Chapter 9 : Of She-Devils and Comfort.
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 11|
Change Background: Change Font color:
Here we go! An early update for Mother's Day- and because Courtney begged, and begged, and begged, and begged. Bad slug. - so I hope you all will enjoy it! I'm still writing away, on Chapter Sixteen- and guess what? In Chapter Fourteen, it all starts to get reaaaal JUICY! So you guys look forward to Chapter Fourteen on the 14th. I'm pacing myself. :D
As for this chapter, it's kind of a filler. But it's important for you all to know Honor Jones. She's... well, she's going to cause some issues.
All proper young ladies know how to comfort themselves when hurt.
“Erm, Dom?” someone murmurs from somewhere across the dormitory. “Are you okay?”
I’m sprawled out, facedown, in the middle of my four-poster bed. I’ve been here since I heard about Lorcan’s wonderful decision to “get over me”. People that are stupid enough to go over ten years without informing the person they fancy that they fancy them don’t deserve to leave their bed. Therefore, I’m stuck. I’ve been up here for a while, now, just moping. Not crying, of course. I don’t cry. Not ever. It’s not something Dominique Weasley does. I’ve just been moping, yelling at myself into my pillow, you know- the normal stuff. I can’t believe how idiotic I am, really. I mean, since when has going a decade without telling anyone your biggest secret ended well? Unless you, like, murder somebody, telling someone else is usually a pretty good idea. But no. I’m a bloody idiot. I feel completely empty and completely stupid, all at the same time. Brilliant. I did this to myself, too- that makes it even worse.
My roommates are on their way up to the dorm, and the first one- whoever it is- froze in her steps the minute she saw me. Usually, I’m the last one to return to the dormitory. I hate spending time with the four other fifth year girls that share the room with me: Honor Jones, whose manipulative, cunning ways should’ve landed her in Slytherin; Delaney Finnegan, who might be the densest female I’ve ever encountered; Elizabeth Greenly, the most tolerable- while still being completely intolerable- roommate I have; and Piper Creevey, who is constantly shoving a professional wizard’s camera in my face. Whomever entered the dormitory is obviously a little shocked to see me already there.
“Dom?” the female repeats. Her voice is rather annoyed. “Are you okay?”
I lift my head from the pillow. “What?” I croak in response.
The intruder? Honor Jones. Oh, and I thought whomever walked in would be someone who actually gives a shit about whether or not I’m okay. Not the first witch to frighten people almost half as much as Bellatrix Lestrange once did. And yes, in case you’re wondering, she really is that frightening. Her acidic eyes are green and fierce, she has this really long, wavy dark brown hair, almost black, that looks perfect and ominous all the time, and her skin is a flawless caramel brown without one single blemish or freckle. She’s absolutely beautiful, and I seem to be one of the many students at Hogwarts that feel a little uneasy around Jones at all times, even though the girls envy her and the boys fall over her.
She’s the tiniest girl in our year, about the same size as the third years and even over fifteen centimeters shorter than James, but somehow her size makes her even more daunting. She’s always got this blasé expression on her face, she never smiles or laughs, and when she talks, her tone makes it clear that she has no interest in whatever she’s talking about. She’s capable of manipulating almost anyone to do whatever she wishes, and her cunning ways have caused quite a bit of destruction throughout our years at Hogwarts. She’s not one of those innocent girls that’s secretly evil; oh no, everyone knows she’s evil. Yet, no matter how obviously scary she is, she’s still one of the most talked-about fifth years at this school. Everyone loves her, and everyone fears her.
It’s really not in my personality to be scared of someone. It’s not in my personality to be scared of anything. But Honor Jones? Yeah, she asks for it. I’m telling you, the girl is bloody terrifying. I swear. You’d understand if you met her. There’s just something about her that makes it quite clear that she’s most definitely capable of murder.
“Are you bloody okay or not?” the girl snaps at me. Her vicious eyes are narrowing at me. Wow, she really seems like she cares.
I roll my eyes at her. Probably not the best move. This girl can shoot any awful hex or curse she wants at me if I piss her off- she knows some pretty good ones- and I’ll be completely vulnerable. It might be a good idea to stay on her good side. If there is such a thing.
However, I’m in a bloody awful mood. So far today, I’ve been overheard denying the feelings I have for someone by that someone, revealed my biggest secret to a twelve-year-old, gotten a detention, been yelled at by my cousin and best mate, been ignored by the only boy I’ve ever really fancied, cried hard enough to soak James’ robes straight through to his skin, snogged a boy whom I didn’t want to snog, and encountered my awful roommate while trying to mope in perfect solitude. Today has officially been the most shitty day of my entire existence. So if Honor Jones would like to hex me into oblivion, she can go right ahead. In fact, I think I would be perfectly okay with her Avada Kedavra-ing me right now.
“Do I honestly look okay, Jones?”
Most girls hate it when they’re referred to by their surname, unless it’s by a teacher. I know half the girls in my year complain about it on a daily basis if a boy calls them out by their last name. Honor Jones, however, never complains, much like I never do, about being referred to as merely “Jones”. In fact, I think she prefers it that way. I prefer using her last name, too. Her first name fits her personality too perfectly to use. She is quite possibly the proudest creature I’ve ever met, second only to my Veela grandmother, and it makes her flat out terrifying. It dulls her scariness a little when you use her last name.
