Disclaimer: The characters and places all belong to the magnificent JK
Rowling. I'm just . . . playing with them a bit . . . mwaha . . .
CHAPTER FIVE: Justin's Little Problem
The next morning Riley slept in much later than usual; fortunately, Hermione had done the same, so the two girls accompanied each other to breakfast. Riley was very surprised when Justin Finch-Fletchley approached the Gryffindor table.
"Hello, Riley," he said, smiling warmly. Then, nervously, "Hi, Hermione." He waited.
"Hi, Justin," she replied without taking her eyes off her food. He continued waiting patiently, as though expecting something. Eventually Riley gave him a funny look.
"Um, Justin, was there something that you needed?"
Justin shrugged. "No, not really. I was just . . ."
"You might want to go back to the Hufflepuffs then, because you've only got about twenty minutes left before breakfast is over."
"Oh, yeah. Right. Well, see you later." He continued to his House table, but not without shooting one last expectant glance at Hermione.
"Wonder what that was all about," said Hermione thoughtfully.
"God only knows – wait, look over there!"
Hermione followed Riley's gaze. Across the room at the Hufflepuff table, Hannah Abbot had thrown her arms around Justin and was now kissing him dramatically. Or, trying to – Justin kept attempting to shove her off. Finally Justin broke and ran, much to the amusement of the other students in the Hall.
"Run, Justin, run!" called Lee Jordan playfully.
"Look at poor Justin . . . think he's in a spot of trouble?" Fred Weasley asked innocently as he slid into the seat next to Riley.
"Maybe, but I know it's a spot of trouble that you just love getting yourself into – isn't that right, Weasley?"
Hermione groaned at Riley's mocking comment. Fred was well-known for his midnight endeavors, which usually included him sneaking off with one girl or another. He was obviously the more "hormonally stimulated" twin, and it bothered her sometimes. Unfortunately, Fred never took these snogging sessions too seriously. Many a girl had her heart broken by the illustrious Weasley.
Fred chose to ignore that particularly well-chosen comment. "Speaking of trouble," he continued, "I'm having a spot of it myself with my Divination homework. Being as you're an enthusiastic horror-moviephile and all that, I was wondering if you could help me, Riles?"
"Sure. When and where?"
He considered. "Well, I'm busy until about nine-thirty or so. How does the Quidditch Field sound? I'll be in Herbology detention until then – the Quidditch Field is a lot closer to the greenhouses than anything else."
"Detention again?" Riley laughed, eyes dancing. "Why am I just not surprised?"
* * *
Riley walked quickly through the silent Quidditch grounds. The field was blissfully quiet; she'd had to listen to Professor Snape scream at her and Neville for half an hour. Riley had made Goyle's potion explode by 'accidentally' chucking a Filibuster Firework into his cauldron, and Neville had screwed his assignment up as usual. She'd been assigned a 27- inch report on the practical application of Sobriety potions as a result.
"Riles?" She could see Fred waving at her from the Quidditch box. Jogging up the stairs, she soon reached his chosen study spot.
"Hey, Fred," Riley started, but upon entering the box she got a funny feeling.
Fred noticed her puzzled expression. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing. It's just – " Suddenly Riley realized what was making her so apprehensive. "Fred?"
"Mmm?"
"Where are your books?"
"My books?" he asked innocently.
"Yeah. Books, notes – those things you need to study with? We're up here to study, remember?"
"Well," he grinned, "about halfway through the day I came up with a much better idea." Tilting his head downwards, his mouth brushed hers gently; then, harder. It was obvious that Fred was in the mood for some full-out snog time, but Riley wasn't thinking along the same lines. She pushed him away.
"Look, Fred," she sighed, "It's not as if I don't like you or anything. I really do. If you had chosen any other night, I would have been more than happy to help you 'study'. But . . . I'm just getting accustomed to the school, and I really have a lot of pressure on me right now." She winced. "Sorry. Maybe some other time?" She cocked one eyebrow at him daringly.
Despite himself, Fred laughed. "Okay, but only if you promise."
"I promise."
"No, no." Fred shook his head in mock disapproval. "If you're going to do it at all, at least do it the right way. Now stick your right index finger beside your nose." He demonstrated and she complied, feeling rather foolish. "Great! Now, repeat after me. I . . . state your name . . ."
She couldn't resist. "I . . . state your name . . ."
"Do hereby swear . . ." he paused.
"Do hereby swear . . ."
"That I owe Fred Weasley . . ."
"That I owe Fred Weasley . . ."
"One good snog, length of time to be determined by Mr. Fred Weasley. Failure to comply will result in a double payment."
"One good snog, blah blah blah, et cetera."
