Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Although I dub this my trashy trailer park fanfic, it is fun to write. As for some of the comments made predicting how the story is going to go ... Well, they're more interesing to read and ponder than the actual story ^_^.
Chapter two: They are made and moulded of things past.
Oliver Wood.
I drown myself in the sunlight, letting it flood over me. There is nothing like Winter sun, bringing warmth when all else has given up hope of providing what comes so easy in Summer. Percy has always found it funny that I love to simply stand in front of our large window that looks out onto the grounds below. Maybe it is the way I lean out over the windowsill, head thrown back, eyes closed in a blessed warmth that has seeped in through the skin and into my soul. I've tried to explain how the sun has a cleansing effect, how I always feel fresh and revived. He tries to understand, he really does.
I have a feeling he's come to the conclusion I'm nuts, however.
"You know, a shower is a far more effective way to cleanse yourself," Hair still tousled from sleep, my roommate says it with a straight face and a look of disdain, and anyone else would think he was being serious. I don't open my eyes, but smile at his words.
"You should try it some time, Percy. Then you wouldn't laugh so." He mutters something scathing under his breath, and as I catch most of what he says, I can't help but laugh slightly. His tongue has always been sharp when it comes to wit, but it is something most people rarely see. He won't use it on his brothers, no matter what torment they force upon him. Usually, it is only our own easy banter where he unleashes that tongue, as well as on our 'fellow' Slytherin classmates.
The calming power of the sun disperses as dark thoughts of a certain Slytherin take control. Marcus is up to something. He always is. I don't doubt that sinister thoughts were responsible for why he was watching us at breakfast yesterday. That Percy had been puzzled by some run in that he had had with Marcus - he hadn't elaborated, just mentioned how 'odd' the boy had been behaving, makes me wonder even more what he is up to.
Probably plotting on how he is going to steal the cup from us this year, yet again.
"I don't know why you worry, Oliver. Gryffindor has the best team, they are certain to win the cup this year."
I love how he does that. I'm a difficult person to read, emotions are something that I've long learnt to keep from my face, although admitingly there are a whole host of them that are only too ready to expose themselves when provoked. Percy however can detect my change of mood easily, and always seems to be dead on when guessing what caused it. It is a trait I share with my roommate, it would be impossible to have gone 7 years without learning each other as well as we know ourselves. Sometimes, I think it worries Percy that I know him so well, although I'm not quite sure why. I know I'm going to have problems adjusting, once we graduate. I've come so used to him always being here, that I'm sure he has actually become a part of me.
A part of me I don't want to lose. Not yet.
I drop down onto his bed, spreading our books out in front of me. We always study like this, sprawled across the beds or carpet. People automatically assume that Percy is organised not only in mind but also in everything else he does. They have let themselves forget that he is only 17, occasionally he acts like it. Because of the long hours he spends studying - that we both do, it would be impractical to spend it in some uncomfortable chair.
That is our rational. We plan to stick with it.
He adjusts his glasses before he sits himself down opposite me, seriousness taking over his face until I can no longer tell if he is simply determined or grim. He is afraid of failure, and to falter here, so close to the finish, would devastate him. Panic and worry have begun to seep into his daily motions, his every smile or scowl. It is getting harder to make him unwind, so tightly is he coiled. I am not in the best state myself, but compared to Percy, one would think I had just returned from a vacation in the tropics.
It does not help that the Twins are making his life near unbearable at the moment, just when their taunting couldn't be worse. It is beyond even my reasoning to understand why they would put such extra pressure on him, when he is desperately in need of a break from them. No, he needs more than that. It is their support and confidence that would lift him now, a pat on the back, a warm smile. A 'of course you're going to pass, Perce, you're bloody brilliant!'
I'd like to believe that they simply haven't realised. As time passes, my thoughts are becoming corrupted, and I'm beginning to think they simply don't care.
I do, however. And that is still something Percy doesn't seem able to believe.
