It was the sort of horrible thing that Alicia Spinnet could have only imagined happening in the awful teen movies that her cousins dragged her to every summer, when she came back home from her "posh little toff school for geeks".

She'd made the mistake of sneaking out past curfew to grab a bite to eat from the kitchens the night before, and hadn't made it back to Gryffindor Tower until well past two in the morning, thanks to Filch, who'd been on the prowl. When she had finally made it back to the Tower, like an idiot, she'd forgotten to set her alarm before passing out on her bed. If it hadn't been for Angelina bursting into their dorm in search of her potions textbook, Alicia imagined that everything would have gone alright. She might have missed her first class of the year, but it would have been worth it, to spare herself the humiliation of what was to come.

The incident in question had to have been a terrible joke lined up at her expense by the gods, because she had trouble imagining what other set of circumstances could have possibly let to such an embarrassing outcome.

She'd run out of Gryffindor Tower as though chased by a banshee, clutching her wand in one hand, muttering glamour spells all the while, and her book bag in the other. The Ancient Runes classroom wasn't located far from Gryffindor Tower - indeed, it was in the North Tower - but it was located on the sixth floor of said wretched tower.

Alicia was panting by the time she saw the sixth floor landing, and it seemed she wasn't the only one. In her hurry, as she shoved past a group of gossiping fourth years slowly making their way down from a Divination class, she hadn't seen or heard one Cassius Warrington of Slytherin House barging up the stairs, three steps at a time, hot on her heels. He'd tried to cut past her as she'd finally made it to the top landing, and whether on purpose or by accident, he'd stepped on her robes and sent her tumbling to the ground. Vindictively, she grabbed his robes as he tried to walk over her.

"What the fuck, Spinnet!" Warrington barked, peeling himself off of the ground.

Alicia glared at him. "What the fuck yourself! Look what you've done, I'm already late -

He ignored her, as he set about sorting his belongings from hers. Alicia stared, aghast, at the realization that he would indeed be in Ancient Runes again this year. And Arithmancy. And History of Magic, which was a co-requisite for NEWT level Ancient Runes - unless, of course, he was reading the required textbooks for entertainment.

Alicia cursed as she picked up her wand and her bag, and set about grabbing as many scrolls of parchment and quills as she could.

"Oi, some of those are mine!" Warrington complained, snatching back a particularly nice scroll of parchment. Alicia scowled. Of course they were. As if she could ever afford to buy such thick parchment. Or would, for that matter.

"Just give me my books," Alicia snapped.

Warrington sneered, and 'accidentally' dropped her used versions of Advanced Rune Translation and Spellman's Syllabary. His versions, she noted bitterly, looked as though they'd come straight off the press.

But when it came down to Hogwarts: A History, there were no external indicators of which book was whose. The two copies (both unabridged editions, for the NEWT-level student) were seemingly untouched, for obvious reasons (because nobody in their right mind read the unabridged version unless they were NEWT students). In fact, it was the precise reason why Alicia had charmed the cover of her so-bad-it's-good anthology of bodice rippers to get her through the school year, a fact that she had forgotten all about until it was too late.

She watched, as though trapped in her own body, as Warrington flipped open one of the copies, his face freezing mid-sneer. Alicia felt her face go up in flames, remembering what she had done.

Unable to open her mouth for the first time in her life, she could only stare helplessly as Warrington's eyes scanned the first page he'd landed on. His face took on a terrifyingly impassive expression, but his eyes gave him away.

"Warrngton!" she squeaked. "I'm going to be late!"

He stepped back as she tried to grab the book from him.

"You're already late, Spinnet," he said in a strange voice. "We're already late."

Alicia felt her heart hammering in her chest.

"Warrington!"

"Interesting use of dungeons," he murmured, casting his gaze upon her. "Didn't know history -

"Warrington! Just - just give it back!" she exclaimed, lunging at him. He slammed the book shut and whipped it out of her reach, dangling it over her head. Alicia stepped back and reached for her wand. He stared down at her, eyes dark and taunting. Alicia shut her eyes in embarrassment. She took a deep breath.

"Give me my book back or I'll hex your balls off," she said stiffly. Just pretend we're playing Quidditch, just pretend we're playing Quidditch. But the second she'd said it, she knew it was a mistake. Warrington grinned down at her as though to say you set yourself up for it, and Alicia groaned inwardly as soon as he opened his mouth.

