Secrets

Onesmartcookie78

Summary: Secrets are hard to keep and lies are even harder to tell. Alicia/Marcus. Sequel to "The Aftermath".

Disclaimer: I own nothing.


"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul."

― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets


Secrets are hard to keep and lies are even harder to tell. The line between the two grows thin in the middle, grey around the edges with a thick sludge not easy to see through. Are you lying to keep your secret? Or is your secret the lie? Have you become the secret, or the lie? Who is the real you?

It's hard to tell, for me anyway.

You see, I, Alicia Grace Spinnet, snogged Marcus Flint a few months back. The prat of a Quidditch Captain from Slytherin, major jackass, and probably the most foul creature known to man in terms of personality.

But I didn't stop there. Looking back, I wish I had. But I didn't. Funny, how much guilt you can suffer from just by thinking retrospectively.

Oh, no. I shagged him, too.

The worst part? I didn't stop even there, which had to be the second biggest mistake I've ever made. Nope. I shagged him again, in that broom closet. And again, in the changing rooms after everyone had left when we'd played a particularly dirty and sexually frustrating game of Quidditch together (during which he'd whispered some of the most lewd things imaginable in my ear, and I'd been strangely turned on).

And I had lied about all of it to my friends. Every single detail.

This is the story of the day I fell to pieces and my secret came to light.


"Who are you dating, Leesh?" Katie Bell, one of the sweetest girls you will ever meet, I swear, asked me one day in the Gryffindor common room. Her, Angelina, Fred, George, Lee, Oliver and I were all lazing about on the sofas by the fire (we had kicked a few First and Second years off, along with some stubborn Fourth years lacking in the respect department), curled up to do our homework after a rigorous round of practise. I don't even know why Oliver had made us, since we'd already won the Cup, but he wanted us in shape for next year. When Fred and George had callously pointed out that it was his last year here, Oliver had shouted that he'd won the Cup for the first time in however-many-years and looked about to cry. Yeah. He's a bit obsessed...

"Not dating anyone," my voice came out more nervous than I had thought it would, even though I'd dared to pray it wouldn't. "Why would you think that, Katie?" I gave an equally nervous giggle, mentally slapping myself as the steady scratch of quills slowed to a stop. Great; now we had everyone's attention and Angie was looking at me with especially doubtful suspicion.

"You've been missing a lot lately," Fred explained as he languidly stretched, throwing an arm behind me on the sofa. "And when you return-"

"-your lips are red and you've got love bites down your neck," George finished, his left arm also falling behind me. Why had I thought to sit in between the Weasley twins? They had a habit of being unusually perceptive about these things (they were convinced the skill would one day come to its fruition when Ron began looking at girls differently. In such an instance, they would no doubt tease him with their foreknowledge) and were going to manipulate the information out of me one way or another, now that their interest was suitably piqued. They were not two to give up easily, and always saw things through to the end.

"You know, George?" Fred began, almost making me groan. They were going to go back and forth now, and speculate on the matter until they managed to poke a naturally sensitive nerve on the subject. Then they'd batter senselessly (tactlessly) on the barriers I had erected around it, where they would keep up the pressure till I eventually cracked.

I wouldn't go down without a fight, but I certainly wasn't looking forward to the resulting conversation. Oliver sensibly packed up and left, Lee not far behind and Angie far ahead. Katie was the last to leave, shooting apologetic puppy eyes at me in a response to my pleading expression.

I sighed. Crap.

"Yes, Fred?"

"Why do you think Alicia likes to lie so much?"

"I don't know, does she hate us, do you think?"

"I don't hate you," I protested loudly, earning several strange looks from my classmates and fellow Gryffindors, "and I'm not lying." I swallowed though, and could feel myself sweating out of fear; they couldn't find out.

Fred pounced on the observation, "If she's not lying, George, why is she turning red? Unless-"

"-unless us being close to her is making her uncomfortable?" George helpfully leant closer to me, his twin following in suit, leaving me feeling crowded and even more awkward.

"Stop," I croaked, pushing them away from either side, but the pair were like annoying flies, or stubborn leeches, and didn't budge one centimetre.

"Wouldn't that point to her lying as well?" Fred wondered aloud, "she's nervous because she's lying."

"Excellent observation, Fred," George nodded.

"Thank you, George."

"You're welcome, Fred."

"Oh, get on with it," I muttered impatiently, "enough of that! Just get this over with so that I can go and suffer in silence in my room after you lot are done embarrassing me."

"Embarrassing?" George repeated, at the same time Fred said, "Her spirit is broken, let's move in for the kill."

Thankfully, Ginny chose the moment to stalk over with a letter to the twins from their mum, and saved me for the time being. Have I ever mentioned how much I like that redhead? She's an angel, I swear-

"Hey, Alicia. Is it true that you're with Marcus Flint? I saw you two coming out of a broom closest a while back and Lavender swears that Quidditch isn't the only thing you two have in common these days."

I paled, and the twins whipped around to stare at me in a mixture of shock and disgust. I, for one, wasn't sure if I was more horrified at Ginny's attitude on the matter or worried that the secret was out.

Probably the latter. I could ruminate on the former at a later moment in time.

"You- what?" Fred gurgled out eloquently.

"Flint- who?" George spat, "please tell me there's another Marcus Flint who's not in Slytherin and isn't a prat," he begged. I gave him an odd look, already feeling sick to my stomach at the revelation. The volume at which George had roared had attracted more than a healthy amount of interest, and it now seemed that the whole house knew. And I loved Gryffindors, I really did, but they were such gossips.

"Initiate plan 'Destroy Bastard'," Fred growled, turning to his sister who was looking on with raised eyebrows and thinly veiled amusement. "We were going to save this one for you, Gin, for when you got a boyfriend, but we're going to have to kill Flint now, and come up with a different operation for your first. What's the order again, George?"

"I do believe it was 'prepare grave in Forbidden Forest', then 'murder', then 'obstruct justice by tampering with evidence', ending with 'burn body' and then 'bury ashes', Fred." George recited with frightening ease. Sue me if I no longer wanted to turn my back on them any more.

Fred snapped his fingers, "Ah, yes, you're absolutely right, George. If you'll excuse us, we have some business to take care of," he hissed.

He and George brushed past me, and my shock wore off enough to grab them by their collars and whisper, "But I'm happy."

"WHAT?!" The twin looks of surprise on their faces would have normally been amusing, but I didn't find that to be the case now. "You can't possibly-"

George snorted. "She's joking, Fred, right, Alicia?" When I said nothing, his expression faded, "You don't actually-?"

"I love him," I blurted out firmly, the finality in my tone startling even me. Even as I said it, I realised it was true.

It was the biggest mistake of my life.