The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall was still gloomy.

Nothing could change the bad arse mood I was in.

I felt like hitting things, punching things, killing people, stabbing things. ROAR!

And I had a strange urge to bake cupcakes.

Please explain.

We examined our new course schedules at breakfast. A few seats along, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were discussing magical methods of aging themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament. 

I could have shot George then and there.

“Today’s not bad… outside all morning,” said Ron, who was running his finger down the Monday column of his schedule. “Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures… damn it, we’re still with the Slytherins…” 

“Double Divination this afternoon,” Harry groaned, looking down.

“HA!” I said feeling like rubbing in the fact that I had magical Drama to do.

 “You should have given it up like me and Wil, shouldn’t you?” said Hermione briskly, buttering herself some toast. “Then you’d be doing something sensible like Arithmancy.” 

“You’re eating again, I notice,” said Ron, watching Hermione adding liberal amounts of jam to her toast too. 

“I’ve decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights,” said Hermione haughtily. 

“Yeah… and you were hungry,” said Ron, grinning.

“Yeah, I could hear her stomach growling all night.” I said mockingly. STOP BEING A BITCH!

“You’re in a charming mood this morning.” Hermione snapped.

“I FEEL LIKE KILLING EVERYONE!” I shouted. Quite a few heads turned my way. “I shouldn’t have shouted that out, should I?”

There was a sudden rustling noise above us, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail.

Instinctively, I looked up, but no one sends me owls anyway. I should just eat my cinnamon toast. I WANT TO MAKE CUPCAKES AND STOP BEING BITCHY!

NOW I FEEL LIKE BREAKING DOWN AND CRYING!

OH MY GOD!

WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?

I’d say its hormones.

PMS BULLSHIT!

I was preoccupied with trying to not talk and be nice to people.

In Herbology, I was distracted from being a bitch by Professor Sprout showing us the fugliest plants I had ever seen. Indeed, they looked less like plants than thick, black, giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid. 

“I’m not fricking touching that.” I snapped.

Puswillow. What?

“Bubotubers,” Professor Sprout told them briskly. “They need squeezing. You will collect the pus -”  “The what?” said Seamus Finnigan, sounding revolted.  

“Pus, Finnigan, pus,” said Professor Sprout, “and it’s extremely valuable, so don’t waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves; it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, bubotuber pus.”

“Yuck.” I said every time I looked at them. I wanted to vomit, though It was weirdly satisfying. As each swelling was popped, a large amount of thick yellowish-green liquid burst forth, which smelled strongly of petrol. We caught it in the bottles as Professor Sprout had indicated, and by the end of the lesson had collected several pints.

“This’ll keep Madam Pomfrey happy,” said Professor Sprout, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. “An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples.” 

“Like poor Eloise Midgen,” said Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff, in a hushed voice. “She tried to curse hers off.” 

“Silly girl,” said Professor Sprout, shaking her head. “But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end.”

“Pus gets rid of pimples. What kind if BS is this?” I said peeling my gloves off and trying to wipe the excess of pus on Ron’s face.

“Magical Bull shit.” Harry said knowingly. I wanted to kill him.

“I don’t like you.” I told him.

“But you love me,” He smiled like a prick.

“Yeah, but I don’t like you. There’s a difference.”

“Sure.”

 A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signalling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Hufflepuffs climbing the stone steps for Transfiguration, and the Gryffindors and the bitching Willow headed in the other direction, down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid’s small wooden cabin, which stood on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. 

Hagrid was standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There were several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently keen to investigate the contents more closely.

As we drew nearer, an odd rattling noise reached our ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions. 

“Mornin’!” Hagrid said, grinning at the three most awesome people who ever existed. And Ron. BAHAHAHAHAHHA! I meant and me. “Be’er wait fer the Slytherins, they won’ want ter miss this - Blast-Ended Skrewts!” 

“Oh my god!” I said happily. Truth as it may be, but I actually did know about them.

“Come again?” said Ron.  Hagrid pointed down into the crates. 

“Eurgh!” squealed Lavender Brown, jumping backward.

They looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. There were about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over one  another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They were giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of a skrewt, and with a small phut, it would be propelled forward several inches.

Yes, Definitely blast-ended skrewts.

“On’y jus’ hatched,” said Hagrid proudly, “so yeh’ll be able ter raise ‘em yerselves! Thought we’d make a bit of a project of it!” 

“And why would we want to raise them?” said a cold voice belonging to Malfoy, the definite non-llama.

He always has something to say. What a lemon.

No. He...HE IS CAT PISS ON A LEMON!

