Thanks for the lovely reviews, even though this is hardly deserving of them! On the note that Marcus was held back a year, I've always been of the belief that he repeated his *sixth* year, for no other reason than it gives him two years in the same classes as Oliver and Percy, as opposed to one *evil grin*
Chapter three: Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.
Marcus Flint.
Percy's greatest problem is that he is actually a good guy, even though he tries rather desperately to hide it from everyone else. I knew that if I pushed the right buttons, everything would work out as perfectly as I had planned.
I hadn't counted on the howler coming from father. Who WOULD expect to receive one, at 5 am in the morning? But then, this is my wonderful father, who surely would have gotten a huge amount of glee out of the racket it caused upon its arrival. Nothing would have pleased him more, than making sure the entire house heard his thoughts on his thick, mindless son.
Sorry, dad. Your owl delivered it while I was in the library, setting up one of my grand schemes. Drake was the only one who was there to here your words of love and approval. I'd suggest not coming down to Hogsmeade for the weekend anytime soon, because chances are Drake will smack you one.
You can bet on me doing nothing to stop him.
So, the 'accidental' meeting up with Percy hadn't been as much for show as it should have been, and I didn't have the control I should of, although Drake thinks I did a bang on job. Once Percy left, neither of us spoke of the fact that I had said more than I had intended, and that there was little fake about the state of mind I had projected. Father's letter had been about Muggle Studies, which I had taken against his wishes, and it had been about my less than stellar grades for the subject. He was certainly taken a perverted pleasure over the difficulty I had with the class. but then, he always had.
Yeah, well. Fuck him. It wasn't as though I was planning on returning home anytime soon.
"Looks like the lovebirds have had a tiff," Marlena whispers to me as we finish off the last of our lunch. I turn firstly to Bathemius and Drake, surprised when I find them engaged in what can only be described as a tame conversation.
"Not those two, you idiot. Our favourite Gryffindor boys." I'm not the only one who likes to study others; it is a skill that Marlena has down to a tee. I glance over quietly at the Gryffindor table, and instantly pick up on what Marlena was talking about. Percy is sitting with a rigidness that makes me wonder if he has a pole stuck up his arse, and Oliver is, to be frank, not much better.
"Gee, I wonder if they had a little fight about me?" I flutter my eyelashes, causing Draco to choke on his sandwich. Idiot.
"You know, I might just have to change my bet," Drake says around a mouthful of sausage. "He's been like putty in your hands so far, Marky baby."
"That is what happens when you don't have a bit of faith, you lose out big time." I glance over at the Gryffindor table again, which has cleared out with the exception of Percy during our little conversation. "Now shove off, the lot of you. I have some seducing to do." With a fair bit of grumbling, they are gone. I'm sure they would have preferred to have watched this time, but it is something I simply can't risk.
It is another twenty minutes before he approaches me. By this time, the Great Hall is practically empty, but he still scans the room quickly, most likely to make sure there are no other Slytherins hiding in the corridors.
"Why don't we go sit by the fire?" No greeting, no hello. He's nervous, and that works to my advantage. I nod, gathering my books and following him, surprised when he walks past the table there and collapses instead into one of the bean bags, dropping his books onto the carpet in front of him.
"I can't study for any length of time at a table," he offers when he notices my confused gaze, the tips of his ears blushing slightly at being caught during a un-Percy like moment. It isn't the first time he has surprised me, today. I have a feeling there are going to be many more occasions, if I am going to win this bet.
I settle down into the beanbag next to him, and we spend the first hour simply categorising what is important and what is not. He is good at this, and he has a patience about him that I wouldn't have normally associated with him. Chances are, he's had a lot of experience helping his younger brothers.
"I wanted to apologise for earlier," I finally say, making it seem as though it is an admission I am loathed to make, but need to, all the same. Nothing will make him more suspicious than if I suddenly become wonderful and friendly to him over night. "It's just, I haven't been myself lately. I don't do pressure well." Flash him a meek smile, Flint. Brilliant.
