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Clash by shenanigan
Chapter 9 : Wither
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 69

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A/N: ALRIGHT! FINALLY! I know the wait was terrible, but school's started, and everything has been so, so hectic. But it's out now! So that's all that matters.

Somethings you should know about this chapter:

Professor Nott is a HUGE part of this chapter. If you don't remember, Nott is the newly appointed DADA professor. Everyone is making a big fuss about him because, a) they think that he might have been a Voldy-supporter, and b) a couple years ago, his wife went missing, and he was a prime suspect in the case. Of course, the case was never closed, nobody could prove Nott did anything, and to this day the mystery remains unsolved... (Dun dun dun...). So. Yeah, there's your little mini-bio on Nott.

Also, Ryan Fisher is in this chapter. He's one of Aggy's patrol partners, and, if you can recall, she has a HUGE crush on him (like OMG!). So...keep that in mind while you're reading the chapter.

Now, onwards :)

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K.!

News about The Split (note the capitals) traveled uncannily fast throughout Hogwarts. Thanks to all the gossip and rumors, it soon became common knowledge that Aidan and Dom’s infamous relationship was now completely and absolutely finito. It was strange, really, how everyone knew. Even though we had tried to keep it quiet, somehow, people just found out. But, see, that’s the thing with Hogwarts: even the walls have eyes (and I mean that as literally as possible).

In what shall now be known as The Aftermath of The Split (again—capital letters, people), chaos reined. The world had gone topsy-turvy, and now everyone seemed to be in Panic Mode. Aidan wouldn’t to get out of bed unless we bribed him with something shiny. Dom was on the brink of insanity and slowly teetering over the edge. Freddy still had no clue what was going on... And not to mention the groupies.

You see, The Split had given rise to a new hope for the female population of Hogwarts. Now that he was officially “on the market”, girls threw themselves at my brother left and right. Third Years followed him around, asking for autographs. We had to check Aidan’s dinner every night to make sure it wasn’t spiked with a love potion. On more than one occasion, giggling Hufflepuffs approached me, asking what Aidan’s favorite movie is (he says its Rocky, but it’s actually Miss Congeniality), or whether or not he’ll ever want to have children in the future (yes, he wants six, to be exact—so that he can form his very own Bennett Family Quidditch Team).

But Aidan wasn’t enjoying the attention. In fact, if anything, he was shying away from it. The only girl he seemed to want was Dom, and...well, that obviously wasn’t an option. So, instead, Aidan was content with shutting himself in his dorm room and never seeing daylight again. The poor kid was miserable.

The most frightening part of it all, however, was Aidan’s newfound habit of reading trashy, paperback romance novels. He claimed he liked them because he could “relate” to them, whatever that meant. I, personally, thought it was exceedingly weird. I mean, besides the fact that it was just plain creepy for a fifteen-year-old boy to be reading books with names like “A Captive to Passion” and “My Forbidden Paradise”, the novels themselves were terrible. Each and every one of them was an insult to humanity. They were just so stupid. The main heroines of the story were all ditzy and foolish, swooning over every 'Tall Dark And Handsome' that walked by. I mean, there was this one novel where the main character falls in love with a vampire, out of all people. How ridiculous. Like anyone in their right mind would ever want to read that.

I have to say, after reading only a few pages of the book, I am fairly certain that I have lost not only my will to live, but also a couple of IQ points as well.

However, Aidan wasn’t the only depressed one. Dom hasn’t been taking The Split well either, even though she was the one who initiated it. The amount of pumpkin pie we’ve gone through over the past few days has reached astronomical proportions. I’m pretty sure we could enter the Guinness World Book of Records if we wanted to.

She’s gone bonkers. Really, no joke. Last night, I found her (along with—ahem—two empty bottles of Firewhiskey) in the girl’s bathroom on the Third Floor. When she noticed I was there (which actually took about fifteen minutes), she decided to serenade me with a nice little medley of Aretha Franklin songs (my favorite was “I Will Survive”), complete with dance moves and everything.

And when she was finished, she turned around and drunkenly tried to high-five her reflection.

She missed. All 17 times.

So, yeah, in short: the world is about to end, my brother has turned into a prepubescent girl, and I am in desperate need of some new friends. Preferably ones who have at least a pretense of mental stability.

Maybe I, hold auditions or interviews. You know, hand out fliers advertising my friendship and stuff. I could pass them around the Great Hall at lunch...

