“You disappeared this morning again.”
“I know.”
“Where do you go?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me Willow.” Hermione looked me straight in the face. She’d been determinedly keeping her voice low so she wouldn’t attract attention. Her eyes gave the impression that she too hadn’t had enough sleep. But that couldn’t be because of me, could it?
“Look Hermione, I love you, but-“I started.
“But what? We’re meant to be best friends. Best friends don’t keep secrets from each other.” She was about to continue, but thankfully my guilt trip ended as Harry sat beside me, and green-faced Ron sat beside Hermione, across from me.
“Cheer up, Ron!” called Lavender. “I know you’ll be brilliant!”
I hate Lavender.
Ugh, so much.
Part of me wishes she’d just get eaten by an evil werewolf.
Nah, that’s just mean.
I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
Wait, what’s going on?
“Tea?” Harry asked him. “Coffee? Pumpkin juice?”
“Anything,” said Ron glumly, taking a moody bite of toast.
“How are you both feeling?” Shemione asked, staring at Ron.
“Fine,” said Harry, who was poured an allusive substance into Ron’s drinl
“There you go, Ron. Drink up.”
“Don’t drink that, Ron!” Hermione said.
Spoil sport.
“Why not?” said Ron.
“You just put something in that drink.” She directed at Harry.
“Excuse me?” said Harry.
“You heard me. I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron’s drink. You’ve got the bottle in your hand right now!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Harry, putting the bottle in his pocket. I think it was the Felix Faeces or whatever it was called.
Actually, I don’t think it had poo in the title...
“Ron, I warn you, don’t drink it!” Hermione said again, alarmed, but Ron picked up the glass, drained it in one gulp, and said,
“Stop bossing me around, Hermione.”
Hermione leant over and hissed: “You should be expelled for that. I’d never have believed it of you, Harry!”
“Look who’s talking,” he whispered back. “Confunded anyone lately?”
She stormed up the table away from us.
So Hermione now hates all three of us.
That’s unusual.
Then the boys left and I was sitting there with eggs.
I don’t even like eggs, so I don’t know why I got them. I then picked them up with my hands, and pitched them at the back of Zacharias Smith’s head, because he’s a prick, and I’m sure he’ll do something to piss me off today.
“What the hell Willow?!” he shouted, brushing the gluggy egg yolk out of his precious hair.
“YOLO!” I shouted, and ran off. I ran all the way up the Quidditch stands, and sat next to a fifth year girl who was knitting.
YOU ARE READING
The Other Potter: Book 6
RandomAnd Willow comes back for her sixth year, in a bad mood. I don't know what's going to happen this year, and I'm writing this shit. May the odds be ever in your favour, Miss Willow Cover by weirdhyperinsane! :)
