Trudeau? I’m honestly not certain I know the name… let me just check the yearbooks…
Ah! Yes, the solitary male in the nerd clique. I honestly do not associate with those sorts much, so there isn’t much information I can give you. He’s quiet, and that Andy Wiles certainly has it out for him.
You’d think I’d know more about him, though. Considering the pitifully low population of males at this school, it wouldn’t be so hard to keep tabs of the few young men with whom we associate ourselves. Frankly, darling, I have no interest in the habits of little boys, particularly poor ones of a nerdier persuasion.
After two incredible messages from our goddess and leader AFP herself, I've received the actual epilogue, which is also a public Google Doc that you can read here. And just for the sake of my OCD need for closure, I'm posting it on this blog. It's split into prefaced snippets, so I'll post those individually and maybe make a masterpost at some point. Honestly I'm too busy trying to convince myself that the last half hour actually happened and we can read the actual epilogue to think about how I'm going to go about setting these up.
When each one actually goes up depends on how quickly I manage to get my shit together, but they'll definitely all be up by the end of this weekend. Cheers!
Last bit left. I have this in the actual post, but just for emphasis: this is not a confirmed or complete epilogue. It's the closest thing we have though, so enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I do not own this story or anything in it. The universe and characters are the invention and property of JK Rowling; the plotlines and character development are the creation of AFP.
All chapters
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“I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, Andora: unless Mr. Wood is in agreement with your proposal, I cannot and will not approve it.”
I stared at McGonagall with wide, pleading eyes, sitting in a chair in the middle of her office. “But Professor—”
“No buts, Ms. Wiles,” she interjected in a stern tone, holding my stare unflinchingly. “The entire purpose of having you and Mr. Wood plan the banquet is to teach you how to work together effectively—relying on me to intervene and choose sides during your conflicts will accomplish the precise opposite of that.”
“I understand that, I really do, but at the same time I can’t help but see an inherent flaw in this situation,” I argued as respectfully as I could, my frustration mounting.
“And what’s that?”
“By not taking sides, you by default take his. Different means to the same end: no boat.”
“I haven’t rejected the idea, Ms. Wiles, I simply haven’t approved it.”
My stare flattened. “Translation?”
“Talk to him,” she replied, lips pursing a bit at my tone. “Teamwork involves communication, cooperation, and most importantly, compromise. See if you can reach some sort of agreement and then approach me with it.”
“I’m sorry, are we talking about the same Oliver Wood, here?” I asked, gesturing irritably. “Because the one I know is impossibly stubborn and doesn’t even know the meaning of the word compromise.”
“Incidentally, the same could be said about his partner.”
Touché.
“We can go on like this for hours, Ms. Wiles, but the bottom line is and will remain that you must come to some sort of agreement with Mr. Wood on your own. I’m not here to mediate your disagreements, I’m merely a signature on a consent form—a final word on ideas you propose synergistically,” she explained, and I rolled my eyes—McGonagall was obsessed with the word synergy. “I’ve explained the concept of synergy to you, have I not? How working together—”
“Allows people to achieve something that they couldn’t have achieved individually? Yes. More than once.” More than bloody thrice.
“Watch your tone, Andora.”
“Sorry,” I grumbled darkly.
“So, are we clear?” she asked, straightening in her seat and eyeing me sternly.
“Claritin Clear.”
“Consult Mr. Wood then report back to me, alright?” she said, ignoring the muggle reference that probably made no sense to her. “No boat idea unless you’re both onboard.” She promptly smirked in a self-satisfied manner and I struggled not to scoff.
Boat. Onboard. Punny.
“Got it. Thanks, Professor,” I muttered in a tone that implied an irreverent ‘for doing jack shit’, but if she caught this, she waved it off.
“Of course. Now get back to class—I don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary.”
I pushed myself out of my seat with a dark sigh, every inch the sulky teenager, and began plotting in my head exactly how I was going to do this. The boat idea was happening—I don’t care what Wood thought, it was exactly the kind of change this event needed. If he was too thick to see that on his own, then I’d just have to intervene and shoehorn it into his head myself.
But I needed a plan.
Stage one: irritate/exasperate until he agrees to at least consider it.
Stage two: come to some sort of bollocks conditional agreement (i.e. “We’ll do the boat thing, but only if people wear glow-in-the-dark life vests over their dress robes”).
Stage three: find problem with the condition (i.e. “Everybody’s just going to take them off anyway”) once he’s already hooked on the idea.
Stage four: flatter until he abandons the condition and agrees to just go ahead with the original plan of renting a boat.
Stage five: revel in my brilliance.
It sounded pretty solid to me. My satisfaction obviously showed on my face, for when I waltzed back into Charms, Alicia’s lips pursed. “Well aren’t you just the cat that swallowed the bunny.”
“It’s canary, you dolt,” George muttered with an eye roll, causing her glare over to snap over to him.
“Different noun, same sentiment! So,” she ventured, voice sly again as her gaze strayed back over to mine. “Spill.”
“Nothing to spill,” I said with a shrug, dropping down into my seat with a self-satisfied air. “Just came up with a plan, is all.”
George, upon hearing the word ‘plan’, instantly grew interested. “Plan for what?”
“You’ll see.”
“Does it involve Oliver?” Alicia asked, and I smirked.
“Yup.”
“Does it involve shagging out your sexual frustrations in the locker room after practice?”
My cheeks colored. “No.”
“Then I don’t like it,” she said simply, turning her attention back to her notes with a bored air. George, however, continued pressing the issue.
“How can you have a plan and not tell me? I’m a Weasley twin, I mean really.”
“Because it doesn’t involve dungbombs or blowing things up or using those ridiculous stretchy ear things you and Fred have been working on—”
“Extendable ears?”
“Whatever—point is, it’s all mental manipulation.”
George yawned. “Boring.”
“Does mental manipulation involve seduction?” Alicia piped in, looking interested again, and I shot her an exasperated look.
“No!”
“Then I agree with George,” she replied, glancing back at her notes indifferently.
“You guys are just jealous,” I threw out rather nonsensically, annoyed with their lack of enthusiasm.
“Of what, your boring plan?” Alicia scoffed, and George pulled a desolate face.
“Blimey, I wish I could be as uncreative as Andy…”
“Oh, shove off,” I muttered, turning in my seat so that my back was to them. My plan was spectacular. They’d just have to wait till today’s Quidditch practice to see that. Wankers.
+
Andy’s Epic Plan
Phase One
Status: commencing now.
“Alright, everybody settle down,” Wood called over the general buzz of the broom-mounted team hovering around him, holding his hands up in a quieting gesture. It was the first Quidditch practice we’d had since the Slytherin match, and while everyone had appreciated the break, we were all pretty excited to be back in the air again. “That means stop hitting George, Spinnet.”
Alicia promptly dropped her hand, sending George a snotty look before settling her narrowed gaze onto Oliver. “Happy?”
“Thrilled. Now, everybody listen up—I gave you a few days off to wind down after the Slytherin match, but I want to make it clear that I expect everyone to be in top form today.” He let his competitive gaze flicker over us, eyes bright with authority. “Just because the season’s over doesn’t mean we can faff about for the next few weeks doing nothing—the House cup is closer than you think, and depending on how the points work out, we may very well have to play Slytherin again. As of now,” he said, glancing down at the clipboard in hand, “Gryffindor’s at 3,375 House points, Ravenclaw’s at 3,150, Slytherin’s at 2,950, and Hufflepuff’s at 2,110.”
