Through the Eyes of a Mercutio

Chapter 4

Not the Typical Malfoy

"No, I'm telling you, Michelangelo is the orange one!"

"No way, Michelangelo is red! Donatello is orange!"

"Jenson, Michelangelo is orange! Donatello is purple! Raphael is red and Leonardo is blue!"

"Naw-ah," Jenson replied in a little kid voice. "Raphael is blue! The blue one is the smart one!"

"No, you retard, the purple one is the smart one, and that's Donatello!" I had read my fair share of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comics as a kid.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Jenson said smugly with a wave of his hand.

"Of course I don't," I replied dramatically. "I'm only the kid whose brother has every single Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Comic ever made. And you, the great and powerful Jenson, possess all human understanding, making me oh so inferior." I swallowed a forkful of potatoes.

Chad rolled his eyes.

"Thank you, thank you," Jenson said, flinging his arms wide so he could be admired more easily. "Don't hate me because I'm brilliant, Cait. Hate me because I'm beautiful." He took a long swig of juice and burped.

"You are disgusting," I said derisively, wrinkling my nose.

"That's not the only disgusting thing I can do," he assured me, as though he was worried about being shorted credit for his grotesque abilities.

"Oh, I know, believe me."

"No, really!" He insisted. "See? Watch." He filled his mouth with potatoes and squished them out through his teeth.

"It's like the Play-Doh fun factory," Thomas said interestedly.

"Ew," declared Ashley bluntly. "Okay, that's just gross."

"Exactly my point," Jenson said, apparently satisfied.

I rolled my eyes, grinning. Honestly, he was, and still is, the weirdest person I've ever met.

On our way back up to Gryffindor Tower, two fourth year Gryffindors came hurrying up to us, or to Jenson, I should say.

"Hi, Jenson," one of them giggled. Oh, bloody hell. Get a life!

"Evening, ladies," he replied. "What can I do for you?"

Don't talk to them, you git! They're hitting on you!

They giggled some more. Bugger, I hate giggling. It's so annoying. "Well, we were just wondering, um, when the first Quidditch match of the year is."

Jenson grinned. Why are you grinning? Don't grin like that at them! They're fourteen!

"Last Saturday of October: Halloween," he answered. "Supporting Gryffindor, I expect?"

"Wouldn't support anyone else," the other said, smiling. "We're coming to watch you."

What? You can't watch him! Only I can watch him! Don't even try - Whoa, where'd that come from? What the heck?

"Come on, we're leaving now," I said abruptly, pushing Jenson down the corridor.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" he demanded, trying to turn around.

"Nothing," I mumbled shortly. So, that's what jealously feels like...

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Ashley grinning suspiciously at me. Why the heck was she grinning? She nudged Thomas and whispered something in his ear. He grinned as well, and passed the secret on to Chad, who stifled a doubtful chuckle. I wasn't even going to ask.

Luke sidled up to me with a grin on his face, though it was different from those of the other three. He looked almost proud of me, though I couldn't fathom why. I was a little weirded-out.

"Hello, dear Caitlin," he said cheerfully.

I drew back a little. "Can I help you?"

"No, I'm just being friendly. I'm just in a good mood."

"Oh, that's good to hear. Your good moods are due for a comeback."

Luke grinned again. "So, what exactly was that little episode back there, hm?"

I stared at him. "Huh? What do you mean?"

The all-knowing grin remained. "I think you know all too well what I mean."

Now I was just confused. "Well, I think I don't. So if you care to enlighten me..."

"Come on, Cait. You can talk to me. I'm the Romeo, remember? I'm an expert."

I was now half horrified, half bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

He put a hand on my shoulder. "One day, perhaps you will figure it out. You may yet have depth."

"Oh, uh, thanks." I watched him climb through the portrait hole into Gryffindor Tower. I stood there for a moment, trying to work out what he had just said. It wasn't working. I went up to my dormitory instead of staying in the common room with the others; I needed to think.