His mind has wondered now, his eyes are on the book in front of him, but his mind is not. A surge of what can only be described as jealously flows through me, as I wonder if it is Marcus and his strange behaviour he is thinking of. Even in the confinements of our bedroom, I find myself protective of him.
It is my turn to lose myself in my thoughts, as I remember our first few years, of a time when Percy was actually in need of protecting. He was the perfect type of child that bullies loved: skinny, a loner, yet with enough attitude that it was a competition to see who could break him first. When we were younger, they had tried to do it with their fists.
They hadn't counted on me being prepared to do what he couldn't.
Needless to say, the beatings had mostly stopped after our third year.
I glance over at him, remembering the times those beautiful, pale cheekbones had been marred by hideous bruises. It was rare for such imperfections to stain his face now, Percy was skilled with his wand, and most knew that if they somehow managed to get past the talented Weasley's defences, they had me to deal with, afterwards.
Still, there were those who tried. Last year had been host to one such example. We should have known that the parting Slytherins that year would have had one last go, they had been the ones who had been first to try, after all. But, we hadn't, and in the end, there had simply been too fast, outnumbered us just enough ...
"Not so much a protector now, are you?" the voice hissed in his ear. He tried to pull himself out of the grasp the two Slytherins had him in, but not even when he kicked one of them hard in the shins could Oliver elect anything more than a yelp. Certainly not his own release.
"Let go of me, you fools," Percy demanded from across the room, and Oliver could only watch as his friend schooled his face into one of annoyance, banishing whatever fear he might be feeling. He had always been amazed at the utter control Percy could have over his feelings, even at a time like this. "You graduate in three weeks, surely you don't want to be suspended for something this *stupid*?" For a moment it almost seemed that Percy had managed to talk them out of the upcoming assault - surely they *weren't* that idiotic?
The fist that then buried itself in Percy's stomach, sending the slighter boy to the ground, robbed Oliver of any such hope. He could do nothing but watch as Percy wrapped an arm around himself, his breath coming out stiltedly. But still, in typical Percy fashion, Percy glared up at them in defiance, before launching himself from his crouching position at the closest one, sending the unsuspecting Slytherin flying. Oliver's eyes went wide as Percy raced towards his wand, which had been dropped, forgotten, by a Slytherin after the initial confrontation.
"Not so fast, you twerp." another fist, this time one that was hard enough to elect a cry from Percy, sent him sprawling to the ground again.
"Leave him alone, you bastards! Too scared to try that on someone who can pummel you back?" They spared him nothing more than a laugh, before turning back to Percy. They never dared take on someone who had any chance of providing them with some competition, why would they start now? Another well placed punch, and Percy didn't even attempt to get up from his knees, instead hunching over himself, desperately trying to simply breathe.
He was going to kill them for this. Each and every one of them. First though, he had to try and somehow get free.
"What is going on here?" Percy was the only one who didn't turn his eyes to the group who had suddenly appeared in the corridor. Oliver found himself becoming grim, as he took in the bunch of mainly 6th year Slytherins. Drake, Bothemius and Marcus were all in his year. The fourth member was younger, with blonde hair and a demeanour of sliminess.
Not their knights in shinning armour. That was for sure.
"Would you care to join us?" One of the Slytherins that was holding Percy asked, coldness deeply entrenched in his voice. As 7th years, they would lose all power they had to the small group in front of them, but that power was something, Oliver noticed, that they weren't ready to relinquish quite yet. The blonde looked to stride forward eagerly, but was stopped from advancing by Drake, who merely stuck an arm out in front of the younger boy, never breaking eye contact with the Slytherins in front of them. None of them did.
"Only the weak use their fists on those too pathetic to fight back." It was Marcus who spoke up this time, and Oliver found himself growling at the other boy's demeaning words. He wasn't the only one, as the other Slytherins sent various scowls and snarls Marcus's way.
