Part 29 – The Worst Wednesday

Wednesday. Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday. What can I say about Wednesday?

It began simple enough. I woke up just before dawn still snuggled with Fred on my common room couch, got to take a few moments to admire his freckles while he slept.

Unfortunately, this blissful peace did not last long at all. I heard Pucey's door open and glanced over just in time to watch my fellow Head stride out of his room.

Completely bare-arsed.

I froze, unable to do anything but gape stupidly as the skinny Slytherin waltzed right past me in his birthday suit.

He was humming a little, and there was a definite but quite unfortunate spring in his step as he moved toward the table by the big lake-view windows. Pucey gathered the orange juice and pastries that Verry had taken to leaving out (mostly for me, since I was far nicer to the house-elf). He then turned and started back toward his room.

That was when he finally noticed my presence.

"Shit!" he shrieked, jumping and drenching himself with the juice. The pastries tumbled out of his arms as the lad immediately sought to shield his genitals with the plate they'd been occupying.

And... well... I couldn't help myself. "So is that what's passing for a pecker in Slytherin these days?" I inquired, already halfway lost to a fit of hysterical giggles.

Every damn exposed inch of Pucey flushed bright pink.

My laughter woke Fred, who blinked about for a moment before also laying eyes on the black-haired teen. Fred did not share my amusement. "Pucey," he growled, "You'd better have a damn good reason for being without trousers in the presence of my girlfriend."

"I-" the Slytherin stammered, "I- I just... nobody is usually out here so early."

From the way he said it, I gathered that this wasn't Pucey's first naked breakfast dash. And the thought only made me laugh harder. But I had to do that and hold Fred back at the same time, so I didn't really get to enjoy the moment as much as I would've liked.

"Adrian?" Joshua appeared a few seconds later, sleepy and ruffled and thankfully only shirtless in the doorway. But still, he took one glance at the situation and then joined me in laughter.

Pucey looked murderous, Fred completely confused.

I should've guessed that any day starting out with Pucey's wang in my sights could only get worse.

xxXxx

"Gay?" Fred whispered as we walked hand in hand to breakfast. He stared off quizzically for a few moments before asking, "Both of them?"

"No," I replied, rolling my eyes, "Pucey is totally faking to help him fit in."

Still dazed, Fred remained silent for a few more moments before muttering, "But... Pucey goes after girls. All the time. He's a total jerk about it."

"Being a jerk about it pretty much guarantees he won't actually get any of those girls," I laughed, "Not a half bad means of deflection."

Fred shrugged and agreed, "Ya, I guess."

I squeezed his hand, warning, "It's not public knowledge for a reason. Josh likes to be discrete, and Pucey has a total complex. Just try to keep a lid on this for now. I'm not sure either of them could take the public pressure."

"Sure," Fred agreed. He remained distracted though, which didn't exactly make for engaging conversation during the rest of our walk or during breakfast.

Harry informed me that the first official Defense club meeting would be that night. I told him I'd be there, but then I saw the next person he approached and presumably passed this news along to was Cho.

"You can't," I scolded as soon as I managed to drag her off into a deserted classroom, "Part of Harry's plan is for people to practice spells on each other. You absolutely can't let yourself be used as a target!"

Petite chin cocked mulishly, Cho fiddled with her hair and remarked, "I won't volunteer. I'll make up an excuse. It'll be fine."

"It won't be fine!" I shouted, quickly growing frustrated with her lack of concern, "Even if you somehow manage to avoid ever having a spell cast at you on purpose, that's still no guarantee that you'll never get hit! Accidents happen when people are learning! That's why there's practice in the first place! Being in that room puts your son in danger!"

"You're exaggerating," the girl complained. She paced a bit, alternated between glaring at me and the floor. "You're not in charge of me just because you're helping me with this," she spat, "And I don't appreciate being treated like I'm too stupid to make my own decisions."

Frankly flabbergasted, I struggled to find the words to respond, finally settling on, "I am helping you with this and keeping an enormous secret for you mainly because I reasonably believe that there's no need to involve anyone else. But if you think for one second that keeping this secret is more important than your safety or the safety of that baby, if you think that just because no one knows that you have the right to act like it isn't happening... well, that's when there is the need to involve others."

Then she threw a book at my head.

