HP: What I Might Need First Draft 1/2
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Marcus/Pucey, Pucey/Higgs, Marcus/Percy
Rating: um... PG-13?
Word Count: 4568
Warnings: crass language and sexual innuendo
Author's Note: This was the original draft for What I Might Need. Obviously, I scrapped it. (Four years ago.)
Disclaimer: HP belongs to JKR and WB.
Summary: Marcus is somewhat of a loose cannon.
The way it almost went
-----
Damn Dumbledore. Damn him to hell and back and then hell again. The manipulative bastard.
I had voices in my head, I got it, alright! I was mad, a loony! I was not some toy to be used and discarded at will. So the voices are real, but I was not some plaything.
Bastard.
“Mr. Flint, do not sulk. This is going to occur despite all the sulking you can squeeze in on the way,” Snape said silkily.
“I enjoy sulking,” I told him plainly. “Can I go back to being insane now?” I asked hopefully.
Snape glared at me shrewdly and didn’t answer.
You will die!
I clasped my hands over my ears, flinching at the raw hatred and abruptness of the thought.
“Where, Mr. Flint?” Snape asked, not unkindly.
“Uh…”
Very painfully. Merlin, I hate you! It was close, probably in the dungeons.
“The dungeons?” I asked.
“Are you telling me or asking me?” Snape raised his eyebrows.
“Asking you,” I stated. “Did you not hear the question mark?”
“I did; however, you need to figure it out yourself.”
Bastard.
I’ll push you off the tower before you even turn around.
“The astronomy tower?” I blinked. That’s so far away. “But the thoughts are so loud.”
Snape opened the door to his office and shut it behind us before answering.
“One cannot measure distance by volume.”
“Oh.”
He ruffled through a file drawer and handed me a few scrolls. “These are your exercises. Keep them from your housemates. Use a concealment charm or obliviate if you must.”
I looked at the papers, shuffling them around. One had a cross-section of a brain on it.
Ace.
---Three Years Later---
“Has your father gone nutters?!” Montegue screams. I can hear his all the way down in my dormitory. What a nice thing to wake up to.
“He bollocksed up, but this is much better. We can be rid of a Weasley.” That squeaky drawl can only belong to that little shite Malfoy.
Which Weasley, hm?
If it’s Percy, I’ll kill both Malfoys. Unforgivables, my arse.
“The girl will never suspect a thin, and neither will anyone else. It’s more clever.” Cleverer, you twat. “This way, everyone expects Potter to be targeted,” Malfoy explains hastily. I imagine Montegue is puffing up like a bullfrog to try to intimidate Malfoy.
The girl Weasley, not Percy. I’m sure he’d be interested anyway.
----
“I found it while Mum and Dad were out.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No, not even Percy. He’s closest to me.”
“Not even your Dad?”
“Least of all my Dad.”
“Don’t you want him to know that you know?”
“No. If I say anything, someone might overhear and tell Mum… I don’t want Mum to leave. Selfish. Merlin, I’m selfish.”
“I’m glad you trusted me, Ginny.”
“Thank you for being here, Tom.”
I curl my lip in disgust. Could the naïve li’l Gryff know that the diary essence of Tom Riddle was pouring out false sentiment. It’s to the point of sarcasm. And the cow doesn’t even notice.
Girls. I’ll never understand them.
Damn good thing I’ll never have to.
“Mr. Flint!” McGonagall barks. Meow, meow. She doesn’t know that I know but Severus does.
She does know that I wasn’t paying attention in her class.
“Yes?” I drawl.
“The answer,” she glowers impatiently.
Twenty minutes.
Twenty.
Twenty minutes.
“Twenty minutes.” Take that, bitch.
“Correct.” She purses her lips.
How dreadful. A Slytherin not paying attention gets an answer right. What is the world coming to?
I raise my eyebrows at her triumphantly.
“Detention, Mr. Flint. Tonight at 8.”
Pucey sputters with anger.
I shoot him a glare to stop and he does.
“Professor, I have class at that time. With Professor Snape.”
She narrows her gaze dangerously. Her pupils don’t split. Must be a Weasley thing. “I’m sure that Professor Snape would be willing to postpone the class for an evening for disciplinary reasons.”
I glare at her.
“It’s important,” I argue as the bell rings.
“A point from Slytherin.”
All the students file out, except for Pucey, who lingers in the back waiting for me.