“Slytherin’s below Ravenclaw by two hundred,” Angelina pointed out, expression skeptical. “I highly doubt that Ravenclaws are going to rack up enough detentions to sink that far—”
“You forget that Snape has a say in this,” Wood cut in. “Between doling out free points to students in his House and taking away five or ten here and there from the Ravenclaws, he could manage it.”
“It’s still a bit of a stretch,” Angelina replied uncertainly, “but not entirely impossible, I s’pose.”
“We have to plan for the worst, Johnson,” he said with an uncompromising shrug, and a shot of annoyance flickered through me. He was so used to getting his way, but you know what? Today he had another thing coming, and its name was phase one. “So, anyway—”
“Hey, Wood?”
He glanced over at me, brow arching a bit impatiently. “What?”
“Have you given more thought to the whole boat idea?”
“Excuse me?”
“For the banquet—you know how I wanted to have it on a boat?”
He stared at me in blazing confusion. “What the bloody hell does that have to do with—”
“The banquet’s going to be on a boat?” Fred cut in, eyes lighting up. “That’s brilliant! Oi, George, did’ya hear—”
“The banquet is not going to be on a boat,” Wood cut in, narrowed eyes fixed on mine, “and even if it was, which it isn’t, this is Quidditch practice, where shockingly enough, we discuss Quidditch.”
“But—”
“And when we’re done discussing Quidditch, we play Quidditch, and when we’re done playing Quidditch, we discuss it some more,” he continued on, plowing over George’s interjection with the beginnings of a scowl. “Is that clear to everyone, or shall I go over it again?”
“Mr. Growlsworth mode,” Alicia whispered to Katie, who rolled her eyes at the stupid nickname and muttered something in return.
A few moments of otherwise silence went by before Wood gave a curt nod, satisfied with the response. “Great. Now, today we’re going to focus in on—”
“Hey, Wood?”
His grip on his broom tightened at the sound of my voice, eyes flaring with warning as they snapped over to mine. “This’d better be good, Wiles.”
“I really think you should give the boat thing a little more thought,” I suggested innocently, voice harmlessly light and oblivious to his scorn. “I mean, everyone seems to like it but you. Don’t you guys like it?” I struggled not to laugh at the growing incredulity on his face, casting my eyes over the rest of the team instead.
“I think it’s brilliant,” George replied with a wicked grin. “Fred and I could test our new water products…”
“Could I wear a bikini?” Alicia asked, and Katie’s eyes grew wide with excitement.
“You could have some sort of open deck so people could dance under the stars! That’s so romantic…”
“If Alicia can wear a bikini, can Angelina wear one, too?” Fred asked, to which Angelina immediately shoved him, and all the while I struggled to keep an innocent smile on my face.
“See? Everyone likes it,” I pointed out, swinging my gaze back over to Wood’s. His expression was molten with anger. “It’s a bit selfish to rule out an idea everyone likes just because you don’t like it, don’t you think? Especially since this banquet is for everybody, not just—”
“Ten laps, on the ground, right bloody now,” he cut in harshly, eyes searing mine. “Everyone!” At this, a loud chorus of groans sounded, and Wood’s face didn’t so much as flicker as he drawled out a spiteful, “Consider it your welcome back warm-up.”
I shot him a brief smile before veering my broom to the side, making to head off to the ground. Unsurprisingly, a rough grip promptly stopped me. “Yes?” I said, smiling up at his scowling face.
“What the hell are you trying to pull?”
My brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, come off it, Andy.”
“Come off what?”
“This is bloody Quidditch practice—I don’t schedule in time slots for discussing rubbish like the Gryffindor Banquet and you know it,” he growled angrily, and I instantly knew I’d picked a perfect time to bring it up. If he thought he was annoyed now…
“I’m really sorry, Wood, I didn’t know it was such a big deal…”
“Like hell you didn’t,” he snapped, and I almost snorted. Of course I knew it was a big deal—Wood’s practices were planned down to the last second. Every drill, every water break, every warm-up—it was scheduled in his little game book and regarded with the sanctity of Bible scripture. “This set of laps puts us behind twenty bloody minutes…”
I pulled a solemn face. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I guess I’m just really excited about this whole boat idea. I’ll try and push it out of my mind for the next few hours, okay?”
He held my gaze for a long, irritated moment. Then, “We’re not doing the boat, Andy.” My innocent face instantly flashed into battle-mode.
“Yes, we are.”
“No, we’re not—did you talk to McGonagall?”
“Yes, and she really liked the idea,” I lied, tilting my chin up competitively.
“So she approved it, then?”
“Not exactly, but—”
“I knew it.”
“Shove off, she wanted to approve it, but she says she can’t let anything pass if we’re not in agreement over it,” I snapped, causing his eyes to fill with arrogant condescension.
“So I have all the power in the situation.”
“Like hell you do.”
“Really.”
“Really, because if you say no, then I’ll spread the word around the entire school and get them all excited about it, and then I’ll break the news to them that we can’t do it purely because you don’t want to,” I invented on a whim, though I promptly furrowed my brow in consideration—that actually wasn’t a bad idea…
“Do you really think I care about a bunch of angry underclassmen, Wiles?”
“You will when they egg your four-poster.”
He rolled his eyes. “They’re not going to egg my bloody four-poster…”
Yeah, because I’m going to do it for them. “Fine. Whatever you say.”
“Well, I say no.”
“Guess I have some news to spread, then.”
His eyes narrowed, though before he could respond, Fred cried out an, “Are you kidding me?” We both looked down to where he’d stopped running on the track, staring up at us in outrage. “She’s the one that started this bollocks and she doesn’t have to run ten laps!?”
Wood glanced over at me for a moment, taking in the stubborn pout on my face, and to my absolute shock, his expression softened the slightest bit. “No,” he murmured, and my cheeks warmed a bit as he slowly drew closer, expression hazy and warm and full of a quiet sort of fondness that I’d never really seen before. He reached up carefully, as if to tuck a loose curl behind my ear, and I felt my breath catching in my throat—what the fuck was he doing? And then, “She has to run fifteen.”
He dropped his hovering hand to pat my cheek in a smug, ‘off you go, now!’ fashion, all softness flying out the window. I smacked his hand off with a scowl, heartbeat restoring itself to its normal pace. “You’re such a sodding git.”
“Run along now, love.”
“You’re going to agree to the boat idea!” I snapped over my shoulder as I veered my broom away, flying toward the ground. He rolled his eyes behind me and I gritted my teeth together.
Andy’s Epic Plan
Phase One
Status: struggling.
+
Andy’s Epic Plan
Phase One
Status: ballin’ out of control.
“Damn it, Andy—”
“Just agree to consider it.”
“—can’t even see the damn Quaffle—”
“I’m really not asking for much.”
“—out of the bloody way!—”
“You’re really making this so much harder than it has to be.”
“—ridiculous that you’re—”
“All I want is an ‘I’ll think about it’—”
SMACK.
