Ravyn: What do Penny and Ernie MacMillan have in common? They both learn some interesting lessons about Slytherins. Sneering, studying, and perhaps a little snoggage by the time this chapter is through. XD

Thalia: Bwhahahaha. Let the making out begin. Because this, after all, means an onset of the angst. *cackle*

Disclaimer: JKR's Slytherins get far less action.

But love is blind, and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit. (Shakespeare)

~*~ The Unthinkable ~*~

Penelope Clearwater did not know what she was doing. A highly unusual situation.

She hadn't the foggiest idea (or at least, none that she'd admit to herself) why she was carefully brushing her hair and tying it back with, of all things, a green silk ribbon as she prepared to go to the next tutoring session.

She wasn't one of those girls overly concerned with appearance.

A green ribbon, a splash of rosewater on her hands... nothing, really. It wasn't a big deal, of course.

Trying to ignore the sudden surge of what seemed to be vanity, up in her chest, she turned away from the approving mirror and glanced at the nightstand by her bed. A green lily. It was still there... perhaps a few more days before it would fade. The gray flecks in it were more prominent now, hints of its original state.

Closing her eyes almost in denying desperation, she turned abruptly towards her dresser, where the latest missive from Percy, with gentle words proclaiming his love and how, after he'd succeeded and gotten his dues for his efforts, after they were both out of school, he'd support her and give her all she needed.

He was a gentleman. A kind, good-hearted, upstanding young man. She was lucky to have his love. Really.

She loved Percy, of course she did.

Her mutinous eyes glanced at the lily for a split second once more, before she fled the room.

Well. She was a Prefect. She could NOT be late for tutoring!

Ernie MacMillan realized that he was in over his head.

He was aware that his position had been precarious ever since that evening, when he'd finally decided to give Pansy Parkinson a bouquet of flowers.

"You seem to be a bit lost, MacMillan," the Slytherin girl had commented without even lifting her blue eyes from the Potions text she had been studying while picking delicately at her dinner. "Let me help you. Tracey Davis is just down the table, next to Zabini there."

"Oh, no, I'm not looking for Tracey – "

"Oh." She had finally glanced up at him, and for a moment he'd been relieved to see comprehension dawning over her face – that is, until she'd amended, "Well, in that case, Draco's over there – "

"No, no, listen, Pansy, I was just hoping to talk to you…" He'd trailed off, suddenly very much aware of the half-cynical, half-bemused look on her face. "Is something wrong?" It had certainly not been going as he'd planned; he'd been flustered, and MacMillans were not used to being flustered.

"You want to talk to me?" she'd asked, sounding almost cautious, as if expecting him to admit to it all being a joke at any moment.

"Yes, is that a prob – ?"

"You?"

"Yes." It was at this point that he'd started to wonder if he shouldn't be offended by her reaction.

"Want to talk to me?"

"Yes, but since you're obviously – "

"So the flowers are for me, then?"

"I – er – well, yes." Things having suddenly gone his way surprised him so much that it had been a moment before he'd thought to thrust the bouquet at her.

"Pansies. Cute."

Was she being sarcastic? He hadn't been quite sure; Hufflepuffs were rarely so subtle. Nevertheless, he'd made a mental note to just go with roses next time. "Yes, well, you know… you just remind me of a pansy, so – "

She'd quirked an eyebrow at him, and he'd wondered immediately what he'd done wrong that time. "I remind you of a homosexual bloke?"

"What? No! No, of course not…"

Her eyes had narrowed despite his poor attempts to take back the comment, and she'd asked, "Are you sure you're not looking for Draco?"

"No, I – er…" He'd been stuttering foolishly – another thing MacMillans were not used to – when Draco himself had appeared, Crabbe and Goyle predictably not far behind. He'd shot Ernie the briefest of disgusted looks before saying, "Really, Parkinson," with all the distaste as if he'd just discovered her snogging a house-elf. "A Hufflepuff? You know that's practically interspecies for us."

