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Social Disposition by Asteria
Chapter 2 : Letís All Cry Over Spilt Milk
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 1


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 “I swear this school has some sort of vendetta against vegetarians,” Heidi sighed as she pushed a lone egg yolk around her plate, staring longingly at the pile of slightly charred bacon that sat at the centre of the table. After watching some Channel 4 documentary on the reality of abattoirs over the summer, she’d embarked on a life of vegetarianism and had made it her goal to force others to follow suit which basically meant she verbally abused Ray every time she went to McDonald’s during the holidays. Suffice to say she’d so far lasted three weeks, relapsed twice then claimed both times she assumed they were quorn sausages and said that Hogwarts school be sued for mislabeling the food plates.
“Don’t worry, you’ll probably only last another week at most so you won’t have to deal with this for long,” Stella commented without even looking up from the slice of toast she was generously coating with butter.

“You’re all just jealous that I’ve taken the moral high ground.”

“I get to eat burgers, you don’t. Don’t worry there is no jealousy here.”

The hall was relatively full for once since we’d come down for breakfast much later than usual which I put down to Stella's inability to wake up on time. However, I do admit to oversleeping a fair few times last year so I didn’t voice that opinion in fear of sounding hypocritical.

“I’m proud of you Heidi, you should keep it up,” Maisie replied with a smile.

“Thank you, at least someone understands,” she said before turning back to guilt trip the rest of us, ”think of all those poor animals that have been murdered just to feed you.”

“Like those poor pigs that you used to eat every morning?” Crystal patronised as she scanned through today’s copy of the daily prophet, slowly sipping at a cup of particularly strong black coffee.

“That bacon was so processed it was practically meat free.”

“Really?” I asked with a feigned air of disbelief, “there’s just something about chargrilled pig flesh that doesn’t exactly scream vegetarian to me.”

My sarcastic comment was promptly cut short when I noticed danger approaching in the form of a rather brave looking first year who was about to offer Ray a bowl of greek yoghurt in a friendly but harmless gesture, unaware of the monster that lay beneath her pale skin and rouged lips. The bowl had been passed down the table and had eventually reached the young boy that sat next to Ray, he turned to her, extending the dish towards her with a smile, “do you want the y-”

“No child, I do not want your yoghurt,” she began, voice laden with an unhealthy amount of frustration, “I am lactose intolerant and about this close to shoving that spoon -”

“- Yes, she would love it thank you very much,” Maisie jumped in grabbing the bowl out of his shaking hands before patting his head in a way that was more patronising than clearly intended. Considering she was eating strawberry ice-cream for dinner yesterday I’m almost certain she doesn’t have an intolerance to lactose, just some severe anger issues and a disdain for small children.

As Ray went back to eating her cheerios and the rest of the group continued to chatter, I let my mind wander to the regrettable events of yesterday morning. The news of mine and Potter’s little altercation had spread around the school like fiendfyre and apparently the production of this week's Hogwarts Heroin issue was halted so that they could scrap all of the intended articles and instead plaster the front page with a photo of me getting attacked by a swarm of first year potions novels.

To say it had brought about a few problems was an understatement.

My older brother always used to tell me that half a bottle of firewhiskey was a suitable solution for dealing with any issues but it took him two stints in rehab to finally understand that you can’t just drink away alcoholism. But back to the plethora of unwelcomed problems that were currently plaguing my usually mundane existence.

The first problem arrived in the form of Potter himself.

He was pissed.

Incredibly pissed, and it therefore wouldn’t be long until he made some attempt to avenge his ego, most likely at my expense.

The second issue, one which I had not actually considered, was Potter’s little fanclub.

Since precisely nine-twenty-three yesterday morning, when I threw a perfectly aimed stinging jinx at that precious face of his, they had been plotting my demise in the most theatrical way possible. I had heard quite a few good ideas floating around the corridors actually, but after about ten minutes of deliberation I think I managed to wrangle it down to my three favourites:

Charming all the clothes I was wearing to smell like fish then feeding me to the giant squid.

Transfiguring me into a bludger then leaving me in the quidditch store so that I would get bludgeoned to death by my own team at the next practise session.

Tying me to a chair in the dungeons with a small vile of poison and forcing me to listen Celestina Warbeck until I decided that death was a better option.

They must have some right little psychopaths hauled up in that exclusive little group of theirs. The second one would worry me slightly if it wasn’t for the fact that half of them could barely transfigure their animals into glass goblets with much success, never mind attempting something as advanced as that.