It didn't connect, but only because I ducked. The thick text broke a window and sailed out onto the grounds.

And before I even had much of a chance to process what happened, Cho got all huffy and stomped away.

Hormones. Merlin's left nut.

xxXxx

As if that wasn't bad enough, almost as soon as I had composed myself and summoned the book and fixed the window and stepped out of the room, I saw Orlando and Larkin running toward me down the hallway.

"STELLA!" Larkin cried, the wide-eyed brunette more wide-eyed than usual as he arrived out of breath. Clutching his small acoustic guitar, the boy stammered, "I-I-I think we might be in trouble."

Umbridge rounded the corner, waddling and red in the face. "Stop those boys!" she shouted as she advanced like that boulder in Indiana Jones. You know the one I'm talking about. And lucky me to have found myself directly in the boulder's path.

"Is something wrong, ma'am?" I inquired flatly. I didn't want to start up against her until I at least had a few facts to go on, but with Larkin and Orlando physically hiding behind me, there didn't seem to be another option.

Blustering and shaking, Umbridge spat, "These two... miscreants... never in all my years!"

"Perhaps we should all just take a deep breath," I suggested. I turned to Orlando, the portly blonde seeming the calmest, and asked, "What happened?"

"Nothing," the Slytherin insisted, his expression taking on an adorable mock-innocence that had been quite effective on more than a few of my prefects, "We were just practicing a song."

Almost afraid of how that could've possibly gotten Umbridge so riled, I continued, "Which song?"

"Calling it a song is an insult to music!" the High Inquisitor interrupted, "It is obviously something made up by these two as a personal attack on me! And I will not stand for it! My authority will be respected!"

"But we didn't write the song!" Larkin pleaded. He looked up at me, terrified, and insisted, "We didn't write it! It's a Kinks song! I just like it, is all! I thought Lando would like it, too, and then we could teach it to some of the others-"

"Well, you can just forget about that!" said Umbridge, her mousey hair beginning to escape its ridiculous pink bow, "Your silly little club is hereby disbanded! Do you hear me?! There is no way I will allow any students get together solely for the purpose of turning their nasty contempt into songs!"

"Now, hold on!" I responded, not willing to see a club that all the first-years (from all the houses) loved taken away over something that was probably a misunderstanding (or a huge overreaction from the Queen of Overreactions). "Are you an expert on muggle music, ma'am?" I asked cattily.

She snorted, "Certainly not-"

"Well, I happen to like it," I replied, "And I have a pretty decent knowledge of it. The Kinks is a real band. I'm sure Mr. Shaw and Mr. Palladino were just playing one of their classic hits. And I'm sure they didn't mean it as a personal attack on you."

"Right!" Orlando chimed.

I glared at him and hissed, "Not helping."

Not even slightly appeased, Umbridge snarled, "And I am expected to just take your word for it? The daughter of a convicted murderer and fugitive?"

Oh. No. She. Did. Not.

"First of all, ma'am," I spat, so lost to rage that my judgment was a bit clouded, my feet propelling me forward and into her face without conscious thought, "My father was never convicted of anything. He was thrown in jail without a trial and held there in barbaric conditions for over a decade. Had the Ministry gotten off its big, fat, hypocritical arse at any point during those years and bothered to give him the trial to which he is still entitled, then his escape from illegal incarceration might not have made me so very proud of him."

I think I was scaring her. Umbridge, I mean. I'm told that I can be quite scary, given the right provocation.

"Second," I continued, "Since I am, in fact, not my father, I would appreciate not having his alleged crimes thrown in my face just because you don't agree with me. It's my duty to be an advocate to my fellow students. I intend to do that job zealously, which mainly means protecting them from your disgusting abuses of power. You don't want to believe me that the Kinks is a real band? Fine. But you will at least do us all the courtesy of actually checking. It'll save you the embarrassment, and much more importantly, it'll save the skin on these boys' hands."

Orlando grabbed the back of my shirt. Cheeky little bugger, but I'm sort of glad that someone was there to restrain me a bit, make me realize what I was doing and remind me that I probably shouldn't tear off Umbridge's head and punt it down the hallway.

Tempting as that was.

She cleared her throat, tried to gather herself. Act like I hadn't had her close to wetting her enormous knickers. "I will not stand for being threatened, Miss Black," she hissed, voice low but shaking, "Threatening a teacher-"

"This is not a threat," I cut in, "This is my job. And if you want to punish these boys, then you'll have to go through me."

