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The Unintentional Matchmaker

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Old September 30th, 2006, 9:56 am
House_Elf_21  Undisclosed.gif House_Elf_21 is offline
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The Unintentional Matchmaker

Okay, I was writing this story back in July and then decided to quit. So...the thread got deleted. However, I recently decided that I wanted to try to resurrect the story, so here it is.

~ Elf

P.S. FEEDBACK is appreciated; it feels like warm hugs


A Seventh Year Romance
(Chamber of Secrets era)

Chapter 1: Peace and Tumult

If Snape had had the choice of teaching seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins together, he would have taken it, for he loved to pit the two against each other. But unfortunately, the rivalry between school houses in that particular year was already at an all-time high. Professor Dumbledore himself had arranged it so that the Slytherins and Gryffindors in that year were separated in almost every class. This left the Slytherins with the Hufflepuffs, and the Gryffindors with the Ravenclaws. This arrangement suited the Slytherins well (not so much the Hufflepuffs), and it suited the Gryffindors; but it did not suit the Ravenclaws, who were used to working with the peaceful and organized Hufflepuffs.

But all would have been fine, if it were not for Snape’s second least-favorite Gryffindor (Harry Potter naturally took first position on the professor’s black list).

Tristan Bott was a loud, riotous seventeen-year-old with dishwater blonde hair and a handsome face. His favorite sport was Quidditch (naturally), and his favorite pastime was making life more difficult for Snape.

“Thirty points from Gryffindor,” said Snape, scourgefying Tristan’s cauldron, whose contents had held the makings of a Stink Tonic. The students were supposed to be brewing Enlightening Elixirs, but Tristan had decided to deviate slightly from the ingredients. “Detention.”

“Honestly, Professor,” Tristan said innocently, suppressing a laugh, “I thought that the Butotuber pus was a nice touch.”

“No cheek, Bott; ten more points from Gryffindor.”

All of the Gryffindors were in an uproar. A few even shouted at Snape, causing him to take an additional ten points away from each of them.

“Miss Ophelia,” Snape said above the moans and groans.

A pleasant-looking Ravenclaw stood up. “Yes, Professor Snape?”

“You will be serving detention with Mr. Bott this evening.”

The girl, having done nothing wrong, naturally opened her mouth to protest. But upon seeing the dangerous gleam in Snape’s eye, she thought better of it and replied: “Yes, Professor.”

“Everyone who is finished may leave, except for Miss Ophelia and Mr. Bott.”
“Yes, Sir,” Pax replied politely.

“Point-seeker,” Tristan muttered, shoving his books into his duffel bag.

After finished cleaning out the cauldrons and putting their leftover potion ingredients into Snape’s storage cupboard, the students filed out hurriedly. The Gryffindors were the quickest to leave, not wanting any more points docked from their house.

Finally, when the room was cleared of everyone else, Snape addressed Tristan and Pax. “Come here to my desk.”

Pax walked towards Snape, but was cut off by Tristan, who did not even look at her. “Honestly, Professor, I don’t think it’s fair—”

“Silence!” Snape’s voice was so cold that it froze the two seventh-years to the spot. “It has been my decision that you two henceforth shall be lab partners.”

“But, Professor!” Tristan protested, still not looking at Pax.

“What? Do you have some aversion to the opposite sex?”

“No, I—”

“Good. Meet me here at seven o’clock sharp. You may go now.”

Tristan stormed out of the dungeon, in high dudgeon, while Pax remained behind for a moment to speak with Snape. “Professor,” she asked, as Snape sat and dipped his quill into a fresh bottle of ink. “I was just wondering—”

“Why I stuck you with that insolent fool? I thought it would be obvious—especially for a Ravenclaw,” Snape jeered, not looking up from the parchment he was writing on. “Professor McGonagall has even taken an interest in this situation, as has the Headmaster.”

“Situation, sir?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Mr. Bott, as I am sure even a simpleton like yourself has not failed to notice, is walking a very fine line. His behavior is encouraging rebellion in seventh years and even sixth and fifth years. He is a plague that needs to be contained.”

“And you want me to contain him? But how am I supposed to do that?”

“I’ll leave that up to you and your—feminine devices. That is all, Miss Ophelia; you may go now.”

Pax knew that this was an order not a request, so she readjusted her knapsack strap and hastened out of the dungeons. She had not made it one step out into the bright halls, when an arm reached out from around the corner and grabbed her.

“Listen,” said Tristan, taking her by the shoulders, “I don’t want people thinking I’m friends with Snape’s pet, so you’re not going to mention doing detention together to anyone. Got it?”

“I’m nobody’s pet!” Pax yelled, ripping herself free from his clutches.

“Really? You had me fooled.”

“All right there, Pax?” said a tall, muscular Slytherin, who had just rounded the corner. His eyes met Tristan’s and he snarled.

“What do you want, Alan?” Pax sighed, running a hand through her long red hair.

“I was going to ask you to accompany me to Hogsmeade, but if you’re going to take that tone….”

“I’ll take whatever tone I please with you. Besides,” she added, “I wouldn’t go with you to Hogsmeade for all the tea in China.”

“You don’t like tea, Pax.”

“I’ll leave you two love-birds alone,” Tristan laughed, happy to see his new enemy cornered by his least favorite person in the world.

Alan waited until the Gryffindor rounded the corner before her he grabbed Pax by the wrist.

“Don’t you touch me!” Pax barked.

Alan drew his wand out so fast that Pax didn’t have time to react. He laughed and said, “Imperio!” Nothing happened. He tried again: nothing. “I said Imperio!” Alan yelled for the thirteenth time, now surrounded by a group of first year Gryffindors, who had been attracted by the commotion. A few drew out their wands, but were not quite certain of what spell to use.

“What is he doing to her?” one Gryffindor girl asked.

“It sounded like Impervius.”

“No, more like Empero!”

Pax could feel her legs shaking beneath her own weight, and her brain tingled; but still she did not obey. Finally, fatigued and able to move her arms, she drew out her wand and shouted the first spell that came into her head. “Furnunculus!”

Boils instantly broke out all over Alan’s body. “Why did you have to go and do that?” he demanded, feeling the boils popping out on his face.

Everyone laughed and applauded—everybody but Pax.

“Wicked!” one of the Gryffindor boys roared as Alan went running from the scene, crying out something about his “poor, beautiful face.”

“What was that spell again?”

“Can you teach me?”

“Excuse me,” Pax muttered, pushing the first-years aside. She was in deep trouble and she knew it. “Would it be so bad to perform a Memory Charm?” she asked herself in desperation. She then heard someone cackling at the foot of the stairs near the Great Hall. If she was not mistaken it was Peeves.

Pax rushed around the corner to find Alan lying on the floor, obviously unconscious, with Fred and George Weasley standing over him, wands drawn. Peeves was merrily floating overhead singing:

“They’ll take his tempy,
Don’t even ask:
They’ll take it all right,
Right in his—”

“Oh, shut up, Peeves,” said Fred Weasley, though he seemed quite amused. Peeves blew a raspberry at them, then disappeared down a dark corridor.

“What have you done!” Pax cried, drawing her wand as well. She quickly hid it as she noticed that students were streaming by, bustling to get to their next classes. They were so busy that none of them took notice of the boil-ridden boy lying on the floor. A few waved at Fred and George, who casually answered Pax’s question:

“The prat ran around the corner—”

“Started hurling jinxes—”

“—And hexes—”

“At us,” they finished together.


“He was yelling something about—what was it, George?”

“Something about fifty points and head of house.”

“Figured it was important.”

“So you naturally felt compelled to stun him.”

“Naturally.” The boys grinned.

“Fred, George—I mean, George, Fred, he was talking about taking away points from Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor, if that’s what you were worried about.”

“Oh, that complicates things,” said Fred airily.

“So a Raveclaw did this to him?”


“Well don’t just stand there; help us move him into the VC.”

“The ‘VC’?” Pax asked, not liking the sound of this.

“Vanishing Cupboard, of course.”

“Fred,” said George, grabbing one of Alan’s arms.

“George,” said Fred, taking the Slytherin’s other arm.

“Boys!” Pax yelled as the two Weasleys started dragging Alan up the staircase. They both turned around and looked at her.


Pax thought for a moment, then said, rather guiltily, “Carry on.”

Last edited by House_Elf_21; October 14th, 2006 at 9:54 pm.
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Old September 30th, 2006, 10:05 am
House_Elf_21  Undisclosed.gif House_Elf_21 is offline
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 2: Of Peacocks and Hens

“Come on, Pax,” said Sarah Gilbert, Pax’s best friend; “you were just defending yourself; besides, he was using an Unforgivable Curse, and you have witnesses to prove it.”

“—Yeah, a bunch of first years. They had no idea what was going on. It’s just my word against his.”

“You ought to go to Dumbledore; he’ll believe you. And I’d do it before Alan gets a chance to tell Snape. No doubt the git will be visiting him in the hospital ward.”

“Actually—Alan’s not in the hospital ward. In fact, I don’t know where he is.” Pax then explained about the Weasley twins and the Vanishing Cupboard.

“Brilliant!” Sarah laughed, choking on her stew. “I’d love to shove Snape in there someday, see where he’d turn up.”

“This isn’t funny!” Pax laughed, in spite of herself.

Sarah twirled a strand of hair around her finger a minute then looked shrewdly at her friend. “So, you have Bott as a lab partner now?”

“Yes.” Pax sighed and shook her head. “What’s worse, Snape thinks I’m the one who can turn him around—which is utterly ridiculous. It’ll take a miracle—or some serious magicking—to make him behave.”

“I don’t know,” Sarah smirked, “with a little makeup and some serious flirting—”

“What?!” Pax shouted, causing a few fellow Ravenclaws to stare her way.

“You heard me. I think that maybe for once in his life, Snape is on to something. Just hear me out: Tristan is trying to get himself expelled, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Well, what if he had a reason for staying at school?”

Pax rolled her eyes and snorted. “Tristan Bott has never given me a second look; besides, I’m not going to put a show on for some conceited jock who has nothing better to do than make Stink Tonics and sell illegal potions.”

“Don’t do it him, do it for Snape.”


Sarah laughed. “Just think of a Potions lesson without Snape—well, with Snape acting like less of a git than he already is. He’ll just make your life hell if you fail.”

Pax turned this over and around in her mind for a minute then headed up for the girls’ dormitory.

“Where are you going?” Sarah asked suspiciously.

Pax winked. “Oh, you’ll see.”

Elsewhere in the castle….

“And that, my friends, is guaranteed to get you out of any class—except for Potions; I tried it myself one time…Snape saw right through me,” Tristan told an eager group of sixth years huddled around him in the Gryffindor common room.

One of the students unplugged one of the vials that had been handed to him and sniffed. “Excellent! A bit robust—” he said, mocking an amateur wine-taster.

“Careful now! Don’t inhale too much or you’ll start sprouting feathers,” Tristan warned. “Now, about those five galleons—”

“What’s going on in here?” asked the male Gryffindor prefect, Percy Weasley. He snatched a vial from one of the student’s hands, pulled the plug and sniffed.

“Uh, Percy, you don’t want to—”

“I don’t want to what?” Percy asked suspiciously as a long peacock feather grew out of the side of his head.

“Oh nothing.”

Percy gave the black liquid another sniff and scoffed. “Trying to pass off colored water as an antidote to stress spells, are we?”

“Percy—” one of the students tried to interject as Percy sprouted another feather.

