A/N: Oh my!I never thoughtI was going to ever get to the second chapter, butI have... and it's all rubber ducky 9's fault! In fact, this chapter is dedicated to her! I hope she reads this chapter and tears up THANK YOU for being so AWESOME and supportive even though this fic is complete crap!

Disclaimer: This is obviously not JKR's (hello, you wouldn't even see this amateur-writer on any bookcover sigh.) Oh, and, Miller Cough Ink is one of the producers of Smallville and other t.v. shows... I'm just borrowing their name for the moment. sheepish smile

Chapter Two: No Use Crying Over Spilt Ink

I had found out shortly after McGonagall's lesson that day that the quill-jabber had a name and it was Potter. Well, actually, that's his surname (honestly, did you really think his parents named him that? No matter how corrupt they were to bring their son up in the art of back-poking, I don't think they'd go as far as giving him such a lame name.) Truthfully, his actual name was James Potter, but I so frequently used Potter that it had started to seem like his real name.

Well, it turns out that Potter has got this little posse and, get this, they've got a name! It's this superbly dumb idea, and, honestly, I'm sorely tempted to find out who made it up and tell them how lame it really is. They call themselves The Marauders, which brings to mind, them dressed as pirates capering around gallantly fighting evil soldiers attempting to protect a damsel-in-distress. In fact, that sounds close to a certain fantasy of mine…

Wait, ew! I did not just suggest that it could be a veritable possibility that Potter and his lame clique could relate to one of my fantasies in a repulsive sort of ay. Oh, how gross!

Well, not only has Potter formed a little, lame group, but he's also become a figurehead, along with Sirius Black, to a bunch of ditzy, mostly-blonde fan girls. Merlin, I swear I've seen a girl swoon once when Black pecked her on the cheek and I've even seen (for this, my eyes have forever been tainted) at a Quidditch match, when celebrating our victory, a girl go up to Potter, hug him, and then grope his arse! Oh, how disturbing that was! After that, I ended up leaning over a toilet for half an hour, puking.

Right now, I'm at Hogsmeade in Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, buying new ink.

Due to certain circumstances, I seem to be on my last bottle of ink, and that happens to be plain black, much like someone's messy hair, come to think of it. Well, I've always hated black ink, and so I must pick out some ink that does not remind me of anyone's hair color.

How about green? No one's got green hair, well other than punks…and that first year I saw on the Hogwart's Express. And, well, green rather goes well with my eyes (as does black, come to think of it…)

Oh my word, I can't believe I'm discussing what color of ink I'll buy as if it's a piece of clothing. What has the world come to?

Really, Scrivenshaft's doesn't even have that great of a variety of inks. Now that I look, they don't even have green. Or mood-changing. All they really have is black, blue and red. How dull. I think I'll go to Miller Cough's Ink Shop. That is, right after I buy this green and gold quill.

888

After paying ten Sickles and three Knuts for that quill, I'm now on my way to Miller Cough's Ink Shop. It's actually a very beautiful day. There's not a cloud in the sky, the sun's shining... Oh wait, scratch that.

I see Potter coming my way.

Ooh, where's a good hiding place when you need one? Well, there's an alleyway right there, maybe if I squeeze in he won't notice—

"What're you doing, Evans?" Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Oh well, at least I tried.

Jeez, he's got an enormous smirk on. I'm so wiping it off.

"Right now? Trying to get away from you. Right before? Trying to find some nice ink. Preferably, the kind that's not on your face," I said the last part with emphasis as if it were his fault that I didn't have any ink left, even though it was his fault only half-way. (Hey! He did provoke me, did he not? Yeah, that's what I thought.)

"Pity you didn't have any decent ink," Potter said in mock-concern.

Thinking of a very off-the-subject observation, I started out, "You know, I've never realized this before, but you and Malfoy have a lot in common."

I gave a short pause, then, "You are both so cocky and self-assured that you are the best. You walk with such a confidence in your step that you're so certain everyone should grovel at your feet. If anyone doesn't, you mock them with huge attacks of sarcasm and tell them all their weaknesses and how dorky, or geeky, or even how ugly they are!" At this, I grimaced, remembering once how Potter had told me how disgusting I was and how much I revolted him with my "homely red hair and ugly, brown freckles" and my "pale, almost blue-ish skin".

"Oh, here's a plus: you both seem to annoy the hell out of me!" I stopped catched my breath and stared at him as If he were the biggest piece of dirt mixed up with every single disgusting little thing all rolled up in one.

"Merlin, you're both so—so conceited!"

Potter stared at me with a mixture of shock and confusion, and then his face hardened.

His next words came out fast and full of contempt, "Do I look like a Deatheater? Do you really think that I'd be as cold-blooded as to kill millions of innocent people? To kill men, woman, and even children! Evans, even I'm no that," Here, he stopped, looking utterly disgusted and revolted, "—that, that sick!"

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away , indignant from my sadistic comparison.

I swear, I must've eaten something extremely weird earlier because I think I'm feeling kind of guilty. Oh Merlin, I'm going to have that gnawing little feeling in the pit of my stomach for the rest of the day.

Someone must hate me up there. I looked up hatefully at the sky

888

after my little detour to Miller Cough's Ink Shop (aka my "chat" with Potter), I was finally in the actual shop, in front of shelves of varying inks.

Extensive bottles of ink that were natural lie-detectors lined the top-most shelves. From color-alternating inks to Troubling Trips inks (which fixed up all grammatical mistakes and sometimes even showed you a thesaurus-type method of finding other words to substitute another.).

I picked up the last bottle of mood-changing ink and looked at the back label and scanned the listing of colors that that mood represented. I noticed that red meant angered, vexed, or annoyed. I nodded my head at that.

Then I saw that deep blue meant attraction or romantic. A flashback from that fateful day appeared in my mind 'I poured the scarlet ink that was now changing to a deep velvety blue onto his mop-like, black hair and face' and then, 'small drips of sapphire ink splattered onto the floor and turned a neutral transparent clear color'.

The bottles dropped from my hand and shattered on the floor, splattering ink across the white-washed marble.

Great, now I have a mad and attracted Potter. What next?

A/N: I'm in dire need of ideas for this fic because it's almost extinct and I'm not even sure if I should continue it... Please tell me...! Oh, if you review, it's more likely there'll be another chapter, so think about that, will you? PLEASE REVIEW!