes you're more laid back and lazy, and other times you're running through the corridors like a madwoman and doing stupid, crazy stuff. Like flying to Scotland from London and crashing enchanted Muggle cars into 'Whomping' Willows. We never know what you're gonna do next. It keeps things interesting. And you're always trying to lighten the mood and make everyone laugh and, while it can get frustrating when you won't take things seriously-or joke about serious things when we're worried about you, it's not an awful quality to have.

"And I'd rather deal with your 'insanity' than mean girl psychological warfare," the Irish girl added. "You know how Pansy can get-but she's just better when you're around. You can be so blunt and straightforward sometimes that it cuts through all her-Pansy-ness. You both have strong personalities, and yours mellows hers out. Not to mention how you just seem to get people. When you're paying attention, you're crazy perceptive.

"If you weren't around to keep her in check-or tell her off when she's being a bitch or makes some backhanded remark to Daphne or me, she'd be a lot worse, and none of us would be as close as we are. In a world where you aren't famous and we "don't want to know you", me, Daphne and Millicent would probably just be her loyal little followers-like Crabbe and Goyle with Malfoy. But you are, and because of that Pansy wanted to get in good with you-and, now, we're really close. Even if she can be a bit-Pansy. But you can handle her. Nothing she says ever phases you. I wish I was like that.

"The only times I ever really see anything get under your skin, like really properly under your skin, is when you're arguing with Malfoy or your brother."

I had to take a moment, a bit speechless and not knowing what to say to that.

But then, seeing the insecurity/wistfulness in her sandy brown eyes-

"Growing up, I had to develop really thick skin," I found myself admitting. "People can be pretty cruel, and I got used to it. More used to it than a little kid should have to be. Besides, there isn't anything Pansy Parkinson could dish out that I haven't had to deal with-a million times worse."

This time, Tracey was the one that didn't know what to say.

-if for a different reason than me.

A blue rubber band snapped.

"You can handle Pansy's mean girl shit too, you know-" I added encouragingly, "You just need to learn to stand your ground and not let her walk all over you. If she's being a bitch, tell her that. She'll respect you more for it."

Tracey half-smiled, but she still had a hint of concern in her eyes.

"Thanks, Jewel."

"Anytime, Trace. And, uh-you too. For what you said."

I sheepishly rubbed the back of my warm neck.

"Anytime," Tracey repeated firmly, smiling more fully.

Picking up my fork, I dug into my chipolatas with a contemplative expression-but, heavier emotions aside, a small smile on my face.

It wasn't until halfway through lunch that Lockhart finally left for the staff table.

Almost immediately, Fred was beelining for Slytherin table, George in tow.

"You-" he waggled a finger at me, looking like he was trying to be mad but couldn't fight the urge to grin, "you're just-evil-"

"Never said I wasn't," I quipped, parroting my response from when Ron had said the same thing earlier this week and squinting at him.

"I'm a little bit scared of you," George added, grinning himself, "but, you know, in a good way."

"That's my happy medium, yeah," I sunnily agreed.

George snorted a laugh.

"I don't know if I want to retaliate-" Fred mused, "or propose."

I ruffled my hair with a cocky/roguish smirk.

"Well, if you're planning on proposing, I should warn you-there's a line."

Fred rose an eyebrow.

"After that," he remarked, admiring, "I'm leaning towards proposing-"

"I call maid of honour!" George joked, throwing up his hand.

"What, suddenly you're too good to be my best man?" Fred said, mock offended.

"When the other option is Jewel Potter, damn right I am-anybody else, and you'd probably get me by default, but-"

Fred dramatically clasped his chest with a loud, exaggerated gasp.

"Betrayed! By my own twin! My own flesh and blood!"

"Come to the dark side, Georgie-" I teased, "it's way more fun. We've got cookies. And James Earl Jones."

Somehow, that lasted longer than you'd expect it to(George wanted to know what type of cookies the Dark Side had, all the while Fred sputtered in feigned betrayal in the background; we concluded that they're either enchanted to taste like your favourite cookie-otherwise they wouldn't be as widely effective, an elaborate ruse-but I know if I went on a murder spree for a cookie and didn't get it, I'd make Sith heads roll, or store-bought Oreos)-but, in the end, Fred and I decided that we were better off as friends.

And, somehow, George wound up being promised the position as my future maid of honour(with Fred as one of my bridesmaids).

"I can see why you like them-" Daphne dryly chimed in, eyeing the jokingly arguing redheads, "they're just as mental as you are-"

"I know, right?" I agreed enthusiastically, imperial jade eyes gleaming with mischief.

꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ

Our last lesson of the day was Herbology. For the first time, we got to work in greenhouse three(and, unlike greenhouse one, it houses all these cool, super dangerous plants), which was awesome. Sprout had us "repotting" Mandrakes, or 'Mandragora'-these psycho plants that look like tufty, purplish green, muddy babies that scream bloody murder when you grip them by their roots and pull them out of the dirt.

Literally, the "cry" of an adult Mandrake is fatal(and, even as a baby, a Mandrake's wailing can knock a person out for several hours).