"We'll just see what the Headmaster has to say about your threats and insubordination," she snapped, posturing but already retreating, "You are just like your father!"

"In that we have both been the victim of false accusations from narrow-minded arseholes?" I countered, easily slipping into my best nut-house smile, "Yes, ma'am. I would have to agree with that comparison. And thank you for noticing."

She growled once more and then waddled off to tattle.

Suddenly drained, I let my body fall against the wall, slid down it and just sat for a moment. Trying to calm down. Breathe. "What damn song were you singing?" I asked the tiny Slytherins, "Please tell me I didn't just go to the mat for nothing."

"It's a real song," Larkin softly reassured me. Both he and Orlando looked a bit shaken by the exchanged. Impressed though. "It's called 'Lola'," Larkin murmured.

Well, I'm not dumb, but I can't understand

Why she walked like a woman but talked like a man

Oh my Lola Lo-Lo-Lo-Lo-Lola

"You have got to be kidding," I replied, struck by... their audacity. Their cleverness. Kind of upset that I hadn't thought of it first. Dolores. Lola. So obvious.

Well, I'm not the world's most masculine man

But I know what I am, and I'm glad I'm a man

And so is Lola

Lo-Lo-Lo-Lo-Lola

At least I got a real good laugh out of it.

xxXxx

The damn song got stuck in my head, which made putting the incident out of my mind extremely difficult, which made concentrating in class nearly impossible. I waited anxiously through Herbology and Charms, expecting to be summoned to Dumbledore's office. Debating whether I should just go up on my own during lunch. Preemptive action, you know?

I didn't, but only because I spotted Cho. She and I had some things to discuss.

"You're being reckless," I scolded, cornering her near the library, "Not to mention a complete bitch."

With a hateful glare, the girl folded her arms and sneered, "Nice bedside manner."

"Hey," I told her, "I am having a shit day, thanks in no small part to you, so how about knocking off the attitude?"

She snorted, "You are going to lecture me about attitude? That's rich."

Groaning, yanking at my hair in absolute frustration, I demanded, "Just think about this. There's a reason that people in your condition shouldn't participate in certain activities. Unless you've changed your mind about keeping him, then you have a duty to do everything you can to keep him safe. Showing up to dueling practice is not one of those things."

Expression absolutely icy, the slim Ravenclaw hissed, "When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it."

I wanted to hit her.

Instead, I took a deep, calming breath and declared, "If it's about learning the skills, I'll be more than happy to teach them to you after you've delivered."

"Harry invited me, and I'm going," Cho snapped, "Deal with it."

I stared at her for another moment, a thought slowly solidifying in my mind. "You fancy Harry!" I accused, "For Merlin's sake, girl! How can you even be thinking of dating in your condition?!"

She turned red but stubbornly insisted, "I'm not! Shut up! You don't know anything!" And with that, she stormed away once more.

xxXxx

I would've liked to vent to my boyfriend, but I was already nearly late for Potions. Even after sprinting like a madwoman all the way to the dungeons, I didn't make it in time to talk to him before class began.

Potions was never particularly pleasant. Snape still hated my dad and therefore me by association. But usually his snide comments were relatively halfhearted and easy to ignore.

That Wednesday, however, happened to follow an Order meeting. During said meeting, Daddy had seen fit to regale the assorted members with tales of hijinks from his Hogwarts days. Most of his tales featured ruthless pranks perpetrated against everyone's favorite greaseball, Mr. Severus Snape.

So Snape was in a mood and quite willing to take it out on me.

"You are aware, Miss Black, that we are making Veritaserum?" he drawled, peering over my shoulder and into my so far flawless concoction, "Not bootleg liquor?"

I clenched my teeth. Took a deep breath. "Yes, sir," I declared evenly, "I believe it's going quite well, but as always, your input is appreciated."

Slowly circling my station, he responded, "Twenty points from Gryffindor."

"For?" I sighed.

"No, from," the spindly old bat answered, clearly enjoying the pathetic powertrip, "But we might as well make it another twenty if you're not going to listen."