I have to admit that the last idea was quite inventive but, personally, I was hoping for the former. Me and the giant squid are actually pretty tight since I used to feed him fish fingers every time I went swimming in the lake so I would hope that he’d look past the smell and try his best to avoid eating me as a belated thank you.

“Potter’s staring at you Clary,” Stella warned, jerking me out of my reverie.

Fuck.”

“Is it a stare of adoration?”

“Not exactly,” Crystal answered Maisie, “I’d say it's somewhere in between I want to murder you in a particularly violent way and can we have angry sex then pretend it never happened.”

I took a moment to consider both of those options, neither of which particularly appealed to me. I felt I had more to give to the world before I’m brutally murdered by the second born of the chosen one, be that St Mungo’s finest healer, curer of magical maladies, and all round miracle worker or the second saviour of the wizarding world - there’s bound to be some neo-Death Eater maniac who wants to take down the ministry in the near future.

When that day comes, I shall be ready.

Regardless of what I do eventually become, though I would assume a waitress or a cleaner is a little more likely than master doctor or mystical heroine, I’m not quite done with this life yet. However the alternative was equally as bad. There was no way I was going to get in five feet of Potter in a crowded corridor, never mind in his bedroom, or a cramped broom closet or wherever else people get freaky these days.

“Can’t I just marry Stella instead?”

“Yes,” she cheered, earning a few strange looks, “I’ll be Edward and you can be my Bella.”

Out of all of the fictional couples she could have possibly chosen, she went with Twilight’s infamous duo.

“Are you telling me I’m weak, good for nothing and utterly infatuated with you in every way?”

“Well, I am a looker.”

“Oi Wilde,” a  familiar male voice tore me from my conversation before I could reply. Nate Westerfell, fellow quidditch player and lover of all things that annoyed me, looked down at me from where he stood, light brown hair falling in front of his eyes, “Wood said to speak to you about tryouts.”

I’d forgotten that Dylan had even left me with that job so hadn’t thought all that much about it. Despite my love for quidditch, running around in a muddy field instructing clueless second years as they clung onto their brooms for deal life didn’t really appeal to me all that much. Last time I held tryouts, I had to spend at least half an hour trying to entice one of the girls, who was going for keeper, down from the goalposts as it turned out that she was afraid of heights so she panicked and attached herself to one of the hoops. In the end I had to bribe her with sugar quills so my emergency sugar stash was all but empty for at least two weeks.

“Why don’t we do them tomorrow?” I suggested having not really considered it, “then we can see who’s really dedicated, and get more practise in as a team as the other houses aren’t  holding their tryouts until the end of the week.”

The real reason I wanted to hold them tomorrow is so that I could miss a double history of magic lesson because I don’t think I could stomach one of Binns’ goblin lectures this early into the term.

“Good idea,” he agreed, “let's have them early, seven?”

Merlin, I’d have to be up at like six so I have time to set up, I can’t even remember when I last saw that time of day. I going to have to set at least three alarm clocks if we do this.

One to actually wake me up.

A second, around five minutes later, to tell me that ‘no, smashing the first clock and pulling the covers over my head does not count as getting up.’

And a final one, which I would have Stella hide somewhere around the dormitory the night before, that would force me to drag myself out of bed and turn it off. Knowing Stella, she’d probably charm it to play Celestina Warbeck which would give me all the more motivation to find it quickly.

“Sure,” I agreed halfheartedly, “just need to get the word around, I’ll pin it on the bulletin board later.”

Nate’s face remained blank for a moment before lighting up in some sort of eureka moment which probably meant that the next few minutes were either going to be painful, embarrassing or an unfortunate mix of the two. Shoving aside a toast rack and an unsurprisingly full dish of hard boiled eggs, he climbed onto the end of the breakfast table, extending a hand in my direction so that he could pull me up alongside him.

“LISTEN UP BADGERS, QUIDDITCH SEASON IS NEARLY UPON US,” he yelled across the great hall, silencing the room with a single mention of the well loved sport, “AND THIS YEAR HUFFLEPUFF SHALL REIGN VICTORIOUS.”





A large cheer erupted from along our table as the other houses watched on with half assed smirks plastered across their faces, like the idea of Hufflepuff winning a quidditch game actually amused them. I mean I, of all people, should know that we’ve come last for four consecutive years but there was no need to be rude about it.

