XXX. "OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!"

Okay, I'll admit it; while my heart belongs to Dreamy, and this comes on the heels of betraying her, Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones are wicked. They're in a whole new league when it comes to speed(and, stylistically, badass). Usually, that would just frustrate me more, but I was having too much fun.

Malfoy and I mostly just raced up and down the Quidditch pitch on each other's broomsticks(which I think made him better appreciate where I was coming from, and how hard I'd been working).

After a while, we had to call it for dinner-which we were super late for.

When we made our way into the Great Hall, we got a lot of odd and even shocked looks and double-takes-no doubt because we were A) walking together B) not trying to murder each other C) back to our usual 'light-hearted bickering' and D) casually talking about Quidditch like this wasn't weird after the past few weeks.

When I caught Professor Snape's eye from the High Table, he inclined his head and smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

The first thing I did was pull Malfoy over to where Pansy Tracey Daphne and Bulstrode were sitting(and staring at us with stupefied and wary/tense looks on their faces for obvious and-pretty fair reasons)and apologise for how I'd been acting-and swear that Malfoy and I had, finally, cleared the air.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this," Daphne said, seeming almost relieved, "but thank Merlin you two are talking again. You're also not allowed to sit anywhere near me in class," she added, "I'm not kidding-I can and will get a restraining order-"

"Don't worry, Daph-we'll make sure to "contain our bullshit"-" I promised mock seriously, hand sarcastically over my heart.

"You better," she stated, pointing her finger at me warningly.

She added a sharp look Malfoy's way for good measure.

That Monday morning during our first lesson of the day, I dropped into the empty seat next to Malfoy(far away from a satisfied-looking Daphne Greengrass), already rambling about I-literally-can't-even-remember, and life went back to normal.

-okay, after Pansy was done punishing me for being a bitch, life went back to normal(and, to be fair, she did take into account the stress I've been putting myself under, which was surprisingly understanding for her-that or, more likely, like Malfoy she was just sick of all the fighting-).

Even Harry Ron and Hermione seemed relieved.

And, that following Friday after dinner, my telepathy lessons continued(with markedly better results now that I could focus...I mean, I still kinda suck, but whatever; one thing I have picked up, though, is that my telepathy is not normal, not even for an inborn telepath, rare as we are-and Professor Snape tried to play it off like it was just my age, and screwy emotional state, but I could tell that it troubled him; hormonal/traumatised tween telepath or not, being in a constant state of overstimulation wasn't something most telepaths had to suffer through-which, I guess, makes me special-yaaaay-).

I'll take this to my grave, but talking it out with Malfoy really helped.

It was like finally saying it all out loud took this huge invisible weight off my chest, and I didn't feel as bitter or angry anymore.

(I hate talk therapy, but there's a reason, so-and-so years later, that I'm still seeing Ms Dodds, and that she's one of the longest relationships I've ever had; I complain about her constantly...but she's a hardass, like Professor Snape, and I need that-and, while I'm way too stubborn to admit it, and I'm always bitching about her and therapy, she's actually done a lot for me; my history's just given me a...jaded view of therapists and therapy as a whole-and I hate being told what to do, so when Ms Dodds kicks my ass, I end up sulking like a five-year-old-).

It also helps that I'm now his "Quidditch Yoda"(he still refuses to call me "master/sensei", or to refer to himself as my "padawan", but I'm working on it), which made my extra practices less boring and kept me from going off alone and overworking myself.

Mostly because Malfoy threatened to go to Professor Snape.

Even worse, he threatened to tell McGonagall and have her harass me about the dangers of overexerting yourself.

She's like a Quidditch-savvy Hermione.

I'd be screwed, and the smug bastard knew it.

But hey, I'm not constantly on the verge of a nervous breakdown anymore, we're totally going to destroy the Gryffindors in the first match of the season, and Malfoy and I are actually getting along in practices now, which got Flint off our backs.

As in, the first practice after we "sorted it out", Malfoy 'accidentally' knocked Walsh into the stands and, when he whined about it to Flint, made fun of him for acting like a "little girl" when the actual girl on the team took a Bludger to the back and laughed(it was like I'd stepped into this bizarro universe/fantasy).

It was the best practice I've ever had, hands down.

(I expected Malfoy to join in and make it worse but, for some reason, he seems to of taken my dynamic on the team as a personal insult; honestly, one of the big reasons Flint and the guys, minus Pucey, leave me out and act like I'm not wholly on the team is my close ties with the Gryffindors which, naturally, makes me Oliver Wood's sleeper agent/informant-hence why they kept Professor Snape's "specially signed note"/their plan to snake the field out from under the lions and the Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones'/Malfoy from me; it's so bloody stupid, but it is what it is; either way, it was...nice, feeling like Pucey wasn't the only person on the team that has my back, even if Malfoy and I do hate each other-and, while I'd never in a million years admit it, what he did was actually kind of...sweet).

As we got deeper into October, a damp chill spread over the grounds and the heavy showers had the lake rising, the humungous pumpkins Hagrid was growing in his garden for Halloween swelling to the size of garden sheds(with "a bit o' help" from his pink umbrella and an Engorgement Charm), and sent droves of sick students to Pomfrey(her Pepperup potions, while working immediately after being ingested, left people walking about smoking at the ears for several hours).

Despite the horrible weather, the Gryffindors had been having regular practices(because an earthquake could hit, destroying the school, and Wood would argue that Quidditch is in the sky)-which had Flint racing to book up the field to keep them from getting it.

If just one more Gryffindor or Slytherin comes trudging through the castle, soaking wet and tracking mud, Filch is gonna have a stroke.

-well, I know what I'm doing this afternoon.

Because of how many extra practices we had "training our new Seeker"(i.e., keeping the Gryffindors from having the Quidditch pitch as much as humanly possible), Malfoy and I didn't have a lot of solo practices(mostly because the blonde put the fear of Professor Snape-and McGonagall into me so I wouldn't burn myself out).

Whenever we did go down to the Quidditch pitch or the paddock by Hagrid's, it was usually pretty laid-back and on weekends or a few times after classes(and, sometimes, during lunch/dinner-I showed him where the kitchens are so we could eat early, so long as he promised to play nice with the house-elves; I was also using it as an opportunity to ask subtle questions, and observe his behaviour, as recon for my house-elf research)-but that didn't mean I wasn't whipping him into shape for our upcoming match.

And quoting Yoda extensively to my confused padawan.

"Feel the force!"

"The what?"

"Control, control, you must learn control!"

"Seriously, what the hell are you on about, Potter?"

"You must unlearn what you have learned."

"I wasn't aware that I'd learnt anything. Have you been taking teaching lessons from Lockhart?"

"Anger, fear, aggression. The dark side are they. Once you start down the dark path forever will it dominate your destiny."

"-That's nice. Can we get back to Quidditch, now?"

"You are reckless. If you end your training now, if you choose the quick and easy path as Vader did, you will become an agent of evil."

"...Wait a second, are these Muggle quotes?"

"Ten minutes. It took you ten minutes to notice."

"Shut up, Potter. And quit laughing! It isn't that funny."

"Do or do not my dear padawan. There is no try."

"...Are you done now?"

"Until I think of another Star Wars quote, let's say yes."

(as annoying as it is that no one ever gets my jokes, I still love seeing that stupid look on Purebloods face's when I abruptly yell that "Luke didn't know!" in the middle of a conversation or hit a table and declare that "I'm a Doctor, not a Bricklayer!" or quote Muggle movies/TV shows out of context at Lockhart during class-"Does Barry Manilow know that you raid his wardrobe?" "Never had karate training like this before; sure wish I knew how it worked" "Goblin King! Goblin King! Wherever you may be take this child of mine far away from me!" "Well, there's a probability of anything. Statistically speaking, if you gave typewriters to a tree full of monkeys, they'd eventually produce the works of William Shakespeare" "I just want you to feel you're doing well. I hate for people to die embarrassed" "You won't answer my calls, you change your number. I mean, I'm not going to be ignored, Dan!"; at first, watching my sass go right over the famous author's head made me want to shove Professor Snape off a tall cliff, but now it's the Slytherins in-class entertainment-Defence is officially one of my favourite classes; it's a total blow-off class, all Lockhart does is reenact his favourite parts of his books-each lesson, he has a different student come up and help him but, for some mysterious reason I can't put my finger on, no longer picks me even when I'm the only volunteer-and I spend the entire time trying to see how far I can push it until Lockhart, like Daphne, finally snaps).

Another thing I'm taking to my grave; it actually felt...good having Malfoy, of all people, be "in the know" about my telepathy.

I mean, it's not like we had any more big dramatic heart-to-hearts or anything, but...he'd crack jokes about it when no one was in earshot, and ask me what people are thinking(earning various, sarcastic responses that were usually way more fun than what they were actually thinking), and it made it feel like it wasn't such a big thing, like it was-normal, almost. And not only was Malfoy unknowingly and accidentally helping me slowly come to terms with the fact that maybe my telepathy isn't the worst thing in the world, but he helps me focus in class maybe even better than my rubber bands do.

When we take tests, he subtly checks to make sure I don't get distracted and start writing gibberish(without looking like he's trying to cheat off me-and if he does cheat off me in the process, that's neither here nor there)or idly doodling because 'right, I'll answer question 6 b in a sec, but first, wouldn't my test look way prettier covered in wonky stars and what was supposed to be a daffodil but looks like, instead of photosynthesising, it drinks the blood of small children?'...yeaaah, future "Leonardo da Vinci"/"Van Gogh" in the making I am not-and, when I do, he knocks my elbow to snap me out of it.

I got an Acceptable on a test we took in Transfigurations last week, and I know that doesn't sound like much in the grand scheme of things, but my test scores usually range around Poor/Dreadful(and, on a really bad day, Troll).

While mind-numbing, I can handle writing essays and-homework because I can do it in places without as many people around(that and, well, Hermione). But taking a test, in a room of stressed-out second years thinking contradictory answers over and over again in their heads and re-reading questions(and it's not like they're all conveniently on the same question, because that'd almost be bearable-), is a whole other thing.

(it's like when you're writing something down, and you lose focus, and you end up misspelling things or missing entire words because your brain decided to fill in the gaps for you-only, my brain fills in the gaps with other people's thoughts, jumbling them all together into top-tier nonsense-).

