You are viewing a story from harrypotterfanfiction.com


Seven by loopyluna

View Online  |  Printer Friendly Version of Entire Story

Format: Novella
Chapters: 13
Word Count: 59,030
Status: COMPLETED

Rating: Mature
Warnings: Strong Language, Strong Violence, Scenes of a Sexual Nature, Substance Use or Abuse, Sensitive Topic/Issue/Theme

Genres: Humor, Romance, Young Adult
Characters: McGonagall, James (II), OC, OtherCanon
Pairings: Other Pairing, James/OC, OC/OC

First Published: 09/19/2010
Last Chapter: 03/12/2011
Last Updated: 03/12/2011

Summary:
Banner by Marit @ tda // Freddy/Oc
Warning: Narrated by a narrow minded and cynical insomniac. 



Dixie doesn't care that Freddy has similar body mass to a bear, or the fact that her breath catches in her throat at the mere sight of him. She is going to detach him from his latest bird even if she has to use the scissors. 


Chapter 1: The Eloquent Charms of Fredrick Weasley
[View Online]

Authors Note: Dearest Readers, this is the first Chapter of Seven, the story of the delightful Dixie Pruitt. To those of you who haven’t read Wolfsbane (the story before this) you don’t need to, there will be nothing that you need to know from that in this story. To those of you that have, I hope you enjoy it as much. Read on…









Beautiful Chapter Image by Marit @ tda. 
Dixie Pruitt








 


In complete honesty, I have absolutely no clue of the whereabouts of my pack of Exploding Snap cards. Despite what ever James Potter says, I did not leave them in the Common Room. It is a shame in all sincerity that it was that particular pack to be misplaced; they had the face of Quidditch Extraordinaire, Harrison Bartlett on each card. 





 

I bit back an incessant whine for once in my life and drummed my fingers repeatedly against the oak table infront of me. While I tend to grace the day with an outlook of optimism and niceties, today would be favored differently; with a pessimistic view and horns imaginarily scribbled on to the top of every Professors head. A reason for my negativity I hear you ask? I can answer it with six words.

 

I am not a morning person.



I never have been and I never will. It could have something to do with the fact that according to James I am dancing on the rim of becoming an insomniac. I personally disagree with this statement; with the right amount of care and love, that verdict is entirely incorrect and I will divulge myself in to the following day with a smile upon my face. Today did not happen to be one of those days. Today I will be narrow-minded and cynical.

 

There are two options to my unfulfilled evenings. The first one is exploration of the castle, being best friends with the present generation of Potters and Weasley’s does have its charms. James would lend me his invisibility cloak for me to wander the castle at unreasonable hours and Freddy wouldn’t allow me to go alone. Freddy. Dearest Freddy Weasley.

 

11 years old; while his cousin chatted to me about Honeydukes on the Hogwarts Express ride, Fred pulled my hair, shoved a sherbet lemon up my nose and attempted look up my skirt. This was all before pushed me in to the black lake and jumping in after me. Yet somehow, with his dark brown eyes and skin to match, he stumbled head first in to society, embracing life as it came and became the man he is today.

 

The man that after 7 double vodkas, can still dance the pulp fiction to perfection. The guy that attempt to impose Asbo’s on people who carry umbrellas of satellite proportions. The guy who after many severely traumatising breakups decided to go on a heartbreaker-award-winning-worthy one night stand mission. (He’s still on it)

 

The guy that after almost seven years has stuck by my side and been my rock, my shoulder to cry on, my teddy bear. After seven years he is still the fanatical, egotistical, conceited arse that he was at the age of eleven but I wouldn’t change him in the slightest. Not one bit. He may be an overconfident and supercilious big-kid, but he is still somehow chivalrous and charming. This is why he doesn’t let we roam the castle on my own at weird hours, he will always be with me.

 

Because of this grand benefit that I am graced with, the reality of me settling down to bed before one or two in the morning is sorely unrealistic. The consequence of this is my chosen time to wake up, according to my roommates, the answer is not before ten to eight. I believe this is a brilliant plan; I get ready abnormally quickly, and this till gives me time to socialize and scoff down toast and coffee before lessons at nine.

