HP: Alphabet Series (2/26)
Title: What Would Happen
Series: Alphabet Series
Author: vashti
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character(s): OCs
Rating: PG
Summary: Bouleversment: complete overthrow, a reversal, a turning upside down
Length: 1,770 words
Prompt: B is for Bouleversment
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way.
Dedication:
Notes: written for the HC “Charles Duckins” challenge, which was, in turn, inspired by alphabetasoup
What Would Happen
by vashti
“Lost, Silverton?”
If it had been anyone other than Paul Malficious asking, Prin would have answered with a grin and a quick, “Nope. This class just got added to my class register.” But it was Paul Malficious and their dislike for each other was nigh on legendary.
Prin remembered the first time she’d set eyes on Paul Malficious. She’d gone three blissful years at Hogwarts without ever running into him or hearing his name. Then one day she’d been on her way to the library, head buried in a book, when the staircases had decided to move. The ominous rumbling should have been warning enough - there being no reason for them to rumble since they were well oiled - but all of Prin’s senses had been otherwise occupied. She’d been right on the precipice of a moving stair when she had finally noticed what was going on around her. Her brain, unfortunately, had been slow about sending the message to her legs to STOP MOVING!
She had lost the book as she tipped forward, but had been too busy flailing for the stationary staircase just out of her reach to care.
Instead of cold hard stone, she’d suddenly felt warm hands in her own. She only had a chance to catch a flash of green eyes under heavy black brows before she was occupied with the business of getting her feet out of the air and on the stone staircase. The two of them had fallen back onto the landing just as another staircase clicked into place. Prin had rolled off her savior’s legs and pushed herself up. “Thank you, whoever you are. I probably would have been cut in half if-”
“You would have suffered no such thing.” His crisp English accent had cut the air. And her. “Either you would have managed to pull yourself up or another staircase would have come just under to lessen the drop before you could break something.” The way he had said “break something” she’d expected him to add “silly American” or “stupid Ravenclaw.” She’d noticed his crest by then - Slytherin. Bane of her existence. The striking contrast of his dark hair and deep green eyes scarcely registered after that.
And now he was here, too, in the Occlumency and Legilimency classes the headmaster himself had recommended her for. An advanced magic class. Merlin’s crooked beard, why was Malficious here as well? Prin was very much tempted to match her fellow Fifth Year’s sneer with one of her own and tell him that she had been recommended by the headmaster. Except, she reasoned, if Malficious was here it was very likely that his place in the class had been recommended as well.
“Are you lost, Malficious?” It was all she could do not to slip into an English accent of her own. Growing up in the States had overpowered having English parents. She sounded like a Yank, but she was sensitive to the accent of her parents. Sometimes she slipped right into it, but usually only when she was playing around, or very tired, or very angry. Malficious had a way of sending her straight into very angry without trying. It was his arrogance, his pretentiousness.
After the day he had saved her on the stair-although why she continued to think of it as “being saved” when he maintained he was actually reaching for the tome that she’d dropped, she didn’t know-she seemed to run into him everywhere. As far as she could tell he took that air of privilege, arrogance and general self-importance with him no matter who he was with or what he was doing. She had no idea how the other Slytherins could stand him. He looked down his nose at them as much as he did anyone else. One day he’d allow them to play with him as he mucked about with some poor lower year (even a hapless Slytherin who happened to be on the outs with his group) and the next day they’d be the target of his games.
His smile was scarcely anything more than an extended sneer. “Clearly not. And I believe I asked you first.”
“I’m sorry, how old are you again? Five?”
“Was that your attempt at wit, Silverton?”
He was also, unfortunately, brilliant. It was absolutely likely that he’d been recommended for the classes. She should have considered the very possibility when the headmaster had offered them to her. She should have asked her Head of House when they were working to rearrange her schedule. Somehow, though, she always managed to forget about Malficious until she was in his presence. Then it was all but impossible for her not to think of him. They tended to snipe at each other like two old biddies. They’d both gotten detention for it more than once, but after one particularly memorable fight had gotten them sent to the headmaster, whispered though it had been, they had taken to confining their verbal battles to thinly veiled insults couched as responses to questions raised in class. Outside of class… Well things were different outside of class weren’t they.
