Chapter Twenty-Six

One Step Forward, Three Steps Back

Abby did not like it at all, to say the least.

Her friends wrangled her the moment that she returned to the common room and whisked her away to the sixth year boys dormitory where they could speak to her about what had happened during her absence in private. If they had hoped for discretion, however, that went right out the window with her reaction.

"Abby, please stop shouting at us," Bletchley pleaded.

"Oh, pardon me, Bletch, for not being over the moon at the prospect of playing happy families with Marcus after everything he did to me," Abby hissed at him. "How dreadfully selfish of me!"

"Hey, we are all on your side," Higgs said firmly with a side-eye cast toward Violet, Aretha and Lara. "Flint was completely in the wrong."

"We hate it too, Abby," Sam tried to reason with her.

"But you know how he gets when he starts to take command!" Violet insisted.

"He does love being Captain," Higgs nodded.

"He had the whole common room united behind him," Aretha said. "Everyone was sniping at each other before his little speech. And, I'm sorry to say it, Abby, but what he was saying? Well, I happen to think he's right."

"I do, too," Lara agreed quietly.

"So subtle," Sam glared at them.

"Are you all serious?" Abby gaped at them. "You're siding with him?"

"No. We're siding with Slytherin, Abby," Higgs said as gently as he could, trying to get the conversation back on the rails. "Now isn't the time to be seen fighting with each other."

"It's bollocks," Bletchley grumbled. "I'm sick of us being blamed for everything."

"Sam?" Abby turned to the girl known for her bluntness. "You agree with this lot?"

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day," Sam sighed after a moment of careful word selection. "Just because it's Flint saying it doesn't make it untrue."

"Violet?" Abby asked pleadingly, hoping their newly reforged friendship would make her see sense.

"Someone could be framing us, Abigail," Violet folded her arms. "There has been a spike in gossip about people plotting to knock us down a peg since the Ravenclaw match."

"Why are you bringing that up?" Bletchley wrinkled his nose in confusion.

"What are you saying?" Abby's voice began to wobble as she fought back tears.

"It's possible that whoever it is, if they were trying to frame a Slytherin, had to stop after people got off track thinking it was Harry Potter," Violet further explained.

"And waited until we were divided to start back up," Aretha added.

"Betting we would all turn on each other," Lara rolled her eyes, annoyed at the thought of being played so easily.

"So, it's my fault?" Abby felt her stomach turn as she spat out the words. "What - I should have just known my place and stayed with Marcus for the sake of House unity?"

"Pfft, fuck that," Pucey snorted.

All eyes turned to him where he was leaning casually against his bedpost, hands typically shoved inside his pockets. His head was tilted back and he was staring thoughtfully at a burn mark on the ceiling that he had caused in third year while working on his Charms homework (which just so happened to have been the same day he had helped set up Flint with Abby). Had it not been for his interjection, it would have been easy to assume that he had not even been paying attention to the conversation.

"What?" Abby squinted at him, wiping at her eyes.

"Well, I know I wouldn't wish away the last few months, Abs, would you?" he smirked, letting his head loll to the side so that he was now looking at the rest of them. "And I would appreciate it if the rest of you could stop trying to put the notion into her head."

"That is not what we are saying, Adrian," Violet blanched, immediately defensive.

"We are trying to look out for her," Aretha insisted.

"Well, you're doing a piss poor job of it," Pucey replied, pushing himself off the bedpost and glaring at her in annoyance. "You all are."

"You agreed we should tell her," Lara sneered and put her hands on her hips.

"I agreed we should let her in on what was said before Marcus made some smartarse remark, yeah," Pucey rolled his eyes. "I did not agree to guilt trip her into taking the blame for the fallout from him being an idiot. And I definitely did not agree to it being you three in particular piling up on her when, before today, you couldn't even be fucked enough to be her friends."

Violet, Aretha and Lara gaped at him, their mouths stupidly opening and closing without saying a word.

Bletchley, Higgs and Sam gaped at him, amazed at Violet being silenced.

