2nd september [tw: blood]
.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.
WHY, IN THE NAME OF MERLIN'S MISMATCHED SOCKS, the school day has to start at nine o'clock is absolutely disgraceful if you ask Joey. They couldn't just accept the fact that it's practically inhumane to ask a load of teenagers to be fully functioning at the crack of dawn, could they? No, of course not. She's been at Hogwarts seven years now and it still cheeses her off no end.
Like, it's hard work being at magic school when you can't even do magic! Please, Dumbledore, grant her a lie in. Just one.
On her first day back at the funny farm, Joey's dragging herself into the Great Hall in a huff. Her beloved sleep was even more fragmented than usual, nightmares shimmering in her subconscious like shards of a shattered mirror. There'd been the usual ones about Cedric, but other nasty scenes rearing their ugly heads as well: Matthew and Pyotr's little brother Pawel both dead, both holding hands; Professor Umbrella and Zacharias Smith enjoying a candlelit dinner; and, worst of all, Fred and George actually paying attention in lessons.
That last one was so freakish and horrifying, ew, that Joey's heart physically soars as she wanders up to the Gryffindor table to see them arguing with Hermione. Some things should never, ever change.
'Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s,' George is in the middle of recounting dramatically. 'Tears and tantrums...Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint...'
Joey flops onto the bench beside them, yawning. George slides her a plate of buttered toast which she accepts gratefully, knowing that he'll try and steal the slices from her anyway. Well, it's the thought that counts!
'Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?' Fred sighs, all daydreamy. She won't lie, deep down in her heart of hearts, Joey feels a twinge of disappointment that he hasn't even acknowledged her arrival at the table - like, at all.
Then his pinky snakes around hers under the table, which really, really surprises her. It's their unspoken thing, so they've never even spoken about it, obviously, but she'd always assumed it was saved for when they were under moments of extreme duress. Yet here he is, voluntarily clutching her pinky, when they're just eating breakfast. AKA, literally the least dangerous thing to do, ever. Mind you, this is Hogwarts we're talking about, so...
She glances across at him. He's smirking but staring straight ahead, not giving anything away. And it drives her mad, honestly.
'That's cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pyjamas,' George says.
Fred grins. 'Oh yeah! I'd forgotten... Hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?'
Joey finds it so ironic that here he is, grinning like a semi-sadist as he remembers what they did to Kenneth Towler (which was, admittedly, hilarious), but the crescent of his pinky nail is currently pressed reassuringly into hers. For no reason whatsoever.
She just doesn't understand this boy at all.
'Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth,' says George. 'If you care about exam results anyway. Fred, little Johannah here, and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow.'
Ron rolls his eyes. 'Yeah...you got, what was it, three O.W.L.s each?'
Joey yells in protest - she got four O.W.L.s, thank you very much! 'Luf an lafter are the ony ejucadion wof hafing,' she exclaims defensively, her mouth thick with toast.
'You what?' Ron demands, incredulous.
'She said, Love and laughter are the only education worth having,' Fred says nonchalantly, shrugging like it's no big deal. Joey has to bite her lip to stop herself grinning like an idiot.
Ron gives her a look as if to say, whoo. She can't deal with sarcasm from anyone else this early in the morning except her Georgie, so she turns away from the conversation, idly searching the Ravenclaw table for Roger Davies.
Because, well, she's worried about him. And in classic Joey Attlee style, she cares more about his grief than hers! But the Hall is very much Roger Davies-less, and it makes her so very sad, because all she wants is to cradle his mahogany hair in her tiny hands, promise him it'll be alright - even if she doesn't believe it herself - and together they can arm-in-arm down the primrose path.
'We're not going to waste our last year here, though,' Fred says, and Joey turns automatically at the sound of his voice. She's not in love - don't get it twisted! 'We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from his joke shop-'
'Or her joke shop!'
'- of course Joeypoos, his or her joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand.'
'But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?"
