Part 22 - The OWL, the Butterfly, and the Niffler

As OWLs approached, I got more and more nervous. Not about the exams themselves; I was infinitely confident in my own intelligence and ability to kick arse. No, I was anxious as hell about being around so many of my fellow students all at once. Despite the fact that I'd been frequenting Hogwarts for months, I had purposely moved about the castle only at times when I was sure to run into the fewest people. I hadn't been recognized or otherwise accosted.

But the OWLs would be different. I would be rejoining all the students from my own year to sit for the exams. During the practicals, my name was likely to be called out loud. And I didn't want to deal with that. I felt scared and helpless, remembering all the abuse I'd suffered at the hands of that pack of ignorant, malicious bastards.

By the time June and the start of exams rolled around, I was reluctant to participate. The first day found me catching an early breakfast in the kitchen with the twins because I'd promised I would, but I spent a good chunk of that time trying to think of some justification for running away and not coming back. And I guess my apprehension was pretty obvious.

"Relax, Stel," Fred laughed, placing his hand on my bare knee in an attempt to get it to stop bouncing frantically, "You're going to do great."

"I don't think I want to do this anymore," I confessed, feeling too freaked out to eat, already very close to throwing up.

George tsktsked, leaned his head onto my shoulder and soothed, "If you don't take the test, then who's going to make everybody else look stupid, huh? Do you really want that on your conscience?"

Despite my sour mood, I snickered at the joke. The twins have always had that power over me.

"It's just..." I hesitantly explained, poking disgustedly at a small bowl of oatmeal, "I don't want to deal with those people."

"Then you'll be happy to hear that we threatened your entire year with defenestration should any of them upset you," Fred piped up, flashing a dazzling white grin.

Had I been drinking anything, it surely would've shot out my nose with the force of the laugh that bubbled up. "You did not," I gaped, only laughing harder when both boys nodded importantly.

"Certainly did," George beamed, "The ones who knew what defenestration is were suitably terrified. The rest needed other forms of persuasion." He cackled evilly, rubbing his hands together. "We've been persuading all weekend. Right fun it is."

"You are absolutely absurd," I laughed, feeling my anxiety wane.

Leaning over to press a kiss to my temple, Fred soothed, "Absurdly awesome. There's nothing to be nervous about, love. Now, you'd better eat something or you'll regret it."

"Too true," George contributed, "I was almost asked to the leave the Transfiguration written because my stomach was growling so loud."

"Ya, about that," I spoke up, "Your mum was telling me some crazy story about you only getting three OWLs a piece. I said she had to be mistaken. My best friends are far too brilliant for scores like that, right?"

They hung their heads guiltily, shrugging.

"What the hell, guys?" I demanded, getting kind of worried again. The twins were two of the smartest people I knew; if they'd been stumped by the test, then I didn't have any hope.

"We didn't do much studying," Fred admitted quietly, "We just... didn't feel like it."

"Why would you not-" I began, abruptly cutting myself when I realized the unspoken implication: the reason that they hadn't studied was me, my incarceration in and subsequent disappearance from the nut house. Of course the twins wouldn't have felt like studying for, let alone taking exams.

My eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry," I said, throwing my arms around Fred and then George, "I should've... Merlin, I'm an idiot! I can't believe I tanked your scores!"

"It's not your fault," George laughed, mussing up my already messy hair, "Besides, you know we've never cared about grades. That's your department, love. Now get out there and show everybody what you're made of!"

"Nicely motivated, Gred," Fred said, high-fiving his brother above my head.

"Thank you, Forge," George replied, leaping to his feet and curtsying primly, doing a small jig while his brother kept time.

Laughing, I commented, "And people say I'm the crazy one."

xxXxx

My first OWL was the Charms written, and it was fine. A piece of cake. Nobody even looked at me twice, all too caught up in their own exams to notice an extra student in the room, especially a girl wrapped from head to toe in her boyfriend's robe--mostly for comfort, but also just to cover up. I'd run into Ron while the twins were walking me to the testing room, and he'd practically drooled on my shoes at the sight of me wearing my school uniform once more; apparently, all the menfolk who knew I'd be returning had been quite looking forward to me taking my wonderfully ill-fitting ensemble out of retirement.

Laughing happily, Fred told me this over lunch in a secluded, sunny grove near the lake, just the two of us and a small picnic since George had received an afternoon detention for conspiring with the portraits.

(Don't ask.)

"You girls have no idea what that outfit does to us blokes," my boyfriend reported, stretched out on his side in mirror-image of my position, groaning helplessly when I wrapped my lips around a fat, ripe strawberry, winked, and took bite.

"Especially when you're the girl wearing it," Fred added gruffly, darting forward, licking a stray dribble of juice off my chin before attacking my mouth with his own.

I sighed delightedly, letting the stocky redhead guide me down onto the comfortable blanket, letting my legs fall open lazily when said redhead playfully walked his fingers along the inside of my thigh and upward. "So tell me," I murmured, panting damply against the shell of his freckly ear, "What exactly does my outfit do to you?"