Are you a normal? Do you like to spend your days doing average, regular-people activities (preferably ones that don’t involve seducing my twin brother)? Is your sanity still intact?

If you answered yes to all the questions above, then have I got the job for you!

Introducing...AGATHA BENNETT’S NEW BEST FRIEND, now open for applicants!

-Must be human
-Must be mentally stable
-A clean criminal record is ideal, but not mandatory

If you are interested, please contact AGATHA BENNET and give her your resume. She can be found either at the Slytherin Common Room, in the library, or curled into a fetal position underneath her own bed... Have a nice day!

Oh, how I crack myself up.

Seriously though. Something has to be done. And fast. Because if things aren’t returned to normal soon...well, I shudder to think what other bad habits Aidan might start adopting.

“Aggy Aggy Agster!”

I wheeled around, my hair flying into my face, to see who had just called my name. Squinting, I barely made out a disheveled figure, hurtling through the corridor, waving his arm madly in the air like he just didn’t care.

Fred Weasley.

I watched, grimacing, as he pushed a group of second years out of the way in order to get to me. The corridor we were in was already packed with students, chattering and bustling to their next class, and really, Freddy charging through everyone like a Hippogriff after seeing a Malfoy wasn’t helping matters.

He reached me, out of breath, his bronzed skin flushed and glowing. His shirt was rumpled and untucked, his tie hastily thrown over his left shoulder, and in his arms was a disorganized pile of papers (which I assumed to be Freddy’s definition of “homework”), a few of which already littered the floor behind him.

“Freddy Fred.” I replied, eyeing him warily.

“What’s up? What’s down? What’s all around?” He grinned his signature, hundred-watt grin (Freddy never did things half-heartedly) and reached down to ruffle my hair. My grimace deepened.

“Not much.” I said curtly. “You?”

His grin widened, something I hadn’t thought possible.  He began to walk forward, and I fell into step next to him. “Going to Arithmancy. I’m so excited. Today’s going to be the lesson, Agabella. I can feel it in my bones. He’s finally going to crack.”

Stifling an eye roll, I tried to ignore the feeling of dread that welled up inside my body at Fred’s words. There was a sinking feeling in my gut that seemed to be screaming, This is not going to be good.

You see, Freddy had some sort of...unspoken vendetta against the Arithmancy teacher, Professor Fritz. I don’t know how it happened, or when it began.... It was just....there. No one questioned it.

Professor Fritz was a nervous, awkward man who was seriously lacking in the social skills department. His signature blonde come over, perpetually red face, and unfortunate speech impediment only added to his jumpy, anxious persona. That and the fact that he was obviously terrified of his very own students made him quite unpopular with the population of Hogwarts.

However, it has to be said that Fritz, during all his years of teaching, has never lost his cool. Not even once. He was possibly the most irritatingly patient person that I have ever come across. I mean, I could murder someone in front of him, and he wouldn’t care in the slightest. In fact, he would probably offer to help me bag the body. He was unfailingly calm.

And apparently, this annoyed Freddy to no end.

During his entire career at Hogwarts, Fred has had one, solitary goal, and that was to make Professor Fritz “crack”. And believe me, Fred has employed a number of different tactics in order to do this. In third year, he convinced the entire class to speak in Australian accents. The year after that, Fred organized audtions for the Official Hogwarts Yodel Club (which doesn't even exist, by the way) and, on the pamphlets he handed out (yes, there were pamphlets), listed Professor Fritz’s classroom to be the venue. And that’s bad. I mean, having to listen to Aidan yodel for two straight hours would be enough to drive me insane.

However, all the torment and pranks seemed to have little effect on Fritz. He remained as soul-crushingly boring as always. This, unfortunately, only seemed to strengthen Fred’s resolve.

Personally, I thought this whole idea was bad news. I mean, who knew that kind of rage Fritz was hiding beneath his fidgety, wimpy exterior? If he was pushed hard enough, he could lose his mind and start going on some sort of mad rampage. Like Dominique, during that one time at the shopping centre when she had found out those boots she liked had been sold out. Only, you know, less hair.

“What about you, Agastina? Where’re you going?” Freddy asked, jarring me from my thoughts as we came to a stop in front of the Arithmancy classroom. Already, through the window of the door, I could see Professor Fritz inside—scribbling frantically on the blackboard—his blonde comb over doing some sort of excited dance atop his head.

