By: Sweet 16 Movie Buff!
----------------------------------------------------
I FINALLY FIGURED IT OUT!!!!!!!!I finally figured out how to get the fonts to stick. YES! You are all about to read one very ecstatic author here. So I posted this chapter as a sort of celebration ::hands out butterbeers all around::
----------------------------------------------------
He ran through a swirling mist of strange shapes and colors. Eerie carousel music played faintly in the background, skipping and scratchy from years of disuse. Shadows went in and out, but one thing was always clear: the screams.
He could hear them at every turn he took, every bend and corner he passed through the demented, contorted shapes. Fear was whelming in him. He had to find someone. He had to find them before it was too late or . . . well, he just didn't know.
Then at last, the twisted, contorted shapes came to an abrupt end and he stood on the outside of a ring of slim towering figures. The ring of men wore long shapeless gray robes and white masks, with slotted holes for noses and eyes. Death Eaters. He could feel fear grip his heart so hard, his breathing stopped for a moment in his throat.
A girl lay helpless in the center of the circle, a mauve chemise in disarray, practically torn from her body. She tried to cover herself, but the effort was too much and signaled a Death Eater to step into the ring, his wand leveled at her.
"Crucio."
She screamed.
Her face contorted into a hideous mask of agony. She collapsed to the floor, screaming and writhing as the Death Eaters around her laughed. Strands of short golden chestnut hair fell across her dark eyes as her body twisted itself into odd angles not of her will . . .
"NOOOO!" Sirius pitched upright in his bed, his breath coming in ragged gasps, chest heaving. His hands shook uncontrollably as he tried to occupy them, running them through his hair over and over.
"Wha - What?" a thick voice said from the bed next to him, followed by a thud as James awoke abruptly from his sleep.
Remus struggled madly with his sheets, trying to untangle himself from them and sit at the same time, when at last he succeeded.
"What is it Sirius?" he asked sleepily and yawned.
"I was dreaming about sleeping," James grumbled as he stuffed his glasses onto his nose. "This better be good, Padfoot."
"James," Remus said reprovingly, seeing the panic in Sirius's eyes.
"It was just a nightmare," Sirius muttered to himself, raking his fingers through his hair once more. "Nothing real about it. Just a nightmare."
"I'd say so," James agreed, he too noticing the wild terror etched in his every shake. "What'd you dream about?"
Calm down, he told himself firmly, willing himself to stop shaking. Just calm down.
"Padfoot? What's wrong?" James frowned. He'd never seen his best friend like this.
"Are you all right?" Remus asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, ready to fetch a teacher. "Do you need to see Madame Pomphrey?"
"No," he forced a shaky smile, "no, don't bother, Moony. I'm fine."
"What happened?" James was still frowning, watching Sirius carefully. "You've never woken up screaming like that before."
"I dreamed Snivellus and you were playing spin the bottle," he retorted with a lighthearted smile. His hands still were quivering, almost as bad as Wormtail did on occasion, but at least he could keep the alarm from his voice.
James laughed at first, then shook off the thought, "Ugh. I know what you mean, Padfoot. That's enough of a thought to put me to sleep screaming."
Remus did not seem so easily swayed by Sirius's explanation. He eyed him closely, "Are you certain you're all right?"
Sirius laid back down on his pillow, "G'night, Moony. Prongs."
"Night, Padfoot."
James clicked the light off and the dormitory was bathed in blackness once more. He forced himself to close his eyes, but the nightmare was always waiting for him. Jillian's screams still lay in wait in his dreams.
----------------------------------------------------
Wormtail poked his long nose into the library and darted wet eyes about the tables and shelves, all very sparsely occupied. The Map had said she was here in the library, three, no two aisles over from the window.
Ah, yes.
Jillian McKee, arms full of books, emerged from the row in context, her mark on the Map doing very much the same, and made her way to a table. Madame Pince glared at Jillian, eyeing her with distaste at touching so many of her precious books.
Wormtail swallowed a lump in his throat. Sirius was very likely going to kill him for doing this, but he desperately needed help with his History of Magic essay since Remus had gone off to perform prefect duties. Taking in another shuddery breath, he scurried over to the table Jillian now sat at pouring over a very thick and dusty volume.
"Um . . .Jillian," he squeaked, then pushed his hands into his mouth. Why did his voice insist on doing that every time he talked to a girl?
Jillian jumped slightly in her chair, and then looked up at him. "Oh, hello, Peter."
"Hi." Damn his squeaking voice.
When he did not speak for several moments, Jillian asked hesitantly, "Can I do something for you?"
"Well," he began quickly, "Remus is off being a prefect and James is at Quidditch practice and Sirius has disappeared with Mitra somewhere and I can't find anyone who might be able to help me with that History of Magic essay Professor Binns asked us to write on merfolk rights and then someone said you were in the library and I thought . . . well . . . I thought . . . maybe you could help me write it," he finished lamely.
"Oh, sure Peter," she smiled warmly at him, "Pull up a chair."
