~*Every Other Time*~

Chapter Eight: Every Other Time

Thalia: Slytherin females are scary. Somehow I think that Seamus, next time he encounters a boggart, shall not be seeing a banshee. Oh yes, my pet swarthy git is slowly but surely sinking. Enjoy!

Dove: Thalia forgot to mention that Neville/Pansy prevails in here, of which SHIP she is mistress (whatever anyone else says).  I worship her ^_^.  And we don't see Su.  All chapter.  No, really.  But chapter nine… *EVIL GRIN*

Disclaimer: We don't own the characters themselves. We only own their terrifying snarkiness.

"Sometimes its black
Sometimes its white

Sometimes she's wrong

Sometimes I'm right

Sometimes we talk about it or we figure it out

But then she just changed her mind

Sometimes she's hot

Sometimes I'm cold

Sometimes my head wants to explode

But when I think about it

I'm so in love with her

Every other time…"

-LFO, "Every Other Time"

            He was busy. He was a seventh year student, Head Boy, and the teachers were rather demanding. Which was why he was compulsively scribbling down facts and ingredients and theories and even history in what would be a magnificent Potions essay on the uses of dragon's blood versus the uses of unicorn horn. Yes. Of course. He wasn't being infected by Ravenclaw diseases of any sort. And certainly, studiousness wasn't transferrable by mouth-to-mouth contact, anyway!

            And no, he wasn't avoiding questions, either!

            "...One of the numerous uses that dragon's blood has, which is certainly not characteristic of unicorn horn, is the use in love and harmony potions. Whereas dragons symbolize, to an extent, fire and emotion, unicorns are cool and distant. Although love potions are technically illegal, certain altered, diluted versions are used by several occupations to ensure good feelings. For example, in the mental wards of several major hospitals and infirmaries..."

             (Or perhaps it had been slipped into Li's daily cup of green tea?)

             All right, this was starting to get aggravating. Li had no business to barge into his thoughts when he was working. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he continued to write.

            With his excellent sense of self-control, he managed to focus on his Potions essay for a good additional twenty minutes before he was interrupted again, this time not by unwelcome thoughts. A melodious, if slightly mincing voice, sounded quite close to his ear. "Hello, Cass."

            "You're not one of the very, very few people who are allowed to call me that, Tracey," Cassius remarked blandly, not looking up from where he was writing about bone-knitting potions which contained unicorn horn. "So I suggest you desist before you start annoying me. Is there any reason you wish to interrupt my work?"

            "Oh, you're being no fun," Tracey said, sitting down with the air of a queen in the armchair across from his. "Since when did you become such a bookworm?"

            "Don't be daft," Cassius finally met the girl's eyes. She was in fifth year, though rather more mature than most. Also generally acknowledged as one of the best-dressed girls of the school. She languidly flicked a few long, shiny platinum ringlets behind a chiffon-covered shoulder, and gave him a slightly coquettish look. "You don't see me panicking about N.E.W.T.s yet. Although some others, like Granger, are probably doing that already. Now, is there anything else, or might I be allowed to finish this essay and move onto other things?"

            "Might those other things involve me?" Tracey asked airily, inspecting her perfectly manicured fingernails.

            "Is there any reason they should?" This conversation, to be honest, was getting a bit tiresome for him. It wasn't so much Tracey flirting with him... Tracey enjoyed flirting, and practiced what she considered her art on several males. And it wasn't quite... usual, either. He got his share of appreciative glances and comments, from subtle to blatant, from various females. But Tracey was rather wasting his time, and wasting her own... it wasn't like he'd ever consider starting anything with her...

            Of course, she was physically attractive, reasonably good humoured... but...

            Somewhat boring?

            He could see only one result from a relationship with her. Increasing boredom and inattention and exasperation on his part, increasing histrionics and drama on hers, ending with an ugly scene in which he'd give some curt, generic "I don't think it's working out" speech, she'd burst into hysterical tears, and the Slytherin girls of her year would all attempt to slap him. Not that he'd let them.

            Li wasn't a Slytherin girl.

            Not that she had anything to do with his... personal life.

            Not really.

