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Clash by shenanigan
Chapter 7 : Scattered
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 44

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A/N: Okay, so I'm leaving today for vacation (it'll last approx. three weeks), and I'm not sure I'm going to have computer access where I'm going. So updates after this are going to take awhile. Please review! It means a lot and really keeps me going. Also, this chapter is not beta'd.

A/N.2: This chapter is officially beta'd :)

Disclaimer: None of it is mine.

Chapter image by jetaway at TDA.


(Hector Bagley)

Three days passed after what has come to be known as 'The Ice Rink Episode'. I gradually became accustomed to the flow of things, the endless blur of homework and classes and studying. It was quickly becoming apparent that the Slave Drivers (teachers) were not showing any mercy when it came to schoolwork. Everyone was starting to prepare for OWLS, even though it was just the beginning of the year.

Prefect rounds were difficult. With Ryan, I often found myself stumbling over my own words and just making a fool out of myself in general. With Potter, we bickered and argued and never got anything done. We just couldn’t work together, it was literally impossible.

Aidan was still trying to woo Dominique, but to no avail. She seemed determined to hate his guts, and honestly, I couldn’t blame her.

But still, Aidan was not deterred, he wouldn’t give up. Every day, he seemed to be coming up with new inventive ways to hit on Dom. On Tuesday, he gave her flowers. On Wednesday, he had the house elves bake a cake. On Thursday, he shot fireworks into the sky, proclaiming the words “You are my one and only, Dominique Florence Weasley!” in glittery handwriting. (Needless to say, Dominique did not appreciate the extravagant skywriting, nor did she appreciate the revelation of her middle name, which, it has to be said, is quite fugly.)

On Friday morning, Dominique and I trudged down to the Great Hall, already dreading what disastrous plan Aidan’s sick mind had been twisted and warped enough to come up with today. That morning, the Great Hall was quiet, save for the clatter of silverware and rustle of Daily Prophets. It appeared as though the entire population of Hogwarts was just too exhausted to say anything; everyone was eerily quiet. The atmosphere was worn and gloomy, the ceiling above an insipid shade of gray.

As I have previously mentioned before, ever since the war, all the Houses sat together. Hufflepuffs with Slytherins, Ravenclaws with Gryffindors, etcetera etcetera. Usually, Dom and I sat with the Tweedle Trio at our “regular table” (the second one from the left). Today was no different.

The guys were already there, looking tired and worn, save for Aidan, who had a very evil and satisfied smile on his face. We made our way over to them, and I plopped down next to Fred and immediately began spooning some scrambled eggs onto my plate. Dom, shooting a wary glance at Aidan, sat next to Potter.

No one said a word.

Potter’s eyes were drooping closed. Fred’s elbow was in his cereal. 

We ate in silence, Aidan and Dominique occasionally sneaking glances at one another, nobody breathing a word. For a moment, for one, beautiful, glorious moment, I had started to think that maybe Aidan didn’t want to proclaim his “undying” love for Dom today. Maybe, possibly, Aidan was content with just sitting pretty and letting the morning pass without any incidents.

“Attention! I have an announcement to make!”

...Or not.

I looked up from my rubbery (and rather unsatisfying) pile of eggs to see Aidan, standing on the table, a goblet and fork in his hand. He was currently tapping the piece of silverware against the glass, the tinkling sound echoing throughout the Great Hall.

Everyone in the room went still. The Great Hall became even quieter than it already had been. All eyes were directed to my idiotic buffoon of a brother, standing on the table.

“Jumpin' Jahoesaphat,” Freddy whispered from where he was sitting next to me. “What is that boy doing?”

I didn’t answer, instead just stared up at Aidan with a mixture of horror and fascination on my face.

“Sorry for disturbing your breakfast, but I would just like to perform this rap that I wrote...” Aidan began.

I frowned. Did I hear correctly? Aidan wanted to...rap?

Dominique’s face turned an unflattering shade of purple, yet Aidan, taking no notice, continued on with his introductory speech. “The rap took hours to make, and it’s about my dearest, most sweetest love, Dominique—“

“Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it,” Dominique muttered, her eyes closed and fists clenched.

