Intervention Upon a String

Prologue

In the wizarding world, the chances of something peculiar or great happening is 63.9% greater the chance than that of normal muggle life. Therefore, it should be assumed that some unexplainable things that happen to us, such as that missing left sock stolen by aliens from your dryer or running into your sister's boyfriend's friend's best friend in Northern Russia while on vacation, can be passed off as coincidence and nothing more. The abduction of left socks remains unexplained, however, but the probability of running into your sister's boyfriend's friend's best friend in Northern Russia while on vacation seems to be a growing number and a frequent pastime for wizards and witches. This is only due to the small percentage of witches and wizards in the world compared to the large and rather dull number of muggles.

That said, looking at it in a smaller scale of a more densely popular area of magical folk--say the United Kingdom, it's not really hard to fathom. And could it be that hard to fathom that perhaps not all left socks take a journey into the cosmos? This is a story of just that. Not of the sock, per say, but of two very improbable people making an improbable journey that probably shouldn't have happened in the first place.

Taking in that small scale again, an average of 3,000 students graduate from Hogwarts every year. Some go on to become Ministers, some go onto become Quidditch players, some go on to create longer lasting toilet paper, and some will simply waste their lives fooling around with spells to pass the time and so on and so forth. Taking in that number, it's pretty easy to imagine you'll bump into a familiar face at some point in time right? But the real trick lies in staying acquainted. For example, the chances of a Slytherin marrying a Gryffindor after school are 3 to 750. That's three marriages out of 750 Gryffindor and Slytherin alumni put together. The chances of them becoming simple chums is a bit higher, but not by much due to pride. And despite the growing fear among witches and wizards, the chances of meeting Voldemort are next to nothing--unless you're Harry Potter.

This isn't about Harry Potter. The probability of anything peculiar happening to him has already happened and wouldn't present much of a story.

So what does a left sock, a Gryffindor, and a Slytherin have to do with anything?

Well, it was on a rather unpredictable day as days often are that two of those alumni who went onto become Quidditch players had a rather unfortunate run-in with one of the alumni who wasted his life fooling around with spells to pass the time. Purely by chance and unpredictable for it wasn't the person they encountered, but rather his left sock.

Chapter One

"Sod off! Just because I'm in the same store as you does not mean I like you! Get away from me already!" Angelina Johnson shouted, giving Marcus Flint one last push on his chest.

He smirked and advanced on her again. "Stop pretending you're not happy to see me."

Angelina rolled her eyes. "Get over yourself and get out of my way!"

She charged past him with her bag in hand and stomped out of Honeydukes. One day back in Hogsmeade and she was already regretting it. 20 year old Angelina Johnson was a spitting image of pride. Her athletic features were intensified from years of professional Quidditch playing that made Wood beam as she became a star Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. Chocolate skin and long braided black hair seemed to fall upon her back with a fiery image to match her temperament. Her hazel eyes held determination that clearly was a force to be reckoned with. She had grown up, and how.

Marcus Flint--on the other hand--was another story. He, too, had grown, by the way his broad shoulders and masculine chest filled his jumper but his personality had quite a bit of catching up to do. His teeth were finally fixed straight and his deep-set grey eyes scanned Angelina with shameless lust as men of his caliber often dare to.

Though Marcus prided himself on impeccable taste and standards, Angelina's Gryffindork status was overrun by her exceptionally toned body. There was no way he could ignore bumping into such a treat.

It was really inevitable that they ran into each other. Flint's team, the Falmouth Falcons, was playing the Holyhead Harpies at a charity game in Edinburgh--the closest city in proximity to Hogsmeade. Angelina needed to get in some last minute shopping and stopped into her familiar and favorite village while in the area. She had been expecting to meet some old friends from school. This did not include Marcus Flint. It was just outside of Zonkos that she rounded a corner and bumped straight into his chest. Madness ensued as he grinned and insisted that Angelina 'simply couldn't keep her hands off him'. He followed her to tease and insult her, taking great pleasure in it. Angelina, however, was less than amused as she stormed away rolling her eyes and barking at him to rot in hell. L'moure.

Marcus was beyond the goal of trying to seduce her now. Bumping into one of Woody's goody-goody Gryffindorks and knowing she positively hated him only made it that much more simple to have fun. Still, despite that, he was a man and had no problem displaying that with growing sexuality. Angelina's supine body certainly caught his eye and for a moment, he forgot all rivalry within his lust-addled mind. It was only when she slapped him that he came back to reality with a grin.

