1/18/11: Here's chapter one! I hope you enjoy it. :)

Chapter 1: Pumpkins, Vampires, and Overgrown Toenails

For the first four years we knew each other, Harry Potter and I didn't get along very well. We weren't enemies, but he wasn't exactly the first person I would go to if I ever had a problem. Well, unless that problem was You-Know-Who.

We were acquaintances. Nothing more, nothing less. Being in the same House forced us to have some contact with each other, but we exchanged no further than a polite smile and a friendly "hello" unless otherwise necessary. We didn't have anything against each other; it was merely that we ran in different social circles. Yes, even Hogwarts' Houses have cliques.

Because Hermione Granger and I shared a dormitory together, we were on rather good terms. But our conversations were kept to a minimum the second we descended the staircase into the common room and she went off with Harry and Weasley to discuss their plans to save the wizarding world from eternal turmoil. (Well, at least, that's what I always assumed they were doing. Even when Harry and I became an item, they remained cautious about what they talked about in my presence.) She helped me study, and I let her borrow my owl whenever she needed to write home. That was pretty much the extent of our friendship.

Dean was my best friend. I had known he would be my best friend long before the two of us actually met. You see, before little baby Harry made the big bad You-Know-Who disappear (or so we thought), Dean's father was being targeted by Death Eaters, so he was forced to leave his family and go into hiding. My parents gladly welcomed him into our home, and until the age of five, I grew up with Mr. Thomas as my second father, telling me stories about his years at Hogwarts and ending each one with, "But I know you and Dean will get into much more trouble than I did at school. I just hope you two don't wreak too much havoc; you've both got bright futures ahead of you." He always finished with tears in his eyes, claiming it was his "blasted Muggle allergies – with all the magic in the world, it's a wonder no one's come up with a cure yet!" before rushing off to the loo. I cried for a week when those evil, masked men came and took him away. Dean did as well when I told him the story of how I knew his name in the compartment we shared the first time we rode the Hogwarts Express.

In fact, Dean (and Seamus) was the reason Harry Potter and I took that step past being just friendly acquaintances and became actual friends. And, because we were hormonal teenagers, we refused to stop at friendship. Hence the reason why I am currently telling you this story.

It was October 31st, 1995. I remember because that was the same day Seamus Finnigan decided to test how much of a daredevil he was and sneak into Hagrid's pumpkin patch to eat one of the enormous pumpkins the gamekeeper had been growing since the first day of school. With Dean, a couple of awestruck first-years, and me as his audience, Seamus unpocketed a large wooden spoon and tore apart the entire thing, leaving nothing more than a hollow pumpkin and a few seeds uneaten. All this would have been enough to give him major stomach pains if it had been one of the healthy overgrown pumpkins, but Seamus had eaten the only one Hagrid hadn't hauled into the Great Hall for the night's Halloween feast: the contaminated one that had been magicked wrong and left in the patch for a reason.

Naturally, Seamus spent the remainder of the day in the Hospital Wing, his pale green face buried deep in a bucket filled to the brim with all the meals he had eaten over the course of the previous two months. And, naturally, Dean stayed with him, awkwardly patting Seamus's back and getting a little sick himself. I, however, wasn't very fond of spending my Halloween watching Seamus send the contents of his stomach back up. So after I skipped down to the Hospital Wing, offered an obligatory "you poor thing" to the barfing Irish boy, and made a sympathetic face at Dean, I skipped right back out of there, claiming I had unfinished homework that was calling my name.

Without Dean to pass the time with, I was pretty much a loner. So, doing what all loners (and Hermione Granger) do, I ascended to the fourth floor and settled myself into a secluded corner of the library.

In honor of the holiday, I selected True Beasts of the Wizarding World: Creatures That Will Make Even the Bravest Wizard Cower in Fear, flipped to the chapter on vampires, and began reading.

". . . Although most vampires kill their victims with minimal damage to the flesh, there are some who are partial to ripping their victims apart after they have finished feeding. One vampire in particular is famous for his violent killings in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds, although Muggles, oblivious to the existence of magical creatures, refer to him as what they call a 'serial killer.'

Jacques Canning, nicknamed 'Jack the Ripper' by nonmagical folk, was a French vampire who came to London in the late 1880s. He targeted young Muggleborn witches, and would leave the remains of his victims scattered in the area where he had killed them. His first victim was found in a Muggle hotel room, her arms and legs decapitated and her right hand thrust into her stomach. It is imagined that he lured her into the room and, when the door was locked, brandished his fangs and slit her throat open. Evidence proves that he then drew a knife and slashed a line down her face, cutting her body into halves and –"

"Raleigh, do you have your Charms book?"

I screamed. Very, very loudly. What else was I supposed to do? There I was, half-scared to death from reading this gruesome book about a vampire who took sick pleasure from ripping apart his victims, and suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder. A tap that very well may have been executed by Jacques Canning, come back from the dead to cut me open. In my opinion, it was the only logical thing I could've done. That, and draw my wand so as to send a toenail-growing hex at whoever had startled me, be it a vampire or not. Which I did as well.

