Chapter Four: Hooky?

A.K.A. Alison's "New Look"

"I can't believe you ditched me for Oliver Wood! It was bad enough Marcus abandoned for those bloody half-wits he calls friends, but then you deserted me too!" shouts Alison the next morning in the Great Hall.

"I know. I'm sorry. But today I'll make it up to you! We're gonna skip class and go do something fun!" Margaret cheers quietly.

"Like what? What can we do inside Hogwarts that's any fun?" Alison glances around quickly. "Um, we're not gonna get in trouble for this, are we?"

"Look, you can pretend to be sick, ok? I'll just say I took care of you. Hell, I am your best friend. I have nothing better to do than look after you, now do I?" Margaret winks playfully. "Besides, you get sick all the time so everyone will believe you. And, anyway, you lie all the time about being sick and getting hurt so I don't see—"

"Oh, no, don't go accusing me of lying all the time! I only lied a few times to get out of Flying Lessons… and History of Magic… and that one time in Herbology… ok, I see your point… but this is Potions! And I never miss Potions unless it's serious, you know that!"

"That's exactly why he'll believe you. And, since this seems to make you even more upset, we won't even take the whole day off. We'll leave now, have some fun and come in a little late to Potions, alright? I might get in trouble for an "unexcused tardy" again, but that's just Snape, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Alison says hesitantly. Margaret stands up and starts leading her away. "Where are we going? What are you going to do to me?"

"You'll see. Don't look so scared; it's not gonna hurt." Margaret smiles comfortingly, but it only makes Alison even more nervous. "It's not like I'm gonna take out your eyeballs or something. Look, if everything turns out right—which it will—you and me will have a nice time and you'll have a surprise for everyone in Potions! And in the school, too, I guess. And, if we're really lucky, Flint will like it! How's that sound?"

"Marcus? Well, um…"

"It's Flint for fuck's sake, Alison. Come on!"

"Ok, ok, but if something goes wrong—"

"It won't! Oh, I've been dying to see you like this forever! Oh, you'll look so cute! I can't wait!" Margaret starts dragging Alison toward the Hufflepuff dormitories.

"…now I'm really scared," Alison mumbles. She is very worried; Margaret doesn't usually drag her around, especially not in the middle of the morning saying things about Alison's (soon to be cuter) cuteness.

"What—?" Alison stares as she walks into the dorm. Margaret had enchanted one side of it into some sort of hair solon and Alison is now very, very scared. Margaret never seemed fond of anything defined as "girly" and doing hair was definitely girlish.

"Sit, Alison; sit down in the bloody chair! Take off your glasses. Glasses off! Ok, now… gotta get this stupid thing around you… there! Alright…" Margaret pulls a pair of scissors from out the vanity-cabinet in front of her. They clink together as she opens and closes them. "Hold still… if you're scared, don't look."

Alison closes her eyes tightly as Margaret cuts off snippets of her hair. "Please don't make it look stupid. What is it supposed to look like anyway?" The scissors are too close to Alison's ears for her to be comfortable. "Oi, watch me ear, eh?"

"I don't know what it's supposed to look like; I'm going by a feeling."—Alison stiffens—"I'm only joking, love. It's gonna be kind of short; it'll stop a little ways above your shoulders, but not too much. I figure, since your hair is so thick and curly, it'll look really nice and… almost done."

"Can I have a look, then?"

"If you'd open your eyes you could."

"Fuck off. It doesn't look too bad. Not so far, anyway. Is this all of it?" she asks.

"If this were all we'd be on time! Before you ask: no, I will not tell you what else. You wouldn't let me if you knew what I was gonna do."

Alison gulps nervously and tries not to scream. "It must be pretty bad then. You sure it's not gonna hurt?"

"No, for the hundredth time, it will not hurt. Stop moving. Alright, now… stay still. I hope this looks good…"

Alison felt something running across the bottom of her eyes. "What the hell are you doing to me? That… stop that! Eck…"

"Stay still! There. Now…" Margaret's hand rustled around in a bag. "Don't blink," she says, sliding something along the top of Alison's eyelids. "Don't…"

"You're giving me a make-over! Get me out! Get me out! Ah!" Alison was suddenly thrashing wildly.

"Calm down. You're lucky that I'm already finished. Open your eyes." Margaret swirls Alison around in the chair for a second until she is again facing a mirror.

"Um… I look weird." Alison tilts her head to the side, studying her face critically. She pulls at her hair and mashes her face up and down. "Definitely look weird. I thought you weren't in to all this stuff," Alison contemplates, glancing up at Margaret.

"I'm not. It's my sister's. Remember how many times she tried to do your hair and all that stuff? Well, I forced her little Gryffindor arse to let me borrow some of her stuff because I wanted to see what you'd look like…" Upon seeing Alison trying to scrub it off, Margaret says "Please don't, Alison. You look nice, I swear!"

Alison sticks her tongue out and stops rubbing at her face. "It's not even coming off anyway!" she shouts. "Fucking hell! You put lipstick on me!"

"Will you shut up? This is supposed to make you feel better, remember? Hurry up and put your glasses on. We're gonna be late."

