Chapter Seven: School's End

A.K.A. No More Potter! For Now, Anyway

Alison had been trying to ignore Harry Potter and His Follower's sneaking around in the library to research Nicolas Flamel. Of course, it was none of her business and there was no way she was going to tell them what she knew about Nicolas Flamel, anyway. She came to the conclusion that when that horrible little beaver-girl finally stopped studying and helped them, they would finally figure out who he was and would stop hogging all the good books trying to look for him.

"I wonder why they need to know about him, anyway," comments Margaret, who is sitting across from Alison in the library. Both girls are watching them attempting to sneak into the Restricted Section.

"They're just being nosy, as usual," scoffs Alison. "Trying to find something to run off and save; or steal. Oi, Madame Pince is gonna smack 'em with her feather duster if they don't go. Did you know she back-handed that pansy Draco Malfoy last month? That was a laugh. You should've—" She stopped, grabbing a camera from seemingly out of nowhere and snapping a picture just in time. "I told you."

"What'd you take a picture for?" calls Oliver, walking up behind them. "Trying to black-mail, Harry? Is that it?" He wraps his arms around Margaret, who blushes ridiculously.

"No, Oliver, not black-mail. I'm going to use it for my newspaper." Alison rolls her eyes, glaring at him. "Honestly, don't you know I have one?"

"Yes," Oliver replies, "but I don't read it. After all, it never has anything to do with Quidditch. Well, unless it's bad-mouthing the teams or raving about how Flint's wonderful or something. I'm really surprised they haven't banned it."

"I know, I know," says Alison. "That's what everyone says, even the teachers. 'I'm surprised it's not banned. It's incredibly biased.' But, apparently Professor Dumbledore loves it, so…" She shrugs, throwing on the green velvet cloak Marcus got her for Christmas. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to, erm, leave you two alone."

"I just hope they realize that the library is not the best place to make out," she mumbles as exits the library, laughing softly to herself.

Alison quickly runs outside spinning around in the snow. There are only a few weeks left until it all melts away, maybe even less time than that and she doesn't want to waste them inside when she could be playing in the snow.

She tumbles to the ground, rolling about in the snow. She stops, making another snow angel. This time, she jumps up immediately, not caring if she falls or ruins the snow angel, just enjoying the feeling of being in the snow. Thus, she ends up doing both; unintentionally, of course.

Alison lies there in the snow for a few moments, before jumping up. She suddenly began throwing snowballs at random people and trees and things: that Slytherin arse, Montague; a group of Hufflepuff first years; Walter the Perverted Prefect; Percival Weasley and his girlfriend, who's from Ravenclaw; the Whomping Willow; and Professor Snape.

"Fuck! Sorry, Professor Snape, I didn't see you there, I swear. If I'd have known you were there I'd have thrown it somewhere else. I really didn't—bloody hell!" she shrieks, getting hit with a snow ball and falling backward rapidly. She looks up to see Snape smirking at her.

"Next time, Miss Thornewell," he drones silkily, "you should watch who you're aiming at. They might retaliate." Before Alison can think of a response, he continues "You have detention for that mouth of yours."

"Tonight, sir?"

"No, Miss Thornewell, you seem awfully busy," he replies snidely. "Two weeks from Thursday at four in my classroom, as usual."

With that, he walks away, leaving Alison alone to hit herself. "Stupid, stupid! Now I'm going to be stuck alone with him in the bloody dungeons for detention! Just great! The more time I have to spend in detention with him—no matter if I get to help him prepare potions and ingredients and grade the first year's papers—the creepier he seems," she whines, rushing off to tell Margaret.

"Detention again!" whimpers Alison, making her way toward Snape's classroom. She had been trying to get out of detention all last week, but no luck. She soon passes by the library, spotting Draco Malfoy cursing some poor little kid. "Oi, Draco! What do you think you're doing, eh? Mind you, I've put curses on loads of people, but for good reason! You can't go around cursing people who haven't done anything to you! Now, fuck off!"

The blond Slytherin glares at her, stalking off, followed by his lackeys. The little first year—a Gryffindor, it seems—looks up at Alison, surprised. She smiles down at him, ruffling his brown hair. "I don't usually help Little Gryffindor First Years," she says, "but I'll make an exception this time. Shit, you're one adorable kid. Heh, I guess I shouldn't be cussing in front of you, huh? So, what's your name, kid?"

"N-Neville," he stutters. "Neville Longbottom. Who are you?"

"I'm Alison Thornewell, fifth year Ravenclaw and Marcus Flint stalker. I'm joking, I'm his girlfriend." She blushes at her comment then looks ruefully at Neville. "Neville, I don't remember the counter-curse, but I can help you get back to your common room."

Neville blinks repeatedly, utterly shocked and confused. "What? Has no one ever helped you before?" exclaims Alison, performing a levitation spell on him. He shakes his head from his place in the air, and she mutters about the indecency of people nowadays.

