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    Confessions of Adhara Greengrass | Conessions of makeovers, idiocy and Quidditch practice

        Adhara Greengrass’s reasons as to why her life is on the extremity of being... oh, I don't know:

        In the past 24 hours, I have:
    (1) Screamed at a ghost.
    (2) Screamed at the wild beast in front of the entire Great Hall who are all also under the impression that I am a lesbian.
    (3) Threw pie at Scorpius’s face.
    (4) Hugged Albus. Then sneezed on him.
    (5) And… I’m pretty sure that that green substance that shot out of my nose landed on his shoulder and neck.

        I have just realized something. My life sucks. Well, I haven’t just realized it; in fact, I think I’m destined to be miserable. Really, though. Who else turns their infatuation into a peacock, throws him into the Black Lake, and now sneezes on him — yes, including snot. I think I’m veering towards insanity. The only insane person I’ve ever know is my aunt Daphne. Well, she’s not really insane, just a psycho. Either way, she scares me. What if I become like her? I remember at a family party when we were ten; she threw a goblet at Scorpius. Mind you, he is an idiot, so she had a good excuse for it. But, I don’t want to grow up to become like her! Throwing inanimate objects at people! You already do. Oh, sweet Merlin, I am insane.

        When I woke up this morning I decided that today I would become a new person. Well, not literally. I mean I’m not going to go all Michael Jackson and get face-bleaching and plastic surgery. Yes, I do know who Michael Jackson is, my muggle-loving cousin Scorpius bought one of his records once and brought me to his room then proceeded to blast it and do the moon walk. Yes, we’ve already established that he is a strange individual.

        But, I, Adhara Greengrass am going to give myself a makeover.

        I’ve stolen some of Eleanor’s makeup and because it’s Saturday, she’s out ogling James by the Quidditch Pitch. I have practice at 6, so that gives me ample time to become a new person.

        First step: conceal blemishes.

        I take out the concealer from Eleanor’s enormous cosmetic bag and apply it to the only spot on my face. The back of it says it can conceal anything! Fantastic. The bright red lurker is currently mocking me. And is on my nose. The instructions say to apply then blend. What does blend mean? Oh well. I apply a blob. It’s dripping down my face. Okay, blend. I grab a tissue and begin to wipe up the liquid. This stuff is gross. It smells like chemicals. And it says it’s fragrance-free… I don’t want to know what the version with fragrance smells like. Okay, I’ve decided to forgo concealer. The lurker is still lurking. Stupid lurker.

        Next step: boy entrancers. I grab the set of two and search for the adhesive. The package says it will give me my desired length and volume. I didn’t know eyelashes had volume. Apply adhesive to roots of eyelashes, stick to base of eyelid. Wonderful. And blink. I can’t blink. The adhesive is sticking my eyelid back. All right. This is clearly not working. I think I’ll just forgo boy entrancers as well. I rip of the boy entrancers and… off come my eyelashes from my left eye.

        Oh Merlin. I’m a horrible excuse for a girl. Isn’t this sort of knowledge supposed to come naturally?

        Okay, stay calm.

        They’re just eyelashes. I could just cover my eye with my fringe until they grow back. Yes, perfect.

        Except I have no fringe. I could just cut my own. Yes, people do it all the time.

        I grab the scissors off the counter and brush my hair in place. I snip the hair so it falls just above my eyebrows. Okay. There’s only one problem: my new fringe is crooked. Oh, I hate my life. I decide to even it out. Oh, Merlin. I’ve cut it too short. I look like an idiot. Maybe I’ll just put a headband on so no one will notice. Great idea, Adhara. I congratulate myself for a minute before I realize I still have the problem of the bright red lurker and one eyelash-free eye.

        Oh well, onto the next step: bronzer. To get that California sun-kissed glow. I search for the brush and pop open the compact. I apply it liberally to my whole face and step back to assess myself.

        I look like I have a touch of foreign in me. Which is sadly not the case. The closet thing I have to exotic influence in my family is my aunt Irina. Who can sing in Arabic. But only after a couple of pints of Firewhiskey.

        I look like I’m of African descent. Either that or I’ve just come back from a long vacation in the South. Sadly, neither are valid excuses.

        I try not to be discouraged by my failed attempts at a makeover.

        Next step: eyeliner. Liquid or Kohl? I decide on liquid and apply liberally to the tops and bottoms of my eyes. Oh dear God, I look like I’m channeling my inner Cleopatra.

        My makeover has become a Halloween disguise. And it’s December. I’m three months late.

        From the open bathroom door there is a high-pitched scream. I turn in fright towards the door and see Eleanor standing there in shock.