“And is this yours? Correct me if I’m wrong, but you asked me if I was lost. I only repeated the question.”
“Exactly my point.”
Prin shook her head. Corkscrew curls fell across her eyes. For a second she thought she saw Malficious staring at them way too hard as she pushed hair out of her eyes. Immediately Prin’s mind went to the potions that needed hair. There were more than a few and, of the ones she could think of, far too many had negative results for the original owner of the hair for her liking. Prin frowned at the Slytherin boy. “Look, Malficious--” It was all she could do not to call him “Malfy” just to raise his hackles. “-clearly we’re both in this class by special dispensation. Let’s not threaten that by, well, by being us.”
One of Malficious’ eyebrows rose. “And what, precisely, do you mean by that?”
“Oh, come on. You know exactly what I mean. We go at it like alley cats-”
“Speak for yourself.”
Prin ignored him as she plowed on. “-and end up with at least one detention apiece before the term’s up. Except that I bet this time we’ll just get pulled from the class.”
To her surprise he didn’t immediately have a snarky retort for her. In the silence that followed she realized that they weren’t alone. There were a pair of Gryffindors over by the far wall sitting in front of a Ravenclaw and two Hufflepuffs. Three Slytherins were in the back, a seat or two from Malficious. All of them were upperclassmen. All of them were staring at her and Malficious. Dang.
The silence was going on too long. The upperclassmen, she realized, hadn’t resumed whatever conversation she and Malficious had interrupted.
She really hated being the better person. She’d much rather spend her time cutting him to the intellectual quick, but she didn’t want to lose her place. “Look Malficious, which would you rather do, match wits with me or prove yourself in this class full of Seventh Years?”
She could see it in his eyes-he didn’t want to say the words out loud. It would hurt his pride, she was sure, to admit that he had something to prove instead of everyone simply acknowledging his worth. But he did have something to prove. So Prin left the doorway and sat down near the other Ravenclaw without another word.
Their professor entered ten minutes later.
Midway through their lesson, which Prin was almost disgusted to find was all theory and no practical, black writing began to form near the bottom of her parchment. Part of her marveled at the skill it took to make such a thing happen. Part of her was annoyed that he would dare do such a thing not knowing how much parchment she did or did not have left to spare for a note. Part of her was jealous.
She took her sweet time getting her stuff together at the end of class. Any of her friends would have instantly wondered what was wrong. Prin was not known for her careful packing. She had been voted Most Likely to Master Scourgify her first year for the haphazard way she threw parchment, inkpots and quills into her bag. But no one in this class knew her. Except Malficious.
It felt like forever but about five minutes after the last person left the room-the professor with an admonishment to “Hurry up, you two, or you’ll be late for your next classes. Unless, of course, they’re down here in the dungeons.”-Malficous approached her. Prin turned when she heard his boots on the stone, the whisper of his robes as he moved up the aisle. She’d been bracing herself for whatever wretched thing he was going to say in payback for making him back down earlier. So what that she had given him an easy out for his pride. If she hadn’t said anything it wouldn’t have been on the line in the first place. Prin wondered why she’d stuck around in the first place. No good could come out of a private conversation with Paul Malficious. Invariably she was left red as a beet with pent-up frustration or outright fury as he pushed her over a line she wouldn’t have otherwise crossed.
“What do you wa-”
Warm hands, hands that had gotten considerably larger since they’d last touched her, cupped her cheeks, drawing her close. Prin fumbled for her wand. Then forgot all about it as Malficious’ mouth covered her own.
She was left dazed and blinking when he finally released her. He licked his lips, staring down at his hands as if he didn’t know who they belonged to. “I’ve waited almost two years to do that,” he told them. He looked up at her. “Except there was always someone around. Good day to you, Prin Silverton.”
She remembered then that one of his wretched brothers-in-mischief had appeared right after his snide remark on the landing that day. And of course they would be surrounded by classmates under normal circumstances. But what did Seventh Years care about a pair of Fifth Years?
Speechless, she watched as he roughly grabbed his bag and stalked out of the room.
She had turned to her own bag when his voice came echoing down the dimly lit stone hall: “You need to work on your wand arm, Silverton. You’re a little slow on the draw.”