"When will you learn, Bott?" snapped Percy, tapping the vial with his wand. He then spoke a vaporizing incantation, and the air was filled with a black fog.

Tristan, apparently ready for this, pulled a surgical mask out of his robe pocket, and covered his nose and mouth. "Catch you later, Percy!" he cried over his shoulder as he ran to the portrait hole.

"Cool!" said one of the students, who, like Percy, was sporting long, silky feathers.

As he left, Tristan could hear Percy shrieking bloody murder--though he sounded more like a clucking hen.

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Old September 30th, 2006, 11:35 pm
House_Elf_21  Undisclosed.gif House_Elf_21 is offline
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 3: Step One: Getting Him to Notice Me

"And that, Professor Snape," said Gilderoy Lockhart, his teeth flashing, "is how to properly brew a fertilizing elixir."

"You would know," said Snape rising from his desk so that he was eye to eye with Lockhart, "because you are clearly full of--"

Just then the door burst open with a bang. Snape reflexively drew his wand, and Lockhart followed suit, trying not to look like a man caught off his guard.

“My word!” Lockhart gasped, his jaw dropping momentarily.

“Well, Miss Ophelia, we finally decided to show,” Snape sneered, looking at the clock. His head snapped back to look at Pax, who knew better than to point out that she was two minutes early. “And who said you could be out of uniform? Ten points from Ravenclaw.”

Pax was wearing emerald green dress-robes with a vee neckline, and a velvet cloak, which she draped over the back of a chair. Her hair rested on top of her head in ringlets, some of which came tumbling down her forehead, getting in her eyes just like in the movies—in Pax’s own humble opinion. She flashed Lockhart a smile, who, needless to say, did not like not being the prettiest person in the room.

"You're late," said Snape as Tristan stormed through the door and slammed it behind him.

"Yeah, sorry about that, Professor," Tristan said cheekily, ignoring Pax, who was now sitting in a chair to his right; "I had to see Hagrid about that bat in your belfry."

"Five points taken from Gryffindor." He stopped and stared at Professor Lockhart, who was holding out an autographed picture of himself riding a broom. "Did you want something else, Professor Lockhart?"

Lockhart's smile got even bigger, and he gave Tristan a punch in the shoulder, knocking the boy into Pax's lap. "My dear boy, you oughtn't give the old professor such a hard time. Why, when I was your age--yes, I was once a youth, just like yourself with dreams and ambitions and--"

But Tristan didn't hear a word the Professor was saying. "Sorry," he apologized to Pax gruffly, standing up with a jolt.

"Don’t mention it," said Pax.


“—the first time, I tell you—”

"Thank you, Professor," Snape interrupted, his tone far from grateful, "for that enchanting story. Now, if you don't mind, I have two delinquents on my hands that are awaiting attention."

"Right," said Lockhart through his sparkling grin. "Here, my dear; here's a signed photograph for you as well. I don't want you to feel left out." He shoved a picture of himself into Pax's lap. "Carry on, good professor."

Snape grimaced as the Professor Lockhart went strutting out of his office, his baby-blue cape billowing out behind him. Snape shuddered then muttered something about putting more security charms on his doors.

"These," he said at long last, conjuring up two boxes, "are labels. You are to re-label all of the potions in my store cupboard--no magic allowed. And if you break or decide to 'borrow' anything--" Snape looked at Tristan shrewdly, "thirty points will be taken from your house."

"Yes, Professor," said Pax.

“Suck-up,” Tristan snorted

"Is something wrong, Mr. Bott?"

"No," he replied innocently.

"Then I suggest you get to work."

Pax reached for a box, but Tristan snatched it from her. Clearly annoyed with his rudeness, she reached for the other one, only to have that one snatched away from her too. "Come on," he said, moving into Snape's store cupboard.

Pax sighed and followed. She stepped into the dingy room and looked around. The shelves were stacked high with jars and bottles, all full of sinister looking potions and potion ingredients. She lifted one phial from the bottom shelf, dusted it off and tried to make out the thin cursive on it. "SHP?" she said aloud, trying to figure out what it could mean. "Shriveled Hairless Prunes, I suppose."

"Or 'Snape's Hair Potion'," mused Tristan, snatching the vial from her. "Must be; looks like congealed grease."

Pax held up another jar to a candle. "Does this look like an 'A' or an 'R' to you? Professor Snape does have awfully girly handwriting."


"'A' it is then." She rewrote the potion’s name on the new label and stuck it over the old one.

“I just said—” Tristan began…then he caught his first glimpse of Pax. He dropped the jar, which shattered to pieces on the floor, spilling the strange greasy goo everywhere.

Snape suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Ten points, Mr. Bott.”

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Old October 1st, 2006, 8:57 am
House_Elf_21  Undisclosed.gif House_Elf_21 is offline
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 4: Step 2: Must Remember Not to Curse Subject Into Oblivion

This went on almost the entire evening: Tristan would drop something, trip over something and Snape would somehow appear, deducting points. On top of that, Tristan couldn’t string five words together properly; it seemed as though his tongue had been glued to the roof of his mouth.

“You, er, um, well….”

“Do you want help cleaning that up?” Pax asked for the tenth time, seductively pulling a lock of hair out of her face.

“N-no—I mean ‘yes’—I-I mean ‘no’,” he stuttered, making certain not to look directly at Pax.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he assured the mop that Pax was holding.

Okay, he’s noticed me; now what?” thought Pax. “Bott—I mean, Tristan, what does this label say?”

Tristan just ignored her and continued sorting through phials with rather shaky hands.

Three hours later, after much hemming and hawing….

“I bet that’s heavy,” Pax finally broke the silence.

“Wha—” Tristan dropped the box he was carrying on his foot and began hopping around like a rabid rabbit in mating season.

“Ooh, I’m sorry!”

“What’s going on in here?” asked Snape, swooping in like a blasted bat. One look at the pair and he figured out what had happened. Snape rolled his eyes, rolled up his sleeves, and pointed his wand at Tristan. “Hold still.”

“Don’t you point that thing at me!” Tristan yelped, reaching for his own wand.

Snape sneered. “Do you really think I would bother hexing a student with a witness at hand? What a waste of time and paperwork.”

“You miserable, greasy—”

“Ten points and another detention.”


“Five points. This will only take a moment.”



“Oh, I’ll do it,” Pax sighed and drew her wand. “Bo—Tristan, just hold still for a moment.”

Tristan whimpered, but did as he was told. A flash of violet light shot out of the end of Pax’s wand and struck Tristan’s foot.

Satisfied that her patient was healed properly, Pax replaced her wand in her robe pocket and stole a glance at Snape. Much to her horror, the Potions Master winked at her—or did he? It wasn’t quite clear. It might have been a nervous twitch of the eye…but Snape didn’t usually get them, he usually caused them.

“No more wands, if you don’t mind,” said Snape, raising an eyebrow at a befuddled Pax. He smirked as his eyes darted back and forth between the pair. “That is enough work for tonight; you may finish tomorrow.” Then, just as quickly as he had swooped in, the bat swooped out.

Still slightly unnerved by the sight of Snape winking at her, Pax shakily replaced the freshly labeled jars on their proper shelves. Did the greasy Potions Master have a thing for her? “The horrors,” she shuddered.

Tristan finally looked at Pax, much to her annoyance. She was tired, her magicked curls were now wilting into tangled strands, and her dress-robes were stained with perspiration. She was not the stunning beauty that she had tried to make herself.

The whole idea, upon reflection, was stupid; all her get-up did was get Tristan in even more trouble. Maybe a good Muggle headlock would help the situation…it at least would make her feel better. Pax chuckled weakly then set out through the door.

“Ophelia!” Tristan called out after her.

“Yes?” said she, turning around to face him.


Pax involuntarily froze on the spot. Why did boys like jinxing and cursing her so?

“Y-you have an—an interesting afternoon?” Tristan asked conversationally.

None of your business! Now, unfreeze me, you git!” she thought at him, as her lips were unable to move. Legilimens was not one of her stronger studies, but she got by.

Tristan stared at her dumbly, then muttered something like “m-most g-girls think it’s funny.”

“Ha, ha. I’ve had my share of jinxes and curses for the day, thank you very much,” Pax snapped once he had unfrozen her.

“W-why? S-somebody curse your hair to l-l-look like that?”

Pax threw him a dirty look. “You know, you ought to try to stop stuttering; you sound just like Quirrel, and he was sharing his body with You-Know-Who.” With that said, she swept out of the store cupboard, collected her cloak, and stormed out of the dungeons.

Last edited by House_Elf_21; October 1st, 2006 at 8:45 pm.
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Old October 3rd, 2006, 5:09 am
House_Elf_21  Undisclosed.gif House_Elf_21 is offline
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 5: Weasleys’ Wisdom

Tristan Bott sat alone in the Great Hall, stirring his pudding and staring off into outer space. Every once in a while he would cast a furtive glance in Pax’s direction, but made certain not to stare. No, he mustn’t stare…even though she was rather nice to look at. The way she daintily sipped her pumpkin juice, ate a muffin, browsed through the Daily Prophet; it was like watching a veela…Did he just think that? Tristan shook the thought off and continued in his moodiness.

“What has your knickers in a knot?” asked Fred Weasley, taking a seat to Tristan’s right.

“Thought you’d be up in the boy’s dormitory, working on that puking potion you promised us,” said George Weasley, taking a seat to Tristan’s left.

“Sorry, fellas, I’m just not in the mood.”

The twins looked at each other. “Temperature’s normal,” said George, slapping a hand on Tristan’s forehead.

“Pulse normal.”

“Must be a girl,” the twins sighed together. “Sorry, mate.”

Tristan pushed away his pudding and folded his arms. “It’s not a girl,” he said defensively. He sighed and ruffled his hair. “All right, so maybe it is a girl, but it’s not what you think.”


“No, I’m serious. I think I have an—” He looked around for a moment and blushed slightly. “I think I have an admirer.”

“Big surprise there,” said Fred, rolling his eyes.


“Who is it?”

“Pax Ophelia.”

Fred and George stared at each other for a moment, then looked at Tristan, their expressions thoughtful. “You can’t be serious…Can he, George?”

“I dunno,” said George thoughtfully; “he sure seems miserable. Must be. Heck, I’d be miserable if a brown-noser like that were after me.”

“Would ruin our reputation,” Fred sighed.

“Oi, why would my going out with Ophelia ruin our reputation? Does everything always have to be about us?”

"So now you're going out with her?"


“George, I never knew you felt that way.”

“Boys, focus, please.”

“Right,” the twins said together, shooting each other dirty glares. “What can we do for you?”

“I’ve never had any trouble attracting girls when I wanted to, but I’ve never wanted to repel one. How would I go about doing that?”

“Ask Percy,” Fred snorted into his pumpkin juice.

The three of them looked over at Percy Weasley, who was trying to get his sister to eat. Suddenly Ginny jumped up from the table and went running out of the Great Hall, a thin black book tucked under her arm.

“See, he can’t even keep Ginny in his good graces,” said George.

Tristan rolled his eyes and looked over in Pax’s direction. She was talking animatedly to her raven-haired friend Sarah. Pax threw her head back and laughed, her teeth sparkling like many white pearls. She looked nice when she laughed.

“Tristan, is that—” Fred began.

“Drool?” asked George.

“Listen, have you got any ideas or haven’t you?” Tristan demanded, averting his eyes from Pax.

“All right, mate, here’s what you have to do….”


