Ravyn: Warrington in a towel. Need I say more?

Thalia: I'll add one word to that: NERDSLUTS!

Disclaimer: We do not actually own the Slytherin Quidditch team, no matter how shaggable. In fact, one could argue that it is the Slytherin Quidditch team that owns us.

"You call it madness, but I call it love." (Don Byas)

~*~ Win ~*~

There was a sea of crimson as the Gryffindor supporters swept the pitch, cheering and congratulating and struggling to pull the winning Quidditch team on to their shoulders. Percy refrained from joining them, although he shot a grin at Oliver when the triumphant captain waved up at the Head Boy. Happy as he was for his dorm mate, Percy had a certain Ravenclaw to see about a certain fifteen Galleons…

The Ravenclaws were already leaving the stands, a general feeling of neutrality about the Gryffindor victory. With their own team out of the game, the outcome of the Quidditch final had been a matter of indifference to most of them. Penny, of course, would be waiting for him, and would act supremely disappointed that she had lost their bet, because that was the game of house rivalry that they played, that they'd always played. And he looked forward to it; when exams came and his duties as Head Boy became hectic, he enjoyed the stability he found in her, in the fact that they always met in the entrance hall before breakfast and their Quidditch bets.

However, at the moment his pillar of stability was nowhere to be seen.

"'Lo, Percy," Simon Capper, the seventh year Ravenclaw prefect, greeted him from the blue and bronze crowd.

"Simon," he replied with a polite nod. "Have you seen Penelope?"

"Yeah, she was just over – " He turned, pointed, and stopped when he realized the girl had disappeared. "Oh. Well, I'm not sure where she's got to."

Even while he thanked the Ravenclaw, Percy caught sight of a flash of black robes and dark curly hair down on the pitch. But the girl, whoever she was, had been headed into the Slytherin locker rooms, and Penny, his girlfriend, his support…

… Penny would never do that.

~*~

She felt strangely out of place in the Slytherin locker rooms.

Even stranger was that it wasn't quite because she was a Ravenclaw in the Slytherin locker room, or even because she was a girl in the boys' locker room.

No, Penny felt odd simply because… this wasn't her. She didn't sneak into locker rooms. She didn't have secret conversations with people she probably ought not to be seeing at all. And she didn't leave Percy in the stands asking her housemates where she was.

She shoved the uncomfortable image of Percy and Simon talking out of her head, continuing into the locker room with only a vague idea of what to do next. She only knew that she wanted to see Marcus; she didn't quite know where to find him.

Approaching voices made her breath catch in her throat, and she ducked behind an open door. As the Slytherin players filed out, she could only tell herself over and over that she shouldn't be there.

Especially when Warrington stalked out in a towel.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" Kevin Bole raged, gesturing violently towards the door where the dejected team had filed in moments before.

"That was the result of strain, lack of sleep, pressure…" Montague rationalized.

"What exactly was Malfoy Seeking? Someone should mention to him that, whatever sort of red-headed Gryffindors he fancies when he's on the ground, during a match he's supposed to be after the Snitch…"

"Malfoy's young. He's still got to learn that the game isn't about being better than Harry Potter."

"Well, that's all well and good for Malfoy. He still has four years left to win the Cup!"

"All right, all right," Warrington said, gesturing vehemently, and Penny's mantra went from 'I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't be here,' to 'Please let the towel stay on, please let the towel stay on…' "We're losing sight of the important thing here: the Gryffindors are all total, total – the word 'gits' really doesn't do them justice here, but you know what I mean – and later tonight, when we're all good and drunk, I think we should drop by the tower and let them know exactly how much we appreciate them."

Amid the strong agreement that met this proposal – which Penny briefly considered putting a stop to later before deciding she had more important things to worry about – she took the opportunity to slip through the door. She wasn't quite sure what any of them would do if they actually saw her, but there was really only one Slytherin she wanted to talk to at that moment…

At first she thought perhaps he'd slipped out before she'd had a chance to catch him – that is, until she noticed a lone figure sitting on a corner bench, a Slytherin green towel draped over his head.