“—Florence Weasley.”

With a groan, Dominique slammed her head on the table. This action went unnoticed by Aidan.

“I hope you like it, Dommy. Give me a beat, Tim!” Aidan said, pointing to a small Hufflepuff at the table next to us.

Tim-the-Hufflepuff began to cup his hands over his mouth and make these undistinguishable noises that I guess were supposed to be beats. As the rest of the Great Hall stared on in astonishment, Aidan took a piece of parchment out of his pocket, cleared his throat...and then the rap/Unbearable Ear Torture began.

“Dominique Weasley,
I love you very easily
This rap rings true
Ev’ry word from me to you

You have really pretty hair
And a very scary glare
But it’s still sort of nice-y
Even though it’s quite icy.”

My brother has gone insane. First the gerbil, then the ice-rink, now he’s convinced he’s some sort of bona fide rapper. Which, judging by his terrible rhyming and grammar, he is most definitely not.

“I miss you like teeth miss braces
and a shoe misses laces
I miss you like rock misses roll
and a stripper misses her pole

Your eyes are green glass
and you have a
You’re an amazing lass
For you I’ll walk a mile.

This is the end of this rap
So now all you peeps should clap
Cause it took me  time
To come up with all these rhymes.”

Everyone in the Great Hall started cheering and clapping. Potter wolf-whistled, Fred wiped away mock tears. Dominique looked like she had just gone into cardiac arrest.

“Word to your mother
I’m the Freaky Funk Brother


The Great Hall was positively ringing with applause. The professors at the Staff Table looked mildly bemused, as if they didn’t quite believe what had just happened. Aidan bowed several times, thanking his audience politely, and then sat back down, a passive expression cloaking his face.

Dom opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened, closed, opened, closed.

My hand inched slowly towards her fork, which was sitting next to her bowl of cereal. It’s (very pointy, I might add) prongs gleamed in the light, and I shifted nervously before grabbing the utensil and moving it a safe distance away. It might seem a little extreme, but it was probably best that Dom was kept away from all sharp objects at the moment.

Hey, you never know. Just saying.

“So,” Aidan finally said, clearing his throat. “What do you think, Dommy?” The question was phrased in an oddly casual manner, as if he was asking her which tie he should wear to a party, or something.

Dom did not reply... just simply sat there, staring at Aidan like he was the craziest boy in Hogwarts (which, come to think of it, he kind of is). And then, all of a sudden—with this weird look on her face—she stood up so abruptly the table shook, turned on her heel, and ran out of the room.

The Great Hall quieted as everyone realized that Aidan’s rap—although sensitive, romantic, and brilliantly crafted (sarcasm)—had not worked. Oddly enough, people seemed surprised that Dominique had not immediately thrown herself at Aidan in a frenzy of grateful sobs and sloppy kisses. Whispers and sniggers rippled throughout the entire room.

Fred, Potter, Aidan and I were silent as we all stared at one another. The awkwardness was so thick I could taste it.

Finally, I said, “Um, I think we know...“

“...Yeah. Probably.”

“Okay. Let’s do that.”

We all stood up and left the Great Hall in search of one Very Distressed Dominique. I briefly wondered if it was a good idea that Aidan was coming along with us, seeing as he had caused the whole ordeal in the first place, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him to leave and he probably wouldn’t have listened to me even if I had.

We didn’t have to look very far, seeing as Dom was standing in the corridor just outside the Great Hall leaning against the wall and hyperventilating. For a moment, the four of us just stared at her stupidly as she attempted to suck in as much oxygen as possible, waving her hands madly in the air. And then Potter, coming to his senses, conjured up a paper bag and handed it to her.

There was a long moment where Dominique just inhaled and exhaled, the paper bag convulsing with her respiration. After about five minutes or so, her breathing slowed to a normal, steady pace, and Dominique finally pulled away from the bag, her face beet red.

There was a long, pregnant pause.

And then Aidan said, tone hopeful, “So, did you like it?”

Dominique’s face deepened in color. Fred, Potter and I winced, instinctively taking a step back in fear. Aidan, however, remained oblivious.

And then she exploded.