Surprise tests are the worst.

Everything made a lot more sense when I realised that Malfoy's uncharacteristic behaviour, shocker, wasn't entirely altruistic-based.

-or all his own doing.

(not that it ultimately mattered, seeing as he still wasn't really getting anything out of it-aside from major points with Professor Snape and the satisfaction of knowing he knows something big about me thatHarrydoesn't).

It wasn't until mid-way through October that I noticed it, which really hammers home how ridiculously hopeless I am.

Especially when it started back in September, just days before Malfoy and I 'made up'(and likely at the same time Professor Snape blabbed to the blonde about what I said during our lesson in retaliation for my behaviour).

(on telepathy scales, I'm like a savant; my moments of dazzling perceptiveness and brilliance levelled out by my, more frequent, moments of impressive obliviousness, more than occasional bullheadedness, and straight-up bullshitting that I have a clue what in the actual hell I'm even doing-).

Honestly, it might've taken me even longer to catch on if Malfoy hadn't just dropped any and all subtlety.

It was one of my bad days.

Like, really bad.

I had trouble sleeping, it really was my "time of the month"(when you're PMS-ing you get all hormonal and emotional and it affects my telepathy, bad-which was a fun revelation for sure), and my head was pounding.

Breakfast was like having to sit still while someone painstakingly drilled a miniature jackhammer through my temple and trying not to flinch.

And clearly failing.

One second, I was rubbing my throbbing head and contemplating ditching class to take a(heavily potion-medicated)nap in the hospital wing, and the next Malfoy "really had to talk to me" and was dragging me out of the Great Hall.

We were halfway to Pomfrey before I even comprehended what had happened.

-and, from there, it wasn't hard to work out why.

Especially with how hypersensitive my telepathy was that day.

"So," I wondered nonchalantly, my thumb and pointer fingers still futilely trying to soothe my temples(at least the worst of the pressure went away the further we got from civilisation), "were you ever going to tell me that Professor Snape put you up to watching out for me? Or does it count against your community service?"

Malfoy stumbled, and his pace slowed.

His grip on my arm went slack.

"...Has anyone ever told you that your telepathy's timing is really inconvenient?" he remarked, dodging my question.

"Just the voices in my head," I deadpanned. "They tell me to burn things."

"I honestly don't know if you're joking," Malfoy said.

"Keep trying to change the subject, and you'll find out," was my pointed response.

"I wasn't-"

A perfectly arched eyebrow shut him up.

"I was just supposed to keep an eye on you when he couldn't," he admitted finally, avoiding my gaze with an uncomfortable/reluctant look on his face. "But helping you in class and stuff-" he added quickly, "that was all me."

Malfoy glanced at me slightly, looking wary.

"I already regret asking you this, but...are you mad?"

"That's the general consensus, yeah," I joked. "But I'm not crazy," I added, quoting Steel Magnolias, "I've just been in a very bad mood for 40 years."

"Angry," he clarified, not in the mood.

"At myself for being the world's worst telepath? Oh, totally," I agreed matter-of-factly. "At you for turning double agent for Professor Snape so he could keep an eye on my mental state? Honestly, a little. But I also kind of get why you didn't say anything, because I'm currently fighting the urge to march back into the Great Hall, magic up a glove, smack our Head of House with it, and challenge him to pistols at dawn."

I offered the surprised blonde a wry smile.

"After the past few weeks, consider this your Get Out of Jail Free card. Enjoy it while you can. Next time, I'm throwing hands."

Malfoy looked relieved.

And a bit amused.

"Noted," he cleared his throat, nodding.

"So, the class stuff..." I commented after a moment, idly watching my pink All-Stars as I avoided the cracks in the stone floor, "Professor Snape never asked you to do that?"

"He just said to "keep an eye on you"-" he stated, very aware that, with my telepathy, I'd sense even a soupçon of dishonesty. "Maybe let him know if it's worse than usual but you're being too stubborn to admit it or go for help, and "remove you" from situations where you're obviously losing control or it's too much-like now. But that's it. Everything else was all me. I helped you in Defence Against the Dark Arts back in September, remember? With Lockhart's test? That was ages before Snape asked me to watch you-"

"And I'm sure you, and your grades, aren't at all benefiting," I interjected, my smirk reassuring him that I really wasn't "angry".

"That's what makes it a mutually beneficial situation," Malfoy argued, ears pink.

"It also makes it significantly less selfless," I countered, grinning faintly. "But, if you weren't seemingly getting anything out of it, I'd either be super suspicious, which really would drive me mad, or I'd call you an idiot. Doing nice things for people makes you a decent person. Doing nice things for people that also benefit you, but in a relatively harmless way, makes you decent and smart. And a good Slytherin, for that matter. If everyone is always out for something, you might as well make sure you don't end up empty-handed, you know? But that might just be the little cynic living in my head talking."

"-Hang on, that almost sounded like a compliment."

Despite his smirk, he seemed genuinely caught off guard.

"To quote Princess Leia...you have your moments," I quipped carelessly. "Not many of them, but you do have them."

"I do, do I?"

Malfoy looked smug.

"Don't push it," I shot back, sticking out my tongue with an almost unnoticeable blush. "And stop grinning like that. I saw an opportunity to quote Star Wars, and I took it. You should be used to it by now."

"Sure, Potter," he taunted.

If anything, his stupid grin just got wider.

"You know," I continued after a while, rubbing my forehead, "sometimes, I wish I could just stick a loofa through my ear and scrub my brain."

"Is there any particular reason for that?" Malfoy drawled, "or is it just number forty-nine on your bucket list?"

"First of all," I held up a finger, "number forty-nine on my bucket list is to buy a super fancy leather swivel chair, place it opposite to a door, then dramatically spin around when someone walks in and tell them that "I'd been expecting them". Second-I'd say there's a reason. A big, hulking, mauve, my mind seriously needs a deep cleansing treatment, stat reason. Trust me. I know things. Horrible, traumatising things."

"What things?" he asked, interest piqued.

"Things no four-year-old girl should have to hear-" I shuddered.

"Like?"

"Like my 50-something-year-old reception teacher, Mrs Nora's, favourite sexual position?"

Malfoy looked taken aback, and slightly grossed out.

"Wait, really?"

"My abilities are so scarring-" I mumbled, pulling a face.

"I guess I never really thought about what you probably hear," Malfoy said, grimacing.

"I'd try not to, if I were you," I offered dryly. "It doesn't help that, on top of hearing stuff like that, I can also hear every negative thing my friends and family think about me, which makes it nearly impossible to get close to-anyone, really. I mean, imagine having to act normally while people who claim to love you mentally gripe about your flaws and everything they don't like about you, and hearing all of it, in real time, while they smile at you and pretend like they aren't thinking about how weird, and mental, and loud, and obnoxious, and stupid, and troublesome they think you are? My poker face is a fearsome thing to behold. But us Slytherins are nothing if not adaptable. I had to develop very thick skin. And a strong stomach."

I glanced at the silent blonde, smiling humourlessly.

"No wonder I have trust issues, huh? Even Harry and the others...you know-" I shrugged, an almost bitter edge to my smile. "I will say this. At least you have the guts to say every bad thing you think about me to my face."

So, as it turns out, at least one Potter twin ended up tracking mud all over Filch's very delicate disposition.

Only, unlike me, Harry wasn't trying to make the caretaker snap.

(for, you know-research purposes).

It was a few days before Halloween, Saturday afternoon, and pouring and Harry had just gotten out of Quidditch practice.

By the time he reached the castle, he was muddy and soaked to the bone.

Before Filch caught him, however, he ran into Sir Nick, Gryffindor houses "nearly headless" ghost, staring morosely out at the stormy sky and muttering to himself.

Apparently, he was all bitter because he'd applied to join this morbid-ass club called "the Headless Hunt" but some self-important jerk named "Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore" claimed that being hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe, and the half-an-inch of skin and sinew holding the ghost's head on, didn't qualify him.

Something about only accepting huntsmen whose heads "have departed company with their bodies"(and how it would make it simply impossible for him to participate in "hunt activities" like "Horseback Head-Juggling" and "Head Polo").

"Sir Patty Del-whatever Pod-could care less sounds like a dick," was my reaction.

"Jewel!" Hermione scolded.

Ron laughed, earning a dirty look from the bushy-haired girl.

Harry hid a grin, not wanting to draw Hermione's ire.

Anyway, that's about when Mrs Norris showed up-and, as everybody knows, where Mrs Norris goes, Filch is sure to follow.

It doesn't help that Filch had the flu, was in an absolutely foul mood(more so than usual, which is really saying something), and a bunch of third years had already pissed him off by accidentally plastering frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five.

And then Harry shows up, dripping muddy water everywhere.

-how this kid's still alive, I'll never know.

Long story short, Harry wasn't quick enough(ironic for a Seeker, seeing as their whole shtick is that they're meant to be, you know, quick), and Filch came bursting out of a nearby tapestry with an unusually purple nose and a thick tartan scarf bound around his head. He flipped(which I really wish I could've seen), and Harry ended up being ordered to follow the furious caretaker back downstairs(which only made more muddy footprints that needed to be cleaned up, which feels sort of counterproductive)and to his office.

It's a dingy, windowless room lit by a single lamp that dangles low from the ceiling with wooden filing cabinets around the walls(labelled and containing details of every pupil Filch has ever punished; the twins have their own drawer, which is an ambition of mine), the highly polished collection of chains and manacles he mentioned last year hanging on a wall behind his desk. It also smells like fried fish, for, reasons.

Mrs Norris, probably.

By end of last year, I'd become a bit of a regular.

Filch was in the middle of filling out detention forms to "make an example" of Harry(Crime: "befouling the castle")when there was this loud BANG! above them.

The oil lamp was left rattling.

Assuming it was Peeves, Filch flung down his quill in a manic fit and rushed out without a second thought, Mrs Norris right behind him.

When he got back, he looked gleeful.

Turns out, Peeves wrecked an extremely valuable "vanishing cabinet"-with impeccable timing(which Filch seemed to think would go a long way in his neverending war against the poltergeist/campaign to get him exorcised out of Hogwarts; is that possible? Are exorcisms a thing? I have so many questions-).

