Hello! I'm trying to keep this profile on FFN updated, hence this posting which actually came out on my AO3 profile weeks ago. If you want to be updated with my work, I'm also lucyrinner on archive of our own (lucyrinner AO3 profile)
Thanks for reading!
She's on her way to the greenhouse on only the third day, asking for extra notes on the Chinese chomping cabbage when she hears it.
And apparently, a few first years behind her hear it too, because the seemingly permanent panicked look they have on their faces gets worse when the screaming coming from the greenhouse increases in volume.
Rather than reassuring them, Jemma just smiles. They'll figure out they're only mandrakes sooner or later.
She continues to the greenhouse and, just to be careful, grabs a pair of earmuffs before walking through the door.
"Miss Simmons!" The professor exclaims, barely even noticing her through her own thick pair. "What can I do for you?"
"I was just wondering," Jemma starts, having to shout above a baby mandrake's little squeal. "Do you mind if I just take a peek of the cabbage? I want to get a better diagram for my notes."
"No problem! It looks like one of your fellow classmates had the same idea-" she yells, gesturing towards the corner of the greenhouse where the fifth year plants are stored. sitting on the stool, a pair of earmuffs adorning his head, is a Slytherin, sketching out the fanged geranium on the lower shelf.
Simmons nods and heads over, taking out her notebook and carefully adorning her hands with the dragon hide gloves, making sure to set the cabbage down carefully. Only after she's sure it won't devour her or her notes, she turns her head to smile at the boy next to her.
"I don't think we've met before, but I've seen you around a lot. I'm-"
He sighs right in the middle of her sentence, cutting her off. It's only when he picks up his pencil again does she see the bright green Slytherin emblem on his robes, and she shrinks back a little. Not scared, not really- just annoyed.
She had never really understood the stigma around Slytherins- one of her best friends was a Slytherin, even some of her favorite teachers.
But no one seems to have taught this one any manners, so she huffs and turns her back to him, sketching, only pausing once or twice to make sure her earmuffs were on tight enough. Finally, the first years leave, save for the one or two that are still unconscious, and she's about to have most of the greenhouse to herself when she hears a crash.
"Damnit!"
She jumps off her chair and turns, seeing the Slytherin boy clutching his finger, now about three times bigger than usual and bright purple.
Jemma's calm, picking up the geranium that fell on the floor carefully, setting it back on the shelf without getting her hand taken off.
"Are you okay?"
"No! That thing almost took my finger off!"
She tries not to laugh, but it's almost impossible, the outraged expression on his face funnier than it should be.
"Oi! I'm bleeding, here!"
"I'm sorry, but you have to admit, it is a little-"
"Oh, and I suppose Ravenclaws are just born with knowledge concerning the fanged geranium, is that it?"
Her expression quickly turns from amused to angry. "Well, I'm just so sorry you don't! It seems you don't know how stupid it is to not wear your dragon hide gloves in the greenhouse!"
He rolls his eyes. "I didn't need them! The geranium is sold at Dogweed and Deathcap, for god's sake! It's in the same classification as an angry hamster!"
"Well, apparently, that little houseplant gave you a free trip to the infirmary!"
"Enough!" Professor Sprout yells, rushing back into the room. "I have to lug two first years all the way to Madam Pomfrey, and this is what I return to? Two of my brightest fifth years screaming at each other?"
Jemma goes pale, her whole body shaking. "Professor, please-"
"I don't want to hear it! Honestly, I expected better out of you. Both of you," she says, looking at the boy.
He stares straight at the floor, still clutching his swollen finger, without a word.
"Mr. Fitz, Miss Simmons, I expect to see both of you with the caretaker this time tomorrow to serve your detentions- is that clear?
They both nod, tears starting to pool in Simmons eyes. She barely succeeds at not letting them fall, refusing for her teacher and this juvenile see her cry over something as silly as a detention.
"Miss Simmons, please escort Mr. Fitz to the infirmary."
She looks up, mouth open, ready to protest, but she's shut down at a look from her professor. So they walk out together, the boy's finger slowly turning a worse shade of black with each step they take.