Hermione asks, skeptically. 'You're going to need all the ingredients and materials — and premises too, I suppose...'
Joey reaches over to squeeze Hermione's soft hand with her own calloused one, casting Harry a mischievous grin as she does so. 'We'll sort it out, Miss Virgo!'
Harry blushes cherry; Joey stifles a laugh as she watches him deliberately drop his fork and bend below the table to return it.
'Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies, Hermione,' Fred says, winking cryptically. It makes Joey's insides turn to mush. Once again: she's not in love, promise! 'C'mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology.'
He claps a hand onto her shoulder just as she turns to give them a toothy grin, so his hand accidentally collides with her cheek. She blushes ferociously and he's smirking, he's winking again, until George swipes a slice of toast off her plate and the moment is gone.
She beams from ear to ear as she watches them leave, with their matching walks and their bumping elbows and their flaming heads. Only a rather unusual sniggering drags her back begrudgingly to the Gryffindor table.
'What's up, my lovely?' she asks Ron, whose smug expression is as obnoxious as the Prefect badge glaring up at her on his chest.
'Bloody hell, nothing,' he laughs, his hands raised in surrender.
Joey rises from the bench and in one swift movement throws a slice of her toast at his long nose. Which is, admittedly, a waste of a perfectly good piece of toast - but come on, it was funny!
'If you say so, Mr and Mrs Sniggerpants!' she says dignifiedly, giggling to herself as she leaves the Great Hall, leaving behind the disgruntled exclaims of Ron Weasley.
In the Entrance Hall a gaggle of third-year Ravenclaws (all towering above her, she might add, which isn't fair) are gathered at the foot of the marble staircase. At the sight of Joey's squeaking trainers their eyes widen and they exchange words in frightened whispers.
It's not that it annoys Joey, per se. But even though she tries to give them a friendly smile, her cheeks deceive her and flower crimson. She knows why they're talking so obviously about her, and it's not because her hair is bad today or anything. And she hates it, and Holy Hippogriffs, it scares her so so so much.
The Ravenclaws flood hastily from the hallway like blood flowing from an open wound. Joey takes a deep breath, smoothes the bunches of her hair as reassuringly as she can, and feeling marginally better, turns to climb the stairs.
On her way to first-year Charms. Ugh.
Leaning over the banister at the top of the staircase, twirling her wand dangerously in nimble fingers, stands Linden Lemont. Seeing her silver hair and the face that couldn't be less like her older sister's, Joey's stomach somersaults. She takes a hesitant step forward, her shoe squeaking her terror, as Linden's lip curls with contempt and she vanishes from the banister, as though she was a horrible mirage.
But she wasn't, she was looking at Joey with a pure unadulterated hate she hasn't seen for years, making her feel much, much smaller than four-foot-ten. Like, has Linden been hanging out with her dad, because, well, blooming heck. Ew.
Only when she's stumbled to the Charms classroom, much to the hilarious horror of Filius Flitwick, do the butterflies in her stomach finally relax. (Side note, she doesn't know why he's so scared? Like, she didn't mean to nearly set his classroom on fire that time, it probably won't happen again! Well, OK, she can't promise anything, but...)
RIGHT. So. Let Joey get one thing crystal-clear: she doesn't know how in the name of Merlin's mismatched socks she managed to set Flitwick's classroom on fire, again, without even using magic, but she hates Mondays, OK? Pawel Zalewski - just as much of an irritating poo as his brother - had asked her if she was Pyotr's girlfriend, of all people, and in her shock she'd knocked over five Everlasting Candles. (Side note, again, but why does Flitwick even have them in his classroom? Yeah, they look pretty, but fire safety, hello?)
Anyway, Flitwick isn't having any of it as he gazes forlornly at the singed remains of his beard, and Joey, deciding it probably wasn't the best idea to tell him that his new trim suited him (even though it did!), quickly hurries to her second lesson of the day, Defence Against the Dark Arts.
At least it can't possibly get any worse, right?