Hence the earmuffs.

Mandrakes have healing properties and are not only an essential part of most antidotes but a powerful restorative used to return people who've been transfigured or cursed back to their original state, so I can see why Sprout would want to have some on hand-especially in a school of kids armed with a ridiculous amount of power and zero maturity(seriously, it's like handing a nine-year-old a gun, leaving them to their own devices, and being all surprised when they accidentally shoot themselves in the foot).

Long story short, I very nearly wound up with another detention after Malfoy dared me to try and pet the Venemous Tentacula, which Sprout had said was in the middle of "teething"(as ordered, we were sitting together).

Oh, and I accidentally threw a Mandrake backwards when Malfoy startled me.

It landed on Zabini's head.

Total chaos ensued.

-and, in retrospect, it probably didn't help my case that Malfoy and I were in total, unabashed, open hysterics(the sound muted by my purple earmuffs and his green ones)as Zabini panicked and sprinted up and down the greenhouse with the wailing Mandrake on his head and a frantic Sprout on his heels.

Friday began with Ron's messed-up wand flying out of his hand and hitting Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil during the Gryffindor's Charms class-and ended with my very first telepathy lesson(which took place in Professor Snape's office where we were less likely to be disturbed).

It was, hard; not because we did anything physically taxing-but because Professor Snape had me go over my telepathy in detail.

(I explained that I wanted to use the term "telepathy" instead of "Legilimency" and-after I told him why-he said that he didn't mind).

Considering everything I'd done to push it down, and how I was treated when I couldn't, it was unsurprisingly...difficult, for me.

(I did find that-though I'd never in a million years admit it out loud to another living soul-it was weirdly almost easier, and less pressuring, when I was spilling my guts out to Malfoy in the dungeon corridor that first day back).

I even ended up talking about how I used to get really brutal panic attacks-and still do sometimes and how what helped me the most, out of all the coping strategies Ms Dodds and I tried, was grounding myself to the physical world around me(i.e., deep breaths, digging my feet into the ground, feeling the texture of my jeans, or using the "five things" strategy; five things I can see, four things I can touch, three things I can hear, two things I can smell, and one thing I can taste). Well, that, and removing myself from the situation/"trigger"(like I did last year when I realised that Professor Snape not only had no clue about foster care-but held the metaphorical key to my "mind-reading" problems).

In the beginning, being touched or having people around just made it worse, so I had to deal with a lot of it on my own(and through my meds, which I don't have to take anymore)while Dakota and Alistair did everything in their power to make things as easy for me as possible(like helping me identify what set off the attacks and doing their best to keep those things away from me, like the smell of cigarette smoke-).

There was a heavy silence by the time I was done, the Potions Master surveying me with an indiscernible look in his eyes.

Finally, he broke it.

From his understanding, I'm just scraping the surfaces of people's minds-and, every now and again, I'll accidentally dip under. But I'm sloppy, inexperienced, have the control of a, well, hormonal twelve-year-old girl, and become even more unstable in emotionally charged atmospheres(especially when my own emotions are affected). Through our lessons, he didn't just want to teach me to shield my mind(and, hopefully, block out everybody else's)-he wanted to teach me to safely and precisely use my telepathy.

With proper training, it could be a powerful ace up my sleeve.

-and, with Voldemort knowing what I am and what I can do, it was more important than ever that I get this under control.

Once again, Professor Snape carefully suggested I tell someone-not just for emotional support but, if this person trusts me enough, I could use them to practice on(under no uncertain circumstances was I to attempt to read his mind).

And, because I'm an idiot, I let it slip that Malfoy also knows.

"I didn't tell him or anything-" I said quickly, messily running my fingers through my hair a few times, "he figured it out, and I confronted him about it our first night back. But it was...okay. I mean, he promised he wouldn't tell anybody, and I think I might believe him, and he wasn't a total di-jerk about it-"

Catching sight of Professor Snape's considering face, my head shot up.

"Whoa. No, nope, nuh-uh-don't even think about it, bucko-"

"If Mr Malfoy is already aware of your-abilities, then I fail to see why-"

"Like hell am I gonna go rooting about Malfoy's head-Merlin knows what goes on in there. Besides, if I was gonna have a test dummy, the only real choice is Harry. I've already fallen off the deep end in his head, and I know everything about him. But I can't-I can't tell him, not when I've only just started dealing with it myself. Plus, having Harry here would only hurt my training-you'd be at each other's throats the whole time."

Professor Snape didn't even try to deny it.

Still, to my apprehension, the considering glint in his dark eyes didn't go away.

After that, he went into what Occlumency is and how it's performed.

Basically, I had to rid my mind of all thought and emotion, making it "blank and calm". When he used compartmentalization as an example(how accomplished Occlumens could compartmentalize their feelings and shut down their minds at a moment's notice), I found myself wondering if Malfoy would be good at Occlumency(he naturally compartmentalises things; it's one of the reasons why I find him so hard to read).

With Occlumency, you can protect yourself against a "telepaths" attack and even lie to their face without detection.

