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Trapped. by serenade
Chapter 3 : Pickles
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 27

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An entire week has passed since that incident. Numerous Gryffindors walked around me as if I had the bubonic plague concentrated on my entire face…if possible. But eventually (I think), everyone has settled in and everyone has gotten over the fifteen minutes of fame that I received after said incident. So therefore, everyone has forgotten about little old me and they have moved on with their lives.


You’re probably wondering why I haven’t turned myself in or why I haven’t told anyone about it.

Trust me, I have. No one will listen.

I begged Professor Slughorn the morning after to punish me instead and to convince Professor McGonagall to give all the detentions to me because I was the one who really got us all kicked out of the carriage.

He just stared at me like a jar of pickles. A talking jar of pickles. He then gave me an awkward pat on the head and a piece of candied ginger and went on his walrus-y way.

I have two classes with at least one of the Marauders, and those classes just so happen to be my worst.

So what does that entail?

All the teachers call on me to answer questions. Every time.

And do you know what that means?

I have no fucking clue what any of the answers are.

This, in turn, causes the entire class to look at me as if I’m a jar of pickles taking potions and herbology, including the Marauders that happen to be in said classes. As if I need to draw any more attention from them.

Why does the world hate me? Why, why, why? I hate pickles!

I am surprised that none of them have confronted me yet—but only for now. It’s guaranteed to happen and this is making me into a total wreck. I can’t turn a corner without worrying if one of them will be on the other side. Sudden movements scare me, and I can’t walk through the corridors without hiding within a large group of people that have no association whatsoever with me. I am constantly on the lookout for eminent bombardment. I can’t even go to the library in peace without any fear of getting surrounded or picking out the most wonderful book only to find a Marauder on the other side of it.

This makes me even more of a wreck. This is ruining my already ruined life.

My last class has ended, and if my calculations are correct, their last detention was supposed to be today. Hopefully it’ll be one of those forgive and forget moments with them, but with having no more detentions to attend to, that means they’ll be rampant. Like a pack of wolves.

I am overflowing with extreme worry and anxiety. They’re coming to get me. I can feel it. I stop and stand by a tapestry that features a fairly ancient looking wizard battling a dragon atop a quite corpulent looking horse.

Odd—the tapestry, that is….

Anyway, everything’s in plain sight. I can see everywhere around me. There’s a nice wall at my back, and it’s not like they can walk through walls, right?

There’s only one thing to do and that’s to brace for impact if they come to get me. If they come after me, I should stay cool and analyze the situation carefully—don’t panic, and everything will be alright. What could they possibly do to me? Hang me upside down? Knock my books out of my arms? I’m sure nothing too bad will come of it.

Wrong. So extremely and totally wrong.

Nooo, right! So extremely and totally right!





A pair of hands grabs me from behind. One covers my mouth; the other locks my arms to my side in a tight grip.


But I’m wrong. I was so extremely stupid and my clarity of thought was evidently absent because there’s an obvious passageway behind the tapestry, the most cliché of secret passage ways in a castle besides doors behind paintings or bookshelves.

Yay me. Yay, wonderful, oblivious me.

Okay, okay. Deep breath. Brace for impact. Analyze the situation. Stay cool.

It’s human instinct to struggle, right? So I struggle as much as I can struggle and Merlin is it tiring to struggle. I try to scream, but it only comes out as a muffled, “mmnmpth.”

Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic….

Whoever grabbed me shoves me against the wall and I can’t help but panic. Oh, Gawds I’m panicking. I’m still panicking and I’m still hormonal and I’m panicking. My ears are ringing and I swear someone can hear my heart shooting out my chest from thirty feet away.


Breathe in, breathe out.

It takes me half a millisecond to realize that my eyes have been clenched shut this entire time so I open a wink to find Sirius Black’s face two inches away from mine.

Oh, Gawds Sirius Black’s face is two inches away from mine.

And he smells heavenly.

Am I hyperventilating? Shit, that’s embarrassing. I hope I smell nice. Is my hair messed up?        

His hands are soft. They smell like chocolate.

No! Focus! Analyze the situation! Why am I even thinking these useless thoughts? Why must I be so sexually deprived? I must find an escape!

Okay, okay. So I was standing quite peacefully by this tapestry when Sirius grabbed me and shoved me against the wall… and here I am. What do I do now…?

“Don’t scream—I’m not going to hurt you.”

That’s it. I won’t scream and he won’t hurt me. That’s what I’ll do.

This is so suggestive I can’t help but get excited a little.

I try to wriggle out of his grip, all the while yelling at myself for feeling the wrong emotions, but this wriggling only hurts me even more. The stone wall is digging into my scalp and back, and it doesn’t feel like he’s going to letting go any time soon.

“Would you please—stop being—so—difficult?” he exclaims.

I stop. No, wait—urgh, why am I such an idiot? I can’t even think straight right now. Why in the name of bloody house elves am I listening to him?

“Okay,” Sirius pants after much effort in suppressing me, “You. You—I don’t know who the hell you are, but—I have a serious bone to pick with you, and—did you just lick my hand?”

I did.

And so I run. I run as fast as I can, far, far away from the dreadfully attractive Sirius Black and the odd taste of chocolate on my tongue.

