Thalia: We're back with Marcus and the dislike of Gryffindors and Transfiguration. I'm sure, however, that he will learn to like it. For some reason or another. And of course, more requisite snark.

Ravyn: Another chapter, another bout of snark, another stripping Slytherin. Read, be amused, and if you love us, leave a review. *g*

Disclaimer: If Thalia had owned the hot Quidditch guys, she would have been MUCH more *cough* busy than she had been when the lights went out at her house.

Education is a method whereby one acquires a higher grade of prejudices. (Laurence J. Peter)

~*~ Tutoring Troubles ~*~

Part of the reason (okay, 3987651 reasons and counting...) that Marcus hated Gryffindor and Gryffindors was the fact that the head of that despicably pompous House was an anal-retentive, demanding, self-righteous bint... who happened to teach his worst subject.

Really, the only appeal there WAS in Transfiguration was the prospect of changing some particularly annoying Gryffindork (Weasley came to mind) into a broiled catfish... but the amount of effort involved in learning that spell wasn't truly worth the result. Not to mention, he'd probably be made to scrub the bloody Great Hall with a bloody toothbrush.

He almost swore aloud when McGonagall, looking particularly pinched and forbidding, told him to remain after class.

"Mr. Flint," she started, even before the other students had finished filing out of the classroom, "You HAVE to study harder for my class. I insist that you perform in a more satisfactory and diligent manner in this subject."

He went as close to sneering at her as he thought he could get away with, but remained silent as she went into a long tirade about his test scores and his attitude and the lack of effort into his homework assignments and his impertinence in class and...

'Bloody hell, why don't you harp on whether or not I wash behind my ears too, you wretched hag?' he thought ferociously to himself.

"And I DO wish that you would take care not to present such a careless figure of yourself in class."

Close enough.

"All right already," Marcus cut in, scowling, "I'll study for the next test."

"I know you will," McGonagall's voice was too smooth. He felt his suspicions rise.

"I'm appointing you a tutor," the Transfiguration professor continued with the air of bequeathing a particularly large present, "One of the finest students in this school. I'm sure he will be willing to help you. He's quite responsible, after all."

"And whom might this be?"

"Percy Weasley."

Marcus was left debating between homicide and suicide.

~*~

Another week, another night of rounds.

Cassius sighed to himself, resigned to the next few hours of aimless wandering, made up for by the occasional chance to flaunt his prefectly powers in the face of his fellow students.

Never mind that he was missing the strip chess tournament that had begun in the Slytherin common room when Blaise Zabini had questioned Susannah Caligo's prowess in the game. Even the Head Girl could not ignore the challenge, and, as usual, the situation had erupted from there.

Ah, well. Perhaps he could just circle the entrance hall a few times and sneak away while no one was around…

"Good evening, Cassius."

Damn. Well, it had been a good plan, anyway.

"'Lo, Penelope," he returned politely to the dark-haired girl as she approached down the stairs. "Seen anything worth docking house points for yet?"

She smiled – not a Slytherin smirk, or the pompous look of disapproval he'd have received from a Gryffindor, but a casual, passing smile. "Just the usual."

"Ah, just the wild, rampaging adolescent hormones, then?" He grinned, falling in beside her.

"Something along those lines, yes."

Well, no sign of madness yet. Perhaps Marcus was just a little too biased by his blinding rage towards Weasel to accept that his girlfriend might just be completely sane.

"And speaking of wild, rampaging hormones… how's Weasley?"

The use of those particular words to describe him seemed to amuse her, as it was about as accurate as calling Malfoy a sweet, huggable bunny rabbit of a boy. "He's… well, he's a bit preoccupied lately, what with being Head Boy, not to mention all the homework and tutoring and house rivalries going on lately…"

"Oh?" He tried to sound casual, but he knew full well that she was referring to the trouble that had sprung up between Weasley and Flint lately – well, more so than for the last six years.

"Well… you must have noticed. Ever since that last Quidditch match, Percy and Marcus have been…"

"Utter prats?"

Her mouth curled up in a faint smile. "You could say that."

Warrington grinned at the slight tremor in her voice when she'd mentioned Flint's name. He was really going to enjoy her reaction to his next comment…

"Ought to be some interesting Transfiguration lessons, eh?"

She stopped dead in the middle of the hallway; he could almost see her sharp Ravenclaw mind working out the implications of what he'd said, but she still questioned him, a frown wrinkling her brow. "Sorry?"

"Oh, you hadn't heard? Flint told me earlier that he's being tutored in Transfiguration. McGonagall's asked Weasley to do it. Sorry, I thought he'd have mentioned it…"

His apology went unnoticed, and he knew that where her eyes fell on the window, she was not seeing the night sky outside, but the same thing he'd pictured when a furious Flint had informed him of this situation: Flint and Weasley at each other's throats – literally. She was a smart girl. He was sure he'd come to the same conclusion he had.

Only one of the two seventh years would emerge from those lessons alive.

"But surely… I mean, Professor McGonagall must know…" Penny trailed off, looking almost helpless.

"I guess she's a bit busy with classes and detentions to notice the murderous glares," Warrington said. "But… I suppose, if we knew who the other Transfiguration tutor was, we could talk to them about taking Flint on."

She glanced at him sharply, her face no less relieved. "I'm the other Transfiguration tutor," she told him, and with her sweet voice he could almost ignore the accusatory note. After all, as a fellow prefect, he'd known that perfectly well.

"Oh, that's right. Well, that works out nicely, doesn't it? Unless, of course, you have a problem with tutoring Marcus?"

It was all he could do to keep from grinning as he awaited her reply.

"No," she managed after a moment. "No, of course not."

"Well," and he just had to smile beatifically at her. "I guess it's settled, then."

"I suppose…"

"Well, it's been a pleasure, Miss Clearwater," he said in all honesty as he glanced down at his watch, which instead of the exact time informed him, 'You can get away with going back to the commons now.' "But I've got a Defense Against the Dark Arts essay waiting for me back on my desk…"

"Good night, Cassius," she said a bit absently, and she didn't even look up before turning the next corner without him.

Warrington returned to the common room feeling quite pleased with himself. Flint was going to be quite pleased as well, he thought, but when the door to the common room opened, he quickly forgot about the conversation with his Quidditch captain.

The chess tournament had obviously been going quite well; no sooner had he entered the room than Blaise Zabini was starting to remove his boxers. Many of the girls in the audience the game had drawn were cheering, but Malfoy quickly leapt from his seat to stop his dorm mate.

"For Merlin's sake, Zabini, you've still got socks on!"

"Yes, but if I take my socks off, my feet will get cold."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, and Warrington muttered to himself, "I really don't know why they insist on sending us on rounds. We'd obviously do more good right here."

His opinion was quickly changed, however, when a pair of black silk boxers landed at his feet.