The walk is as quiet as possible, and done as quickly as possible, without a single word shared. He doesn't even make eye contact with her, preferring to stare at the floor- which is fine with her, she thinks, still both fuming and annoyed. It's completely childish, but she hopes his finger falls off.
They stop at the door to the infirmary, and with barely a nod, he opens the door with his good hand and rushes in, leaving Jemma Simmons with only a quiet hallway and her first ever detention the following night.
Fitz walks in the room to the pale but angry looking brunette, arms crossed and staring at the ground. His hand's wrapped tight in white bandages, but she can tell the swelling's gone down by just looking at it.
"So I guess you're not in trouble a lot- am I right?"
She doesn't make eye contact with him- doesn't even avert her eyes from the floor, staying totally silent. He rolls his eyes, taking a seat on a stool far away from the ice queen. He's had lots of practice with the silent treatment, and he can play with the best of them.
"Can I at least get a name?"
She sighs, lifting her head slightly. "Simmons. And you?"
"Well, hello, Simmons, lovely to meet you. Come here often?"
She pushes herself off the stool and for a second, he thinks she's actually going to lunge at him. "No, for your information, I don't! I can't even tell you the last time I was even grounded!"
"Well I'm not exactly a troublemaker either!"
"Yes, well, I can't even be sure of that, because I don't even know your name, let alone know your juvenile record. "
He's torn between wanted to break something and wanting to laugh, which is how he feels most of the time he's around her. "Fitz. My name is Fitz."
She stops for a second. "Skye's friend?"
"Who isn't Skye's friend?"
"But she's mentioned you-"
She's interrupted by the grand doors of the silver room opening. The newer caretaker walks in, holding pairs of gloves and a big bottle of green liquid, setting them down on the table and pointing to the different trophy case.
"These over here haven't been touched in a while, so get those first, would ya?"
He turns to leave and Jemma stops him, taken aback by the abrupt directions. "And what are the gloves for, sir?"
He turns and smiles, showing yellow chipped teeth and beady eyes. "The spiders, of course."
He leaves and they both turn to look at each other, eyes a little wider. "Well, I guess we should get started," Fitz says, a slight quiver in his voice as he eyes the thick gloves.
They clean in silence for a while, mostly giving off disgusted looks every time they lift a Quidditch trophy from 1807 and find a little more than they bargained for underneath it. It isn't as bad as she thought it would be- there's no dementors waiting to suck out her soul or kids responsible for turning their enemies into centipedes, so she considers it way better than what she thought of in her head.
Fitz is as quiet as she is, only speaking up once to ask for some more of the cleaning solution, which she hands him only after managing to fend off a cobweb in front of the Gobstone Championship trophy of 1957.
"You, uh, have a bit of web in your hair," he says, trying to stifle the giggle threatening to come up.
She shoots him a dirty look and runs her hand through her hair, shaking it out. "Thanks," she manages to get out, not sounding thankful in the slightest.
He nods, feeling like a jerk. "Oh, come on, it could be worse. We could've been on cauldron scraping duty."
"Yeah, because spider duty is so much better. We should start doing this for fun!"
"Well don't worry, your perfect little reputation isn't going to be tarnished from one night of spider duty."
She whips around to face him. "Easy for you to say! All the teachers love you! You're one of the smartest people here!"
"Yeah, right behind you."
She stops at this, not sure whether this is his attempt at flattery or sarcasm.
"I thought you hated me." Jemma says slowly, ending with a questioning sound almost like she's treading carefully.
His expression turns to one of a confused cat, head turned to the side, brows furrowed, and eyes wide. "I've never hated you!
"You always shoot me dirty looks when I get an answer right in class!"
"Jemma, that's just my resting face."
She tries not to laugh, because the thought of where she is and what she's doing right now should wipe that smile right off her face, but it's so funny she cracks a smile.
"You Slytherins all seem to have those, don't you?"