"Stella," Fred whined, frenzied and downright sloppy as he kissed and nipped my jaw, as he pushed my skirt up higher, pushed my panties to the side, "For Merlin's sake, don't tease me. I haven't even been allowed to touch you in two bloody weeks."

"Poor baby," I giggled, though it turned into a sort of choked, keening moan when Fred abruptly slid his fingers inside my wet center, stroking in time with the firm pressure of his thumb on my clit. He'd gotten so damn good at that. "Fred," I gasped, rocking against his hand, rubbing my thigh against the tent in his trousers, clutching desperately at his thick arms.

Fred gave a strained laugh, breathlessly commenting, "Never going to get tired of hearing you call out my name."

I remember thinking of a snappy comeback, but it got lost somewhere in between the crook of his broad fingers inside my tight channel and the surprising rasp of his teeth over my cloth-covered nipple. I would've happily come apart, given just a few more seconds of stimulation; however, my lovely boyfriend chose that moment to stop his attentions entirely, pulling away with a sinful smirk, teasing my knickers down my legs and tossing them aside.

"Bastard," I groaned, writhing and squirming in a way I knew very well Fred found incredibly sexy and almost entirely impossible to resist.

And, indeed, his expression grew mesmerized and dark. He kissed me fiercely, grinding against my hip... but pulled back once more, shaking himself, grinning. "Sorry, love," Fred laughed, dragging his lips down my exposed sternum, popping one of the few remaining buttons on my shirt open with his teeth, "But I have a nice surprised all planned. To wish you good luck on your OWLs, you know?"

I giggled, complained, "Awfully rude of you to forget such a fact until such an inopportune moment."

Glancing up at me over the length of my own torso, waggling his ginger eyebrows, Fred declared, "I promise this'll make up for it." He kissed a bare slice of belly just above the low waist of my disheveled skirt, adding, "Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back."

"Ooo," I laughed, sighing as he slid his rough hands along my legs, starting at my ankles and slowly moving upward and until they were under my skirt, cradling my bare arse, "Intriguing. Do I get a hint?"

He nipped at my knee, smiled against the inside of my thigh as he got comfortable on his stomach. "You need a hint?" he joked, lips trailing higher, closer to where his talented fingers had been just minutes earlier, "I didn't think I possessed the ability to be that subtle."

I giggled and wriggled, ticklish. "Now who's teasing?" I challenged.

"Yes, where are my manners," he replied, winking devilishly just before his head disappeared under my skirt.

Sprawled on the blanket, I gulped deeply, tried not to feel nervous or embarrassed at the immensely intimate act that was about to commence. Despite the few awkward and unpleasant blow jobs I'd given Oliver Wood before deciding he wasn't worth the trouble, the young man had never reciprocated. And now here was Fred, eagerly volunteering for the task. I smiled up at the brilliant sky, biting my lip when I felt Fred's warm breath on my cunt, when I felt his smile against my exposed folds.

And then it was difficult to think about anything at all aside from the slick, hot slide of tongue.

"Holy fucking hell," I shouted (well, squealed, rather unattractively as my whole body just about convulsed).

Fred's head popped up between my bent knees, and the boy beamed at me. "Alright, love?" he mocked happily, eyes impish and somehow bluer than the summer sky.

"Don't you dare stop," I gasped, fairly certain some wiring in my brain had just been fried.

Chuckling, Fred vanished again. "Bossy," he commented, biting a fluttering tendon at the juncture of one of my thighs, "I love it."

I was... less than coherent after that. Mewling mindlessly, flushing all over and sweating like I was about to catch fire, clutching at the blanket in a rather futile attempt not to buck off it, trying not to scream or swear too loudly as Fred took his sweet arse time licking and sucking and stroking, driving me repeatedly to the brink of orgasm only to pull back with a wicked, maddening laugh. When he finally did allow me release, it was like... uuuhhh. Amazing. Just this intense sensation of exploding outward from the apex of my thighs, over and over as Fred's cunning mouth just kept forcing my body to higher and higher planes of soul-rattling ecstasy.

By the time I was coming down and once again noticing my surroundings, I saw that Fred was beside me, stretched slothfully on the blanket and chuckling as he nipped behind my ear, ran his palm over the shivery waves of aftershocks still bouncing like pinballs between my hips and rib cage, slithering like snakes down the length of my seemingly leaden legs. "Back with me, love?" the boy questioned smugly, eyes dazzling and lips plump and wet. Shinier than any boy's lips had a right to be.

Still not quite up to the task of speaking, I just nodded, fought the blissed-out paralysis of my limbs in order to curl into his chest.

He put his arms around me, and the wash of vibration from his laugh made my breath catch deliciously, delayed my recovery another few floaty seconds.

"Wow," I finally managed, "That was... wow... where... where did you..."

Apparently taking some pity on my poor gooey brain, Fred snickered and explained, "The books in the Restricted Section cover a lot more subjects than just Dark Arts, and I know how you love it when I actually study."

