Fanfiction: The Black Sheep
Title: The Black Sheep
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Zacharias Smith and Cho Chang
Prompt: Red/little black sheep
Word Count: 1177
Rating: PG13
Summary: He couldn’t remember the last time he was so angry, and all he could see was red. Fortunately, she was prepared to return a favour.
Author’s Notes: Part six of Swan and Snark, in which there is teenage angst as well as revelations.
One tick he begrudgingly tried to admit Gryffindor victory, the next he was pinned under the commentating stand, feebly struggling under the heavy beams before waking up in the hospital wing, bruised and broken. It was a miserable experience, magical remedies ranging from foul-tasting potions to help mend split bones and pongy paste applied to pop out the embedded oak splinters.
There had been anticipation of his mates being in an uproar over the wrong against him, but it fell short. No one even made a visit to him, leaving him to be bed-ridden and bitter for the rest of the night. The common room wasn’t even welcoming the morning he returned. Cadwallader jumped from one of the armchairs the instant he stepped through the circular door, face red in fury. “Whatever you have stuck up your arse, pull it out,” the burly student demanded.
“Oh yes, I’m fine, thanks for asking. Now, piss off,” countered Zacharias, pushing past the Quidditch Chaser without heed or apprehension. Susan stopped petting Ernie’s fat cat long enough to give him a sympathetic glimpse, but the blood pounding in Smith’s ears tuned him out to any sort of compassion he might have been receiving.
Cads grabbed his arm. “Our match against Ravenclaw’s coming up, and I don’t have time to train a reserve because you like to be gobshite with the entire Gryffindor house!”
“I said, piss off!”
Tamsin brushed in to increase space between the two. In her best ‘Captain’s voice,' she said, “Both of you better stop, or I’ll be letting two reserves play this match. Right couple of prats, you are, and this close to the game, too. You want them to humiliate us?”
Zacharias Smith was getting sick of it.
Sometimes he didn’t know what to think of the word revenge. Was revenge an irrational action, best reserved for those low enough to act on it? Was revenge an act of justice, which any real man would deliver simply because it was fair? It was the difference between getting on with this Ancient Runes homework there in the library or finding the most horrible, disfiguring jinx and trying it on Ginny Weasley whenever they crossed paths again.
“Oi, Smith!” Vaisey, one of the Chasers on the Slytherin team, flashed him a thumbs-up. “Brilliant calling on that game.” Whether Vaisey was being sardonic or not, he didn’t know. He wasn’t the first Slytherin to praise his commentary, and probably wouldn’t be the last. They were possibly thrilled over it being the first time in more than five years that their team hadn’t been insulted during the Gryffindor v. Slytherin Quidditch match.
Any acknowledgement received from them he found shallow and worthless; Zacharias Smith couldn’t have cared less about their squad.
“You have something on your cheek.”
The voice being so familiar by now, he didn’t have to lift his head to know Cho Chang was standing near his side. Instead, he wiped the back of his hand over his face and returned back with an orange residue smeared across it. The paste from Pomfrey’s. “Thanks,” he muttered, but had an unsettling feeling in his gut that she was staring at the discoloration under his left eye.
This suspicion wasn’t unfounded. “Is it from the Quidditch game?” She sounded genuinely concerned as she pulled a book down from the shelf behind him, but it didn’t make Smith’s tone sound any less harsh.
“Here to tell me I shouldn’t have had a go at Potter’s team?” he spat, throwing the tip of his quill down on the parchment so hard ink flicked all over the sheet. He ought to have felt worse for snapping at her than he actually did.
Cho narrowed her brows somewhat, and suddenly crispness framed her voice. “No, actually. It looked like you were hurt, and I was just concerned...Why do you have to make everything I say about Harry, anyhow?”
He suddenly felt embarrassed. “Well, given that it bothers you so much, why keep talking to me? Pity, is it?” His chest heaved, and all of the anger he felt over the past few days seemed to peak with each breath.
Zacharias had more important issues to give attention to. He needed to study for his O.W.L.s. The class work was beginning to stack higher and higher, he was certain to fail Defence Against the Dark Arts under Snape, and Professor McGonagall had already expressed disappointment over his last paper. With the Quidditch match approaching, he and Cadwallader needed to reach some sort of agreement, no matter how resented, so he wouldn’t face more public embarrassment in front of the entire school.
