Disclaimer: Don't own it. If I did, I wouldn't be having to worry about paying next semester's tuition, now would I?
Sorry, bit cynical right now.
A/N: And here is Chapter Seven, once again inspired by my friend Michelle Black a.k.a Elle.
This chapter is dedicated to my totally awesome Shakespeare professor who allowed us to have a party the last day of class . . . and thus, allowed my mind to wander to Potterland. :D
Bon Appetit!
. . .
Chapter Seven: Ferret Fight
It was funny, Michelle reflected, how time could stretch itself out when you knew you were in trouble. She had been sitting here . . . what, a half-hour at least? A glance up at the clock provided the answer – six minutes, six minutes and twenty five seconds. Make that twenty six seconds. . . .
Why can't he just hurry up?
Granted, she was right. She knew she was right. The only question was, would Mr. Hurst share her sentiments . . . or was the vice principal, even now, concocting some punishment beyond even Filch's standards?
Exhaling a sharp, shaky breath, Michelle shifted the ice pack on her swollen lip.
On the opposite side of the bench, Pamela dabbed hesitantly at her bloody nose, wincing as she pressed at a particularly tender area. A few drops stood out, vivid scarlet against the white top, and Michelle couldn't help but feel slightly guilty, a feeling quelled quickly by a surge of hot anger.
"He's a fucking coward is what he is!"
No, someone who could say something so cruel, so . . . disrespectful deserved every ounce of pain they got. Turning away from this pitiful sight, Michelle drummed her fingers impatiently on the wooden slats of the bench.
Ten minutes now. Ten minutes and forty four seconds. . . .
The door creaked open – he really should have that fixed, Michelle mused, it would sound much less ominous that way – and a tall, black-suited figure stepped out into the hall.
"Come in, girls," he sighed, sounding weary – an absolute antithesis to his foreboding appearance – and led the way into the office.
Michelle was barely able to suppress a scoff as Pam scurried to her own seat. Who's the coward now? Head high, she walked sedately to her own seat.
"Close the door, please, Miss Black." Hurst's voice, still weary, held a slightly harsh undertone and it was with an abashed air that Michelle pulled the plate-glass door shut. The turn of the knob held such finality that a threatening aura hung low over the room. The air seemed thicker than normal.
No . . . he's just trying to scare you.
Nevertheless, it was with much less confidence that the girl returned to the desk.
Shifting various detritus – in his search for detention slips, no doubt – Hurst did not immediately notice Michelle's return. A plastic fork fell to the ground at her feet and, bizarrely, she found herself wondering what it had been used for.
Cutting raw meat, perhaps? It wouldn't surprise her if that was what Hurst ate – it would certainly fit his temperament. She let out an involuntary snort of laughter.
"Is something funny, Miss Black?" Hurst's eyes were narrowed in anger, a ballpoint pen poised and ready in his hand. Pamela's eyes darted between the two, wide and frightened. "Is disrupting the school-day with a childish fistfight funny to you?"
Adamantly, Michelle shook her head.
"Well, then, cut the crap and start explaining!" he snapped. "You, Miss Palasios," he pointed at Pamela with his pen-free hand, "what happened?"
"But. . . ."
"Miss Black, I would not suggest making matters worse for yourself, I have it on good authority that you were the instigator of the argument as it is."
"No, I wasn't! She. . . ."
"Miss Black, be quiet! Miss Palasios, proceed."
He really should have been a lawyer, Michelle mused, seeing Hurst's eyes gleam. He was in his element. He's just as much of an asshole.
". . . about a boy," Pamela explained, voice shaking and an appropriate expression of horror on her face. Here, Hurst himself snorted.
"Why am I not surprised?" he muttered. "What was it, for Homecoming? He asked one of you out when the other one had a crush?"
Michelle's fists clenched. Did he really think she was that juvenile? Punching her best friend – ex-best friend – over a simple crush?
"It didn't happen like that," she interjected, "it was. . . ."
"Did I ask for your opinion, Miss Black?" Hurst replied tersely. Once again, Michelle had no choice but to subside, watching Pamela like a hawk. Of course she would play right into Hurst's hands, acting the martyr and receiving a detention or two for her troubles while she, Michelle – the instigator – would get a Saturday detention at the very least, along with a nice little note to take home to her parents. Oh, joy. . . .
And all because Pamela had had to go and say that – that thing – and Hurst was calling her the instigator?
Seemingly oblivious to her friend's glare, Pamela was staring fixedly at the corner of Hurst's desk, avoiding looking at either man or girl.
"Well, Miss Palasios?"
"No, sir."
"Excuse me?" Hurst sounded affronted.
"It wasn't just a crush. It was . . . well, it was about this boy Michelle l-liked and I . . . well, I insulted him. I-I called him a coward. That was why she punched me," she explained, gesturing unnecessarily at her reddened nose and stained shirt.
"A coward?" Hurst repeated, nonplussed. "That's an odd sort of insult. . . . Do you know what I think, Miss Palasios? I think you're lying to help your friend here out of trouble. Now, let's try this again, shall we? What happened?"
"I just told you." Pam's forehead was creased in a frown.
"You just told me a falsehood, Miss Palasios. Now, unless you would like the same punishment as your friend here, I suggest you give me the truth."
"But that is the truth!" Both girls spoke simultaneously this time.