He wants so bad to make a joke about Ravenclaws, maybe even call her a know-it-all for good measure. But he nods and cracks the slimmest of a smile, which goes away almost as quickly as it appears when a spider the size of his fist makes a quick run across the floor in front of him.
Yeah, so much for manly, brooding Slytherin.
She's sitting by herself in the great hall, toast with strawberry jam on it and her Guide to Advanced Transfiguration cracked open when Skye sits down next to her, a half eaten donut in her hand.
"I love that they've stopped giving me dirty looks whenever I sit here," she says, referring to the group of Ravenclaws a few seats down from them, no longer feeling the need to eye the Slytherin logo on her robes.
"Yeah, because they know you can turn them into chamber pots at any given moment," Simmons laughs breaking off a piece of her toast and eating it.
"Psh, like my transfiguration's that good. They should be more scared I'll accidentally turn them purple. How did your mom react to the news?"
"What, the news that my new Slytherin friend who is also a boy got me into detention last week? Oh, you know Mrs. Simmons- she thought it was just peachy."
Skye cringes. "It was that bad?"
"I'm surprised it wasn't a howler. She told me that under no circumstances should I spend anymore time with this boy. She even threatened to send an owl to the headmistress to make sure that Leopold Fitz 'got what he deserved'!"
"For the record, note that I'm being a totally supportive and sympathetic friend right now who is not making fun of the name 'Leopold'."
Simmons smiles. "I know. But, really though, who in the world would think Fitz is dangerous?"
"I killed a ladybug for him in the common room yesterday. He gets upset when they don't have chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast because he likes to put beans and sausage on top of them- it's disgusting. He's, like, the most harmless person I've ever met."
"Tell that to her! But for right now, I'm supposed to be avoiding him. Which isn't hard, actually, because he never even showed up to breakfast this morning. Did you see him before you left?"
"No, actually, I didn't. He's probably in the library again," She sighs.
Jemma watches as Skye's glance drifts over to Grant Ward, the handsome sixth year in Gryffindor, and laughs.
"Skye, just go," she says, watching the brunette eye him from across the room.
And with that, Skye winks at her and jumps up of the table. leaving the donut in her place.
She finishes up her own breakfast and collects all of her heaviest books, walking down to the library. Exams are only a few weeks away and she'd feel better about getting a head start if the library wasn't already crowded with kids who were thinking the same thing.
She sets her books down on the only empty table near the front, grabbing her quill to take notes on the horrid Advanced Rune Translation when the table next to her, full of seventh year Hufflepuff girls, begin to gossip loudly about the attractive Quidditch players on the team.
"And that chaser, oh-what's his name?"
"Triplett? I know! He sits in front of me in Divination, and I swear I haven't looked at those tea leaves all semester!"
She tries to concentrate, she really does, but Madam Pince is out with the flu and there's no one to tell these girls to move it into the common room or else, so Simmons takes her nose right out of her textbook and shushes them, loudly and with plenty of eye contact.
This loud shush is matched with an "Oi!" from across the library, sounding just as annoyed as she is.
The girls give her a nasty look and start to pack up their bags, grumbling to themselves about the little fifth years that think they have it all together. They leave, and with them gone, Jemma can see past their table to the one behind it, which is piled high with books on Astronomy and Transfiguration, complete with a frustrated-looking Slytherin scribbling out things on his piece of parchment. Fitz doesn't even see that it's her, preferring to scratch his head and turn a page every few seconds.
She thinks about her mother. She thinks about all the dangerous things she said Fitz could be, and how she already got in trouble once. She thinks about all of these things while packing up her books and pulling a chair over to him, sitting down and spreading out all of her parchment paper again, without a word.
"Jemma?" He says, looking up from his papers with a little ink blotted on his face. "What are you doing?"
"Being a friend. And helping you with this Astronomy problem, apparently. Now, I know star charts are difficult, but I'm pretty sure you can figure out where Venus goes, Fitz."
"I forgot a whole planet? Okay, I take whatever I said back. You're the smarter one, by far. The margin is wide."
She smiles and starts pointing to different areas of the parchment, correcting it. "And Ganymede is a magnetosphere, not an ionosphere."