It's not that our team are just truly that pathetic, believe it or not we actually have a lot of talent hauled up in the commonly underestimated Hufflepuff basement. Unfortunately for us, our old captain, Josh Korder, who graduated last year could barely fly in a straight line at the best of times, never mind catch the snitch during a high speed dive. And when people say that a team is only as good as their seeker, they generally tend to be right. That's why the majority of the school believes his dad bribed the old captain to recommend him to McGonagall.

Don't say that to his face though, he really doesn't like it.

Nate learnt that the hard way.

But all that aside, this year's going to be different; I’m the co-captain now.

In reality, that title doesn’t exactly exist, I was given it by our actual captain, Dylan Wood, as a sort of ‘sorry I got the captaincy and you didn’t’ to make me feel better about the whole situation. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t all that upset over it, it’s unanimously agreed amongst our entire house that he deserved it and I stand by that decision. Plus this is his last year, I’ve got another two to go so there’s hope for me yet.

“So as you know,” I continued, in a voice still loud enough to carry across the hall, “three of our players graduated last summer which means there are spaces open for those wishing to play keeper, beater or seeker.”

One of the younger girls, who was sat a few heads down from where I stood, looked slightly disheartened at that statement so I could only assume neither of the three places I mentioned were her prefered position. I smiled at her gently and her eyes lit up, returning the gesture.

“However, last years team still will have to come to the trials and earn their place back, so if any of them didn't keep fit over the summer you might be able to take their position,” I explained, staring down the table at Crystal’s brother - Hufflepuff Captain, one of our chasers and self confessed fitness enthusiast - Dylan Wood, “yes Dylan, I’m looking at you.”

For that comment, I received series of laughs from the large proportion of our house who knew about Dylan’s obsession with protein shakes and five-in-the-morning runs.

“TRYOUTS WILL BEGIN TOMORROW AT SEVEN O’CLOCK PROMPT, YES IN THE MORNING, DON'T COMPLAIN YOU LAZY GITS,” Nate shouted next to my ear.

I know that it’s particularly short notice but I chose Monday for a reason, we’ve been back for a few days so they should have been expecting trials some time soon plus I need to be able to root out the ones who are dedicated enough to wake up at the crack of dawn and prioritise quidditch when necessary.

“Like I said earlier, we’re looking for a new keeper, beater and seeker, but any chasers are more than welcome to try out as well.”

Professor Proctor - the rather old fashioned and unfortunately child-hating muggle studies teacher - was looking less than impressed by this point but at least good old McGonagall had a small smile playing on her lips. You’d think a man who despises teenagers so severely would avoid teaching like the bubonic plague but no, like a vet who’s allergic to small animals or a quidditch player who hates exercise, he braves the school day just to make our lives a living hell.

Lucifer salutes you kind sir.

“So if you fancy yourself a slice of eternal glory and a legion of loyal first years, then get your arse down to the quidditch pitch on Sunday,” Stella, who wasn’t even on the team, added sounding slightly like one of those incredibly annoying muggle infomercials.  

Nate swiftly leant to the side to avoid a stale bread roll which had come hurtling towards him from the general direction of the Slytherin table where a rather guilty looking Dimitri Nott sat.

“Don’t worry Nott,” Nate laughed, brushing a strand of deep brown hair from his eyes, “your aim may be a little off but I’ll make sure mine isn’t when I knock you clean off your broom during our first match.”

“Okay Mr Nelson that’s enough for now thank you,” McGonagall rose from her seat, clearing her throat with a small cough as she tried to suppress a smile.






“GOOD LUCK TO YOU ALL” we both chorused, bowing in unison to the round of applause we received from our house.

“Well that was certainly one way of announcing things,” Maisie noted as she helped me down from the table, nearly knocking over Crystal’s half full mug of coffee in the process.

I received an indignant sound from Stella as I swiped a slice of buttered toast from her plate, taking a bite before she could retaliate, “you can blame that spectacle on Nate’s idiocy.”

“I’m going to assume that you meant to say my utter genius,” the man in question smirked, sliding into the space that Maisie and Stella had made for him.

“Modesty suits you Nelson,” Crystal rolled her eyes, voice laden with sarcasm, “you should try it sometime.”

He shot her a sickeningly sweet, but ultimately feigned, smile to which she responded by sending her eyes skyward as she reached across the table for a custard cream.

