Carnelia Bellis, Chapter Three, Draft 9

Ms. Ferrous talked right up to the bell, leaving us poor students to scramble to get our things in order if we wanted to take advantage of the valuable social time between classes.

I scooped my notebook up as I stood, slinging my messenger bag onto my chair, and calmly squeezed the binder between two others. I left my pen behind my ear. I didn't have that far to go.

"Hey, Carnelia."

I glanced up to see none other than Zachary Hicks standing across the aisle from my desk, thumb hooked beneath one strap of his book-bag.

Hm. Imagine that.

I pulled my bag across my body and straightened.

"How fare thee, Zachary," I said as I began to make my way toward the door. "Were you amputated over the summer?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice coming from just behind my right shoulder.

I sighed and paused as I cleared the classroom door, waiting for him to catch up. I may as well get it over with.

I'd expected him to take far longer than this to approach me: a week, at least.

It took him all of six seconds to draw even with me.

Zachary Hicks stood slightly taller than I did in modest heels, putting him at about 5'10". He kept his brown hair cropped close to his scalp, and was only nominally clean-shaven. He suffered the predominately male affliction of CFTLF (Clothes Far Too Large for the Frame syndrome), making him look smaller than he physically was.

"Your other body," I clarified, gesturing to his hip. "Are you experiencing phantom limb syndrome?"

"Uh...."

I rolled my eyes. Must I say everything?

"Rena. Do you mean to tell me you weren't actually physically attached to her?"

He blushed, shifting from foot to foot. He knocked into a passing sophomore, who gave him a reproachful look as she continued on her way.

He got over both quickly.

"Nah," he drawled, assuming an odd smirk-grimace that I suppose was meant to be a confident smile. "I was never that in to her. She just couldn't keep her hands off of me."

Said the guy who'd all but begged Rena Dalton to go out with him at the end of freshman year and hadn't been seen without her since that minute. It had been scandalous to suggest they actually slept in separate beds, even separate houses.

He read my disbelief in the arch of my left eyebrow.

Well, possibly in the accompanying laughter as well.

He sagged.

"Okay, yeah. We broke up back in June," was the concession. "But," came the recovery, "I'm totally over her now, and I want to take out the most beautiful girl in the school."

I looked left. I looked right.

The halls were almost empty.

Well, there went that hope.

"Awww.... Flattery will get you everywhere you don't want to go," I purred, sweet as poisoned Swedish Fish. "Try a girl who doesn't know all the sordid details of your... performance."

Poor Zachary went pale.

I turned and started down the hall to Ms. Cane's classroom.

"I'll tell Rena you said 'hi,'" I called back. "I'm sure she'll laugh herself silly."

~*~

Ms. Cane's classroom was unchanged from the previous year. There was the same fluorescent lighting smothered into dimness by the dragon posters that papered the walls, the same area rug reading "Here There Be Dragons" at the center of the room that one should never step on under any circumstances, and the same angular horseshoe of desks surrounding it. Say what you will about Ms. Cane, but you could count on her classroom to be consistent.

Matthew had saved me the seat at the corner of the bottom of the horseshoe, as far away from the Cane's desk as possible while maintaining a view of the board. I deposited my bag and slid into the chair just as the late bell rang.

Matthew pulled off his glasses to polish them and shot me a disapproving look.

Dead-pan, I leaned in conspiratorially.

"'Did anyone ever tell you you're kind of a fuddy duddy?'" I intoned.

My friend paused, but I saw the smile, quickly concealed, begin to grow on his lips.

"'Nobody ever seems to tell me anything else,'" he replied, slipping his glasses back into place.

"'Did anyone ever tell you you're kind of a sexy fuddy duddy?'" I continued.

He couldn't help himself. His smile burst free across his face, making his burnished skin assume a friendly glow.

"'That part usually gets left out,'" he finished the lines from "The Dark Age." "'I can't imagine why.'"

I grinned back at him, and reached out to hug him before he could remember that he didn't approve of smiling, fun, or humanity in a school environment.

"Y'all are so cute," Rena Dalton's sweet Southern voice drawled, causing me to jerk and poor Matthew to sputter when I accidentally choked him. "I'll never understand why y'all don't date."

I settled back into my chair, realizing that, in my haste, I'd overlooked the ash-blonde in the desk kitty-corner to mine.

"Rena," I chided lightly, "for shame. Now you've embarrassed Matthew. He'll never forgive you."

"Doesn't take much to make that one blush," someone muttered darkly.

My eyes darted to Elec in the seat behind Rena.

Great. Stuck near him for another class. Time to ignore him. I didn't hear him; I didn't see him. Right.

"Sorry, Matthew," Rena was saying. Matthew nodded, eyes pretending to be magnets attracted to the North Pole of his desk. "I really just don't understand it, though. Y'all even like the same sort of things." She brushed one silky tendril back behind her ear as she rested her forearms on her desk. "I don't understand half the things y'all say."

Elec leaned forward so the heat of his breath would hit the shell of her ear as he stage-whispered honey to her.

"That's because you're far too genuine to want to spend hours exploring obscure sub-cultures. You're more concerned with understanding regular people."

He kept his position and made eye contact with her when she rotated to look at him, giggling and blushing. I nearly gagged as he held her gaze and smiled slowly, turning Rena's cheeks a deeper shade of pink.

He was so transparent.

Although admittedly good at reading people.

"'Nelia and I aren't suited," Matthew said calmly, opening his notebook as though most of that entire interchange had not taken place. "She would chew me up and spit me out faster than a cannibal would spinach."

Rena's attention snapped back to us, her nose wrinkling.

"Ewww! Thanks so much for that image!" She shuddered.

"SNACKRIFICES!"

The class jumped as one, refocusing on the seemingly innocuous older woman standing, hands folded, in front of the whiteboard.

She smiled ever-so-sweetly once she was sure she had us.

"I hope that none of you have virgin minds or that's what you'll be," she continued at a normal volume. "To get through this course intact, you're going to have to be an enthusiastic and expert learner. Enthusiasm will not make up for a lack of expertise, nor will expertise compensate for a dearth of enthusiasm."

Her smile became sinister.

"I'm Ms. Cane," she turned to the board, her disguise of Sweet Old Lady, so glaringly incongruous with her personality, back in place. "Let's get started."

I grinned as I pulled out my binder.

There was a reason the Cane was my favorite teacher.

I couldn't help but notice that Elec was grinning, too.

A Challenge (Elec's Excerpt #4, draft 3)

I'd like to fight with you to a finish, fall in time and climb back to a pause. I want to feel music curl in our mutual pulse, turning simplicity into intricacy, turning moments into eternities. There are parallels and ironies in our every little exchange, delicious and tantalizing, satisfying but never quite enough. Fighting is loving and the battle sets us as both opponents and allies. Banish the white flag to a distant melody that hardly matters anymore - there can be no surrender beyond mutual accord.

The Post-Modern Narrative (Elec's Excerpt #3, draft 3)

Since WWI, the traditional third-person omniscient narrative voice has fallen from popular use. Authors reason, "Life doesn't have an all-powerful voice revealing new and interesting facts to us - why should literature?"

Thus was born the occasionally confusing but indubitably realistic concept of narrative unreliability.

Just as people can lie, mislead, and get their facts wrong, so, too, can first-person narrators. Emily Bronte was massively ahead of her time with the idea when she filtered Heathcliff's story through Nelly. Faulkner pushed it to its limits when he recounted Addie's death in As I Lay Dying. Modern literature teaches its readers to distrust the ostensible story line.

Cut to the Post-modern era. Authors know their first-person narrators are inherently unreliable and, more importantly, readers know to question the stories such narrators convey. However, rarely do authors provide multiple perspectives for readers to compare with each other and thus deduce the true tale.