 

This morning however didn’t follow that drawn out plan when my blonde haired roommate decided to pull me from my bed (by my ankles may I add) and in to the bathroom at the unthinkable time of ten past seven.

















Last night I had submerged to my nocturnal habits and spent my night in the Common Room with the second option to my evenings; with my pack of cards and my dignity still intact. While I sat, legs crossed, graced with a high pile of Sugar Quills and Ice Mice infront of me, James parked his butt on to the sofa and gradually lost his smirk as his pile seemed to deplete. That was the reasoning that I used to reach my not-so-far-fetched conclusion to the whereabouts of my missing cards.

 

“Dixie,” James huffed as he took another bite of toast. “For the last time, I did not take your cards.”

 

I folded my arms over my chest in a childish manner. “You acted out of wounded macho-pride and, like the criminal that you are, stealthily snatched them from right under my nose.”

 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions now, love.” He said, moving my pointed finger from under his nose with the back of his hand.

 

“I did not jump to conclusions,” I argued as I nursed my coffee. “I took a small step and there conclusions were.” He simply looked in the other direction. “Don’t try to deny it, Jimmy-Jams. I know that you did it.”

 

“I’m not really sure to start with the corrections to that sentence,” he muttered as he threw an arm around his girlfriend. “So how about we go with, one, I didn’t fecking do it and two, call me Jimmy-Jams again and I will cut off all of your hair while you sleep.” I stifled an eye roll and rested my cheek in to my palm. James poked my pout and sat up casually.  

 

“James,” the tall blonde snapped. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

 

He shook his head in denial. “Yes, it is. But you love me, and therefore you will overlook this little mishap because if you don’t you will never receive a kiss from me again.”

 

“That’s fine,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “I will always have Drew.” The twitch that worked its way on to James’s features couldn’t be defined with words.

 

I twisted the small tea spoon in the black cup infront of me and send a small grin to my roommate. Charisma Price is naturally quiet and sweet, the giggliest of us all, generally a quiet and loving person but a closet-disco-diva. She was tucked neatly under James’s arm, her rightful place, where she had spent the past nine months. Her bright blue eyes were usually filled with happy little rainbow smiles, an aspect of her that I envied. Yet today they were different; dark circles underlined them along with a small scowl on her face. She wasn’t a nocturnal being like me, she happened to be suffering from ‘that time of the month’. She was unlucky; she had two of them. She was part werewolf. It was shocking to think that the bouncy blonde who cried when she grew out of her favorite t-shirt has the ability to hurt people in the way that she did. In out third year, she broke Freddy’s arm. He complained like a tiny little girl.

 

I turned to my left and wrote another sentence on to my Astronomy Homework. James looked at it longingly. The day that he did his AST homework is the day that I give up Ice Mice.

 

At this moment a groaning presence slumped in beside me. Andrew ‘Drew or Drew-ie’ Wood, had manoeuvred his way past a pack of uptight Ravenclaws and us with his bear like presence.

 

“Morning,” he said cheerfully, taking a piece of toast.

 

He reached for some strawberry jam and I prodded him with my quill. “Charisma is planning on kissing you.”

 

“Really,” he questioned. I nodded and she blushed. “And how does James feel about this?”

 

His glare answered the question.

 

“I’m going to guess, not too good.” I replied with a shrug.

 

I took a sip of my coffee, putting my quill back down on to the table, and handed my cup to a begging Drew. He took his own monster gulp. I opened my mouth and stuttered in protest. “Drew-ie, that wasn’t a sip.”

 

“And?”

 

“You usually just take a sip.” I reasoned in a pleasant tone. “That should be classed as a … you know; I don’t even think that it has a name.”

 

He looked at me pointedly and raised a dark brow. “Sorry, love. Let me just regurgitate it for you.”

 

I snatched my cup away before he could do anything of the sort and leant my cheek in to the palm of my hand. He stopped the incessant gagging noise that he was making.