My eyes actually started to hurt from wanting to roll so badly. "Yes, sir," I said once more. It was already a bad day, and I didn't feel like getting thrown out of class. The best revenge would be to turn in a perfect potion and force Snape to reward me with the highest marks.

But he forced my hand. "Tell me, Miss Black," Snape declared, "Do dismal potion skills run in your family? Or is it just the undeserved arrogance and violent mental illness you've managed to inherit from your degenerate father?"

Most of the class had abandoned their assignments to watch our exchange, cauldrons boiling over and ingredients remaining half chopped.

I took another deep, calming breath. And then I smiled. "Tell me, Professor Snape," I countered, "How does it feel to know that generations of Hogwarts students think of your filthy, grease-soaked hair and ridiculous mountain of a nose to stave off their orgasms?"

There were a few nervous sniggers from around the lab.

Snape narrowed his gaze, hissing, "Out."

Worth it.

xxXxx

With lots of time to kill before dinner, I decided to drop in on Moaning Myrtle. I hadn't been to see her in a while, and I figured that she couldn't possibly make my day any worse.

Wrong.

I stepped through the door and, BAM, Ginny's boobs.

"Of course," I sighed, waiting a moment to be acknowledged by the topless redhead and her dark-haired snogging partner. Even after I loudly cleared my throat, they continued to grope each other and roll across the floor, exchanging vigorous manual favors. I finally settled for picking up Ginny's discarded shirt and throwing it at her.

"S-Stella!" she cried, trying frantically to cover herself and shove Michael Corner's hand out from under her skirt, his cock back into his half-buttoned trousers, "I... it's... not what it looks like!"

"Really?" I challenged, "Because it looks like you're giving a handjob on the floor of a public toilet, so I would love nothing more than to be mistaken about my interpretation of events."

She turned redder than I'd ever seen. "Don't tell the twins!" the girl begged, clutching her shirt against her flushed, freckly chest.

"We can discuss that once you're both dressed," I replied, "I'll wait outside."

I spent my few moments in the hallway trying to decide what to do. I didn't want to turn them in, if only for the fact that the collective of Weasley men currently stationed at Hogwarts would very likely castrate Corner. And it would be unbearably awkward with the twins. How do you even begin to tell your best friends that you've seen their baby sister handling another boy's junk?

Ginny was still blushing when she and her boyfriend meekly emerged. She kept blushing as I ordered them to follow me, took them to the nearest empty classroom, and had them sit in the front row.

"You're both very young," I began, hopping up onto the large desk in front of the blackboard, primly crossing my legs, "But I won't pretend that what you were doing is bad or wrong. The setting was a bit strange and definitely not sanitary but not the worst I've ever heard. Sex is natural. It's a personal choice. I'd prefer not to have to witness yours again, nor hear that you've been indulging in it instead of going to class, but I know I can't stop you if you've decided that you're ready."

Absolutely mortified, Ginny insisted, "We weren't having sex. We haven't. We just... I don't know. It just happened."

I nodded, kindly stating, "I understand, love. I'm going to give you both a week's detention for cutting class, but no one needs to hear what you were doing."

"Thank you, Stella," the redhead gushed, looking for a moment there like she was going to jump up and hug me (I probably would've decked her; there was no telling what sort of germs she'd picked up rolling around the bathroom floor with Corner), "Thank you so much! I'm sorry! It won't happen again!"

"Hold onto that gratitude until you hear the second half of the punishment," I said with a smirk, rummaging through my book bag for the medical texts I was carrying. With a few waves of my wand, the walls and blackboard were suddenly covered with anatomical diagrams and photos of diseased genitalia. (I really would've preferred the photos not have been moving, but that's the wizarding world for you.)

The two young teens gaped around the room in horror.

It was about the reaction I expected. "Sex is a big step," I said, "And like all big steps, it shouldn't be made without learning as much information as possible. So welcome to your sexual education. Now, let's start with birth control..."

xxXxx

Though I had long thought that Hogwarts needed a sexual education program, I hadn't had any desire to be the one teaching it. Even though I only had two students, and even though all either of them did for the full two hours was stammer and blush and avoid eye contact, the whole experiment went...um... not well, but as well as could be expected.

After I finally released the pair, sending them off with my damn condoms and a lifelong aversion to sex in public places, I mirror-called the twins but received no answer. I found out later that they had brewed an extremely foul-smelling potion in order to punish Snape for his treatment of me. The twins subsequently spent the remainder of the class period as well as dinner being screamed at by the irate Potions master.