How, then, are readers to look beyond the filters of their narrators to the truth?

To start? Readers must remember that, as in life, the more frequently a speaker insists upon something as true, the more that something should be questioned.

Identification (Elec's Excerpt #2, draft 3)

People excel at labeling. And no, I don't mean boxes, although those, too, occasionally get tagged and classified.

More than anything else, people excel at labeling people.

Innocent. Liar. Drama Queen. Man-whore. Popular. Rich. Charming. Dangerous. Smart. Geek. Holy Roller. Bitch. Witch. Asshole. Dick.

The best thing about this labeling mania people have is that it's self-inflicted and self-enforced. Labeling is as integral to giving ourselves a place as it is to putting others in theirs.

Actually, those two functions are the same thing. Holistically, we call it "identity."

Loves Her... (Elec's Excerpt #1, draft 4)

She's the light at the end of her tunnel, head-lamp of an oncoming missile. She's headed straight for destruction, on down the tracks to pain. She crashes, burns, tries again, plucks the petals from a daisy. But every bloom claims "loves her not," and she's so silly - she believes them.

The ring of truth sprouted faeries, and that kicked her to the dust. The sensations are back again - they never really left. Her eyes regard the midnight sky, envious of stars. For once in an "upon a time," she held herself high, and there she was, if not a goddess, at least a human.

And now she wastes away, alive but dead upon the ground. Half-asleep and never noticing, she waits for the ending chime, but it never comes, it never sounds. (After all, if there is no start, there can be no finish.)

She knows those stars were once her friends, and she knows she might join them once again, but does she try? No, never once does she lift a finger except to grasp another stem. Left up to luck, her gamble's gone, and now she knows the answer. She crashes, burns, cries again, plucks the petals from a different daisy. And every bloom knows "loves her not," but that's the question that she gave them.

Carnelia Bellis, Chapter Two, Draft 7

"Carnelia Bellis?"

"Here," I replied, my mind much more on scoping out my classmates than on the ritual mutilation of names.

Kayla had cut her hair over the summer, perhaps looking to cut ties with that guy from the private school she'd just broken up with. Rena Dalton seemed to be over her split with Zachary Hicks, and looking to move on, judging by the way she was eyeing Cameron Kilburn. That'd be a mess for me to deal with in terms of Zachary, but good on Rena! Cameron would be so much better for her than Zachary ever was.

Then again, even Elec would be better for Rena than Zachary ever was.

Thank God, the public usage dildo didn't actually seem to be in this class, contrary to what Matthew had (claimed to have) heard.

"Elec Jonquil?"

"Here," the incubus himself sang out as he sailed through the door, flashing Ms. Ferrous a cocky grin. "Sorry I'm late, ma'am."

Damn. It.

Ms. Ferrous pursed her lips disapprovingly, but made no move to put him back out in the hall, pointing him instead toward an empty seat - right next to me.

You're probably familiar with the saying "fight or flight." What you probably don't know is that it's misleading. There are actually three different instinctive responses to danger, the first of which is to freeze in the hopes that the Big Bad won't notice you. That's why the deer will stand petrified in the headlights rather than bound off the road or bite the car. It's also a major reason why human beings tend to find themselves in awful/awkward situations.

Situations like having to sit next to Elec Jonquil for an hour and a half every day for the next 180 days of the school year. Let's see... 90 times 180 equals roughly... 16,200 minutes of hell.

Okay, a little bit less since he was late today.

All because, instead of raising my hand and telling Ms. Ferrous that I'm allergic to man-whores or just getting up and moving to a different seat, I froze.

And Elec, all six-feet, blond, muscled, demonic, three-inches of him, sat down next to me.

He even had the nerve to smile.

I glared at him, and his smile widened.

I flicked my gaze back to the other students. If I ignored him, he'd go away, much like syphilis.

"Miss me, 'Nelia?"

Exactly like syphilis.

I let my eyes roam over the walls of the lab, assessing the posters with a mind to the implications for the class. They were all somber colors, spread liberally about the room, stacked double and over-lapped. Few pictures and lots of words indicated that Ms. Ferrous was strict task-mistress and tended to lecture. I mentally added 30 minutes of studying to my homework to compensate for my visual learning style; I don't do well when lots of words fly at me, and I'd need the extra book time to get a top-shelf A.

"Pssst! 'Nelia!"

I gritted my teeth.

"Cara Zapping," Ms. Ferrous concluded, almost not pausing to recognize the tall blonde's "here" before moving on to distributing a set of green papers.

I accepted my sheaf and pretended to peruse it.

A kick rocked my desk.

"Carne-e-e-e-elia...."

AP Chemistry Syllabus, I read, 2nd block, Jean Ferrous.

I jerked as someone (guess whom) jabbed me in the ribs.

"What?" I hissed, determined to feed him his teeth.

"Hey," he drawled.

I turned my head to slit my eyes at him, my jaw jutting forward.

He was reclining in his desk, his long jean-clad legs at full length. His large hands laced behind his blond curls in a typical male power pose that highlighted his pecs and triceps simultaneously. His red "I bite" t-shirt practically caressed his broad shoulders and chest. His lips pulled to one side in a self-possessed smirk. His green eyes met mine.

"You managed to fight your need to stare at me for an entire two minutes. You've improved your time considerably."

Arrogant prick.

"That's because the novelty of your misfortunate appearance is wearing off," I replied loftily. "Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of the repugnance of your personality."

"Unfortunate, indeed," Elec replied, unfazed in the least, smile-smirk still in place, "Then you'd be out of excuses for denying your deep and abiding love for me, and then you'd be al-l-l-l mine."

I snorted.

"If you remove both of those items, there is no you and thus no yours. Come again soon." I began to turn back to face my desk, but paused. "On second thought - don't."

He grinned, and his arms dropped down to his desk and his legs pulled in as he leaned toward me.

"I'll let that little Freudian slip go, delicaie," he whispered, his low voice sliding under Ms. Ferrous's explanation of the syllabus (when had she started talking?) with ease. "What classes do you have this semester?"

I returned my gaze to the front of the classroom, where our esteemed teacher had pulled up an itinerary for the grading period on the SmartBoard and was going over it item by item, but left my body shifted into the aisle, leaving the conversation open.

"Afraid I'm going to pull farther ahead of you in class rank?" I taunted, my volume matching his, although, I fear, with much less effect. "I can't go much further up than number one, M. Numbre Deux."

"I'm absolutely terrified," Elec replied, not sounding so in the least. "But mostly, I just want to know how long each day I'll have the combined privileges of drinking your venom and gazing at your gorgeous... face."

I nearly gagged. Did he really think such transparent comments worked on girls?

I considered his popular status as school sex-god, and decided that, yes, he did think they worked, and perhaps the misconception was not entirely unjustified.

"Shove it through your heart, Elec," I whispered. "That comment doesn't even warrant me doing it for you. I've got French 4 Honors, this class, English 4 Honors with the Cane, and then Critical Analysis. If God loves me, this is the only class where you'll get your privileges."

I carefully made a note to set up an appointment as Ms. Ferrous pointed out that her desk was near the door and that all makeup work should be directed there within three days of any absence unless other arrangements were made with her. She probably already had my paperwork, but I found teachers were always more understanding about the side effects of my

condition when I spoke with them personally before they saw them first hand.

Warm breath tickled my ear and I jumped.

The infernal incubus chuckled.

"You and I aren't in the jurisdiction of the God of which you speak, Carnelia, so don't take it personally that I get privileges for the rest of the day, for the rest of the semester."

My face went slack.

I slowly rotated my head to stare at him, eyes wide.

He sat back in his chair, a satisfied smirk looking right-at-home-and-very-comfortable-thank-you-ever-so-much on his angular face.

"Come again soon, delicaie, and that's no Freudian slip."

