A/N: Hey guys, it's Miri. A couple things: I'm officially back at college now, so I won't be updating as much. *cry* Hurts me too, loves, but it's the way it's got to be. I'm at that point in the story where I KNOW where I want to go with it, and I know how I want to get there, it's just a matter of writing it down. So yeah. That motivation is what I lack, so it might be another week or so before I update. Y'all do realize I've had about 300 odd hits with this fic alone? I feel fantastic! Thanks guys! Please review. It's not that hard to click the little button at the bottom of the page. You know you want to!!!

Chapter 7

I suppose someone around my window had heard my 'revelation'. It wasn't that big of a deal, really. Nobody in the wizarding world paid much attention to people's looks, more their magic. I supposed it was a good thing I'd remained undiscovered so long; a mixed blessing. At least the Golden Trio plus one (Ginny) didn't treat me any different. Who knows? Maybe they were too naïve to know, or care. Whatever the case, I found myself trading stories over lunch with these folk rather than my 'peers' – those being of my own age bracket were rather annoying anyway, and the seventh years had a perpetual price on my head.

True to form, the rumors of my granddam's Romani blood flowed through the school like Greek Fire. The way I figured it, one of the girls from upstairs (or down) had had her window open, caught the "my granddam's a Roma" and spread it about, embellishing the obvious, completely foregoing the other side of the story: a boy was in the girls' tower. Hardly anyone knew what a being a Roma meant, but a Gypsy? Everyone knew that word. Everyone hated 'them', just for the idiocy – or the survival methods, depending on your viewpoint – of a few of my people.

Just because a few of the traveling Roma are pickpockets didn't mean we all are! My granddam's caravan made an honest living, if a simple one, selling rugs, carpets, and other weavings made during the winter. She was a Seer, one of the few magically gifted people in my clan, and put it to good use. Though 'untrained', as long as she didn't look for her own future, she could step into the rivers of Time and spy what bends lay ahead for those who asked with a pretty penny in hand. And people paid, too, once they realized she knew her stuff. Even the muggles appreciated it. She didn't reveal near as much, and used more 'traditional' methods of Seeing with them, but the result was the same. A bonafide forecast, complete with warnings and everything. Not that anyone ever heeded those, but it was Rani Cooper's duty to tell them all the same.

Of course, that wasn't her real Name. Only those of us who were granted the honor of her favor were given her real Name. Names have power. If you know how to use them, names can give you absolute and utter control over a person. We all have use-names. Robert's is Bobby, James' is Jimmy, and Elisabeth's is Lissy, or Betty. Quite simple, really. But Amaris, or Mari? Nah. A use-name only. What, you think I'm going to give you my Name? Hah. Everyone has to earn that right, and you're no exception. I'll cut you a little slack, though. It's not like I can see you now, is it?

The thing about Names is, they can change with a person. If Demi's Name was actually Faysal, meaning 'judge', and he made a few decisions that weren't so good, his Name could change to Loki, the cruel trickster of Norse myth. But that's just an example. Usually Names weren't so complex, but they could be, depending on their person. Mine used to be Owl-Flies-Alone, loosely translated from Gaelic, but that all changed when I arrived at the orphanage. Now it's…well…it's different.

Classes went on as usual, seeming to flow around me rather than try and drag me along. It was only late November, but already the professors were urging their pupils to begin studying for the major exams of their respective years. History of Magic's Professor Binns was about the only steady thing in any of my classes, considering he was one of the few professors I had with my year mates. I often doodled in his class, listening with only one ear as he droned on about some war or another. The only war I was interested was the last Great War with Voldemort. Somehow, Mother had been involved, and I was determined to find out how. It would just take forever.

Thinking of Mother sent my thoughts careening toward my younger brother, now long dead and buried beside Mum, and, further afield, Father. Where was he? What was he doing that was so important? Had he found out more about Mum? Why hadn't he ever written? A thousand and one questions swirled about my mind, not a one of them answered. One stood out most prominently, though: Why didn't he write me? He knew very well where I was, and had known since he left me at Tintagel six years ago. He didn't know precisely when I'd be here, but he most definitely knew I was here by now. So why hadn't I heard anything?

It didn't even occur to me then that Umbridge was reading all our mail. That her IS was even now working to uncover plots she dreamed up overnight, and some she hadn't. She knew, somehow, I was different. She hadn't yet figured out how, but it was only a matter of time. Vigilant little frog, that witch.

