Note: A/N and my excuses as to why it took so LONG to update toward the bottom.

Chapter Three -The broom closet-

"You're mental."

Ange stared intently at my face, with one hand resting on the book and one hand clutching the small knife. Cut up the dried roots into small pieces and place into the mixture, stirring it counterclockwise. I grabbed a handful of roots from the nearby bin and started grinding the cold knife into the dead plant.

"He's not done until he finally humiliates you, or causes the same amount of pain as you did to him."

The cut up roots were dropped into the cauldron one by one, the liquid turning into a deep shade of dark blue. I know, I answered her in my mind. There was no point in trying to convince her that I'm not actually going to die. It was a fact that I knew. That everyone knew.

I continued stirring the tranquil liquid, clutching the spoon with both hands. It was useless.

"Katie, do you understand? Flint's going to murder you," Ange pressed again. The emphasis on the word "murder" was quite unnecessary.

The potion was turning orange now, as I watched myself drop in more anonymous ingredients. What was this supposed to be, anyways? I stared blindly at the potions book laid out next to me on the table.

Fred and George's usual mockery was tossed towards me from the nearby table, but I failed to respond. The two merely exchanged looks and pulled away, noticing the potion now frothing up and swelling into a deep red.

"Katie?"

The cauldron was now in complete excitement as it clattered restlessly on the brass. My arms continued to stir, now moving in a more frantic matter than before, causing Ange to stare worriedly. Half the class was watching now, exchanging whispers of my arriving death, and how Katie Bell adores the fame of being chased by the school's scariest Slytherin. I didn't ask for it, I don't want it. I didn't ask for it, I don't want it .I repeated endlessly in my mind.

"Katie! Katie, stop!" Ange cried out, trying to grab the spoon from my white hands.

"NO YOU STOP, ALRIGHT!? I've had enough of you and everybody else talking about Flint! So shut up, all of you."

The potion had settled now, the contents left inside pitch black. The Dungeon was still; luckily Snape was out of the classroom for I would've been expelled by the time he was done. My breathing was raspy and my body was shivering. Without another word, I stormed out of the room.

Word had already traveled of the great roar caused by the famous Katie Bell, the number one on Marcus Flint's Death List.

It was over.

I hurriedly ran through the corridors, pulling my robes close, as if to shield out the cold. Flashbacks of fear and nausea swept my body, taking over the rest of my free mind. It was late November and the cold had arrived early this year. The corridors were cold and moist; the autumn air had changed into early winter while it brushed the empty floors.

The dimly lit corridors showed no signs of students. I was alone.

I had calmed down a little from my last outburst. My breath was steady now, my face no longer clammy.

There was a muffled sound.

I spun around. There was nothing there but the empty corridors and dimly lit lights scattered across the halls.

Then again.

What is that noise? It sounded like voices coming from nearby. I walked down the corridors toward the sounds, but it leads me nowhere but further into the school. I pressed my ears against the cold wall and continued down the trail until I turned another corner. A little further down the corridor was a broom closet. The voices were much clearer now, and there were two. One was a girl's, that's for sure, and she sounds like she's in a state of ecstasy judging from all the moaning and screaming. The other one was barely distinguishable but it was there all right; a deep male voice leaking grunts every now and then.

It was pretty obvious what they were doing. So I won't name it.

Quickly after they had reached their climax, the closet door opened and the girl stepped out, fixing her robes. I quickly hid behind the corner to avoid embarrassment and waited until the two voices died off. I poked my head from the corner to check again, and then slowly walked toward the broom closet. It was empty, and the closet itself looked quite clean. Perhaps too clean.

"Well, if it isn't Bell."

Quickly revolving, I found myself facing the massive body of Marcus Flint, the infamous troll. There was no time to react; the stupid git was faster than I expected. Next thing I knew, my body was pressed against the closet wall with Flint's arm placed forcefully on both sides of my body, trapping me inside. With a flick of his wand, he closed the closet door shut behind him, though I thought it was rather unnecessary since there was not a soul in sight.

"Not very fast, are you?" Flint taunted, his warm breath brushing past my neck.

"Bugger off Flint," I retaliated, "I don't have time for your foolish games."

"Is that so? Then why, may I ask, are you stalking around the corridors at this hour?"

"That's none of your damn business," I hissed, staring right at his dark brown eyes. I didn't want to look away, for I thought it would seem cowardly (The sorting hat obviously over saw this meaningless amount of pride and courage, which would explain my residency at Griffindor).

Flint merely snickered and pressed his body closer to mine, his nose almost touching. I knew that I had blushed and responded to this, for Flint snickered again, drawing closer to overwhelm me.

"Where's your darling Mr. Wood? I didn't think you two lovebirds would ever separate."

"You shouldn't be talking, Flint. I don't care how many girls you've entranced but I know that you're just a lousy git." I spat back, slightly blushing at the mention of Wood.

Though I half expected to receive a blow to the face or the head, Flint just stared back with the same sneering grin pasted on his face.

"Ah, is that so? Then I suppose you wouldn't mind if I do this."

With a quick sweeping motion, Marcus Flint, the biggest git known to all of the Wizarding World, pressed his lips and his well-toned body tightly against mine. Hold on, did I hear myself say well-toned body? Merlin's Beard, Ange was right. I am mental. The worst part of it is, I actually felt myself responding to his touch.

I realized I had let him touch me for far too long for the stupid git was now closer and more enthusiastic. I managed to release my arm from his tight grip and sent it flying toward his face.

Flint immediately swore and jumped back, clutching his face. I didn't dare stay around for another second and burst out the small closet.

After running for what seemed like hours, I reached the Fat Lady's Portrait, who just looked at me in a confused expression.

"Fortuna Major!" I breathed, and scrambled past the opening portrait and into the comfort of the common room.

The beautifully decorated room was empty, for students were all in their classes. I ran up the spiraling staircase and into the girl's dormitories. As I reached my room, I quickly shut the door behind me, even though there was no way for Flint to possibly reach me. I leaned back against the wooden door, trying to calm my heavy breathing and to understand the situation. I had snogged Marcus Flint.

I slowly placed my trembling finger on my lip; feeling the slight warmth that had embraced it moments ago. It had been soft but also forceful; sweet but also bitter. My heart was beating endlessly against my chest, excitedly chattering about the touch of Flint. He had been teasing, mocking me for my virginity and lack of sexual attraction. Yet, when he did embrace me, it was an act as one lover would do to another in the secrecy of an isolated room. I must be drinking too much Pumpkin Juice.

Trying to calm myself down, I plopped down on my cot and stared outside the fogged window. It was nearing November now but the school was still plagued with the dementors sent from the Azkaban Prison. Several first years (by the looks of it) were chattering aimlessly until a dementor appeared by the window, causing the lot to bolt away. Though we all know the dementors are harmless against the great walls of Hogwarts, one cannot help but shudder whenever one is in view. The coldness seemed overwhelming and was not something to be taken lightly.

But dementors seemed to be nothing against the wrath of Marcus Flint.

A/N: My god. It has been TOO long since I last updated. I'm terribly sorry to say but I don't think this story is going to get updated very often. This does not mean that I won't at all; just that I won't do it frequently. In weeks or days, per se. However, I will get things done when I have one of my writing drives, so I don't necessarily think the completion of this story will take very long. It's not a long story to begin with.

Yes, I edited this like the rest of my chapters (except possibly one).

Thank you for reading this ridiculously meaningless Author's Note until the very end.