XXIX. NUMBER 5 & NUMBER 7

Ever since that first Quidditch practice, things between me and Malfoy had somehow managed to deteriorate even worse.

At first, I just avoided him-but, when he stubbornly kept trying to talk to me, that icy avoidance turned real ugly, real fast.

It almost made me angrier that he wasn't really fighting back.

-not that I gave him the chance.

On the upside, Daphne didn't have to worry about us driving her mad arguing-considering I've been sitting as far away from him as possible not just in class, but in any room we happened to occupy at the same time.

(at first, Malfoy tried to use our shared classes as a way to ambush me/neutral ground, which ultimately only blew up in his face and made things worse-but, something I'd been trying to ignore, he'd been leaving the seat beside him empty-).

The same couldn't be said for Flint and the rest of the guys on the team.

Quidditch was the only time we were forced together in an environment where I had no choice but to interact with him.

When I wasn't pointedly refusing to block Bludgers for him, Malfoy and I were at each other's throats.

(or, more accurately, I'd go out of my way to find reasons to go off at him, and he'd retaliate in his own defence, and it would just-spiral-).

It didn't help that he kept showing off on his stupid, expensive Nimbus Two Thousand and One-which just pissed me off even more.

We hadn't fought this brutally since early last year(before he snuck Pucey down to the paddock by Hagrid's where I was training to-).

The number of times that Flint had to have us physically separated had gotten ridiculous, and he was obviously losing his patience.

And all of that animosity just spilled over into everyday life.

Even Harry Ron and Hermione had tried to talk to me(which says a lot, seeing as me trying to murder Malfoy is 'business as usual' for them-but, then again, when I get angry I get fiery; going all bitter, cold snap Queen like this was a whole new tier of anger I usually reserve for people like Petunia and Vernon)-and Tracey Daphne Pansy and even Zabini kept trying to get me to tell them what Malfoy did to make me so mad(Pansy in particular was pushing me to talk it out with him, which just made us argue too and caused all this unnecessary tension between me and my dormmates).

I just had all of these horrible, frustrating feelings all pent-up in my chest, and I couldn't-

Suffice to say, things are super tense right now-like a violin string being slowly tightened until it was on the verge of snapping.

My hot and cold emotional state didn't do me any favours during my telepathy lesson with Professor Snape a week later.

"...So, basically," I summed up apprehensively, "you're going to casually pop into my head, kick back, and enjoy the show-and I just have to shut you down before you can?"

My fingers messily ran through my hair.

I didn't miss the way the Potions Master grimaced at the action.

(he does that a lot, I've noticed; sometimes, I feel like he has trouble looking at me-like when you stare at the sun too long, and your eyes hurt, and you have to look away-he'd just get this look, and...I don't know-).

"We'll start slowly," he said. "I considered having you use your wand to try to disarm me, or defend yourself in any other way you could think of, but you aren't just learning to keep other telepaths out-you're trying to keep yourself from going in. Instead of giving you license to hex your unwitting classmates for using their brains for once, I've decided to concentrate on building up your mental shields without any-training wheels. I don't expect immediate results but, by the time we're done, I do expect you to be able to not only keep me out but lessen the strength of your ability, like turning down a volume dial in your head, so you can use it more precisely without it continuing to be a handicap for you like it is currently. If you can do that, it won't just cease to hinder you, it will become one of your most valuable assets."

I jokingly rose my hand.

"I don't know...that bit about hexing my classmates sounded pretty good-"

Professor Snape just looked at me blandly.

"...tough crowd," I coughed, rubbing the back of my neck.

"Start clearing your mind-" he instructed, holding up his wand, "and when you're ready, just nod, and I'll perform the spell-"

"Clear my mind-gotcha-"

I did awkward finger guns.

My nervous response didn't exactly fill either of us with a sense of 'confidence'.

Okay, so here's the thing-growing up, when things got bad, I learnt to...shut down. It was the only way I could cope in the face of...my childhood, as a whole. But it wasn't something I did on purpose, not really, it just kind of-happened.

And with my emotions, and my telepathy as a result, flaring up ever since the events of last Saturday, trying to do it now was laughable.

But the idea of Professor Snape seeing really any of my memories was a strong motivator, and I'm notoriously stubborn.

Finally, I nodded.

"Brace yourself...Legilimens!"

The last thing I expected, even after all of my preparation, was for the room to swim in front of my eyes the way it did-or for it to vanish completely as I was swept up into the recesses of my own mind and memories.

Images flashed before my eyes like a vivid, flickering film; rendering me temporarily blind to the world around me.

...sitting on the carpet in front of the Morrissey's T.V., age ten, watching Die Hard for the billionth time with Dakota and eating handfuls of popcorn out of the bowl in my lap. "Welcome to the party, pal!" we called out in unison with John McClain, laughing...Alistair, dressed in his red-violet lab coat and goofy science googles, using Potassium Chloride and a bunch of other chemicals to show me how to make purple fire-"It's alive, it's moving, it's alive, it's alive, it's alive, it's alive, it's alive!"-all while dramatically quoting the black and white 1931 Frankenstein movie like a weirdo...

...having "girl time" with Pansy Tracey Daphne and Bulstrode(a fairly new concept for someone who'd never had close female friends before-or close friends in general-or, you know, friend-friends in general-), which mostly involved doing each other's nails/makeup/hair, talking shit, and flipping through the newest issue of Witch Weekly while we listened to WWN(the Wizarding Wireless Network), which made not having my walkman slightly more bearable(they've turned me onto a bunch of new wizard bands/singers; like "the Weird Sisters", who are wicked, "Lorcan d'Eath" who is, get this, part-vampire, and "Celestina Warbeck", who's apparently Daphne's dad's favourite singer-among others)...

...chilling out in the library with Hermione, practising spells further along in our textbooks for fun...Ron, looking almost personally offended as he stressed that the chess piece shaped like a horse was a knight, not a horsey...Fred and George finding me reading by myself in the library over Christmas break and, rather than leaving me to my own devices, dragging me out to teach me "their ways" and enchant snowballs to pelt Quirrell in the back of the head-which became especially hilarious when it later occurred to me that we'd enchanted snowballs to hit Voldemort repeatedly in the face...

...then, eleven-year-old me trashing my bedroom, throwing clothes everywhere as I searched for the "perfect" outfit to wear to meet Harry-which, naturally, ended with me lying in a pile of dresses and graphic tees in defeat-"You okay, Bones?" "I just-I don't want to screw this up. Screwing things up is kinda my speciality." "Here." "The Clash?" "It's the shirt you were wearing the day we took you home-why not make it the shirt you were wearing when you met your twin brother, too?"...

"I'm Jewel. Jewel Euphemia Potter."

"I'm Harry. Harry James Potter."

As quickly as it began, the intrusion on my mind ended.

I slipped, landing hard on my right knee.

My chest heaved as I struggled to catch my breath.

"That was...holy shit..." I panted, at a loss for words. "Is it always gonna be like that?"

I looked up at the Potions Master with wide eyes.

He did not look impressed.

"Only if you continue to allow me such easy access," he stated. "Did you even attempt to keep me out?"

My face flushed in embarrassment.

"Of course I did! I'm just-I wasn't-"

"Don't make excuses. Just try harder. Again."

Puffing out my cheeks, I let out a breath.

And, with a determined nod, I pulled myself back up.

Over and over again, Professor Snape invaded my mind and my memories, and over and over again, I failed to stop him.

At least, until that last time.

My vision swam...but the memories didn't come, not right away.