“So, how's your love life Heidi?” Nate asked, ripping a dry bread roll into smaller than necessary pieces before placing them into his mouth one by one. For some reason, one which I don’t quite know myself, he asks a different one of us that very same question each week. Last time it was my turn to be quizzed though he insisted that drooling over a life sized poster of the new Wimbourne Wasps seeker - Damien Amore - didn’t count and told me that I was probably sexually deprived.

I was too proud to admit that I agreed with him.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I stared at Britney McLaggen’s boobs if that counts?”

Crystal choked on her mouthful of coffee, clearly not expecting that response, “if that wasn't a little bit funny I would have slapped you for being derogatory.”

“To be fair, they're so in your face that you cant really not look at them.” Each of us hummed in agreement with varying degrees of nodding. As much as I hated to admit it, since he was objectifying her, he was right.

“Well to answer your question she’s slept with three different guys since you last asked her, and one of them was ji-”

Stella let out a shrill screech as Heidi stamped down on her foot with force, stopping her mid-sentence, exactly as intended. Heidi looked triumphant as she went back to picking at the mountain of eggs that remained on her plate as the darker skinned girl rubbed her injured foot discontentedly, all of us falling into a comfortable silence. With Stella and Heidi being our group’s two loudest personalities - unless you count Ray during one of her outbursts - little spats like this one were far from uncommon and in fact happened on a daily basis so we thought nothing of it. Nate, on the other hand, wasn’t around us nearly as often so misread the silence for tension and decided to attempt to break it, “well I’ve slept with loads of girls.”

Crystal finally tore her eyes away from the article she was reading; she neatly closed the newspaper placing it next to her as she leaned across the table, arms folded, preparing to rip Nate’s lie to shreds, “really, and who may those ‘loads of girls’ be?”

“Becky Mortar,” he gestured behind him to where the dark haired Slytherin in question sat, “Ally Ness,” this time he nodded towards a blonde girl that was sat at the Ravenclaw table, “Amanda Hocking -”

“Isn’t she a second year?”

Crystal looked horrified and, considering Amanda is actually a seventh year Gryffindor, it took me a while to click onto what she was doing. Once I realised, I quickly mirrored her facial expression and nodded in agreement, “she’s like, thirteen.”

His face paled considerably.

“Wait what - no no no - I didn’t -”

“I’m joking,” Crystal smiled wryly, “you really need to work on your lies.”

Nate breathed a hefty sigh of relief and sent the two of us a downright murderous glare.

See, you need to start with something believable,” she began to explain, despite his grumbled protests, “you sleeping around? Not ever going to happen.”

“Will power can only do so much,” I added, not even trying to hide my smile. The one he sent the both of us in return was far from genuine, especially considering the fact that he had simultaneously given us the middle finger. Laughing, I went back cutting up my bacon as the conversation lapsed back into friendly chatter.

“So I heard about you and potter yesterday,” Nate stated seconds later in a somewhat belated attempt to change the subject. In doing so he’d brought up perhaps the single topic I wanted to avoid.

“Well so has the entire school apparently.”

“He needed to be put in his place,” Stella said which prompted a chorus of agreements.

“You should slip some billywig venom in his pumpkin juice when he’s not looking,” Nate suggested, pulling a tiny vial of fluorescent liquid from his trouser pocket, “that will certainly wake the fucker up.”

Initially I thought he was joking though the mischievous glint in his eyes said otherwise. Nate Westerfell, Hufflepuff’s resident trickster and one half of our quidditch team’s beating duo, was up for just about anything as long as it could be considered somewhat fun but he rarely thought about the consequences his actions held. Hence why he’d accumulated nearly three hundred detentions so far and had been suspended from playing quidditch on two separate occasions much to Dylan’s dismay.

He was actually almost thrown off the team last year by our ex-captain until she realised that his replacement had about as much hand-eye-coordination as our not-so-dearly-but-most-certainly-departed professor Slughorn and let him rejoin.

“Language Nate, first years,” Maisie chastised, gesturing towards the group of boys that were sat next to us, “they’re only children.”

The smallest of the group, height-wise at least as he was a little on the plump side, spun around in his seat to face her, determination in his eyes, “oi, who the fuck are you calling a child?”

She looked slightly taken aback.

“How old are you, like seven?” Ray turned on the boy with such vigour that he stopped dead in his seat, face paling noticeably, “if you talk to my friend like that again I will pour this fucking coffee over your head.”

