You are viewing a story from

Patchwork by fairytaled

Format: Novella
Chapters: 11
Word Count: 23,385

Rating: Mature
Warnings: Strong Language, Mild Violence, Scenes of a Sexual Nature, Substance Use or Abuse, Sensitive Topic/Issue/Theme, Contains Spoilers

Genres: Fluff, Humor, Romance
Characters: OC, OtherCanon
Pairings: Other Pairing, OC/OC

First Published: 04/08/2011
Last Chapter: 10/31/2013
Last Updated: 10/31/2013

banner by wishaway

Only idiots fall in love with their best friends.
So, it's a good thing that Sophie and Louis are
pretty dim.

Chapter 1: Accidental
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]



  I wrote this like a century ago and I was pretty young, like really really young so I thought I was a literary genius. I thought I'd attempt cleaning up the grammar and spelling and 1000 typos up, now that I'm 'older and wiser'. But I think somethings are better left untouched, and so basically: you can read it at your own risk. But I want to say a really massive thank you to anyone who has read this, reviewed this, favourited this, because it's essentially the first fic I've ever written (+ finished) and it means the world to me that people gave it a chance and it's given the confidence to keep writing! :)





made by the lovely amoretti.
Beta'd by the amazing Jacinta Jade.

Chapter One

It starts as a comment, a little infinitesimal afterthought. The small joke that everybody cracks, not realizing that their words wrap around your mind, and as the jokes keep coming, they keep swirling like a flushing toilet in your head. Around and around. Then, the idea flushes out of your head and latches onto your heart, like a parasite, unwanted, unwelcome but stuck like wet glue.

And before you've even noticed, you've come down with the heartbreaking disease 'tomber amoureaux avec estbay iendfray'.


He yanks my notebook from my hand and flies to the other side of the room, I try to manoeuvre my way to him. I decide to take a short-cut. Keeping my eyes on the prize, I squish my way between the desk and the chair.

For a moment I soar through the air, and then I plummet to the ground, only to fall on something... different. Adrenaline rakes through my chest and my eyes fly shut. Tentatively, I open my eyes and discover I am half-splayed on Louis.

Holy, cheesing shiznits.

My rock tumbler stomach chugs and lurches. Secretly, I get really nervous every time someone gets close enough to hear me breathe. My boobs squish against his chest and oh Merlin, my lips. My lips are on his. I squeal and giggle, trying to get up, only to wriggle against him.

Oh, God.

My blue eyes swell like the ocean and I sit up on him. Looking at the damage, I realize what position I am in.

I am straddling Louis Weasley, my one-eighth veela best friend. As the look of horror on my face grows like a raging storm, he smiles sheepishly and sexily.

This cannot be happening, it just can't. This is unbelievably unrealistic. What are the odds of falling over and landing in such a ridiculous position?

“Casse-toi, pauvre con,” he jokes. Please excuse his French, because he said something like 'sod off, you bloody idiot.'

Before I can move, the door shoots open and all hell breaks loose.

"What ze 'ell do you think you're doing in 'ere?"

Porca vacca.

Lesson to learn from this: Never ever let anyone catch you in compromising position with your best friend. Especially, sa maman. It's just asking for trouble.

I slide my hands off of Louis’s chest slowly, embarrassed and stand up. Biting my lip to look as innocent as possible, I take a small step back and meet Fleur's gaze. I'm screwed, the last thing you ever want in life is your best friend's mother (who scares the both of you) to find you in a ‘position’ while you’re wearing his clothes and he's wearing yours. I close my eyes and dream. Dream that Merlin will pop out of his grave like the safe dude he was (back in his day) and give me an epic rewind spell to avoid my current fiasco.

Any minute now. Come on Merlin, you know what veela women are like when they're angry, save me. Please.

“Are you going to explain?” she asks expectantly. If there is one thing I have learnt spending time at Shell cottage, it is never mess with Fleur Weasley. This is because; I am like a daughter to her. Ergo, she will punish me. Therefore,cif I don't answer quickly, I am going to be in deep merde.

Her eyes widen and bore into mine. My fingers tremble and so does my tongue in my mouth.

“I fell over and sort of landed on Louis,” I say quickly, hoping she’ll believe me. She exhales deeply, preparing to shout as I slam my hands to my ears.

“Louis!” she yells.

He jumps up, pulling at the edges of my silky pink negligee which he’s wearing. You've got to love the annual gender-bender pyjama party. I am only wearing a bra, my undies (granny pants, for those who are wondering) and Louis’s boxers. With my indecent clothing I am beyond dead, Fleur will kill me. I can imagine my tombstone now, 'Here Lies Sophie Velma Finnigan, a neglected daughter (a product of a one night stand) and a totally awesome friend’.

“Patch is being honest, she was trying to get her notebook back,” he says.

She exhales again, massaging her temples and I take a sharp breath in and hold it, my cheeks bob like balloons. Fleur looks at me sceptically and summons a bathrobe for me to wear.

“Ecoutez!” she commands us to listen to her, we're both standing straight now, both our faces, a scarlet Gryffindor shade of red. “Zis 'as got to stop, we let you two frolic around when you were little, swapping pyjamas, but now you are far too old, Sophie, you are becoming a woman now. And Louis, you aren't a little boy anymore.”

We nod and gulp in sync. It's magical how we can still do that.

“Friends do not act like zis, like animaux, zis is the end, no more of zis behaviour, comprenez-vous?”

“Nous comprenons,” we chant just like when we were little, of course we understand. But seriously what's the harm of letting two clueless, celibate teenagers share a room and goof off? It’s not like we’re not even interested in each other. As a matter of fact, I've got proof.

Firstly, I have a quasi-almost boyfriend. An almost boyfriend who is actually made of awesome and cuteness, therefore my best friend is not worthy of my romantic love. Actually, he is way out of my league. (You know it bothers me deep down, really.) He calls me Patch; I would never go out with someone who taunts me because of a physical condition. That's bullying, who has friends that's bully them? I do. I am immune to his French veela charm. How? Years of experience and witnessing things you don't want to see. I've seen him pick his nose and I've been inside his bedroom. Disgusting. Did I mention I nearly have a half-boyfriend? Our relationship is fantastic.

Fleur storms out of the room, her feet clicking and cracking against the wooden flooring. Witch.

And I thought I was a drama queen.

We're silent for a while, trying to process what has just happened. I am not clumsy whatsoever, it just happened to be a chase for my precious notebook. It contains my -insert nervous stutter and clunky moment here- notebook filled with my poetry. I am, behold my modesty, a brilliant poetess. I have mad rhyming skill, don't believe me?

Proof: Orange to Challenge. I guess that depends on accents and what-not, but it works with mine (a slightly irish/cornish/jeordie god-knows-wherelse accent), so ha. Love to glove, above and dove, I rest my case.

“You know, when your mum is angry she looks like she just got hit by a muggle lorry,” I say, opening the challenge arena as I pull my bathrobe tighter around me.

“My mum is so scary when she is angry, she looks like the fail boat of last century, Moldyshorts,” he says, one upping me.

“Your mum is so scary when she's angry, she looks like your Aunt Muriel,” I say, tasting victory on the tip of my tongue.

“My mum is so scary when she's angry,” he pauses in thought, “got nothing, you win, Patch,” he admits defeat. I flail my arms about in true winner style. 

Glancing at the time, midnight, I retreat to my bed, being careful not to trip over (again) on my treacherous journey across Louis’s filthy room. He is such a pig.

“Gross,” I mutter and I turn round to stick my tongue out at him, already predicting that he has his tongue stuck out at me.

“Patch,” he says softly.


“I have this plan,” he says.

Interested, I roll over to face him and prop my head up with arm.

“This year is our seventh year-.”


He glares at me. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, we need to complete four tasks before the end of our seventh year, make sure we have fun, you know not just quidditch, NEWTs and the same stuff like Hogsmeade and dry parties.”

“So, what's the plan, Fred?”

He looks at me weirdly, not getting my pun, my double-entendre, my extended metaphor. Get it; it's a Scooby Doo reference. Because my middle name is Velma and Fred is the one who always comes up with the plans. Wait, that gives another reason for why a relationship between us is improbable. If I am Velma, he is Fred. Velma and Fred aren't a couple, that would be wrong, even if Velma has a weird unrequited crush on Fred, Daphne and Fred are together.

I speak this strange foreign language, it's called incoherency.

“One, skinny dip in the black lake, two, pull a prank on Filch like no one before, three, camp out in the chamber of secrets, four, throw a party in the actual dungeons that Harry Potter defeated the fail boat of last millennium.”

For those of you who are wondering, the fail boat of this millennium is Roger Davies, the second. Have you met the guy? He's an arse with a capital A.

“You're on your own, sucker,” I say, not remotely interested in trying any of those, especially three. I can just see that going wrong; I'll end up possessed with Salazar Slytherin's spirit to do his evil bidding. 

“C'mon Patch, it'll be fun.”

I put my fingers in my ears.

"Lalalala, I can't hear you,” I repeat over and over again, as I watch his mouth open and close, in his best attempt to convince me that this was good idea.

Then ,Dominique saunters in, like a princess.

“So, what happened?” she asks, sitting by my feet. Nosy.

“Nothing happened,” I counter, using the same girly prolonged gossip tone. Squeaky.

“Oh, so my mother yelled at you two for indecency for nothing?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

Now feeling tired, I shuffle and roll a bit in the bed, so my face is now facing the ceiling as Louis says, “of course.”

Dominique doesn't sound impressed as we aren’t giving her the gossip she wants to hear .

“Sophie,” she says, pulling me away from the precipice of sleep and my poetic freedom, “your patch is gone.”

I throw my hands to my face, feeling for the renowned patch of eczema that lay under my right eye, I feel rough skin, but it's soft, not like it is usually. I launch out of the bed to Louis’s mirror and he jumps out as well to see.

“I've lost my patch,” I say, thinking aloud. Losing control, I feel my eyes brimming with tears.

And then crying and drama ensues because I, for all intents and purposes, just lost a limb.

A/N: Hey! So..., it's a bit crazy. This is my first piece of fan fiction I am posting at HPFF and I would love some feedback.

I hope my french wasn't too bad :p

Some junk-a-tronic stuff, you'll actually want to know:

-tomber amoureaux avec estbay iendfray means 'to fall in love with', which is french and then 'estbay iendfray' is best friend in pig latin. Which is supposed to be a mix of seriousness and silliness, a romantic-youthful stuff. It's probably me trying to hard with my writing. 0_0

-Also 'Porca Vacca!' is an Italian expletive literally meaning pig cow, actually meaning crap or damn. :)-Merde means shit

Disclaimer: Scooby Doo also belongs to Warner Brothers, what are the odds? And Harry Potter is a creation from the super mind of JK Rowling.

Nell :)

Chapter 2: Primal
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

made by the awesome frenzy! @ tda.


Chapter Two

As the parasite gains a stronger hold of your heart, a paroxysm may occur, which is a sudden increase in intensity of the disease. Unwanted and uncontrollable emotions will swell and set a light inside of you, catalysing reactions in your body that you may find somewhat unconventional and completely sporadic.

Say hello to gastric-rhopalocera, commonly known as the butterflies in stomach sensation.


It's taking a long time to get over the fact my patch is gone. That skanky piece of eczema stuck to me like a creepy hooker for more than a decade and once I got attached to it, it moved to another client. The client? My stomach, what a ho.

I think I just used a prostitution metaphor to describe my eczema. There is an explanation to my madness (ha, not really), the muggle café that we are currently sitting in has a skanky waitress. Don't believe me? She's wearing a mini skirt, a garter, and a tight t-shirt. She's bumming off Louis it's hilarious, he's even using his French accent (as it picks up bimbos apparently).

Arisa, my back-up best friend (her term, not mine), rolls her eyes and stirs her coffee, feeling mature because she is. While I'm drinking apple juice with a straw, feeling immature and pathetic, beyond pathetic.

Arisa glances at her watch, reminding us that we only have half an hour before the train leaves. Her practicality and maturity astounds me. She used to be like me and Louis, mental. Arisa grew up and left us in Neverland. Peter pan reference for all you deprived wizards who never learnt any cool muggle stuff.

Slurping the ends of my drink, Louis pokes me to watch him. He keeps making googly eyes at the waitress. Vom.

“I have been blessed with beauty, brains and skill with the opposite sex,” he says, swirling his drink around in his fingers, lounging back in his chair.

“Chauvinistic pig.” Arisa snorts. I can't beat that insult so I high-five her.

It's girl flower power. Except, not really.

“You two are just jealous,” he says, pointing a finger at both us.

“Says the singleton,” I quip back and this time Arisa high fives me.

Girls: 2
Guy: 0

Louis goldfishes and I continue. “So, do you plan on becoming saliva swapping partners with the waitress?”

Arisa shakes her head, anticipating his answer. I hope he has enough sense to say no. That girl was easy, I thought boys liked challenges. Have some dignity. Here's a theory: if less woman threw themselves about like bad grapes, the men of the world would shape up to get girls. Less creeps like Louis. I mean I love the guy, but seriously I wouldn’t want anyone to date him. He's a sleazeball.

“No,” he says.

I grin and Arisa raises an eyebrow. We wait a bit, wondering if he is going to give us some elaborate explanation, instead he pays the bill. I am a poor child, unfortunately, we walk out of the café towards the platform, noticing and spotting various people from school and thus, ignoring them.

School is strange, it makes you a different person. At Hogwarts I guess I would be what is considered 'popular' because Louis and I are both quidditch players, Gryffindors and lastly, Louis is the last member of the extensive Potter-Weasley family left in this generation of their family still attending Hogwarts. Secretly, though he will never admit it, Louis feels an immense amount of pressure because he wants to be better than the rest of them.

Keep that to yourself.

We board the Hogwarts express feeling cool, because were on time and we have no parents seeing us off. That doesn't make me feel happy, it makes me feel unloved. Arisa and Louis told their parents not to come, my parents are too busy to come.