I winced as a Quaffle Wood hadn’t seen coming smacked right against his head, thrown by Angelina and intended for the middle goal. He cursed quite violently under his breath, bringing his hand up to his temple and rubbing it angrily as Angelina snickered out an apology. He waved her off and shot me a caustic glare.
This may or may not be because I’ve been flying around him in circles for the past ten minutes. “What? You blocked it, didn’t you? Woot! Go team!” I pumped my fist in the air for emphasis.
He shook his head and muttered something I couldn’t quite hear, but I figured it was transcendently flattering. You know, something like ‘Why don’t you go fly circles around the Whomping Willow instead; see how that works out for you?’ Sweet nothings like that.
Wood was such a romantic, honestly.
“Look, how long am I going to have to fly around you before you cave?” I asked, growing a bit impatient with this whole routine. “Flying in circles is fun for the first few minutes, but it’s gotten old now and my head is starting to spin.”
He pointedly ignored me, and I took this as a signal to keep talking.
“And Merlin, if it’s already annoying me, I can only imagine how much it’s annoying you,” I prattled on, shaking my head as I continued to zoom around him. “I’d have exploded ages ago—and that’s not even taking into account my singing the Macarena during our speed drills, convincing everyone to leap frog the laps we were supposed to run, and charming the back of your broom to blink ‘Diva’ when you weren’t looking…”
His jaw clenched as he kept his eyes trained on the pitch, fingers tightening around the handle of his broom. I could tell he was trying to keep himself from turning around and checking to see if the diva thing was real, and my lips twitched into a wicked smirk—hell yeah it was real.
“But then again, you’re a lot more patient than I am,” I said, randomly changing my whizzing pace to a glacial one. He stiffened and I smiled—it’s amazing what little shifts like that can do to someone so consistency-obsessed. “Like, I bet I could do my Shrieking Mandrake impression right now and you wouldn’t even flinch. In fact—AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRLKWEJBNFLKBSDF—”
“Fucking hell!” Alicia shrieked from down the pitch, dropping the Quaffle to cover her ears.
“—EEEEEEEEEEEUUUUUUUUGGGGHHHHSDJBDS—”
“Is someone dismembering her!?” Fred gritted out.
“—OOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYGFDJHKSSK—”
“If they aren’t, I bloody will!” Angelina spat out, hands stuffed over her ears.
“UUUUUUUUUUUIIIIIIIIINNNHHFGKADJBNKDAS—”
“DEAR GOD, MAKE IT—”
Just as Alicia was about to strike a Bludger at me with the bat she’d stolen from George, Wood cracked. “Fine!” My shrieking immediately cut off, eyes opening and head righting itself from its tossed back position.
“What?”
“Fine,” he repeated through gritted teeth, eyes volcanic with exasperation as they seared into mine, “I’ll consider your stupid idea.” My face instantly flooded with triumph, and without really thinking, I threw my hands in the air and started zooming around him celebratory circles. “Stop with the fucking circles!”
He reached out and grabbed the end of my broom in frustration, jerking me to such a rough and sudden halt that it sent me lurching forward. I scrambled to regain some sort of balance, not having been expecting the sudden momentum shift, but before I knew it, I was careening right off the tip—
—and onto another one?
Oliver’s large hands were on either side of my waist, pulling me onto his broomstick with a decisive sweep. Yes, I am aware of explicitly sexual double meaning of this action, and I choose to ignore it. For now. I may think about it lat—
Anyway, before I can even process what’s happening, my broom is clattering onto the ground whilst I am decidedly not. In fact, I’m face-to-face with a horribly conflicted Wood, whose hand has swept up to cup my cheek. “You okay?”
“I’m… fine,” I managed, struggling to wade through the heady feeling clouding my thoughts. His accent just got so damn Scottish whenever he worried… all the r’s rolled just a little bit longer, the vowels softened just a little bit further…
“I’m sorry, Wiles, I didn’t—I wasn’t—your hands weren’t even on the broom, I should have—” he shook his head distractedly, too many thoughts assaulting him at once, and I felt a sharp sadness wash over me without any sort of warning. It was just… I mean, how much of his life was he going to spend feeling guilty about things?
“Oliver,” I said, and in a moment of boldness I placed my hand over the one he had against my cheek, causing his distraught gaze to flicker back up to mine, “I’m fine. It’s not like I fell.”
“But you could’ve,” he replied darkly.
“But I didn’t,” I countered, the beginnings of a smirk twitching at my lips. “Besides, even if I had, I kind of deserved it.”
“Jesus, Andy, don’t say that,” he muttered, irritated with how flippantly I regarded things like this, and I rolled my eyes.
“Wood, please. I was being annoying.”
“You were being fucking annoying, but you could’ve broken your neck from this height.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Yeah, but you could’ve.”
“Alright, I could’ve, ahh,” I said sardonically, waving my hand about in mock distress. “You’re a horrible person that needs to go join an Eastern European monastery and practice self-mutilation till you die.” I shot him a dry look. “People make mistakes, Oliver. Get over it. I don’t feel guilty about the Quaffle that hit your head.”
His lips twitched involuntarily at this. “That hurt.”
The amusement in his voice was like music, and I couldn’t help but grin. “Doesn’t be such a pansy.”
“You know, I thought you were annoying naturally, but now that I’ve seen you trying—”
“It’s pretty incredible, isn’t it? I learned how to do it from my step-mum.”
“The one that’s on a mission to make you an actual girl?”
An odd sort of warmth flooded me at the fact that he remembered. “That’s the one.”
“She taught you well.” His face fell flat after a moment, “Does the back of my broom really say ‘diva’?”
I bit down on my lip to keep from laughing. “What do you think?”
“I think that, knowing you, it not only says ‘diva’, it says ‘diva’ in bright pink capital letters.”
My smile was Cheshire. “You forgot ‘glittery’.”
“Bloody hell,” he groaned, lolling his head back in resignation. “How long has it been there?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“You’re right—I really don’t.”
I chuckled at his look of complete misery, about to offer to take it off, when a flicker of movement behind him caught my eye. I glanced his over his shoulder to see Alicia waving her arms from a few dozen feet away, mouthing something I couldn’t quite make out. I squinted at her for a few moments until she rolled her eyes and pointed at something on the ground.
My eyes followed the direction of her finger, down the stands, past the commentator booth, around the concession stand, straight to the… locker room. And then they flattened. Of course. I lifted my gaze back up and shot her a glare, adding in a festive little hand gesture for good measure, and she ruffled in outrage.
“Flint’s team’s here,” Wood suddenly muttered, spotting something behind me and lifting his hand to glance at his watch. “We must’ve gone over time.” At this, he shot me a pointed look, and I simply grinned sheepishly in return. “Alright, everybody hit the locker rooms, practice is over! I don’t have time to go over stats and logistics, but I’ll do it at the start of our next practice, which is…?”
“Saturday, 8 AM,” everyone chorused miserably.
“Spot on—see you Saturday!” he called out, before promptly straightening to look back at me. “I don’t want to fly with you facing me, it’s not safe.”
I rolled my eyes. “Wood, Katie and I fly like this all the time. It’s fun, we gossip.”
“Turn around.”
“Seriously?”
“I’ll help you, if you—”
“I know how to turn around on a broom, Oliver,” I said, a bit annoyed. “I’ve been flying for as long as you have, in case you forgot.”
“Go ahead, then.”
