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Scoundrel!

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"What do you have next?" Elli asked, slinging her bag over her shoulder in one fluid moment. Today she wore her hair in a long, elaborate French braid.

I let my fork drop to my empty plate with a loud clang. "Free period," I answered, taking one last swig of pumpkin juice before standing up as well.

Elli made a face. "Lucky," she said. "I've got double History of Magic. So not in the mood for Binns' droning right now."

I shrugged. "You're the one who signed up for the class," I reminded her. We navigated our way through the long tables of the Great Hall and the crowd of students slowly milling around in the direction of their next classes.

"Well, see you," Elli said, lifting her hand in farewell and disappearing into the crowd.

I dithered for a bit in the Entrance Hall before coming to the decision that I may as well get a head start on the three and a half foot essay set in Charms that same morning. I took the Grand Staircase up to the second level and stopped at the portrait of Basil Fronsac, a plump, doddery old scholar.

"Studious success," I told him quietly.

"As always, you may enter," he replied, giving me a wink and a hearty chortle. The painting swung inward to reveal a small, darkly lit passage. I ducked inside and followed the tunnel, at the end of which I found myself on the second floor of the northern end of the castle. In other words, just outside the Hogwarts Library.

I think I'll be needing a copy of An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms, I mused, already weaving through the many towering bookcases of the library to the Charms section. I'd just passed a section labeled "For the Modern Potioneer" when I stopped suddenly and backed up a few pace. Cautiously, I peered around the bookcase in front of me to gaze at a lone student half hidden in a pile of textbooks. My eyes lingered on the line of his jaw; the way his shirtsleeves, pushed up past his elbows, stretched tight over his arms; the slight curl of the fall of this dark hair. I took a deep, shuddering breath, cast a halfhearted look in the direction of the Charms section, and walked out from behind the bookcase.

"Hey, there, Potter," I greeted, sliding my elbows onto the bit of table left unclaimed by dusty volumes. Aiming for casual, I opted to recline back on my forearms.

"Oh, hey, Wood," said James, lifting his head to look at me. I tried not to notice how the slightly kilter angle of his glasses made him look impossibly intellectual.

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" I asked, suddenly anxious. He did have an awful lot of books out.

"Nah, this isn't due till next week. I'm just getting a head start," he said, smiling crookedly. "I just can't seem to find the right book, that's all."

"Clearly," I said, making a point of checking out a few titles. "What's the essay on?" I asked curiously.

"We're doing research on creatures classifications in Care of Magical Creatures," said James. "And we're to make personal conclusions as to whether or not the classifications are appropriately given. There's just this one creature that I can't quite remember, but there was something unusual about the classification…"

"Like there was a special reason for a higher rating?" I said, leaning closer to consult his paper.

"Yeah, I wanted to use it as an example," he told me. "But I can't remember… It's driving the pixies out of me."

"Several species are upgraded a class or two because of their intelligence or rarity in the wild," I thought out loud. "The phoenix, for one, is class XXXX because few wizards are known to successfully domesticate one. And merpeople—"

"Phoenix!" James interrupted suddenly. "Sorry—but that's it. My dad told me about it—you know, one of the headmasters here had a phoenix right his office—"

"Albus Dumbledore," I finished for him, smiling. "You put anything positive about Albus Dumbledore in your essay and Hagrid'll give you an O, easy."

He grinned widely. "And—sorry—what were you saying about merpeople?"

"Oh, well, merpeople, along with centaurs and unicorns, also carry class XXXX because of the great respect they should be treated with. And," I said, warming up now, "centaurs and merpeople actually chose to remain in the 'beast' category, as opposed to being classified as 'beings'—"

"Oh, James! There you are!"

James twisted his head to look at the newcomer, an expression of pleasant surprise and delight blossoming on his face. "Teddy! What are you doing here?"

Then I turned as well.

My jaw dropped.

Blue eyes like the glittering waters of the tropics.

Cheekbones so defined I could cut myself stroking them.

Thick wavy brown hair, highlighted with streaks of bright turquoise.

And that smile—teeth so white and straight I had to ask myself if they were real, lips so soft and supple looking I had to consciously stop myself from staring—

"Wood? Oi, Wood!" A large hand waved across my vision.

"What?" I said, blinking slowly, tearing my eyes away the Olympian in front of me to look at James. "What?"

He threw me a suspicious look. "Anyway, Teddy, Wood. Wood, my cousin Teddy."