The Potions Master also explained that a person's mind is particularly vulnerable to attack when they themselves are either relaxed or overly emotional.

-I always did find it easier to read people when they were hurting.

When you're sleeping, unguarded thoughts or emotions have no protection.

And, if I were to attack another person's mind-either on purpose or otherwise, I would be leaving myself open to a counter-attack.

By the time we'd covered all our bases, it had gotten pretty late so Professor Snape just started me off with a few mental exercises.

This week, I'd work on clearing my mind of all thought and emotion.

And next week, he'd enter my mind, and I'd try to keep him out.

Considering how royally fucked-up my mind is, I was understandably queasy-but it's not like I had any other options, you know?

If anything, it was a strong motivator to get this right.

I was so emotionally drained that, after returning to my common room, I promptly put on my pyjamas and passed out in front of the fireplace.

-which is a good thing, considering that Pucey came by to let me know that we had practice first thing(which sucks because, while I've been itching to take my Nimbus out since June, I'd been planning on going down to visit Hagrid and Fang with Harry Ron and Hermione that morning). I was too exhausted to question it-or to wonder why I was only being told last minute(or why Pucey was acting so squirrelly).

(Pucey and Flint had been acting super weird and evasive for the past few days-I'd just been too busy with everything else to ask them which one of them committed the murder, and which one helped bury the body).

Despite going to bed early-ish, I still managed to sleep in-so, after sticking my head in the shower to wake myself up, I told Tracey(who'd been instructed to get my ass up by Flint)to go ahead to the Great Hall and went to the kitchens for a quick bite to eat instead(I didn't even bother changing out of my PJs, just taking what I needed for practice and booking it). Being slightly late, I figured I'd be the last one there-

But, to my surprise, ended up bumping into Pucey on the way.

It took one look for me to realise why he'd been avoiding me all week.

"You're the new Seeker?" I demanded the second I marched into the Slytherin changing rooms, staring at Malfoy in disbelief.

Pucey followed me in, looking sheepish(it took about two seconds to get the older boy to break; apparently, Flint added Malfoy to the team days ago but, for some reason, they'd all been too chicken to tell me).

"Why didn't anyone-?"

Seeing the brand-new, highly-polished, sleek black broomstick in his hands, the gold lettering on the handle spelling 'Nimbus Two Thousand and One', and the identical ones in the rest of the team's hands made me stop short.

Understanding crashed over me like a cold, bitter wave.

"Nice broomstick," I said flatly.

"Er, yeah-it's the latest model-" Malfoy bragged, somewhat deterred when he saw my suddenly expressionless face, "it just came out-my father bought them for the entire team-you've got one, too, if you wanted to-"

"I'm good," I stated bluntly.

"Right-" the blonde cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Look, Potter-" Flint cut in, appearing cautious(which is fair, I did very much try to strangle him with the collar of his Quidditch robes the last time he seriously pissed me off), "I get you and Malfoy don't get along, but-"

My head whipped in his direction.

"I don't need some flashy new broomstick to keep up with you lot-" I scoffed harshly, "and if you think that, then you're blind and stupid. I could fly circles around everybody here on a Shooting Star without breaking a sweat, let alone a Nimbus Two Thousand. And unless Lucius Malfoy supplied the rest of the school teams with Nimbus Two Thousand and bloody Ones too, I'll be just fine on Dreamy."

Without another word, I twisted on my heel and stalked over to the door leading into the girl's area of the changing rooms.

It slammed shut behind me with an echoing bang.

"...well, that went well," I could faintly hear Pucey remark ironically from the other room.

Someone coughed.

Scowling, I pulled off my red Wonder Woman t-shirt, jerkily changing into my Quidditch robes. I hadn't even bothered slipping my flats on, instead grabbing some socks and my new pink All-Stars(which were surprisingly comfortable and don't flip on and off like my flats tend to), lacing them up around my ankles.

Using a black-and-white plaid scrunchie, I pulled my wet hair back.

When I finally came back out, they all went suddenly silent.

"Oh, no, don't stop plotting Gryffindor's demise on my account-" I spat tartly, dropping onto the seat between Pucey and Bletchley, arms crossed.

Despite feeling his eyes boring into me, I just stared hard at Flint, refusing to so much as glance at Malfoy or their stupid new broomsticks.

Turns out, I'd hit the bullseye head-on.

-but, to be fair, they're usually plotting Gryffindor's demise.

So, on top of keeping Malfoy and their Nimbus' a secret from me, they'd also neglected to mention that Wood booked the pitch for the Gryffindor team practice-oh, right about now-and had no clue that we'd been given special permission to kick them off from Professor Snape so we could "train our new Seeker".

For some reason, these pudding brains were under the impression I'd give Wood or Harry a heads-up or something.

"You're kidding, right?" I deadpanned, "I love screwing with people and I'm almost pathologically competitive; if anything, I would've forged Professor Snape's signature for you-not that I would've needed to, with how much he hates Harry and the rest of Gryffindor House and everything, but still-"

After we were all ready(and Flint had finished going over our training plan and what plays we'd be working on), we headed out to the field.

