A Table Turned (Part Three)

Spike glanced at her watch. Blatherskites!: She was going to miss the train unless she hurried up and got to the station. No time to go to the Lion’s Lair to see what last-minute goodies were being handed in.

Running through the station, she nearly collided with Begonia Hoddington, the Gryffindor prefect, who caught her by her shoulders. “Are you okay, Duntisbourne?” she asked. She looked at the firstie a little longer. Something’s not right here … “Why are you out of uniform?”

Spike looked down at the green–trimmed under robes peeking out from the regulation black. “I … uhm …”
“And your hair looks greenish. Have you been swimming in the lake again?”

“Well … it’s like this …” and then the last of the effects of the polyjuyice potion faded away. Spike saw the green of her hair fade slowly in, replacing Philandria’s noney-blonde ringlets. “Oh, blazing basilisk butt!” she snarled in frustration.

“That,” said Hoddington, “means detention.” She plucked a stalk of Queen Anne’s Lace from where it clung to Spike’s robes.



And the two walked slowly to Detention, where Dolores Umbridge waited.