Fred said that watching the professor shout at them while trying not to retch was actually quite entertaining.

Unfortunately, it was shortly after they were finally permitted to leave that the twins discovered prolonged exposure to their impromptu concotion had caused them to sprout boils in uncomfortable places generally not displayed outside the privacy of one's own bedroom. This (coupled with the fact that the condoms had gone to his irresponsible sister) caused further delay to my and Fred's plans for some safe sex of our own.

Bloody Wednesday.

After Sex Ed., I was late to dinner and starving but still opted to take the long way in order to dodge several prefects who I knew would only be delivering bad news and delays. One of these meddlesome few was my dear cousin Malfoy; however, despite the lad's many assorted flaws, he is marginally intelligent and exceptionally observant.

He caught up with me just as I was nearing the Great Hall. "Hey," the sickly blonde ferret sneered, "Quit assigning me to patrols with Weasley! At least until that halfwit discovers breath mints!"

I sighed, exhausted, and muttered, "Nice to see you, too, Draco. It's been awhile."

"You want pleasantries?" he huffed, trailing along in my wake, "Then stop torturing me. I know you're doing it on purpose."

Rolling my eyes, I answered, "You caught me. I'm a dastardly bitch for giving my prefects time together to work on their issues. Turn me into Dumbledore. I deserve nothing less."

"It won't be that senile old fraud I turn you in to," hissed Malfoy. He stomped off to the Slytherin table before I could demand to know that the hell he was threatening.

Not that it was hard to figure out: Umbridge was likely recruiting an army of deluded lackeys.

That didn't bode well for my job security or the overall safety of the entire student body, but at the moment, I could only manage to concern myself with getting through the rest of the day.

xxXxx

The last major item on my schedule was the first meeting of Harry's Defense club.

Unfortunately, I never made it there. I was on my way when I heard hushed giggles echoing through the corridors.

This might not seem like anything, but as someone who often sets pranks and causes mischief, I can easily identify the type of giggling that goes along with it. And the giggling I heard was clearly of that sort.

I followed the voices and (as suspected) found Larkin and Lando up to no good.

Larkin had a can of spray paint in hand and was putting the finishing touches on an extremely unflattering but impressively accurate mural that depicted Umbridge's bulbous corpse swinging from a massive noose. Beside him, Orlando's large messy letters read HANG THE INQUISITOR. The giggling writer was standing back to admire the whole work.

"Hufflepuff's hemorrhoids," I hissed, immediately trying to scourgify the wall (which was of course located in a heavily trafficked area very close to Umbridge's office), "Are you two trying to get yourselves killed?"

"No," Orlando pouted, the pudgy blonde doing his adorable-and-oh-so-innocent routine even though he knew very well it didn't work on me, "We're rebelling."

Despite being annoyed and unable to get the mural to vanish, I couldn't help a small chuckle. I said, "Clearly. But there are certainly better, safer ways. Tell me what spell you used. I've got to get rid of this before the Toad sees it. She's likely to have the entire school put in thumb screws."

"It's not a spell," Larkin reported proudly as he held up his spray paint can, "It's a potion. We mixed it with some paint and then pressurized it. Magic is so awesome."

I rolled my eyes, reaching to take the can away. Unfortunately, I grabbed it wrong and ended up spraying myself right in the face with a hideous shade of orangeish pink that would not wash off for days. The sour chemical taste filled my mouth and nose, making my closed eyes water.

But I suppose it was good that I'd closed them: it spared me the fuzziness and vertigo that come with having one's body shrink rapidly to the size of a small mouse.

"Oh, crap," I muttered, dizzy but hurriedly doing my best to cover my naked self in the sea of fabric that had once been a well-fitting uniform, "Were there doxy eggs in the potion?"

Wide-eyed, suddenly towering over me like pre-teen giants, the boys nodded in horror.

"Damnit," I squeaked. Another visit from my absurd and inconvenient allergy: just what I needed. "One of you better have a clean handkerchief to give me right now."

Orlando thankfully did and relinquished it without complaint.

As soon as I had managed to swaddle myself respectably in the still quite large stretch of material and direct the boys to recover my now ludicrously enormous clothing, jewelry, wand, etc., I shakily stood and glared up at the two perpetrators.