"Oh, but I can think of all sorts of other fun things you could do with my balls," he said lecherously. He flipped open the book again, rifling through a few pages before settling on one of his choice, while Alicia jumped about like an idiot trying to grab it from him. If she were a Ravenclaw, she probably would have just summoned it out of his hands, but she was a Gryffindor for a reason. Hot-heatedness was practically a requirement, and such a quality wasn't always conductive to reasoning.

Warrington, meanwhile, contented himself with reading out a particularly salacious passage from the anthology.

"Dominic stifled a moan as he watched her struggle against the restraints, begging just to get a taste of his -

"Warrington!"

Alicia wanted to die. In fact, she probably already had, and this was her own personal hell, with Warrington as the torturer. Just hearing him was torture, and her heart hammered painfully in her chest when he suddenly reached out and grabbed her chin, tilting her head so that she was forced to look into his dark eyes. She let out an involuntary squeak, and tried to avert her gaze.

"Look at me, Spinnet," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Alicia swallowed nervously. He had nice hands. Man's hands. His skin was rough, his fingers long and thick. Of course they were, he was a bloody chaser, the man had to have a good grip. A man, she thought to herself anxiously. Warrington had grown over the summer.

"Like what you see?" he whispered into her ear, leaning in so closely that she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck.

Alicia seized her chance to wrench herself out of his grasp, snatching her book, and shoving the offending item as far into her bag as it would go. Warrington crossed his arms, an amused smirk lighting his face. Alicia shoved past him, and walked as fast as she could towards class without having to run in shame. She heard him sniggering as his steps echoed in the corridor behind her, but as soon as she slipped into class, she shut the door in his face.

"Miss Spinnet, how nice of you to finally show up," Professor Babbling said sarcastically, shooting her a glare that was uncharacteristic of the usually pleasant Hufflepuff witch. The door swung open. "Ah, Mr. Warrington, kind of you to also grace us with your presence. Ten points from Gryffindor and Slytherin for disrupting the class. I expect you will both make up for your tardiness in detention this evening. This sort of behavior is unacceptable of Seventh Years."

"Sorry, professor," she mumbled.

Babbling ignored her, and continued on with whatever she'd been saying. Alicia and Warrington shuffled into the only two seats available, front and centre where Babbling was enthusiastically spraying the seats with each syllable.

Alicia slumped down in her seat, keeping herself as far away from Warrington as possible. Warrington, for his part, seemed to be doing his best to make her uncomfortable.

As he sat, he purposely brushed his leg against her naked calf. The left-handed bastard then proceeded to rubbing his arm against hers as she tried to catch up with Babbling's lecture, all the while pretending to be the diligent student, scribbling his own notes down vivaciously.

Or perhaps she was hallucinating. Perhaps it really was all an accident - the room was a small one, and the seats were crammed together behind the long desks, after all. More like a pew with desks, than a classroom... And it wasn't his fault that he was bloody left-handed… but it was Warrington! He'd purposely made them later than they already were, just to cause her torment, and now they had detention, and he didn't even seem to care!

The end of class couldn't have come soon enough, but as soon as the clock had ticked eleven, Babbling had called both Alicia and Warrington to her desk.

She lectured them on tardiness, which was to be expected, and then informed them to present themselves at Filch's office for detention. She expressed her disappointment, and wished them a good day.

"Fucking good day my ass," Alicia muttered viciously as she stormed out of the classroom.

"And what a nice ass it is," Warrington drawled.

Alicia ignored him, wishing that he could just disappear.

"Maybe we'll get to scrub the Potions class," he said, referencing one of Snape's favourite detention activities, "I know how hot the dungeons get you."

"Fuck off!"

Warrington laughed and strolled past her, calling out "see you in Detention, Spinnet!"

Lunch was a distracting affair. Cassius spent more time glancing surreptitiously at the Gryffindor table than listening to Montague's vigorous new practice plan for the year. This, he would pay for later, because had he been listening to Montague's hour-long speech, he may have voiced his concerns regarding six a.m. runs as the others had done. Instead, he tried to get a good glimpse of Spinnet, who was crammed in between Johnson and Bell, purposely avoiding his gaze, whilst simultaneously trying to erase mental images of her strapped to a leather torture bed, naked ass in the air.

