I Hate This Part

Hogwarts boys are flirts. I’m just going to throw that out there.

I figured going into the year that there was a chance that the three of us were going to be targets of male attention. No, scratch that. I knew that within the first week Serena would have boys lying at her feet. With DD’s and natural blonde waves, she was what almost every society deemed beautiful. And walking down the corridor with her and her sister to the classes we had together, I even caught some upperclassmen giving Penny a passing glance.

With Serena, they groveled.

With Penny, they stared.

With me, they flirted. I don’t know if it’s just the fact that I have a naturally easy-going personality, or that I get along better with boys than (most) girls, but I swear, every boy in Gryffindor, at least, aside from my cousin, has made some passing remark about me and my long legs or curvy hips. Hell, by start of school I’d heard so much from the Weasley’s about being taller than Harry in heels that I’d refrained from wearing them until school started. Always in a joking matter, the guys in our house made comments about me, my body, my demeanor. The twins were amongst the worst, though the two top contenders were-to my shock-Cormac McLaggen, who while not as attractive as I’d expected, wasn’t an eyesore and his attempts could be beaten off easily, and Seamus, whose out of the blue comments got more laughter than surprise, and who I didn’t really have a problem flirting back with. A tall, skater Irish teenage boy? What more could I ask for?

But there were things that were a bit weird. Like the names. Yeah, nicknames. Back home, girls were built like Penny-rods with B cups and no cellulite. Serena likes to claim that once her boobs got full, she stopped storing fat. But for me, fat liked to fall in places the Weasley twins like to call “galleon spots.” My ass, and my boobs. I thanked God that I had C cups that made up for my 40 inch hips every single day, and apparently so did the Gryffindor boys. Because by our first meeting with Dumbledore, Serena and I had nicknames. Less than four days of being at Hogwarts, and we were already Barbie and Bettie. When Seamus had embarrassingly said them across the table, I nearly spit my water out all over our dinner.

“Bettie? As in…Bettie Page?” My eyes widen and I look at the blonde next to me, who giggles and claps her hands together.

“I got Barbie! Yay!” I hit her arm and look back at Seamus.

“Why the fuck would anyone call me Bettie?”

“That’s why!” he says, laughing. “Because one minute you’re all sweet and innocent looking, and then you open your mouth and it’s like some sort of truck driver. You have a dark side-it’s only right that we give you a nickname that fits that.” I narrowed my eyes at him, and then scanned the table.

“Who exactly came up with this nickname?” With an embarrassed look on his face, I see Seamus raise his hand and my eyes widen.

“We all helped him a bit,” George says, taking a bite of a pumpkin pasty. “Don’t take it personally-all the girls have nicknames.”

“At least, the important ones,” Fred says with a smile, and I roll my eyes.

“So really, though, why Bettie? I’m not a pornstar. And I certainly don’t have a bondage fettish.”

“That they know about.” I smack Serena on the shoulder as she giggles, and the boys (and Hermione) all let out surprised laughs.

“I think it takes a little more than making out to know what you like in bed. But you would know, I guess, dearest friend.” Serena shoots daggars at me as the boys stare, and I just take a bite of my pasty. Fred, George, Lee, Seamus, Dean and Cormac, who sat around us, look at each other, before George answers my question for the group.

“We called you Bettie for the same reason we called her Barbie.” He gestures to Serena, and then looks back at me. “Have you looked in a mirror lately? And Seamus was half-right. You do look very sweet and innocent. But you get around friends-people you’re comfortable with-and you turn into this whole different person. It’s not a bad thing. But it’s what makes you Bettie.” I don’t know what to say from here, but I grin at how red Seamus, Dean and Fred have become.

As soon as dinner is over, we meet Penny at the end of the hall to walk to Dumbledore’s office together. He said he only wanted to see me, but the girls, playing true to form as best friends, wanted to walk me there. “What do you think he wants to talk to you about?” Serena asks as we round a corner to the staircase. A couple of what looks to be underclassmen are in a heated embrace on the side of the staircase and break away as we walk up. “Oh don’t mind us, we’re just heading upstairs.” They look at her, confused. “Carry on.” Penny lets out a giggle at their flabbergasted facial expressions, and I just shake my head, taking the first few steps up the staircase.

“I really have no idea. All he said was that he wanted to see me in here as soon as I finished dinner.”

“Maybe it’s just to coordinate meeting dates or something. You’ve always been the planner-maybe he picked up on that.” The staircase starts to move as we make our way up the last steps, and we’re forced to take a detour, so it takes another five minutes before we’re finally in front of the big bird leading to Dumbledore’s office. “Just text me tonight and let me know how everything goes.”

