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Chapter 10: Fighting, Screaming, Plotting, and Acting Like Kids
“Myra! Myra! Myra, for Christ’s sake, wake the fuck up!”
“Myra, I seriously need you to wake up!”
Why is someone shaking me? Why is there bright light badgering my poor, sleep-addled brain? Why aren’t I sleeping anymore?
“Myra, you need to get up!”
It’s the weekend! (I think.) Let me sleep!!
“MYRA, FREDDY IS BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF MY BOYFRIEND AND HE KEEPS ON TALKING ABOUT HIS BABY AND ACCIDENTALLY BREAKING JAMES’S NOSE AND I NEED YOU TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS!!!”
“I’M UP! I’M UP! WHERE IS HE?!”
“Outside the Common Room! Now go!”
I tumbled out of my bed (oh, how I’ll miss you, sweet and lovely Queen of Slumber), hit the floor, hard, cursed fluently, and dashed out of the dorm, still in my pajamas. Still with morning breath. Still with my hair sticking up like a pissed off cat’s fur. Still blinking the sleep from my eyes.
But very, very, very angry with a certain mate of mine.
I know Freddy, and I know he’s shit with emotions. He’s funny as hell and all, but he’s as bad as Amy is with feelings. I know that when Freddy starts beating up a random bloke he’s got nothing against while ranting about his “baby”, he’s dealing with emotions. Serious emotions. Hopefully I’m-in-like-with-Amy-and-what-the-fuck-do-I-do-except-get-piss-drunk emotions. See, if Freddy fancies Amy, then all I have to do is lock the two of them in a broom closet and BAM! Instant relationship.
You know, I think I could market that.
Myra’s Instant Relationship! Just add a small room and two people!
YES. I will make shitloads off of that! And then I can rub it in Potter’s face because he’ll be poorer than me and that will be so awesome especially because I’m dirt poor!! MWAHAHA!!!
“Sonuvabitch, I’m gonna fucking kill you! You sick bastard, you’re fucking dead! YOU TOOK MY BABY! AND YOU MADE ME BREAK JAMES’S NOSE! It’s all your fucking fault!”
Oh, right. Psychotic best friend.
That was a lot of fucks in one sentence.
I leaped through the Portrait Hole and skidded to a halt outside in the hall. (Yes, that’s right, I heard Freddy’s violent psychopath tirade through the bloody wall.) My eyes widened as I took in the sight before me.
Freddy had slammed Amy’s boyfriend (who will henceforth be known as Poor Bastard) into the wall and was repeatedly punching him in the face. Poor Bastard was bleeding freely from his nose and was already starting to bruise. One of his eyes was almost completely swelled up. He seemed to be trying to loosen Freddy’s hold on him, but he was so weak – largely due to the beating he had just suffered, I’m guessing – he couldn’t do jack shit to save his own ass.
“FREDDY, IF YOU DON’T LET GO OF HIM RIGHT FUCKING NOW, I AM KICKING YOU OFF THE QUIDDITCH TEAM, WRITING YOUR MUM, AND TELLING ALEXIS AND RAVEN THAT YOU HAVE AN STD!!!” I roared, turning bright red.
Of course, when I turn bright red, I literally turn bright red.
Freddy dropped Poor Bastard faster than I thought physically possible and backed away from him. Poor Bastard crumpled into a small, miserable heap on the floor, moaning. Freddy started pacing around the corridor, clenching and unclenching his fists and shooting vicious glares at Poor Bastard every few seconds.
I rushed towards Poor Bastard and kneeled in front of him, helping him up into a sitting position. He groaned and clutched his stomach. I scowled and shot Freddy a venomous, you-will-die-in-the-near-future glare over my shoulder.
He is so going to feel my wrath later.
I turned back to Poor Bastard (I really ought to figure out his name) and examined the extent of his injuries. Black eye, split lip, bruises covering every visible surface, split eyebrow, very possible broken ribs.
Eh, I’ve seen worse.
Anyways, he kind of looks bad ass right now.
“Listen, I’m really sorry. Freddy is kind of…explosive. I also think he’s been drinking, so that’s definitely a contributing factor. I’m going to get you all fixed up, okay? I just need you to stand up and come with me into my Common Room. Can you do that?” I asked gently, touching his shoulder.
He coughed slightly and cleared his throat. “Yeah”, he croaked.
I took hold of his hand and hauled him to his feet. As soon as he was standing up, he swayed, so I wrapped my arm under his arms and directed his arm over my shoulders. His eyes were screwed shut and his teeth were gritted in pain, but I had to admire the fact that he wasn’t crying and he wasn’t screaming bloody murder.