Neville becomes frantic as he floats up a staircase. "Calm down, we're almost there. I can't help you inside, though. I have to run off to the kitchens to grab something to eat. I have detention with Professor Snape in half an hour." His eyes become wide at the mention of Snape and he starts shaking. "You're afraid of him? You really shouldn't be, although he is a bit creepy."

"Ah, here we are, Neville," Alison says, lowering Neville to the floor in front the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. "Too bad I don't remember the counter-curse, really. It would've been loads easier. But don't you worry, I'll end up cursing Draco the Nancy-Boy soon, anyway, so you can just think of it as revenge for you, alright? See you."

"Y-yeah," Neville squeaks from behind her, "s-see you."

Alison rushes off down the corridor, sliding around the corner. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Gonna be late, gonna be late, gonna be late. Kitchen, kitchen, gotta find the kitchen, gotta find the kitchen. Picture of fruit; fruit, fruit, fruit, tickle the pear." She screeches to halt, skidding across the floor and into a wall. "Shit! Stupid wall!" she yells, smashing her fist against the 'wall.'

"Fuck! That hurt, Alison," the 'wall' says. "I head to the kitchen for an early snack and you hit me! What the hell was that about?"

Alison slowly looks up at Marcus, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry, Marcus," she says, tickling the pear in the portrait. "I'm running late for detention with Snape."

"What? Again?" he asks incredulously. "Didn't you have detention with Snape two weeks ago? What'd you do this time?"

"Yeah, don't remind me. Anyway, I accidentally hit him with a snow ball last week. I'm gonna be so late because I saved Neville from Draco. Well, actually, I didn't. He'd already cursed him, but I did help Neville back to his dormitories since I didn't remember the counter-curse and—"

"Who's Neville?"

"He's a Little Gryffindor First Year. He's really adorable. Has an atrocious last name though," she explains, grabbing a sandwich and an apple off a plate held by one of the house elves. "Thanks. Anyway, I've got to go before—"

"I have just noticed," Marcus says arrogantly, "that you're wearing the cloak I got you for Christmas."

"Yep, I've been wearing all month. I hope it doesn't ruin when it's wet. Oh, well. I'll still wear it anyway. See you, Marcus! I'm gonna be late!" With that, she runs off down the corridor.

Soon, Marcus hears a bang, followed by a long string of curse words from Alison. "I can't believe it," he sighs, "she fell down the stairs again."

"Sorry I'm late, Professor," Alison gasps, rushing into the room. "I was running to get here at three when I stopped to rescue Neville Longbottom—although I didn't really save him, just helped back to his common room. Then I went to the kitchens to grab some food since I know I'm gonna miss dinner again and on my way down here I fell all the way down the stairs and ended up in the wrong spot so I had to go back—"

"That's enough, Miss Thornewell," Snape drawls, folding his hands across his desk at the front of the room. "I need you to help me prepare some… ingredients for the first year's final; that's too weeks from now, just like yours. Don't bother asking about the final, Miss Thornewell."

"That's right," Alison says, smirking. "Teachers aren't supposed to reveal 'secrets' about their finals. But that doesn't matter, right? Your finals are always the same; a normal written exam, just like every other class. And after that, we have to make a potion, but with one small detail; we don't have any instructions, we have to make it strictly from memory. I'm usually the only one to pass that portion, right, Professor?"

"Quiet, you're supposed to be serving detention, not having a bloody conversation with your Potions Master—"

"—who is my favorite teacher—"

"Stop sucking up. This is ridiculous! Come here!" Alison backs away, staring at him oddly. "Come here, Miss Thornewell. Now," he hisses, glaring at her with his cold black eyes. She squeaks in alarm, rushing over to him. She skids to a stop in front of his desk and doesn't move an inch.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Are you afraid of your favorite teacher?" Snape asks snidely as she glares at him, wanting to yell "no" but staying quiet. "Sit down there, Miss Thornewell. See that jar of wolfsbane? I need you to…"

And Snape drones on and on with things that he wants Alison to do. It's the same as every other detention she has with him. That is, until he says "That's a nice cloak, by the way. It's not my color, of course, but it looks good on you."

"And so he says 'That's a nice cloak. Not my color, but it looks good on you.' And I'm stuck there for another half hour, worrying about what he meant by that," rants Alison for the fifteenth time this week. Her detention was more than a week ago, so she should've been over it by now, but she wasn't.

"Obviously he meant he thought you looked good in your cloak," Oliver chuckles. "It must suck to have Snape come on to you."

"It's alright, Alison," Margaret says comfortingly, "I'm sure he wasn't coming on to you, or anything. He can't be some creepy old child molester who's going to rape you. I mean, I know he's creepy but—"

"Gross!" yells Oliver. "I did not want that picture in my head! That's completely disgusting! Margaret, did you have to say that out loud?"

"Oh, shut up, Oliver!" snaps Alison, glaring viciously at him.

"Quiet, Alison, calm down. Flint! Aren't you going to comfort her?" Margaret looks expectantly at Marcus, who is leaning against the wall, having not said a word.