“If we can get around that snoop Lavendar,” Serena says, crossing her arms. “I swear. That girl was looking for trouble the other day-asking if we were getting special treatment because we were new. I really wanted to be like ‘No, bitch. I have to do Snape’s essay, just like you.’” I laughed at Serena’s imitation of herself, and pulled them into a hug before entering Dumbledore’s office. Just like the last time I was in the office, by the time I get to the main room, Dumbledore is speaking to someone. Two people, actually. Both Tonks and Lupin sit in front of his desk, and when I come in Tonks stands up and pulls me into a hug.

“Hello sweetheart!” She pulls away, looking at me in my uniform and giggling. “You sure know how to fit in.” I shrug and look down at my black sparkly Toms, and then reach up to adjust the big yellow flower I’d pinned in my hair this morning (after changing the color from blue to yellow, of course-have to fit the house).

“You should have the reactions first night-three new girls, all with crazy uniforms and American accents. It was priceless.” Tonks grins and slides her arm around my shoulder.

“That’s my girl.” We both turn to look at Dumbledore.

“So why exactly am I here?” He gestures to the seats in front of him, and the both of us sit down.

“Butterscotch?” He holds a tin out to us and as usual, I take one. My sweet tooth is my weakness. “Now, Elle. I know you’re wondering why your friends aren’t here too.”

“Kind of.”

“Well, frankly, this has nothing to do with them,” Lupin says from my other side, and I look at him with raised eyebrows. For the first time, I realize he doesn’t look very happy. “And she shouldn’t have anything to do with this either. Not yet at least.”

“What are we talking about here? Referring to ‘this’ as some sort of thing is beginning to worry me.” Tonks smiles at me, and I look at Dumbledore with raised eyebrows.

“I said you were different, Elle,” Tonks interrupts, smiling. As though different is a good thing, in her head. “I called it, all those weeks ago. And now…”

“Lets not get to ahead of ourselves, Nymphadora.” She glares at Dumbledore, and I would have giggled had it not been for the fact that I feel so awkward and confused at the moment. “Elle, you’re familiar with the term ‘Muse,’ correct?” I nod again, and he stares. It takes me a minute to realize what he’s getting at.

“Me? Me?” He nods, and Tonks does the same, even more enthusiastically. Lupin rolls his eyes. “I’m a Muse?” I look at Tonks, blinking. “What does that even mean? I thought Muses ran around in togas and played the harp and whispered words of wisdom into artists ears.” All three people in the room laugh, and now the amount of confusion is making me mad.

“In our world,” Dumbledore starts, “a Muse is just like an ordinary witch-they go about doing normal magic.” Yes. He said normal magic. If only he realized how odd that sounds. “But Muses have an unordinary amount of persuasion over people. They have this ability to bring others towards them, to draw them in-

“Like I said when we were shopping!” Tonks interrupts. But when Dumbledore glares at her, she shuts up.

“Muses are the great women behind the greatest people in history. Even in the Muggle world, some of the greatest works of art, literature, advances in science-they were all inspired by Muses. The Mona Lisa, the Sistine Chapel.”

“Some even say Rowena Ravenclaw was part Muse-inspired her three very different friends to create such a great place of learning.” Lupin turns around, finally looking me in the eye. “It does explain quite a bit, Elle. You have to admit that.” I lean against the arm of my chair, shaking my head.

“You’re right, it does. It’s just…” I look at Dumbledore. “Why me? Why am I a Muse. My mother wasn’t. Or isn’t, as far as I’m aware.”

“I don’t believe she was either,” Lupin answers for him. “But it can skip generations. Being a Muse…it takes a certain type of girl-someone who knows what to say and how to say it. A girl who’s willing to make sacrifices for her friends and family, and is willing to go to any lengths to make sure they’re happy and safe, even if that means her own wellbeing is jeopardized.”

“Sound like anyone we know?” Tonks sarcasm was noted, but I ignore it and turn back to Dumbledore.

“So what does this mean? For me, I mean. I’m assuming Penny and Serena aren’t…”

“They’re still special, Elle,” he answers, folding his hands on his desk. “Just not in the magical sense. The three of you all hold information that could be the key to defeating Voldemort. Serena and Penny are as vital a part of this whole thing as I expect Ron and Hermione will be.” He gives me a knowing smile, and I crinkle my eyebrows together. Obviously someone’s mentioned something to him. “But you, Elle. We already know you’re going to be a huge part of the defeat of Voldemort. There’s a prophecy spelling out your role. And now that we have a general idea of how that’s going to happen-how you’re going to be the key to Harry prevailing over the Dark Lord-it’s time for you to start finding yourself. Learning all the magic you can that will help you be the best witch-and Muse-possible.”