            Really. No.

            Making some distant, vague statement about really needing to finish his essay, he turned away from Tracey and started glaring at the parchment with more virulence than either dragon's blood or unicorn horn, however they'd offended him, deserved.

            Li and his personal life did not go into one sentence.

            DAMN.

            "Well, if it isn't Slytherin's new brooding hero."  Again, he ended up looking up from his essay to behold Malfoy looking a great deal more satisfied than he had any right to look, considering he was still skulking about watching the little Gryffindor from the shadows and battling what had been diagnosed by the Slytherins as massive sexual frustration.  Warrington considered asking him if he had finally given in to Bulstrode and rejected the idea.

             "So, how's it feel when it's you?" Malfoy continued.  "Rather unpleasant, I expect."

            Clearly, something much less… nice… was needed.

            "Ah, Malfoy, considering I don't go around forcing myself on girls deemed unsuitable by fathers who are already on the fringe of madness, or resort to first year retaliation plans… I assume I feel a great deal better than you."  He shrugged.  "And at least my alternatives are a great deal more attractive than Millicent Bulstrode.  After all, it's the girls who chase me."  He smirked.  "Not the other way around."

            Draco's anger was apparent by the two spots of color blooming on his pale cheeks, but he didn't say anything.

            "Frankly, Malfoy, amusing as your game is, it isn't going to have any grand-scale effect on my life.  As for crowing over some small imagined victory, save it until the little Gryffindor stops hating the ground you walk on, would you?"  He turned back to his book.  "I've an essay to finish.  Has anyone else got some urgent business with me, or may I get back to it?"

            No one answered and he returned to his essay.  Emma Dobbs, who was getting Susannah to teach her some basic fencing (a part of her education that had been sadly neglected at home) in the corner, remarked to the older girl softly, "Do you rather get the idea he's defending himself to… himself, rather than Malfoy?"

            "Of course.  Put more strength into that.  Your hand angle is slightly wrong."  Adjusting Emma's hand, Susannah was smiling.  "If it was just Malfoy, he wouldn't bother defending himself at all.  Try it again."

            Emma repeated the pass, perfectly this time.  "Thought so."

            Draco Malfoy, not getting a satisfyingly flustered or angered sort of reaction out of the-Scheming-Head-Boy-of-Doom, did the masculine equivalent of flouncing off, in search of better company. Blaise, unfortunately, was nowhere to be found, though it was probably the case that he had to finish the Ancient Runes homework that he'd put off 'til today, and was tucked away in the library somewhere, having cursed all the chairs by his table to attack anyone who disturbed his royally whipped procrastinating genius.

            His eyes lit upon Pansy Parkinson, one of the few sensible girls in his house and year, lounging on a chair close to the common room entrance and idly charming her fingernails a bright pink. "Pansy!" he greeted politely and charmingly. "How've you been?"

            Pansy gave him one piercing look, and without a word, backed out of the door, waving her wand behind her back even as she walked out, apparently in a hurry.

            A few wisps of smoke in the air, apparently from her wand, formed into coherent words a moment later. "Whiners are avoided like the plague." Draco scowled darkly before rushing towards the entrance and yanking it open.

            "WELL THAT WAS RUDE! YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE BULSTRODE RAPING ME, REALLY!"

            Pansy's retreating back shook with a snigger as she quickly walked down the hall.

            Perhaps it was because Malfoy had, to an extent, chased after her to whine, or perhaps it was the entire hilarity of the behaviour of Slytherin boys recently. Certainly, it was not because of the six inch high heels on her feet that Pansy, striding down the hallway, managed to crash in a most undignified manner into Neville Longbottom, who was for some reason completely unfathomable to the sensible universe voluntarily walking towards the Slytherin dungeons.

            But because of the aforementioned behaviour of Malfoy, et cetera... Pansy did not do more than glare and remark that he should watch out where he was going, when a somewhat terrified-looking Longbottom timidly reached out a hand to help her back up, studiously avoiding looking at the scary high heels.

            "I'm... sorry?" Neville's voice held the slightest squeak as he tried to calculate the amount of time it would take him to run, without accidents, out of hexing range.