Carnelia Bellis, Chapter One, Draft 10

If I had it my way, I would grow up to be Joss Whedon.

Of course, that isn't going to happen. For several reasons, not the least of which is that I'm female while Joss is packing penis. Plus, it's just one of life's ironic duhs that one can never become one's hero. Not unless you are your own hero, but narcissism is not a sin most of us like to admit to.

But I would like to grow up to make movies, tv shows, books, scripts, phenomena like Joss does. I want to make people laugh, make them think, poison their entertainment with education. Or maybe it's the other way around.

Whatev. It doesn't really matter, because my future does not lay in the film industry. I've got a destiny - and it's not even something as cool as being a Slayer! Or a slayerette, or a Watcher, or a Champion of the PTB (that would be the Powers That Be, for those of you not current on your Angel Acronyms). No, my destiny fucking sucks - literally and figuratively!

Sorry. I'm jumping ahead of myself. Last I checked, narrative was supposed to be clock-bound. So, I'll start way back when I was... well, not normal, but at least not aware that I stick out like a stripper's hips. Or even of how much a stripper's hips actually stick out.

~*~

"Carnelia!"

I turned, grinning.

"Tamara! Hey, girl! Happy hell-bound day!"

My best friend laughed, snaking her arm around my waist.

"You bitch!" she giggled. "Don't remind me that we actually have to go in there."

I laughed, tugging at my Dr. Horrible messenger bag to let my skirt tumble down from where it had become bunched.

Tamara let go and I got my first good look at her outfit.

Most would have been screaming "faux pas!" in a frilly, lime green skirt with a handkerchief hem and a lavender off-the-shoulder top, but Tamara, with her ultra curvy build, pale Indian skin, and wild mane of curls, managed to pull it off. Of course, she knows her unique fashion situation intimately, and carefully cultivates her outfits to underscore that she's the only one who can wear them. Let's not even get started on her exercise routine and parasol collection.

"Nice," I acknowledged with a nod. "Properly festive."

She scanned me and pursed her lips.

Obligingly, I rotated on the spot.

I had chosen to wear a simple tea-length paisley print skirt in purples and pinks, paired with a black graphic tee emblazoned with the burgundy-pink slogan, "Love me! (Then I'll bite you.)" A black lace choker, oversized pastel moon and star earrings and pink satin with black lace mules finished the ensemble. I had made a special effort for the occasion.

"Hm," she muttered. "A little heavy on the season four Willow for my taste, but it'll do."

I stuck my tongue out at her.

All my outfits are a little heavy on the season four Willow for Tamara's taste.

We linked arms and strolled into the outer courtyard.

"'Nelia-bell! Tamara!" James waved from our traditional spot by the fountain, looking extremely odd with bleached tips on his spiked brown hair.

I dumped my bag on the ground before giving him a hug.

He turned to hug Tamara too, but she stopped him with an outstretched index finger.

"No. Not until you either give up on the peroxide or go full Spike. This half-ass look is not working."

His smile crumpled into a pout.

"Carnelia thinks it's cool!" he claimed defensively. "Isn't that right, 'Nelia?"

I deliberately looked elsewhere.

"He-ey! Just because my name's James doesn't mean I have to look like Marsters!" he protested.

"More's the pity," I murmured, grinning wickedly.

"Yeah, you could start with something better than the hair," Tamara finished, correctly interpreting my thoughts.

James folded his lanky arms across his still boyish chest.

"You guys are bitches," he complained.

I kissed him on the cheek.

Matthew came up as James blushed desperately.

"I've got schedules," he announced, unfazed by such inconsequential social conventions as greetings. "'Nelia, you and I have English together third block, but you're on your own for AP Chemistry. Told you you shouldn't have taken it." He flashed a smile before continuing. "James, you and I are golden for band first block, of course, and while 'Nelia is suffering in isolation during second, the rest of us are all partying in AP Bio."

I accepted the printout from him, scanning it for myself. Yay, English with Ms. Cane again this year!

"What about lunch?" Tamara demanded. "We've got to be together for lunch."

"I couldn't tell," Matthew admitted, pushing his glasses back up his nose, the gold rims gleaming against his dark skin. "They mentioned something about having changed some of the classrooms to different lunches."

"Figures," James said bleakly, having finally recovered. "Dragons would eat them if they kept things simple."

"Dragons don't eat demons, silly," Tamara admonished, swatting him with her schedule. "I thought we established that last year when we tried to feed Elec to Ms. Cane."

"The guy's an incubus, not a demon," James argued.

"It's the same thing," I said, rolling my eyes at their antics. "An incubus is a type of demon."

"I don't much give a damn what Elec is," Matthew broke in with a snort. "As long as he's not in any of my classes. Which," he turned to me with a slightly evil gleam in his eye, "I heard he's taking AP Chem."

"Oh, Joss," I breathed. "Please, no."

"Told you you shouldn't have taken AP Chem," he answered.

"You suck," I said earnestly.

"No," he replied much too chipperly, stooping to scoop up his book-bag. "But he does."

The bell rang, sending us all scampering off to class.

Hello junior year - day one.

The Violet Round, Chapter Five

AN #1: I figured I'd post this in it's original format, that is, as a fanfic. However, beyond what I've already written, there will be no more, although I will break it into smaller chapters. But in case you're curious.

AN #2: Harry Potter's world belongs to JK Rowling. I only write using it to improve my own writing skills. Nor do I own Much Ado About Nothing. However, Danielle Varens is all MINE, and I reserve the right to use her however I wish.

Draco breathed deeply through his nose before letting a grin completely overtake his visage. It was wasted, of course, as he was the only person around to see it, and the door he was about to knock on didn't care. Had he been in a bar, at least three people would have propositioned him based on that smile; forget the rest of the package.

He rapped on the smooth mahogany and the smile vanished, replaced by a carefully schooled apathy.

Right. Because Draco really didn't care how Granger reacted to him.

He heard movement within the chamber, and mutterings, and the grin's ghost fleeted across his lips. He'd probably interrupted her in the midst of a good book.

She'd probably been drinking tea, too.

She needed a personality, STAT.

He rolled his eyes at his own allusions.

"Yes?" Granger snapped, flinging the door open and stepping back to lean against the wood.

Draco blinked as his eyes travelled over her. He'd seen her in her pyjama before, but always in the mornings, when neither one of them was awake enough to be either amiable or attractive.

That, he now realized, was probably a good thing.

The skimpy girl boxers and tight t-shirt left little to the imagination, revealing that Granger was a petite woman with a curvy build and ample breasts, although little padding otherwise. She hadn't removed her makeup yet, but she had tamed her hair into a low ponytail that caressed her throat, the curls seeming to gleam golden in the warm light that spilled from her room.

Draco swallowed and deliberately shifted his weight against the door frame, crossing his left foot over his right ankle.

"Good Lord, Granger," he drawled. "Are you always so pleasant in the evenings?"

Her amber eyes narrowed and her lip curled. He might have heard a growl, but he must have been wrong. She was much too refined for such animalism.

"What. Do. You. Want?"

He arched his left eyebrow.

No, that was definitely a growl.

He studied her again.

She was not so much leaning against the door as she was slumped against it. There were black smudges beneath her eyes, and the skin around her mouth was slack. Her cheekbones were sharp, and her collarbones stuck out. Her shoulder blades protruded awkwardly. Even through her t-shirt, her ribs seemed a long ways from her abdomen. Her pelvis, as it sloped into her shorts, was angular to the point of pain. Her legs seemed spindly, as though impossibilities kept her upright.