She hesitated for only a second before venturing, "Marcus?"

He started visibly, yanking the towel off of his head, but he still did not look up at her. She stood, silent, watching the dejected figure, until he spoke at last.

"If you want to talk, this really isn't a good time."

"I don't want to talk," she said simply.

"What do you want, then?"

She was next to him in an instant, without really being aware of how she got there. The fact that there was now less space between them was enough for her. She didn't need to think any more about it.

In fact, she had the distinct suspicion that thinking had only gotten her into more trouble lately.

So, without thinking, she once again rewrote the List of Things She Just Didn't Do. She slipped a hand behind his head and kissed him.

He was surprised at first, but after a moment, he remembered the sweet smell of her, the taste of her lips, and he responded with every bit as much enthusiasm. Her lips parted easily for him, and when he pressed her back on the bench, she found she couldn't breath under the full weight of him. She was drowning in him…

… and she didn't care.

She didn't care that the rest of the team might hear when she couldn't quite hold in a breathless cry. She didn't care that Percy was still looking for her, or that she might be late to dinner. She was oblivious to everything but his kiss, his hands, the feel of him so close to her. Her only care was that he wasn't close enough…

And when the door opened an instant later, she didn't even notice Vittorio Derrick peak in, grin broadly, and shut the door quietly once more.

Bole and Bletchley were quite immersed in some very outlandish plans involving Gryffindors, pumpkin juice and laxative potions, with Warrington and Montague listening in amusement, when Vittorio Derrick, an oddly wide smirk (considering the recent Quidditch loss) on his face, walked back to join them. Clearing his throat, the Beater dropped his bomb.

"Y'know, I don't think that revenge on the Gryffs will be necessary," he started, and everyone turned to stare at the heretic. "Our esteemed captain has just... ah... scored."

A motley assortment of "what the devil do you mean?", "what did he score?", and "how the hell can this be more important than smiting the Gryffs?" greeted the Beater, and after the inquiries died down, Vittorio put up a large hand.

"Although... ah... I don't recommend any of you going over there," he jerked his finger in the direction of the first aid area of the locker room, separated from the showers by a closed door. "Unless you're so interested in seeing Flint remove Penelope Clearwater's brassiere with his teeth that you don't care that he'd disembowel you with a Potions ladle when he sees you."

In the pandemonium that resulted from this statement and the shell-shocked shouts from the others, Warrington, eyes wide, turned to Derrick. "They're SHAGGING?!"

"Well, they weren't, YET, when I saw them, but they were most definitely horizontal," Derrick answered with a slight headshake. "Warrington...W-- Cassius, why the hell are you smirking like you'd just done something particularly noble and praiseworthy, which... is statistically 90% improbable?"

But Warrington didn't hear this, and as he blithely transfigured his towel into a set of robes, and made his way towards the castle, he reflected that Weasley must be unaware of it all. But there should be some very interesting Prefect Meetings in the near future. Perhaps he should warn Susannah.

~*~

Percy Weasley was slightly edgy during Prefect rounds that night. One Prefect from each House, by rule, had to patrol every night. Penelope hadn't shown up, and a rather bewildered Zachary Turpin told the Head Boy that he'd not seen her, though it could of course be the case that she was studying somewhere...

Susannah Caligo had given Percy a strange sort of look, half mockery and half pity, before she'd started down her patrol corridor in silence. And Percy quietly walked down the Muggle Studies hallway with his mind full of troubling thoughts. Something was going on... that much was clear... but he really hadn't any idea WHAT.

Two loitering students and three hours later, Percy wended his way back to the Great Hall, where the rounds had started. Neither Zach Turpin nor Jeanna Dorny were back yet, but Susannah was arriving from the opposite direction, glancing at the delicate silver watch on her wrist. Percy wondered what the girl had meant when she'd looked at him so oddly earlier.