I reached under my bed and pulled out the photo album Ashley and I had made over the summer. I opened the cover to reveal a picture of five six-year-olds piled on top of each other in the grass. Ashley and Luke were trying to whistle grass, I had tackled Chad, and was now on his back, and Thomas was lying on his back in front of Ashley and Luke, staring happily at the clouds. I remember tackling Chad; that was the summer I thought that I was going to marry him. I smiled at the memory; we had been at Potters' for a summer picnic.

I turned the page. A new phase of my life greeted my memory. The same five were there, Ashley, Thomas, Luke, Chad, and I, but this time a new face was included: Jenson. It had been taken at the end of first year. Six eleven-year-olds grinned back at me, waving and flashing their crooked teeth. I smiled again.

Below that picture was another that made me grin with reminiscence. The same six first years were present, but were now joined by a group of older students. Behind us stood seventh years Peter Weasley and Michael Wood, sixth years Isabella and Jeff Weasley and Rianna Bryon, fifth years Elizabeth Wood, Ryan Black (my older brother), and Jamie Weasley, and third years Allison Finnigan and Daniel Bryon. They were grinning proudly with their younger siblings and cousins. Rianna, Jenson's older sister, was now married to Michael Wood, and was expecting the couple's second child. Dan, his goofy brother, was working for the Ministry.

I had always admired Dan. He played the drums and the guitar, and had tried to teach me several times, but I never caught on. Dan had been another brother to me during his Hogwarts years. He had always been there to help my with my Charms homework (I was a miserable failure in that subject). I could also remember him telling me with a mischievous grin that his brother was not to be trusted in any manner.

"You can't trust him, Caitie," he had said repeatedly, shaking his head. "He's shifty, that Jenson. You watch out; don't let him get you." That didn't make any sense to me until our fourth year, when Jenson had been accused (by someone who shall remain nameless) of hitting on me. I will never forget the scarlet color he turned.

The next picture had been taken the summer before sixth year. We were all at Chad's house having chicken fights in his pool. I was on Jenson's shoulders, and Ashley was on Thomas's shoulders. Our hands were locked on each other's arms, each of us trying to knock the other into the water. We were laughing so hard, that it was hard to tell who was winning. Eventually, my photographic self knocked the Ashley-Thomas totem pole over into the water. I threw my hands in the air and Jenson and I paraded around in the pool, claiming our victory. I had never noticed the look of pure ecstasy on his face before. I'd never noticed it on mine, either.

I stared at that picture for some time, though I couldn't quite figure out why. Then I realized that Jenson looked unbearably hot in swim trunks. I wondered if I'd noticed it then...

Whoa! There it was again! That feeling! That feeling that made me want to smile like I was all warm and fuzzy inside. What the blood heck was that? How retarded. I couldn't resist it! Noooooooo!!!

I smiled. Why? Why was I smiling? Stop! Stop smiling, you fool! Wait, I didn't get it. One minute I was normal, and then I had gone all soft and melty and started to smile. Why? I had just been looking at that picture of me and Jenson and -

Ah-ha! I'd put my finger on it. Jenson. It was that same feeling I had felt in the corridor, but without the jealousy. Hm, that was interesting...we have jealousy, soft and melty feeling, smiling, my stomach turning inside out with what I suspected to be excitement, a picture of Jenson...

Dear bloody hell...was I - did I have a crush on Jenson? Just the thought of that was, well, wrong. Oh, that was just madness! I couldn't possibly like Jenson! He was - well - Jenson! He was like a brother to me, sort of. "But he's not your brother," a little voice inside my head whispered.

"Yeah, so what? He's one of my best mates!" I replied indignantly.

"So you already know that you get along," the voice said reasonably.

"But that's just so wrong," I persisted.

"Why? What's so wrong about it?"

"He knows things about me that no one should know!" I thought determinedly. "He's seen my underwear!"

"That wasn't your fault, though," the voice insisted. "He was looking for the tape in your drawer and accidentally opened the wrong one. Idiot."

"Well, he's seen me in swimsuit!" I hated myself in a swimsuit. No matter how many times Ashley, Mercedes, and Ella told me they'd kill for my curvy figure (even though Mercedes already had the figure of a goddess), I was convinced that my butt was way too big.