I would've scolded them briefly, ordered them take down the mural, and then made them transport me and my belongings directly to Fred.

However, I never got the chance. Umbridge's foreboding hem-hem echoed from somewhere just around the corner.

"Run!" I shouted.

I should've been more specific. I should've said, "Pick me up, put me in your pocket, and then run!"

But the Slytherins had already dashed away from the scene of their crime, leaving me to futilely attempt to hobble after them for a few steps before giving up and hiding myself in a crack in the stone wall.

Holding my breath, I listened and watched as the sound of Umbridge's footsteps grew closer and her bloated cankles came into view. She gave a shriek of rage and began trying to blast the mural away.

She had no more luck removing it than I did. But her spells shook my hiding place until I was sure it would collapse, burying my tiny skeleton for all eternity. I could barely breathe around all the dust.

The woman finally abandoned her efforts, huffing and puffing from the exertion.

I slapped a hand tight over my mouth to keep from coughing and giving away my presence (and predicament). I had a terrifying vision of being kept in a jar on her desk for the next three days.

Finally, Umbridge waddled away, muttering to herself like a crazy person about the vile brats that populated Hogwarts.

Trembling, I remained in my hiding place and tried to formulate a plan.

xxXxx

I discovered quickly that I could still perform magic; I hadn't had the opportunity to try last time, being that I had myself mailed to my fugitive father. However, the power of my spells seemed to be proportional to my size, and I couldn't do much.

But I was able to cut my handkerchief into a smaller square, tying the fabric securely around myself like a toga. Satisfied that I at least wouldn't have to suffer the humiliation of being practically nude as well as being miniature, I set out in search of help.

I should've stayed put. I would've eventually been missed, and the twins would've had Harry locate me on the Map. Fred and George would've laughed when they found me, but they would've found me and taken care of me until I was my rightful size once more.

It took a half hour for me to reach the end of the vast hallway. As soon as I did, Mrs. Norris pounced from out of nowhere.

I barely had time to scream before her enormous paw swung at my little body and hit hard enough to knock me out cold.

xxXxx

By some miracle, I was not eaten by a colossal cat. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but this is my best guess:

Cats are fucking weird. And they do fucking weird things, like presenting their owners with dead animals as gifts.

I think that, after rendering me unconscious, Mrs. Norris must've carried me off and given me to Filch, who probably didn't even look at his filthy, mangled present before throwing it out.

Later, a house-elf emptied the rubbish bin.

I had never wondered what became of Hogwarts's garbage before waking up in a large, stinking pit of it deep within the Forbidden Forest. My previously white handkerchief toga had turned a disgusting shade of splotchy gray-brown, which was unpleasant for all of my senses but looked especially ridiculous with my orangeish pink painted face.

There are no words to properly describe just how terrified and confused I felt at waking up in such a location and state.

My body ached like I'd been run over by a hippogriff, but somehow I was alive. I didn't think much about how I had escaped death, at that moment far too concerned with how I was going to keep escaping for the next three days.

xxXxx

Fortunately, Wednesday had already ended while I was unconscious. It was Thursday, and Thursday was a much less horrible day.

I was able to walk far away from the garbage pit without encountering further danger. I found a small puddle and rinsed off. Although all that really accomplished was covering me in mud instead of trash juices, it was by far a better alternative.

I had no way of telling exactly where or how far from the school I was, so instead of venturing away and getting myself even more hopelessly lost, I constructed a small shelter using sticks and leaves (and some magic, of course). And I sat and waited.

After so much chaos and insanity, having a day to do nothing should've been a lot more relaxing than it actually was. Instead I felt tense and nervous as the hours stretched on without any sign of a miraculous rescue.

Night fell, and I started to get scared again. I sat in the dark for awhile, debating whether or not I should risk starting a small fire (lest it attract one of the train-sized insects I'd been spotting from afar). I finally did, too cold and terrified to stand any longer without some light and heat.

As soon as I'd gotten comfortable, a bird swooped out of the blackness, circling and cawing loudly. And, once again, I thought I was going to be eaten by a comically enormous animal.

The bird landed nearby. It was a raven. And then it was George. "Stella?" he called, squinting toward my fire and standing very still (probably in case he stepped on me).