Today was Pax’s first day with Tristan Bott as her lab partner. She had been avoiding him all week, as much as she could; they still shared the same classes, as they both were studying to become Healers. Well, Pax at least was; she had a strange suspicion that Tristan’s parents had played a big role in his career choice. Why he didn’t just say “no” and quit school was beyond her. Oh well; she had better things to occupy her mind and time with than that git.

She collected her school things and headed down for the Great Hall. When she reached the main staircase, she instantly spied Tristan, who was leaning up against the statue of the one-eyed witch.

A weak “H-hey, P-Pax,” slipped out of his mouth. He quickly tapped his tongue with his wand and moved towards her.

“Oh, Tristan! I’ve been looking for you,” she lied as he backed her into the corner.

“You have?” He put two large hands on her shoulders, which he began to rub.

“Uh, yeah. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for the other night in detention, you know, when I—What are you doing?”

Tristan’s lips were now barely an inch from hers. He snatched the knapsack out of her hands, threw it to the ground and grabbed her in a rather passionate embrace.


Fred and George Weasley sneaked up behind the snogging couple, grabbed Pax’s knapsack and pulled out her Potions book and replaced it with their own…er, rendition. They couldn’t help but stand and gawk for a moment; Tristan was a good actor: he actually looked like he was enjoying himself….

“Let’s go,” hissed George, gently setting the knapsack back on the floor. The twins tiptoed into the Great Hall and waited.

A few minutes later, a rather dazed Tristan came stumbling towards the Gryffindor table, attempting to flatten his rumpled hair. He practically fell down upon an empty bench across from Fred and George, his eyes dancing.

“We switched books,” said Fred proudly, handing the correct copy to Tristan.

“Are you all right?” asked George.

“She kissed me back.” Tristan reached a shaky hand for an empty goblet and began sucking down air.

“What did you expect?” George demanded. “Anyway, when you show Pax up in Potions, she’s bound to hate you.”

“Right,” Tristan murmured.

They finished their breakfast in silence—well, the twins did, anyway (Tristan didn’t eat anything; he didn’t think he could keep anything down.)

The group broke up and the twins headed for Defense Against the Dark Arts, muttering something about “Lockhart” and “stinksap”. Tristan smirked and headed for the dungeons.

“You’re late,” Snape drawled, not bothering to look up from the book that he was studying.

“Yes, Professor,” Tristan muttered, moving to the front of the class, all eyes fixed on him. He ignored this and took his seat next to Pax, who was furiously chopping up catepillars. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” Pax snapped, squirting caterpillar juice onto Snape’s book. She didn’t even look up, but continued to stare at her Potions book. “I don’t understand, I’ve never heard of adding caterpillar legs to an antidote draught before.”

“Whoa, we’re working on antidotes today?”

“Flicka Root, very rare—very deadly.”

Tristan loosed his collar as beads of sweat began to roll down his forehead. “Pax, there’s something I need to tell you….”

“Not now, I’m concentrating.” Pax frowned and looked more closely at the book. “Two counter stirs? Won’t that thicken the potion?”


“Oh well; that’s what the book says.” Pax added the caterpillar legs and gave the draught two counter stirs. That’s when the potion blew up.

“What’s going on?” Snape asked a crying Pax, whose hair was full of black goo. Snape gave her potion a thoughtful stare then looked at her book. “Clearly you bought this book on the black market. Ten points from Ravenclaw. Now, clean up this mess. The rest of you, bring your samples to the front of the class.”

As the rest of the class moved to the front of the room, Pax glared at her lab partner, her right eye twitching. “You! You switched books with me when we were— ” she looked around quickly to make sure that no one was listening; “when we were…you know.”

“Snogging?” Tristan laughed. But the look on her face wiped the smile off of his own. “I’m—I’m—”

“You can clean this mess up by yourself,” she hissed, throwing the Potions book at his head. “I-I’ll get you for this.” Before Snape could stop her, Pax went flying out of the dungeons, her eyes welling with tears.

“Mission complete,” Tristan muttered unhappily as he rubbed his throbbing forehead.


Last edited by House_Elf_21; October 3rd, 2006 at 5:17 am.
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Old October 3rd, 2006, 8:08 pm
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Okay, so this one is short and not as juicy as the last (and believe me, they will get juicier ), but I had to get a little Snape-time in


Chapter 6: Snape’s Midnight Call

Severus Snape had been lying on his four-poster bed, relaxing and thinking over the next day’s itinerary when there was a soft tapping at his door. He quickly wiped the cold cream from his face and removed the cucumbers from his eyes then hurried to the door, wand drawn.

He peeped through the eyehole: it was Charon, his faithful owl. “What is it? Don’t you know not to disrupt me after nine?” he snapped. It was then that he spied a scroll attached to one of the owl’s legs. “Who is it from?”

Charon hooted.

“No, I don’t eat the cucumbers, and I don’t appreciate the sarcasm.” Snape untied the letter then pointed to the door.

Charon hooted again then zoomed out of the dark, dank room before his master could hex him.

Snape read the letter in silence, his eyebrows raised. He read it again, changed into his black robes and marched out of his room.

Twenty minutes later, Snape found himself standing in front of a portrait up several flights of stairs, uttering the Ravenclaw password. The portrait swung open to reveal a doorway, and beyond that the Ravenclaw common room.

Several students were sitting around the fireplace, eating popcorn and studying. They were peaceful, happy, eagerly doing their work. Little did they know that this was about to change.

“I’m looking for Miss Ophelia,” said Snape.

“That’s funny,” said a third-year, not turning round; “that sounded exactly like—”

The students looked at each other, their eyes widening. Slowly they turned around to see the bat-like Potions Master towering over them, his lips curled up in a sardonic smile.

A first-year started to scream, but an older student quickly slapped his hand over her mouth. “What can we do for you, Professor?” the Ravenclaw asked.

Snape rolled his eyes. “I already said, didn’t I? Really, I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be clever.” Snape sighed when no one answered him. “Very well; though I hate doing so, I shall repeat myself. I am looking for Miss Ophelia.”

“Well, sir,” said a seventh-year, cowering under Snape’s glare, “she’s—”

“Just left my quill—” said Pax, coming down from the girls’ dormitory. She stopped dead in her tracks when she spied Snape. “Professor!”

The room quickly cleared of students, who shot Pax sympathetic glances. “Can I have your gobstones if you die?” whispered Sarah, before fleeing for her life.

“Miss Ophelia,” said Snape in his most alarmingly calm voice, “I have just received your letter.”

Shifting her weight from foot to foot, Pax ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “Oh. I told Charon to deliver it tomorrow.”

“Why you chose to use my owl at all—”

“I’m sorry,” Pax cut in, “but he was just flying by and—I’m sorry, Professor.”

Snape nodded curtly then continued. “He seemed to think it of some urgency, and I can’t say that I disagree with him. Why are you dropping Potions?”

“Well, I, uh—That is to say that I’ve, er, changed career paths?”

Snape raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that so? I thought you were just disregarding my orders.”

Pax cowered a little as the Potions Master came slowly to her, his eyes gleaming. He picked up a Potions book a frazzled student had left, and began flipping through the pages.

“Do you know what happens, Miss Ophelia, if I must put Bott on report one more time?” Snape said at long last, his finger pointing casually to a picture of a woman dying a slow and painful death.

“N-no, Professor,” said Pax, her voice cracking.

“The Head Master will expel him, and I will be become very—displeased. Losing a student due to so many detentions in my class does not look good on my record. And his departure would spur others to take his place as head mischief-maker. Merlin knows we do not need twenty Tristan Botts running around the school.” Snape shuddered at the thought. “You will keep taking Potions, then, and continue to take my orders?”


Snape folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at her.

“Y-yes, P-Professor.”

“Good. I shall see myself out.” And he did, but not before deducting five points from a couple he caught snogging in a corner.

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Old October 4th, 2006, 5:49 am
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 7, Part I: Miscellany

Tristan lay on his back, staring moodily at the canopy ceiling. He wished that he could fall into a dreamless sleep and forget all about the previous day—well, most of it.

He would think of the kiss and everything seemed lovely. Pax’s soft lips smashed against his own, his arms locked around her, her hands in his hair, both of them barely breathing. Tristan sighed contentedly, a goofy smile plastered on his face.

But then he would think of the potion fiasco and his smile would disappear. Couldn’t the girl take a simple joke? Tristan folded his arms across his chest and frowned. Pax was just a stuck-up Ravenclaw. Sure, she was drop-dead gorgeous, kind, gentle, smart…but she was stuck-up.

“Come on, Tris; you’re going to miss breakfast,” Bobby Boardman called over his shoulder as he headed down the stairs.

“You go ahead; I’m not feeling too well.” Tristan rolled over in his bed and frowned at a spider crawling up his curtains.

He had wanted to repel Pax—now why did a big part of him want to win her? Why had he been such a git? Upon further reflection, he decided that it was Fred and George’s fault; the whole potion thing had, after all, been their idea.

“I’ll get them,” he thought savagely. He was just starting to plot out his revenge, when he heard a voice from next to him.

“Hey, Tris; some girl’s looking for you,” said a fellow seventh-year, parting the bed curtains.

Tristan’s heart skipped a beat. “Who? Who is it?” he demanded as he sprang from his bed, nearly knocking over the messenger.

“I dunno,” the boy replied; “some Ravenclaw. She’s waiting for you outside of the Great Hall.”

Tristan let out a loud whoop and hurriedly changed into his day clothes. He was only half-dressed as he ran down the stairs and into the Gryffindor common room. A few girls giggled as he buttoned up his shirt, not bothering to tuck it in, and threw on his robe. He then dashed through the portrait hole and flew down several sets of staircases, taking three at a time.

His heart was racing, his hands were clammy and he felt about ready to vomit when he slid down the last banister and hit the ground hard. He looked around hopefully, but there was no Pax in sight. Perhaps she had gotten tired of waiting for him and went ahead inside.

Tristan took a few large strides towards the Great Hall, when he heard someone clearing her throat. He turned around to find Pax’s friend Sarah standing behind him, arms crossed and face frowning. “Where’s Ophelia?” asked Tristan.

Pax,” Sarah snarled, “spent most of the night trying to get black goo out of her hair.”

“Where is she?” he repeated.

“Then, that bat, Snape, made a special visit to our common room…all…thanks…to…you.”

“I—Snape actually came to your common room?”

“Yeah, to keep Pax from dropping Potions.”

“Wait, she was going to drop Potions?” Tristan asked, his heart dropping.

“…All because of you!”

“Yeah, yeah, I got all of that, thanks. So, what do you want?”

“I want you to stop acting like the git you are and treat Pax with some respect. You didn’t see how hard she was crying.”

Tristan cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, which was sticking up every which way. “How was she earlier yesterday?”


“I mean around breakfast time…H-how was she then? Happy?”

“What do you care?” Sarah snapped, pushing past him into the Great Hall.

Tristan didn’t know if he deserved that. “Meddler,” he mumbled as he took a seat next to Oliver Wood, who was talking animatedly about Quiddich. Normally Tristan would have joined in on the conversation, speculating who was the favorite house for second place (Gryffindor would naturally take first.) But Sarah’s words bore into him as he gazed at Pax’s empty seat, and he couldn’t rally the house spirit within himself.

“Mail,” said Ronald Weasley as a pack of owls came swooping down upon them. “Hope there aren’t Howlers.”

An unfamiliar grey owl landed on Tristan’s shoulder and began gently pecking his cheek. Tristan laughed as the owl became more persistent.

“All right, I got it,” said Tristan as he untied a small roll of parchment from the owl’s leg. When the owl didn’t leave, he offered it a knut, which it didn’t accept.