As Harry found out after Filch let him off, Sir Nick was the one that persuaded Peeves to crash the cabinet right over Filch's office as a distraction.

(there was definitely, 100% more to that because Filch doesn't just "let people off"-I 'picked up' something about a "quick spell?"..."wick smell?"..."Kirke spell?"..."Kwikspell?" and some letter?-I literally have no clue, but I let it slide because I wanted Harry to get to the point; he was pretty obviously dragging his feet).

And, seeing how dejected his house ghost looked over that stupid rejection letter from Sir what's-his-face, Harry stupidly said that he wished there was something he could do to help(ouch-rookie mistake).

Okay, so, Halloween is Sir Nick's five-hundredth "deathday".

"Ghosts celebrate their deathdays? Dark. I like it. But...why does this concern me?"

Harry Ron and Hermione traded nervous looks.

In honour of the happy? occasion, Sir Nick is holding a party down in one of the "roomier" dungeons at the same time as the Halloween feast, and all of his ghost friends from all over the country are coming to celebrate. And, you know, having super famous alive people/Harry Potter himself turn up would be "such an honour"(and if he could mention to Sir Patty how "very frightening and impressive" he found the nearly headless, but not quite ghost-). Ron and Hermione would also be welcome.

The plural on famous alive people didn't escape me.

"So, instead of going to the Halloween feast-which I've been reliably informed will have a troupe of dancing skeletons and those giant pumpkins from Hagrid's garden, you want me to go with you Ron and Hermione to hang out with a bunch of dead guys at your house ghost's, and I quote, 'deathday party?'"

"Yes?" Harry winced.

"Sounds morbid, gloomy, spooky, and depressing," I remarked bluntly, staring him down for a moment-mostly because watching him squirm was extremely entertaining, before smirking. "What time should I be there?"

"Wait, seriously?" Ron cut in, surprised by how easy that was.

Harry mostly just looked super relieved.

The tense set of his shoulders dropped almost comically.

"I can stop by the kitchens after for leftovers," I figured, shrugging, "and, as much as I'd love to see dancing skeletons, going to a deathday party with you lot, of all people, has a lot of potential for chaos. Besides, I'm sure Colin Creevey will take pictures. Also, I'm assuming you already signed me up before asking me-" Harry smiled sheepishly, "so Sir Nick will be all mopey if I tell him I'm not coming-and I want to meet this "Sir Patty hyphen-dick, Earl of Wankers" wanker-" Ron sniggered, and Hermione looked exasperated. "Sir Nick's been really cool whenever we've spoken, even though I'm in his rival house. He calls me "Lady Jewel". And not just because I asked him to. Besides, he might not be my house ghost, but he is a Hogwarts ghost. Us Slytherins? We don't take kindly to people screwing around one of our own. So, what time?"

"Seven," Harry said, looking at me gratefully. "Thanks, Jules."

"Love you too, Scotchy. You owe me so much chocolate for this," I added, pointing at him. "I want a whole pile of Honeydukes sweets."

"Done," Harry promised.

"Then we have an accord. Ha! It's like you're hiring me to show up at a friend's birthday party. Or, deathday, I should say. Hey, I should totally-"

"Jewel, you are not going to hire yourself out to attend strangers' parties!"

"Aw, come on, 'Mines. What's the point of my parents' famous murder, and all that shiny childhood trauma, if I can't exploit it for my own benefit?"

"No, Jewel."

"But free cake!"

꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ

Standing in front of the tall silver mirror situated against the far wall of my dorm, I grinned wickedly as I took in my appearance.

I'd told Tracey Pansy Daphne and Bulstrode to go on to breakfast without me-which just made them even warier seeing as I was, once again, up early.

They were super right to be wary.

After last year, with no one showing up in costume on HALLOWEEN!, I decided to spend the summer rectifying that.

It took me ages to finish putting together the costume that would launch my révolution.

I even had Aunt Lorna help me with my fairly simple but Bellissima makeup/face paint, which took hours of practice.

-mainly because I'm twelve and have the artistic skill of a toddler doing finger paints, which is as messy and chaotic as it sounds.

Just my left eye alone needed a layer of white paint and a layer of red even before I could add my gold eyeshadow above and below and draw on my black winged eyeliner. My right eye was done the same(minus the red and white face paint)-and my lipstick was a whole other headache in and of itself.

Never mind my hair, which I put into space buns-with glitter that took so long to get looking right; I literally re-did it, like, nine times.

And then, the pièce de résistance, my outfit.

I was wearing my pink All-Stars(because I'd planned to wear my Dorothy flats, but that's obviously not gonna happen-), white leggings printed with queen of hearts playing cards, and a shorter costume version of the Queen of Hearts' dress from Disney's animated Alice in Wonderland.

Like in the movie, it was black and red with black-and-yellow stripes. The white collar stood up and folded over, and there was a red satin ribbon tied in a neat bow around the waist and a white outline bordering the sweetheart bodice and around the hem and black and red halves of the full circle skirt(with the black-and-yellow stripes in between). The top was black then red then black then red with a gold stripe down the middle topped with a tiny, red heart. It was above the knee, sleeveless, and the back(which was solid black all except for the bottom left corner, which was red)tied up like a corset with more red satin ribbons.

Because it's sleeveless, I slipped a red v-neck blouse with three-quarter length balloon sleeves on underneath to cover my upper arms/back/shoulders.

I had a mini off-centre sparkly gold crown headband decorated with red hearts and a matching glittery heart-topped sceptre(like the one the Queen of Hearts carries around in the movie, but red and black), white rose earrings half-painted red with tiny dangling silver ace of hearts playing cards, and a red velvet ruffled choker with a white rose charm, also mostly painted red, with a red plastic gem attached to it.

And, obviously, my rubber bands-but only the red ones.

My left eye was very carefully painted with a red heart, and my matching lipstick was deliberately smeared.

I even had a realistic foam Viking axe prop with a semi-glossy dark 'wood' handle and a curved two-toned black and silver blade.

"Oh, McGonagall is gonna love this," I decided with satisfaction, wicked grin widening and tongue between my teeth.

The pure mischief dancing in my ever-shifting green eyes(that are, honestly, like mood rings)made me wonder if I should've come as the Cheshire Cat instead, but I quickly dismissed the idea seeing how hotI looked.

I mean, damn.

-well, this went straight to my head.

Pivoting, I started to lightly skip out of the room.

And, as I did, I, naturally, started to sing to myself.

"Bum, bum, bum-" I hummed gleefully, "painting the roses red, we're painting the roses red, we dare not stop, or waste a drop, so let the paint be spread, we're painting the roses reeeed, we're painting the roses red. Oh, painting the roses red, and many a tear be shed, because we know, they'll cease to grow, in fact, they'll soon be dead, nooooo...And yet we go ahead, painting the roses red!"

I was purposely late, for obvious reasons.

The plan was to just yell good morning to Harry, which would be the straightforward, non-mental way of drawing attention to my costume.

So, naturally-

"Who's been painting my roses red? Who's been painting my roses red?" I dramatically yelled as I burst into the Great Hall, axe swinging.

Half the room jumped.

As soon as she saw me, McGonagall had the best expression.

It was shock/aghast, disbelief, and exasperation all smushed together-like watching someone go through the five stages of grief in the span of a few seconds.

*chef's kiss*

"Who dares to taint," I continued theatrically, raising my axe, "with vulgar paint, the royal flower bed? For painting my roses red, someone will lose his head!"

After a beat of stunned silence, I abruptly dropped my act, slinging my axe over my right shoulder and spinning to grin at Harry and Ron.

They were gawking at me stupidly.

-like basically everyone.

If anything, Dumbledore looked delighted.

I breezily wove my glittery heart-topped sceptre, which I was holding in my left hand.

"Happy Halloween, Skywalker! Ronniekins! The horrified and disapproving face of Hermione Granger! Like my costume?"

I did a quick twirl and dipped into a curtsy.

"Potter!"

I started slightly, whirling back around to face the deputy headmistress as she bore down on me like a bull in an arena bears down on a matador.

Huh. Well, this was a bad day to wear red.

I did the first thing that came to mind in that situation.

"Honeybun!" I returned brightly, throwing up my arms.

(-thank Merlin they've outlawed corporal punishment in schools, all I'm saying).

Several people laughed.

I swear McGonagall's nostrils flared.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?"

"Having breakfast?" I offered, looking at her innocently. "Are you new here?"

This time, her nostrils really did flare.

"What are you wearing?" she demanded.

"I'll ask the questions!" I quoted, waving my sceptre in the taken aback witch's face. "Do you play croquet?"

"Miss Potter-"

"Curtsy while you're thinking," I interrupted primly, still in character. "It saves time."

McGonagall was not amused.

"I'd ask what compels you to act out in such a manner-" she sighed heavenward, lips pressing together to form a thin, tight line, "but I doubt I'll appreciate whatever ridiculous answer you're sure to come up with. I don't care what holiday it is, you can't just show up out of uniform and-"

"Never mind all that!" I cut in, gesturing my sceptre mock impatiently. "Get to the part where I lose my temper."

Her eyebrow twitched.

"You can't just show up out of uniform and expect to not be punished-"

"Rule 42," I nodded sagely. "All persons more than a mile high must leave the court immediately."

"Honestly! Miss Potter-"

"Sentence first, verdict afterwards!"

"Potter, stop interrupting me! Now, as I was saying, we have a uniform policy for a reason. You can't just ignore the rules you don't like when it suits you-"

"THAT'S VERY IMPORTANT!" I shouted, once again interrupting the increasingly frustrated Transfigurations Professor and jabbing my axe in Harry Ron and Hermione's direction. "Jury, write that down!"

Fred George and Lee were in hysterics.

-I'm pretty sure I saw George laugh so hard that he fell off his seat.

"Miss Potter-!"

"Uh, uh, uh-" I shook my sceptre mockingly, "Look up. Speak nicely. And DON'T twiddle your fingers. Turn out your toes. Curtsy. Open your mouth a little wider, and always say, 'yes, your majesty'."

I could almost see the steam coming out of her ears.

But then, suddenly-

"Professor McGonagall."

We both looked back quickly.

"It's quite alright," Dumbledore told her with a mollifying smile.