During this whole entire tirade, Dominique had been advancing towards Aidan—who was now looking extremely terrified—until he was completely backed up against the wall. Fred, Potter and I said nothing, unwilling spectators to this whole fiasco.

“ take it you didn’t like it...?”

“Didn’t like it? DIDN”T LIKE IT? That was the biggest pile of butt-pudding I have ever heard in my life, and that’s saying something because I BOUGHT TAYLOR SWIFT’S FIRST ALBUM AND HATED IT!”

“I’m sorry,” Aidan said mildly. “That must have been a terrible waste of money.”


And then, for some inexplicable reason that I cannot possibly fathom, he kissed her.

My brother, Aidan Bennett, kissed my best friend Dominique Weasley.

...And then ran away.

Dominique stood there—stock still and speechless—for a long moment. I was starting to wonder if I should call for some medical assistance, when all of a sudden, her face changing from maroon to white to purple, Dominique screeched,

“AIDAN—KISS—WANKER—ARGH!” And then promptly sprinted after my brother, most likely in search for violent revenge.

There was a long, heavy silence as Fred, Potter and I stared at each other, in complete shock of what had just happened.

And then Fred, in an oddly cheery voice, said, “Well... Ten Galleons Aidan’s in the Hospital Wing by four o’clock.”

“Deal,” Potter said, and they shook on it.

I sighed.

Hours later, I sat nervously in the Potions dungeons, fidgeting in my seat as Slughorn’s dull voice hummed in my ear like an annoying, incessant fly. Potions was my third subject of the day, and Dom had not bothered to show up.  She hadn't attended the second class of the day (Charms), or the first (Transfiguration) either. It was...disconcerting, to say the least.

Knowing her, she was either, a) breaking all 206 bones in Aidan’s poor body or b) furiously snogging him in a broom closet. I wasn’t sure which one was worse. A naive, optimistic part of me was hoping for c) none of the above. But that wasn’t likely to happen.

I tapped my fingers on the wooden desk, the noise irritating my already shot nerves. Part of me wanted to comb the castle, looking for her, but another part of me knew that I had to stay here and pay attention. I was torn.

“Miss Bennett, would you please explain to me what you have been daydreaming about for the past half hour? I’m finding it hard to imagine what could possibly be interesting enough to distract you from my lesson.” I looked up to see a giant, grey moustache looming in front of my eyes, followed shortly by the rest of Slughorn’s inflated face. I winced. Craparoni. “I just instructed the entire class to pair up five minutes ago, yet you seem to not have heard.”

I looked around the classroom. Indeed, it was true. The rest of the students were all partnered into groups of two, sitting at their tables with boiling cauldrons and racks of colorful ingredients—obviously preparing to make a potion. Everyone seemed to be sniggering at my misfortune, amused at the predicament I’ve gotten myself into.

I swallowed. “Uh... Well... You see, I was just... thinking...”

“Thinking? Miss Bennett, there is no time for thinking in this class!” Slughorn hissed, spit flying everywhere. After a few seconds, he must have realized his mistake, because he hastily corrected himself. “Er, I mean thinking about other things besides Potions, of course.” Several students giggled into their palms.

I barely stifled an eye-roll. Slughorn had no idea how stupid he sounded sometimes.

“Right. I apologize...for my thinking, sir.” My tone was dry and sardonic, sarcasm clinging to every syllable, but Sluggy didn’t notice.

“Well, it’s quite alright,” he said, puffing his chest out. “Just don’t do it again or I’ll be forced to deduct points. Now, if you would be so kind as to take a seat next to Mr. Bagley over there, we can begin brewing our potions.”

“Yes sir,” I said, having no idea what potion he was talking about or how on Jupiter we would go about making it.

I picked up my books and walked over to the desk Slughorn had pointed at, face an embarrassing shade of red. There sat Hector Bagley, Resident Ravenclaw whiz kid and one of the few people in this godforsaken school whom I could actually stand.

“Hey Hector,” I greeted him, setting my books down on the table. “How was your summer?”