“Come on, it’s not that far. I’m right here.” I murmured, guiding him through the Portrait Hole (the Fat Lady swung open wordlessly, mouth gaping open in shock). I helped Poor Bastard lie down on the comfiest couch in the room and told him to wait while I got my wand.
I sprinted up the stairs, grabbed my wand, and was about to leave when I saw Amy standing by the window, gnawing on her fingernails.
Amy hates blood. She’s a Gryffindor, through and through, but one of the few things that can really get to her is blood, which I find really ironic considering how violent she is.
“He’ll live. But I bet a recovery snog wouldn’t hurt at all.” I said, shrugging. Then I left and dashed down the stairs.
“Hang on, mate.” I said, kneeling down on the floor next to the couch. “Where does it hurt the most?”
He gestured weakly towards his stomach. I responded by pulling his blood-stained shirt up gingerly and exposing a map of bruises scrawled across Poor Bastard’s hard-earned six pack. I ran my hand over the bruises, biting my lip and concentrating hard. Sure enough, he had a few broken ribs.
“Alright, this is going to hurt like a bitch. Try not to scream.” I said, before pointing my wand at his ribs and flicking it sharply. Blue sparks streamed from my wand tip to his skin, sinking in to the areas where his injuries where the worst. His back arched and he gritted his teeth tightly, letting out a strangled kind of moan.
I had had this done to me before during the Gryffindor/Slytherin championship match last year, so I knew how painful it was. It felt like your bones were being liquefied and then bent and then solidified. It also felt like someone had poured gasoline around your insides and then lit a match. Needless to say, it really freaking sucked.
After his ribs had knitted back together, I healed his nose, which hurt but was considerably less painful. His eyebrow came next, and then his eye. I suggested that he just let the black eye show so he looked really tou, but he just let out a hysterical chuckle, which I had no idea was even possible before now, and told me to heal it.
After I had healed his bruises, his lip, and cleaned the blood off of his face and abdomen and wherever the hell else he had managed to get it, I reached out to help him up, but Amy beat me to it.
Huh. So I guess she made it down here. I should probably develop my observational skills.
“Oh my Merlin, Sam, are you okay?” She asked anxiously.
So that’s his name.
“I’ve been better.” He rasped, reaching up and grabbing her hand. She promptly plunked herself down next to him – no, scratch that, she sat on his lap – and started snogging the shit out of him.
Snogging as in with hands and tongues and moans and – ew.
I blanched and mimed vomiting onto the carpet at my feet.
“That’s disgusting.” Someone said from behind me, in the general direction of the boy’s staircase.
Well, damn, I bet that’s Potter finally showing his vile face and – wait. Hang on. Wasn’t Freddy saying something about breaking Potter’s nose and it being Sam’s fault?
YES! THAT IS AWESOME! OH MY FUCKING GOD, YES!!!
I lurched to my feet, whirled around, and promptly burst out laughing at the sight of Potter strolling nonchalantly into the Common Room sporting a bruised and lumpy nose. He scowled at me (though his eyes seemed focused way lower than normal), but I could tell he was somewhat glad for the distraction from the nauseating scene behind me, which was producing vomit-inducing noises at a virgin ear/Firstie-scarring level.
“Shut up.” He grumbled, fidgeting slightly under my gaze and studying the floor intently.
Hang on, is he actually acting embarrassed?
WHAT. WHAT. WHAT IS THIS. I CAN’T. NO. IT JUST. NO. DOES. NOT. COMPUTE.
“The hell – are you – what – I – no.” I stuttered, staring at him in shock.
Potter shoved a hand back through his hair and I glared at it, gritting my teeth in irritation. “Look down,” he mumbled, still focused on the carpet.
Though I have to admit I could probably spend ten minutes staring at that weird dinosaur-shaped silvery stain on the carpet that’s half-hidden by the armchair to the right of the fire. That’s pretty fascinating. But he’s looking at the most boring patch of carpet in the entire castle. (And yes, I do get bored in carpeted rooms a lot.)
Following Potter’s instructions (never again will this happen), I looked down.
“Shit.” I hissed, casting my gaze about for anything that I could use to cover up.
See, I have this really bad habit of sleeping in practically nothing. Even in the middle of winter, I go to sleep in clothes that would make a stripper blush and Them gasp in shock at their sluttiness.
Yeah, I’m wearing a massive t-shirt. And nothing else except my knickers (obviously). Also, it’s streaked with Sam’s (I like Poor Bastard better. It’s more fitting) blood.
Wow. I feel like hooker that just got in a fight with a client whilst wearing his shirt and came out victorious, albeit half-naked.
“You have a wand, you idiot.” I looked back at Potter and saw him watching me with an amused expression plastered across his stupid (yet incredibly sexy) face.
His eyes seemed to be glued to my legs, however.