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, stubbornly pushing back against the invisible pressure building up in my skull-

"Finally," Professor Snape exhaled, stopping abruptly before he could properly enter my mind, causing me to stumble slightly. "I was waiting for you to start putting up a fight. Usually, you're the first in line. Although," he added, eyeing me consideringly, "your memories...it was almost like, whenever there was so much as a hint of anything you didn't want me to see, your mind automatically threw out something more mundane-like a defence mechanism, like it was trying to protect itself...perhaps that's why its first instinct was to run to memories of your adoptive parents-because that's where it feels the safest. It isn't exactly Occlumency, but it's certainly worth noting."

I steadied myself, hand compulsively running through my hair.

"So, again?"

"No," he said. "That's enough for today. Clearly, you're too...preoccupied. Keep practising your mental exercises and, next lesson, arrive ready to consciously defend your mind with more than trivial memories."

"You mean, like with nunchucks?" I quipped, feigning confusion. "Oh! I could get a pair of Sai like Raphael's from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles-"

"Potter-"

"So that's a no on the turtle ninja weapons, or...?"

"Out."

"-wasn't a no."

Professor Snape shot me a pointed look.

My hands flew up in surrender.

"Right-sorry-leaving-"

Aside from my frankly pathetic attempts at using Occlumency...and being chewed out for sucking...and the godawful headache I ended up nursing for the next several hours-I thought my telepathy training was going pretty well(it at least gave me more of an idea of what I was doing-not to mention a taste of my own medicine, and a glimpse into what this thing was really capable of).

Which is great, considering it only went steeply downhill from there.

It was like the worse I was feeling inside, the more I struggled, and my telepathy and my ability to focus on really anything suffered for it(Pomfrey's supplied me so many headache cures over the past few weeks that, if I had something to stamp, I would've earnt several free Caramel Macchiato's by now; I've never actually had a Caramel Macchiato, but it's fun to say, right? Macchiato).

-not to mention the stress of not only attending rigorous Quidditch practices, juggling Hermione's homework schedule(yes, after last year, she made me a homework schedule-and yes, it's way worse than it sounds-), classes, and the general drama/tension with my Slytherin friends, the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team, and the root cause of it all Malfoy, that had been driving me to spend more time over at Gryffindor table with Harry(which just created even more drama/tension)-but spending most, if not all, of my free time flying myself into the ground, either on the pitch or the paddock by Hagrid's, which took its toll.

I felt like I did when I threw myself into Quidditch last year in a messy, nervous breakdown-y attempt to run away from the reality of my telepathy.

(the fact that I kept failing at Occlumency, on top of everything else, was like rubbing salt in the wound-and the more upset and frustrated I found myself getting, the worse I did; like this ironic, vicious cycle-).

Finally, partway into my fourth telepathy lesson, Professor Snape had had enough.

"Sit."

"-Excuse me?" I said, taken aback.

Professor Snape tucked away his wand before smoothly taking a seat behind his desk and gesturing at the chair across from him.

"You are going to sit down," he commanded, "and you aren't going to get up until you've explained to me what it is that has been upsetting you lately."

"What do you mean, 'upsetting me?' I'm completely-"

He just kept staring me down and, with a huff and an eye roll, I made a big show of sarcastically sitting down and fixing my school skirt.

"I'm fine," I finished.

The Potions Master's resting bitch face said otherwise.

"I am!"

"So, if I were to enter your mind right now-" he remarked, "and look specifically for anything pertaining to Draco Malfoy, you're saying that I won't find anything?"

I immediately stiffened.

"Yeah, I am," I agreed sharply, clenching my jaw.

"In that case," he said silkily, "you won't mind if I continue our lesson with that goal in mind, do you? If anything, it should motivate you to keep me out."

"I don't see why I would," I retorted stubbornly, moving to get up.

"Did I say you could stand up?"

At the professor's pointed statement, I flopped back down.

"Seriously?" I deadpanned.

"I told you-" he said, unmoving, "until you are ready to explain what it is that's got you so upset, consider yourself confined to that chair."

"How is me being upset any of your business?" I flung back.

"It's 'my business,'" Professor Snape countered flatly, "so long as I am wasting my valuable spare time trying to teach someone who is barely learning anything because she obstinately refuses to admit that something is wrong."

I shut up, a hint of guilt on my face.

"So, are you going to talk to me, or am I going to be forced to go into your mind and discover for myself what has been going on?"

When I didn't budge, Professor Snape sighed.

"There's a time and a place for pride, Potter," he said bluntly, "and a time and a place to swallow it. You'd do well to learn that."

"It's not so much pride as stubbornness," I wryly replied, "and a deep-seated dislike of talking. I had a lot of therapists growing up-I kept biting them," I added when the Potions Master rose an eyebrow(I don't think my offhand explanation that I bit several of my childhood therapists did anything to clear that up-). "Let's just say, I don't have a fantastic relationship with the practice as a whole. And okay, maybe there's a bit of pride in there, too. That, and authority issues. And issues, issues. It's not a great combination for a well-behaved patient. I'm a certified problem child.

"Besides, it's not like there's anything to find. I'm just stressed out from Quidditch and the stupid homework schedule Hermione spent the summer devising for me, that's all. I mean sure, I'm pissed that Malfoy just waltzed onto the team with his expensive new broomsticks like it was nothing-and sure, I'm fighting with Pansy and things are super tense in my dorm right now because she wants me to talk to him, which he totally put her up to-but I'm always fighting with Malfoy! He's-everything I can't stand. Arrogant, elitist, narrow-minded, selfish, prejudiced, an entitled, spoilt, sheltered, rich brat that expects everything to just be handed to him on a solid gold platter, a spiteful bully with a superiority complex the size of Jupiter...

"And sure, maybe he's also really smart, and cunning, and quick-witted, and driven, and morally grey-which I think is better than being idealistic and self-righteous, or flat-out evil, because life isn't that black and white and people who think it is are seriously short-sighted...also, kinda annoying-but, then again, I'm the same way, only with a fun little splash of cynism thrown in, you know, to make sure those trusty trust issues of mine grow up big and strong-and I can't read his mind half the time because he's so closed-off and he naturally compartmentalizes his emotions, which keeps me on my toes-and he notices things about me that no one, not even my own twin,does-like when my telepathy gave me a midlife crisis at eleven last year but everybody else just wrote it off as 'Jewel being weird, like always'-and seems to actually like how blunt and combative and kinda tactless I am-and seems to enjoy bickering with me just a much as I-"

I stopped short, suddenly tongue-tied.

Heat crept up my ears.

"-he's just-he's a dick."

Professor Snape had a strange look on his face.

"What did you mean by Malfoy, 'waltzing onto the team with his expensive new broomsticks like it was nothing?'" he repeated after a minute, seeming to decide to focus on that and not the rest of my word vomit.

(-which was a relief, because the way he was staring at me was starting to make me feel super self-conscious).

Judging by his expression, however, he seemed to already know(or, at least, think he knew)exactly what I meant by that.

"Nothing-what does it matter?" I snapped, slumping and crossing my arms.

"It matters-" he stated, "because I've witnessed you lashing out at him for weeks now and, the funny thing is, he doesn't seem to be doing anything to warrant it beforehand. Or much to defend himself, for that matter."

I just kept scowling at my lap, jaw tensed.

"I might not know exactly what's been going on," Professor Snape said finally, dark eyes pinning me in place, "but that doesn't mean I don't have a general idea. Stop punishing Malfoy for the actions of others. Or, better yet, sit down and talk to him. Once you have, come and see me, and our lessons can continue. Until then, I don't see any point if your mind is too stretched thin to learn.

