Disclaimer: I own nothing except my character and my plot. Really, I don't.

A/N: My new Chapter Two was posted, so no more worries. ( Please review! No one's been reading, I guess I'll just go cry...

Chapter Three

Weekend!!!!!
Because Brynn had a Muggle father, weekends when she was a child had been spent taking rides in her father's gorgeous 1958 Jaguar Roadster. However, because Hogwarts was teeming with ancient runes and spells, the Jaguar wouldn't even make it past the gate. Her father had left it to her in his will when he passed away, and since she had accepted a position to teach at Hogwarts four years ago, it had sat, undriven, for the past four winters—which was fine and dandy, as they were in England, not Arizona...driving a convertible in winter wasn't favorable.

For Brynn weekends were the best part of the week. It was the third weekend she had been back at school, and it was the first Hogsmeade weekend. School had been hectic lately, especially with a few of her classes. Surprisingly, it was not the class with Draco Malfoy in it; rather, it was the class with his mates, Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise Zabini was also in the class with them, and the three mates were positively atrocious. How Snape could stand them just boggled her brain, and furthermore made her steer yet further clear of him.

The weather, though just late September, had begun changing—leaves littered the front grounds as Brynn strolled toward Hogsmeade, dressed warmly in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans. She had changed her hair today, and it was short and highlighted blonde. Although she hadn't intended to disguise herself from the students, many gave her looks of confusion as to what a grown witch was doing walking with students to the village of Hogsmeade. Hardly any of them recognized her.

After exploring some of the shops in the village and seeing that none had really changed, Brynn headed toward the Three Broomsticks pub to buy a small drink and catch up on some reading. She took a seat toward the back of the room and within minutes was fully absorbed in her book. Though the book was intriguing, the pub was loud and she could hear snips of conversation. And, though a small potted plant that was eating remnants of biscuits from a previous customer very near to her, she could make out the deep, gruff voices of some students...Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini to be exact. She'd heard their bets before. Last year it had been "Who can lay as many virgins as possible within x-amount of time." Ack. But she hadn't reported to Dumbledore, because she didn't want to cause trouble. Besides, most of the Hogwarts girls seemed extremely intelligent—or, at least intelligent enough to put a repulsive charm on themselves whenever those boys came near them.

But for the last three years, none of the bets had involved her. Unfortunately, this year things were changing for them. Maybe they had slept with all the Hogwarts girls they could. Maybe they thought it would be more of a challenge (though that didn't seem the case as she listened to their conversation). Maybe they thought of it as a competition: who could do it first.

"Alright," Zabini proclaimed, quieting everyone at the table. "The annual bet, begun every first Hogsmeade weekend. Slytherins before us have done bets, and now it's our turn. The seventh years haven't thought of anything—"he shot them angry looks, "—so it's up to us to continue our tradition. We've been doing these since last year ourselves, so we have some knowledge of what kind of bets we're dealing with here."

"Let's get as many girls as we can in one night!" a seventh year yelled.

"That's lame, really," Zabini proclaimed.

Really, Blaise? Because I think that getting off with ten girls in one night would be one fucking spectacular feat.

"Um, right," Goyle said. Brynn rolled her eyes. Does that child ever think for himself?

"Drake, you got anything?" Blaise asked.

Brynn's eyes darted immediately through the plant and to their table, where Draco was, to her utmost surprise, shaking his head furiously.

"I'm not doing the bet this year." The table fell silent, and even Brynn was clutching her glass with such force she was surprised it hadn't shattered. "I'm not doing the bet this year, it's so moronic."

"Well, I'm sure he'll come around," Blaise continued with a fake laugh. "After he's heard our great wager."

"And what's your great wager?" another seventh year asked.

Draco did a small drumroll while maintaining eye-rolling status. "I think we should sleep with a teacher." Everyone but Draco, who was still doing his monotone drumroll, immediately fell silent and turned to Blaise.

"What?"

"Are you crazy?!"

"No way!"

"There aren't any teachers I would nail here," one complained, which started a whole new round of complaints about the lack of thongs, tiny skirts, and tight knickers in the staff department.

"Excuse me?" Draco butted in for the first time. "I don't think I'd like to see Minerva McGonagoll in a leopard-print thong, tight knickers, and a halter top." Which set everyone off again. Just get to it, Brynn thought. It's bound to be me. Please God don't make it me.

"How about Flatley?" Blaise proposed. You horrid bloody child! Brynn screamed inwardly.

"Flatley's good," one of the seventh years said.

"Flatley? No way!" another said.

"What? What do you mean, 'no way'?" Blaise asked.

"Well, I mean it's free admission to park in that garage, isn't it?" He began howling with laughter, as did the rest of the table. Brynn clenched her teeth and took another drink. Great, here it comes, she thought. More insults, ho! But then she started laughing because she hadn't meant to say ho and mean it in the way they were applying it to her.

"Well let's add them up," Crabbe chimed in. (Great, he and Goyle have brains now? She thought. Spectacular.) "The first year she was here—so what, our third year?—that's the year she was screwing Oliver Wood—the bastard—all year long."

"And our fourth year she was screwing Percy Weasley—remember, she came to the Yule Ball with him? But they got into a fight and then she walked out with Charlie Weasley!!!" a seventh year exclaimed oh-so-eagerly.

"Oh yeah, who was she banging last year?" Draco demanded defensively. "I didn't see her with anyone last year."

"Maybe she just wasn't displaying it," Blaise chimed in immediately.
"Then why the fuck do you care?!" Draco yelled, causing everyone in the pub to turn and stare. "This all is utter shit! I can't believe you guys!" he looked at them, then suddenly grew calm again. "I'm leaving," he utter quietly, and strode out.

Brynn gazed back at him, wondering why the hell he was standing up for her.

"Um, right then," Blaise continued. "So, two hundred Galleons to whichever one of us nails Flatley by the end of the school year."