I Was Born a Fool and I'll Die a Fool for You

by WastelandRose

"You're bloody ridiculous. You do know that, right?" "Yes. And thank you for using 'ridiculous' instead of 'insane.' It's a narrow distinction that not many people bother to get correct." Fred/OC

27. Clothing Optional

Part 27 – Clothing Optional

On my first Friday back to school, I ate an early dinner with Cho. Afterward, I had plans to return home for at least a day. Visit the old man. We'd kept in touch fairly constantly over our mirrors, but after having each other available in person twenty-four/seven all summer, the transition back was proving difficult. I couldn't wait to fling myself into his arms.

"That awful Umbridge woman has been glaring at you the entire meal," Cho reported worriedly.

Glancing up at the staff table confirmed the observation. The bulbous toad looked like she was trying to catch my head on fire with just the heat in her beady stare. Possibly with more than that; I wouldn't put it past her.

But I probably had more magic in my little finger than she did in her whole treacherous body, so there was no need to worry. I smiled sweetly at her and gave a little wave, laughing internally when her pudgy face flushed an even more vivid red. "It's nothing," I told Cho, "She's just pissed at me because I accidentally got her whole seventh-year NEWT class to quit today."

Cho choked a bit, already grinning as she gasped, "What?"

"It was surprisingly easy, actually," I muttered with a shrug, "I don't know if that says something about her teaching or my leadership, but there you go."

My companion descended into a rather uncharacteristic fit of giggles, ducking down in her seat when she realized that she was attracting attention.

I just smiled, glad to have made her laugh. She'd been crying a lot again, ongoing mourning made worse by hormones and mood swings. And the way everyone twittered about her in the hallways certainly wasn't helping. At least all her blood tests had turned out entirely normal; I just had to get to work perfecting the rest of the pre-natal charms and diagnostics she would need. So far, everything I'd practiced on Marigold had seemed to go over just fine, but I wanted to be absolutely sure. And I was maybe planning on another field trip to Mungo's over the weekend to check my work.

"Miss Black," I heard as McGonogall appeared behind me. The old woman had a fond smile playing over her weathered features. "The headmaster would like a word with you," she said, "Please proceed to his office at once."

"At once?" I whined playfully, "Come on, Professor. Whatever it is can't be more important than a well-balanced dinner! I'm a growing girl!"

McGonogall seemed to forget herself for a moment and laughed helplessly. Of course, that didn't last too long; she glanced guiltily toward the staff table, where Umbridge's glare had turned slightly rabid. Smirking at my smug smirk, McGonogall declared, "Make yourself a to-go plate, Miss Black."

xxXxx

"I didn't realize that my personal scheduling would turn into such an incident," I declared, balancing a hearty dinner on my lap as Dumbledore twinkled his eyes at me.

The white-haired wizard's expression was flat and bland, but I thought I could see a small glimmer of amusement in it. His quiet voice, too, betrayed a grudging delight in my actions. "I'm sure you didn't," he agreed, "But the fact still remains that Hogwarts no longer has a seventh-year Defense class. What do you propose we do about this problem?"

Shrugging, sipping pumpkin juice, I declared, "Well, I'm certainly not going to waste my time with that woman. I'm more than capable of teaching myself everything I'll need for the NEWTs. And I don't see what you expect me to do about the rest of the class. They all followed me on their own."

"You underestimate your powers of persuasion," Dumbledore pointed out, "They followed you with no prompting whatsoever. It stands to reason that if you returned to the class, then they would as well."

"But then we have the problem of my returning to that useless class," I answered, taking another bite of my dinner, "What kind of professor refuses to answer questions? Honestly, it's just ridiculous! I could deal with being taught nothing but theory, but she flat-out told me that we would only be allowed to learn what she thought was appropriate for us to know! She's a fucking fascist!"

By then used to my colorful outbursts of profanity, Dumbledore barely blinked. "You know," he began, elegant fingers tented thoughtfully in front of his wrinkled mouth, "I used to teach Defense. I would be more than happy to set aside some time every week to answer any questions that might arise in the course of Professor Umbridge's... minimalist lessons."

Raising a speculative eyebrow, I challenged, "This isn't like when you made me look at inkblots and tell you about my mother, is it?"

Dumbledore actually chuckled. "No, my dear," he promised, "It is not. I just understand that your natural intellectual curiosity won't be fulfilled in that woman's company, so I'm offering to do so myself. If you and your fellow students will rejoin her class, that is."

"Fine," I sighed, trying not to let on my excitement. Dumbledore was legendary for a reason (and it certainly wasn't that ridiculous beard). No matter what I thought of the man personally or how much I disagreed with most of his policies, a weekly chance to pick his brain was actually kind of priceless. "But I'm not taking any shit off her," I warned, "My mouth is staying shut unless she tries to start something with me or anyone else in there, and then I won't hold back even for a second."

"That sounds fair," the headmaster agreed. He spared me another brief smile before continuing, "I will speak to Professor Umbridge and would appreciate if you would speak to your classmates."

"When I get back," I declared, shoveling the rest of my dinner and gulping my juice, "I'm supposed to go home this weekend... you mind if I use your floo since I'm up here anyways?"

"Feel free, Miss Black," said Dumbledore, banishing my empty dishes, "Thank you for helping me to resolve this situation as amicably as possible."

I grinned, "You're welcome, sir."

xxXxx

I flooed to the Burrow, where Bill met me and apparated us both to Grimmauld. Once again, Dad was waiting on the front steps and caught me neatly when I hurled myself into his arms. "Miss me?" I giggled brightly, pecking him on the cheek.

He laughed, "Only every second, love. How was school?"

"Interesting," I answered, "I accidentally got the whole Defense class to walk out today."

Dad flashed an absolutely wicked grin, beaming, "Ah, carrying on my mayhem. Good girl."

It was just us that night. Dad had trashed the kitchen making spaghetti sandwiches, and since he was so proud of himself, I didn't have the heart to tell him that I'd already eaten. So we dined by the fire, snuggled up and chatting idly. I told him more about my week (even though I'd already filled him in on most over it over the mirror). He complained about being cooped up in the house, about Kreacher and Snape and Dumbledore and Pettigrew and Voldemort and Mrs. Weasley (in no specific order).

We didn't fall asleep until well past midnight, simply becoming too tired to go on talking and drifting off on the couch. In the morning, I made French toast while Dad read the paper aloud... the whole experience was very... domestic.

We spent the day together, mostly just hanging out in the backyard. Dad helped me with my Animagus transfiguration because he wanted me to accomplish it before Fred managed to. I was... canine. We were pretty sure of that at least. But my facial features seemed too wolfish to belong to a dog, while my body was shrinking a little too small to belong a wolf. Either way, I was covered in gray-gold fur and had bright gray-blue eyes.

I didn't fully transform that day, but I got very close, close enough to get a good look at my reflection in a window. It was only a brief glance, but it was enough for me to figure out my form.

"I think I'm a coyote," I panted, surprised and a bit winded by the effort of the change, "I saw some once in the States when Remus and I were on holiday. They're like little prairie wolves."

"Coyote, huh?" Dad replied, giving his stubbly chin a puzzled scratch, "That's a new one..."

Grinning, sprawled in the grass, I reported, "In mythology, coyotes are tricksters... you know, ravens are, too..." I thought for a moment and then giggled brightly. "I think I just figured out Fred's form," I said.

Dad pouted as he sat down beside me but graciously inquired, "Ya? What's that?"

"A fox," I gushed, "He has to be. The raven, the coyote, and the fox are three of the main trickster characters in different mythologies all over the world. It suits us perfectly."