"Oh, who bloody cares?" the voice demanded. "Loads of people have seen you in a swimsuit! Get over it! And besides, he's never complained, has he?"

"Hm, good point."

I spent the majority of Friday avoiding Ashley's all-knowing gaze. She kept getting this smug little smile on her face and then bursting out laughing. Everyone around her would stare in utter bewilderment, for she refused to tell anyone why she was laughing.

Luke was being unusually friendly to all of us. Chad and I exchanged a few suspicious looks. I now understood his little burst of kindliness from the previous night. It took me until dinner, but I eventually conjectured that he had figured out my "crush" on Jenson before I had. That thought disturbed me. I didn't like to be readable. My feelings were mine, mine.

I pondered this and related subjects at dinner. I just couldn't figure out how any of this had happened. It was just so - so - weird. I had never in my wildest dreams thought - okay, well, maybe some of my wildest dreams. Then, Jenson's voice brought me back to reality.

"Are you going to eat that?" He was pointing at my yellow bell pepper.

For a moment, I just stared at him. My mind went sort of blank. I shook my head, comprehending what he had just asked.

"Oh, uh, no, go ahead," I replied, frowning a little at myself.

He picked it off my plate and took a bite. "Man, do I love peppers. I really don't know why though. They're so weird looking." He rotated the pepper around in the air, examining it closely. Then he glanced at me. "You alright?"

Once again I jarred back to reality. "Oh, yeah, fine."

He raised an eyebrow, but continued to devour his pepper.

Luke stood up. "Well, I'm off for a bit of catching up on homework," he announced. "I have half a History essay to do and a big Arithmancy paper to research. I'll see you guys later." We all stared after him as he strode out the double doors of the Great Hall.

"Did he just say he was going to do his homework?" Thomas asked in amazement.

"Yeah," I said, frowning. There was no possible way that Luke Potter was doing homework by himself. That just didn't happen. Chad and I exchanged another suspicious look. Something wasn't right.

Back in the common room, we finished up our homework quickly, and the two of us set out to find our love-struck compatriot. We searched everywhere: every open classroom, the library, the owlry, the bathrooms, the kitchens, the Astronomy Tower, North Tower, even the grounds. Two hours later, we found ourselves wandering around the second floor, very disgruntled.

"Where the bugger could he possibly be?"

"He's probably behind a tapestry or in a classroom. Wherever he is, he's long gone." Chadwyck looked expectantly at me.

"What?"

"Aren't you going to start ranting and raving at him to come out?" Chad asked hopefully.

I looked at him closely. "Why? Why do you want to yell at him? What's up your sleeve, Chadwyck old boy?"

"Nothing," he insisted. "But do you really think I want to see him fraternizing with that sort! She's a Malfoy, Caitie! Make him come out! Call, good Mercutio!"

I turned to face him, hands on my hips. "Are you making fun of me, Chadwyck? Worse yet, are you making fun of Romeo and Juliet?"

"No, I'm appeasing you," he replied. "I'm hoping that this will get you into the mood to start ranting and raving."

"Oh, well, in that case, nay, I'll conjure, too!" I quoted happily. "Romeo! Humors! Madman! Passion! Lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh. Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied. Cry but 'ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove'; speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, one nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim. When King Cophetua - "

"Alright, that's good," Chad stopped me, holding out a hand. "That's good."

"Fine. Luke! Lukie! Lover-boy! Come out, come out, wherever you are! Quit groping Transfer-girl for just a few hours! Some addictions are bad, mate! Hello? Where are you?" I called in a singsong voice. "Draw away from her siren's song; don't let her little veela game tempt you. I mean you know what the muggle equivalent to a veela is? A prostitute; a whor-"

"Well, now your just going to torque him off," Chad said pointedly. "Better shut up."

"Nah, this won't torque him off. It actually might raise his spirits."

"I fail to see how. You're insulting him. Come on, he'd hiding; he just wants to be left alone." Chad's face was serious, yet disappointed in the lantern-light.