Flint instructed Malfoy to stay behind everybody else so that the Gryffindors wouldn't see him right away(which won't be hard, considering the entire team towers over the both of us), while I stuck by Pucey.

I could feel him staring at the back of my head, but continued to pretend that he wasn't there as all the negative emotions from seeing him and those stupid bloody expensive new broomsticks bubbled up inside my chest.

The Gryffindors were already in the sky.

I could see Hermione and Ron on the stands-and, up on one of the highest seats, the flash of Colin Creevey's camera.

"Look this way, Harry! This way!" the tiny, enthusiastic boy's high-pitched cry reached all the way down here, seemingly amplified in the otherwise deserted stadium.

I was too-numb and wordlessly furious to be as amused as I usually would be, but the corner of my mouth still twitched up.

In the air, one of the twins was pointing at us.

Visibly outraged, Wood shot at the ground, landing harder than he'd meant to in his anger and slightly staggering when he dismounted.

Harry Fred and George were right behind him.

"Flint!" the Gryffindor Captain bellowed. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

"Plenty of room for all of us, Wood," Flint slyly countered.

The Gryffindor Chasers, Angelina Johnson Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, made their way over to see what was going on.

There was a clear divide between us, the rest of my team standing shoulder to shoulder as they leered at the Gryffindors.

I just sort of casually ✧*̥˚existed*̥˚✧ between Pucey and Dhar, enjoying the show and idly rocking on my heels.

'Hi, Scotchy,' I mouthed to Harry, wriggling my fingers.

Harry looked back at me questioningly, silently asking what was going on.

I wordlessly, and unashamedly, pointed at Flint, as if I wasn't highly entertained by how pissed off Wood was-and hadn't pretty much offered to forge Professor Snape's signature to screw with them literally minutes ago.

"But I booked the field!" Wood was positively spitting with rage, "I booked it!"

"Ah," Flint said. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker'."

"You've got a new Seeker?" Wood honed in on, suddenly distracted. "Where?"

My face hardened, catching Harry's attention.

It was pretty obvious why when, seconds later, a smirking Malfoy came into view.

The Number 7 on his robes was a stark contrast to Harry's own.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" Fred said, looking at Malfoy with clear dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," Flint remarked, he and the rest of the guys smiling broadly while I found myself clenching my jaw. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

They all held out their Nimbus Two Thousand and One's.

"Very latest model-" Flint was saying carelessly as he flicked a speck of dust from his broomstick's handle. "Only came out last month. I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount."

He glanced at me pointedly, but a dark look got my message across.

The small exchange drew Harry Wood Fred and George's attention to the fact that I was still clutching Dreamy(the identical twin to Harry's Nimbus, Killer).

Flint cleared his throat.

"As for the old Cleansweeps-" he went on, smiling nastily at the twins and their Cleansweep Fives, "sweeps the board with them."

"Ooh, that's clever-" I mocked with a great, feigned air of surprise, "did you spend the morning rehearsing one-liners in your bathroom mirror, or-? I mean, Cleansweeps and sweeps-you, sir, are a revolutionary-"

The sixth year shot me a warning glower, and I smiled back sarcastically.

Fred and George sniggered.

Malfoy's wide smirk faltered slightly.

Before Flint could retort, something beyond me caught his attention.

"Oh, look," he said. "A field invasion."

I peered around Walsh to see Hermione and Ron had left the stands and were now crossing the field towards us.

"-Jewel? Why are you here? What's happening?" Ron looked from me to Harry, "Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?"

The redhead eyed Malfoy confusedly, taking in his emerald green Quidditch robes.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," the smug blonde was quick to gloat, and once again I found myself clenching my jaw tightly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."

At the sight of the Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones, Ron's jaw dropped.

"Good, aren't they?" Malfoy added smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them."

Bletchley Flint Walsh and even Pucey and Dhar howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," Hermione retorted sharply, perfectly summing up my thoughts(in a markedly nicer, and more PG, way than I would've had she not responded first). "They got in on pure talent."

"She's not wrong there," I muttered spitefully with a snort.

Malfoy's smug expression flickered.

"No one asked your opinion," he spat, "you filthy little Mudblood."

There was an immediate uproar.

In a flash, Flint had dived in front of Malfoy to prevent the twins from jumping on him while Alicia Spinnet shrieked, "How dare you!"

Pucey preemptively grabbed me.

Ron furiously pointed his Spellotaped wand at Malfoy's face under Flint's arm, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!"

I stopped struggling.

"Wait, Ronnie-"

BANG.

A jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand and hit him in the stomach, sending him reeling back.

He landed on the ground, hard.

"Ron! Ron!" Hermione squealed, "Are you alright?"

In response, Ron opened his mouth-and belched up several slugs.

The slugs dribbled into his lap.

I tried to hold it together, I really did, but I made the mistake of making eye contact with Pucey and, bang, we both were done for.

From the looks of it, my entire team had completely lost it.

Flint was doubled over, holding onto his Nimbus for support, while Malfoy had fallen onto his hands and knees, banging the ground with his fist.

I was literally crying.

