Disclaimer: I own nothig but my plot and characters

A/N: I'm thinking about a crossover for Hp and something else. Of course, I must finish my other ficlets before this actually happens. I'm definitely doing it in the future though, somewhere near spring or summer. Anyways, I'm uploading a bunch of chaps as soon as ffnet allows editing again, and so this note is for chaps afterwards-I told you all about the author's notes thing, and I'm initiating it right...now. Every two or three chaps I'll add 'em.

So sorry.. I don't know what happened. I got so tangled up in my college searches and so on.. Anyways, back to writing.

Chapter 12: Dizzy Spell, What The Hell

Autumn leaves had fallen in my dreams. Elegant, like ballet, leaping into the air and landing gracefully with style. But as all dreams end, one must face the dawn of a new, unknown day.

Hermione was in a perky mood from the minute I stepped in the Great Hall for breakfast. She explained that all E.Y.P-ers would now have every wednesday off, free to do as they chose.

"Alright! That means we can have a together day with our friends more than once a week." Exclaimed me happily.

So happy, that I accidentally knocked Snape's juice over. Whoops. My elbow had slammed into it, causing the drink to spill into his breakfast.

He glared at me, and I almost begged for mercy, "Sorry, sir, so sorry. Mione made me really ecstatic from her news, and I couldn't control my arms. So sorry."

"...Watch where your rejoicing arms fly." He scolded, but not irrationally.

After gobbling up eggs and bacon, the new day officially began. First period I didn't have to attend, for class was a higher grade. My time was spent in my room, writing down random poems in my journal. A few about nonsense things such as dragonflies absorbing all of our torment to help us live longer. Another about Oranges that sit on a lonely table until someone squeezes them to death. I don't know where I think of these strange obscenities.

But the best poem was about snakes. Just snakes. Snakes squirming about, sneaking up on terryfied teenagers and wrapping themselves tightly around, so the victim cannot breathe or blink without feeling tremendous pain. The victim, of course, being me. I hadn't meant for the poem to seem metaphorical at the time of writing it, but the words turned against me and forced the pen to write what I did...

Snake will come,

Snake will bite,

Bind and break,

Grin in spite,

Trick and fool,

Slither 'round,

Rip my heart,

Pin to ground,

Snake is here,

In my sight,

Oxymoron,

Dark and Light.

Short poem, but I didn't care at the moment. It was quality, not quanity, that mattered. Especially with metaphorical nonsense that I never thought of writing before it was on paper.

The time to leave my room came, but today I had a yearning to take a day-long nap and not help Snape at all. Being the generous, predictably nice female I was, no such nap would happen. Instead I walked into Snape's classroom, sat down, and pushed away the icky tired feeling in me with a huge yawn.

"Sleepy, are we?" Snape's voice echoed behind me. He came out of his private study and stood next to the blackboard, thinking of something to write.

I opened my stupid mouth and retorted, "Stuck for words, are we?"

"That comeback," He shot humorously, "would have sounded better if you had used a two-syllable word. It fits better."

How much I hated him today. Just hated him.

Class poured in like a bad poison, sending bad fumes of attitude and arrogance everywhere. I hoped it wasn't contagious. Even more so because this was the class with Bianca, the human lump of poo. Poo-head sat down and immediately flipped me the bird while Snape wasn't looking. Oh great! Another one of these days.

Turning around, Snape faced the class and began teaching. I felt like napping still while I listened to the boring lecture. Not that Snape didn't do a fine job at lecturing or even talking, but I just wasn't in the mood to hear it. Apparently, Poo-head didn't either. BIanca raised her hand and batted her eyelashes flirtatiously. Snape called on her, asking what she wanted, and it took her a moment to realize she could put her hand down. Poo-head.

"Professor Snape," Bianca chimed, "Do we have to do work today? We should all just relax and have a pajama party or something. What type of pajamas do you wear? I bet you wear silk boxers..."

Did she just harass Snape verbally?

Eyebrows raised, mouth agape, Snape almost speechless until, "My pajamas are none of your business, and no, we are not having a slumber party."

He returned to his lecture after that, and Poo-head ceased talking for once. Maybe her smell got too strong for even her. Class emptied faster than imagined. It satisfied Snape though, for he had a lot, it seemed, to prepare for his next classes. I guess the higher grades were taking tests all day.