Despite the subject having to do with my boyfriend, Dad actually laughed. He tugged me against his side and questioned, "How'd you get to be so damn smart, baby girl?"

"Damn good genes," I snickered.

xxXxx

Dad and I shared an early dinner, and then I had an appointment with Dr. Fairchild. There was nothing really unusual or especially traumatic about the session. Afterward, I was supposed to go back to Hogwarts but instead headed over to St. Mungo's and crashed the nightly rounds of the Maternity/Neo-Natal ward.

I was actually very shocked at just how easy it was to insert myself into the crowd of interns. The healer in charge of the Saturday night rounds was old and frazzled and didn't seem like she had much regard for her handful of students. She barely looked up at all as she stalked between the rooms, firing off questions and snapping at whoever answered wrong. Her name was Jacinta Jernigan, but I'm pretty sure she didn't know any of ours.

"You there, in the back, blonde girl," Healer Jernigan called, waving in my general direction as she jotted furiously on her hovering clipboard.

"It's Norris, ma'am," I spoke up, "Charlotte Norris."

What can I say? I love a good alias.

Jernigan didn't even glance at me, impatiently snapping, "Present this patient."

I'd luckily stolen a copy of the charts when helping myself to the lime green trainee robes. "Twenty-five-year-old female, thirty-five weeks pregnant with no known complications," I recited, trying to smile reassuringly at the terrified brunette and her panicky husband, "Patient arrived complaining of intense abdominal pain and light vaginal bleeding. Diagnostic spells revealed no fetal distress, but the amniotic sac soon ruptured, and the patient went into active pre-term labor. She is experiencing contractions every seven minutes. No internal visualizations have yet been performed, but vitals-monitoring spells are in place and reading within normal range for both mother and fetus."

"Excellent," Healer Jernigan said. She didn't bother to look up before adding, "Have you successfully performed an internal visualization scan on the puffskeins?"

"Yes, ma'am, several," I said. I had; it was a weird little spell, kind of a half-disillusionment that made certain parts of the body transparent so that you could get a good look at the ones you were concerned with. I knew for certain that Marigold was having a dozen pups, that they all appeared healthy and active despite the fact that the number was nearly twice what puffskeins normally carry...

"Very good," chimed the healer, still not looking up, "Perform one on this patient and tell us your findings."

If there was ever a moment when the con was too much for me, when I might've just admitted that I was in over my head and ran, it was that one.

But I was reasonably confident in my abilities. And the whole point of my vastly illegal impersonation was to learn under a healer's supervision, after all. Even though Jernigan didn't seem to be watching very closely, she had to be paying at least some attention. She would at least stop me from doing any harm. Hopefully.

So I performed the spell, waving a careful, distinct pattern over the woman's large belly and reciting the incantation under my breath.

I knew Jernigan wasn't paying any attention at all when she didn't immediately react to what I'd revealed. "Ma'am," I called insistently, trying not to outwardly panic, "Scan reveals that the patient is seven centimeters dilated and that the fetus presents with nuchal cord."

(For those of you not familiar with the medical jargon, that means that the little tyke had his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck; it could be quite dangerous.)

That finally got Jernigan to tear herself away from the clipboard, the skinny dark witch surveying the trembling woman's transparent midsection with (in my opinion) a rather disinterested calm. "And what course of treatment do you recommend for such unfavorable placement?" Jernigan asked flatly, her beady gaze boring into mine from behind her thick square glasses.

I decided that I liked her better when she wasn't looking up from the clipboard.

"Um..." I momentarily stuttered, frantically recalling what I'd read on the subject, "Nuchal cord should, if possible, be unlooped from the fetuses neck using a very light object-movement spell, taking care not to knot the cord in the process of removal. If not possible, fetal heartbeat should be monitored closely, and the fetus should be immediately delivered at the first sign of distress."

Jernigan stared at me for a few long moments before finally stating, "Correct." She turned to address the handful of other trainees and instructed, "Observe." With a sharp flick of her wand, the cord slowly unlooped from the baby's neck.

I felt like I could finally breathe again.

"Well spotted, trainee," she told me, already going back to her clipboard, "I would like you to stay to monitor this patient."

"Yes, ma'am," I replied shakily.

xxXxx

Aside from that little scare, the rest of my first stolen shift went rather well. I stayed with the same patient the whole night, chatting with her and her husband. Moira and Leonard McKay were a really nice couple, first time parents. I kept them calm and even got them laughing in the few hours before I assisted with the delivery of their son.

Childbirth was one of the grossest, scariest, and most amazing things I'd ever witnessed. I was the first person to hold little Duncan Leonard McKay after the healer handed him off, and I got to give the shrieking pink creature to his sobbing, glowing mother.

By the time I returned to Hogwarts that Sunday afternoon, I'd been up for over twenty-four hours straight but couldn't have slept if I tried; I had enough adrenaline coursing through my body to put daredevils and air-traffic controllers to shame.

I went up to the Tower in search of the twins; since it was such a nice day out, the common room was practically deserted besides Harry and his two cohorts, and I made sure to wink at them before skipping brazenly up the boys' staircase. Fred was the only person left in his dorm, napping shirtlessly and drooling onto his pillow.

"Freddie," I cooed, biting lightly at his earlobe as I stretched out beside him, "Time to wake up that stunning arse up and entertain your girlfriend."

He snuffled and blinked slowly awake, smiling when he saw me but wincing when he tried to give a more proper greeting.

Instantly concerned, I sat up a bit and looked him over, inquiring, "You alright, love?"

"Fine," he murmured, unable to move his head without a twinge of pain, "Quidditch practice was a bit rough yesterday, and I tweaked my back. Nothing serious. Just a little sore."

"I'm sorry," I said, smoothing back his messy fringe and pressing a kiss to his forehead, "I wouldn't have woken you if I knew you were hurt... where's your Potions kit?"

"Dunno," Fred yawned, clearly still quite muzzy, "Why?"

Searching for the case and quickly finding it stashed under his bed, I replied, "Because I want to make you feel better." I dug through the disorderly jars and vials for a few moments before locating a container of dried comfrey leaves. A quick spell rendered them into a warm, oily paste.

I straddled Fred's lower back, careful to keep my weight off him as I spread the paste and kneaded it in, starting with his broad shoulders and working down.

It wasn't long before Fred was moaning rather obscenely beneath me. "You're amazing," he insisted, groaning when I made a large knot beside his spine suddenly relax.

I just laughed and pecked him on the cheek, enjoying the chance to heal someone I loved so dearly... and the chance to take my time admiring his muscular, freckled back. He really was a perfect specimen...

Mmm...

Oh. Right. Sorry. Fred can be quite distracting at times (and in so many ways).

Anyhow, the impromptu massage continued for awhile, maybe twenty minutes to a half hour until my arms got tired and I stopped. Fred had, at some point, zonked out again, and I doubt a banshee could've woken him. He was so... angelic when he was asleep. And I know most people might laugh at me for calling either of the infamous Weasley twins angelic, but... well... screw them. Fred was absolutely adorable.

I gave him another kiss, left a note to call me over the mirrors when he woke, and then skipped off to find something else to do.

Harry and crew were still in the common room, and I flopped down between him and Ron and chirped, "What's new, my chickadees?"

They all looked at me strangely for a few moments before Harry declared, "We're just, uh, doing some homework... going to talk to Snuffles later, if you're interested."

"Thanks, but that's not necessary," I answered, ruffling his messy hair, "I have my own way of talking to him... by the way, if he asks, I was here last night."

Again, a round of strange looks before Harry hesitantly asked the obvious question: "Where were you last night if you weren't here?"

"At the corner of Out and About," I reported slyly, "Attending to matters of great import and the highest level of secrecy."

