i reread this. loved how everything flowed up until Snape cried expulsion, but i'm using it as a basis for what it says about Snape rather than an actual thing that was legitimately going to happen (not sure if that makes any sense) but it does establish where Snape stands very nicely.
replies to any inquiries:
ToaKraka: aye, my grammar and spelling can be a bit of an issue. English is not my first language. i mentally do know the difference between the two but sometimes, just muck up on point for some reason. i didn't even know i used the word "lewd" at all during this fanfic until i did a search just to confirm that i did, in fact, do those mistakes! i do reread these but a lot goes over my head so there tends to be quite a few mistakes. only sometimes until i've reread them 4-5 times over do i realise that i've accidentally used word 1 when i meant word 2, or that i've completed dropped the t on a word like 'ate.' i'm a quick reader, even when i attempt to read slowly. i would go back and correct them, but honestly, i can't be arsed! ;) hope i'm forgiven for mistakes (and any future ones i'm bound to make). also, thanks for the comment! hoping that you're enjoying this fanfic despite the spelling/grammar issues xxx
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dear Audrey,
Yes, you have read that letter correctly. A twelve-foot troll really did manage to find its way to Hogwarts. Yes, Marcus Flint did attempt to befriend it. Flint has been odd since then, however, and keeps on walking around, insisting that Quirrel was the one that let the troll in.
It is becoming more and more apparent that Marcus needs to consume something of sustenance before he starts to insist that the Dark Lord himself has risen from the dead. It's a cruel jibe at him, but it is probably true.
Mum was seconds away from throwing herself at the school. She sent me a letter, illustrating her great panic. Apparently, Ron was found to be seen round the troll as well, and instead of helping my younger brother, I was too busy being stunned on the ground with my hands up Gemma's knickers. Lovely.
When I was eleven, Charlie's time was spent fraternising with awful women and Quidditch. Still, he would've done something if I was ever to encounter a troll. I am not pleased with myself.
This 'Ares' bloke yet again sent me another warning. I opened it and expected him to tell me something to the tone of "don't eat the custard tarts, Percival. They're dangerous" or "I will get a rabid dog to ascend from the Underworld simply to eat your Muggle Studies homework." Unfortunately, he's only sent another cryptic message, claiming that he had set out his plans to make me suffer during Christmas time, as he had last time he was "masquerading as Caius Flint" and thought it to be a wonderful time to make me miserable. He also wants us to strike some sort of a 'deal', and told me if I did not cooperate, I will 'regret' not listening to the Greek God that is sending me letters via owls—because this is what Greek Gods do. This is before even taking into account that said owl refuses to eat any of my owl treats and has taken to biting me repeatedly until I threaten it with fire (literally. I have tried to Incendio this Merlin-forsaken death bird).
Instead of binning this gem of a letter, I decided to attempt to poke out Terence Higgs' eye with it. Due to my terrific luck, Bletchley attempted to poke my eye back with a quill sharper than the fabled sword of Gryffindor. Speaking of Gryffindor, my eye had calmed down from being a rather striking red down to the pink of a bottle of Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher.
They attempted to burn some of my essays. I attempted to burn one of their brooms.
After that, they've left me alone for the rest of the week. Instead, they're trying to pick on Marcus. This cannot end well, because Marcus has less tolerance than Ron round Hermione Granger (when did they even become friends is my question).
I am keeping my fingers crossed and hoping that Ron becomes closer to Hermione and forgoes Harry all together at some point. Hermione is a model student. I have no idea how Ron ended up being round a troll and although I have no evidence, I have a feeling that Harry Potter is involved. I've been to a few Quidditch games recently, only to discover that Harry Potter is the Gryffindor Seeker. The favouritism shown towards Harry Potter infuriates me to no end. I do not care that he has saved the wizarding world from turmoil. First years aren't allowed brooms. Not to mention the fact that Fred and George are already making a profit over this somehow—they're selling chunks of wood from Harry's bed! I've heard they've managed to sell a lump of wood that was as small as a doornail for fifteen sickles! That's nearly a whole Galleon.
I genuinely think that it's Colin bloody Creevey that's been buying all this bollocks.
I am appalled by this. I am genuinely appalled. My mum sent me a letter also inquiring about whether or not Harry was alright and how he was getting along. She sent me a parcel for him. She told me that Ron was staying over at Hogwarts during Christmas time with him. As I'm writing this, Hermes is giving me that look when he's displeased with something I've done. However, it is true. She has seven bloody children. She does not need to unofficially adopt Harry Potter. She does not need to send me messages asking me about how he is, or what he's had for supper. It's irrelevant!