Abby gaped at him, processing the argument happening before her.

"May I speak to you in private, please?" she asked him, keeping her voice even.

"Er, yeah, okay," Pucey replied in a half-mumble, his dark eyes reflecting his confusion. Violet, seeing that he was apparently about to be told off, smiled imperiously at him.

"Abby, wait," Sam began, annoyed by Violet's smug reaction and wanting to stand up for Pucey. Abby held up her hand to stop her.

"Just give us a minute, yeah?" she asked before she could continue. "I want to get to the bottom of all this."

Sam gave her a lingering, pleading look before joining the rest of the group as they left the dormitory. Bletchley shot what he meant to be an encouraging look at Pucey, but it turned out more pitiful than anything else. Pucey shoved his hands back into his pockets and waited until he heard the door shut before he spoke.

"Right, look, you can shout at me all you like, but those three had it coming-"

He never got the chance to finish pleading his case; Abby crossed the room so quickly that she practically lunged at him, and pulled him into a kiss by the shirt collar. He was that caught off-guard that he stood, awkwardly frozen, with his hands still in his pockets until his brain registered what was happening and unlocked his body. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up against him.

"So-o-o, I'm not in trouble then?" he managed to say after they pulled apart.

"Are you joking? You were brilliant!" she gushed and kissed him again. "Why would you be in trouble?"

"I dunno, swearing at your mates, I guess," he shrugged, grinning like an idiot.

"You always swear," she laughed. "Besides - they did have it coming."

"Fuck yes they did!" he exclaimed in relief. "Stupid cows."

"One day, I swear, I will remember that you really are always looking out for me," she smiled sheepishly, tracing the wood grain design of his bedpost.

"Aye, well, between old Flint, Parkinson the gossip Queen and her two bootlickers, your charming brother, and your stuck-up mum and dad, I reckon you're used to people caring more about themselves than about you," Pucey replied boldly, but received no argument. "Luckily you've now landed yourself the best-looking bloke you could possibly wish for so, you know, things are looking up," he continued impishly and swatted away her hand as she moved to pinch his ribs.

"All right, Prince Charming - and what about all this business with making friends with Marcus again?" she sighed and folded her arms.

"You and I both know it's better to have him on your team than to play against him," he replied quite reasonably.

"I know. You're right. I hate that I know you're right!" she stamped her foot with a pout. "I think that's what I'm more bothered about than anything."

"It's up to you, Abs," he shrugged. "I'm on your side, whatever you choose. I'm not fussed about him walloping me. You know I can take a hit." She snorted in agreement, and glanced away, not wanting to summon the image of his bloodied face.

"It's all the bollocks he pulled with you that matters," he went on. "All I'm saying is, it might be easier if we all looked to be on the same page again. Especially if the rest of the school is against us and all."

"We don't know that they are," she wrinkled her nose in an attempt to look hopeful. "That's why I went to speak to the teachers - so everyone would see we want to help."

"I wouldn't hold my breath on that," Pucey sighed as he plopped down on his bed. He was annoyed to disappoint her but was also remembering clearly the looks they had been getting as they had been shooed to their common rooms. "And if they aren't all against us, well, after the rallying speech Marcus just gave, they will be."

"I will admit that he's been relatively behaved these passed few months," she begrudgingly said, acknowledging that Flint had indeed left them both (mostly) alone since the fight in the common room. "I just - I can't stand the thought of letting that wanker back into our group!"

"Well, he's always been a wanker," Pucey laughed and brushed the hair out of his eyes. "You just don't have to apologize for him anymore." She rolled her eyes in response but did manage to crack a smile. Interpreting that as getting through to her, Pucey gently took her hand and tugged her back closer to him.

"I don't want him calling all the shots again," she said quietly.

"If he tries anything on, we'll sort him out, yeah? Together," he said, turning dark brown eyes on her and kissing her fingers. She felt a shiver go through her entire body as her arms broke out in goose bumps. "But I really don't think he will. He's more concerned with the Quidditch Cup being canceled."