I snorted inelegantly, snuggling in and deliriously muttering, "Ten points to Gryffindor."

xxXxx

Very shortly after my very inappropriate mockery of the school's point system, just when I was starting to rouse from my post-orgasmic stupor and enthusiastically rejoin our amazing open-air tryst, Fred made a big show of whipping out his... pocket watch (naughty minds are happy minds, hahaha) and checking the time.

He then groaned, fought me off him, and reported that I was going to be late.

To which I replied, "Late for what?"

To which he replied, "Merlin, that one move was called the Mind Melter, but I didn't think they were serious."

To which I replied, "Why are you still talking?"

To which he replied, "Your OWL starts in five minutes."

To which I replied, "You're a dead man."

And that was how, after a frantic sprint, I arrived barely on time to the Charms practical, panting and barefoot and still quite bothered, with half the buttons on my shirt undone and my hair mussed tellingly. Without my knickers, I realized in horror.

Everybody turned and stared when I rushed into the Entrance Hall. There was whispering, twittering, pointing. Several jaws were dropped.

Before I even had time to acknowledge my utter humiliation, one of the examiners (a tiny witch who looked older than Dumbledore) appeared in the doorway of the Great Hall and curtly announced, "Students, please step forward when your names are called. First up are Randolph, Allaway, Carlo Azarola, Giles Babineaux, Katie Bell, and Stella Black."

More jaws were dropped, but most people didn't seem to actually make the connection between the crazy girl who'd been carted off to the asylum the previous year and the half-dressed girl who'd just rushed into the Hall with only seconds to spare. I heard hushed murmurs of wonderment and surprise, people glancing all around trying to catch sight of their most infamous yearmate.

I pushed my way through the crowd, trying to discretely button my top and smooth down my hair, trying to ignore the alternately inquisitive and lustful but all ridiculously obvious stares. I took a deep breath, talking myself out of making a run for it, psyching myself up. I reached for my wand-

My wand.

I left my wand on the blanket.

I had a brief internal breakdown and decided to kill Fred.

But as soon as I had resolved to do so, the redhead himself came barreling into the Entrance Hall, my motorcycle boots in one hand and--praise be to the god of horny teenage girls--my wand in the other.

"Scuse me, pardon me, outta the way, important man coming through!" Fred proclaimed as he shoved his way across the room. Once he reached his destination, the redhead barely spared a moment on a sheepish smirk before sweeping me into his arms and kissing me until I no longer cared that my entire year and several of the OWL examiners were watching intently. That, as far as I knew, my underpants were still MIA.

We came up for air and smiled stupidly at each other, lost in our own little world. Fred stuffed my forgotten boots and wand into my hands, winking, chirping, "Good luck, Stel. Not that you'll need it." He leaned in close, whispered, "Would I just be digging myself in deeper if I offered to trade your knickers for my life?"

"I am going to get you back so bad for this," I replied, unable to stop grinning as I gave him one more peck on the lips then turned and just about strutted up to the amused-looking witch with the list of names. "Stella Black," I declared loudly, proudly, fear and uncertainty nothing but distant memories, "Present, accounted for, and ready to kick some OWL arse."

xxXxx

I flawlessly performed every required charm and then a few extras at the impressed behest of my examiner, the tiny old witch with the list of names. She was called Madam Marchbanks, and she gave me full marks.

When I exited, about half the class was still in the Entrance Hall waiting to be called for their turns. The conversation grew hushed, the looks uneasy, amazed, hungry.

I just smirked and walked off to wait in the library until the twins were through with class, hoping to find something that could be transfigured into a usable pair of knickers. Based on my luck thus far that day, I didn't want to risk walking around commando for too long. It was bad enough I would be forever remembering my Charms OWL as the one to which I did not wear panties.

About half way to my goal, I heard, "Stella! Wait!"

I didn't bother to turn and investigate, picking up my pace.

Unfortunately, though she was kind of a shortarse, Katie Bell was pretty quick herself and didn't take long to jog up beside me. "Hey," she began uncertainly, "I... how are you?"

"Was there something you wanted?" I snapped in reply, barely sparing the pretty blonde girl a sideways glance. She'd been alternately indifferent and mean to me, buying into and even helping spread the rumors; I had no desire to converse.

She bit her lip, looked away and then resolutely back at me. "I feel terrible about what happened last year."

"You should," I quipped.

The girl flinched a bit but stayed in step, fidgeting with a stray thread on her shirt. "What I mean is," she corrected softly, "I'm sorry."

I stopped and whirled on her, towering impressively as a sudden flash of fury had me almost angry enough to put my fist through her face. I really almost hit her. But, instead, owing to great personal restraint, I kept my clenched hands at my sides and hissed, "No, what you mean is that you want to stop feeling terrible about your abhorrent behavior, and you think you can do that by having me accept some pitiful excuse for an apology. But it's not going to happen. I have absolutely no interest in making you feel better, so FUCK OFF!!!"

I didn't mean to shout. It just happened.

And, afterward, the only thing I could think to do (other than beating the girl into next week) was walk away. So that's what I did. I walked away, pulling out of the fog of rage and realizing that I was only about a half dozen doors down from the library. Huh.