She grabbed the nearest cup to her, holding it up in a threatening manner, and in that moment, I didn’t doubt that she would actually do it if nobody stopped her.

“Hey no,” Crystal’s attention left the news article for a second time as she grabbed the mug of coffee from Ray’s hand, spilling some as she did so, and placed it back down in front of her, “throw your own coffee at him.”

Before Ray could hunt down the nearest scalding hot latte to taunt him with, the boy made the cowardly but ultimately wise decision to bolt out of the hall to avoid any potential first degree burns. She glared at his retreating figure until he’d left the room before turning back to the group of us, “what were we talking about again?” The anger left her voice almost as quickly as it had arrived, “Clary spiking Potter’s drink?”

“I’ll pass thanks,” I mumbled through a mouthful of cereal. The last thing I wanted to do was aggravate an already unfavourable situation, “what about you Stella?”

She looked at me thoughtfully for a few seconds before answering, “no, I may not be sharpest wand in the shop but neither am I completely stupid.”

“Well.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You thought taxidermy was another name for tax affairs.”

Sometimes I forget how truly supportive of one another we are.

“It’s not my fault that muggles can’t come up with better names for stuffing dead animals,” she tried to defend herself from the onslaught of disagreement. I never actually admitted that I thought it meant the same thing for a fair few years when I was younger.

“If she drugs Potter he’ll set his army of angry redheaded blood relatives on her with pitchforks and poorly articulated hate speeches,” Ray spoke up for the first time in a few minutes, “that Rose Weasley can throw a surprisingly good stinging jinx if the situation calls for it.”

I felt like there was most likely a story behind that statement which, knowing Ray, probably involved a large amount of unnecessary insults followed by a variety of ill-intended hexes. Before I could ask her about it, a fluttering of pages filled the hall and the sound of chatter dimmed slightly as people's attention turned towards the main doors.

That sound could only mean one thing.

The Hogwarts Heroin.

And presumably my subsequent downfall.

I let out a loud groan as a few hundred copies of the school newspaper flew through the entrance, nearly bowling over a particularly small ravenclaw, before arranging themselves in neat piles at equal intervals down each house table. As the gossip-starved lower years scrabbled for a copy of the paper like their lives depended on it, I slowly began to sink down in my seat with about as much finesse as anyone who was making this much of a fool of themselves possibly could. By the time the papers had reached us, my head was almost completely under the table so all that could be seen was a slightly ominous looking tuft of blonde hair poking up from behind a plate of bacon. A few seconds had passed and I was comfortably sat under the Hufflepuff table, away from prying eyes and surrounded by my friends feet, without anyone even noticing. I don’t think I’d ever been more thankful for Maisie putting freshening charms on all of our shoes a few months ago otherwise I’d be surrounded by the smell of foot sweat and grime and I dare say that isn’t all that pleasant.

“Where the hell did Clary go?”

Nate’s foot swung out sharply, as he went to cross his legs, and kicked me right in the shin eliciting a small yelp which all but answered Heidi’s question. Moments later, a torrent of loose black curls appeared under the table followed by Stella’s head, “you okay down there?”

“How bad is it?”

She gestured for me to move along and make space on the floor as she joined me in my new hiding spot, bringing a copy of the heroin down with her. She got herself as comfortable as she could on the hard stone tiles, crossing her legs and ducking her head a little so she didn’t hit it, before unfolding the paper and placing it in her lap. About two thirds of the front page was filled with a photo of me and Albus dueling in the potion’s corridor, the crowds watching on in excitement. I stared at the picture, smiling slightly as I extended my wand in his direction a small jet of light repeatedly shooting from the tip as the photograph looped.

Fortunately, my back was turned to the camera in favour of seeing Albus’ face.

Unfortunately, I was wearing my Hufflepuff Hoodie which therefore narrowed to about a quarter of the female population of Hogwarts.

Oh and the headline had my name in it, that didn’t help.

“Clary Wilde lives up to surname as she viciously attacks Albus Potter,” Stella read it aloud as if it would make it any better. She turned to me expectantly, trying to read my expression to gauge a reaction.

I guess I’m going to have to say something.

“Could have been more inventive,” I sighed deeply, “I’m actually a little disappointed.”

“How about,” she paused for a moment to think, “crazed Hufflepuff slaughters narcissistic wanker?”

“Much more accurate.”