"Holy s-shit-I can't bre-breathe!-" I sob/laughed, holding onto Dreamy with one hand and hugging my middle with the other, "I'm such a bad friend-"

Meanwhile, the Gryffindors had crowded around the redhead, watching in shock and disgust as he continuously burped slugs.

While not falling into a hysterical fit of laughter like us, they didn't seem to want to go anywhere near him, either.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," I heard Harry tell Hermione.

She nodded bravely.

Grabbing an arm each, they pulled Ron up.

"D-do you guys need h-help-?" I called over, failing to keep it together.

I wasn't really trying that hard, anyway.

"Not if you can't stop laughing," Harry said shortly. "Besides, you have practice-we'll be fine-"

"Oh my god!" I suddenly chortled, "Wait, wait, wait, Ronnie-didn't you tell Malfoy to eat slugs the other day, but now you're-?"

"Jewel!" Hermione exclaimed, incredulous.

I just kept cackling.

Ron muttered something about how "evil" I am, but it was lost in another blech-a large, slimy slug sliding down his shirt.

As they made their way across the pitch, Colin Creevey sprinted over, dancing alongside them with his camera raised.

Harry snapped something at him, looking fed up, before walking past the first year, he and Hermione supporting Ron out of the stadium.

"I am so going to hell-" I hiccuped, laughing so hard that it hurt and using my Number Five jersey to wipe my teary eyes.

After some more macho headbutting between Flint and Wood, the Gryffindors angrily gave up the field(seeing as their Seeker was, er, otherwise engaged-)leaving Flint and the others once again looking excessively smug.

"Sorry, guys," I said to Fred and George as they passed.

"Nah, it's fine-" Fred replied, irritated expression relaxing slightly.

"We'll just have to get you back in November-" George chimed in, playfully ruffling my hair.

"You know," Fred finished teasingly, "when we kick your sorry asses."

"Ha, fat chance," I shot back, smirking competitively. "We're gonna destroy you-and we all know what happened last time I said that to you-"

They both winced.

"Bring it on, Bones," they retorted anyway, grinning.

"Oh, I intend to," I cockily assured them.

With a wink from George, they hurried to catch up to the rest of their team.

"Alright-" Flint said as soon as they were gone, switching back into captain mode, "in the air, you lot-"

Bletchley Walsh Dhar and Pucey all mounted their new Nimbus', streaking through the air so fast that I had to take a moment, stepping back with wide eyes.

They were like a bunch of green blurs.

It made me second guess turning down switching Nimbus's-sentimentality aside, and, for a nanosecond, I was tempted to ask if I could try one out.

But then my mind forcefully reminded me why those expensive new brooms were even here, and I angrily pushed it down, jaw tensing.

There was a sudden, bitter taste in my mouth.

"Hey, Potter-"

I jumped, jerking around in surprise.

I hadn't even noticed that Malfoy had hung back, too.

My expression immediately turned wooden and, not saying a thing, I gripped my Nimbus Two Thousand and turned on my heel.

Before I could mount my broomstick, Malfoy got in the way.

He looked frustrated.

"Potter, would you just-"

"Look," I snapped icily, "how about you just stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours, yeah?"

I stalked past him, purposely bumping my shoulder into his.

Mounting my Nimbus, I shot into the sky.

꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ

Let's just say, things didn't improve from there.

Not only did I have to push myself even harder to prove that I didn't have to switch brooms(and that my Nimbus Two Thousand was just as good as their-crazy fast, vastly superior Nimbus Two Thousand and One's), but I was blatantly avoiding Malfoy in the air, a fact that escaped no one.

By the time practice was officially over, my entire body hurt in a way it hadn't hurt since I first started, and I was frustrated and angry and-

Reaching the changing rooms first for once, I swiftly changed back into my PJs and let my hair down(but kept on my pink All-Stars), stalking out without a word and ignoring the looks the rest of the team was trading.

Even Walsh knew to keep his mouth shut, for once.

And, because of bloody course, the second I entered the Entrance Hall I found myself being flagged down by McGonagall.

"Potter! What on earth are you wearing?"

"My pyjamas?" I offered exhaustedly. "We had an early practice, so-"

I held up my arms before dropping them.

Note to self: stop moving arms.

Taking in my beaten-up appearance, the Transfiguration's Professor didn't press the issue, but her lips remained a bit pursed.

"I've just informed your brother and Weasley-" she said sternly, "you will be serving your detentions this evening."

I could've started crying.

"Alright, what're we doing?" I asked resignedly, knowing there was no point arguing.

-besides, this isn't the first time I've had to deal with detention right after Quidditch practice, and I highly doubt it'll be the last.

"Weasley will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr Filch-"

"Oof," I winced sympathetically, "that's brutal. And me and Harry?"

"You will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail."

"-We're helping who with his what now?"

I stared at her blankly, sincerely hoping I'd heard wrong.

"Professor Lockhart requested your brother particularly-" McGonagall disclosed, "and Professor Snape convinced him to take you on, too-"

"Professor Snape did what? That little-"

McGonagall pointedly cleared her throat.

"Can't I just go and do the trophy room, too?" I groaned.