             "I'm sure you are," Pansy cut in smoothly, refusing his hand and standing up on her own, clicking her high heels on the ground perhaps with the intention to unnerve him. "After all, you didn't try to cop a feel while you were lying over me a moment ago, which implies that you didn't do this on purpose."

             "I wouldn't do such a thing!" Neville looked properly horrified at the mere suggestion.

             "What, you wouldn't try to cop a feel?" Pansy crossed her arms over her chest. "I should feel offended. I really should."

             "N-no...!" Neville really had no idea how that would cause her offense, but he was somewhat used to people being displeased with him. "I meant... I wouldn't purposely knock a girl down..."

             "So you wouldn't knock a girl down, but you don't deny that you'd try to cop a feel if you could?" Pansy smirked in an almost predatory fashion at him.

             He had a decided feeling that there were no correct answers to any of her questions.

            Dammit, this was almost worse than Snape's class.

            "How gentlemanly," Pansy drawled, her voice slightly mocking as she reached over and patted his cheek with one manicured hand. "So, how many girls have you groped?"

            "I'm... not answering that question!"

            Pansy was finding great enjoyment in the increasingly flustered look on his face. "Oh, is that so? Did you and the little Weasley have any fun at the Yule Ball last year?"

            "I hope she did," Neville murmured, "and no, I didn't grope her! I'm not Malfoy!"

            Pansy laughed outright at that, "I'm well aware. I wouldn't be speaking to you if you were."

            The fact that Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy were apparently not speaking did not compute in Neville's muddled mind. And her perfume was making him slightly dizzy. "Did Draco upset you?" he asked, troubled. "It's all right... he does that to everyone. Don't let him get to you."

            "How sweet," Pansy patted him on the other cheek. "Tell me something that I don't know."

            "I think Ginny likes him," he blurted out. "Although that's completely daft and Ron would kill both of them and..."

            "Well then," Pansy practically purred, "I expect we're in for a good bit of entertainment in the future." She glanced at her jewel-encrusted watch, "I should go back to my common room, then. Malfoy's probably progressed from trying to find someone to whine to... to sulking in his dormitory. It'll be safe. Ta-ta, then!"

            Neville fled the sound of clicking high heels as fast as he could dignifiedly go.

***

            Hermione had begged off of her tutoring session the last week of November with a bad headache and twenty pages of Defense homework.  Cho had let her go, figuring no one except Ravenclaws and Hermione herself would want to study so close to Christmas.  Sure enough, several members of her own house trickled into the Transfiguration tutoring session late on Thursday night.  She waved her greeting to fifth years Terry Boot and Kevin Entwhistle, and shared a grin with Calista before setting down her box of random small objects.  "Just… pick up whatever you need to work on.  There are extra books on the table.  If you have any specific questions, I'll be glad to answer them."

            Immediately, Kevin's hand shot up.  "I've got a question, Cho."

            "Yes, Kevin?" she asked, smiling slightly.  Something entertaining was bound to come of this, considering the small smile on his face.  If Kevin had passed a day without making someone laugh, he was probably sick.

            "Is Su really aiming to shag Cassius Warrington like everyone is saying?  Or did she already?"

            "Urk," said Terry, and dropped the teapot he had picked up, conceivably to try transforming it into a tortoise and back again.  It shattered.

            Cho gave Kevin a reproving look.  "Reparo."

            "Well, Terry's green in the face; my job is done," Kevin said cheerfully.

            "Considering there are no questions related to Transfiguration," Terry said with a grimace as he picked up the whole-again teapot.  "He's been plaguing me all day with that, simply because he knows it makes me sick."

            "Well, even Su can't stay sweet and innocent forever," Kevin said with a placating wave of his hand.

            "She was never sweet.  And shut up."

            "Now, boys, boys," Cho said, suppressing a laugh.  In the corner, Calista was already changing her pincushion into a hedgehog for the second time.  "Save the arguments about Su's personal life for the hallways, where they are already being conducted."  She picked up a quill and handed it to Kevin.  "And, just for the record, I don't believe she has, no.  As for what her aims are, I prefer to think my mind doesn't go in that direction.  Work, please."