"Sorry, but I highly doubt he's alone, unless he's snogging the tapestry he's behind."

Chad snorted. "Come on, Cait. Leave him be. His love is blind, and best benefits the dark. There's some more Shakespeare for you."

"I'm proud of you, Chadwyck. If blind be his love, love cannot hit the mark. They both just have bad cases of raging hormones that seem to have but one remedy. And what with my worldly wisdom, I'd guess that that remedy is being administered as we speak."

"Spare me your imaginary details, Cait," Chad begged sarcastically.

"Good night, dear Romeo!" I called to the darkness. "I'll to my truckle-bed! Cause I'm sure as heck not going to sleep out here in the cold hall. Let's ski-dattle out of here, Benvolio."

"About time! I've been telling you all night, it's pointless looking for him when he doesn't want to be found. Besides, I've had quite enough of your delirious role-playing," Chad said bluntly. "I hate RP. It's stupid."

I pretended not to hear this last comment. "Oh well, we'll see him at breakfast. That is, if he's found his way back to Gryffindor Tower. I'd be impressed if he even found the Great Hall in his state of retarded euphoria."

One thing was bothering me though. After I had finished my quoting extravaganza, Romeo's next line bobbed up from the back of my mind, making my conscience twitch. He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

Luke wasn't at breakfast, however. After gulping down a glass of milk and grabbing a stack of toast each, Chad and I set off to comb the castle looking for him. We threw back every tapestry. We checked the owlry, the kitchens, the library, his dormitory and the common room, the Astronomy Tower, and North Tower again. We even checked Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, just in case, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Finally, we gave up and trudged down the dungeon steps to our doom. As I dragged my bag through the doorway, however, I looked up to see none other, than Luke James Potter. He was sitting beside his cauldron, hurriedly scribbling on a piece of parchment as the rest of the class jabbered away.

"Somebody didn't finish his homework," I said, coming up behind him.

He jumped and turned around. "Oh, hi guys. Yeah, I got in a bit late last night."

"I'll say," Chad scoffed. "Two in the morning is definitely past your bedtime."

"Where were you then?" I demanded, throwing my bag down beside him and looking over at the scrawl he called an essay.

He hesitated. "I was - out," he mumbled slowly.

"Oh, right," I said. "Is in an empty classroom or behind a tapestry considered "out"?"

Chad snorted, and tried to turn his laughter into a cough. Luke glanced between us with a raised eyebrow. But his expression of innocent bewilderment was fooling no one.

Just as I was about to continue, Snape swept in from his office (honestly, he always appears at the least opportune moments). I threw myself into my chair and Chad flopped down beside me. Snape immediately began his lecture on the Trunctacacus potion. I continued to berate Luke, however.

"Why won't you tell us were you were, eh?" I persisted.

"Why does it really matter?" Luke whispered stubbornly.

"Cause we're your friends and we have a burning desire to know everything you do," Chad supplied. I gave him the thumbs up.

"Well, I just don't want to."

"You were obviously doing something you shouldn't have," I conjectured slowly. "Or else we would have been with you or you would have at least told us. Maybe something you are ashamed of? No, something you'd be banished for? I'm just gunna guess till you tell me -"

"Black!" Snape barked. "Over there, across from Miss Malfoy. Move, now!"

I grumbled as I hauled my stuff over to the instructed table. Transfer-girl looked at me as I sat down. I began to doodle pointlessly on some spare parchment as I listened to Snape drone on. When he commanded us to our cauldrons, I woke from my half-sleep to discover that I had drawn several bludgers mercilessly pelting Slytherin players. I grinned. What a sight for sore eyes. Then I spotted a heavily traced little "JB" near one corner. I scribbled it out quickly, though my grin remained. I wondered if I had been day dreaming about Jenson again.

I pulled out my ingredients, my mind still on Jenson. I was thinking about his blond hair, and the way it blew all over the place while on his broomstick. Nooooo!!! I was being sucked in by the insanity of guy-spotting!!!

"About time," said the little voice. "You're seventeen!"

