A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Prompts are below. :)
Photography Task 2: Write about getting into a physical fight.
Word Count: 1702
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.
Enjoy!
Charlie grit his teeth as he stirred the potion in his cauldron, trying his hardest to tune out the Slytherins behind him. Professor Snape had stepped out of the classroom to discuss something with Professor Flitwick—not that the Potions Master would have come to Charlie's aid if he was there.
"Hey, Weasley, how old is that cauldron? It looks like it's about to melt at your feet."
"Never mind his caudron, look at his robes. They look like they're from the eighteenth century."
Charlie hunched his shoulders, red hair falling into his burning face. He was used to this kind of abuse, having suffered through it for two years already. The third-year Gryffindor ignored the taunts of the students behind him and continued working, satisfied when his potion turned out the correct color. He shot a look over his shoulder and noted with glee that Bulstrode and Fawley—two of his worst tormentors—were panicking over their gloopy, puce-colored potion that was supposed to be a smooth cerulean blue.
Snape was always very picky about the presentation of their potions, so it gave Charlie great pride when his professor came back into the classroom and had only one piece of criticism for him. It was really perfect, but Charlie didn't mind the unfair grade when he heard the Head of Slytherin struggle to come up with ways to praise Bulstrode and Fawley's creation. In potion making, looks counted.
As Charlie was tidying up after class ended, he spotted something flying towards him out of the corner of his eye. His Quidditch reflexes allowed him to jump out of the way just as a long, thin chain that normally hung in the back of the classroom fell into his potion. He avoided the splash, but turned to look angrily at the two guffawing Slytherins.
Charlie let out a growl of frustration as he stooped down to clean up the mess, careful not to let any of the potion get on his bare skin. He hadn't been paying attention to what the potion was supposed to do, just the page number in the textbook the directions were in. He was cursing that decision now.
Why were there chains in the bloody dungeon, anyway? Charlie thought to himself. He supposed Snape must enjoy holding them for Filch, who missed the old days when corporeal punishment was allowed—but really, chains in the dungeons was overkill.
A shadow appeared on the floor in front of him and Charlie looked up nervously to see the scowling figure of Professor Snape.
"Detention for carelessness in my classroom, Weasley," he said, black eyes glittering coldly.
Charlie jumped to his feet, a protest on his lips. "It's not my fault, Professor! Fawley and Bulstrode threw something in my—"
"Don't think that I am a fool, Weasley," Snape told him dangerously. "I know that you would take any opportunity to blame those two. Detention."
Charlie left the dungeons some minutes later, fuming. To his disgust, Fawley and Bulstrode were waiting for him in the corridor, wearing identical sneers.
Charlie tried to push past them, but the crowds were thick, making escape difficult. He'd promised his mother that he wouldn't get into any more fights this term, but they were making it so hard.
"Hey, Weasley!" Bulstrode called after him, his black eyes alight with malice. "You were pretty quick to clean that mess up. Can I hire you? Merlin knows you need the money."
Charlie bristled and turned around, his hands balled at his fists. He marched right up to Bulstrode and grabbed a fistful of his robes.
"Say that again, you slimy, Slytherin coward," he growled. "You're all talk, aren't you? Scared, Bulstrode?"
Before the slighter boy could retaliate, Charlie felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to see a smiling Hufflepuff girl with pink hair. It wasn't hard to place her—Nymphadora Tonks, his year. He didn't share many classes with her, but he knew enough to know that she didn't back down from fights, either. Why she was breaking one up now, he didn't know.
"That'll do, boys," she chirped. "Bulstrode, pick your jaw up off the floor so Charlie and I can be off. Classes to get to, detention to avoid."
In Charlie's ear, she hissed, "Back down."
He let go of Bulstrode reluctantly and backed away. Fawley roughly shoved Tonks aside, snarling, "This doesn't concern you, you shape-shifting freak."
Tonks stiffened, and it was suddenly Charlie holding her back. The reason for the insult was unknown to him, but he still jumped to her defense.
"Shut your gob, or I'll do it for you!" he shouted. "You're so stupid, Fawley, I'm surprised you can even see straight."
They were attracting a crowd, and Charlie tried to tug Tonks away quickly. Professor McGonagall, his Head of House, could sense a mob from a mile away. While he was distracted, Fawley hissed something else at Tonks, which he didn't hear—something about a cousin. But in moments, Tonks was upon the two boys, fists flying.
As Charlie hurried to help her out—two on one was hardly fair, after all—he felt a respect for the small Hufflepuff build up inside him. She was tiny, but she was sure holding her own. Someone's elbow connected with Charlie's face then, breaking his train of thought. He tasted blood, prompting him to hit back wildly, without any clue who he was targeting. After a couple minutes, it became evident that he and Tonks were winning—Fawley and Bulstrode really were all talk—but then a deadly voice broke through the crowd.