"What's the difference?"
"Oh, about a thousand kilometers and another layer of the atmosphere,"
He smiles and scribbles it down. "Thanks, Jemma."
"Oh, you'll pay me back in Potions lessons- that awful professor only likes Slytherins, I swear!"
"That's because you stirred up a Bloodrot potion instead of the Alihotsy Draught, and you know how bad the difference between those two is,"
She rolls her eyes and cracks open her own Astronomy book, her mother the farthest thing from her mind.
He looks up at her, smiling like he hadn't just been ready to throw his homework out of the window of the owlery just two minutes ago, and Simmons can't help but think he might be worth a howler or two in the near future.
"Fitz, Saturn's a planet too, you know."
They tiptoe up the grand staircase, being cautious of the approaching footsteps of a teacher just around the corner- she had told him that it was getting dark, that curfew would be starting soon, but did he listen?
No, he didn't.
Because if he had, she wouldn't be creeping around the castle right behind him, peering down dark hallways and jumping every time the floor beneath her creaked.
"Fitz," she whispers, with a slight hint of malice. "I'm going to kill you!"
"How could I have known that it was already curfew? I was knee deep in chapter ten of Defensive Magical Theory before the lights had gone out!"
"Well it's your fault if we get caught- I can't get two detentions in one month."
He rolls his eyes and tries to stop himself from shushing her, fearing the consequences of a very sleep-deprived and very annoyed Jemma Simmons. He may be tired, but he isn't dumb.
They come to a stop right before the portrait of the one-eyed octopus until Simmons realizes that this is where they should separate- the hallway on the right leads to the dungeons with the Slytherin common room, and the staircase on the left is to Ravenclaw tower.
"Well, um, goodnight, I guess," Fitz says, scratching his head, eyelids already half closed. He takes a step towards the eerie green glow of the dark hallway before she lunges out, grabbing his arm and pulling him back, startling him.
"Fitz!" She whisper-shouts, starting to run with his arm in tow as she spots their Astronomy professor walking down the staircase. "Run!"
They head into the dungeon and she can't pause to realize how terrifying it is- and how different it is than Ravenclaw's tower. They have sunlight and deep blue carpets with bronze tapestries lining the walls, and this has the aura of a terrifying underwater shipwreck.
They run all the way down to the big, heavy door that leads to the common room when they slow their breathing, Jemma still looking back to make sure there's no enraged defense against the dark arts teacher about to give them a free trip home or enraged poltergeist ready to announce their position to the entire school when she realizes that they have another, much bigger problem:
A Ravenclaw in the Slytherin dungeons?
Fitz hadn't realized until he was right in front of the portrait of the headless horseman until he notices that she's not following him, apprehensively standing at least twelve feet away from the grand entrance.
"Well, come on then!" He gives her a wave to follow, turning again towards the portrait.
"Fitz, aren't you forgetting something?"
He looks back at her and, for the first time, notices the blue bird emblem on her robes, the glaring difference between them.
"Oh."
"Yeah, 'Oh'," She says, rolling her eyes.
"Maybe it'll make an exception?"
"Yeah, the headless horseman is known for being very lenient at times like this," She snaps.
He runs through other options in his mind, and her trying to make the trek back to Ravenclaw tower all alone, without being seen by anyone, seems like a bad one.
"You can sleep on the couch in the common room," he whispers, trying to ease her up to the portrait. "Get up early and run back to the tower."
She still looks uncertain, but it's a better plan than being stuck cleaning the owlery for the rest of the year, so she nods her head a little and slowly approaches the horseman.
"Blackwood," Fitz says clearly to the portrait, ready for it to swing open as usual.
Jemma rolls her eyes at the seriousness of the password, already missing the questions the grand eagle knocker poses to her kind of student. But the door stays still, and the horseman doesn't even bother to wake up from what she can only assume is sleep, barely even acting disturbed by the late students.
"Blackwood," Fitz repeats, slower and clearer. "Oi! Blackwood!"
She looks around, worried that someone heard him. "Fitz, keep your voice down!"