“Your cousins want to know if they can come in,” she responds, ignoring me.
My cousins? How specific. “Which cousins?” I ask her, expecting to hear the name Molly or Lily. One of the girls, obviously, as the boys can’t get up the stairs without being slid back down.
Jones narrows her exotic eyes at me. Apparently, answering this question isn’t part of her job description as messenger. “The gorgeous one and the prankster.”
“James and Fred?” I crinkle my nose in confusion.
Yes, I know how to translate “the gorgeous one and the prankster” into James and Fred. Everyone refers to James as the “most stunning fifteen-year-old bloke alive”, even though I obviously am not affected by nor attuned to this fact, and Fred is usually labeled as “prankster” and nothing more.
Jones throws up her arms in frustration. I drop my head back into my pillow. If she’s going to get annoyed because I’m confused, I don’t want to watch. She’s a tiny little thing, but she kind of scares me. Forget my questions. I’ll ask my cousins. They won’t kill me for asking questions. “Okay, okay. Tell them they can come in.”
“Potter!” Jones yells, turning around sharply on her heel. “Get your arse in here.”
The boys push the door to our dormitory open, stepping in one after the other. James winks flirtatiously at Jones, who reacts indifferently by swinging her long tendrils over her shoulder and disappearing from the dormitory. Hopefully, she and her friends- believe it or not, the girl has friends- who double as my roommates, Creevey, Finnegan, and Greenly, will spend some quality time in the common room while I try to discover what James and Fred want from me. The boys pounce on the bed on either side of me, and I bury my face back into my pillows. I don’t have time for this. I’m moping.
“Uh, James?” I begin. I’m a little bit freaked out. My cousins are very much blokes, obviously… so how did they get past the staircase? “How the hell did you get up here?”
James takes it upon himself to answer. Thank Merlin, no staring contest necessary. “I have a date for our first Hogsmeade trip,” he declares, sticking out his chest towards me.
His hair is borderline flat, as if James hasn’t ran his hand through it in an hour or so. That’s a true sign that beneath his current pride, he’s secretly upset; he’s still angry with Wood, and he can’t believe what Lorcan has decided. Fred keeps sneaking glimpses at James to see if his cousin has tousled his hair yet, which only further supports the sign of his distress.
I sigh into my pillow, lifting my head a little so he can hear me clearly. “That’s wonderful for you. How did you get up here? The staircase-”
James furrows his brow. “I was explaining that when you interrupted.”
“Excuse me,” I snort. “I was under the impression you were just going to brag about scoring a date to Hogsmeade, instead of telling me something I actually want to know.”
He displays a nice little hand gesture in my face before continuing to speak. “We got past the staircase, because I promised to take Honor Jones along with me on the first Hogsmeade trip if she would levitate us up the entire flight of stairs. Of course, she couldn’t resist my offer, what with my boyish charm, breathtaking good looks, and stunning Quidditch skills-”
“Oh, my Merlin, shut up,” Fred grumbles, throwing himself back on the bed next to me.
James flips the bird in Fred’s direction. That’s the second time in barely three minutes. It’s going to lose any effectiveness it has, I hope he knows that. “As I was saying,” James growls at Fred. “Jones levitated us both up here for the low, low price of one date to Hogsmeade. I believe that’s quite worth it for assisting a Weasley cousin in need, don’t you think?”
“You sold your soul to the devil,” I mumble in reply. Fred nods vigorously in response.
Fred has been in agreement of my apprehensions about Jones and her maliciousness ever since he rejected her and the massive crush she had on him back in our third year, when she retaliated by turning Fred, James, and I in for being the ones who contaminated the Slytherin table’s breakfast pastries with Puking Pastilles on the day of our Potions exam- something I had no idea she, nor anyone but the three of us, knew anything about. She even had proof, in the form of magical pictures showing the three of us unwrapping the boxes of my uncle’s product and inserting them into breakfast pastries from the house elves. No one knew about that, except for Honor Jones. We still don’t know how she did it, but she did. That leaves Fred as fearful around her as I am. However, it didn’t affect James one tiny bit. I’ll never understand how his mind processes events like that and reasons them out to be acceptable since the enemy in the situation is pretty.
James laughs. He’s never really agreed with our dislike of Jones, but that’s because- and only because- she’s good looking. Poor, shallow little James. He can’t help it. “All for you, Nicky. You have such a supportive cousin. You’ve got a cousin that is willing to spend an afternoon with the most beautiful, albeit intimidating as hell, female in all of Hogwarts just to get to you and cheer you up. He’s really a brilliant blokes for this, if you think about it.”
I nod in agreement. “You’re right, James. I do have a brilliant cousin,” I say sarcastically to him, and then turn towards Fred. “Thank you so much for doing all of this just to cheer me up, Fred. It’s really just incredible of you.”
“Oh, how funny, Dommie,” James rolls his eyes.
I smirk. Torturing James always seems to be a very fruitful source of comfort.
Okay: challenge of the day! Does Honor sound more like an evil she-devil or a typical bitchy teenager? I'm aiming for the first, but I'm hoping we don't accidentally end up with the second!
Previous Chapter Next Chapter