The twins are leant against the stone walls lazily, waiting for her, and the sight of it makes her heart do a happy little tap dance. She skips down the dimly-lit corridor towards them, hair billowing out behind her, cheeks wide with a grin you could probably see from Pluto.
'M'lady,' George says with an exaggerated bow, offering her his arm. She's laughing as she takes it. 'How is your Royal Highness on this fine morning?'
'All the better for seeing you two,' she admits, truthfully.
Fred wraps an arm around her shoulder and squeezes her to his side. 'You're a bloody soppy tit, you are, Joeypoos.'
She elbows him tenderly (because she doesn't want to hurt him, duh!). 'Come on, we're already late for Umbridge.'
'We can't appear too eager.'
'We're playing hard to get,' pouts Fred.
'You two won't be playing anything if I get a detention because of you on the first day back.'
'Aww, Joe, you'd be so scary...' begins George.
'...if you weren't the height of a goblin,' finishes Fred, leaning on Joey's shoulder for good measure.
'At least I don't look like a goblin, poobrains,' says Joey with all the venom she can muster as she shoves open the doors of the classroom.
'Ach-y-fi, are you three aware of the concept of punctuality?' calls Lola from the back of the room. Her hair is tightly curled and shockingly pink, and at the sight of it the twins pretend to faint, lounging dramatically over the front row of desks. 'Do you reckon she will appreciate my hair? I chose this colour especially for this momentous occasion.'
'It's bloody horrible,' George says, awed.
'Looks like she's thrown up all over your head,' Fred agrees approvingly, sliding into the seat next to Lee.
Lola grimaces. 'I hate it when you agree with me, Weasel, it makes me reevaluate all my life choices.'
'Ha bloody ha, Lemon,' Fred says, rolling his eyes. He pulls a packet of Nosebleed Nougat from his robe pocket and wafts it tantalisingly under her nose. 'Nougat?'
'I would rather drown in the Great Lake than ever accept anything from you, pigyn bach,' Lola retorts coolly, upturning her pierced nose.
'Shame,' Fred sighs, pocketing the Nougat once more. 'We haven't got an antidote yet, you'd've been bleeding till you shrivelled up.'
The roots of Lola's hair flash red. 'I could give you a nosebleed if you wish, without any nougat required.'
'And we don't doubt you,' Lee says, high-fiving her happily.
The classroom door swings open and Umbridge enters, a malicious smile etched onto her toadlike features, evil glinting in narrowed eyes.
'She might not be that bad,' Joey murmurs, trying to convince herself as much as anyone.
George raises his eyebrows. 'You said that about the last one, and he turned out to be a Death Eater.'
'Yeah, but Moody's lovely, so I was half right!'
'Oh yes, Moody is lovely,' retorts Lola, 'that is why they call him Mad-Eye Marvellous.'
'Personally, I think Mad-Eye Mellow has a much nicer ring to it,' laughs Lee.
'A-hem!' Umbridge sing-songs. 'When you are quite finished...'
'Oh boy,' Fred and George mutter, Cheshire cat grins on both their faces.
'How wonderful it is to imagine what brilliant friends we are going to become!'
'Mmmm, wonderful,' mutters George.
'Brilliant,' says Lee.
'Your teaching in this subject has been rather fragmented up until this point. As we are now starting your NEWT year, you all know we must begin to work very hard to ensure your education is up to scratch, so you can all get excellent grades.'
'To secure excellent jobs at the Ministry,' murmurs Lola.
'Or even better, excellent jobs at the Daily Prophet,' quips Lee, and the five collapse into silent giggles.
'You have been "taught" by extremely dangerous halfbreeds...'
'What, like you?' hisses Fred venomously.
'Wait, does she mean Lupin?' Joey whispers, tears welling in her eyes; Fred instinctively grabs her pinky. 'He's not dangerous, he's just misunderstood!'
'... and wizards that have convinced you that you will encounter Dark magic in a day-to-day setting.'