The Deputy Headmistress' eyebrows rose.

"Your brother asked me the same thing."

"So...that's a yes, then?"

She just looked at me flatly.

"Thought so," I sighed, deflating.

"Eight o'clock. Sharp."

"Yes, mam."

I saluted her half-heartedly.

Walking into the Great Hall, I spotted Harry and Ron at Gryffindor table, slouched over their plates with gloomy expressions.

Hermione had a very well-you-did-break-school-rules look on her face, which I doubted either of them appreciated.

Catching sight of the High Table, I narrowed my eyes and, with a wave towards my Slytherin friends, beelined for a certain Potions Master.

"Answering Lockhart's fan mail? Seriously?" I hissed, waving my arms about in disbelief only to wince at how sore they were from practice.

Professor Snape smirked.

"He almost wouldn't take you-" he drawled, "something about a class quiz-but don't worry, I made sure to explain to him that he misunderstood and that you like to joke around with your teachers as a sign of deep respect-"

"...You're totally evil-that's just-so totally evil-" I paused, tilting my head, "I respect that. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're still evil-" I wagged my finger at him, "but, you know, kudos."

There was a glint of amusement in the usually sullen man's eyes.

"I trust Professor McGonagall has told you that it's at eight o'clock, sharp," he replied silkily. "I don't want to hear that you were late."

"Like I said-evil," I stated, but I was grinning. "And for the record," I went on, "I don't play up as a sign of deep respect-which is why I'm only good in your class."

Professor Snape looked taken off guard, his smirk falling away.

I could've sworn that his face softened slightly.

"McGonagall's a special case-" I added lightly, having a pathological need to subvert anything serious or emotional with humour, "I just really like making her mad."

With a last grin and a wave, I twirled on my heel.

"Filch'll have me there all night," Ron was saying heavily when I arrived. "No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle cleaning."

"I'd swap anytime," Harry answered hollowly. "I've had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail...he'll be a nightmare..."

"Tell me about it," I huffed, startling them as I dropped into the empty space on Harry's other side, still shamelessly in my pyjamas(and not really giving a damn about the weird looks people were giving me, the sniggering, or the wolf-whistles-mainly from the twins and Lee). "Professor Snape somehow convinced Lockhart that my fun answers to his quiz were just me joking around out of deep respect-"

"You're kidding!" Ron said disbelievingly.

"It was the only way he'd take me," I informed him, running my fingers through my hair. "I think Professor Snape might be eviler than I am."

"That's debatable-" the redhead snorted.

"Oi," I said, playfully sticking out my tongue. "And what about you?" I added with a smirk, "slugs all gone, or-?"

"Shut up," he groaned.

I sniggered.

"What was that earlier, anyway? With Flint?" Harry asked.

"Hm? Oh, the 'special permission to invade the pitch' thing?" I rolled my eyes, neatly skirting what he was really asking about(i.e., Dreamy), "Yeah, found that out literally minutes before you did-they were worried I'd snitch-which is stupid because, if I'd known about Malfoy, it would've been my idea, so-"

"You didn't know about Malfoy?"

They all looked surprised, even Hermione.

"They were too scared to tell me-" I scoffed, scowling darkly, "wimps-"

Taking one look at my lethal expression, Ron and Harry glanced at each other, neither of them seeming able to bring themselves to blame my teammates for not wanting to break that particular news until the very last second.

"You going to be okay?" Harry checked, looking a bit concerned.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I said snarkily, grabbing myself a slice of Sheppard's pie and stabbing it aggressively.

"...I can't believe I'm saying this," Ron muttered to Harry, wincing, "but I almost feel bad for Malfoy."

After lunch, I decided to head back to my dorm, figuring I'd clear away my library books and have a nice, looong nap before tonight's detention.

Tracey somehow convinced me to be alive at around five-ish and, after that, I just hung out with her and the girls in the common room, stretching out on the carpet as I leafed through the newest issue of Witch Weekly.

Daphne and Tracey were on the floor with me-filling me in on things I wouldn't know, growing up with Muggles and all, doing random quizzes, and making fun of people I'd never heard of before last year-while Pansy and Bulstrode ended up on the couch behind us.

Pansy had a brush in her hand and was using my thick, unruly red hair to practise her braiding.

I ended up having dinner early in the kitchens(-because of detention, not because I was avoiding Malfoy, thank you very much-I also really didn't want to bother changing when I'm going back to bed right after this anyway-). And, just before eight o'clock, sharp, found myself reluctantly heading off for what was bound to be a fun-filled evening, my hair curlier than usual after being constantly braided and unbraided.

Hilariously, Harry and I not only reached the second-floor corridor at the same time, but we were both visibly dragging our feet.

"Think he'd notice if we never show?" I wondered wryly, "he's kinda thick."

"I think even Lockhart would notice if we just didn't turn up," Harry finally said.

"We could lie and say we got lost?" I suggested hopefully.

Harry actually seemed to consider it.

"Let's just get this over with," he grudgingly sighed.

Throwing back my head with a groan, I unenthusiastically followed my twin down the corridor, my pink All-Stars scraping against the stone floor.

