I own nothing you recognise. All the OCs and this crazy plot, however, are products of my overactive imagination.
Fabulous CI by HeavenLeigh @ TDA
“YOU BITCH! HOW DARE YOU STEAL MY LIPGLOSS?!”
Welcome to a typical morning in the life of Genesis Aleck, where she wakes either to the sensual sensation of blood running down her legs or the dulcet tones of her charming roommates. Jealous yet?
“I DID NOT
STEAL YOUR GLOSS!” Came the indignant reply. “IT IS MINE, YOU FUCKWIT!”
I contemplate burying my head beneath my pillow. If that doesn't muffle the sound, surely I can smother myself and escape this fishmarket?
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! IT'S CHERRY! YOURS WAS STRAWBERRY!”
Seriously, who needs such stupid things as the melodious twittering of bluebirds outside your window, when you can wake up much faster and more effectively with screaming harpies acting as your bed-side alarm clock?
THUMP! THUD! BANG!
Great. And now they're hurling not only abuses, but also random stuff at each other.
As I'm thinking this, a black ankle boot sails through my curtains with a whoosh, and hits me squarely on the chest.
In reflex, I yell, flinch away from the three-inch black heel, twist violently on the bed, go flying through the still-closed silk curtains, and land on my arse on the floor.
“STUPEFY!” There is a flash, bang, and the shrill voices of my utterly ettiqueted roommates are abruptly silenced.
Tangled in a mix of emerald bed-sheets and silk hangings, and choking on a bit of my own hair, I manage to look up and spot Trishna standing beside her four-poster, with her hair all over the place, eyes flashing as brightly as her tiny diamond nose-ring and a murderous expression set on her face. She has her wand pointed directly at the now-knocked-out pair of wenches, and is muttering colourful Hindi explectives under her breath.
I splutter and cough, attempting to spit out the locks of jet black hair still threatening to asphixate me, when she looks down, wordlessly waves her wand to disentangle me, and gives me her hand to pull me up.
“Sorry for startling you, but these bitches were pissing me off.”
“Are you insane?” I ask her, now glaring at the blonde twins who had been knocked out by the sheer strength of Trish's spell. One of them had a long scarlet stain on her white oxford from the tube of gloss they had been fighting over. “I should be thanking you for shutting up these idiots.”
She smiles, displaying her white teeth, which look even whiter in contrast to her dark skin. “In that case, you're welcome.”
With that, she turns away and saunters into the bathroom.
I take a moment to survey the carnage in our dorm, then yawning widely and obnoxiously scratching my head, head for the bathroom. No sooner have I entered than I'm engulfed in a cloud of acrid green smoke.
Eyes watering and struggling to peer through the haze, I choke out, “Honestly, Trish? Isn't it a bit too early to be smoking Floo-leaves?”
She blows out a series of smoke-rings into the air before replying, “I need it to clear my mind.”
She grins like the imp she is.
“Anyway,” I address her reflection in the mirror through a mouthful of toothpaste-foam, “Where were you Saturday morning? I faced a serious crisis, y'know?”
Her brows furrow in deep thought. “I think I was in a Gryffindor dorm. I had been shagging that...Corner boy,” she says. “Chris? Or maybe Joey...”
“Daniel Corner,” I sigh in exasperation.
“He's a good fuck,” she remarks.
“For Salazar's sake, Trish. He's a Fifth-year!”
She shrugs. “Still, a good fuck.”
World, meet Trishna Saniya Gupta. Only daughter of businessman Amrish Gupta and socialite Padma Patil, billionare heiress, Floo-smoker, bit of a slag, and my only friend in Slytherin house who possesses a pair of ovaries and estrogen in her bloodstream.
Later, as I am attempting to comb my hair while simultaneously pulling on my watch and Trish is tugging on her tie, she comments, “You know, I thought all the dumb blonde bimbos were sorted into Hufflepuff.”
I know she's referring to those screeching banshees who are still lying stunned on the ground. Though no one could deny that Candace and Miranda Greengrass-Zabini (but Merlin forbid you call them anything but Candy and Mindy- classic L.A. hookers' names, by the way) are dumb blonde bimbos-extraordinare, they are also epitomes of exclusively Slytherin attributes of meanness, selfishness, bitchiness, and of course, ambition.
Candace intends to be the next best thing since Fifi LaFolle. She's already in contact with various publishers to bring out her first novel. Miranda wants to be sorta the wizarding world's very own Tamara Styles, and carry forward the legacy of Celestina Warbeck.
God help us all.
In the Great Hall, me and Trishna part ways for breakfast; she joins her triplet Fifth-Year cousins- Prachi, Ragini and Sid Thomas- at the Gryffindor table, while I plop down between Al and Scorpius.
“Mornin' Gen,” Scorp says, with his mouth stuffed full of what looks like scrambled eggs.
I turn away fron him in disgust, and become aware of a house-elf standing by my elbow.
“Miss Genesis Cathy Aleck?” she sqeaks. At least, I assume it's a 'she'. Her tone is the same as Miranda when she hits a pitch high enough to shatter window-panes.
“Yes,” I say.