“Oh. Yeah. Wand. Magic. Right.” I twitched my wand and conjured up a fluffy white bathrobe, which I quickly pulled on.
Potter opened his mouth and looked as though he was about to say something, but before he could, a noise like a plunger being yanked out of a toilet interrupted him.
I turned around slowly to face Amy and Poor Bastard, hands shoved into my bathrobe’s pockets.
“AHHH!!! OH, GOD, MY EYES!! IT BURNS! SWEET JESUS, IT BURNS!” I screamed, slapping my hands over my eyes so hard my face stung.
“HOLY SHIT! AMY, I DO NOT NEED TO SEE THAT MUCH OF YOU!! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!! YOU’RE WORSE THAN I AM!”
“Well, sorry.” I heard Amy say.
How much you wanna bet she’s rolling her eyes?
“Prudes.” I heard her mutter.
“Is it safe to look?” I queried, daring to spread my fingers apart so I could see out of a small slit.
“Yes.” She sighed.
“Oh, thank Merlin.” Potter and I said at the same time.
That’s not worrying at all…
“So are you guys going to yell at Freddy or should I?” Amy asked, cracking her knuckles and rolling her sleeves up.
Poor Bastard wrapped his arm around Amy’s waist and murmured something in her ear. She grinned and said, “Never mind. I’ll be back sometime tonight. Don’t go looking for me. See ya!”
Poor Bastard and Amy proceeded to get up from their…interesting position on the couch (which I am never sitting on again) and practically sprint out of the Common Room. I watched them go with an expression of disgust on my face, fighting desperately to keep from miming vomiting again.
Alright, that’s it. I’m locking Amy and Freddy in a broom cupboard. It’s the only way.
“First of all, that’s disgusting. Second of all, what did Freddy do? I woke this morning with a broken nose and a suspiciously absent Freddy.” Potter said from behind me.
Really close behind me. As in, hovering over my shoulder close.
I jumped in shock and “accidentally” elbowed Potter in the gut, forcing him to back up.
“Freddy beat the living shit out of Amy’s boyfriend, that’s what he did. I broke up the fight, as a favor for Amy, and stitched Lover Boy up. Shall we go and yell at Freddy now? I didn’t really have enough time to do that when I was too concerned with saving what’s-his-face’s ass.” I said brightly, clapping my hands together and turning to face Potter.
Potter ran a hand through his hair again, casting his gaze about for any place that wasn’t my face.
AHH!! HE’S DOING IT AGAIN! HE’S ACTING WEIRD AND AWKWARD AND – NO. THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN.
“Yeah, let’s go do that. But how about you go and change first. Please. That would be really awesome. Thanks.” He said, his voice rough and husky and low and really hot.
Bloody fucking hell, now I have this really overwhelming urge to snog him senseless.
“Okay. Great. Fantastic. I’m going to go and do that now.” I mumbled, using every ounce of my willpower to keep from jumping my sworn enemy at eight o’clock in the morning.
THIS IS SO SCREWED UP. THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH THIS WHOLE SITUATION.
IT’S SO WEIRD I FEEL THE NEED TO CONTINUE USING CAPS LOCK AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. MENTALLY. BECAUSE I’M JUST THAT AWESOME.
I sprinted up the stairs to my dorm, shaking my head all the while in a desperate attempt to regain control of myself and bring back some sense of normalcy into this day, which was already starting out to be a pretty mental day. And that’s really saying something, considering what I go through on a daily basis.
Let’s see now, shall we?
Locking my best friend and an almost-complete stranger in a broom cupboard for a day, smelling whatever the bleeding hell my arch nemesis smells like in Amortentia (I need to talk to one of my girls about that. It’s seriously freaking me out. Every time I get a whiff of Potter I feel like I want to run in the opposite direction as fast as physically possible), skipping detention, running away from my overweight Potions professor, screaming profanities at the top of my lungs in the middle of the Great Hall with all the professors present, including the Headmaster, and also that little – thing that happened during detention with Potter when he grabbed my hand and there were sparks and I felt like I was in a really shitty teen romance novel and I seriously need to unload all of this on someone. Preferably a female someone whose name doesn’t rhyme with Pominique Zeasley.
I burst through the door to my dorm, earning rat-like squeals of protest from Them, who were currently busy applying layer after layer of make-up. Dom was snoring on her bed, sprawled out across the mattress and twisted up in the blankets and sheets. Her blond hair was in a snarled mess and there was what looked a lot like small puddle of drool by her mouth. I took a minute to mourn the lack of a camera.
After my moment was done, I pulled on a pair of jeans, grabbed a sweater, thanked every god I knew of that I had slept in a sports bra last night so my boobs hadn’t been jiggling around everywhere and making the already compromising situation even worse, and brushed my teeth at the speed of light. Alexis and Raven squawked and bitched and generally got under foot (do they ever do anything else?) as I was doing this, annoying me with questions like “what the hell *insert hair flip* do you think you’re doing” and “are you, like, meeting someone”.
