Thalia: Reviews would be highly appreciated. And offerings of ferret plushies and money. Enjoy the snark.

Ravyn: Finally we get to some gratuitous D/G action - as well as the obligatory snark and mention of poisonous substances. Enjoy! And review to improve my self-esteem. XD

Disclaimer: Go and knit a Weasley jumper if you've resorted to reading disclaimers to counter your boredom.

In all matters of opinion, our adversaries are insane. (Oscar Wilde)

~*Perfectly Insane*~

On top of Malfoy's ridiculous plan failing, on top of a bloody night on his knees scrubbing floors, and on top of the derision of that Big Head Boy, Marcus had lost the opportunity to study that night for his Arithmancy exam – an opportunity that he needed quite badly. True, it had been his failing grade from that crazy bint McGonagall that had forced him to repeat a year, but he couldn't afford to let his Arithmancy marks slip. And now he was forced to spend his lunch in the library to make up for this lost time.

His only consolation was that Weasley, obsessively studious as he was, would probably be buried up to the tip of his freckled rodent nose in books by now. He was in the mood just about now for another round of the fight they'd had last night.

But, upon reaching the musty old shelves of books containing more about disillusionment charms, diricawls, and divining the future from a cup of half drunk tea than any sane person would ever want to know, he saw no sign of his foe. There were a few scattered Ravenclaws, two of his housemates poring over a particularly nasty looking volume, and of course, the Granger girl in a corner, muttering to herself and studying as if her heart would stop if she dared look up from her work. But he saw no perfectly groomed red hair, no shining Head Boy badge, and no self-righteous, gitty expression.

He did, however, notice the self-righteous git's girlfriend sitting alone, occasionally jotting down notes as she skimmed through a rather uninviting text entitled Twisted Time-Savers: One-hundred Deadly Draughts Brewed in Less than Twenty Minutes.

He sneered slightly, before walking up to her and clearing his throat. "Well... look who we have here."

Penelope Clearwater slowly lifted her eyes from her book, and when she saw who it was, addressing her, raised a delicate eyebrow. "Flint." Her voice was cool, civil... but rather surprised. Her hands had tightened slightly on the book's cover. Perhaps she was afraid of him... like so many were.

She was no bloody Gryffindork, after all.

He pointed at the book in her hands, and gave her a smirk, "What's that for? Planning on offing Weasley, or offing yourself for dating the git?"

She stared at him for a moment in surprise, wondering what in the world he was up to... sure, he hated Percy, and Percy disliked him, but...

But she certainly couldn't let him bully her around, if that was his intention. And it probably was...

In a measured voice, she sighed and addressed him, "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but just because you contemplate doing certain things, doesn't mean that I contemplate doing the same sorts of things."

Flint stared at her, both in shock that the quiet little mouse that he had been certain Penelope Clearwater was... had actually spoken to him in reply to his jibe... and that she had kept her voice relatively calm. An odd, perhaps possessed bint, to be sure. The ones who did snap back at him were always belligerent. But then, of course she was mad. She was dating the Weasel.

At his rather dumbfounded expression, Penelope gave a patient, very proper-Prefectly sort of explanation. "Well, surely... I meant that you and I have rather different opinions of Percy... unless you want to date him as well," she said gently.

Marcus found himself sputtering in half-shock, half-disgust. Yes... MAD bint, this one... but rather witty, actually. It must be her madness that made her date Pompous Weasel. Of course.

"I'm sorry, but if that is the case, I don't think Percy would agree," she was saying softly, "It's something that's less likely to happen than one of you Slytherins declaring undying love for a Muggleborn." Having said so, she stood, book and parchment in hand, and gave him a small nod. "Good day, Flint."

She silently walked away from him and disappeared off to heaven knew where within seconds. And Marcus Flint stared at the spot where she had been sitting a moment earlier, rather taken aback.

So this was Weasel's perfect girlfriend.

How... interesting.

And as he flicked a lock of curly brown hair off the windowsill, he smirked.

After what seemed like the longest lunch he'd ever had, Flint made his way back to the Slytherin common room. His mind was so full of Arithmancy figures - and a surprisingly snarky Ravenclaw - that he barely acknowledged the purely evil glare that Malfoy was exchanging with the Weasley girl.

"Listen, Weasel, don't you have a hero to be fawning after, or have you finally come to your senses and realized that Potter can only dream of being as attractive as I am?"

Honestly, any girl that would subject herself to dating a Weasley - especially that Weasley - must be out of her tree. Unless… perhaps he was blackmailing her.

Yes, that must be it. That would be just like Pervy Weasel. He may act sanctimonious to the point of wanting to beat the smug look from his freckled face with a Quidditch bat, but Flint could easily believe that he'd had to resort to something so underhanded to get any girl - make that anything with eyes - to agree to a relationship with him.

"You're just jealous of Harry because he's everything you'll never be!" Ginny spat back at Draco, who managed to show no sign of this struck nerve aside from the involuntary pink tinge of his cheeks.

Or perhaps he'd slipped Clearwater a love potion. Of course, that kind of magic was illegal, but would take someone as utterly obsessed with the rules as Weasley to know just how to manage a potion like that.

"Jealous of Potter? I think living with so many males -  if they can in fact be classified as males - has affected your female intuition, Weasley. I'd sooner be jealous of the dragon that has to fly behind the guy with bladder control issues."

Yes, Weasley was definitely up to something. Or perhaps he wasn't controlling her at all. Perhaps he'd just gone down to St. Mungo's to find the nearest semblance to a girlfriend he could find.

"Yes, Malfoy, jealous. That is in your vocabulary, isn't it? Or am I not mistaken in thinking the only words you know are 'my father?' No matter, I know I'm not mistaken about Harry. He's better at Quidditch than you, he's got more friends than you, and he's a better kisser than you."

"As if you'd know," Malfoy shot back. He glanced at Flint, as if looking for support, but the older Slytherin was too entranced to notice. "The only thing you've ever kissed is Potter's arse."

"Better that than your face."

"Oh, I don't know…" Draco casually examined his nails before flashing her a smirk and asking, "Care to find out?"

The Weasley girl's sound of disgust and stinging reply were lost to Flint as he trailed down the dungeon stairs to the door of the Slytherin common room. The entrance had barely shut behind him when his fellow Chaser, Cassius Warrington, greeted him from where he sprawled on a leather couch.

"Oi, Flint! Are we feeling enlightened and enthralled after our little study hall? What's next, nap time?"

But for the second time, Flint didn't notice a teammate – that is, until Warrington reached out an arm and caught Flint in the chest with his Advanced Transfiguration book. "All right, Flint?" he asked his Quidditch captain. "You look like you've just seen McGonagall in the shower."

Flint finally responded with a look of pure disgust. "Well I was all right until you brought that image into my head."

"What's going on, then?"

Instead of answering, Flint posed a question of his own. "You wouldn't happen to know when Clearwater's next rounds are, would you?"

Warrington grinned. "Why? Planning a little snogfest with Miss Perfect Prefect?"

Flint just gazed into the distance, a faint smile playing on his lips. "We'll see."