Chapter 2!
Disclaimers still apply. Blah.
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"All right. So... I shall talk to Ravyn and get her side of the story. You should do the same," Fallon said coolly as she stood up from her spot on the couch.
"I don't know Ravyn that well, why should I talk to her?" Warrington said impertinently. Fallon glared.
"I meant you should talk to Malfoy! Stop being an arse!"
"Awww, but it's so much FUN!!" Warrington put on a mock-pout and whinged.
"For you, perhaps. I don't find it fun to put up with you being an immature prat, it irritates me to no end!" Fallon huffed as she swept out of the Common Room for the girls' dormitories. Cassius Warrington grinned after her retreating back.
"That's a good part of the fun."
* * *
Fallon found Ravyn in the 5th year girls' dormitory, sprawled on her bed, her face buried in the pillow. The older girl cleared her throat softly. "What happened?"
Ravyn's voice was muffled by the pillow, but the fury in it was unmistakable. "That... sodding... SCUM!"
Fallon raised an eyebrow, and walked over, sitting herself down at the foot of the bed. "Explain?"
Ravyn huffed, her face still buried in the pillow, "I don't have to explain... what he did was INEXCUSABLE and there's no explanation necessary for it! Charogne!"
Fallon blinked, "Er... so... I gather that it was bad enough that you now feel the need to swear at him in French because simple English isn't nasty enough. Now... beyond that, I don't know a thing about what happened. Care to enlighten me?"
Ravyn's dark head flew up from the pillow, her pretty face pale with fury and her green eyes suspiciously bright, "Fallon... we're friends, right?"
"Yes," Fallon nodded at the other girl, "We've hopefully established that fact over the past five or so years. Now... tell your friend here what happened?"
"Would you please do me a favor, since you are my friend and all, and kick Draco bloody Malfoy in the groin then? Lousy, lying prat!"
Fallon smiled wryly, "I'm afraid that that won't solve anything, dear. Rendering him impotent will only make him more high-pitched in the long run. And besides... even I would need a reason to do that to a bloke. Especially one from my own house."
To her surprise and alarm, Ravyn burst into angry tears, once again burying her face in the pillow. Through the muffled weeping, Fallon was able to discern the words "Parkinson", "snog" and "bastard". She sighed.
Bloody terrific. Once again heartily glad that she was not involved in anything of the sort, Fallon sighed.
"Did you... confront him about it?"
Ravyn's head nodded on the pillow, and her muffled voice came out once again, "He said that I was being daft."
"And...?"
But Ravyn did not seem to have anything more to say. Disjointed curses and requests for Fallon to poison, injure or otherwise make life miserable for Draco Malfoy aside, the 5th year girl was silent.
Fallon left the room a while later with a promise to bring her friend some food from the kitchen later, and a hope that Warrington was somewhat more successful at getting information from Malfoy.
* * *
Warrington was, in fact, having even less success with Draco than she'd had with Ravyn. He'd followed the blond boy outside, and had asked casually if he were outside to play Quidditch. Draco had scowled, and told him to bugger off; he wanted to be alone.
Warrington had asked him what was wrong, but nothing comprehensible came out of the younger boy's mouth. Muttering something about "tetchy twits" and girls being daft, he'd taken to the air, and pointedly ignored Warrington.
After about fifteen minutes of waiting, Warrington shrugged and walked back into the castle.
That evening, Ravyn, predictably, did not show up for dinner. Draco Malfoy did show up, but he was morose, and sat alone and somewhat removed from the rest of the Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle stayed away, warned by their boss' malevolent looks not to approach him. The two goons absorbed themselves with seeing who could stuff his face the quickest and most, and did not approach Draco. Pansy, looking unusually malicious and smug, did approach Draco, only to be snapped at and roughly shoved away. She fell rather ungracefully on top of Millicent Bulstrode, her arm knocking Fallon's pumpkin juice glass over, spilling it all over the tablecloth.
"Watch it, Parkinslut!" Fallon snapped, "That was even more ungraceful than your usual standard... haven't you learned by now that obesity and high heels don't mix?"
"Shut up, Anderson," Pansy muttered, not meeting the other girl's eyes, "You wear high heels."
"All the better to kick you, my dear," Fallon said in a false sweet voice, "And moreover, you missed my point. I said obesity and high heels don't mix. Or perhaps you don't understand the word. Figures... go and dunk your greasy bleach-blonde hair in a toilet or something and stop causing irritation to the rest of us." Saying so, Fallon turned pointedly away from Pansy, signifying the end of the exchange, and reached in her pocket with one hand, while addressing Cassius Warrington, who sat a few seats away across.
"Warrington, pass the pumpkin juice."
Cassius Warrington pushed the pitcher of pumpkin juice over towards Fallon, and as the girl took it from him, she slipped a scrap of parchment into his hand.
Sitting back down, Warrington glanced down at the scrap of parchment. Written on it, in Fallon's sharp, angular script, were the words, "Kitchen, eight o'clock."
He caught Fallon's eyes, and gave a discreet nod.
Fallon allowed herself a grim smile. All right. To rendezvous with her partner-in-crime and see what progress has been made on their mission. And hopefully not end up taking a kitchen knife to him in the process.
~ ~ ~
More soon!