Abby laughed properly this time. "Well, that I definitely believe," she shook her head and sat down next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. They fell quiet, both overwhelmingly aware that they were now sitting side-by-side on his bed; Abby could feel the heat from his body. She was suddenly hyper-aware of how fast she was breathing. "Thank you for making me feel better," she said after a moment.

"I am the Master at making you smile, babes," he replied easily, tracing the outline of her fingers; her hands were trembling.

She fought the urge to look up at him, knowing where that would lead - where she wanted it to lead. But it was the names she had been incessantly called as of late: slag, slapper, tart, scrubber; she was hesitant to listen to the way he made her skin tingle when he touched her. He excited her, the way he was so effortlessly sexually charged. It's his self-confidence, she thought. There's no putting it on. No false bravado. Just him.

"Ugh. I don't deserve you," she whispered, watching the patterns he was making with her fingers.

"Maybe, maybe not," he replied smoothly, "but you're stuck with me now." He gently nudged her head with his chin and she finally gave in to what her body was insisting she wanted.

She tilted her head until her eyes found his and he smiled that easy, charming smile before he leaned in to kiss her, guiding them both to lie back on the bed. He propped himself up on one elbow so that he was above her, while exploring the boundaries of how far she would allow him to go with his other hand. She did not stop him as he un-tucked her shirt and caressed the soft skin of her midriff; he felt her shiver as he brushed his fingertips from her belly button to her hip, where he gently took hold and began to rock her body in time with his. A fluttering gasp escaped her lips and she reached up to brush the back of his neck and pull him in closer.

The dormitory door banged open and Bletchley stumbled in.

"Oi, Snape is back to escort us all to the Great Hall for some nosh and - oh," he cut himself off as Abby leapt to her feet as though a bomb had gone off beneath her and caught Pucey square in the left eye with her shoulder.

"Bletch! I, er, oh God, Ade, I'm sorry!" Abby stammered as he yelped, his hands flying up to cover his eye. She could not seem to get her feet able to decide which way to go, darting first toward the door and then back towards Pucey. "Are you-? Oh-h-h, I'm, er, I'll meet you in the common room!"

Her cheeks were flushed deep red as she scampered from the room, frantically trying to tuck her blouse back into her skirt. Bletchley watched her leave with his lips screwed tightly shut, trying not to laugh. Pucey pushed himself into a sitting position and gingerly wiped his watering eye with his sleeve as the door slammed shut behind her. The two boys exchanged an amused look.

"She's cute when she's flustered," Bletchley said appreciatively with a cheeky grin.

"Isn't she?" Pucey nodded, ever-able to find the humour in situations such as this. "Throws a mean shoulder, too, if I'm honest."

"She's going to be the death of you," the Keeper winced.

"Yeah. Likely," Pucey scratched his chin. "But what a way to go. So? Let's have it, then - how long were you stood outside the door?"

"Now, to be fair," Bletchley launched into his own defense, "I did stay to listen at first, but that was to barge in and give her a right earful if she had a go at you for telling off them three bints."

"Like the hero we all know you are," Pucey smirked and Bletchley tipped his imaginary hat.

"But then it all sounded above board, so I went to join the others," he continued his convoluted tale. "But then Higgsy caught me on the way out saying Snape was here, so I doubled back to thoughtfully inform the pair of you and end up barging in as you're looking to get your end away."

"That about covers it, aye," Pucey couldn't help but laugh as he made one last check to make sure his eye hadn't popped out and then scooted down the bed to sit with his legs hanging over the end. "Impeccable timing, mate."

"At least you weren't starkers," Bletchley shrugged, then glazed over immediately, his gaze drifting back to the door as his mind conjured up an image of Abby naked. "Snape really is here, though!" he said quickly, shaking himself out of his daydream.

"I believe you," Pucey replied and motioned to the front of his trousers. "But I can't exactly walk out in public just yet or I'll be told off for pointing."

"Ah, right," Bletchley nodded sympathetically and then moved to his bedside table and opened the drawer. "Perfect time for a quick puff, then," he grinned, pulling a half-smoked spliff from inside.