"The password isn't working!"
"Are you sure you've got it right?" She asks.
He knows that they sound like an old married couple at the moment, but he doesn't care. The door isn't opening and the concrete floor doesn't exactly looking inviting or comfortable, and Jemma's already slinking down against the wall with the greatest urge to scream.
"Great! Bloody fantastic! We're stuck here all night and someone's going to come across us while we're sleeping on the floor and chuck us right into detention."
"No one's going to come," Fitz insists, not even believing himself. There really couldn't be a worse common room to be locked out of- at least the Hufflepuff basement is near the kitchens- but this one is cold and he can't decide whether he's more terrified of someone coming to find them or something coming to find them.
"Well then, tell me this- who changed the password?"
"It gets changed every fortnight, and that's not for another two days. Jemma, I have the password right, I swear."
"Unless someone changed it early," She offers up, leaning her head back, already annoyed with their current sleeping positions.
"But no one would do that! I mean, no one other than-"
He stops speaking and looks at her, not even needing to voice his thoughts. They both know who's responsible.
"I'm going to kill her!"
"Thought you were going to kill me," he smiles, turning his head to see her already closing her eyes. It's been such a long day of too much studying that the floor seems less worse by the second, but he's not forgiving Skye that easily- at least a day or two of silent treatment.
"Fortunately for you, this puts Skye ahead," Jemma quips.
He just grins back at her, trying to get comfortable against the cold grey wall. They grow silent for a few minutes, and just when the annoyance starts to drip off, she hears a timid jungle coming towards them, getting louder by the second.
"Fitz, do you hear that?"
He opens his eyes and listens, shaking his head.
"Didn't they just give Mrs. Norris a collar with a bell on it?"
Fiz reacts first, jumping up to grab Jemma's hand, urging her to do the same, pulling her behind one of the grand pillars in the dungeon. It's not exactly a genius hiding spot, especially for a cat that has to have supersonic vision for all the students she's caught, but it has to do.
He puts his finger to his lips and crouches behind the pillar, pulling her down with him. Their breathing quiets and she notices how close they are only after the inner rage of being thwarted by a cat dissipates. His arm's wrapped around her back, hugging her to him tightly, with their heads leaning together.
They hold their collective breaths as the cat inches closer, and Fitz tries to stop himself from already thinking about what breakfast food he's gonna miss more when it stops, turning around and moving away from them.
"Hold on, did we actually just fool Mrs. Norris?"
"Keep your voice down, Fitz! She might come back!"
"Jemma, you need to learn to appreciate the little things," he says, standing back up and smiling.
She rolls her eyes and walks toward the door again, the little five foot Englsih girl against the headless horseman.
"Blackwood," she says firmly and clearly.
He stirs slightly and turns over, not even bothering to give them acknowledgement above a loud,, annoying snore.
"Okay, well, not that my back and I wouldn't love the chance to sleep here on the floor all night, do we have any other options?"
He laughs. "Unless you want to go find the Bloody Baron and ask him the password himself, then no."
She shoots him a dirty look, the bags under her eyes not detracting from the pure annoyance she's feeling right now.
"Goodnight Jemma," he says trying to lean his head back against the wall, eyes closed.
"We're waking up with plenty of time before breakfast, alright? So we can clean up and study some more?"
He groans and keeps his eyes firmly closed. "Ugh, I think I'll pass- even thinking about Pryce Spazzle's Rebellion of 1652 makes me want to throw up."
She smiles and closes her eyes. "Night, Fitz."
She's put on the opposite side of the great hall as he is, and thankfully far away from Skye, who is surely going to attempt a cheat quill or, at the very least, a sickness potion. It's quiet and you can almost feel the stress of every student around, wondering if this would be the exam where they got that T for Troll.
Jemma dives right in as soon as the time starts, on complete autopilot, answering question after question in rapid succession. The taxation of imported dragon eggs? Began in 1752 and didn't end until Humbert Hill rebelled in 1820. The Giant War between the tribes of Northern Europe? Didn't end until Fizz Higginbottom passed the Act of 1649.