Susannah caught sight of the Head Boy, standing by a column, and shook her regal head. "Feel good over your House's win, Weasley?" she called out, not particularly venomous though slightly sharp.

"Why shouldn't I?" Percy responded immediately, thrusting out his chin. "Our team did a very good job, I think."

"So they did," Susannah mused, before giving him a slight smirk. "But perhaps SOME others... might appreciate OURS, more. At least from what I've learnt about her. Good night, Weasley." With that enigmatic and ominous pronouncement, the 7th year Slytherin turned on her heel and made her way towards the dungeons, fairly sure that her housemates would be half-pissed by the time she arrived, and thanking heaven for the copious amounts of Hangover Potion that had been stowed away beforehand.

She reflected, as she neared the Slytherin entrance, that had he not been so uptight with her housemates, she'd almost feel sorry for him.

~*~

Percy's face was still fixed in a troubled frown as he uttered the password to the Fat Lady and stepped into the Gryffindor Common Room. What in the world did Susannah Caligo mean? Who, indeed, in their right minds... would prefer those Slytherin tactics to the far more honorable ones of the Gryffindors? And who was 'she'? He sighed deeply to himself, walking further into the Common Room, and was almost startled out of his skin when a soft voice addressed him.

"Is something the matter?" A young girl with masses of brown hair, looking over the top of a very thick tome. "You look rather upset, Percy."

It was Hermione Granger, Ron's intelligent friend. And she was giving him an odd look as well, though not Caligo's look of mocking pity, but one of confusion.

He forced himself to put on a semblance of a smile, or at least a bland _expression. "Oh, just... things on my mind that's all. What are you doing up at this hour?"

"Reading up on Ancient Runes," Hermione replied, tapping the cover of the book she held in her lap before peering at him again. "Are you sure you're all right, though? You look very troubled over something. You should be happy... we won the Quidditch Cup."

Percy sighed again. "Yes, we did. Tell Harry congratulations."

"I will, if you'll tell me what's the matter, hmm?" Hermione, almost bossily, patted the space on the couch next to her, and gave him an expectant look. "Who knows, maybe I can help."

He slowly made his way over to where the girl was sitting, and sunk down into the couch cushions next to her. "I'm... not sure what's going on," he ventured. "So I can't tell you much. Thanks for the offer, though."

"You're welcome," she said dismissively, "But at least... try."

"Well, you see... it's like this..." Percy bit his lip, unsure of what to say to this young student, and certainly not knowing why he was confiding in her. But within moments, the story of what he might have perhaps seen, the dark-haired girl sneaking into the Slytherin locker room, Penelope's recent lack of availability, Flint's barb from a while back, and Susannah's jibe after patrol... "I really don't know what's going on," he concluded in a whisper, "And... frankly, I don't even know if I want to know."

Hermione nodded, her eyes wide. Perfect Percy, his head down and his hair falling into his eyes, sighing and looking down at his hands... "Well," she said with more confidence and conviction than she really felt, "You should talk to her, of course. It's only logical that if she were to dislike continuing a relationship with you, she would tell you."

Percy was half surprised at the young girl decisively telling him what to do, and the fact that he had nothing, really, to do with her, and yet had confided the whole uncertain tale...

Hermione gave a sigh, echoing his mood, and set her book down. "We should sleep," she proclaimed, "Just... worry about it tomorrow, Percy. After you've rested."

He gave her a nod in thanks, still somewhat apprehensive, and before he snuffed his candle, he wrote a slightly choppy narrative to Penelope.

"Dear Penny,

When will you be around and free to talk? I need to talk.

~Percy"

It... had to be nothing, he said to himself in a small voice before he went to sleep. Nothing was wrong, really...

And yet he couldn't wait to see Penelope and find out the truth somehow.