"It's-?! But-" she sputtered indignantly.

Dumbledore calmly held up a hand.

Glancing at my outfit, there was a hint of mirth on his face.

"I am aware that Jewel has, at this moment, chosen to forgo the uniform rule. But it's Halloween, and it's a Saturday. I hardly see the harm in her dressing up. And, I must say, her costume is very beautifully put together."

"Why, thank you, good sir," I quipped, curtsying with a Cheshire Cat-like grin.

Dumbledore chuckled, blue eyes twinkling with good humour.

McGonagall looked like she dearly wanted to take my realistic foam axe and beat the both of us over the head with it. Repeatedly.

"I suppose if you're okay with it, then," she sniffed.

Biting her tongue with tremendous effort, she stiffly turned around and stalked back to the High Table.

"Don't let her get away!" I pointed exaggeratingly, putting on a shrill, comedic impersonation of the mad queen, unable to help myself. "Off with her head!"

-well, at least Dumbledore laughed.

The twins and Lee Jordan were giving me a standing ovation.

I kissed the heart on the top of my sceptre and made a gesture like I was blowing it to them, and Lee and Fred jokingly fought over it.

George pretended to swoon.

"I've been quoting my costume character this whole time," I added to Dumbledore in my normal voice, rolling my eyes. "No one even noticed. Bloody wizards."

After the amused headmaster left to soothe McGonagall's ruffled feathers, I skipped over to Slytherin table-because I was not looking forward to the lecture I could see brewing behind that look Hermione was levelling on me.

Harry and Ron didn't seem to appreciate being left to deal with her, but I doubt either one of them blamed me for abandoning ship.

"Ladies," I teased, dipping into another playful curtsy as I stopped by my incredulous dormmates. "And Bulstrode," I added.

Bulstrode scowled heavily at me.

"I knew we shouldn't of left you alone-you never get up early!" Tracey threw her hands up in my direction, looking vindicated.

"As if her telling us to go on without her wasn't enough of a red flag," Daphne snorted wryly, taking in the fantastic display I made.

"Your lipstick is messed up," Pansy commented, smirking. "Did you do it in the dark? Or were you going for a kind of-circus clown thing?"

Bulstrode sniggered.

"It's like this on purpose," I shot back, sticking out my tongue childishly. "It's part of my vision. I'm the Queen of Hearts from the animated 1951 Alice in Wonderland movie. But I'll take you thinking that I could achieve this level of mind-blowing hotness in the dark as a compliment. Also, clowns are sociopaths, so if I were you, I'd watch it."

"How are clowns sociopaths?" Tracey wondered weirdly.

"They only ever display one emotion," I reasoned. "Usually, inappropriate happiness. They could murder everyone you've ever met, and their manic grins wouldn't falter."

"Why would you put that image in my head?" the Irish girl complained, cringing.

"That's nothing-" I scoffed, "read It by Stephen King, then we'll talk. I'll never look at storm drains the same way again."

Catching sight of Malfoy staring at me down the table, I used my prop axe to wave at him with a cheeky smile.

"Seriously?" he finally called over.

"I'm the Queen of Hearts!" I called back enthusiastically, jokingly posing.

"...I honestly don't know why I'm even surprised anymore-" he said to no one in particular, looking skywards.

I just grinned, tongue poking out between my teeth and mini gold heart-embossed crown-and glittery hair sparkling in the light.

For the rest of the morning, I ran around like a little kid high off sugar(with Tracey Daphne and Pansy struggling to reign me in-but pretty quickly giving up and just sitting back and enjoying the show like everyone else), quoting the Queen of Hearts, and trying to behead anyone unfortunate enough to cross my path.

"Now, where do you come from? Your way? All ways are my way!"

"And, er...what were you saying, my dear? OFF WITH HER HEAD!"

"Sorry. Rule 42, you know."

"Silence! Next witness."

"That's enough! Off with their heads!"

"Who are you talking to? Cat? Where? I warn you, child...if I lose my temper, you lose your head! Understand?"

The first year Hufflepuff I was levelling my axe on nodded rapidly.

"You know that's not real, right?" Daphne remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Y-yes?" the poor kid squeaked.

He carefully skirted around my not real weapon, and bolted.

"Let the trial begin!"

"SILENCE!"

"A-ha! Off with her-"

"Oh, very well-BUT GET ON WITH IT!"

"Somebody's head IS GOING TO ROLL FOR THIS!"

"You there! Off with your head!"

"Potter!" McGonagall yelled frustratedly as I sprinted past her down the corridor, swinging my axe and giggling madly, "stop running in the corridors! And what have I told you about trying to behead your classmates-!"

-I really wasn't surprised when my dormmates banished me to Gryffindor table after having to chase after me since breakfast ended.

I got Hermione's lecture over with, letting it go in one ear and out the other, before immediately turning to sweet talk/badger Harry into letting me paint a red heart on his eye like mine(-without the black winged eyeliner/gold eyeshadow; I argued that the black and gold would really bring out his green eyes, like they did with mine, but he said no).

It wasn't until I brought up Sir Nick's deathday party, and how Halloween is the only conventional holiday I love and he was taking me away from it, that I managed to guilt him into it-mostly because even he was regretting his rash promise as he took in the rest of the school's happy anticipation for tonight's feast and the decorations, which included the live bats/vampires?from last year and Hagrid's ginormous pumpkins(each one carved into jack-o'-lanterns big enough for three grown men to sit in-I helped Hagrid carve them, it was awesome, and several hours/afternoons well spent-).

"A promise is a promise," Hermione had told him in that bossy way of hers when he expressed as much. "You said you'd go to the deathday party."

I'd only just finished with the white face paint, taking out the red to start the careful outline of the heart, when the twins and Lee practically tripped over themselves on their way over to where we were sitting to ask for "face painting" too.

By the time lunch was over, the twins both had white spades on their eyes(because I don't have any black face paint, and my eyeliner wouldn't of worked as well, so I just used red for the base and white for the card suit instead of the other way around-not that anyone seemed to care or anything-), Fred on his left and George his right, Lee had a white club, also on his right eye, and Harry had a red heart on his left.

(I was gonna give one of the twins a diamond-as in the card suit, not an actual diamond-but they thought it was a plot to help people tell them apart; so, going along with the joke, I painted their spades on opposite eyes).

Seeing as I'd be attending a deathday party with them that night, I ditched Skywalker, gangly Archie Andrews, and Brainy Smurf for my favouriteDoppelgängers and their Dread-locks Pirate Roberts. We hung out for a while, causing general light-hearted mayhem(Fred and George have been teaching me "the tools of their trade"-which, I guess, makes me their "padawan"),before I headed back to my common room to annoy my dormmates-only to get the best idea.

Figuring I shouldn't break into Gryffindor Tower to ask the twins and Lee if they wanted to come with me(which they'll totally be all fake offended/outraged about later), I proceeded to harass basically every Slytherin I've ever spoken to after Pansy Daphne and Tracey all said no. I even almost asked Bletchley.

-let that sink in for a second.

"Oi, Malfoy! Wanna dump your bodyguards and go trick or treating with me?"

Malfoy's head shot up and, obviously caught off guard, he looked over from where he'd been lounging on one of the sofas with Crabbe and Goyle.

I pouted in an attempt to look as pathetic and adorable as possible, breaking out the puppy dog eyes and everything.

"You want to go trick or treating?" he questioned in disbelief. "Where?"

"Professors' offices...the hospital wing...the library...Hagrid's place..." I ticked off my fingers, tongue poking out between my teeth and green eyes dancing with mischief. "But no one will go with me for some reason-" I added, "so please, please, please."

I clasped my hands together and held them out hopefully.

"So I'm your last resort?" he deadpanned.

"Just in this room-I could still break into the Gryffindor common room-" I pointed out, "the twins and Lee would go with me in a heartbeat if Harry Ron and Hermione say no. Seamus too, but he'd call it a date, and I-"

"Sure, I'll go," Malfoy said abruptly, startling me.

"Wait, seriously?"

I perked up.

"Unless you'd rather go with Finnegan," he spat, saying Seamus's last name venomously like it had somehow deeply offended him.

"Yes!" I pumped my fist in victory, "I knew there was a reason I haven't snuck into your room and smothered you in your sleep yet!"

"-Excuse me?"

"Come on, Malfoy-Onward and Upward! To Narnia and the North!"

"To where?"

"...just for that, we're going to Filch first-"

I took the cases off my pillows, handing Malfoy a green one while I took the black one, seeing as it suited my costume-and, after some serious pouting action, managed to get him to let me paint a diamond on his right eye to mirror the heart on my left.

Like Harry, he also drew the line at letting me put makeup on him.

"Aw, come on-your eyes are already super grey-" I said, puppy eyes turned all the way up, "like a pale, icy grey-like Black Lake when it ices over at winter, but before it freezes solid-or even a silver-they're actually pretty striking-but it'll bring out the colour even more if you let me put eyeliner on you-just look at David Bowie, he wears eyeliner and it looks amazing on him-and so does Charlie Chaplin, Mick Jagger, Steven Tyler, and loads of other famous actors and musicians-like that bloke that sings Karma Chameleon-and even literal Egyptian pharaoh's-and the twins and Lee let me, and they look badass!-"

"Did you just say that you like my eyes?" Malfoy blurted with a strange look on his face-somewhere between disbelief, stupefied, and something else I couldn't identify. "Hang on-" the "super grey" eyes in question narrowed slightly, "are you just sucking up to me so I'll let you put eyeliner on me?"

"If I say no, will you let me put eyeliner on you?" I sidestepped hopefully.

"Yeah, nice try," he deadpanned. "Actually, it was more of a terrible, extremely obvious, not even slightly subtle try that immediately failed-"

"You and Harry are no fun!" I groaned. "See if I ever call your eyes pretty again!"

"You never called my eyes pretty," Malfoy pointed out, only to pause. "Wait, you think my eyes are pretty?"

"No-your eyes are stupid-shut up-" my face went bright pink. "And for the record, if you tell anyone, I'll deny it. Not that I think your eyes are pretty, or whatever-pretty stupid, maybe-" I blew a loose curl out of my face, "so, yeah-"

Feeling weirdly flustered, I busied myself with screwing on the lids for my red and white face paints and packing up my makeup to avoid seeing his expected smug grin-only to miss the way the corner of the grey-eyed Slytherin's mouth had curved up when I wasn't looking, and his own bright pink face.