She'd risen from the table as the three stalked away from them, and at that moment Ernie had felt any bare last hope of the evening crumble about him, bitterly aware that he had nothing to show for it but embarrassment. Then Pansy had given him a faint smile, asking, "Care to continue this in the Charms classroom later?"

"I – of course!"

"Good."

And with those arrangements, Ernie was now rushing down the halls to Charms with much more enthusiasm than he'd ever felt for the class itself. The evening had already proved to him that Pansy was not exactly the type of girl he was used to, but he'd had time to regain some of his confidence, and he thought the situation held a bit more hope for him the second time around.

He paused, hearing voices and glanced into the Transfiguration classroom, thinking that surely no one would be stupid enough to arrange a meeting in McGonagall's room…

The sight that met him gave him a bit of a shock – and quite a bit of amusement as well. Percy Weasley's girlfriend was standing quite close to someone who was definitely not Percy Weasley; he shifted, and Ernie had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from giving himself away when he recognized the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

This definitely did not seem like any late night study session.

Ernie snorted to himself as he turned away from the door. And I thought I was in over my head.


Marcus Flint was actually waiting in the Transfiguration classroom when Penelope arrived. This time, he seemed to have brought his books, and gave her what could almost be considered a smile (as close to a smile as a Slytherin was wont to give, anyway) as she entered.

"Good evening, Flint," she said, keeping her voice calm and soft, professional.

"Good evening," he returned, reaching an arm around her (deliberately) to shut the door behind her back. As her gaze was cast downward, she didn't see him smirk when he saw her blush as his arm brushed against her back.

Penelope almost ran towards McGonagall's desk, standing in front of it and opening up the copy of the 7th year Transfiguration book lying on top of it. "So, er... Flint... have you practiced the spells in Chapter nine?"

He stepped towards her, seemingly oblivious to her discomfiture, "Far be it from me to disappoint my lovely and obliging tutor," he drawled lazily, "And is it too much to ask, for you to call me by my given name? You're not one of the blokes or one of the teachers."

Her face was pink, and she still wouldn't look at him, but she nodded mutely, a forest green ribbon shimmering slightly in the subdued light of the classroom, against the backdrop of curly brown hair. Flint noticed that she smelled faintly of roses. "And what, if you please, will we be doing during our time together tonight?"

She quickly named a few spells, taking out her wand and demonstrating them one by one.

Marcus, who HAD indeed studied somewhat since the last tutoring session, mimicked her wandwork, and did an admirable job with the incantations. Pointing his wand at the fork on the desk, he managed to transfigure it into a dagger, a bright blue-green aquamarine winking on the hilt.

"Nice," Penelope commented, lifting the dagger and inspecting it. "Strange... except the stone, it resembles the blade of Brunhilde..."

"Except Brunhilde's could slice through the most impervious of armour," Marcus continued silkily, "And it had a sapphire."

Penelope looked at him in surprise. "You... know that story?"

He nodded easily, reaching over and taking the dagger from her hands (their fingers brushing in the process). "Brunhilde the warrior queen, powerful, brilliant, beautiful... she defended her people... and saved the life of the man she loved... with her magic dagger. Which was infused with powerful Charms that gave the wielder extraordinary strength... and was so sharp that it could pierce to the heart of any man, no matter how hardened a shield or guard he wore to protect himself."

She was now looking at him almost in admiration, her eyes lighting up. "You like History?"

He gave a nonchalant shrug, "I AM capable of doing things other than playing Quidditch and insulting pompous Gryffindorks."

She didn't even hear that last remark, her lips now curved upwards in a smile. "I thought that I was the only one in this school who liked History. Even Hermione, smart girl though she is, isn't too fond of it..."

"Granger is overrated," Marcus gave a shrug. "All sorts of people seem to make her out as the only witch with an iota of intelligence in this school, just because she's a bit above the rest of her house, and because she associates with Potter."

Penelope gave him a slightly reproachful look, and he changed the subject, almost as if obliging her for some obscure purpose of his own. "But yes... I like History. Don't tell anyone," he added mockingly at the end.