-Stop, while I have a pitiful emotional moment here-

Getting on to the train and finding a seat, for the first time is not a hassle, with each seventh year step, younger years feel the vibrations of authority and step aside. It's like being The Hulk, but pretty.

“Come on, in here,” Arisa beckons us into an empty compartment. Arisa takes one side. I don't sit next to her, knowing it’s safer to sit next to Louis. I stretch out my spider long legs on Louis and he puts his feet next to Arisa, who then put hers on my lap, creating this jenga-style rectangle of legs and feet in the compartment.

This is why we are the coolest people ever.

We sit in silence and I stare out the window, looking at the platform and the weeping, melancholy faced parents, making me wonder what one earth my parents are doing.

Each tear tumbles and rolls.

For a second I think that could be a line of poetry, but as I think about it more, the more awful it is. That line will never make it into any of the poems of Sophie Finnigan. My collection is too good for that.

The thumping on the compartment door startles Arisa and cracks through the silence. I smile and Louis scowls, Arisa stays indifferent. I slide my legs away, making our leg structure fall apart. Ah, it was good while it lasted.

“Aaron!” I squeal, jumping up and throwing myself on him in a great big hug. I’ve been told that I give bad hugs. People say it feels like I’m trying to escape. Screw you, I am a great hugger. I could be a tree hugger if I wanted.

“Hey, Soph,” he says and I pull away awkwardly, biting my lip. Louis grunts. Stupid boy, he complains when I hug a guy, yet he flirts with any skankasaurus that comes his way. Hypocritical. Hippo- critical. Ha, Louis is a hippo.

“I've got you a present,” he says, twisting the little box in his hand.

Don't be jewellery.

Please for the life of me, don't be jewellery. He'll expect to wear it and I'll lose it. And I'll feel bad about losing it and then he will replace it, starting a crazy cycle of losing, finding and wearing jewellery. I have a headache from the thought of it.

He urges me to open it and I'm not allowed to be rude. My mother taught me better, or so she likes to think. Hence (ok, so my love of connectives is a bit irrational), I carefully rip it open. It's a bracelet with charms.

“Oh my gosh, thank you,” I fake and I practically hear Arisa and Louis smirk. I slide it on my wrist, immediately feeling the chunky weight of it yanking on my hand. It's like a horcrux. He got me a hackin' horcux. See, my poetic skills. I just used alliteration.

“I know how much you like muggle accessories,” he says, smiling.

Well, that's sort of true. I said I liked muggle hair clips. It's the thought that counts. He paid attention to get that piece of information, therefore I approve.

Louis stands up and pulls my hand, turning it round, looking at the bracelet unimpressed. I don't approve of Louis picking my hand up like I'm a doll. I shake him off.

“She doesn't like jewellery,” he says.

Dipshit, who told you to speak?

I need to be angry at him; despite the fact that I might sort-of appreciate his honesty. I forcefully paint an expression of anger on my face; furrowed eyebrows, pouted lips and a poisonous glare. I also push him with a fair amount of strength.

“Is that true?” he asks sweetly. Aaron is so cute; he has shiny blue eyes and slick black hair. And he’s just so innocently adorable.

“Sort of,” I mumble, “I always lose jewellery.”

“It's fine,” he says, “I'll make it up to you with a box of sugar quills.”

I die. Sugar quills are my obsession. It is unnatural how much I love them.

“Ignore him, he's just jealous that he's not going out with me,” I say, giggling and turn to give Louis the you-can-go-away-now glare. He turns around, returning to the compartment.

As I hear the sliding door, Aaron pulls me towards him and our faces grow closer. My cheeks turn red and my heart climbs up my ribcage like monkey bars, making me feel like a nervous little girl in a park all by herself. A flock of ravens swarm in my belly as it twists and convulses.

Get a grip. I need to get a grip, it's just Aaron.

The compartment slams shut and my throat dries like a desert in the summer. Before my lips reach his, Louis leans forward, out of nowhere, next to me and punches Aaron right in the face.

I flinch. It's all silent; everyone else in the carriage disappears like smoke. Aaron stumbles back and I wince, ready to kill Louis, but grateful, ever so wistfully grateful that my best friend just punched my... ok, just Aaron.

Aaron McLaggen, I know his name rhymes, its part of the attraction, I guess is my crush of some sorts. He's asked me to the last two Hogsmeade trips and wrote me letters throughout the holidays. Our relationship is unlabelled, but it's sixty two percent hugging, 8 percent kisses on the lips, twenty percent hand holding and damn, there's a missing ten percent, which he has yet to fill, by labelling our relationship. He initiated it by asking me to Hogsmeade and he better clearly say that I am his girlfriend, for me to accept the title.

Rant aside.

Aaron walks away being the bigger man, saying he'll talk to me later.

I push Louis out of my way again and sit in the compartment next to Arisa. The anger on my face real, with flaring nostrils and knitted eyebrows.

Holy shiznits, I'm going to kill him. My fingers clench into a ball and I want to punch him to show him how it feels. He doesn't say anything; he sits down in a huff. Like he just got hit, like he just had a moment ruined by his best friend.

The boy has ADD.

I'm so angry I resemble a new-born hippogriff. Two words; disgusting and ferocious. I feel like Fleur. 

“What the fuck was that for?”

He shudders hearing me use the f-bomb. I'm not one to swear in English, any other language, but I avoid English expletives in the way you avoid getting kissed by your creepy old great-aunts.

“Her face turns red like a ripe tomato, in anger, embarrassment or another emotion, you'll never know,” Arisa commentates. I ignore her.

“You obviously didn't want to, you looked as uncomfortable as hell,” he says, lounging back in the chair completely avoiding my eye contact.

“He retorts with a pathetic but true comeback, will she accept and forgive or stay angry?” Arisa continues, I'm too mad at Louis to snap at her. I wince at the thought that it was obvious I didn't want to kiss him, but like that tacky muggle line, it's me not him. Genuinely.

“She's thinking,” Arisa says.

Remember what I said about her being mature? I take that back ever so slightly. She's also a cynic and extremely sarcastic, which sort of ruins her maturity,sort of.

“I am,” I reply to Arisa's third person narration. “And now that I have thought, I have concluded Louis is full of bullshit, and should apologize to me and Aaron.”

Louis pouts, oh grow up.

“Sorry,” he says meekly. I can't even dwell on how stupid he has been. Everything has been so awkward since the event I call 'Tripped over and ended up straddling and kissing Louis' or TOESAKL pronounced toe-sackel. It works, trust me.

“I don't know, I don't feel like forgiving you,” I say and his eyes widen.

He should be afraid. I look over to Arisa, who nods in approval.

“TD and a bite,” I play with my words like a murderer with a knife in their fingers, carelessly but oh so careful.

He twitches, he should be so frickin' afraid of me that he should have peed his pants already.

“She offers a treaty, possibly a deal to complete this apology, harsh, but wise.”

Curiosity eats at Arisa as I see her scratch, desperate to ask what TD is, but she won’t because she doesn't ask questions.

“Anything but TD,” he stutters as he tries to say the next word, “t-ta-ta-tampon duty, how about three bites instead.”

I shake my head holding my ground; Arisa bursts in to a dark sardonic October laugh, because she doesn't giggle anymore. It's scary, but I skim over it like a pebble on the water, I will eventually have to deal with Arisa.

I take pity on him and agree. I will bite my best friend three times, it's not a joke. I will physically dig my teeth into his skin.

He outstretches his arm, rolls his sleeves and turns away. I don't understand why we do this. I guess because it's not pleasurable for the both of us, it means we don't keep the anger we have even if we accept the apology as sometimes people still harbour a slight grudge. Biting the other person ensures otherwise. This theory has been tried and tested numerous times and it's been proven to work, to an extent.

I close my eyes and press my mouth onto his hand. Arisa gags slightly, which is fake and for show, to highlight her disgust, she's probably cackling like she would have done on the inside. I gag slightly too due to the soapy taste of his hand. I recoil back to my seat.


“Gosh, you taste of soap, you get away with one bite but you have to apologize to Aaron in public,” I say, trying hard not to wretch.

“You poor thing,” Arisa says, with no actual sympathy.

Ouch. It's as if she just bit me.

Bite, fight, right.

Eureka! Poetic inspiration arrives like a beats hits a bludger, fast and goes away quickly. I stand up and excuse myself, saying I'm going to change with notebook and pen in hand and none of my school uniform.

The most annoying thing is as I walk away my subconscious suddenly brings up the fact that Louis Weasley rhymes as well. Lou-ee Weas-leee. Four syllables, symmetrical and a great deal of assonance. A hell of a lot better than Aaron McLaggen any day.



The feeling swirls inside of his stomach as he curses his stupidity. This wouldn't have happened a week ago, he thought. There she was, slipping like sand away from his firm grasp, the way he liked it. So he punched her boyfriend, at least he thought they were going out. He could never be sure with her.

Arisa leant forward, her eyes full of secrecy.

“So are you going to ask her out?” she says, the sarcasm absent from her voice.

“No,” he says, “why should I?”

She pushes a piece of her dark hair out of the way, her head tilted in delicate thought and eyebrows furrowed at his foolishness, “I'm not one to play love doctor, but your actually idiotic enough to deny the fact you feel something towards Sophie?”

“I don't have feelings for Patch,” he says adamantly.

“Your denial is disgusting,” she says, leaving the compartment as well.


This beta'd by Jacinta Jade.

Chapter 3: Skeletal
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

by the amazing hayley jade @tda

Chapter Three

The notion of unrequited love is a painful one, having such volatile emotions for one person is dangerous, but when they're not reciprocated, they can be deadly. Another common and painful problem is the 'denial dilemma’; this is where one of the pair fail to realize their emotions. A rare case of this is when both have the 'denial dilemma', which makes it the 'denial catastrophe', as the name suggests the results are somewhat explosive.


"So you've been avoiding them?" Arisa asks, raising an eyebrow. Just before I tell her to shut up, the thick noise of Madame Pince shushing us fills the library.

Thank you, I couldn't have done a better job myself.

"Not necessarily," I start and her sceptical expression makes me honest, "yeah, I have."

She shakes her head once again. Arisa isn't particularly encouraging as a friend, if you haven't noticed.

"What possessed you to believe that was good idea?"

She's insulting my intelligence, for the third time today. Oh yeah, I kept count. I'm not going to let this slide. Anyway, I'm not that thick, really. I got good owl results, I didn't fail anything. Which would clearly suggest I am not stupid.

"Well, it hasn't proved to be a bad plan, it's working well," I say in self-defence.

"For one, you're probably upsetting yourself, and you’re upsetting Louis and Aaron by not talking to them and you didn't make Louis apologize, so Aaron may think you've taken Louis’ side and vice-versa."

That's obviously not what's going to happen. My plan shall work; it's too simple to have any major flaws.

"That's not going to happen," I scoff, voicing my thoughts.

"If you say so," Arisa says in a sweet sing-song voice, channelling her old self.

Seizing the opportunity, I decide to figure out why she's become a sarcastic puttana. Her attitude is not acceptable, it's becoming unbearable.

"Arisa, what's wrong?" I ask, looking down at my arithmancy work. She knows what I am talking about.

"Nothing," she stutters.

"What's wrong?" I ask again adamantly, but in my best maternal loving voice, not that I hear my mother using one. If my mother even has one.

"I can't tell you," she says, whispering.

"Are you sure? You know if it's a big secret I can actually keep it."

I have the biggest mouth ever, but if there's ever a secret that's so serious I can't tell anyone, that secret will die with me. In fact, I might even forget it because I hid it in my brain. My brain is as messy as Louis room and that's saying something.

"It has nothing to do you, okay," she sneers.

Salope, okay then.

It's a sensitive topic, noted. She's snapped at me before, but not when I didn’t deserve it.

Luckily, because I am a lucky ducky, Lorcan Scamander walks up to our desk in the library, so that we (me and him) can walk to DADA. He's Louis' best male friend and a good friend of mine. The boy is simply a nice, down to earth person while Lysander (his twin) is sort of up above the clouds, like his mother apparently, who I still haven't met. But his dad is an absolute leg-end.

"I'll talk you later," I say softly to Arisa, hopefully cracking the hostility that hovers in the air and to make her feel bad.

She knows I'm a sensitive drama queen, if I wasn't being nice, I probably would've started crying for attention. Believe me, it's happened before. I'm not too proud of it though, acting like a big fat ugly brat is difficult and gives people the wrong impression of you.

I pack my stuff up and quickly leave with Lorcan, leaving Arisa alone in the library. We walk down the corridor idly chatting about holidays, Lorcan went to Albania with his parents and brother. How lovely it must be to have parents who take you places, together. Mais, Je m’en fou.

As we walk, I swear I can see bits of Aaron's hair sticking up over the crowd. I want to hide behind Lorcan, who laughs at my flailing as I hear Aaron's voice call out, "Sophie!"

"Hide me," I whisper to Lorcan, who then thinks it will be really funny to point me out.

"McLaggen, she's here," he says.

That's another boy I want to add on my to kill list:
Roger Davies, the second
Louis Weasley
Lorcan Scamander

"Let's talk," he says and Lorcan steps away exposing me.

Seeing that he isn't wanted here Lorcan waves, smiles and leaves.


If Arisa is right, I might just eat myself.

"Sophie," he says, commanding my eye contact.

Oh, here we go. This doesn't sound like it's going to go well.

"Have you been avoiding me?" he asks.

"No," I say and the taste of rotten sardines is thick in my throat from the blatant lie.

"I think you have," he says, his voice getting deeper. I look around and the corridor is slowly emptying itself. Ack, I'm going to be late for DADA.

"I've got to go," I say, not moving an inch.

"It's fine, I get it, you have a thing with Louis."

Err, no. Not really. Not at all. Abso-frickin'-lutley not.

He continues, "I think it's best if we broke up."

Oh, so we were technically a couple, you learn something new everyday. Bollocks, we were a couple. No longer. Past tense.

I keep my dignity and say, "yeah, we should."