        “What have you done to yourself?” she screeches at me.

        Lord. Someone is quite dramatic.

        “I’ve given myself a makeover,” I say, as if it was obvious in the first place. She just stares in shock. I look back at my reflection in the mirror. Okay, she does have reason to be scared.

        “You’ve ripped off your eyelashes on your left eye, your face is brown and you’ve your eyeliner is dripping down you chin,” she says.

        “Yes, I know! I was kind of there when it all happened.” I say huffily, crossing my arms over my chest.

        “Well…” she says.

        Is she serious? She can’t start a sentence then stop.

        “Yes?” I ask annoyed.

        “James and I are seeing eachother tonight.”

        “To do what?” I ask rudely.

        “To go on a date,” she says confusedly.

        “Yes, Genius Eleanor, I sort of got that. I meant… what are you going to do on said date?”

        “How am I supposed to know?” she asks huffily.


        “Well… normally one asks where they are being taken.” I say smartly.

        “Well, dates are supposed to be spontaneous. I wasn’t going to ruin the spontaneity of it all.”

        Spontaneous? I wonder if she thinks kidnapping is spontaneous as well.

        “I’m sure.”

        “Why are you being so stroppy?”

        I gasp at her. “I am not being stroppy!”

        “Well…” she says. “I think we’d better do something about your makeover catastrophe.”

        “Who said I needed your help?” I asked rudely.

        “Well, are you going to go to Quidditch practice like that?”



        After two hours, Eleanor had managed to use spells to grow back my hair and eyelashes and had applied make up properly leaving the lurker hidden. I smile contently at my reflection in the glass window and walk towards the Quidditch Pitch.

        My idiot cousin comes barreling over.

        “What happened to your face?”

        Oh, whoever said that he wasn’t simply lovely.

        I ignore him.

        Albus is calling everyone over. Scorpius is still staring at me weirdly. We make our way to the pitch in silence and I try to remember what Eleanor said about walking with swinging your hips. I think I’ve gotten the gist of it.

        “Something wrong, Ads?” Scorpius asks me.


        “You’re walking sort of funny.”

        Okay, maybe less emphasis on sticking out my hips would work.

        This is incredibly difficult. I wonder how Marilyn Monroe did it.

        As I am walking and trying to do the whole hip thing and Scorpius is talking about some topic to do with spaceships…? Sometimes I really do wonder about him. Suddenly I am flat on my face. I must have fallen over that rock. Stupid bloody rock. How graceful I am, really.

        “You all right, then?” asks Scorpius, extending a hand to hoist me up.

        “Just peachy.”

        When Scorpius and I arrive at the center of the Quidditch Pitch the Slytherin team is already gathered and Albus is giving us our play for the next game.

        Scorpius is still rambling about some stupid muggle invention.

        “And, so it basically blasts you to the moon!” he is saying excitedly into my ear.

        You see, Scorpius is one of those people who has never really grasped the art of whispering. He just lowers his voice a few octaves, to which he thinks is a whisper, but what is really how normal people talk.

        Something is seriously wrong with the boy. If he wasn’t my cousin I’d probably hex him into oblivion.

        Now everyone is mounting their brooms and flying off to their positions. Crap. Stupid Scorpius for being queer that I had to think about him and tune out of what Albus was saying.

        “Argh!” I scream at him.

        He stops mid-sentence. “Do you not like blue spaceships?” he asks confusedly.

        I huff at him and walk off. Mounting my broom, I fly off to the side of the pitch. The team is divided into two teams. I look to my left and see Scorpius flying at me full force. I seriously did not think he would be as stupid as to crash into me. I was wrong. He hit me full force and knocked me off my broom. Luckily, I wasn’t that high in the air but, I landed heavily on my bottom. I look up groggily to see Scorpius’ concerned face staring down at me.

        “Oh, thank God, I thought you had hurt yourself!” said Scorpius quickly.

        His comment was so pitiful that I couldn’t even find a response.

        The whole Quidditch team is coming around to see if I’m alright, with Albus walking in front of everyone at a hurried pace. I hate Scorpius.

        “I’m fine,” I say quickly, jumping up and whacking Scorpius in the face, by accident, of course.

        “All right, then,” says Albus raising an eyebrow. His eyes trailing on my face a little longer. He turns to address the rest of the Quidditch team, “back to your places, I think we should try the second play…”

        I grab my broom hastily and mount it flying off towards the corner of the pitch. I turn around to see Scorpius behind me again. Thank Merlin he’s actually controlling his broom this time around.