"Warrington!" Montague barked suddenly, forcing Cassius to wrench his gaze from the Gryffindors.

"What?"

"Merlin, did you smoke something? I said are you free after bloody lunch? The rest of us have class, and Hooch is posting the open pitch sign up sheet -

Cassius grunted. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, "I'll go. Dunno why you bother asking if you bloody well know my schedule -

"Common courtesy," Montague said sarcastically, clapping him on the back. "Get there before Johnson does - or any of them," he said darkly. "Matter of fact, you should leave now."

Cassius held his tongue - knew better, really, then to question Montague when it came to issues of Quidditch. He was a madman. A good fellow, all around, as far as Slytherins went, but a madman on the pitch. And anything to do with it, really.

Cassius had always been fond of Quidditch, but it had never been an obsession, as it was with Montague, and Marcus Flint before him. In fact, Cassius could wholeheartedly say that were it not for his sheer size, he probably never would have made the team. He had a good hand with the ball, certainly - nearly impossible to get it out of his grasp once he had it, really - and he was quick on a broom, but his aim was for shit as far as chasers went, and passes were far from his forte. Still, he enjoyed the game. He just wasn't sure, looking down at Montague's impeccably drawn schedule - and backup schedule, and backup backup schedule (should anything go wrong, merlin forbid) - that he enjoyed it enough to be getting up at six am every day for jogs, and laps in the Great Lake, and field practice whenever possible.

Morning people. Sickening.

Cassius strolled at a leisurely pace towards Hooch's office, lost in his thoughts, when he suddenly heard what sounded like stampeding elephants behind him. He whipped his head around, only to see Roger Davies of Ravenclaw, the Weasel twins, and Alan Summerby of Hufflepuff racing around the corner of the corridor. Cassius froze for a second, remembering Montague's warning. He ran.

It was lucky that he'd made it to Hooch's office first, because he wouldn't have been averse to hexing any of them had they caught up to him. Hell, he already had detention as it was. He whipped out his quill and shot dirty glares at the others, who were now jostling each other to get to the sign-up sheet after him. The Weasel twins were bemoaning Montague's ambition in sending Cassius out before lunch was even half done, forcing Johnson to react by sending them after him, effectively cutting their lunch short as well. Cassius smirked. Ambition was a Slytherin trait for a reason.

He took his sweet time in filling in the sign-up sheet, meticulously copying Montague's schedule word for word, swearing at the Weasels whenever one of them came to close. Davies, the Weasels and Summerby complained loudly when they realized Cassius had filled in every primetime pitch spot on the list, effectively shafting them to practices at either the crack of dawn, during lunch, or in the evening. Not trusting any of them to not modify Montague's well-planned schedule, Cassius cast a quick perma-dry charm as soon as he finished up.

He walked off, smiling inwardly as he listened to the others bitch and moan.

It was good day to be a Slytherin.

He strolled down the corridors until he found his way to the kitchens, having missed out on the best part of lunch, and feeling sorry for it. He had an hour before History class, and Binns' lectures were deadly enough without a growling stomach that would keep him awake.

The house elves treated him like a king, as usual, and Cassius left content, hunger sated, ready to face the world. Amazing, really, what food could do for the soul.

He suddenly remembered gleefully that Spinnet was in Binns' NEWT class with him, and he realized with an almost sadistic pleasure exactly why she would have disguised her... pornography, for lack of a better word, as Hogwarts: A History. What better way to pass the class than by indulging in salacious fantasies? Cassius shook his head. How unoriginal. It was a trick patented by every third year boy in school, albeit with more... visual sources of entertainment. He wondered just how many of the girls might have done the same as Spinnet, just how many copies of Hogwarts: A History were read with zeal under the covers. He sniggered, remembering that one Hermione Granger was infamous for her near surgical attachment to the unabridged edition.

Cassius strolled into Binns' class (on time, not that the old ghost would have noticed if he were late), and he settled himself down behind Spinnet, who did her best to pretend he didn't exist, despite the fact that there were only twelve students in the class (all from Ancient Runes too, in fact). Cassius was the only Slytherin, and Spinnet the only Gryffindor. The rest were Ravenclaws and a couple of ambitious Hufflepuffs.

"Ready for class, then, Spinnet? I see you've forgotten one of your books -

"Stuff it, Warrington."