He looks disheartened by my answer. If you didn't want it to happen, why did you suggest it? It's simple. Boys are so fickle. If you like a girl, ask her out. If you no longer like the girl, break up with her. This should all be in ‘Love for Dummies’, which I guess I have to write.

He turns around and walks away. Okay, I'm confused, so hackin' confused. As a result of all this, I decide to go to my room and mope by writing some morbid poetry. The fat lady sends me a dirty look, it's like she knows I’m supposed to be in a lesson. That portrait has too much sass.

I walk through the common room, where a couple of sixth years are sitting. I storm up the stairs to my dormitory and flop on the bed. As the bed shifts from my weight I notice a piece of parchment, I pick it up and begin to skim read.

Patch, you've been avoiding me. Not cool, mon amie, not cool at all. I thought all was forgiven when you bit my 'soapy' hand, and yes I do have bite marks. You would have seen them, if you'd been talking to me. Look at what you've missed by avoiding me, if it's about the punch, I don't regret it, you didn't want to kiss McLaggen, even if you deny it little Patch-ling. If it's about what happened at the gender-bender pyjama party, it was no big deal.
Anyway, that ramble took way to long. Get your sleeping bag, face masks and whatever you girls take to sleepovers, because we're doing number three on our list.

I groan, because once Louis has his mind set on something, it's going to happen. For example, when Louis decides he's going to play a killer game of Quidditch, he will score so many times it's unbelievable. When he challenges himself with something he has to prove to himself that he can do it, making a cyclic system of always trying to one up himself. It's so confusing, but it's something you get used to and you just sit on the carousel and play along by sitting on your horse.

This may be a step too far. I bet it’s horrible down there… in the chamber of secrets. It's probably not even safe to enter, there's a corpse of a basilisk down there. That is absolutely repugnant.

I remember the time Louis and I tried to hatch a basilisk, we stole Victoire's toad when we were eight and put it on an egg from the kitchen. It was Teddy's fault for trying to scare us by telling us what a basilisk was, then he told us how Herpo the Foul made one. Victoire yelled at us for toad theft. She was so angry; she cracked the egg by stomping on it. At least, that’s what I think happened or maybe I stepped on it.

All I really remember is crying and Louis consoling me, which I seem to have made a habit of. I roll in bed, thinking. Thinking about how this plan won't work, how Moaning Myrtle will tattle on us, how we'll die if we possibly get into the chamber of secrets.

This is too much.

But then I hear a voice in my head threatening me and calling me a chicken. Pfft. I'm not a chicken, I'll do it, I will. I'm not a Gryffindor for no reason.

After I mope in my room for a bit, lunch time arrives. On cue, hunger swells in my stomach like water in a kettle. It burns. I push myself out of bed and start my begrudgingly awful post break-up walk to the great hall. Just to let you know, I look awesome. My skirt is rolled up so high, it looks like a belt. I am not wearing make-up and I am walking like a model with swishing hips (a bit like a ho).

I make my way to the top of the Gryffindor table where all we cool seventh years sit, to see Louis and Lorcan, the blondies, sitting together.

I swagger my way up to them in all my sexy glory.

Well, as sexy as a girl called Velma can get. I mean middle names always seem to be an issue in the wizarding world. I bond with Albus Potter, because he dislikes his middle name Severus, not just because the person who had the name was fugly, but it sounded horrible.

Sev-eeer-us, three syllables of vom.

Velll-maa is two syllables of junk.

Off Topic.

I pour myself some pumpkin juice and sit down.

"D'ya get my note?" Louis asks.


Lorcan looks at me, mouthing something like 'bear roof who?' Or 'where were you?’,I guess it's the latter.

I drag my hand across my lips in a zip motion. Louis catches me and raises an eyebrow.

"What's going on between you two?" he asks.


"Nothing," I say.

"Except, Finnigan here skipped DADA to hang out with McLaggen," he says suggestively.

Oh, Lorcan. Lorcan, Lorcan, simple misguided annoyingly stupid insane boy. Hmm, that was bit long.

"Did you?" Louis asks, leaning forward.

Sit back, salop.

"I did.”

Louis sits back, dejected by my tone. I am a scary lady.

"You did?" he asks.

"I did," I say, snatching a piece of bread from the table. Nom nom.

"What did you talk about?"

"Do you really want to know?" I ask, placing another piece of bread in my mouth and folding my arms across my (big-breasted, just joking) chest.

"No?" he asks, checking for the safest answer.

"Well, we broke up."

Lorcan stops eating and slowly puts his fork to the plate.

It's not that shocking.

Louis on the other hand, doesn't react. Heartless.

"Who broke up with who?" Lorcan asks.

I ponder on that for a second, "I guess it was mutual."

"Mutual, no break up is mutual," Louis scoffs, thanks for the sympathy, my dear ol' buddy.

"In fact it was," I retort, "he suggested it and I agreed."

"Well, that explains the short skirt," he says arrogantly.

Lorcan is silent. Smart move.

"I don't see why my skirt length is any of your business," I emphasise every syllable with half a mind to give him half a peace sign.

He goldfishes for a bit, I ignore him and return to my food. I've lost my appetite and as I'm about to stand up, Louis speaks to me, "you're still coming tonight?"

As I stand up, I turn and say, "you bet your sweet bippy, I am."

They look at me in confusion and I walk away, I’m not going to dwell on it.

Mental note: I should know the meaning, root and origin of idioms and phrases before I use them.

I go to Charms on time, take my seat and learn nothing throughout the whole lesson. The professor just prattles on about various charms and demonstrated them, but never gave us the chance. Magical theory is mind numbing without the practical. The best part of being a witch is swishing your wand, saying some nonsensical words and making things happen. I daydream for most of the time, imagining myself swashbuckling as a female pirate on a big red ship. It made no sense whatsoever, but it made the lesson zip past so I only caught the homework being set.

An essay. Here's a secret: I like writing essays, I like writing anything so long as my quill is on the parchment, I am happy.

With the ending of the charms lesson, I am free from the structure of education until tomorrow. Off to do homework, which I will enjoy as its two essays. The research I have to do for the essays I will hate and probably get Arisa to explain it to me.

I get to my dormitory, have an idle chat with my roommate Izzy Wright who is an absolute sweetheart about quidditch and how there is a practice on Sunday. I fumble through homework and textbooks and start everything but finish nothing. Eventually I give up and go sit in the common room to find Arisa reading a book.

Time to act like nothing happened in the library.

“Have you heard?” I ask, sitting next to her.

“That you broke and McLaggen broke up?” she asks and I nod. “Are you all right?”

I'm so relieved that she doesn't yell at me for not telling her or something petty like that and genuinely cares about how I am.

“I think so, I'm not sure, I guess I'm confused, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel,” I say.

“Your mind will straighten everything out, soon enough,” she says, placing a bookmark in her book and slides it next to her, giving me her full attention.

Things are looking good on the Arisa Loveday and Sophie Finnigan friendship front. Expect, there’s no sunshine. Weather metaphors, anyone? No. I’ll shut up then. 

“I think we should get ready for tonight,” Arisa suggests in a soft tone.

She's back, time to party.


Packing to go to chamber of secrets is weird. I mean it's a place you hear Binns talk about lesson , in between waking up and falling asleep. You feel like it's not real, nobody touches that sink in the second floor bathroom, not that many people go there in the first place. Arisa and I do, Moaning Myrtle and Arisa are pretty much friends. She hates me though but Peeves loves me, so it's all cool. He calls me kooky.

It takes a while, I put things in a bag, Arisa checks them, rearranges them and replaces them. This is all while she's explaining to me the many issues of taking lots of NEWTs. Not to stereotype or anything, she's Chinese and you know what they say about Chinese people, they are smart and they make awesome food. Arisa's mother, Cho, makes the best food ever. Slap me if that was racist.

Thinking about food, I'm hungry. I eat a lot, I have a fast metabolism I think, but to be honest I'm too sure what that means.

The plan, according to Arisa is that we skip dinner and go to the bathroom while everyone's eating. By the time someone goes looking for us or thinks about how the four typical trouble makers are missing, we'll be in the chamber and untraceable. We set out for the bathroom, walking in the direction of the great hall like everyone else, then take a detour. I still get lost, I've given six and a bit years to this place and I can't go somewhere without getting confused or lost. That's why I walk with people to lessons, or I'll be ridiculously late.

We arrive at the lavatory. Isn't the word lavatory amazing? La-va-tre, not la-vo-to-ry, makes a weird flushing sensation in your mouth with spit, it's so fantastic. It's like an onomatopoeia.

The first sound I hear is a raucous splashing and Myrtle's wailing because there are boys in her toilets. Fair enough. It's like an invasion of her eternal afterlife.

Arisa immediately greets her and she stops wailing but her whiny complains continue.

"Myrtle," she says and Myrtle squeals like a pig in response. What happened to saying mmhhm or okay?

"You know your chunky big glasses are all the rage now," she says.


"Really?" Myrtle asks astonished.

"They are, aren't they Sophie?" She asks, glaring at me.

I look to Louis and Lorcan who shrug. Useful.

"My sunglasses cover more than half my face," I deadpan. Louis and Lorcan facepalm at my stupidity, but Myrtle takes it.

"Olive Hornby never understood fashion," she says.

"Look at her now, she's dead and nobody remembers her name," Arisa uses a perfect gossip tone.

"So what brings them to my toilet?" she spits, not that she can spit because she's dead. And the dead can't do things like spitting.

"We're camping out in the chamber of secrets," Arisa replies.

Myrtle swirls in the air, then floats in front of the blondies and says, "ooooh."

She pauses in thought.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she suggests, "I mean take it from me, it's revolting down there."

"We're willing to take the risk," Louis says.

She hmmphs, that's not a verb but let's pretend it is. Myrtle flies to her stall and a then silence follows the violent splash.

Louis and Lorcan turn to Arisa, impressed. I am to, she deserves a medal this girl. A medal for dealing with the most annoying ghost on the planet. We all look to each other for a moment, waiting for the next stage of the plan. Fred (Louis) turns to Shaggy (Lorcan) and passes him a piece of paper.

"Eh, mate, what's this nonsense?" Lorcan asks after reading it.

"It's parseltongue," Louis says.

"And why do I need to read it?" Lorcan asks.

I step to the side, so I'm now by the dreaded tap. I run my hand over it and feel the engraved snake and shudder.

I'm so going to end up possessed or expelled. Tuning back into the blondies bickering I hear Louis say something about Lorcan being a pure blood.

"And why does that make a difference?" Lorcan asks.

"This is the chamber of secrets made by pureblood loon, Salazar Slytherin, it might have a blood purity detecting charm."

"Mate, that's absolute nonsense, there's no such thing," Lorcan retorts.

There's a lovers spat in the second floor girls bathroom.

Arisa clicks her feet to the ground, commanding their attention. They ignore her so she strides up to them snatches the piece of paper and slides to the sink.

"While watching you argue is amusing, we haven't got time to dilly-dally," she says, slicing through their bickering.

She places her hand on the snake and reads out the parseltongue in a sly and soft voice.

It sound like pure sibilance, something clunks and the ground shakes. Immediately, I shut my eyes and the noise continues for another moment, scrapes and scratches. It stops and silence falls on the bathroom, except for the noise of the dripping toilet, like water torture.

Somebody pokes me and I open my eyes. It’s Louis. I grab his arm and notice the gaping hole where the sink was. It’s a pipe, about the size for one person to drop down.

Arisa looks gob-smacked.

"So, who's first?" Lorcan asks.

Not me, not me.

"I'll go, since you're all afraid," Arisa challenges us and we all silently cower at her pure fearlessness. 

She steps to the edge of the hole and jumps. Arisa doesn't scream or yelp, she simply yells back to us once she's landed how it's not far but the stench is revolting. Next, is me. I close my eyes and hop off the end.

The fall is quick and I land on rubble and what appear to be bones. I grimace at the broken white pieces which were once part of some creature’s skeleton.

Oh, this place smells. I stand up, pull myself to the side and adjust my backpack while Louis and Lorcan come down.

It reeks.

It's cold.

And there's a freaking echo.

It's so bloody cold.

We make our way through the chamber; our footsteps ricochet around and reverberate like a bell. We walk a bit through the stone corridors, shivering in silence. I walk next to Louis, our shoulders and arms side by side, rubbing together.

Then we see a large brass or golden sort of circular door, like a door to a top secret vault you see in those muggle spy movies. I love those movies.

"What the hell do we do now?" Arisa growls and the three of them start to bicker. I hold my wand against the door and begin to whisper a myriad of 's' sounds that sound like the phrase Arisa used on the tap.

The brass snakes that adorn the door-y/gate thing slither away as it opens.

This place takes creepy to a whole new level.

I step in first and the rest of them follow. Oh, yeah. I'd done it while they were arguing.

The chamber is lined with snake statues; I bet Salazar Slytherin worshipped snakes. What the heck is the point of lining your chamber with snake statues?

I take a deep breath from the anxiety and quickly slam my hand to my nose. The smell is vom, absolutely repulsive. As I look forward my eyes catch sight of the wonderful dead basilisk, lying in front of the statue of Creepy McSnakeworshiper's statue. It's bloody scary.

There's junk dripping from the ceiling and bones jutting out of the basilisk.

I look back to Louis, who then suggests that we should sleep in the spot I'm standing at so we’re not too close to the rotting corpse of the snake. I cough, splutter and gag. Then my teeth chatter, my body shivers and my fingers tremble. This is way out of my adventure capability levels.

“How about we stay up, I don't feel safe sleeping in this place?” Lorcan suggests.

Arisa and I agree and earn looks from Louis. Sit down, boy, it's cold. We huddle together, to preserve body warmth. I wriggle next to Louis, placing my head on his shoulder.

“I never asked you earlier,” he says, stopping as his teeth chatter, “are you all right about you and McLaggen?”

Phew, he still cares about my feelings.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Anyway, you don't need him.”

I agree.

"Your my best friend and I love you and I don't want any creeps touching you, you’re my third sister,” he says, reassuringly , but I don't feel reassured. I yawn, my nose finally adjusting to the smell.