"What a consolation prize," Pucey shook his head.

Oliver Wood felt sick to his stomach.

The nausea had began the moment Professor McGonagall had marched onto the Quidditch pitch and announced the match canceled just as he had been finishing his warm-up lap. It had continued into the march up the Grand Staircase to Gryffindor Tower and through the reading of the newly instated safety regulations followed by the termination of the remainder of the Quidditch season, where his stomach had lurched so aggressively that it was a wonder he hadn't vomited right then and there on the common room floor.

He vaguely remembered the group conversation that had followed after McGonagall had left where Lee Jordan had led an anti-Slytherin rallying speech, pointing out the suspicious lack of attacks on anyone from their House. Someone - probably still Lee, he reasoned - had looked to him for his opinion on whether or not he agreed that all of Slytherin should be expelled from Hogwarts, but in doing so had brought up Flint. Wood had looked up sadly and had given some halfhearted, non-committal grunt before slumping back down into the sofa, hoping it would open up and swallow him whole.

Flint. He would never get to beat him. Not just in a match; he had done that and it wasn't good enough. He wanted to beat him in the season, and finally prise the Quidditch Cup from his troll-like grip. The last chance had been stolen from him; Flint would be gone next year.

Whoever was behind this had stolen it from him.

He had been dwelling on this thought for several hours, picking at a loose thread on the arm of the sofa that was now quickly becoming unraveled. Several people had attempted to approach him but had decided against it after seeing the distant look in his eyes.

Across from him, Percy Weasley had been equally as unresponsive, and had been dwelling in stunned silence not on Quidditch, but over the girlfriend that he had been too cowardly to date publicly. He had told her that it was because he did not want his brothers to harass him over it, but was that really an excuse? He had had a lifetime of harassment from Fred and George (save for what he assumed were two years of true bliss before their births), and in this moment he was struggling to justify keeping Penelope a secret just because he had been afraid of what others would think.

A horrifying thought had been creeping into the back of his mind: had he subconsciously been keeping his relationship private at least partly due to what others would also think Penelope's blood status? Had he been worried that people would disapprove of him dating someone from a non-wizarding family? And if so, whose opinion mattered so much that she now lay Petrified in a hospital bed with nobody who cared about her there for her? What did that make him?

One sat slumped, muttering to himself and destroying the upholstery; the other sat hunched, wordless, with pale, trembling fingers pressed deep in thought to his bloodless lips.

Fred and George stood between them, looking back and forth.

"I'm actually a bit worried about them," Fred sighed in a rare moment of honesty and squatted down to look Percy in the face. "Hey, Perce? Fancy a bit of dinner?" No response.

"Olly?" George tried the same technique with Wood. "I think the poor sofa has had enough, don't you?"

"Any luck?" Katie asked tentatively, having been snarled at earlier when she had tried to speak with him.

"None," George shook his head, standing back up.

"Oh, Olly, for goodness sake," Katie frowned, standing next to George and facing her Captain. "I know you're disappointed. We all are! But it's everyone's safety we've got to consider!"

"Percy? Now I'm sure the Monster wasn't out looking for Prefects, all right?" Fred tried to get through to his brother. "You lot are, er, well, you're the best of us, aren't you? She was probably trying to rescue Hermione and got caught up in it."

"Ugh, poor Hermione," George folded his arms when even the compliment received no reaction from his older brother.

"I know. Harry and Ron were really shaken up," Fred screwed up his mouth. "At least she'll be all right like the rest when Madam Sprout's mandrakes are ready."

"See, that's what I don't understand," George said in exasperation. "Why go around Petrifying people - especially now that we know they'll be revived eventually and will be able to identify their attacker."

"To scare us," Katie rubbed her arms that had suddenly gone cold. "And to push their superiority complex on everyone."

"But to do all this?" George continued. "For a cruel joke? Or some daft message? Whoever it is will surely be expelled."

"It does seem a bit extreme," Fred nodded.