 

Drew Wood; currently attacking his breakfast with his face, it astounds me that a boy with looks that good can eat in such a foul manner. He is our personal Minister for Magic. He is the sensible one, despite the eating habits. His sharp-mind is able to decipher what rules are worth breaking and what ones will land us in detention for life. The prerogative if we actually follow his advice is usually another story.

 

He leant over my toast and reached for my cup. Warningly I grabbed my quill in a clenched fist and held it up to his arm. He leaned away warily. “You’re not going to stab me, Dix.”

 

“Oh, yes she will.” Charisma interjected sternly. “She stabbed James last week.”

 

I smiled sweetly. “I feel no remorse.”

 

“I do.” James whined. “It bloody hurt.”

 

I nodded and put my quill back down. Drew leant back over. “Andrew,” Charisma said in a testy tone. “She really will leave little stab marks in a place that she chooses, I recommend that you back off. You’ve seen her do it before.”

 

He replaced my quill with a spoon and leant back, placing my stationary on to the Hufflepuff table. My fingers twitched towards the knife and fork. “Touch that cutlery and I will run away with the coffee.”

 

I was about to utter my reply with several words of choice about my opinion on his threat – and him. Instead, I was left to deeply sighed and count to ten in my head. When I reached seven I found calm I examining my red nails, each one was perfectly painted. It was strange to think that I take such care in my appearance only to enjoy digging around in the mud in Herbology. Charisma thinks that I am an enigma, that there was a flaw in my programming. I however, consider it charm.

 

I took another sip of my coffee and tried to ignore Charisma’s disheveled and sleepy looking appearance. I woke up feeling cynical and argumentative, but I couldn’t have got up feeling worse than that.

 

“My jam tastes of strawberries,” Drew moaned from beside me.

 

“And what is wrong with strawberries?” I asked, folding my arms as James caught my eye.

 

“You liked them last week,” Charisma tried, sending a small smile towards her friend.

 

He shook his head. “Not this week, this week I like raspberries.”

 

“You difficult, difficult boy.” I muttered. “I’ll show you where you can stick those raspberries.”

 

He raised a brow and smiled. “Please enlighten me, love. Are we dealing with a detracting and sarcastic Dixie Pruitt this morning or cheerful and buoyant Dixie-the-Pixie.”

 

“Buoyant?” I echoed. “Did you wake up in a dictionary?”

 

“I’m going to go with detracting and sarcastic.”

 

“You can’t forget mocking,” Charisma chimed. “She very good at that.”

 

“She’s also very manipulative for such a small person,” James beamed. “I mean, how you can fit that much gloomy demeanor in such a tiny body is beside me.”

 

“I’m five foot four,” I snapped.

 

“Yes, tiny.”

 

I narrowed my eyes and opened my mouth to retaliate. I had my insults all lined up, my wit on the front line. That was until Drew reached in to my mouth and pinched my tongue.

 

“Think before you speak, Dixie.” he lectured as I tried to clamp my teeth down on to his fingers. “Your words can sometimes be a little more hurtful than I am sure you intend them to be.”

 

“D-Drew, mate,” James stammered. “Her nostrils are flaring.”

 

I am sure that my cheeks had adapted to the colour of my Gryffindor robes. I tired heartlessly to gnaw on Drew’s thumb and index finger. James was one of my only friends who was able to decipher morning crankiness from subtlety-burning anger. Drew nodded heavily and mouthed counting to ten. I felt compelled to let him know my opinion on his actions. This was displayed by a spoon shaped crease stabbed in to his arm. The wanker didn’t even acknowledge it.

 

James leant over the table and caught the spoon on my third attempt and tried to pull it from my grasp. As a deplorable outbreak of tug of war commenced, Charisma continued to eat her breakfast and read a copy of the Daily Prophet. I would never be caught dead with a copy of that rubbish. It printed two year that my twin brothers Kellan and Archie were arrested for holding illegal Gnome fight-tournaments. Theresa Skeeter stated that they were twenty four years of age, had over seventeen gnomes locked in separate rooms and were treating them horrendously.