Hector Bagley can basically be described as a mad genius, except for the mad part. He was incredibly smart but had few friends, apparently preferring the easy, simple companionship of books rather than people. He was known for spouting off random facts at any moment in time. I didn’t know why he did it...perhaps it was some sort of coping mechanism. It probably calmed him, or something

“Giraffes are mainly homosexual in nature,” Hector stated automatically, voice matter-of-fact. “Hello, Agatha. My summer was fine, thank you for asking. How was yours?”

“Er.” I blinked twice. “It was...good.”’

“That’s nice.” Hector had eerily large, blue eyes that sort of made him look like a giant insect. When confronted with them, it’s hard not to back away or flinched.

“So... Er... What potion are we making?” I asked, feeling incredibly stupid.

“We’re brewing the Draught of Peace, a potion that calms anxiety and sooths agitation. Necessary ingredients are powdered moonstone, hellebore syrup, daisy root and lovage leaves. Side effects include, but are not limited to, falling asleep at random moments of time, not being able to concentrate, and headaches. People should not take this potion if they are experiencing heart difficulty, smoking, or pregnant.” He paused for a moment, staring at a spot on the table. “Did you know that a cat has 32 muscles in each ear?”

“No, Hector. I did not know that... Thanks,” I said, half afraid and half impressed.

“You’re welcome.”

There was a long silence. It was getting awkward. Fast.

“So... about you go fetch the ingredients as I’ll set up the cauldron, yeah?” I asked, nervously picking at a thread in my shirt.

Hector consented, nodding and scurrying away. I busied myself by pouring some water into our cauldron and charming it to boil, the water bubbling and gurgling cheerfully. When Hector finally came back, arms loaded with an assortment of colorful ingredients, we immediately began setting up.

Potions was my worst subject. I mean, I was great at the theory part of it (I aced all of my essays, worksheets, or written tests), but the potion making itself? Yeah, not so much. I’ve been known to explode a few cauldrons. Okay, maybe not just a ‘few’. More like three. Or four. Or nineteen. But, you know, that’s just a rough estimate.

Anyways, I was very thankful to have Hector by my side, since he was amazing at Potions, coming second in our year only to (grr...) Potter, who, it has to be said, is some sort of freakish, Potion-making machine.

Yes, I know. Potter is actually good at something besides Quidditch and picking up girls. It surprises me too.

We worked in silence. Hector was very exact and meticulous, measuring everything once, twice, even three times. I mainly just stood there and watched, careful not to screw anything up. By the time Potions was over, our potion was an iridescent, shimmering white color, as it was supposed to be. I capped it and turned it into Slughorn, face smug. Surely we would get at least an E.

The rest of the day passed by with no incident, save for Evilyn “accidentally” turning Sandra Macucci’s hair a sickly green color in Transfiguration. Dom and Aidan did not show up for any of their classes. Neither did they show up for dinner. I was beginning to worry, and I tried to distract myself with some homework, but to no avail. I felt scattered, like my brain was somewhere off in space, taking a trip to Neptune or something.

That evening, I stood outside the Charms classroom, where Potter and I were supposed to meet for patrol, my mind still occupied with thoughts of Aidan and Dominique. I mean, did he really miss her that much? Or did he just want her because she was unattainable?

A part of me—the selfish part—didn’t want them dating. For many reasons, really, but mostly because it was disgusting. And weird. And I had to hear about it from both of them.

I mean, in Third Year, I remember distinctly that for two whole months (after a particularly nasty break up), they only talked to each other through me. Mostly, our conversations would play out like this:

[Try to recall that this is all happening while we’re SITTING NEXT TO EACH OTHER]

Aidan: Agatha, will you please tell Dominique to pass the butter?

Me: Dom, will you pass the butter?

Dominique: Aggy, tell Aidan that I will NOT pass the butter, and that he should take a short walk off a long pier, or whatever.

Me: Er, Dominique says she’s not passing the butter.

Aidan: Well, tell her that’s okay, ‘cause I don’t need butter and my waffle tastes perfectly fine without it. Butter’s over-rated, anyway.

Dominique: Well, tell Aidan that the butter’s glad it’s not needed, since the waffle is AN OBNOXIOUS, SELF-OBSESSED PRICK!

Me: Um.

Aidan: Tell Dominique that butter is gross and FATTENING!