She rolled her eyes slightly, though her face was still lit up with pleasant surprise. "What period and country are you the most interested in? I happen to enjoy learning about Egyptian magic..."

"That's somewhat interesting, but Celtic magic has some fascinating points too..."

And as they discussed spells and sagas of witches and wizards of long ago, Transfiguration completely forgotten, Penelope relaxed, actually perching herself on the edge of McGonagall's desk, her slender hands gesticulating as they talked. Her inner Ravenclaw was exulting in a rare opportunity to share and exchange knowledge in an area unappreciated by practically everyone. Percy didn't like History too much...

"...It's fascinating the origin of mind-control spells in Ancient China..." Penelope was cut off mid-sentence by the sound of a distant clock striking ten. Her eyes widened when she'd realized... time was up! It had FLOWN... and she'd barely even noticed!

It was slowly and reluctantly that she got down from the desk to walk towards the door, her face still slightly flushed, her eyes wide as they gazed at the young man in front of her. She whispered, almost to herself, "If only you could be like this all the time... around everyone..."

Marcus was probably not meant to hear that statement, but he did anyway, and an unexpected surge of something that felt suspiciously like jealousy rose within his chest. He narrowed his eyes slightly, his face now twisted into a slight sneer. "Suggesting that I be civil to your little boyfriend?"

She paled, before looking at him with almost-bewildered, velvety dark eyes. Dear Merlin... Percy... "I wasn't thinking of Percy, but... you... oh goodness... I'd almost forgotten... you're Percy's worst enemy..." she blurted out, softly, almost (or so he thought) wistfully.

I'd almost forgotten... at THOSE words, he advanced on her, the feeling of unexplained jealousy suddenly overwhelmed by an equally unexpected feeling of... triumph. She was still gazing at him with huge eyes, which grew wider as he inched closer to her. But the door was still closed, and she was leaning against it, seeming to have forgotten how to reach her hand towards the doorknob. He was standing right in front of her in an instant, close enough so that their robes brushed, close enough that she could feel his breath on her face...

And then he had grabbed her shoulders, forcefully but not as roughly as she would have expected (NOT that she was expecting THIS, by any means!), his eyes smouldering as they raked over her face, her soft, flushed cheeks, her wide eyes, the soft, parted lips...

Before she could move, he'd leaned in, pressing his lips against her own, hot and deep and fiery and demanding... she squirmed, a tiny shriek in surprise escaping from her lips, and there was a moment of struggling... before she felt her knees begin to buckle.

Heavens... she'd NEVER been kissed like this! His hands moved from her shoulders, one drifting to her waist to pull her insistently against him while the other reached up to cup the back of her head, tangling in her hair. His lips seared hers, the contact rough, almost painful, his mouth thoroughly plundering hers, as if trying to learn everything... the contour of her lips, the way she tasted...

The almost-savagery of the kiss decreased a few moments later, though he didn't pull away. It was slightly more gentle now, his lips coaxing hers open, the hand cupping her head now stroking through her curls. She involuntarily sighed against his mouth, her hands reaching up to brush against the sides of his face before lightly caressing the wings of his hair.

He groaned slightly, and when they were both breathless, his lips shifting towards her jaw for a brief moment, before he kissed her mouth again, deep and passionate. Penelope, even as she deliriously returned the kiss, leaned against the door for support. Merlin, Percy never kissed like this... he was always gentle, mild... almost formal...

Oh dear God... PERCY!!!

She suddenly stiffened, and he instinctively pulled away an inch, and saw dawning comprehension and terror in her face. She lurched against the door for a moment, her hands finally finding the doorknob and almost wrenching it open. Before he could say anything, she was running, her face in her hands, her shoulder shaking slightly with sobs.

And he stood at the door of McGonagall's classroom, his own eyes wide as he watched her flee down the hallway, a green silk ribbon hanging limply in his hands and the smell of roses filling his senses.