After all, perhaps the best sort of revenge against the lot was to win the Quidditch Cup. That would certainly knock the likes of Potter and the Weasleys off their brooms more than some Jelly-Brains Jinx.
A sharp shush came from the lips of Madam Pince, who had apparently enough of their conversation picking up volume.
Lowering her voice, Cho dropped down into the chair beside Smith. He suddenly became very aware of just how close her body was to his, and felt his heart begin to pace. “I think what Ginny Weasley did was absolutely horrible, but I don’t talk to you out of pity. Even when you were upset with Marietta, you at least listened to me.”
With a locked jaw, Zacharias stopped trying to pathetically continue his homework, and poised his quill over the parchment as she continued. “I think you’re not very fair to Harry....” She was at least being sincere. He could appreciate that. “But, I still like you.”
Smith’s stomach dropped, and he wondered if he looked as bewildered as he felt. The back of his throat dried, heat sweltered from his ears, and the quill in his hand suddenly felt slick against his palm.
Cho’s eyes brightened and she leaned forward to catch his sight. Zacharias tried hard not to become as red as a beet. “You’re honest. Brutally sometimes, yes, but I know you try to be kind to me. During everything that’s happened...I’ve appreciated it.”
He wracked his brain to say something smart. Instead he bluntly said, “Yeah, well, I like you, too.”
A smile crossed Cho Chang’s lips, and she picked up her book before standing. “So, you’ll be playing in the game?”
He blinked to regain sense of the change in conversation, and as he was about to answer, Marietta Edgecombe stepped around the corner. Upon seeing that her friend was not alone, the girl instinctively drew up the neck of her robes in a desperate attempt to hide her disfiguration. “Err...Of course,” Zacharias responded, shooting his glance between the two girls. Regaining confidence, he raised his head up and added with pride, “Don’t sound so happy about it, since your team’s going to lose.”
“I doubt so, but good luck. Anyway, I’ll see you then.”
Cho joined Marietta, and both Ravenclaw girls proceeded to take leave of the library, leaving Zacharias Smith with unfinished homework and a smug sense of self-satisfaction.
--
I apologize for any Americanisms and grammatical errors. All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Zacharias Smith and Cho Chang
Prompt: Red/little black sheep
Word Count: 1177
Rating: PG13
Summary: He couldn’t remember the last time he was so angry, and all he could see was red. Fortunately, she was prepared to return a favour.
Author’s Notes: Part six of Swan and Snark, in which there is teenage angst as well as revelations.
One tick he begrudgingly tried to admit Gryffindor victory, the next he was pinned under the commentating stand, feebly struggling under the heavy beams before waking up in the hospital wing, bruised and broken. It was a miserable experience, magical remedies ranging from foul-tasting potions to help mend split bones and pongy paste applied to pop out the embedded oak splinters.
There had been anticipation of his mates being in an uproar over the wrong against him, but it fell short. No one even made a visit to him, leaving him to be bed-ridden and bitter for the rest of the night. The common room wasn’t even welcoming the morning he returned. Cadwallader jumped from one of the armchairs the instant he stepped through the circular door, face red in fury. “Whatever you have stuck up your arse, pull it out,” the burly student demanded.
“Oh yes, I’m fine, thanks for asking. Now, piss off,” countered Zacharias, pushing past the Quidditch Chaser without heed or apprehension. Susan stopped petting Ernie’s fat cat long enough to give him a sympathetic glimpse, but the blood pounding in Smith’s ears tuned him out to any sort of compassion he might have been receiving.
Cads grabbed his arm. “Our match against Ravenclaw’s coming up, and I don’t have time to train a reserve because you like to be gobshite with the entire Gryffindor house!”
“I said, piss off!”
Tamsin brushed in to increase space between the two. In her best ‘Captain’s voice,' she said, “Both of you better stop, or I’ll be letting two reserves play this match. Right couple of prats, you are, and this close to the game, too. You want them to humiliate us?”
Zacharias Smith was getting sick of it.
Sometimes he didn’t know what to think of the word revenge. Was revenge an irrational action, best reserved for those low enough to act on it? Was revenge an act of justice, which any real man would deliver simply because it was fair? It was the difference between getting on with this Ancient Runes homework there in the library or finding the most horrible, disfiguring jinx and trying it on Ginny Weasley whenever they crossed paths again.