Dominique: Well tell Aidan that waffles are bland and nobody likes them!

Aidan: Tell Dominique that waffles are for sophisticated people with good taste, which she obviously does not have!

Dominique: Tell Aidan that butter is moving on to bigger and better things, like PANCAKES!

And so on.

Eventually, I’d just leave and they wouldn’t even notice which is kind of sad, if you think about it.

But anyways, after that nice little trip down memory lane, I think it’s safe to say that Dominique and Aidan are an exasperating pair to be in the company of...especially when they’re mad at each other.

Maybe I’m a bad person for not wanting them to get together. It’s just that...them dating complicates things, you know? I liked it better when everything was simple. When everything was—


I yelped in surprise and jumped about five feet into the air. Heart racing, I whipped around to see Potter, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and a crooked smirk on his face.

“William H. Macy!” I cried, resting a hand over my thumping heart. “You scared me, Potter!”

“Sorry,” he said, shrugging.

“Don’t do that again!”

“I won’t!” 

“Next time, it’s just polite to tap a person on the shoulder, okay? Instead of...hollering their name from behind! Learn some etiquette!” I said, my heart still beating at a faster pace than must be normal.

“Oh calm down, Bennett. It’s not like I jumped out of the shadows and attacked you.”

“Um, you may as well have!”

Potter threw his hands in the air in surrender. “Whatever. Can we just start patrolling? I want to get this over with so I can go to bed.”

“Wow, don’t get too excited about it. You might have an accident.”

Potter ignored me. “Let’s patrol this level and then go up to the fourth floor. Then we can call it a day, alright?” He started to walk away, his hands shoved in his pockets, not even waiting for my consent.

“Wait!” I called, speed-walking after him, “I thought we were supposed to patrol this level and then go down to the second floor.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s the fourth floor.”

“We’re supposed to patrol the second floor, Potter!” I insisted. “It says so on the sheet!”

“Oh, and do you have said sheet with you?”

“Er...well. I don't physically have it. But it's with me in spirit!”

“I see.”

“Just trust me on this one, okay, Potter? We’re supposed to patrol the second floor,” I said firmly, pursing my lips together.

“No, we’re supposed to patrol the fourth floor!” Potter said slowly, as if he were speaking to a particularly slow child.





“Sec—Okay, you know what, we’re not getting anywhere with this.” I sighed. “Here, how about I patrol the second floor, and you patrol the fourth floor?”

Rather pleased with myself for coming up with such a brilliant idea, I swiveled around and—not bothering to wait for a reply—began to walk away.

But before I could get far, a warm hand grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around. I looked up to see Potter, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Hold up, princess. We are not splitting up.”

“Why not?” I said, jutting my chin out stubbornly.

“Because I don’t want to be responsible for whatever catastrophe you would...inevitably get yourself into.”

“Catastrophe? What are you talking about?” I said, backing away from Potter. “I am perfectly capable of patrolling by myself, thank you very much.”

Potter snorted, crossing his arms. “I don’t think so.”

“I will have you know that I am an independent, skilled young woman, and I am fully able to handle any difficult situations that might be thrown my way—“

“Oh, so what about that incident with Peeves and the water gun? Were you “fully able” to handle that?”

I gaped at him. “H-how did you know...?” I sputtered. I didn’t need to ask though. I already knew the answer...

“Dominique.” We both said at the same time, although in considerably different tones.

“Well, whatever,” I said curtly, mentally kicking myself for my stupidity. “That was once. And a long time ago. It’s irrelevant now.”

“Agatha Bennett,” Potter said, shaking his head, hands in his pockets as he lazily took a step forward. “You are clumsy, foolish, and, it must be said, quite lacking in the hand-eye co-ordination department. I’m sorry, but letting you go patrol by yourself would be like letting a hippogriff loose in a china shop.”

Potter stepped forward once more. I stumbled backwards, but found myself unable to go very far since I had been, unwittingly, backed up against a wall.

He slowly placed his hands on the wall on either side of my head, trapping me. Uh oh. I swallowed, craning my neck to look up at him. Slowly, he leaned forwards until our noses were almost touching. My breathing hitched, and my skin suddenly felt like ice.