"Wood?" said Teddy, raising one eyebrow. Sweet Merlin, even his voice sounded like sex.

"Allison," I managed somehow. Then at James' look of disgust, I smiled and held out a hand. "Allison Wood."

"Ted Lupin," he said, taking my hand with his and shaking it firmly. When he let go, I felt the loss of warmth sharply. "Anyway, James, I popped in to talk with Professor Kleimo—we're looking for recruits to start a new summer internship program at the office."

"Ew," said James, wrinkling his nose. "Who wants to spend their whole summer brewing potions and whatnot."

Ted smiled wryly. "Well, me, for one."

I only just held in the silly high-pitched giggle that would have surely escaped me otherwise. Get yourself together, I ordered myself sternly. "I actually have a friend that might be interested in that," I offered. "Holly Williams. She's a whiz at potions, absolutely. It's her life."

Ted looked thoughtful. "I remember her. She was a second year in Potions Club my last year here."

So was I, I thought sullenly, once again feeling the sting of being distinctly unmemorable.

"So, uh, James," said Teddy, a bit awkwardly. "Working on Care of Magical Creatures, I see. Need any help?"

James snorted rudely. It seemed that his initial pleasure at the sight of his god-brother had faded. "Don't pretend like you didn't drop this class first thing after fifth year. What do you want?"

"Can't I say hi to my favorite Potter?" Teddy hedged.

James glanced quickly at me and scowled, turning back to his work. "No."

"Ah, well…" Teddy looked at me too before leaning close to James and mumbling, "I wanted to ask your advice… I want… you see, me and Vic..." His words faded into near-silence, so I couldn't catch the rest.

"Are you kidding me," said James, at a normal volume. "You—I can't even—bah!" He stood suddenly, threw an arm around Teddy, and led him a few bookcases away, letting loose an accented hush of words. I saw Teddy flinch several times from the corner of my eye as I dangled my legs over the edge of the table top, trying to look nonchalant and like I wasn't trying to eavesdrop.

As they walked back, I pretended to be intensely studying the state of my cuticles. James hit Ted sharply on the back of the head.

"You know what to do now, don't you?"

"Uh, sure," said Ted. He rubbed the back of his head, wincing slightly.

"And what are you not going to do?"

Ted sighed. "Be an idiot and ask sixteen-year-old boys for advice on women. Especially when said women is related to said boy."

James nodded in satisfaction. Ted turned to face me. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Allison."

"Uh huh," I said faintly. He left, head tucked and robes billowing.

I looked at James and raised an eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes in response. "You know how I said Teddy was engaged to Victoire?"

"Yeah," I said, vaguely recalling the instance with slight disappointment.

"Well, that's what everyone thought, with the secretive way they were acting at Easter. Apparently he hasn't proposed and came to ask me—me!—how to go about such a thing."

I couldn't contain the derisive snort.

"Yeah, I know," said James fervently. "And what's worse, Vicky owled me this morning, asking me what she should do to get Teddy to pop the question." He plopped himself back down at the table and heaved a great sigh. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Life sure is tough for you," I told him in mock sympathy.

He sighed again, with an added dramatic flair. "With great popularity comes great responsibility."

"They should just get engaged," I said. "No dillydallying around it."

"You know how it is with these romantics," he said. "It has to be perfect."

I twisted my mouth wryly. "Are you saying you're not a romantic?"

"Are you saying you want me to be?" said James, a smirk spreading across his face. He leaned in close to me.

I scouted closer, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on my face. "Are you saying you'd be one if I asked you to?"

His eyes glinted. "Are you asking?"

The toll of the bell reverberated through the library.

My gaze flicked to his mouth and back to his eyes. "I guess you'll have to figure that out for yourself," I told him, and shoved myself away. His eyelids quivered at the brush of my loose hair against his face.

I threw my bag around my shoulder. "Catch you later, Potter."


Sometimes I think the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin goes a bit too far—said no one ever. Except maybe one of the more timid Hufflepuffs, who was immediately hexed into submission.

The week before the opening match of lions versus snakes, the building tension between the two houses got everybody else all revved up too. "Oh, boo!" Amber yelled crossly at a third year Slytherin passing by in the hall, sporting bright green hair enchanted to move like serpents. "You're gonna lose anyway!"

Several nearby Slytherins laughed derisively at her; Gryffindor hadn't beaten Slytherin for eleven years. I carried a high hope that this year things would be drastically different, because I really, really hated the Slytherin team. Scratch that—I really, really hated the Slytherin team captain. And I don't hate people with that degree of passion very often.