"Fine," he grumbles. "Snape was probably mentioning it because he knows I bought it for you. I mean, you scream really loud Alison. He probably heard one of the times you thanked me for buying you 'the best cloak ever'; you know, since you thank me about twenty times a day. Even though Margaret was the one who told me you wanted one."

"Oh, really? Thanks, Margaret!" Alison hugs Margaret tightly. "There's a Quidditch game today," she groans, "Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff."

"What's so bad about that?" asks Oliver.

"Because, Wood, it's an easy win on your part. Have you seen their team? The only good player they have is Hillsworth," Marcus explains, gesturing toward Margaret. "It's amazing they ever win any games at all."

"Sorry you two, but I'm skipping the game. It'll bore me to death and I've got to study for finals next week, anyway. Bye!" Alison calls, rushing away again.

"…right," Marcus scoffs. "I'm leaving, too. Gotta find Pucey or Higgs, they're kind of smart and I definitely need to study."

"Hey, we're alone," Oliver states, blushing.

"Yeah," Margaret replies, blushing as well. "It's gonna suck playing against each other today. Promise you won't be mad if I hit you with a bludger."

"Promise me you won't be mad when you lose."

"Promise," they both say before their lips meet in a passionate kiss.

Margaret, Oliver, Alison and Marcus all agreed to sit at the end of the Ravenclaw for the end-of-year feast. This was because the Slytherin table wouldn't have let Oliver (and possibly Margaret) sit with them, the Gryffindor table wouldn't have let Marcus anywhere near them, and Marcus refused to sit with the Hufflepuffs, who wouldn't have let him sit there anyway.

So, as it was time for the end-of-year feast, they were all gathered at the end of the Ravenclaw table, waiting for everything to begin. "How do you think you did on your finals, everyone?" asks Margaret. "I think I did alright myself, except maybe in Herbology and Arithmancy…"

Marcus states that he probably did terribly. Alison smacks him on the head, glaring at him and says "I think I did pretty well myself."

Oliver shrugs, grinning. "I put mostly Quidditch answers. I suppose that if you see them as analogies I did alright…" He stops, seeing the looks on their faces. "I'm joking," he admits. "I did that last year."

"Another year gone," Dumbledore says cheerfully, interrupting the chatter going on inside the Great Hall. "Now, the house cup needs awarding and I shall announce the points. In fourth place, Gryffindor house with 312 points. In third place is Hufflepuff with 352 points. In second, Ravenclaw with 426 points"—Alison took the time here to say that she couldn't believe they managed second place with all the house points she had taken away—"and in first place, Slytherin house with 472 points."

The Slytherin table erupts into cheers and Professor Snape applauds rapidly, while Marcus and Alison—along with everyone who didn't want Slytherin to win, including Margaret and Oliver—clap dully. "What's the matter?" Margaret asks, concerned.

Marcus shrugs, but Alison starts with an explanation. "Harry Potter and his friends snuck off and broke a bunch of rules but are about to get rewarded for it, that's what."

"Well done, Slytherin, well done," shouts Dumbledore. "But recent events must be taken into account." Snape stops clapping, the Slytherins stop cheering and Alison shouts "Told you!" as Dumbledore continues, saying "I have a few last minute points to award."

"First, to Mr. Ronald Weasley, for the best played game of chess seen in many years, I award fifty points. Second… to Ms. Hermione Granger, for her superior use of intellect in moments of grave danger, I award fifty points. And third, to Mr. Harry Potter for outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

The Gryffindor table—and Oliver and Margaret—erupts with cheers. "We're tied with Slytherin!" a few of them yell excitedly. "And finally… it takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends. Therefore, I award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

Soon, everyone—except for the Slytherins and Alison, who was staring at the Gryffindor table with an odd look on her face—was cheering. "I believe a change of decoration is in order," Dumbledore adds as the decorations changed to from Slytherin colors to Gryffindor colors.

"Look at that!" Alison suddenly yells. "That adorable kid Neville I was telling you about won the House Cup for Gryffindor! You better go thank him if you're that happy about it!" As Oliver and Margaret get up to do just that, Alison screams "Fuck!"

They soon got their test results back and they all passed. It was now time for them to leave and they were all clambering onto the train, with Alison jumping all over Marcus's back, as usual. That is, until she spots 'The Adorable Neville with a Dreadful Last Name' and jumps off Marcus's back to say hello to him and introduce them properly, pulling Oliver and Margaret over and introducing them as well.

After the introduction, they were off again. Alison grabs Marcus's arm and drags him around the train. Oliver and Margaret follow and soon they find a compartment in which they all sit. Alison then proceeds to lean her head against the wall, sighing. "At least I don't have to deal with stupid fucking Harry Potter anymore. Well, for now, anyway."

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the bits of dialogue that may have been directly quoted from HPSS/HPPS.

A/N: The end… Just kidding! Next Chapter: The start of Harry's second year. Yes! I'm so excited! Aren't you? You are? Really? Then please review!