“Potions.” I said, shifting my weight from one foot to another. Several students jostled past me as they walked by, too busy gossiping with their neighbors to utter any apologies.

Freddy made a half-disgusted, half-sympathetic face. “Well then, see you soon, I guess. Tell Sluggy ‘hi’ for me.”

“Will do.” I said, nodding, and with that, Freddy opened the door and went inside, and I was left alone—in the middle of the corridor—the chattering and laugher of the other students around me ringing in my ears.

Potions passed without incident. I spent the entire hour peering over a cauldron of Strengthening Solution with Hector sitting next to me, spewing uselessly random facts that seemed to pass through one ear and go out the other. However, I didn’t explode anything that lesson, and the fatal injuries were kept to a minimum, so I guess that’s always a plus.

Dom (already paving the road for future alcoholics everywhere) didn’t come to class. I suspected she was nursing a hangover, probably lying in bed with a pounding headache and a cranky attitude to match. I thought it wise not to disturb her... After all, it’s a really bad idea to mess with Dom when she’s in a bad mood. I mean, she keeps her nails that long for a reason, you know.

By the time Potions had ended, I was ready to go back to the dorm room and just sleep. Unfortunately I couldn’t. I had one more class, DADA, and than patrol, with Ryan.

DADA was one of my least favorite classes. It seemed as though Professor Nott hated us students. He spent the entire lesson sitting at his desk, glaring at everyone. He didn’t even teach us anything. He just made us read a couple of pages in the textbook and then write essays to pass time until class was over. And if we didn’t finish the essays during class, we’d have to do it for homework. It was boring as hell, not to mention really, really irritating.

When I entered the DADA classroom, it was almost full. The noise was deafening, a cacophony of boisterous laughter and screeching chairs. Nott sat at the front of the room, his legs propped up on his desk, a scowl on his lined (albeit face. The image alone—of our Professor sitting at the front of his room, looking all dark and rugged—would have been enough to send Dom into cardiac arrest.

I spotted an empty table and made my way towards it, avoiding any randomly strewn backpacks or chairs. I was almost to my spot when all of a sudden, I found myself tripping over a pair outstretched legs and flying through the air.

Face, meet floor. Floor, meet face. You’re going to become fast friends.

I scrambled to a stand, dusting myself off as I tried to ignore the snickers from some of the students who had noticed my little escapade. I looked around furtively and realized that the owner of the mysterious legs I had tripped over was none other than the infamous Fallon Cooper, who had been too busy to realize what had happened, let alone utter any sort of apology.

Fallon Cooper was a seventh year Ravenclaw, so what he was doing in a Gryffindor/Slytherin, fifth year Arithmancy class, stretching his appendages out all over the place for innocent bystanders like myself to stumble over, was beyond me.

Well, actually, scratch that. I lied. It wasn’t beyond me. In fact, it was quite obvious what—or shall we say who—Fallon Cooper was doing.


See, Fallon and Evilyn have been dating since I was in my third year. They were the Golden Couple, even more notorious than Dom and Aidan. Girls swooned over Fallon, but personally, I didn’t trust his slicked back hair, or his cold, laughing eyes. Not to mention his wandering hands.

Evilyn was currently sitting on Cooper’s lap, her mouth grotesquely melded to his as if they were in some sort of barren desert and his saliva was her only source of hydration. I had to look away as I limped past them, the indecency of it all making me blush.

I sat down and began unpacking my things. On the blackboard in front of me was today’s assignment. Read pages 271-286, and then write a paragraph-long summary of the chapter. Ugh.

The class was starting to settle down. Professor Nott didn’t say anything, just scowled at us from his perch at his desk, a quill twiddling between two, nimble fingers. I gritted my teeth and opened my book.


I jerked around to see the door to the classroom bursting open, and Fred and Potter stumbling into the room. Fred was keeled over, his chest rising up and down with each gasping, rattling breath, and Potter was leaning against the doorframe, obviously exhausted, his skin—already tan from  Quidditch—flushed a slight pink color.  

Nott raised his eyebrows, sitting up and taking his legs off his desk, but did not say anything. He simply gestured towards some empty seats with a lazy flick of his hand.

Fred sat down behind me, his breathing already slowing down a bit. This, however, left the only remaining seat next to me. Potter scowled, realizing this, and plunked down in the chair, face dark.

I looked at Potter. Potter looked at me. Instinctively, and at the same time, we scooted our chairs away from each other, making sure that there was as much distance as possible between us. After all, who knew if Potter’s stupidity was contagious? One could never be too careful.