Fitz eyes her at the beginning, right before quills are handed out. He mouths 'good luck' and she smiles, but he can almost feel the stress coming off of her on the other side of the room.
Nothing major or exciting happens- no one vomits, not one's dragged out for cheating, no one even cries. It's a sort of a dramatic letdown for Fitz, who breezes through most of it, going page after page of long answer questions.
The big sand counter at the front of the room is almost completely full on one side, save for a few grains at the top, when he looks around, only now noticing most of desks are empty. Jemma's still there, a spot of ink on her nose Fitz can see from there, reading through all of her answers.
She turns to the last page of parchment that's splattered with ink and takes a breath, standing up and walking towards the front. He stands too, hands about to shrivel up and die, but alive just the same. The herbology professor standing there takes both their papers, smiling slightly. They turn and start to walk down the grand hall and out the door, avoiding each other's looks.
"How do you think you did?" He says, when they reach the courtyard outside, sun shining and air so much fresher than in the dining room.
"Um- Fine. I think I did fine." She stuttered, wringing her hands.
He grabs her arm, forcing her to look at him, worried she's having a panic attack or really about to throw up, no sickness potion needed.
"Jemma, listen to me. I'm sure you did fine, okay?"
"No- that's not it! Well, I mean, it's a little of it, but…"
"Jem-" She doesn't even let him finish, preferring to back him into the stone wall of the courtyard, placing her lips on his.
He's in shock for a second, not even feeling her hand on his back or his quickened breathing. She slows, pulling back only a millimeter or two, still with a tight grip on him.
Then he responds, pulling her closer to him, hand in her hair, eyes finally closing. She gives off a sigh of relief, almost ready to punch him for his hesitation.
Jemma's glad she did this when no one was around- she's not sure she could handle any whistles or suggestive jokes from Skye or teachers giving them 'told you so' looks.
She pulls back again for a quick second again, this time with the biggest smile on her face, amid a confused Fitz. "So, what'd you get for question nineteen?"
He laughs, rolling his eyes. "The one about nineteenth century troll migration? Completely bombed it, but I'm having trouble caring at the moment."
Skye picks up her heavy trunk and her caged cat, struggling through the hallway towards the carriages. "Simmons!" She yells, amid indignant meows from the orange tabby. "Can I get some help please?"
She brushes hair away from her eyes and sweaty forehead, expecting to see Jemma rushing towards her, preferably ready to catch her before she passes out.
What she sees, on the other hand, is about as far from expected as she could've thought.
The two of them are walking hand in hand, trunks rolling behind them, clunking against each other every few feet. It's such a cute moment, so casual and sweet, it almost makes Skye forget the pain in her arms. "Hello, nerds? Please?" She calls.
Fitz drops his trunk and rushes over to her, relieving her of the large cage so she can pick up the rest of her stuff. "I know what you're going to say," he mumbles quietly, eyeing Jemma talking to a professor out of earshot. "So don't."
She smiles. "Fitzy, are you suddenly clairvoyant now? I seemed to have missed that!"
He rolls his eyes. "Before you ask, yes, I like her. A lot, okay? But what we don't need are paper airplanes thrown into our train carriage with stick figures kissing drawn on them."
She doesn't say a word, preferring to hug him with much more force than necessary, causing Jemma to laugh as she comes back. "Ready, you two?"
They collect all of their stuff and walk towards the carriages, and finally, onto the train. Skye is separated from them as soon as their feet touch the platform of the shiny train, friends from different houses pulling her in all different directions, so they walk to the carriage near the back by themselves.
"So, I'd say, all in all, not a bad year." Fitz jokes, sitting down across from her.
"What are you talking about? I got my first detention this year," She teases.
"Oh, I don't believe you regret that for a minute. You should send a thank you letter to that professor for giving us that detention."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. In fact, now that I know you can fight off spiders twice the size of your hand, maybe I'll stay around for a while," He laughs as the train starts to move, picking up speed. "You never know if it'll come in handy."
"I'm buying you new dragon hide gloves this Christmas."