"Shut up." I was tempted to glance over at him, but I shook my head. Now I was sure I was going crazy.

I was just starting to shred my arubella leaves when Transfer-girl looked up at me from across the table.

"Hey, Cait, can I ask you something?" she said frowning a little.

"Sure," I replied, glancing up briefly.

She frowned again. "How do you know if you're in love?"

I stared at her, holding my arubella plant in mid air. "What?"

"How do you know if you're in love?" she repeated.

For a split second, I thought that she had seen the little shrine to Jenson on my parchment, but seeing the personally and innocently curious expression on her face, decided she hadn't. Besides, that wasn't love; it was, uh, physical attraction. I paused before replying.

"Three things, to begin with," I said, shaking my arubella plant in her direction. "First of all, you're actually talking to me, Cait Black, incase there was any confusion. Second, do you know what Beni will do if he finds out? And thirdly, why are you asking me, of all people?"

She sprinkled one of her shredded leaves into her cauldron. "In answer, yes, I know I'm talking to you, and I don't give a rat's arse about what Beni thinks. As for number three, I'm asking you because you seem like a realist who doesn't take any crap. You don't seem the type who goes around falling in love four times a week. You're certainly not that Romeo type."

"You have got a point there," I said thoughtfully. "I'm definitely a Mercutio."

"What?"

"Nevermind."

"Besides, I know that you'll tell me what you honestly think," she continued.

"Alright, alright, my head's big enough as it is," I said, grinning. I decided to be completely honest about how I felt about love. "How do you know if you're in love? You just know, I guess. I don't think it's really a decision you make, more of a feeling you get. You know, if you get that butterfly feeling in your stomach. Picture yourself with that person in all the major point in life. If you can see them with you through marriage, births, deaths, pain, happiness, growing old together and still love each other then I'd have to say yes."

She looked at me with a strange sort of admiration. "Wow, the softer side of Cait Black."

I grinned again, scraping my diced vole tails into my cauldron. "Despite public opinion, I'm not rock solid. But I don't tell them that of course, because if they hear I've gone soft it'll just be work, work, work all the time trying to get the fear back into them all."

Rosalyn giggled. "Well, I can say that I like your opinion a lot more than Beni's."

"You actually asked Beni that question?" I asked disbelievingly.

Rosalyn laughed. "Oh, no of course not. Not directly, at least. But as far as I know he's all about physical attraction and compatibility and stuff like that."

"Well, no offense to Beni, but I expect him to be very lonely if he keeps up like this," I said, grinning.

Rosalyn laughed again. "You know Cait, you're not bad."

"That's a first from a Malfoy," I replied. "But you're not exactly the typical Malfoy, are you?"

After class I headed back up the stairs with Luke and Chad. I couldn't believe what had just come out of my own mouth. I sounded like Luke with all that crap about love! But the thing that really scared me was that, the more I thought about it, the more I believed it. I was beginning to dislike the softer side of me. It was confused and vulnerable. Put it back in its comfortably cushioned and tastefully decorated box! Let the sarcastic, melodramatic, boisterous creature out if its cage! Let the feathers fly!

In the Great Hall, I kicked my bag under the table and sat down. Chad sat down beside me with Luke on his other side.

"Chadwyck, am I crazy?" I asked suddenly.

"Yes," he replied without pausing.

"Ah, your opinion doesn't count. You're just a red-head."

"So are you," he pointed out without looking up from his chicken.

"No, I'm strawberry-blonde," I corrected. "You're hair is blindingly bright red. You're a Weasley; it has to be. It's like an unwritten law of some kind."

"And you're a Black; shouldn't you have pitch black hair like Sirius?" He looked up at me, his chicken leg still in his hand.

"Well, yes, but my mother, sadly, is a red-head -"

"Strawberry-blonde," Chad corrected grinning.