"Here!" I shouted squeakily. I jumped up and down, waving my arms until I managed to make myself seen.

George crouched, flashing a relieved smile and scooping me into his hand. "You know," he chuckled as he saw my painted face, "Pink is not a camouflage color."

Suddenly exhausted from my ordeal, I collapsed into the warmth of his palm and demanded, "Shut up and take me home, arsehole."

xxXxx

Larkin and Lando thankfully had enough sense in their heads to realize that they'd left me behind in a vulnerable state and to immediately inform Fred. Well, as soon as they found him, which wasn't until after the D.A. meeting, after midnight. I was probably already in the trash pit.

Also thankfully, I had a very good boyfriend, and he tirelessly coordinated the search efforts using everything at his disposal, including his brother's ability to transform into a bird and subsequently spot my fire from the air.

(I would've appreciated that much more if I hadn't had to travel back to the castle clinging to George's slippery feathers more than a mile from the ground. The experience certainly renewed my dislike for flying.)

But once I made it back safe and sound and spent several hours relaxing in a hot bath (ok, a soup bowl full of hot soapy water and the antidote to Larkin's paint potion), even the terror of that treacherous part of my asinine journey began to melt away.

"We really need to develop a system for when this sort of thing happens," Fred suggested, lounging on my bed but not taking his eyes off me in my stupid soup bowl on the nightstand. "You know, so that you don't actually get eaten by a bloody cat."

I hummed in agreement, reporting, "Don't worry. Next time I'm going to cower in a hole until you come save me."

He laughed. "Well, I was going to suggest that," he said, "But I thought you might try to chew through my jugular."

"Being tiny is terrifying," I insisted, "I don't know what I was thinking letting you mail me around. And you have my permission to remind me of this disaster if I ever have such a stupid idea ever again." After a brief silence, I sighed, "Anyways, how was Harry's thing? Was Cho there?"

Fred nodded, yawning, "George and I did our best to cover her in shield charms. It was kind of difficult to do without her noticing. Not sure it'll be possible every meeting."

I groaned, "Stubborn twat."

xxXxx

Of course, I had to miss the remainder of my classes that week (not that I would ever mourn a chance to skip Defense), but I refused to allow my damn allergy to keep me from my usual weekend plans. Which meant having to confess to my various parental figures my somewhat less substantial height.

"Oh, baby girl," Dad laughed, bringing his face close to the table top where I stood in all my three-inch glory, "Didn't I warn you about cats?"

"Yes, Daddy," I sighed.

Uncle Remus had already taken care of most of the scolding; Bill had an actual physical list of jokes, and he was barely halfway through it.

But from my dad I just got that laugh. A proud laugh, if I do say so.

We spent the rest of Friday and Saturday hanging out like normal. I grew back to my normal size on Saturday night, spent a few hours getting over the aches that came with such a rapid change in stature, and then Dad and I snuck out for more driving lessons. You might be pleased to know that I was far more adept at steering a car than I was at steering a broom or even a sentient raven.

First thing Monday, I encountered Mrs. Norris in the hallway halfway between bed and breakfast. The moment was awkward, to say the least, and not just because the dastardly feline still clearly had a strong desire to devour my soul.

"Steady, Stel," Fred laughed. Even thought he was making light, the damnable cat did turn up dyed orangeish pink and meowing opera just a few hours later.

"Beast," I hissed, skirting the still dust-colored sack of evil.

We continued on around the next corner, walking along in relaxed silence before my boyfriend announced, "So... we bought the storefront."

I turned to gape at him. "What?" I cackled happily, "When? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Saturday," answered Fred, "And because things have been a bit hectic, Thumbelina."

Giving him a playful swat, I declared, "Well, that's amazing news! We should celebrate!"

He smiled that dashing, roguish smile of his, agreeing, "I'm glad you think so. I've had an excellent idea for a bit of fun..."

xxXxx

By the following morning, Umbridge had grown a pimple right in the middle of her clammy forehead. This pimple was far larger than other pimples, swollen and raw and pinkish white. And it would not shut up.

"Oi! Oi, you! Woman!... Wait, you a woman? Good Godric, I think we're going to need to see some documentation..."

For most of the morning, I heard, the Toad staunchly refused to acknowledge that anything was amiss, or to address the talking boil that had taken residence on her brow.