"You mean… we didn't miss Potions?"

"Not yet. Come on." Margaret rushes down the hall with Alison trailing after her. "With your struggling I couldn't even get half of it done! But I guess it's better this way. Now no one will ask why a sick girl is wearing make up. Hurry up!"

Margaret ran to her seat in the back just before Professor Snape comes in. As he swishes through the door, he stares at Alison, quirking his eyebrow at her. Shaking his head, he drawls, "And why, may I ask, are you late Miss Thornewell?"

"Sorry, Professor," Alison says shyly, looking down. "The staircases switched on me, sir, and I got stuck."

"Next time, Thornewell, try to do something so you won't be late to my class. We all know you're smart enough. Now sit down."

"Yes, Professor, sorry," Alison chokes out. She turns around, trying to ignore the stares from her classmates, and makes her way toward Margaret.

"Not there, Thornewell; sit in your proper seat."

"But, Professor—"

"Now!" he hisses. Alison shrinks away, frightened, and, suddenly happier than ever, bounds over toward Marcus. She slowly slides into her seat, folds her hands together across the table and gazes expectantly at Professor Snape.

"Today we will be discussing…"

Professor Snape's voice fades out as Marcus starts whispering to Alison. "What happened to your hair?"

"…Margaret cut it…"

"Did she… do that,"—he indicated her make-up—"too?" Alison nods slowly, trying to pay attention to the Professor. "What was she—? You look weird."

"…I know…"

"… but it looks kind of… nice, I guess."

"…you're crazy. This make-up is fucking stupid. It looks queer. The hair's kind of wicked, though, isn't it?"

"Miss Thornewell!" Snape booms.

"Yes, Professor Snape?"

"Would you like to share what you and Mr. Flint were talking about with the rest of the class?"

"Well, not really, sir." Snape frowns at Alison and asks her a question that even she doesn't understand; something to do with ingredients for a potion. "Um… is it a love potion, sir?" Alison asks hopefully.

"Yes, Miss Thornewell. No points to Ravenclaw. See me after class for being an incessant chatter-box. Now, can anyone else tell me…?"

The lesson drones on and on, with nothing but lectures and not a single cauldron bubbling or potion brewing. At the end of class everyone files out quickly. Alison slowly collects her books, silently hoping Margaret will wait for her; Snape could be a child molester for all she knows. She makes her way up to his desk timidly, avoiding eye-contact at all costs.

"Miss Thornewell," he drones, moving around the desk. He folds his arms dauntingly across his chest and merely stares at her until she starts stuttering out an apology. "Quiet child, I have something to ask you."

Alison awaits the consequences and takes a deep breath. "Calm down, Miss Thornewell, I should think you would like what I'm going to ask of you. You have the best marks in my class and in most of your other classes. The Headmaster has requested that I ask if you'd be interested in tutoring students…"

"Professor, I can't. I'm no good at teaching, you see—"

"Mr. Flint needs a tutor if he's to pass his classes."

Alison stares at him. 'What's he up to?' she wonders. "Professor, I'm telling you, I can't teach people to save my life."

"Not even Mr. Flint?"

"Not even Marcus, sir."

"But there's no one else to help him."

"I'm confident he can pass, sir."

"You will tutor him, do you understand me?"

Alison's eyes widen in shock. "I can try sir," she murmurs, frightened, "but I can't promise it'll help him any."

"That's a good girl. Now, Miss Thornewell, you will tutor him for one month. We'll check up on his improvement and, depending on his results, you will continue the tutoring or you won't. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor Snape."

"You may go."

Alison skids out of the classroom, literally running into Margaret around the corner. "He sure can be one scary old brute, can't he?" Margaret sympathizes.

"Yeah… he wants me to tutor Marcus. He was going crazy about it. His eyes were practically popping out of his skull! He actually forced me to say I would tutor him. I was scared to death, I swear! Oh… hi Marcus."

"I don't know, Margaret," Oliver mutters impatiently. "Maybe she doesn't like him anymore."

"Oliver, did you really just say that?" Margaret asks incredulously. 'Maybe she doesn't like him anymore.' You really don't know Alison at all do you? Of course she still likes him, you daft arse! She was just embarrassed! The reason I told you about that was to ask if you knew why Snape was acting so weird."

"I don't know. He's probably got something stuck up his arse."

"You're no help!" she screams, stalking off.

"Wait! What's with you? Why are Thornewell and Flint continuously the main focus of your world? I'm sure Thornewell doesn't even think about you."

"What do you know? You don't know anything about her and I am tired of you talking about her as though you grew up with her! Fuck off!" Margaret runs off extremely irritated with Oliver.

"They haven't even together for a month and she already wants to break up with him," mutters Alison walking past Oliver in the corridor. "The poor sod."

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters. They are all property of J.K. Rowling, the lucky sod. I am in no way profiting from the creation of this story. So you can't sue me! Hah!

A/N: It only took me about two days to do this one and almost no one has been reviewing! (Special thanks from me to those of you have been reviewing!) I swear, I must be really dedicated to this story…