Hermione giggled while Ron complained, "A simple nowhere would've sufficed."

I snickered, "Yes, but I do love making the extra effort... are you all really going to spend this beautiful afternoon doing homework?"

They shrugged.

"What a shame," I declared, shaking my head, "Kids these days, letting a perfectly sunny weekend go to waste."

"We have to do homework sometime," Hermione argued primly.

"And what's wrong with five minutes before class starts?" I teased with a bright, impish grin.

Even though Hermione absolutely didn't joke about such things, she at least managed not to appear too scandalized at the very suggestion. She didn't scold me about setting a better example, either.

They were working rather hard, so I didn't stay and harass them. Well, I stayed a little longer; Ron needed some teasing, but after that I had Harry let me peek at the Marauder's Map, located George (near the front doors), and then set off to pester him.

I never got that far.

I turned the corner onto the fourth-floor landing and found myself face-to-face with Angelina Johnson. We hadn't had much interaction over the years, but, as far as I knew, she'd never been a part of the evil gossip mill, either. Angelina was independent. She was popular but seemed... above most of the ridiculous crap everyone else did. I'd heard people call her stuck up, but it's more likely that she was just too intelligent to enjoy or to seek out interaction with a majority of the painfully average (or below) Hogwarts population.

"Hi, Angelina," I greeted brightly, adding a peppy little wave.

She regarded me skeptically but still replied, "Hello." She was my height but not quite as slim. And I don't mean that as anything bad; I'd had problems with being underweight, and Angelina was a very healthy, substantial girl. She was... well-proportioned and athletic... Merlin, why is that still coming off as disparaging? I guess all I'm really trying to say is that, while we were both quite tall and fit, she had quite a few pounds of pure muscle over me.

Anyways, since the girl didn't flee in obvious terror, I decided to engage in conversation, inquiring, "How's your weekend been?"

"Alright," she answered with an exasperated sigh, "Though quidditch practice was a bit dreadful."

"I heard," I said, "Fred's got a sore back, but I put some comfrey on it for him, so he should be fine."

Angelina nodded, vaguely impressed. "Thanks," she declared, "I need all my players in top condition if we're going to win the Cup this year."

(Another criticism I'd heard of Angelina was that she was an impossible perfectionist; again, I wasn't sure if that was true or if it only came off that way because the majority of the Hogwarts population was so distressingly mediocre (not to mention quite lazy).)

Laughing, I playfully announced, "Well, I'm certainly happy to do my part in securing your victory."

That got a slight, almost reluctant smirk out of the dark girl. "Glad to hear it," she chuckled, "Well, I've got some plays to go over. See you."

"Bye!" I chimed, feeling quite pleased with myself as I continued on my quest to find George.

I was sidetracked yet again when I walked down a shortcut tunnel and turned a corner and encountered the rather distinct sounds of (at the very least) snogging. I really didn't want to be getting people in trouble but felt that it was my duty to at least warn them to take their love somewhere a little more private... and to give a safe-sex speech. Clearly Hogwarts's policy of completely ignoring sex education wasn't working out too well for its students, and I certainly didn't want to have to deal with anymore unplanned teenage pregnancies.

However, I poked my head into the dark little alcove and was surprised to discover that it was two older boys groping heatedly against the crumbling stone wall. I immediately recognized the one who was pinned as seventh-year Hufflepuff Joshua Lerner. He'd been one of Cedric's best friends, and although we were on fairly amicable terms, I'd had no idea that he was gay.

Of course, that discovery was nowhere near as shocking as the one that came next: not yet noticing my presence, Joshua and his partner continued with their frantic face-sucking, excitedly tugging at each other's clothing as they grappled for dominance, and I finally saw who the other teen was.

"Pucey?" I gasped before I could stop myself.

He pulled away so fast that he bit Joshua's lip.

"OW!" Joshua exclaimed grumpily, the sandy-haired Hufflepuff reaching up to nurse the stinging spot, "Watch it!"

Pucey probably didn't even hear; he was too busy gaping at me.

Joshua glanced around him and, unconcerned, grinned and declared, "Oh. Hey, Stel."

"Hey, Josh," I answered. Doing my best not to stare (or giggle) at Pucey's furious blush, I teasingly scolded, "As prefects, you should know better than to snog out here where anyone can catch you. If you want to makeout with your boyfriend, then go use Umbridge's office like the rest of us."

"I'm not his boyfriend!" Pucey shouted, breaking out of his shocked trance. He was red-faced, his usually slicked-back black hair mussed tellingly.

Joshua looked hurt but didn't say anything, not even when Pucey shoved him rather roughly and then shoved me rather roughly and fled with very little dignity.

xxXxx

Joshua filled me in over a private lunch in my common room:

He and Pucey were both pure-blooded and had known each other since they were kids. Joshua's family wasn't quite as well off or prejudiced, but his parents owned a small apothecary and apparently bought stock from the Puceys' company from time to time. Joshua and Adrian used to play while their parents were discussing business, but the two boys hadn't had much (if any) interaction since starting at Hogwarts.

They'd met up again over the summer by complete chance, both choosing a scorching Saturday to wander the streets of London. Joshua was still reeling from Cedric's death; Pucey had just told his father, in no uncertain terms, that there was no way in hell he would be joining up with the Dark Lord and had been disowned accordingly. Joshua and Pucey shared hesitant smiles at a street corner; they got coffee; they saw a movie; Joshua invited Pucey home for dinner; Joshua's parents invited Pucey to stay with them since he had nowhere else to go.

Joshua had known that he was gay since he was fifteen, and although he'd never made it a secret, he'd also never been terribly comfortable broadcasting to people he didn't know. He just didn't want to be "that gay kid" and nothing else.

Pucey had known he was gay for much longer and had done everything in his power to hide that fact from everyone, especially himself.

It certainly shed a new light on all the lovely sexual harassment he'd treated me to over the years.

Anyways, Pucey and Joshua bonded over the summer, especially after most of the rest of Pucey's friends cast him aside as easily as his parents had. The two young men been tentatively, very secretly involved since Joshua had kissed Pucey a few days before the start of term.

"Though he might never speak to me again now," the slender Hufflepuff boy sighed, "Having anyone find out is pretty much his worst nightmare."

"At least it was just me who saw," I soothed, smirking, "I am militantly anti-gossip. And I'm also excellent at keeping secrets."

Joshua smiled shyly, murmuring, "Thanks. I... I know he was awful to you. Anyone else would probably seize the opportunity for revenge."

I shrugged. "Just trying to put the past behind me," I claimed.

"Ya," agreed Joshua, "Aren't we all."

xxXxx

Pucey avoided me like the plague for a whole week. But that part of the story is going to have to wait a bit. He and his issues completely fled my mind once Monday morning came around, once I finally made it back to the Gryffindor table after talking all the seventh-years back into Defense... which I absolutely wouldn't have done if I knew what was waiting in the paper.

"High Inquisitor?" I gaped, not wanting to actually touch the Prophet to confirm the story for myself but not quite willing to believe such nonsense without concrete proof either, "They made that awful woman High Inquisitor? What the hell does that even mean? Are they trying to murder us all with bureaucracy and passive-aggressiveness and and buckets of congested flab?"

"You might want to keep your voice down," Joshua whispered, throwing anxious glances up toward the staff table where the squat little toad sat smugly surveying us all.

"I will not keep my bloody voice down!" I raged a bit loudly, "If that self-righteous tub of goo thinks for one second she's going to get away with this nonsense-"

Fred (probably wisely, though don't tell him that) clapped his hand down firmly over my mouth to silence the rest of the tirade. With a slightly guilty smirk, he pecked my forehead and warned, "You're no good to anyone if you get kicked out for insulting the High Inquisitor, love."