Unfortunately, Katie refused to quit. Moments later, she was back at my side and then in front of me, stopping me and stepping into my path every time I tried to step around her.

Snarling, I warned, "You really don't want to do this."

I saw her brown eyes flick down to my tightly balled fists, back up once more. "Would that help, you think?" Katie challenged, only the barest hint of nervousness in her voice, "If we just fought and got it over with?"

I smirked bitterly, my best mental-patient smirk. "Is it still considered a fight if I knock you out with one punch?" I replied.

She smirked right back. There was a small degree of open respect in the expression. After a brief moment, Katie countered, "You tell me."

"Tempting," I quipped; really, it was, "But I'm trying to get reinstated, and I don't think presenting McGonogall a handful of your teeth would be counted in my favor."

Katie laughed out loud, shaking her head. "I'm starting to see why the twins like you so much," she said.

"I always thought it's because of my tendency to misplace my knickers," I joked dryly. Before my former roommate could answer, I added, "Stop acting like we're friends, like we ever were friends or are ever going to be friends."

This seemed to stun the girl, her mouth opening and closing dumbly. "I made a mistake," she finally murmured, looking suitably ashamed of herself, heartfelt and pleading, "I'm sorry."

"So you said," I answered, sick of the conversation and, especially, the person with which I was being forced to have it, "And all it tells me is that your conscience is in good working order, which makes everything you did just that much more despicable since you bloody well knew better."

She bit her lip, seemed like she might cry.

"It's easy to be sorry," I told the girl as I moved past her, "A lot easier than it is to be a good person. Give that a try, and maybe then we'll talk."

Katie didn't follow me after that.

I suppose I should've given her some credit; hers was one of only a scant few face-to-face apologies I ever got from the people who took part in my torment, and she wasn't even one of the worst offenders, not by far. The rest pretty much either pretended nothing had happened or just avoided me entirely; most kept up with their old tricks of talking about me behind my back and crossing to the other side of hallways when I walked past.

At the time, though, I was still too angry to appreciate what I felt was a rather hollow gesture. I wasn't a particularly forgiving person; hell, I'd just barely started tolerating Harry again, which wasn't forgiveness so much as... trying to move on. And even that was hard. A part of me still hated my godbrother, felt hurt and betrayed and pretty much always would. But I did my best with Harry because I loved him, because he was my family. Katie Bell was nothing to me, never had been and never would be.

In the library, I snuck into the Restricted Section and flipped through some of those naughty books Fred had bragged about (they were as interesting and informative as they were difficult to locate; honestly, who hides books in the ceiling?).

George found me there maybe an hour or two later, perched comfortably on atop one of the tallest stacks (wearing a pair of strangely comfortable transfigured knickers made from a stray quill). Smirking up at me, my redheaded best friend asked, "How was the OWL?"

"Full marks and flying colors," I answered, grinning broadly, replacing the book inside a loose ceiling panel, "How was the detention?"

Shrugging, George said, "Been to one, been to 'em all." He chuckled, declared, "I don't know what you did to my twin, but he squirmed all through class and then ran off muttering something about keeping you from killing him, so it looks like you're stuck with me until he manages that. Are you studying, or do fancy going out for a bit of fun?"

"Fun, of course," I responded, hopping down from the stack and into George's steadying embrace. "Remus is down for his monthly," I reported as we linked arms and set off, "And Tonks got called away on a last minute assignment, so I am officially without adult supervision for the next few days at least."

"That's how I like my Stella," George beamed, "Hogsmeade?"

I hummed speculatively, stating, "Well, we'll have to catch the floo connection through there."

Raising an eyebrow as he maneuvered us out of the Restricted Section, George chuckled, "What're you thinking, oh devious one?"

"Well, that sounds ominous," Cedric Diggory declared from a nearby table, his handsome face appearing suddenly from behind a thick book. He smirked, inquiring, "What are you two planning?"

"Are you asking as a prefect or potential cohort?" George teased, smiling mischievously and waving him forward, "Either way, come with us and find out."

"It's a Monday night," the boy declared, scandalized (though I couldn't tell how much of it was an act), "And, Stella, don't you have another OWL tomorrow?"

I shrugged, chirped, "Just Transfiguration. I can take that test standing on my head and still get full marks." I dragged him up from his chair, adding, "And I just won't be able to enjoy my night of fun if I know there's a strapping Hogwarts champion sitting all alone in the boring old library, especially since I'm sure you're only in here because Cho's probably gone all Ravenclaw crazy and is refusing to acknowledge your existence until after the OWLs."

Cedric blushed, laughed, allowed himself to be pulled along. "I suppose I could stand for some excitement," he said, "After all, there's no greater tragedy than a wasted youth."

xxXxx

We looked for Fred (briefly) but couldn't locate my wayward boyfriend. Instead, I left him a note detailing my plans and encouraging him to meet up, then George, Cedric, and I took the secret passage to Hogsmeade (which amazed Cedric to no end), and from Hogsmeade we flooed to Ozzy's London flat. He was thrilled with the visit, even more so when I suggested we all go out to his friend's nightclub, Coven. It had become a favorite hangout of mine, and I was sure that George and Cedric would love it as well.