Draco's gaze moved past her into her room. Shelves, floor to ceiling, took up most of three walls, and all were stuffed with tomes. Potions, herbology, history, literature, geology, astronomy... the topics were myriad. The fourth wall contained a window, before which was set a roll-top desk. Beside the desk was her wardrobe. Both were tightly closed. Her bed was in the center of the room, taking up much of the space. It was round, and crowded with pillows to the point he couldn't see the bedspread.

A sound of impatience brought his gaze back to her glaring presence.

"It's October second," he finally replied.

"So?" she asked, mirroring his one eyebrow raised expression.

"So I ran into your dearest friend Varens on my way to Quidditch practice," Draco said, making a show of rolling his eyes. "Silly bint was dressed completely inappropriately for the occasion. Do hope Potter chewed her out for it. Anyways," he rested his elbow in his hand and examined a finger. "She insisted that we must start planning some masque tonight." He peered at her over the nail, and performed a perfect mini-sneer. "Don't suppose you happen to know anything about all this?"

A furrow stole across Granger's brow and she rolled up from her slump, stretching lithely.

Merde. Draco scrambled to pop his eyeballs back in their sockets before she noticed them on the floor.

"I've not the least idea what Danielle is on about, Malfoy," she informed him, stalking past him into the common room, settling on her violet suede sofa with a huff. "Why don't you explain?"

He smirked at her, ignoring the shreds of his composure, and sauntered to his room.

He paused in the doorway, posing really, his chin turned just so over his shoulder, his fingers wrapped around the jamb.

"Damned if I know."

The door shut with a soft click, easily drowned out by Granger's enraged epithets.

It was a very good thing that Draco Malfoy didn't believe in Hell, as Danielle Varens had explained the masque in detail that afternoon.

And it was going to be a lot of fun.

~*~

Mmmmmm.....

Something smelled delectable. Sweet.

Hermione nestled into the warmth that surrounded her, smiling contentedly, her nose twitching.

But what was that smell?

Had Dobby tried to make her breakfast in bed again?

She cracked an eyelid and scanned the room suspiciously for the house elf.

No Dobby in the part of the room she could see.

She closed the lid and snuffled into the blankets as though still asleep, rolling over. Her curls tickled her nose.

Huh.

No Dobby here, either.

Both chocolate eyes fluttered open, blinking sleepily.

Where was that smell coming from then?

Hermione arched up to sit in the center of her bed, the blankets falling around her waist as she stretched her back and legs before rolling off the bed. She paid no attention to the various ways in which her clothing rode up and slid down her body.

Her nose lead her into the little kitchenette off the common room, where Malfoy stood before the little two burner stove -

Hermione blinked and rubbed her eyes with her fists before checking again.

Yes, Draco Malfoy was making hot cakes in his pyjama and dressing gown.

The Slytherin Prince casually moved to flip a cake without a spatula, glancing at her as he did so.

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. The hot cake landed on his toe.

"Owwwwww!" He howled. "Merlin bless it, Granger! Go put some clothes on, would you?"

Hermione reverted to her usual morning persona.

"Oh, you big baby!" she snapped, her face screwing itself in towards her nose. "It's hot cake batter, and the cold side landed on your foot."

She stalked over to him, leaned down and yanked his foot out from under him with a strength born of anger.

Luckily, she thought his gasp was of surprise.

"See?" she drawled, pointing at his big toe as he caught himself against the wall. "You are just jolly-good fine." She all but threw his foot down, snarling, "Get over yourself," as she strode from the room, curls bristling.

She couldn't help but feel that any Sunday that began with Malfoy flipping hot cakes could only get stranger.

The Violet Round, Chapter Four

AN #1: I figured I'd post this in it's original format, that is, as a fanfic. However, beyond what I've already written, there will be no more, although I will break it into smaller chapters. But in case you're curious.

AN #2: Harry Potter's world belongs to JK Rowling. I only write using it to improve my own writing skills. Nor do I own Much Ado About Nothing. However, Danielle Varens is all MINE, and I reserve the right to use her however I wish.

Draco stared at her after she finished telling him her plan.

"How the hell did you end up in Gryffindor?"

Varens laughed.

"I got mad skillz, yo!" She slid her hands together before her nose. "Hollaaaaaa!"

The waves kept time against the wood.

Draco leaned away from her.

She sighed, her smile slipping away, and scrubbed at her face with her palms.

"We've got some work to do."

He arched an eyebrow at her, refusing to move any closer.

"Don't be afraid, Malfoy." She rolled her eyes, leaning back on her arms. They were sitting on the end of the dock, their jeans rolled up, dangling their feet in the chill water. "You'll have to get used to it if you want to get in with Granger. It's called a friendly display of insanity, and it's one of the many ways in which Gryffindors express their affection."

Draco's eyes widened and he felt the blood drain from his face.

Varens bit at her lips, not making any real effort to conceal her unholy delight.

What had he gotten himself into?

~*~

Their fits and giggles finally subsided and they fell silent, leaning against each other in the doorway. The hallway was deserted and the flagstones were cold under their bums, but neither one noticed. They were comfortable together, for awhile.

Hermione glanced over at Harry to find his gaze distant, the mirth having melted from his visage.

She watched as his eyes flicked down, then to the upper left hand corner of his gaze, and then to the upper right. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what he was thinking about.

She fidgeted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, jostling Harry with her shoulder.

He blinked and pulled himself more upright, turning to smile at her.

She returned the smile.

Harry heaved himself to his feet with a groan and then offered her his hand, helping her up.

They stood there a moment, turned half away from each other, as silence reigned.

"I'm not Benedick," Harry finally spoke turning fully away. "I'm Claudio."

~*~

Harry didn't care what Hermione said about Varens. She was still a bitch, she was still a shrew, and she was still late for practice yet again. By all rights, he should kick her off the team. He really, really should.

His eyes seized on her and narrowed as she strolled onto the pitch, her third generation Firebolt slung casually over her shoulder. The bint hadn't even bothered to put on Quidditch robes, for Merlin's sake! She was bare-foot, in low-slung jeans and a t-shirt that was so tight it might as well not exist. She'd freeze! Of all the arrogance...!

"Sorry, I'm late," she drawled, studying her nails as she reached Harry. "Captain." Her icy eyes met his, and an eyebrow quirked ever so slightly. He was further infuriated.

"Laps, Varens!" he snapped, gesturing to the rest of the team as they played tag on their brooms in the air above them. "You have held everyone up. So you will do laps for thirteen minutes after practice. On your time. For the next three practices."

The blonde bit of trouble shrugged, and his eyes were drawn to the bare skin around her navel that the gesture revealed. He considered reprimanding her for that stupidity as well, but decided that her immune system would scold right enough by failing on her.

Why didn't he end all of his troubles and kick the harridan off the team again?

Harry scowled as he released the balls from the chest and took off into the atmosphere, settling in to watch for the telltale flash of gold and weaknesses in his team.

Ginny dropped below Kim to receive the Quaffle, the exchange quick. Harry nodded curtly. If he hadn't known that the red ball was supposed to be changing hands at that moment, he would not have noticed. This was part of their new strategy.

Ron blocked as Ginny tried to score with the tail of his broom.

A bludger flew at Kim and he held his breath.

But Varens, as always, appeared, knocking the offending enchanted attacker clear across the pitch to where her counterpart, Dean Thomas, waited to bat it into a member of any other theoretical team they played.

Harry frowned.

Oh, yeah.

That's why he couldn't expel her from the team.

The Violet Round, Chapter Three

AN #1: I figured I'd post this in it's original format, that is, as a fanfic. However, beyond what I've already written, there will be no more, although I will break it into smaller chapters. But in case you're curious.

AN #2: Harry Potter's world belongs to JK Rowling. I only write using it to improve my own writing skills. Nor do I own Much Ado About Nothing. However, Danielle Varens is all MINE, and I reserve the right to use her however I wish.

