Chapter 4 : Hallelujah, Your Savior in Stilettos Has Arrived
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Disclaimer: This is owned my J.K. Rowling...blah blah...don't sue me...blah blah blah... I'll become poor and will have to live in a cardboard box etc. etc.
“Zaaaaaaaaaarrrrrraa………I can’t find my skirt!”
Zara Roberts raised her eyebrows at my whine, but her hazel irises didn’t leave the text of the romance novel she was reading. “No wonder! Your area looks like a tornado hit it…”
I was currently scurrying frantically around my dorm room in my undies, searching for any clue as to where one of my school skirts could be. The situation was looking rather grim, but I was going to find it. I had to find it. No matter who or what in the way, when Lacilyla Juliana Ackhart has her mind set on something, she will achieve it!
And besides, my part of the dorm wasn’t that messy, right?
Oh-so-wrong. I’m talking ‘Snape-dancing-in-his-underwear’ wrong.
My section of the dorm was scattered with all sorts of junk, smothered with clothing, books, and other miscellaneous items. The floor around me was piled high with several mounds of crap. I couldn’t find anything.
I saw a flash of navy under a pile of stuff and tugged on it. Alas, it twas not my skirt. In fact, it was some hideous sweater that I don’t even remember buying. It was lumpy and patterned with little daisies and Quaffles. Someone get the incinerator!
I continued to rummage through the numerous piles of crap, searching for my uniform skirt. If I were a skirt, where would I be?
Under the bed? No…but hey, there’s that potions essay I had due a month ago!
On the dresser? No, but I found a couple of mismatched socks instead!
In my trunk? No, Merlin forbid it might actually be in the place it’s supposed to be.
I sighed to myself. “This is ridiculous.”
I was still in my knickers and it was five minutes ‘til breakfast.
“Here, borrow one of mine!” Zara chirped.
I looked up at Zara, who was now sitting on her bed as she dragged a brush through her blonde hair.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Zara and I are the same size and everything, and there’s no huge reason why I don’t want to borrow one of her skirts…except…
Well, Zara gets her skirts hemmed ludicrously short. And I’m not saying that’s bad…
Well. Yes I am, actually.
But that’s beside the point. Zara’s really into the whole short skirts, lipstick, frou-frou thingy. And I’m not.
Zara placed her hairbrush down and then went over to her neatly packed trunk. After a few moments of digging, she whipped out a miniscule navy skirt. Mental groan.
But did I really have a choice? It was either knickers or a-supposed-skirt-that-might-as-well-be-a-scarf.
“Hand me the skirt.” I grumbled.
“I’m not going out like this!” I protested.
“You look fine!!”
“I look like a Davies-groupie!”
Zara sighed, her face indignant and offended.
After seeing how “adorable” I looked in her skirt, Zara had decided to give me a full makeover. I had tried to fend her off, but I had been groggy and sleepy, and Zara lifts weights and is a morning person. So when she attacked me while wielding shiny tubes of makeup, I was no match for her.
Which is why I came out of the common room looking like a complete tart.
My hair was…actually…down for once! I usually wear it in a pony tail (it’s easy and doesn’t get in my face), but for the first time ever my hair wasn’t pulled back!
And there was something odd on my eyelids! It was powdery and a shimmery champagne color. My eyelashes were also covered in this black stuff that supposedly made them longer. I didn’t like it.
Not to mention my lips! They were slathered with this gooey pink crap! And of course my hair got stuck to it constantly! If I had my hair in a ponytail, we wouldn’t have this problem! But does Zara listen to my woes? No sirree!
But the most horrifying thing about my appearance was the clothing. My skirt barely covered my arse, and the top buttons of my shirt were ripped open, revealing not-so-ample cleavage. My feet were shoved into death-heels, and my tie was hopelessly loose and sad. Thank Merlin I had my robes and a scarf to cover it all up.
“I feel so exposed… and violated!”
Zara pushed me out the door of the dorms and I gave a small whimper of protest.
“We’re already late for class,” Zara said, her voice ringing with glee, “So you have no choice!”
I wailed. “The British law forbids torture! This is torture!”
Zara smirked as she practically dragged me down the stairs.
I could see the common room looming in sight as we descended the staircase. It was bustling with many students. Of course. Of bloody, fricking, course.
Walking down the stairs seemed to take an eternity. In my mind, thousands of escape plans buzzed back and forth anxiously, but none of them seemed plausible. Goodbye, pride and dignity. Hello, impending doom.