The Slytherins had arrived. The speaker was Draco Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle were chuckling appreciatively at his words.  Hagrid looked stumped at the question. 

“I mean, what do they do?” asked Malfoy. “What is the point of them?” 

Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds’ pause, then he said roughly, “Tha’s next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus’ feedin’ ‘em today. Now, yeh’ll wan’ ter try ‘em on a few diff’rent things - I’ve never had ‘em before, not sure what they’ll go fer - I got ant eggs an’ frog livers an’ a bit o’ grass snake - just try ‘em out with a bit of each.” 

“First pus and now this,” muttered Seamus. 

“I BANISH YOU TO A PUS FILLED HOLE!” I shouted at Seamus.

I’m such an apricot.

I have never tried apricot.

How weird.

“Ouch!” yelled Dean Thomas after about ten minutes of pushing sludgy stuff to the skrewts. “It got me.”

 Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious. 

“Its end exploded!” said Dean angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand. 

“Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off,” said Hagrid, nodding. 

“Eurgh!” said Lavender Brown again. “Eurgh, Hagrid, what’s that pointy thing on it?” 

“Ah, some of ‘em have got stings,” said Hagrid enthusiastically (Lavender quickly withdrew her hand from the box). “I reckon they’re the males… The females’ve got sorta sucker things on their bellies… I think they might be ter suck blood.” 

“Well, I can certainly see why we’re trying to keep them alive,” said Malfoy sarcastically. “Who wouldn’t want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?” 

“Shut up, just because you’re a blast ended skank, doesn’t mean you should pick on your own kind.” I said making no sense.

Pretty much anything that doesn’t make sense is said by me.

There was a collective ‘ohh’ from everyone in the class.

Dicks.

“You’re an idiot and these skrewt things are stupid.” Draco said.

Nope. He fails.

“Just because they’re not very pretty, it doesn’t mean they’re not useful,” Hermione snapped. “Dragon blood’s amazingly magical, but you wouldn’t want a dragon for a pet, would you?” 

“I might!” Malfoy snarled.

“NOBODY LIKES YOU!” I said seriously to him.

And he shut up.

Score. One to Willow, zero to Malfoy.

I’m such a banana, without the sexual connotations.

 “Well, at least the skrewts are small,” said Ron as we made our way back up to the castle for lunch an hour later. 

“They are now,” said Hermione in an exasperated voice, “but once Hagrid’s found out what they eat, I expect they’ll be six feet long.” 

That’s what she said.

“Well, that won’t matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something, will it?” said Ron, grinning slyly at her. 

“You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up,” said Hermione. “As a matter of fact I think he’s right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all.” 

“You discrimanationistical person.” Guess who said that. “You only don’t like them because they aren’t humans.”

“Willow...” Hermione looked pained. “You’re....strange.”

“No, I’m delightfully different.” I sang before we sat down for lunch.

Hermione began to eat so fast that Harry, Ron and I stared at her. Usually, it’s me who eats like that.

“Er - is this the new stand on elf rights?” said Ron. “You’re going to make yourself puke instead?” 

“No,” said Hermione, with as much dignity as she could muster with her mouth bulging with sprouts. “I just want to get to the library.” 

“What?” said Ron in disbelief. “Hermione - it’s the first day back! We haven’t even got homework yet!” 

Hermione shrugged and continued to shovel down her food as though she had not eaten for days. Then she leapt to her feet, said, “See you at dinner!” and departed at high speed. 

“What a cracker.” I said staring after her. “Next thing you know she’ll make a group on Elf rights.”

When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons I separated from Harry and Ron who were heading for divination.

I on the other hand, skipped off to somewhere unfamiliar on the second floor for my amazing magical Drama lesson.

I walked into the room and gasped. It was freaking epic!

Pictures of famous Wizarding Actors and Actresses waved down at me. I couldn’t help but emit a weird gargle sound.

There was Eli Woods, the Wizard Actor from ‘Birds, bats and irritating spats’, Heidi Peter from ‘No more sunshine’ and even the child actress Katie Stone from ‘My life at Bogwarts’. Bogwarts was pretty much Hogwarts in Australia, they were so uncreative they hardly changed the name.

Ps. Its a bad movie, don’t watch it.

I took a seat. It was about five seconds before I heard my name shouted from somewhere behind me.

“Ginny! Do you have drama?” I called back.

“Yeah.” She sat beside me. “Is it like a mixed year thing?”

“Dunno.”