I set to work, starting to read as the class settled into an uneasy silence, save for the occasional flip of a page or scratch of a quill. Twenty minutes or so passed, and I was almost to the last page when...


There was no mistaking Freddy’s voice, even when it was lowered into a whisper. Still, I kept on reading, clenching and unclenching my jaw as I ignored the boy behind me.

“Aggy! Pssssttt....”

I could feel Potter’s gaze flicker towards me, and Freddy tap my shoulder, but I stared determinedly at my book, refusing to give in.


What.” I turned around, glare murderous, to see Freddy looking at me, eyes sparkling playfully.

“Hi.” He said. I waited for him to continue, to tell me what, exactly, had been so urgent and important that he just had to disturb me while I was reading, but he said nothing else. Just smiled and went back to his book.

I resisted the urge to hurl my body over the desk in anger, even though I wanted nothing more than to rip off every single strand of Fred’s perfect, glossy dark hair from his thick skull, one by one.

“Hi,” I spat, though it sounded more like a death threat than a greeting.

There was a long pause. Potter was looking at us curiously through the corner of his eye. Freddy was still smiling.

Mentally sighing, I said:

“So...did you make Fritz crack?”

“No.” Freddy’s smile seemed to melt off his face as he sighed. “And I even got everyone to do the Macarena on top of their desks.”

“That sucks...” I said, trying (failing) to sound sympathetic.

“Yeah. Though I swear I saw his eye twitch once.”

“Awesome. Making progress.” I said, nodding slowly. I paused, took a deep breath, and then asked the question that had been burning in the back of my brain ever since Freddy had entered the classroom: “So...where’s Aidan? Why isn’t he with you?”

Fred grimaced. “He’s still in his hermit cave. He won’t come out, unless it’s to get something to eat or another one of his girl books.” He wrinkled his nose in obvious disgust.

I rolled my eyes. “They’re not girl books, Freddy.  Honestly. How sexist can you get? That stereotype is borderline idiotic.”

Freddy looked confused. “What are you talking about? I thought girls loved that stuff. You know, romance and frills and shirtless Italian men and what not.”

“I don’t read those books, and I’m a girl,” I pointed out.

Potter snorted beside me, obviously unable to resist butting in. “Well, that second part's debatable.”

I whipped around, about to retort with a witty and self esteem-crushing insult of my own (most likely something along the lines of, “Yeah? Well, whatever, Potter”), but before I could even open my mouth, I was interrupted.

“Hey, you. Red hair.” Nott said, pointing to me. “No talking.”

I don’t know why, but for some reason, this made me very, very angry. Maybe it was because Nott thought he could order me around, even though he was the crummiest excuse for a teacher that I’ve ever met during my entire stay at Hogwarts (and that’s saying something, because I had Professor Fritz in third year). Or maybe it was because he had yelled at me, while Freddy and Potter had gotten off scot-free.  Or maybe it was simply the fact that he even didn’t know my name, for Merlin's sake, although he’d been teaching me for almost a month.

The words were out of my mouth before my brain could process them: “Well, maybe we wouldn’t want to talk if we were actually learning something here. I mean, this is school, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Freddy let out a low whistle. Potter’s mouth twisted into a delighted smirk. And I think someone in the back of the classroom started clapping.

However, to be honest, I was probably the most surprised person out of all of them. I mean, I have never, ever been that outwardly rude to a teacher before. Never. The minute the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to grab them out of the air and shove them back in. My heart seemed to be racing a marathon inside my chest cavity.

I bit down, hard, on my lip, bracing myself for the inevitable punishment. Two weeks detention. Thirty points docked. And a suspension from prefect duties.

But Nott did nothing, merely raised his eyebrows and stood up from his position at the desk, rubbing his hands together.

“Oh, so little Miss Goody Two Shoes wants to learn something here, does she?” He said, tone light and musical, as if, by suggesting that we learn something at school, I was making some ridiculous and far-fetched request.

He strode towards me, his hands in his pockets, and I automatically leaned away, slightly afraid. “Alright. What do you want to learn?”

My throat was dry. “I want to learn...defense.” I said, rather lamely. “Against the Dark Arts.”

Nott laughed. Actually laughed, and somehow, that made me feel angrier. Which, in turn, made me feel braver.