Danielle studied Malfoy for long moments, her mind quickly whirring from scenario to scenario. The implications of those ten words numbered in the millions. The politician in her wanted to sit down and start mapping them out, figuring each possibility to her advantage - starting with the choice of helping him or denying him.

He finally turned to look at her, arctic gray eyes meeting ice blue irises. His eyes widened.

She smirked.

Malfoy looked away first, his gaze returning to the horizon.

Danielle's smirk increased, taking further possession of her face.

Oh, yeah. She had the power here.

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because it would make living with her easier," he promptly replied, injecting a certain amount of bemusement into his voice.

One thin eyebrow arched.

"And?"

A sigh answered.

The waves lapped at the wood, rocking the platform of the dock.

He turned to face her straight on, crossing his arms across his chest, gaze locking with hers again.

"My mother and I are under investigation by the Ministry for our association with the Death Eaters before the war. It would be to our advantage were I to make amends with Potter's side-" he paused, giving his next words import, "particularly were I to make those amends with Granger." His eyes flicked away before meeting her gaze again. "Savvy, Varens?"

Danielle settled onto one hip to study him, thoughtfully lipping at the knuckle of her index finger.

Malfoy's hands went from resting on his upper arms to clutching at his rib cage as she regarded him.

She concealed a smile.

"I'll help you."

She watched as he visibly relaxed. Let him think he'd fooled her.

After all, one didn't need respect in order to have the upper hand.

~*~

Harry knocked on the entrance to Hermione's suite. He shuffled his feet a little as he waited for someone to answer. He only hoped she was here; he'd already looked everywhere else. If she didn't open the door, his only recourse would be to search the school all over again.

It would probably take all afternoon, and he'd miss Quidditch practice.

Fortunately for his time and his continued position as team captain, Hermione pulled the door wide and stood in the opening, blinking up at him.

He smiled down at her. She was so cute, with her hair rumpled from sleep, dressed in loose sweats and a t-shirt that was perhaps a little bit too small.

"Hey, Harry," she yawned, once she had gotten her bearings. "What's up?"

He loved standing next to her. She always made him feel so tall in comparison, like he was a giant and she a princess he had kidnapped. He felt himself growing warm.

Okay, best not to follow that line of thought.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay after seeing you leave the Great Hall like that," he murmured, shifting to lean against the stone outcropping that concealed the entryway.

"Oh." Annoyance flickered across her face, but was quickly gone as she yawned again. "I'm fine. Really."

"Oh. That's good."

He shifted again so he was standing upright.

She rocked back on her heels and bit her lip.

He massaged the back of his neck.

She crossed her arms.

"Er, what was that about anyways?" he finally asked. "That Varens girl didn't upset you or anything, did she?"

Her mouth dropped open.

Oops.

"Danielle is perfectly sweet, Harry," Hermione said scathingly. "You have absolutely no call to be rude to her. And no, she didn't upset me."

He swallowed, setting his Adam's apple bobbing.

"I'm sorry, I just thought -"

"What, Harry?" she interrupted. "That just because she's not your biggest fan ever that she must be a complete bitch?" She shook her head, leaning away from him, her lip curled. "Grow up, Harry. It's time to stop judging people."

Harry's hands curled into fists at his sides, his feet shoulder length apart, as he, too, leaned away from his best friend.

"You don't hear what she says to me!" he protested, glaring wildly. "She's a shrew, a vindictive shrew! A regular Beatrice!" he snorted derisively.

There was a beat of silence.

Hermione chuckled, relaxing her stance.

"What?" Harry demanded, still indignant.

She just giggled, "So if she's Beatrice, you're who? Benedick?"

Harry paled.

And then smiled.

And then slid down the doorframe, laughing with her.

"Merlin, no!" he chortled. "Gaaaaah! Heavens preserve me!"

"Hmmp!"

Harry paused to see Hermione blushing, fingers covering the mouth from which that most unladylike snort had just been emitted.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her down to roll on the floor and laugh with him.

The Violet Round, Chapter Two

AN #1: I figured I'd post this in it's original format, that is, as a fanfic. However, beyond what I've already written, there will be no more, although I will break it into smaller chapters. But in case you're curious.

AN #2: I don't own Harry Potter's world and I only write using it for my own development and amusement. However, Caleb Brackner and Danielle Varens are MINE, and I reserve all rights to use them wherever and however I want, which means that no one else has any rights to them. 'Kay. Thanks!

Breakfast was ash.

Well, likely not literally. But it may well have been for the way it felt on Hermione's tongue.

She took another bite.

Nope, still not as delicious as she knew it should be.

Her lack of appetite did not go unnoticed.

"It's not poisoned," Danielle reminded her, glancing up from one of her many romance novels. "You can eat it without grimacing after every bite and feeling around for tacks."

Hermione set down her fork and sighed into her palms.

Danielle put the novel aside expectantly.

"Malfoy walked in on me and Caleb last night."

"OOOOOh...." The blonde recoiled. "And Malfoy's gone to Dumbledore with it?"

"Psh!" The idea hadn't occured to Hermione, but it didn't worry her now that her friend mentioned it. "No. But now Caleb has turned into a sniveling coward."

"Oh...." The younger girl put a sympathetic hand on her knee. "I'm sorry. I know you hoped that maybe he was..."

"Different?" The Head Girl finished with a wry half-smile. "Yeah. But then, I always do, don't I?"

She pushed away from the table and plodded from the Great Hall with her hair in her face.

~*~

"Hermione?" Harry asked, reaching out a hand to touch her as she brushed past him on his way into the Great Hall, but drawing back before he made actual contact. "What's wrong?"

Her silent back offered no response as she continued on as though she hadn't heard him.

Ron grasped his arm.

"Let her go, mate. She's probably just in a mood again."

Harry glanced at Ginny, who shrugged.

"Alright then," he snapped, shaking Ron off peevishly. "I'll be good."

He all but stalked into the Great Hall, his glower deepening when he saw long golden-blonde hair.

"I'll bet you know something about that," he snapped as he took Hermione's vacated seat.

She glared coolly across the top of her book, lips pressed together.

Ginny and Ron exchanged looks as they settled across from the pair.

Even the witch on the cover of the paperback ceased her air-headed posing to eye the two nervously.

"Well?" Harry demanded. He wasn't used to such hostility from his friends. Well, his best friend's friend whom he'd gladly see at the bottom of the Lake.

She slowly turned her head to face him. A beat passed, then two, before an arsenic-sweet smile split her face.

"Harry, I will tell you what that was about once, and only once you grow a pair of balls."

She ignored the affront of the Boy Who Triumphed and returned her attentions to her romance novel.

Ron snickered.

Ginny covered her mouth with her hand.

Harry resembled a thundercloud, the lightning bolt standing livid on his visage.

"Why, you..." he growled, unable to think of something bad enough to call her that she wouldn't take as a compliment.

"Or you could ask Hermione, the one you're so concerned about," the infuriating Frenchwoman suggested, condescension dripping, not bothering to glance up. "That would be innovative."

Ginny and Ron studied their plates, shoulder shaking.

Fine. They were just as bad as she was.

Harry shoved away from the table and stalked from the Great Hall, muttering darkly.

That horrible, awful girl was making his life miserable.

If he'd bothered to look back, he'd have seen Danielle looking over her shoulder, a small smile playing about her lips.

~*~

"Varens."

She stopped cold on the spot, a tension that had previously been absent tightening the tendons in her neck as she slowly turned to face him. The effect was not unpleasant.

Draco thought, not for the first time, that it was shame that she had taken up with Granger and the Gryffindors since her transfer from Beauxbatons. She was, after all, a pureblood, and a beautiful one at that. She was tall, slender, with breasts just slightly too large for her frame, with long wheat-blonde hair and skin bronzed from the Mediterranean sun.