"You are such a pervert! Merlin, stop following me already!" Angelina barked, catching Flint eyeballing her.

"You like it and you know it, bitch," Marcus said with a cocky grin.

Angelina froze and turned around to glare at him; narrowing her eyes. "What did you just call me?"

"What? I didn't say anything," Marcus insisted innocently. His expression was less than honest.

Angelina could feel her blood boil and her fists clenched at her sides. She jabbed a finger in Marcus's face.

"Let's get one thing straight," she snapped. "I hate you. Not seeing you in six years is not something that's going to make me offer myself to a disease ridden ass like yourself. Those six years have been the best of my life and you are ruining that by being within ten feet of me. Call me a bitch one more time. I dare you."

"Bitch."

Angelina readily slapped him on the face. "Fall down somewhere and die."

With that, she whipped around with her nose in the air and began to march away. Marcus was still standing there a bit shocked from yet another assault. For a moment, his brain seemed to be trying to process everything Angelina said, but the whole time he wasn't really listening and was staring at her breasts. Finally realizing his prey was quickly escaping, he headed off after her again.

Intervention works in mysterious ways; usually by random acts of bystanders or nature. Even those who intend to intervene usually find the fruits of their toil to be a bit unpredictable. Anyway, those bystanders who don't realize the way that simple actions can affect fate should really be careful what they say or do, no matter how simple it may seem. This was evident in Hogsmeade that very day.

Those who worked in Hogsmeade often lived in the flats above their own stores and had no need to commute to their daily jobs. In one such store called Madam Jenkle's Jalopy Shop in which she sold antiques, the owner had a rather lazy and dim-witted son who helped her with the business when needed. However, his lazy personality made Madam Jenkle so frustrated at times that she felt better in tending the store herself and sending her son upstairs to his room instead. His name, which doesn't really matter but for historical purposes, was Jim and he was the small ratio of wizards who graduated from Hogwarts only to waste their life fooling around with spells. Which brings us back to intervention.

It was on that day that Jim finally had enough of his mother's pushy nature. He stormed to his room after knocking over a rocking chair and slammed his door shut, huffing in a pace back and forth on his floor.

"I've had it!" He said, throwing his arms down.

He was old enough, he decided, to pursue his own destiny. Life called him. However, Jim wasn't the brightest crayon in the box. It was a wonder he graduated. He filled a sack with some clothes in a fury and grabbed his wand. What to use, what to use? Aha! Right in front of him on the bed was a sock. She'll never even know where I went!

Slinging the sack over his shoulder, Jim aimed his wand at the sock and recalled years of magical learning for the correct spell.

"Goodbye mother," he said solemnly. "Porpoise!"

He touched the sock. Nothing happened. Wrong spell. He tried again.

"Porkus!" Still nothing. "Pickus!" Nothing. "Popus!" Nothing again. What was that damn spell!? Jim thought hard when finally, eureka! He aimed his wand one more time!

"Portus!"

For a moment, his wand seemed to vibrate and the sock shuddered. Jim beamed with excitement as he thought he succeeded. With one final breath of air from his stuffy bedroom, he slowly touched the sock.

....Nothing happened. Jim held on longer, thinking maybe he needed to give the magic time to kick in. After several moments, he was still standing in his bedroom. WHAT?! He slumped. What did he do wrong? Maybe he was doomed to life in an antique shop forever. Feeling forever drained and defeated, he sulked until rage overcame him. He chucked his wand at the wall as hard as he could and then grabbed the sock and tossed it out the window. It landed on a clothesline and hung. Intervention upon a string.

Angelina Johnson had had enough. Marcus was still tailing her like a dog in heat while making crude comments about her body as she tried to storm away. When vulgar compliments didn't do the job, he relied on his old boyhood trick of simply teasing and pulling hair.

Wow, he must really have NO life, Angelina thought to herself while rolling her eyes. Suddenly, she regretted playing Quidditch so close to home if this is the crap she'd have to deal with.

Angelina Johnson became a reserve Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies two days after her 19^th birthday. Elated, she owled every friend she knew and received prompt congratulations from everyone except Oliver who sent her a twenty-five page hand-written detailed account of tips and strategies, of course. She knew he was proud, though. He was just weird like that.