“Krinkle was told to deliver this to you, Miss.” She hands me an envelope with a few stamps, my name and address. I thank her, then smile at Jason's sloppy handwriting on the envelope.
My family are all muggles, and though I do have an owl, my dad and three brothers, despite being grown, able-bodied males, are deathly afraid of Arion, and prefer to send me letters by the muggle postal system.
I slip the letter out, and begin to read.
My favourite sister! Greetings and salutations from your ever-awesome brother. How're you? The magic castle treating you alright? Blown up any toilets lately? Shagged Albus yet?
Anyway, are you crashing with us this Christmas? If you are, STAY AWAY FROM THE ROOM. I called dibs on it.
In other news, Jeff has still not proposed to Valerie. We are desperately trying to get him to- we need someone to cook us decent food once in a while. Jake crashed the car- again. That's about the sixth time this month. Dad's forbidden him to touch it. And I managed to talk to Rachel for a grand total of twelve minutes and nine seconds. Granted, the topic of conversation was Trignometrical Ratios, but it's still a record, right?
Hoping to see your ugly mug soon.
Your dashing brother,
PS. Get me a box of those Chocolate Toad things for Christmas, yeah?
“Your brother thinks you're shagging Al?” says Scropius in a strangely strangled hiss. He'd been reading the letter over my shoulder, the nosey prat.
I scoff at his shocked tone. “No, of course not! D'you think he- and Dad and Jake and Jeff, for that matter- would've left Al alive if he thought so? That's just Jason's idea of a joke.”
He draws away, muttering, “Right, of course. But that's so wrong... You and Al, honestly...”
I suddenly realise that all through this time, Al hasn't said a word. Infact, I'd almost forgotten he is there.
“Hey, Al, why're you so...” I trail away as I notice him properly.
His breakfast sits practically untouched, and he is one of those people whose stomachs are like black-holes in the morning. He is not paying attention to anything or anyone around him, and is staring away into space, like Trelawney in an Inner-eye induced trance.
I follow his gaze, and almost choke.
“Oh, no way,” I say, “No way you're making googly eyes at Monica McLaggen.” He hadn't even blinked. “Albus!”
“What?!” He snaps out of his wide-eyed adoration with a start.
“Albus, you're checking out Monica. Checking her out.
Not to say that Monica is a hideous hag not worth checking out. Infact, she's quite the opposite. Tall, with ivory skin, wavy chocolate-coloured hair, grey eyes and a supermodel-worthy figure, Monica makes Hogwarts skip a beat. And it isn't like she's all looks and no substance. With a Prefect's badge, top grades in all her subjects and her knack for being good at everything she does, Monica is a teacher's pet and model student to boot.
No, there is nothing wrong with Monica Vera McLaggen, other than the fact that she possesses the emotions of a brain-dead robot, and the soul of a dementor.
“So what?” Al asks, finally grabbing a slice of his much-ignored toast.
“Al, that's Monica McLaggen you're drooling over. The girl we used to make fun of because she's so pretentious and fake and cold-hearted.”
Al sighs in annoyance. “Firstly, Gen, I am not drooling
over her. And secondly,” he pauses a moment before continuing, “we used
to make fun of her. When we were immature Fourth Years with nothing better to do. For all we know, she's changed since.”
Before I can come up with a biting comeback about how poisonous toadstools never change their spots, however, Al gets up and leaves for his first class of the day, Ancient Ruins.
The Ice Princess has managed to brainwash my best friend with her disarming charms. This day keeps getting better and better.
By the time the last of the day's lessons comes around, I am facing the hardest decision of my life thus far, which is saying something, considering that the former 'hardest decision of my life' was trying to decide on ice-cream flavours at Fortescue's.
(Seriously though, the dilemma of being forced to choose between Butterbeer Choco-nut and Cranberry Delight was harrowing.)
This time, however, my confusion revolves around a certain Albus Severus Potter and his growing infatuation with a certain emotionally-dead Slytherin Sixth-year.
Should I be a good friend and warn him against a relationship with a stone-cold goddess of perfection, or should I be a good friend and support him in his endeavour to woo said stone-cold goddess of perfection?
I'll admit, choosing between flavoured frozen dairy products is way easier than this.
I enter the Potions dungeon to find that most of the class is already present and setting up their cauldrons, taking out books from their bags or joking about and exchanging the day's gossip. I do a quick scan of the room; there are just fourteen of us, from all the houses, so I spot Rose sitting beside Molly, her Hufflepuff cousin. Albus is alone, extracting his brass measuring scales from his bag. I quickly walk over to him.
I set down my bag beside his. He looks up and grins, before going back to his measuring scales. This is how it has been the whole day, since breakfast. We talk, joke, banter -heck, some little disagreement isn't enough to make us stop- but we've been consciously skirting around the topic of Monica. The trouble is, I don't know what to say. Apologize for not realising that she's actually an angel in disguise? Tell him to stop being a pansy and get over her already?
Just as I'm about to open my mouth and say something extremely random -probably related to the Chudley Canons' defeat in their lastest match- Professor Ebenezer walks into the room and abruptly, silence falls.