Obviously pleased, Fred said a brief goodnight and bounded out the door. Riley rolled her eyes in amusement. Then, contemplatively, she dropped to a seat. Why had she turned Fred down? Half the female population of Hogwarts would give their wands to be noticed by one of the Weasley twins. Yet . . . she sighed and shook her head.
"You do realize that you could get a week's worth of detention if a teacher discovered you up here?" said a distinctly masculine voice from the top of the bleachers.
Startled, Riley jumped to her feet. "How much of that did you just see?" she demanded angrily.
The shadowy figure lounging at the back of the box shrugged. "Enough." He jumped to his feet and strode toward her. "Fred Weasley looking for some 'quality time' with cute little O'Connor, eh? Makes a person wonder just why you said no."
"Exactly what are you suggesting?"
The phantom raised both hands in a mock-attempt to pacify her. "Relax, you don't seem like that type to me. But, now that you mention it . . ." Riley's temper flared at the amusement in his voice.
"Shut it – wait, who are you anyway?"
The cloaked figure shook its head, clucking condescendingly. "O'Connor, O'Connor. And they think you're so smart."
Riley closed her eyes; she knew that voice, that attitude. "Malfoy."
With a dramatic, sweeping bow, Malfoy pushed back the head of his cloak. "Very good," he nodded approvingly. "What will you do for an encore – actually make a decent Quidditch play?"
"Look, Malfoy, why don't you go find someone else to annoy? I'm really not in the mood." She sat down again, looking a little lost.
He sat in the row of seats directly above her. "Let's just say your retorts provide me with more sadistic pleasure than most other people do. Now, why don't you tell Uncle Draco what's really wrong?"
"Because the whole school would know about it by morning. Duh. Don't think that just because I'm new I don't know about this whole Gryffindor-Slytherin conflict.
He raised his eyebrows. "And you don't think we're all insane? You don't think it's wrong and stupid? It hasn't struck you that this could be all Montagues and Capulets, fighting without cause? I'd expected that you, being an American and therefore prone to such activities, would have us all psychoanalyzed by now."
She shrugged. "I decided that our Houses must have a plausible reason. Hogwarts students have a reputation for their intelligence, you know. I trust their judgement. Besides, I'm not really the Juliet type anyway. Dying because of a stupid, brainless mistake is not on my To-Do list."
"As long as it wasn't your own stupid mistake."
"Shut up." She glared. "Anyway, I hate the clothes they wore back then. Corsets, yuck! Who in their right mind could put up with those evil things? And God, those dresses . . . dunno how I'd play Quidditch in one of those things . . ."
He scanned her body momentarily; if it had been anyone else Riley would have said she was being "checked out", but Malfoy's summary of her figure was that of a tailor observing his client. "You could get away with it," he admitted, after a moment. "Don't try it on a daily basis, though. You're more of a jeans and polo kind of girl."
"Ah. Unlike the Slytherin beauty – Pansy Parkinson, wasn't it? Cosmo Girl of the New Millenium? Or you , for that matter," she added. "Aren't you such a Justin Timberlake?" She smiled wryly and added, in an undertone, "Just like Tim."
"Tim?"
"My ex-boyfriend. He was a Muggle, and a very well-dressed one at that. More obsessed with his appearance than anything else. Abercrombie, American Eagle, he had it all."
"And you weren't into it like he was. You're no supermodel, it's no wonder he broke up with you." His tone changed. "You should be with a guy who wears old sports jerseys and believes that tickets to the Quidditch World Cup is an ideal date."
"What makes you think that?" He was passing judgement again. Would he ever stop?
He shrugged. "The way you dress. How you move, the things you say. You can learn a lot by observation."
"Hmm. What else have you gathered by your 'observation'?"
"Oh . . ." he grinned in a way that was both annoying and enticing at the same time. "Stuff. Just general information."
"I see."
"It's proved to be very beneficial at times."
"How?"
"Well, keeping quiet and having my eyes open earned me something very interesting. I now have a rather odd tale about a golden-eyed Gryffindor and her redheaded friend . . ." He snickered maliciously.
Riley was stunned. She'd forgotten all about the night's earlier events. Naturally, it was too much to hope that he had dropped it as well.
"Malfoy," she said worriedly, "You're not really – oh, don't – if you do, I'll . . . um . . . do something bad. Something so bad, even I don't know what it is yet!"
"Yeah? Like what?" She struggled for a retort.
"Look, Malfoy, just don't. Okay?"
"I'll think about it." He laughed at her apprehensive, angry face. "Good job you'r a cute little girl, O'Connor. If you were, say, Eloise Midgen, I wouldn't be quite so lenient. Be grateful; don't forget I'm watching you."
Her expressions contorted in fury. "You fight dirty, Malfoy."