“But why, Two Shoes?” Nott said, the sarcasm obvious in his caustic tone. “It’s not like you’re going to need it. Harry Potter’s already saved the world and laid the smack-down on every one of those mean, nasty, Moldy-mort bullies. Sure, a countless number of people died in the process. And yeah, maybe discrimination and prejudice is still as prominent and rampant as ever. But the world’s sunshine and daisies, now, isn’t it?”

Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath. Even Evilyn had peeled herself away from Cooper, apparently somewhat interested.

I looked at Potter, but his face showed no emotion. He was completely impassive, as if he had no idea what or whom Nott was talking about. In fact, he looked kind of bored, almost.

Suddenly, Freddy, obviously no longer able to control himself, exclaimed, “What are you talking about? There’s no discrimination anymore!”

Nott grinned a wicked, spiteful grin, as if he knew something we didn’t. His eyes—pale, blue-green ice—flickered to Fred. “Maybe not the kind you’re thinking about.”

Before Freddy could reply, I butted in. “I still want to learn.” I said, almost demanded. “Just in case.”

“Just in case what? Voldemort pops out of his coffin and starts doing the hokey pokey on top of his grave? Face it, Two Shoes. Defense Against the Dark Arts is about as useful as tits on a nun.”

My jaw dropped open a little. “That’s not... appropriate.”

“Appropriate?” Nott raised his eyebrows. “I think I lost my capacity to be “appropriate” after my second Court Order.” He paused, tilting his head in mock thoughtfulness. “Or maybe it was my third...”

Someone in the room snickered. I glowered.

“That doesn’t matter. I still want to...”


“Yes.” I said, my courage (or stupidity, depending on how you look at it) finally returning to me.

“Why? So that, if the opportunity arises, you can be the hero? Save the day?”

“No.” I snapped back, my patience waning. “So that, if I’m ever dueling someone, I can stay alive.”

Nott paused, his eyes taking in my green and silver tie. Then he said, so randomly it sort of jarred me a bit, “Who wrote your textbook?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who wrote your textbook?”

I glanced down at the hardcover, sitting on my desk. “Penelope Trimble...Why?”

“Do you think this Penelope Trimble was happy?” He asked

I paused. “Um... Well... She wrote a DADA textbook...”

“So that’s a ‘no’, then?’

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“That's what you interpreted.”

He glared at me. “Alright. Fine. There’s Penelope Trimble’s contribution to society. A five hundred-page textbook that makes students around the world want to hang themselves by their toes. Boy. She must be ecstatic with herself.”

I didn’t say anything.

“You want to know something, Two Shoes?” Nott said, placing his hands on my desk and leaning towards me. His eyes were two, identical winter nights, crisp and frigid. “Everyone wants to be happy. Everyone wants to matter. But, guess what? Nobody ever does.” He took my book from my desk, turning it around in his hands, and then tapped it against the edge of my desk. Thud. Thud. Thud. “I mean, sure, you’ve got your exceptions, like Harry Potter and whatnot, but other than that, we all just end up withering away, with nothing left to prove we existed except a bunch of old, Thud. “yellowing,” Thud. “textbooks.” Thud.

I looked at Nott, and thought about his missing wife, and how he may or may not have killed her. Then I thought of all those DADA textbooks, stacked on top of each other, sad and lonely with no one there to read them.

A long silence over took the whole class. No one breathed a word.

After forever, Nott pulled away, glancing at his watch. “Well,” he said, tone too casual as he tossed my book to me. I barely caught it. “Would you look at the time? Class is over.”

He started to walk towards his desk, but stopped mid-way and twisted around ever slightly. “Oh, right. I promised you’d learn something, didn’t I? Well, here you go: people lie.”

And than he sat down, folding his hands together as his face assumed his signature scowl, like nothing had happened.

I didn’t know what to say, so I settled for nothing.

“Can you believe him? I mean, really! He basically told us our lives aren’t worth living! Some teacher he is... Honestly... I don’t even know how he got hired. Vespertine must have been taking a few sips out of the Happy Juice, if you know what I mean. Who in their right mind would want him in a school...Around little children, no less?”

Apparently, my little encounter with Nott really loosened my tongue, because that night, while on patrol, I found myself ranting and raving about him in front of none other than Ryan Fisher. That’s right. The Ryan Fisher, the one who could make any female he meets generate enough drool to fill the entirety of the Atlantic Ocean, was listening to me. Me! Griping about our finking DADA professor!

