The Seventh Year

Chapter 8

The Antidote and the Lacewings Fly

It wasn't until the two of them had spent an hour and a half working out how to reverse their disastrous spell (they'd managed to get the antidote to the geese, but McGonagall caught them and they were given detention for a week) that Erin was finally able to question Marisa about the Draco Malfoy and Erin Benzene betting pool.

"You like him," Marisa shrugged. "It's only a matter of time. I decided to put some money on it. What's so wrong with that?"

"You're my sister," Erin hissed. "Aren't you supposed to have my back or something? Like not indicating to anyone that there might be some sort of. . . emotional connection between me and Malfoy?"

Marisa grinned maliciously. "Nope."

Erin threw up her hands, exasperated. "Why do I even try?" she directed the question to the ceiling.

"I would like to win by the way," her sister told her, now examining her nails. "So you'd better get moving with that whole dating Draco Malfoy thing."

"But I don't want to date Draco Malfoy!" she protested.

Marisa rolled her eyes. "Yeah, uh huh. Sure."

There was a long silence. "It would help if you told me which day you picked," Erin grumbled.

"Can't. Zabini put a charm on the paper so none of us can tell you our days and cheat."

"Figures," Erin sighed. "Marisa?"

"What."

"Do you think I really like him? Do you think it would be. . .ok?"

"He's. . .alright," Marisa shrugged, which was her way of saying she approved. "And you like ferret-boy, damnit, so stop trying to figure out why or trying to get rid of it."

"I hate my life," Erin repeated.

"Really?" Marisa had a falsely innocent look on her face. "I thought that was yesterday."

Erin snarled and threw some left over lacewings at her. "Shut up. That was yesterday. Life qualifies several days. Hopefully many."

Marisa picked the lacewings out of her hair, and casually tossed them back on Erin's desk. "You should put those back before Professor Slughorn figures out that they are all gone."

"I am going to die," Erin grumbled, scooping up the lacewings and some mandrake leaves.

"Everyone dies," Marisa said, already burying herself in a textbook. "By the way, the Halloween Feast is this weekend."

"Really? The Halloween Feast is on Halloween? Who knew? I thought it was—" she cut herself off with a gasp. "The Halloween Feast! What am I going to wear?! McGonagall is probably going to make me coordinate with Draco, oooh, the nerve of that woman, I wanted us to go as Helen and Clytemnestra of Troy!"

Marisa was smirking. "That was stupid anyway. By the way, that one picture he put directly above your bed looks like he was modeling for Hollister."

"I hate you." And the Head Girl was off to Slughorn's office.

A/N: This chapter is short because I had no further inspiration. Heads up for Draco next chapter! Five reviews? Is that too much to ask?