And who should be at the receiving end of my defense? Not 'Jack the Ripper,' as I had thought, but Harry Potter. There he was, emerald eyes widened with shock behind his spectacles (always slightly askew), losing his balance because his toenails were poking through his shoes and growing so rapidly it was difficult for him to stay upright. By the time Madame Pince reached our neck of the library, they had grown at least two more meters.

"Out, the both of you!" she yelled, her face reddening. "There will be no screaming or spell-flinging in my library! Don't come back until you've learned how to properly act in the presence of such fine literature! And for Merlin's sake, Miss Cromwell, take Mister Potter to the Hospital Wing before his toenails will no longer be able to fit in the castle. Now, leave! I should give you both detentions for this!"

I apologized profusely as we hurried down to the Hospital Wing – or, to be more accurate, I hurried and Harry sort of just . . . struggled along beside me. It's more difficult than you'd think, walking with toenails as long as a Quidditch field. I would've helped him, but I was scared if I touched him he might sprout tentacles or something of that sort. I had already caused enough damage for the day.

"I'm so sorry, Harry! I didn't mean to, really. If I had known it was you behind me – I'm so, so sorry! It was an accident, I swear! You just caught me by surprise, and – oh, Harry, I really am sorry! I'm sorry I –"

"Raleigh. Raleigh. Raleigh! Don't worry about it. I know you didn't mean to." Just as I let out a sigh of relief, he looked at me peculiarly. "Why were you so jumpy, anyway? Is my face really that scary?"

He grinned to show me he was only joking, but I blushed anyway, and he laughed. I told him about Jacques Canning, and how I thought he was out to slaughter me. He laughed again, louder this time, and I turned a shade of red that rivaled the entire Weasley family.

Madame Pomfrey restored Harry's toenails to their normal length not ten seconds after we stepped into the Hospital Wing. After a scolding on improper uses of magic and a threat that if either of us ever showed up in the Hospital Wing with abnormal toenails again we would have to find a way to fix it ourselves, we were allowed to leave.

"Er –" Harry and I mumbled out at the same time, trying to break the awkward silence that had ensued between us the moment we stepped past the Hospital Wing doors. We both looked at each other and chuckled, the sound of our laughter putting us at ease.

"So, what were you trying to ask me before I so rudely hexed you?" I asked presently. He smiled.

"I needed to borrow your Charms book. I left mine in my dormitory, and I still have yet to write my essay on why making teacups sprout legs is essential for everyday life. Reckon I've no clue how I'm going to make up enough to receive at least passing marks, though." He frowned and absentmindedly ran his hand through his already tousled hair.

It was that move, done so unconsciously by him, that made me fall in love – okay, maybe not love. Yet. But I definitely had a sudden urge to snog him right then and there. I don't know why I never realized his sex appeal until that moment, but as he mussed his hair even more and tilted his head ever so slightly, causing the soft yellow light from the setting sun to reflect off his glasses and make his bright green eyes shimmer, I became acutely aware of just how handsome he really was. I decided then to turn on my charm and try my hand at flirting, although I had no experience whatsoever in the coquetting department.

"Isn't that due tomorrow?" Brilliant. That's definitely going to make him want to take me to his dormitory and ravish my body with his lips.

"Yeah," he sighed, and it sounded like music to my ears. Suddenly an image of Harry and me rolling on the shore of a remote island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, our clothes nonexistent and our tongues battling fiercely as his hands groped every inch of my body flashed through my mind. Blimey, what has gotten into me? Since when has anyone's sigh stirred up sexual fantasies in my head? What's next, I'll wet my knickers when he smiles at me?

He did smile at me then, wryly, and thank Merlin my panties stayed dry. I did swoon, though, just a tad. I had to make an extra effort to actually comprehend the words he was saying, because the sound of his voice was incredibly distracting.

"Even Ron's done it already, but he won't let me see it, the little bugger. He and Hermione are at each other's throats again, and neither of them is speaking to me because they think I'm speaking to the other one." He frowned. "If that even makes any sense."

"I can help you write it," I volunteered, taking advantage of the perfect opportunity to spend some quality time with the great Harry Potter. "I would lend you mine, but . . ." I quickly wracked my brain for an excuse, ". . . but Dean has it." There, that seemed plausible enough.

Harry smiled at me, an adorable lopsided grin that showed all of his pearly whites and made my heart skip a beat. "Sounds like a plan," he said, and I couldn't help smiling back. I walked with him back to the portrait of the Fat Lady, all the while thinking up clever ways to make him fall in love with me. And now, our story really begins.

So, how was it? Reviews would be dandy! Also, it'd be cool if you could tell me what you want to happen next. Like, plot twists and stuff like that. Because I wrote this ages ago, and now I'm having trouble recalling what I wanted to happen. Ideas would be great, por favor. :D

~ Sheila