"Like she'd dare!" I replied. Except he wouldn't release my mouth, so it came out more like, "Mmm mm'm mm!"

"Don't worry too much," George instructed, not bothering to stop shoveling eggs into his mouth, "Long as Dumbledore's around, Umbridge is more of an annoyance than a threat."

xxXxx

George was wrong.

Umbridge started "inspecting" classes, and one of her first just happened to be mine, that very day. I could've fucking screamed when she showed up at Charms that afternoon, lurking in the back corner and scribbling notes.

I came very close to hexing the bitch when she saw fit to point out that my left-handed wand technique was entirely improper.

"Like it's the bloody Dark Ages!" I ranted, incensed that someone so ignorant and narrow-minded could've ever been allowed to be a teacher, "Like the left hand is the evil hand! Fucking COW!"

"You seem stressed, love," Fred observed playfully as we pushed our way through the crowded hallways.

I shot him an apparently menacing glare.

Giving a nervous chuckle, my boyfriend tugged me tighter against his side and offered, "Would it help if I said that I was planning a romantic evening for us?"

I smiled reluctantly, slipping a hand into his back pocket as I answered, "Maybe. What would this romantic evening entail?"

"Oh, the usual," Fred murmured, turning his attention to nuzzling my neck in a highly distracting manner, "Intimate setting, sensual foods, my sparkling wit. Clothing optional, of course."

"Of course," I giggled. Just like that, my mood changed for the better. Merlin, Fred was an awesome boyfriend. And more than that, he was just an awesome friend.

I sat through the rest of the afternoon very much looking forward to dinner and other things with my favorite ginger, exchanging teasing notes with him during Care of Magical Creatures. George kept rolling his eyes but seemed resigned to the behavior. And he really was happy for us, even if he did complain a lot.

After class I did a bit of studying in the library and ended up helping some of the first years with their assignments. The twins had gone off with Lee to attend to some joke shop business, but a few hours later, when one of my parchments suddenly began to fold itself into an elegant rose, I knew that Fred had to be responsible. And nearby.

Sure enough, he soon stepped out from behind some bookshelves and greeted me in a way that made all the little girls present giggle and coo and the little boys pout and blush. Fred swept me away from the stuffy drudgery of the library and into the Room of Requirement, which had been decked out in full romantic splendor: a small table held a rather fancy-looking dinner while the only light came from the soft glow of the many colorful candles floating throughout the cozy, inviting space.

"M'lady," my boyfriend declared as he gallantly held out my chair.

I beamed at him as I sat, remarking, "Thank you, kind sir."

We dined and chatted. Nothing too exciting. Afterward, we curled up on a convenient sofa and snogged in the time-honored tradition of the scores of horny teenagers to come before us. Certain oral favors were exchanged, followed by short, sated naps.

"Stel," I heard as I drifted slowly back into consciousness, "Stel, wake up, love."

I groaned and snuggled against Fred's solid chest, pleading, "Mmm. Five more minutes."

His chuckle was warm and rich, his fingers nimbly drawing shapes at the small of my back. "Much as I'm enjoying this," said Fred, "It's nearly midnight, and I think we'll be more comfortable in our beds."

"Uh huh," I agreed half-heartedly, not making any effort to move.

Fred laughed again, prompting, "You need your rest if you want to be in top form against Umbridge."

Yawning, I replied, "True. That woman does get rather exhausting." A thought occurred to me, and I did not hesitate to voice it. "You can come back with me, if you want," I offered.

"Course I'll walk you," Fred answered, looking around the room for our hastily discarded clothing, "Not only is it the gentlemanly thing to do, but it's also the only way to be certain that you don't end up in the hospital wing again. Pomfrey actually keeps a cot reserved for you, my accident-prone darling."

"She does not," I insisted, pretty sure he was joking but unable to be certain, "And that's not what I meant." At his blank look, I rolled my eyes and clarified, "I think we should go back to my room, together, and have some raunchy sex."

There was a brief moment of gaping shock. "Really?" the young man finally questioned, way too excited to even try to hide his excitement, "You're sure?"

I paid some attention to the scores of delicious freckles spattered across his chest, murmuring, "Ya. I was pretty much just waiting until we weren't living in Grimmauld anymore. And besides, it's about time I deflowered you properly, Mr. Weasley."

"Sounds good to me," he eagerly agreed, wasting no time scooping me up off the couch and bolting toward the exit.

I had to slap him in the head, lightly scolding, "I thought we had an understanding about not dragging me into public places without my top."

Fred blinked like he was coming out of a drugged fog. "Right," he grunted, very reluctantly setting me down.

xxXxx

Getting dressed with Fred bouncing around like a hyperactive puppy was distracting but endearing, as was his insistent fidgeting and groping while we made our way to my suite. By the time we actually got there, the mood had more than been set, and we were both probably slightly past rational with lust and anticipation.

"Mmm, Fred... Fred," I laughed breathlessly against his mouth as we staggered along the hallway hanging off each other, "Fred. I have to- OH! I have to... to... ooo ... to unpin my badge."

Not bothering to halt the hands roaming beneath my skirt, grinding his hardness against my hip, Fred nipped my collarbone and mumbled, "Don' let me stop you, love."

With a breathless huff, I replied, "I can't-" (now, I meant to say 'I can't reach it when you're smooshed up against me like that.' Instead...) "I can't think when you're doing that."

Fred chuckled, low and husky. Quite smug. "A promising start," he murmured, "But I think I want you incoherent before the night is through."

His gruff promise sent a very pleasant shiver down my spine, and I barely had the coordination to fumble my badge off my shirt as we stumbled closer to the enchanted tree statue.

Had we been paying more attention to our surroundings and less to each other, we probably wouldn't have tripped over poor little Quentin Raeburn.

The boy had been there awhile, having curled up and fallen asleep waiting for me. He flailed awake with a loud snort as my heel caught him in the gut, as the harried momentum of my boyfriend and I brought us both crashing down on top of the small lad.

"Ooof!" I grunted, getting the wind knocked from my lungs as my back and head hit the floor and Fred landed on my stomach. It was painful and quite startling, but I was able to sit up after just a few moments, dizzily rub the knot on my skull, piece together what happened, and groan, "Ow."

"Sorry," Quentin stammered weakly, cradling his right hand against his chest, "I didn't mean... I just... you weren't answering, and I really needed... are you alright?"

Forcing a comforting smile, straightening my clothing lest I give the lad an eyeful to go with his assorted bruises, I replied, "Don't worry, kiddo. I've done worse to myself. Now what are you doing here at this hour?" I saw that the hand he was cradling had a bandage wrapped sloppily around it and inquired, "Are you hurt? Is someone picking on you again?"

Quentin sniffled, dark eyes wet and sandy hair in disarray. "I had... detention..." he admitted softly.

xxXxx

I was so mad I could barely see straight and did not wait until morning to barge into Dumbledore's office. I snatched some gaudy trinket off his desk and promptly smashed it against the wall.

The headmaster barely looked up from his papers, arching a bristly eyebrow at me and then going back to writing, blandly inquiring, "Something on your mind, my dear?"

"Did you know about the detentions?" I demanded, past furious, "Did you know what that hag has been doing to the children in your school?"

Sighing, Dumbledore replied, "I was made aware."

I'd had my suspicions, but actually hearing them confirmed... well... the trinkets on the headmaster's desk were going to go extinct at the rate I was destroying them.

(Sometimes, I was sure that Dumbledore kept the stupid little toys there just so the people who came in to yell at him had some way of blowing off steam that didn't involve direct assault on the man and his ridiculous beard.)