 

It’s untrue; they were Imps not Gnomes.

 

Since that shameful moment, I refuse to read the utter rubbish that the trollop prints and passes as formal intelligence and news.

 

I felt my arm weaken as the James adapted to his role as Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and used his Chaser muscle to yank the spoon from my grip. He muttered obscenities, was smacked in the stomach by his girlfriend and eventually taken the spoon from my grasp that had turned limp within seconds.

 

James took one look behind him and gaped, I could feel Charisma’s eyes surveying me. Drew on the other hand laughed, so did a few people around him. He let go of my tongue. I found my chest deflating instead of my eyes narrowing. My breathing became shallow instead of raging. I lost all sense of normality.

 

Admitting with integrity, there is one weakness that I have and it is standing behind James with that bloody smirk plastered across his face. I am not afraid of spiders, nor do heights make me shake. However there is one thing, or person, I should say, that obtains the overwhelming ability to make me shake in my boots and melt in to a puddle of girly mush.

 

He is the one person who I wake up for in the morning (if you can even call it as that) he is the only one in the world who has the ability to put a smile on to my face just with one of his own. He can turn my pessimistic nature in to a cheerful exploit to over take the world. He can take my potty mouthed disposition and turn my words in to poetry. My steely eyed glower is flipped and entices children instead of making them cry. He can turn my frown in to a smile.

 

I peered over James’s shoulder and saw him. He was taking to a pretty little blonde, a sixth year. He was in his seventh. It would have been an adequate description to say that they were more than friends. She laughed and pushed on his shoulder playfully. He laughed along with her. As they took another few steps towards the Gryffindor table I felt my heart drop down to my stomach. I bit back any emotion that I had on the subject, bit down my lip inconspicuously, hard, and took a piece of toast from infront of me.

 

I felt a hand comfortingly rest on my knee under the table; it brushed the bottom of my black school dress. I mustered my emotion and threw it all in to one last frown. I didn’t want the smirking stares from onlookers, or worse, pity. That was what I am receiving. I don’t need it, I don’t want it.

 

I looked back over to the ‘happy couple’ and saw his smirk; he had just said something cheeky. He smiled it at me only hours ago. To her, he has probably told her she’s pretty, the only one for him. To me, he told me to grow up, stole my bra and pushed me over the back of the sofa.

 

Oh, the eloquent charms of Freddy Weasley.

 

It was at this moment that I felt my lip quiver, at this moment that Drew’s arm found its way around my shoulders, at this moment that Freddy leant over and kissed my cousin.

 

On the lips.

 

As I bit back a whimper of pain my heart thudded out my chest, leaving a gaping hole where it once was. Drew quickly leant back to the Hufflepuff table and snatched back my quill. He placed it directly in to my hand and curled my fingers back around it. He must be mistaken if he thinks I am stabbing him with that, he is a good friend. He gave me back my weapon.

 

Instead with a little internal sob, I leaned to my left and jabbed it in to the leg of the next passing person, who, by pure coincidence, just happened to be Professor Flint.

 









 


Authors Note: A bit on the short side, I know. But I promise you they will get longer. This was just a little insight to Dixie. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. Oh and yes, Professor Flint is infact the gorgeous Marcus :P

 

Note that the term ‘gorgeous’ is used loosely.

 

What do you think will happen next?

How will Dixie deal with this?

Why did Drew give back her weapon?

 

I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, it may take a while to warm up, but I quite like the story line to this, so I hope that you do to. I realize that Dixie’s cynical outlook is incredibly over the top to how many of you would envision life, I imagine. But then that is just the Dixie way and trust me, it will calm down a little. I usually leave a preview of the next chapter so, here it is…

 

Don’t forget to leave a little review; it doesn’t even have to be long. It can say ‘cake’ if you enjoyed it and ‘trifle’ if you didn’t.  

 


http://www.harrypotterfanfiction.com