We changed at Ozzy's. I wore a short, gauzy white dress left over from one of our photoshoots. George and Cedric borrowed jeans and very stylish collared shirts; Ozzy had a really fun time dressing them up, playing with their hair, and flirting shamelessly with both clueless boys, occasionally snapping candids of the three of us goofing around.

And then we headed out. The crowd at Coven wasn't anywhere near its peak capacity (being an early Monday evening), but the turnout was still rather respectable: just the fun side of rowdy, mostly jovial groups of friends rather than seas of shameless singles. There was a band setting up on the stage, a long-haired quartet wearing red full-body leotards, so we had that to look forward to. As usual, the owner, Ozzy's friend Luisella Cordero, was happy to see us, gave us a private booth and gave her employees instructions that we were to get whatever we wanted.

"Aren't you the rockstar," George teased, his shaggy red hair gelled into a surprisingly adorable faux-hawk that seemed to bring out the devilishness in his bright eyes and quirky grin.

With his own brown hair looking windswept and whimsical (very Prince-Charming-on-a-white-stallion-here-to-save-the-day), Cedric slid in beside Ozzy on the other side of the booth and commented, "I sure could get used to having VIP friends."

Ozzy chuckled, flicking dark hair out of his dark eyes and slinging an arm around Cedric's broad shoulders. "You're a Triwizard champion," Ozzy remarked, waving down a waiter, "I think you're going to have to get used to being a VIP all on your own."

Squirming a little uncomfortably, Cedric answered, "Actually, I'm hoping that I won't be such a celebrity once the tournament is over. It's kind of creepy, especially with all those bogus stories about all of us showing up in the Prophet. Not to mention that awful Skeeter woman hounding me for interviews."

George clamped his hand down around my mouth, lightly warning, "It's probably best not to get Stel started on her. There's a bit of a history."

I swatted him away, laughing, "I wasn't going to rant! I was just going to tell dear Ced that the next time Skeeter bothers him, he can shut her the hell up by snatching the mangy horse-hair wig off her detestable bald head. Preferably in public."

"Skeeter's bald?!" Ozzy demanded, eyes bugging out behind his glasses.

I smirked evilly, purring, "Ever since I got through with her."

"You're kidding, right?" Cedric asked, smiling like he thought so but wasn't sure and didn't know whether to laugh or to be very, very afraid.

"Oh no," George piped up, grinning quite proudly, "Stella takes her vengeance very serious. I still can't grow hair on my arse from the time she had me and Fred tarred and feathered."

"You two rigged my trunk to blow up in my face!" I shrieked, laughing when he reached out and tickled my sides, "The response was more than justified! Besides, people pay good money for hairless arses. You should be thanking me."

We got our drink orders in: firewhiskey for George and Cedric, an appletini for Ozzy, and a strawberry lemonade for me. The waiter kept the beverages coming as we all chatted and joked, the noise from our booth growing exponentially louder with every ounce of alcohol my companions consumed.

Cedric was the cutest drunk I'd ever seen, pink and uncontrollably giggly, his voice crackly and high. He fell out of the booth laughing when, after an hour of George's pestering me for details, I confessed to a carefully edited account of my ridiculous afternoon.

"Blimey!" Cedric snickered as Ozzy helped him back into his seat, "No wonder Fred's scared! Cho would skin me alive if I ever let anything like that happen!"

I shrugged, laughing at myself a bit. "Well, don't tell him just yet, but I'm pretty much over it," I stated, "It wasn't entirely Fred's fault, and he did make a nice save. Plus, as horrifying as the situation was at the time, the whole thing just seems hilarious now."

"To Stella's sense of humor!" George toasted abruptly, clumsily raising his glass, "May it always be so forgiving toward my poor hapless twin and the many fuckups undoubtedly in his future!"

"Here, here!" Cedric giggled as he, too, toasted. And then fell straight out of his seat once more and lay on the floor, still giggling.

"I think you might've had enough, dude," Ozzy chuckled as he once again dragged the inebriated Hufflepuff up and into the booth, "Wouldn't want any of these questionable characters taking advantage of the champion while his defenses are low."

Grinning slyly, I teased, "I bet Cho wouldn't like that one bit."

Cedric gave a sloppy, dopey smile, wobbling a bit as he giggled, "I like Cho."

"We gathered as much," George answered, looking exasperated yet greatly amused as he waved for another round.

"No, I really like her," Cedric insisted with a dreamy sigh, "Like, love her. She's perfect... you think she'd marry me?"

I choked on a mouthful of lemonade, coughing spastically as George hammered on my back.

"Now I know you've had enough," Ozzy commented, snatching away Ced's refill and downing it himself.

Gray eyes looking dewy and dreamy, Cedric pouted, "I'm serious. I just know, you know?... how should I ask her? Or should I wait 'til she's done with Hogwarts? You think that'd be better?"

Trying to clear the last of the tart liquid from my lungs, I rasped, "Probably best to wait until you're at least done with Hogwarts! You've got another year still ahead of you, mate! Don't rush it!"

