5PM

“Banshee Blood or R is for Relashio?” Neely asked Neely… and maybe Myrtle, too.

The Slytherin stared at her own reflection, holding up a tube of bright crimson lipstick in one hand, and a slightly thinner, darker cylinder of gloss in the other. The sun was being a complete prat, teaming up with its already limited access to the girl’s lavatory by sending a three measly pin-stripe rays across the stone floor, the rubbish bins, and the cubicles, respectively. Mr. Sunshine was skimping more than ever on the mirrors. But that was Scotland for you.

Myrtle floated over the top of her favorite cubicle, and did a sort of slow-motion dive, twirling lazily toward Neely with an all-knowing little smirk on her specter face. Neely’s baby blues darted after her, trying to catch the ghost’s own dead eyes. She could tell before Myrtle even spoke that she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“What’s wrong with these?” She demanded. “No, don’t you say a word. Red is a wonderful color. It’s the most attractive to the male eye. But what would you know?” Neely sighed and looked back into her own eyes. She remembered what Tulojow had told her, and stared harder. Was there something there that she couldn’t see? If she found it, would it let her know her ultimate lip shade? She had the distinct feeling—no, she knew—that whatever the woman wanted her to see had nothing at all to do with hair, makeup, or clothes. But Neely wasn’t ready to see it.

The ghost sighed too, louder and more dramatic than Neely had. It was more of a whine than a sigh.

“Sometimes you’re so dead boring, M.”

That had done it. Neely had half expected it, but even so, she still squeezed her eyes shut. The ghost gave a screech and sped toward her like a gust of wind, bringing with her wayward bits of parchment, water drops, and paper towels that had been left behind by other slobs who called themselves female.

Neely reflexively placed her hands over her head and felt the icy soul whisk through hers. And then it was gone. Myrtle had rebounded and willingly whirled herself back to her haunt.

“Have fun wearing the same shade of Ghostly Gray for the rest of eternity,” Neely taunted, trying to sound cool, collected, and unbothered. Silly as it was, she had a love-hate relationship with the prematurely dead witch, who knew more about every girl in school than any girl in school. Sometimes they got on great, chattering for entire study blocks while Neely held a puffy pink quill over an essay outline and doodled hearts around the initials in her margins. Other times, the Woolfolk girl couldn’t stand Myrtle’s incessant whining. She had never heard anyone so self-entitled and babyish in her life!

Balancing both cosmetic sticks on the edge of the sink, the Slytherin took a few steps back and looked at herself, prodding lightly at the skin on her cheeks, pulling faces, and winking. She placed a hand on her hip and began to practice the signature runway pose she would use when Arius decided she should become his supermodel bride.

“C’mon, Spencer… I dare you!” A Gryffindor classmate urged him on. Spencer Bates gave a small whimper and stared at the door in front of him. Spencer’s so called friends were daring him to walk into the girl’s lavatory. Who knew who was in there and what could happen? Spencer shook his head and took a step back, only to be pushed to the door again by a fellow housemate. “Guys… I- I don’t think… Errr…” He took a deep breath and sighed. The second years just kept urging him to walk in. He, Spencer Bates, would never do such a thing on his own. No matter how perverted he was.

They had done this before with lots of other guys. Usually the ones who they knew would be too chicken and would run off. They once even tricked a Gryffindor girl into joining them in the boy’s lavatory. Spencer actually left when they started talking to her, since that was pretty low of them. He instead watched a couple of a couple of Slytherin girls practice Quidditch. They didn’t mind, which was a relief to Spencer because he had nowhere else to go. He was a lonely creature, he was.

“Spence, just do it already!” Another housemate shoved Spencer closer to the door. Feeling a bit ashamed, Spencer inched his way towards the girl’s lavatory. “Errrrmmm…” He shuddered before placing his hand on the handle and pulling the door open. Before he knew what hit him, the boys rammed him onto the ground and closed the door, cackling with laughter. Spencer could hear them running down the hall as he got up off the dirty floor and whimpered some more. Some friends they were… He knew he shouldn’t have trusted them.

After a moment of realizing where he was, Spencer looked up and saw someone standing in front of the mirrors. “Oh gosh golly gee! I’m so sorry!” His face began to flush and he bit the tips of his fingers. Spencer then noticed he had walked in on Neely Woolfolk. This caused him to shake with embarrassment, “Oh… Oh… Oh no…” He backed away to the door and began to feel around for the door handle, his eyes closed tight as if Neely was naked. Though Spencer would love to see her naked, he wasn’t exactly going to show that right now.