Reaching the door to Lockhart's office, Harry gritted his teeth and knocked.

It immediately flew open.

-was Lockhart literally standing behind the door waiting for us this whole time?

Speak of the idiot, Lockhart beamed down at us.

Any ill will he'd harboured after the quiz was almost gone.

Excuse me while I silently curse out Severus Snape's existence.

"Ah, here's the scalawags! Come in, Harry, Jewel, come in-"

-"scalawags"?!

Dozens of candles around the room cast light on the, I kid you not, framed pictures of the wizard himself that he had hung all over the walls. Some of them were even signed. As if that wasn't enough, he had a stack of photos on his desk, waiting to be autographed at the drop of a hat. There was a window(that I briefly considered jimmying open to escape out of), and a set of trunks and a chest of drawers nearby.

And, on the back of the door-

"You see the life-sized poster of Lockhart on the back of the door too, right?" I muttered to Harry, rubbing my eyes.

"Yep," he confirmed.

We shared a look, at a loss for words.

"You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart announced, like that was such a treat and not the most mind-numbing task known to man.

(I might be exaggerating a bit here, but you have to admit it's up there).

"This first one's to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her-huge fan of mine-"

Let me be clear; desk work is my kryptonite.

I can't even blame it on my telepathy, I just get really bored easily-which is why I was bouncing my knees restlessly within about thirty seconds of sitting down, already bored to tears and eyeing the clock.

If anything, time just seemed to go even slower.

It's like it was mocking me.

-but, then again, the fact that I thought the clock was mocking me might speak more to my general state of exhaustion than anything else.

And then there was Lockhart, rambling on about Merlin knows what(he said something about fame being a "fickle friend" which is fair enough and "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that"-I don't even know)while Harry and I hummed noncommittally every now and again and waited for the sweet release of death.

Thanks to Professor Snape, the traitor, Lockhart had also mostly bounced back from my quiz answers(which were highly insulting and wrong, if gibberish-y in some places)-I caught the phrase "not to worry!" and something about him being able to take a bit of "good-natured ribbing"-I literally have no clue, I was blocking out most of what he was saying for my own mental wellbeing-

As the hours draaagged on, the small flames flickering off the candles burned lower and lower, their light dancing off the moving faces of all the different Lockharts watching us(which was just the weirdest waking nightmare-).

Then, all of a sudden, Harry just jumped, startling me.

He accidentally dripped lilac-coloured ink on the letter he was addressing to a woman by the name of "Veronica Smethley".

"What?" he said loudly.

"I know!" Lockhart boasted while I stared at Harry, shocked and confused by the serious bad mojo vibes I was getting from his mind(something about "ripping and tearing and killing", as if that wasn't concerning enough-). "Six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records!"

"No. That voice!"

"Sorry?" Lockhart looked puzzled. "What voice?"

"That-that voice that said-didn't you hear it?"

Harry turned to me, appearing frantic, only to find me watching him with an uneasy/concerned expression as I habitually twisted my rubber bands.

"What are you talking about, Harry?" Lockhart questioned, astonished by his behaviour. "Perhaps you're getting a little drowsy? Great Scott-look at the time! We've been here nearly four hours! I'd never have believed it-the time's flown, hasn't it?"

"Like a penguin in military airspace," I muttered drolly.

Harry didn't answer, seemingly straining to listen for something no one else could hear.

Meanwhile, Lockhart was going on about how we "mustn't expect a treat like this every time we got detention", or some shit.

"Alright, what was that about?" I was quick to ask Harry as soon as we'd made our escape out into the corridor.

Harry was in a daze.

"There was a-you really couldn't hear it?"

"Hear what?"

"That voice," he said meaningfully.

When he saw my blank expression, Harry explained that he'd heard this chilling, disembodied voice(that, for some reason, only he seemed to be able to hear)and, when I confirmed that I really hadn't heard anything, repeated what it'd said("Come...come to me...Let me rip you...Let me tear you...Let me kill you...").

"Oh, so nothing to worry about, then-" I blew out my cheeks disbelievingly, roughly running my fingers through my hair.

Deciding to try to think more on it tomorrow(after spending four hours with Lockhart, we weren't exactly in peak mental condition-), we separated at the top of the entrance stairs, Harry making his way up to Gryffindor Tower with that dazed look on his face while I went down to the dungeons, a deep, pensive frown on my own.

It was so late that, by the time I finally rolled into the common room, it had almost cleared out(being nearly midnight and all).

There were only a handful of people still downstairs-and, just my luck, one of them just so happened to be-

"We need to talk," Malfoy stated, looking tired but determined(having apparently stayed up to "talk", seeing as I'd been 'not avoiding him' all day).

"I've got nothing to say to you," I said flatly.

I made to walk away, but he grabbed my arm.

I just ripped it away.

"Potter, for god's sake, just-"

"Just what?" I almost snarled, bitter emotions resurfacing in my chest like a violent tidal wave of ice-cold fire.

"What is your problem?" he demanded.

"'My problem?'" I scoffed, "I don't have a problem. In fact, I'm fan-bloody-tastic!"

