Standard Disclaimer: Don't own them.

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Angelina's giggle reverberated down the corridor, girlish and silly and ridiculously intoxicating.

Warrington's jaw clenched at the sound. He hated that Gryffindor bint. She'd taken cheap shots at him, both on and off the Quidditch Pitch, too many times for him to go on noticing the pretty pink of the gloss on her lips, the jasmine perfume that clung to her hair, or the graceful swerve of her hips as she sauntered through the castle. Not that that had stopped her from tempting him and all the other boys in school with them every goddamned day.

Katie Bell's tinkeling laugh and the guffaw of the Spinnet girl joined and overtook Angelina's giggle before they were all quieted into hisses and whispers and the corridor leading to the dungeons finally fell silent.

Did they know he was coming?

What sort of tricks had they planned for him this time? He recalled his homework sprouting wings and flying out of his bag, his Head Boy badge flashing humiliating and lurid images and, last but not least, his own personal storm cloud that had followed him around for an entire afternoon.

Those bitches.

He paused for a moment, considering taking another route to the dungeons, when he spotted another Slytherin approaching. It was Zabini. He was just a fifth-year, but he was handy enough with a wand and two Slytherin boys versus three Gryffindor girls seemed like pretty good odds to Warrington. Besides, these girls usually liked to hex and run.

"Back to the common room then, eh, Zabini?" Warrington queried with manufactured interest and camaraderie as the other boy neared.

Zabini slowed for a moment, silently appraising his house-mate, whom he'd not spoken more than a dozen words to in his entire life. Apparently unwilling to snub a fellow Slytherin, or at least not the Head Boy, Zabini nodded once in acknowledgement.

Warrington resumed his walk towards the dungeons and whatever those little hellcats had planned with Zabini in tow. It would probably be sporting of him to warn Zabini, but Warrington had never been a very good sport, and Zabini could hardly blame him -- it was inherently un-Slytherin to give up a good advantage.

As they approached the next corridor, Warrington slowed a little, giving Zabini room to catch up just in time. Three wands brandished by three Gryffindor witches were thrust in their faces the second they passed through the arch.

"Oh shit," Spinnet swore. "There's two of them."

"Well spotted," Warrington replied with a triumphant grin as both he and Zabini produced their wands. "And that will be five points from Gryffindor for the language, Spinnet."

Warrington's grin widened at the cowed look on Spinnet's face and the way her Gryffindor bravado seemed to shrink under sthe threat of an even fight. He was about to tell her as much when his wand was suddenly yanked from his grasp.

"Expelliarmus!" Bell had exclaimed, snatching his wand as it whizzed through the air.

Warrington's smile failed. Since when did Katie Bell get so good with defensive spells?

The triumphant grin was now on Bell's face, with one to match spreading across Spinnet's as they both turned their wands on Zabini, who reluctantly dropped his own.

Oddly enough, Angelina seemed less than pleased with the situation. "Which one was first?" she asked, irritated, her eyes flashing back and forth between them.

"I think it was a tie," Spinnet answered with a suggestive grin.

"Nu-uh," Angelina argued. "Not both. It was only supposed to be the first Slytherin." Her dark eyes settled on Warrington, tempting him to speak up.

As if he would volunteer himself.

Bell's grin faded as her eyes focused in hard on their captives. "Well then?" she asked. "Which of you was first through the arch?"

Warrington glanced at Zabini, whose face was appallingly calm. Didn't he know who they were dealing with?

For his part, Warrington wanted nothing to do with whatever these harpies had planned, but he couldn't very well toss out the younger boy like a sacrificial lamb. He was Head Boy, after all, and things like that always got around. Professor Snape would have his head for it, or at the very least, his badge. And, damn it, he loved that badge. He was the first Slytherin boy to wear it in over a decade and the first Warrington to have graced his robes with it ever.

Bell jabbed her wand into his throat, literally pressing for the answer. Warrington just scowled at her and kept his mouth shut in a tight, angry line.

"Lot of good those forked tongues do 'em," Spinnet said with a frown. "They're obviously not talking. Is there a spell we can use to find out which one it'll be?"

The girls looked at one another quizzically for a moment before Bell piped in.

"I know a way," she grinned. She pointed her wand from Warrington to Zabini, back and forth, while chanting in a teasing, sing-song voice. "Eentsy-weentsy, whiny, male. Catch a serpent by his tail, if he hollers, let him wail …"

At this, the other girls burst out laughing. Warrington gritted his teeth and bore it, as he had borne all their other assaults, but it was all apparently too much for Zabini. His pride piqued, the younger boy puffed up and pushed forward against Spinnet's wand.

"Go on then," Zabini practically snarled.

Instead of the vengeful wrath Warrington was used to seeing on her face just before she spit out a hex, Spinnet's face glowed with a kind of glee he'd not known her capable of. "Brave little snake, are ya now?" she replied, turning to her friends. "Maybe this one was mis-sorted."