“Besides,” his voice was nothing more than a murmur, velvety and soft, “you never know what sort of things are out there... Things that go bump in the night...”

There were goose bumps on my arms. I was standing so close to Potter, if I leaned any closer, my eyelashes would brush against his cheek.

I averted my eyes, refusing to have to look up at him, and instead focused on a spot directly in front of me. Which was a bad idea, really. A very bad idea indeed, since that spot was Potter’s chest. His very...nice chest. I mean, Potter isn’t exactly Mr. Muscle here, but he’s lean... and toned. look at. Sometimes. Speaking objectively, of course.

I mean, I’m not saying that Potter isn’t good-looking. Because he is, to be honest. Saying that he’s ugly would just be a flat out lie. He’s a git and everything, but he’s attractive, I’ll grant him that. He has this... messy, dark hair. That contrasts nicely with his—


—skin. And his eyes are...colorful. Bright. With swirls of brown and dark green and amber...and these golden flecks that kind of look like shards of broken glass.

You know. Objectively...speaking.

Potter blinked, eyelashes dark and unbelievably long. So long, it was feminine, almost. I made a mental note to add that to my list of Things to Ridicule Potter About (below ‘Coming second best to me in Transfiguration’ and above ‘Not being able to stay in a relationship for longer than the time it takes Aidan to finish off an entire Shepherd’s Pie, a.k.a. six minutes’). 

There was a long moment where I just stared at him, not breathing, my eyes widened in an almost bewildered fashion, until finally, Potter, tone musical, spoke:

“Stop undressing me with your eyes, Bennett.”

“Wha—I’m—Huh? No!” I sputtered, mortified. The left corner of Potter’s lips quirked upwards into a skeptical smirk. I felt the compelling urge to slap it off my face.

“Oh come on, Bennett. You’re not fooling anyone...we all know what you’re thinking about.”

My mouth fell open. “What are you implying?”

“That you’re a promiscuous sex fiend, of course,“ Potter replied, face remarkably innocent.

It took a moment for me to realize that he was joking. And then I scowled, feeling the hot fingers of embarrassment slide down my neck as my face bloomed crimson.

“You’re unbelievable.” I shoved him with all the strength in my body and he stumbled backwards, still grinning in that insufferable manner. I whipped around and began to walk away, fists clenched. But, once again, Potter caught me, his hand enclosing around my wrist and preventing me from any further movement.

“Let go, Potter!” I hissed, attempting to yank my arm from his grasp. But he was too strong. “You... infuriating prat! Let go!’

“I don’t think so,” he said, eyebrows raised.

And then... I sort of lost it.

“Why you little, obnoxious, vile, impertinent...ugh, there are no words for it! I hate you, you awful prick! You are the most contemptible person I have ever had the misfortune to meet! Day after day I ask myself what I could have possibly done to deserve ever knowing you! Sometimes, I think I must have been some... serial puppy killer in my past life! And you know what? That kind of makes me hate puppies!” My voice was high with hysteria, but I couldn’t stop myself. “And that, you idiot, is sad, because hating a puppy is practically one of the worst sins a human could ever wish to commit in his or her lifetime! So there, you arrogant arse, there you have it! You. Make. Me. Hate. Puppies. Are you satisfied now? I hope you’re happy, you evil little toerag.  Because, it’s not just puppies. You make me hate everything! You make me doubt my faith in humanity! You make me want to drop kick a baby, okay? That is how terrible of a person you are. And you know what else, Potter? You have girly eyelashes. So take that,!”

I was breathing heavily, my chest rising up and down. Potter looked at me blankly, no expression on his face. There was a long moment where we just stared each other down, as I silently dared Potter to retaliate, to yell at me as well...

I was this close to just going bonkers and ripping out all the hair from my head. He was ARGH! Words could not describe it; except for the fact that now, I was so furious I wanted to punch something. Preferably Potter himself.

I narrowed my eyes at him, until they were nothing but thin slits. Potter looked back, hazel gaze unwavering, face completely serious except for the slightest upturn of the left side of his lips. Glowering, I took a menacing step forward, but he didn’t even flinch, nor did he release my arm.