Just as I’m drifting off, the sound of Arisa’s voice bounces around saying, “liar.”

Merci beacoup, mon amie.

Then I hear another noise, the sound of slithering snakes and clacking shoes.


A/N:  Beta'd by the lovely Jacinta Jade.


Merci beacoup, mon amie= thank you, my frriend

Chapter 4: Maternal
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

Amazing CI by hayleyjade@tda.

Chapter Four

"In all my time as a teacher, never have I seen such unwarranted stupidity from students, for an act like this I have the right mind to expel you."

This isn't promising; she's not yelling or screeching, her voice has turned deep with an authoritative tone. She means the business.

The walk from the chamber to the headmistress's office is in dead silence, except for the noise of her shoes clicking against the stone as she briskly walks a couple of strides in front of us. We're still shivering and we keep glancing at each other, anticipating what's going to happen next.

I'll tell you what's going to happen. I'm going to get expelled and that will be the start of my downward spiral of meaningless sex, alcoholism, violence, you know the whole street life shenanigans. I'll be those kind of people, that when they go missing, even their parents won't care.

To be fair, I did run away from home when I was eight for a whole day and nobody noticed.
We finally arrive in the heads office, I feel a bit warmer now. I take a deep breath ready to receive my fate.

"This supersedes all of your past antics, what on earth led you to the Chamber of Secrets like it was a campsite?"

I look everywhere but her eyes, hoping this is just one of those a hundred and one rhetorical questions you get when somebody is furious at you.

"Well, you've answered the question yourself, this school is a great place and we wanted an adventure, so we decided to have a camp out in the chamber," Louis says slyly. 

Stupid boy. He needs to shut his big mouth.

Arisa catches my eye, the look on her face, one of pure desperation. I decide the best way to get out of this is the way I get out of everything. Play it innocent. I chatter my teeth violently and begin to shake vigorously to show my shivering has gone to a whole new level.

McGonagall looks at me, her eyes wide and worried.

"Sophie, are you okay?" She asks, her sweeter more caring voice coming out.

Let the acting begin, Louis catches on.

"She's really fragile, probably coming down with hypothermia," he says, putting his arm around me.

"Weasley, take her to hospital wing."

Louis turns me around and slowly guides me out of her office.

"It seems you four have punished yourselves enough," she says, as I begin to hyperventilate, "you’re not expelled, but you'll be having a lot of detention."

Just as we leave the room I hear her say, "Loveday, Scamander, straight to bed."

Louis and I keep up the rouse for a bit, until we turn into another corridor. I begin to giggle profusely.

"I can't believe we got away with it," I laugh.

Louis looks bemused and then pokes me.

"I thought you were serious, Patch," he says, "you  had me panicked, that I'd forced you down there and you were ill and you were going to die.

Chill out.

His worry makes me laugh more, he's adorable.

"I guess I'm just a fantastic actress," I say gloating as he pushes me towards the wall.
"Well, it wasn't funny," he says in a huff.

"Aww, Lou," I coo. He glares at me and I shut up as we grow closer to the hospital wing.

"You have to admit that was amazing, we got away with it," he says already gloating, the whole school's going to know by breakfast. Big mouth.

"We didn't spend the night, we got caught and we're going to spend the rest of our seventh year under watchful eye and in detention, we failed," I say, poking him with each point.

Louis' lists and plans are never about the thing itself; it's never about finishing what you started. It's about the spectacle you make doing it. It's about doing something so amazing, that someone (mainly, people in his family) has never done before.

Louis is so proud of himself right now, he must feel like the muggle who walked on the moon. Invincible.

Instead of arguing with me. because he knows I'm right,  he tilts his head in the way he does when he's thinking and asks, "how do you think she caught us?"

"I bet they enchanted it with something like a caterwauling or intruder charm but instead of going off in the chamber, it goes off in her office or something," I say.

Louis squints at me.

I know,  the stupid girl said something smart.

"You're probably right," he says, his voice trailing into silence.

Oh great, my best friend thinks I’m stupid.

As we reach the hospital wing, I bring back my symptoms and pinch myself hard so a few tears roll down my face.

Madame Hanson immediately flies across, checking my head and sends me straight to bed. She waddles to the cupboard getting me a sleeping draught and ushering Louis to leave.

"You can come see your girlfriend before breakfast," she says sweetly.

He immediately begins to protest.

"I understand, but it's no use for you to watch her sleep and worry, go get some sleep and come see your girl in the morning."

I resist the urge to laugh and as Louis leaves, he sends me one final fleeting glance.

I snuggle into the bed, slowly relaxing my body into it , the sleeping draught taking effect and sending me to a dreamless sleep.


When I wake up the first thing I feel is my stomach churning. I didn't eat much yesterday. I leap out of the bed in the most dramatic of fashions;  what else do you expect from a drama queen?

Madame Hanson raises an eyebrow, "I'm guessing you're feeling better?"

"I'm feeling fantastic," I say, smiling brightly.

"Well, if you say you're feeling well you can go, but if you feel remotely ill I want you back here immediately, Finnigan," she says sternly, a look of exasperation forming on her face.

I nod, "of course."

I walk briskly to the common room, getting another funny look from the fat lady. She just doesn't like me. Oh well, not that I care if an obese portrait doesn't like me. It's only a picture that moves. Did I mention it was an obese picture? Go on a diet.

I get up to dormitory, which is empty, meaning I'm late for breakfast. After showering quickly and throwing my uniform on, I run down to the great hall. I need to eat so badly it's unbelievable. My hunger is hungry. I skid over to the Gryffindor table, turning a few heads; they're not used to me looking this rough. I usually look immaculately sexy.

"We weren't expecting to see you," Arisa says, "nice acting by the way."

I know, I was just awesome last night.

I look to Louis and he blushes. He's just embarrassed that Arisa could tell I was acting and he couldn't. Some friend he is. I dig into the food, eating anything and everything that will get to my mouth.

"Whoa, somebody's hungry," Lorcan says.

"Shut up, fatty," I retort, my mouth full of food. I quickly hide my mouth with my hand. Like my mother says, I lack grace and I am far from ladylike. Though I think it’s rich coming from her. In fact, it's expensive coming from her.

While I'm engrossed in my food, I catch sight of my mother's owl coming in. Oh god. She's found out about our little trip to the Chamber, she's probably going to send me a howler. Cheese, the last thing I want is a howler. Erase that, it's the last thing anybody wants to receive in the post.

The owl named Piff arrives gracefully and drops a letter and leaves. Let me tell you, that owl hates my guts, it doesn't even expect treats. It hates me so much that it just leaves without giving me a second glance.

Yep, animals and portraits love me.

The three of them look at me oddly, slightly worried. They're well aware of the usual drama that follows once I've received a letter from my mother.

Dear Sophie,

We haven't spoken for so long, my fault not yours. I've been meaning to tell you something, I just haven't found the right way of putting it. But then I realised I'd been delaying it for so long, it wouldn't be a secret anymore. Sorry for the rambling, I'm not quite myself. I've been very excitable and giddy lately.

Look at me waffling, let me cut to the chase: I'm pregnant!

Isn't it wonderful? You’re finally going to have a little brother or sister, I know how badly you've wanted one, since you were a little girl. I've always wanted another child.
Sophie, do reply, you never seem to reply to my letters. It upsets me, you know what, you should send me a list of baby names you like. Then, when the baby comes in December, we'll have a name ready.

Love from your Mum

HOLY GUACAMOLE. Forget about being sixteen and pregnant, the woman's in her forties and pregnant. That doesn't sit quite right with me and dear god; she let the devil get her preggers. As in she let Michael, oh her and Michael have been having sex.

This is too much to think about.

So, her first perganancy was a drunk night out, this one, however, is in relation to the fact that she lets the devil sleep in her bed.

I feel sick. She's carrying the devil’s spawn.

"Patch, what did she write?" Louis asks.

"She's carrying the devil’s spawn, she's going to die. She's happy, she's never happy. It's like she doesn't even realize that I'm her child," I ramble, running around in circles with my words.

Clearly, he doesn't understand anything I'm saying. I don't even know what I'm saying.

Arisa takes a different approach and snatches the letter out of my hand and skim reads it at lightning pace.

"Romilda's pregnant," she deadpans.

I feel sick hearing that out loud. My emotions flutter and fly, and ignite like a fire as I start sobbing.

"Well, that's...something," Lorcan says in thought.

Louis doesn't say anything; he pulls me closer to him and wraps his arms around my shoulder.

"It's not a bad thing," he says to me quietly so nobody else can hear.

"But it is," I moan, "the kid’s gonna have Michael for a dad, it's gonna turn out evil and ruin my life in all possible ways."

"Patch, that's not going to happen," he says, wiping one of my tears away. "Look at Lucy and Molly, their dad's a git, everyone agrees, but who doesn't love them?"

"Okay," I agree.

Arisa exchanges the here-we-go-again look with Lorcan. Don't think I haven't noticed. 

"Sophie, quit your bitchin' and let’s get to Arithmancy."

Louis glares at her, she ignores the look, then pulls me up and we walk together to Arithmancy.

"You don't need to be upset," she says, trying to be sweet but annoyance seeps into her voice. 

"Your mother's pregnant get over it. You have your dad, you have your friends and you're getting a little sibling and just like your mother said, you've always wanted one.  You can't be so over the top all the time, it's annoying. You're becoming annoying, we're not kids anymore."

She has a point there.

“Not to mention, Louis is completely all over you, it's disgusting.”

She's lost me again.

A/N: Check out my new story. Thanks for the reviews, I got some absolutely lovely ones. SO keep 'em coming. I am currently writing chapter seven. :)

This is beta'd once again by the lovely Jacinta Jade, go check out Insanity, it won't fail to please. :)

Thank you and review!

Seriously, fill up that little box below, 


Chapter 5: Temperamental
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

Chapter five

It's human nature to compete, we compete for territory (trying to beat everyone to the best house), food (supermarket brawls) and most of all mates. Now, we may not compete in the ways that animals do or the way our ancestors did before us. But that competitive nature is ingrained into our lives and it's dominant in some more than others. Because sometimes, winning is absolutely everything and as many say, 'all's fair in love and war'.


At first, I was furious at Arisa for saying that, how could my best friend say something like that to me? But as the words sunk in, replaying like an obnoxious song on the radio, I began to see the honesty in her words. I like to play things up and it's funny, sometimes. But the oh-so-painful truth is, I like Louis, like making a massive spectacle, like flashing and glittering in the spotlight for attention. We are two people who thrive in the limelight.

I'm an attention whore. Why? I don't even have a clue.

And thinking about it, the people's attention that I want I can't get by screaming and squirming at everything. My parents want to talk to me, and I don't reply. And I don't even know what to do with Louis. Its night right now and I'm scribbling random snippets of poetry about my new found lame-ness.

I stay up for most of the night, only to be awoken by Arisa prodding a tired me, harassing me that it's time for the first of our many detentions.

“So is it true, did you guys really get detention for trying to camp out in the chamber of secrets?” Izzy asks as she messes around with her hair. Our roommates stop their gossiping and strain their ears to hear Arisa or me answer.

“Yeah,” Arisa says.

I pull the covers over my head once she's distracted, telling the rest of them about our great escapade, while being bluntly honest and telling them about the rancid smell and the butt freezing cold. Arisa yanks the blanket away from me, exposing my skimpy pyjamas to the cold air of the room. I squeal and she laughs.

“Get ready, we need to try and keep to McGonnagall's good side and that means being on time for detention, which means eating breakfast quickly.”

I tiptoe to the bathroom and get ready in minutes. My brain tells me how nice it would be to have a nice long bubble bath, I resist and come out. Arisa and I walk briskly to breakfast, knowing that we don't want any snooty prefects docking points and getting us in anymore trouble.

As we make our way into the great hall, we pause for a second and glance at the hourglasses. Hufflepuff is still winning. They always win house cup and always lose the quidditch cup.

I nibble my toast and listen to the blondies discuss ways to improve our quidditch team with the captain. The captain being McLaggen.

Man, my life sucks.

Now that I think about it, it wasn't the smartest idea to date my quidditch captain because if we broke up quidd-itch (Because having a broom under your legs is itchy) would become quidd-awkward.

McLaggen eventually goes away and I let out a big sigh, Arisa puts her hand on my shoulder as a pity gesture then goes back to eating her food.

"Oh yeah, just to let you know, you guys have been invited to Vic and Ted's wedding, they finally set a date after the four years of engagement and after they had a kid," he says.
"It's about time," Lorcan says.

He then glances to my left, with a bemused look at Izzy. I turn to her and she's blushing. Am I missing something here? Is there a secret relationship or crush I'm not aware of? I poke Arisa's thigh, then glance between the two of them.

"I've noticed," she whispers to me, then clears her throat and says clearly and loudly, "we should be off to detention."

Ugh, detention. It's the school's way of telling you, we would like to put you in jail but we can't because you're too young and you didn't actually break any laws.

"You know, we’re going to have a hell of a lot of detention," Arisa says and we all groan.
Mystery Incorporated did not get detention, they went and solved mysteries and had fun. This is going to be a big fat ball of suck.

We arrive at the trophy room and of course, we have the classic Hogwarts detention of cleaning and polishing the trophy room without magic. Hooray! Note my sarcasm. Once, Louis' uncles were telling us about all the different detentions they'd ever gotten, his uncle Harry had to help Gilderoy Lockhart answer his fan mail. This then sparked the adults to punish us by helping Harry with his fan mail, because we cut the hair off Molly's dolls. Let me tell you answering fan mail is a blast, women sent him their knickers (well, one did) and all sorts of weird letters.

Our detention is absolutely boring, you have to pick up the trophy, wipe it down then polish it with some other stuff. The worst part is Filch is here breathing down our necks so we can't even talk to pass the fun.

Bah, humbug.