"You calling us weak?" one murmured, lowly. "Not a bright idea, child."
"You lot wouldn't know a bright idea if your finger was stuck in a light socket," Bothemius drawled. Oliver found himself shoved to the ground, as the 7th year Slytherins advanced on their younger counter parts.
"The Quidditch pitch, 5 minutes," Drake spoke up, causing them to stall. "Unlike you, we have the intelligence to not get into a fight in the middle of a corridor." The four of them had then turned and left, leaving behind a stunned bunch of Slytherins, not used to having their position challenged.
"Oliver, Ollie?" His voice brings me back from my memories with a start. He is leaning over the books, studying me to make sure I am all right.
"I'm fine, Perce," I smile reassuringly, he knows me too well to listen merely to my words when answering such a question. "I was just recalling ..." Stupid. You idiot, Oliver. He frowns as my words drop off, but then his own intelligence provides what my silence did not. He bows his head for a moment, before glancing back up at me.
"You know, I think that it was entirely worth it, just for how the Twins reacted." He says it with a small smile, and I cannot help but answer with one of my own. We've never spoken of that day, or of the two that followed, that saw Percy confined to the hospital wing with two cracked ribs. The Twins *had* been at their best then, however. They would never know that this had not been the first time that Percy had been subject to such an attack, but they had taken it upon themselves to make sure it was the last. No-one was allowed to hurt their brother. They'd even told a rather bemused Percy that they would protect him themselves, if it came to that.
"I still don't understand why the others didn't join in," he then muses, and it appears that maybe I'm the only one still uncomfortable talking about this.
"They never have problem getting involved with fights, that is for sure," I scoff. I have to struggle though to say next part. "Although, they never seem to do what Syntan and his goons did. Marcus and his pals have only ever fought against those who are willing, and of equal numbers." There, I said it. Don't let it be known that Oliver Wood is not fair. Ah, now Percy is looking uncomfortable - he isn't yet willing to differentiate between the Slytherins who have haunted him with their fists, and those who have done it 'merely' with their words. For this, I don't blame him.
"Have you seen my copy of advanced Muggle studies?" He changes the topic with ease, and I welcome it. For a few moments, we both search the huge pile of books, before he realises that he has left it in the library. It is one of the few subjects we don't share, so I'm not overly surprised that is where he has left it. After promising to be only 5 minutes, he is gone, and I am left to wonder over the fact I'm missing his companionship, already.
Marcus Flint.
"Percy is on his way, just as you thought he would, Marcus."
"About fucking time. Thanks, Drake."
"Anytime."
Percy Weasley.
The library is practically empty at this time of year. Few care how close it is to exams when there is snow to play in, fun to be had. I envy the way they can simply do that, push it all to the side, even if for only a few hours. It is something I've never been able to do, although Oliver seems determined to teach me.
Even the librarian is absent this morning, as I walk in. She will surely be back this afternoon, when the few students who do feel the need to study will turn up.
I hate this library. I always will.
Only Oliver knows of how much the musky smell haunts me still, or the way the towering bookcases make me claustrophobic. To all others, the library would appear to be my second home, if only because I appear to be the type of person who should love to lounge in a place like this.
They've never noticed how rare it is for me to come here. Rarer still how often I'm alone when I do. There are too many corners, too many dark corridors that one can easily take advantage of.
I knew most of them well by the time I had turned 14.
My book is on the table closest to the exit, the one that, if she was here, would be in the direct eyesight of the librarian. I grab at it quickly, eager to leave this horrid place.
"God damn it!" The loud curse fills the empty library, and I barely manage to duck out of the way of the book that comes sailing at my head. I purse my lips in annoyance as I pick up the book, intending to return it to its owner with a decent tongue lashing as well. I hesitate just for a moment as I head to the corridor the book came from, but banish past demons from my head as I turn down it. I am the Head Boy, it is my *duty* to attend to such things as this.