He stared at me expectantly and I sighed, wrapping both my hands around the same point on the handle and flipping about in one swift motion. My back was instantly against his chest, his broad shoulders swallowing my comparatively small frame as his hands moved forward—one wrapping around my waist, the other gripping the handle in front of me.
I was hit with the overwhelming urge to release all the tension in my body and melt against him, to let the warmth and smell of him envelope me completely, and it was fucking hard to keep composed. Every dip and ridge of his body matched so perfectly with every line and curve of mine, and the feeling of it was honestly like finally fitting together the last two pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle that’s been troubling you for years. It just…
Well. There’s no way to describe it without sounding like a hallmark card, so I’ll shut up.
“You’re serious about this boat thing, aren’t you?”
His voice was low and warm against my ear as he flew down to the ground, careful not to go too fast, and I was caught between rolling my eyes at his pace and shivering at his proximity. “Yeah, I am. I really think it’s exactly the kind of twist we’re looking for.”
He thought about this for a moment. Then, “Let’s make a deal, alright? If you find the boat, the company, the insurance, whatever—iron out all the details and present me with a foolproof plan—then I’ll…” he sighed, shaking his head. “Then I’ll agree to It.”
“Really!?” It was an exuberant shriek that annoyed even me.
“It has to be foolproof, Wiles—if there’s even a single hole or risk that hasn’t been accounted for—”
“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!”
“—won’t hesitate to tell McGonagall that it’s shit—”
“You won’t have to, I swear! This is going to be the best bloody plan you’ve ever seen!”
He rolled his eyes with a cynical expression, though I could tell his lips were twitching with the smile he was holding back. Just as we were about to touch down on the ground, however, a leering whistle pierced through the air.
“Well, well, well.” Flint. Only a half-troll could have such an oafish, inbred sounding voice. “What have we here?”
Wood swiveled around and we came face-to-face with half of the Slytherin team, the other half having taken to the pitch already.
“At least when I shagged her, I had the decency to do it in a broom closet,” Viper drawled in his insouciant way, flicking a speck of lint from his otherwise immaculate robes.
Wood’s grip tightened the slightest bit around my waist, forcing me back against him, and I indulged him just to keep him calm. Okay, and maybe because it made me feel spectacularly girly and coddled to have someone holding me all protectively, but mostly to keep him calm.
Really.
“Viper,” I said with a frosty smile. “Long time no see. How’re your balls doing? Last I checked, they were shoved pretty far up your abdomen.”
He smirked luxuriously. “You’re welcome to see for yourself, darling.”
“I’d love too, really, but it’d take too much time to find them.” His simper dropped into a petty scowl and I mimicked his former smirk. “Maybe some other time.”
His lip curled insufferably. “Please—like a boorish, STD-infested Gryffindor like you would even get another shot with me. Look at you, you’re—”
“You don’t have to put up with this,” Wood cut in with a tight mutter, swooping down and dropping me onto my feet before swinging himself off and tossing his broom on the ground. “How you doing, Viper?” He was advancing on the sinewy Russian with threateningly quick strides, shrugging off the heavy robes of his Quidditch kit. “Well, I take it?”
His voice was lined with fake friendliness, and Viper’s face instantly paled as he stepped behind his far beefier counterpart, Marcus Flint. Wood halted at this, cynical amusement filling his gaze. “I thought you said you didn’t let girls onto your team, Flint?”
“We like to protect our special weapons,” Flint spat out, and Wood chuckled darkly.
“Well, you obviously aren’t doing a very good job, since someone managed cut Viper’s special weapons clean off.”
“Really?” Viper drawled from behind Flint. “Then what did I fuck your girlfriend with?”
“Apparently your imagination,” I muttered to myself, annoyed with this whole situation, though no one paid me any attention. That’s right. Don’t mind me; I’m just the punching bag.
“You know, Viper, one of these days, I’m going to get a hold of you when none of your little bodyguards are around, and bloody hell I’m going to enjoy it.”
“Never took you for a poof, Wood.”
“Really? Because I’ve taken you for one since the day I met you.”
“I reckon your mum would beg to diff—”
“Okay, really, enough,” I snapped, irritated. “This banter is awful—your mum taunts? That’s disgraceful. You’re a bloody Slytherin, Viper, if you can’t be cunning and cheeky, what good are you?” Heaving an annoyed sigh, I whirled away toward the locker rooms.
Behind me, I heard them all fall silent.
Then, “Are ‘your mum’ taunts really that bad?”
“I dunno, I always thought they had a zing about them…”
“Classic, really…”
“Stupid Gryffindors…”
I shook my head, eyes veering toward the back of my skull. People just didn’t know how to be archenemies these days. On the plus side, however… my smile grew absolutely wicked as I shoved the door to the locker room open, spinning around in whimsical circles. “Phase one is complete!”
Katie’s brow furrowed. “Phase one of what?”
“Oh, nothing…”
Alicia scoffed. “She has this stupid plan that doesn’t involve shagging anyone…”
Whatever. They’ll find out soon enough—this plan’s going to go by in the blink of an eye. For now, however, I think I’ll just jump to phase five.
In case you forgot, that’s ‘revel in my brilliance’.
Disclaimer: I do not own this story or anything in it. The universe and characters are the invention and property of JK Rowling; the plotlines and character development are the creation of AFP.
All chapters
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“—single hairbrush—!”
“—goddamn lipstick—!”
“—of you bints stole my leggings—!”
“—blue stiletto’s missing—!”
Have you ever been stuck in a relatively small room with three murderous girls whilst they battle each other to the savage, bloodthirsty death in attempt to finish getting ready for the victory party they happen to already be forty-five minutes late for? No? Then let me paint this tranquil landscape of a picture for you.
Imagine a pretty blonde banshee screaming obscenities at her flatiron, her hair a curtain of pin-straight gold on one side and an explosion of psychotic curls on the other. She’s wearing nothing more than the skimpiest boy-shorts you can ever imagine, a push-up bra, and one Mr. Moo-Cow slipper (the other having been flung off long ago in a bout of rage), though she’s left the room numerous times to yell “give us five more fucking minutes, goddamnit!” down the stairs without even thinking of donning a robe.
Beside her, clad in an unzipped pair of skinny jeans and hogging up the entirety of the full-length mirror, is a frazzled black girl with a sea of braids. She has green eyeliner on one eye, two entirely different earrings on her ears, and one of those really complicated bras that crisscross like sixty-seven times so that your backless top looks sleek and sexy. She’s currently struggling with said really complicated bra, growling viciously under her breath about ‘fucking boobs’ and their ‘sodding need’ to ‘bloody ruin’ her ‘goddamn life’.
A few feet behind her, dropped into a crouch and tunneling through her trunk like a rabid dog in search of a bone, is a frenzied brunette with long, dripping wet hair trailing down her back. She’s wrapped in a fuzzy blue robe, her skin still damp from the shower she had dashed out of maybe forty seconds ago, babbling hysterically about having nothing to wear whilst hurling dress after dress over her shoulder in panicked search.