He smirked. How easy she made it for him!

"Where, precisely, shall I stuff it? I take it that you can be conflicted between your three -

Spinnet let out an indignant huff, and he grinned privately, as the back of her neck flushed crimson.

"You're disgusting -

"Ah, but I'm just citing what I've read, you see," he said, certain that he'd seen a threesome mentioned in her book somewhere. He judged by her silence that he'd been correct, but before he could allow himself to get too smug, he suddenly pictured Spinnet on all fours in the Slytherin locker room, naked and surrounded. His mouth went dry, and he shifted uncomfortably.

He ignored her for the rest of the class, focusing instead on Binns' droning voice, which was the furthest thing from a turn-on he could imagine. Spinnet, he noticed subconsciously, sat with her back straight throughout the entire lecture, as though on alert in case he might stab her in the back, or worse.

When Binns finally dismissed the class, she shot out of her seat as though it were on fire, and walked as fast as humanly possible out the class. Reprieve for the rest of the day - they didn't have a NEWTs class together until Arithmancy on Thursday. The rest of the NEWTs classes were big enough that they'd been split into groups of two houses, and Cassius had dropped Potions and DADA the second he'd finished fifth year, which meant no classes with the Gryffs.

He was assaulted by Montague on his way to Charms, which they had with Hufflepuffs. Montague demanded to know how the sign-up had gone.

"Took them long enough to realize where you were going so early," Montague sniggered, recounting how the others had bolted out of the Great Hall nearly simultaneously.

"Idiots, the lot of them," Cassius said, remembering how they'd bickered the entire time he'd been copying out Montague's schedule. He suspected Montague had been the only one mad enough to make three versions of a schedule, although he suspected Johnson might have had at least two. Gryffindor bitches could be crafty, he thought, remembering how Spinnet had yanked him down after he'd accidentally-on-purpose stepped on her robes earlier that morning.

Spinnet. Fuck, he hadn't gone ten minutes without thinking about her, all because of her godforsaken book.

And then there was detention. He'd almost looked forward to it earlier - more time to taunt Spinnet, back when the material was fresh - but his mind had taken a dark spin over the last few hours, and the last thing he wanted to do was to have a wank over Spinnet before bed like a sorry first year, or embarrass himself in detention.

He scowled, as he and Montague sat down next to Adrien Pucey, who was busy sliding as many quills as possible into Carolyn Cale's bush of hair without her noticing. The other Hufflepuffs hadn't said a word - the girl was universally disliked for her nasally voice and annoying habit of questioning anything anybody said, be it a professor or a student.

"Got a letter from the old man," Pucey mentioned casually, as Cassius and Montague slid into the seats next to him. They watched as Pucey began removing the quills from Carolyn Cale's head - an infinitely more difficult task, because the quills had been practically absorbed into her mass of frizzy curls. "You lot get anything, then?"

"No," Montague and Cassius said simultaneously, exchanging serious glances. There were only two things that Mr. Pucey Sr. would have written to Adrien about that might be of concern to both Cassius and Montague: the Mark, or Yule. Pucey's rather casual attitude, and the fact that he'd mentioned the letter in so public a setting indicated that it was the latter, rather than the former, and the two boys groaned simultaneously. First day of school, and already the rubbish was piling up.

"It'll be at Flint's this year," said Pucey.

Cassius nodded, frowning. Flint. Marcus Flint had enjoyed relatively good fortune since graduating from Hogwarts, something that had not escaped Cassius' attention. He found it all rather suspicious, considering Flint's good timing. Flint had graduated the previous year, leaving his captain's position to the ever-enthusiastic Montague. He'd then been more or less instantly picked up by the Falmouth Falcons as their newest chaser the second he'd stepped off of the Hogwarts Express.

Alright, it was an exaggeration to some degree, but Cassius had found it curious that Flint had repeated a year, only to be picked up by his favourite team just in time for the very same season that the Falcons' captain and oldest chaser had entered into retirement. Shrewd planning or sheer dumb luck? Cassius had a strong suspicion that it was the former, though he was sure that his ex-captain wouldn't have been averse to using his family firm and name to get him signed, had things not gone quite so swimmingly. Ever the Slytherin.

"Why Flint's?" Montague asked.