And yes, I know how stupid that sounds.
I stall for the second time when I see the source of the book, and instantly belittle myself for not having recognised the voice. I put it down to being blinded by the possibility that Marcus Flint would be in a library in the first place; although I'm sure his reasons for avoiding this place are different to my own.
He is sitting alone at his table, which is completely covered with books and parchment. I take in the four mugs; several of them still half full, as well as the tension that is radiating from him. I don't have to see his eyes to know there are shadows lying there. It appears he has been here for hours.
"I thought you might want your book back," He looks up in surprise as I gently place the book on his table, slight disapproval staining my voice. He hadn't hear me coming, which is strange for Marcus.
"Thanks," he mutters, before glaring at the book. He actually looks ready to collapse, and I'm having a hard time tying this Marcus into the one whom everything seems to come so easy for.
"Having trouble with Muggle Studies?" I ask, for no other reason than to break the silence that was demanding to be broken. It was one of our advanced Muggle Studies books that he had thrown.
"What do you think?" he growls, and it is enough for me to turn and walk right out of there. Before I can though, he sighs. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that," he gruffly admits, it's the closest thing I've ever heard Marcus come to an apology. "And yeah, I can't seem to get my head round Muggle Studies at the moment, and I *have* to." He tries to hide the esperation in his voice, but in his tiredness, is hardly effective. For he first time, I see the pile of ashes just to the left of one of his books.
The remains of a howler.
"Ah yes, good old dad's way of encouraging me." The laugh is devoid of humour, and there is true bitterness in his eyes. "Looks like he was right though, I should never have taken such a pathetic subject, one I was sure to fail as badly at as I do everything." He sounds like he is quoting, and I don't know what to say. Realising he has said too much, he glances away from me, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Just ignore everything that comes out of my mouth at this time of the morning, Weasley. I obviously haven't drunken enough wake-up coffee." Judging by the amount of mugs on his table, I'd be more worried about how much more he plans on drinking.
"Why don't you get yourself a tutor?" I say it uncomfortably, but it is all I have to offer. What do you say to someone who has always been your nemesis, when they suddenly show themselves to be far more human than you would have liked?
"Yeah right," He scoffs. "Exactly who would offer to tutor me? I don't suppose you have forgotten that our class isn't exactly overly ... friendly, Percy." I cringe at his words. 'Not friendly' was putting it lightly. The class was dominated by Ravenclaws, although there was one other Gryffindor - Lynda, and a couple of Hufflepuff. Marcus sat with the one other Slytherin in the class, but even they didn't appear to get along. None of us did. According to the Ravenclaws, we were taking up precious time, which would have benefited them more if we weren't there. There was no chance that one of them would offer him any help. Help that Marcus seemed desperately in need of.
"I've been looking for a study partner for Muggle Studies," I'm trying to decide how quickly it will take me to regret those words. For a moment, Marcus's eyes light up in hope, before sinking back into the bleakness that I had first seen this morning.
"You prefer to study alone." He replies, his disappointment evident. How do I tell him that there is nothing I hate more?
"I always study with Oliver, but he doesn't take Muggle Studies." Take it, or leave it, Marcus. But do it quick. Those doubts are starting to make themselves evident. He looks surprised at my admission, but then he smiles wryly, gesturing to a nearby seat.
"If you can find room, you are more than welcome."
"Not now." It comes out almost as a command, but then, it always does. I forgot how to talk like a normal person years ago. "You need some rest, you are not going to retain anything if you're too tired."
He nods, and begins to gather all of his things. This has to be the first time Marcus has ever done something I've said without trying to weasel his way out of it, first.
"1pm, in the Great Hall?" He looks surprised when I say it.
"Why not the library?" I smile tightly before heading for the door.
"I hate this place. I avoid it as much as possible."
The doubts have startled their assault, full force. How am I going to explain this to Oliver, when I can't even justify it to myself?