            "Pluma Albucum Immutatum," Kevin said, waving his wand at the quill, which promptly turned into a lily.  He handed it back to Cho with a boyish grin.  "Meaning she's talked to you about it.  Aren't you going to tell us?"

            "Let's see," Cho said, and pointedly looked into the notebook she used to write down her homework and lessons.  "No, I'm afraid that's not on the roster for today."

            "Oh, you're no fun," said Kevin, as Calista giggled from the corner and Terry said, "Thank you."

            "Oh come on, they'd make a nice couple!" Kevin said.  "Of course, she's so short, she'd probably have to stand a step above him on the stairs to kiss him, but then, that might be cute, in its way, and Su's not likely to get all sugary and soppy about it, which would be a nice change."

            "You managed to mention Su, sugariness, soppiness, and kissing in one… very long run-on sentence.  I hereby disown you as friend," Terry grumbled.  His teapot was still a teapot.  "Damn it, thanks to you, I can't concentrate on this!  Cho, why is the damn teapot still not alive?"

            "Because you're waving your wand fit to take someone's eyes out," Cho said, trying to be soothing.  "Now, I will say this once, and we will not bring up this topic again.  What is going on is terribly silly.  Su needs to either get her act together and fix it, or… not fix it.  But she should pick one."

            "Define 'fix it'," grumbled Terry.

            "It would probably involve her and Warrington in a broom closet.  Again, I mean."

            "Shut up, Kevin."

***

            Seamus Finnigan knew that he was in trouble as soon as he stepped into the classroom. There was only him, Zach Turpin of Ravenclaw, and three evil entities of the species Femmea Slytherinus Diabolicus. There was the blonde Prefect Caligo, of course, who just so happened to be wearing what looked like an ornamental dagger to pin back her hair. And there was the little one with the dark hair and the virulently sharp tongue (belied by the almost-innocent big blue eyes). And then there was the one in his year who had apparently (from his poor roommate's mutterings in his sleep) sexually assaulted Neville.

            Hermione had ordered him (in very scary bossy Hermione fashion) to go to the tutoring session for Defense Against the Dark Arts, to brush up on countercurses that he'd missed on the last quiz. He had agreed, partly to get the Prefect off his back, and partially because it would have been easier to learn them with the Prefects than to slave away in the library looking them up.

            Or so he'd thought.

            He would not make that mistake again.

            It wasn't so much that the girls were... threatening, or being mean and rude and obnoxious. They were actually rather cheerful, Caligo demonstrating several rather complicated-looking shielding and deflecting spells while snarking and gossiping back and forth with Emma Dobbs and Pansy Parkinson. Seamus got as close to cowering as a Gryffindor could, and went over the countercurses that he wasn't sure of with Zach. He almost wished that the girls would sneer and be snooty and... well, relatively less scary than they were determined to be.

            "So yes... the counterspell for Conburo Dermae is Neco Frigesco," Zach remarked evenly, his mouth twitching slightly. Seamus nodded, mimicking the wandwork of the older student.

            "...Well, Tracey's probably going to give up on Cassius soon. Or at least, I hope so," Susannah was saying as she wrote down a list of dark detection spells on the chalkboard, "I'd absolutely hate it if she persisted, he became exasperated, and the high-pitched whining and wailing would carry through her dormitory to mine."

            "You do not room with either her or Millicent Bulstrode, you just recently got a new big sparkly toy, and you can take points away from Hufflepuffs going at it in the Astronomy Tower for desecration of the sacred act of shagging. What do you have to complain about?" Pansy copied down the spells that Susannah had written down, tapping her manicured fingernails on the desk.

            Seamus ducked his head over his Defense textbook and valiantly wished that he would wake up.

            "Don't wave your wand so wildly," Zach Turpin's voice shook slightly, as he seemed to be trying to hold in desperate laughter.

            "Well. She is Warrington's cousin," Emma remarked to Pansy. "It would only be natural that the lovelorn, rejected Tracey Davis would whine to her and try to get her to make Warrington see reason."

