JK Rowling owns Flobberworms and Potters.

Chapter TWO: Prick Potter

The Flobberworm-Incident cleared up soon; except for some immature prats who decided that it was hilarious.

I'm emphasizing on that because I'm ready to kill.

I'm shrunken inside the large armchair, a large Charms book splayed across my tiny lap, my eyes locked onto the dry parchment, trying to soak in the information, clearly not working.

Suddenly, something that's thick, living, slimy thing squirming in my hair. It suddenly falls on my book. I realize it's a slimy Flobberworm.

"What the—!" I screamed, jumping up as my book fell to the floor. I grabbed my wand and stabbed it through the Flobberworm, it's brown blood staining my book.

I heard laughter in the Common Room and my face steams up; suddenly there's a hundred of the worms, spewing mucus and all, climbing through my robes and on my scalp.

I crumbled to the ground, wriggling like there were ants in my pants. I clawed at my hair, screeching, the laughter ringing through my ear, when finally a first year got up and said, "Scourgify."

The Flobberworms disappear, and the slime, and mucus, as if it were never there.

I immediately stop, blending in with the fire—blushing horribly.

"Th—thank you," I said to the person. She was a tall first year with blonde pig-tail braids, and large aqua blue eyes hidden behind framed-purple glasses.

"Potter, you prat," The girl said, ignoring me, "How dare you do that to a poor girl?"

"I, er, am not that—" I interjected, but a boy voice interrupts me, "Well, it's a good prank, innit? Flobberworms—I'm hilarious?"

"You think you are, but you're not. You're just a big bully."

I turned around to find my culprit, and saw a grinning boy with perfectly round hazel eyes and untidy hair, his Gryffindor tie tied around his head.

I secretly hoped it'd pop his small brain open.

"I hope it pops your small brain open!" I yelled to him, burning red. Well, fine, not so secret anymore.

"Is that Flobberworm goo on the corner of your mouth?" He pointed out.

I touched my mouth, and he was red, bent over laughing.

"You're such a jerk!" I whimpered as I got up to pick up my book. Flobberworm goo and blood was in it. How would I explain that to Madame Pince?

Speaking of Madame…

I'd Owl my mother, then talk to Madame Scamander-Lovegood.

I stamped out the Common Room, the Fat Lady asking shrewdly, "What happened to you?" in which I replied heatedly, "Hush up you big bird!"

I heard a slew of cuss words to which I ignored, and headed straight to the Owlery. I jotted down a few words, tears blurring my eyes. I shut them, refusing to let them spill. How silly! Crying over an immature boy? I'm Elizabeth Mars!

Dear Mum,

This is OwlMail—a bit like Snail-Mail, but faster, I assure you. Please get the Owl some crackers and a small jug of water, thanks.

I'm a bit sad. Something happened in Potions a while ago—my potion blew up. So to humiliate me, a boy in my year poured a bucket of worms on me—gooey worms, and embarrassed me! Everyone was laughing, Mum! I was humiliated! What do I do?

Sincerely, your saddened daughter, Elizabeth.

I wrapped it around the auburn owl and it flapped off, to which I sighed, and made my way to the Hospital Wing.

The smell of tea and fresh cookies entered my nose, so I hurriedly entered the Wing. Madame Scamander was on her chair, sipping tea, the sound of scratching quill in my ear. A sixth year student looked hurt.

"Hello, Elizabeth," Scamander said politely, not looking up from her paperwork.

"Wha—how'd you know it was me?"

"You have a particular body odor. Fresh grass and—it appears to be Flobberworms?"

I sat down on a stray bed, sniffling.

"That's the problem. This boy poured a bucket of Flobberworms on me!"

"Did he?" She said, looking up, alarmed. "Why?"

"He thought it'd be funny!"

"Well, what's his name?"

I scrunched up my features, trying to remember.

"Pot? Potty? Potter?" I attempted to list the possibilities.

"Potter?" Scamander said excitedly. "Oh, that's wonderful! That's Harry Potter's dear ol' kid, in second year."

"Who's Harry Potter?"

"A man who saved the Wizarding World. Now, it's eight. Shouldn't you be prepping for bed?" Scamander asked, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"I suppose," I mumbled distraughtly, and walked outside, still angry and embarrassed.