"'For the record,'" he quoted after a moment, mockingly using air quotes, "I think your eyes are pretty, too. Like a jewel that gets lighter or darker depending on how the light hits it-or how much it wants to slug you-yeah, kind of like that-"

"I hate you."

"-but think my eyes are pretty."

"Pretty stupid."

"Stupidly pretty."

"Ugh! Asshole."

"Brat."

"Snob."

"Lunatic."

"Dingbat."

"...who has pretty eyes."

"I will hurt you-"

"Do I look worried?"

"You're such a masochist."

"And you're one to talk."

"-Okay, I'll give you that one-you're more like a sadist, anyway-"

"Masochist."

"Sadist."

"A sadist with pretty eyes."

"A sadist with a death wish."

"-and pretty eyes."

"Ugh!"

Things did not go well at Filch's office.

He yelled at us and threw things.

It was totally uncalled for.

Never mind that I complimented his "crazy realistic mask"-otherwise known as his, you know, face, made fun of his "costume", which was really just his normal clothes, and accidentally stepped on Mrs Norris.

-okay, so maybe I kind of get why he might've flipped out.

It was super funny, though...after we were done running for our lives.

We skipped Binns, unanimously deciding that we didn't want to risk a boring history lecture and doubting he'd give us anything.

We also decided not to climb all the way up the North Tower on the off chance of finding Professor Trelawney, the batty Divination teacher.

The Ancient Runes Professor, Bathsheba Babbling, politely told us that she did not, in fact, have any sweets.

So did the Arithmancy Professor, Septima Vector, and Madam Hooch-both of whom were very stern-seeming witches in their own right.

"No, Potter, I will not give you, or Malfoy, any treats-" McGonagall said sharply, looking exasperated, "go back to your common room. I can only hope you find something productive to do with your time, but I'm hardly going to hold my breath."

She shut the door.

"But I thought we promised to never go to bed angry!" I called through the door.

Malfoy snorted a laugh.

I assured him that it was just a lovers' tiff.

He assured me that I was insane.

Just when we were starting to give up hope, the beautifully dark-skinned Astronomy Professor, Aurora Sinistra, surprised us with a lollipop each-and our luck took a swift, Honeydukes-sponsored turn for the better.

Sprout and Flitwick were happy to give us "treats", I managed to pout Pomfrey into giving us some chocolate-mostly to make us go away and quit bugging her so she could get back to work, the Muggle Studies Professor, Charity Burbage, almost had me swearing fealty with the number of sweets she pulled out of her own personal stash for us(plus, she complimented my costume-and has actually seen Alice in Wonderland-), Hagrid gave me chocolate and some pink coconut ice he'd been saving for me(and grudgingly gave Malfoy a single chocolate bar, seeming to enjoy his visit about as much as the blonde enjoyed visiting, which was not at all-I literally had to drag him down to Hagrid's hut, knowing it was guaranteed chocolate...with a 60/40 chance of getting a pillowcase full of rock cakes-), and even Lockhart took it all in good humour and ponied up(he also gave us each a signed headshot, which we probably should've seen coming; I'm using mine as a dartboard-Malfoy even said he'd supply the darts, so long as I let him play-and don't use them on him-).

When we asked Madam Pince, she made books levitate and chase us down the corridor(something about chocolate not being allowed! in the library).

After offering us liquorice snaps(which bit me, might I add)from the bowl on his desk, Dumbledore happily made it rain sweets.

-no doubt to avoid a civil suit for the child-biting liquorice.

The Care of Magical Creatures Professor, Silvanus Kettleburn, gave us Shock-o-Chocs and Exploding Bonbons.

(he has a wooden prosthetic arm, leg, and half a leg; from what I've heard, while he's mellowed since Dumbledore became headmaster, he's eccentric, reckless, and completely mental-and has had sixty-two probations, a still-standing record; eccentric is right, but I thought he seemed fun).

When we went to Professor Snape, he shut the door in our faces.

-only to open it again after a moment and hand us a bar of Honeydukes chocolate each.

"Aw, you looove us!" I teased.

"I wouldn't go that far," the Potions Master intoned dryly. "Knowing you, I just figured I'd take the path of least resistance."

Once again, we had the door shut in our faces.

"We are so the favourites," I told Malfoy, grinning smugly.

"Well, obviously-" he smirked, "I mean, it's certainly not your brother."

"Can you imagine Harry going trick or treating at Professor Snape's office?"

"I would pay to see that-" Malfoy sniggered.

"Something tells me Harry would pay enough for the both of us," I joked.

We started back to our common room.

And, as we did-

"Are you checking out my ass?"

Malfoy's face went bright red, and he jerked up.

"What? No. Shut up."

I grinned with my tongue between my teeth, highly amused.

"I didn't say you had to stop-I mean, my ass is fantastic-"

"Why do I talk to you again?" he wondered seriously, looking almost flustered.

"My fantastic ass, apparently."

We continued bickering all the way to the fireplace, where we set up on one of the leather sofas to sort through the fruits of our labour, trading here and there when we came across sweets we didn't like or that the other wanted and was willing to barter with.

Crabbe and Goyle were all grumpy, so I gave them some chocolate each, which thankfully shut them up.

"Alright, what the hell are you humming?" Malfoy abruptly snapped, slightly frustrated.

"You don't know Savoy Truffle? And I thought I had a depressing childhood-"

"Muggle song, got it," he nodded, losing interest.

"It's by the Beatles-" I added, "they're crazy famous-"

"Mmhm," he said distractedly.

"They're bigger than Jesus-"

"I'm sure they are."

"Hey, I just realised-you can't even ride a bike!"

"A what?"

Malfoy looked up blankly.

"You Purebloods make me so sad," I stated, waving a chocolate bar at him. "No, seriously-this is super upsetting. You know who can't ride bikes? Babies. Big-headed babies with no depth perception or sense of balance."

Malfoy didn't seem too torn up about it.

"Want my Shock-o-Chocs?"

"Obviously. Trade you some chocolate for some of your Exploding Bonbons?"

"Sure."

We traded sweets.

"Creme tangerine and Montelimar-" I sang under my breath as I sifted through my Halloween loot, causing the blonde to look up, an amused look on his face, "a ginger sling with a pineapple heart, coffee dessert, yes, you know it's good news, but you'll have to have them all pulled out, after the Savoy truffle. Cool cherry cream, nice apple tart, I feel your taste all the time we're apart, coconut fudge really blows down those blues, but you'll have to have them all pulled out, after the Savoy truffle-"

"You are so weird," he told me, grinning.

"And you can't ride a bike!" I retorted, sticking out my tongue.

"Does it look like I care?"

"I'm a telepath-" I lowered my voice, mockingly raising a hand to my head, "I can sense your inner turmoil-"

Malfoy snorted.

"You can, can you?"

"-and something about how drop-dead gorgeous I look in this dress-and, you know, always-"

"Tell me, does it hurt having to squeeze your massive head through doorways?"

"Hey, pot? This is the kettle-bite me."

꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ

At roughly seven-ish, I reluctantly dragged myself away from the common room where I had been losing, badly, against Malfoy at chess("Good night, Westley. Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning").

Mainly because I don't know the rules, don't care, and just move my pieces randomly without paying attention to the board.

-and let them get destroyed on purpose so I could see the chess pieces go mad and smash each other up for my own entertainment.

Which is not at all psychotic or anything.

But, likely, why everyone likes playing against me so much.

(I literally tried to make one of my pawns jump over his bishop, which I think is from checkers, and I ordered my castle to the billiard room, which is Cluedo, and my knight to W9, which-isn't a thing, and my other knight to OJ, which is juice-but, in my defence, I was kinda thirsty...at least I know I can't just guess where my opponent's pieces are and destroy them now, which is Battleship-and that getting my pieces in a diagonal line on the board doesn't mean I win, which is tic-tac-toe-).

I met up with Harry Ron and Hermione by the dungeon staircase.

I didn't trust myself anywhere near the Great Hall, which was giving off a golden view of gigantic jack-o'-lanterns and fluttering bats.

(I was satisfied to see that my twin, also taking "the path of least resistance", wisely hadn't washed off his face paint-probably because he knew, if he did, I'd hold him down and draw it back on in red permanent marker-).

Sir Nick had lined a passageway with long, thin, jet-black candles with bright blue flames that cast a dim, ghostly light over us.

It was the coolest thing I'd ever seen.

The others did not look nearly as impressed.

Even better(for the, you know, overall aesthetic), the further we went, the colder it got. I mean, I was freezing my fingerprints off, but I figure that'll just come in handy, should I decide to commit any crimes in the near future.

"You know, you'd be warmer if you were in uniform," Hermione told me, pointedly looking at the goosebumps below where my blouse sleeves ended.

"Truly you have a dizzying intellect," I quoted wryly without missing a beat.

Ron sniggered.

Hermione frowned at me, before rolling her eyes.

Harry bit back a grin only to shiver and pull his robes tighter.

Up ahead, we could hear this horrible screechy sound.

It was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

-correction, it was like hundreds of fingernails on hundreds of chalkboards.

I rubbed my ears, wincing.

"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered.

"If you call an overconfident tone-deaf person-" I mumbled, "enthusiastically playing the violin for the first time with a bread knife, music-"

When we turned the corner, we found Sir Nick floating in a doorway that had been decorated with black velvet drapes.

"My dear friends," he greeted in a mournful sort of way. "Welcome, welcome...so pleased you could come..."

Sweeping off his plumed hat, he bowed us into the room.

"Happy deathday, Sir Nick," I said with a slightly awkward smile as I passed, not really sure about the etiquette here.

"My thanks, Lady Jewel," he replied woefully.

"He called me Lady-" I bragged as soon as we were out of earshot, grinning.

"Jewel."

Hermione was giving me a stern look.

"What?" I blinked innocently.

Ron stifled a laugh.

It was like stepping into a walk-in freezer.

We could literally see our every breath.

A spectral orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform was playing thirty musical saws, emitting a characteristically ethereal timbre. It would probably be really amazing if it wasn't set at such a high, pitchy frequency.