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So far, the day had passed by with little deviation from the norm, save for the few weary stares I received, as I was making my way to first lesson, from a group of first years who had been present in the crowd during yesterdays altercation. I gave them a smile in the hope to reassure them that I was not just some crazed Hufflepuff and that I’m actually a decent person but I think I just scared them even more since they seemed to cower away slightly. What annoyed me more than anything, was the fact that people seemed to believe that this was some sort of unprovoked attack when in actuality I was saving some small child from little Potter’s wrath.

They should be brandishing me a hero, not a lunatic.

Though right now, I didn’t think I wanted either.

Anonymity would be good.

Muggle studies was my first lesson of the day, which was made only slightly more interesting by the fact that Stella, despite her family being the reformed sort of purebloods, could barely tell the difference between a CD player and a television and was therefore getting incredibly confused when the copy of ‘Queen: Greatest Hits’ wasn’t doing much as she shoved it repeatedly into the DVD player. That was followed by a considerably more relaxed double potions lesson with all of the girls, well, it was relaxed until a particularly angry looking Rose Weasley threw an entire cauldron of hair colouring potion over Scorpius Malfoy who then proceeded to hex her in retaliation. So both of them trailed to the hospital wing - Scorpius with his green hair and pink eyebrows, and Rose with her newly formed but surprisingly cute cat ears - arguing the entire way.

As I’d managed to avoid all the main hoards of gossip crazed students, I was having a lovely average morning devoid of most drama and bavardage, I’d even managed to crawl out from under the breakfast table this morning without anyone noticing. However, that all changed on my way to lunch when a certain green eyed halfwit apprehended me in the potions corridor and dragged me unwillingly into the nearest empty classroom.

“Potter, I’m sure you’re used to girls being delighted when you drag them into dingy old chambers,” I taunted as he pulled me further into the space, closing the door behind us, “I, on the other hand, will issue a restraining order if you don’t let go of me in five, four, three, two…”

He released his grip on my arm.

“You can’t do that.”

“I have an uncle who’s pretty high up in magical law enforcement.”

“So you can do that,” he cocked his head subconsciously, looking at me for a few more seconds with a thoughtful expression, “but you won’t.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong.

Although I had great fun hexing his arse down the potions corridor yesterday, and considerably less fun dealing with the consequences of that today, there was no way I was going to get the law involved in some small secondary school arguement. He took a step towards me and I pulled my wand from my inside pocket with a credible amount of speed.

“Woah woah,” he walked backwards again with his hands up in surrender, an amused smile playing on his lips, “aren’t you a little hex happy.”

He laughed.

He actually laughed.

“Last time I checked the saying was trigger happy.”

“Last time I checked wands didn’t have triggers.”

No, they didn’t. But guns do and I have faith enough in my magical abilities to say that I’m pretty sure I could transfigure the cauldron on the desk next to me into one if he continues to annoy me. Not that I would actually shoot it of course, I’d probably just wave it threateningly and hope he’d get the picture.

“Are you going to keep pointing that at me,” he gestured towards my outstretched wand.

“Yes.”

“Merlin, you’re stubborn.”

I guess you could say I am stubborn but I’m also hungry and I don’t take kindly to kidnapping or, if I’m being slightly less melodramatic, getting dragged into rooms against my will. Right now, down in the great hall, I’m pretty sure that there's a slice of chicken pie with my name written all over it and if I find out that some greedy first year has eaten it before I get there, I’ll tell Ray that Albus was bad mouthing her and then watch him fight for his life.

“But that’s not what I'm here to talk about,” he continued, “so yesterday -”

“- you’re pissed off,” I spoke over him before he could finish his sentence.

“Of course,” he said as expected, “but I’m willing to put it all aside.”

You what?

I didn’t believe it.

Not one bit.

This was probably just some half-assed plan to trick me into putting my guard down so that he can strangle me in my sleep and throw my lifeless body into the black lake to make it look like an accidental drowning.

Could he kill someone?

I looked at him closely, as if it would actually help me figure it out.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I’m trying to work out if you’re above murder.”

What?” he looked both shocked and a little confused, “actually, forget it, I don’t want to know, just listen. Yes I’m fucking angry but you thought you were doing the right thing so let’s just put it all behind us.”

The urge to hit that smug expression off of his face overwhelmed me.

“Would you mind repeating that,” I deadpanned, “I’m sorry, it’s just it sounded like you said that I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Erm yes,” he looked at me like I was stupid. I’d have him know that I got O’s in almost all my essays last year. The only reason I got a T in that care of magical creatures practical was because I hexed a niffler - nothing dangerous or painful of course - since it stole my earrings.