"You begged me to help you at the end of last year but, instead of taking advantage, you're too blinded by your immaturity and irrationality to make any real progress. You've struggled with this for your entire life, and now that you have the chance to finally do something about it, you're letting yourself fail. I've seen how relentless you can be when you want something, but you're allowing your emotions and your frustration to get the better of you. The Jewel Potter I met last year never would've let that happen."

I jerked up but found myself unable to protest.

Honestly, the whole thing was like a slap in the face-and, the annoying thing was, I knew he was right.

"That's enough for today. And Potter-"

I froze halfway to the door.

Professor Snape was staring me down again.

"Talk to Malfoy. And stop being a pigheaded idiot. Contrary to your recent behaviour, you are far too intelligent. Leave that to your brother."

Taking in a deep breath, I nodded once, then spun on my heel and left.

꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ

Professor Snape was right, I had to talk to Malfoy-but having to do something and actually doing it are two very different things.

Putting my immature, irrational, pre-teen bullshit above my telepathy training wasn't something I meant to do(or could really control, all considered)-but that didn't make me feel any better, or the situation suck any less.

Occlumency is all about shutting down emotions, something I can do, but...it's like Tracey said-aside from my brother, no one gets under my skin like Malfoy does.

That's probably why Professor Snape ordered me to talk to him instead of just telling me to get over myself-because there wasn't some magical switch I could flick to make these feelings go away, not in this situation, and he knew that. But if I could bite my tongue long enough to have a mature, level-headed conversation and we sort it out?

Flint booked the field for an early practice on Sunday, so I figured I'd just bite the bullet and get it over with right after.

At least, that was the plan.

Let's just say, things took a sharp left from there.

"Potter, Malfoy-hang back," Flint said after he'd finished going over the plays he'd come up with(a majority of which bordered on illegal).

Our heads shot up in surprise.

"-the rest of you, go warm-up-"

I could feel the blonde's eyes suddenly boring into the side of my head, but forced myself to not look away from Flint.

Realising what this was about left a sour taste in my mouth.

Pucey shot me a look but, when I vaguely gestured that I'd be alright, reluctantly got up and followed Dhar and Bletchley outside.

"Try'n watch that big mouth of yours, runt-" Walsh sneered in an undertone as he passed me, "wouldn't want to lose your spot on the team, would you? But, then again, with the way you're going, it's only a matter of time."

I just scowled at him, biting back a scathing retort(which was uncharacteristic of me, seeing as I normally have no problem going straight for the throat-Malfoy in particular can testify to that, especially lately, something the back of my mind felt a prickle of guilt about that my conscious mind was too stubborn to face-but, when it comes to Quidditch, I can usually force myself to bite my tongue, as much as I hated it).

Walsh smirked nastily.

It wasn't until he left-at which point I muttered a particularly offensive word under my breath that would've made Dakota put me in a time-out like a misbehaving five-year-old(it took me ages to clean up my language around her and Alistair when I actually, you know, started talking again and, trust me, the casual swearing I do now is nothing compared to the shit that would come out of tiny me's mouth, which is saying something-it's not like I had the best influences growing up; actual five-year-old Jewel swore so proficiently she'd make a sailor blush, much to the dismay of my teachers/posher foster families-and the entertainment of my revolving foster siblings)-that I realised that Malfoy had stopped short on the larger boy's other side, having clearly overheard his remark.

(it's not like he hadn't witnessed worse, mostly whenever Walsh or Bletchley say really anything to or about me; "Yeah, well, Potter might be a decent flier-enough for her to be of some use to the team, anyway," Bletchley had loudly remarked the other week, making sure I'd hear him, "but she's still a girl so it's not like she'll ever be as strong as a proper Beater"-"Oops, sorry Potter, didn't see you there-" Walsh lied with a snigger after nearly knocking me off my Nimbus and into the stands two practices ago-and, as if that wasn't enough, Flint saw the whole thing and, after challengingly asking me if I was alright, had me gritting out, "Why wouldn't I be?" making him smirk...Dhar isn't an instigator and doesn't really care, but he also laughs at most of the shit they say and do, and with Higgs gone the only person that really has my back is Pucey, which was only cemented further with Malfoy here-).

I quickly got up before he could say anything and stiffly headed over to Flint with Dreamy, gripping the broomstick a bit harder than necessary.

After a split-second hesitation, he silently followed.

"Alright, now shut up and listen-" Flint snapped with a sharp stare, "I was trying to let you sort it out yourselves but, obviously, that's not going to happen-"

Malfoy's head jerked slightly.

Knowing there was no point trying to argue the point-Flint clearly wasn't in the mood to listen, I just bit my tongue.

"I get that the two've you aren't each other's number one fans, but your shit is getting in the way of practice. I could care less if you like each other, or if you're friends. I'm sick of having to deal with your constant fighting-and so's the rest of the guys. Get it together, or I'll kick one of you off the team. If we want to win against Gryffindor in November, we can't have our Seeker and one of our Beaters constantly trying to kill each other-and driving everyone else mental-instead of focusing on wiping the field with that idiot Wood and his pathetic excuse for a team. Got it?"

"Got it," Malfoy muttered, glancing at me.

My face went stony.

"Got it?" Flint repeated forcefully when I just stared at him.

I nodded curtly with a big, fake smile.

The moment he looked away, it slid off my face.

"Right. Go."

"Wait, Potter-" Malfoy attempted as we made our way out of the changing rooms, but I ignored him, stalking off to the stadium without a word.

For the rest of the morning, I gave Malfoy a wide berth, focusing solely on hitting Bludgers and following Flint's plays all the while pretending the blonde didn't exist. But, instead of seeming relieved that I wasn't attacking him left and right like I had been, he just looked increasingly frustrated.

I really shouldn't of been so surprised when I finished changing after practice, opened the door leading back into the main locker room-and found myself, more or less, cornered.

"Potter."

"Move," I snarled at the boy who was blocking my way out.

"No," Malfoy refused stubbornly, appearing fed up. "Not until you talk to me."

I just clenched my jaw, staring at him coldly.

His face fell slightly.

"At least yell or-something-" he almost pleaded.

"You want me to yell at you?" I questioned in disbelief, taken off guard.

"I'd rather you yell at me than pretend I don't exist," he said, being surprisingly earnest and looking like he was at his wits' end. "And maybe if you start yelling I'll figure out what I did to make you hate me even more than you already do-"

"Right now, you're the last person I want to talk to," I bristled, "let alone yell at-"

"This can't just be because I'm on the Slytherin team," Malfoy continued frustratedly, more to himself. "And even if it is, I don't see why it's such a big deal-"

"You wouldn't, would you?" I scoffed bitterly. "Look, I don't have time for this-and the last thing I need right now is for Flint to catch us fighting after earlier. Not that you have anything to worry about."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Malfoy demanded.

"You are kidding, right?" I laughed harshly. "Out of the two of us, who do you think Flint's gonna throw off the team if we don't 'sort it out?' Because I can tell you now, it isn't going to be the kid whose daddy bought the entire team expensive new broomsticks."

Using the blonde's uncharacteristic loss for words against him, I shoved past him, vanishing out the door before he had the chance to recover.

Over the next week, I alternated between anger and guilt.

Guilt because, instead of talking it out with Malfoy like I knew I should have, I let what Flint said get to me and pigheadedly made the entire situation worse.

And anger because of, just-everything. Malfoy. Flint. Myself. Every little thing just made me so angry, which had me all snappy.

I couldn't seem to maintain the energy to keep up my bubbly, laid back, always happy, always joking act, and no matter how hard I tried even the smallest thing had been making it, and me, crack.

Ron wondered if it was that time of the month for me, and I poured an entire gravy boat down his pants, which I doubt the house-elves would've appreciated.