And in the center of it all, all dolled up in a tight black dress with long sleeves and a dangerously short hem, was none other than yours truly. Smoky-eyed. Pretty-haired. Glossy-lipped. Jewelry-clad. Me. The reason all of them were so late in the first place. You see, when I finally managed to pull myself together and leave the Arithmancy room, I was in a right state. I was confused, miserable, angry, upset—pretty much every negative emotion available to humankind, really. Naturally, when I dragged myself up to the dormitories, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with this party, I just wanted to curl up in my bed and have a slumber party with a Mr. Ben and a Mr. Jerry.
Unfortunately, Kats, Alicia, and Angelina would have none of it.
They plunked me down, gathered around my bed, and dragged the series of Wood encounters they hadn’t yet heard about out of me, starting from the events of the locker room and ending at the fight we’d had earlier that day. It was rather therapeutic, to be honest, detailing everything out with the wisdom of retrospect—it helped me rationalize the actions and arguments that had been obscured by emotions at the time. Also, I got to see things through my friends’ more objective lenses: this was the first moment we’d really had to breathe since the match had ended, so I hadn’t really caught them up on anything till now.
In the end, they ended up getting pretty much every detail sans the Claire bit—that part struck me as intimate. Private. Something that only Wood had the right to divulge. Naturally, by the time I was done, they had plenty of divergent opinions and different things to say on the matter—particular a certain loudmouthed blonde—but in the end, they all agreed wholeheartedly on one thing: I deserved a night of fun. No stress, no overanalyzing, no arguing—just pure, laughter-filled, unencumbered fun.
And apparently, that involved looking like a stripper.
Okay, so that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything this tight before. It’s an incredibly sexy dress, don’t get me wrong, and the solid black color has the whole understated thing I love going on, but it’s a 3,000% Alicia dress—i.e. ridiculously short and ridiculously tight. Mine are usually one or the other, though according to Kats, ‘this one’s got long-sleeves, so it cancels out!’…
I’m not really buying that logic.
Still, their excitement was contagious, and my legs really were one of the only things I had worth showing off, so I decided to be frivolous and throw caution to the wind—why the hell not? It wasn’t like I had anything to lose: perhaps Alicia was right; perhaps looking good would somehow make me start feeling good. At this point, it was worth a sodding try.
Thus, two solid hours were spent on nothing more than making me a Barbie—taming my scraggly bird’s nest hair into soft curls, bronzing my pale, English legs, plucking my brows into smooth arches, painting my nails a pale pink… it was honestly ridiculous. Granted, we were all laughing hysterically throughout the process and it cheered me up astronomically for a while, but now I was feeling a bit stupid.
I mean, honestly, who was I trying to kid? Pretending to be Alicia for a night wasn’t going to make me feel any better—I should really just stay home and eat my damn Half-Baked in peace. I started fidgeting with the hem of my dress uncomfortably, looking rather dejected, and Angelina caught my eye in the reflection of the mirror.
“Stop thinking about ice cream, you cow—you’re going out and you’re going to like it,” she snapped, carefully lining her bare eye in jade green eyeliner. “I didn’t do your eye-makeup for bloody nothing.”
Alicia scoffed angrily. “Sod eye-makeup—I didn’t do her bloody hair for nothing! Blasted haystack took forever,” she growled, dragging yet another loose curl through the clamp of her straightener. “Her eyes are at least pretty to begin with!”
“Oi, they took a while!” Angelina snapped back, indignant, just as Katie let out a ragged cry of anguish.
“I have absolutely, positively, completely and thoroughly nothing to wear!”
“Then just borrow something!”
“I don’t know what to borrow!”
“Well, what do you feel like wearing?”
“I don’t know!”
Angelina scoffed, raking mascara onto her lashes. “Helpful, Kats.”
“This is a disaster! I’m just not going to go,” the brunette declared dramatically, and I instantly perked up.
“Great, so I guess that means I can—”
All three of them whipped around to glare fiercely at me, gazes slitted and mouths tight.
“…stand here some more,” I finished a bit lamely.
“You could help Katie find something to wear—just a crazy thought,” Alicia jabbed rather testily, and I sent her a brief glare.
“Fine,” I replied, shifting my attention to Katie’s rifling form. “Kats, what are you looking for?”
“I dunno, just something pretty!”
“Like a dress, or—”
“It doesn’t matter, it all looks terrible on me!”
We all groaned—Kats had serious image issues when it came to dressing up. For day-to-day stuff, she was fine, but when it came to actually putting effort into her appearance, she had a cataclysmic meltdown—she’d just put something on, look perfectly pretty in it, and cast it off miserably without any explanation. “What’s wrong with the high-waisted skirt you were trying on earlier?” Angelina asked, and Katie shook her head in frustration.
“As if my waist is what I want to accentuate.”
“You have a perfectly nice waist!”
“Shove it, Ally,” she growled at Alicia, who, to be fair, had the tiniest bloody waist ever.
“Well, what the hell do you want to emphasize then?”
“Nothing, I’m a troll!”
Alicia scoffed. “Yeah, a troll with a phenomenal rack and Pantene commercial hair.”
“Look,” I intervened, marching over to Angelina’s trunk since their ‘phenomenal racks’ put them closest in size, “just dry your hair and do your make-up—I’ll find you something.” Katie made to protest but I threw a hairbrush at her, promptly silencing her.
With a heavy sigh, I dropped down to my knees, the hem of my shirt-oops-I-mean-dress hiking up to just below the curve of my bum—mental note: do not lean over at any point tonight. I rifled through Angelina’s neatly organized trunk for a solid five minutes, transforming it into a toxic wasteland of colorful clothing, before finally yanking out a flowy, low-cut white top in victory. “I got it!”
Katie glanced up dejectedly, hair now dry and back to being the shiny mass of thick, stick-straight honey brown that it always was, and sighed. “Paired with what?”
“Your black skirt,” Angelina decided, staring at the shirt with a calculating air.
“For Merlin’s sake, I don’t want to wear the damn—!”
“Just shut up and try it on, Katie,” I snapped, shoving the gossamer top at her with a scowl, and she grudgingly pulled it over her head. I cocked my head to the side as she reached for the skirt, noting the way the fabric billowed prettily off her shoulders and showed off the perfect amount of cleavage—it really did look nice on her. She slid the skirt up her legs, expression dark and pessimistic.
The second she zipped it up, however, the band wrapping tightly around her waist and cinching the flowing fabric beneath it, I grinned. She looked hot—and it was in that black and white, Audrey Hepburn, simple-yet-classic way that Katie absolutely adored. “Red lipstick and heels and you’re good to go,” I announced with a wry look.
“Seriously, Kats—you look brill,” Angelina added, assessing her from the mirror’s reflection.
“Why don’t you move so she can see for herself?” Alicia snapped, irritated with Angelina’s mirror-hog tendencies, and Angelina merely stuck her tongue out before stepping aside for Katie.
“It’s… pretty nice, I guess,” Katie began hesitantly, turning from side to side and taking in the outfit from different angles before turning to face us. Her look was uncertain. “Right? I mean, maybe not, I just…”
The rest of us knew it was our cue to shower her in compliments.
“It looks phenomenal!”
“Blokes won’t be able to control themselves, love.”
“Seriously, you’re going to be a hazard—”
“Beat them away with a stick—”
“Stop sodding traffic—”
“Go into heart palpitations—”
“Okay, okay, shut up,” Katie cut in, laughing, “the bullshit quota has successfully been met—I’ll wear it.”