"You were made aware?" I snarled, "And you allowed that monster to go on carving into students' flesh? What the hell is wrong with you?" Thinking again on the words that Umbridge's demented quill had sliced into the back of Quentin's right hand—I must not ask silly questions—I couldn't help feeling my blood boil and my stomach sour. How anyone could do that to a sweet little boy—or for that matter, how anyone could know it was happening and allow it to continue—was completely beyond my understanding.

"I've had other matters on my mind recently," the old man answered, fixing me with a blank yet impatient gaze, "As have you, I'm sure. How is Miss Chang faring? I can't imagine her condition is easy to deal with for either of you."

I stepped back like I'd been slapped. Of course Dumbledore knew about Cho's pregnancy. Almost nothing went on without his knowing. "What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, playing dumb just because it seemed like the thing to do.

"The great loss she suffered," he stated coyly, "I've heard you've been a tremendous source of support for the unfortunate girl. It would be a shame if, by making an issue of Professor Umbridge's disciplinary tactics, you made yourself a target of the Ministry power behind her and were declared ineligible to remain here at Hogwarts."

"Don't threaten me, you rotten bastard," I hissed, absolutely refusing to be blackmailed or intimidated, "Bigger arseholes have tried and failed to shut me up, and if you think for one blasted second that I'm going to let this drop, then you've got another thing coming! I'll take you and that flabby bitch down if I have to!"

He sighed heavily, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's not that I approve of what she's doing," admitted the headmaster, "I just have to pick my battles. Do you understand?"

I shook my head, leaning across his desk and bellowing, "Rationalize however you want, old man. The bottom line is that everything about this is wrong."

Very softly, very tiredly, he conceded, "I don't dispute that, my dear."

"Then fight back!" I roared, pounding so hard on his desk that another trinket took a dive onto the floor, "Show some backbone, for fuck's sake! I'm willing to stand between her and every soul in this school! That's what you gave me this bloody asinine job for, isn't it? So I'd hoped you would at least stand with me!"

For the first time looking a bit shamed, Dumbledore murmured, "I know you feel strongly about this issue-"

"Well, I didn't leave my boyfriend with blue balls because I was happy about tripping over a mangled second year!" I interrupted harshly.

"Nevertheless," the white-haired wizard continued, actually blushing a bit at my overshare, "I can't stand with you. I'm truly sorry, Miss Black."

Disgusted, I backed away from his desk and spat, "Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Quentin Raeburn and all the others who are going to be carrying that woman's scars for the rest of their lives. Guess they'll be a testament to your impotence as well as her sadism. Congratulations, sir. That's quite the legacy."

With that, I spun on my heel and stormed out of the room.

xxXxx

I was so mad I could barely see or think straight, and that's not even hyperbole. My fury burned so hot and so strong that, no matter how many times I tried, I couldn't come up with a way of stopping Umbridge that didn't involve her death and/or my incarceration.

I was less than rational and apparently not a joy to be around for the next few days. I yelled and Ron and Harry about... something. I can't even remember what. I even snapped at Fred over his entirely unsubtle attempts at getting that raunchy sex he'd been promised. George kept trying to slip me Calming Draughts. By the time the weekend came around, I think everyone was glad that I would be spending it at Grimmauld. We'd only been through two weeks of school so far, but it felt like a lifetime. I felt utterly exhausted by the weight on my shoulders, constantly sickened by seeing more kids walking around with their hands bandaged.

I went home early, skipping Defense because I didn't trust myself to be in the same room as Umbridge without hexing her into another dimension. When I finally arrived at Grimmauld and caught sight of my dad sitting on the front stoop waiting for me, when he grinned and waved, it wasn't too much of a surprise that the whole situation caught up all at once; I threw myself into his arms and burst into tears.

"Oh, baby girl," he soothed, holding me tight, petting my hair and pressing comforting kisses onto my forehead, "Shh. Shhh. It's alright. Everything's alright. Just take a deep breath, ok? Breathe, and tell me what's wrong."

"I hate her," I hiccupped, "I hate her, and I wish she were dead!"

Since I'd spent a lot of time venting to my dad over our two-way mirrors, he knew instantly to whom I referred. "I hate her, too, baby," he agreed, mostly carrying me inside the house.

"She's been smirking at me all week," I sniffled, calming down quickly but still quite upset, "The fucking bitch knows that I know and that I can't stop her. I would've snapped her damn neck if she actually had one. No one wants to do anything about this! I tried the Ministry and the Prophet! I even tried to get letters sent out to the parents, but that odious little toad and that bloody useless old man said Heads aren't allowed to use the mass mailing list! And most of the kids are so scared that they won't do it themselves! The rest just don't think that anyone will believe them!"

Dad sat us both down on a squashy sofa. "Relax, love," he said, "We'll figure everything out. There hasn't been a professor yet who can stand against the might of a pissed-off Marauder, and that includes our demon spawn."

Laughing half-heartedly, I snuggled into his embrace and murmured, "How could she do something like this and just get away with it? Why is the world filled with such awful, evil people?"

"I wish I knew the answer to that one, love," Dad replied, tucking a stray shock of blonde behind my ear, "All you can do is be your best and deal with the arseholes as they come."

I was quiet for a few moments, thinking. Finally, I snickered, "You think Uncle Remus would be upset if I set her on fire?"

"Definitely," answered Dad, "Basically, my system is that if the idea makes me giggle, then Moony will get upset."

Nodding, I agreed, "He grounded me once when I was little for sitting in my room giggling to myself. He said it sounded like I was about to do something very bad."

"And were you?"

"Oh, of course."

"That's my girl."

xxXxx

My second weekend home passed much the same as the first, just with a lot more scheming during the meals and Animagus practice and hanging out on the couch. Saturday night was another short, uneventful session with Dr. Fairchild, and, again, I was supposed to go back to Hogwarts but headed to St. Mungo's instead. Stealing another shift in the Maternity/Neo-Natal ward went smoothly, but the shift itself was hectic. I assisted Healer Jernigan in three births. Two healthy boys and a little girl with underdeveloped lungs. Don't worry, she was fine. I was learning a lot and feeling much more confident in my abilities. And Healer Jernigan wasn't so bad. Even though she still referred to me as Blonde Girl and barely looked up from her clipboard.

What was the point of coming up with awesome aliases if no one was even going to bother using them?

By the time I made it back to Hogwarts on Sunday afternoon, I was just about dead on my feet. I didn't want to do anything but fall into bed.

Unfortunately, Pucey was in our common room waiting.

"I'm not gay!" the young man shouted.

Startled, I almost tripped backwards up the spiral staircase, catching myself clumsily and blinking at the angry, angular face that had met me a few steps from the bottom. Though my heart was pounding, I calmly replied, "Alright."

He did not seem appeased, demanding, "Who have you told?"

"No one," I said. I thought about just pushing past the pissed-off Slytherin but didn't. Pucey was obviously freaking out, and as much as I wanted to leave him to it and sleep until Monday, I actually felt a bit bad for the poor jerk.

"You're lying!" he insisted, fists clenched and face red, "Everyone knows, don't they?"

I very slowly repeated, "I didn't tell anyone. Not even the twins. Though I doubt they'd care."

"I'm not gay!" he yelled again, "So there's nothing for them to care about!"

"Pucey," I sighed, "I am exhausted, so do you think we could just skip to the part where you come to terms with your sexuality and quit being such a cranky bastard and live happily ever after with Josh and a handful of adorable adopted babies?"

The look he gave me probably would've had a lesser person pissing her pants.

I just sighed again, grumbling, "Ya, guess I'm not that lucky... look, can we at least go sit down? Conversations on staircases are so awkward."