It took three hours, three bloomin' hours before we finished. I've lost the will to live.
When we finish, Filch looks at the trophies, deems them acceptable and tells us to get out of his sight. We oblige gladly. Arisa and Lorcan disappear around a corner, leaving me and Louis.

“Patch, walk with me?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders looking ever so adorable.

This seems like a set-up. Everything is a set-up. Conspiracy theory time!

"Sure,” I say, agreeing with it anyway, looping my arm as he begins to pull me along.

Louis always does things like this pulls me along as if I’m a doll, because he thinks I’ll trip over and break my nose if he isn’t holding me. I pull my arms out of his protective hold, if I’m going to be more mature, I’m going to assert my independence and not just go through things nilly-willy, only if I want to.

I hum to myself, rhyming words in my head like ugly and smugly. I don't know where he's taking me, because I still don't know my way round this castle. And I don't know why he isn't talking to me either.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, sounding worried.

Aha, I know where we are now. We're right by the almost deserted clockwork tower courtyard that always looks like the walls around it are going to crumble and fall down if you touch them.

“Everything's fine,” I answer.

He scrunches up his face, like he always does when he's thinking hard, which looks rather constipated and says, “you're acting differently.”

I step further away from him into the courtyard. "How so, good or bad?”

He ponders on it for a minute, I resist the urge to spin around in circles until I feel dizzy. I ignore my flipping stomach.

“Neither, it's just, you've been different.”

“Well, that's good,” I say, smiling inside but keeping a straight face.

“I prefer it when you're being normal,” he says earnestly.

“I am being normal, I'm just growing up,” I say adamantly, crossing my arms. It looks more mature than it sounds.

“This is about what Arisa told you, isn't it?” he asks and I don't answer. “ Growing up isn't being a bore and stopping being yourself, it's dealing with things in a mature way, and you're not being mature by trying to change yourself in a complete one-eighty,” he says.

“Who are you to judge?” I snap.

“I'm your best friend,” he says quietly.

It looks as if we have found silence. Awkward.

“And I like you,” he says simply.

“Of course you like me,” I say arrogance dancing on my tongue, like a feather in the air.

"No as in, like you, Sophie.”

He called me Sophie, he never calls me Sophie unless it's dead serious.

"Err... I have butterflies in tummy," I say stupidly. Got to love verbal diarrhea.

"So do I."

"And I feel really dizzy," I say. Oh my gosh, mouth stop moving,

"Same," he says.

Finally, I sort myself out and say," I don't know how I feel about anything, let alone you."

"Yes, you do."

"Louis, I don't," I counter.

"I don't believe you," he says, the volume of his voice rising in a crescendo.

I twitch, feeling antsy and eventually speak, "it doesn't work like that, you can't say something big and just expect me to go with it."

"You didn't even give it a chance," he says.

"I wouldn't risk my friendship with you unless I was in love you, like really in love with you," I say, and then the words flush into me like the water that swooshes into a toilet seat. Nice imagery, Finnegan.

Now that I've started, I can't stop, so I keep going as the words start to pound with an infectious rhythm, "you see, I want that my friend’s think I'm crazy kind of love, that reckless kind of love, the every time I see you, I fall to pieces kind of love, that no matter what happens you always get the best of me kind of love."

Holy shiznits, that was rather poetic.

“That's not real,” he says.

“It is, it is to me, if you don't believe in that, I wouldn't be able to think about having a relationship with you,” I say.

He thinks for a second and replies, “So, did McLaggen believe in that nonsense?”

I hold the tears back as he calls my deepest beliefs, one of the things I'm really sure about nonsense and say, “yes, he did.”

Louis notices the expression on my face, through my awful attempt at hiding how I actually feel about his horrendous conversation and he says, “Patch, are you okay?”

I look down at the grass, beneath my feet and slowly count the blades in my head to help myself forget how angry and upset I am, but it doesn't work and I snap, “don’t call me Patch, my name is Sophie.”

“But your name is Patch, you're Patch to me.”

“Well, my name is Sophie and my Patch was a splotch of dried skin, which is gone.”

"Yeah and so is your personality, you know, forget I said anything," he says as his fingers coil and he clenches his fist.

"Fine, I've got homework to be doing," I say, mustering my best argument voice.

My eyes swell and I blink tightly to hold back the tears, the expression on Louis's face quickly turns to a grimace. I'm not even sure what to think of this. I spin around on my heels and as I walk I way, he pulls me by the waist and spins me around, so that my face is within an inch of his.

I inhale and exhale, telling myself that it's alright. It's just Louis; I've got nothing to be afraid of. Nothing to be afraid of, if he hears me breathe.

And then his lips smash into mine. Not a painful explosion, an amazing unexplainable explosion. I kiss him back lightly, my tongue traces the inside of his mouth making me feel light headed and dizzy. His grip on my waist loosens and I pull away, blushing slightly.

"I've been waiting a long time to do that," he says.

"I'm still not in love with you, and a kiss isn't going to change that.”

"I know but I don't plan on giving up, we're not playing a game, but I'm going to win."

A/N: SO something happened. Really, I couldn't keep putting it off. Guess what? I found a real life Patch and Louis. Only she wont date him because she stops liking who she dates, so they have this strange best friends with benefits relationship.

Anyway. what do you think? Of louis, especially Louis. We've established Patch is thick and cute.

ALSO, to all y'all who might have skipped chapter four (looks suspiciously, I'd go read it. It's important to the plot, yah) :) 

Thank you all for your wonderful support. :)

Chapter 6: Mental
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

Chapter Six

Sometimes we fall into bad habits, these can be found annoying to ourselves and others. What’s more frustrating? Breaking a habit that doesn’t need to be broken, especially if your doing it for someone else. If you want change, change. Because letting someone change you is like letting a four year old loose with the Mona Lisa with a permanent marker. Stupid, reckless and degrading.


I assume that I'm a pretty predictable person, so I guess we all can predict I'm avoiding Louis. But first, I hit him; my arm swung around and slapped him right on the left cheek. Then, I yelled at him for probably stealing that sort of tacky line from Hugo because Hugo always uses those 'suave', rather tacky and just plain weird pick up lines in conversations, especially with his girlfriend. As you can expect, she spends a great deal of time telling him off and whacking or pushing him. I like her. She takes no nonsense.

Guess what?

Arisa isn't talking to me either and neither is Lorcan. To be fair on Lorcan, we don't speak that much to begin with. Especially when it comes to quidditch, he always zones out when we play.

So guess who I've been hanging out with?

Since my so-called friends no longer like me or talk to me, Izzy, and wait for it, McLaggen. Oh yeah, I've been hanging out with my ex. No, I'm not crazy, well a bit, but you know. It's not that bad. Okay, it sucks.

But everything this year appears to suck. My first real relationship ended, even if I wasn't sure it was a relationship, I've raked four months of detention with my old friends who no longer speak to me and I'm not talking to my best friend who is pissed at me for not liking him back or hitting him. I'm not too sure which one Louis is angry about. I think it’s the fact I hit him.

And don’t forget the whopper my mother landed on me. She’s you know, you know, preg-, oh know that word that rhymes with stagnant. There’s no need to de-virginize (this brings me to the fact there is a lexical gap in the english language as there is no word for someone who is not a virgin) any ears with that word.

So on this fine Sunday, I hope things get better. I mean, they honestly can’t get that worse. I like the rain. So, take that awkward director of my life, who will want to make it rain as soon as I say ‘the day can’t get much worse’. For one, I hope McLaggen isn't a tyrannical ruthless captain like Lily or Terrence. We actually won every single game under their confusing joint captaincy. Oh my gosh, don't you just love the word cap-tin-see. Three syllables of awesome.

Off topic, once again.

Hopefully, Lorcan and Louis will talk to me. I mean c'mon, I'm bloody irresistible. This wavy hair and cute pout are hackin' adorable. You can't ignore me; it must be like a cardinal sin or something. What is a cardinal sin anyway?

Izzy joins me on my journey to the quidditch pitch. She walks ahead of me, leading me to the pitch, you'd think as the quidditch player I'd know how to get there. You know how Velma in Scooby Doo is always losing her glasses? I just get myself lost. It's rather notsome (negative for awesome, look it up).

Practice starts and I'm immediately grouped with Lorcan and Louis, I mean we are the chasers. It is to be expected. Aaron introduces us to the new beaters and seeker, a tiny third year.

Aaron is completely chilled and lax compared to Lily, the fire breathing quidditch captain or Terrence, the army official. He makes us warm up, run around a bit and then fly for a bit. It's funny, he's making this up as we go along. Nobody cares, it's such a relief he's not torturing us that none of us are bothered. Aaron then notices we're being absolute arses and were just throwing the quaffle randomly, so he tells the beaters to start aiming the bludgers at us.

So, he’s a tad mental, but aren’t all quidditch captains?

Dodging bludgers while trying to score is okay, it's my job as a chaser. It's bloody difficult if your team beaters, who are supposed to be protecting you, keep sending them in your way.

Let's just say, you could hear a lot of interesting profanities on the pitch. Lily would have told us to wash our mouths out with soap. Aaron however, gladly joins us.

I duck quickly, swerving my broom as a bludger swishes past my hair. Louis looks to me, contemplating on passing me the quaffle but goes against it. As a poet, I believe that is symbolism for a dying friendship. Well that sucks.

I propel (another smexy verb, pro-pelle) myself forward on my broom to avoid the beaters. I turn around to see what's going on, only to see Lorcan hovering with a bludger approaching him from behind. Quick: shout or let him get hit? Being a morally upright gryffie, I shout telling him to move which calls him off-guard and as the bludger scrapes past him, he falls. Lorcan plummets to the ground quickly and we all follow him down.

He lands awkwardly on his side, I crouch on the ground next to him.

"Y'all right mate?" Louis asks.

"Of course he's not okay," I snap as Lorcan moans on the ground.

Aaron senses the tension between the two of us and says, "we should take him to the hospital wing."

"That's not necessary," Lorcan says, obviously grappling with the pain and trying to be, err, macho. To be honest, he sounds really airy. There's a word I don't particularly like, macho, rhymes with nacho.

As everyone discusses what to do with Lorcan and he disagrees, claiming he's fine. I stare at his neck. I'm not a vampire. In fourth year, I was playing with a butter knife, I was silly back in the day and sort of cut Lorcan's neck.

And I can't see the scar right now, but I'm sure it's on this side of his neck.

They continue to argue, Lorcan adamantly declaring he's fine as he awkwardly stands up. Then he says, "I swear on the existence of Nargles, that I'm fine."

Lorcan wouldn't say that. Lysander would. Lysander doesn't have a scar on his neck. Lorcan does.

I scrutinize my thoughts for a bit; they've actually swapped, but for how long and why?

"Louis," I say and he turns to me, "where is Lorcan?" I ask.

"He's right there, in front of you Patch, don't be stupid," he says crudely.

I roll my eyes, "that isn't Lorcan, its Lysander."

"God damn, Patch, you're being really stupid now!"

That hurt.

"I'm not stupid," I say coolly, oh yeah, I'll have the moral high ground in this argument, not my fault that the feelings aren't mutual.

"Look at his neck," I hiss to Louis, so he's the only one who hears. The ruckus starts to settle; Aaron takes charge (about time) and helps Lorcan up.

"Practise is over," Aaron declares.

I walk with Louis awkwardly away from the pitch.

"You were right," he says softly, and for a moment I completely forget what he’s talking about.

"I know," I say, irony tilting on my voice. I hate it; absolutely hate it when people call me stupid. I'm not stupid, maybe free-spirited sand a bit silly, but not stupid.

"Let's go find Lorcan, who should be posing as Lysander," Louis says.

We haven't even changed out of our quidditch robes but I follow him.

"We should go to the Ravenclaw common room," he suggests. He walks a couple of strides ahead of me.

I fumble not knowing to do with my hands, someone is always holding my hand or I'm linking arms with someone as I walk across the castle. Especially when I'm with Louis, he always held (I just used the perfect tense, as in he doesn't and won't anymore) my hand.

We arrive at the door of the Ravenclaw common room, luckily we see Henry Glass on his way in. Henry Glass is an easy-going, rather popular 'claw and with a little bit of talking would let us in.

"Hey Glass," I say cutely.

"Finnegan, what's up?" he asks. I turn round to Louis, who rolls his eyes.

"We were wondering if Lysander was in the common room, we have to let him know that Lorcan had an accident," I say, twirling from side to side. I know, je suis tres tres mignonne. I am the epitome of cuteness.

Henry answers the riddle that Louis and I wouldn't have figured out in an age.

And lo and behold, guess who's (pretend) reading muggle literature comfortably in a chair in the 'claw common room?

"Lysander," I say, sweet as sugar, "Lorcan's had an accident during practice, he's in the hospital wing."

Louis stands behind me, watching and waiting carefully.

"Oh dear," he says airily, I have to admit it’s good acting.

"Lorcan, cut the crap, we know it's you," Louis says.

Get it? We did the good cop, bad cop routine. We're like Mystery Inc.; we're going to solve the case of the switching quidditch players.

Lorcan/Lysander is silent for a moment.

He's so guilty. But why swap? It doesn't make sense, what benefit does Lorcan or Lysander get from switching? Or maybe it's for a laugh. Or maybe the swap for every quidditch practice?

"Yeah, it's me," he admits, standing up. I guess we're going to the hospital wing now.

Well, this Sunday is certainly turning out to be an interesting one.

The walk to the hospital wing is one obese awkward silence, with shuffling feet and twisted hands by sides.

Louis, the daredevil, shatters the silence and asks, "why swap?"

Lorcan doesn't respond. What a clunky, chunky moment.

"I think I know," I say in a sing song voice.

"I bet you don't," Lorcan says darkly. Well, it sounded ominous and moody.

“You can't play quidditch-,” I start and Louis cuts me off.

He's trying to ruin my eureka moment, where I solve the mystery and get the glory. Some people can't let go of their 'feelings'. Pathetic.


“It's Sophie,” I say adamantly and continue, “you're awful at playing quidditch.” I giggle.

“Patch,” Louis says through clenched teeth.