"But I LOVE her!!" Cedric complained, tipping over in his seat, this time thankfully toward Ozzy and simply passing out face-first into the American's lap.

We just sort of stared for a moment... and then laughed until I was sure at least one of us was going to be sick.

"Godric's grapes!" I cackled, "He's a lot of fun!"

"Never would've guessed it," George agreed, slurping and chuckling into his drink, "We are definitely going to have to invite him along on more of our adventures!"

Shaking his head, Ozzy propped our poor unconscious friend up and snickered, "That's if this adorable little lightweight doesn't wise up and avoid you hoodlums like the plague. Jesus, from the Goblet of Fire to the barroom floor. What a corrupting influence you are."

"But that's why you like us," I grinned, shoving at George to let me out of the booth, "Move it, ginger nut. I'm going to piss myself from all this laughing."

"Sexy," George taunted as he let me up.

I scurried off to the loo, laughing like crazy all through the visit, undoubtedly making the women in the other cubicles extremely uncomfortable. But whatever. It's what I do.

By the time I was finished, the band had finally started playing. They were good, very upbeat, high-energy pop rock. And they called themselves Sex Hex. Ozzy was on the dark, crowded dance floor, looking like he was having a grand old time jumping about with a pretty blonde man. My friend waved me over brightly, and I danced with them for one short song before heading back to the table to check on George and Cedric.

George had found his own entertainment: a scantily dressed brunette gyrating spastically in his lap. He didn't really notice me, and that was fine. I was just going to go back to dancing as soon as I saw that Cedric was ok.

Except Cedric wasn't there.

"George!" I cried, having to shout loudly over the music, smacking him several times in order to get his attention away from the extra tongue in his mouth, "George, where's Cedric?"

The redhead and his companion frowned at the intrusion. "He's lying down on the bench," George yelled, waving me away and getting back to his previous activities, "I'm watching him. Go have fun."

"GEORGE!" I shrieked, hitting him repeatedly, "Cedric isn't on the bench! He's not here at all! Didn't you see where he went?!"

George managed to pull himself away from his snogging partner yet again, looking around, under the table. "Relax," he finally told me, reluctantly excusing himself from the brunette, "I'm sure he's just... uh... gone to the loo or something. Probably had to puke."

Growling at the boy, I stalked off to the toilets again, scanning the crowd and finding no sign of the wayward champion. He wasn't in the men's room, either. And, after getting propositioned twice during my search of the place, I was not in the best of moods.

"I can't believe you lost Cedric!" I scolded George, climbing up onto a table with his help and searching the throngs of dancers once more, "I can't believe you lost the Hogwarts champion!"

"He's not lost," George answered, pouty but contrite, "Just... misplaced. Besides, it's not like we don't have another one." Obviously he wasn't contrite enough not to tell bad jokes. Though I should've expected as much. There are very few things in the world that can keep George Weasley from that particular pastime.

I smacked him, abandoned my perch on the table. "You keep looking in here," I ordered, rather frustrated, "I'm going to check around outside."

"You shouldn't wander off by yourself!" George shouted after me, but I ignored him and pushed my way out into the warm night.

The outside of the club was nothing special, nothing even obvious, being that it was a wizarding hangout in the heart of London. One very large bouncer was on duty guarding the entrance: a tiny, fake locksmith shop at the end of a narrow, quiet alley. The bouncer's name was Mick, and he said that he had indeed seen a young man matching Cedric's description leave the club, stumble down the alley, and turn right at the street. I set off in the Hufflepuff's wake.

It wasn't a particularly bad neighborhood, just... you know, nighttime in the city. Dirty artificial light that washes out the moon and the stars and casts long shadows that play tricks with the eyes. Nocturnal weirdoes roaming free.

I found Cedric in a groddy tattoo parlor at the end of the block. I almost didn't believe it when I glanced in through the front window and saw the boy lying on a table on his stomach. After rushing frantically inside, I was even more distressed to see that his pale arse was bare and that a very large, hairy muggle was halfway through applying a small tattoo high on the boy's finely sculpted right cheek. The design looked like a wispy purple butterfly.

I was speechless. Honestly.

After a few moments, Cedric finally noticed my arrival, picking his head up and grinning stupidly but proudly. "D'ya think Cho will like it?" the boy slurred, hopeful and excited.

And I just... I couldn't burst his bubble. He looked so sweet and so smitten. The damage was done, after all. I could've dragged him out, but having to explain in the morning why there was half a butterfly on his arse seemed somehow worse than having to explain why there was anything on his arse at all.

"I think Cho is going to be very, very surprised," I answered, doing my best not to laugh, sitting down at my friend's side and giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Cedric giggled and beamed.

xxXxx

By the time his tattoo was finished and bandaged and I had listened dutifully to the hairy muggle's proper-care-and-maintenance-of-body-art speech, Cedric couldn't quite walk under his own power alone. I couldn't quite carry the strapping young man, but I did my best to keep him mostly upright as he hung off my shoulders and we both went stumbling back toward the club.