"Whatever, shut up," I replied, failing to conceal my own grin. "Nevertheless, I seemed to have gotten stuck at the short end of the gene pool. Honestly, I don't think I will ever get the amount of respect I deserve because of my natural hair color. I mean blondes really get shorted when it comes to stereotypes. They end up with the 'I'm the stupid bimbo with fewer brains than a concrete wall. Please come violate me' image, and it just isn't right. Blondes have big brains, not big boobs! We have just as much potential as the next brunette! I could be the next Minister of Magic for crying out loud! I would probably run the country as an evil fascist dictator, but hey, we all have our secret dreams right?"

"An excellent point, dear Caitlin," declared Jenson from across the table. "As a blonde myself, I feel very discriminated against and offended by having my IQ automatically dropped ten points. I, however, do not suffer from the stupid bimbo label, as I am a male. Thus, neither do I have to worry about my boobs being bigger than my brain, as I lack big boobs."

"Thank goodness too," Ashley said, joining us. "Man boobs are nasty."

I laughed. "I have to agree on that one, Ash."

I have three words to say: I love Saturdays. Honestly, it's the best day of the week. I don't have to get up, there's never a rush to eat, I can sit around and do nothing, and I can play Quidditch. It happened to be that last one that got me out of bed at ten.

Quidditch try-outs were the most entertaining and yet most frightening occasions of the season. On one hand, it was extremely amusing to watch terrified kids fall off of their brooms because they were so nervous. Plus, it was always good to find new talent. On the other hand, however, it was always horrifying to think that next year, these kids would be the only candidates for the team. I tell you, just the thought of five-feet-tall Alex Corbefric as Keeper is enough to give anyone nightmares. I mean the stupid kid fits right through the hoops!

I trudged down the stairs in my beater and sweatpants with my gear bag in my hand. I dropped it onto a chair, and collapsed onto the couch. I closed my eyes, slowly drifting back to sleep. Before I could get there, however, something fell on my head. Then two other somethings fell onto my stomach. Irritated, I opened my eyes to see none other than Jenson, grinning down at me.

"Are you chucking stuff at me?" I demanded in a groan.

He grinned wider. "No, I just brought you some breakfast."

I felt my forehead and discovered a plastic butter knife. Looking at my stomach, I saw three stacked pieces of toast and a jar of strawberry jam. I sat up and held the jar in my palm.

"You brought the whole jar?" I said, raising an eyebrow. "Just nicked it off the table?"

He shrugged. "Would you prefer that I had just carried a spoonful and dropped that on your head as well?" He smiled.

I grinned sarcastically. "Ooo, very witty old boy."

"I try. Come on, we've got to go. I brought you breakfast so you could eat on the way down."

"Urgh, you tricky little devil. No way, I'm not moving; it's too early."

"I'll carry your stuff," he tempted in a singsong voice.

I paused to think.

"Deal."

"So," I began as we made our way down the staircase. "Am I the last one up?"

"Yep. I think Sean's just about gone mad wondering where you are." Jenson rolled his eyes.

"Captains; they're all the same," I muttered, shaking my head. "I think you're required to be a spaz to be captain."

"Well why aren't you captain then?" He asked, grinning. He automatically lifted up his hands to defend himself.

Using my knife, I flung a glob of jam onto the side of his face. His mouth hung open amusedly as the jam slid down his cheek. He wiped some off with his finger, looked at it, and then wiped it quickly onto my cheek. Now, half laughing, half offended, I flung more jam in his direction. He continued to whip it right back at me until we were in a full-blown jam fight. By the time we ran out onto the Quidditch pitch, we were both covered in the stuff, insides of ears included. Sean Stewart stared at us like we were retarded. He grabbed the knife and jar out of my hands, and for a moment, I thought he was going to stab us with my plastic knife. He pointed to the locker rooms.

"Change, before you're late," he instructed grumpily.

"Oo," Jenson said, thoughtfully, licking his fingers as we went. "This is kinda good."

We were laughing so hard that it was rather hard to pull on our Quidditch robes. I actually managed to put my shoes on the wrong feet before I realized that something as wrong. Jenson and I met outside the locker rooms, both of us trying desperately to keep a straight face.

"You guys are such idiots," Ashley said, shaking her head.