This seemed to puff Zabini up even more, and Warrington couldn't help but feel the sting of it to his own pride.

"Fine. Get ready girls," Angelina said, stepping up to Zabini and crowding his space as Spinnet moved aside.

Angelina was nearly three years older and at least a foot taller than Zabini, not to mention that she had a wand and he didn't. Nevertheless, the stupid little berk held his ground.

"Do your worst," Zabini intoned with a defiant set to his jaw.

"My worst?" Angelina queried with a cheeky grin. "Even that will be better than anything you've ever had."

And then it happened.

Warrington's jaw dropped along with his stomach and every hope, dream and fantasy he'd ever had about her.

Angelina grabbed Zabini by his tie and jerked him towards her, forcing him to his toes, and crashed her lips into his.

Bell and Spinnet squealed in delight, and Angelina scowled at them as best she could with her face pressed into Zabini's.

The girls began to count.

"One, Cornish Pixie. Two, Corn -- ish Pix--ie. Threeeeeeeee Corn--ish Pix---ieee ..."

Angelina opened her mouth to protest the elongated count, but a much less stunned Zabini took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, holding Angelina close as he thrust his tongue into her mouth.

Shocked, her eyes widened for a second before she attempted to regain control of the kiss.

Bell and Spinnet squealed again while dragging out the count even further.

"Fouuuuur, Corn --- ish Pix----ieeeeeee ..."

Warrington could have choked, his anger, his incredulity, his bitter jealousy rising up and swelling in his chest like a thunderhead.

This is what he had avoided? A dare. A kiss! A goddamn wet dream handed to him on a silver fucking platter!

Angelina moaned softly as Zabini's hands roamed up her back to tangle in the inky black silk of her hair and he teased her tongue with his. Spinnet and Bell continued to count, now stuck on "eight, Cornish Pixie," for the last 4 counts.

Having stood all he could bear, Warrington huffed, angry and impatient, bringing Angelina back to her senses in time to notice her friends weren't really counting anymore at all.

"What's the count?" she asked.

Before Bell and Spinnet could drag it out any further, Warrington growled, "Twelve. Twelve Cornish fucking Pixie. Had enough yet, Johnson? Or would you like to take young Zabini here back to your room for his first proper shag?"

His scathing tone had stunned Bell and Spinnet into silence, but Angelina just smiled.

"Oh, I doubt it would be his first," she replied, smirking knowingly at the boy in question.

Zabini shrugged as if it were no big deal.

Warrington considered murder.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor," he hissed. "For lewd and lascivious behaviour towards a younger student."

Spinnet and Bell gasped incredulously.

Even Zabini seemed surprised by the magnitude of the punishment.

Angelina just smirked at Warrington and gave Zabini a wink. "Worth every point," she said in that sultry and infuriating tone of hers. She was such a fucking tease.

And, as if to further prove the point, she took Warrington's wand from Bell and held it up before him, her eyes travelling its length from stern to tip appraisingly. He didn't know what kept him from reaching out and snatching it out of her hand. He didn't know what kept him from doing anything but staring back at her fatuously.

Yes he did.

She was sex on legs. She was a goddess. She was Angelina Jonson and her eyes were moving along 10½ inches of yew as though they were 10½ inches of something else.

Satisfied with her appraisal, she stepped towards Warrington, now crowding his space. He stifled the urge to swallow. Warringtons don't gulp. But Angelina wasn't making it easy not to. The scent of her hair and the heat of her body had enveloped him, and her pretty pink lips were so near that he could smell her strawberry gloss. His mouth watered reflexively.

Her breasts brushed against his chest, her eyes dilated and her lips parted.

But she didn't kiss him.

Her hands trailed slowly down his chest, slipping his wand into his pocket along the way and pausing at his waist for just a fraction of a moment while his eyes revealed everything he never wanted to say to her. And she pulled away, leaving him cold. Plundered. Ransacked. Exposed.

She turned to the smug bastard beside Warrington and kissed the little prat once more, chastely on the cheek this time, and murmured, "Goodnight, Romeo." She turned to go, linking arms with her cohorts and tossing a casual "Goodnight, Warrington," over her shoulder as she departed.

Warrington could hear Spinnet and Bell's laughter trailing down the corridor as they followed their friend, teasing her all the way. Angelina wasn't laughing, but she certainly didn't sound angry when she promised to get them back the next time they played 'truth or dare.'

Zabini straightened his tie where Angelina had rumpled it, picked up his wand and continued on his way to the dungeons as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Warrington remained in the corridor for several minutes longer, collecting his whirling thoughts, replaying the incident in painful detail and contemplating all the possible meanings behind her actions, her words, her motives. All of the possible outcomes of having reacted differently. The value of pride against prudence.

The significance of truth and daring.

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A/N: A big thanks to the lovely Diabolica for betaing this for me and all her clever suggestions :)