-unlike Fred and George, in spite of their concern.

All my free time this week had either been spent flying until I was black and blue, in the hospital wing(due to being, you know, black and blue), or hiding at Hagrid's from everyone's not-so-misplaced concern.

It wasn't until October 2nd, that following Friday, that I finally sucked it up.

And it wasn't even intentional, or what I'd set out to do, so it's not like I can exactly pat myself on the back or anything.

Or deserved to, after how much of a raging bitch I'd been lately.

Having my 'course counselling session' with Professor Snape cancelled for that evening was yet another well-deserved and needed slap in the face so, grabbing my Nimbus(and changing into a pair of green camo yoga pants with a high waist and pockets, a stripey dark and light grey sports bra, an ivory The Breakfast Club, Shermer Illinois, '85 print t-shirt, and my pink All-Stars-which I've taken to wearing even more than my flats lately, both because I kind of love them, and have been thinking about making them into a trademark or something, and because I've been spending every minute of the day flying anyway and I've gotten used to them; that, and there's something weirdly satisfying about tying up shoelaces-), I checked to make sure the Quidditch pitch hadn't been booked by any of the other house teams before leaving the castle to blow off steam and generally feel sorry for myself.

Apparently, Malfoy had the same idea.

When I realised the field wasn't unoccupied, and who was on it, I stopped short and just watched him fly for who knows how long.

And, I guess, it finally dawned on me.

Not just why I'd been acting the way I had been, but how I'd been acting.

When I saw Malfoy in the changing rooms that day, all of these bottled-up feelings just-exploded out of me like this destructive tidal wave.

I needed somewhere to focus all of those horrible, negative emotions-and Malfoy was just the easiest, most obvious target.

So, I lashed out at him, and in doing so I'd treated him just as bad as the rest of the guys treated me when I first joined the Slytherin team.

-maybe even worse.

And now here he was, on a random Friday afternoon(or would it be Friday evening, seeing as the sun's starting to set?-), working his ass off, alone...in the exact same way I do, and likely for a lot of the same reasons.

The guilt hit, hard.

"I am such an asshole," I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face.

If anything, the realisation just made talking feel even more daunting than it did when I was still bullheadedly insisting that nothing was wrong.

I wish I could say that that was when I pulled up my socks and went to do the mature thing and talk to Malfoy, but no.

In fact, I know bloody well that I would've chickened out if the blonde hadn't finally spotted me and landed before I could-giving me no choice but to stick it out, accept responsibility, and face the consequences of my own actions like an adult.

-ugh.

"Here to not yell at me some more?" he remarked bitterly.

I cringed, shifting uncomfortably in place out of guilt.

"No. I mean yes. I mean-I'm not going to yell-I just-shit-" I roughly ran a hand through my hair, embarrassed by how much I was stumbling over myself, "can we talk?"

Malfoy stared at me uncomprehendingly for a good minute, thrown off balance.

I just stared back at him, all flustered and contrite.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I wanted to, er, talk? About, you know-" I awkwardly cleared my throat, tugging on a loose curl and feeling my face flush pink.

There was a tense beat of silence.

"Now you want to talk?" Malfoy said, incredulous. "After weeks of me doing everything I could to try to get you to stop trying to murder me long enough to have even a semi-civil conversation, now you're finally ready to talk to me?"

I winced, anxiously twisting my Nimbus in my hands.

"To be fair, I was ready to talk last week-" I admitted, "but then Flint pissed me off again and-not that that's an excuse, I'm just-dammit-"

My fingers made another frustrated trip through my hair.

"Hold on-" he stared at me in disbelief and slight irritation, "are you telling me that if Flint didn't pull us aside on Saturday, this would've happened last week?"

I sheepishly held up my thumb and pointer finger with a tiny gap between them.

Malfoy looked utterly exasperated.

"Potter...seriously, what the hell has been going on with you? One minute everything's fine, and the next you're acting like I single-handedly set fire to your house with all your family and friends inside-and hand-delivered you the remains of your charred owl. On your birthday. With next week's homework. Does it really bother you that much that I joined the Slytherin team? Do I have to quit just to get you to-?"

"What? No! Don't quit!" I interrupted quickly, stomach twisting.

"...Okay, so let me get this straight-" he deadpanned, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "you hate me for being on the team, but you don't want me to quit? Sorry if I'm getting some mixed signals here."

"I don't hate you," I mumbled with another wince, shoulders falling. "Not for being on the team, anyway. I wasn't even really mad at you, really-I was mad at Flint, and everyone else, and you were-"

"I was what?" he demanded when I broke off.

I took a deep breath, imagining beating back my pride with a baseball bat.

It didn't really help all that much.

"-I'm sorry."

Malfoy looked at me like I'd just sworn at him in Klingon.

-or proposed.

(qanay 'e' Dachaw''a', anyone? Merlin, I used to be cool, you know? I liked comic books, and Star Wars, but in a cool way-but then Alistair found out, and ran with it, and now I know how to propose in Klingon-).

"You're, what?"

"Sorry. I'm-shit, I'm sorry," I groaned, once again messily running a hand through my unruly dark red mane. "Blimey, I hate apologies. I suck at them. Look-can we just-sit down, or something?"

I wouldn't of blamed him if he'd told me to piss off(I would've if the roles were reversed)-but, to my surprise/relief, his stunned expression changed to a wry smile and he gestured his Nimbus Two Thousand and One towards the nearest set of stands.

Some of the pressure let off my chest and, taking another deep breath to steel myself, I followed him over.

We only climbed the first few steps before I stopped, sitting down.

After a beat, Malfoy silently settled down beside me.

"Potter, what's going on?" he asked, looking tired.

"You've seen my dynamic with the rest of the team, right?" I finally said.

"You mean how most of them treat you like dirt and you just take it?" he retorted, the frustration in his voice catching me off guard. "How Bletchley talks shit about you being a female Beater, and you're usually never afraid to bite back-or hit someone over the head with a broomstick, but you let him get away with it-or when Walsh knocked you into the stands the other week, and Flint came over, and you acted like nothing happened?"

"Why do you think I do that?" I challenged simply.

"I-" Malfoy stopped, eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm a girl, Draco," I stated, shocking him with the use of his first name, which was the point(half to underscore the fact that we were about to embark on serious conversation territory, and half just because I wanted to see the shocked look on his face-what can I say? Screwing with people soothes my anxiety). "Every day I go out onto that field, I have to fight for the same respect that you get without even trying. And that means that they're going to be total assholes to me, and I can't flinch. And they know it. And they know I won't quit, either. If that was a possibility, Flint would shut them up real quick.

"And Dhar isn't an instigator, but he isn't much help either, and Flint's a condescending bastard that derives joy from my misery, but he at least knows not to cross too far over that invisible line with me-if, you know, he likes his nose pointing the way it is. It's mostly Bletchley and Walsh who start shit; Walsh, because he's still pissy a first year girl replaced his mate on the team, and Bletchley, because-yeah, there's no real reason, Bletchley's just a prick. And I can handle whatever those morons dish out. I can even handle the fact that they all band together like mean girls and I'm just kind of left on the outside, because at least I have Pucey, you know? And Higgs was okay, but now he's gone, and-"

"So, wait, this is all because you're mad I replaced Higgs?"