“Where’d you disappear to after dinner?” That’s the first thing I hear when I walk into the common room. Sure enough, I match the voice to the person correctly in my head and as I come out of the entry way, Fred and George are sitting on a couch in front of the fire, tinkering with a small wind up toy between them. Fred’s the one that spoke.

“Dumbledore wanted to see me about some transfer stuff. Said I should consider spending a block with Professor Sprout, since my cousin does so well with her.” Both of them pull a face, and gesture me over. “What’re you two working on?”

“A new toy. Have a look,” George says, and I kneel in front of the table where the small piece of what looks to be plain old plastic, in the shape of a duck, sits. Fred picks it up, winds it a few times, and then lets it go. Suddenly, the plastic duck comes to life, quacking and squacking and flapping all over the place. It takes a few seconds for it to calm down, then it looks around, spotting me and taking a few clumsy steps towards me.

“Maaa-maaa.” My eyes widen and I look up to Fred and George, completely and utterly shocked. “Maaa-maaaa.”

“It’s so cute!” I say, looking at Fred. He’s grinning, just like his brother, and he makes eye contact with me.

“That’s the point!” Just as suddenly as it came to life, the fuck goes still, back to plastic. “It’s for a line of childrens stuff we’ve been working on.”

“Awh! The softer side of the Weasley twins.” Both of them give me a look.

“Anyone finds out,” George starts, “and we will put a perpetual winding spell on this thing and sick it on you.”

“So let me get this straight,” Penny says as she and I sit on my bed, watching Serena sort through her closet. “You’re a Muse. A Muse?”

“A Muse,” I repeat, shrugging. “You have to admit, it kind of makes sense.”

“How though?” Serena asks, still staring at her clothes. “I mean, last time I checked there were no great works of art modeled after you.” I raise my eyebrows at her and hold my hand up, counting up all the instances I’ve thought of in the last day. In the 24 hours since my meeting with Dumbledore, Tonks and Lupin, I’ve gone over things time and time again in my head. Being a use makes so much more sense to me. It sounds somewhat conceited, but people have always told me there was something alluring about me. It’s just that my over-thinking personality and sub conscious wouldn’t let me admit to myself that I was special in any way. There’s no denying that now.

“I helped Donny write that song about you in middle school.”

“That was mostly him though.”

“And then that time Lizzy drew me and it won first at state in the art show.” I hold up my thumb, pointer and middle finger. “Or when Darren wrote that review on the book I recommended and pestered him to read.”

“But those are all things other people did.” I give Serena a look, and then share the same look with Penny.

“That’s the point, S. Muses inspire other people to do creative things. They can be creative themselves, but ultimately their job is to get other people to do things.”

“So what’s your next move?” Penny asks, picking up the glass of lemonade I have sitting by the bed and taking a sip.

“I have a meeting with my new ‘advisor’ tomorrow after dinner.”

“But what about the party?” Serena asks, turning away from the closet, alarmed. I laugh and shrug.

“Dumbledore said it should only take about half an hour. Plenty of time for me to get in and get dressed before things become too crazy.” Serena shakes her head.

“Good. We all need to look hot.”

“I still don’t get why I’m coming to this,” Penny starts, standing up and going to stand next to her sister in front of the wardrobe. “It’s a party for Gryffindors, and I’m a Slytherin.”

“So?” I shrug and watch as Penny sorts through the tops hanging in front of her, finally pulling out a dark red tank top with rhinestones around the neck. “I heard Ginny’s bringing Michael Corner,” I say, making a gagging noise at the thought of seeing Ginny with the Beiber dopple-ganger that she’d introduced me to as we walked back up to the common room after breakfast on Monday. “And a few other people from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are coming. Might as well round things out with a Slytherin or two.”

“You should wear this,” Penny says, holding the top out to her sister, who raises her eyebrows and holds the top up to herself in the mirror, a sultry smile on her face.

“Bring that Tracey girl. I want to get to know her better.” Serena hangs the shirt on the outside of her wardrobe. “It’ll do.” She turns back to me. “Now what’re you going to wear?”