“Nice job, Andy,” Angelina grinned, yanking the flirty yellow top she’d set out earlier off a hanger and resuming her place in front of the mirror. “How we doing on time?”
I glanced at my alarm clock, wincing. “Er… somewhere between fantastically late and never going to make it?”
She slowly turned to look at me, halfway through yanking on a little blue dress that made her eyes look like crystals, and smirked. “Why, the gaggle of unsuspecting blokes that are going to be positively drooling after you the whole night, of course. Please flirt with at least six of them—really, Andy, it’ll be so much fun.”
I heaved a gusty sigh, collapsing back against Angelina’s trunk with a defeated air. This was going to be a long night.
+
I had to give my House credit—they sure knew how to throw a party.
The Astronomy Tower had been completely transformed. Scarlet and gold streamers hung from the high, vaulted ceilings, spiraling down toward the boisterous crowd singing and dancing below; Gryffindor banners ran along the railings of the spiral staircase that led up to the second level of the tower, where smaller gaggles of people were lounging about, drinks in hand, chatting animatedly; and a bonfire spitting out red and gold sparks was roaring on the Observatory balcony.
On the first floor, apart from the ringing of laughter and the occasional girlish shriek, nothing could really be heard over the music—pounding beats, trendy guitar, and invigorating percussion soared over the dancing crowd, filtering into the night through the open windows and wide, stone archways of the balconies. How we weren’t keeping up the entirety of the castle, I honestly had no idea, but I suspected a powerful assortment of silencing charms had something to do with it.
Off on one of the many balconies, a heated game of Wizarding Strip was underway, consisting of a gaggle of half-naked Gryffindor males gathered about a small table with cards in hand and fiercely competitive poker faces on. Among them were Zach Davies and George Weasley, the former clad in nothing but polka-dotted boxers and tube socks and the latter in no more than a pair of trousers and a Bludger-covered tie. They looked hilariously serious about something so completely ridiculous.
On the neighboring balcony, a makeshift Tiki bar was set up, serving everything from Orange Juice to Goblin Rum Mojitos to Firewhiskey, and on yet another balcony, an assortment of lounge chairs and floor cushions were sprawled under the stars, begging to be used for all sorts of illicit activities. People were spread out amongst all of the different levels of the tower, rowdy and spirited and having an absolute wild time, and I had to admit, the celebratory mood was infectious.
“Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Gryffindor!” I grinned as the go-to cheer of the night once again broke out amongst the gyrating crowd, glancing over at the dance floor from my spot by the bonfire.
Kats and Angelina were caught up in that whole mess, jumping and squealing and dancing their sodding faces off, and I shook my head at their wild movements: it’s amazing what a few shots of Patron could do to people. Off to my left, Alicia was draped along one of the floor cushions, very much sober and deep in discussion with Poof-boy, whose hazy, half-lidded expression spoke volumes about his mental state. Fred and Lee were at the Tiki bar, caught in the midst of a vicious Butterbeer chugging contest that looked like it wasn’t letting up any time soon, and Fiona was watching them with a delightfully disgusted look, snooty brow raised.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Better yet, I know what you’re thinking I’m thinking, and I just want to make it clear that that’s not what I’m thinking.
For the most part.
…
Fine, so I was wondering where the hell Wood was. But I mean, really, every single other member of the team was accounted for—even Martin the sodding Towel Boy was leading a conga line in the corner. We’d arrived about an hour ago, and at the time, I was relieved by Wood’s absence. I wanted to let loose and have fun, which was nearly impossible to do whenever him and his stupid, brooding stare were around.
Now, however, I was a bit narked. Granted, I was angry to begin with after what had happened in the Arithmancy room, but the fact that he wasn’t here now was just stupid—this was a party thrown in honor of the Quidditch team, and he was the sodding captain. If he really thought avoiding me to this extreme was the best way to go about our stupid situation, then he wasn’t anywhere near as mature as he thought he was.
“…really, really brilliant dive, until that sod had to go an knock you off your broom. I would’ve caught you in a heartbeat, love. Couldn’t let such a fit bird get injured—I like my women healthy…”
I glanced over at the younger-looking, freckled boy now standing beside me, wondering where the hell he came from, until his words registered in my head. My brows shot up; was he hitting on me? “What?”
He grinned, blue eyes sparkling as he shifted toward me, dark, ruffled head barely reaching my shoulder. “Oh, c’mon, doll. You can’t deny this mojo we’ve got going here. Look at you, you’re swooning.”
I choked on my laughter—was he serious? “Kid, how old are you?”
“Thirteen,” he said, though he promptly leaned forward with a conspiratorial expression, waggling his eyebrows, “but I’ll be fourteen in two months.”
I snorted. “Well, in that case.”
He arched a cocky brow, expression growing sly as he leaned back against the railing all suave-like. “Poke fun all you want, doll, but know that one day, when you’re old and ugly and wear orthopedic shoes, you’re going to dream about getting attention from a spry, dashingly handsome fourteen-year-old like myself.”
“Thirteen-year-old,” I corrected.
“Two months,” he snapped a bit irritably.
I smiled. This kid was ridiculous. “What’s your name, Casanova?”
“Jefferson, but the fairer sex usually calls me ‘baby daddy’,” he replied.
I spat out the sip of my drink I’d just taken, spraying the contents into the fire—baby daddy? I lapsed into a choking fit of laughter, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. He’d said it so seriously, like it was the most casual thing in the world, and now he was looking at me like I was crazy.
“You alright, doll?”
“You’re a seriously messed up kid,” I managed to get out, still laughing quite loudly, and Jefferson merely grinned.
“Thanks!”
“No problem,” I chuckled.
“You know, I think you’re pretty messed up, too,” he said after a beat, his expression growing suggestive again as he lowered his voice, “so what do you say we ditch this scene, head back to my place, and go be messed up together?”
I widened my eyes in fake excitement. “Ooo, you mean the third year dormitories? Let me go get my coat!”
“Alright, alright, I get it, the hard-to-get approach,” he conceded, lifting his hands with a stupid smirk. “I’m cool with that, doll—I’m nothing if not persistent.”
“Really? Because I can think of a few other adjectives you’re ‘nothing if not’.”
“Charming, suave, and sexually irresistible are implied.”
I snorted yet again. “Silly me.”
“Sexy you.”
“God, you’re creepy,” I laughed, incredulous—this kid was like a cartoon character.
“I can be anything you want me to be, doll.”
“How about gone?”
“Ooo, feisty.”
I shuddered at the creepiness, eyes bright with humor, but the flushed, pretty face of Katie Bell came barreling at me before I could respond. “Andy, you’ve got to come dance with us,” she gushed, pushing a hand through her disheveled hair as she reached for my arm. “Angelina just put on disco!”
“Aw, Kats, not the bloody disc—”
My whine was interrupted by a low, drawn-out, suggestion-ridden whistle. “And who, pray tell, is this exquisite creature?”
We both glanced over at Jefferson, whose entire demeanor shifted as he took in the sight of Katie. I groaned: his expression was positively Cheshire. “Uh…” Katie reared back slightly, tossing me a questioning look, and I sighed.
“Katie, this is Jefferson.”
“Er, hi, Jefferson.”
“Hi, Wild Kat.”
Katie looked baffled, and Jefferson merely winked. She turned to look at me. “You know, your new friend’s kind of creepy.”