"Of course it's extreme - they're extremists," Lee Jordan interjected as he, Angelina and Alicia approached them. "Their entire pure-blood agenda is extremist. That's why they've all got to go!"

"We aren't ready for a revolution just yet, Lee," Angelina sighed, trying to calm him down.

"What has to happen for people to be ready then, Angelina?" Lee scowled. "Whoever it is has been making reference to the Chamber of Secrets. Does somebody have to die like the last time that happened before they take it seriously?"

"Mate, don't talk to her like that," Fred interrupted his rant and exchanged a look with Angelina. "And we're trying to help Percy and Oliver right now. One thing at a time, yeah?"

"I just want people to listen to what I'm saying," Lee replied, frustrated. "Most of the wizarding world is at least half-blood, if not less, so why do we let these elitist twats harass the rest of us? If the pure-bloods have it their way, we'll all be wiped out!"

"We're pure-blood," George said quietly, indicating himself, Fred and Percy. "So's Olly."

"I, er, I didn't mean it like that," Lee blanched.

"We know what you meant," Alicia said softly.

"But maybe you can't judge a witch or wizard by their blood status," Fred added as Professor McGonagall entered the common room via the portrait hole. "Even some Slytherins might not think that way, whether or not they've been raised to."

"I don't know what is going on over here," McGonagall said impatiently while the others looked curiously at Fred regarding his last statement, "but the rest of your House would like to go down to eat before it is too late. So, if it is all the same to you-"

"We can't get them to budge, Professor," George explained the situation with Wood and Percy. "At least Olly is moving a bit - but our Percy hasn't shifted since you were here last."

"Everyone reacts to shock differently, I'm afraid," McGonagall replied and considered Percy's pale, rigid form. "Has he been given any chocolate?" George shook his head.

"Should he see Madam Pomfrey?" Angelina asked.

Madam Pomfrey. The Hospital Wing. Penny is there. I could see her. Percy began to stir, and looked slowly up at the Deputy Headmistress. "Ah, yes, p-perhaps I should see the Matron, Professor? Would that be all right?"

McGonagall regarded the elder Weasley for a moment, noting the pleading look in his eyes and the ashen tone of his skin. Her intuition had always served her well when it came to reading others, and her face softened as she realized what it was that he was asking.

"Come down and have something to eat, Mr Weasley," she replied kindly. "I will have a word with Madam Pomfrey and take you to see her after dinner."

Percy nodded absently and pushed himself to his feet after swallowing the lump in his throat. He began to mutter instructions to himself ("Right. Pull yourself together, Percy. One foot in front of the other. Everything can still be put right.") as he made his way to the portrait hole, wringing his clammy hands nervously. The twins watched him go, and if they were impressed with McGonagall's handling of their brother, they were about to be blown away.

"As for you," McGonagall's stern disposition returned as she rounded on Wood. "On your feet this instant."

Wood's eyes flickered and he stopped picking at the sofa; his jaw clenched even tighter as he slowly looked up at McGonagall's imposing form standing expectantly over him. "Professor-"

"Was I unclear, Mr Wood?" McGonagall's tone was more severe than ever as she enunciated every word. "On. Your. Feet."

Wood's entire demeanor shifted as though he suddenly recognized who it was that was speaking to him. His eyes dropped to his feet and his back straightened; he pushed himself upright and stood before her.

"Wood, look at me. This behavior is unacceptable and, quite frankly, I expect better of you. When I appointed you Captain, that did not simply apply to your Quidditch team. You are Captain to your entire House - Gryffindor is your team, young man, and your teammates must be able to look to you as an example in times such as these. Now. I was under the impression that you were up to the task of being a leader. Was I incorrect?"

Wood's head snapped up and there was a fire in his eyes. His nose wrinkled and he took a deep breath, puffing up his chest like he was sucking life back into his body.

"No, you were not, Professor," he replied, his voice controlled and his eyes determined.

McGonagall held out her arm, gesturing toward the exit; the Captain nodded and moved toward the portrait hole. Fred, George, Angelina, Alicia, Katie and Lee gazed at the Professor with a variety of admiring expressions.