"I'm mad because I always have to be super aggressive, and in charge, and perfect, just so these assholes will respect me as a member of their team. I'm mad because, even then, they still don't. I'm mad because I always have to be on my A-game, and kick ass left and right, and it's-a lot. I'm mad because they take advantage of that, and they treat me like shit, and I just have to keep jumping through hoops because, if I don't, they'll just say it's because I'm on my period or some sexist BS-or Flint will change his mind about me and replace me with some big stupid lug and I'll be right back where I started. I'm mad because Flint wouldn't see me fly, so I had to come down to the field and make him, and even then he didn't think I was worth it until I was hit in the back with a Bludger-"

"You were what?!"

"Knocked me right off my Nimbus-" I admitted with a humourless laugh, "and it hurt so bad but I knew, if I cried, it'd just prove Flint right-so I just started laughing-no, really-I even had dirt and blood in my mouth, and I just spat it out-it was super psychotic, but totally badass-Pucey thought I had a concussion-he was probably right-and Flint didn't put me right on the team, either, he had me get right back up and try out for another hour-I spent the night in the hospital wing and snuck out early so no one would ask questions-Poppy knows how to be discreet, and I told Tracey that I snuck into the library after hours, fell asleep, and miraculously dodged being caught by Pince, which she believed because I'm, quote, unquote, "insane"-for weeks, I lived off pain-relieving potions and adrenalin-but it got Flint's attention, so..."

Malfoy just kept staring at me.

I really couldn't blame him.

"It doesn't sound worth it," I conceded earnestly, "but I love Quidditch, and I love hitting dangerous semi-sentient iron balls at people and trying to knock them out of the sky. It's really cathartic, and it appeals to my bloodthirstiness. What I don't love is the fact that, whenever the rest of the team are around, I feel like a tightrope walker putting on a three-ring circus act without a net. Practice, for me, isn't just practice. I can't mess up, ever. It's why I do my own extra practices alone. That way I can screw up as much as I like without having it held over my head. It's just really stressful.

"And then there's you-" I gestured at him jerkily. "Your dad picks up his chequebook, and donates top-of-the-line broomsticks to our whole team, and suddenly you're our new Seeker. Just like that. Like it's so easy. You don't need to try out, or anything. And they respect you, and treat you like you're part of the team, and-I try so hard, and no one even notices, or cares, and now, all of a sudden, everyone's faster than me and I have to try even harder, but I'm not fast enough, so I keep pushing myself, but I just can't keep up-"

"I grew up clawing for everything I have, Draco. And it isn't much. Kids like me...kids like who I was before Hogwarts, and all of this...no one cares. Kids like you...snap your fingers, and the entire world jumps to accommodate you-"

"So it's my fault?" Malfoy demanded.

"No! I didn't mean-" for the billionth time, my fingers roughly travelled through my tangled red hair, and I exhaled. "A lot of things I didn't deal with last year just came up again, and all of those feelings ended up focused on you, and I know how messed up that is, and I just...my way of dealing with things is pretending they're not there until they go away, which is about as healthy as it sounds, but it works for me-"

"Yeah, I can tell," he scoffed.

"Okay, I deserved that," I sighed, rubbing my face.

"What do you want me to do here, Jewel?" he continued frustratedly. "Do you really want me to have to work as hard as you did to get onto the team? To have to fight for the rest of them to respect me? I mean, it's not like I'm not already doing that with you. You're not the only one who's been trying here."

"I thought you were showing off-" I realised slowly, disbelieving, "and that only ended up pissing me off even more...but you were just trying to prove to me that you're a good Seeker. Oh my god, I suck-"

I dropped my face into my hands with a groan.

"And I don't just mean as a human being-" I went on, my voice muffled, "that's a given-I mean, I have to be the worst telepath-ever-"

I looked up finally, feeling somehow even worse than I already did.

"You got onto the Slytherin team, something you've wanted for who knows how long-and the first thing I did was treat you the same way they treated me. You're the reason I met Pucey, and that he's had my back this whole time. You helped me-and I repaid you by being a total bitch. I am so sorry, Draco. Really."

Malfoy didn't seem to know what to say to that.

But at least he's listening-that's something, right?

Shit, I have no idea what I'm doing-

"And I get it if you don't forgive me-I wouldn't-" I went on anyway, even though I felt like a total idiot and I was sorta rambling, "but I...the telepath thing? I suck. Bad. Amazingly bad. Sure, I'm a human lie detector, and that's great and all, but it's like I'm in sensory overload, all the time, and it's really easy for me to either misinterpret or mishear something I 'pick up' or for things to get drowned out in all the noise-or even for my own opinions and feelings to blind me to really obvious things-"

"I've noticed," Malfoy muttered dryly. "Trust me, nobody knows that you can miss fairly obvious things, even with the power to literally read minds, more than I do."

Seeing my confused face, Malfoy's ears turned pink.

-which just confused me even more, if I'm being honest.

"Weren't you saying something about you being a total bitch or something?" he abruptly said before I could ask what that was supposed to mean.

"Right, that," I cleared my throat at the reminder, hangdog. "If it helps," I perked up hopefully, "you can be a dick to me for a whole month to make up for it?"

Malfoy paused, seeming to consider that.

After a minute, he shook his head, refocusing.

"Are you over it now?" was all he said, looking at me intently.

"Am I what?" I echoed, taken aback.

"Are you done punishing me because Flint is a prick?" he clarified.

"Yep, I'm done," I promised with a guilty wince. "I still have issues, obviously, but I'm used to that, and the stress isn't going anywhere...but yeah, on my side of things, we're good."

For a few agonising seconds, Malfoy didn't respond.

Finally, he nodded.

"Alright then," he drawled. "As tempting as your offer is, there's no fun in "being a dick" if you're just going to stand there and take it-so, I guess, I'll just have to be the bigger person here and forgive you. I mean, unlike some people, I don't hold stupid grudges. Some people would say that that makes me the better person, but-"

"You asshole!" I laughed, shoving the grinning blonde playfully. "No, but seriously-just like that?" I said cautiously, sobering, "No offence, but you're one of the most vindictive and spiteful people I've ever met-"

"You really weren't kidding when you said you suck at apologies, were you?" Malfoy remarked.

I opened and shut my mouth, smiling sheepishly.

If anything, he looked amused.

"Yeah, just like that," he agreed. "I'm sick of fighting with you. I'd rather we just go back to normal-"

"Because we normally never fight?" I said ironically.

"We bicker, that's not fighting," Malfoy argued.

"Fair," I conceded. "Daphne would probably disagree, but fair."

"It's fun," he added. "And don't say it isn't, because I know for a fact that you like it every bit as much as I do-"

"And how would you know that?" I shot back wryly.

To my surprise, he grinned at me.

"Hey, don't ask me, you're the one raving about me to Professor Snape-"

"He didn't," I said, wide-eyed and mortified.

"Tuesday," he said smugly. "He pulled me aside for some reason to tell me all about how smart, and handsome, and witty, and amazing you think I am-"

I shoved him again.

"I never said-ugh!"

When I slumped, arms crossed and pouting, Malfoy just grinned wider.

"I hate you," I grumbled.

"I know," he said simply, but he looked somehow lighter.

(I guess this whole thing just made us realise that there were lines we didn't want to cross with each other...because neither of us wants to push this until it breaks-and I have no idea what that means, or how to feel about it-).

Idly, I tapped my fingers on my Nimbus.

"Honestly?" I admitted after a few minutes, furrowing my eyebrows and pursing my lips, "I think a lot of it might be in my head."

Malfoy looked confused.

"A lot of what?"

"The 'overwhelming pressure' thing-" I randomly gestured around my head. "I mean, it's obviously there, but...I think a lot of how I'm feeling, that pressure to be perfect all the time when I'm on the field and around the team, is shit that I'm just putting on myself. Maybe, because of how I'm feeling, I'm isolating myself a bit? Or maybe it's a bit of both, I don't know. I mean, most of the guys on the team are assholes, sure, but loads of people I know are assholes-I'm not exactly Miss "Sugar and Spice and everything nice" myself-and, usually, that wouldn't even phase me.

