Chapter Three: Hogsmeade
A.K.A. Fuck

"Fuck," Alison mumbles to herself, getting ready to go to Hogsmeade. "Margaret is going to Hogsmeade with Oliver. And Marcus is going with his stupid little Slytherin Quidditch team. Thank Merlin I didn't ask him to go to Hogsmeade with me. I would've looked like a right prat." She starts walking into the common room. "Why do you have to go to Hogsmeade with somebody, anyway? That's stupid. Why can't you just go to Hogsmeade by yourself?"

She then notices that everybody was staring at her. "What? Is there something wrong with wearing Muggle clothes, then? Fuck off," she hisses, not realizing that they, too, are wearing Muggle clothes. "Shit, this Hogsmeade thing is really frustrating… ugh! I wish I had other friends." She sighs.

In the corridor, Alison bumps into Margaret and Oliver. "Hi, Alison," they say in unison, smiling. She nods and walks off, seething.

"What's her problem?" asks Oliver. Margaret shrugs, trying to make the best of being with Oliver.

They trail down the hall toward the carriages that take them to Hogsmeade. Arriving there, they find themselves in a carriage with Marcus and Adrian Pucey. (The rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team are in the next carriage, squished together.) They sit there in an awkward silence.

Marcus and Oliver glare at each other in silence. Margaret fidgets uneasily. Adrian sleeps, occasionally falling on Marcus's shoulder. Every time it happens, Marcus pushes him off immediately. There is always silence. Maybe Marcus should've asked Alison to go to Hogsmeade with him instead.

Meanwhile, Alison, a few carriages down, is sitting all alone, wishing that she had some other friends. She decides to "make conversation with herself," instead. "What would it be like, I wonder, to be a prisoner of war? I think that would really suck, especially if you're a girl. Who knows what they'd do to you!"

"Deatheaters… they're some evil sons-of-bitches. But I guess maybe not, because they all sold Voldemort out…" She looks pensive for a moment. "I suppose they're just cowards, then. Yeah, that makes sense. They're just cowards."

Suddenly, she begins to look anxious. She shuffles her feet, glancing out the window, and wrings her hands together. "Marcus… what if Marcus becomes a Deatheater? Oh, Marcus… No. Marcus would never do that. He's not stupid." She pauses. "Well, he's not that stupid, anyway."

Alison really is a sad little girl. She must be if she talks to herself. At least, that's what her fellow students and the professors thought, at any rate.

They all arrive at Hogsmeade and 'go their separate ways.' Marcus and his 'crew' go to have a glass or two (or seven) of Butterbeer. Alison, left to her own devices, walks around aimlessly, stating aloud that she will "ruin that bloody Golden Boy Harry Potter" when she gets back to Hogwarts; if she remembers, that is. And Margaret and Oliver go to the sweets shop, Honeydukes.

"Oh! Let's get some of this," squeals Margaret, throwing a bunch of candy into Oliver's arms. "Ooh and some of this! And these! And… ew! Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I hate those!"

"I agree— Wow! Look at all of the chocolate!" Oliver grabs at least six of each kind, trying to fit all of it his hands. They finally walk up to pay, splitting it even. They each end up paying about three Galleons each.

They walk out of the shop, spotting Marcus and his 'mates' (more like followers) looking in the window at the Quidditch brooms and such, like a group of kids. Alison, too, spots them, and tells them outright what she thinks.

"You all look like a bunch of sissy five-year-olds," Alison scoffs. "Look at you! Staring in the broom shop window, acting as though you can't buy any of it! The idea of it is just—you can buy it, can't you?" Seeing ashamed faces, she screams "The lot of you are poor? The thought! Marcus, I—"

"I'm not poor," Marcus says indignantly. "I have enough money to buy you a bloody diamond ring!"

"What the hell, Flint? You didn't actually buy her one, did you? What, are you in love with her or something?" spits out a boy on his right.

"Fuck off, Montague. It was just a bloody example, for fuck's sake," Adrian Pucey hisses in Marcus's defense.

"Oh, both of you fuck off," Alison suddenly shouts. "You're the ones acting like poufs. I swear you all act like you're going to jump at each other at any moment. My precious Marcus is too good for you lot but he continuously runs off with you despite of it all. It's driving me mad."

She walks off, mumbling to herself. "Why any boy Marcus's age would want to hang out with a bunch of fairies instead of me, or any girl for that matter, is a mystery. Do you think he's gay? Fuck, I hope not."

"Shit, Alison really needs to get some other friends," says Oliver shaking his head. He leads Margaret over to sit on a bench and hurries off to get some drinks for them while they eat some of their chocolate.

Oliver came back and the Weasley twins came by, glancing at them with wide grins on their faces. "Oi," Fred or George began, "you—"

"—two finally—"

"—admitted you like—"

"—each other and—"

"—are going out now?"