She was still trying to get me in for those detentions, and, one of these days, I'd have to give in and actually go. Harry had told us about her magical quill, so I was somewhat prepared. I'd taken to carrying a vial or two of sheep's blood around, just in case she caught me unawares. I couldn't have her even so much as sniffing at my blood. Though it was as red as any human's, it had certain properties—Hells, my bloodstream was full of more magic than that woman had restraint, much less ambition! If she raised it anywhere near her nostril, she'd notice the magic, and then she'd be on me like white on rice. Dumbledore wouldn't have a chance of saving my ass; with Roma and Faerie blood in my veins, Umbridge would have enough to truss me up like a Christmas goose and carry me off to Fudge for a thorough 'examination'. See, the Fey were 'tolerated' in the wizarding world because they couldn't get rid of us, but Umbridge would find a way of twisting everything I did into a conspiracy. Then she'd have every right to take me off to the Minister of Magic, and I'd never get away with my life, much less my magic. Though with my Deadline approaching rapidly, perhaps it wouldn't be as long as she hoped.

I had no intention of getting caught, however. I'd tried every sham I could think of to trick this quill of hers, and one might actually work. It required convincing the thing that my blood wasn't coming out of my hand. And convincing an inanimate object that its spelled commands were wrong was not fun. It took huge concentration, lots of practice, and the risk of utter disaster. But considering the woman was approaching me, practice in person would just have to do.

"Miss Dughall." Umbridge hem-hemed at me. Why she insisted upon mucking up my name, I'll never know. Angelina Johnson had a ball correcting her, and if it got the girl's mind off of torturing me, well, kudos. Hem-hem. "Dughan."

"Yes, Professor." It wasn't a question. It was almost end of class, I'd taken hardly any notes, and pretty much sat there glaring at her and pissing her off. She couldn't very well take off marks for glaring (yet), so I was currently in the clear.

"My office, seven o'clock sharp. You will be fulfilling those detentions tonight." She hem-hemed again and moved away, observing the rest of the class's mostly unsuccessful attempt at keeping their laughter silent. "Weasleys, you too, since you seem to find Miss Dughall's evasions so funny." Fred swore silently and glared at the Frog's retreating backside. George just made a face.

At seven o'clock sharp, the three Gryffindors trooped to Umbridge's office in relative silence. The twins were content to shoot glares at me from under hooded eyes. I just shook my head and laughed. "Your own faults," I told them.

The Frog confiscated our wands when we arrived, setting them on the far side of her desk. She handed out quills and parchment – apparently the twins had taken detentions from her before, because there were no questions brokered. And since I already knew, I didn't ask. Didn't want to hear anything from her. But my damned thoughts seemed to only egg the woman on.

"You two," Umbridge pointed at the twins, "will write the following," and gestured with her short stubby wand toward the chalkboard. 'I will not laugh at others' misfortunes' scrawled across the top. "And you," this to li'l ol' me, "will write this." Another gesture, another 'flourish', if you could call it that. The wand didn't have enough length for a proper 'swish', much less anything else. 'I will not poke fun at my professors', which I thought rather inappropriate considering I'd never 'poked' anyone. Except Jem. But she was a cat. "One hundred lines for you, Dughall, and fifty each for you two." And she hem-hemed her way to her chair, where she was immediately swallowed up in the abyss of her enormous oaken desk.

The twins mumbled something about flattening me, but I ignored them. I was too busy trying to concentrate on confounding this quill. I'd figured a twist on the confundus charm should work, and indeed it had. I just needed to focus on it, and nothing else, at least until I got into the rhythm of it. My hand itched like the devil, but to make it convincing, I'd had to etch the words in like I was really using the quill. The sheep's blood made no difference in color or texture, and seemed to be draining at a slow enough rate that two of the vials should be more than enough.

Once I did find my rhythm, I was able to let my mind wander. My hand hurt too much to completely drift off, keeping me anchored in the world enough for my concentration, but I fled my body as much as I dared. My spirit lurked in the rafters of the office, staring down at the various occupants, myself included. The twins hadn't yet figured how to get their wands, so they were stuck writing lines. I knew they had an escape plan and were itching to use it. I just wished they'd included me.

My mind wandered, as it was wont to do with little to focus on, and eventually I got around to realizing the symbolism of our predicament. Only me, right? There were three of us suffering here, not just myself. Three was a sacred number to both my peoples: all the major gods of Gaelic tradition were polymorphic, coming in threes. Counting magpies in Romani culture was an oft favored pastime: 'One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a death, four for a birth. Five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret ne'er to be told' went the old rhyme, or at least one version of it. I didn't want to think of death, though. He was too potent a figure. But those who courted him, perhaps? 'Two's company, three's a crowd' also came to mind. It seemed Fred and George were quite content with their lot, huddled as they were as far away from me as they could be. But what if three were company? Harry, Ron, and Hermione got along just fine, so it was certainly possible. But with me in the mix? It was more ironic than anything. Company my ass.