"Neither would Flint's threats, either-'cause, logically, I know, if he'd let me get away with literally attacking him after my first match, then why would he kick me off the team for calling out Walsh? Or biting back more when Bletchley opens his big stupid mouth? The only reason he even brought it up with you is because I took it too far-" I grimaced guiltily. "Half the time I'm backing down, like one wrong move and I'll screw everything up, and the rest of the time I'm doing stupid shit, like playing tag with Bludgers, to try to prove myself-so of course people like Flint and Walsh are going to take advantage. I'm just so scared of being booted off the team.

"I worked so hard to get here and-this, Quidditch, actually means a lot to me. More than I think anyone realises. I don't always mean to but, when I get scared like that, it makes me angry. Acting out violently is easier than admitting you care about something. So's burying your head in the sand and ignoring the problem until it goes away. Does any of that even make sense?"

I glanced at Malfoy questioningly, at a loss.

"Yeah. I think I get what you mean," he said, looking at me with new eyes. "It's like when Potter does something stupid-like in the Forbidden Forest last year, and your first instinct is to tackle him and try to break his arm."

"-yeah, okay, fair-I just-" I pulled a face, slightly embarrassed. "Ugh. I dunno. It's so stupid."

I slumped, a bit frustrated as I tried to find the words to describe how I was feeling-something that's far from my forte.

"I'm bad at emotions. My EQ is shit. If I wasn't a telepath-and couldn't read minds and decipher people's feelings or whatever, I'd be-like, a total sociopath."

"Yeah-" Malfoy snorted, "that ship's already sailed. And sunk. Knowing you, I can only imagine fire was involved. And, to clarify, the ship is a metaphor for your general sanity. There were no survivors."

"Oh, piss off. Jerkface."

I think I might be pouting slightly, judging by Malfoy's amused face.

"Also-" I added, pointing upwards-because I'm unapologetically a dramatic dork, "if I had a ship, it'd be a submarine. A yellow one. With torpedoes. And the word death on the exterior for, like, intimidation purposes. Can't sink a submarine."

"That doesn't sound true. And, if it is, I'm confident you'd find a way."

I stuck out my tongue childishly.

Malfoy appeared unphased.

If anything, his stupid grin just got wider.

-stupid smug-looking git.

"No, but seriously-" I went on after a beat, "this is high-functioning me. My telepathy drives me nuts, but no telepathy me would have the empathy and emotional maturity and understanding of...like, the Joker or something. Toddler Joker. Yeah, I could see mini-me with cute pigtails, putting on clown makeup and trying to murder a bloke in bat-themed PJs. With a hatchet. And my favourite blankie. Regular Tuesday."

"-I'm not even going to ask."

"That's probably smart. You know, for your health. And living situation."

"'My liv-'" Malfoy looked half incredulous, half morbidly curious, "wait, so if I questioned...any of what you just said, you'd, what? Flood Malfoy Manor?"

"Living situation as in your ability to continue living-" I flippantly corrected, "but that works, too. Still can't believe you call your house a manor. You're such a rich kid."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," the blonde drawled with a smirk.

I scoffed, lightly elbowing his arm.

"Stuck-up dingbat."

"Escaped mental patient."

"Says the genius sitting alone in the empty Quidditch stadium withsaid "escaped mental patient" where no one can hear him scream-"

Malfoy snorted, not arguing against that fantastic point.

"You know," he said after a while, rubbing the back of his neck with a wry smile, "dealing with you is like trying to catch a lit firework in a bottle."

"Points for creativity and surprising poeticness-" I quipped, ruffling my hair. "And by that, I'm assuming you mean; colourful, fiery, and breathtaking?"

"More like impossible, chaotic, difficult, exhausting, crazy, frustrating-but never boring," he quickly added before I could get all mock offended-or actually offended, trying to explain it better. "And it's fun winding you up-and even more fun pointing you in a direction and watching you go off...but it's not so much fun when you're the one that winds up burned."

I sobered, guilt welling up in my chest.

"Professor Snape kicked my ass about you last Friday," I admitted, and Malfoy looked over in surprise. "He told me that, until I dealt with all this, he was stopping my telepathy lessons-seeing as I was too emotional to focus. It was a harsh reality check, but I needed it. It made me stop and realise how I was acting-and why. I really was going to talk to you after practice that day. The second I stormed off, I knew I messed up. I should've done this days ago. I just kept chickening out."

"Wait, last Friday? During your course-counselling thing?"

"Course-? Oh! You don't know," I realised. "I was going to tell you, but I guess I never got around to it. Course-counselling is just a cover for my telepathy less-"

I stopped suddenly, staring at the blonde Slytherin speechlessly as the reality of the situation fully dawned on me.

-any time in the past few weeks, Malfoy could have turned around and told the entire castle about my telepathy out of spite because of how I've been acting-told Harry, knowing how desperate I am to keep him in the dark...and he didn't.

"I've been horrible to you for weeks..." I said faintly, "you could've told everyone...anyone...Harry...but you didn't."

"I promised I wouldn't," Malfoy replied with a shrug, like it was that easy. "Besides, I was trying to get you to tell me why you were so angry at me-not get you so angry that you stab me with a toasting fork and feed me to the giant squid."

I just kept staring at him for a good minute.

A knot in my chest, that I hadn't even realised was there, came loose.

"Whatever Professor Snape said I said?" I finally said, tucking a red curl behind my ear, "it's probably what I said."

It was Malfoy's turn to stare at me, something in his grey eyes shifting.

The air felt weirdly charged.

"Don't get me wrong-" my face went pink, and my mouth felt dry, "I can't stand you, but...you have-some redeeming qualities, I guess."

Malfoy's eyes widened slightly.

I looked away awkwardly, blushing.

(-and missing his own bright pink blush, and the way the corner of his mouth curved up).

"I know!" I abruptly clapped my hands together, speaking louder than I'd meant to in my sudden awkwardness and extreme desire to change the subject, and Malfoy jumped. "Let's make a pinkie promise!"

"Let's make a what?"

Malfoy looked at me weirdly.

"Pinkie promise. It's an imperfect solution, but it's better than nothing," I assured him. "I'd like to say this'll never happen again, but I'm way too cynical for that. So, in that spirit, next time, just lock me in a room until I agree to talk it out so it doesn't go on for this long, and I'll promise to at least try to suck it up and listen, alright?"

I held up my pinkie expectantly.

Quirking an eyebrow, the grey-eyed Slytherin linked our pinkies.

"I promise," I added, affecting an air of mock solemnity, "as long as I'm genuinely being an asshole and you didn't do something stupid to piss me off like, I don't know, actually setting Illyius on fire or something, that if you lock me in a room and tell me we need to talk, I'll try to listen-as much as I despise talk therapy-"

I pulled a slight face.

"I promise to try to not enjoy locking you in a room," Malfoy returned, smirking, "and making you shut up and listen to me for once, as much as I definitely will."

I unlinked my pinkie and stuck out my tongue, making him snigger.

But then, catching sight of his Nimbus Two Thousand and One, the almighty idea gods(who, for some people-also me, are more drunk wankers who tell them to do ridiculously, stupendously stupid/insane shit for their own sadistic entertainment)smashed an invisible lightbulb over my head.

"If you want," I told him excitedly, bouncing in place(-and not just because we'd been sitting for ages and I was starting to get antsy), "I can help you with Quidditch, too-you could be my Quidditch padawan!"

