Prankster Princess

They shoved me onto the cold, damp floor. We were down in a disused dungeon classroom, far removed from any inhabited part of Hogwarts. Was I scared? Yeah. Scared shitless. But I didn’t let it show - or I didn’t think I did. A cry escaped my lips when I hit the floor, and then again when a heavy foot kicked me in the side to get me further into the room. The door fell closed with an ominous thud and the blonde bitch, flanked by the brutes, tapped her wand impatiently against her other hand.

“What shall we punish you with first, half-blood scum? Or wait…are you a blood-traitor, just like that trash you hang out with?”

I threw myself at her, thought of a wand completely abandoning me.

You don’t insult Fred and George in front of me. Least of all George, but that was kind of a given. I was smitten with him, so it was only natural that I leap at a girl with a wand, flanked by two guys about three times my size, in defense of his family…right?
“Impedimenta!”
Her jinx struck me when I had nearly reached her, and I could tell my sudden action had shaken her, but I slid into the disused desks and let out a sharp cry, slipping to the floor.

“You think you can do something against us?” she laughed derisively to hide her fear and shock, but unknown to her I could still see that she was shaken. She hadn’t expected me to leap at her so quickly and I couldn’t really blame her. I didn’t think I could have moved that quickly if she hadn’t been deliberately provoking me.

“No,” I answered honestly, “but you’re not going to insult my friends in front of me.”

She did, and I chucked the chair that rested on top of the desk at her. It would have hit her, too, if she hadn’t ducked last minute and let the dusty, cobwebbed, and old wooden chair shatter against the wall behind her.

I ignored the spiel she reeled off about her influential mother and what she could have done to me, focused instead on the pain of having been hit with another Impediment Jinx and slamming against the desk at a closer range. My head was spinning and I was seeing spots, but the minute she started back in on the Weasleys, I lunged. Not my smartest idea, because I was nearer to Mr. Vice Grip. He swung his arm back, forgetting his wand like I had done, and slammed his fist into my back, between my shoulder blades. I went down hard, chin striking the ground, and I grunted in pain.

“You’re such a weakling,” the girl scoffed, as if she’d been the one to hit me. “How you could have escaped with Death Eaters in your home, like you claim, I would never know. Which must mean that you’re responsible for little Henry’s disappearance.”

My eyes were still focused on the floor as she continued to rant on about how it was obvious that Henry was gone because of me. It wasn’t anything I didn’t know, really. But it pissed me off to hear it from her mouth. Almost as if she knew more about me than I did - which she most certainly did not. she started to get cocky in her words when I didn’t react, so I waited patiently. Until she mentioned how it was only logical that I’d killed my little brother and then hidden or transfigured the body - then I leapt.

I landed a solid punch on her perfect, porcelain cheek before I was simultaneously blasted by jinxes from both of the brutish guys on either side of her.

My head struck the corner of the nearest desk this time, and bright lights flashed before my eyes. I slumped against the ground from the shock, and heard the bitch freaking out.

“We can’t be in here,” she was saying, “in case that’s fatal. We’ll just leave her - come on.”

I forced myself to sit up, my head throbbing.

I heard the door lock.

That wouldn’t be a problem, I thought groggily, reaching for my wand…and then realized that it had been confiscated, which might be why I completely disregarded the thought of a wand when leaping at the Slytherins. So I couldn’t get out. And when I moved, I realized that I definitely didn’t want to try. The throbbing in my head was too much.

I lay back on the floor then, sighing and reaching up to touch my head.

I sat up quickly then, looking with temporarily blurred vision due to my throbbing attack, at my fingers. The slim pianist’s fingers, pale like the rest of me, were now red.

A glance at the corner of the desk told me why the Slytherins left in a hurry. It had a red smear on it. Where I hit the floor also had a red smear.

“This isn’t good,” I murmured softly.

*

I must have been in that room for hours, fading in and out of consciousness. The flow of blood stopped after the first fifteen minutes, and I was left with a scab that I had to be careful with or I might reopen it again. I was leaning against the wall, under the chalkboard and behind some teacher’s abandoned desk that probably had a boggart or something in it, when I came to again.