I incline my head, signaling for him to head out without me. He shakes his head, pointing to the doorway and leaves.
“Fine, I’ll serve the sodding detention.”
“Language, Mr. Flint.”
I sneer at her and leave.
“I can’t believe she gave you’re a detention for getting the answer right,” Pucey gripes.
“Well, she did,” I snap back.
Now I have two things to tell Weasley.
---
“Your eyes,” I hiss.
“My eyes have nothing to do with it,” he growls back. His pupils spilt.
“They have everything to do with it,” I bite out.
“No!” he shouts before he catches himself and slaps a hand over his mouth.
“I was only wondering if you saw everything in purple,” I shrug, staring him down.
“Violet,” he corrects, very standoffishly.
“Violet,” I repeat lazily.
“You don’t see everything in brown - ”
“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Flint, please stay after class,” Snape orders.
Wood shoots Weasley a sympathetic look.
Oh dear, the nasty Slytherin befouls the hapless Gryff.
Weasley groans. A prefect? In trouble? How dare I!
The bell rings.
Weasley stays in his chair and sulks.
Once everyone is gone, Snape starts, “Mr. Weasley, why do you find it necessary to interrupt my class?”
Weasley flushes but doesn’t answer.
Ha!
“Mr. Flint, why do you feel the need to goad Mr. Weasley?”
Because it’s so fun.
Fun or not, keep it on your own time.
“Yes, sir,” I say, not too sarcastically.
“Two points from each house.”
Weasley’s face reddens, but he doesn’t say anything.
“You two are free to go, but, Mr. Flint, I expect you to be here at 8 o’clock tonight, no later. I will not have a repeat of yesterday.”
Weasley looks triumphant as he scampers off.
It’s not detention, you arse.
“I’ll be there.”
---
“Flint, what the hell is wrong with you?” Pucey demands when I return to the common room.
“What the fuck do you mean?” I ask without much conviction.
“You’re getting into trouble left and right. Don’t you want to graduate?”
“I’m not going to graduate this year,” I snap. I go downstairs to my dorm and am settled on my bed doing Snape work before Pucey joins me.
“I didn’t know,” he says gently, sitting down at the foot of my bed.
“That’s because I didn’t tell you,” I respond stonily.
“I wish you would have.” I’ve hurt him. Guilty Pucey. Intriguing. “So what went wrong? I thought you would take extra classes with Snape and be able to graduate.” He bounces back quickly.
“I lied.”
“That really sucks.”
“Yes. Yes, it does.”
There is a pause in which I go back to my Snape work. Pucey repositions himself behind me so that he’s looking over my shoulder. He found out about my Snape work at the beginning of last year, but he’s my mate, so I didn’t see much to worry about.
“What will you ever do without me?” he whispers hotly into my neck.
“I do believe you mean ‘who,’” I growl.
“Hmm… that too.” He sinks his teeth into my neck and sucks.
I relax and allow him to kiss and lick his way down my neck.
I will miss this.
“Weasley.”
He wrenches his lips off my neck, leaving it cold. I groan.
“I believe you’ve gone mad. I’m Pucey.”
“Weasley. I’ll bugger him when you’ve gone.”
“Is that so?” he laughs, draping his arms over my shoulders, running his fingers over my pecs.
“Yes, it is.”
“We’re talking about the same Weasley, right?”
“Red hair, glasses, stick shoved way too far up his arse.”
“Yup. Same one. Good luck.”
I turn to look at him… The smirk on his face could light the entire dungeon.
“You doubt my appeal?”
“Flint, you have no appeal.” Sarcastic, but true.
“True, true, but you’re still here,” I point out.
“That has nothing to do with appeal and everything to do with great sex.” He bites my lower lip.
“I’ll just have to convince him I’m a Sex God.”
“A virgin would never believe that,” he scoffs, moving his hand from my chest to my waist.
I lick my lips and taste blood.
“True, that.” I kiss him fully and brutally. “You’re right. I have no idea what to do when you’re gone. Right now, though, I have work.”
“Can’t it wait?” he whines. That malicious hand dips from my waist to between my legs.
“No.” I remove his hand.
“Bastard.” Leaving me randy.
“You’re right. Go find Higgs.”
“Higgs?” he squeaks.
“That’s what I said,” I drawl. “Now, I need to concentrate.”
“But Higgs is such a cunt; I need you,” he complains.
“Not now, I need to focus.”