I have given Fred and George detention. Truthfully, I've done it because I'm tired of them attempting to frustrate me. I do not actually have a solid reason as to why I've given them detention, but they seem to believe that I do, which leads me to think that they actually did so something that warrants a detention. Now, I've just to find out what it is.
Speaking of detention, I did tell you that I warranted my own bed in the infirmary due to the amount of instances I fall ill post... well, you know post-what (I would like to take this time to remind you that no, I do not get caught and yes, I do hide myself when I am about to have a bit of a... jolt. I get a sense of it before.)
Apparently, Marcus warranted his own bed in Snape's dungeons. This is due to the sheer volume of detentions he's managed to rack himself up in.
Hermes is doing well. I've been somewhat neurotic and motherly-like towards him. Scabbers has lost weight on my watch multiple times, so I have been very insistent on feeding Hermes not only his owl treats, but he is welcome to anything that I've not finished. Needless to say, Hermes is now the size of an eagle. He is very upset about being one of the bigger owls, and tends to overeat because he is upset. At this rate, this time next year, I will have a chimera-sized owl. This is something I am trying to remedy as if Hermes gets any larger, the laws of gravity would cause him to fall from the sky. I have tried to put him on a diet, but he is very resistant. I believe this is how children are like when you overfeed them and they start to balloon to monstrous proportions. Fortunately, my family, whilst drastically overfed, seem to have the metabolism of a nundu. Speaking of my family, Fred and George have recently put on a bit of weight. They look bloody brilliant. It's awful! They're shaping up already, and I still look like I did at eleven!
Nowadays, muggleborns are keeping me up all ruddy night. They are attempting to "smoke" gillyweed. It apparently 'doesn't work.' The Hufflepuff prefects (both muggleborn) seem to find this hilarious. I do not understand this.
I will end this letter now. This is not because I've run out of things to say. I have simply run out of parchment paper and I am too poor to afford more. I may steal some, but if I did, you didn't hear it from me. I do not break any rules, remember?
Sincerely yours,
Percival Ignatius Weasley.
PS. Can you send me pictures of Lucy? I've missed seeing her. Perhaps, during the summer, I might watch her for a bit if you ever need to go out to events where drools and temper tantrums aren't typically warranted.
"WHERE is he?" fifteen-year-old Percy Weasley was standing in front of Ron with a look of extreme austerity, his lips were pursed in such a tight line that he'd lost any colour to them. His back was straight, his chest puffed as if he had more muscles than Oliver Wood, and his blue eyes were colder than the supposed wintry 'death' weather outside. Percy himself had the thinnest coat possible on top of his frame (to appease his mum of course as he'd promised her in writing that he was indeed wearing something for the cold). However, the heat and anger from his lost childhood and perpetual self-hatred insulated him well enough thank you very much.
Ron rolled his eyes as he shuffled through his pockets, and finally pulled out Scabbers. Percy picked him up from Ron's hands, and then felt his shoulders deflate when he realised that Scabbers definitely had put some on and looked ruddy energetic (compared to when Percy had him before. He had less energy than a Victoria Sponge back then). Percy had failed at taking care of his lovely little rat, and Ron, who usually treated Scabbers as a Puffskein, had been able to put some life back into his tiny little rat.
Bloody failure of a—
"That's fine, thank you," Percy said, stiffening his shoulders and offering Scabbers back. His hand went to his rucksack and then he pulled out a large piece of parchment paper and handed it over to Ron. "I have constructed a list of things that you are to do in case of any emergency. I've outlined various scenarios and what I would like you to do in those cases. Though I was not able to spend much time with you this semester due to my impending O.W.L's and the fact that every time I walked into your dorm room, you have pretended to be asleep or insisted on having Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas or Neville Longbottom tell me that you were busy doing homework and did not want to be disturbed— I would like to mention that I would need to down a lethal amount of firewhiskey to believe that. Oh, and I mustn't forget the fact that I've had to send you owls to inform you of important events, such as urgently informing you of the fact that Tomes and Scrolls is having a sale just in case you wanted some vital reading material. Instead, you send me owls, telling me that you hope that my owl mistakes my hair as a pile of very vibrant caramel cobwebs and that you hope someone attempts to Engorgio my aneurysm."
Ron rolled out the list, which had just about hit the ground almost instantly upon him unrolling it. Ron stared up at Percy with a raised eyebrow. "What is this rubbish?"