Despite what we all may have thought, all the drama at Hogwarts does not, in fact, surround the Trio, though there is quite a bit of talk about Hermione and Krum that was residual from the year before. But nevertheless, we were all surprised to realize that, just like any other school, there’s talk of other things. Classes, Professer Umbridge, the new lines of pink robes debuted in Teen Witch Weekly (that last bit was purely from Lavendar as she sat on one of the couches, sipping a Butterbeer). And then there’s the talk of other people; George and Angelina, Parvati and Dean, hell, I even overheard someone talking about a couple of Ravenclaws caught together in a broom closet a day or so ago. People talked about who’d had work done over the summer-the magical kind, not surgical. Apparently, Pansy Parkinson had gotten a nose job at some back alley place in Winnipeg. It’d taken three doctors at Mundungo’s to get it down to a foot in length, and they’d finally had to call in some specialist from the Ministry to fix it. I was definitely using that against her next time she made a comment.

The one thing everyone seems to be talking about, though, is us. It was apparently a very odd thing for new students to start mid way though the cycle. Every time we pass someone in the hallway, there are whispers and stares, as if we can’t see them looking. On my way to meet my advisor, I catch a group of what look to be third year Ravenclaws snickering and pointing at me. “Take a picture,” I say loudly across the hallway. “It’ll last longer.” With shocked expressions, they turn and start walking in the direction of the great hall. When Tonks had shown up in our room this morning-a pleasant surprise for the girls, who hadn’t seen her since the train station-I was a bit confused when the paper she slipped me on the way out said “Seven-Thirty, Quidditch Pitch.” What could I possibly do to train to be a Muse on a Quidditch Pitch? A lot, it turns out. When I reach the grassy field, surrounded by banners of alternating house colors, there’s only one person on the entire pitch. And that person is Madam Hooch.

I’d seen the woman at the long staff table at opening feast, and nearly every meal since, but never actually spoken to her. But just like in the books, she looks severely feline in the facial features, with short cropped grey hair and a built frame for a woman, and almost scary yellow eyes that are too much like Paige, Serena’s jaguar. “Afternoon, Ms. Fawley.” She doesn’t even look up from the box she’s now standing over. I come around the side, and see it’s a box of Quidditch balls, almost identical to the one in the movie. Two bludgers are strapped down on the sides of a large, almost dodge ball looking quaffle, with a small golden snitch strapped to the open lid. I watch as she picks up the free quaffle.

“Good afternoon, Madam Hooch.” She turns around, smiling, and throws the quaffle in my direction. I catch it easily, holding it between both hands.

“First thing’s first. I’m your advisor, not your teacher. You can call me Rolanda.” I knit my eyebrows together and she gestures for me to throw it back to her. Within a blink of an eye it’s hurtling back at me. I nearly miss it, and feel a thud as it collides with my abdomen before I grab at it. “You’re pretty quick. You’ve played before, then?”

“Why wouldn’t I have?” I assume that it’s ever normal child’s favorite pastime, but she shrugs.

“Dumbledore said you grew up as a muggle. Some muggle borns come here from American schools never having picked up a broom. Well, a magical one, at least.” I shake my head.

“I stayed with the Weasley’s this summer.” She laughs and rolls her eyes, picking up two long, black brooms and handing me one. I put the ball under one arm and took it, reading the handle. Comet 301.

“So you got plenty of play time.”

“That I did.” I follow her as she walks towards one end of the pitch. “What all did Dumbledore tell you?”

“Not much,” she starts, swinging one leg over her broom. “Go ahead and mount. We can talk up there.” Without another word, she takes off, flying a good fifteen feet away, in front of the goals. Still holding the quaffle, I swing onto the broom and take off smoothly and getting up to her height. “STAY STILL,” she says loudly, pulling out her wand. I barely make out what she says, but then, out of nowhere, her voice is suddenly close. “That’s much better.” I almost fall off my broom. “Don’t look so shocked. It’s just a Sonorous Secritus charm. It’s so only we can hear each other.” She gestures again for me to throw the ball. “Try to make a goal,” I hear. With a moment’s hesitation, I heave the ball, aiming over her shoulder. She drifts up effortlessly and catches it, but gives me an impressed look. “Not horrible. You’ve got good aim-just not enough momentum.”

“Thanks, I think.” She smiles, and throws the ball back. “Is there anything you want to know? Since you’re supposed to be teaching me, or whatever.”

“I try to make it a habit not to ask anyone information they don’t already feel comfortable sharing.” I shrug, balancing on my broom and tossing the ball between my hands.

“I don’t really feel uncomfortable sharing anything, I just don’t know what all I’m supposed to tell you.” She gestures for me to throw the ball again, and I do, a bit harder this time.