They all blink at her, uncomprehending. Then Joey finds herself doing something she would never, ever normally do: tentatively raising her hand.
'Excuse me?' she says, voice trembling. 'Are - are you saying we won't encounter Dark magic? Because, well, um, that's not true at all.'
'I beg your pardon?' Umbridge's saccharine tone slices through the classroom, her froglike eyes narrowing.
'Well, it's not all sunshine and daisies out there, is it, Professor?' Joey continues, the words tumbling from her mouth before she can stop them. 'I wish it was, because the world would be such a better place, but, but it isn't.'
Umbridge gives an artificial tinkling laugh. It crawls over Joey's skin like Stinksap. 'I think, dear, you are more likely to encounter sunshine and daisies than Dark magic.'
Cedric's caramel curls and honeyed laugh swell in the forefront of her brain, and she's speaking before she thinks (well, you can blame her Sagittarius rising for that!), terrified but defiant. 'But Professor, sunshine and daisies didn't - didn't kill my Cedric.'
A boy with mahogany hair on the front row swings round to look at her, and Joey's heart is ripped out of her chest at the sight of Roger Davies, finally, with his eyes sore and raw and a thousand years older than they should be, haunted with mourning for his lost lover.
A suffocating silence descends upon the classroom; the only sound Joey can hear other than her blood rising with anger is Lola's triumphant whisper of, 'Ffwc yes Johannah!'
'What is your name, dear?' demands Umbridge.
'Um, Joey.'
Umbridge shakes her head so the black velvet bow pounced upon her curls wobbles with her chins. 'Oh no, that simply will not do. Your real name, not some silly masculine nickname.'
'What the fu-' Fred begins, sitting up so fast in his chair he almost gives himself whiplash.
'I can fight my own battle, Freddie, don't worry,' Joey whispers before turning back to Umbridge. 'Of course! My real name is Johannah Attlee, it's lovely to meet you.'
Ha! Who said she couldn't be passive aggressive?
'Professor, what is wrong with you?' Lola demands, the pink curls atop her head bleeding back into emerald in her anger. 'It is 1995, not the Middle Ages. Since when do women need to succumb to a societal standard over their names, as well as everything else?'
'Lola Lemont, I fucking love you,' Lee whispers.
'Do not start on me, Dolores,' Umbridge hisses coldly, and the verbal missile of her full name stuns Lola into silence. She fixates her evil eyes back on Joey, eyebrows shooting into her hair. 'Attlee, you say? How interesting.'
To say that Joey very much does not like the sound of that would be the understatement of 1995!
'I don't see how that's interesting at all,' interjects Fred. 'Wow, Joey's got a surname? Guess what, we all do!'
'I agree with my dear brother here,' says George. 'Personally, what I find interesting is being able to defend myself against You-Know-Who.'
Joey squeezes his hand thankfully under the table, whispering, 'Thank you.'
'Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident,' hisses Umbridge. 'He knew full well the competition he was entering required intense knowledge and skill. Evidently he was not intelligent enough to deal with all the challenges of the Tournament.'
'If anyone's thick, Professor, I think it's you,' says Roger softly from the front of the classroom. His voice is hoarse and horrid and more than anything Joey wants to hug it (yes, she knows you can't technically hug a voice. It's a figure of speech!).
'Detention, Miss Attlee, and you, Mr Davies. Tonight. Now please begin to read the wonderful book I have hand-picked for you, Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard.'
'Oh well, it was only a matter of time before one of us got a detention on the first day back,' says Fred cheerily. 'Well done Joeypoos, proud of you.'
'It must be a new record: I'm surprised it took one of us so long,' agrees George.
Joey sighs into Slinkhard's absolutely fascinating (not!) description of counter-jinxes, wondering what Umbridge'll have in store for her tonight, wondering if she'll need them. 'Well. Nobody insults m-my Ceddie and gets away with it.'
IT'S SEPTEMBER - so someone kindly tell the weather that, please!