Percy nodded his head. "I'm glad that you have accepted my parting gift," he said, and then turned to Harry, whom had his head cocked and was staring the parchment in Ron's hand. Percy had no doubt that they would use it for something he would instantly disprove of. "Please answer my owls, if just to humour me. If you have any question regarding anything, I will be in the Great Hall at approximately seven in the evening and will be there until seven-thirty."
He flicked his eyes towards Harry. "Don't get into any trouble now."
Ron didn't miss the look that Percy had passed over to Harry. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Pardon?" Percy raised an eyebrow. Yes, he did act like he didn't understand what Ron meant.
"That look you gave over to Harry," Ron immediately said, looking highly defensive of Harry. It was just a bloody... If that plonker could survive Voldemort's Killing Curse, he could survive a look of disapproval.
"What look?" brilliant. Harry had missed it completely.
"The look that Mum gives the Egyptian tarts that Bill brings back home," Ron said smoothly.
"Ronald, enough of that nonsense now," Percy rolled his eyes, pursing his lips together again. Any tighter and they might be permanently stuck together. "You'll be greatly missed over at the Burrow."
"Right," Ron echoed, mind still on that 'look' no doubt. "We'll miss you too, Percy. You know, we'll have a hard time crowning the King Prat what with you being in the Burrow and all."
Well, that just about shattered any of Percy's plans to get Ron to be close to him and idolise him. At this point, Ron idolised Whomping Willows more than he idolised Percy. Apparently, at least they were interesting and did more than stand there, ruining his fun and giving his best friend a look that would send Harry into hysterics. Harry didn't even look like he knew what in Merlin's name Ron was talking about. Apparently, that Molly look of disapproval seemed to only be engrained in the memories of people that had seen their mum with that dazzling look before.
With a final look over at them, Percy disappeared down to his dorm room, only to discover that Terence Higgs had taken his trousers down and was just about to urinate into Percy's trunk. Top-notch day this day was.
"MR Flint? Mr Wood?" McGonagall called out, watching the black-haired boy throw his rucksack over his shoulder and approach her with an apathetic look drawn to his prominent features. Oliver Wood was already standing beside her, overdue essays tucked under his arms, dark eyes planted firmly to the ground. "Firstly, I would like to remind the two of you—again—that you cannot be using the Gryffindor dorms as your personal play room. This is the kind of behaviour I would expect first years to engage in. If I do hear another complaint about Mr Flint being in that room, there will be more major consequences than the few detentions that you've been having here and there. Is that understood?"
Oliver watched Marcus slowly nod his head before he turned to leave.
"Mr Flint, sit down. I am not finished," McGonagall stated, only for Marcus to turn around and sit himself over in front of one of the desks. His apathetic face suddenly contorted into one of momentary bewilderment. "Most of us have been perplexed about the validity of your assignments this semester as you already know. Mr Wood has also shown concern towards this, and has been asking me consistently about what are the consequences of cheating and what if you somehow managed to carry it onto your O.W.L's. Considering that your Head of House hasn't been too forthcoming with this situation and you have somehow implanted yourself into the Gryffindor dormitories for the past few months with resistance to leave, I feel like it is at least my responsibility to ask you again, Mr Flint: have you been cheating in an unconventional manner?"
Oliver watched Marcus' face start to contort into rage that he was obviously trying to suppress. He bit down his lip so hard that Oliver wouldn't be surprised if he drew out his own blood in the process.
"Yes, I am cheating, professor," Marcus deflated, his voice scratchy.
McGonagall's face remained stern. "Mr Wood, can you please go alert Professor Snape of this?"
Oliver didn't want to leave, but he thought that the faster he walked away, the quicker he'd come back. He tried to walk out of the room as quick as he could and spent his time running down to the dungeons.
If he was running, he wasn't thinking about the guilt gnawing at his heart.
By the time that he'd gotten to Snape's quarters, his chest felt like it was lit on fire.
He found Snape talking to Dumbledore. Oliver tripped over air a few times before he'd actually got to Snape, wheezing for a few seconds as he tried to catch his breath. Blimey, he booked the Quidditch field at five in the morning sometimes, so why did he feel like he was about to die of oxygen deprivation? He could feel an ache in his bones, not from the running or from his intense Quidditch training, but just a general tiredness from the events of the day. His head was spinning, and for a few seconds, the guilt ateateate his mind until there was nothing left but that heavy remorse sitting on his shoulders. Heshouldn'thavetoldMcGonagall. Heshouldn'thavetoldMcGonagall.