Neely had just offered a signature air kiss to herself when something came flying through the lavatory door, followed by an echo of laughter, the scuff of departing shoes in the corridor, and a procession of nervous apologies. None of this, however, seemed to add up to a logical reason for the sudden presence of a very un-ghoulish, quite living and breathing, and obviously male intruder.

As if on cue, Neely let out a scream to rival any of Myrtle's more piercing tantrums. This reflexive reaction actually had less to do with the fact that a boy had tread into girls-only territory, and everything to do with the fact that someone had caught Neely Woolfolk prancing around in front of the mirror, for an exclusive audience of... herself. Talk about mortifying! It was fine if you knew someone was watching... Neely always checked herself out and even engaged the mirror in hypothetical scenarios back in her dorm; she assumed most girls did. It was a good confidence booster and a way to practice charisma. But when she supposed she was quite alone (excepting the depressing dead), being discovered could be a touch embarrassing.

Neely's face went from frightened, to momentarily embarrassed, to stormy and pouty in a matter of seconds while she stared at the cowering reflection of the boy in the mirror. She began to realize even before she turned around that he was probably less of a threat than he initially seemed. He looked downright terrified, even in the awful lighting.

Whirling around with her hands on her hips-- Neely had definitely practiced this move by herself, too-- the tiny Slytherin marched forward, heeled ankle boots clicking with impatience and determination. Even so, she was most unfortunately quite a bit shorter than the boy, who nevertheless had to be younger, because Neely didn't recognize him. "What are you doing in here?" She demanded. She stopped about a meter from the boy, and drew her wand. "Why were you on the floor? Were you watching me?" Her dark brows knitted in further suspicion, and she looked around for a moment. "If you were looking up my skirt, I'm telling the Headmaster." Ah, scandal! And it was happening to Neely! A part of her was thrilled. But she had to be careful about what got around school. Nothing which reflect poorly upon her. Myrtle was her witness, too. "Unless you're a very manly girl, you'd better start talking." By now, Neely had doubly regained the confidence that never disappeared for too long.

When hearing Neely scream, Spencer let out a scream himself. Only it wasn't as piercing... And much more deep, considering he wasn't a girl. There are no words to describe how frightened and upset he was right now, and he just started repeating "I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY!" over and over again. Even if it wasn't his fault he was pushed into the bathroom by his so-called friends, Spence was utterly embarrassed and on the verge of tears.

He opened his eyes, only to see Neely completely angry and looking like she was about to turn around and slap Spencer right across the face. He let out a small yelp and began to shake even more than before. He's only walked in on a girl once in his life, and that was his girlfriend. She was changing in a broom closet for some odd reason and walked right in on it when looking for his class. She broke up with him shortly after because Spencer kept asking why the bloody hell she was changing in a broom closet. She was a fourth year, anyways. Second years aren't meant to be dating girls older than them.

To Spencer's demise, Neely turned around and marched right up at him with her wand. This made him yelp, again, and he could hardly suppress his tears.

"What are you doing in here?"

She started bombarding him with questions and yelling at him. She was rather cute when she was angry, but Spencer was too upset to say anything. "My friends- I mean... These guys pushed me in here~ NO. I WASN'T STARING UP YOUR SKIRT! No! Don't tell Greyfriar!" He squealed right away, his voice sounding rather hoarse from his screaming. He shivered in his uniform and all he wanted to do was run fro his life, wishing this never happened. "P- Please don't hurt me..." He eventually mumbled, still attempting to keep his cool.

The boy’s multiple apologies pleased Neely for some reason, but she appeared to ignore them as she continued staring at him huffily and in a classic angry-snobby-school-girl manner. It was clear to the Slytherin that she had control of the situation, despite the fact that the younger boy towered over her (most people did).

“Pushed?” She asked. It made sense, really, but Neely would much rather have heard that he’d run in of his own free will. It was more exciting and less loser-ish. “What are you, five?” She folded her arms over her chest and continued staring right at his eyes, even as he peaked through his. “You shouldn’t let people push you around. Don’t know any good hexes.” Giving her wand a brief wave, but uttering no incantation, Neely waited for an answer.

Harmless. It was really the only applicable word. A harmless (tall) little Hufflepuff (his uniform had given it away, though the bits of yellow were hardly necessary for Neely to determine this much. Many of her housemates spoke the word Huffelpuff like it was an insult.)

“Well, if you don’t want me to tell Greyfriar,” she began, sighing and uncrossing her arms. She waited a moment, mulling it over in her head. She wasn’t going to tell the man, not unless something more dramatic happened. But the boy didn’t know this. “I’m going to need a better apology.” Flashing a sweet smile, Neely waited.