"I take it your father doesn't approve then, of you taking Muggle Studies." He asks it stiffly, this is new ground he is treading, being civil with me. I bow my head, hiding the fact I'm grinding my teeth. Not this, Percy. Anything but this.
"Yeah, you could say that." It comes out through clenched teeth. "Your father must love the fact you're taking it." Change of topic is a good thing, for me, anyway. For a moment, Percy freezes, before a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes forms.
"Yeah, you could say that," he echoes, but doesn't elaborate. Perhaps the perfect family isn't quite so perfect? Now there is a novel thought. We drink the rest of our hot chocolate in silence; he flicks through one of his books while I watch him out of the corner of my eye, wondering what he is thinking. He doesn't notice, but then, few people do.
"Why are you staring at me?" He suddenly says in exasperation, turning from the book. I'm too stunned to reply instantly, and it takes time for my brain to catch up to my mouth.
"I was just thinking, Weasley," I finally start. I know he must be thinking about this, and it is what I should be appearing to think about as well. "How is it, that I've found myself in front of a fire, sipping hot chocolate and actually learning more than I have all year, with someone whom I've always considered my enemy? Stranger yet, why am I enjoying it?" Bingo. My words startle him, and he drops his eyes back to his book.
"Don't be stupid, Marcus," he mutters, not daring to take his eyes away from the words dancing in front of him. "You don't have to pretend to be enjoying this, or my company. I said I'd help you, and I am."
This is just too easy.
"Cut yourself some slack, Percy. You're actually a pretty decent guy when you aren't running your mouth off about rules and regulations." He peaks up at me in disbelief, and I smile widely back at him. "Now see, if you only talked more about computers and Muggle customs, you'd be the most popular bloke in the school!" He snorts, which gives me the perfect opportunity to grab the book from his hand. "Now, which chapter is dedicated to Muggle sexual practises ..."
The cushion slams into the side of my head before I've flicked through half a dozen pages. Percy is scowling at me, but a smile is tugging at the corners of his lips. His scowl deepens as he tries to starve the smile off, ultimately succeeding.
"You are a real brat, you know?"
"We're going to be best friends, aren't we, beautiful?" He shots me an iced glare at the nickname, which brings me to the very easy decision of calling him that whenever possible. Nothing like softening him up.
"Lets just get back to the books, shall we?" It is a suggestion I have no problem with, I've already scored several points. Who would know that it would take a suggestion by Draco of all people, to come up with the basis of a great idea? But now isn't the time to associate myself with such thoughts, as I turn obediently to the books in front of me. We spend another couple of hours like that, him teaching, me learning. And again, I'm surprised at how much I'm actually taking in. As I stand up to leave, I smile down at him, laughing inside at how surprised he still is when I do.
"I, thank you, Percy. I mean it. After this morning-" I wave an arm out aimlessly, "-well, I guess you could say I was about ready to give up. So, thanks." I'm not willing to admit the small ounce of truth in those words, but the admission, and the rather impressive way in which I presented them, obviously seems genuine to Percy, who doesn't know quite what to say.
This time I don't need Draco to tell me that Percy's eyes remain on me the entire time I walk through the Great Hall.
Percy Weasley.
This is madness. Utter madness, and I don't understand it one bit. I *despise* not understanding. Without understanding, you cannot have control.
I thought I knew Marcus, I DO know Marcus. Just because he is suddenly slightly more human doesn't wipe out the fact that he has always been a prat. One who has never reigned in either his dislike or his distaste for me.
No. Marcus is still Slytherin, still the same person who has always tried to knock me off the pedestal they all put me on. Only now, a slither of grey has slipped in, and perhaps he isn't the all-encompassing evil that I've always allowed myself to believe Slytherins are. It is a Gryffindor prejudice I've never offered resistance to, although intellectually I know that you cannot brand one group of people under the one heading and expect them to all be the same, to be as shallow as a superficial social climber.