After catching his breath, Oliver told Snape about Professor McGonagall needing him. With a grumble and a quick apology to Dumbledore, Snape walked to the Transfiguration class with Oliver walking beside him.
Oliver wished that a bolt of lightning would suddenly hit him.
He felt like such a deplorable human being. He said nothing to Snape, and Snape didn't look to be in the mood for mindless chitchat with some nameless Gryffindor. Oliver wondered what his father would've said if he'd seen him right now, snitching on his friend. His only friend. Whom happened to also be the bloke that tormented him when he was eleven.
When they'd gotten to the classroom, Oliver noticed that McGonagall didn't look angry. He didn't know if this was a good or bad thing. She had a nod over towards Snape, whom just gave a firm but irritated nod back at her. Oliver would've thought it was funny if not for the fact that he was just bout to throw up from how much he loathed himself right then. He took a look back at Marcus, whom seemed to be looking at the ground, arms crossed over his chest and his lips were pursed into a tight line.
"Mr Flint has confided in me and has mentioned that he has been using charmed textbooks and quills from Durmstrang to help him with his assignments," McGonagall stated. "He has also told me that he has memorised one particular potion, that is the Draught of Peace, and that is why he was able to replicate it during his detention with little problem. Whilst you were coming up, we've come up with a suitable compromise. He is to rewrite all of his assignments before sitting his O.W.L's. Of course, considering I'm not the Head of his House, I do not have any say in if this follows through. However, I thought it suitable to be brought up."
"You're right about one thing, Minerva. You are not the Head of his House," Snape took the time to look down at Marcus with a cold look to his dark eyes. "I want Dumbledore to expel him."
If Oliver felt guilty before, he was swallowed in it now. He refused to look at Marcus.
"You cannot tell Dumbledore to expel Mr Flint over cheating on assignments!" McGonagall barked out in irritation.
"Cheating on assignments is nowhere near his only offence," Snape scoffed. The look that Snape gave Marcus made Oliver feel like the man wanted to throw Marcus in Azkaban. "He's gotten into numerous rows, often sending other students to the infirmary in the process. I've never had any other student sit through nine hour detentions with me before; much less nine hour detentions just round every day. Minerva, I see him more often than most mothers see their infants!"
"You cannot insist that expelling him is a proper course of action," McGonagall insisted with a firm voice. "Severus, open your eyes. You're being unreasonable."
"You're being biased," Snape spat back out coldly.
"I'm the biased one?" McGonagall chided, raising an eyebrow. "We'll see about that! Let's go sort this out with Dumbledore right now."
Oliver watched them both scurry away, the feeling of guilt somehow amplifying (how could it possibly get any worse than this?). He felt absolutely worthless. He just wanted to help, and now...
He looked back at Marcus, whom waited until both McGonagall and Snape left before he allowed big fat tears to roll down his cheeks. Oliver's stomach twisted into knots, and he found himself immediately turning to Marcus. Needless to say, the black-haired Slytherin turned his body away almost immediately and placed his head into his hands. Oliver wondered if Marcus would actually hurt him (Oliver was secretly hoping that it would because it would lessen the shame brewing in his veins) but he reached out to place a hand on Marcus' shaking shoulder. He pulled himself closer and wrapped his arms around Marcus.
After just under a minute, Marcus straightened his spine and then wiped away his tears.
Oliver watched Marcus pull out a bottle of a light purple liquid from his black rucksack, splash a bit on his hand before wiping his face.
"What's that?" Oliver couldn't help himself from asking, abandoning the fact that he wasn't supposed to speak considering he was the biggest git in the world.
Marcus looked back at the bottle. "Charmed water," his voice sounded scratchy as he tossed the bottle.
Oliver just about barely managed to catch it. He stared at the description. It was charmed water. It was charmed to prevent acne.
"Where did you find this?" Oliver tried not to laugh. He shouldn't be laughing. Oliver was having a mental battle between hating himself for making this situation lighter than it was and commending himself for making Marcus smile, even if just a little bit.
Marcus just looked away, that small smile disappearing. "My sisters all have Witch Weekly subscriptions."
"This is from a Witch Weekly subscription?" Oliver's laughter died in his throat when he realised that Marcus was quiet again. He placed the bottle on the desk and Marcus took it, shoving it back into his rucksack.
They stood in silence for a few minutes, before McGonagall and Snape returned back.