We were joined by Alicia Spinnet, Lee Jordan and Collin Creevey from Gryffindor. From the Puffies, we gained BELLA! Haha, Cedric Diggory, Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones. From Ravenclaw, there was Cho Chang, Cho’s friend - who was ugly, and a very pretty blonde girl. And finally, from Slytherin, there was no one!

Mwahahahaha!

“Hi everyone! I’m Willow if you didn’t know me but you probably do! I’m guessing we’re all drop outs from one subject or another?” I said quite loudly.

“Yeah, I dropped Divination, she’s gotta be a fraud!” Alicia said with a grin.

“Same.” Said Collin and Ginny at the same time.

“I dropped care of magical creatures.” Said Cho’s ugly friend. “Since HAGrid took the class it all went down hill.”

“There’s always gotta be a bitch in a class doesn’t there?” I muttered to Ginny.

“I’m Luna.” Smiled the pretty blonde girl. “I gave up Arithmancy when I found out we could do drama.”

“Like a boss.” Lee said nodding.

Holy crap. Step aside George, you have competition. Your best friend.

Someone should seriously shoot me.

“Hanna and I dropped Muggle studies.” Susan said happily.

“What did you drop Willow?” Said Bella

“I dropped out of a chimney, because I’m secretly Santa.” Bella laughed.

“It’s not a secret anymore.” Said Cho forcefully. What a biiitch.

“You’re such a Joy kill!” I said sitting down.

“HEY FELLAS!” boomed a cheerful voice.

“howdy!” I called not knowing who I was talking to.

“Hi Willow, I’m Professor Violet Brown. I’m new.” The voice said again.

Violet Brown. That’s the same two colours as Lavender Brown...

Coincidence? I THINK NOT!

I turned and looked at the source.

What met my gaze was not what I expected.

A woman, who I’m assuming is Professor Brown, had long golden waves of hair to her waist. Her eyes were a piercing blue, and her skin was pale without so much as a blemish.

She was pretty.

Whore.

“Let’s introduce ourselves!” she said chirpily sitting down cross-legged. “Make a circle.”

I edged my way over to her and sat.

“Okay! Well, I’m Violet, you can call me Vi, cause I’m cool like that.” the professor said with a grin. “I like drama, dancing, and I’m about to find out if I like teaching. Willow, your turn.”

“How do you know my name?” I asked awkwardly

“I’m a stalker.”

“Fair enough.” I shrugged. “I’m Willow Catherine Tree Potter. I found out I was related to Harry last year and it was really confusing. Umm....My favourite colour is Green and I like to talk and procrastinate!”

Everyone clapped. I’m so awesome....and modest.

“Hi, I'm Ginny. I first started drinking when I was- hahaha- all of you know me. I’m a hardcore Weasley!”

“Hi, I’m Luna. I like pudding.”

“And you’re delightfully different.” I added. Luna smiled at me. She’s cool.

“I’m Cho. I like Quidditch.”

Be nice

Be nice

Be nice.

Why do I need to be nice? I’m not even going to say anything...awkward.

Everyone went around telling stuff, I found out the ugly chick is called Margretta. I think, I stopped listening.

It wasn’t until I heard “Hi, I’m Cedric,” that I spoke again.

“NO! YOU’RE BELLA!” I shouted.

“I’M NOT BELLA”

“PROVE IT!”

“I CAN GET MY BIRTH CERTIFICATE IF YOU WANT!” Cedric yelled.

“I DON’T SEE YOUR NAME ON IT!”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”

“ACCORDING TO GOD, I DON’T HAVE TO!” I screamed.

“I LIKE LLAMA’S BUT YOU DON’T SEE ME COMPLAINING!” Shouted Violet, or Professor Brown.

“I have a new respect for you.” I told her in awe.

“Do you have to have a say in everything?” Bella asked clearly irritated.

“Shut it Bella.” Violet snapped.

I think I’m in love.

I swear, I fall in love with someone or something every day.

Only me.

Lonely me.

Have you ever felt lonely in a crowded room?

I do when I’m feeling this weird emotion like I am now.

Finally, the bell rang and we all left. I had a feeling drama was going to be epic.

IF I STOPPED FEELING BIPOLAR AND EMOTIONAL!

I like chips.

We reached the entrance hall, which was packed with people queuing for dinner. And had just joined the end of the line, when a loud voice rang out behind us.

“Weasley! Hey, Weasley!”  Harry, Ron, Hermione and I turned.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something.  “What?” said Ron shortly. 

“Your dad’s in the paper, Weasley!” said Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed entrance hall could hear. “Listen to this!” 

FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC  It seems as though the Ministry of Magic’s troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.”

