Thalia: In case it has not become completely apparent to the precious few of you who might actually read this, yes, Marcus has an evil plan. Whether it works or not… well, I can't tell, can I? XD

Ravyn: Now that classes have started, the time we have to plot ebilly has sadly decreased. So we'll just have to let Flint plot ebilly for us. XD

Disclaimer: Our current paycheques are not big enough to buy Quidditch Sex Slaves. We're still working on that, we swear!

Small opportunities are often the beginning of great enterprises. (Demosthenes)

~*~ The Plotting and the Pensive ~*~

If Marcus Flint's mind was at all occupied with the events that had transpired at the tutoring session with Penelope Clearwater last night, it certainly did not show on his face. Sitting, almost lounging at the Slytherin table, he was one of the earliest arrivals in the Great Hall that morning at breakfast. Calmly sipping a cup of what looked like black coffee, he surveyed the sparse group of people at other tables.

The Ravenclaws were, as was often the case, among the earliest ones there. Although quite a few were hunched over their books, sipping tea or coffee as they studied (overmuch), several were talking quietly amongst themselves. Roger Davies and Cho Chang were sitting next to each other, heads bent over some Quidditch-related tome or another, that looked too thick and complex to Flint to possibly be of any actual good.

It was interesting that Clearwater was not yet there.

A handful of Gryffindors (though none of the Dream team that Malfoy despised so much) were there as well... Flint saw Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor, sitting with fellow Chaser Alicia Spinnet, as well as that sandy-haired Irish kid in Potter's year. And the Weasley girl, who was demurely eating a cranberry muffin.

The door of the Great Hall opened, and several more students streamed in, in varying degrees of alertness/cafffeine deprivation. Cassius Warrington, confident, self-assured and smirking, strode untroubled towards the Slytherin table, briefly ruffling a small Oriental Ravenclaw's hair as he passed by that table, blithely ignoring her glares and attempts to swat him. A bit after him came Malfoy, falling in step behind that blonde Hufflepuff Hannah something or another. Flint watched as his Seeker sneered at the room's occupants at large, and the girl Weasley in particular, earning a most satisfactory venomous glare for his efforts.

Flint wasn't watching and waiting for Penelope to come in. Of course not. He wasn't daft, and besides, she was...

Weasel's perfect trophy girlfriend. Goody-goody Penelope Clearwater. Interesting when riled up, and tried NEVER to be that way.

The door opened again, and in stepped the Ravenclaw Prefect of his musings, predictably next to Weasley, who was looking smug and smarmy. As per usual.

But even as she clung to Percy Weasley's arm and listened to whatever the deuce it was that Weasel prattled those who weren't sensible enough to throttle him to, even as she demurely led the Gryffindor towards the Ravenclaw table, she gave Flint a look, half-confused, half-nervous... from under partly lowered eyelashes... before turning away with the slightest hint of a flush on her cheeks.

She was EVERYTHING that he wasn't. And she was also not a pureblood. She was Weasel's GIRLFRIEND...

His most prized trophy.

Marcus' smirk was so wide that a nearby Warrington inquired in genial politeness if it had been hit by an engorgement charm.

~*~

Had Penny been feeling herself that morning, she would never have overslept. Her clothes from the night before would not have been left in a heap on the floor, and the homework on the table by her bed would never have lain there unfinished.

As it was, she was late for breakfast, and was pulling on her gray jumper over the rest of her uniform nearly half an hour after the rest of her dorm mates had gone down to eat. If she'd been thinking properly, she'd have realized that Percy was no doubt waiting for her in the entrance hall. She'd have known that her friends were beginning to wonder what was keeping her.

Of course, if she'd been thinking properly, she probably wouldn't have been stubbornly trying to force her right shoe onto her left foot.

But something was distracting Penny that morning, and while she wouldn't admit to herself what it was, she couldn't quite stop her gaze from wandering over to the vase on her bedside table. Last night it had been filled with the flowers Percy had given her on their last trip to Hogsmeade, now looking limp and lifeless. She'd removed the wilted flowers, replacing them with a single blossom.

A green lily.

She tried to tell herself that it didn't mean anything, then berated herself for rationalizing flowers, all the while burying what she knew she should be rationalizing.

But honestly… it was just a flower. A harmless flower. And it was rather pretty, for such a… well, unique blossom. It was such a bright green, and with flecks of gray revealing the color of the original feather, it reminded her of the Slytherin's shining eyes…

Not that she'd noticed.

She dragged her gaze from the lily, shrugging into her robes. She was already late enough without spending her time thinking about a flower. Or the Slytherin who'd Transfigured it…

Percy had in fact been waiting for her in the entrance hall, but he smiled when he saw her and didn't seem upset. She kissed his cheek, and he offered an arm, which she took without thinking as they walked together into the great hall. She'd lost track of how many times they had done this exact same thing, and wondered why this time it felt different…

"Are you all right, darling? You seem a bit off this morning."

That was the polite way of asking why he'd had to wait so long for her. "Oh, I'm fine," she said quickly. "Just had a tutoring session that ran a bit late."

"You had a tutoring session last night? What?"

"Transfiguration."

"I didn't know there was another Transfiguration session. I thought I had the only one." He sounded nearly offended, either at the prospect that he, as Head Boy, had not been informed of this, or perhaps simply that it meant someone doubted his ability to tutor any Hogwarts student in Transfiguration.

He certainly wouldn't do well with this one, she thought grimly. "Don't worry about it, darling. You know, I had a question about our Arithmancy lesson the other day. Perhaps you could help me…"

This had the intended affect, and soon he was telling her exactly why he found Arithmancy so fascinating. And she wanted to listen, she really did, but she found herself distracted by a pair of grayish-green eyes across the hall.

She began a silent count of the hours until her next Transfiguration session.