“Oi, Smith!” Vaisey, one of the Chasers on the Slytherin team, flashed him a thumbs-up. “Brilliant calling on that game.” Whether Vaisey was being sardonic or not, he didn’t know. He wasn’t the first Slytherin to praise his commentary, and probably wouldn’t be the last. They were possibly thrilled over it being the first time in more than five years that their team hadn’t been insulted during the Gryffindor v. Slytherin Quidditch match.
Any acknowledgement received from them he found shallow and worthless; Zacharias Smith couldn’t have cared less about their squad.
“You have something on your cheek.”
The voice being so familiar by now, he didn’t have to lift his head to know Cho Chang was standing near his side. Instead, he wiped the back of his hand over his face and returned back with an orange residue smeared across it. The paste from Pomfrey’s. “Thanks,” he muttered, but had an unsettling feeling in his gut that she was staring at the discoloration under his left eye.
This suspicion wasn’t unfounded. “Is it from the Quidditch game?” She sounded genuinely concerned as she pulled a book down from the shelf behind him, but it didn’t make Smith’s tone sound any less harsh.
“Here to tell me I shouldn’t have had a go at Potter’s team?” he spat, throwing the tip of his quill down on the parchment so hard ink flicked all over the sheet. He ought to have felt worse for snapping at her than he actually did.
Cho narrowed her brows somewhat, and suddenly crispness framed her voice. “No, actually. It looked like you were hurt, and I was just concerned...Why do you have to make everything I say about Harry, anyhow?”
He suddenly felt embarrassed. “Well, given that it bothers you so much, why keep talking to me? Pity, is it?” His chest heaved, and all of the anger he felt over the past few days seemed to peak with each breath.
Zacharias had more important issues to give attention to. He needed to study for his O.W.L.s. The class work was beginning to stack higher and higher, he was certain to fail Defence Against the Dark Arts under Snape, and Professor McGonagall had already expressed disappointment over his last paper. With the Quidditch match approaching, he and Cadwallader needed to reach some sort of agreement, no matter how resented, so he wouldn’t face more public embarrassment in front of the entire school.
After all, perhaps the best sort of revenge against the lot was to win the Quidditch Cup. That would certainly knock the likes of Potter and the Weasleys off their brooms more than some Jelly-Brains Jinx.
A sharp shush came from the lips of Madam Pince, who had apparently enough of their conversation picking up volume.
Lowering her voice, Cho dropped down into the chair beside Smith. He suddenly became very aware of just how close her body was to his, and felt his heart begin to pace. “I think what Ginny Weasley did was absolutely horrible, but I don’t talk to you out of pity. Even when you were upset with Marietta, you at least listened to me.”
With a locked jaw, Zacharias stopped trying to pathetically continue his homework, and poised his quill over the parchment as she continued. “I think you’re not very fair to Harry....” She was at least being sincere. He could appreciate that. “But, I still like you.”
Smith’s stomach dropped, and he wondered if he looked as bewildered as he felt. The back of his throat dried, heat sweltered from his ears, and the quill in his hand suddenly felt slick against his palm.
Cho’s eyes brightened and she leaned forward to catch his sight. Zacharias tried hard not to become as red as a beet. “You’re honest. Brutally sometimes, yes, but I know you try to be kind to me. During everything that’s happened...I’ve appreciated it.”
He wracked his brain to say something smart. Instead he bluntly said, “Yeah, well, I like you, too.”
A smile crossed Cho Chang’s lips, and she picked up her book before standing. “So, you’ll be playing in the game?”
He blinked to regain sense of the change in conversation, and as he was about to answer, Marietta Edgecombe stepped around the corner. Upon seeing that her friend was not alone, the girl instinctively drew up the neck of her robes in a desperate attempt to hide her disfiguration. “Err...Of course,” Zacharias responded, shooting his glance between the two girls. Regaining confidence, he raised his head up and added with pride, “Don’t sound so happy about it, since your team’s going to lose.”
“I doubt so, but good luck. Anyway, I’ll see you then.”
Cho joined Marietta, and both Ravenclaw girls proceeded to take leave of the library, leaving Zacharias Smith with unfinished homework and a smug sense of self-satisfaction.
--
I apologize for any Americanisms and grammatical errors. All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.