The Real Snake of Slytherin

"Ava! Ava Kerry! Ava Kerry is carrying the Quaffle to the Slytherin Keeper! She's got Fred and George Weasley at her back, smashing Bludgers at anyone who comes too near!"

I like the feel of the wind whipping my robes, playing with my short hair. Lee Jordan announces as I approach the big, ugly, Slytherin Keeper, when suddenly something happens.

Out of the corner of my eye, a glint of gold appears, and the palest hand I've ever seen reaches out and snatches it.

I see Draco Malfoy's sneer lighting up his face, his white-blonde hair still somehow perfectly in place. "Lost again, did you, Kerry?" he smirks.

I say nothing, merely gape at the boy.

"Ava.... Ava.... Ava!" George's voice snaps me back to reality. "What's up with you?"

I groan and flop back onto the couch. "I can't do Divination homework. I don't know what my dreams mean!" I had been reflecting on that particular dream. It was special to me.

When I woke up, I had realized that I was in love with Draco Malfoy. That was back in second year. And he still only talks to me to poke fun at me.

"Well, what was your dream?" Fred asks, literally throwing himself onto my feet.

"Let's see, I was playing Quidditch," I say blandly, trying to kick Fred off of me.

"Georgie, what does that mean?" Fred asks.

"Beats me. Probably that you'll get eaten by a fish. Homework is boring. Wanna test out our Puking Pastilles again?"

"Ew, no! It took me forever to get the taste out of my mouth! Y'know, after I actually stopped vomiting?" I glare at them, and they stare sheepishly at their feet. "Let's prank someone. Umbridge is probably busy with Harry right now, anyway."

"Who?"

"Alexandra, duh!" I say, leaping up, knocking Fred to the floor.

"Alexandra Deboi?" George asks, astonished.

"Yes, Alexandra Deboi. I don't like her."

"Why not?" Fred asks.

"Honestly, have you two ever met Alexandra?!"

"Not really..."

"Exactly," I say, dumping my Dream-y Divination book on the table. I didn't used to hate Alexandra. I do now. I can't exactly tell Fred and George why, though. It's personal.

She likes Draco. I like Draco. Therefore, by default, I must hate Alexandra. Right? Of course right!

"...Can we eat first?" George complains.

I sigh. "Fine," I mutter, slinging my bag over my shoulder. Sure, Fred and George are two years older, but that doesn't mean they can't make awesome (and entertaining!) friends.

The three of us discuss the dumbest teachers, and, of course, as soon as the word "Umbridge" exits my lips, a flash of white-blonde appears.

I struggle to contain the blush attempting to creep up onto my cheeks.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Kerry. What's this about Professor Umbridge? I'm afraid I'll have to give you a detention for that," the snake of Slytherin himself says, his gray eyes inspecting the twins beside me with disdain. "And I think I'll deduct fifty points from Gryffindor for hanging out with Weasleys."

"Who says you can do that?" Fred asks.

"Professor Umbridge herself. I suggest you move along to dinner before I decide to dock more points," he says, his face twisting into something that looked rather like a sinister smile.

So Fred, George, and I wander away, Fred and George muttering under their breath about insidious scumbags and scrawny gits.

My bad mood persists throughout dinner, especially as I watch Deboi try to show off in front of Malfoy. Not as if she has any talent. Okay, she must be smart if she's a Ravenclaw, but.... meh.

"Aw, cheer up, Ava. You'll see Harry at detention, at least."

"Maybe," I say sourly, stabbing at my chicken with a knife, imagining it with a sick twist of Umbridge's and Deboi's face.

Fred gives George the "shut-up-she's-moody" look and they strike up a conversation with Lee about the Chudley Cannons. Following dinner, I trail Harry to Umbridge's room.

Wait... his hand is scabby and bloody. Perfect. Abuse. My favorite. Harry doesn't say a word as he enters, merely sits and grabs a black quill - without ink, might I add - and begins writing.

Slightly confused, I sit down, also, and find a similar quill. I see that Umbridge has written my sentence on the board.

I will learn respect.

That's it? That's really short. This'll be a breeze! I see Harry next to me writing I must not tell lies.

Easy! I start scrawling across the parchment with the quill, which is somehow eerily filled with red ink.

I'm about seven sentences down when a sharp piercing sensation enters my hand. "Damn," I mutter, stopping to inspect my hand.

There isn't a thing, except a slight rash, it looks like. I shrug, passing the pain off as a figment of my imagination, and continue writing. A couple of lines later, the stinging returns. I look down at my hand as I'm writing, and instantly let loose a mumbled garble of the nastiest swear words I've picked up.

"Fùckshîtdamnhell," I grumble, agitated, looking at the red stream - no, make that waterfall - flowing onto my parchment. My blood. Gross.

"What was that, Miss Kerry?" Umbridge asks in her unnaturally high-pitched voice.

"Nothing."

Harry shoots me a sympathetic look and continues writing. I notice that his hand is covered in red, slicing his hand deep.

I keep writing, glaring at Umbridge and muttering various swears under my breath. My mind wanders to what wonderful hex I'd love to cast on Umbridge and how much I'm incapable of hating Draco for this.

I have a screwed up life.

Hope y'all liked! I really love writing about Umbridge's cruelty, so I sort of had to put this in here! Comment! Love y'all!