“Flint!” Merlin, I’m so randy!
I don’t answer.
Jealousy, then. He growls in frustration but leaves.
…Now I’m randy as well.
I shift from arse cheek to cheek uncomfortably, unable to focus on which neurons to tap into. With a sigh, I dump the papers under my bed along with a concealment charm and run after Pucey.
He’s hanging all over Higgs’s chair with a lopsided grin on his face. Higgs looks traumatized: too bad he’s straight.
Goawaygoawaygoawaygoawaygoawaygoaway!!!
Pucey looks up at me, his grin still in place. I raise my eyebrows in invitation, and his grin grows as he bounds over to me, childlike.
Higgs breathes a sigh of relief as I wrap an arm around Pucey’s waist, leading him down to our dorm room.
---
“Mr. Flint, why have you neglected your exercises?”
“You can’t honestly expect me to answer that?”
“Rutting instead of doing your work.” He’s disappointed. “Of course I’m disappointed. You are not remotely close to blocking your own thoughts. You ought to be picking up deep, dark secrets by now. It’s been three years, Mr. Flint.”
“I never asked for this shite,” I shout.
Duty.
Shame.
Fear. Inadequate.
UnderstandingtrustfeartruthshameknowledgeDutyLifeFateInescapableWorthDestinyWit HELPLESSDESPAREENLIGHTENMENTREPRESSION!DIGNITY!REVENGE -
PAIN.
“Stop!” I bellow.
“If,” he says neutrally, “you had been studying, you would have been able to block that.”
“True,” I drawl. “I believe that is the point of studying.”
His eyes challenge me.
I raise my eyebrows in return.
“Mr. Flint, allow me to recall a tale for you. Once upon a time,” he starts sarcastically, “there was a little freckled redhead without a knut to his name. His issues ran far deeper than his empty pockets, but he did not share his secrets with anyone but the voices in his head and his… obsessive roommate.”
“So I beat Wood shiteless,” I supply.
“The voices in his head were real, just as real as the voices in your head.”
“There is no way I’m going to do this to be like Weasley,’ I growl.
“I never said that. If you hadn’t been so keen on jumping to your own conclusions you would have heard the part where you can tap into his mind, make him think what you want him to think, find his secrets and play them. You might even possess enough power to make him beg you to…” Snape pauses then sneers distastefully, “bugger him.”
Hmm… Weasley arse.
“Fuck,” I announce. “I can’t believe you just - ”
He smirks.
“Sodding mind games… Teach me. You should have three bloody years ago, instead of mindless drivel.”
His smirk fades, and he glares again.
---
I love pumpkin pasties. I never get them at home. Christ, my mother doesn’t even know what the hell they are. I’m halfway through my… I lost count after a dozen - pumpkin pasty when Higgs punches me.
Anger.
It hurts and will probably bruise but not as much as if Warrington had done it.
“What the fuck was that for?” I yell, spraying bits of pasty onto the table.
A hush falls over the hall.
I stand up, towering over him. He’s not intimidated, though.
“Keep your sodding toys away from me!”
I cackle. “Higgs, this game has nothing to do with you or your finely sculpted arse, so don’t flatter yourself,” I respond blandly.
Pucey sniggers behind me.
“This isn’t a game, Flint.”
“It’s all a game.”
Neither of us will back down now, not in front of the entire school.
“Duel. Ten tonight. Charms - ” -ology “ - corridor,” he clips.
“Pucey’s my second,” I smirk.
Higgs curls his lip in disgust.
I raise my eyebrows mockingly.
Pucey rises and smirks. Higgs arse: the finest, nothing less.
“Warrington’s my second.”
I wave dismissively to Pucey and sit back down, and it makes Higgs look foolish.
---
“What a prat!” Pucey bemoans. “He announced - to the entire school - where and when you two were going to break the rules.”
“Stuff it, Pucey. You’re not a prefect anymore.”
“Yeah, Higgs is.”
“He’s not going to show, at least not there. We’ll meet him someplace else.”
“Did I miss that part of the conversation?”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s the problem: you’re not.”
I ignore that. “He’s not too good at Charms.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“He’s best at Herbology.”
“Greenhouse?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“When did you start flirting with him?”
“Fifth year.”
“Twelve.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He let something slip.”
“Sure. But there’s something I need first.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“You know.”
“You’re right, but I’m not in the mood. Go find Higgs.” I laugh at the irony.