Finally, I managed to shove my way past the two skanks and sprint back down the stairs, running my fingers through my short hair in an effort to comb it into some semblance of decency.
My efforts failed miserably.
Dammit, now would be a good time for me to develop the remarkable skill to be able to pull off bed hair the way Potter can. Not that Potter can pull off bed hair. Because he can’t. That thought is absolutely ridiculous. Completely stupid. Totally uncalled for. My brain is obviously deluded. Duh.
“Christ, that took you long enough. Now, are we going to yell at Freddy or what, Smithe?” Potter snapped as I reached the Common Room.
Buggering shit– oh, so one second he’s checking me out and the next he’s snapping at me as if he can talk?
It’s the pot calling the kettle black, I swear! This boy takes twenty minute long showers! He spends ten minutes fixing his hair to appropriate level of messiness every morning. I swear to bleeding Merlin he wears bleeding designer clothes. I wouldn’t be surprised if his fashion sense is better than mine! Of course, that’s not really saying much, but still!
Every morning, I spend about twenty minutes getting ready. I get dressed with the first clothes my fingers touch. I brush my teeth. I consider running a brush through my hair but usually just rub some hair-product-gel-stuff Amy gave me through it. I smudge on some eyeliner in a half-arsed attempt at putting on make-up. I briefly glance at the other make-up but usually decide against using it, mostly because it takes too long and I’m lazy.
TWENTY. BLEEDING. MINUTES.
That’s it. I take my showers after practice, and they’re, on average, only eight minutes long.
Now, if Potter took a shower every morning, that’s my entire “getting ready” time frame, right there. And that’s not even counting him “fixing his hair” and picking out his sexy outfit or some shit like that.
“Fuck off, Potter. It would probably take you fifteen minutes just to get dressed. Hell, I bet Freddy has to help you put your clothes on in the morning!” I snapped, fuming and clenching my fists as I stalked out of the Common Room and down the corridor.
“Love, I know you enjoy thinking about me with my clothes off, but don’t get too excited.”
“Potter, I am going to kill you.” I snarled, whipping around and glaring at him, my hands on my hips.
“No you aren’t. You’re going to snog me. And then shag me. C’mon, it’ll be fun!” He said, smirking and running a motherbleeding hand through his motherbleeding hair.
I flipped shit.
I don’t what’s wrong with me. I’ve been really horny all morning. Well, I’ve been really horny ever since I walked down into the Common Room and saw Smithe standing around in just a t-shirt.
Regardless, there’s something wrong with me, because I’ve been hitting on Smithe.
I mean, not seriously hitting on her. But… kind of hitting on her. Enough so that she’s flipping her shit on me right now.
Bloody hell, what if she slaps me? I don’t like getting slapped. It messes up my face. And my nose is currently broken, anyways, so it would be really painful.
Damn it, Freddy. If you hadn’t gone off and beaten up Amy’s boyfriend, none of this would’ve happened.
Wait…but if hadn’t beat the shit out of Amy’s boyfriend (I should probably figure his name out), then I wouldn’t have gotten to see Smithe in just her t-shirt. Bleeding hell, she’s hot. If she weren’t an evil snake-woman, I would probably date her.
Fucker. I did not just think that.
There’s something wrong with me. Next thing you know, I’m going to be snogging Smithe against a wall or shagging her in a broom cupboard or something ridiculous like that.
“ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME, YOU EFFING OSTRICH FACE?!” Smithe roared, her hair (and face, and eyebrows, and eyes – which was pretty damn scary) bright red.
I really love it when she gets pissed at me and starts making up all these crazy insults that don't make any sense.
“Erm – no, not really.” I said, cowering in fear away from the psychotic bitch of an arch nemesis I have.
“You’re absolutely useless! What good is an enemy if you can’t even yell at him properly? You’re not even scared right now! Most people would have pissed themselves by this point! Die in hell, Potter! I hate you, you muffin!” Smithe screamed, a few minutes away from ripping my head off and doing some ancient tribal dance over my decapitated corpse.
“I smelled you in Amortentia.”
Did I just say that?
“Did you just say that?”
Now she’s saying what I’m thinking.
This could not possibly get any worse.
“Yeah, um, I’m not really myself in the mornings. I’m obviously off my rocker. Just ignore that. I believe I suffer from a rare disease known in the medical community as ‘word vomit’. Also, it’s the morning. Have I mentioned that yet? Seriously, just ignore everything I’m saying or have said. I’m crazy. Batshit insane. Off the deep end. Nuts. See, I don’t even know what I’m saying right now.”