"I know. More's the pity, eh?" He chuckled as she stormed past – off the field, into the castle, and straight to Gryffindor Tower.
CHAPTER FIVE: Justin's Little Problem
The next morning Riley slept in much later than usual; fortunately, Hermione had done the same, so the two girls accompanied each other to breakfast. Riley was very surprised when Justin Finch-Fletchley approached the Gryffindor table.
"Hello, Riley," he said, smiling warmly. Then, nervously, "Hi, Hermione." He waited.
"Hi, Justin," she replied without taking her eyes off her food. He continued waiting patiently, as though expecting something. Eventually Riley gave him a funny look.
"Um, Justin, was there something that you needed?"
Justin shrugged. "No, not really. I was just . . ."
"You might want to go back to the Hufflepuffs then, because you've only got about twenty minutes left before breakfast is over."
"Oh, yeah. Right. Well, see you later." He continued to his House table, but not without shooting one last expectant glance at Hermione.
"Wonder what that was all about," said Hermione thoughtfully.
"God only knows – wait, look over there!"
Hermione followed Riley's gaze. Across the room at the Hufflepuff table, Hannah Abbot had thrown her arms around Justin and was now kissing him dramatically. Or, trying to – Justin kept attempting to shove her off. Finally Justin broke and ran, much to the amusement of the other students in the Hall.
"Run, Justin, run!" called Lee Jordan playfully.
"Look at poor Justin . . . think he's in a spot of trouble?" Fred Weasley asked innocently as he slid into the seat next to Riley.
"Maybe, but I know it's a spot of trouble that you just love getting yourself into – isn't that right, Weasley?"
Hermione groaned at Riley's mocking comment. Fred was well-known for his midnight endeavors, which usually included him sneaking off with one girl or another. He was obviously the more "hormonally stimulated" twin, and it bothered her sometimes. Unfortunately, Fred never took these snogging sessions too seriously. Many a girl had her heart broken by the illustrious Weasley.
Fred chose to ignore that particularly well-chosen comment. "Speaking of trouble," he continued, "I'm having a spot of it myself with my Divination homework. Being as you're an enthusiastic horror-moviephile and all that, I was wondering if you could help me, Riles?"
"Sure. When and where?"
He considered. "Well, I'm busy until about nine-thirty or so. How does the Quidditch Field sound? I'll be in Herbology detention until then – the Quidditch Field is a lot closer to the greenhouses than anything else."
"Detention again?" Riley laughed, eyes dancing. "Why am I just not surprised?"
* * *
Riley walked quickly through the silent Quidditch grounds. The field was blissfully quiet; she'd had to listen to Professor Snape scream at her and Neville for half an hour. Riley had made Goyle's potion explode by 'accidentally' chucking a Filibuster Firework into his cauldron, and Neville had screwed his assignment up as usual. She'd been assigned a 27- inch report on the practical application of Sobriety potions as a result.
"Riles?" She could see Fred waving at her from the Quidditch box. Jogging up the stairs, she soon reached his chosen study spot.
"Hey, Fred," Riley started, but upon entering the box she got a funny feeling.
Fred noticed her puzzled expression. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing. It's just – " Suddenly Riley realized what was making her so apprehensive. "Fred?"
"Mmm?"
"Where are your books?"
"My books?" he asked innocently.
"Yeah. Books, notes – those things you need to study with? We're up here to study, remember?"
"Well," he grinned, "about halfway through the day I came up with a much better idea." Tilting his head downwards, his mouth brushed hers gently; then, harder. It was obvious that Fred was in the mood for some full-out snog time, but Riley wasn't thinking along the same lines. She pushed him away.
"Look, Fred," she sighed, "It's not as if I don't like you or anything. I really do. If you had chosen any other night, I would have been more than happy to help you 'study'. But . . . I'm just getting accustomed to the school, and I really have a lot of pressure on me right now." She winced. "Sorry. Maybe some other time?" She cocked one eyebrow at him daringly.
Despite himself, Fred laughed. "Okay, but only if you promise."
"I promise."
"No, no." Fred shook his head in mock disapproval. "If you're going to do it at all, at least do it the right way. Now stick your right index finger beside your nose." He demonstrated and she complied, feeling rather foolish. "Great! Now, repeat after me. I . . . state your name . . ."
She couldn't resist. "I . . . state your name . . ."
"Do hereby swear . . ." he paused.
"Do hereby swear . . ."
"That I owe Fred Weasley . . ."
"That I owe Fred Weasley . . ."
"One good snog, length of time to be determined by Mr. Fred Weasley. Failure to comply will result in a double payment."
"One good snog, blah blah blah, et cetera."