A thousand more of those wicked black candles from the passageway had been placed on the chandelier, which blazed midnight blue.

Meanwhile, hundreds of ghosts drifted about the crowded dancefloor, waltzing to the quavering, painful sound the musical saws were producing.

I almost went up and asked them if their instruments needed to be put out of their misery, but figured that, if I did, Hermione would kill me.

"Shall we have a look around?" Harry said, mostly out of the need to walk around in an attempt to warm up his feet.

We started to skirt the edge of the dance floor.

"Careful not to walk through anyone," Ron cautioned nervously.

"And here I was-" I remarked, voice laced with sarcasm, "planning on doing cartwheels through ghosts-as if I wasn't already halfway to becoming a strawberry Potter Thai basil sorbet-"

We walked by a group of translucent, gloomy-looking nuns-a ragged man with chains like the Bloody Baron's-a knight with an arrow sticking straight out of his forehead who was chatting away with the Fat Friar-and the Bloody Baron himself, who was being given a wide berth by his fellow ghosts.

"Hi, Mr Baron!" I called over, waving blithely.

"Jewel!" Ron hissed, forcing my arm down and looking incredulous.

To Ron Harry and Hermione's shock, the Bloody Baron levelled his hollow, empty eyes on me-and rose a hand.

(I'm one of the few people, if the only person, that stops in the corridors or by Slytherin table to say hi to him; I think he finds how unphased I am by his intimidating, terrifying, chained-and blood-stained appearance kind of refreshing, but that might just be wishful thinking on my part-he doesn't seem to mind me, in any case-).

"Did the Bloody Baron just wave back at you?" Ron sputtered.

"I think he likes me," I boasted.

All three of them just stared at me blankly.

"Oh, no," Hermione said suddenly, catching sight of something that stopped her cold. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle-"

"Moaning Myrtle's here?" I looked around, surprised, "I didn't think she ever left her bathroom-"

"Who?" Harry questioned as Hermione forced us to backtrack quickly.

"She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor," she explained.

"I met her on Halloween last year," I chimed in, "when I was trying to find Hermione-" the look I shot Ron's way made his ears go pink, "it was an...experience-I don't think she liked me much-"

"She haunts a toilet?"

"Yes. It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway-" Hermione glanced at me, "if I could avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you-"

"I dunno-" I scratched the back of my head with my axe, "I've used her bathroom before when I was really busting, and I just started singing Come On Get Happy! by the Partridge Family really loud to drown her out-"

"Look, food!"

Startled and confused, I followed Ron's gaze to the other side of the dungeon where a long, black-velvet-covered table sat.

The others eagerly approached it, leaving me to more sedately follow on their heels.

"Uh, guys, I wouldn't-"

They ignored me, only stopping when they actually got a good look at what was on the table with horrified expressions.

"They're ghosts," I finished blandly, "they don't eat."

The smell coming from the table was stomach-turning, at best.

Large, rotting fish on silver platters; blackened and burned cakes piled high on fancy-looking salvers; haggis with maggots-

It looked like there should be a Use-By label somewhere warning that everything here is best eaten before February 11, 1960.

(don'tmakeacannibalismjokedon'tmakeacannibalismjokedon'tmakeacannibalismjoke-don't say that some of the ghosts here probably should've been eaten before February 11, 1960, too-).

And, sitting prominently amongst it all, was a massive grey cake shaped like a tombstone-which was amazing on so many levels.

(it had to be dark humour and, if it wasn't, the utter seriousness of it just made it funnier; like me showing up to the deathday party of a ghost who was executed with an axe so blunt it took 45 hacks to get the job done-at which point the executioner was like 'I don't get paid enough for this shit' and called it a day, because he, get this, tried to magically straighten the teeth of a lady-in-waiting at the court of King Henry VII, where he was not only knighted but a courtier, at her request...only to make her grow a tusk-where an exclusively headless club was expected to make an appearance, with a realistic foam Viking axe which, I can assure you, completely horrified Hermione-her face was so good, especially when Ron and Harry advised her to just "quit while she was behind"-).

And spelt out in black, almost tar-like icing:

SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON

DIED 31ST OCTOBER, 1492

As we watched, a portly man floated over, crouched down low, and walked into the table with his mouth opened as wide as possible; going right through one of the foul-looking/smelling salmon.

Harry was amazed.

"Can you taste it if you walk through it?" he asked the ghost.

"Almost," he replied sadly before drifting away.

"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavour," Hermione hypothesized, pinching her nose and leaning closer to get a look at what I downright refuse to believe used to be haggis-or legally considered food.

My own nose wrinkled and I leant back in the opposite direction.

Ron looked nauseous.

"Can we move? I feel sick."

"Seconded-"

I rose my heart-topped sceptre, face twisted in disgust.

We'd only just turned to leave when a familiar purveyor of mischief and mayhem, and the bane of Argus Filch's existence, unexpectedly swooped out from under the table and halted mid-air in front of us.

"Hello, Peeves," Harry said cautiously, making me smother a snigger.

Peeves was wearing a bright orange party hat and a bow tie that spun around.

"Nibbles?" he offered sweetly with that broad, wicked grin of his.

He held out a bowl of peanuts that were covered in some kind of fungus.

"No thanks," Hermione answered for all of us.

"Betelgeuse," I quipped with a smirk, waving my sceptre.

"Your majesty," Peeves returned mock reverently with a low, sweeping bow.

The others looked at me in disbelief.

"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," the poltergeist went on as he looked back at Hermione, orange eyes dancing. "Rude you was about poor Myrtle."

To her horror, he took in a huge breath.

"OY! MYRTLE!"

"This oughta be good-" I mumbled to Harry and Ron, biting back a grin of my own.

"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione was frantically whispering. "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her-er, hello, Myrtle."

Moaning Myrtle was a squat, see-through, greyish-silver fourteen-year-old girl with a glum face, thick pearly glasses, and lank hair.

"What?" Myrtle said, sounding sulky.

"How are you, Myrtle?" Hermione put on a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet."

Myrtle just sniffed.

"Hi, Myrtle," I threw in, once again waving my sceptre.

"Hmph," was all she said, not seeming exactly overjoyed to see me again.

-wow, this is so awkward.

I kind of love it.

"Miss Granger was just talking about you-" the poltergeist was slyly saying in the amazingly touchy teenage ghost's ear. "Just saying-"

"Just saying-saying-how nice you look tonight!"

While Hermione glared at Peeves, Myrtle eyed her suspiciously.

"You're making fun of me."

Silver tears were quickly welling up in her eyes.

"If this was a telenovela-" I murmured quickly to my twin and Ron, "this would totally be about when it'd be revealed that Hermione was the one who murdered Myrtle, not her twin sister Hermy-owna, of whom she framed and also murdered to cover up her crime but, plot twist, she's still alive and living in the walls, planning her ultimate revenge-also, there would be a baby-there's always a baby-"

"No-honestly-didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?"

Hermione looked to us for backup.

Harry and Ron were too busy staring at me weirdly to notice.

So, she painfully nudged them in the ribs, as one does.

"Oh, yeah-"

"She did-"

"Sí!" I quipped before I could receive the same treatment, tongue curled puckishly behind my teeth.

Harry barely stifled a snort.

"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped as the tears flooded down her face and Peeves happily chuckled over her shoulder. "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"You've forgotten pimply," Peeves hissed in her ear.

The anguished ghost girl broke out in sobs.

Before we had the chance to react, she'd fled the dungeon with Peeves on her heels pelting her with fungus-y peanuts.

"Pimply! Pimply!"

"Oh, dear," Hermione said sadly.

"Yeah," I agreed uncomfortably, sobering slightly. "With Myrtle, there's a line, you know?" I added to Harry and Ron with a grimace, "She gets riled up really easily, and she might not be able to take it but she can give it better than she lets on, but she's miserable enough-why add to it? She'll just start bawling her eyes out, and you'll feel like a bully. But, as everybody knows, Peeves sees a line, and he limbo's under it while People Who Died by The Jim Carroll Band plays in the background-or he picks it up and plays fetch-or keep away-"

Sir Nick floated our way.

"Enjoying yourselves?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," the others lied, not well.

Luckily, Sir Nick didn't seem to notice.

"Not a bad turnout," he said proudly. "The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent...It's nearly time for my speech, I'd better go warn the orchestra..."

Almost as if on cue, the 'music' stopped.

A hunting horn sounded, and the ghosts-and Harry Ron and Hermione all fell silent and started to look around excitedly.

Sir Nick was less enthused.

"Oh, here we go," he said bitterly.

A dozen headless horsemen riding ghostly mounts burst through the far wall, galloping into the middle of the dance floor as the rest of the guests cheered.

When he caught sight of his house ghost's expression, Harry quickly stopped clapping.

The horses reared up as they came to a halt before plunging back down.

The ghost blowing the horn, and leading the charge, had a bearded head beneath his arm-likely his own.

"Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore, I presume," I dryly remarked to Sir Nick, who had an unpleasant look on his face.

He fought back a grimace.

"Hey, more like-Sir Poorly-Dressed, huh?" I joked, trying to cheer him up. "Wait, wait, wait-Sir Poser Delusional-Pratmore-"

"Jewel!" Hermione hissed, shooting me a look.

Which I, of course, took as a challenge.

"Sir Pretentious Dead-Lame-y Snoremore-"

"Sir Pillock Braggadocio-"

"Sir Plebeian, the Dead Weight-Pinhead-"

"Sir Popinjay, Earl of Knobheads, Viscount of Dimwits, Baron Montagu of Pricks-"

"Sir Rejected Cereal Box Mascot-"

"Sir...Insert Something Sarcastic and Thought-Provoking About the Huntsman That Cut Little Red out of the Big Bad Wolf-"

"Sir Pattycake Dead-As-A-Dodo Mor-on-"

"Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore-that one was just actual his name, but I feel like that's insulting enough-"

"Sir Pedestrian Pointless-"

"Sir Phallocentric Hyphen-Punchable, Show of Hands, Who Wants To Stick Him With A Claymore-"

Harry and Ron were struggling to keep straight faces, and Ron's shoulders were shaking, which only ticked Hermione off even more.

Meanwhile, Sir Patty had leapt down from his horse and was now holding up his head to see over the crowd, making the other ghosts laugh.