Series: Alphabet Series
Author: vashti
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character(s): OCs
Rating: PG
Summary: Bouleversment: complete overthrow, a reversal, a turning upside down
Length: 1,770 words
Prompt: B is for Bouleversment
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way.
Dedication:
Notes: written for the HC “Charles Duckins” challenge, which was, in turn, inspired by alphabetasoup
What Would Happen
by vashti
“Lost, Silverton?”
If it had been anyone other than Paul Malficious asking, Prin would have answered with a grin and a quick, “Nope. This class just got added to my class register.” But it was Paul Malficious and their dislike for each other was nigh on legendary.
Prin remembered the first time she’d set eyes on Paul Malficious. She’d gone three blissful years at Hogwarts without ever running into him or hearing his name. Then one day she’d been on her way to the library, head buried in a book, when the staircases had decided to move. The ominous rumbling should have been warning enough - there being no reason for them to rumble since they were well oiled - but all of Prin’s senses had been otherwise occupied. She’d been right on the precipice of a moving stair when she had finally noticed what was going on around her. Her brain, unfortunately, had been slow about sending the message to her legs to STOP MOVING!
She had lost the book as she tipped forward, but had been too busy flailing for the stationary staircase just out of her reach to care.
Instead of cold hard stone, she’d suddenly felt warm hands in her own. She only had a chance to catch a flash of green eyes under heavy black brows before she was occupied with the business of getting her feet out of the air and on the stone staircase. The two of them had fallen back onto the landing just as another staircase clicked into place. Prin had rolled off her savior’s legs and pushed herself up. “Thank you, whoever you are. I probably would have been cut in half if-”
“You would have suffered no such thing.” His crisp English accent had cut the air. And her. “Either you would have managed to pull yourself up or another staircase would have come just under to lessen the drop before you could break something.” The way he had said “break something” she’d expected him to add “silly American” or “stupid Ravenclaw.” She’d noticed his crest by then - Slytherin. Bane of her existence. The striking contrast of his dark hair and deep green eyes scarcely registered after that.
And now he was here, too, in the Occlumency and Legilimency classes the headmaster himself had recommended her for. An advanced magic class. Merlin’s crooked beard, why was Malficious here as well? Prin was very much tempted to match her fellow Fifth Year’s sneer with one of her own and tell him that she had been recommended by the headmaster. Except, she reasoned, if Malficious was here it was very likely that his place in the class had been recommended as well.
“Are you lost, Malficious?” It was all she could do not to slip into an English accent of her own. Growing up in the States had overpowered having English parents. She sounded like a Yank, but she was sensitive to the accent of her parents. Sometimes she slipped right into it, but usually only when she was playing around, or very tired, or very angry. Malficious had a way of sending her straight into very angry without trying. It was his arrogance, his pretentiousness.
After the day he had saved her on the stair-although why she continued to think of it as “being saved” when he maintained he was actually reaching for the tome that she’d dropped, she didn’t know-she seemed to run into him everywhere. As far as she could tell he took that air of privilege, arrogance and general self-importance with him no matter who he was with or what he was doing. She had no idea how the other Slytherins could stand him. He looked down his nose at them as much as he did anyone else. One day he’d allow them to play with him as he mucked about with some poor lower year (even a hapless Slytherin who happened to be on the outs with his group) and the next day they’d be the target of his games.
His smile was scarcely anything more than an extended sneer. “Clearly not. And I believe I asked you first.”
“I’m sorry, how old are you again? Five?”
“Was that your attempt at wit, Silverton?”
He was also, unfortunately, brilliant. It was absolutely likely that he’d been recommended for the classes. She should have considered the very possibility when the headmaster had offered them to her. She should have asked her Head of House when they were working to rearrange her schedule. Somehow, though, she always managed to forget about Malficious until she was in his presence. Then it was all but impossible for her not to think of him. They tended to snipe at each other like two old biddies. They’d both gotten detention for it more than once, but after one particularly memorable fight had gotten them sent to the headmaster, whispered though it had been, they had taken to confining their verbal battles to thinly veiled insults couched as responses to questions raised in class. Outside of class… Well things were different outside of class weren’t they.