“Better.” She smiles and throws it back at me. “How about why you started at Hogwarts? Why you moved from your other school.” I take a deep breath, looking down at the pitch below me. Whoa. Far down.

“That’s easier said than done. You want the Cliffnotes version or the long story?”

“Whatever you want,” she says in a docile tone. I take another breath.

“I guess the easiest way to explain it is, well, I didn’t really know I was a witch until this summer. The three of us, the ones that started here this year-I don’t know if you saw them at the opening feast or anything. None of us knew.”

“Did your parents not tell you or…?”

“They had their reasons.” I throw my ball into the air, and it falls back down, smacking into my hands. “But we knew about this place-I’d heard wonderful stories about all of you from my parents growing up.” Okay, lie. I hadn’t heard a thing. But it was the easiest way to explain it to her without giving it all away. “Dumbledore finally came to my parents and told them that we were needed-he felt, according to some advice, that we were a part of this whole incoming war against Voldemort.” She didn’t wince when I said his name, which was a good sign.

“Sounds complicated,” she replies simply. I let out a laugh, tossing the ball in her direction. This time she had to swerve a little to catch it.

“You have no idea.”

We spend a half hour tossing around the ball, telling stories back and forth about her time at Hogwarts, mine in the Muggle world. Turns out she’d served as a medic in World War II, and had spent more time with Muggles than most of the students or teachers here ever dreamed of. At the end of the day, Madame Hooch unexpectedly makes the announcement that I, Elle Fawley, am going to try out for Quidditch. As she put the ball back into the trunk, I give her a look.

“But, there are no openings!” And that’s when I spot a group of red and yellow clad teens carrying brooms coming out of the locker rooms on the other side of the field, followed by a large cluster of students clothed in plain practice pads, like the ones the Weasley’s kept at home. Hooch lets out a long, loud whistle, and then yells across the field.

“Johnson, com’ere.” The girl who’d been sitting on the other side of the twins our first night, and who’d been near us at every meal since, giggling at the twins jokes and smiling at everything, came running across the field, her face stoic. She was in the zone already. “Angelina, this is-

“Elle, yeah, we’ve met.” She talks hurredly. “Listen, Madame Hooch, I’m about to start tryouts and-

“I know, Johnson. That’s why I’m calling you over.” She steps closer to Angelina. “I know the only available position is Keeper, but you really might want to keep Elle in mind for any of the other positions, should they become open later in the year. She’s got fantastic aim, and perfect balance on the broom.” Giving me a slightly impressed look, Angelina looks down at the broom in my hands and then back up at my face.

“Well, then, let’s see what you’ve got.” She leans down and unlatches one of the bludgers, which goes flying into the air with a wizzing sound, and as I’m about to mount my broom, tosses me a bat. I kick off, and watch the people on the pitch shrink into ants. I vaguely hear one of the twins-at this height, it’s impossible to hear the difference in voices-scream out a “YOU’VE GOT THIS, ELLE!” So when the bludger comes at me while I’m in center field, I grip onto my broom with my legs as hard as I can, just like the boys taught me, and hit the ball with all my strength. It goes flying back in the opposite direction, and straight through the middle goal on the other end of the field. I can hear the cheers from my friends on the field when I descend and finally touch down. The Bludger comes flying back towards us and Angelina catches it, wrangling it back into the case.

“That was brilliant, Elle!” Ron says, swinging an arm around my shoulder in a brotherly manner. I laugh, looking at Angelina.

“He’s right, that was great. And you’ve never been on a team before?” I shake my head.

“Never even played before this summer. The boys taught me though.” Gesturing towards the twins, who were walking towards us, I wipe a bead of sweat off my forehead. It’s a cloudy day, but trying to avoid getting knocked off my broom by that ball was hard enough without having to hit it.

“Explains it,” she says, holding her hand out for a shake. I shake it, still smiling. “I’ll definitely keep you in mind.” And without another word, she walks towards Madame Hooch and starts talking to her. I shrug Ron off to give Fred and George hugs-both of them give me huge pats on the back for my impromptu tryout, and I laugh.

“It’s all your fault. If I get put on the team, all my complaints go to you!” But I know I won’t make it. I know exactly who will, and it doesn’t bother me. When I make my way up to the stands, I find the cluster that contains my friends. Hermione, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Penny and Serena sit together on a few rows. Neville and Hermione both have long rolls of parchment stretched out before them, like they’re working on homework. I just give them an eyeroll and plop down next to Dean.