"Oh, really?" Hurst cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "Then perhaps one of you wouldn't mind enlightening me as to this gentleman's name whom you, Miss Black, insulted? And why exactly, Miss Black, didn't you let him defend his own honor?"
Michelle's face flushed. Any hope of sympathy from Hurst had disappeared within moments of walking into that bleak office. She knew, she just knew he'd only mock her for it. He didn't need to know that, he was just hoping to draw the torture out a bit longer before sentencing them. It was an invasion of students' rights, was what it was.
The first vehement syllable had barely issued from her mouth, however, before Pamela spoke.
"Draco Malfoy," she answered.
Michelle reflected later that those two simple words had the same effect of an incantation upon the man. The gleam of triumph dulled in his eyes to be replaced by a more pensive expression.
"Do either of you," he asked after a few moments, his tone thoughtful now, "by any chance, know Sevenne Witherby?"
Michelle could only nod mutely as her friend answered for both of them. "Yeah, she's a good friend of ours. Why, do you know her?" There was a forced naivete in her tone.
"We've met. Well, Miss Black, Miss Palasios, that this school has zero-tolerance for violence. You will each receive an office detention tomorrow and you have my word that, if this happens again, the consequences will be much more dire."
Both students nodded, Michelle too dumbstruck to speak, a smile twitching at the corners of Pam's lips. Taking their respective detention slips, they exited the office.
Once in the corridor with the door safely shut behind them, Michelle rounded on her friend.
"How," she demanded, "the hell did you do that?"
The shadow of a smile spread slowly across Pamela's face.
"I thought we were goners and you had a plan this whole time? Why didn't you tell me."
"That would have been a bit hard with you refusing to speak to me," Pam lightly replied. Ignoring Michelle's incensed expression, she continued unperturbed. "D'you remember when Sevenne and Jordan put those U-No-Poo posters up last year?"
"Yeah, but I don't see where this is going." Any argument over Draco's cowardliness or lack thereof had been erased in the face of this new mystery.
"Well, Hurst was really angry, right? He did that whole PA announcement and everything . . . but when they turned themselves in, he just let them go with a warning."
"That's right, they made up that whole story about Fred being Sevenne's boyfriend. . . ."
". . . and dying from constipation. Yeah, I remember." Both girls laughed at the memory. "But it got me thinking. Hurst probably knew he was being lied to – and even if he thought it was the truth, he might have just punished them anyway. . . ."
"Like with us."
"Exactly, but he just let them go."
"So, what does that mean? They caught Hurst at the right time?"
"Or the right spot. And while we were in there, I proved my theory right. Hurst," she explained, "reads Harry Potter."
Michelle stopped stock-still in the middle of the hall, mouth gaping. "What-? No way – I mean, there is no way. . . ."
"The seventh book was right on his desk, under some papers. He'd taken off the dust-jacket – to make it look less kiddy, I guess – but I recognized it."
"But how did you know that meant he liked it?" Slightly angry with herself for not spotting it first, Michelle felt almost determined to poke holes in her friend's argument. "I mean, a friend could have given it to him or something and he wasn't planning to read it at all!"
Pam simply shrugged. "I just but two-and-two together – Sevenne and Jordan, you and me – and figured I'd try it."
"Yeah, because unlike certain people, you aren't a coward, right?" Michelle retorted, her memory of those vicious words sparked. "Because you're brave enough to go out on a limb, right? Take chances? It isn't like, if you were wrong, Hurst would punish your entire family. You have nothing to lose!"
Michelle expected, almost wanted, Pamela to fight back. To make her defend Draco's honor against the perfect Golden Trio – the thought itself was exhilarating. What she did not expect was for Pamela to turn to her, eyes full of remorse, and apologize.
"Wh-what?"
"I'm sorry," Pam repeated. "I shouldn't have said that. I know how important Mal- sorry, Draco, is to you. I mean, he's obviously not Harry or anything. . . ."
"Well, obviously. I mean, Harry doesn't have anything to lose – that's the whole reason he can be so brave – plus, everyone's rooting for him. It has to give him a bit of a morale boost . . . and then there's Draco,who is so . . . so demonized, by everyone. They think that, just because he's a Slytherin, he has to be a bad egg, and. . . ."
". . . but you care about him and you're my friend, no matter what guy you choose to drool over. So . . . I'm sorry."
Michelle nodded, slightly disappointed. Let's forget the argument and just be friends? Now where was the fun in that?That wasn't the point of the fandom, the whole point was to argue.
Did Snape truly die a hero's death?
Should Tonks have stayed with Teddy?
Hell, what was Dumbledore and Grindelwald's relationship like?
And, of course: Was Draco Malfoy a coward? The only answer Michelle could come up with was a resolute no. And here Pamela was, apologizing, making the entire thing null and void.
"Michelle?"
"What class do we have next?"
Studying her friend closely, almost worriedly, Pam didn't answer.
"Pam? Hello?"
A very Slytherin-ish smirk spread across Pam's face.
"Pam?"
"You know, Michelle, he really was a bit of a coward. . . ."
And they were off.
. . .
A/N: How did you like it – click the little button below to let me know!
Two more chapters to go and then I'd like to focus on Distorted Reflections again before beginning work on another chaptered fic.
Next Chapter: Chapters Eight and Nine come from HowDoesThatMakeMeFeelJasper and Chapter Eight is entitled The Mysterious Ticking Noise.
Cookies if you know where that title comes from – it's an easy one. ;D