I keep going, I'm sick of people saying I'm stupid. I'm going to show everyone that I can think and I can, in fact solve a mystery.

“I mean, you were bloody awful, that is, up until fourth year, when you tried out, but it wasn't you who tried out,” I say and we appear to have stopped walking in the middle of a corridor where people seem to pass.

“Shut up,” Lorcan hisses.

I bet you Moldyshort hissed like that.

Do the kids from Mystery Inc. ever stop their explanation despite the horrible claims of the criminal? No. Will I stop? No.

"So, you figure that Lysander, who is an amazing player, can pretend to be you and play for the Gryffindor team since he's not actually interested in quidditch," I say, thinking. I've figured out the how, but I haven't snagged the all-important, 'why'.

"Merde. Patch, shut up," Louis says.

I brush him off.

"So, why?" I ask, I feel like Sherlock Holmes, like I've got the answers in my palm and I'm plucking it up for dramatic effect.

"You know full well why," he says.

"I don't," I say and Louis shakes his head.

"You two are so bloody up yourselves, you only pay attention to people if they're entertaining or they’ve got something that you're interested in," he spits.

"You haven't even bothered finding out what the hell is wrong with Arisa," he pauses, "don't take this as compliment, but you two are perfect for each other," he slurs.

Lorcan spins round and then storms away, leaving us in the (metaphorical) rain.

"Can't you just keep your mouth shut?" Louis asks, storming off in the same direction as Lorcan. I'll assume that I'm not supposed to follow.

On this fine Sunday, I have learnt that knowledge does not make you intelligent, a basic instinct called common sense does. I think I lost mine, because I don't even know the way back to the bloody common room.

Disclaimer: I still don't own scooby doo, harry potter or anything else pop culture that's referenced in this chapter.

A/N:Thank you all for your lovely reviews on the last chapter, you all seem to understand this story way more than I do. :)

Check out my other stories, Eating Carrot Tops which is a prequel to this and sort of the same style of insanity!

merde= shit

Thank you all

Not to whineee, but c'mon review, over 125 people have favourited the story and the number of reviews is sort of disheartening if that many people like it. 

So thoughts on the swap? on Louis/Patch? Do you want a chapter in Louis/Arisa/Lorcan's p.o.v?

Chapter 7: Sentimental
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

Chapter Seven

We are all bound to our basic survival instincts, which are finding shelter, hunting and gathering and debatably the most important instinct, seeking out the perfect mate. As a Gryffindor, two out of three these things can be found in the Gryffindor common room, all one must do is search.


I got lost. Absolutely, completely, unbearably lost in the castle, it was too hard handle. I almost broke down in tears, I was friendless and alone. I might as well have been moaning Myrtle, but at least she was sure that Arisa likes her.

I found the common room by pure luck and after asking various portraits for directions, I arrived.

That's what you missed in the chronicles of a half Irish, crazy girl with elfin ears. I'm not even joking; I have elf-like pointed ears. I'm probably one sixty-fourth Cornish pixie.

I throw myself onto the sofa in the common room, not caring that I smell like a donkey's behind. Come to think of it, what does a donkey's behind smell like?

"Who would've known?" Aaron says as he sits next to me.

That makes no sense whatsoever. Give it some context.

"Really, I never imagined Lorcan to swap with Lysander, I can't believe he's that desperate to be on the team," he says.

I don't want to talk about that. I don't want to be a bitch.

"Yeah, I guess."

"How did you figure it out, Soph?"

Wait it's time to write a letter:

Dear Sophie's Life,

Might I, as your owner, ask you to tone it down on the unnecessary melodrama? If you didn't notice, for the sake of our future, we have NEWTs (forgot about those didn't you, well so did I, but alas we must not digress) to study for, because I want sunshine in Egypt and we want to be the first Witch to successfully enter the ruins of the Mayans in Peru.

Sophie V. Finnegan.

"It's so cool that you figured it out though, very Ravenclaw of you."

WHOA, I think this is the first time anybody besides my arithmancy professor has ever complimented my own intelligence. Not even my dad. But he's the one who got drunk and impregnated ma mere. So, he's not the sharpest tool in the shed, the brightest colour in the crayon box, etc., etc...

Aaron continues, "you think laterally, while everyone thinks literally, you're always a little out there, but you come up with things that others couldn't dream of."

"Why on earth did we break up?"

What did I just say? What just came out of mouth? That's horrendous. I need to stop speaking for the rest of my life.

I will take a vow of silence for the rest of eternity; it will save me on the awkwardness.


Aha. He speaks.

"Because you and Louis are practically in a relationship," he says.

"We are not," I say.

"Okay," he smiles and I melt a little. He's too cute, "let me prove it to you then."

A challenge.

"You always hold hands, which couples do."

"So do friends,” I counter, shuffling into the sofa.

"You have nicknames and pet names for each other, which is another thing couples do," he says, smirking.

"So what? Loads of friends have nicknames for each other."

"Okay, the clincher, answer this one honestly, have you guys snogged?"

I wouldn't call it a snog, per say. And it wasn't, err, let me get back to you on that one.

Time to take another vow of silence. This one will be more useful.

"I take your silence as a yes," he says.

Oh, Circe.

"I'll take the fourth amendment," I say quickly.

"You mean fifth."

"Yeah, that," I say half-heartedly.

Why is he being so nice?

"Why are you being so nice?"

Yes, I did just repeat my thoughts aloud, yes; you probably do it way more than you think you do. Let's move on shall we.

"Because we're friends," he says.

"True dat," I say.

Aaron chuckles but it's forced. So I decide it's time to take my leave to my dormitory. I'm a conversationalist, if the conversation is awkward, dying or dry, I get out and I get out quick.

I wave goodbye and walk away, in attempt to keep calm, cool and calculated. Mature like cheese.

When I get into the room, the only person there is, wait for it, hold for drama, and revel in the suspense… Arisa. Dun dun dun.


"Sophie, we need to talk," she says, smiling.

Okay, here we go. She's going to break up with me; we're no longer going to be friends.


"Alright-y then, let's talk," I say.

Awkward moment of silence.

More crickets.

My third temporary vow of silence shall be taken right

"I'm sorry," she says.

She is? This isn't what I was expecting.

I change the topic.

"Did you know?" I ask, oh I forgot the rest of the question. "Umm, did you know about Lysander and Lorcan swapping for quidditch?"

She continues the silence for a bit.

"Did you?" I repeat.

"I'd been suspicious, but I ignored the idea, it seemed far too silly," she says, thinking.

Of course she'd known something.

"He's ticked off at me for pointing it out, Lysander is in the hospital wing and I think Louis and Lorcan are there."

"You did the right thing," she says, "he'll be pissed that you pointed it out, but it's the morally right thing to do, we've been cheating, we don't deserve our last wins in quidditch, we should at least play honestly this year."

"I agree," I say, smiling.

"Friends," she says.

"Friends," I agree and our fingers link together for a moment, like we always used to.

Arisa suggests for us to go to the hospital wing.

Nervous awkwardness. I know it; I can feel it right down to my bones, which I believe is pretty deep. It shall be clunky, chunky and funky.

We walk, linking fingers to make up for lost friendship. We don't hug because I don't like hugging, as I'm weird. Le sigh.

When we arrive at the hospital wing, Lorcan is standing by Lysander who is sitting on a bed. He looks fine. Arisa talks to Lorcan, because they're closer and Lorcan glares at me.

Lysander however, is willing to speak to me, “it's good that you figured it out.”

“Why?” I ask.

“You obviously know him well enough to tell us apart and you confronted him about it, I always thought you were a bimbo and a bad friend, but you’ve proved me wrong,” he says, smiling.

The odd thing is, Lorcan can probably hear him but it doesn't faze him, he'll keep talking. Strange things Ravenclaws are.

Lysander returns to his quiet trance and therefore I end up loitering in the hospital wing, completely unwanted. I tap my feet in a steady rhythm, thinking about the absolute epic poem I can write about this weird experience when it’s all over.

Stone, cold and alone,
as the girl tried
to conquer the world on her own

It's a work in progress.


Louis says my name and it catches me off guard, I wobble as I swerve in his direction. He smiles at me. Do not fall for charm; stay relatively angry, he was horrible to you earlier. Resist, don't look into his charming Medusa veela eyes it will-

Too late, he's already grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me out of the hospital wing.

“Damn, I have to be the unluckiest person ever,” I say.

Merde, I just said that out loud.

“No, you’re not,” he says.

And for arguments sake, I counter, “of course I am.”

“You're quite lucky,” he says.

RAR= Resist, argue, retort.

“How?” I ask sceptically.

“You've got me.”

I'm a sucker for a good piece of romcom dialogue. I wish I wasn't such a girl.

Apology accepted.

Hell, if he kept pulling me into moments like this, maybe I would fall in love with him, maybe he could win? Maybe I want to lose?

Hell, if he keeps pulling me like this, maybe I will fall in love with him, maybe he will win? Maybe I want to lose?


(Louis’ P.O.V)

There are two things that need to be said. One, she's up to something. Second, it makes her bloody intoxicating. As in she's like firewhiskey, she makes you drunk. All that lightheaded crap, churning stomach and you become absolutely speechless sort of rubbish. Patch was absolutely right when she said when you fall in love, you feel crazy and all your friends think you've gone insane, because you actually go insane.

Right now, she's quietly reading a book, her expression completely blank as her eyes trail across the page.

I'm such a bloody sap.

I'm watching her read.

And it's so unbelievably interesting, that quite frankly, I could go on at this, watching her that is, for another hour or so, before feeling any inclination to move at all.

"This is pure genius," she says to herself, flicking through the pages. "It's official, I love Blake."


Who the fuck is Blake?

Where is he so I can beat him up? And then kill him, I'm not even joking right now. I won't even Avada Kedavra him, I'll Sweeney Todd his ass.

Okay, maybe not, but it's worth the thought.

I am so whipped.

And she's not even my girlfriend.

Man, this merde sucks.

She glances up at me and breaks out into a giggle.

"Lou, come read this. It's insane. I'm in love," she says.

Yeah, and she's not in love with me.

Why? This is so unfair, I mean she's so cute and sexily cute and adorably cute and deliciously cute. And I'm not gonna lie, I'm pretty cute, smokin' cute that is.

I could trick her into marrying me. She wouldn't particularly mind, but Arisa would actually kill me. That girl is scary.

I sat down next to her on the floor of the common room, as my knee knocks into hers and she shuffled away.

The places the book on my lap, pointing at the title, 'London'. I skim and catch sight of a couple words, like 'every' and 'chartered'.

"So, whaddya think?" She asks, excited.

"It's interesting."

"Don't you just think that the structure is mind blowing, the use of the first person persona as the day becomes dark, it's amazing?” She trills.

"Err, yeah, it's great," I reply and it would be great, if I understood.

"You don't get it, do you?" She asks, pulling the poem closer to her, so it was on both our laps.

I nod.

She giggles.

I love it when she giggles.

I love her.

Swiftly moving on, I say, "well, it's not like I've ever read poetry before, I didn't take muggle studies and you," I jab a finger at her, "never let me read what you write in that little black book of yours."

"Yeah, well it was private. Anyway, stupide, it's about the poverty and desperation of the population of London during the industrial revolution, the last verse is about prostitutes and then there are mentions of little children being used as chimney sweepers which led to diseases like bronchtitis," she explains as she drags her finger in a heart shape around the words 'William Blake'.

Oh, so the bastard wrote this poem. Is he alive, he damn well better be one of those dead ancient poems like Olive and Hammer, that she goes on about.

Maybe to make her love me, I need to use poetry. That is an interesting idea.

"Weasley, are you awake?"

"Wait, you lost me at prostitute. Is this poem kinky?" I ask with a wink. I ooze sexy.

"It's about sexually transmitted diseases, you toerag," she deadpans.

Merde, I sound perverted.

And then a voice argues in my head, 'you're only perverted for her'.

This voice is correct.

This voice is sufficient proof that I am insane.

I need a witty, yet insanely attractive comeback.

"Well, it doesn't say that," I say.

"Because, poems use metaphor, simile and other techniques, it's not a potions textbook," she says.

Then, she pushes me lightly, making me look as off-kilter as I feel around her.

This is not fair.

She's made me a sap.

And she's up to something.

And I love her.

She's making my thoughts go around in circles, making me feel dizzy.

"Where's your little black book, you usually carry it around with you?" I notice.

"I might have sold it," she says coyly.

Sold it? Sold it? The thing that she protects like a new-born baby, the little amazing book which led to her straddling me has been sold. This is sacrilege.

"You what?"

"I sold it to some publishing company, they said I had some interesting poems that would do well in their literary magazine, they paid me three hundred pounds, not bad eh?"

Not bad? This is awful. I still didn't get to read it and she was hiding it from me.

I need to read what was in there or I'll die otherwise.

I've been trying to read what she's been writing in there since fourth year. For three years, three painstaking years and now, I'll never know what she was hiding from me in her little book of literary wonder and magic as she called it.

I need to find out who she sold it to and buy it back.

It will be the single most romantic gesture since Romeo and Juliet, dying for each other and crap. Or was that Bonnie and Clyde?

Disclaimer: I still don't own harry potter or anything else pop culture that's referenced in this chapter. Or Romeo and Juliet, but that's public domain anyway or Bonnie and Clyde, the crazy stealing duo. Also, the poem referenced in this chapter is London by William Blake, read it! It's an amazing poem. Or Sweeney Todd.

ma mere= my mother
stupide= stupid (shock, horror!)

1. Hides. I haven't updated this in a long time. :( I've been swamped at school, exams, homework, coursework. You name it.
2. There will be more poetry and more Louis.
3. Thank you all for the lovely reviews!

Thank you < 3 Sooo, do you like Louis' P.O.V? (it's a helluva lot easier to write than Patch)

Chapter 8: Logical
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

Chapter Eight

Sometimes love can make you crazy and sometimes it has an adverse effect, it makes you practical, intelligent, objective, but the problem is love is wild, creative and unpredictable. 