With a relieved giggle, Wormtail plopped down in the chair next to her and pulled out his crumpled piece of parchment. Jillian scanned it, brows knit in concentration, frowning every so often. Then with a sigh, she pulled out a fresh roll of parchment and set it before Peter.
"Your facts are wrong. Merpeople rights did not come into question until after werewolf rights. Werewolves were granted rights in 1682 not 1567 so that means that merpeople rights did not come before the Ministry until at least 1690. You also spelled 'precarious' wrong in your first sentence."
"Oh dear," Wormtail bit his thumbnail as he fervently read over his essay again.
"Don't worry," she said gently, "We'll just start over. Do you have your notes?"
"Um . . ." he fidgeted in his chair, "They aren't very good, but here you go."
Jillian raised an eyebrow at the scribbled and scratched slip of parchment that alternated between games of hangman and bits of wrong information.
"I didn't have a chance to look at Remus's notes before he left for his prefect duties," he explained by way of apology.
"That's okay," she hastily amended, though she was still frowning at a scribbled sentence about merpeople living off the coast of Scotland. Selkies were a breed of merpeople that were seals at sea and human on land, not half-seal, half-human creatures. She shook her head, "Let's start with a proper title . . ."
For the next half-hour, Wormtail and Jillian struggled through his essay, using Jillian's much more thorough and ordered notes. When the last sentence had been written and Wormtail had set his quill aside, he was quite content with the outcome. Jillian too seemed please.
"There's your essay," she said with a satisfactory smile. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a Defense Against the Dark Arts exam tomorrow I have to study for."
"It's on recognizing the signs of a sphinx trap. James told me."
She smiled, "Thanks, Peter, I knew that much. The rest I'll have to be rather good at fabricating or knowing here in the next hour or so."
As Jillian turned back to the large volume, Peter said suddenly, "He never really wanted to stop seeing you, you know."
"What?" Oops, apparently he had struck a nerve, like with Sirius. At least Jillian wasn't hurtling heavy objects at him for saying so.
"He, he, he still wanted to be friends, but, but stopped talking to you because that's what, what, what Mitra told him to, to do so she, she stop spreading those, those, those rumors," he stammered, watching carefully the flicker of vexation in her dark eyes.
"Oh," Jillian looked down at her hand on the table apparently stunned by the information, or perhaps not so much. She grinned at him, "Has Sirius ever told you you're rather tactless, Peter?"
"At least twice a day," he said promptly, quoting James when such instances would occur (which, mind you, had not been very recently).
She laughed, though it was a kind laugh that almost invited him to join in; he settled for smiling. "Thank you, though, for telling me."
"It was nothing," he blushed. Sirius was going to kill him for saying as much, but at least if Sirius needed to ever approach Jillian, his friend didn't have to worry about her marring his pretty image.
"I'll see you around," she smiled again before turning back to her book.
"I wish you two were still dating," he added quickly, "James and Remus do too."
"Peter . . ." she growled as politely as she could, her cheeks glowing slightly at the comment.
"Right. Bye." And with that Wormtail fled the library, hurrying back to the Gryffindor common room with a decent 'A' paper and a skeptically lighter conscience.
----------------------------------------------------
"Mum's inviting all the relatives for Christmas this year," Toby was complaining to Carly and Jillian as the three walked through the corridors to their next class. "I swear . . . if Sasha even so much as coughs the same way I do, I'll throttle her."
"How old's your cousin?" Carly asked with a frown.
"Five."
Jillian really wasn't paying attention to Toby as she ranted about her large family and her irritating younger cousins and siblings. She was thinking. Brooding was more like it.
It was a week before the Christmas holidays were to begin, and her thoughts had suddenly steered to a dark venue, leaving her tired and weighted with mixed emotions. She wouldn't be going home for the holidays, because she had no home to go back to. Toby should feel lucky for have such a large family, when she, Jillian, had none. The only family she had ever called her own was six feet under in a graveyard with only worms for company.
Well, that wasn't exactly true. She had a great aunt twice removed who still lived in Kent who's house smelled of cheap incense and cigarette smoke. Then there were her grandparents in America, but she didn't want to go so far away for the holidays, considering she'd never known her grandparents as anything but Mr. and Mrs. McKee seniors.
"What's your family going to do for the holidays?" Toby was asking Carly.
"Well, Gabby's coming home from Italy with some new boyfriend. And Brom and his wife are bringing their baby girl so I can see her."
"Ah, to be the youngest of the family," Toby sighed reminiscently, "How I envy you."
Jillian' eyes wandered over the corridors. Wreaths and garlands hung everywhere and had managed to stay that way despite Peeves's obvious efforts to dislodge them. A group of Slytherins was approaching, Lucius at the head talking loftily about a Christmas party his parents would be holding at their home.
Jillian stepped out of his way in time as he said, "It's really to be a small affair, but nothing as gaudy as that ball the Blacks hold every year. Really, they'll invite practically anyone . . ."