Part Two
Pairing: Marcus/Pucey, Pucey/Higgs, Marcus/Percy
Rating: um... PG-13?
Word Count: 4568
Warnings: crass language and sexual innuendo
Author's Note: This was the original draft for What I Might Need. Obviously, I scrapped it. (Four years ago.)
Disclaimer: HP belongs to JKR and WB.
Summary: Marcus is somewhat of a loose cannon.
The way it almost went
-----
Damn Dumbledore. Damn him to hell and back and then hell again. The manipulative bastard.
I had voices in my head, I got it, alright! I was mad, a loony! I was not some toy to be used and discarded at will. So the voices are real, but I was not some plaything.
Bastard.
“Mr. Flint, do not sulk. This is going to occur despite all the sulking you can squeeze in on the way,” Snape said silkily.
“I enjoy sulking,” I told him plainly. “Can I go back to being insane now?” I asked hopefully.
Snape glared at me shrewdly and didn’t answer.
You will die!
I clasped my hands over my ears, flinching at the raw hatred and abruptness of the thought.
“Where, Mr. Flint?” Snape asked, not unkindly.
“Uh…”
Very painfully. Merlin, I hate you! It was close, probably in the dungeons.
“The dungeons?” I asked.
“Are you telling me or asking me?” Snape raised his eyebrows.
“Asking you,” I stated. “Did you not hear the question mark?”
“I did; however, you need to figure it out yourself.”
Bastard.
I’ll push you off the tower before you even turn around.
“The astronomy tower?” I blinked. That’s so far away. “But the thoughts are so loud.”
Snape opened the door to his office and shut it behind us before answering.
“One cannot measure distance by volume.”
“Oh.”
He ruffled through a file drawer and handed me a few scrolls. “These are your exercises. Keep them from your housemates. Use a concealment charm or obliviate if you must.”
I looked at the papers, shuffling them around. One had a cross-section of a brain on it.
Ace.
---Three Years Later---
“Has your father gone nutters?!” Montegue screams. I can hear his all the way down in my dormitory. What a nice thing to wake up to.
“He bollocksed up, but this is much better. We can be rid of a Weasley.” That squeaky drawl can only belong to that little shite Malfoy.
Which Weasley, hm?
If it’s Percy, I’ll kill both Malfoys. Unforgivables, my arse.
“The girl will never suspect a thin, and neither will anyone else. It’s more clever.” Cleverer, you twat. “This way, everyone expects Potter to be targeted,” Malfoy explains hastily. I imagine Montegue is puffing up like a bullfrog to try to intimidate Malfoy.
The girl Weasley, not Percy. I’m sure he’d be interested anyway.
----
“I found it while Mum and Dad were out.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No, not even Percy. He’s closest to me.”
“Not even your Dad?”
“Least of all my Dad.”
“Don’t you want him to know that you know?”
“No. If I say anything, someone might overhear and tell Mum… I don’t want Mum to leave. Selfish. Merlin, I’m selfish.”
“I’m glad you trusted me, Ginny.”
“Thank you for being here, Tom.”
I curl my lip in disgust. Could the naïve li’l Gryff know that the diary essence of Tom Riddle was pouring out false sentiment. It’s to the point of sarcasm. And the cow doesn’t even notice.
Girls. I’ll never understand them.
Damn good thing I’ll never have to.
“Mr. Flint!” McGonagall barks. Meow, meow. She doesn’t know that I know but Severus does.
She does know that I wasn’t paying attention in her class.
“Yes?” I drawl.
“The answer,” she glowers impatiently.
Twenty minutes.
Twenty.
Twenty minutes.
“Twenty minutes.” Take that, bitch.
“Correct.” She purses her lips.
How dreadful. A Slytherin not paying attention gets an answer right. What is the world coming to?
I raise my eyebrows at her triumphantly.
“Detention, Mr. Flint. Tonight at 8.”
Pucey sputters with anger.
I shoot him a glare to stop and he does.
“Professor, I have class at that time. With Professor Snape.”
She narrows her gaze dangerously. Her pupils don’t split. Must be a Weasley thing. “I’m sure that Professor Snape would be willing to postpone the class for an evening for disciplinary reasons.”
I glare at her.
“It’s important,” I argue as the bell rings.
“A point from Slytherin.”
All the students file out, except for Pucey, who lingers in the back waiting for me.