"And it comes across so well," Malfoy retorted sarcastically.

Instead of shooting back some playful/snarky remark like I usually would, I just rolled my eyes and pushed past him.

His face fell slightly.

"Look, I get it, you don't like me-" he kept going, following me, "and you don't want me on the team, but I-"

"I couldn't care less if you're on the team or not," I laughed coldly without turning around, voice full of spite. "Do whatever you want. Just know that having some expensive, top-of-the-line broomstick doesn't equal talent-and neither does having to buy your way in-"

Malfoy stopped dead.

When he didn't say anything, I just kept walking, letting the heavy silence echo behind me.

---

A/N: after how hard Jewel had to fight to get on the team, you can imagine she isn't happy to discover Draco had easily bought his way in and nobody had the balls to tell her, but there's a lot more to it that explains why she reacted so badly and why she's so pissed-and directing all of it at Draco himself. I wanted to publish the next chapter with this one to cover the entire situation but I'm still editing it. Hopefully, all will be resolved by either the end of this week or next week. ;)

Also, just wanted to add: another reason Jewel's room is pink, and her converse, is because it annoys me that a lot of fanfic writers bash girls who like pink and wear makeup and act girly. So, she likes pink, she likes make-up/sparkly nail polish, she isn't that interested in Muggle magazines but loves quizzes and is more into Witch Weekly etc., and enjoys 'girly' stuff. I mean, she's a twelve-year-old girl. And there's nothing wrong with that, just like there's nothing wrong with being aware that you are attractive and being proud/confident in that (Jewel has so many other issues that I didn't want to dump insecurities about her appearance in there too; besides, as a telepath, she knows people find her 'aesthetically pleasing'). And makeup/etc., like art, is also a type of self-expression and creativity. I've seen people do some mind-blowing/impressive shit online with makeup and nail polish that I couldn't even attempt in a million years.

Reviews/Replies*̥˚✧!

Leofrick: aw, thanks so much! Happy you liked it! I've got a few running jokes here and there; like Jewel and cats and Jewel rolling Draco's dead body into the lake. She really doesn't have anything against cats, she just has an unfortunate history of sticking them to walls and throwing up on them out windows. I really wanted to flesh out Jewel's Slytherin friends more. She might be around the Golden Trio a lot, and Hermione considers her to be her female BFF, but they're just as important to her and the story. Jewel very rarely lets herself be 'open' and completely 'serious' with anyone-because emotions make her uncomfortable and she's so used to just shouldering it all alone-so the times she does throws them all off guard. People tend to take her too at face value because she's so bubbly and cocky and always cracking jokes and seems so carefree etc. but she's really a total mess of a human being trying to come to terms with years of bottled-up trauma. Same with when she says something "super nerdy" after weeks of cracking stupid jokes and one-liners, which surprises people despite them knowing she's a raging dork (she doesn't really advertise it like Hermione does, she just gets really enthusiastic and excited sometimes).

Guest: thanks! Yeah, Jewel is not ready to open up about her childhood/not living with harry yet. The only reason she told Ron and Hermione etc. was because she was backed into a corner. She would've been happy having them never know, but that would've been unrealistic. They will eventually find out and everything, just not anytime soon. I'm glad you liked me giving the other Slytherins backstories! Zabini's and Nott's are actually canonical (and kinda Daphne's, in the sense she has a little sister named Astoria with a blood curse..though she shouldn't be there until PoA, but whatever-), but I got more creative with Pansy and Tracey because the books didn't really go too into their backstories. They're some of Jewel's best friends, which makes them important to her, and I wanted to flesh them out and explore that a bit.

Solti: You're welcome! I'm just happy you enjoyed it. And thanks for commenting :). Having Draco's POV somewhere would be fun, but I'm not sure where/when I'd do it. As a character, Draco Malfoy is noted as being insecure/jealous so I thought it'd be fun to add scenes here and there where you can see he's obviously super jealous but Jewel is (willfully) oblivious/dense. And words hurt. Sometimes, an offhand joke/comment can cause a lot of damage even without malicious intentions. People can go too far without meaning to. Even Jewel's guilty of that, though her telepathy usually helps her skirt that line, so she understands that they don't mean it like that. But it doesn't mean it doesn't bother her sometimes, even if most of the time she enjoys joking about her 'insanity'. And growing up, Jewel was used to being 'that freaky kid in foster care' who fell through the cracks of the foster/educational systems. She moved a lot and struggled to maintain friendships or even make friends at all. This is a very new situation for her and it all came around because of her fame-that isn't something that can be denied. She isn't just being insecure (though there is definitely insecurity there), in a lot of their cases (like her close friendship with Pansy and even the Weasleys) it's fact. If she wasn't 'The Girl Who Lived', her relationships with a lot of people would look really different. As for the confusing answer, that will be cleared up before the end of Act 2. I already have the whole thing planned out, I'm just struggling to find time to write (my nephews have moved in with me for a few weeks because of a complicated/messy family situation so it's 24/hr babysitting for me, my younger brothers, and my mum).