Obviously pleased, Fred said a brief goodnight and bounded out the door. Riley rolled her eyes in amusement. Then, contemplatively, she dropped to a seat. Why had she turned Fred down? Half the female population of Hogwarts would give their wands to be noticed by one of the Weasley twins. Yet . . . she sighed and shook her head.
"You do realize that you could get a week's worth of detention if a teacher discovered you up here?" said a distinctly masculine voice from the top of the bleachers.
Startled, Riley jumped to her feet. "How much of that did you just see?" she demanded angrily.
The shadowy figure lounging at the back of the box shrugged. "Enough." He jumped to his feet and strode toward her. "Fred Weasley looking for some 'quality time' with cute little O'Connor, eh? Makes a person wonder just why you said no."
"Exactly what are you suggesting?"
The phantom raised both hands in a mock-attempt to pacify her. "Relax, you don't seem like that type to me. But, now that you mention it . . ." Riley's temper flared at the amusement in his voice.
"Shut it – wait, who are you anyway?"
The cloaked figure shook its head, clucking condescendingly. "O'Connor, O'Connor. And they think you're so smart."
Riley closed her eyes; she knew that voice, that attitude. "Malfoy."
With a dramatic, sweeping bow, Malfoy pushed back the head of his cloak. "Very good," he nodded approvingly. "What will you do for an encore – actually make a decent Quidditch play?"
"Look, Malfoy, why don't you go find someone else to annoy? I'm really not in the mood." She sat down again, looking a little lost.
He sat in the row of seats directly above her. "Let's just say your retorts provide me with more sadistic pleasure than most other people do. Now, why don't you tell Uncle Draco what's really wrong?"
"Because the whole school would know about it by morning. Duh. Don't think that just because I'm new I don't know about this whole Gryffindor-Slytherin conflict.
He raised his eyebrows. "And you don't think we're all insane? You don't think it's wrong and stupid? It hasn't struck you that this could be all Montagues and Capulets, fighting without cause? I'd expected that you, being an American and therefore prone to such activities, would have us all psychoanalyzed by now."
She shrugged. "I decided that our Houses must have a plausible reason. Hogwarts students have a reputation for their intelligence, you know. I trust their judgement. Besides, I'm not really the Juliet type anyway. Dying because of a stupid, brainless mistake is not on my To-Do list."
"As long as it wasn't your own stupid mistake."
"Shut up." She glared. "Anyway, I hate the clothes they wore back then. Corsets, yuck! Who in their right mind could put up with those evil things? And God, those dresses . . . dunno how I'd play Quidditch in one of those things . . ."
He scanned her body momentarily; if it had been anyone else Riley would have said she was being "checked out", but Malfoy's summary of her figure was that of a tailor observing his client. "You could get away with it," he admitted, after a moment. "Don't try it on a daily basis, though. You're more of a jeans and polo kind of girl."
"Ah. Unlike the Slytherin beauty – Pansy Parkinson, wasn't it? Cosmo Girl of the New Millenium? Or you , for that matter," she added. "Aren't you such a Justin Timberlake?" She smiled wryly and added, in an undertone, "Just like Tim."
"Tim?"
"My ex-boyfriend. He was a Muggle, and a very well-dressed one at that. More obsessed with his appearance than anything else. Abercrombie, American Eagle, he had it all."
"And you weren't into it like he was. You're no supermodel, it's no wonder he broke up with you." His tone changed. "You should be with a guy who wears old sports jerseys and believes that tickets to the Quidditch World Cup is an ideal date."
"What makes you think that?" He was passing judgement again. Would he ever stop?
He shrugged. "The way you dress. How you move, the things you say. You can learn a lot by observation."
"Hmm. What else have you gathered by your 'observation'?"
"Oh . . ." he grinned in a way that was both annoying and enticing at the same time. "Stuff. Just general information."
"I see."
"It's proved to be very beneficial at times."
"How?"
"Well, keeping quiet and having my eyes open earned me something very interesting. I now have a rather odd tale about a golden-eyed Gryffindor and her redheaded friend . . ." He snickered maliciously.
Riley was stunned. She'd forgotten all about the night's earlier events. Naturally, it was too much to hope that he had dropped it as well.
"Malfoy," she said worriedly, "You're not really – oh, don't – if you do, I'll . . . um . . . do something bad. Something so bad, even I don't know what it is yet!"
"Yeah? Like what?" She struggled for a retort.
"Look, Malfoy, just don't. Okay?"
"I'll think about it." He laughed at her apprehensive, angry face. "Good job you'r a cute little girl, O'Connor. If you were, say, Eloise Midgen, I wouldn't be quite so lenient. Be grateful; don't forget I'm watching you."
Her expressions contorted in fury. "You fight dirty, Malfoy."
"I know. More's the pity, eh?" He chuckled as she stormed past – off the field, into the castle, and straight to Gryffindor Tower.