“Maybe she’s waiting for a reply,” said Oliver, reaching over to stroke the owl’s beak. But he quickly withdrew his hand when the owl took a snap at him. “Feisty little blighter.”

Tristan read the letter in silence and reread it three times in quick succession. It was too good to be true—well, most of it.”


You are cordially invited to Ravenclaw’s annual Halloween party, October 31 from 7-9 p.m. in Professor Flitwick’s classroom. Please come in costume and bring refreshments to share

The rest was written in Pax’s intricate handwriting:

Tristan, hope you can make it.

Yours truly,


P.S. I know this sounds kind of girlish and silly, but could you come dressed as Professor Lockhart? That would make me very happy XOXO.

Tristan quickly scrawled out his reply on a napkin and tied it to the owl’s leg. He had kept her letter, tucking it in his breast pocket, where it would remain until washday.

Last edited by House_Elf_21; October 4th, 2006 at 9:08 am.
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Old October 4th, 2006, 10:44 pm
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 7, Part II: When Pigs Fly

How quickly Pax had forgiven Tristan was beyond the scope of his imagination. But who cared? He was obviously in her good graces and that was all that mattered.

Today they were practicing wound-binding charms in Professor Flitwick’s class. Tristan was paired with Pax, which was, unbeknownst to him, Snape’s doing. Tristan just thought that someone had slipped Felix Felicis into his pumpkin juice.

Hagrid had brought in a batch of piglet runts whose mothers had maimed them. The class’s job was to scourgefy and then close their wounds. At least, that is what they were supposed to be doing. Tristan was busily searching for Pax’s hand under the table and paying no mind to anything else.

“Mr. Bott,” squeaked Flitwick, “you’d better close those wounds before the sleeping charm wears off of your piglet.”

“Do you want me to finish?” Pax asked, wand raised and ready.

Tristan could feel another stuttering spell coming on, so he quickly tapped his tongue with his wand. “No, I’ll finish.” Silently he passed his wand over the sleeping piglet’s belly, and the major wounds began to seal themselves with a subtle “hiss.”

Rather proud of himself for not botching the operation (he hadn’t read that day’s assigned chapter), Tristan shot a cocky glance around the room. Others were struggling to remember the incantation or the wand movements and were falling desperately behind. A few piglets began to wake, squealing in alarm and writhing on the table. Tristan looked down at their piglet, which was beginning to wake. He quickly performed a sleeping charm and the creature’s eyes closed peacefully.

Pax reached out a hand and began stroking the little beast. “She’s so sweet,” she whispered, tickling the piglet under the chin.

Tristan began to stroke the creature as well, his fingertips tingling every time they “accidentally” brushed Pax’s. “So,” he said conversationally, “did you get my response?”


“For the party. You did invite me, didn’t you?” he whispered as Flitwick rushed around, trying to restore order to the room. Dozens of piglets were now running around students’ ankles, dodging stunning spells and knocking students off of their feet.

“Oh, that. Yes, I got your response.” Pax shifted uneasily in her seat, and began to stroke the piglet more vigorously.

“Gently, Miss Ophelia; the skin will be tender,” Flitwick panted, a piglet in each of his tiny hands. “Like Mr. Bott. Let him show you—WILL SOMEBODY HELP ME?” Flitwick fell over backwards, the piglets flying out of his grasp.

“Here, like this,” said Tristan, grabbing Pax’s hand.

“I—” she gasped as he gently ran her hand over the piglet’s tender skin.

Tristan smiled, oblivious to the chaos around them. “What are you wearing?”

“Excuse me?”

“To the party.”

“Oh, that,” Pax laughed nervously. “I—”

“Round them up!” Flitwick shouted, leaning on a chair for support.

“Professor, I was taking my lunch break and I thought I heard cries of distress,” said Professor Lockhart, triumphantly flinging the door open.

“SHUT THE DOOR!” everyone screamed as the piglets went scurrying towards Lockhart.


“Allow me, Professor,” Lockhart laughed, his teeth sparkling. He pointed his wand at the pigs and yelled: “Avias porcus!”

The piglets stopped and looked puzzled for a moment, then began sprouting wings. “Catch them!” cried Flitwick, leading the charge with his wand raised. But he was too late; the piglets’ wings began to flap and they soared into the air and out of the room, with half of the class on their tail.

“Oh my goodness!” Pax laughed, tears of mirth running down her cheeks. “Have you ever seen anything like that?”

“No,” said Tristan, staring at Pax; “I haven’t.”


Last edited by House_Elf_21; October 5th, 2006 at 4:34 am.
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Old October 6th, 2006, 3:10 am
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 7, Part III: Getting Ready


S. Snape Mission Log, Entry 30


Bott has only lost thirty collective points for Gryffindor this week (I must look into that) and has received no detentions. Dumbledore, naturally, is ecstatic (note to self: never stand in front of the Headmaster when he is…jubilant; he tends to spit when he orates.)

Ophelia seems to be playing her role nicely. I can understand why Dumbledore recommended her in the first place, though I do not appreciate her insufferable smiling; it makes me feel queasy.

This parchment will self-destruct in 5, 4, 3, 2….



“You need ‘what’?” laughed the cashier at Countess Clarissa’s Costume Boutique.

“I need lilac robes,” Tristan muttered.

“Sorry, I don’t think I caught that….”

“I SAID I NEED LILAC ROBES! Happy now? The whole store knows.” Indeed, the entire store had stopped and was staring in his direction.

“And what else did you need?” the wizard persisted.

“I need a Lockhart wig.”

“What’s that—”

“I NEED A LOCKHART WIG, all right?”

The ladies gasped and applauded as the cashier pulled a perfect replica of Lockhart’s hair out from under the counter. The men just groaned.

“Will you be wanting the teeth as well, sir?” asked the wizard taking his measurements.

Tristan grimaced. “No, that’s all right.”

An hour later, Tristan emerged from the Boutique, a bag in each hand and a scowl on his face. The sales clerk had mentioned several times that Tristan had been the first wizard to purchase lilac robes, and that Clarissa’s Costumes had plenty more Lockhart wigs in stock if his ever needed replacing.

“Git,” Tristan muttered as he headed down the crowded streets of Hogsmeade. His next stop would be Honeydukes, where he would pick up some refreshments for the party. He was just about to enter the store, when he spied Fred and George Weasley carving pumpkins with lazy flicks of their wands.

“Oi, Tristan! Where are you slinking off to?” Fred demanded, throwing a handful of pumpkin guts at George.

“Oh, just stopping in Honeydukes,” Tristan said in what he hoped was a casual voice.

“What’s in the bags?” asked George, throwing the guts back at Fred.

“Just stuff.” Tristan shifted uneasily; he hadn’t told the twins about Pax and the party. As far as they knew, he still despised Pax and was avoiding her at any cost.

“Countess Clarissa’s, eh?”


Fred and George looked at each other. “You wouldn’t be going to a costume party, now would you?” asked Fred.

“Why, Sherlock Holmes!” cried George.


“Never mind. Oi, how come we weren’t invited?”

“Er, well, it was a, er, special invitation,” said Tristan, undoing his collar button. It was starting to feel rather warm out.

“You’ve got a lass then?” they laughed.

“Y—No, it’s not like that.”

“Ooh, must be dead ugly if you’re taking that tone. Who is it?”

“Anybody we know?”

“You two are sounding like a pair of girls,” Tristan laughed weakly.

“Why, Tristan, love,” said George in a high-pitched voice; “I thought I was the only girl for you.”

“No,” Fred cut in, his voice even higher, “he said that I was the only girl for him.”

The two of them each grabbed one of Tristan’s arms and began pulling him back and forth. “Mine!” “He’s mine!” “No, he’s mine!”

“All right, you two!” Tristan yelled, fearful that one of them might peek into his shopping bags.

“So, who is it?” the twins asked in unison.

“Just some girl. Now geroff!” Tristan pulled himself free and hurried into Honeydukes.

“May I help you?” asked a kindly witch from behind the counter.

Tristan looked at the counter display for a moment. There were red Jelly Slugs that crawled around on the counter, leaving a trail of goo behind them. There were caramel apples that gave you a small electric shock when you bit into them, and mounds of Fantasy Fudge that made the eater’s cheeks sparkle and tingle, as demonstrated by a young witch with purple hair. “I think I’ll get two pounds of Fantasy Fudge.”

“Two pounds? You must be going to a party—A costume party?” The witch began weighing the fudge as she eyed Tristan’s shopping bags with interest.

“Yes,” said Tristan, sorting out assorted coins from his money pouch.

“Taking someone special?” she asked.

“W-what makes you say that?” Tristan could feel his face turning scarlet.

“Just a woman’s intuition.” When Tristan gave her a puzzled look she explained, “You have a certain aura about you.”

“Oh.” Tristan paid for the fudge, thanked the witch, then sneaked out the back way; the last thing he needed was Fred and George’s persistent teasing…he’d get enough of that from his male peers for dressing as Lockhart.

Last edited by House_Elf_21; October 6th, 2006 at 8:55 am.
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Old October 8th, 2006, 2:29 am
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 7, Part IV: The...Party??


It was 6:30 p.m., and Tristan had promised to meet Pax outside of the Charms classroom at ten ’til seven. Shopping bags in hand, he crept out of the Gryffindor common room, which was (mercifully) empty. He flew down the stairs then ducked inside the boys’ lavatory, bolted the door and sealed it with every anti-intruder charm known to wizardkind. It was enough that the entire Ravenclaw house was going to see him as Lockhart, but it would be horrible if a Slytherin spotted him. Tristan shuddered at the thought.

A few minutes later Tristan peered outside to make certain that the coast was clear. There wasn’t a witch, wizard, ghost or poltergeist in sight. With a sigh of relief, he headed for Flitwick’s classroom.

Tristan’s journey went without major event, other than meeting Ginny Weasley roaming absently through the halls. When Ginny spotted him, she quickly hid whatever it was she was carrying…a bucket, as far as he could make out. Tristan gave her a smile, but she ignored him. She was apparently heading for Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom—why was beyond Tristan. Who knew? Maybe the gloomy ghost had befriended her.

These musings quickly left Tristan’s mind when he spotted Pax standing outside of Flitwick’s classroom. She was wearing a pale green gown with long, flowing sleeves, and a crown of ivy on her head. Her hair was wildly curly and wavy, with some parts pinned up and others hanging down her shoulders. Tristan gulped; this was almost as bad as the night in detention. Fortunately, he had taken a potion to prevent the inevitable stuttering that he experienced in her presence.

“What are you supposed to be?” he asked.

“What? Oh, a tree spirit,” she replied absently, not looking up from her watch. When she did look up, a large smile spread across her face. “Here, why don’t you go ahead in; I’ll be there in a minute.”


“Here, let me take that from you,” Pax offered, reaching for the fudge.

“Thanks.” Tristan braced himself and walked into the classroom, which was buzzing with chatter.

“—And that’s why I say we need to skip his class,” a boy up front was saying. His suggestion was met with mixed emotions. Some were hear-hearing and other were shouting out alternative suggestions.

“We should bring the matter before Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore already knows the situation,” said a short blonde; “he hasn’t done anything about him thus far, why should he now?”

“Don’t go talking about Dumbledore like that!” another shouted.

“I’m just saying—”

“I’m sure we could get the Gryffindors to join us in ditching class; they above all people know that the man is a fraud.”

“What about the Hufflepuffs?”

“Too loyal.”