"What is that horrendous smell? Dear delicate Diana, I do believe it is you, my large lady love. Have a care for the rest of us and actually take some care in washing that cavernous cunt of yours next time you deign to overflow a bathtub."

As the insults grew more colorful, so did the Inquisitor's humiliated face. As the Inquisitor's rage grew, so did the blemish. Until its crass voice could be heard from three hallways away. Until it began composing songs.

"How much is that fatty in the castle? Woof woof! The one with the rancid old cunt? How much is that fatty in the castle? Woof woof! Which is worse, her back or her front?"

By the time Umbridge decided to stow her pride and go into hiding, neither her reputation nor her authority had hope of salvage.

But that was half the point. Anything to erode what little power she'd managed to scrape together from fear and intimidation.

Oh yes. Monday was a splendid day.

xxXxx

Of course, nothing of much note happened for several weeks after.

Well, except for this one thing. I sort of invented a game. We called it BTB, which stands for Behind the Back. It was a variation on charades, except you had to act out your clue during class, behind the professor's back, without getting caught. The other players held up signs with their guesses, but only when the professor turned his back on them.

We mostly played during Potions, because of course accomplishing the feat in Snape's presence was worth far more points. And despite initially getting some very odd looks from our classmates, even the Slytherins eventually asked to join our dangerous yet hilarious pastime. Competition grew fierce, with personal and House pride at stake.

But other than that and a few minor scuffles with the Toad, the days went by quickly and quietly. We made it through Halloween and into November before trouble reared its ugly head once more.

As many of you doubtless know, that was the year Ron Weasley made the quidditch team as keeper. He was pretty good. Sometimes. The poor lad had this problem with... I guess you could call it performance anxiety...

"I'm going to be sick," he announced during breakfast the morning of the Gryff-Slyth showdown. The statement certainly appeared accurate; Ron's skin was pale even in terms of pale ginger skin, with just a hint of green in the cheeks.

I threw an arm around his skinny shoulders. "C'mon, Ronniekins," I soothed, "It's just a matter of confidence. Believe in your own awesomeness, and your awesomeness will make itself known."

Laughing, Ginny agreed, "Very Zen."

We chatted. Ron fretted. And soon it was time for the players to depart. I walked Fred out and stopped him just beyond the doors of the Great Hall.

"Good luck," I said with a smile, leaning up to kiss him deeply, relaxing into his strong arms.

I could feel his smile against my lips as his tongue tasted mine.

When Fred finally pulled away, brushing my hair out of my face, he murmured, "With a charm like that, I can't lose."

"Better believe it," I laughed. I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned in close, giggling, "And we'll have to have a special private party in my room to celebrate your victory." I'd finally had the opportunity to sneak out for more condoms, and I swore I'd actually get to use them this time.

Though Fred seemed to really, really like the idea, he stepped back and smirked. "Don't say that, love," he scolded, "Every time we make plans, something gets in the way."

I laughed, shaking my head and arguing, "Nonsense. It was just that once. A bit of bad luck. Tonight will be different." I kissed him again, briefly. After, I straightened his robes and teased, "Be sure to bring your uniform. You look so handsome in it, and I'm sure you'd look even better stripping it off for me."

Fred whined, "If you keep up like this, I'm not going to be in any shape to stay on a broom."

"Oh well," I chuckled, bouncing away with one more saucy wink.

xxXxx

Fred would later refer to my uncanny ability to promise sex right before a catastrophic sex-preventing incident as a "Sex Jinx."

I never really appreciated the name but nonetheless must admit that I was getting quite good at forecasting doom through my horniness and belief that the moment was upon us.

Although Gryffindor won the match, Harry and George stupidly let Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin cretins bait them into a brawl afterward. Umbridge used the opportunity to ban Harry and George from quidditch; the nasty old hag threw in a ban for Fred as well, because he looked like George, or because he was a troublemaker, or because he was dating me. Pick a reason; they're all moronic.

Needless to say, the mood that night was quite sour and not at all romantic.

The twins destroyed a classroom a piece, smashing everything in their paths while I watched and seethed and tried to figure out how I could help. While I realized that I couldn't.

xxxxxxxxxx

Yay for an update. Hopefully more soon. Reviews are love :)