He is a white-haired, somewhat short man with popping-out eyes that are in the danger of falling out of his head everytime he glares, and skin so pale, it looks almost paper white in the dimly-lit room. He's an authoritative, disclipine-loving teacher, one of the strictest, but he is also one of those I respect the most.
He waves his wand, and words appear on the blackboard behind him.
“The Draught of Peace,” he begins in a nasally voice, “is an Advanced level potion, but one you are already familiar with, seeing as you attempted it in your Fifth-year. Most of you, however,” he sniffs disdainfully before continuing, “failed.”
Identical grimaces marr almost everyone's faces, as they remember their disastrous potions with green sparks, dark grey steam, sulfurous, rotten egg-like odours or cement-like consistencies.
“But now, you are Seventh Years, and I expect nothing but perfection.” He says, eyes sweeping around the dungeon. “And as there have been many cases of careless students and exploding cauldrons in recent times, I am going to change your partners,” Suddenly, the room buzzed with complaints. “And there will be no arguing!”
He takes out a scroll of parchment, and starts calling out names.
“Mr. Alcyoneus Rosier and Miss Ella Jackson...
Mr. Dylan Xavier and Miss Harper Boots...
Mr. Scorpius Malfoy and Miss Molly Weasley...”
I watch as Molly picks up her paraphernalia and joins Scorp at his table with a nod of greeting.
“Mr. Albus Potter and Miss Monica McLaggen...”
Though he tries to be discreet about it, a large grin covers Al's face as he throws his stuff into his cauldron and drags it over to Monica, looking like Christmas has come early.
I huff in exasperation. Al, to put it lightly, has inherited his Dad's potion-making skills, which means that provided he pays proper attention, he could produce decent results. Usually he paired with me or Scorp or Rose. Today, however, he is paired with a girl as capable of distracting him as a brightly coloured candy can distract a toddler.
I'm so lost in thoughts that I almost don't hear Professor Ebenezer calling out the last pairing.
“Mr. Luke Davies and Miss Genesis Aleck.”
I know Luke Davies, of course. He's been the Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team for the past two years. But I had never seen him, or atleast not at such close quarters. I had never realised that he was so tall, or that his mop of brown hair was so curly, or that his eyes were a pleasant shade of sea-green.
“Hi,” he says, setting his cauldron beside mine, and smiles. Immediately, dimples pop up on either of his cheeks.
I gulp. If there is one secret no one in the world knows, and one I'm determined to take to my grave, it's that Genesis Aleck is a sucker for dimples.
“Hi,” I reply hesitantly.
We are told to get started, and he goes to the storage room to get the ingredients. We divide the work between us, he powdering the moonstone and porcupine quills, while I crush the juice out of the Shrivelfigs. Surreptitiously, I keep an eye on Al, who seemingly is more interested in Monica's face than extracting his syrup of hellebore.
I grit my teeth, and silently will him to focus. If he keeps gazing at her face like she's some sort of deity, some major cauldron-exploding is going to take place here.
At the same time, I can't concentrate on my own work, because every time I look at Luke, and every time he moves even a miniscule muscle on his face, his cheeks are slashed with dimples, that, for some inexplicable reason, make me nervous.
What. The. Hell.
I never get nervous, unless it's before a match or exam.
By the time we're adding the powdered moonstone for the last time, I'm quelling an insane urge to poke his dimple.
Come on, Gen. Focus! It's just a stupid indentation on his face.
My hand twitches as I add the moonstone. It's a goddamn deformity of his facial muscles!
Out of nowhere, our potion starts emitting thick ashen smoke.
“What happened?” He asks, surprised.
I look down at the glittery powder in my hands. In one horrible moment, I remember, "excess of moonstone can render the potion dangerously instable, causing it to explode, and set one's robes alight..."
The next, our cauldron blasts with a BOOM, I am thrown off my feet, and Luke's robes are on fire.
“What the DEVIL is going on here?!” Professor Ebenezer yells, rushing to our table, and taking in the sight of utter catastrophe. Needless to say, I have no answer.
In the end, I am given extra homework ("Describe the correct usage of Moonstone in the Draught of Peace", 13 inches), humiliated at being the only person who did their potion wrong (despite the fact that Potions is one of my best subjects) and guilty of sending a person, whom I had known for barely an hour, to the Hospital Wing with burns and a horrible first impression.
It has been the longest time, dear readers, but it's good to be back. I know I probably overwhelmed you- so many OCs and the disagreement and the explosion and all...
So, I think I'll put forward some questions, yes?
* ships? Algen? Lugen? (I'm terrible at ship names. Feel free to come up with your own.)
* what d'you think of Trishna? And Candy&Mindy? And Monica? And Luke?
* Gen's secret! Did you get surprised?
* the letter from home...what about it?
* do you like this fic? Do you like me?
Tell me everything in a review!
Until next time,
PS. Thank you, Laura (sour_grapes_snape) for introducing me to the supermegafoxyawesomehot world of Starkid. That not-so-subtle AVPM reference was for you!
Evangeline McLaggen is now Monica McLaggen. And other random has been edited.