What were they talking about? What happened to the costume party? Tristan scratched his wig and looked around the room. There were pictures of Lockhart plastered all over the walls, and there was a neon caption flashing underneath. He was just leaning in to read it when he felt someone grab him by the shoulders.

“I’ve found a loyalist!” Pax’s voice shouted.

“A ‘what’? I—” Tristan read the poster and frowned; it was then that he realized what had happened: He had walked into the middle of a Lockhart protest rally.

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Old October 11th, 2006, 1:14 am
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 7, Part 5: Friends of Lockhart and Enemies of the Heir, Beware!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Some of the dialogue later in this post is taken straight from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. No copyright infringement is intended, so please don’t sue me.

Though normally harmless creatures, Ravenclaws have been known to become ruthless when it comes to learning. When a mockery is made of it, they tend to get…excited.

“Geroff! Leggo! Stop it! Hey, that wig wasn’t cheap!” Tristan yelled as he was passed from person to person, all shouting in his face.

“How can you support Lockhart?” “Yeah, he’s making a mockery of this school—” “—And Dumbledore!”

On and on this went for nigh fifteen minutes, getting more and more violent (physically and verbally) as each second passed. Finally, Tristan had had it.

“I’m not—” Tristan managed to pull out his wand and moved into a dueling stance. “All right, you lot.”

Several of his attackers backed away, and the room grew suddenly silent. The only sound was of someone roaring with laughter. Tristan looked around and saw Pax doubled over in a corner, her face a bright red from laughing so hard. However, when she spotted him, his wand drawn and directed at her, she stopped laughing.


“Expelli—” yelled a group of fifth and fourth-years.

“Pretego! Now, would you care to explain this, Ophelia, or should I?”

“Two words, Bott: Potions book,” Pax snapped, a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

“Fair enough.” Tristan shrugged and redirected his wand at a sixth year who was trying to attack him from behind.

“What’s going on in—Oh my!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, who had just entered the room. When he spied Tristan, wig and lilac robes askew, his jaw dropped and he dropped the pint of cider he had been carrying. “Lock—I mean, Mr. Bott, put that wand away at once.”

Tristan tucked his wand back in his robes, though did not remove his eyes from Pax, who was on the verge of tears—tears of laughter.

“Really; I thought that this was supposed to be a peaceful rally. Shame on you all,” said Flitwick, obviously stifling a laugh. “Er, Mr. Bott, the costume party is this way. Come along, Miss Ophelia; you promised to sing karaoke with me.”

“Yes, Professor,” Pax laughed, following a disgruntled Tristan and a howling Flitwick.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bott; it’s just—so—FUNNY! What are the odds of you walking into my classroom dressed as—OH MY SIDES!”

“I don’t know. What would you say the odds are, Ophelia?” Tristan muttered.

“Don’t be so, sour, Bott—I mean, Professor,” she whispered.

Tristan shot her an amused look and they continued to walk in silence. After a few minutes of this, Flitwick pointed to a classroom buzzing with chatter. “Here is the party. Well, go on, you two.”

“You can go, er, change…I’ll be inside,” Pax laughed as Tristan started to follow her.

“No, that’s all right,” said Tristan, flashing his teeth at her, uncharacteristically like Lockhart.

“Oi, it’s that loony, Lockhart,” a wide-eyed fourth-year whispered to his friend. Tristan flashed a smile in their direction. Upon recognizing the imposter, the two boys began roaring with laughter.

“Maybe I should lose the wig.”

“I think that’s probably a good idea,” one of them laughed. “You’d better be careful, mate; there’s a Lockhart protest rally going on somewhere in the castle.”

“So I’ve heard."

Tristan followed Pax into the crowded room, which was pounding with the latest music from The Weird Sisters. “You wanna, er, dance?” Tristan asked as he tossed his wig into the crowd.

“Not really,” Pax replied and moved towards the refreshments. She set down the fudge that she had been carrying and reached for the punch ladle.

“Here, let me get that.”

“No, that’s all right, I got it.”

“Just let me—Oh, sorry.” In his attempt to wrest the ladle away from Pax, Tristan had spilled punch all down the front of her dress.

“Really, that’s all right,” Pax laughed lamely, pulling out her wand to take care of the mess.

“No, I can do that.” Tristan eagerly whipped out his wand and directed it at the spill. “Evanesca!”

“Oh!” Pax screamed as her dress disappeared. A few couples stopped dancing and stared at her in disbelief.

Tristan’s jaw dropped. “Wow!—I mean, sorry! I meant to get rid of the stain not your—”

“You vanished my wand, too, you…you…git!”

“I said I was sorry. I’ll—Why are you hiding behind me?”

“Hmm, let’s see; other than the fact that all I’m wearing is a slip—”

“Oh, right.” Tristan drew out his wand and turned to face Pax, who slapped him across the face. “What was that for?”

“No peeking!”

“Right, sorry.” Tristan quietly performed a summoning charm, and Pax’s dress reappeared on her body. “There; no harm done.”

Pax gave him an incredulous stare as the color began to creep into her cheeks. “Where’s my wand?”

“I forgot—” Tristan raised his wand to summon hers, but decided against it. He tucked his wand back in his robes and ladled some punch into a goblet, smiling smugly to himself all the while.

“Aren’t you going to bring my wand back? I need my wand.” She was cute when she was panicky.

“I’ll return it to you at the end of the evening…probably,” he said casually.

“What do you mean by ‘probably’? Give me my wand—now.” Wow, she was even more attractive when she was angry!

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said you’d better give me my wand back,” she growled.

“Why? So you can hex me into high heaven? I think I’ll let you cool down first. Punch?”

“Oh, I’d like some punch all right—so I can throw it in your face.”

Just then, an owl that looked a lot like Snape’s swept into the room. He had something in his beak, something that looked like a—no, it couldn’t be. “Is that a—a Howler?” Tristan whispered as the red letter began to steam. “Ooh, whoever sent it must be furious. You’d better open it.”

With trembling hands, Pax snatched the letter from the owl’s beak. But before she could open the Howler, it burst into flames and a terrible voice filled the room, drowning out the music.


The flames died out and the remnants of the letter fell to the floor in a heap. The Weird Sisters were still blasting, the room was full of whispering and Pax looked as though she was about to explode.

“Was that Snape’s voice?” Tristan asked with a shudder. “I thought you were doing all right in Potions—save for that, er, fiasco the other week.”

“Potions? Oh, right Potions.” She then muttered something under her breath that sounded like must—kill—Snape! Tristan knew that he could be imagining things, though….

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“What? Hmm, right. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Pax said distractedly.

Tristan’s heart sank. He tried to mask his disappointment with a Lockhart grin and summoned her wand out of thin are. “Don’t you want this back?”

“Yes, I—Please, give it to me,” she said weakly as he hovered it over her head.

“I will…if you let me walk you back to your common room.”

Pax seemed a little taken aback. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll see you—” The ashes on the ground hissed threateningly. Pax’s eyes grew wide and she took a few steps backwards. “All right; come on.”

Trying to ignore her lack of enthusiasm, Tristan followed Pax out of the room, summoning her wand into his left hand. “So,” he said, “what was that Howler about anyway?”

“Oh, it’s just something—something between me and Professor Snape.”

“Git. Wait a minute….”

“Yes?” Pax said rather guiltily.

“Did you really think that I would fall for this?” he demanded, standing on her train.

“Oh, I guess I was kind of obvious.”

Tristan paused. “You think I’d forget? Don’t you owe me something?”

“Forget? Forget what? And—An apology?!” Pax scoffed. “After your atrocious behavior? I don’t think so.”

What was she babbling about? “Uh, an apology for what?”

She tried to pull her dress free, but Tristan stood fast to the spot. “You don’t—” A look of dawning comprehension spread across her face. “Oh! The whole Lockhart thing; it was just a joke.”

Tristan laughed. “No, that’s not what I meant…Pax,” he said with a gentle caress in his voice. “Don’t I get a certain something for catching a tree spirit?”

“Okay, I-I’m really confused now,” said Pax as Tristan moved in front of her.

“I think you can figure it out.” He playfully stuck her wand behind her ear and brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

“Oh, right. Look, I’m not giving you a kiss. I’m not going to fall for that again, you—” Just then, the owl that had delivered the Howler zoomed past, hooting ominously.

“What was that about?”

“It’s Snape’s owl, need I say more?” Pax laughed nervously. She then stood up on the tips of her toes and planted a kiss on Tristan’s cheek. She then muttered something that sounded like good enough.

“What was that?” he asked, trying his best to keep up with her determined strides.

“A rabbit. It’s called a kiss; what did you think it was, Tristan?”

“That wasn’t a kiss,” he said as he caught up with her; “a kiss goes more like this—” Tristan tried to get his arms around her, but she quickly ducked out.



“There’s water all over the—What’s everybody staring at?” Pax demanded as they both spied a group of students up ahead.

“Pax!” Tristan yelled after the girl, who was soon swallowed up in the chaos. Tristan pushed his way through the crowd, receiving little notice from those surrounding him. Finally, after much elbowing, he reached the front of the crowd and what he saw made him freeze dead in his tracks.

There was something painted on the wall:

The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened.
Enemies of the Heir, Beware.

But that wasn’t half as startling as what Tristan spied next. Filch’s cat was dangling from a torch bracket, apparently dead.

“Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!” yelled a blonde second-year that Tristan immediately recognized as being Slytherin’s Seeker, Draco Malfoy.

“What’s going on here? What’s going on?” Filch demanded, pushing his way through the crowd. He then spotted Mrs. Norris and went into hysterics. “My cat! My cat! What happened to Mrs. Norris?” He looked around at the crowd until his eyes fell upon Harry Potter, who happened to be closest to the cat. “You!” Filch screeched. “You! You’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her! I’ll kill you! I’ll—”

Argus!” came Dumbledore’s piercing voice from the back of the crowd. He swept past a few of the students, took a look at the writing and the cat then said, “Come with me, Argus. You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger.”

Lockhart (the real one) stepped forward. “My office is nearest, Headmaster—just upstairs—please feel free—”

“Thank you, Gilderoy,” said Dumbledore.

“What do you reckon this is all about?” Tristan heard two first years saying as Dumbledore, Filch, Potter, Weasley, Granger, Lockhart, Snape and McGonagall all began their quick ascent up the stairs.

“Gryffindors, follow me!” “Ravenclaws, this way!” “Slytherins!” “Hufflepuff!” all the prefects called out to their respective houses.

“‘Enemies of the Heir, Beware’? What on earth…Pax?” Tristan called out through the chaos. He turned to follow his fellow Gryffindors, but tripped over something lying on the ground. “What the—Somebody help me! She’s passed out!”

Last edited by House_Elf_21; October 13th, 2006 at 8:37 am.
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Old October 14th, 2006, 5:06 am
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 8: "The Potent Potion Doth Quite O'er Crowe My Spirit...."


Pax woke up to find herself in what, upon first glance, appeared to be a garden. There were flowers and plants everywhere: dozens of lilies, white roses, wild violets, a few bonsai trees, ivy and much more. How did she get outside? She didn’t remember going outside.

Pax’s head lolled lazily off to the side and her eyes closed again. She was just on the verge of drifting off, when she heard footsteps approaching.

“Oh no you don’t,” said a stern female voice from above. “You’ve slept long enough.”

“What?” Pax opened her eyes and blinked her eyes a few times. She wasn’t in a garden, though it did look an awful lot like a garden with all of the…foliage. The giveaway was the privacy screens enclosing her. Plus, the smell of freshly cut lilies was now replaced with a pungent odor—almost like old radishes and Muggle shoe polish. Yes, she was definitely in the infirmary. But how did she get there? Pax didn’t remember being ill or getting hurt. What was going on?