“Oh, we’re not friends.”
“We’re lovers,” he went on to explain. I rolled my eyes, mouth parting to protest, but he pressed on before I could, “Although, now that I’ve met the goddess that is you, I’m starting to rethink that decision.”
“Great! I’ll just leave you two, then…” Katie grabbed my arm before I could escape, giving me a ‘don’t-you-dare’ look, and I sighed miserably. “What?”
“You’re not leaving me here with him!” she hissed.
“Then leave with me.”
“I can’t—that’s rude!” she replied, and I almost laughed at the earnest expression on her face—she was actually afraid of offending someone who referred to himself as ‘baby daddy’.
“Jefferson,” I said pointedly, gaze snapping over to his dancing eyes, “we’re leaving. It was a pleasure meeting you—well, not really… but anyway, have fun at the party.” With that, I turned to go, but I realized Katie was stalling beside me, looking uncertain. I internally groaned—she was so bloody nice.
Jefferson seemed to notice this, for he was watching her closely, taking note of the hesitation in her gaze. And then, just as she turned to follow me, the cheeky git struck—he pulled the saddest, most vulnerable face in the sodding universe and stared up at her. “Please don’t go.” It was a trembling whisper.
Oh, please, I thought, but sure enough, Katie had turned back around, expression torn. “Well… it’s just that our friends are waiting for us…” her hesitant tone trailed off as he cast his dramatic gaze down, the very picture of dejection, and her stare snapped over to mine, desperate.
I snorted. “Do what you want, I’m leaving.”
Her eyes widened, but I swiveled about anyway, making my way over to Alicia. She turned her attention back to the cheeky git as I walked away, venturing back into uncertain conversation, and the last thing I heard was:
“So, what’s your favorite color?”
“Sex.”
“What?”
I chuckled darkly, shaking my head. Serves her right for being such a Hufflepuff. “Oi, Spinnet!” I called, making the blonde’s head snap up from beside the fire. She looked annoyed at the interruption, and I promptly realized it was because she was still in the midst of a deep, life-altering discussion with Sebastian.
“What?” she snapped.
I held my hands up in defense, stifling a laugh. “Just saying hi.”
“Hi,” she replied, sharp and irritated, before dropping her gaze back to the skinny-jean clad male sprawled across from her, expression intense. “Continue with what you were saying.”
“What were we talking about?” he drawled, voice hazy and slow, and I almost snorted: that was a stoned voice if I’d ever heard one.
“The ritualistic ills of corporate, modern society.”
He tossed his head back and laughed, the movement languid and arrogant. “Where do I even begin with that one?”
I rolled my eyes, wondering what the hell Alicia saw in these kinds of blokes, when suddenly, a loud, boisterous cheer sounded from the dance floor inside. I glanced over briefly, expecting someone to be dancing on a table or something, when a familiar flicker of blonde caught my attention. I leaned forward, straining to get a better look at the party’s newest arrival, and sure enough, Gabe’s lopsided grin came into focus.
I instantly grinned—perfect! “Hey, Alicia, I hate to pull you away from such a fascinating conversation, but I actually have someone I need you to meet.”
She gave me a positively withering glare, motioning to Sebastian with her head in way that said, ‘hello, this is the love of my life, here!’, but I simply ignored it, smiling pleasantly. “I’m a bit busy right now, Andy.”
“Not for this, you’re not.”
Her glare darkened into a scowl. “Yes, actually, I am.”
“C’mon, it’ll take three seconds.”
“I—”
“It’s fine, love,” Sebastian drawled with a shrug, though given his present state, I was rather certain anything would be ‘fine’.
Alicia smiled briefly at him before snapping her gaze back over to me, edgy and pissed. “And who is it that I have to meet right now?”
“Gabe.”
Her face flickered slightly with realization—I’d already told her my plan to get her on the Wobbler staff. “Gabe, Gabe? The Gabe that—”
“Correct.”
“You mean Gabe Harris?” Sebastian asked, leaning back onto his elbows in a catlike motion.
“Yeah,” I said, arching a brow, and he let his head loll back in desire.
“That boy is such a slice.”
I smacked my lips together as hard as I could, fighting the burst of laughter bubbling up my throat. Sebastian… thought Gabe… my shoulders started shaking. “R-really?” I managed, avoiding Alicia’s eyes at all costs.
“Oh, completely,” Sebastian said, voice tinged with a dramatic purr. “He’s number three on my list of top twenty straight blokes I’d get a sex-change for.” I almost lost it at this point. “I mean, honestly, have you seen him doing laps in the lake? That torso…” He shuddered lustfully, eyes fluttering closed, and I couldn’t help but sneak a peek at Alicia.
At which point I did lose it.
Steam was practically curling from her nostrils, her eyes reduced to fiery slits of blue. Her shoulders were rigid as stone as she stared at Sebastian, teeth gritting together in jealous fury, fingers digging into the thick velvet of the cushion below her. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes as I roared with laughter, reveling in the irony of the situation as I made a quick grab for Alicia’s wrist, hurling her up before she could protest. “C-c’mon!”
I staggered forward into the crowd, probably looking totally hammered despite the complete lack of alcohol in my system as I dragged her behind me. “Seriously—gasp—too—gasp—perfect!” I heaved, struggling not to fall over; I nearly crashed into six people, but I couldn’t even manage a sorry. “Look on your—gasp—face!” I fell into a fresh peal of giggles, positively drunk with laughter, while Alicia scowled.
“It’s really not that funny,” she jabbed, yanking me to an angry halt as we neared the dance floor. “He’s gay; obviously he likes blokes.”
“Yeah, but this particular—”
“Whatever,” she snapped, crossing her arms with a glower. “It doesn’t matter—let’s just meet this kid.” I laughed in her face for a few more minutes, making all sorts of obnoxious comments about karma and ‘this-is-what-happens-when-you-go-through-life-as-an-inconsiderate-bint’, before finally settling down a bit.
“Alright, I’m done, I swear,” I conceded, grinning cheekily as I raised my palms. She looked thoroughly unamused, eyes slitted with a mixture of irritation and impatience, and I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, Alicia, calm down—the joke’s over.”
“Fine.”
The response was predictably snippy, and I sighed. “Can someone please get this girl a drink?” I yelled over the crowd, gesturing at Alicia, and sure enough, a lovesick fifth-year jumped at the chance, racing over to the Tiki bar like his life depended on it.
“Wha—no! Oi, kid, stop!” Alicia called, turning around and yelling after the boy, and I took the opportunity to scan the room for Gabe. The crowd was sprawling and tightly packed, so it took me a few seconds before… bingo.
“Harris!” I called, spotting the tousled, dark blonde head amidst the swirl of people by the Strip Poker balcony. He glanced over, spotting me and shooting a crooked grin, and I waved him over impatiently. “I need you to meet someone!”
He broke off the conversation he was having with a pretty Ravenclaw, causing her to pout cutely at him and whisper something in his ear, and I merely rolled my eyes—typical. “If it isn’t my little ray of optimism and sunshine,” he greeted as he made his way over, pulling me into a bear hug before I could protest and ruffling my hair.
“Oi—whoa! I spent half an hour getting her hair to look human; paws off, buddy!”