After a long chain of strange and over detailed letters with my mother, I have learnt that she is far too excited to give birth. Honestly, I’ve never understood why some baby-licking mothers always proudly exclaim how the day they gave birth to their precious child was the best day of their life. I’m no expert in the field of childbirth, but how can hours spent in agony, screaming only to produce a wrinkly bald human like thing, be the best day of your life? It doesn’t make sense. And what and where are you pushing?

In a letter to my mother, I fondly nicknamed the foetus, ‘Toast’, my mother thought this was a sweet sisterly gesture, so that once this child ‘popped’ out, we would be a family of odd and strange nicknames. Secretly, I wanted her to pick up the insult and realize that I was calling the foetus, it, the thing, Toast as precognitive (nice word, I know) nickname for the child’s life.

“Are you writing me a love letter? Because you can just say what you’re feeling, no need to write it down.” Louis says, putting a hand on my shoulder as he takes the seat next to me.

“Writing a letter to my mother,” I say, refusing to look up.

He’s gone mad in a somewhat witty, charming manner, but mad nonetheless. He’s flirting with me every second of every flippin’ minute.

He’ll make an innuendo out of anything.

It’s creepy.

It’s unappealing.

It’s downright attractive.

And then I lied to him.

I never (well, as close as one can get to never) lie to Louis and there I go spewing out absolute bollocks about how I sold my black book. There’s a reason the book is black, I can’t share that stuff with anyone, besides half the poems are shit.

There’s this one poem that I don’t even remember writing, which is an ode to how sexy I think my best friend is. Its existence is worrying. It’s the I-think-you’re-so-hackin’-sexy-I-want-your-babies type of poem. I don’t want him to read that. That stuff is private.

“You know if we had children, we could name them something strange like Peanut, Butter and Jelly,” he says, pretending to pay attention to Professor Adams.

“Lemon, Apple and Orange are better names,” I say.

“So, you agree to having my kids?” He smirks. Jerk.

“Sure, whatever.”

Oh dear, puppy dog eyes.

“So, if I asked you to be my girlfriend would you say no?”

The question buzzes in my brain as I slowly decipher it and decide the best answer, I close my eyes and with an unsure voice, I say, “no?”
He doesn’t reply as the lesson starts, but you can’t help but notice the thick grin spread across his face.

So, here’s the dilemma: I’m here, waiting for him to ask me out and then he doesn’t.

I’m confused, but I decide to just pay attention to Adams, because he’s one of those teachers who hate it when they catch students not giving him their ‘undivided attention’.

Trying to listen for once doesn’t stop me from overthinking and analysing what just happened, the fact is he likes me way more than I like him. And I know that people always say things like find a man who like you more than he likes you, so he’ll put all the effort in the relationship and he’ll treat you like a queen. But that’s rubbish, garbage, trash, or whatever the word is, because he’ll be there putting his heart on the line and I wont care. My not caring will break his heart and who wants the guilt of breaking their best friends’ heart?

And I’m not deluding myself; I’m being rational and sensible for once. I don’t know what love is exactly., I can’t even write a love poem. I can never finish writing a love poem, because love never ends and out of frustration I snap my pen, because love is too difficult and painful. 

I want my heart to jump up when I see his face and then play hopscotch when he walks towards me and when he finally touches me I want my heart to climb up my ribcage as if they were monkey bars.

You see relationships, often remind me that I’m not afraid of heights or falling, but I’m scared to death of every thing that’s going to happen the very moment that my body hits the ground.

As the lesson ends, I sling my bag on my shoulder, leaving Louis to his devices, because he’ll do whatever he plans on doing and there’s no point in stopping him.

Arisa wraps her around me. She can tell I’m upset, but I shan’t complain, Arisa has issues to. I don’t have the right to complain about my petty almost self-inflicted issues, when something is devouring her on the inside. There’s no point in pressuring her, she’ll tell me if she wants to and even if she doesn’t, I know that I’ve been a good friend, because I’ve been there and I always want to be there.

“I feel like a sugar quill,” she says, smiling.

Instead of replying, I twist and pull out a sugar quill and thrust it into her face.

“Merci Beaucoup,” she replies, taking it and beginning to munch.

Things are becoming easy again, slowly but soon it will be like nothing happened.

“What’s up, Louis walked away looking like a crazed and dazed?”

I am thoroughly impressed with her rhyme and try the words in my mouth, “crazed, dazed, and amazed.”

“Hmm,” Arisa muses.

“What are you thinking?”

Our arms swim the distance between us and link.

“Things,” she says, “too many things.”

A/N: HI! I updated again, by time you read this you may have watched the film! I will have! I'm already crying and dancing!

Anyway, i'm quite fond of this chapter, so I'd appreciate reviews, despite the crazy shortness of this chapter. :)

Just to let you know, I'm going on holiday, I'll be writing but not updating.

Merci beacoup= thank you

(haha, i didn't use merde [shit], in this chapter!)

Disclaimer: I don't own HP :)

Chapter 9: Mortal
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

Chapter Nine

One of the greatest problems with love is that it can be unabashedly blind. For any relationship to withstand pressure and to actually function, the pair must be able to see each other for who they are, as there is nothing more treacherous to believe that a person is more than a person.


I'm a nervous wreck, my hairs are standing on end and I'm jittery as hell. There are three possible reasons for my current state: a) the guilt of lying to Louis is eating at my soul and beginning to show on my external features, b) Louis has yet to ask me out and the painful manner of how he is dragging this out is like drawing blood and c) a culmination (what a word!) of a and b, swishing, swooshing and swirling around in my head, ticking like muggle TNT, ready to explode. And then one fine day KA-BOOM, death, it's over, the end, I'm dead.

Don't think I'm foolish enough to want that to happen, because I know the difference between casting a quick killing curse to the head and ending your problems and coping/dealing/sorting them out.

They first person to notice, was in fact, Lorcan.

Can you imagine how awkward this is?

You don't even need to imagine as you can watch this horrendous conversation, right now:

"Sophie," he says my name and takes a breath as I bite my index finger.

"Are you okay?" Lorcan asks.

"I'm fine, you?" I say, gesturing at his arm, sitting rather uncomfortably on the common room sofa.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says.

Err, and this isn't awkward at all.

Lorcan opens his mouth, but quickly shuts up when Hannah Macmillan saunters in, dragging Izzy in tow. She looks rather helpless, she probably is.

He waits patiently for them to walk up to the dormitory before he leans in closer to say something. Nervous, I slide two fingers in my mouth.

"MacMillan has been saying that you cheated on McLaggen with me and then your double-timing me with Louis."

I sigh, this is not the first and I doubt the last one of my evil room mates will spread rumours about me. This one is almost hurtful, not because of it's contents but because it's somewhat believable. Look at it this way: I break up with Mclaggen, then Louis and I seem to be flirting, looking touch feely pretty much straight after I broke up with the quidditch captain, making me resident gryffindor slut.

"Thanks for telling me," I say, standing up about to go to my dormitory.

This will be interesting.

I'm not greeted as I walk in. No surprise.

"She's barely perfect, don't see what any of the guys see in her," Hannah says loudly and despite knowing I'm in my dormitory, I can't shake the feeling that I'm six again and I'm on a playground.

The word 'perfect' pirouettes in my mind and suddenly, I can't help but feel grateful because however silly she may be, she just sorted out my problems. And that's the last thing she'd want to do, help me.

Izzy shifts unconfortabley, but says nothing.

Arisa would have lectured Macmillan about how she was a petty bitch by now, Louis would have told her to shut her up whilst Lorcan and Aaron would have jinxed her. It doesn't actually bother me that Izzy is doesn't say anything, not because I know that she's shy, it's because she's a friend for convenience, for the hell of it. That makes me more appreciative of my insane batshit friends, because even when we fight they still care about me. I feel like Harry Potter right now. Why? I'm untouchable because I'm loved and some stupid rumour is a bit like Moldyshorts.

Filling the silence, Hannah continues to speak, "she should really do something about her ears and her patchy skin."

Her emphasis on the word patchy, makes me cringe. It's always painful to hear your nickname used in a derogatory fashion.

Deciding that I want to keep the moral highground in this stupid battle, I walk out of the room calmly, not giving her the satisfaction of a cat fight.

The thing about Hannah Macmillan is she isn't a deprived, neglected child, neither is she a spoilt brat who genuinely thinks she owns the world. She's taken the natural instinct of wanting to be liked by everyone, and then in her attempt to appear cool, started to act like an ice block and she found that her frozen attitude created more friction than friendliness between herself and others. So, she found herself filling awkward silence with sly comments about others, realizing that girls are rather pathetic creatures and have this awful weakness to gossip. And so began her slippery decent down the hill from niceville to Queen Bitch kingdom.

Just to give credit where it's due, this is Henry Glass' observation and explanation of his ex-girlfriend. He said that once anyone spends significant time with her, they can crack her like a walnut.

You wouldn't expect someone smart like Glass to date a bitch, but he did anyway.

Just to take credit, that's my walnut metaphor. Hands off.

I ask Lorcan where Louis is and he says in the owlery, which leads me to the conclusion he is up to something, for Louis is north and the owlery is south of a magnet and they repel each other at a three metre radius.

Who is he possibly going to send a letter to?

His mother?

I make a constant effort to pay attention to direction. That is, until, I notice Peeves messing around with the bust of Paracelsus.

"Ah! Kooky, long time no see, did you fly away like a bee?"

I laugh, I always do when Peeves breaks out into his usual forced rhyme.

"I've been busy, Peeves," I say.

He frowns comically, "so crazy cootie, you haven't got any pranks in mind," he asks, his tone more mischievous than ever.

"I do, soon and this one involved Filch," I say, thinking back to Louis's list.
He cackles manically and as I walk away says, "you keep getting crazier and crazier, kooky."

I walk straight and hear a high pitched scream as something smacks the floor, and I'm pretty sure the bust of Paracelsus lies on the floor.

I walk in to the owlery and see Louis leaning against a wall, as if in an attempt to fall into it. Carefully, I stride up to Louis and without noticing I am biting the end of three of my fingertips.

"Louis, let's go for a walk," I say and he smiles up at me goofily, and with a lazy flick of his wand the book in his hand disappears. I blink twice, scrutinizing my silly thoughts that Louis was holding muggle literature.

He latches onto my left hand and in the harsh windy september weather, we start to walk in the direction of Hagrid's.

"So, ma cherie, you wanted to go for a walk," he says, but I know what he's really saying, he's asking me to start talking. The word talk and walk are almost synonymous, for us.

"You need to stop it."

He looks down at me confused.

"Stop what?"

"Stop thinking that I'm perfect."

While our legs keep moving, our words. hit a brick wall.

Naturally, I decide to explain further, "you've become one of those people who wear rose-tinted glasses all the time and you've stopped seeing me as a person but as this goal you must attain, because once you win you will be complete. You th-."

"Sophie," he starts.

"Let me finish," I say, "you're under the false assumption that you need a girl, to complete you and that's bullshit and you know it."

I stop for a second and look at the view of the forbidden forrest, finally giving him an opportunity to speak.

He doesn't say anything at first, but I want him to formulate his words. Now I understand that it's not that Louis loves me more than I love him, it's more that he's blinded by emotion and has stopped seeing me as person, but more of a prize and a puzzle piece to complete him. And I hate the idea of being in a relationship that you're so disgustingly reliant on each other, that you can't survive otherwise.

He grabs my hand again and I twist myself, so that we're face to face, and despite wanting to kiss him desperately, I know my lips couldn't unless I told him to the truth.
So, I open my mouth and finally say the words that have had me stuck in a rut.

"I lied, I didn't sell my book."

And somehow unconsciously, my fist has filled my mouth.

A/N: Let's not talk about my update routine or speed. HI! :) This is short, I know, but the next chapter is written.

Patch mentions the manic pixie dream girl in this chapter which Nathan Rabin (the guy who coined the term) describes as "that bubbly, shallow cinematic creature that exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures."

I've been reading GOF, can you tell? let's see who can get it right!

This chapter was foreign language-less :(

Disclaimer: I don't own HP and neither do I own John Green's words 'What a treacherous thing to believe that a person is more than a person.' which is from his amazing book Paper Towns :) nor do I own the concept of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl.

Thanks, review, whatever! :) xx

Chapter 10: Rental
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

Chapter Ten

Sometimes you’re so fixated on making your relationship 'the' relationship, that you forget, sometimes, you just have to let things work themselves out.


"I forgive you."

He's not supposed to forgive me, it's like everything I'd said had flown over his head. To be honest, it’s a bit worse than flying over his head, it’s like everything I said jumped into a spaceship and that spaceship flew billions of light years away and then got lost in a far far away galaxy. Oh, I watch muggle sci-fi.

"I lied Louis, there should be consequences," I say, poking him in all seriousness.

He laughs, "you're seem to be punishing yourself quite well."

I squirm, he’s enjoying this. It's almost as if he knew, but he's not that smart. Sorry Lou, but you’re not. He couldn't have possibly known, could he?

I squeeze my eyelids tight for a second.

"Give me your hands," I say, forcefully with my best authoritative tone. My authoritative tone is basically a failed impression of McGonagall, because of my slight Irish accent and high pitched squeaky voice.

He shoves both his hands out at me and I create an 'L' shape with his thumb and finger on each hand, then with my hands on his wrists, I guide them together to create a rectangle.

We catch eyes for a second and for a moment I'm breathless, but I quickly look down and go back to work.

"This is a frame," I say, tapping the dodgy rectangle that is made out Louis' fingers. "Keep that in mind, this metaphor is a little messy, it's fresh and I haven't thought it through, hopefully the visuals will help."

He doesn't respond, I hope he isn't lost already.

"This is a frame and perfection or what we perceive as perfect fits neatly and nicely into this frame, got it?"

He nods and using my index finger of my clean hand, I trace around Louis’ dry fingers.
"Now, once something fits our requirements to qualify as or exceeds them, it can fit into the frame and that's what we perceive as perfect."