"Professor, you truly never cease to amaze me," Fred reverently said, making everyone else nod in agreement; McGonagall allowed the slightest of smiles as she ushered them to follow.

"I'm only saying that everybody assumes it's a person behind it, but that poltergeist has been dead shifty lately."

"Dead shifty. Nice."

"Bletch, are you honestly suggesting that Peeves is behind the attacks?"

"I'm saying we should consider it."

"Nevermind that he was singing that song about it being Potter for months."

"As a decoy."

"Give over."

"What possible reason could Peeves have to frame any of us?"

"I'm serious! Think about it - that attack before Christmas happened right outside our Transfiguration class."

"And?"

"And maybe he was counting on one of us coming out first to look guilty as sin. But he had to accuse Potter since the little git showed up instead. Oh! That was the day you turned Higgsy into a badger, Ade! Maybe we couldn't hear him over the commotion that caused."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, Patrick."

"Bite me, Violet."

The group was bringing up the rear of the procedure of Slytherins on their way to the Great Hall for their dinners. Snape had just moved passed them on his way back up to the head of the queue, and both Pucey and Bletchley had held their breath, sure that he would smell the skunk on them. When he was safely out of earshot, they had resumed their conversation regarding conspiracies over the identity of the Heir.

"Bletch, look," Pucey interjected with a smirk as Violet huffed, Bletchley stuck his tongue out at her, and Higgs rolled his eyes at the memory of the badger incident. "Our Transfiguration class has all four Houses in it. How could he know who would come out first?"

"Er-"

"Well, now, Bletch may be on to something," Flint drawled, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"I might?" the Keeper echoed to a round of curious stares.

"Sure. Maybe not with the stupid ghost, but the setup - that's something to consider," he continued.

"How does that answer the question of how the attacker could know which one of us would be out first?" Higgs raised an eyebrow.

"Simple - it's someone in the class," Flint replied with a crafty look on his face.

"Someone in our Transfiguration class is the Heir of Slytherin?" Pucey scoffed.

"They would have the potential opportunity to make sure one of you left first," Lara backed Flint, obviously still sore at Pucey for shouting at her earlier.

"Exactly," Flint grinned, seeing his seniority returning. "So, who's in that class that hates you four? Surely there's a bird or two in there you've messed about with and then ignored the next day, Ade?"

"What makes you think that?" Pucey replied easily but narrowed his eyes at Flint as Abby's cheeks turned bright pink. He squeezed her hand, encouraging her not to rise to the bait.

"I imagine they all look the same when you've had as many as you have," Flint mused and this time Pucey shot him an incredulous look and swung a punch at his arm. It was returned with twice as much force. "What? She may not know where you've been, but I do."

Pucey gritted his teeth and hummed a long, agitated laugh and wondered if he would end up having to properly fight Flint right there in the dungeon corridor.

"Well, if it's not a scorned bird, then who else is there?" Flint went on, pleased that he had annoyed the other boy. "Wood's in that class, isn't he?"

"Oh, right, Marcus, I'm so sure Oliver flaming Wood is the Heir of Slytherin," Abby spat, her last nerve well and truly pricked. "Captain of the Do-Gooders. That makes all the sense in the world."

"Ah, yeah, I forgot he's your big hero these days," Flint sneered.

"Well, that didn't take long," Aretha sighed.

"Could we not do this?" Higgs groaned.

"And how exactly did he attack the last two while he was out on the pitch getting ready to play?" Sam fired back at Flint.

"Maybe he did it beforehand?" Flint shrugged. He was clearly more interested in riling them up than he was finding the truth.

"Well, no, he couldn't have, Marcus, because I was with Penny right before it happened," Abby replied triumphantly.

"Oi!"

"Oh, hey up."

"Speak of the Devil."

The Slytherins stopped in the middle of the Entrance Hall as the rest of their House trailed into the Great Hall; Oliver Wood was moving toward them down the staircase with a head of steam, leading the rest of Gryffindor. They scanned the crowd behind him but could not see Professor McGonagall, who had likely fallen back to ensure there were no stragglers.