As if reading her thoughts, Madam Pomfrey quickly said, “You had a nervous break-down and fainted.”

“Oh,” Pax said blankly.

“Not that I blame you; a sight like that would have done me in, I tell you.”

“A sight like what?” Pax was at a total loss.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Short-term memory loss isn’t unheard of in these cases. Here, dear; you’d better drink this.”

“What is it?” Pax asked, gagging slightly as Madam Pomfrey handed her a smoking goblet that belched out the scent of rotting eggs.

“A special calming draught; Professor Snape said you should be given this twice daily.” When Pax tried to hand it back to her, the woman put one bony hand on her hip and wagged a finger at her. “You’ll drink that, every last drop; Professor Snape has been very good to brew this special for you.”

“Wait! Professor Snape brewed this himself?”

“He’s the Potions Master, isn’t he?” snapped Madam Pomfrey, apparently annoyed. “That’s his job, isn’t it? I’ll be back in a moment, and the potion had better be gone by then.”

Pax shuddered as she looked at the goblet, which was still furiously smoking. Dare she drink this potent potion? Surely Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t let her leave until she did.

Pax sat up and plugged her nose, then lifted the rim to her lips. “Might as well get this over with,” she thought hopelessly, trying not to think of what was in the concoction. “Bottoms up.”

Pax gulped down the yellow potion, which, surprisingly, went down rather smoothly. “That wasn’t too bad,” she laughed, setting the goblet on the nightstand. That’s when everything went black—well, at least it seemed to. Snape had swooped in so quickly that it seemed as though he had apparated.

“Professor!” Pax gasped, instinctively pulling the hospital sheets over her night things.

Snape smirked and cocked an eyebrow. “How are you—feeling today?” he asked slowly.

What was Snape doing there? Why was he inquiring after her health? Was she dying? Pax’s eyes widened and she grabbed her throat.

Snape’s reptilian smile spread. “No, no, silly girl, I did not poison you. Given the state of things, however, it was not, shall we say ‘wise’ to down my potion with such…gusto.”

“You slipped me something?”

Snape nodded once. “Clever. No one will believe you, though,” he said lazily as he drew out his wand.

“What was it?” Pax demanded, hoping that Madam Pomfrey would hear her raised voice and come to her aid.

“A simple twist on a love potion.” He smirked at her horrified face. “I came here to see how quickly it works.”

“You mean you’ve never tried this before?” Pax squeaked.

“If my calculations are correct,” said Snape softly, ignoring her concern, “you should be feeling the effects shortly.”

“I-I’m not going to fall in love with somebody, am I?”

“I said a twist on a love potion, Miss Ophelia, not an actual love potion.” Snape zapped a fly that had been buzzing around with the tip of his wand . “No, this will merely escalate whatever positive feelings you might harbor for Mr. Bott. And since I sense those feelings are—tepid, the only effect my potion will have on you is to make you feel friendlier towards him. You should be thanking me, Miss Ophelia; this will only make your job easier.”

Pax frowned at him and started to sit up. “And what makes you think I’ll keep choking down your stupid potion—Professor?”

“Five points from Ravenclaw,” Snape drawled, pushing Pax back down with a bony hand. “What makes you think that you won’t want to keep drinking it? Get some rest, Miss Ophelia; I can see the potion's working nicely.” And with that said, the bat swooped out of the room.

“The git,” she muttered, turning over on her pillow. She was starting to feel a little woozy and a quick surge of emotion surged through her being. She couldn’t be certain, but it felt a lot like….She dismissed the thought as Madam Pomfrey returned, carrying a tray of food.

“Why are you flushed, dear? Don’t tell me,” Madam Pomfrey sighed, “now you have a fever on top of everything else.”

“Snape was here—that potion that he made me, it wasn’t a calming draught! It was—it was….” The surge of emotion grew stronger and stronger until Pax finally shot up out of her bed. “Where’s Tristan?”

Last edited by House_Elf_21; October 15th, 2006 at 10:24 am.
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Old October 15th, 2006, 10:57 pm
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 9, Part I: Crazy for You


“You need to lie back down, dear,” said Madam Pomfrey, who, just moments before, had seemed ready to discharge her. She set down the food tray and leaned over Pax, who was feeling a great sense of urgency.

“What’s going on? I feel perfectly fine.” Pax tried to sit up, but Madam Pomfrey pushed her back down and clapped a hand on her forehead.

“You feel rather warm. I think more bed-rest is in order.” The woman then jotted something down on Pax’s chart and turned to leave. “Dear, dear, dear; first a fainting spell, then memory loss and now a fever.”

“Where’s Tristan?” Pax demanded. She sat up again and began fussing with her hair, which was completely limp. “Why can’t my blasted hair ever do anything?!”

“Tristan? Who’s Tristan, dear?” Madam Pomfrey asked absently.

Pax found herself in a state of furious panic. How could this woman not know who Tristan was? He was the only the most gorgeous, wonderful boy in the whole entire school. Wait a minute…maybe she knew where Tristan was but wasn’t telling.

“You know very well who he is,” Pax growled. “You’d better tell me where he is!”

Madam Pomfrey gave her a thoughtful look then said, “Mr. Bott? I thought you two—Have you been taking a love potion?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Like I’d need a love potion!”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.” The woman looked thoughtful for a moment as she effortlessly held Pax down with one hand. “No, I guess it’s not possible; you’ve been here for three days, under my supervision all the while. It must be—Oh, you poor thing!” wept Madam Pomfrey, grabbing Pax in a hug; “dementia! Don’t worry; I shall contact someone from St. Mungo’s immediately.”

“I’m not insane! I just want—Get off! Where is he? You’re not telling me where he is!”

“Now, Professor Snape’s calming draught should be taking effect soon,” said Madam Pomfrey, seemingly more to herself than Pax.

Realizing that she was getting nowhere with the woman, Pax quickly decided to feign sleep. She ceased struggling against Madam Pomfrey, lay back down on her pillow, eyes closed, and began to snore…not too convincingly.

“Miss Ophelia? Unnatural, that. Oh well; I’d better….”

“Good afternoon, Madam Pomfrey,” said Sarah Gilbert’s voice. “Is she awake?”

Madam Pomfrey then spoke a few whispered words, and Pax could hear Sarah gasp. “Can I sit with her?”

Madam Pomfrey hesitated. “Well, I guess one visitor won’t hurt—but don’t stay too long. And whatever you do, don’t wake her.”

“All right.”

Pax felt someone sit down next to her, disturbing the bed slightly. She could then hear Madam Pomfrey’s hurried steps, which eventually faded into the hall. “Is she gone?” Pax muttered through the corner of her mouth.


“Shh!” Pax sat up and looked around to make certain the coast was clear. Then, ever so quietly, she reached for her wand, which Sarah snatched away from her. “Hey, give that back!”

“You don’t need this.”

“Fine. Where’s Tristan? Madam Pomfrey won’t tell me where he is and—and…My hair! How does it look? Do you think it’s too limp? And my makeup? Blast, I’m not wearing any makeup!”

“All right, calm down, Pax. What are you on about, anyway?” Sarah demanded, looking over her friend with concern.

Pax jumped out of the bed and began frantically searching for a mirror. She could feel her friend’s eyes trained on her, so she turned around and gasped. “Why are you looking at me like that? Is there something in my teeth?”

“Uh, Pax, I’m looking at you like this, ’cause….well, Madam Pomfrey says you’re not quite…in your right mind.” After Sarah said this, she quickly looked at the ceiling as if it were suddenly the most fascinating thing she had ever seen.

“What?! I’ve never been saner! Where’s Tristan?”

“Listen, it’s nothing—Wait a moment…Bott? What about him?”

Could Sarah be any dumber? “Do you know where he is? Tell me!” Pax hissed, shaking Sarah by the shoulders.

“I—don’t—know!” Sarah gasped, prying Pax’s fingers from her person. “Why do you care, anyway? The git’s probably off somewhere burning his Lockhart costume, which, by the way, was an excellent idea. The git really deserved it, though I’m sure Snape wasn’t too—”

“Stop calling him a git, you…you…witch!”

“Excuse me?”

Pax let out an exasperated groan. “So, you don’t know where he is? Can you have to help me find him! What if he’s hurt? I didn’t even get to kiss him properly!”

Sarah blinked twice then said, “Okay, this is getting really weird; I’m getting Madam Pomfrey.”

Pax sprang on her immediately, knocking her to the ground with a loud CRASH! “Oh no you don’t! You’re just as bad as Pomfrey; you don’t understand us.”

“Who’s ‘us’? What, you and Bott? You really must be out of it.”

Eyes wide with insane fury, Pax raised an open palm and struck her friend across the face. “Take back everything you said, or I’ll do it again.”

Sarah gaped at her and seemed ready to retaliate; but instead, she took in a deep breath and said, “All right, I know you’re not quite well, so I’m just going to pretend—”

Pax slapped her again. That did it. The two girls went tumbling around, knocking into beds, pulling each other’s hair, clawing, biting; you name it, they did it.

“Take it back!”

“No, I won’t!”

“Take it back!”


“Then give me my wand!”

“No, you’re off your rocker.”

“Give—it—to—aha!” Pax snatched her wand from Sarah’s robes, stuck it in her PJ pocket and got on her feet. “Don’t try and follow me, Gilbert.”

“Fine, I won’t,” Sarah panted as Madam Pomfrey rushed back into the room.

“What’s going on in here?” she demanded. “Miss Ophelia, put that wand away at once. Honestly.”

“She attacked me!” Sarah screeched.

“You started it!”

“Calm down, both of you. Miss Ophelia, I’m afraid that I am required to discharge you, Professor Snape’s orders. I told him you were asking for Mr. Bott, and he went straight for the Headmaster. Severus convinced Dumbledore that your symptoms weren’t serious…as if he knows half as much about my patients as I do.”

Pax shot Sarah a smug look then rushed to get dressed. This was too good to be true! In a few minutes, she'd find the love of her life and give him the biggest kiss the world had yet to see....


“You haven’t been yourself lately,” commented Lee Jordan as he poured gravy over his mashed potatoes. “No detentions, no pranks, no hexing people…Anything you wanna talk about?”

“I, uh, well—” Tristan took a deliberately large gulp of pumpkin juice and quickly changed the subject. “Where are Fred and George?”

“Oh, up in the dormitory working on some…homework.”

Tristan shot him an inquisitive glance, but chose to let the matter drop. By Lee’s tone, he knew there was no way that the Weasley twins were working on homework.

“But you haven’t really got to know Mrs. Norris,” the twins’ brother Ron was telling their sister, Ginny, who was looking rather pale. “Honestly, we’re much better off without her.”

Tristan tried to shut out the rest of the conversation. He was sick of hearing about Mrs. Norris and the mysterious writing on the wall. That’s all the school seemed able to talk about. For days he’d find groups of students, huddled together, sharing what sounded like old wives’ tales. Tristan had decided that since it was only a cat (and Mrs. Norris at that), and since she had only been petrified, it really wasn’t anything to get his knickers in a knot over; it was probably just some prankster playing a sick joke.

Tristan sighed and shoved his steak and kidney pie away; for the second time that day, he didn’t feel like eating. He looked longingly over at the Ravenclaw table, but turned away before Lee or anyone could accuse him of staring. He sighed. “I’ll see you, Lee.”

“Later, mate.”