“That was awesome, Elle!” Dean says, patting me on the back. Seamus leans forward and gives my knee a pat. Through my jeans, my leg gives an involuntary twitch at his touch. I just shrug and turn back to the tryouts, where Angelina is now kicking off into the air.

“Harry’s at detention, I assume?” I ask Hermione, who looks up for a split second.

“Yeah. Went right after dinner. Which reminds me.” She bends down, rummaging in her bag for a second before pulling out something wrapped in a napkin. “I knicked this for you before they took the food off. Figured since you had your meeting you wouldn’t have time to eat.” I take the neatly wrapped morsel and pull the napkin away, reavealing a rather large meat pie.

“Oh, God, I love you Hermione.” The pie’s gone in under five minutes, and we sit in silence, watching the tryouts. When everyone’s gone, there’s a gathering at the center of the field, and then the players disperse. We meet Ron a few moments later on the outside entrance to the locker rooms. “You were great, Ron!” I say, pulling him into a hug. He’s sweaty and dirty, but I don’t care. The look on his face when he finds out he’s made it will be worth the grass on my tee shirt.

“Elle, can you hand me the hairspray?” Serena reaches across the bathroom with one hand, fingers flailing, while the other hand holds a curling iron in her hair. I toss it at her, and she snatches it out of the air, letting the curl go and instantly spraying it. “Last one, thank God.” She stands up off the stool in front of her mirror, which, unlike Hermione’s, is not covered in yarn, and glances at me in her reflection. “You look hot,” she notes, raising her eyebrows. “Anything I should know?” Lavender turns towards us, the same curious expression. I have an immediate urge to tell her to mind her own business, but just laugh and shrug.

“I just want to make a good impression at the first party. I know it’s not that big of a deal, but I want people to stop thinking were some hicks from the south just because we say ‘y’all.’” Serena laughs, shaking her head and then flipping it upside down, mussing the curls.

“Well, hopefully after tonight their opinions will be changed. We’ve spent enough time…” She pulls her head up, meeting my eye in the mirror before continuing. “…watching Skins to know what’s up with tonight.”

“God, I hope no one brings anything serious,” Lavender interrupts, smacking her lip-gloss. “If we get busted with fire whiskey, we’re screwed. I don’t even want to know what McGonnogal would do with drugs.”

“I’ll keep an eye on things,” I start, untying my robe. “I’ll be sober enough to make sure no one gets too fucked up.”

“Oh, gosh, would you?” She turns around, just as I’m pulling my robe off to reveal what I’m wearing, and her eyes go wide. “Fuckin’ Merlin. Are you sure you’re just trying to make a good impression? Looks to me like you’re trying to hook a boy!” She giggles, touching my shoulder as she walks back into the room.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Parvati smiles, following her friend.

“You really do look great,” she says, and there’s the sound of the door opening and two pairs of heels (ridiculously high for an in-dorm shindig) walking out.

“You ready for this, E?” I shrug, taking a swipe at a stray bit of powder on my shoulder.

“As ready as anyone can be for their first Hogwarts party.”

“Bet you never thought you’d be saying that out loud.” I snort, slipping my phone into the pocket hidden in the side of my dress, and she calls out to the bathroom. “Penny, you guys ready?” The door swings open, and a slightly disheveled but still gorgeous looking Penny stomped out, followed by Tracey.

“She’s freaking out,” Tracey says with a giggle, and I fight my own smile at her slightly Scottish accent. “I tried to help, but-

“Penny,” I say, walking up to her and putting a hand on either side of her face. “It’s going to be fine.” I fix a few stray hairs, swipe at the sides of her eyeshadow, and adjust her bustline so her bra wasn’t showing. Much, much better. Holding out a hand to her, she takes the same deep breath as her sister, and with a final look at each other, we walk downstairs.

The reaction isn’t immediate. It’s slow at first-a few people glancing towards the stairs as four girls walk towards the common room. But once those few people look, the entire room takes notice. This is really the first time we’ve seen anyone out of uniform, forgiving those we stayed with over the summer and our current housemates. But the other Gryffindors, the other Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in attendance, they’ve never seen us out of uniform. Out of our slightly crazy manner of dressing up quite possibly one of the dreariest outfits ever. So when the four of us enter the common room, a slight hush falls over those inside.