It didn't hurt that she wore her shirts slightly tighter than was strictly necessary.

"Malfoy." She greeted him less than warmly, her slight French accent doing nothing to belay the chill of her attitude. "What do you want?"

He let her see his eyes rake up her body and smirked. He should really trade-mark that expression.

"Well...."

"Oh, please," she rolled her eyes, tossing her head. "Yeah, you stopped to tell me you think I'm wank material. Duh. Old news." Varens gave him a smirk nearly as good as his own coupled with a disdainful scan of his body. "What do you really want, you prat?"

Draco found a new spark of respect for the girl. Noted: Not a pushover.

It was enough for him to be earnest with her.

He turned slightly and offered his arm.

"Walk with me."

She eyed him with suspicion, but slipped into a comfortable escort position, matching his steps as they began to stroll.

"So...."

His lips tugged up at the corners.

"So?" He couldn't resist taunting.

Varens gave him a bored look and the spark of respect was fanned.

"Whatever it is you want, I don't have to help you, you know," she informed him flatly. "In fact, I probably won't."

He shrugged lightly as they strolled out onto the lawn, the sunshine washing over them. It was a lovely Saturday, though hints of storm clouds could be seen at the edge of the Lake.

"I know. But it's not certain until I try, now is it?"

She nodded acknowledgement and the pair fell silent.

Draco drank in the sunshine, the nature, the students playing games as the promenaded past, chattering, studying, but Varens's eyes remained locked on his face, her expression perturbed.

He was much more interesting than another beautiful day.

Only when they came to a rest on a dock on the Lake, far from the other students, did Draco finally speak again, his gaze somewhere across the waves.

"I need you to help me become friends with Granger."

The Violet Round, Chapter One

AN #1: I figured I'd post this in it's original format, that is, as a fanfic. However, beyond what I've already written, there will be no more, although I will break it into smaller chapters. But in case you're curious.

AN #2: I don't own Harry Potter's world and I only write using it for my own development and amusement. However, Caleb Brackner and Danielle Varens are MINE, and I reserve all rights to use them wherever and however I want, which means that no one else has any rights to them. 'Kay. Thanks!

"Well, this is unprecedented."

Hermione broke off the kiss with a groan, not bothering to open her eyes, only hoping the mood wasn't broken.

"Sod off, Malfoy!"

She tugged at the boy's hair again, but, unfortunately, he resisted. Bollocks. Of course her fun would be ruined.... Her eyes finally flickered open to see Caleb's nervous eyes receding from across the circular couch and Draco Malfoy smirking in the doorway.

"Maybe I should go..." the Ravenclaw muttered, tugging awkwardly at his clothes as he stood up.

"No need to rush off on my account," that despicable blond drawled. "I was enjoying the show. I had no idea that our upright, perfect little war hero could be so..." He turned his smirk more specifically on Hermione, who glared back.

He should so die. Painfully.

"Naughty. Honestly, using the common room as a rendezvous.... Tsk, Granger."

Caleb blushed crimson, his eyes glued to the carpet.

Well, he was no help.

Malfoy deliberately crossed his legs, taking up more space in the doorway, blocking the other male's way out. Devilish fire seemed to backlight his visage as he studied his counterpart.

"Too much of a hurry to bother with the bedroom, I suppose. I can't say I entirely understand you, Brackner, but desperate times and all...."

Hermione finally accepted that her itch was not going to get scratched that night and sat upright, curling against the side of the couch. All the better to glare with.

Three words: Hell hath no.

She smiled sweetly at Malfoy.

"Just because I prefer an actual person to Mayfair is no reason to be upset, Malfoy," she all but purred. "No offense. I know how attached you are to your hand."

Silence reigned for a few long moments.

"Err... Essuseme?"

Malfoy didn't even look at the boy as he strode into the room, moving towards his own dormitory.

"Don't let me catch you in here again, Brackner. I will give you a detention."

The two doors clicked shut within moments of each other, a gunshot and its echo.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest with a loud sigh.

There went that relationship.

~*~

Draco stomped straight through his room to his shower, grateful, once again, that though he and Granger had to share a common room, that they had separate bathrooms. It would be very embarrassing indeed if she suspected that he was taking a cold shower on her behalf.

It was just that he hadn't expected to come across her like... that. With a guy. Brackner, of all guys, but still a guy, moaning passionately with her hair a mess as his hands worked through it. And she hadn't been passive in the situation at all - she had been nipping at the Ravenclaw, running her hands over him, in charge despite her bottom position.

Draco shivered as the water ran over him, leaning against the cool cream marble while he thought.

He'd been delighted when he'd learned that the remaining seventh years would get separate suites with their own rooms due to the large influx of transfer students. He had looked forward to having his own space to shelter in, away from everyone else.

Of course, his perspective had changed when he'd learned that the suite mate he'd been randomly assigned was Granger. He almost wished that he'd drawn a Slytherin.

But they were now a few weeks into the semester, and after the initial snarls and a small incident where she'd come across one of his copies of Mayfair, the cohabitation had been going surprisingly well. The war seemed to have matured her, and rather than sniping at each other at every opportunity, the two merely glared. They said as little as possible to each other, ignoring one another as she sat curled up on her strange, round couch and he sat poised on the edge of his leather swivel chair, before stamping off to their respective rooms.

It had been far too good to last.

~*~

"Hermione!"

She turned and waited for him, grinning as he panted a little when he caught up with her.

"Caleb! What's up?"

The tall brunet blushed and tucked his hands into the pockets of his khakis, folding his shoulders in on himself.

"I just wanted to apologize..." he mumbled, his gaze caressing the floor.

Hermione's smile vanished.

"I just kinda freaked out, ya know?" His brown eyes briefly brushed hers. "I mean, he's a prefect, and it's his common room, too, and he c-could give me a detention if he wanted to, and he's kinda intimidating anyways, an' I just don't want you to be mad at me, ya know?"

"Oh...."

A pack of sixth-years made their way past them to the Great Hall, talking over each other about their post-breakfast plans. Only one boy among them followed along, listening quietyly. It was he who drew Hermione's eyes. He probably had a backbone.

She brought her attention back to her friend.

"So, what are you apologizing for again?" she asked.

His blush spread. Huh. She had thought that only Ron could turn his throat that color.

"Nevermind," he ran together the words, turning away as he said them. "Seeyalater."

Hermione didn't stop him from walking off.

She had more important things to do.

The Violet Round (Chapter One, Draft Four)

"Well, this is unprecedented."

Ametrine broke off the kiss with a groan, not bothering to open her eyes, only hoping the mood wasn't broken.

"Fuck off, Maerks!"

She tugged at the boy's hair again, but, unfortunately, he resisted. Balls. Of course her fun would be ruined.

Her eyes reluctantly flickered open to see Caleb edging back to across the circular couch while Devlin Maerks smirked in the doorway.

"Maybe I should go..." the younger witch muttered, tugging awkwardly at his clothes as he stood up.

"No need to rush off on my account," that despicable blond in the doorway drawled. "I was enjoying the show. I had no idea that our upright, perfect little war heroine could be so..." He shifted his smirk to Ametrine, who glared back.

"Naughty." He drew the word out like honey. "Honestly, using our living room as a rendezvous.... Tsk, Dracaena."

Caleb blushed crimson, his eyes glued to the carpet.

"Too much of a hurry to bother with the bedroom, I suppose. I can't say I entirely understand you, Brackner, but desperate times, and all...."

Ametrine finally accepted that her itch was not going to get scratched tonight and sat upright, curling against the side of the couch. All the better to glare with.

Three words: Hell hath no.

She smiled sweetly at her suite-mate.

"Just because I prefer an actual person to Maxim is no reason to be upset, Maerks," she all but purred. "No offense. I know how attached you are to your hand."