My eyes closed at the snap of a voice, groan working its way out of my throat. “Gabe,” I said, voice muffled by his collar, “meet the girl you’re doing a favor for.”
He pulled away slightly, keeping an arm draped over my shoulders as his glittering green stare landed on Alicia. I glanced over, snorting at the sight of her: she was in her pissed off stance, hands thrown against her hips and lips pursed, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how bitchy she could look in such a pretty blue dress.
“You’re Gabe?” she demanded, arching a judgmental brow.
His mouth curled cheekily. “Only on Tuesdays.”
“So I guess that leaves Hair-Destroyer for Mondays,” she snapped coolly, and I almost groaned—her residual jealously was about as subtle as she was.
“True—but I’m Helps-Delusional-Girl-Stalk-Gay-Bloke on Wednesdays, so get excited.”
Her eyes widened in outrage, and I couldn’t help but laugh—Gabe’s eyes were simply dancing with humor. “Why do you people insist on painting me out as some creepy stalker?” she cried.
“Oh, I don’t know—maybe because you creepily stalk people?”
She scowled at me. “Your hair looks ugly now.”
“Irrelevant.”
“But true.”
“So is the fact that you’re a stalker.”
“Iamnotastalker!”
“Alright, regardless of what may or may not be your stalker-like tendencies,” Gabe began, shooting Alicia a placating look as she predictably ruffled, “I said may or may not be, love, calm down.” She did nothing of the sort, pretty blue eyes tapering into slits, and Gabe continued with his thought, “You want to work for the Wobbler.”
She scoffed. “Sure.”
“Sure?” he asked, arching a brow, and I couldn’t help but groan internally—Alicia always did this when she felt attacked or on the defensive. Her movements grew tense, her answers flippant, and everything about her got snippy.
“Yes, sure—awesome, brilliant, great,” she listed testily, waving an errant hand. “Insert superlative here.”
“Alicia,” I interjected, voice falsely pleasant. “I don’t know if this has slipped your oftentimes questionable mind, but Gabe’s doing you a favor.” She stared at me uncomprehendingly, and I rolled my eyes. “Translation: stop being a bitch.”
“I’m not—” Gabe’s laughter sliced through her snipe of a response, irritating her immensely. “What?”
He continued laughing. “For someone so blunt and ‘tell-it-like-it-is’, you’re in denial quite a bit,” he replied, and she scowled in response, parting her mouth to speak. “Let me guess—‘no, I’m not’,” he ventured, raising a cheeky brow.
Her mouth snapped shut, lips pressing together in a flustered purse, and my brows slowly inched upward. Well, damn. The only other bloke I’d ever seen shut Alicia up was George, and that was because he had a mean Silencio charm. The tense silence persisted for a few moments, her glare steadily fixed on his cheeky stare, before I cleared my throat.
“Alright, well, I’m going to let you two talks things out…”
“That would require actual talking,” Gabe said, raffish stare trained on Alicia.
She gave him a surly look, lip curled in distaste. “Why on earth would anyone ever get a sex-change for you?”
His face crumpled in confusion, and I took that as my cue to leave. A few, trailing snippets of the their bickering carried over to my ears as I walked off, loaded with a crackling mixture of curiosity and animosity, and I couldn’t help but shake my head—I really think I might’ve just opened up a Pandora’s box with those two. Gabe could get along with pretty much anybody, but Alicia—'shame, what’s that?'—Spinnet was no anybody.
“ANDY!” someone called, boisterous and loud, and I glanced over to see none other than a half-dressed Zach Davies staggering toward me, George Weasley in tow. “Th’ woman o’ the decade! Everybody give it up for th’ bezzt Seeker in Hogwarts hist’ry!” he roared through cupped hands, causing the chaotic crowd to erupt into cheers, and I laughed.
“Davies, you’re drunk.”
He grinned stupidly. “You’re c’rrect.”
“I take it you lost?” I observed, referencing the poker game and the fact that he was only wearing his boxers, a beanie, and a bright red sock.
“False!” he cried, thrusting a dramatic arm over to the balcony and nearly falling over in the process. “Lies, Andy! M’m telling you, it was a conspir…rimacy…” he stumbled for a moment, expression dropping, before glaring back up at me with restored ferocity. “Lousy gits cheated th’ whole game!”
“Sore loser, this one,” George chimed in, slinging an arm around the impassioned blonde’s shoulders and tossing me a grin. “Having fun, love?”
“I really am,” I said, smile earnest—despite my initial misgivings, I was actually really happy I’d decided to come. It was a brilliant way to get my mind off things, and while Wood’s continued absence admittedly bothered me, it was refreshing in a way as well. I’d pretty much given up on the idea of him coming, so I wasn’t going to bother with him tonight; this was a night for just me. No drama. No conflict. No butterflies. No maybes.
Just fun.
“I know ‘vrybody’s probably been tellin’ you this, but you look great, Andy,” Zach drawled, a hilarious slur in his speech. “Like hot great. Like damn-whoz-tha’-leggy-bird-in-the-black-dress great. Like—”
“I get it,” I interjected quickly, feeling a slight flush rising onto my cheeks. I never did take compliments all that well. I simply didn’t know what to do with them. “But, er, thank you.”
“No,” Zach slurred, leaning over in a dramatic gesture and holding my gaze suggestively, “thank you.”
George yanked him back by the scruff of his neck, rolling his eyes and sending me a pointed look. “Do me a favor, yeah? Next time you decide to wear that dress, let me know ahead of time so I can bring my Beater’s bat.”
I snorted, defaulting to derision in my state of discomfort, though before I could properly respond, a sudden, deafening roar erupted over the crowd. I jolted in shock at the sound—it was by far the loudest of the night, wild and frenzied and full of hysteria, and I glanced over my shoulder in irritation. What on earth could be so bloody excit—
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” Lee shouted from the entrance, grinning like a madman, “THE CAPTAIN HAS ARRIVED!”
My heart suddenly skipped about three beats. He’d shown up.
Everybody started swarming the tower entrance, rushing over to greet the long-awaited missing member of the Quidditch team, and I found that I simply couldn’t move. I honestly didn’t know why. The reaction was violent and sharp, almost suffocating, and I realized after a moment that it was anxiety. Pure, unbridled anxiety. Butterflies started fluttering about my stomach, nervous and tense, and as stupid as they were, I couldn’t shake them off.
I’d made up my mind that I wasn’t going to see Wood tonight, and now that he was here, I felt… heightened. Awake. Like someone had just hit the ‘on’ switch inside of me. Three seconds ago, I’d been having fun, sure, but it was an easygoing, lukewarm kind of fun where everything was lighthearted and nothing was unpleasant. I’d almost been a bit… numb.
Now, with that one, simple announcement, I was electrified.
“…he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fell-ooooow!” everyone was singing, voices horribly off-key, and I forced myself to look up at the source of it all, “that nobody can deny!”
I stiffened. Hauled onto the shoulders of Lee and Fred, shirt unbuttoned and Gryffindor tie askew, was none other than the man of the hour himself, Oliver Wood. His head was tossed back in reckless laughter, hair a ruffled mess of dark brown, eyes bright and warm as he egged along the crowd… and I honestly couldn’t do anything but blink. This was, quite simply, due to one minor detail.
He was completely, totally, and irrefutably drunk.