When we finally reached the end of the stairs, two fourth year girls caught sight of me and stopped chattering. Then a few other people saw me and hushed. And then more people…and more…
And before I knew it, everyone was silent, staring at me. I know that I’m not extremely popular, so I was surprised when everyone noticed my change in appearance. Do people really know that I’m that big of a tomboy?
I could tell my face was bright red. I heard several catcalls and wolf whistles, which caused me to blush even more. Oh crap… People were staring…
…And then, suddenly, everyone was running towards me.
People were shouting things like, “Oh Merlin, you look gorgeous!” and “I love your makeup!” and “Hot bod’ you got there!”
Everyone was tugging at my hair and peering at my eye makeup. They fawned over everything about my appearance while I blinked stupidly, and Zara grinned besides me like a proud parent.
Gee, I didn’t know proud parents dressed their children up like prostitutes…
Eventually, the mob of complimenters dispersed, and I couldn’t help but feel… a… teensy bit happy with myself. I mean, those people genuinely liked the way I looked! I didn’t know I could have this effect on people!
Zara smiled as she tugged me on my arm. “I calculated a total of thirty-six compliments! How many did you count?”
“You’re a freak.” I said as I rolled my eyes and followed her way out of the dorm, to our first class.
By my fourth lesson, I was thoroughly exhausted. I had blisters all over my feet from the heels, my skirt was feeling uncomfortably short, and my lips were still sticky! Augh!
I barged into History of Magic (which is very hard to do when you are wearing 4-inch death-heels) and claimed the only seat left— next to Davies.
Davies, who had been flirting with some fangirl, turned towards me, winked, and then did a double take.
“Ackhart? Merlin, is that… you?”
“Yup,” I said dryly, “Hallelujah, your savior in stilettos has arrived.”
He looked at me incredously. “Oh.”
For a while, we sat through Professor Binn’s continuous droning in uncomfortable silence.
I was just about to fall asleep when all of a sudden; a folded piece of paper whizzed through the air and landed on my desk.
Scrawled on the top of the note, in boyish handwriting, was my name. “Lacey.”
Bewildered, I slowly unfolded the paper. I wasn’t really worried about Professor Binns catching me. He was in his ‘incredibely-boring-oh-merlin-kill-me-now mode’, which meant I could run around the room stark naked and he wouldn’t even notice.
In the corner of my eyes, I could see Davies glancing at me as I read the note.
I know this is a little out of the blue, and I understand if you say 'No', but I've been meaning to ask you this for awhile: Will you come to Hogsmeade with me next trip?
I stared at the note, dumbfounded. I wasn’t really someone who gets asked out a lot, so this came as a huge surprise. I mean, come on. When it comes to dating, it always goes something like this:
-I say something ridiculously stupid-
-More awkward silence-
See, I’m like the Queen of Awkward Silences. I mean, they might as well just hand me a freaking crown!
I looked up from my desk to sneak a peek at McCovery, who was all the way across the room. He caught my eye and grinned impishly, and I couldn’t help but smile back.
Henry McCovery was probably the second sexiest boy in the Ravenclaw house (the first being Davies— grr). His ink black hair and gray eyes gave him his badboy prankster image, and girls fawned over him. He rarely dated, much to the disappointment of many, so I was even more surprised that he had asked me.
Before I could bother to reply, Davies snatched the note from my desk. I yelped in surprise, causing a few students to glance at us curiously.
“Give it back!” I hissed.
Davies scanned the paper with his blue eyes, and my blood began to boil.
He snorted. “McCovery? Are you seriously considering him?”
I grabbed the note from his hands (thank you, super Chaser reflexes), and gave him a scalding glare. “Maybe.”
He stared at me for a moment, his expression indecipherable.
We sat in more awkward silence as I debated the McCovery issue. To date or not to date? That is the incredibly-hard-makes-me-want-to-stab-myself question.
After a few minutes of Davies twiddling his thumbs and me doodling absentmindedly, Roger finally leaned over to break the silence, “Ackhart, did you practice your Quidditch?”
I growled angrily, still concentrating on the parchment in front of me. “Davies, I’m in a good mood. Don’t ruin it.”
“Are you gonna go out with McCovery?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I might.”
“Wow. I never knew you were that desperate.”
I blushed and turned towards him, setting down my quill. “I’m not desperate, Davies.”