We were so close to each other, almost as close as we had been before... But neither one of us was about to back down...


We jumped away from each other at the sudden, strange noise, and Potter, caught off guard, let go of my wrist. My previous irritation (okay, fury) vanished almost completely as my eyes darted back and forth, searching for the source of the racket. Potter, too, was frowning.

“Hey, did you—“

“Hear that?”


I frowned, stiffening. “It sounded like it was coming from—“

“That direction,” Potter interrupted, pointing down the corridor we were standing in. It led into an eerie, inky blackness, dark save for the occasional fluttering light of the torches on the wall. The sight was spooky enough to give me shivers.

“Yeah,” I agreed (wow, call the press... Agatha Bennett, actually agreeing with Potter the Prat!). “We should probably—“

“Check it out.”

“Potter,” I sighed, exasperated. “Will you stop trying to—“

“Finish your sentences?” Potter’s face broke out into a full-fledged smirk. I gritted my teeth.

“Yes. That,” I bit out, voice strained.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

Although I didn’t appreciate Potter ordering me around, I let him take the lead as we speed-walked down the hallway. After all, I was a little bit more than freaked out (I mean, spooky noises in the middle of the night? Hello? Can you not see the teen slasher film just waiting to happen?), and hey, if Potter wanted to be the first one to walk down the Creepy Death Corridor, then that was fine by me.

We rounded a corner and suddenly came across a suit of armor. It was lying on the ground, glowing amber in the torch light, its metallic limbs scattered across the stone floor, almost looking like a—

Don’t say it, Agatha, don’t say it...

Dismembered body.

My breathing hitched.

Okay, so, this was sufficiently creepy.

I looked up to see Potter pacing around the suit of armor, his brow furrowed with concentration. I walked up to him, hands shaking.

“Um, Potter?” I asked, voice small as I tugged on his sleeve. “Maybe we should go back—?”

“Merlin, Bennett. Are you seriously afraid?”

I scoffed. “I’m not afraid! I just think that perhaps it would be wise to head back and find a teacher, or somethi—“

His hazel eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Oh yeah? Well what’s happened to that ‘it’s our duty as Prefects to protect the school and all its students inside’ bullshit that you’re always blabbering about?”

“Well it depends on the situation, you see. I mean, as smart, upstanding students, we should report this to the professors.“

“Yeah but as diligent prefects, we should investigate to see what’s going on,” Potter pointed out.

“Well as a human being, I would like to live to see daylight,” I snapped back.

He chuckled. “Relax, Bennett. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Potter, you say that now but later—“

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course not! Are you stupid?”

"Eh, fair enough.” He grabbed me by the arm and began to walk forward. I resisted.

"Potter, I’m really not comfortable with this... I don’t think it’s a good idea—“ But I stopped talking, because all of a sudden, I heard it:

Muffled giggling.

My blood ran cold. Potter’s eyes narrowed. He dropped my arm, marching forward as he followed the noise.

“Potter, wait—“ Pushing aside the Slytherin self-preservation instincts that were currently screaming at me to turn around and run away like a crazy woman, I followed Potter. We hurried down the corridor, rounded another corner and then—

Because right in front of us stood Scorpius Malfoy and Rose Weasley...


They were in some sort of passionate, hormone-induced, furious embrace, sucking each other’s faces off like there was no tomorrow, Obviously, they had been the ones who had knocked down the suit of armor in the midst of all, fervor.

I choked on my own saliva, which I’m sure must have looked very attractive. A Malfoy and a Weasley? Together? Like, together together? That was...unheard of. In fact, it was just plain strange.

“ROSE? ROSE?” Potter’s face was priceless. He looked like Filch had just stupefied him while wearing a tutu. I wish I could have caught it on camera.

The two lovers (ick, I hate that’s so sleazy. It always reminds me of Russian guys and chest hair) broke apart, faces horrified. Upon seeing who had just yelled her name, Rose Weasley’s face turned a brilliant shade of purple. Scorpius, on the other hand, paled to a fantastic beige color.

“Er...this is going to be hard to explain...”

Oh boy.

A/N: Please review!

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