"Um… n-… well, I guess you could say that…" Oliver was blushing so much he could barely get the words out. Margaret was speechless, also blushing.

The twins shake their heads, and run off to Zonko's Joke Shop to "meet up—with Lee, of course—who else?" Oliver and Margaret slowly get over their discomfort and begin laughing.

"It must be weird, don't you think?" giggles Margaret. "Me and you are… well, we are going out, right?" Oliver nods and Margaret continues. "We're going out but Alison and Marcus aren't. They're getting farther apart, if anything. You saw them, didn't you? They were practically going at each other's throats!"

"I wouldn't say that. Thornewell wasn't really talking to Flint," Oliver points out. "She was talking to his friends. The main thing isn't that they're "drifting apart." Flint is too defensive; he's too stubborn. He'll never admit he likes her, even though most people can tell, anyway. And Thornewell is… well, she acts fucking daft. She acts as though she doesn't know that he's in love with her."

"She doesn't realize it, you know. I've told her thousands of times. And he acts… you can just tell, damn it. I mean, Lee Jordan doesn't go around worrying that she's hurt in the hospital wing. Flint does. That must count that he at least cares about her, right? So why can't she see that he… fuck, how can she not see he loves her?"

"…you think she's a bloody idiot, don't you? Of course you do. It's a wonder she ended up in Ravenclaw at all, you know. Fucking hell, she should be in Slytherin. Everyone knows it. She's like the fucking spawn of Satan; or worse, You-Know-Who."

"Oliver, don't you darebad-mouth Alison! She is not the spawn of Satan or Vol— You-Know-Who. And if you say that about her again, I don't care if you're brilliant or if you're bloody gorgeous—"

"What?" sputters Oliver blushing, but swelling with pride all the same. Margaret realizes what she said, and she, too, blushes ridiculously, trying to stutter out that she didn't mean what she said. "Oh, piss off. You think I'm gorgeous, you just said so yourself."

He smirks and Margaret blushes even more. "I didn't," she declares softly, as she and Oliver edge closer. "I didn't…"

"You stupid bloody Weasleys! All of you are nothing but trouble! And you, Lee Jordan, are the scum of the wizarding world! One day, you will all suffer the horrible consequences of karma!" Alison really did need to stop screaming and interrupting everything. It really was quite annoying.

"I swear, Ali—Thornewell, you really need to stop shouting at the poor little Gryffindor scum. Even they don't deserve to hear you yelling in their ear every second of the day, you know. It really is indecent of you." Marcus's voice is reeking with mirth. "I swear one day you're going to lose your voice and you won't be able to talk anymore."

You can hear the smile in Alison's voice as she says, "Oh, no, Marcus, you know I'd never let that happen. After all, I wouldn't be able to cheer you on at Quidditch or anything anymore, would I? Besides, everyone would miss my voice and you know it. It might be annoying sometimes, but it sounds quite nice most of the time, doesn't it?"

"You are so full of yourself," Montague buts in. "Your voice is always annoying, you bloody prat." Bad move. You could actually hear Alison punch him, and all the way to Hogwarts, too.

"I almost feel sorry for the boy. He's only a third year, after all," says Oliver, shaking his head, trying to get rid of the discomfort he feels.

"No way," Margaret states. "He must be daft. He ought to know that Alison will knock anybody flat. And if she won't, Flint sure as hell will. He's just stupid. He's not worth pitying, if he's even worth anything at all."

"Well, when you put it that way…" Oliver agrees. "You sound like a genius, you know. I think you ought to have been the one put in Ravenclaw. You're the smart one out of you two, not Thornewell."

"No, I don't think so. I'm not doing nearly as well as Alison is in any of my classes and she has most of her classes with the sixth years… I'm only smarter than Alison when it comes to things like common sense. She doesn't have much common sense. That's what she says, anyway."

"Thornewell isn't full of herself. She sounds like she bloody hates herself, if anything."

"Oh, that's not it at all, though. She's really not stupid or full of herself. And she can't hate herself. If anything at all, she's just weird. You see, sometimes she thinks she's the only one intelligent enough for her to talk to."

"Yeah, she's weird all right. She's bloody…" He shakes his head, amazed. "Fuck."

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. They are the property of J.K. Rowling. I am in no way profiting from this except for the development of writing techniques and the sick fascination I get when I write this.

A/N: Alright! Another chapter up and no one forced me to write it this time! I think I'm really getting in to this now. Yeah, that must be it. But I swear, if anyone gets mad at me for the way I'm writing this, I'll go mad. I'm almost exactly like Alison, you know. Especially in one point: I'm incredibly opinionated and extremely biased.

About the Story: If there is any slang or anything that you do not understand, you can send an me email or tell me about it in your review. (hint hint)