Hey, guys, I know it's been a while. Sorry. This chapter's short, but I promise you the next one will be longer, I pinkie swear.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
“Pippa, turn the damn alarm off.” I moaned from my bed.
“Mrmpgh,” was her response.
Wow, what a sexy troll impression.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
“Pippa Anderson, I swear to god I will fucking murder you if you don’t turn the motherfucking alarm off right now.” I said, glaring at her with my morning-zombie eyes.
“Language!” She exclaimed, popping out of bed. I never understood how Pippa could be a morning person. She had the gift that few people had, to be able to get out of bed, bright eyed and bushy tailed.
“And get up!” She added, slamming the bathroom door in my face. Without turning the alarm off.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
I screamed into my pillow and reluctantly threw the covers off me. I grabbed my wand and pointed it at the alarm clock. It exploded.
Eliza Lombardy glared at me from her post at her wardrobe, patiently waiting for her master—ahem, friend—to finish getting ready for the day. I shot her the bird and walked into the bathroom.
I am not a morning person. Ergo, you should not mess with me in the morning.
“I fucking hate you, Pippa.” I told her as I shut the door behind me.
The girl that was standing at the sink turned around, and said snootily, “Do not use foul language in my bathroom, Alyiah Naterson.”
Veronica Smith. The most popular girl in our year. Urgh. I hated her.
She never got my name right. You’d think that after five years of living together, you’d learn someone’s name, but no. I’m not important enough to be addressed correctly to Veronica Smith.
She thinks she can do whatever she want because she’s Veronica fucking Smith, the Queen Bee. She thinks she has power over everybody because her daddy’s rich and famous and she’s got modeling offers stacked around her throne. She thinks she’s so perfect because--
Well, I think you get the picture.
“It’s still Alyssa, Smith.” I said snidely. “And I’ll use whatever language I want. It’s not your bathroom.”
Veronica’s face turned beet red and her jaw dropped, but I just pushed past her and took her place at the sink.
I grabbed up my toothbrush and started brushing my teeth very messily. When I was done, I very slowly let the spit drop from my mouth and into her sink. Veronica is a little OCD, and I guess that wasn't very nice of me...but she deserved it.
I looked in the mirror and saw she was still standing like that. “Close your mouth, Smith; you’re letting the flies in.” And then I smoothly flounced out of the room.
Alyssa (Is a BEAST)-1
“Pippa,” I said.
“What?” She asked, still rummaging through her trunk.
“Pippa,” I said again.
“Fucking what, Alyssa?” She snapped, turning around.
“I—they’re gone.” I half whispered.
“What’s gone? Your pygmy puffs? Because you weren’t taking great care of them in the first place—”
“My clothes, Pippa!” I wailed. “They’re missing!”
"Really?" Pippa asked me, finally extracting herself from her trunk. "Because mine are too... did you take them? Is this for me putting shaving cream in your eye this summer? Because I swear, that was an accident, Lyss."
I winced, remembering the eye surgery I had to have after that. "Nah. And don't call me Lyss."
"Well, classes start in ten minutes, and I still haven't had breakfast!" Pippa said, beginning to sound a bit hysterical. Pippa doesn't do well under pressure.
"Hang on," I said. "You don't think... Potter did it?" I asked. Pippa's jaw dropped.
"You know, I bet he did! Because you insulted him yesterday on the train! Oh, Alyssa, why do you have to be so stupid?!"
I gaped at her. "Me? Open your eyes, Pippa, they're obviously mad at you too, you don't have your clothes with you either!"
"Yeah, well... well... shut up!" Pippa said. I rolled my eyes.
"Once again, your maturity level astounds me, Pippa." She pouted.
"Don't be rude."
"I'm not being rude. You're just insignificant."
Pippa paused. "Snappycomebacks.com?" She asked.
"Yup," I replied.
“Miss Anderson, Miss Nelson, are two you wearing...pajamas?” McGonagall asked hesitantly, peering at us through her spectacles. In addition to being Headmistress, McGonagall also taught Transfiguration.
"Yes ma'am," Pippa answered cheerfully. "See, this morning, our uniforms mysteriously disappeared, which couldn't have anything to do with the fact that we offended certain people on the train yesterday." She shot a look Albus Potter, who raised his eyebrows at her.
McGonagall sighed, massaging her temples and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'I'm too old for this.'
Yes, McGonagall. You are too old for this.
"Mr. Potter, return Miss Anderson and Miss Nelson's uniforms to them." She said.
"Right-o, Professor." Albus said in a cheery voice. He raised his wand and said clearly, "Accio Anderson and Nelson's uniforms!"
About fifty school uniforms started flooding the classroom. They slid under the door, through the windows, and one made its way through a large crack in the ceiling.
"You idiot." I deadpanned, realizing that every person with the last name Nelson or Anderson's uniforms had just magicked themselves to Albus Potter. Including, most likely, the ones that they were wearing, because Pippa had found her cloak and worn it over her pajamas, and it was now in Potter's hand.
And that, my friends, is how Albus Potter single-handedly undressed an eighth of the school in one go.
“We need to get them back,” I told Pippa as we were walking to Charms.
“What do you mean?” She asked.
“The Weasley/Potter clan! We need to get them back! Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it, Pippa.” I told her.
She looked at me apprehensively. “You don’t want to be tangling with that family, Alyssa. They have a powerful influence.”
I scoffed. “I’m not scared of the Potters. I mean, his dad saved the Wizarding World, for Pete’s sake! How bad can they be?”
“It’s not his parents I’m worried about.” Pippa said, sending me a dark look. “It’s his little sister. Lily.”
Even I paled at the thought of Lily Potter.
Little Lily, as I liked to call her, was the scariest person I had ever met in my life. Even my Gryffindor prowess cowered at the thought of Little Lily Potter.
Lily Potter is like the she-Weasley-devil reincarnate. She inherited, along with her mother’s talent for the Bat-Bogey Curse, her father’s talent for hexes and jinxes. She was the first female beater on the Gryffindor quidditch team in over a century, and she can throw a punch as well as she can hit a bludger. On top of all that, she inherited her father and her mother’s hot heads, along with the Weasley woman temper. And she’s a redhead, which makes it ten times worse.
“Alright,” I said in defeat. Little Lily was too much of a risk.
“There’s those self-preservation qualities.” Pippa said encouragingly, nudging my shoulder.