"Weasley! Tonks! Fawley! Bulstrode! Stop this at once!"
The four of them froze, then looked up to meet the terrifying gaze of Minerva McGonagall.
"You two—" She pointed at the Slytherins. "—go wait by Professor Snape's door. I'll deal with you in a moment. And you two." She turned to Charlie and Tonks. "In my office, now."
They didn't need telling twice.
"Weasley, Tonks, sit there." Professor McGonagall said once they were in her office. "Miss Tonks, Professor Sprout has been informed of the incident and is letting me dole out the punishment. I'll be writing both of your mothers, and will be back shortly after I speak with Professor Snape."
She swept out of the room, and as soon as the door was closed, Tonks and Charlie groaned. "Mum is going to kill me."
They looked at each other in surprise, and Charlie grinned tentatively. "You've got one of those too, huh?"
Tonks rolled her dark eyes. "Yeah, I do. Doesn't everybody?"
Charlie laughed, but then their conversation died out. He wasn't sure what to say to her—thank you, maybe? But he really didn't know anything about the girl beside him.
After several moments of silence, Tonks began tapping her foot and humming to herself, like she was unable to sit still. Charlie tried to ignore it, but after a while the happy, tippy-tappy sound and cheerful humming began to grate on his frayed nerves.
"Could you stop that, please?" he asked a bit curtly.
She stopped, but she scowled at him. "Oh, you're so nice," she said sarcastically. "Not like Fawley or Bulstrode at all."
Charlie bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Tonks opened her mouth to respond, but before she could the door cracked open. A couple giggling Hufflepuff girls poked their heads through the opening.
"Oh, Tonks, I heard you were in here. Honestly, what were you thinking? Taking on two boys—"
Tonks' hair—which had been pink up until this point—was quickly changing to red. Still, her voice was cool as she replied, "You're right. I should have taken on three. Then it would have been an even match."
The girl scowled. "Why can't you just keep your head down? It wasn't even your fight, and you've lost us so many points!"
Charlie stood up before Tonks could respond. "You're not supposed to be in here," he snapped. "Go, or I'll get my brother. He's a prefect."
They scampered off pretty quickly after that, but not without one last scathing remark about House points and to stop showing off. It wasn't hard to guess that they were referring to Tonks' hair, which was alternating between a bright scarlet and a dangerous maroon.
Charlie didn't stop her from yelling after them. "Like you're innocent! I know what you got up to last night with that Ravenclaw boy! And—your makeup is terrible!"
Charlie placed a finger on his throbbing lip before he spoke. "You know them?"
Tonks slumped down in her seat. Charlie wondered if she could Morph away the bruises on her face—he guessed it was true that she was a Metamorphmagus, though he'd previously believed it to be rumor as they were so rare—or if she simply didn't want to.
"Unfortunately. They're fifth years in my House, Blair and Anderson. They're horribly old-fashioned. Like I couldn't take on a couple of boys." She scoffed to herself. Then she sighed. "They don't much like my abilities, either; thank Merlin I don't share a dorm with them."
"I think it's cool!" Charlie said, shocked that anyone could think otherwise.
Tonks shot him a smile. "Thanks. I love being able to do it, really. It's just… I'm not a shape-shifter. I'm a person."
The smile faded from Charlie's face as he recalled Fawley and Bulstrode's words. "Don't listen to them. They'll take anything and turn it ugly."
Tonks nodded. "Yeah. What they said to you just wasn't on."
Charlie hummed in agreement. "Thanks, by the way. I'm sorry you got hurt."
Tonks waved his concern aside. "Oh, don't worry about it. It's about time someone put them in their place."
"You know," Charlie said suddenly, recalling the bloodied face of Fawley's that had been led away towards Snape's office, "you threw a bloody good punch."
Tonks beamed, her hair turning a bright yellow. "Thanks, Weasley. You know, you weren't too bad yourself."
And though he knew his mother would Floo into the office at any moment, Charlie counted the day as a win. Tonks wasn't too bad, and his mind was already swimming with ideas of all the trouble they could get up to. It was, he thought, the start of a beautiful friendship.
A/N:
Writing Club:
Assorted Appreciation: 19. Write about someone other accuse of being a coward.
Disney Challenge: Characters 6. Trusty — Write about getting injured
Book Club: Gen — (trait) sarcastic, (item) chains, (dialogue) "Don't think that I am a fool."
Amber's Attic: Quotes 5. "Anything that gets your blood racing is probably worth doing."
Sophie's Shelf: 7. "Your makeup is terrible."
Liza's Lodes: 5. Write about someone who has to be careful with money
Angel's Arcade: Bartz Klauser — (title) Where the Trail Leads Us, (genre) hurt/comfort, (word) unknown
Lo's Lowdown: 1. (theme) friendship
Film Festival: 13. (word) tippy-tappy; 15. (word) presentation