Trust me, this was completely out of the blue. Usually, on my patrols with Ryan, I was too worried about making a complete and utter fool out of myself (which, believe me, is a legitimate fear) to even think about voicing my opinions. But Nott made so angry that I just had to vent... It was like a damn breaking, everything just came gushing out.

Ryan was a great listener. He nodded in all the right parts, his eyes squinted with a kind of thoughtfulness that—until then—I hadn’t though existed (well, at least not in the male gender, anyways). He had an amused sort of smile on his face, but not a condescending amusement. No, it was gentler. Sweet.

We were walking up and down the Third Floor corridor, occasionally checking into quiet, grey classrooms and musty broom closets. The hallways were dark save for the torches that hung on the walls, their flames casting eerie, grinning shadows on the stone floor. Our footsteps were loud and metallic, ringing though my ears as we walked.

I was trying really hard to not have a full-blown Girls Gone Mental Episode (as Potter dubs them) in front of Ryan, but I couldn’t help it. I could feel myself getting angrier and angrier by the second, Nott’s jeering, holier-than-thou words playing and playing through my mind on an endless loop.

I took a deep breath, mentally counting to ten in Spanish. Uno...Dos...Tres...Cuatro...

Just in case you’re wondering—which you probably are—I do it in Spanish because, that way, it’s both academically challenging and a calming device... at the same time. So that way my brain has something to work on while I’m placating myself.

...Yes, I know I’m a nerd. Thank you for your concern. My parents are worried as well.

“I’m sorry, Ryan.” I finally said, smiling slightly bashfully. “I don’t mean to get all worked up about this... It’s just... He makes me really mad.”

Ryan let out a deep, velvety chuckle that made my stomach clench. “No, it’s completely fine. In fact, its kind of entertaining, to be honest. You make me laugh, Agatha.”

I frowned slightly, unsure of what to make of this new revelation. “Well... Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

He smiled, his grey eyes crinkling at the corner. “Good. Definitely good.”

I raised my eyebrows in a sort of cool-calm-and-collected fashion, although, on the inside, I was doing cartwheels and handstands. Uno...Dos...Tres...Cuatro... “Well...Thanks then.”

He nodded, still smiling. A comfortable sort of silence passed, and then he said: “So...besides the whole Nott ordeal...How was your day?”

I want to bear your future children.  “Fine,” I said. “Yours?”

“Pretty good. Except... I’m having a lot of difficulty with Transfiguration... You know that test we got back today? Yeah, didn’t do so well on it. McGonagall thinks I should get some extra help.” He raked a hand through his (golden, perfect, luminous) hair and shook his head, frustrated

And here is where I saw my opportunity.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I’m at Transfiguration good! I mean—Good at Transfiguration I am! I mean—” Merlin, shoot me now. What am I, Yoda?

Ryan was grinning ear-to-ear.

“I’m good at Transfiguration.” I finally managed to spit out (quite lamely, I might add). “And you know... er...transfigurizing stuff.”

“I see...” Ryan said, somewhat slyly. “So do you think you might be able to tutor me, or something? Because I really need some help with my...transfigurizing.”

“Yeah! Of course... Um. When are you free?’

“How about next Wednesday? Is that good for you?”

I could be getting heart surgery on that day, and I’d still say yes.

“Yeah! Wednesdays are grrrreat!” Apparently, in addition to Yoda, I’m also Tony the Tiger.

“Thanks, Agatha.” Ryan said, “You have no idea how big of a help this is for me.”

“Oh it’s no trouble. Not at all.” I was on top of the world. No, scratch that, I was on top of the universe. I was standing on the moon, and somebody had filled my oxygen tank with laughing gas. That was how happy I was.

Ryan frowned a little. “Um... There’s just one little problem, though.” He said, his tone almost sheepish.

My heart stopped. My face drooped. Oh no. “Er...what?”

“Well,” Ryan said. “I don’t think I’ll get it all at once, so we might have to do more than one session... Is that okay?”


“Oh, well... I’m not sure... But that’ll probably be alright.” UNO DOS TRES CUATRO CINCO SEIS SIETE OCHO NUEVE DIEZ! DIEZ! DIEZ!

Ryan looked immensely relieved, and, as we walked down the cold, empty corridor one last time, he said, “Thanks, Agatha. I totally owe you for this.”

This was very, very good.

A/N: did you like it? And did you catch the not-so-subtle jab at Twilight in there (sorry to those of you who like the books.. but I just couldn't resist)? Please review!

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