They're sprawled out under the shade of the towering beech tree by the edge of the Lake, the Gryffindor Gang and Joey-their-honorary-member, drinking in the last snatches of summer sun. It seeps through the canopy of leaves that fairies flit around in, and honeys their cheeks, illuminating every freckle and teeny tiny scar. They are nothing short of masterpieces, cocooned in the sweet fragrant warmth of a perfumed evening, before the seasons change and everything dies.
The yellowing pages of Lola's book - the one that gives Joey a headache just thinking about it - flutter like butterfly wings in the breeze. She's sat straight-backed against the bark, one hand resting on her page, the other lazily stroking Lee's dreadlocks, which are fanned across her thigh. What looks ominously like a blood-flavoured lollipop hangs between her pointy teeth.
Joey and the twins, meanwhile, are dangerously close to the bank, where daisies teeter like turrets over the water's edge. Lying on her front, giggling, she is tickling an outstretched tentacle of the Giant Squid; on either side of her, so close they're all touching like three paper dolls, the twins have twisted around to chat excitedly to Lee and make irritating quips to Lola.
Lily pads, large and leathery, webbed with tender veins and crowned with snow white petals, quiver in the playful breeze; and Joey can't remember being this happy, ever.
The grass beside her, littered with wild bluebells, rustles as Fred flops down to face her. She flushes, because there is barely anything in between them, barely even air. Even the air between them is his as much as hers - leave her alone, she's never understood science!
'How were the midgets?' he asks, tracing her cheeks with his eyes. 'Did you murder them all?' Her eyes widen. 'I'm joking, Joeypoos.'
'Really? I thought you were Fred Weasley.'
'That,' he rolls his eyes but he's smiling, 'was bloody awful. Anyway. What'd you do, set fire to the classroom?'
'Um...' Definitely not! He doesn't need to know, right?
'I'm yanking your wand,' he says, mistaking the sheepishness on her face for offence. 'Was it - was it OK?'
Well, that's a question and a half. She'd felt inadequate and embarrassed (and quite burnt, which was besides the point!), not to mention the usual feelings of worthlessness, uselessness, etcetera. But then again, what else is new?
'It was really great!' she lies enthusiastically - something she's good at, at least - as she begins to braid the grass, unable to look at him because it's killing her. She hates lying to him, but she hates putting him through the discomfort of seeing her upset. Talk about a catch-22!
'That's what I like to hear,' he murmurs, his eyelashes (ridiculously long, for the record, and completely wasted on a man!) dusting across his freckles as his eyes flutter half-shut. 'Joeypoos?'
'Mm-hmm?'
'You do know there's nothing between us, right?'
She rears upwards, trying to appear nonchalant but failing miserably, as the realisation of what she's expected all along slices her heart strings with one clean blow. She doesn't know why she's even surprised, because of course there would never be a we, just a he and she. Never Joey and Fred; just a Joey and a Fred.
Why would he ever even like her, you know, like like her? Take her puppy dog heart that she wears so foolishly on her sleeve and kiss it, caress it, claim it, so every word that fell from his lips was a variation of her name? He never, ever would - and take that and add a billion, trillion more nevers (or whatever the biggest number is! Joey doesn't know, she tends to get a bit overwhelmed after a thousand... there's just so many zeros!).
'Yeah, of course,' she says in a tone of forced brightness, amazed at how strength can come at such moments.
'No, literally.' Fred roughly loops his hand through hers and squeezes, hard, so their life lines melt together. Holy Hippogriffs, can she just spend the rest of her life with him, please! 'See? Nothing between us.'
'Oh!' Relief cascades over her in waves, and she sinks back into the grass, her childlike laugh dancing through the perfumed evening air. 'Oh!'
A frown pinches his brow. 'It wasn't that funny, but nevertheless, thanks for inflating my ego. Much appreciated.'
'I thought,' she begins, gasping with indulgent laughter, 'I thought you meant...'