"All right, Olly?" Pucey rolled his eyes at the Gryffindor Captain's aggressive pace. "We were just talking about you."

"I'll bet you were," Wood snarled as he reached them and shoved Pucey back a step. ("Whoa!" "Oliver!" "Gerroff, Wood!" "What are you playing at?") As Pucey moved to retaliate, Flint held out his arm to block him, and he was left to glare daggers at the other boy.

"Well, isn't this nice," Wood smiled sarcastically, indicating Flint and Pucey. "Captain and Leftenant, back together again. How inspiring you two must be."

"Someone has to have our backs while we're being persecuted," Bletchley defiantly stuck out his chin. "It had might as well be us."

"Oh, it's you being persecuted, is it, Bletchley?" Lee Jordan barked from behind Wood. "I forget - how many Slytherins have been attacked?"

"That doesn't prove anything," Higgs said matter-of-factly.

"That doesn't," Wood conceded. "But this does - who was it that said they saw Abby knock Penelope's books on the ground this morning right before she was Petrified?"

"What?" Abby blanched. "I didn't!"

"I did, er, I didn't say - I don't really know what I saw," Elanor Winter, the female Prefect from Wood's year admitted. "Oh, Olly, this isn't the way to go about this."

"I was helping her!" Abby shouted at Wood, taking a step toward him

"Harassing her, more likely," Edison Lane, another Gryffindor sixth year, shot back.

"Eddie, bug off," Pucey's eyes darkened.

"Oh, Adrian, did your Captain tell you you could say that?" Angelina said in a feigned sweet voice and batted her eyes.

"You can bug off and all, Sweetheart," Pucey replied in the same mocking tone.

"I was not harassing Penny," Abby insisted, replying to Lane's comment.

"Right, because that would be so out of character for you," Wood scoffed.

"People change, Olly," Abby scowled back at him.

"People change," Wood nodded, and locked eyes with her. "Slytherins don't."

"Wow, fuck you," Pucey spat.

"Who do you think you are?" Sam hissed at Wood.

"Always blaming us for everything you can think of," Bletchley snarled.

"It's you who marched up and started harassing us!" Aretha pointed at them.

"About time somebody stood up to you!" Lee Jordan growled.

As the two sides exchanged insults, Abby turned her attention to where Fred Weasley stood, unusually quiet, next to George. She caught his eye and for a brief second there was a hint of an apology before he looked away again.

"Are you just going to stand there?" she asked him outright. "After all we said about making up our own minds about someone for who they are rather than believing the rubbish others say?"

All eyes turned to Fred; several people, including Alicia and Angelina, asked him what she meant. He looked at his teammates, who were watching him expectantly; he looked at his Captain, who, aside from George, was the only other person who knew what Abby was talking about, but did not seem to care; he looked at Lee, who had such an anger in his eyes that he was almost unrecognizable. He exchanged a frown with George, who was equally as stuck on what to say.

"I want to believe you, Abby," he said finally, shrugging.

"Wow," she laughed softly, backing up again to Pucey's side and reaching for his hand. "I guess I should have listened. But Marcus was right about the lot of you - you're all the same."

"They don't want the truth - they just want a scapegoat," Bletchley sneered.

"Well, we know what they can do with that, don't we, mate?" Pucey flipped two fingers at Fred, who scowled but looked down and oddly did not reply.

"See, you're barking up the wrong tree, Wood," Flint was grinning ear to ear as his peers fell neatly back into line. "Slytherin is my House, and I know it's none of us behind these attacks. Because there's not a single one that would have shut down the Quidditch season on me - not when I was that close to shutting you down one last time."

Flint and Wood glared daggers at each other, surrounded by sniping comments from both sides. Then the Slytherin Captain noticed Professor McGonagall appear at the top of the staircase and wisely herded his group into the Great Hall.

Abby looked back over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Percy Weasley's pale, hurting face before quickly looking away again.