It’s quite true that all of us have different styles. Hell, out of our group back home, there wasn’t a single one of us that dressed alike. But out of uniforms, we all look completely different, with only one thing in common-we know how to look damn good. Maybe it’s hours spent trolling fashion Tumblrs, or shopping at Forever 21, but I think it’s safe to say we all have the ability to get dressed in the morning, in uniform and out, and still look good. Even Tracy seems to have a serious sense of style, with her chic haircut and purple suede wedges. And that’s particularly apparent by all the dropped jaws when we near the bottom of the stairs. It’s like slow motion for a few seconds, people just watching. And then suddenly it speeds back up, starting with Harry coming up to us at the bottom of the stairs.

“Merlin, Elle,” he starts, shoving a butterbeer in my hand and gesturing for the others to follow. “If I ever have to see that cow Umbridge again, I might slit my wrists.” I glance down at his hand, the left one, which currently holds open wounds in the shape of letters, and I cringe involuntarily. Then, he seems to notice for the first time that I’m not in uniform. “You look good,” he says slowly, and I choose to ignore his comment for fear of stuttering.

“I understand, she’s a real-

“Fawley!” I turn just as a slightly sloshed looking Angelina comes up to me, patting me on the shoulder with a wide grin on her face. “You did great today. I know you didn’t make the team, but…”

“I wasn’t expecting to,” I say with a giggle, sipping at my butterbeer. Harry looks between the two of us, thoroughly confused.

“Elle tried out for the team today.” He looks even more confused, raising an eyebrow at me over his glasses. “She was pretty bloody great too. And if Ron hadn’t been up, she probably would have been on the team.”

“Angelina…” I whine, slightly embarrassed. I can’t have been that good. I’ve only been playing for a few months. That would be when someone grabs my waist from behind, just enough to tickle, and I jump, effectively sloshing butterbeer all over my arm. “What the-

“Whoa, sorry,” Seamus says as I turn around. He’s literally five inches from my face, and I can smell the fire whiskey on his breath. There’s a cup in his hand, but it’s mostly full. He must have just started drinking. By the way he eyes me, he’s sober enough to form coherent thoughts. I’m suddenly glad that I wore this dress-with a black velvet bustier and pearly blue skirt, it made my boobs look good and my legs look long. And then a red light goes off in the back of my head. No, Elle. This is not you. You are not to mess with this world. You are here to observe and be helpful when needed. Okay, maybe that’s exaggerating a bit. But me, having the slightest attraction to anyone at Hogwarts? Hell, any of us being with any of these people. It’s like the butterfly effect. You change one thing and suddenly your entire world is different.

Wait a minute. Who said anything about being…attracted?

“You look…” he starts, raising his eyebrows and cocking his head to the side. “Hot?”

“Is that a question or a statement?” I giggle, raising my eyebrows in return and noticing for the first time that the other girls have since abandoned me. I see Tracey and Penny in the corner talking to some boy in a Ravenclaw sweatshirt, and Serena, no surprise, is perched on the arm of a chair, laughing gracefully and surrounded by a group of boys. I make a quick look for Hermione and spot her – heading up the staircase and looking like she just woke up from a nice nap.

“I’m not quite sure what the right word to use is.” He holds his cup in the air, shrugging. “This is my second cup. I mean, I’m Irish, but have you had Fire Whiskey?” I shake my head, shrugging back.

“Not much for a serious drinker.”

“This shit is strong,” he says, and then proceeds to take a large gulp. There’s something about the way his arms ripple when he holds his cup up, and the firm way he plans his feet, that tells me that he is no stranger to a party. And there is definitely something alluring about that. Sure, back in Louisiana we’d gone to a few parties. But because of the big hoopla surrounding underage drinking, it’s more “drink to get drunk” and be trashy as hell. Here, at least at this party, it’s more drink to socialize and escort people upstairs when they start to get trashy. Well, that’s the way it looks when someone (I think it’s George) assists an older girl in walking Angelina to the girl’s staircase and she carries her up the rest of the way.

Seamus, on the other hand, seemed to be able to hold his liquor. “I think the right word,” he starts, putting his hand under his chin as if he’s trying to be thoughtful. “Is stunning.” I feel color flushing my cheeks and roll my eyes instinctively. “No, I mean it. You always look gorgeous, but there’s something about a girl in heels.” I pop my right foot back, shrugging my shoulders and smiling. “Here.” He looks around for a second, and when it seems he can’t find what he’s looking for, he looks back at me. “You want some?” I stare down at the glass he’s shoved in my face.

This was it. One of those pivotal moments where everything could go seriously uphill or seriously downhill.