But perhaps… Didn't Harry say something about Dumbledore having an army of some kind? Not that it was sanctioned, but it was still there. An offshoot of that sort of thing, one more suited to trickery than outright rebellion…The twins could make that work. They were all about being Loki's avatars. I laughed into the Spirit Plane. Loki would have a ball supporting these two. Who knows, perhaps he already did? At any rate…Time sure flew by fast. My body was almost out of lines. I drifted back down, settling easily into my skin. As if I'd never been gone, I continued writing the last few lines, wiped the quill clean on the page, and handed it in. Umbridge took it without a word, so I snatched up my wand and left.

Once out of the room, I magicked the vials to my room. Just in time, it seemed, for Umbridge bustled out of the room and called me back to check my hand. Good and deep, and just starting to leak, just like Harry had told me. She nodded brusquely and returned to the room. Fred and George emerged a moment later, each holding their hands in the other. "If I don't see a quill for the rest of the week, I'll die a happy man," Fred confided to his brother as they turned down the hall toward me.

I wasn't walking very fast, still wrapped up in my thoughts, so I had quite a start when Fred wrapped his uninjured arm around my waist. "Hey Red, whatcha doin' tonight?" I elbowed him lightly on account of both our hands.

"Catching up on some work, and healing my hand." Never one for idle pleasantries, this Ice Bitch.

George wrapped his arm around my shoulder companionably. I liked George. He wasn't as much of an ass as his brother. Tenderhearted, if you caught him when he wasn't smirking. Like he was now. "Come on, Dughan," he cajoled. "You know you want to help…"

"With what?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. Damned cat was rubbing off.

"Getting back at the Frog, of course." Fred picked up where his brother left off, and I was momentarily distracted by the stereo-seeming conversation. One ear to the other and back again, making me seasick. Not fun.

"How so?" My eyes narrowed at the both of them.

"Well, you could swoop in and drop a few…hints," George suggested.

"While you two do what? Scatter when she catches me with the runs on her desk? I don't think so."

"Nah, we're much better than that," Fred continued. "Dung bombs, flying widgets-"

"-muggle tacks, sheets for those creepy kittens, that sort of thing." George finished with a flourish of his uninjured hand, as if sweeping said sheets atop the cats' dishes as we spoke.

"Sounds boring." Honestly, the fact that they were thinking about including me was fantabulous. I just had to figure out why, and quick.

"Not really. Half the thrill is getting caught." This one was chorused. Gods, they needed to stop that. Now.

"But if anyone finds out about me…"

"They won't, Red, that I promise you." Fred kissed my hair. Damn, damn, and double damn! Him and his tender side. That bastard knew how to twist a woman so many ways…Ugh!

"They could." Now that I'd started putting up a fuss, I couldn't stop. Besides, arguing with the twins was fun, if you could get past the whole back and forth thing.

"No-one will find out, Amaris," George reiterated. "We're keeping real quiet like, cross our hearts." I was glad he didn't finish that line. Thinking about Death earlier had given me the creeps, and I couldn't help looking around every corner for him to sneak out and steal one of them away.

I sighed heavily, and they knew they'd won. "Lets go get your hands cleaned up, shall we?" I asked instead of giving them the satisfaction of an outright 'yes'. The twins laughed, not letting go of me the whole way to Griffindor Tower.

Once we'd arrived, they split off for their washroom and I for mine. Ginny followed me in a minute later, demanding all the details as to why her brothers were clinging so tight. I just admitted to having endured a long and torturous session under Umbridge's watchful eye with them both, and she nodded in understanding, backing off the questions. The detentions were a very loose-kept secret: everyone knew about them, but nobody talked, which was alternately grand and ugly, and depended wholly on whomever wanted to know. Ginny was sweet enough to help me start the wrapping after I'd spilled aloe all over the scars. They'd heal fine, it'd just take a while, and I'd have to change the bandages every day. Which meant someone would have to help start it. But that was another worry. For now, after I'd thanked her profusely, I found the twins lounging in the common room and rallied them, albeit quietly. The later founders of Three's Company then trooped very stealthily to a secretive corner of the castle. Once there, we planned our revenge.

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