            Susannah wrinkled her nose delicately, "Let's not talk about my cousin and 'seeing reason', shall we? From what is the general consensus of almost all people sensible and survival-seeking, it isn't particularly healthy to deliberately hack off that Su Li. If they're actually involved (and all rumours do have a grain of truth), it will be a miracle if he lives to see thirty. With his... nature."

            Both Emma and Pansy laughed slightly at that. Emma's eyes glinted. "Oh, but I'm sure that Li finds his antics charming. If she is as lethal as they say, wouldn't she have killed him already otherwise?"

            "No," Susannah said easily, as she fluidly countered the spell that Pansy sent at her. "She's biding her time and plotting right now."

            Pansy's face was almost dreamy. "You have to admit, though, Susannah... they are terribly amusing."

            "Well of course," Susannah remarked with wide eyes, "but I might get annoying questions from my parents, not to mention Aunt Cordelia, if I have to bring home his remains in a small chamber pot."

            Seamus flinched and scrunched down some more. Why couldn't they be like... nice, normal Gryffindor girls? Even listening to Parvati and Lavender giggle about hot blokes in Witch Weekly was preferable to listening to... these girls... talk about murder!

            He got the terrible impression that this was quite par of the course. Drawing upon reserves of the vaunted Gryffindor bravery, he stayed put and tried to pay attention to Turpin explain the countercurses to Blinding spells.

            "Ah well... despite it all, I actually think that if they don't kill each other as is statistically 87.5% likely, they might make an interesting pair. For one thing, united, they might solve the little Malfoy/Weasley girl issue and give us all a nice show sometime," Susannah remarked as she closed her book, removing the dagger from her hair and handing it to Emma, who sliced her now-finished Defense essay off at precisely thirty inches of parchment.

            "As long as we don't walk in upon them shagging in the common room, it's all right." Pansy gave an elegant shrug and closed her books as well.

            Susannah rolled her eyes. "Come off it, Pans... he's Head Boy. He has his special quarters. If there were anyone to stumble in upon this hypothetical scene, it would probably be Angelina Johnson, and not you. And besides, they both tutor Charms. I'd hope that they would be more discreet."

            "If Johnson were to stumble in upon that scene, it would be bad," Emma mused. "She might raise up a clamour to the Headmaster that both of them were trying to permanently ruin her vision to sabotage Quidditch."

            Susannah dismissed this claim as well with a wave of her hand. "She associates with the Weasleys. I'd say that she's seen far more frightening things."

            The girls laughed appreciatively at that, and the chiming of a distant clock signaled the end of the tutoring session, as well as Seamus Finnigan's freedom. Like a liberated prisoner, he threw his books into his bag, and all but ran back to Gryffindor.

            Hermione was rather surprised when, glancing up from her homework with a reproach upon her lips when someone stomped into the Common Room, she beheld Seamus Finnigan, pale and downright pouting, giving her a "why didst thou send me to hell, lady" look of woe.

            "Who blew up your owl?" Hermione asked him, mystified.

            "Hermione," Seamus started in a very scared, subdued sort of tone, "I will be your slave. I will carry your books to classes for you. I will help you liberate House elves against their will. I will even thwap Weasley when he misbehaves or is a prat around you. But for the love of all things good, holy and righteous, please do not make me go again! I'll do anything!"

            Hermione gave him an astonished look. "Seamus, whatever is the matter? I realize that Defense is a difficult class, but..."

            "But the people who go to tutoring are EEEEEEEEVIL! They talk about murder and sex, even the little one, and..." Seamus grabbed Hermione by the shoulders. "No more. Not even Irishmen are that insane."

            Hermione, more disturbed by Seamus' state than his wild assertions, promised that if he needed help with Defense, he could go and ask her rather than go to tutoring. "They're not Malfoy, though," she proclaimed in a bewildered tone. "Surely they can't be that bad?"

            "Malfoy is merely trying to shag Ginny. That's not too bad," Seamus muttered ominously as he stalked up to his dormitory.

            To proclaim that this act, a capital offense in the eyes of both her best friends, "not too bad"... Hermione realized that perhaps Seamus had been rather more traumatized than she'd thought.