“Sure, and you chop off eighty percent of your clothing and slather on makeup just for what?” I blinked, surprised that Davies was all of a sudden ranting at me, “Face it, you dressed yourself up like a little stripper just so McCovery would finally notice you. That’s pathetic. You look like a… like a… a slut.”
I recoiled, and my hurt eyes met his disgusted ones. His face was cold and twisted, but shock tinged his features. His cruel comment came as a surprise to both of us. I couldn’t help but feel…. sad.
“Is that what you think of me?” I whispered, “A slut?”
Davies stuttered. “Lacey, I- I didn’t-”
But I didn’t bother to listen. I was already running out of the classroom.
When I was finally out in the hallway, the harshness of Davies’s comment began to kick in.
I couldn’t believe he said that… I was embarrassed and ashamed and angry. I couldn’t believe that, for once, I thought I looked good!
I didn’t care about Professor Binns. He probably didn’t notice anything anyways. I didn’t care about my assignments. I didn’t even care about McCovery. Davies’s words were all that mattered.
Tears stung my eyes, and I began to run down the corridor. My heart raced and thumped and throbbed and broke into a million pieces. I didn’t want to think. I sprinted at lightening speed up stairs and down corridors, until I finally reached a girl’s bathroom.
I bursted into the room and ran to the nearest sink.
My tears were gone. My anger was gone. My embarrassment was gone. The only thing left was… hurt.
I splashed water on my face, willing the makeup to just disappear. After minutes of scrubbing, it was finally all gone. I stared into the mirror.
I was such a fool.
I slowly gathered my long brown hair into a ponytail with the emergency hairband that I always kept on my wrist. There was nothing I could do about the skimpy clothes.
My reflection blinked back at me. There I was.
The Quidditch pitch was empty. Just the way I liked it. I was still in my heels, and I staggered and wobbled as I tried to tiptoe through the grass.
When I finally reached the middle of the pitch, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I collapsed onto the ground.
The earth felt nice. The autumn breeze whispered to the grass, and I tugged on the emerald strands absentmindedly. The sky was so blue. Blue like his eyes, I couldn’t help but notice.
The sun shone brightly, and I closed my eyes so that I could enjoy its warmth and light.
I wanted to stay forever, just lying there, with my eyes closed, on the middle of the Quidditch pitch.
I shuddered at the sound of his voice. It was Davies, and he was walking towards me.
After a long moment, he finally reached where I lay.
I spoke to Davies, but I didn’t turn to him. My closed eyes remained angled at the sky. He didn’t deserve my full acknowledgement. “Whatever you want to say, Davies, just say it. Want to tell me that I’m a whore? Go ahead. I’m a stripper? A slut? Well don’t hold back, ‘cause I’m all ears! I’ve had enough crap from you. I just don’t care anymore.”
“I don’t think you are a slut or a whore or a stripper,” He whispered quietly, and I giggled at how ridiculous his last word made everything sound.
I slowly opened my eyes and raised myself to sit up straight. Davies hovered broodily above me, his hands shoved into his pockets.
“I’m sorry.” Davies murmured, out of the blue. “I’m so sorry, Lacey…”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “You called me by my first name.”
His bittersweet laugh rang through the air, and he lowered himself to sit cross-legged next to me. “Guess I did. Is Lacey your actual first name?”
“No,” I shook my head. “It’s actually Lacilyla.”
“Do people ever call you Lyla?”
Silence enveloped us as we sat together on the Quidditch field. Just the two of us, miniscule compared to the sprawl of jade land. I kicked off my heels.
He turned his blue gaze to me. “I’m sorry, Ackhart. I truly am. You really did look beautiful. You always look beautiful.”
Goosebumps danced onto my arms. “Really?”
“Really.” He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into some sort of awkward but nice hug. He smelled like soap and something else that I couldn’t put my finger on. I liked it.
After a moment of rather intense hugging, we broke apart.
I looked up at him, to meet the eyes that matched the sky. “You’re forgiven.”
I said no to McCovery. I knew that I had better things to worry about, such as the Hufflepuff match that was coming up. Besides, McCovery didn’t even know me. He knew the Lacey in the short skirt and death-heels. And that Lacey isn’t a real person.
As always, Davies and I continued to bicker, but there was tolerance in our relationship.
Well, tolerance and violence. I occasionally get the unsquelshable (?) urge to hex his man-bits off.
But that’s only occasional.
A/N: Well, that's the end of it (the chapter, not the story 0_0)! I hope you liked it, and please, don't hate Roger. He didn't really mean all the bad things he said.
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