Sometimes, what you know to be intellectually, is overruled by lesser things. Things such as a childhood fear, things such as memories of a past that should be forgotten by now. It becomes easy to ignore the individual aspects of them, when the collective ones are so overpowering.
Black and white is far easier to understand. Uncomplicated. Safe. They are both uncorrupted by other colours, are solid in their singleness. Nothing else is needed to make black and white, no other colours need to be mixed together to form them. There are no layers, no flickers of depth, no brilliant highlights.
I'm drowning in my own sea of grey, but everything else needs to be one or the other. Perfect or tainted. Success or failure. Friend or bitter enemy. Good or bad. Simplistic. Dealable.
Perhaps delusional is the best word.
I thought I knew Marcus. And I do. But it is only the black I know, not the individual pixels that make him that way. I know nothing of what makes him what he is; have never cared to know him past his Slytherin nature.
I still don't. But I'm not sure I have the choice, anymore.
His father is one such pixel I had no idea existed. The black and white is back again, hypocritically so. Too caught up in the blackness of my own family relations, I've somehow come to the conclusion that everyone else's is white, perfectly happy and devoid of careless brothers and hurtful comments.
There seems to be very little that is white about Mr Flint. Perhaps it was merely teenage rebellion that burned with such bitterness in Marcus's eyes, whenever the subject turned to his father. Perhaps the obvious tension between the two has little to do with the elder Flint, and is instead a result of the horrid behaviour of the younger. He would be a difficult child for anyone to have to deal with.
And yet, I can't rid myself of the desperation that also lingered in those eyes, the self-mocking. And yes, the hurt. I could live without knowing that Marcus could hurt. Slytherins aren't supposed to feel pain.
Only their victims are.
I shouldn't care, not really. I know that others would certainly feel glee over such knowledge, and I have every right to think that Marcus deserves to be on the receiving end for once. But I can't.
I've been there, done that. Didn't buy the program.
So, perhaps two new pixels to Marcus's canvas. The picture still remains the same, perhaps just a tad duller than before. But he is still Marcus.
Make that three new pixels. For, just as I can't forget the look in those eyes, I also can't rid myself of the image of him studying with intense determination, the grim way in which he threw himself completely into our study section. How he was for once concerned more with the task, and not ways in which he could humiliate or hurt. His humour is almost fun, when it isn't laced with barbs.
If the study period hadn't have been with Marcus, I might have even been enjoying myself. Perhaps that is a new pixel uncovered of my own. Or, perhaps it is just that I am unused to anyone but Oliver relaxing around me. It is a rather sad reflection of myself that tutoring someone who isn't reluctant or fighting me every step of the way almost counts as a form of social interaction.
"So, how did it go?"
I'm not sure how long I've been gazing into the fire, nor how long Oliver has been slouched comfortably in the beanbag that Marcus had vacated sometime ago. For a moment, I'm drawn to the way the fire highlights his hair a rich brown, occasionally playing on the rare blond streak.
"It went well, he seems fully committed to this."
Oliver snorts, before handing me a mug of hot chocolate. I hadn't even noticed he had brought me a drink, something I blame on the fire, definitely on the fire. We stay like that in silence, slowly sipping our drinks. With anyone else, such silence would make me feel edgy, but this is Oliver. I'm more comfortable with him than when I'm even on my own.
"You know, he is Slytherin." He breaks the silence, only for it to return when I don't reply. He's worried that I'm setting myself up to be hurt, he always is.
"You don't need to protect me, anymore, Oliver." I finally say, my voice quiet as I study the fire over the rim of my mug, not looking at him. "I'm no longer 12, the big bad guys are not quite so big, anymore." Still bad, just in a different way. I know him well enough to predict his line of thought, and I'm countering it before he has a chance to express it. "That was a year ago, Oliver. And when was the last time before that? When I was 14?" More silence, although this time it isn't comfortable, it is too heavy to even begin to be close to that.