I incline my head, signaling for him to head out without me. He shakes his head, pointing to the doorway and leaves.
“Fine, I’ll serve the sodding detention.”
“Language, Mr. Flint.”
I sneer at her and leave.
“I can’t believe she gave you’re a detention for getting the answer right,” Pucey gripes.
“Well, she did,” I snap back.
Now I have two things to tell Weasley.
---
“Your eyes,” I hiss.
“My eyes have nothing to do with it,” he growls back. His pupils spilt.
“They have everything to do with it,” I bite out.
“No!” he shouts before he catches himself and slaps a hand over his mouth.
“I was only wondering if you saw everything in purple,” I shrug, staring him down.
“Violet,” he corrects, very standoffishly.
“Violet,” I repeat lazily.
“You don’t see everything in brown - ”
“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Flint, please stay after class,” Snape orders.
Wood shoots Weasley a sympathetic look.
Oh dear, the nasty Slytherin befouls the hapless Gryff.
Weasley groans. A prefect? In trouble? How dare I!
The bell rings.
Weasley stays in his chair and sulks.
Once everyone is gone, Snape starts, “Mr. Weasley, why do you find it necessary to interrupt my class?”
Weasley flushes but doesn’t answer.
Ha!
“Mr. Flint, why do you feel the need to goad Mr. Weasley?”
Because it’s so fun.
Fun or not, keep it on your own time.
“Yes, sir,” I say, not too sarcastically.
“Two points from each house.”
Weasley’s face reddens, but he doesn’t say anything.
“You two are free to go, but, Mr. Flint, I expect you to be here at 8 o’clock tonight, no later. I will not have a repeat of yesterday.”
Weasley looks triumphant as he scampers off.
It’s not detention, you arse.
“I’ll be there.”
---
“Flint, what the hell is wrong with you?” Pucey demands when I return to the common room.
“What the fuck do you mean?” I ask without much conviction.
“You’re getting into trouble left and right. Don’t you want to graduate?”
“I’m not going to graduate this year,” I snap. I go downstairs to my dorm and am settled on my bed doing Snape work before Pucey joins me.
“I didn’t know,” he says gently, sitting down at the foot of my bed.
“That’s because I didn’t tell you,” I respond stonily.
“I wish you would have.” I’ve hurt him. Guilty Pucey. Intriguing. “So what went wrong? I thought you would take extra classes with Snape and be able to graduate.” He bounces back quickly.
“I lied.”
“That really sucks.”
“Yes. Yes, it does.”
There is a pause in which I go back to my Snape work. Pucey repositions himself behind me so that he’s looking over my shoulder. He found out about my Snape work at the beginning of last year, but he’s my mate, so I didn’t see much to worry about.
“What will you ever do without me?” he whispers hotly into my neck.
“I do believe you mean ‘who,’” I growl.
“Hmm… that too.” He sinks his teeth into my neck and sucks.
I relax and allow him to kiss and lick his way down my neck.
I will miss this.
“Weasley.”
He wrenches his lips off my neck, leaving it cold. I groan.
“I believe you’ve gone mad. I’m Pucey.”
“Weasley. I’ll bugger him when you’ve gone.”
“Is that so?” he laughs, draping his arms over my shoulders, running his fingers over my pecs.
“Yes, it is.”
“We’re talking about the same Weasley, right?”
“Red hair, glasses, stick shoved way too far up his arse.”
“Yup. Same one. Good luck.”
I turn to look at him… The smirk on his face could light the entire dungeon.
“You doubt my appeal?”
“Flint, you have no appeal.” Sarcastic, but true.
“True, true, but you’re still here,” I point out.
“That has nothing to do with appeal and everything to do with great sex.” He bites my lower lip.
“I’ll just have to convince him I’m a Sex God.”
“A virgin would never believe that,” he scoffs, moving his hand from my chest to my waist.
I lick my lips and taste blood.
“True, that.” I kiss him fully and brutally. “You’re right. I have no idea what to do when you’re gone. Right now, though, I have work.”
“Can’t it wait?” he whines. That malicious hand dips from my waist to between my legs.
“No.” I remove his hand.
“Bastard.” Leaving me randy.
“You’re right. Go find Higgs.”
“Higgs?” he squeaks.
“That’s what I said,” I drawl. “Now, I need to concentrate.”
“But Higgs is such a cunt; I need you,” he complains.
“Not now, I need to focus.”