Halfway down the hall, I saw Harley Bartolone, a massive sixth year Slytherin, point his wand behind his back. Two seconds later, poor fifth year Gryffindor Elaine Tooker hit the floor, screaming bloody murder as her nose grew to five times its normal size. A scowling Kenneth Harper, a Gryffindor guy in my year, rushed in and aimed a Jelly-Legs jinx at Bartolone.

See, here's the thing about Harper. The boy spends seven years in a school for advanced wizardry and can't hit the side of a castle if his life depended on it.

"Watch out!" Some invisible hand pulled me backwards just in time for me to see the jet of light from Harper's wand almost shave off my nose.

I grit my teeth, shot an irate look at a sheepish looking Harper, and threw a quick Knockback at Bartolone, which sent him crashing into a suit of armor. I followed up with an angry "Tantaclifors!" Bartolone's head was instantly replaced by a giant purple, waving tentacle. Blind and incapacitated, he flailed around in the pile of metal. I noted with grim satisfaction that none of his fellow Slytherins moved to his aid.

"Serves him right," I muttered. I shoved my wand back in my robes and turned to my rescuer. "Thank y-,"

The space next to me was empty.

"Er-," I began awkwardly.

"Come on, Allison, we're going to be late for Defense!" said Amber sharply, tugging me by the robe sleeve down the hall.

By the time Saturday rolled around, the atmosphere in the castle was so malevolent that I kept my wand close to me at all times. Saturday morning I pulled on a thick navy sweater, two pairs of socks and thick leather boots, wound the standard Ravenclaw blue and bronze scarf twice around my neck, and yanked on a matching knit hat. I snatched up a pair of warm gloves from my bedside table and tossed on my thick wool coat.

I studied myself in the mirror. It was stiflingly hot in the warm dormitory—I could hardly breathe—but I knew that once I stepped outside I'd be grateful for the extra layers. After a brief moment, I pointed my wand at my coat and turned the fabric a bright, roaring red. A rush of excitement filled me—sweet Merlin, Quidditch—and I exited the room quickly, taking the stairs two at a time.

"Here come the Slytherins! Posados! Scamander! Calvios! Alberta! Difiore and Wise! Aaaaaand Potter!" The sea of green below cried out in support as each Slytherin player darted into the sky.

"I say, that particular shade of green does wonders for those complexions," called out Octavius Pennifold, the fifth year Ravenclaw commentator. He leaned into the microphone. "But I must admit, I much rather prefer this colorful hue!"

The crowded roared its approval as the Gryffindor players shot into the air, their robes of scarlet billowing around them. One did a loop-de-loop, to several high-pitched screams of delight.

"Riggins! Potter! Weasley! Malcolm! Kauffman! Potter! Aaaaaand Banks!"

Though he was tiny in the distance, I could see James wave lazily at the crowd as his name was announced. Then he flew to the center of the pitch with Madame Hooch and Darius Calvios, the blonde Slytherin captain.

"A nice, clean game, boys," I could hear Madame Hooch say, glaring at each captain in turn. I don't know why she even said it, everyone knew this was going to be a bloody good game and that's how we wanted it.

"Go Gryffindor!" I yelled, the excitement catching up with me. I saw Elli give me a strange look before returning to the game.

A high tweet. The toss of the Quaffle. The match had begun.

James smacked the Quaffle out from Darius' hands down to where Dominique Weasley hovered, waiting. She tucked the Quaffle under her right arm and shot off like a bullet towards the Slytherin goalposts.

"And Weasley dodges one—slips past another—oh, look out! Just barely avoided that Bludger there—she's approaching the Slytherin Keeper—and Weasley puts it away like nothing, nice and easy! 10-0 Gryffindor!"

I cheered with the rest of the crowd.

"Scamander with the Quaffle—passed to Calvios—Scamander—Calvios—Alberta—Scamander—here with Slytherin's deadly Triad strategy—And Scamander shoots! And—blocked by Riggins, bloody good Keeper, that man is, don't know how he keeps the ladies away—"

The crowd hooted with laughter.

"Gryffindor in possession—Weasley takes it up the field and—ouch! That had to hurt!"

Delia Difiore, a dark-haired seventh year Slytherin, had sent a Bludger rocketing into Dominique's side. Dominique had dropped the Quaffle into Lorcan Scamander's waiting arms and was now leaning over one side of her broomstick, clutching her stomach and gagging.