…He didn’t even have the common decency of washing his hands before an attempted kidnapping.

Wait. He was trying to kidnap me, right? …Stuff me in a sack and drag me off to who knows where? Although, it seemed like he was about to give me a good half hour lecture. Oh, Gawds what if he just wanted to talk? Confess his undying love for me?

No, please ignore the latter. My brain seems to have been dysfunctional lately.

If he wanted to talk, why did he grab me off like that? A simple, “I would like to talk to you” would’ve been nice. But now that I think about it, I probably would’ve run from that also.

Sigh. Mission status: failed.

But considering this wasn’t a mission in the first place, but more like a guerilla invasion of private space, it wasn’t that bad, right? Right?

No. I managed to get away, but that doesn’t mean anything. For all I know we could be sipping tea and munching on crumpets talking about the weather and overall being extremely chummy if I hadn’t run. I could’ve given a straight apology and I could be going on with my life.

Gawds, what an idiot I am. Idiot, idiot, idiot!


I dart into a nearby restroom and slam the door shut behind me, running my idiot hands under some cold water and splashing it onto my idiot face. At least he won’t follow me into here.

I hope.

I look into the mirror at my dripping and gaunt visage. This past week has been so stressful I’ve been neglecting my own personal wellbeing along with the way I look. There are bags under my sad, droopy, eyes, my auburn hair is a total mess, and I’m so extremely pallid that at first glance I thought I was Moaning Myrtle. Many have spoken of how shocking my eyes are, even Gran says that they look like little round crystals. I just say they’re blue.

I’ve never really considered myself to be pretty—frankly, I never cared. As long as I got through the day, everything was beautiful in my eyes. But now, staring at this gaunt, lifeless version of me, I am far, far, far  from pretty.

I’ve been overreacting, haven’t I? Look what this has been doing to me. I haven’t even written Gran yet let alone eaten a full meal this entire time. I promised her that I would take care of myself. If this is me taking care of myself, I must be living a truly sadistic lifestyle.

But not any longer! I will face my fears! I must overcome every obstacle! I’m going to walk out of this bathroom right now with a spring and my step and my head held high, and—


Wait—what? Ouch for what? Why am I on the floor? My butt hurts.

Oh, for goodness’ bloody sake—

I look up, finding a rather disgruntled James Potter looming over me along with Remus and Peter trailing behind him. The bathroom door shuts behind me loudly, echoing across the walls, making this awkward situation ten times worse.

James reaches down and tries to help me up, but I just stare senselessly at his outstretched hand. The impulse to run is flashing through my brain, but the impulse not to fights back. James curls his fingers away and straightens up. I scoot back a ways, only finding me backing into someone’s feet.

Ah. It’s Sirius. He’s come back to get me. They’ve totally surrounded me and now, yes, now, my death has come as expected. It’s like they’ve sent the entire sodding British Armada after me. They’re going to destroy me. They’re going to eat me alive. They’re going to tear off my appendages in four different directions.

My future entails being hung, drawn, and quartered. Wherever they find four horses is beyond me. If they have walking-through-walls powers, I wouldn’t be surprised if they could turn themselves into fucking horses.

“We need to talk,” says James.

I slowly get up and back up into a wall, and they enclose a semi-circle around me.

“Yes that’s quite obvious, then,” I manage to squeak as strongly as I can. My hands unconsciously clench the walls and my legs begin to shake.

“Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused us?”

I know. And the guilt won’t let me alone even in the little sleep that I actually get.

“Did someone set you up to this?”

“What?” I ask in disbelief. “N-no not at all.”

They eye my uniform, questioningly—doubting all of my intentions. Oh, shit. My house has gotten me in a bit of trouble in the past due to prejudice and the utter fact that nobody listens to be, but this has to be one of the worst cases yet. Their eyes are burning my skin and I can see what they’re thinking.

Here’s another bloody Slytherin girl trying to ruin some more of us. Scum. That’s what they are—Slytherin scum—and she’s just another one of them.

I hold my breath. “What do you want from me?” I say. “If you’re going to kill me, have at it then. Torture me—send me to the dogs—make me write your potions papers for two months; I’ll do anything! I don’t care what you do to me just leave me to suffer in my own guilt!” I suddenly feel very cold, and yet beads of sweat are running down my forehead.

How long have I been this melodramatic?

Note to self: find source of melodrama.

They all look at each other, sending some sort of telepathic message to each other, and then they look back to me. They’re probably thinking how extremely sensitive and entertaining I am—the smirks on their faces say it all.

Sirius is the first to speak. “You’ll do anything?” He asks inquiringly.

“W-well….” I stammer.

No, not anything. Sodding twits.

…But I did say anything.

Another note to self: watch word usage during said melodramas.

“We’ll let you off for today,” James replies. “But don’t expect us to forget what you just said.”

They turn around, leaving me alone, bewildered, and overall angry at myself for my unceasing fuckwittage. They need time to plan something, to find ways to make me suffer. And that’s that. For now. They’ve left me free. I’m alive!

…For now.


(A/N): Oh me, oh my! What a terrible ending! What are they going to do to her? Keep reading & leave a review! I LOVE REVIEWSS :D They help me get going!

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