Silence reigned for a few long moments.

Caleb, the poor schmuck, took the opportunity to escape.

"Um... Excuse me?" he squeaked.

Maerks didn't even look at the other witch as he strode briskly into the room, moving towards his own dorm.

"Don't let me catch you in here again, Brackner. I will give you a detention."

The two doors clicked shut within moments of each other, a gunshot and its echo.

Ametrine tossed a glossy curl over her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest with a loud sigh.

There went that relationship.

***********************************************

Devlin stomped straight through his room to his shower, grateful, once again, that although he and Dracaena had to share a living room and a kitchenette, they had separate bedrooms with their own personal bathrooms. It would be very embarrassing indeed if she suspected that he was taking a cold shower on her behalf.

It was just that he hadn't expected to come across her like... that. With a guy. Brackner, of all guys, but still a guy; her moans just audible as he kissed her.

After all, Ametrine Dracaena wasn't like the rest of them; no one was supposed to think of her like that. She was the smart one, the heroine, the Witch Who Figured Out How to Save the World and then bothered to come back to school to finish her education. She was supposed to be above silly things like sex and hormones. She was not supposed to be the hot girl who made your mouth go alternately dry then too wet as you watched her shift to drape her arm across the side of the sofa.

Devlin shivered as the water ran over him, leaning against the cool cream marble while he thought.

He'd been delighted when he'd learned that the remaining seniors would get separate suites with their own rooms this year due to the large influx of transfer students. He had looked forward to having his own space to shelter in, away from everyone else.

Of course, his perspective had changed a little when he'd seen that the suite-mate he'd been assigned was Dracaena. He even almost wished that he'd had the ill fortune to draw one of the last stubborn few Speakers.

But they were now a few weeks into the semester, and aside from the initial snarls and a small incident where she'd come across one of his copies of Maxim, the cohabitation had been going surprisingly well. The war seemed to have matured her, and rather than sniping at each other at every opportunity, as they had in the past, the two merely glared. They said as little as possible to one another, ignoring the other each night as she curled up on her strange, round couch and he sat poised on the edge of his leather swivel chair, before silently stamping off to their respective rooms.

It had been far too good to last.

*********************************

"Ametrine!"

Hope made her turn and wait for him, let her grin as he panted a little when he caught up with her.

"Caleb! What's up?"

The tall brunet blushed and tucked his hands into the pockets of his khakis, folding his shoulders in on himself.

"I just wanted to apologize..." he mumbled, his gaze caressing the flagstones.

Her smile vanished.

"I just kind of freaked out, you know?" His brown eyes briefly brushed past hers. "I mean, I shouldn't have left like that, but, you know, he's a TA and a senior, and it's his suite, too, and c-could give me a detention if he wanted to, or worse, and he's kind of intimidating anyways, and I just don't want you to be mad at me, you know?"

"Oh...."

A pack of juniors made their way past them from the cafeteria, talking over each other about their post-breakfast plans. Only one boy among them followed along, listening quietly, and drew Ametrine's eyes.

He seemed to have a spine.

She brought her attentions back to the junior who had once approached her with an easy smile, and a fresh picked flower.

"So, what are you apologizing for again?" she asked.

His blush spread, turning what she could see of his throat a vibrant red. A corner of her mind ironically compared it to the plumage of a male robin's chest, proudly displayed during mating season.

"Nevermind." He ran the words together, turning away as he said them "I'llseeyouaround."

Ametrine didn't stop him from walking off.

Breakfast was more important.

However, when she sat down and bit into a piece of the French toast she had gathered onto her plate, she found that it tasted like ash.

She bit again.

Nope, still not as delicious as she knew it should be.

Her lack of appetite did not go unnoticed.

"It's not poisoned," Danielle reminded her, glancing up from one of her many romance novels. "You can eat it without grimacing after every bite and feeling around for tacks."

The young heroine set down her fork and sighed into her palms.

Danielle put the novel aside expectantly.

"Maerks walked in on me and Caleb last night."

"Ooh!" The blonde girl recoiled. "And he's going to Dr. Tomasi with it?"

"Psh!" The possibility hadn't occurred to Ametrine, but it didn't worry her now that her friend mentioned it. She had enough on the prat to retaliate in such an event. "No. But now Caleb has revealed that he is, in fact, a sniveling coward."

"Oh...." the younger girl put a sympathetic hand on her knee. "I'm sorry. I know you hoped he was..."

"Different?" the Student Minister finished with a wry half smile. "Yeah. But then, I always do, don't I?"

She pushed away from the table, leaving her dishes, and progressed from the hall with her hair a curtain between herself and the world.

******************************************

"Ametrine?" Aiden queried, reaching out a hand to touch her as she brushed past him on his way into the caf, but drawing back before he made actual contact. "What's wrong?"

Her silent back offered no response as she continued on as though she hadn't heard him.

Gary grasped his arm.

"Just let her go," he advised. "There probably isn't anything you can do, anyways."

Aiden glanced at Kelsey, who shrugged.

"Okay," he bit out, shaking off his best friend. "I'll be good."

He all but stalked into the hall, his glower deepening when he saw long golden-blonde hair.

"I'll bet you know something about that," he snapped as he took Ametrine's vacated seat.

Danielle glared coolly across the top of her book, lips pressed tightly together.

Gary and Kelsey exchanged wary looks as they sat across from the pair.

"Well?" Aiden demanded. He wasn't used to people disregarding him, especially those who were in his social circle. Even if the person in question was his best friend's friend whom he'd gladly see at the bottom of the lake.

She slowly turned her head to face him. A beat passed, then two, before an arsenic sweet smile split her face.

"Aiden, I will tell you what that was about once, and only once you grow a pair of balls."

She ignored the affront of the Golden Boy and returned her attentions to her romance novel.

Gary looked amused.

Kelsey studiously admired the fruit she'd heaped on her plate.

Aiden resembled a thundercloud, his grey eyes glowing with fury beneath his dusty brown hair.

"Why, you..." he growled, unable to think of something bad enough to call her.

"Or you could ask Ametrine, the one you're so concerned about," the infuriating woman suggested, condescension dripping, not bothering to glance up. "That would be innovative."

Gary smothered a suspicious sounding cough with his elbow.

Kelsey took the opportunity to turn and wave at someone at a table behind her.

Fine. They were just as bad as she was.

Aiden shoved away from the table and stalked from the room, muttering darkly.

That horrible, awful girl was making his life miserable.

Back at the table, a small smile played about Danielle's slight lips as she stared at the book, but did not read, as she had not throughout the entire exchange.

************************************************

"Varens."

She stopped cold on the spot, a tension that had previously been absent tightening the tendons in her neck as she slowly rotated to face him. The effect was not unpleasant.

Devlin thought, not for the first time, that it was a shame she had become so involved with Dracaena and the rest of the Armed Doves since her transfer from Glorbixon Academy; though they were currently powerful, that wouldn't last forever, and Varens was a member of one of the Founding Families, and pretty, too. She was tall, slender, with breasts just slightly too large for her frame, with long wheat-blonde hair and skin bronzed from the Southern sun.

It didn't hurt that she wore her shirts slightly tighter than was strictly necessary.

"Maerks," she greeted less than warmly, her southern accent doing nothing to belay the chill of her attitude. "What do you want?"

He made sure she saw his eyes rake up her body and smirked.

"Well...."

"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes, tossing her head. "Yeah, you stopped me to tell me you think I'm jack-off material. Duh. Old news." Varens gave him a smirk nearly as good as is own, coupled with a disdainful scan of his own body. "What do you really want?"

Devlin found a new spark of respect for the girl. Enough for him to be earnest with her.

Coming to a decision, he turned slightly and offered his arm.

"Walk with me."

She eyed him with suspicion, but slipped into a comfortable escort position with him, her fingers cool against his bare skin.