 Malfoy looked up.  “Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It’s almost as though he’s a complete nonentity, isn’t it?” he crowed.

Everyone in the entrance hall was listening now. Malfoy straightened the paper with a flourish and read on: 

“Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers (“policemen”) over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of “Mad-Eye” Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody’s heavily guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen, but refused to answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene.”

 “And there’s a picture, Weasley!” said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. “A picture of your parents outside their house - if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn’t she?”  Ron was shaking with fury. Everyone was staring at him. 

“Get stuffed, Malfoy,” said Harry. “C’mon, Ron…” 

“Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren’t you, Potter?” sneered Malfoy. “So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?”

“You know your mother, Malfoy?” said Harry - both he and Hermione had grabbed the back of Ron’s robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy - “that expression she’s got, like she’s got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?”  Malfoy’s pale face went slightly pink.  “Don’t you dare insult my mother, Potter.” 

“Keep your fat ugly, shit filled, cock-sucking mouth shut, then,” I said, turning away. 

BANG!  Several people screamed - I felt something white-hot graze the side of my face – I snatched my wand out, and heard a second loud BANG, and a roar that echoed through the entrance hall.  “OH NO YOU DON’T, LADDIE!”  I spun around.

Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing. There was a terrified silence in the entrance hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at me — at least, his normal eye was looking at me; the other one was pointing into the back of his head.

“Did he get you?” Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly. 

“Nah,” I grinned, “He’s crap at magic, he missed.” 

“LEAVE IT!” Moody shouted. 

“Leave - what?” I said, feeling awkward and confused. So, like I normally do.

 “Not you - him!” Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody’s rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head. Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons. 

“I don’t think so!” roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again - it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once more. 

“I don’t like people who attack when their opponent’s back’s turned,” growled Moody as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. “Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do...”

The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly. I could hardly control the laughter.

“Never - do - that - again -” said Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upward again. 

“Professor Moody!” said a shocked voice.  Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books. 

“Hello, Professor McGonagall,” said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.  “

What - what are you doing?” said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret’s progress through the air. 

“Teaching,” said Moody. 

“Teach - Moody, is that a student?” shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms. 

“Yep,” said Moody. 

I leant on Hermione for support as I was overcome in silent laughter.

“No!” cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing. 

“Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!” said Professor McGonagall wealdy. “Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?” 

“He might’ve mentioned it, yeah,” said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, “but I thought a good sharp shock -”  

“We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender’s Head of House!”  

“I’ll do that, then,” said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike.  Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words “my father” were distinguishable. 

“Oh yeah?” said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. “Well, I know your father of old, boy… You tell him Moody’s keeping a close eye on his son… you tell him that from me… Now, your Head of House’ll be Snape, will it?” 

“Yes,” said Malfoy resentfully. 

“Another old friend,” growled Moody. “I’ve been looking forward to a chat with old Snape… Come on, you…” 

And he seized Malfoy’s upper arm and marched him off toward the dungeons.  Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms. 

“Willow, Stop laughing.” She told me. I was gasping for air.

“Don’t talk to me,” Ron said quietly to us as we sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened. 

“Why not?” said Hermione in surprise. 

“Because I want to fix that in my memory forever,” said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. “Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret.” 

Harry and Hermione both laughed, and Hermione began doling beef casserole onto each of our plates. 

“He could have really hurt Malfoy, though,” she said. “It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it -” 

“Hermione!” said Ron furiously, his eyes snapping open again, “you’re ruining the best moment of my life!” 

Hermione made an impatient noise and began to eat at top speed again.  

“Don’t tell me you’re going back to the library this evening?” said Harry, watching her. 

“Got to,” said Hermione thickly. “Loads to do.” 

“But you told us Professor Vector -” 

“It’s not schoolwork,” she said. Within five minutes, she had cleared her plate and departed. No sooner had she gone than her seat was taken by Fred Weasley.  

“Moody!” he said. “How cool is he?” 

“Beyond cool,” said George, sitting down beside me.

 “We had him this afternoon,” he told us.

“What was it like?” said Harry eagerly.  Fred and George exchanged looks full of meaning. 

“Never had a lesson like it,” said Fred. 

“He knows, man,” said George.

“Knows what?” said Ron, leaning forward.

“Knows what it’s like to be out there doing it,” said George impressively.

“Doing what?” I said. 

“Fighting the Dark Arts,” said Fred. 

“He’s seen it all,” said George.

 Ron dived into his bag for his schedule.  “We haven’t got him till Thursday!” he said in a disappointed voice.

I want cupcakes.