Our progress was slow, and Cedric was humming very off-key, occasionally jabbering something that sounded suspiciously like Gobbledegook limericks and then laughing hysterically.

"I really wish you were still shorter than me, mate," I bitched, "And quit squirming! I'm in heels and barely keeping us both off the sidewalk as it is!"

Cedric giggled shrilly. Then he went silent. "Stella?" the boy asked.

"The one and only," I answered, "What's on your mind, Frankenstein?"

Frowning against my shoulder, Cedric grunted, "Huh?"

"Nothing," I told him, laughing and trying to adjust my grip on the burly seeker, "Are you feeling ok? Do you need to stop?"

He shook his head, said, "Stella?"

"Right here," I snickered.

"Stella," Cedric repeated, suddenly throwing both arms around me and hugging me so hard that lack of oxygen became a bit of an issue.

"Oof," I huffed breathlessly, "Alright there, champ?"

"You're a good friend," the Hufflepuff insisted, finally easing up but not moving away. "And a good person," he added sincerely. His pouty bottom lip started to quiver, and Cedric pulled me into another hug, hiding his face in my hair and mumbling, "I'm sorry people are so mean to you."

The comment was... unexpected. And I didn't really know how to respond. So I just settled for returning the hug, patting him gently and murmuring, "Thanks."

Cedric made a wet, squishy belching noise, and I barely got his head into a rubbish can before he began barfing up his guts.

"Stella?" I heard, turning to find Fred jogging toward us. He was filthy and still wearing his school uniform, the left sleeve of his shirt ripped at the shoulder. But he had a silly grin on his smudgy face, so I figured that whatever had happened to put him into such a state couldn't have been too traumatizing.

"What on earth happened to you?" I chuckled, keeping the redhead at arm's length when he tried to dart in for a kiss.

Smirking, Fred reported, "I fell out of a tree."

"You fell out of a tree?" I questioned skeptically.

Fred nodded. "Twice."

I stared at him for a moment and then just started laughing like crazy, so hard that I was unable to fend my dirty boyfriend off the next time he leaned in to kiss me. "What were you doing in a tree?" I demanded, struggling weakly when he folded me into his arms and hugged me tight against his grubby chest. I noticed twigs and a few leaves tangled in his hair.

Still with the same silly, smug grin, Fred dug into his pocket and produced a small, pretty blue flower. It was a simple thing, five flat, pointed petals around a fuzzy black center. Thumb and forefinger pinched around the delicate stem, Fred held the flower out to me and prompted, "Smell."

Wary but intrigued (and never one to turn down a challenge), I leaned forward and took a delicate sniff of the vivid blue plant. I was expecting... I don't know. Something. Usually when either of the twins tells me to smell, taste, touch, or otherwise interact with anything, it's some sort of prank.

But I smelled the flower and nothing happened. "It..." I ventured tentatively, "It smells like pineapple."

Beaming, Fred agreed, "I know!"

"Did you fall on your head?" I laughed, reaching up to run my fingers through his tangled red locks, carefully probing the boy's thick cranium for knots or contusions.

He pouted, moped, "You don't like it?"

"I love it," I soothed, leaning into his touch when he gently tucked the flower behind my ear, "I just can't believe you fell out of a tree for it... and why were you even climbing a tree when you have a perfectly good broom at your disposal? Wouldn't flying have been a lot easier and less dangerous?"

"Therein lies the problem," my boyfriend proclaimed, puffing out his chest, "It's not a daring quest to bring my lady fair a token of my love if there's no danger to be heroically overcome only through the depths of my devotion."

Laughing, pecking his smiling mouth, I answered, "You're too cute for your own good."

He grinned and hesitantly ventured, "Does that mean you're not going to kill me anymore?"

"I was never really going to kill you," I teased in reply, gracing him with a wicked smirk, "Just maim you a bit."

"Oh," he answered brightly, "Well, then that's ok. My body, as well as my heart, belongs to you, after all."

Cedric turned up beside us, wobbly but upright. "I'm done vomiting now," he reported, looking very young and pitiful.

"And there goes the mood," Fred answered, rolling his eyes.

I smacked him lightly, pulling away just in time to catch Cedric when the poor boy almost took a header into the pavement. With Fred's help, I was able to haul the unconscious Hufflepuff back to the club.

xxXxx

We got back to Hogwarts around two in the morning, the twins supporting Cedric between them. Our good champion was awake again and telling strange stories from his childhood, like the time he had a pet rabbit named Marshmallow that peed everywhere and tried to eat his toes. We probably should've silenced him, but the tales were too funny and cute. So we decided to just let him babble and keep a close eye out and run like crazy in order to not get caught.

We agreed that abandoning Cedric to his own house wasn't a very good idea. And, anyways, he couldn't remember the password to his common room. So, instead, we dragged him up seven freaking flights of stairs (a feat that fell mostly to Fred and me since George was also drunk and got very uncooperative after the first few stories).

By the time we made it to the Room of Requirement and sorted it into a suitable place for a slumber party (three cozy cots all in a row), Fred and I were pretty much exhausted, sweaty and ready for bed. But we still got George and Cedric to drink some water, got them out of their jeans and shirts, and then tucked them in. They both passed out almost immediately.