"He'll have to be hunting soon, won't he... already behind by a year and whatnot... and his father isn't exactly young if you know what I mean. Plus, those fat cows'll be anxious, I reckon," Pucey explained.

Trust Pucey to know everything, Cassius thought snidely. The boy was a proper gossip queen. But it was true what he said. Flint Sr. was a tottering old man who'd probably been around when McGonagall was just an acid-tongued first year. Marcus was the only male heir in the direct family line, and he had two older half sisters who'd been waiting around to get married off for the last five years at least, if Cassius hadn't mixed up his dates. Anxious indeed. Flint Sr. wouldn't be around much longer, and Cassius imagined he wanted to be alive long enough to at least ensure his family didn't fall to ruin in the hands of his supposedly intellectually deficient son. A respectable marriage for each of his children was the only way to ensure any form of relative security.

"Why'd your dad write you so early then?" Montague questioned, and by Pucey's expression of disgust, Cassius had a strong suspicion of what his answer might be.

"Which one is it, then? The fat one or the horsey-looking one? More cushion for the pushing, I alway say," Cassius said jokingly, though he secretly pitied Pucey's position. No doubt his father had sent him a letter early to warn him what his future might entail if he didn't start hunting up a potential wife on his own.

"Yeah," Montague chimed, "The fat one's alright. Although the other one's right fit, if it weren't for her face. You could plough her from behind, I reckon, then you'll never have to look at her!"

"Fuck off," Pucey grumbled, and due his unhappiness he accidentally pulled one of his quills out of Carolyn Cale's head a little too hard. She squealed and whirled around in her seat. With the quills sticking out of her head, she looked rather like a jobberknoll. Sounded like one too.

"Settle down, settle down!" Flitwick squeaked, suddenly scurrying into class.

"Accio quills," Pucey muttered, smirking as the quills in Carolyn Cale's head struggled to dislodge themselves in order to land in Pucey's open palm.

Carolyn screeched, and the class burst out laughing as she stood, trying to detangle Pucey's quills. While Pucey stood and pretended to help her in the removal process.

Carolyn and Pucey soon found themselves also added to the day's detention roster.

The group outside of Filch's office was curiously large, Alicia noted as she walked down the corridor. A couple of second years stood bickering not so quietly, using language that would have made a sailor blush. Carolyn Cale, a Hufflepuff in her year, stood silently by herself, staring haughtily at everyone. A group of fourth years stood angrily, bitching about the new DADA teacher, Professor Umbridge.

Alicia shuddered, remembering the foul woman's so called 'class' earlier that afternoon. It was sheer bollocks, and propaganda to boot. The woman had refused any form of practical lessons, and Alicia and the rest of her fellow NEWTs students had been aghast, even the Slytherins. That had been short-lived, though, she thought grimly, remembering the Slytherins quickly coddling up towards the filthy old bitch the second she started docking points from Gryffindor for "rudeness". Bitch was worse than Snape. The only thing that had been decent about the class was that Warrington hadn't been in it, and Umbridge had made her so angry that she'd nearly forgotten about her day's humiliation, until it'd been time for dinner, and she'd caught him repeatedly looking over at her throughout the hour.

"What are you here for?" asked Evangeline Frank, who'd been Alicia's Herbology partner in third year. Alicia looked up and smiled.

"Long time no see! What am I doing here? I should be asking you that... you're never in detention!"

Evangeline, who normally was a kind, soft-spoken girl with a smile for everyone, scowled. Alicia was thoroughly shocked.

"Umbridge heard me mouthing off about the Prophet and she gave me detention for 'foul language'."

"You? Foul language!"

"Yeah, well... you know. It's just... they're all going on about how everything's okay, and it's just shite isn't it! And it makes me so... mad! My father was killed the first time! I know what a bloody Dark Mark looks like, and I saw it at the World Cup - we all did. And Cedric... it's all shite!"

Alicia stared at the girl, feeling a tightness in her chest at the mention of Diggory. He'd been her first proper crush when she was a first year, and his death had been like an anchor dropping on her childhood. Sign of the times to come. And the Dark Mark... Alicia knew all about the Dark Mark too.

Alicia and Evangeline stood silently when they saw Warrington and Pucey appear in the corridor. The only two Slytherins in detention, it seemed.