"I just don't want you getting hurt." This time even the pull of the fire can't prevent me from looking over at him, from almost losing myself in his concerned eyes. "You're too important." His wry words startle me, and my eyes widen slightly. Important? I don't know of anyone who considers me as such. And did he mean too important in general, or to him? How could he even begin to think such a thing? Why was I?
"Oliver, I -"
"Here is your 'Muggle Religions' book, Percy. I must have picked it up accidentally." I'm not sure who is more surprised by Marcus's interruption, Oliver or myself. His words are cool, disinterested, and I can't help but notice the different way he acts when someone else is around.
It is something I do.
I don't reply, however, simply nod instead. Marcus continues on briefly, planning our next session, but I can barely comprehend it enough to store the information away for later, my mind is too far elsewhere to hold an actual conversation with the other boy. By the time he leaves, Oliver is practically growling, and the air between us is tense again.
"Don't say it," I mutter, glaring at him. "He may be a prat, but he does need help. And he's trying."
"Percy, have you forgotten that the guy is a creep? I mean, fuck! He's made your life hell since the very first day of school!"
"So have the twins," I reply coldly. "But I suppose they have every right to, considering they are family?" I spit the last word out. "Are you sure your problem with me tutoring hasn't got more to do with the fact that *you* hate him?"
"Oh, that certainly plays a part," he has no problem admitting as much. "What you seem to have forgotten, is that you hate him as well."
"I believe that this is my decision, Oliver. Give me one reason why you feel you should have any say in this."
"Because I'm your friend." And just like that, any anger I'm feeling depletes. It is rare for us to argue, but when we do, it always leaves me feeling washed out. "I don't like this, Percy," he then adds quietly. "I can't pretend to. Marcus is and has always been a jerk. He doesn't deserve your attention. Not when he treats everyone like dirt."
I can't explain to him the pixels, or how I'm beginning to feel guilty about the blessed ignorance of prejudice I've allowed myself to wallow in for so long. That is something between Marcus and myself, and is a madness that even I don't understand. Not yet. I haven't even decided if it is something I want to.
He sighs, and I know he is resigned to my decision, his words obviously having little effect.
"I still think he is a jerk," he mutters, but this time it is said with a mock glare. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were conducting an illicit romance with him." He bursts out laughing at the look of utter disbelief I must be wearing on my face, dodging quickly out of the way as I throw the nearest cushion at him.
"10 points from Gryffindor," I announce primly as he continues with his gwaffles, this time from the floor. "For disrespecting the Head Boy."
"Oh, come on, Perce - I hear he's quite good in bed!"
"15 points."
"Hell, you're serious, aren't you?" he chokes out between what is suspiciously beginning to sound like very unmanly giggles. He doesn't see my tiny smile.
"Deadly."
"15 points? Do you know how hard that is for ME to get back for the house?"
"Well, you better win the Quidditch cup this year, then."
"You better start take notes, *then*. I bet Marcus talks in his sleep - you could find out all of their strategies."
"20 points."
"Percy!"
Marcus Flint.
This is a complication I could do without, although it certainly adds a certain spice to the game, and raises the stakes that much higher. I hadn't been thinking initially of that of course, hadn't been able to get passed the initial anger of watching the two of them chat, Oliver dragging his beanbag over so that they were almost as close as lovers.
Or, potential lovers.
The anger had become almost blinding when the situation became suddenly intimate, and I was gone from my place at the door to Percy's side before I'd even realised it. I was planning on playing the book card later, but the situation demanded it.
It looks like I had competition for Percy's affections. What I couldn't understand was, why? Oliver certainly doesn't have to settle for the geek, if the way half the school drools revoltingly over him is any indication.
Looks like the two lovebirds have had a tiff.
Ah. So that was why Marlena had bet against me. She'd already seen this particular obstacle. But that was all it was, an obstacle.
Now, how to remove Oliver from the equation. And if that was impossible, how to restrict the impact he could possibly have.
Oh, this was definitely going to be fun.