"There's nothing more to talk about!" Pucey fired back, "I'm not gay, and you're not going to tell anyone that I am! Or else!"

"You know," I yawned, "I bet gay sex is a lot more fun than all this repression and denial."

He flushed a half dozen shades of purple in seconds, shaking with fury. He then spun around and went stomping back to his room, kicking a chair on the way and slamming the door when he got there.

I crawled into bed and slept until Monday.

xxXxx

Short of putting a wooden stake through her shriveled heart, I hadn't managed to come up with a permanent solution for the Umbridge problem. I had a lot of vengeance in mind, but nothing that would prevent her from handing out those evil quills during her detentions.

It was a busy week, with classes and studying and Head Girl duties and girlfriend duties and Pucey's issues and Cho's issues and just issues in general. But the Umbridge situation was still almost constantly on my mind (constantly making me cranky and not very amorous), and I finally decided on a course of action late Thursday night while patrolling with Joshua.

"I'm torn between using her gigantic arse as a dartboard and just screaming obscenities at the skank," I declared thoughtfully, "But I guess I still have until tomorrow afternoon to choose."

Joshua laughed and answered, "Both highly amusing options, but what exactly do you hope to accomplish with either?"

"Well," I explained, "I assume that such behavior will earn me a detention. When she tries to get me to use one of those quills, I will snap the blasted thing in half, thereby setting an example that the rest of the school will follow. I mean, I got the Defense class to walk out without even trying, so how hard could it be to persuade people not to slice words into their own hands?"

Nodding hesitantly, Joshua muttered, "That... actually could work."

With a grin, I replied, "Fingers crossed, mate, but I'm hopeful. Everyone is so scared of her just because she works for the Ministry, but Umbridge is only another pathetic bully with more delusions than actual power. The spineless hag will crumble at the first sign of resistance."

I was so sure of that, too.

Anyways, we finished the dungeons with more talk of my plot and then changed subjects to Pucey as we moved to the upper levels. My sexually confused co-Head still wasn't speaking to Joshua, avoiding the Hufflepuff's every attempt at even being in the same room. Josh was bummed; he really liked Pucey for some ridiculous reason, but, as the saying goes, the heart wants what it wants.

We were on the third floor when a shrill scream pierced the late silence. Joshua and I sprinted toward its source, tearing all the way to the fifth floor landing just in time to catch a soaked, towel-wrapped girl before she could tumble down the stairs. She wouldn't stop shrieking and yanking at her hair long enough for me to discover her identity or the cause of her distress... but then I noticed that her long blonde hair was actually falling out in handfuls, her skin beginning to sizzle like bacon, and I figured that that might have something to do with the fit.

xxXxx

It was someone's idea of a joke: spiking the taps in the prefects' bathroom with a hair removal potion that had been featured in the latest issue of Witch Weekly. Though we never did figure out the culprit, I assume it was some student looking to get back at some prefect for some reason... or maybe just all the prefects for no reason at all.

However, the password to that particular room was one of the worst-guarded secrets in all of Hogwarts, and the person who ended up caught by the trap was a third-year named Astoria Greengrass who had snuck in to enjoy a midnight bath.

"Well," Madame Pomfrey said, her voice soft to keep the distraught patient from waking, "I saved what I could of her hair, but a great deal of the potion already soaked into her scalp, and it prevents regrowth for at least a month, likely longer. She'll just have to wait for it to come back the natural way."

Looking over the fuzzy, spiky, lopsided mess left on Astoria's head, I winced and declared, "Poor little thing."

The healer corrected, "Lucky little thing. Whoever brewed that potion is either a sadist or had no idea what they were doing. It was much too strong and just about burned off her skin. If you hadn't thought to douse Miss Greengrass with clean water, she probably would've ended up permanently scarred and bald."

I gave a bitter laugh and declared, "The twins invented an emergency chemical wash spell during my second year when our prank war was at its most vicious."

Rolling her eyes, Pomfrey answered, "Merlin, I remember that. You were in here belting opera for an entire week."

Ah, memories.

Pomfrey kept Astoria until lunch. I'd been planning on going back for the girl after classes to offer some shorter hair tips and moral support, but she just appeared in the Great Hall, small and hunched and trying desperately to remain unnoticed as she hid the atrocious new style under a small wool cap.

I watched helplessly from across the room as her fifth-year sister Daphne immediately snatched the hat and all the surrounding Slytherins and even some of the nearby Ravenclaws burst into cruel laughter. Astoria looked like she was going to cry.

"Fucking hell," I grumbled, not particularly happy about what I was about to do next but already caught up in the impulse. Without a word to any of my companions, I stood and walked to the front of the Hall. No one paid much attention to me until I jumped noisily onto the staff table, scattering plates and silverware and grabbing the nearest knife.

As the students gaped and the professors blustered, I sawed my ponytail off as close to my skull as I could, shaking out my own new atrociously short style and whipping the discarded hair straight into Umbridge's soup. An unexpected bonus.

I hopped down with a smug grin, stalking past all the stunned Slytherins until I reached wide-eyed little Astoria. "Hey, trendsetter," I greeted the girl, "How about you come sit with me? I'm thinking of adding some streaks to this rocking 'do, and I'd love to get your opinion."

Astoria flapped her mouth open and closed a few times before finally stammering, "U-U-Uh... O-Ok..." She got to her feet shakily, squeaking a bit when I slung an arm around her tiny shoulders and dragged her back toward the Gryffindor brood.

Well, we were actually pretty mixed that day, with Cho, Joshua, Matthew, Quentin, Stewart, Jana, Orlando, Larkin, and Phoebe sprinkled in throughout my usual crowd of Gryffs. Apparently having heard my declaration to young Astoria, George immediately began trying to enlist us to try a new color-change charm he'd been working on. Fred made a point of telling me how hot I looked and volunteered to escort me to the nearest broom closet in order to prove it.

Such a sweet bloke.

xxXxx

I didn't get to take Fred up on his offer. I might've, too. But I was once again summoned to the headmaster's office.

"When I told you that we could have weekly meetings," he began with a vaguely bemused but more exasperated sigh, "These were not the circumstance I had in mind."

I smirked and replied, "So DIY haircuts on the staff table are frowned upon. Now I know." Before Dumbledore could answer, I interrupted, "But the streaks are awesome, right? Turns out George has a great eye for color. And the whole cut isn't half as bad as I thought it would be, considering its impromptu nature. It's got kind of a pixie-punk-flapper-girl vibe. Very chic, if I do say so myself."

For a few moments, Dumbledore just stared across at me like I was insane. He then appeared to remember that odd and insane are completely different animals and coughed quietly. "Professor Umbridge was very upset by your display during lunch," said the old man, "She seems to think that you're setting an absolutely awful example for the other students, and she's talking about having you removed by the Ministry."

"Bitch is bluffing," I declared, "She'd have to hold a public hearing to do that, and if she's actually got two brain cells to rub together, then she knows that I would most definitely use the opportunity to bring to light her barbaric disciplinary methods. Still set on ignoring those, by the way?"

Instead of answering, Dumbledore checked his clock and reported, "It seems as though I've kept you through your Defense class. My apologies, Miss Black. You may go now, but please do your best to avoid any further incidents. Stay off the tables, and try not to antagonize Professor Umbridge."

I stood but turned back at the door, stating, "I did have another quick question for you, sir."

Dumbledore sighed but graciously replied, "Yes, my dear?"

With a sideways grin, I asked, "Ever think about streaking your beard? I think you'd look pretty hardcore with some black racing stripes."

Sending a glance up heavenward, he replied, "That is hardly appropriate-"

"Oh, take a joke," I cut in, "I really do have a question though. Why doesn't Hogwarts have a Sex Ed course?"