Smithe stared at me, her jaw hanging open to give me a lovely view of the weird pink thing at the back of your mouth. Ulvala? Uvala? Whatever the heck that thing is called.
I offered her a weak grin, mentally kicking myself in the arse.
How stupid can I get? Why in hell would I say something like that? And right in the middle of her yelling at me, too. She’s bleeding hot when she’s pissed.
You know what? I think I’ve been drugged. That is obviously why I’m acting completely and utterly unlike myself and why I’m thinking these really freaky things about Smithe and how hot she is and how I would really like to be snogging her against a wall right now and what. What. Fucking what. Why. Why would I. Why would I think that.
“I – I actually, um, maybe sorta smelledyouinAmortentiatoo.” Smithe mumbled, blushing bright red, which is really disconcerting considering how her entire epidermis turns red when she blushes.
“I smelled you in Amortentia, too, nimwit.” She snapped, glaring at me as though daring me to say anything to oppose her statement.
“I – really? That’s…shit, that’s bad.”
“I know, right? I tried to just shove it to the back of my mind and forget about it, and it almost worked, but then you had to go and say that. And have you noticed how creepy it sounds to say that?”
“Yeah! It makes it sound as though you’ve gone about sniffing someone’s pillow to try and figure out what they smell like so that you can compare that smell to whatever you smell in bleeding love potions. But damn, why did I have to say that? I almost forget about it, too!”
“You know what? The fuck with love potions! The fuck with Freddy, too, while we’re at it. He can – hopefully – deal with himself and not go around killing people in a homicidal-Freddy rage. Let’s go and do something really stupid.”
“Wait, why? I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with doing something really stupid; it’s actually quite fun, but is there any particular reason as to why we’re acting like idiots all of a sudden?”
“Oh, trust me, there’re plenty of reasons. Firstly, we smelled each other in Amortentia, and that sounds so incredibly creepy, but it means that we love whatever the other smells like, which is really fucking bad. Secondly, we’re sworn enemies, so admitting to each other that we like what the other smells like – again, that’s really creepy sounding – is like the end of the world. Thirdly, we’re having a civil conversation, albeit one that’s lasted for only about five minutes, but still. It’s probably a feat worthy of the Guiness Book of World Records. Fourthly, I need to do something stupid to blow off some steam. Let’s go and get Al and Scorp and wreak havoc.”
“You are absolutely right and I can’t believe I just said that. Now, before this situation gets even worse, let’s go and raise hell with our mates.”
“There are so many things wrong with that sentence I can’t even begin to list them.”
“I know. It’s terrible.”
“So, what should we do?” Scorp asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
“Get you a Red Bull, for starters.” I said, running a hand through my hair and exchanging a look with Smithe, who was sprawled across a couch opposite me.
“Hell no. Those things taste like cat piss with sugar mixed in.”
“Okay. Thanks for that lovely image.” Smithe drawled, flipping over onto her stomach and glaring at Al, who was currently drooling into the carpet where he had belly-flopped onto it when we had finally managed to drag him out of his bed.
“No prob. Seriously, though, what should we do?”
I screwed up my face in concentration, trying to think up some genius plan. “Oh! I know, I know! Let’s prank Louis!”
There was a long, awkward pause.
“Why?” Al finally asked, looking up at me from the carpet with a “what in the name of all that is Holy and Good is this bloke on” expression plastered across his stupid, carpet-pattern-imprinted, sleepy face.
“Because he’s a git and he called Mary a bitch. Repeatedly. He also threatened to kill her. He’s a Pretty Boy, too, and a spoiled brat. And he’s annoying. Can’t forget that.” I explained, running a hand through my hair and casting a glance at Smithe to see if she had noticed.
She had. I almost pissed my pants in terror at the sight of her vicious glare.
“Well, in that case, then we need to destroy him. Screw family loyalty and all that shit.” Al practically snarled, getting to his feet and cracking his knuckles while glowering at the wall in a way that made me consider the possibility of Al beating the crap out of a stone wall in his anger.
Oh, that would be interesting.
“Yes, Professor, he did indeed attack the wall.” “No, Professor, I didn’t think it would be a good idea to pull him away from the wall.” “Well, you see Professor, he was really, really, really mad at that wall.” “Yes, Professor, I do think it’s unfortunate that he’s in the Hospital Wing.” “No, Professor, it won’t happen again. You have my word that I won’t not drag him away from the next wall he attacks.” “No, Professor, I didn’t know that a double negative makes a positive.”
“Damn, your cousin is a bleeding tosser, mate!” Scorp exclaimed, flipping his hair with a jerky motion that reminded me of whiplash.
“Scorp, how do you not get whiplash from flipping your hair like that? It seriously looks painful.” Smithe said, tugging at one of her earrings absentmindedly.