I stood up slowly, bracing myself against the ancient desk, and sighed. My watch had been broken a few weeks ago, so I had no idea how long I had been in here, or what time it was. I went to the door, slowly, tried the knob again futilely, and sighed. I went and perched gingerly on the teacher’s desk. From there, I found my way to leaning against the wall by the door.

I barely heard the footsteps slapping on the floor outside until the door two feet away from me blasted open.

“Vera? Vera?!”

“George?”

My voice cracked from hours of disuse, and the light from his wand tip illuminated the room.

A paper fell beside me - a glance told me it was the fabled map they’d told me about, the Marauder’s Map, that they’d given to Harry Potter two years ago - just as his knees thudded into the stone floor. I forced my eyes up to meet his, and it was unmistakably George.

“Merlin!” he said leaning over me to look over me closely. “What happened? Your chin is bruised and swollen…your hand has blood on it! Vera, what did you do?”

I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but say, “George!” with tears welling up in my eyes even as I fell forward against him weakly.

“What is it, Vera?” he asked, his voice taking on a gentle tone.

“I need…the hospital wing,” I said in distaste but honesty. “My…my head…”

Gently, his fingers probed the back of my head. His breath caught when he found the scab and I hissed.

“Damn,” he murmured. He reached for the map - I felt rather than saw this, as I was leaning against him - murmured, “Mischief Managed!” to clear it, shoved it in his pocket, and then I felt myself being lifted in his arms. Even as he started walking, he said sternly, “You’re telling me exactly what happened when we’re alone, Vera.”

I just nodded.

*

Somehow, I got Madam Pomfrey to believe I’d just tripped down a few stairs and hit my head, and that was when George had found me. She didn’t seem too keen on the idea, but she didn’t press the matter; facts for which I was thankful, though I could tell that George desperately wanted to know why he had found me in the state that he had. I was in there for an hour, getting my head healed and even getting my minor scrapes and bruises to disappear. She had me take a potion and then just sit and rest for a while, which made me a little fidgety. George stayed with me, his expression dark and brooding, which was an odd sort of attraction to me.

When Madam Pomfrey finally said I could go, I stood in relief and George was right there, grabbing my arm in a firm yet gentle hold lest I should stumble and fall. I was thankful for him. If George hadn’t arrived when he had, or if he hadn’t been worried enough to consult the map they’d given Harry, who knew how long I would have been stuck in that room, alone and injured?

I was also dizzy for a brief moment, but with George’s support it went completely unnoticed by Madam Pomfrey. We walked out of the Hospital Wing, with me leaning heavily against him for a few moments while I regained my senses from my injury and all the time I’d just been sitting there, waiting for her to clear me to leave. I knew George would probably be taking me somewhere that we could talk in private now, when all I really wanted to do was sleep. Madam Pomfrey had said I didn’t have a concussion, surprisingly, so I was allowed to go to sleep.

But a promise is a promise, and by nodding to George when he demanded answers, I had basically promised. At least, that was how I saw it.

“Let’s go to the Room of Requirement,” he told me in an undertone as we passed a few chattering Hufflepuffs that didn’t even give us a second glance. “We can talk there.”

“All right,” I said softly, following along.

Where would I begin? I wasn’t the pity-seeking type, but there had been so much drama over my brother and the accusation that I had murdered him when it wasn’t true. How was I supposed to bring it up again without seeming like I was just pleading for attention? Oh, look at me, I’m the misunderstood girl who’s believed to have murdered her own little brother! Boo-hoo! Yeah, because that would go over well…okay, with George it might not be a problem but I didn’t want to have pity. And then there was the fact that I had antagonized members of the Inquisitorial Squad, which is what had landed me in such a situation in the first place.

Would he scold me? Tell me that I should know better than to say things like that when I don’t have a wand and am against three Slytherins…? Probably.

So…it was all my fault. And now I had to tell George that after he’d been so worried.

I felt horrible, but I took a deep breath and started to brace myself as we climbed a flight of stairs. I would be honest, I would tell him everything, and I would tell him it wouldn’t have escalated so much if I hadn’t been so cheeky. Of course, it could have been just as bad if I had let them take me to Umbridge, too, but I guess I’ll never know.

Hell, maybe he’ll like my little prank. That might take some of his anger or exasperation away, eh?