The Incredibly Futile Escape From A Werewolf

His hot breath was heavy on her neck. She could feel his knees pressing into her ribs. His feet scuffed the floor every few seconds.

Perverts. She hated perverts. Perhaps that was why Potions with Professor Dillard was one of her least favorites, despite the fact that he was Head of Slytherin House. Such perverts as the one who wouldn't stop feeling her hair were the reason she slept an hour longer on Saturday mornings. This particular pervert, and his friends, were decidedly the worst things to happen to Hogwarts since the banning of the love potion.

Today's Potions class was particularly aggravating because Lucius Malfoy kept shooting lustful looks at her, Sirius Black's eyes were boring into the back of her head, James Potter was pointing and laughing at Sirius, Peter Pettigrew was being thicker than usual, and Remus Lupin was drawing nonchalantly, grinning to himself when Sirius would lean forward and whisper 'sweet nothings' in her ear. Her life was a living Hell.

Not that Lucius Malfoy was not a gorgeous, wealthy, cunning, clever Slytherin--because he was--it was more the fact that he was these things that bothered her. He could have anyone he wanted; he was worshipped by all girls who were even close to hitting puberty; hell, she wanted him--but that didn't change the fact that he was a player if there ever were any.

As Black began to twirl her blonde hair around his index finger, Narcissa turned around. "Gawd, you're annoying!" she hissed, wrenching her hair away from him. This resulted in a minor explosion from Pettigrew, Lupin, and Potter.

Black smirked. "Aww... cousin, don't you like me?" he said in a tone of mock-hurt. Another eruption of snickers from the other three.

Narcissa raised her eyebrows at him in answer to his question. 'What a loser,' she thought. Some people--like Sirius Black--would never grow up.

James Potter leaned toward Sirius. "You know, I would take the most Muggle-ish Muggle I could find, if I were you, Padfoot. It's 'the' way to piss your parents off, you know."

"No," she heard Sirius reply back in a whisper. "They'll be pissed at me if I take Narcissa. They want her to turn out perfect. They know 'I' will never be anywhere 'near' perfect--to them, at least--so, if I marry her, it'll be killing two thestrals with one stone."

Potter flashed him a grin. "Padfoot, that half a brain up there actually functions--sometimes."

Narcissa stopped watching the two from the corner of her eyes, turning back to her Potions assignment. But it was impossible to do anything with her five-hundred word essay on why it should be legal to use kelpie eyes in Vanishing Potions, not with Sirius and Potter talking about her behind her back--literally. So, she quickly scrawled something down, probably very incoherent, and brought if up to Professor Dillard.

"Erm--Professor?" she said, raising her eyebrows at the young man staring vacantly off into space.

No response.

"Professor?"

Still no answer.

"PROFESSOR!"

"Oh--oh, sorry. Very sorry, Miss, er, Black." Professor Dillard's eyes were bloodshot. He was an odd person.

Narcissa stared. "Er--here is my--er--essay, sir."

Dillard took it, placing it in a tray on his desk labeled: "FIRST YEAR HUFFLEPUFF".

Narcissa did not say anything. He'd figure it out in time. She went back to her seat, took out a piece of parchment, and began doodling, pondering the mysteries of the oddball called professor.

Damias Dillard was a twenty-something-year-old professor of Potions, who had been teaching for the past six or seven years. The poor bloke had come to Hogwarts to teach the same year Potter, Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew had come to learn. He had yelled constantly at the foursome for the first two years, but in their third--he spaced out and paid no attention to anyone or anything. It was something everyone blamed on the insanity of the four Gryffindors.

Within twenty minutes, Potions with the unstoppably trying "Marauders" (as they called themselves) was over, and Narcissa could escape to the quiet domain of her dormitory. But, she found she was stalled...

Laken Poff.

He was a sixth year Slytherin, like herself, but he was way out of her league. How he had ended up in Slytherin was beyond anyone's wildest dreams. He was tall, light-skinned with dark hair and bright blue eyes. He was not thin, but he wasn't overweight, either--he had the husky quality most beaters had. His nature was over-all very good, and had a high tolerance for Muggles, unlike most of Slytherin House. From what Narcissa could tell, he didn't like people like herself: coming from yuppie wizarding families with zero liberalism for Mudbloods.

Just seeing Laken made her stop dead in her tracks, staring at him. He, as always, was being trailed by a throng of girls and guys alike; both pining for his attention. Narcissa stood there, watching him as he walked by, talking animatedly to an unknown seventh year Gryffindor. Keeping her attention focused on Laken, she continued her walk to Slytherin common room, when -

"OOF!"

"Ugh! Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry, sorry," said an embarrassed person from the floor.

The embarrassed person jumped to his feet immediately, his cheeks flushed.

"Lupin. Should've known you wouldn't be watching where you were going. You're Lupin. Why are you alone? It's ten o'clock at night. Shouldn't you be with my dear cousin?"

Lupin's cheeks grew from red to a deep, deep crimson. "Oh--er--that--I--no, I'm a prefect--I--duties."

Narcissa raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

"Yeah, well, best be--uhh--going."

"Er--yeah..."

And Lupin turned and went. But he didn't go anywhere a sixth year Gryffindor prefect would go at this hour--he went outside.