WE REALLY NEED TO STOP THINKING THE SAME THINGS. I AM STARTING TO GET FREAKED OUT HERE. AND I’M JAMES POTTER. I DON’T GET FREAKED OUT. THIS IS VERY BAD.
“You know, it’s actually not that painful. You kind of get used to having a permanent crick in your neck after awhile,” Scorp said honestly, blinking at Smithe and giving her a look reminiscent of an expression a five-year-old would have. “Anyways, let’s get on with humiliating your idiot Veela pretty boy cousin.”
“Hey, he’s not my cousin! There’s no way I’m related to someone who’s that big of a muffin-face!” Smithe yelled, jumping to her feet and pointing her finger dramatically at Scorp, as if she was accusing him of stealing her broomstick or something equally horrendous.
“I deny any and all relation to that prat!” I said, standing up and glaring at Scorp.
“Yeah! What they said!” Al said indignantly, narrowing his eyes at Scorp, who by this point looked slightly terrified.
“Alright, alright! I get it! You’re not related to that piece of crap. Now can we please get along with this prank?”
“Yeah, that would probably be a good idea…” I muttered, sitting back down and pulling my wand out of my back pocket so I could twirl around like a boss.
And no, I’m not doing that to prove to Smithe that hells yeah, I can twirl my wand around like a beast, too.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“What? What’s wrong with that plan?”
“It makes no fucking sense, that’s what’s wrong with it!” I yelled, throwing my hands up in the air in exasperation.
Honestly. How these two idiots got to be such infamous pranksters is beyond me.
“Hey, this plan is brilliant, thank you very much! Al, Scorp, back me up here.”
“Yeah! This plan is awesome!” Scorp agreed, nodding his head vigorously, which caused all his ridiculously shiny blond hair to fly all over the place.
I think he washes it with shoe polish. I swear to Merlin I can see my reflection in his fringe.
“No, I’m with Myra here. Your plan is shit, bro.” Al said cheerfully, clapping James on the shoulder and igniting the piece of parchment containing the idiotic plan James and Scorp had come up with in about three seconds flat with not contribution from Al and I with his wand.
I always knew he was my favorite Potter brother.
Though that’s not really saying much, considering how much I hate the other Potter brother.
“Al, you’re definitely my favorite male Potter.” I said, wrapping my arm around his shoulders and flipping Potter (the one that sucks) the bird with my other hand.
“Wait, so you like me more than my dad?” Al asked, resting his elbow on my head.
“…Sure, I guess…”
“So, are you going to keep flirting with my baby brother or are we going to actually get this prank done?” Potter snapped, shoving his way between Al and I with a tad more force than necessary.
The heck is his problem?
“Potter, you’re delusional.” I said icily before flopping down on the couch next to Scorp and resting my feet in his lap.
He stared at them for a second and then turned to me and said, while grinning like a five-year-old at an ice cream store, “Myra, your shoes are awesome. Can I steal them? I think they would look good with my Wizarding Apparel jeans.”
He is such a girl.
I wiggled my toes in my bad ass metallic gold Chuck Taylors (five pounds from a thrift store and they’re still good as new, bitch) and watched Scorp almost drool in envy at my awesomeness. Well, my awesome shoes.
“Yeah, sure, Scorpy. You know, I think we should call you Scorpa. You’re so feminine.”
“Oi! Am not! I’m a very masculine person! I play Quidditch and I have girls falling over me! That’s masculine, right?” Scorp defended, flipping his hair with the same painful, jerky motion I usually associate with doing a double take as you walk down the beach and some really hot guy takes his shirt off as you go by.
Or maybe that’s just me.
“Scorp, you sound really defensive. Are you hiding something from us?” I asked, smirking in an incredibly Potter-esque manner, which I should probably get around to fixing.
Never mind that Potter is a very accomplished smirker and therefore my smirk is probably a very excellent smirk as I have such a good role model for smirking, which is actually a very difficult skill to master, but is also essential to life as a teenager and I have no idea what the hell I’m saying.
Potter’s craziness must be contagious.
Dammit, I’ve always feared that that was the case! Now I’ll have to bathe in ammonia or do something equally drastic to save my mortal soul.
Maybe I should convert.
I really have lost it this time.
You know things are getting bad when you start considering converting.
“Guys, are we going to do this shit or not?” Al asked, settling back in an armchair with his hands behind his head.
“Hell to the yes we are.” Potter answered, conjuring up a fresh roll of parchment and looking about our small group for any brilliant, spur-of-the-moment plots ending in Louis’s demise. Poor bastard. He probably won’t survive the day with his dignity intact.
Though he does sound like a stuck-up tosser. This will probably be a lot of fun. Hopefully stupid, too, because that’s kind of the basis of my whole “Forget about Everything Aside From Fights and Animosity That Has Happened between Potter and Myself” plan.