"Pada, what?"

Malfoy blinked at me, blank-faced.

"I am sensei, you are padawan-" I announced dramatically, as if that didn't just confuse him even more(he seemed to get the gist, anyway). "I've read every single book the Hogwarts library has about Quidditch, flying, you name it-and I thought I was probably going to be a Seeker before I became team Beater, so I studied everything there is to know about the position. I also have a year of experience on you. I can help you get up to scratch before your first match-and kick my brother's sorry ass."

"-You mean that?"

Malfoy rose an eyebrow, interest piqued.

"I'd say we'd send him crying to his mummy," I quipped bluntly, "but she's dead, so."

"Wow-" he said, but he was grinning.

"Hey, she gave birth to me too, I'm allowed to make jokes-" I defended my love for dark humour(which rivalled my love for my walkman, PJs, chocolate, S'Chn T'Gai Spock and Leonard "Bones" McCoy...also R2D2 and C-3PO, and McGonagall-but only just), biting back my own grin. "You're a good Seeker, you know," I added, taking him off guard. "I was just lashing out before. You aren't-totally untalented. I mean, I've seen worse."

"Are you physically incapable of complimenting me," the blonde wondered seriously, "without immediately following it up with an insult?"

"-Pretty much, yeah," I agreed. "I do mean it, though. The nice thing, not the backhanded compliment. And the part about being your Quidditch Yoda. And it might be nice to have some company at my one-person practises. I also really want to beat Gryffindor and rub it in their stupid faces. So, you in?"

"You really have to ask?" Malfoy drawled, smirking.

"Awesome!" I said brightly, tongue poking out between my teeth. "We can book our own practices around Flint's. It'll help me not go overboard and burn out if I have someone else around to keep me in check, anyway. And, speaking of Quidditch..."

I glanced between him and his Nimbus Two Thousand and One with puppy eyes.

"You want to try it out, don't you?"

"They look so fast!"

Malfoy looked smug.

I had a feeling he was about to make me regret last year, and mentally prepared myself for the worst.

"Repeat after me."

"I have a bad feeling about this," I sighed, "but sure, whatever-shoot."

He took a second to think, before suddenly grinning at me.

"And the bad feeling grows..." I mumbled dryly under my breath.

"Okay, repeat after me; 'my name is Jewel Potter and I'm literally incapable of keeping my big mouth shut. I'm frustrating, the most oblivious telepath to walk the earth, a menace to society, a stubborn, argumentative chaos magnet, and I act like I hate Draco Malfoy but, the truth is, I'm only mean to him because I think he's hot, irresistible, and I'm completely in love with him. Oh, and I'd really, really love to get Gilderoy Lockhart's autograph because he's so dreamy.' Want that in writing?"

"I'm not saying that," I said immediately, heat rushing up to the tips of my ears.

"Which part?"

"Any part. All parts."

"Well, if you want to fly my Nimbus Two Thousand and One," the blonde shrugged, looking way too self-satisfied for my liking, "then I'd start."

"-I hate you."

"Good."

I made an immature face that only seemed to amuse him.

"Alright, fine; 'my name is Jewel Potter,'" I repeated sarcastically, flipping Malfoy off when he mockingly mimed for me to smile, "'and I'm literally incapable of keeping my big mouth shut. I'm frustrating, the most oblivious telepath to walk the earth-'" I pulled a face, "'a menace to society, a stubborn, argumentative chaos magnet, and I act like I hate Draco Malfoy but the truth is-'" While Malfoy seemed to perk up at this part, I squirmed uncomfortably, blushing furiously, "'the truth is, I'm only mean to him because I-I think he's hot, irresistible, and I'm completely in love with him-'" came out in a rush. "'Oh, and I'd really, really love to get Gilderoy Lockhart's autograph because he's so dreamy.' Ugh, I hate myself!"

I hit myself in the face with my own Nimbus, well aware that I was probably as red as my hair-or even Ron's, which is saying something.

Malfoy started clapping mockingly.

"That was-that was fantastic-it's so brave of you to admit all that-"

"Oh, shut up."

He grinned broadly.

"Here."

He held out his Nimbus Two Thousand and One and I perked up and eagerly grabbed it, embarrassment forgotten.

"Oh-here, you can borrow Dreamy-"

While caught off guard, Malfoy took my broomstick.

"Hurt her," I warned as I stood up, pointing at him, "and I'll make the last month look like an hour-long couples massage at a spa retreat."

"I believe you," he replied dryly, nodding. "I won't hurt your broomstick, Potter. I'd rather not end up on the wrong end of a toasting fork."

"Smart boy," I hummed.

"Don't forget witty and irresistible," Malfoy retorted with a smirk.

I flipped him off, ignoring the rush of warmth to my face.

"So you're not just an idiot-you're delusional, too. That's nice to know."

"Says the telepath who couldn't read the back of a cereal box correctly."

"Tosspot."

"Escaped lunatic."

"Stuck-up dingbat."

"And yet, didn't you just confess your undying love for me a minute ago?-"

"You are a detestable human being."

"That's not what you said a minute ago."

"Excuse me while I go to the library to research the location of the nearest fjord."

"I'm waiting."

"-I hope Dreamy drops you on your head."

"Does that happen to you often? Because that could explain some things-"

"I hate you."

"Is that your catchphrase or something?"

"Bite me, Malfoy."


A/N: Legilimency isn't really explained very consistently between Snape's lessons with Harry in HBP to Queenie Goldstein in FB (who casually/effortlessly hears the minds of the people around her all the time-but, from my understanding/what it's presented like, they don't seem to feel/notice her intrusion and only know she's "hearing" them when she answers their thoughts). I see it more as born Legilimens, like Queenie/Jewel, can enter minds without detection-kind of like comic book telepathy. Using the spell, however, has a greater effect on the target wherein they can see the same memories as the user-if that makes sense. Besides, Jewel's never really tried to dig into someone's head (the closest thing that comes to it is when she fell into Harry's memories their first Christmas at Hogwarts). If she went into a person's mind with that intention, it would probably have the same effect. But, as it stands, she's just brushing against the surface level of the minds around her (and, as stated in this chapter, her own feelings have sway on her ability and can blind her to really obvious things; like Queenie, she isn't infallible and she's still young). It's also said that Legilimens can only read minds with eye contact, but I don't know if that's a factor for Queenie-and it's not like Jewel can avoid looking at people for the rest of her life and just stare at walls all the time. It's not exactly inconspicuous, least of all a long-term solution.

When it comes to Occlumency, Jewel has much of the same issue as Harry; they're both very emotional and quick-tempered by nature (also, pigheaded/stubborn). But where Harry wears his heart on his sleeve Jewel is very closed-off (trying to get her to open up about things she doesn't want to open up about, as Harry especially can attest to, sometimes feels like trying to get blood out of a rock) and, while she struggles to keep Professor Snape out of her head, her mind automatically works to protect itself by hiding away the 'bad' memories and only showing the 'happy/mundane' ones. But it isn't a response she can control (or realistically sustain; it's only a matter of time before Professor Snape stumbles into a metaphorical landmine and sets off a chain reaction), so it puts them at a bit of a standstill. She also has a low E.Q. and a mountain of past trauma she needs to face before she can really move forward. Learning Occlumency, and to control/manage her telepathy properly, will be an uphill battle for Jewel and it'll take her a long time before she has a good handle on it.

Jewel "shutting down" is also more along the lines of dissociation and would be an extremely unhealthy stepping stone/starting point to build her Occlumency/telepathy off.

Reviews/Replies*̥˚✧!