'You thought I meant what?' Fred demands, sitting up onto his elbows to stare down at her. Then something clicks - a smirk spills onto his features and his eyes dart momentarily, hungrily, to her lips. (Joey, obviously, is wholly oblivious to this!) 'Wait, you didn't think that-'
Behind them, the music on Lola's radio skyrockets, and Fred groans melodramatically, turning away from Joey to shoot her daggers.
'Fucking hell, Lemont, do you have to deafen us with your shit?'
'It is only because your voice is so ridiculously irritating, Weasel, that I cannot hear myself think! Thinking might be an unusual concept to you, I suggest you try it for a change! Just be careful you do not damage your one brain cell.'
Joey, George and Lee fall about laughing. Fred scowls. 'I'd rather have no brain cells than listen to that bloody cat-screechy shit like you do!'
'O fy nuw, darling, you know as well as I do that you love my music! Honestly, Weasel, when will you admit you are just helplessly obsessed with me?'
'Hey, I'm not!'
'You so are, Fred,' Lee laughs. He raises his hands in quick surrender. 'It's okay mate, I'm not jealous. You're not her type anyway.'
'I don't think Lola is Fred's type, either,' George says smugly, earning himself a violent shove from his twin brother, whose ears have flushed an uncharacteristic ruby.
'Don't you want to get that?' Lee asks, pointing at the bottles of exploding lemonade they've been cooling in the shallows - that are currently floating out dreamily into the centre of the water.
'I'll get it,' Joey says, laughing, shaking off her robes and rolling her dungarees up to her knees. She wades into the water, still laughing as she does so, the exposed backs of her calves swathed in peachy pink sunset.
The lily pads with their ivory petal crowns are one of Joey's favourite things in the entire world, because they support the whole weight of a human being - like, hello! (No, she will never be getting over this, for the record.) Tentatively she outstretches a foot, giggling as the lily pad glides her forward towards the bottles, and finally fulfilling her lifelong dream of feeling like a woodland fairy.
Clouds are mirrored in the water, crystal-like, candy-floss Narcissus. Joey's grin is wide with delight as the giant squid twists one of its glistening tentacles through the air, curling around the bottles of lemonade and nuzzling them into her waiting hands. 'Thank you, Melvin!' she cries appreciatively, smile like the sun.
'Who is Melvin?' Lola says bemusedly from the shore.
'The squid,' the twins sigh in response, both rolling their eyes.
Joey blows a raspberry at them, holding the lemonade triumphantly above her head as she splashes through the shallow towards her best friends, with all the force of a baby elephant. Jewelled pillars of sparkling water pirouette into the air, glowing like diamonds on her skin.
Lola yelps, leaping back disgustedly from the bank, but Fred, George and Lee come stumbling into the shallow with enormous splashes, drowning Joey in waves and laughter. She wants to stay like this forever and ever, George's hand twirling her round and round, an ethereal baptism of love whilst above them, too close, the sun dies.
Her toes snag on a particularly mossy rock and before she knows it she's tumbling forward, anticipating the shock of collision with the menacing froth - but it never comes. His fingers grab her waist, like they are waltzing, poised to dance forever (like they should've done at the Yule Ball), and there is barely anything between them, barely air.
'Hold your Hippogriffs,' Fred snorts, steadying her by pulling her closer to him - or maybe, pulling her closer to him just because. Again: Joey is utterly unaware of this.
All she knows is that his soaking shirt is clinging close to his chest and she is trying to look at literally anything else!
Her favourite snaggletooth of his glitters, and she's just staring at it for so long that it's ridiculous, drunk with fascination for every inch of him. Then George is dragging her away to do some sort of tribal water dance with him and Lee, claiming that he's her favourite twin (which, honestly, he probably is), and she might as well've just dreamt it.
'Johannah!' Lola calls, the lollipop stick hanging like a cigarette between her lips. 'Do you not have a wonderful detention to attend?'