"Finally," Fred murmured, pulling me into his arms, pressing my back against a wall and kissing me soundly. "I thought they'd never leave," he sighed into my mouth, his big hands pushing under the hem of my skirt.

"They're still in the room, Fred," I laughed, reluctantly pushing him back a bit and sternly arguing, "And, anyways, you're not getting into my knickers again until you return the last pair. Pervert."

He pouted, "Aw, do I have to?"

"I would prefer it, yes," I scolded, finding difficulty in keeping a straight face.

"Can we make a trade instead?" he offered hopefully.

Rolling my eyes, I countered, "I already spared your life."

"And I do appreciate that, love," the redhead murmured silkily, gnawing a bit on my collarbone in a highly distracting manner, "But I was thinking that maybe I could sacrifice your lovely underthings if you agreed to take a nice steamy shower with me." He picked his head up and grinned, winked sexily before switching to the other collarbone, doing delightful things with his tongue all the way up the side of my neck.

"Hmm," I hummed happily, thoughtfully, "Well, you do need a shower. Badly."

"What every bloke wants to hear from his beloved," Fred taunted, tugging me toward the small attached bathroom, "Come on, Stel. Pretty please?"

I let myself be pulled along, lacing our fingers and shivering at the puckish look Fred sent over his shoulder. "Fine," I murmured, smirking, "But you're totally washing my hair for me."

xxXxx

Our shower was actually surprisingly innocent. Turns out, we were both too tired for anything really naughty, and it was just nice standing under the hot spray together, holding each other close. Fred took his time washing my hair, letting his hands wander as he whispered soft words of adoration, and I did the same for him. Enjoyed vast expanses of freckles and pale skin and hard planes of quivering muscle. It was the first time we'd ever seen each other completely naked (unless you count when I shrank, which I don't since Fred was dressed and George was there), and (aside from Fred's brief loss of the ability to form coherent sentences) nothing happened, but... it was really nice anyways. Quiet and intimate. And we both went to bed happy, snuggled together close and warm.

I was up first in the morning, pleased to see that some overachieving house-elf had brought up a few doses of hangover potion (which didn't work particularly well, I knew from experience, but was better than nothing). I dressed and then, in preparation for that days' OWL, went over Transfiguration-related topics in my head, watching Fred sleep in the moments when I felt particularly sappy and love-struck. He was so adorable, ruggedly handsome and utterly relaxed.

Cedric woke next, moaning in pain.

I gave him one of the potions and ordered, "Drink."

He did so, and, after a few minutes of careful, measured breathing, the Hufflepuff seemed to feel at least marginally better. He opened one bleary gray eye, wincing and croaking, "Stella?"

"Go back to sleep, mate," I murmured, offering a gentle smile and what I hoped was a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"Where are we?" he grunted, stubbornly picking his head up off the pillow. One side of his hair was matted and the other was sticking out all over.

I tried not to laugh. "Hogwarts," I said, "Don't worry. Just sleep."

He sat up instead, yelping shrilly and clutching his arse. "What the..." he gaped, stumbling to his feet, teetering but staying upright as he pulled down the waist of his black-and-yellow striped boxers and exposed the fresh bandage.

His eyes got huge, like silver dollars, his mouth falling open soundlessly.

"Ya," I chuckled, "That was pretty much my reaction, too. Sorry. You ran off from the club, and I didn't find you until you were already most of the way through the tattoo."

He squeaked in horror.

"Did someone just step on a niffler?" Fred yawned, frowning over at us from the other bed. He took in the scene and then carefully ventured, "Stel, why is Diggory flashing his arse?"

"Did I not mention it last night?" I answered, knowing very well I hadn't, "The champion got his behind tattooed as a gesture of undying love for his girlfriend."

"Damn," Fred responded, pouting and snuggling back into his pillow, "Why didn't I think to do that?"

I snorted and rolled my eyes, turning back to find Cedric in pretty much the same position I'd left him. "You should probably change the bandage soon," I instructed, "And disinfect the, um... area. The tattoo parlor didn't look particularly clean, but the artist seemed like a nice enough bloke. And he did good work. The ink is gorgeous."

Cedric blinked at me a few more times before finally shutting his mouth, giving a weak, weary smile and questioning, "You guys are playing a prank on me, aren't you?"

Shaking my head, I replied, "Not that it wouldn't have been a really good one, but no. Sorry." I gestured behind me, stating, "There's a mirror in the bathroom if you want a better look."

Appearing disturbed and nauseated, Cedric wobbled his way into the bathroom. Seconds later, the horrified squeak could be heard once more. This time a lot louder.

"Who stepped on the niffler?" George grumbled.

xxxxxxxxxx

I think this chapter kind of speaks for itself, teehee. Woo. I'm on fire, and reviews feed the flame. Burn, baby, burn.

(In case ya'll didn't notice, I have abandoned warnings for sexual content. From this point forward, just to the be safe, assume that everything I write is filthy and entirely inappropriate :) )