If Marcus had to be thrown out of Hogwarts for this, Oliver would never forgive himself. If he felt this terrible about the situation, he didn't know how Marcus felt like. Then again, it was his fault for cheating in the first place, wasn't it? Still, Oliver couldn't hate him for cheating. It was just something that Marcus did.
Oliver was trying to assess how sour-like Snape's face was to determine whether or not he was denied his request to expel Marcus. He had come up with—well, nothing—considering Snape was always this sour.
"Mr Flint," Snape's voice was high. "The assignments are to be rewritten. All of them. Before your O.W.L's. You are also revoked from your Hogsmeade privileges for the rest of the year regardless of what your mother says in your defence. Is that understood?"
Marcus slowly nodded his head. Oliver felt relief, but Marcus didn't look very relieved at all.
"I HEARD someone got into a bit of trouble," said Adrian Pucey in a mocking, condescending tone of voice when Marcus walked into his previous dorm. He placed a thin hand on Marcus' pallid shoulder, staring at his facial expression with a look of inescapable glee. "Someone nearly got expelled today, didn't they? We knew you were cheating, you bastard. You're so stupid that I bet if the muggles cut your head open, they'd see nothing but bloody tea swimming inside there."
Marcus said nothing to this, and instead just walked to where his bed used to be, which Adrian personally hexed with enough lice to give Marcus a very rude awakening the following morning.
"What? Kneazle got your tongue, mate?" Adrian asked, obviously enjoying this situation.
"Pucey, do not make me dock points from Slytherin a day before we have to leave just because you're being a right arse," Percy Weasley said, as he walked into the room, rolling his eyes. Underneath his arm was a hotchpotch of books tucked underneath, and he seemed to be in relatively good spirits. "I am in a brilliant mood and I do not want you to ruin it for me."
Percy's eyes were on Marcus. "Marcus, Snape has talked to me and for a good few months, it'll be me that'll help you with your allotted assignments out of the sheer goodness of my heart. Do not make me angry."
Adrian laughed as if he'd heard a brilliant joke. Terence and Miles busied themselves with packing.
"Let's start on an assignment right now!" Percy suddenly exclaimed, grabbing Marcus by his elbow. "It's still relatively early. We can stop by the Great Hall, get a spot of dinner, do some reading and then we can go to the library where I can direct you to a few books. I was already given an extensive list of what you need to rewrite, so it best be that you and I get a crack on it now."
Adrian let himself laugh, as Percy practically dragged a noncompliant Marcus out of bed. This was brilliant.
FOR the past hour, Percy had been animatedly talking about the Arithmancy assignment that Marcus had. Why Marcus took Arithmancy in the first place was a bit of a mystery. It was entertaining to talk about it though. Though it was nowhere near Percy's favourite subject, he had no problem talking about it nonstop for the past hour and could continue for another ten. However, Percy was noticing that Marcus' eyelids were shut and he seemed to be humming to himself.
"Don't forget that Arithmancy, whilst based on numbers, can also include Ancient Runes," Percy suddenly decided, noticing that he'd made a very good outline for Marcus for his Arithmancy assignment. All he had to do was check out the books, read them and write a short excerpt. Percy had done the hard part for him, which was referring him to the relevant books and chapters. "I hope you've brushed up on your Care of Magical Creatures nomenclature because that, too, is intertwined with Ancient Runes and—"
Percy's eyes lit up when he saw Penelope walk over to their table. He'd just finished his cheese toasties.
"Marcus," Penelope eyed his salad leaves (yes, just the leaves). "That's very elfish of you."
"Would people stop mistaking me for an elf?" Marcus hissed, grabbing the papers and walking off. Penelope stood there, confused at his agitation and looked back at Percy for questions.
Percy just shrugged. "I'm surprised he even bothered to take my notes."
OLIVER manoeuvred through the compartments in his avid search for his best (ex?) mate. In his pockets, he had a few milk chocolates frogs as a poor form of a peace offering.
He found his mate sitting by himself; his face and body absolutely covered in red, raised painful-looking bumps from what Oliver reasoned had to be lice. His school uniform was replaced by an oversized black coat and trousers that had more tears in it than Oliver's copy of Quidditch Through The Ages. Marcus looked up at Oliver, his expression of pure defeat and Oliver felt his heart crumble. He sat down beside him, waiting for Marcus to tell him to bugger off, but instead, Marcus just offered a smirk.
Marcus then pulled out his charmed purple water bottle, and said very seriously, "This doesn't work."