(no subject)
This is dedicated to the lovely belle_rayma, who was the original inspiration for this ship in the first place. Yes, as in, before OoTP, before this all blew to such proportions :P Go and blame her. It's totally all her fault!
Title: Prerogative
Pairing: A/M
Rating: PG-13 (yes, it's my rating du jour)
Summary: Prerogative: (n) An exclusive or special right, power, or privilege. Perhaps he has no right to be possessive about her, but he is.
It had been the last thing that she expected when Grant Cadwallader made an off-colour comment about her friendship with the Weasley twins that any Slytherin-- but especially THAT one, would defend her.
The afternoon had started as normal, really, as she sat together with Fred and George, trying to get them to study for some of the things that were bound to be on their NEWTs, a few muttered curses about Umbridge, and studious avoidance of the persistent Hufflepuff Chaser's attentions. Fred and George had not stayed long, but Cadwallader didn't seem to get the message even after an hour of blatantly ignoring his presence.
It was starting to get dark when the big Hufflepuff, fed up with her indifference, had muttered something decidedly uncomplimentary and speculative about her friendship with Fred and George. And before Angelina could shout something in outrage, the bloke went down like a felled tree as a hex hit his back from behind.
Cadwallader stumbled to his feet, enraged, and would have launched at the newcomer were it not for the fact that the newcomer coolly hit the Hufflepuff with a Stunning spell before Cadwallader could turn around, and when Cadwallader hit the ground, Angelina's eyes widened in shock at her heroic rescuer.
It was unmistakably him... from the pristine white Oxford to the blazing blue eyes, and it was the height of irony that he was fighting on HER behalf. The hated enemy, with his inscrutable face, turned coolly towards her, tucking his wand into a pocket of his perfectly pressed trousers as though nothing was unusual about him taking up her defense.
"You hexed him behind his back," Angelina whispered, her eyes wide.
"If he would've had the civility of turning around and away from you, I would have hexed him to his face," Montague remarked in a tone of complete sangfroid.
Angelina watched as the Slytherin kicked her harasser over and onto his back, lip curling in contempt as he surveyed Cadwallader's face. The Hufflepuff Chaser's nose was bloody from its abrupt contact with the ground. Montague glowered at his unmoving fellow student, looking as though he wanted to spit in Cadwallader's face.
But he simply left the Hufflepuff lying there and turned to go.
"Wait."
Angelina spoke before she quite knew why, and he paused, turning around to face her, his face still unreadable.
"Why? Why did you do that?" she asked softly, her brow furrowed in confusion. "You hate me. I hate you, even." Her voice hardened as she all but glared at him. "And you're hardly the knight in shining armour to defend a lady's honour type."
He shrugged, somehow making the gesture seem regal, and his voice was no less haughty than ever when he made his reply. "He was belittling you, questioning your integrity. It's an insult and a hurt... and he's not allowed."
"So YOU get to decide who can and can't hurt me, hmm?" she scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest.
The Gryffindor sense of righteous indignation was rising in her chest, but he waved a hand and replied before she could become truly angry. "There are some lines that even I don't cross. I shan't watch him presume. And you're not his to insult." His voice was icily possessive, and Angelina felt a strange shiver racing up her spine.
And then he was stalking away, a figure of sullen, stately hauteur, leaving her seated there, silhouetted against a dusky sky, the unmoving form of Cadwallader still lying on the ground.
She got up on slightly shaky legs and made her way back to the castle, her mind in a bit of a muddle, glimpses of vaguely troubling memories flitting through.
She hadn't let anyone else hurt her in the last three years. What did that say about her?
Title: Prerogative
Pairing: A/M
Rating: PG-13 (yes, it's my rating du jour)
Summary: Prerogative: (n) An exclusive or special right, power, or privilege. Perhaps he has no right to be possessive about her, but he is.
It had been the last thing that she expected when Grant Cadwallader made an off-colour comment about her friendship with the Weasley twins that any Slytherin-- but especially THAT one, would defend her.
The afternoon had started as normal, really, as she sat together with Fred and George, trying to get them to study for some of the things that were bound to be on their NEWTs, a few muttered curses about Umbridge, and studious avoidance of the persistent Hufflepuff Chaser's attentions. Fred and George had not stayed long, but Cadwallader didn't seem to get the message even after an hour of blatantly ignoring his presence.
It was starting to get dark when the big Hufflepuff, fed up with her indifference, had muttered something decidedly uncomplimentary and speculative about her friendship with Fred and George. And before Angelina could shout something in outrage, the bloke went down like a felled tree as a hex hit his back from behind.
Cadwallader stumbled to his feet, enraged, and would have launched at the newcomer were it not for the fact that the newcomer coolly hit the Hufflepuff with a Stunning spell before Cadwallader could turn around, and when Cadwallader hit the ground, Angelina's eyes widened in shock at her heroic rescuer.
It was unmistakably him... from the pristine white Oxford to the blazing blue eyes, and it was the height of irony that he was fighting on HER behalf. The hated enemy, with his inscrutable face, turned coolly towards her, tucking his wand into a pocket of his perfectly pressed trousers as though nothing was unusual about him taking up her defense.
"You hexed him behind his back," Angelina whispered, her eyes wide.
"If he would've had the civility of turning around and away from you, I would have hexed him to his face," Montague remarked in a tone of complete sangfroid.
Angelina watched as the Slytherin kicked her harasser over and onto his back, lip curling in contempt as he surveyed Cadwallader's face. The Hufflepuff Chaser's nose was bloody from its abrupt contact with the ground. Montague glowered at his unmoving fellow student, looking as though he wanted to spit in Cadwallader's face.
But he simply left the Hufflepuff lying there and turned to go.
"Wait."
Angelina spoke before she quite knew why, and he paused, turning around to face her, his face still unreadable.
"Why? Why did you do that?" she asked softly, her brow furrowed in confusion. "You hate me. I hate you, even." Her voice hardened as she all but glared at him. "And you're hardly the knight in shining armour to defend a lady's honour type."
He shrugged, somehow making the gesture seem regal, and his voice was no less haughty than ever when he made his reply. "He was belittling you, questioning your integrity. It's an insult and a hurt... and he's not allowed."
"So YOU get to decide who can and can't hurt me, hmm?" she scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest.
The Gryffindor sense of righteous indignation was rising in her chest, but he waved a hand and replied before she could become truly angry. "There are some lines that even I don't cross. I shan't watch him presume. And you're not his to insult." His voice was icily possessive, and Angelina felt a strange shiver racing up her spine.
And then he was stalking away, a figure of sullen, stately hauteur, leaving her seated there, silhouetted against a dusky sky, the unmoving form of Cadwallader still lying on the ground.
She got up on slightly shaky legs and made her way back to the castle, her mind in a bit of a muddle, glimpses of vaguely troubling memories flitting through.
She hadn't let anyone else hurt her in the last three years. What did that say about her?