        “Are you sure you’re all right, Ads? You seem a bit weird today,” he says approaching me.

        “No, I’m just superb,” I retort sarcastically.

        “Oh, well good,” he replies.

        “Yeah,” I say drily. “Because getting catapulted of my broom and onto wet grass is just peachy.”

        “Really, wouldn’t that hurt?” he asks confusedly.

        I really do wonder how many times he was dropped on the head as a child. I think I’ll ask Aunt Astoria next time I see her.

        “Aren’t you excited?” he asks me suddenly excited.

        Uhm, no? “For what?” I ask boredly.

        “For Christmas hols!”

        Oh, yes. Two weeks of parties, tight dresses, disgusting food, mingling with weirdos, my crazy family, whatever my darling brother has decided to do to me as this years’ welcoming home prank (last year was the year when Auburn decided to pants me in front of the party at the Ministry, I wonder what this years’ “funny” will be), absurd gifts (monogrammed towels? I don’t understand why I would ever need to have my full name on my towels.) Anyways, you get the gist.

        “Scorpius, why on earth would I be excited to see Aunt Daphne throw her goblets at people, get whatever gift Auburn will give me, see your grandfather have a total nervy b spaz over my etiquette, see our darling cousin Siobhan and my mad cousin Briony? Not to mention the pile of frills my mother will make me wear, hear Grandmother tell me I should find a proper pureblood boy because soon I’ll get too old and go to frivolous parties full of weird people with bad food?”

        “Well, I’ve always liked Christmas,” he says defensively.

        That’s because you’re an idiot.

        “Honestly, Adhara—”

        Scorpius didn’t finish his sentence because at that moment a bludger hit him smack in the face. He fell off his broom and flew through the air to the ground. I stared in horror at my fallen cousin, no matter how much of and idiot he was. I turned to see the bludger circling and coming back around to hit me, I grabbed my bat and whacked it with all my force. I sighed in relief until I heard the gasp of everyone on the Quidditch team. Well, besides Scorpius because he was knocked out. I turned towards what everyone was looking at: Albus flying through the air and falling into a tree.

        My bludger had sent him flying into a tree! Oh dear Merlin.

        Everyone turned in horror towards me, the psycho bludger-hitter who sent Albus Potter flying into a tree. Inwardly, I begin to hyperventilate.

        What if he was knocked out? Or worse, he’d been hit so hard he’d forgotten his memories and become a loony. Oh. My. God. I’m going to pass out. He’s still not moving. Is he dead? I killed Albus Severus Potter. Blessed be Merlin, I’m a killer.

        Oh. My. God.

        I am going to hell.

        I’m frozen in shock as the Quidditch team surrounds him trying to prod him awake. I look beneath me, poor Scorpius, everyone has forgotten about him. He’s just lying there complaining about hallucinating.

        Meanwhile, Albus is still in the tree. A few Quidditch players have gone to go get the nurse, Madame Pomphrey IV. But, we just call her Poppy. It’s actually quite sad that all the nurses in the past 50 or so years have been called Madame Pomphrey.

        I’ve decided to actually stop hovering in the air like an idiot. I look way to much like the crime suspect.

        Now that I’m on the ground awkwardly holding my broom, I look next to me to see Scorpius still rolling around holding his head.

        I bend down so that I’m eye level with him.

        “Do you think you have brain damage?” I ask.

        “I don’t know,” he says.

        I hold up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?” I ask him.

        “Uhm… three?” he asks.

        And then an idea pops into my head. “No, Scorpius,” I say worriedly. “I was holding up one finger, I think that bludger hit you really hard to the head.”

        Now, he’s panicking. “Oh my God,” he says. “I’m a loony.”

        Not like you weren’t one before but, sure.

        Poppy has arrived and is running towards Albus, who still isn’t moving. The blood drains from my face and I remember that I killed Albus Severus Potter. Oh, my God. Scorpius sits up. “What’s wrong with Albie?” he asks.

        “I killed him,” I whisper.

        “What?” says Scorpius, freaking out, “Albie is dead?”

        “Yes,” I say quietly.

        “Are you taking the piss?” he asks angrily.

        “No, I am not taking the piss!” I shout at him, standing up. “He’s not moving! He—”

        “Has been knocked out,” says Poppy, cutting me off, mid-rant.

        “Knocked out!” I cry, turning to face her. “Praise Merlin!”

        She looks at me like I’ve sprouted three heads.

        Well, he’s alive!

        “Poppy,” says Scorpius frantically, “I’ve gone mad!”

    Author’s Note Thankyous for reading! :)

    chapter image by Ande @ TDA.

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