Tristan had just stood up when a small, tawny owl swept in with a letter and landed right on his unfinished pie. “Thank you,” Tristan muttered, wresting the letter from the creature’s beak. “Fifty Galleons?! This can’t be right.” He blinked and looked at the bill again: Sure enough, fifty Galleons. That was the last time he’d shop at Georgiana’s Enchanted Greenhouse, that was for sure.

Tristan tucked the bill in his robe pocket and breezed out of the Great Hall. He just made it to the foot of the main staircase when someone grabbed his sleeve. He was pleasantly surprised to find Pax standing behind him, a large smile on her face. “Hey, you’re—”

Before Tristan could utter another word, Pax took his face in her hands and pressed her lips against his. Without thinking, his eyes fluttered and closed and he began to kiss her right back. Soon her arms wrapped around his neck, and he found his right hand slowly move to her back. He ceased to think for a moment and just stood there, kissing her as passionately as he could, caring nothing about the world around him.

A few Gyffindor boys whistled and hooted. Most of the Ravenclaw boys looked on in jealous disappointment. A few younger Hufflepuffs were making vomiting sounds in the background, and the Slytherins just kept walking.

Much to his surprise, Tristan found himself being the first to end the kiss when he felt some tongue getting involved. “Easy there, er, tiger; we’ve hardly ever even talked,” he laughed. He looked around at the many amused couples, told them to shove off, then turned to Pax with a feeling of deep concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Never better, Tristan,” she said airily.

“D-d-does….” Tristan stuttered. Annoyed with himself for getting this way, he pulled out his wand to tap his tongue; but Pax gently took his large hand in her own small ones.

“Don’t; I think it’s cute when you stutter around me.”

Tristan frowned; he didn’t know whether he liked been thought of as “cute”. Pax must have noticed this, for she quickly said, “I think it makes you even more—appealing, if that’s possible.”

Tristan began to loosen his collar, but Pax brushed his hand aside and did it for him. “I don’t want to be too forward, would you—I mean, well…I, er….”

Tristan’s eyebrows shot up. Was she about to ask him out?

Last edited by House_Elf_21; October 18th, 2006 at 3:50 am.
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Old October 19th, 2006, 11:05 pm
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 9, Part II: Peeved


Peeves swirled overhead, looking down on the awkward couple. He was listening to every word contentedly, cackling to himself as Tristan and Pax took each other’s hands and walked off together.

The poltergeist then swooped into the Great Hall, bumping into Sir Nick, which caused the ghost's head to wobble ominously. “I say!” said Sir Nick, shooting Peeves a dirty look before floating off through a wall.

Normally Peeves would have followed the Gryffindor ghost, hurling insults after him; but what he had witnessed at the foot of the stairs had intrigued him. So the prankster was settling down with a goody two-shoe Ravenclaw? How could old Peevesy ruin this newfound love?

With a quick look around to make certain that the Bloody Baron wasn’t watching, Peeves swooped under the teachers’ table at the front of the room. He could hear Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout speaking in hushed voices. They were talking about the state of Filch’s cat, Mrs. Norris. Peeves snickered and floated down the line. Flitwick was talking charms with McGonagall, and Sinistra was gabbing to Lockhart about how he got his hair to hold such perfect form. It wasn’t until Peeves reached the Head Master’s seat that he heard a voice that always interested him.

“I assure you, Headmaster, Tristan Bott is well under control now,” said Severus Snape.

Peeves ears perked up even more.

“I am very glad to hear that, Severus,” said Dumbledore.

Peeves could just picture Snape smirking.

“I must ask you, though, Severus: is there anything you wish to tell me?”

There was a short pause before Snape slowly said, “No, Headmaster.”

Peeves knew right away that old Snivellus was lying. He then looked down at the floor and noticed a folded piece of parchment. Delighted, he opened it with haste and read:

S. Snape Mission Log, Entry 55

November 4

Having properly brewed the love potion (for lack of a better word) to an exact science, I have seen it administered to Miss Ophelia. I am told by Madam Pomfrey that said girl has “affectionately” inquired after Mr. Bott. This naturally implies that the potion is performing its job with exemplary speed.

This note will self-destruct in 5, 4, 3, 2…


The teachers jumped and the students screamed as the table was blasted a few inches in the air. Cackling, Peeves flew out from under the table, his eyebrows singed and his face black. “Lover dovers,” he sang in a high-pitched voice, then zoomed off to find the one person that could ruin everything: Sarah Gilbert.


"Look, I've got to pop into the girls' room for a moment," Pax whispered.

"Sure, sure," said Tristan, running a hand back through his hair. He suddenly felt his nerves relaxing and talking was easier: she liked him! There was no need to be nervous.

"See you in a few." Pax winked and disappeared into the girls' lavoratory.

Tristan smiled smugly and began pacing.

“Oi, Bott! Oi, hold up!” called a voice from behind him.

He looked around to find Pax’s friend Sarah, out of breath and covered in scratches. “Oh, it’s you,” said Tristan, not trying to hide the disgust from his voice. “What do you want?”

“Have you seen Pax?”

“So what if I have?” he asked casually, hoping to Merlin that he had gotten all the lipstick off of his face.

Sarah looked around a couple of times before whispering, “You’d better be careful; Pax is acting kind of, er, strange.”

“What? How?” Tristan was a little taken aback; he thought she was acting perfectly normal.

“I think Snape’s given her something. I can’t be quite sure, but it seems like it might be a-a….” Sarah looked slightly embarrassed.

“What? A what?”

“A love potion.” Sarah looked at him defiantly, as if daring him to laugh.

Tristan didn’t. He didn’t even think of it; his heart had sunk to the floor. He finally managed to utter a weak “Oh” and ran a hand through his already-messy hair. He should have known. But wait a minute...Where did Sarah get this information? Was it accurate? "Where'd you get the idea she's taken a love potion?" he demanded suddenly.

Sarah winced and looked a bit nervous before uttering a low, "Peeves."

Tristan snorted. "You're going on Peeves's word now?"


"Peeves?! Oh, this is hysterical!"


"Save it," he snapped.

"You listen to me, Bott," she snapped right back, prodding him hard in the chest, "you do anything to harm my best friend and swear I'll--"

"What's going--Oh, it's you," Pax said in the same disgusted voice that Tristan had used. "What do you want?"

"Pax, listen to me; I think Snape's given you a love potion...I don't know why he wanted you to fall in love...." She shuddered.

Both Pax and Tristan laughed. "Snape, a matchmaker? You've got to be joking!" Pax roared. "Shove off, Sarah. Come on, Tristan." She grabbed Tristan by the hand and dragged him past Sarah, making sure to give her a hard bump in the shoulder.

"Pax! Pax! Oh, fine. I'll take care of this myself."

Last edited by House_Elf_21; October 31st, 2006 at 12:58 am. Reason: UPDATE!
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Old November 1st, 2006, 4:56 am
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 10: Pick a Little Talk a Little

All of Ravenclaw, most of Gryffindor, a little of Hufflepuff and none of Slytherin were stunned and startled by the odd behavior they were witnessing. It was bad enough that this legendary Chamber of Secrets had allegedly been opened; was the whole world going to hell? Pax Ophelia and Tristan Bott; could there be an odder couple?

“It’s a plot,” mumbled Filch, patrolling the halls without Mrs. Norris. “Mark my words, it has something to do with my cat.”

“Tristan’s gone around the bend,” mused George as he and Fred and hid in a broom cupboard, waiting for the man to pass.

“She’s clearly unstable,” said Penelope Clearwater to Percy Weasley, causing the prefect’s ears to turn pink.

“Ickle wickle Botty Potty!
Someone here’s been very naughty!
Peevesy here says that they’ll get caughty!” sang Peeves, merrily chucking rubbish at students exiting the Great Hall.

“Well, I, er, always suspected some partiality on Mr. Bott’s part,” gossiped Flitwick to Professor Sinistra, the astronomy teacher. “But Miss Ophelia has—well, come to think of it….”

“Will someone please pass the toast!” snapped McGonagall, her nostrils flaring. It was common knowledge that she had no time for such frivolity.

“I’ve been researching such phenomena in my Muggle text books,” said Madam Pomfrey; “it looks very much like a Florence Nightingale complex. No cure, I’m afraid; poor dear.”

“These are dark times, Poppy,” said Dumbledore; “the world could use a little more love. Ah, kippers.”

“Poor girl,” sighed Ron; “Fred and George have told me about her. She sounds like a real nutter. Always has a nose stuck in her books.”

This caused Hermione to become suddenly cross. Harry rolled his eyes; he knew that the two wouldn’t speak for the rest of the day.

“Is it true, Harry?” asked Colin Creevey, his camera flashing. “Do you know Tristan Bott? I bet you know everybody.”

“Severus, you’re not looking so well; are you all right?” asked Professor Sprout.

Snape was looking rather pale…and constipated. “I wouldn’t know!” he snapped. He then told off a group of scared first-year Gryffindors and took five points away from them each.

“I wonder what’s eating him,” mused Crabbe or Goyle.

Indeed, what was eating the Potions Master?

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Old November 1st, 2006, 9:35 am
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Snape marched into his quarters, and was about to slam the doors when... "Charon," he snapped, spying his eagle owl perched on his dresser; "do you have no better place to haunt?"

Charon hooted a few insults and zoomed out the door, but not before making certain to fly over Snape and poop on his head. Snape gritted his teeth and scourgified his hair then summoned the doors shut with a flick of his wand.

"I have obviously miscalculated," he mused, pouring himself a glass of elf-made wine. He sat in front of the empty fire grate and stared sulkily at the ashes, sipping his wine. He naturally had never intended for the potion to work as it had. So much for random acts of kindness. In fact, darn those random acts of kindness.

That morning had been the first time he had heard about the "happy couple". Snape shuddered and lit a fire, though his chill had nothing to do with being cold--well, physically, that is. He would stop giving Pax the potion, but he knew too well that the effects would linger. He had to figure out what he did wrong and then find an antidote.

"I can't have miscalculated!" Snape roared, four glasses later. "I am the Potions Master! Potion-brewing is a very precise art! *hic* I know what I'm doing!" He threw his empty glass into the fire grate and began sucking down the rest of the wine out of the bottle.

Five minutes later, a heavily-intoxicated Snape stumbled towards his store cupboard, which he began fumbling through. "Eye of newt, toe of frog, wool of bat, tongue of dog..." he read off, tossing the jars aside. "It's *hic* got to be around here somewhere--ah, yes." Snape sneered as he eyed the phial in his hands. He tucked it in his robe pocket and stumbled out into his classroom, which was beginning to fill with the seventh-year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors.

"Settle *hic* down," he drawled, trying his best to keep his balance.

"Are you all right, Professor?" a Ravenclaw asked, eyeing the Potions Master askance.

"That is none of your *hic* business. Turn to page five hundred and fifty-three."

"Recognising and treating those who have been given a Love potion?" read a Gryffindor.

Before Snape could come up with an excuse, the door burst open and in walked Tristan and Pax, arm-in-arm, simpering at each other. Snape groaned.

"You're late," he snapped, leaning on his desk to steady himself. The world was very blurry and the ground wasn't entirely stable; he'd have to look into that.

"Sorry, Professor," Pax giggled, wiping a spot of lipstick off the corner of Tristan's mouth. "We lost track of time."