Step One: Do something stupid.
Step Two: Hope to God/Merlin/Zeus/Jupiter/Osiris/Wizard God that works.
Step Three: Do something even more stupid.
Step Four: Buggering hell, that didn’t work? Eat chocolate. Swear a lot. Watch movies with shirtless blokes.
Step Five: Flip shit. Have a mega-level freak-out. Break things. Hit stuff with a Beater’s bat. Throw darts at Potter’s picture.
Step Six: Maybe, just maybe, talk to someone about it. Preferably not a certain St. Mungo's-classified insane friend of mine who thinks Potter and I are in love.
“Umm… hey, what if we switch his shampoo or other hair shit out with, like, pink dye or something like that?” Scorp suggested, frowning in what appeared to be deep thought.
Oh crap. He’s thinking? That can’t be good. Quick, someone call the Royal Naval! Hide the women and children! To the underground bunkers! Mayday, mayday! Code Red! I repeat, Code Red!
I should really do something about my sarcasm. It’s getting kind of out of hand. Just like Potter’s smirking.
SOD YOU, POTTER, AND YOUR INCESSANT SMIRKING. IT’S SERIOUSLY PISSING ME OFF.
“Scorp, that’s really unoriginal. Is that the best you can come up with?” Al said, giving Scorp an “I can’t believe I associate with you in public” look.
“Yeah, mate, that was pretty pathetic. We’re Marauders, here. We’ve got to do better than that.” Potter said, nodding at Scorp, who looked incredibly dejected.
“Alright, then, what if we… put spiders in his bed?” Scorp suggested, perking up at his newest light bulb moment.
“Ew. God no. I hate spiders.” Al said, shuddering and grimacing and screwing his face up in a way that made me mourn the lack of a camera for the second time that morning.
“Yeah. Let’s skip out on the spiders. Those fuckers can go and die in a hole.” Potter agreed, expressing an amount of disgust on his face that rivaled the disgust he looked at me with.
Nah, just kidding.
He only looks at me like I’m the scum on the bottom of his shoe.
“Wimps,” Scorp muttered, flipping his fringe out of his face again and finger combing it out to the perfect style. “Why don’t we put itching powder in his underwear?”
“Juvenile.” Al said snottily, sniffing and sticking his nose up.
“Super glue his hand to his nose?”
“We did that when we were twelve.” Al said acidly, shooting Scorp a “you’re a disgrace to the Marauders” look.
Scorp, not to be daunted by being shot down four times in a row, continued coming up with ideas, each more ridiculous and more childish than the last. Al had some smart ass comment ready to fire back at him the second his sentence ended. Potter and I just sat there, watching Al and Scorp like they were a tennis match. It was highly amusing.
I should totally record this. I could make loads of money off of that.
I’m so smart.
“Charm ‘poopyhead’ on his forehead?”
“Wow. Brilliant. You’re just bursting with wit today, aren’t you?”
“No need to be so mean.” Scorp huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a little girl. “I’ll have you know I’m quite smart. You should be jealous of my brains.”
“Oh, yes. I can barely keep myself from begging you for an autograph. What have I done to deserve being blessed with your presence?”
I changed my mind. Al needs to work on controlling his sarcasm.
“You hurt my feelings! Meanie head. Myra, he hurt my feelings! Tell him to stop!” Scorp whined, pointing accusingly at Al and looking at me pleadingly.
I stared at him for a few minutes to see if he was serious.
I have since lost faith in humanity.
“Sweet Jesus in a hand basket, we are never going to get anything done.” Potter moaned, dropping his face into his hands and muttering several more things under his breath about how much the Next Gen Marauders sucked.
To be fair, they’ve actually pulled some brilliant stuff off over the years. How they’ve managed to do this, considering what they’ve got for plotters and prankers, is beyond me. Maybe the first James Potter and Sirius Black took pity on them from their cushy spot up in heaven.
I suddenly feel very disrespectful to the dead.
Shit, maybe I should convert. Save my mortal soul and all that. God knows I need to get on that if I ever hope to not rot in hell for eternity once I die. And with Potter around, my death probably won’t be that long in coming.
“Aw, did I hurt poor Scorpy’s feelings? Widdle Scorpy-poo?” Al said mockingly, his stony face and acidic glare the exact opposite of his condescending baby-talk tone.
Al can be kind of like a PMS-ing teenage girl sometimes. He has a really bitchy side to him that usually comes out when people are being stupid.
I really don’t get how Scorp and Al can stay friends with such contradicting personalities. It’s like trying to mix oil and water. It just doesn’t work.
“You’re being mean to me, Al! Myra, do something! He’s hurting my feelings!”