Seeing Sir Nick, he strode towards us, squishing his head back on.

"Sir Pompous Dick-Less Is More-" I said quickly.

"Jewel-!"

"Sir Properly-Decapitated Podmore," Sir Nick added wryly under his breath, startling Hermione and making Harry and Ron cough to cover their laughter.

I snorted, grinning up at the ghost whose lips were twitching.

From the looks of it, he'd warmed up to me a great deal in the past thirty seconds.

For a moment, I almost felt bad for systematically insulting a bloke I'd literally never met.

-but then I met him.

"Nick!" Sir Patty roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?"

With a hearty guffaw, he clapped Sir Nick's shoulder.

"Welcome, Patrick," Sir Nick stiffly replied.

Sir Patty spotted us.

"Live uns!"

With a huge jump and obvious feigned astonishment, his head popped off.

Behind him, the other ghosts were howling with laughter.

-not a high bar for comedy in death, I see.

"Very amusing," Sir Nick said darkly.

"For a three-year-old, maybe-" I muttered to the ghost, who bit back a smile.

"Don't mind Nick!" the bearded head on the floor shouted. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say-look at the fellow-"

Sir Nick looked at Harry meaningfully, and my twin hurriedly took his cue.

"I think Nick's very-frightening and-er-"

"Ha!" the head yelled. "Bet he asked you to say that!"

At that moment, I felt fully justified in my insult parade against the headless ghost.

(look, he might have a point about not letting Sir Nick join the Headless Hunt, but that doesn't mean he isn't an asshole; I mean, the bloke literally just arrived three seconds ago and he's already insulted/disrespected and upstaged Sir Nick at his own deathday party in front of all of his guests-).

"Sir Nick's a bloody knight-" I cut in sassily, unable to bite my tongue, and the nearly-but-not-to-these-gits-standards-headless ghost looked at me in surprise, "which means he's gallant, respectful, noble, polite, and he holds himself at a higher standard than your average headless ghost. But knights also slay dragons, and you can only push a man so far before he punts your decapitated head out a window. So, if I were you, I'd watch it, Pat."

Sir Patty blinked at me several times, dumbfounded.

Hermione didn't seem to know if she should be annoyed/exasperated by my general attitude or give me points for sticking up for her house ghost.

Ron and Harry were grinning at me.

Sir Nick, on the other hand, had his chest puffed out.

"Didn't you say it was time for your speech, Sir Nick?" I added to the ghost, who smiled at me warmly.

"Of course. Thank you, Lady Jewel," he nodded appreciatively, his eyes conveying his gratitude. "If I could have everyone's attention-" Sir Nick rose his voice to the crowd, "it's time for my speech!"

Striding off, he climbed a podium bathed in icy blue light.

"My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow..."

The rest of his speech was drowned out when-completely disregarding everything I said-Sir Patty and his headless donkeys started up a game of Head Hockey.

The crowd turned away from Sir Nick to watch, leaving him struggling in vain to try to recapture their attention.

Sir Patty's head sailed past the deathday boy, and the ghosts all cheered loudly.

Sir Nick deflated, seemingly giving up.

My eye twitched and my hand flexed on my axe.

Screw it.

"Hold please-"

I shoved my sparkly sceptre at Harry, dodging an alarmed-looking Hermione's attempt to grab my arm to stop me and stalking towards the Headless Hunt; walking right through ghosts when they wouldn't let me by and ignoring the horrible chill it gave me(like being repeatedly doused by buckets of ice water, which the already freezing dungeon didn't help-).

Stopping by one of the ghost horses, I put my fingers in my mouth, whistling sharply.

"OI, SIR PATTY!"

The ghosts all jerked around to stare at me, and Sir Nick looked up quickly from the podium, but I didn't remove my flashing green eyes from the startled head of Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.

"Sir Nick is trying to SPEAK, if you didn't notice-" I growled, "so, I don't know, maybe DON'T be a DISRESPECTFUL ASSHOLE! You aren't the guest of honour, SIR NICK is. YOU'RE just lucky he was nice enough to invite you at all, you SELF-OBSESSED, POMPOUS, ATTENTION HOG! It's his DEATHDAY, for Merlin's sake!"

I slashed my axe threateningly.

-in front of several headless ghosts.

"So you better SIT DOWN and SHUT UP or, to quote Herman Munster, I'm gonna knock your head off. And then I'm gonna go out for coffee. Even better, I'll ask Peeves if he's up for a game of Head Keep Away-or Head Hide and Seek. I hope none of you minds having your headless bodies swim about Black Lake for the next several days trying to find your heads after he's decided that the Merpeople might like some company."

"Er-right-" Sir Patty swallowed, looking uncomfortable by the look I was levelling on him-practised, perfected, and Bina Smith (Bubbe) certified to send a three-headed dog running with its tail between its legs.

"And what do we say when we know we've been a disrespectful dick?" I added mockingly, speaking like I was talking to a misbehaving child.

"Sorry, Nick," the bearded head hastily apologised, coughing.

"Good Headless Huntsman," I praised with a patronizing smirk.

Sir Nick was looking at me with newfound respect, taking no small amount of satisfaction in the position a twelve-year-old witch had put the "head" of the Headless Hunt in.

"Sir Nick-" I said, gesturing for the ghost to take the floor, before twirling on my heel and casually skipping back to my open-mouthed friends/twin.

"My thanks, Lady Jewel. Now, where was I...ah, yes-"

As I bounced by, I shot the Fat Friar a wave, which he returned cheerfully with a broad smile, and blew a joking kiss at the Bloody Baron, whose face remained expressionless as ever.

(for a second there though, I could've sworn I saw his eyebrows lift slightly, but I probably imagined it-).

"Whelp, that's my good deed for the year," I hummed as I reached Harry Ron and Hermione, accepting my sceptre from my amused twin.

"That was the best thing I've ever seen-" Ron said, in awe.

Hermione was pinching the bridge of her nose, once again torn between disapproving of my actions but approving of my reasons.

Sir Nick finished his speech uninterrupted-and, as the orchestra's high-pitched saws started back up again, ghosts swept back out onto the dance floor.

Ron's teeth were chattering.

"I can't stand much more of this," he muttered.

"Let's go," agreed a cold/hungry Harry.

"Maybe we can still catch the tail-end of the feast-" I added, perking up.

Backing awkwardly towards the exit(all the while nodding and smiling brightly at anyone who looked our way), we made our hasty escape.

"Pudding might not be finished yet," Ron mentioned hopefully as he led the way to the steps that would take us up to the Entrance Hall.

"Merlin, I could go for some pudding-" I responded wistfully, "I'm so hungry, I almost started chewing on my sceptre-more than once-" I shook said sceptre at them, "you can eat those macaroni art projects, probably-and they both use glitter glue, it's the same thing-"

"Wait, really?" Ron said, displaying why I sometimes love Pureblood ignorance as much as I hate it(it's fun to screw with them and watch them get that blank/stupid look on their faces, but none of these prats ever get my jokes/Muggle references-also, all the racism and discrimination, which isn't fantastic-).

"No," Hermione stated emphatically.

Suddenly, Harry stumbled and stopped dead.

Clutching onto the stone wall beside him, he squinted up and down the dimly-lit passage, looking like he was listening hard for something.

"You good there, Scotchy?" I looked at him weirdly...only to realise, in a flash of telepathic clarity, that he'd heard it again, "-Oh, shit."

"Harry, what're you-?"

"It's that voice again-shut up a minute-"

Hermione Ron and I froze, watching him and not hearing a thing-but, thanks to my you-know-what, I could tell he was definitely hearing something.

Or was convinced he was, anyway.

"Listen!"

Whatever it was, I could tell from his mind, was growing fainter as it moved away-and had been "hungry for so long" and wanted to "rip, tear, and kill".

Harry's gaze flew up where he seemed to think the voice was travelling and he stared at the dark ceiling, fear and excitement gripping him.

"This way!"

He shot off, leaving us scrambling to follow.

We ran behind the single-minded Gryffindor all the way up the steps, into the entrance, and up the staircase leading to the first floor.

(-away from the Great Hall, which was alight with candles, laughter, and people who didn't have to chase their twin brothers around the castle because they're hearing a disembodied murderous voice-that nobody else can hear-in the walls-).

"Harry, what're we-"

"SHH!"

I tried to concentrate on Harry's mind, which was hard with Hermione and Ron's confused, lost, and concerned thoughts rushing at me-not to mention the fact that I had to make a concentrated effort to not trip headfirst onto my face up the stairs-but I think he heard something about the voice smelling blood, which made both of our stomachs lurch-

"It's going to kill someone!" Harry shouted.

Hermione and Ron looked at me with bewildered faces, but I just shrugged and chased after my twin as he rushed up the next flight of stairs.

We ran the length of the second floor only to turn the corner into the last deserted passage where we finally stopped, struggling to catch our breaths.

"Harry, what was that all about?" Ron panted as he wiped his sweaty face. "I couldn't hear anything..."

Before Harry could answer, or I could raise my own concerns(from experience I know that, mental health-wise, "hearing things" like this isn't usually a good thing, or something you should keep to yourself and pretend isn't happening-especially when the "things" you're hearing seemingly belong to something living in the walls of your school and keeps talking about killing things-), Hermione gasped.

She pointed at something beyond us.

"Look!"

On the wall up ahead, something was-shining?

Despite my reservations(and the alarm bells sirens spinning in my head), when the others slowly started to approach, I followed.

We squinted, trying to make it out.

There were words smeared on the wall.

They were a foot-high, at least, with windows on either side and flaming torches that cast light over them, making them shimmer.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

Something about "the Chamber of Secrets" rang a faint bell, but I couldn't immediately put my finger on what it was, or where I'd heard it before.

"Is that-real blood?" I blurted, eyes widening.

"No, it probably isn't-I mean-" Hermione stammered, looking disturbed.

"What's that thing-hanging underneath?" Ron said, his voice quivering slightly.

They edged closer.

And, mentally cursing out all Gryffindors everywhere, so did I.

Harry almost slipped on the water pooling on the floor, but Hermione and Ron grabbed and steadied him before he could.

There was a dark shadow we only noticed when we inched even closer to the wall, hanging beneath the bloody words daubed on the stone...