Angelina trained hard in the off season and finally was able to prove herself in a Harpies vs. Magpies game in which a Chaser was injured on the pitch. Filling in, she performed to her maximum potential in front of thousands of startled and pleasantly surprised fans and coaches. The game sealed her fate. She became the new Holyhead Harpy Chaser #2 after the other took her leave for physical therapy on her knee. Angelina now knew what Wood meant when he referred to his life as 'a living dream'. Quidditch stole her heart.

The practice was exceptionally strenuous. Angelina pushed herself day after day to prepare for every game. The physical stress left marks upon her body in the form of muscular arms and legs and a stomach that could cut diamonds. It was no wonder Flint chased after her like a baboon.

Yet, to her disgust and surprise, Angelina found it wasn't as annoying as before. Well, she took that back. It was annoying. But Quidditch hadn't been all too bad to Flint either. He'd always been bigger with broad shoulders and chest and toned arms but perhaps it was age that did Flint good...and his fixed teeth. His lazy smirk and his cocky stance still had his name all over it, but there was something about his eyes. They were filled with the same childish ego but he looked at Angelina with a glance no other man had dared express. Maybe Marcus should have been a Gryffindor. He was damn brave to drool over Angelina's body like that in front of her. I should neuter him right here, right now.

Marcus had grabbed her hand suddenly.

"Come on," he said. "Maybe if you beg, I'll let you win this weekend."

That was it. Angelina reeled around and grabbed her hand back.

"Beg for what, exactly? Beg for you to get the hell away from me? I think I've done that enough by the giant hand print on your cheek. I don't want you, Flint. I don't want anything to do with you! And you don't have to let me win this weekend. Maybe if you beg, I'll let you lose with a bit of dignity. You're such a wanker!"

Marcus smirked. "I only wank off over the prettiest of women. Want me to demonstrate?"

Angelina flashed her eyes dangerously. "Would that get you to leave me alone?"
Marcus was a bit taken back at this response. He gaped for a second before eyeballing her with awe. "Damn! You are a Gryffinwhore. So what's the cost?"

"On the house," Angelina said, backing away with a daring glare. If she played this game just right....

Marcus was hypnotized as he followed her. The power of a woman's body was met with little resistance. Angelina licked her lips and led him to an alley. Marcus couldn't believe this was happening. He knew he had the power to make women tremble with need beneath him but he didn't expect his magic to work THIS fast. Especially with Angelina Johnson.

They were soon in a dingy alley between two shops. The ground was dripping wet from the drainpipes and it was barren save for the two trashcans and discarded garbage. Above them, the inhabitants of the flats above the shops hung their clothes on crisscrossing clothes lines.

Angelina pressed her back into the wall and let Marcus stand before her. There was tension in the air, but it was only coming from him. She, on the other hand, was filled with devious revenge. She'd destroy future generations of Flints forever and do the world a favor.

"You think I'm pretty?" Angelina whispered.

"Exceptional," Marcus whispered back, inches away from her lips.

"What do you like most?"

"...Legs."

Angelina's mouth twisted in a smirk. So easy.

"You do?"

"Yes."

She grabbed his waist and pulled him closer and Marcus steadied himself by placing his hands on the wall beside her head.

"Good," Angelina whispered in his ear and then lifted her knee with lightning fast force. It collided hard into Marcus's groin.

Out of all alleys she could have chosen, it was like fate led her to this one. Perhaps that left sock upon the string was homage to the three sisters who had to do nothing but cut it. The line didn't quite snap, but it didn't need to. Gravity took over. The sock slipped.

Angelina grinned in satisfaction and planted her hands on her hips as she watched Marcus curse and double over; grabbing himself and falling to his knees with a grimace.

"Now keep the hell away from me!" Angelina roared, letting her seductive façade die.

She began to storm away when Marcus stood in a fury and gripped her arm a lot harder than Angelina would think he'd dare. She was a bit shocked and almost apprehensive at the force.

"That'll be the last fucking thing you ever do you little---!"

Marcus never finished his threat. He was cut short by a damp object landing on his head. Immediately, his free hand shot up to pull it off and he furrowed his eyebrows in disgust. Clenching it in his fists in anger, he went back to cursing at Angelina when suddenly, in a whoosh of air, he disappeared before her very eyes. All that was left standing in his place was a sock.