They were probably the only nice pair I had since they weren’t from Primark.

“I did not think I was doing the right thing,” the frustration was seeping into my voice, “I was doing the right thing.”

“Yeah of course you were.”

“Oh really so you weren’t going to hex that poor -”

“- you had no clue what was going -”

“- attack a small child -”

“- could’ve killed me -”

“- wish I had -”

“- you attacked me -”

“- perfect hex -”

“- stole something -”

“- was like twelve -”

“- fucking kidding me -”

“- bruised your ego -”

“OKAY OKAY ENOUGH,” he shouted, abruptly ending our war of words, “I came here to try and call some sort of truce or whatever so we don’t try and kill each other.”

I folded my arms across my chest and stared him down.

“Look,” he extended his right arm towards me, “I won't hex you unnecessarily.”

Unmoving, I continued to stare blankly.

That ‘unnecessarily’ sounded a little too much like an escape clause to me.

I don’t trust people with escape clauses.

Actually I just don't trust people in general.

“Shake my goddamn hand Wilde.”

“Fine,” I said harshly before reaching out to grasp it, shaking much harder than I needed to, “I’ll try and resist the temptation to push you down the seventh floor staircase while it’s moving.”

He rolled his eyes in a way that said ‘Jesus Christ, she’s a nightmare’ as I made a beeline for the door before he could say anything else. Despite not believing him, I’d stay true to our little truce of sorts for the sake of peace but if he broke it I would drop kick his pretty face so hard that he’d be barely recognisable until the swelling and bruising went down.


⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱


It was just me and Heidi left in the dormitory after dinner.

Maisie was off spending a little time with the Potter and Weasley clan, which she considered to be something of an extended family, as Stella had convinced her to try get the dirt on Albus. Crystal was out running since she was the only one in this dormitory who didn’t shudder at the thought of physical exercise, Ray was probably busy insulting some small children and Constance, well that girl is just a bit of a mystery.

“I’ve just eaten two entire share bags of vanilla chocoballs,” I moaned, dragging myself out of bed to put the paper bags in the bin since I’d left my wand in my jacket pocket which was at the other side of the room, “I don’t know whether to feel sick or proud.”

“As long as you don't throw up on me I honestly don’t care,” Heidi deadpanned, not even looking up from the potions essay she was writing.

The door opened a few minutes later with a gentle click, as Crystal walked into the room, her hair madly dishevelled from half an hour of running with her brother. Besides that, she was practically glowing, her breathing was only slightly heavier than normal as she pulled off her trainers and flopped onto the bed with the ease of someone who did so often. Despite being on the Hufflepuff quidditch team, I still got all sweaty and breathless just from the walk up to the divination classroom, I think that’s half the reason I dropped it as soon as I was given the chance.

“Nice run?” I asked, thankful for the arrival of someone who could actually hold a decent conversation. Heidi was in one of her unwarranted bitchy moods, which seemed to be something of a constant state for her at the moment, so it was nice to have someone relatively normal to talk to.

“Good actually,” she smiled, letting out a long breath, “one of these days I’m going to drag you out with us.”

That would be against both of our best interests, I’d likely pass out within the first ten minutes and she’d have to drag my unconscious body through the mud and into the hospital wing where she would be subject to the wrath of Madame Caine. Knowing Crystal she’d probably see it as some sort of strange workout routine.

“The day you decide to do that is the day I decide to stop being your friend,” I replied with only a little sarcasm. Next thing you know, Dylan will be offering me one of his ghastly protein shakes and I’ll have to find a more suitable means of disposing it than pouring in the nearest plant pot because I think I killed poor Timothy Thompson’s fanged geranium last time I did that.

He ran to the herbology teacher, Professor Longbottom, in tears.

“You better be trying out for the team tomorrow,” I told Crystal, not ready to take no for an answer. I would gladly drag her down to the quidditch pitch at the crack of dawn and superglue her to one of the broomsticks. She has been wanting to play seeker for years but that place was taken by Josh who has thankfully now graduated.

“Of course.”

“Good,” I smiled.

If I was going to have to put up with all the small children, I definitely needed moral support.
 





A/N: Hey guys, I'm back with another chapter and it's reasonably long too :)

Hope you enjoy!

It would really make me happy if you could leave a review.

















Twilight belongs to Meyer not me.

















~ Charlie ~

 












 


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