Bleeding stuffed shirt, maybe she should give him a good hex. No, that would be stooping to childish levels, even despite her mood. Jillian stuck to glaring. Lucius seemed to feel her eyes on him and his eyes flicked over her, glinting steely in the sudden change of light.
Jillian froze in her tracks. She knew those eyes. Only last summer . . . Something cool trickled over her senses. She didn't even feel herself pivoting and stalking after them. She didn't feel herself tapping Lucius on the shoulder. She didn't realize any of what she had done until her fist connected solidly with his nose and the crunch of bone woke her from her trance.
"JILLIAN!" Toby and Carly were pealing her back as she cocked another punch to land on Lucius's jaw.
Blood blossomed in Lucius's hands. The last time she'd broken his nose, blood had been dripping out of the slits of a Death Eater's mask.
Anger fueled her; her sight blurred at the edges as she stared at the curled Lucius before her. She tried to lunge for him again.
"YOU HEARTLESS BASTARD! COWARD! IS THAT HOW YOU GET YOUR KICKS?! TORTURING AND MURDERING AN INNOCENT HUMAN BEING?! IS IT? ANSWER ME!"
Lucius straightened, blood running from his crushed nose. He looked every inch the wronged man, even with a Slytherin throwing a restraining arm in front of him. Yet the corner of his mouth twitched with a certain satisfaction. "I don't have the slightest idea of what you mean."
"Should we let her at him?" Toby puffed as Jillian struggle to hurt Lucius intensified. Students hastily had gathered around the two, forming a circle. Others were pushing for a glimpse of Jillian McKee, who had seemingly lost it. Carly seemed on the verge of saying 'yes' when a voice tore through the silence.
"MISS MCKEE!" Professor McGonagall's voice rang through the corridor and the crowd parted for the Transfiguration teacher, flanked by Professor Flitwick and Professor Vector, the Arithmancy witch.
Toby and Carly set Jillian on the ground gently as the teachers came in to take care of the mess. Professor Vector came and helped Jillian to her feet, a hand firmly grasping her arm. Jillian's face was glowing and her lower lip was firmly tucked between her teeth as she glared at Lucius, who was being seen to by Professor Flitwick.
"Move along," McGonagall was snapping at the gaggle of other students. "Go on to class, you'll not be excused for being late."
This broke up a vast majority of the students, sending them scurrying on their way. Carly and Toby hesitated, casting anxious glances at Jillian, but when they caught sight of McGonagall's murderous glare, they too begrudgedly left.
"And you," she said in a deadly softly to Jillian, "My office. Now."
Professor Vector firmly began to guide Jillian away, but when they walked by Lucius, who was being tended to by Professor Flitwick, Jillian halted for a moment.
"We'll finish this, you and I," she breathed under her breath.
"Enjoy detention, McKee, because it's the last thing you'll ever know," he spat back, just as silently.
"Off to the Hospital Wing, Lucius," Professor Flitwick scurried before him and Lucius obediently followed.
"Come along," the Arithmancy witch tugged her along after McGonagall's furiously billowing green robes.
She was in trouble. She was in so, so much trouble.
----------------------------------------------------
"Attacking a fellow student in broad daylight? Brawling like a common Muggle?" Professor McGonagall was thundering ten minutes later in her office. "And before an entire hall of witnesses? Really, Miss McKee, I would have expected more from you."
She was referring to the vain hope that Toby's talent for vengeance and mischief, both effective and discreet, had rubbed off on Jillian after seven years. It hadn't. Jillian had a certain streak in her that refused to let her keep any secret for long or do any sneaking of that sort. It often proved her unmaking in cases such as these.
"Your actions were entirely uncalled for. What were you thinking?" With a scowl firmly planted on her lips, McGonagall sat promptly at her desk and began to scribble rabidly on a slip of paper, "Two weeks detention. Your visiting privileges to Hogsmeade are henceforth revoked for the remainder of the year, and fifty points from Ravenclaw for your obvious disregard for class, Miss McKee. You will report to me for your first detention on Saturday."
"Yes, professor."
McGonagall glanced at Jillian through her square-rimmed spectacles. Jillian sat stonily in a chair before the desk, her fists clenching and unclenching while she gazed steadily at her lap; she was worrying her lower lip.
"Would you care to say anything in your own defense?"
"No, professor," Jillian rose from her chair and excepted the slip of paper. "You were right; it was rather pretentious of me."
Professor McGonagall watched Jillian carefully. She was rather collective about the ordeal, cool and calm. Most students in her position would be at least faulting the blame on the other. Most students like her, who rarely suffered punishments for misbehavior, would be astounded at the mention of detention at the very least, but Jillian, oddly, was not.
"You are not to go within wand distance of Lucius Malfoy again, Miss McKee. Do you understand?" McGonagall added carefully after another moment of scrutiny.
"Yes, professor. May I go?"
With a nod, McGonagall returned to a stack of papers on her desk, "Go on to class, Miss McKee."
"Thank you, professor."