'Oh, hecky-thump!' Joey cries, frantically splashing her way out of the water and seizing her discarded robes. With a few confident slices of her rosewood wand Lola has dried Joey's clothes and tied her trainer laces, although her hair remains a hopeless case: damp, dark as blood.
'Have fun,' Lola retorts, straightening Joey's black-and-yellow tie with her lithe hand. 'Tell Uglybitch that she is a gotsan drewllyd.'
'It'll be fine,' Joey says dismissively, shrugging. 'It'll probably just be lines. And I've had much worse, thanks to those two-'
'Idiots.'
'Oi, Lemont!' the twins yell indignantly from the water. 'We heard that.'
'Well, that is your fault for sticking your abnormally large ears in conversations that do not concern you!'
'Joe, don't leave me with them!' Lee begs, only half-joking. Joey throws back her head in a laugh, blowing them all kisses before turning to hurry back to the castle.
Halfway up the hill she glances back to watch them, Lola and Fred engaged in a screaming match, George giving Lee a piggy-back. Her insides are exploding with happiness like the lemonade, even when Lola yells at her, 'Get to your detention, you overly sentimental twmffat!'
Fred grins and winks and it sears through her skin, branding her as his.
As soon as Joey reaches Umbridge's office on the third floor her skin is crawling with nausea, because she can't help remembering why she has this detention, and the thought of Umbridge insulting her Ced is an arrow to the heart. But she knows she has to do this, for him. Clucking her tongue between her teeth, she pushes open the door to the office.
It immediately feels like she's in a pink explosion, because, apparently, Professor Umbrella or whatever her name is hasn't heard of any other colours! It's an unusual design choice, granted, but Joey almost respects the dedication to one colour. Like, doesn't she get mind-numbingly bored?
Roger sticks out like a sore thumb because the only part of him that matches the colour scheme is his pink-tinged eyes. His mahogany hair is dull and flat, his pupils darting to and fro, as though he's waiting for someone else to enter the room. As though, if he stays trained on the doorway just long enough, sweet caramel Cedric, their saviour, will poke his head around the door and none of this will've been real.
Just another stupendous nightmare Joey had last night.
'Hiya, Rog!' she says brightly, forcing a smile. In reality she's bricking it; they've talked, like, once, and it was her apologising profusely for accidentally flying him across the Charms classroom. 'Is Umbrella not here yet, then?'
Roger's eyes widen, panicked, and Joey realises why he's staring at the door: camouflaged in her hideously floral robes, her lips tight in a sour smile, is Umbrella, Umbridge, whatever.
'How nice of you to join us at last, Miss Attlee,' Umbridge sing-songs, surveying Joey's dripping hair with disgust. Merlin's mismatched socks, the fact that she had half the lake in there had completely slipped her mind! 'Please, take a seat.'
'To borrow or keep?' Joey jokes, sliding onto the chair next to Roger. Umbridge's bulging eyes narrow. 'Never mind.'
'Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Miss Attlee, Mr Davies, with a rather special quill of mine. Here you are.'
She passes them long raven quills, with unusually sharp points, and Joey inwardly sighs with relief. In fact, she almost wants to laugh. Lines? More like a blooming walk in the park! She'd been under the impression that it was going to be worse.
'I want you to write, Cedric Diggory's death was an accident.'
Roger exhales shakily. 'How many times, Professor?'
'Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in,' she replies sweetly. 'Off you go.'
From his nervous demeanour, Joey's under the impression that Roger's never had a detention before - which, quite frankly, is a completely alien prospect to her! She's practically an expert in the art of extra-curricular punishment (thanking you, Fred and George!). 'It's just lines,' she tells him reassuringly, tickling him with the tip of the quill to make him laugh. He doesn't even crack a smile. 'Once, in third year, me and the twins had to go into the Forbidden Forest to look for...'
Umbridge silences her with a venomous glare. Mouthing sorry, Joey places the quill to the parchment and begins to write.
Instantly her knuckles are screaming at her, and as she turns her left hand to see her messy childish scribble emblazoned there, Cedric's name engraved into her skin, it hits her that this isn't just lines.
