Phobic

Author's Note: This is supposed to take place during the third book right when the portrait of the Fat Lady goes missing…please review…I am aiming to get over 200 reviews on a single piece!

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to 'Harry Potter' or any of its syndicates or anything of the like…

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'I hate you, Angelina Johnson. You are more worthless than the dust one finds under a dead house elf. Why did you let that prick Marcus get the better of you?' after a heated 'discussion' (paired with a swift kick between the legs) with Marcus 'eat me' Flint, Angelina slinked into the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer or eight to console herself, alone in her shame.

'You used to pride yourself on being above that shit, you imbecile. Why did you let him psyche you out? Was it because of the way he looked at you in a dirty way? Like you were the dung beneath his feet? Was it because his foul words brought you back to where he set his vile scene? Was it because he called you a whore? He's the sex addict who thinks it's hot or something for him to try and molest essentially every and any girl who says two words to him (usually 'fuck off'). Asshole. He made you a whore if you are one. Not you.'

Drowning her wretchedness in the biting warmth of her fifth butterbeer, a new thought entered Angelina's slurred mind. Why not make a cut? Just one, to see how it would feel to ease her pain through blood. Digging through her gaping pockets, she searched for something, anything sharp enough to draw blood. She came upon a razor she still had in her pocket after an earlier visit to the tub. (as there is no known spell or potion for hair removal; only for hair growth) Lowering her arm and the blade below the table, her semi-frantic fingers danced upon the tip of the gleaming metal. Slowly, bravely, she dragged the edge of the razor across her left forearm.

'This is for what you did to me last Christmas, Flint.'

At first, Angelina felt nothing, but then suddenly, as the blade moved in a sharp diagonal motion, searing stings attacked every vulnerable nerve. She had no idea that such pain could spring from such a small wound. Her breaths were shallow as her head began to swim and nausea controlled her stomach. Her stupor-like state was broken by two strong fists thrusting their butterbeers next to her on her table. The fists belonged to two certain red headed knaves who were notorious for running rampant on close to every Hogsmead trip, leaving havoc, accidents and small amounts of carnage in their path.

"'Ello, Angeleeeeeena! What're you doing, shaving your fuzz ridden legs? Isn't it a bit cold to go hairless?" George, noting the razor sitting on the tabletop jumped at the opportunity to use his witty 'humour' before his bottom even touched his seat beside Angelina. She was greatly relieved that her fresh, newborn cut was well sheathed by her black sleeves.

"Rosmerta, why don't you be a doll and fetch us all another round of butterbeers?" Fred had an inkling (well rather he heard Angelina hiccup sloshedly) that perhaps his Quidditch mate had already had quite enough…but one more couldn't hurt.

In the company of the twins, Angelina hid her unshed tears behind a false, lying smile, but in a cloudy corner of her mind she knew that their dark shadows would trace her face later.

"We've just been to Zonko's and bought an utterly obscene amount of stink pellets and sprinting beans. We're hoping to eventually create a hybrid of the two so we can create 'Stinky Sprinting Beans.' Sounds good, eh? Before that we dropped by Honeydukes and stocked up on Jelly Slugs and Pepper Imps. You can't ever have too many of those. How about you, Angelina? What mischief have you been getting into this trip?" Fred's question left her unsure as to whether to tell them the truth or not.

"Well," she began, still debating her choice of answer, "I'm sure you the gossip travelled to Zonko's and you heard about the small tiff I had outside of Dervish and Banges with that putrid cockroach, Marcus Flint-"

"Oh yes!" exclaimed George, "Heard you made his hands fly to his balls faster than when he fantasizes about climbing on top of every girl in Hogwarts! Nicely done!" A small twinge lifted the corners of Angelina's mouth into a light smile.

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Supper back in the Great Hall helped to lift Angelina's spirits somewhat, but the throbbing in her arm reminded her of the inner pain that still plagued her thoughts. 'Next time,' she thought to herself, 'I'll use a different tool.'

As the Gryffindors trickled up towards their dormitory, a large hold up blocked Angelina's passage.

"Let me through please," came Percy's voice, as he came bustling importantly through the crowd. "You can't all have forgotten the password-" a silence then pulsed throughout the students. "Someone get Professor Dumbledore. Quick." The Fat Lady had vanished, leaving but her ravaged canvas behind.

"Sirius Black did it, the beast!" The nearby portraits shouted in witness to the recent events. They began tittering between each other nervously while Percy made futile attempts to compose everyone.

Dumbledore arrived shortly, and calmly began herding the shaken Gryffindor students to the Great Hall where they would spend the night while the faculty searched for Black.

Angelina walked behind the main group of frightened pupils, and as she neared the entrance to the Great Hall, she caught sight of Marcus going up the stairs nearby. She saw him mouth the horrid word venomously, like poison, "Slut," and continue on his way upstairs. As Angelina walked through the doorway, she knew she had to cut again.

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A.N. that's chapter one, chapter two shall contain a flashback to what exactly happened between her and Marcus, a very nice encounter with another student and a little more angst…hope you enjoyed and will continue reading!