"Scamander with the Quaffle—Calvios—Alberta—Scamander—Calvios—And—oh, foul!"

James had flown headlong into Calvios, knocking the Quaffle from his grasp. Calvios, recovering quickly from the collision, retaliated by shoving James hard, almost making him lose his grip on his broom. A ragged gasp was torn involuntarily from my lips.

An angry tweet from Madame Hooch, who flew over to the two.

"I'll teach you to take out my cousin!" I could hear James yell faintly.

Madame Hooch gestured the crowd and then to James before pointing towards the Gryffindor goalposts.

"And the call is blatching, against Gryffindor! Slytherin for the penalty shot—and it's Scamander—puts it away, no problem—10 all—what's wrong with you, Nicky?—and Gryffindor back in possession, thirsting for blood!"

James raced across the pitch, body flat to his broom, Quaffle tucked neatly in one arm.

"Potter passes to Malcolm, who dodges a Bludger sent by Wise—and back to Potter—and—oh, some nice broomwork by Potter there—"

He'd zigzagged at high speed at the approach of Scamander and Alberta, zipping in between them.

"Potter breaks free—he has an open shot now—and GRYFFINDOR SCORES! 20-10, Gryffindor!"

I screamed madly in celebration. That was a Woollongong Shimmy, perfected by the Australian Woollongong Warriors—I'd been at my Chasers for ages to get that move down.

The score was 60-60, with casualties on both sides, when Amber gasped loudly beside me and tugged violently on my sleeve. "Look! There!" she shouted, pointing.

Across the pitch, Slytherin Seeker Albus Potter had gone into a steep dive, his lithe body near flat on his broom, Lena Banks hot on his tail. All other play had ceased as both teams paused to watch the two Seekers battle it out.

Banks was even with Potter's ankles—waist—shoulders—finally they were head to head, swerving from side to side like two dancers wrapped in close embrace, shoving and driving into each other in desperation. As one, they thrust their arms forward and fought to gain the upper hand from the other. They strained, reaching—Lena somehow, miraculously, just ahead—a wild snatch at the air—and then suddenly, Lena pulled up, her hand held high in the air, the tiny, struggling Golden Snitch caught between her fingers.

The crowd erupted into a deafening roar that shook the stadium to its very supports. I screamed loudly in approval and gave several nearby students bone-breaking hugs. Amber jumped up and down beside me, squealing like a newborn pig. She turned to me, eyes shining. "We won! We won!" she kept saying, over and over.

"I know!" I yelled back. What did it matter that it was Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw basking in the light of victory today? My face hurt from beaming so much and my heart pounded dangerously in my chest. "I know!"

The Gryffindor team had all flown to the ground where Lena had dismounted, throwing themselves into a huge, squirming dog pile of Gryffindor. A mob of red and gold clad supporters rushed the field to join them, Amber and myself included.

"Go, go Gryffindor! Go, go Gryffindor!" the crowd chanted.

James clapped everybody hard on the back, his face red and bursting of excitement. He kept repeating the same word over and over again, but I couldn't hear him over the cheering masses.

"Potter! Potter!" I shouted, trying to get his attention. I pushed and shoved, but to no avail—it was like trying to punch through a brick wall. "James!"

With a savage cry, the crowd lifted James and the other team members onto their shoulders. They surged toward the castle like a riptide current, carrying the Quidditch team forward with it, leaving me behind.

I stood stock-still as the screams and yells of the crowd lessened to a dull rumble, filling my ears with a relentless buzzing until I could hear nothing. Students rushed past me, knocking into my shoulders and back in their agitation and excitement, but I felt nothing: all I could see was the ever-smaller figure of James, mouth stretching and moving in expressions of harsh elation, fist pumping the air in slow motion as he finally disappeared from my view.


[A/N: Phew. That took a really long time to write! Or maybe it just felt that way, since I've been so busy... Be grateful! I should have been writing my college application essays!

Oh, yeah, by the way, I didn't really mean to make Teddy out as a really hot guy. It just happened... so I went with it... And I kinda like it, so there.

If I made mistakes in the Quidditch sequence, PLEASE TELL ME. I'm awful at action-y stuff and I probably missed something.

Oh! Oh! Did you guys hear that Jo go approved for writing the screenplay for ANOTHER HARRY POTTER MOVIE?! Granted, no Boy Who Lived, but it's still the same world and everything! AND it's apparently "the first in a series"! I'm so freakin' excited, I just can't even. sfdsgsdgdfhj!

Hugs and kisses to all of you for putting up with me! 3