"Vosotros estaís idiots," Chadwyck the Spaniard added. "Dónde está sus brains?"

"Spanglish is retarded," I reminded him.

"Sí, sí, lo es. Pero, me gusta! Ustedes tienen gusto de él?"

"No, me no gusta," I replied triumphantly. "See? Haha! Two can play this game, Chadwyck! Dos pueden jugar este juego!"

"Well, well, well," Chad said, folding his arms conten "She can be taught."

"Atorníllele," I replied smugly. "Oh, know what that means?"

Chad chuckled. "Screw you."

"Where did you learn to say 'screw you' in Spanish?" asked Luke curiously.

"Ryan, I think." My 22-year-old brother had dedicated his life to teaching me horrible phrases in ethnic languages.

"I think he taught me 'you smell like crap' in German, and 'up yours, rot in hell, idiot' in Italian," Luke said thoughtfully. "But I can't remember either of them."

"Should have said that to Nicole Gabrielli a long time ago," I muttered to Ashley. "She would have understood that with her seductive little Italian linguisics. Would have done him some good, too."

Ashley burst out laughing. Gaul, she was such a retard.

Eventually, Sean rounded us all up and convinced us to sit in what he was now calling "the judges' seats". Of course, we weren't technically judges, but Sean liked to build himself up. Fortunately, we only needed a new Chaser, so try-outs only lasted about an hour. We had six who were interested this year: Jonathon Baxter, a fifth year, Maria Ecclestone, a third year, Griffin Mosely, a sixth year and constant suitor of Mercedes, Charlie Ann Hecklinger, another third year, David Webber, a fourth year, and Bethany Weasley, the red-headed fifth year. Sean had set up a series of obstacles and tests to torment the poor children with, including quaffle handling, flight speed and agility, and bludger dodging. Jenson and I exchanged mischievous grins. We were going to have fun with that part.

Sean had mistakenly given us the task of pelting bludgers and the prospective Chasers. Maria Ecclestone got so scared that she just stopped in midair, too terrified to even land. Griffin Mosely, having a reputation as a bit of a twit, ended up with a broken foot when he tried to out-run the bludger (not a good idea). Charlie Ann Hecklinger obviously knew what she was doing, but took an extremely long time getting around the bludgers to the hoop.

In the end, it was a face off between Jonathon Baxter and Beth Weasley. It was a tough call, but after conferring with the rest of the team, Sean announced that Beth had made the cut. She threw her hands in the air triumphantly, and Jonathon started to laugh. The two were good friends, and he didn't seem to mind at all that she had beaten him to it. In fact, he seemed very happy for her, shaking her hand before she pulled him into an excited hug.

After lunch, I dragged Jenson to the library to finish our homework. He whined and complained constantly, driving me almost to the point of insanity.

"What does Trunctacacus do?" he whined, pointlessly flipping through the page of his potions book. "I can't find it."

"Well, for one, you're in the wrong chapter," I informed him flatly. "Page thirty-seven."

"Oh, yeah," he chuckled, grinning stupidly. "Okay, so, uh, what does it do, again?"

I rolled my eyes. "Jenson, can't you read?"

"No, I can't," he said in false misery. "Will you read to me, Caitie?" There came the puppy-dog face again.

"Alright," I replied sweetly. "Ahem. The Trunctacacus potion was designed by Professor Bertrum Caucus. His intention had been to create something that would help the Aurors, who suspected their compatriots of being disguised spies. In the process of concocting it, Caucus discovered that he needed a test subject for his mixture. He chose his assistant, Jenson Bryon, whom he had suspected of being a woman disguised as a man. It turned out that Jenson had been lying about his gender, and that his, or should I say, her name was actually Jennifer. She explained that she had been eager to "get jiggy" with the Professor because she thought he was a sexy beast, and turned herself into a man in order to be hired into his laboratory. The Professor was so thrilled at this that he took Jennifer to Las Vegas and married her in the Chapel of Love. The end."

"Hey, that's not what it says," Jenson said, frowning at the text. "I'm not a woman!"

"Ah-ha! So you can read!"