The second we saw it, and comprehended what it was, Harry Ron and Hermione leapt back in horror, making the water at our feet splash, and I froze.

It was Mrs Norris, hanging by her tail from a torch bracket; her wide, lifeless eyes boring into ours.

Reviews/Replies*̥˚✧!

Solti: Jax and Levi are adorable. I still have a voice message on my phone from when Jax called me, and I missed it, so he said "I love you, Auntie Baby, bye". It's so cute. He calls me "Auntie Baby" because I'd call him "baby" when he was little-r and he'd call me "Baby" and it just became a thing (he refused to believe my name is Abby and not "Baby"). It is pretty overwhelming having the kids running around all the time, and having to watch them all day, but we kinda take it in shifts (me, my mum, and my younger brothers). One or two of us will be around for about an hour or two or more while the others hide/take a break, then we'll switch. There's no real system in place yet, but we're working on it. I have to set up my laptop in the living room, so when I'm writing I'm kinda the backup/constant babysitter. I wanted to have a situation where Jewel acts immaturely/does something wrong and has to recognise her behaviour and apologise (some of the OCs I've read, while enjoyable, are just a bit too perfect; I wanted to show Jewel being more human and, with her emotional intelligence hinging on her telepathy, she doesn't have a good read/handle on her own feelings and I wanted to shine a light on that). Draco and Jewel are so obviously into each other-but because they're always bickering, no one...except for Professor Snape and Dumbledore who have their suspicions has really clocked it yet (and Jewel spending a month trying to maim him over Quidditch would've just cemented in people's minds that they hate each other when it couldn't be further from the truth). Snape would totally be Jewel and Draco's wingman; they're 100% his favourite students. Snape noticed what was happening, and would've glimpsed some of Jewel's feelings during their lessons together, and decided she needed a bit of tough love to snap her out of it before she did irreparable damage to her relationship with Draco (like he did with Lily when he started hanging out with Lucius Malfoy and his lot and called her a "Mudblood"). I'm glad you enjoyed it! :) I did my best to explain how Jewel felt when she saw Draco, and the Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones, and why she reacted so badly in a way that was satisfying for the people who read it, for her character arc, and for the development of hers and Draco's relationship.

SterekDestiel4ever: Don't worry, I couldn't even tell English wasn't your first language; your comment was very well composed :). I'm happy you like it! Yeah, Jewel is not a "good girl" and she has no business trying to "fix" anybody seeing as she's such a mess/cocky asshole herself. And yeah, initially Jewel was worried about balancing the animosity with the Gryffindors and Slytherins and her and Harry smack dab in the middle of it-but being "The Girl Who Lived"/'famous' gives her more leeway and no one wants to mess with her after she went all scorched earth on Harry's behalf the year before (one of the Slytherin team's/Flint's problems with her is literally that they see her jumping between house tables and don't like it/don't think she's fully on "their" side-hence, why they kept Draco/their plan to screw with the Gryffindors from her). Jewel is also annoying as hell, as her Slytherin friendsconstantly tell her (but in a jokey "you annoy me, but you've kinda grown on me, so it's more endearing now" kinda way). She is not universally loved, but she doesn't care about that; she only cares about the opinions of the people closest to her and, as long as they love her in all her messy/annoying/psychotic - ness, she's happy. And yeah, I figured her whole "hair thing" wouldn't be a quirk Snape finds endearing. I always find it ironic that Snape is Team Draco and hates Harry when Draco is actually more like teenage James than Harry is (they're both arrogant, sheltered, spoilt bullies and only children-though Sirius was arguably James's 'adopted' brother-from rich Pureblood families who later mature a bit and become better people, though in the books Draco wasn't really redeemed or irredeemable-he was kind of at the crossroads; James just had the benefit of being placed in the "good people" house and making really close/ride or die friends while Draco was stuck with Crabbe and Goyle-it's literally been said somewhere that one of the things Draco was jealous of Harry for was his close friendships with Hermione and Ron). While he is a flawed character, I adore Snape. I just think he needed more hugs. His behaviour towards Harry/Neville/the Gryffindors is super not okay, but the whole story is from Harry's perspective (like Ted's from HIMYM; I had a music teacher I hated but, looking back now, she really wasn't that bad-just strict). He's a hardass with zero patience for stupidity, they wouldn't of liked him anyway. I'll do my best to keep writing (I'm editing and uploading this from Quotev/Wattpad so updates will slow down once I'm up-to-date in about two more chapters, and I have Tafe and my two tiny destructive nephews have temporarily moved in with me so it's hard to find time to write, but I'll try to get chapters up as regularly as I can). I've written Harry Potter fanfics before and the furthest I've gotten is the Department of Mysteries in OotP. I'm just aiming to finish this book (Book 1 is years 1 - 4, Book 2 is going to be years 5 - 7) before tackling the second.

HermioneChase007: I'm happy you think so! :) I do my best to balance the serious stuff with humour so that that way, when people read it, it just makes it a more enjoyable experience. Also, I'm a very jokey/sarcastic person so I literally can not help myself (Jewel had to get it somewhere XD). Sometimes, I read fanfics where everything is very angsty and I just end up feeling heavy/bummed out. It's a more fun when they throw in some humour/fluff and, even when it isn't the best-written fanfiction ever, you just end up smiling at places, you know? I've read not-very-well-written fanfics that just end up making me grin like an idiot.

Hollypop2014: *eats digital cookie* Thanks! XD Draco definitely knows exactly how he feels about Jewel. He wouldn't let her get away with half of what he does if he didn't have a massive crush on her. It hit him in the gut when he saw her save Flint's ass during her first Quidditch match, and it just got worse when he confronted how much he enjoyed arguing with her. When he realised she's a Legilimens, he thought she knew how he felt and was super embarrassed-but it also would've sucked, thinking she knew but kept repeatedly stressing how much she disliked him as a human being anyway. When he realised she couldn't read him clearly, and had no idea how he felt, it just underscored how terrible of a Legilimens she is. Powerful, but hilariously/comically terrible. Now, he's more frustrated/incredulous (but also kind of relieved for obvious reasons) that she's just so willfully dense about his feelings-and even worse when it comes to her own. And Jewel isn't actually all that clueless. On some level, she also knows exactly how she feels about him and vice versa-but she has a lot she has to deal with before she'll admit it, even to herself. Draco Malfoy is the embodiment of everything Jewel resented/loathed/didn't have growing up, and he and Harry despise each other. It makes sense for her to hate him. But she doesn't, so she's stubbornly convinced herself that she does because it's easier/less complicated that way (and initially, it was easy, but then she vented to him about Flint and Quidditch and he snuck Pucey down to the paddock by Hagrid's and everything tilted). A fact she will eventually have no choice but to be confronted with, one way or another.

Guest: Thank you! I didn't like leaving the previous chapter with them in such a bad place, but this was a live grenade that was armed when Flint refused to let her try out for the Slytherin team-Jewel still hadn't dealt with any that, and Draco joining the team behind her back and buying his way in just set it off. She needed to have this talk, if only to vent, and it helped give Draco a better understanding of Jewel and her dynamic with the rest of the team-which he is not cool with (he especially couldn't understand why she'd always had a quick retort for him, but let Walsh and Bletchley treat her like they do, which pissed him off on her behalf).

Leofrick: I've seen fanfics on here that reply like this, and I thought it'd be a fun way to answer responses/questions, so I'm happy you enjoy it! I feel like it gives a bit more insight into what's going on in the story, you know? And with Snape, I wanted to write a telepathy lesson scene and have some Snape/Jewel and I thought this would be a good way to get Jewel to talk things out with Draco-especially when she's so against "talking". Experiences in her childhood, and previous less-than-ideal experiences with therapy, make it hard for her to "open up". And she's stubborn, which doesn't help. It actually all ties into the trauma that led to Jewel being adopted by the Morrisseys in the [almost] two years ago flashback back in Act 1. But she's working on it, and you'll see her confide in people more as time goes on and she learns that it's okay and that she can express how she's feeling without negative repercussions. With her teammates, some of it is on Jewel-she puts a lot of pressure/stress on herself and she recognises that. The rest of it is them being assholes, but it'll bother her a lot less going forward, and things will improve throughout Act 2. Flint and the others also treat her differently, as mentioned above, because she's on friendly terms with the Gryffindors, and always bouncing between tables, and her twin is their Seeker-she literally attacked Flint for fouling Harry their first match-so it feels like, to them, that she's not entirely on "their" side. They know she's competitive, and a damn good Beater, but they don't really realise how deeply that goes or how much Quidditch means to her. Yet, anyway. And Draco is super spiteful-as soon as he ordered his Nimbus Two Thousand and One, you just know he was mentally scripting what he'd make Jewel say when she predictably asked to see/fly it. And Jewel, as I've mentioned, is not infallible but when it comes to Draco she does, on some level, know that what they feel for each other is not hate and never really has been-but whenever she gets close to actually admitting it, she panics and immediately changes the subject. I plan on torturing Draco for a looong while before she finally outright says, 'okay, fine, I like you'-but that doesn't mean their relationship won't progress in that direction way before she finally says the words.

Happydragon5: 100% agreed. I figure I can buy all the geeky replicas/memorabilia I want as long as I have a decent nest egg to fall back on when I need to pay school fees-because "adult responsibilities", whoopee! I'm glad you like the pink converse (and Dreamy). I have plans for other "trademarks" for Jewel as her style evolves as she gets older. I honestly can't wait to write about Jewel properly interacting with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. She is literally the girl they probably had nightmares of Draco bringing home someday. But she's also a badass and her fame/reputation in the wizarding community is something they'd value enough to "allow"/not seriously argue against the relationship (and it won't be any easier for Jewel, trying to "play nice" with Lucius in particular when she and Draco are dating-because his dad is someone Draco really looks up to and he'd want him to approve of her). Jewel is one of my favourite OCs I've ever created. She's just really fun to write for. I have sooo much planned. And as I've brought up before at some point, I imagine Draco would be a lot nicer/more pleasant to people he actually likes. In the books/movies, we only ever really see him being a dick to Harry/etc.-or putting on a front around the other Slytherins. Never mind a girl he fancies who totally likes him back but is too stubborn to admit it/wilfully blind to her own feelings.