The sky ended another day by simply waving its hues of pink and purple at the school before pushing the sun into a low nothingness, bringing the moon to a peak in the mountains. I was staring out of the window in the library while reading a horror fic. While I loved this genre dearly, I missed my old addiction for some reason. Romance novels always allowed me to escape into a world where people actually fell in love and such. I made fun of it so much, and still have my theories against it. However, horror is not too inviting. Horror is reality gone worse, if that's humanly possible. My readings had transformed from lovey-dovey to slice and dice. Why was I so strangley attracted to horror? There was nothing to gain from it but intimidation and the occasional faux friendliness. But was it fake at all? Or did the characters in fright-night books become corrupted by pretend love too, and hide it away with murder? Were all books contaminated with love? With roses and fresh scents of perfume and cologne mixed together after a long day at the beach, riding in the sunset with Mr. Somebody?

"Mmmmhmmm" A feminine mumble came from around the corner. I could not make out who it was.

A flicker of blue light streamed towards me, planting itself on my chest. It paralyzed me painlessly. Spread to my head, to my legs, to my toes and fingers. I dropped my book with a thump sound as it hit the floor. An overwhelming sensation of dizziness swept through me, and I was forced to shut my eyes.

0o0o0o0o

I'm alive. Alive with no idea of what just happened. Alive with a masculine smell dangling over me. I pause. Someone is feeling my face...Hand on my cheek. Probably worried if I'm dead. But I don't open my eyes. The feeling of the unknown person's hand feels nice. It's a man's hand...I jerk upright in shock.

"What the hell?" Was my first reaction back from La-La Land.

Gilderoy Lockhart is slouching besdie my body, which is unfortunately on a Hospital Wing bed.

He says, "A student knocked you out with a dizzying spell. I sent her to Dumbledore's office and tried to wake you up. Her name was Bianca Hawford. Said she was sorry, that she couldn't help it. I yelled at her before she left for Dumbledore's. How are you feeling?"

Why was your hand caressing my cheek? "I'm fine. Thank you for bringing me here instead of leaving me lying like a dead carcass."

"No problem, Miss Maguire. It's ten p.m, however, you were out for a few hours. I shall bring you back to the dungeons so that you aren't punished by Filch or his dirty cat. Alright?" Without my answer, Gilderoy Poptart straightened his spine and waited for me to hop out of the hospital bed.

Side by side, walking casually to the freezing dungeons. No mention of hands to my face, no mention of anything. Poptart, of all cheery, ecstatic people, had nothing to talk about. I figured it was just one of those days for him too.

Handshakes are perfect gestures to use when leaving someone after an awkward moment or mysterious event. Gilderoy was out of sight, and I was out of my mind. He already told me he was trying to wake me up. I read too many books, I guess. My brain is melting into a pool of vulnerable, gullible mush, trying to make unrealistic sense out of common, normal things. This is called the Jello Brain Effect. JBE for short.

Vanilla scents flew into my room, drugging me into a state of dullness. I was spacing out because of Snape's incense. Fantastico. An idea pops into my brain, but because of JBE I forget and plop into bed lazily. Tomorrow is a day off. Maybe I'll visit Snape. Oh, he teaches. JBE... Also known as a blonde moment, but worse, and non-discriminating. Plus, I am brunette.

My new goal for the night is to fill the empty space from here to sleep with utter nonsense and random thoughts. Although, random to me is rambling in my head about novels and class.

I have just realized I haven't taken a shower yet. Might I journey to the Slytherin bathroom? It is night, and I know for sure Filch is not in there..Unless he is a pervert. I would go to shower now, but the vanilla smell is so wonderful, so enchanting, that I cannot move from my position: Half in bed/half out of bed. If I fall asleep like this, I have a fifty-fifty chance of falling onto the floor during my slumber. Shall I experiment? No? Yes? Bubblegum?

Eh? Wow, I lied to myself when I thought I didn't think or say anything random. But if everyone were random, random wouldn't be random anymore. Normal would be random. And since there is no such thing as normal, for there are only socially acceptable behaviours, then no one would be random. Unless they were worse than random. What is worse than randomness? Insanity? I am there. I am the one who belongs in an asylum. Just so people can pass and yell and laugh and throw popcorn kernels at my aging body.

Where do we go when we die? Do we get pancakes and maple syrup?

Killing time.

Severus. I am getting tired. Babbling nothing in my poor suffering brain. Snape. Why is his name so...catchy? Easy on the tongue.. Kind of neat to say..

"Severus.."

I have been corrupted by vanilla smelling air. If the time is needed, I will venture to his room and demand he stop drugging me with incense. I am sleepy. So...Sleepy..

Goodnight Mom and Dad.