He gave me another long is-she-mad-or-just-weird stare, finally gaping, "We... um... we usually rely on parents to teach their own children in that subject."

"Well, they're obviously not doing a very good job," I argued, "If they're doing it at all. Don't you think something should be offered? Or at least don't you think all the books on the subject should be moved out of the Restricted Section? A little information goes a long way."

Obviously choosing his words carefully, the old man slowly answered, "I... will consider your suggestions, thank you... is there anything else, Miss Black? Perhaps something related to Defense?"

"Not at the moment," was my snotty reply, "I've been a bit distracted lately. It's so hard to concentrate on school work when I know that small children are being mutilated for the amusement of a bitter old toad." I only stuck around long enough to catch the flash of well-deserved hurt that passed through his eyes, chirping, "See you next week, sir."

xxXxx

Another Friday meant another trip home. Dad was pleased as always to see me but a floored by my new short hair, not to mention the shocking purple and glimmering gold that George's charm had added to it for the next forty-eight hours or so. Dad kept glancing at me strangely out of the corner of his eye, like he wasn't quite certain I was the same girl who'd been there just the week before.

An Order meeting was scheduled to take place, so there were a lot of members who I could show off to around the house. Mostly, the reactions were positive. Tonks absolutely loved the edgy style and vivid colors. Remus was skeptical but warmed up quickly after hearing my cousin's praises. I was definitely still getting the romance vibe from the pair of them, but they still weren't ready to come out with the relationship. I don't really know why they were waiting since almost everyone had already guessed. Mundungus Fletcher even had a pool going about when the first color-changing werepups would arrive.

I helped Mrs. Weasley cook but wasn't allowed in the actual meeting, instead getting banished to my room for a few hours. That was fine. Dumbledore wasn't even in attendance, so they couldn't have been discussing anything too important. And I used the time to do some Animagus practice.

Bill almost caught me at it.

Apparently, he'd been running late (attached at the lips to Fleur, no doubt) and ended up locked out of the meeting. So, instead of entering and making a spectacle of himself or going home to an empty flat and a mountain of paperwork, the redhead decided to spend some quality time with (as he put it) his favorite future-sister-in-law.

Now, I'd locked and warded my door, but since I hadn't expected a cursebreaker (or anyone who wouldn't have the courtesy to knock) to arrive on the other side of it, I hadn't gone too nuts on the security measures. Bill was through them in an instant and promptly kicked open the heavy slab of wood, trying to startle me because he was just a giant goof like that.

(Honestly, I have no idea where his reputation for being cool comes from; Bill Weasley is one of the biggest dorks I've ever know.)

I'd been sprinting laps while concentrating on keeping shape and was in exactly the right place at exactly the right moment to get nailed directly in the snout.

Thankfully, the pain and surprise were enough to shock my body back into its proper form before Bill could get himself far enough into the room to see what he'd hit. My coyote body was lithe and compact, so he'd knocked me back a good few feet with the force of the blow. I blinked back into awareness to find myself sprawled on the floor with the worried eldest Weasley boy kneeling over me.

"Oh, Merlin," he said, pressing an already blood-soaked rag against my tender nose, "I'm so sorry! Are you alright? I mean, of course you're not alright, but can you breathe still? How many fingers am I holding up?"

I squinted past the haze of blood and double vision at the man's massive mitt, guessing, "Uh... sev'n?"

Bill swore a bit, so I suppose that wasn't correct. But I couldn't care too much. My whole face felt white hot, and I was choking on the sticky iron gushing down my throat.

I was in and out of consciousness for awhile, but I remember Bill yelling for help as he waved off some healing spells, which didn't do very much good but certainly stung like a bitch. He'd never been too handy with them, he told me later, and his skill level dropped greatly when he was as scared as he was at that moment.

He ran downstairs and pounded on the kitchen door, but, again, no one heard him. Those same wards that were supposed to keep me from eavesdropping also kept the Order members from hearing what was going on outside. In a fit of panic, Bill (the dork) completely forgot that he was a bloody cursebreaker and could've been through the wards in a few seconds, instead flooing us both to the hospital.

The injury wasn't as bad as it looked. Yes, my nose had been broken and was spurting theatrically; yes, I'd been concussed and likely brain damaged. But I probably could've healed myself if I'd been more lucid. Remus definitely could've healed me had he not been unavailable. But my luck is what it is. And I ended up in St. Mungo's during the first time in ten years that Healer Jacinta Jernigan was covering a shift for a friend in the Mundane Emergency Department.

"Is that you Blonde Girl?" I heard as a wandlight seared my pupils.

"Mmmmhmmmaaa," I groaned, struggling weakly to escape the unbearable brightness and the weight of my own limbs.

"Blonde Girl," I heard again, "What in Merlin's name have you done to yourself?"

"'S a door," I garbled in reply, "Came outta nowhere. Don' tell Fred. He says'm acciden' prone."

The feeble laugh to my left had to be from Bill. But I absolutely wasn't going to risk opening my eyes again to confirm the theory. "Fuck you, Weasley," I grumbled instead.

I hadn't yet realized that it was Jernigan who was standing over me.

"Classy, Blonde Girl," she quipped, "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Snorting and immediately regretting the action, I replied, "Not without a shovel."

No one even chuckled at my rather morbid joke.

I'd been healed by then and was slowly coming more to my senses. I remembered that there was pretty much only one person who called me Blonde Girl (at least repeatedly to my face). Cautiously, I peered up from my cot and forced my gaze to focus on Jernigan's frazzled gray hair and and leathery black skin and thick square glasses.

"Uh," I greeted hesitantly, "Hi?"

Jernigan peered down at me, and I once again found it rather eerie and unsettling to be the center of her attention. She usually only had a passing glance and sharp command to spare for her students. In fact, it was impressive that she'd even recognized me, especially with my face crushed and my hair changed. I guessed that she was a lot more observant than she let on.

I wondered how much Bill had told her.

"So your friend tells me that you were hit by a door," she began tersely, "And that you're home for the weekend from Hogwarts."

I glared briefly at the clueless and confused cursebreaker. "I... can explain?" I ventured hesitantly, sitting up with a wince.

Jernigan pursed her slim lips, chirping, "Quickly." She consulted my chart and added, "Miss Black."

And she knew my real name? Damnit, Bill...

"Ok," I admitted, "Well... what happened was... um... I decided that I wanted to become a healer and started studying, and I got... er... curious..."

"So you figured you'd just jump in with both feet and impersonate a trainee?" Jernigan challenged flatly.

"Wait, you did what?" interrupted Bill. He gaped at me for a few moments before tugging at his hair and muttering, "Blimey."

Ignoring the redhead, I turned back to Jernigan and pleaded, "I'm sorry, but I'd already read all the books and was so excited to learn. I've been doing all the research and practice that the real trainees do, just not attending the classes with them. But I've always been great at independent study and really just needed the hands-on part with some supervision to make sure I was doing everything right."

Jernigan sighed heavily and scolded, "You are very competent, Miss Black. Nevertheless, I certainly cannot allow an unauthorized seventeen-year-old witch to continue in the program."

I coughed guiltily, correcting, "Sixteen... I, uh, skipped a year."

I'd already been caught, so I didn't think that owning up would hurt anything. Perhaps I'd even be rewarded for my honesty.

Jernigan seemed surprised. And a bit peeved, though her stony expression was rather hard to decipher. "If I catch you sneaking into rounds again," she threatened, "I will report you to the authorities."

Sulking, I answered, "Yes, ma'am."