“Aw, ickle Scorpy-poo’s hiding behind Mummy’s back. Ickoo baby can’t fight for himself.”
“Meanie! Poopy! Doo-doo! Stupid face!”
“Would you two just shut up?!” Potter screeched, clutching two handfuls of his ridiculously messy black hair in his hands and looking quite deranged.
“No! He’s being a meanie-face! Make him say sorry!”
“And he’s being immature and childish! We’re not three years old anymore!”
“Just shut up, for the love of God!” Potter groaned, running his hands over his face, which made him look considerably less hot – what. I didn’t just think that. Nope. Not at all.
“I refuse!” Al shrilled, jumping to his feet and pointing at Scorp in his typical melodramatic way. “He’s being so stupid it’s making my head hurt! It’s his fault!”
“And he’s being really mean to me! He’s a doo-doo head! Make him go and sit in the corner and take a time-out!”
“You take a time out, you childish brat!”
“Mean words! Mean words! Don’t scar my virgin ears!” Scorp yelled, sticking his fingers in his ears and screwing up his face as though that would protect his “virgin ears”.
“Brat isn’t a swear, you bloody imbecile!”
“BAD WORDS! BAD WORDS! DON’T HURT MY POOR, VIRGIN EARS! YOU’RE SCARRING ME, ALBUS!”
“DON’T CALL ME ALBUS, YOU TWIT!”
“Mother of God, would you two just SHUT THE HELL UP?!” Potter roared, getting to his feet and glaring daggers at Al and Scorp.
Scorp shoved my legs off his lap and leaped to his feet, probably so he wouldn’t feel left out. “BAD WORDS! BAD WORDS, BAD WORDS, BAD WORDS, DON’T SCAR MY VIRGIN EARS!” He chanted, jumping up and down and keeping his hands clamped firmly over his ears.
“STOP ACTING LIKE A FIVE YEAR OLD! YOU’RE SIXTEEN, YOU BLEEDING MORONIC LUMP OF TURD!” Al screamed at Scorp, face flushed and hands balled into fists.
“JUST SHUT UP! IT DOESN’T FREAKING MATTER!” Potter bellowed. His hair was sticking straight up in every direction and his face was bright red.
Strangely enough, it actually worked for him. He still looked unfairly attractive.
(Never will admit I have ever at any point in time even begun to form a thought complimenting anything about Potter. Particularly if your name starts with “Dominique” and ends with “Weasley”.)
“IT DOES TOO MATTER! MY INNOCENCE IS BEING STOLEN FROM ME!” Scorp whined, stomping his foot and crossing his arms before starting to pout at such a degree that I began to seriously doubt his sexuality.
For probably the five hundredth time since I first met him.
“YOU LOOK LIKE A BLEEDING GIRL RIGHT NOW, MALFOY! AND YOUR ‘INNOCENCE’ WAS STOLEN FROM YOU LAST YEAR BY ALEXIS VULTU!” Al snarled, jabbing his finger viciously into Scorp’s chest, right above his tightly crossed arms.
“WHOA, WHOA, WHOA. WHAT? YOU NEVER TOLD ME THIS!” Potter shrieked, gaping at Scorp, who blushed bright red to the roots of his hair and fidgeted nervously under Potter’s outraged gaze. “I THOUGHT WE WERE BROS, SCORP. SINCE WHEN DOES A FELLOW BRO LOOSE HIS VIRGINITY AND NOT TELL ME?!”
Alrighty then. Potter has teenage girl-like characteristics when it comes to his mates telling him shit about their lives.
Must use this against him in the future. Preferably whilst insulting his manliness/doubting his sexuality.
“WELL, I DIDN’T TELL YOU BECAUSE IT WASN’T THAT GOOD!” Scorp yelled, still beet red, which was another cause for camera-mourning, but at least not talking (and acting) like a five year old on crack.
These are the people I call my friends. Really. What has my life come to.
“OKAY, THAT’S ENOUGH. GIRL IN THE ROOM, DUDES. NOW SIT DOWN, SHUT UP, AND LISTEN TO MOI!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, standing up and giving the Three Stooges a vicious glare, made doubly worse by my Metamorphigus abilities.
Aw hells to the yeah, I’m awesome.
Potter, Al, and Scorp all sat down, shut up, and listened to me attentively as I explained the plan I had come up with while they had all been arguing and screaming and acting like kids.
What can I say? I’m just that amazing.
Aaaannndddd....strike Sexy&Dangerous pose.
Next, Louis’s demise. Review, please!
Oh, and how did you like Scorp and Al and Poor Bastard? And Amy?
so, i realized that i had a really dirty mouth in this chapter (like, really, dirty), courtesy of one of my lovely reviewers, so i cleaned it up. a lot. and i made a few minor edits.