“What the hell,” I say, tossing my hair behind my shoulder, throwing the remainder of my butterbeer in a nearby trashcan and taking the glass, tipping it back and gulping down a few mouthfuls. Seamus lets out a low whistle, and before I pull the glass away I laugh, effectively dripping fire whiskey down my neck. “It stings,” I gasp, and hold the glass back out to him, trying to wipe away the alcohol that’s slowly flowing towards my chest.

“Hold on.” He takes a step towards me, and with his thumb, wipes away what’s left on my collarbone. I feel myself shudder, and manage to look up just in time to catch his gaze. “I was – uh…” He seems to have lost his words, and I cock my head to the side, smiling. “I was wondering if –“

“Elle!” Suddenly, my hand is snatched from my side and I’m pulled away from Seamus by a red faced Fred, who’s grinning and breathing heavily. “They’re working!” he shouts, and I look back at Seamus, who’s still standing right where I’d left him, his mouth hanging open.

“What is, Fred?” I give Seamus a pained smile and mouth “sorry,” looking back at Fred and trying to listen to what he’s saying. But unfortunately, just as suddenly as it’d entered my body, the Fire Whiskey was beginning to take effect, and my attention span was beginning to drop. Quickly.

“The Skiving Snackboxes! Your idea to package them all together, all the sick treats – it worked!” There’s a small thought in the back of my head, way back there behind the thickening alcohol cloud, that wants to tell Fred that it wasn’t my idea at all. “We’ve sold fifteen already, at six Galleons a piece!” Suddenly, he picks me up by my waist and twirls me around, and I fight the urge to puke all over him. Instead, I go for a slightly cuter approach. I laugh, and when he puts me down and pulls me into a hug, I hug him back. “First Hogsmeade weekend, I’m buying you whatever you want. Within reason of course.” He grins again, and leans down, kissing my forehead. “You’re amazing.”

Before I can say anything back, someone calls his name, and he yells back, running off in their direction. After regaining my senses, I look back to where Seamus was still standing; now looking almost…wounded. And before I get a chance to walk over and ask what’d he was “wondering,” he turns and walks away, disappearing into the party crowd.

“What was that all about?” I turn around, and Serena stands behind me looking confused.

“Just me ruining any chance I had with Seamus.” She lets out a little scoff and looks at me.

“Seamus?” Serena crosses her arms, looking at me intently. “I thought you said we shouldn’t get involved with anyone in this world. And Seamus? Really? Isn’t he a little too…I don’t know, Irish?” I can’t help but laugh, and I think I overdid it a little bit, because she puts her hand out on my arm like she needs to steady me. “Are you…drunk?”

“No no no,” I say, waving her away and stumbling to sit down in an empty fold out chair next to a side table. “I just had a few sips of Fire Whiskey. From Seamus. Seamus is…I don’t know.” I gesture for her to come closer, and she does, albeit apprehensively. “He’s not a main character, ya know?” My voice is low and hoarse, like I'm sharing a dark secret.

“You are such a light weight!” she giggles, shaking her head. “It’s Seamus, Elle. You realize he’s not even talking to Harry right now, correct?”

“And he won’t be for a while, I know, I know.” I wave her away again, and look at my feet. I picked some damn cute shoes, my scattered brain says, staring down at the black suede pumps with white bow ties. She has a point. I did say we shouldn't get involved. Before we started at Hogwarts, as we sat in our room at Grimauld Place, I’d said that we needed to be careful who we got involved with. What we said, what we did. Who we did, if you’ll pardon the vulgarity. But Seamus…JK never said what happened to him. His relationships, his actions, they never really effected the final outcome of things. So suddenly, he didn’t seem so dangerous to me.

“And what about Fred?” Serena looks a lot like me, all of the sudden - with her hands on her hips and a stubborn look on her face. “With that little kiss?” I laugh, a little hysterically, mostly because of the hilarity of her proposal.

“He was thanking me,” I drawl, and feel for Serena’s hand, grasping it. “It’s Fred. He’s like our big brother.”

“Just be carefull, Elle.” She looks down at me with a sad smile. “You’ve said it to me so many times, now it’s my turn to say it to you.” Serena crouches down, holding my hand tighter and using her other hand to touch my face. “This is all you’ve wanted, all we’ve wanted, since we were kids. But you more than any of us. And I know, I know you want so bad to be a part of this world, to realize what your role is and figure out this whole muse thing. And you will, in time.” She smiles sadly, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “But just guard your heart, Elle. It’s so open to all of these people, the ones you feel you know. And I think we can all agree that this world, this one we feel like we’ve been a part of, is so different than we imagined.”

“Truth really is stranger than fiction,” I mutter, and Serena nods. “How about that?”