I almost missed the smirk that passed across her dark, weathered face. It was so slight that it almost wasn't there, just a quirk of her thin lips as she shoved a potion into my hands and declared, "Don't look so depressed, Miss Black. We start accepting applications for next year's trainee class soon. And I'd say your chances of making it in are very good, provided your NEWT scores reflect the capabilities I've seen from you."

It was my turn to be surprised. And then kind of ecstatic. That was as much of an endorsement as I was ever going to get from the woman. "Yes, ma'am," I repeated brightly.

"Good," she stated, all business once again, "Drink the potion, pick up an application form from the education office, and then you're free to go. You'll probably be sore and groggy for a few hours, so straight home and straight to bed." Turning toward Bill, Jernigan questioned, "I trust you'll see her there safely?"

Bill was still a bit stunned, so he just nodded.

Jernigan bent back over her floating clipboard, scribbling notes as she spun and stalked away.

As soon as she was on the other side of the thin curtain surrounding my bed, I let myself fall backwards with a relieved, delighted laugh.

xxXxx

"So..." Bill ventured hesitantly as we walked back toward Grimmauld, "You're not... pregnant, are you?"

Groggy and sore as Jernigan had warned, I leaned against his shoulder and mumbled, "Why do people keep asking me that?"

Doing his best to keep me upright and walking in a straight line, the redhead answered, "Who asked you that?"

"Snape," I said, grimacing as I remembered the incident, "Months ago, but still." After a few more moments of charged silence, I added, "I'm not. Fred and I haven't even slept together yet. We got... distracted."

He chuckled and commented, "Sounds like a funny story."

I growled, "Not really."

xxXxx

So my underage healing career was over after three shifts. It was disappointing but not entirely; I had learned quite a lot, certainly enough to monitor and assist Cho through the majority of her pregnancy (barring any complications). And I could conceivably go back to badger Jernigan for more information if needed. Plus, the old healer had pretty much said that I'd earned a spot in the next class of trainees. How awesome was that? Usually getting caught in one of my schemes doesn't turn out half as brilliantly.

Bill agreed to keep his mouth shut about my "independent studies" if I agreed to keep my mouth shut about how he'd bashed me with a door. He had this silly idea that Dad and Fred would team up to kill him if they found out.

Actually, the thought of my dad and my boyfriend finally working together was tempting...

Anyways, we were able to slip back into Grimmauld without being missed, and Bill put me right to bed. Not that I was really arguing at that point. I slept straight through the night and woke refreshed and free of pain. Tonks and Remus had both stuck around after the meeting, so they joined Dad and me for breakfast.

It was a rowdy little affair but lots of fun. And it didn't do a damn thing to quell the Tonks-Lupin romance rumors. Not that I had much doubt anymore...

After another fun day with Dad and another short session with the shrink, I found myself wanting to go work at the hospital. But I was, of course, unable.

But that meant I had some rare free time. And by free time, I mean alone time. Not that I didn't love all my friends and family, but a few hours of entirely selfish solitude are nice every once in awhile. I walked around London, saw a movie and ate some curry, went shopping for a few new books and t-shirts. I picked up some condoms from a pharmacy.

When I decided I'd had enough alone time, I had to choose between returning to Hogwarts to surprise Fred and returning to Grimmauld to surprise Dad. I decided on Dad, but only because I'd have all week with Fred. And because I knew that Dad hated being cooped up by himself. I bought an impressive array of junk food (pizza, cookies, soda, candy, and more) and headed home.

"Hello?" I called through the empty living rooms and kitchen, "Hello? Daddy? Daddy, are you home?"

Stupid question: he hadn't been anywhere but home in months.

"Dad?"

I checked the backyard and even shouted down into the astoundingly creepy basement. No one answered.

Wandering upstairs, I persisted, "Dad? Daddy? Where are you? I decided to stay another night... Dad?"

I investigated his bedroom and then continued on to what used to be my grandmother's bedroom but was now the hippogriff stable.

Dad was there. At first, I thought he was asleep, slumped against the dozing hippogriff's broad side. But as I crept closer and stepped around Buckbeak, I saw that Dad's eyes were open, glazed and staring off into the distance. He had a nearly empty bottle of firewhiskey in one hand; the other hand held an old picture frame.

"Dad?" I called as I approached cautiously.

No reaction.

"Daddy?" I tried again, falling to my knees at his side.

He let his head roll toward the sound of my voice, squinting in confusion. "S'ella?" he slurred sluggishly, "You're s'posed to be a'school."

He was astoundingly drunk. I'd seen him drink before; I'd seen him buzzed and jolly before. But I'd never seen him drunk and certainly not slurring-his-words, probably-couldn't-pick-himself-up-off-the-floor drunk. Going by a few hushed, concerned comments I'd overheard from Remus, as well as a few snide jabs from Snape, I had the feeling that the behavior wasn't unusual, nor was it an accident that I'd been sheltered from it.

"I decided to come back here after the shrink," I explained, gently prying the bottle away and setting it aside, "I brought you a pizza, and... I don't know. I thought we could hang out."

Blinking, nodding, swallowing heavily, Dad answered, "F'course." He gave a dopey grin and added, "Alw'ys got time fer you. M'baby girl."

I scooted in beside him, holding the pizza on my lap and offering a slice.

Dad accepted but had trouble negotiating the melty cheese; he needed both hands and set the picture frame down carefully between us.

While he ate messily, I examined the snapshot and instantly smiled as my mother waved back at me, she and Dad cuddling and kissing my two-year-old version as we laughed at who-the-hell-remembered-what. Crowding in next to Dad, James bounced baby Harry in the crook of one arm, the other slung lazily around Lily's slight shoulders as the woman fondly rolled her eyes at all of us.

Leaning my head on Dad's shoulder, I wistfully commented, "Mum was so pretty."

She was still pretty when she died, but grief and stress had ravaged her. She'd been going gray, wrinkling prematurely as her body withered along with her soul.

"Ya," Dad agreed, leaning his head on my head, "Y'look like she did. Pretty."

I thought I felt something dripping into my hair and realized that Dad was crying.

Looping both my arms around his shaking torso, I whispered, "It's ok, Daddy. I miss her, too."

"Should'a been there," he wept hopelessly, "S'my fault!"

"No, it wasn't," I replied. Reasoning with drunks is highly difficult (as I knew from my experiences on the other end), but I figured I'd give it a shot. "This is a fucked up era," I added, "And the tragedies we've lived through are only the fault of the evil people who committed them."

Dad sniffled and clung to me clumsily, petting my hair. "M'sorry," he murmured, "M'so sorry. You deserve better'n me as a dad."

"You're a great daddy," I argued, "I love you. And I think you should go to bed, ok? You'll feel much better in the morning."

He was mostly limp, mostly passed out by then but allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet and dragged back to his room. He had more drunken mutterings to impart along the way, about how I was so beautiful and so smart and how much he loved me. About how sorry he was. About how he should've died instead of Mum.

I did my best to reassure him but, as expected, was mostly unsuccessful, ignored and laboring under Dad's weight. When I finally managed to get him into bed, he didn't stay conscious very much longer.

I tucked him in and gathered various supplies that might be needed: cold water, an empty wastebasket, a bottle of hangover potion. The picture frame. I brought my pizza and other junk food into Dad's room and made myself comfortable in an armchair near his bed. That's where I stayed all night, watching over my daddy and soothing him when he whimpered and thrashed in the grip of bad dreams, when he woke up crying and babbling and apologizing and demanding more whiskey. When he called me Leda.

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Sorry for the long wait, but this chapter just refused to end. On the bright side, it turned out extra long for y'all. Hope you enjoyed, and reviews are always appreciated.

On a side note, I'm considering changing the title. Any input on the subject would also be appreciated :)