Alicia was glad, for the first time in her life, to see Filch's face because it meant avoiding contact with Warrington. The crusty old man stumbled out of his office looking more than a little drunk, and he barked at the group to "shut up". Evangeline looked at Alicia apprehensively, and Alicia wondered if it was the girl's first time in detention. Poor thing.

"Alright, I said shut the hell up. Which of you lot was given detention by Professor Umbridge?" Filch barked, sending spit flying towards the flinching second years.

The group of fourth years raised their hands warily, as did Evangeline and one of the second years.

"Head over to the Forbidden Forest," he snapped, "And be quick about it. Now!"

"It'll be alright," Alicia whispered reassuringly, pushing Evangeline gently. "We'll catch up later."

"I said now! And you, keep your mouth shut," Filch sneered. Alicia refrained from swearing, and waved half-heartedly at her friend.

"Alright, let's see now. Snape. Which one of you has detention from Snape?"

The other second year raised her hand.

"Trophy room. If it isn't scrubbed down by the time I get back, I'll be seeing you tomorrow. No magic." The girl hung her head and handed Filch her wand, clearly having been through this routine before. He gave her a bucket and a scrub-brush in exchange. She made her way down the corridor, muttering to herself in anger.

"Alright, Flitwick's brats."

Adrien Pucey and Carolyn Cale stepped towards Filch.

"Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. No magic." Again, wands were exchanged, this time for mops and sponges.

Alicia and Warrington were now alone, undoubtedly sentenced to serve detention together.

"Locker rooms. No magic."

Alicia scowled as she handed Filch her wand and she grudgingly accepted a scrub-brush and a bucket. Warrington looked strangely alarmed for a second, but he too gave up his wand for a mob and a bucket.

They walked silently down the corridor until both were sure they were out of Filch's earshot.

"Fucking prick," they sneered simultaneously.

Alicia looked at Warrington uncertainly. He avoided her gaze, walking quickly, looking straight ahead. She frowned.

"What, no stupid comment? Scared, are you, without your wand?"

"Shut up, Spinnet," he said warily. "I really don't want to spend the next four hours listening to you whine."

Well that certainly shut her up, Cassius thought to himself. Not that it mattered. The second Filch had said "locker rooms", Cassius had gone on hyper-alert to Spinnet's presence, remembering the vivid imagery he'd had earlier in Flitwick's class. It was divine punishment, obviously.

They started with the Hufflepuff's locker room, because it was the closest. It looked just like the Slytherin's might have, if all Slytherin alumni had suddenly dropped off the face of the planet, along with their wealth, leaving nothing to bequeath to the younger generations of Hogwarts to spruce up their school haunts. The benches were shoddy and everything was maddeningly black and yellow.

"I'll mop, you scrub," said Alicia.

Cassius smirked. "Nice try, but I believe Filch gave you the scrub."

Alicia shrugged. "Whatever. Worth a try," she muttered, her voice lacking any animosity.

Cassius frowned. He'd never interacted with Spinnet off the pitch before today. They'd shared classes over the years before, and she'd been in all the same NEWTs classes as him the year before, but they'd never exchanged more than a few words in all their seven years. In fact, he'd probably said more to her today than he had in all the other years combined. They'd never even duelled, which he knew Spinnet was fond of, because Miles Bletchley had been her sworn enemy since first year when the idiot had nearly thrown her off her broom in their first flying class.

They worked in silence, and for awhile, separately, leaving the antechamber in order to clean the showers and changing areas first. Alicia cleaned the girls' section, and Cassius did the boys'. It was an arrangement that suited them both well enough. When they were done with that, they switched sides so that the cleaning job was complete on both sides, then Alicia scrubbed the toilets, while Cassius mopped the sink area. Again, they switched, so that the sinks could be scrubbed down and the floor in the toilet stalls mopped.

Alicia was sweating by the time they finished the Hufflepuff's locker rooms, and was more than happy when Cassius chose to head over to the next ones via the Quidditch pitch rather than the corridors.

It was a nice, clear night, with a cool September breeze. Alicia breathed deeply. She loved the Quidditch pitch, loved the smell of freshly cut grass, the openness of the field, the long shadows cast by the hoops under the moonlight...

"You coming, Spinnet?" Warrington said suddenly, pulling her out of her reverie.

Alicia looked at him curiously.

"Where are you going? We just passed the Ravenclaw - oh. Obviously."

"Please, I've had enough mediocrity for now," Cassius said truthfully.