Tears flower onto Roger's parchment. Instinctively Joey slips her right hand into his left under the table, and he flinches at first but holds it, hard, and so they continue.
'I can't,' he murmurs after what feels like forever. 'It hurts too much.'
Joey squeezes his hand. 'We'll go to Pomfrey afterwards,' she whispers, 'you and me, yeah? She'll know what to do, I promise, she's got me out of way too many scrapes...'
Umbridge's stubby claws clench around Joey's neck, their grotesque rings glacial against her skin, and shove her head down onto the table with brute force. Her forehead slams into the unforgiving wood. 'No talking in my detentions, Miss Attlee. Hand.'
Struggling to repress her shudders, Joey extends it.
'Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet,' Umbridge says, smiling. 'Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You both may go.'
Seizing Roger's stinging hands with hers, so the imprint of Cedric binds them, Joey pulls him out of the office.
Outside, school is kissed by a full-moon night. Roger collapses against the stone wall, his breathing ragged and haggard. 'You'll need essence of murtlap for that,' he finally gasps. 'I - I used to want to be a Healer.'
Joey frowns. 'Used to?'
He shrugs and his eyes swim. 'Before... Fuck, Johannah, what are we meant to do without him?'
'I know, my love,' she soothes, resting her head against his shoulder. 'I know. And please call me Joey.'
Roger chuckles bitterly, wiping his nose with his robe sleeve. 'God, isn't it ironic that he wanted us to be friends so bad, and here we are, and he's - and he's - and he's...'
His eyes threaten to swim again, and Joey doesn't know what to do. 'Hey, Rog?' she says helplessly. 'D'you know, you can't breathe when you're smiling?' He blinks, attempting a smile, and she leans gently, teasingly, into his side. 'I just wanted you to smile.'
Before he can respond Peeves bursts out from behind a nearby tapestry, cackling maniacally. At the sight of them his eyes glint with malice delight. 'Why, it's Batty Attlee and Divvy Davies!'
'Peeves, please,' Joey begs tiredly, knowing it's a lost cause.
He soars over her head, exploding into song:
'Oh, most think they're barking, the batty lass and divvy lad,
But some are more kindly and think they're just sad,
But Peevesy knows better and says that they're mad-'
There's a thundering of footsteps down the corridor and Fred and George come into view, and Joey's never been so glad to see them, ever. 'Came to see how shit it was, Joeypo-' Fred begins, then he stops dead at the sight of Roger still clutching her hand, his eyes narrowing.
George, meanwhile, has bent down to wrap his arm around her shoulder and she sinks into him, gladly, trying to work out what in the name of Helga Hufflepuff has got Fred's knickers in a twist.
Peeves somersaults over Fred's head, looking delighted, peering at him mischievously upside-down from between his own legs. 'Weasley and Attlee, sitting in a tree...'
'FUCK OFF, PEEVES!' Fred bellows, his face aflame. Peeves just screams gleefully and vanishes down the corridor, knowing he's hit the jackpot.
'Freddie, are you-'
'I'm fine,' he snaps, cutting her off. He glares coolly at Roger. 'Came to see if you were alright, but obviously, you don't need us.'
She watches him storm back down the corridor, trailing his hand angrily along the wall so a portrait yells at him, confusion and hurt battling for dominance in her head.
He couldn't have been more different to how he was at the Lake, his smile soft, honey dew.
Joey just doesn't understand this boy at all.
a/n
FUCK umbridge !!!!! all my homies HATE umbridge !!!!!
i would also like to discuss the way i gave roger davies, a character with like 3 entire lines, a whole personality??? like i really did that huh??? 🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈soz not soz j*anne roger belongs to me
i love u guys !!! hope ur all well n safe !!! n thank u for reading it means soooo much to me<3333333
oh, also ! thank u to loves lili and mare for helping w this and everything AS USUAL, i adore u both UGH !