I look into his eyes and he seems to be understanding what I'm babbling about, so I continue.

"But look at the shape your fingers are in, is that a perfect rectangle?" I ask rhetorically.
"It's not, so how can what we perceive as perfect be perfect if the criteria we judge it by is imperfect," I say breathlessly.

Louis opens his mouth about to say something, I but rudely interrupt partially to be a bother, but mainly because I'm not finished and I don't want to lose this bullet-train of thought.

"The frame is mangled and mishaped as it's impossible for a person to be a hundred percent objective, there's always bias. Your perception of perfection is wrong, because you can't acknowledge the flaws with that thing, item," I take a breath, " or person because maybe you're so in love with her too notice that she's not quite right or what you want."

I sigh as I've finished my rant, I'm not even sure if a word of that made any human sense, I'm back to my natural language called incoherency.

"You're insane," he says finally, but he continues, "you've proved your point, now get me a pen."

I raise my eyebrows, but pull a pen out from my pocket and pass it to him. He refuses to take it and begins to speak, "draw a pirate mustache and beard on my face, like you did in last years gender-bender sleepover."

I oblige, taking the cap off the pen and begin to scrawl over his wonderful face, slightly stepping on my toes. I feel him shudder as the pen swirls on his face to make a moustache. 

"Now," he says, "you see my face is like the expensive parchment from Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop with some awful, hideous doodles on it, but you keep looking because once you get past it, it's strange and damn good looking, because there's something valuable behind all the ink, but you like the doodles because it's makes it unique like no other piece of parchment, that you love and you know you love it."

I can't breathe.

"And without the doodles, that paper isn't the paper that you fell in love with and you're still in love with."

I am gobsmacked. If I'm not mistaken, he just used a metaphor and a beautiful one at that. I look down, so he can't see me blushing.

He notices my expression, takes it for confusion and quickly adds, "my frame, your frame and everyone else's may not be perfect, but it's my own shape, so that only one special people can fit in it, of course the things inside are imperfect in someway, even if it's a teeny flaw, but it doesn't stop me from liking it any less."

I look at him, eyeing him, wondering when on earth he could spurt out all this romantic poetic garble. I lean in closer to him and then push him playfully.

"You knew didn't you, that I lied about the book," I say incredulously.

"Well, it seemed a little off, so I investigated-."

"Asked Arisa," I correct him and he sends me a sceptic how-did-you-know glance. 

"So, I asked Arisa, she said you had it and then well, I guess you haven't figured," he says, looking down.

"What exactly did you do?" I ask, getting worried, feeling something bubbling inside of me as I clench my fists.

"Well, I took your book and I repla-."

"Great," I snapped, "did you read it?" I asked, running a hand through my hair.

"I flicked through it," he says easily.

I run my hands through my hair again and put one of my hands on my hips.

"So, you figure that since I lied to you, you, you could just take my most prized possession," I seethe.

The proud smile he had has gone and has been replaced with a confused frown.
I swore under my breath repeatedly and turned around.

Louis calls out at me and says, "will you forgive me?"

Flustered and annoyed, I blurt out the honest answer.


Because that's the best way of showing someone that you're absolutely fuming.

He doesn't reply. He doesn't need to. He’s satisfied with the answer he got.

At least, I had one thing to my advantage, he has a horrible fake mustache drawn on his face.

A/N: Hello, hello, you didn't expect this kind of update speed? Don't get used to it, please don't.

Another shortling, but I felt this conversation couldn't be in one go, this is a novella, can you feel it coming to an end? I can. 2 left. 

I hope Patch didn't confuse you, her and Louis (and well, me) are all on the same wavelength.

nothing. I'll put some italian in the next chapter, I miss it.

Disclaimer: I don't own HP :)

Please review! I'm feeling a tad discourage by the number I'm getting :) 

Chapter 11: Pivotal
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

Chapter Eleven

There's a single moment in every relationship, where everything can change. This is the make it or break it moment. Maybe someone will say 'je t'aime' after along painful wait or maybe it's a world-ending, earth-shattering, leg-popping kiss. And perhaps for the first time and the last time in any relationship, maybe it’s the words somebody scrawled in a little black book.


The sad truth is I stopped being angry before I even made it to the Fat lady's portrait. Which just goes to show how much Louis affects my attention span, which contributes to my (in)sanity, thus (how I've missed my conjunctives!) proving that Louis is bad for my mental health.

I don't even know what I'm doing. Why on earth am I trying to delude myself I don't want to be in a relationship in a Louis? I think I've been confounded for so long that my brain has a natural habit of trying to hide, conceal, break, destroy, exterminate (whoa, these verbs grow stronger by the, well, verb) my feelings for my best friend.

By time I'm in my dormitory, I have not only forgiven Louis but I am somehow, someway, somewhat anxiously excited about what he's done with my book, my black book.

This is exciting.

I clamber onto my bed, yank my book from under my pillow and begin to read.

So, you're reading this probably waiting for some massive declaration of boundless love from Louis, he does have an uncanny knack for expressing his emotion through extreme exaggeration. But this isn't one of those love notes, however it wouldn't surprise me if you received one in the near future.

I guess, I should stop beating round the bush (I've never particularly liked that muggle idiom, do you?) And just get down to the crux (horcrux?) of the matter.

Your question: Why have you been such an uptight frigid bitch lately?

My answer: Well, it's a lot of things, Sophie, but you have a right to know. Don't worry about Lorcan; he only knows one the issues on the winding list of things-that-are-making-Arisa's-life-resemble-hell:

1) Dad. You know he's always been slightly off, a bit too childish, a bit too fun. Well, turns out he's mildly autistic, but for some reason it's more obvious, maybe I'm more perceptive. And it's driving mum round the bend, all they do is argue and she wants to leave, but she can't because she knows he can't function without her. You can tell she wants to be somewhere else with someone else, you can feel the static tension in the air at home. My family is deteriorating.

2) This ones pathetic, it really is. I've been hung up on this for so long that it's devoured my soul. I sound as melodramatic as you. But you know and I know, I should be fucking over him and it's tragic. He's engaged and three years older than me, which is quite the hefty age gap, you know when you consider the fact he's graduated, got a job and I'm still an ickle girl who would make him feel like a cradle robber. And it's insane that I thought he would wait for me.

3) This links with two, I guess as I watched your relationship with Louis progress, I couldn't help but feel like a jealous wanker for being hung up on you-know-who. I mean, why couldn't I have a lovely romance like yours with someone. Someone my age, someone who wasn't frickin' engaged.

So now that I've told you, here's the thing, we're not going to talk about any of this shit, I know you'll want to help, but these are just things I have to let happen, as much to my dismay (this excludes your relationship with Louis, I will be glad to take the post as girly female best friend as you can tell me all about your romantic liaisons).

I smile and frown at the same time, which tugs my lips into a strange pout, sad that Arisa is having a suck-ish time and it's one of those things that you know you just don't talk about, happy that I finally know why. Most muggle shrinks make this horrendous deal out of the importance of talking, but you don’t always need to talk, you can take action. I hide the book after placing a charm on it to make it look like a potions textbook and giggle lightly at my own personal joke.

After chucking the book under the my bed, I start to run down to the common room, to find Arisa and fortunately enough, she’s sitting in front of the fire with her nose in a book. Without any thought (not that I think much before I do anything, anyway) I engulf her in a big friendly I’m-here-for-you-right-now-and-don’t-forget-that epic full of love hug and she hugs me back. And I bet we’re radiating this sickly best friend love glow into the common room, right in front of the nervous little first years.

I let go after a couple of moments, and we sort of just smile at each other as if to say I’ve missed you or in my case I missed you, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you, over and over again.

Not to throw in a bad pun or anything at a lovely best friend moment, but our friendship is magical, I might as well make this as tacky as possible, and our friendship is siriusly magical. We’ve been friends since first year and despite having a trunkful of differences and cauldron full of arguments, our strange friendship works in its weird way. And I don’t have to worry about not being friends with her even after we graduate, because we just get each other.

We start chatting about (bitching about) Hannah Macmillan, because we’re girls and you know it’s some of the horrible things we do and if you’re a girl, I bet you do it too, so don’t look down on me with your fake self-righteousness.

“I don’t understand her,” Arisa says.

“I do, well Glass explained to me, he must have had an aneurysm to go out with her,” I reply.

“She’s mean for the sake of being mean, I think she’s a case that even Sigmund Freud, the whacky drug using muggle guy who is like a leg-end in human psychology,” she says.

“He took drugs?” I laugh as I flex my fingers and wriggle them. I’m so fidgety.

“Strange, right? He wasn’t even that sane, some of his theories are a bit weird.”

“Then, I shall not be reading them.”

Eventually, we give up on our weird conversation as we start mumbling incoherent and strange answers and go to sleep.

The next morning hits me on the head as I wake up and the sun blinds me, making me fall out of bed with the grace of a hippogriff. I clutch my wand and make my bed. Can you imagine actually making your bed, like a muggle? Oh, wouldn’t that be awful. Lightly, I chuckle to myself and Izzy shoots me a weird glance as she sees me sat on the floor, I don’t bother responding and stand up to get ready.

Feeling a weird sense of immature maturity, I get ready, brush my teeth, shower, you know the works. I hum to myself quietly, trying to remember that thing that I need to do. I scan through a mental list and come up with nothing, I don’t actually have any homework to do, which is an impressive feat for a seventh year on the weekend, I do need to practice some charms that we were taught in a lesson, I have had a heart-to-heart to Arisa, I even wrote to my mother, what do I possibly need to do?

I scan the list again, and the once more and one more time, you know, just to be safe and suddenly, I feel the pain of a mental slap and the sound of a siren go off in my brain; I needed to thank Louis for somehow convincing Arisa to admit what was wrong with her, and possibly saving my fizzling out friendship.

I don’t possibly understand how he’s all of a sudden so aware, so girl-smart, it’s like he’s that guy from that absolutely ancient muggle film who suddenly hears what all women are thinking, because he fell in the shower with a hair dryer and turns from jerk to sweetheart.

It was like he was Hugo Weasley.

Now, I have to go find Louis. Merlin, why wasn’t I in Hufflepuff? Maybe then I wouldn’t waste all my time having to locate my friend to talk to them, because I’m shit at locating things.

Fortunately, because this day is being awesome I found Louis extremely easily at the quidditch pitch, which is an unbelievably long walk.

Almost everyone in the world has a special place they like to go when they want to be alone, mine is my bedroom back home, in Hogwarts it’s the girls toilets on the second floor and you can deduce why. Louis’s special hiding/thinking spot is sitting on the stalls of the quidditch pitch, which is usually deserted besides matches and team practices. Because tech-ni-cal-ly (words were made to be broken up phonetically), it’s against school rules to be on the pitch without school permission. I think when Filch finally gets the hallways under control (which is never); he’ll somehow stop people from getting onto the quidditch pitch without permission.

I climb up the uncanny amount of stairs and the wood creaks with each step and once I get to the top, I immediately lock eyes with Louis.

“How angry are you on a scale of one to ten?” he asks, straight to the point as usual.

“Honestly, maybe a three, I’m pretty peeved, you could have executed that oh-so-wonderful plan without theft, but thankyouverymuch it made me really happy,” I trail off at the end as I blush.

“Yourverywelcome,” he says in an equally fast tone, in a strange way I feel nervous to be around Louis, for the first time. Usually, I’m quite happy to frolic around in my most embarrassing revealing pyjamas around him and now I can barely speak a sentence.

I’ve always through falling in love was like a slide, you know you sit, take a deep breath and you glide down easily into happiness. It never occurred to me, that there would be so much friction along the way.

“What do we do now?” I ask.

Here’s the thing, every time you read a romance novel or watch a film, the characters always have this intrinsic (beautiful, beautiful word) natural instincts and always know what do next, when to shut someone up by kissing them, when to tell someone that you might quasi-love-like them, when to ask someone to be your boyfriend/girlfriend/mating partner and maybe some people do have this magical power. I don’t. I have no idea what Louis and I are, or what we’re going to do about whatever we might possibly-might-not-sort-of be.

I’m confused as hell, can you tell?

“What we always do,” he replies, and I sit down because my standing to his sitting made the whole experience more uncomfortable then it already is.

“What do we always do,” he says.

“And what’s that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He grabs my hand, stands up, dragging me along with and as he pulls me down the stairs, he says, “something stupid, we’re going on an adventure, together.”

And suddenly, I know my hand is where it's supposed to be, in his.


You expect a love story to end in a kiss, possibly a wedding, someone bouncing children on their lap, feeling ever so sentimental. But the truth is when you catch tomber amoureaux avec estbay iendfray, you've caught a disease, so it should end with the cure. The cure being certainty, the main part of the disease being doubt, confusion and denial. Because all in all, falling for your best friend isn't just kissing and intimacy tacked onto friendship, it's more than that. It's the slow circling dance around each other, it's all the lies, the truth, the trust, the awkward moments, the fights. Just like in a multiple choice quiz, it's all of the above. You know you have found the cure, when all these pieces come together imperfectly like a piece of patchwork.

A/N: (Read this!) I'M DONE! I'M DONE! WHOOO. This is the last chapter. No epilogue. changed ma mind. (my following garble sounds awfully chavvy and street, because I’m unbelievably tired right now)

I’m well chuffed that I’ve actually finished this in six months, which is not bad, seeing that I’ve never finished any piece of fanfiction, I haven’t even finished a one-shot. Also, I have proof that I’m a prude, my characters only kissed once in this entire endeavour.

Didn’t understand something? Felt it was too vague? Annoyed? There is a sequel. Mwahaha *coughs* from Arisa’s point of view (an excuse to be unnaturally sarcastic and do justice to her character).

Translation: Je t’aime means I love you (in french) +-tomber amoureaux avec estbay iendfray means 'to fall in love with', which is french and then 'estbay iendfray' is best friend in pig latin.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

Be cool and review the last chapter, because it’s the last one and it would be well cool, you know if you told me what you thought about this story, what you disliked, what you would like to see in the sequel?