“Flint!” Merlin, I’m so randy!
I don’t answer.
Jealousy, then. He growls in frustration but leaves.
…Now I’m randy as well.
I shift from arse cheek to cheek uncomfortably, unable to focus on which neurons to tap into. With a sigh, I dump the papers under my bed along with a concealment charm and run after Pucey.
He’s hanging all over Higgs’s chair with a lopsided grin on his face. Higgs looks traumatized: too bad he’s straight.
Goawaygoawaygoawaygoawaygoawaygoaway!!!
Pucey looks up at me, his grin still in place. I raise my eyebrows in invitation, and his grin grows as he bounds over to me, childlike.
Higgs breathes a sigh of relief as I wrap an arm around Pucey’s waist, leading him down to our dorm room.
---
“Mr. Flint, why have you neglected your exercises?”
“You can’t honestly expect me to answer that?”
“Rutting instead of doing your work.” He’s disappointed. “Of course I’m disappointed. You are not remotely close to blocking your own thoughts. You ought to be picking up deep, dark secrets by now. It’s been three years, Mr. Flint.”
“I never asked for this shite,” I shout.
Duty.
Shame.
Fear. Inadequate.
UnderstandingtrustfeartruthshameknowledgeDutyLifeFateInescapableWorthDestinyWit HELPLESSDESPAREENLIGHTENMENTREPRESSION!DIGNITY!REVENGE -
PAIN.
“Stop!” I bellow.
“If,” he says neutrally, “you had been studying, you would have been able to block that.”
“True,” I drawl. “I believe that is the point of studying.”
His eyes challenge me.
I raise my eyebrows in return.
“Mr. Flint, allow me to recall a tale for you. Once upon a time,” he starts sarcastically, “there was a little freckled redhead without a knut to his name. His issues ran far deeper than his empty pockets, but he did not share his secrets with anyone but the voices in his head and his… obsessive roommate.”
“So I beat Wood shiteless,” I supply.
“The voices in his head were real, just as real as the voices in your head.”
“There is no way I’m going to do this to be like Weasley,’ I growl.
“I never said that. If you hadn’t been so keen on jumping to your own conclusions you would have heard the part where you can tap into his mind, make him think what you want him to think, find his secrets and play them. You might even possess enough power to make him beg you to…” Snape pauses then sneers distastefully, “bugger him.”
Hmm… Weasley arse.
“Fuck,” I announce. “I can’t believe you just - ”
He smirks.
“Sodding mind games… Teach me. You should have three bloody years ago, instead of mindless drivel.”
His smirk fades, and he glares again.
---
I love pumpkin pasties. I never get them at home. Christ, my mother doesn’t even know what the hell they are. I’m halfway through my… I lost count after a dozen - pumpkin pasty when Higgs punches me.
Anger.
It hurts and will probably bruise but not as much as if Warrington had done it.
“What the fuck was that for?” I yell, spraying bits of pasty onto the table.
A hush falls over the hall.
I stand up, towering over him. He’s not intimidated, though.
“Keep your sodding toys away from me!”
I cackle. “Higgs, this game has nothing to do with you or your finely sculpted arse, so don’t flatter yourself,” I respond blandly.
Pucey sniggers behind me.
“This isn’t a game, Flint.”
“It’s all a game.”
Neither of us will back down now, not in front of the entire school.
“Duel. Ten tonight. Charms - ” -ology “ - corridor,” he clips.
“Pucey’s my second,” I smirk.
Higgs curls his lip in disgust.
I raise my eyebrows mockingly.
Pucey rises and smirks. Higgs arse: the finest, nothing less.
“Warrington’s my second.”
I wave dismissively to Pucey and sit back down, and it makes Higgs look foolish.
---
“What a prat!” Pucey bemoans. “He announced - to the entire school - where and when you two were going to break the rules.”
“Stuff it, Pucey. You’re not a prefect anymore.”
“Yeah, Higgs is.”
“He’s not going to show, at least not there. We’ll meet him someplace else.”
“Did I miss that part of the conversation?”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s the problem: you’re not.”
I ignore that. “He’s not too good at Charms.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“He’s best at Herbology.”
“Greenhouse?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“When did you start flirting with him?”
“Fifth year.”
“Twelve.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He let something slip.”
“Sure. But there’s something I need first.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“You know.”
“You’re right, but I’m not in the mood. Go find Higgs.” I laugh at the irony.
Part Two