Alicia raised an eyebrow.

"Mediocrity? What the hell are you going on about?"

Cassius shrugged. "You'll see." Apparently, the Gryffindor's locker rooms weren't much better off than the Hufflepuff's, if Spinnet hadn't been offended by the sad display.

"You're a right toff," she said, without any menace. Cassius looked back at her.

"Why? Because I have an appreciation for taste?"

Alicia snorted. "Yeah, right. As if snakes carved into every design means taste."

Cassius looked at her curiously. "Well what do you know about it then, if you're such an expert?"

Alicia fell silent.

"You're a half blood," he said suddenly. Alicia scowled.

"What do you know about it then, if you're such an expert?" she said mockingly.

"I'm not trying to be rude," Cassius sneered. "I'm just saying, you're a half blood, are you not?"

She shrugged.

"What does it matter?"

Dangerous grounds. A warning sign flashed in Cassius' head. Political conversations were not safe these days.

"Just curious."

"My mum's a pureblood," she said, stressing the word 'pureblood' distastefully.

Cassius nodded, not surprised in the least.

Slytherin locker room. He swung open the doors.

Alicia's first reaction was to puke.

Alright, it was her second reaction. Her first reaction was quite honestly awe. And then disgust.

"Marble?" she said sarcastically, "Really?"

"Malfoy has been... generous," he said, choosing his words carefully.

Alicia scoffed. "Yeah, right. I take it this was part of the packaged deal with those 2001s, then."

Cassius shrugged.

Alicia sighed and discreetly admired the antechamber's wood-panneled walls and dark marble floors. She followed Cassius to the changing area and the showers.

"No girl's section," she said, "Go figure."

"A wall goes up automatically if there are girls on the team," he said. "It's like that for all the houses, I imagine."

Alicia nodded.

"Right. Well. I'm just going to go scrub the sink... unless you wanna switch?"

Cassius almost laughed. Almost. "Not a chance, Spinnet."

Alicia looked at him curiously, and grinned inwardly when she sensed that he was becoming uncomfortable under her gaze. She'd waited all night for him to say something, anything, about The Book, but he'd ignored her all night. Was he plotting something? He'd been strangely cordial in the last ten minutes, not that she'd ever really spoken to him properly before, but there had to be some sort of ulterior motive. Even she wouldn't have let anybody get away with such an embarrassing incident if she'd been in his place. Maybe he was hoping to blackmail her. Or maybe she was just paranoid.

"You might want to take a picture, Spinnet, I'm not going to stand here all night," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Alicia flushed.

"I'm not giving you the mop."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, wandering away, thankful that he'd let the matter drop. Only... now she was more paranoid than ever. She'd just given him the perfect opportunity to bring up The Book, and instead, he'd basically told her to get to work.

Cassius watched Alicia's retreating figure, and tried not to admire the swishing of her skirt around her nicely shaped legs. She'd taken off her robes at some point, and now she was -

Cassius could have cursed himself, regretting not having given her the mop. His earlier vision came back full force, as he watched her get onto all bloody fours to scrub the corners of the shower stalls. He swallowed uncomfortably, and tore his gaze away from her curvy rear.

Bloody hell, he thought savagely, I've got the hots for Spinnet.

Cassius ran the cold water in the sinks and tried to think about Filch's sallow face. He splashed the cool water on his face and then realized with horror that he would have to fill his bucket over at the showers.

He forced himself to review all the ancient runic alphabets in his mind, and kept his eyes focused on the last shower stall.

Merlin, those skirts were indecent, he thought suddenly, catching a glimpse of the back of her thighs out of the corner of his eyes. He groaned.

"Warrington?"

Fuck.

"What?" he snapped.

"Nothing," she said just as rudely. "Just wondering why you're grunting like a pig," she added snidely.

Alicia turned around and straightened her back.

Warrington looked down at her.

"Why's your face all wet?"

Fuck, she looked sexy. She looked up at him from under her lashes, hair falling out of her bun, her back straight, though still on her bloody knees, calves tucked under her thighs.

"It's hot," was all Cassius managed to get out in a strangled voice.

"Why are you grunting?"

"I'm not grunting. Just. Just go back to scrubbing!"

Alicia scowled at him, and muttered, "Wanker," but did as he said, much to his chagrin.

It was going to be a long night.