"So..." she started.

His lips tugged up at the corners.

"So?" he couldn't resist taunting.

Varens gave him a bored look, fanning the spark of respect.

"Whatever it is you want, I don't have to help you, you know," she informed him flatly. "In fact, I probably won't."

He shrugged as though it didn't matter as they strolled through the large double doors out onto the lawn, the sunshine washing over them. It was a lovely Saturday, although hints of storm clouds could be seen at the edge of the lake.

"I know. But I won't be certain until I try, now will I?"

She nodded grudging acknowledgement and fell silent.

Devlin drank in the sunshine, the nature, and the students studying and playing ultimate as they promenaded past, but Varens's eyes remained locked on his face, her expression perturbed.

He was much more interesting than another beautiful day.

Only when they came to a rest on a dock on the lake, far from the other students, did Devlin finally speak again, his gaze somewhere across the waves.

"I need you to help me become friends with Dracaena."

Arsenicia's Story (As Yet Untitled) Clip One Draft Two

I'm one of those students whose names teachers dread seeing on his or her role. Not because I'm a trouble-maker, or anything. In fact, I'm at the top of my class, though I have been accused of possessing a wee bit of an attitude problem. But that's not the issue. No, teachers don't like to have my name on their roles because they can't pronounce it correctly to save their lives.

'So?' you must be thinking. 'Lots of kids have names that are difficult to pronounce. It's no big deal. Just use a nick-name.' But that's the thing. All possible nicknames are worse than the actual name. It's Arsenicia Malwrenataie Kilburn.

I tried to get people to call me Ann for awhile, but it just didn't stick. Instead, I get called Arsenic, Arson if peeps are feeling particularly lazy. When I asked one of my adopted brothers why Ann hadn't taken, I was told it was because my personality is toxic, and Ann sounded too sweet.

Joy, huh?

My parents must have hated me.

I'll never know for sure, though. They rather died when I was young, think infant. No one knows who they were, where they were from.... Really, no one knows anything about them, except that they were in a car, going somewhere, with me in a bassinet in the back-seat with a birth certificate with only my name and date of birth filled out, when they swerved suddenly and hit a light pole. They died, and I was put up for adoption, after some wonder at the convenience and mystery of my birth certificate.

The irony is that I was adopted by completely normal people with completely normal names. Seriously. The parents' names are John and Susan. Their two sons are popular, athletic, and go by James and Michael, respectively. Their daughter is a cheerleader; pretty, perfect, and well-liked. Her name is Hannah.

Bland, bland, bland. You might as well bottle it and call it 'American.'

I don't stick out like a stripper's hips, nuh-uh.

And it's not just my name, either. I mean, I'm WEIRD. My peers constantly point it out to each other. (You'd think that after this long, it could just go unsaid, but no.) Where the people I live with are annoyingly bubbly and effusive, I'm stony and reserved. I have all the personality of... well, arsenic. The family is the most influential in Great Hills and the contrast only ups my odd quotient.

When it's written out, it doesn't seem like I'm so strange. But, you'll see. I can't explain everything. Some information you'll have to pick up on yourself, and how truly out of place I am is one of them.

God, I can ramble. I believe that process has supplied enough background for you. I'll write down the actual story now. Or, at least, the narrative of it.

NOTE: This portion of the story may ultimately end up being excluded entirely. I would like feedback to help me make the call.

Road Trip Story (as Yet Untitled) Clip Chapter Two Draft One

Kali was playing TapTap when I slid back into the car, grooving in her seat as her thumbs danced across the touch screen. The girl had many vices, and TapTap was by far the least destructive of them.

Hands shaking, I started the car, my own iPod blaring to life.

Kali glanced up, the song ended, and frowned, slender fingers pulling her earbuds out.

"Where's the food? I am hungry, and I thought you said you were grabbing." Her mouth tugged to one side. "I NEED food." Her gaze fell to my hands where they were trembling a tattoo on the steering wheel. "You obviously need it, too."

I reversed out of the spot, then tore way too fast around the parking lot.

"Hey!" She protested, her nail polish stark against the beige OS handle.

"We'll get food, Kali," I reassured her. "Somewhere without a church busload of Jesus nuts." I glared at the offending vehicle as we passed it.

"Oh..." my friend grimaced in understanding. "They gotcha again, huh?"

"Cornered me in the bathroom like a little black sheep with fangs," I agreed, fighting a shudder as I looked for a more agreeable fast food place.

"In the bathroom? While you were taking a piss?!"

"No, thank God," I said, rather ironically. "I was washing my hands."

Kali stifled a laugh, and I glared at her as I pulled into a McDonald's, sliding into the drive through queue .

"I'm sorry," she giggled. "but it's just funny how the crazies seem to find you. It's like they know you're not Christian and too nice to tell them to fuck themselves."

She grinned evilly as she flicked a strand of fire-truck red hair over her shoulder.

"And don't tell me that you didn't want to tell them where they could stuff it."

The grin widened, showing that she had recently glued blue rhinestones to her canine teeth.

"Or better yet-"

"No!" I slapped my hand over her mouth. "If you disrespect their religion, you're as bad as they are! Ow!"

I jerked my hand away to look at the teeth marks. She hadn't broken the skin this time.

"You think way too much, Davide," she informed me. "As a result, you can be way to goddamn nice when people get in your way. Knowing why they are there does not remove them as obstacles."

I sighed, knowing she was both right and wrong, but unwilling to argue the point. Besides, now we were drawing even with the speaker and I WAS hungry.

"Hello welcome to McDonald's how may I help you?" A flat female voice ran out.

"Good afternoon!" I exclaimed, smiling widely, knowing that it would carry through my voice. "May I please order a six piece chicken nugget, a small fry, and a large sized caramel mocha frappucino?

"What sauce with the nuggets?" She asked, slightly more inflated this time.

"No sauce, please," I replied. "But it would be excellent if I could get lots of extra ketchup thrown in the bag. Say, six or seven packets?"

"Sure, we can do that," I heard the smile in her voice. Success! "Will that be all?"

There was suddenly a hard body across my lap and I had to spit out a strand of green hair.

"No, woman!" Kali called into the microphone. "Get me a large fry, a double cheeseburger, and a large triple-thick chocolate, and throw in even more ketchup to add to what excesso-woman asked for. That's it!"

"That will be $10.23." Her voice was now cold and angry and I had to resist the urge to slap Kali as she settled back in her seat.

"Thank you very much, ma'am," I chirped before driving forward.

Catching my discontent, Kali shrugged.

"What?"

I merely sighed and shook my head.

Road Trip Story (As Yet Untitled) Clip Chapter One Draft One

They told me the world was ending.

I didn't believe them, obviously, but then I never believe what crazies tell me. Something about the zeal in their eyes while they're blithering on.

I edged slowly towards the door, trying not to take my eyes off any of them. I didn't want to know what they'd do at my back.

"Uh-huh. Yeah... That's called entropy," I explained. "Bit of a proven fact, since there's no such thing as perpetual motion."

Their eyes seized upon me, opening wide as though to control me with their gazes.

"It is God," one declared, brandishing her gospel tract for emphasis.

"If you are among the saved, you will survive!" another chimed in, oblivious to the woman who was trying to get around her to use the sink.

My shoulder hit the hand dryer and I winced, but kept moving, inch by inch. That was going to bruise.

The third one held the cross around her neck with a trembling hand.

"Repent, sinner," she whispered. "You are dirty!" Her voice rose steadily, until she murmured hoarsely. "I can smell the damnation on you!"

My hand found the door knob, and I sighed in relief.

"No, sweetie, that's just the incense," and I let the door to the women's restroom swing shut behind me as I made my way back into the dining area of the fast food joint.

I hated evangelists.