“And is this yours? Correct me if I’m wrong, but you asked me if I was lost. I only repeated the question.”
“Exactly my point.”
Prin shook her head. Corkscrew curls fell across her eyes. For a second she thought she saw Malficious staring at them way too hard as she pushed hair out of her eyes. Immediately Prin’s mind went to the potions that needed hair. There were more than a few and, of the ones she could think of, far too many had negative results for the original owner of the hair for her liking. Prin frowned at the Slytherin boy. “Look, Malficious--” It was all she could do not to call him “Malfy” just to raise his hackles. “-clearly we’re both in this class by special dispensation. Let’s not threaten that by, well, by being us.”
One of Malficious’ eyebrows rose. “And what, precisely, do you mean by that?”
“Oh, come on. You know exactly what I mean. We go at it like alley cats-”
“Speak for yourself.”
Prin ignored him as she plowed on. “-and end up with at least one detention apiece before the term’s up. Except that I bet this time we’ll just get pulled from the class.”
To her surprise he didn’t immediately have a snarky retort for her. In the silence that followed she realized that they weren’t alone. There were a pair of Gryffindors over by the far wall sitting in front of a Ravenclaw and two Hufflepuffs. Three Slytherins were in the back, a seat or two from Malficious. All of them were upperclassmen. All of them were staring at her and Malficious. Dang.
The silence was going on too long. The upperclassmen, she realized, hadn’t resumed whatever conversation she and Malficious had interrupted.
She really hated being the better person. She’d much rather spend her time cutting him to the intellectual quick, but she didn’t want to lose her place. “Look Malficious, which would you rather do, match wits with me or prove yourself in this class full of Seventh Years?”
She could see it in his eyes-he didn’t want to say the words out loud. It would hurt his pride, she was sure, to admit that he had something to prove instead of everyone simply acknowledging his worth. But he did have something to prove. So Prin left the doorway and sat down near the other Ravenclaw without another word.
Their professor entered ten minutes later.
Midway through their lesson, which Prin was almost disgusted to find was all theory and no practical, black writing began to form near the bottom of her parchment. Part of her marveled at the skill it took to make such a thing happen. Part of her was annoyed that he would dare do such a thing not knowing how much parchment she did or did not have left to spare for a note. Part of her was jealous.
She took her sweet time getting her stuff together at the end of class. Any of her friends would have instantly wondered what was wrong. Prin was not known for her careful packing. She had been voted Most Likely to Master Scourgify her first year for the haphazard way she threw parchment, inkpots and quills into her bag. But no one in this class knew her. Except Malficious.
It felt like forever but about five minutes after the last person left the room-the professor with an admonishment to “Hurry up, you two, or you’ll be late for your next classes. Unless, of course, they’re down here in the dungeons.”-Malficous approached her. Prin turned when she heard his boots on the stone, the whisper of his robes as he moved up the aisle. She’d been bracing herself for whatever wretched thing he was going to say in payback for making him back down earlier. So what that she had given him an easy out for his pride. If she hadn’t said anything it wouldn’t have been on the line in the first place. Prin wondered why she’d stuck around in the first place. No good could come out of a private conversation with Paul Malficious. Invariably she was left red as a beet with pent-up frustration or outright fury as he pushed her over a line she wouldn’t have otherwise crossed.
“What do you wa-”
Warm hands, hands that had gotten considerably larger since they’d last touched her, cupped her cheeks, drawing her close. Prin fumbled for her wand. Then forgot all about it as Malficious’ mouth covered her own.
She was left dazed and blinking when he finally released her. He licked his lips, staring down at his hands as if he didn’t know who they belonged to. “I’ve waited almost two years to do that,” he told them. He looked up at her. “Except there was always someone around. Good day to you, Prin Silverton.”
She remembered then that one of his wretched brothers-in-mischief had appeared right after his snide remark on the landing that day. And of course they would be surrounded by classmates under normal circumstances. But what did Seventh Years care about a pair of Fifth Years?
Speechless, she watched as he roughly grabbed his bag and stalked out of the room.
She had turned to her own bag when his voice came echoing down the dimly lit stone hall: “You need to work on your wand arm, Silverton. You’re a little slow on the draw.”