Snape raised an eyebrow. After a moment he hiccuped, took ten points from Slytherin (no one bothered to correct him) and told them both to sit down. "Today," he said heavily, clutching to the phial in his pocket, "we will be talking about love potions, how to recognize the symptoms of someone who has been given one, and how to treat those daft enough to take one?" He swayed vicariously as he drew out the phial and showed it to the class. "Can any of you dunderheads tell me how to determine if someone's been given a Love potion? Anyone? Yes, Miss Gilbert."

"You look at their symptoms first," she said, shooting Snape a dirty look that he didn't know he entirely deserved. "You ask them normal questions, like 'what is your name', etc., then--then you ask them if they've taken anything lately from a certain bat of a potions master!"

Snape's beady, yet blurry, eyes glared into hers. So, miss smarty-pants was on to him. He could deal with that.

"Those are all interesting 'theories'. But I believe in a quicker approach. Do you know what this is, Miss Gilbert?" he demanded, shoving the phial in her face.

"Your shampoo?"

The class howled, and Snape's lips curled up in a sadistic smile.

"Keep giving me cheek, Miss Gilbert, and the whole class will learn something...interesting about you for today's lesson, if you get my meaning."

Sarah opened her mouth to retort, but apparently thought the better of it and bit her tongue.

"You may begin reading. Miss Ophelia, you and I need to discuss your stay in the hospital. Stay in your seat, Bott; I won't keep your precious girlfriend long." He stormed into through the doors and a bewildered Pax followed in his wake.

Pax shut the door behind her and turned to face the Potions Master. "What--"

But before she could utter another word, Snape began pouring the serum down her throat, sloshing it all over her robes with his unsteady hand. "I haven't *hic* so much as mis-stirred a potion from the moment I bought my first cauldron. Tell me, is your name Pax Ophelia?"

"I--yes," said the girl, her face suddenly vaccant.

Snape sneered. "And have you been taking my potion regularly?"


Snape clapped his hands together, causing him to stumble a little. "All right, now for the real question. Are you in love with Tristan Bott?"


"Answer the question, you s-silly girl!" he spat.


"Ha!" Snape roared. He knew it! He wasn't a failure after all! This was too good to be true. How to celebrate? Another bottle of wine? Maybe some firewhiskey? Oh, the possibilities! "Back to class, Miss--*hic*." Wait. If she was telling the truth then--she--and he--were--not in love! "NO!!!!"

Sorry, it's early and I'm giddy and all of this came pouring out and struck me as pretty darn funny. Hope you enjoyed!


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Old November 22nd, 2006, 4:00 am
House_Elf_21  Undisclosed.gif House_Elf_21 is offline
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry I was gone so long. I have writer's block major time, so no promises of regular updates

Chapter 12: Part I of “It Sounded Like a Good Idea at the Time….”

So, the girl did love Bott. The Veritaserum had done its job, breaking through the superficialities of a simple, harmless twist on a Love Potion.

“What have I done?” Snape moaned, his forehead throbbing. He stared at Pax, who was still wearing an oddly vacant expression. How could he explain this to the class? Wrackspurt? Snape shuddered. He couldn’t. He had to hide her somewhere.

Half stumbling, half marching, Snape pushed Pax through the empty halls, until he reached Filch’s office. “In—*hic* —side,” he barked, shoving her through the doorway. He then slammed the door (causing himself to wince), locked it, turned on his heels, staggering slightly, and stumbled back to his classroom.

“That should take care of things,” he muttered as he made his way to the front of the class. He stood there for a moment, swaying from side to side, trying to make the room come into focus, before he addressed his students. “H-have we been—*hic*—Have w-we been—*hic*—WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE STOP THE ROOM FROM SPINNING?”

Everyone looked at each other. The Gryffindors started snickering. The Ravenclaws looked appalled.

All right, they knew that he was plastered. He had to formulate a plan and he had to do so quickly.

“Today,” said Snape, spitting into the third row, “we will be brewing a special elixir.”

“I thought we were doing Love Potions,” Sarah Gilbert piped up, then added an insult under her breath.

Snape snarled and tapped the chalkboard with his wand. “You will find the ingredients and instructions on the board. I think one hour is sufficient time to finish this little project. You may begin.”

Snape smiled slyly to himself as his students bustled into his store cupboard, busily finding the ingredients for his sobering solution. Snape cackled softly, causing himself to fall over.

“Are you all right, Professor?” asked a voice from above.

“Yes, you insolent—” Much to Snape’s drunken surprise it was Tristan Bott speaking to him, the only one to make certain that he was all right.

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Old November 30th, 2006, 1:24 am
House_Elf_21  Undisclosed.gif House_Elf_21 is offline
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 12: Part II of "It Sounded Like a Good Idea at the Time...."

Snape sat in his office late that evening, nursing a glass of the Sobering Solution that he had somehow gotten his hands on. How had he gotten his hands on it? It wasn't like he kept potions like that at ready hand. Someone had to have made it for him, or he had done it while drunk....

The events of the day were blurry. Snape remembered something about a cupboard somewhere, a bucket and a rubber duck. That was all. Had he done anything while in his drunken stupor? He certainly hoped not. Just to make sure he hadn't done anything foolish.... "Priori Inc--" he began, but stopped to spit out a mouthful of bile.

He had just downed the rest of the Solution to rinse out the horrible flavor, when he heard a knock upon the door. "Enter," he said lazily.

"Ah, so good to see you, my dear chap," said an all-too-familiar voice.

"Headache--must go--somewhere else--" Snape muttered as Lockhart strutted inside, his purple robes swirling around him.

"Nervous about tomorrow, are we?" asked Gilderoy, watching Snape reaching for a bottle labeled "anti-nausea elixir".

Snape gritted his teeth then took a swig. "Why would I be nervous?" Why would he be nervous? Did the fool Lockhart know something that he did not? Had he possibly done something so terrible, so dreadful in his drunken state that he was going to be reprimanded??

Lockhart must have sensed his nervousness for he continued in his cheery, teasing voice. "I daresay Professor McGonagall wasn't too pleased when she saw."

Saw what? "Saw what, Professor?" Snape asked in what he hoped was an unconcerned tone.

"The state of things, Severus."

Snape grimaced. What was the man getting at? "Whatever do you mean?"

"I'm not taking sides--as a professor and, well, a public icon, it wouldn't be right. But I daresay that tomorrow somebody's going to take a severe beating." Lockhart winked and punched Snape in the arm.

Snape began to panic. What had he done? Had he set a girls' lavatory on fire? Had he hurt a student? Had he, Merlin forbid, table-danced for his class?? No, it had to be something worse than that. And since when did Hogwarts start dealing out beatings to professors? The Solution was making his brain feel soggy.

"Well, aren't you going to say something? It is a big day tomorrow, isn't it? Gryffindor versus Slytherin? And those new brooms that the Slytherin students are riding--" Lockhart tried to whistle, but ended up blowing out a mouthful of spittle. "Sorry."

Snape silently sighed his relief, brushed the spit from his person and began to chase Lockhart out of his office. "Out!" he roared.

"Oh, there was one more thing," said Lockhart toothily.

"What is it?" Snape snapped.

"Mr. Filch wants to see you. Something about a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw wreaking havoc in his office."

Last edited by House_Elf_21; September 8th, 2007 at 6:19 am.
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Old February 14th, 2007, 5:37 am
House_Elf_21  Undisclosed.gif House_Elf_21 is offline
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Here's another really short part of a chapter...

Chapter 13, Part I: Back from the Vanishing Cupboard

Snape's eyes grew wide with fear. Ophelia--Filch's office!

He pushed Lockhart aside and practically ran to Filch's office. On a normal occasion, Snape would be running to take points away from the offenders; but his thumb was smack-dab in the middle of this pie. If word got out about force-feeding a student a truth serum.... Snape shuddered.

"In there," Filch grumbled, pointing a wizened finger at his office door. "They've been fighting like dragons in mating season ever since I arrived."

Snape took a deep breath, raised his wand, and blasted the door open. He was quite taken a back at what he saw.

Pax Ophelia was standing in the midst of upturned chairs, spilt cleaning potions and dozens of letters from QwickSpell. Beneath her right foot, the conquered Braden Alan. In her hand, her wand, which was pointed at Alan's head.

"Expelliarmus!" Snape shouted. The wand flew out of Ophelia's hand and landed on the floor next to Alan, who was very pale and very...bald. "You, over there. And you, get up."

Pax obeyed as Snape directed his wand at her heart. She was breathing heavily, a fair amount of blood trickling from her lip, but she looked completely calm and collected. "Professor, he--"

"Silence! Alan, explain to me what happened."

"Well, Professor," Alan said with a nasty grin, "how much of the story do you want to hear?"

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Old August 14th, 2007, 11:14 am
House_Elf_21  Undisclosed.gif House_Elf_21 is offline
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Re: The Unintentional Matchmaker

Chapter 13, Part II: More Mischievous Miscellany

Snape listened with rapt interest as Alan told him how Pax had leapt out from behind a statue, cursed him and then dragged him to the Vanishing Cupboard. He let the boy talk himself into silence before finally adding his thoughts. "That is quite some feat, Miss Ophelia."

"Professor, he--"

"Silence." Snape's voice was at its iciest. Had Dumbledore been wrong about her? Was Pax Ophelia really as hex-happy as old Alastor Moody? Deep down inside, Snape knew that Mr. Alan was lying--or coloring the truth. And then it occured to him: He had given Miss Ophelia a rather heavy dose of Veritaserum, a dose strong enough that it might still be in effect. "Miss Ophelia," he said; "what do you think of me as a potions master?"

"You're brilliant."

"All right. What about as a person?"

"You're batty, over-bearing, greasy, oily, disgusting, rude--"

"That's enough." So, it was still working. "Tell me what really happened."

Pax then went into a long spiel about how Alan had tried to Imperius her, how she had fought it off and cursed him with boils. Snape was horrified to hear that anyone of his house would risk losing points like that. He knew that if this got back to the Head Master....

"So sorry," panted Lockhart, whom Snape had left far behind. "What have I missed?"

Snape couldn't help but smile to himself. Things were falling together rather nicely. "Professor, these two students need their memories modified." It was a bit of a blow to his pride, but he knew that if Priori Incantatem were used on his wand in the near future, he would be in big trouble.

"Certainly, my dear old friend," Lockhart said with a big grin. "It was very big of you to realize your short-comings and ask for an expert. But I must ask, what exactly are we doing this for?"

"They discovered your hair-care secrets and plan on selling them to the world."

Nothing more needed to be said. Lockhart immediately raised his wand, aimed it at the two bewildered students and shouted, "Obliviate!"


Tristan was getting anxious about Pax. He hadn't seen her for several hours. She hadn't returned to class. She hadn't been in the Great Hall for dinner. And she hadn't been waiting at the foot of the main staircase to give him a good-night kiss. Something was wrong.

"Have you seen her?" he asked Lee Jordan, who merely rolled his eyes.

"Relax, mate," said George Weasley. "Leave her alone and she'll come home--"

"Wagging her tail behind her," finished Fred. "You've got it bad, mate."

Tristan couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, I suppose I do."

"Oi!" cried Oliver Wood. "Harry, Fred, George, Angelina, Ka--"

"To bed," said Fred and George together with a groan. Then, laughing and chattering, the Gryffindor Quidditch team members went to their respective dormitories.

Tristan yawned. He needed to get some sleep. He knew that Hogwarts was safe; Pax had probably just fallen behind on her homework and was staying pent up in her room, studying. With this thought to pacify himself, he followed the sound of snoring up the stairs. To bed.

Last edited by House_Elf_21; August 17th, 2007 at 1:44 am.
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