Happydragon5: Sparkles are one of my favourite things, hands down. They're glittery, and pretty, and they offer unconditional sparkliness (and I know they get everywhere, but I've never really minded that). And 100% agreed. I'm only 23 (24 in June), and I'm still not used to being an "adult" with all the responsibilities and expectations of maturity and having to deal with things/humans, etc (never mind the crippling social anxiety, yay!). There are some pros (I have money now...that I probably spend irresponsibly, considering I have a functional Lightsaber and a $500 Darksaber in my room and a sword collection-including replicas of Roronoa Zoro's katanas Yubashiri Sandai Kitetsu and Enma and Trafalgar Law's Nodachi Kikoku from One Piece-...also, almost every manga copy of One Piece to date-), but being a kid was so much more fun and easier and less stressful. As for the Draco drama, there was no way Jewel was going to take him waltzing onto the team like that well after she had to fight tooth and nail for her spot. How she acted wasn't okay though, which she recognised. I wanted to show some character/emotional growth that will help her slowly unlearn bottling up her issues and teach her that, sometimes, it's better to put aside your stubbornness/pride and talk things out (and that she can express her thoughts and feelings without being punished/judged)-something Jewel struggles with a lot.

Solti: You're welcome! And thanks, I will definitely need all the patience I can get. I adore my nephews, but Jax is four and Levi is two (and has autistic traits and global learning delay-also, he's the literal Flash and loves knocking things over/throwing things and sliding behind the T.V.; we call him "Destructo"). It's a lot of work, but we all love them, and at least with us they're in a happy/safe/stable environment where we don't have to worry about them while my sister/their mum gets her shiitake mushrooms together. Updates will be slower once I've caught up on my editing, especially while I'm juggling school/babysitting the kids, but I'll do my best to get chapters out as soon as humanly possible.

Leofrick: Thank you so much! Yeah, Jewel is a bit of a night owl. She usually doesn't go to bed until midnight/1 am or even later (mainly to take advantage of the empty common room as soon as it clears out) and just sleeps until breakfast-and refuses to budge until the very last second. She's a nightmare to wake up in the morning. It's the same for going to classes on time/late; she doesn't leave until the last possible second and often loses track of time/dawdles (half because she has horrible time management, and half because as soon as she's in class she's bombarded with the minds of all her classmates for roughly an hour at a time, in lessons she struggles to focus on, taking tests she knows she'll fail and that make her feel/look stupid, and her ADHD makes it even worse-and a lot of those issues are going undiagnosed/unnoticed and her teachers, aside from Professor Snape and Dumbledore to an extent, don't know so they don't try to accommodate that/think she's just a "troublemaker" like her dad...I mean, she totally is, but there's more to it). Daphne cracked first because Tracey has more patience-and is smart/quick enough to deftly avoid being trapped between Jewel and Draco's bickering like Daphne always finds herself (and, if she does, she's better at tuning them out). Daphne wouldn't care as much if it didn't happen to her all the time and if they didn't instantly forget she's even there every single time they get into it (and whisper/banter back and forth throughout lessons and talk over the teacher, which is kinda inconsiderate-not that they can totally help it, they have zero impulse control when it comes to each other). While taking it well, Draco is definitely uncomfortable with the idea that Jewel can read his mind, but her admitting she can barely even do that helps-and he had a lot of time over the summer to come to terms with it before talking to her, which is why he was so casual/chill about it. And his relaxed attitude towards it just made it so much easier for Jewel to open up and talk about/acknowledge it. And Draco is a little shit that loves screwing with people/pushing buttons-put him and Jewel together, and it's absolute chaos. They're as bad as each other.

TikiKiki: Thanks! I personally am not all that into makeup or pink (I hated the colour pink as a teenager-but I do love sparkles). But reading fanfics where they bash girls for wearing a lot of makeup, and go on about how their character never does and all (in a weird unnecessary way), tends to turn me off a bit. It's becoming kind of a pet peeve of mine. I mean, an OC can wear all black or be a total tomboy etc. and that's awesome (I'm a massive geek who lives in classic rock band t-shirts and Hogwarts House-themed sweatpants)-but why does that entail dragging down other people who wear makeup and like "girly" stuff? And I'm glad you like Jewel! I've worked really hard to flesh her out as a character and explain why she's such a mess of a human being and why she acts the way she does. Even with school and her barely paying attention or acting out/homework, there's a root cause of it beyond her just 'not liking school'. As a child, as someone who loved to learn and find out new things and absorbed new information like a sponge, she actually really enjoyed school-it was outside forces that made her dislike it and not really try (like teachers who didn't understand, her ADHD/telepathy, moving a lot through foster care, being treated like she was stupid or wasn't trying or acting this way on purpose when she really wasn't and she was trying harder than anyone-). When designing a new OC, I like writing down their flaws and dislikes and likes/hobbies first and foremost, but I'm particularly proud of how in-depth I've been trying to go on Jewel. And yeah, I agree with you; I've read stories with very surface-level characters that I've saved and enjoyed regardless, but it can be nice to have more fully formed OCs. At the same time, sometimes I just want to turn off my brain and read something light-hearted without a lot of depth just because it's fun, you know?

Guest: Aw, thanks so much! :) I'm happy you like Jewel/Draco. I want them to have a fun/back-and-forth but healthy relationship. You see a lot of fanfics (also, books, movies, TV shows-) where the main OC is badly mistreated by their significant other but wants to "fix"/"save" them and it's all played as romantic when it's really screwed up (and emotionally abusive). Draco is an asshole, but so is Jewel-and, honestly, she wouldn't want him to change (maybe be more open-minded and less of a bully, but the rest of it? He's an entitled, arrogant, shit-stirring jerk...but he makes her smile; it's one thing having feelings for him, but it's almost harder for her to accept that she likes him for who he is and wouldn't change him if she could). Character growth will happen, but it'll be mutual; she'll get him to see things from her perspective and help him learn to stop taking his father's word as gospel and make up his own mind, and he'll get her to talk about her feelings so she doesn't explode and help her deal with her occasional pigheadedness. I want Jewel and Draco to have a strong partnership built on a foundation of trust and open communication. They're not perfect, and they're still just immature kids, but they make each other happy. There are some hurdles in the way of that (Jewel needing to get herself together first and foremost, her trust/rejection/abandonment issues, Harry Ron and Hermione and their mutual hatred of Draco, Draco's father being a freaking Death Eater which ironically doesn't actually bother Jewel that much but Harry will probably have a lot to say about, etc) but, when they finally do get together, they'll be each other's rocks and it'll be on both sides-not just Draco one-sidedly helping Jewel deal with all her problems (also a YA/fanfic trope; where the guy has no existence/personality/depth beyond being that hot guy that has no real hobbies or anything outside of the main girl-and is also a lot of the time a 'tortured bad boy' who needs her loooove to heal all his emotional scars). Her issues, at this stage, might be more serious/heavy but his feelings/problems are still valid (even if they're whiny rich boy problems-and mainly surrounding how much he hates her brother; the shit will hit the fan for him around OotP/HBP what with Voldemort and his dad being a Death Eater etc). Jewel admitting how she feels about Draco is going to be like pulling teeth, but love isn't easy and it's something you have to work hard for even when you get it-which is satisfying for someone like Draco who is so used to having everything handed to him and never having to fight for anything.

Ellie. Cast4: You're welcome, and thanks! The amount of times I've edited this story is the definition of repetitive insanity. Whenever I think of something funny/a joke I'd like to add at some point, I write it down in my "story info" file. It's categorized by school year. Pottermore might've put me in Gryffindor, but I'm honestly a total Ravenclaw (if more on the creative side of things and not the studious).