Thalia: ROGGIENESS ENSUES!!!!! But before that, Slytherin snark at its finest, and a mention of drag-queen!Derrick *cackle*. This is a chapter with both snark AND angst. What more could you want?!

Ravyn: Honestly, though... what's a story without at least one Slytherin in drag? Not to mention an angsty Ravenclaw and one pissed off Gryffindor. If that's not enough for you people... well, you'll just have to wait until homework hasn't consumed my every free moment.

Disclaimer: We'll get to the owning of the Quidditch hotties after we've finished shagging them all.

Reality is the leading cause of stress amongst those in touch with it. (Jane Wagner)

~*~ Glory and Guilt ~*~

All right, so perhaps it hadn't been quite the reaction he'd been expecting. Still, all in all, Flint thought to himself, that that had gone rather well.

Sure, she'd torn away, looked up at him in stark terror, and run away wracked with sobs. But before that…

He'd never been particularly aware of other people's feelings. He'd never really had to. As a Slytherin, it was either glaringly obvious what a housemate was feeling, or even more glaringly obvious that he wasn't meant to know. But he was astute enough to know that what she'd been feeling when she'd kissed him, when her lips had parted willingly under his, when she'd run her hands through his hair and pulled him closer…

… That had not been fear she'd been feeling.

He wandered through the halls in the general direction of the dungeons, thinking vaguely that, though he would not admit it, he really didn't know how to proceed. Clearwater… Penny, he thought deliberately… would no doubt go running back to Weasley, just as she had when he'd given her that flower.

That damn flower. He'd rarely been able to perform a spell like that before. He'd rarely wanted to succeed so badly…

Not that this train of thought was going to get him anywhere.

Bloody Weasley. It was all his fault, in the end. If he hadn't been dating her, if she hadn't seen whatever she had seen in the Gryffindork, if he hadn't been so damn insufferable in the first place…

Weasley must have a death wish, Flint decided when he saw the familiar red hair and gitty expression coming around the corner ahead of him. He certainly had a knack for showing up where he was least wanted.

"Really, Flint," the contemptuously arrogant tone reached him. "After – what's it been, ten years? Even you should know after being here that long that being out after hours means a detention."

Flint bristled almost visibly. "I really don't have time for this, Weasley." He paused, his expression going suddenly smug. "Never would have guessed that Clearwater could take so much out of a bloke."

"Penelope? Flint, I doubt very much that Penelope would waste her time on the likes of you," Percy said, sneering at him as if he was something unpleasant that the Head Boy had nearly stepped in during his rounds.

"Are you so sure?"

The smug confidence in Flint's voice made Percy flinch more than any insult could have. The Slytherin smirked, reaching absently into his pocket to finger the green silk ribbon. "What kind of perfume does your girlfriend wear, Weasel?"

"I – wha, why?" Seeing Weasley so flustered could well have been the most amusing part of Flint's evening.

Well, maybe the second most amusing part.

"No reason," he replied, now smirking even more. "It's just… she smells so good."

Flint and Malfoy had had a long-standing bet whether or not a Weasley could turn as red as that garish hair. Percy had just settled that bet.

He glared furiously at Flint, but for once, the pompously verbose Head Boy seemed to have nothing to say. He stalked off down the hall without another word, his mind more on the Ravenclaw common room than finishing his rounds. Flint continued on his way as well, but for once it was not in anger but the satiated feeling of having undoubtedly won that argument.

McGonagall must have assigned ten-page essays to every year, because there was relatively little commotion in the Slytherin common room when he returned. "Malfoy," he said unceremoniously as he passed a group of third years, "you owe me a Galleon."

"Was it the Gryffindor Quidditch team's showers or Snape's underpants?"

"Neither. Weasley's hair."

"Bloody… that really shouldn't have been worth a Galleon."

"You're only saying that because you lost the bet. Pay up."

Pansy stared at Draco with something close to disgust as he dug through his robes in search of a gold coin. It wasn't until he'd paid Flint and the older Slytherin had walked away when she finally managed to say, "Snape's underpants?"

"Just a little bet we've got going," Draco said dismissively.

"And what exactly does this bet - ? You know what? Never mind. I think I'll be better off never knowing the answer to that question."

Flint, meanwhile, had every intention of going to his dorm where he planned to do as little of his homework as possible when he was stopped by an abrupt, "And what exactly have you been doing?"

He turned to look at the speaker; Susannah met his eyes with a dubious gaze. "Or more accurately," she amended after a quick glance at his slightly disheveled appearance – not to mention his foolish grin – "WHO have you been doing?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," he lied blatantly, turning his grin on a nearby Warrington, who returned it mischievously.

"Well, then," she replied, going back to her studies, "I wasn't aware that our Quidditch team had taken up the trend of wearing lipstick and wearing… is that tea roses I smell?"

"Hey!" Malfoy replied indignantly from the couch nearby. "Just because Flint does it doesn't mean you can accuse the WHOLE TEAM of it!"

"Oh, I seem to recall a particular incident involving Derrick, a woman's knickers, and quite a bit of make-up," Blaise Zabini pitched in.

"For the love of Merlin, it was just the ONE time!" Derrick objected loudly.

"Yeah, but – no, wait a second," Malfoy said. "I just got the butterbeer out of my other robes from last time we did this. I'm not getting into this ag – BLOODY HELL, WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?"

"There's the better part of a pack where that came from, Malfoy, so I suggest you quit while you're ahead."

Flint snickered with the rest of them, but inwardly he couldn't help thinking that not even seeing Malfoy covered with butterbeer for the second time that month was the best part of that evening.

~*~

Dawn found Penelope Clearwater, pale as a wraith, slumped on one of the numerous blue velvet couches in the Ravenclaw Common Room.

The girl's eyes were filled with pain and fear and guilt…

And an odd sort of… wistfulness.

Still clad in last night's robes, now slightly rumpled, and every now and then, as she stared into the always-burning fire in the grate, her shoulders would shake, though with cold or something else, it wasn't clear.

That was how Roger Davies, walking down the staircase from his dormitory, evidently having had a somewhat sleepless night himself, found his Charms class partner. The Ravenclaw captain frowned slightly, worry evident in his blue eyes, and approached Penelope, reaching out one hand to shake her shoulder slightly.

"Penny, you awake?" Roger asked cautiously, peering down into the girl's stricken face.

Penny's eyes focused upon the concerned face of her friend, and she gave what could only be termed as a pathetic smile. "I'm… awake…" she started, unsure of what to say besides that. Sure, Roger Davies wasn't Oliver Wood or… or Percy. But still, how could she tell him… tell ANYONE… what had happened last night?!

Roger looked at her dubiously, "Are you all right? Do you need to go to the Infirmary or something? Penny, you look rather ill."

"No, I don't need to go to the Infirmary," Penny said hurriedly. Going there would… Percy would certainly know and… oh GOD… she…

"Look, Penny," Roger's voice was quiet, "Perhaps you should see someone… I'm really quite worried."

"No, I don't want to see anyone," Penny whispered, "But… Roger?"

"Yes?"

"Please… please tell Professor Flitwick that… I don't think I can go to classes today," the girl whispered miserably, not meeting her friend's too-perceptive eyes.

Roger gave Penelope a long look, silently wondering at the odd hint of… lovelorn melancholy that he'd seen shining in her eyes, before giving a light sigh and nodding. "I'll tell him that," he promised, "You should go to bed and take it easy." Gently, he pulled her to her feet and gave her a slight push towards the direction of the dormitories. "Wouldn't want Percy to worry too much, would we?"

He could have sworn that her back stiffened at the mention of Percy's name.