"Sir, is the answer the Wonga Wonga Werewolf?" Marino said sweetly, her
hand raised high in the air.
"Yes, very good Marino!" Professor Lupin replied. Marino looked extremely pleased with herself.
Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only lesson Marino really paid attention in, mainly because she fancied Professor Lupin rotten.
"Paris, can you give me the date of when werewolves were classed as dangerous half-breeds?" Professor Lupin asked mildly.
"Pardon?" Paris said suddenly, snapping out of her gaze on the back of Oliver's head.
"1542," Marino said promptly before Lupin even had a chance to repeat the question.
"Thank you Marino," Lupin said, smiling knowingly at Paris before turning to the blackboard to write some more facts down. Marino adopted her snobbish smile once again that reminded Paris strongly of Percy.
Over the past few weeks, Paris and Oliver had slipped into a comfortable relationship and become incredible friends. Paris never realized just how funny and likeable Oliver was, when he wasn't shouting and ranting about Quidditch.
School was getting tougher, increased work loads added to Head Girl duties and Quidditch were taking its toll on Paris but somehow she managed to stay on top of things and find time to swim in lake with the twins or teach Oliver football.
"Kick it Oliver, with your foot!" Paris shouted to Oliver who looked extremely apprehensive. It was Thursday evening and the pair had wandered out after dinner.
He kicked the Quaffle that was acting as the football and rolled lazily to where Paris stood between the Quidditch goal posts.
"Was that it?" Oliver yelled.
"Kind of but you have to kick it harder and try and score past me. Try again," Paris replied and booted the Quaffle back to Oliver. He kicked it back more forcefully and Paris had to dive to stop it going past the posts.
"Muggles really play this?" Oliver asked, walking over to Paris.
"Uh huh, it's just as big as Quidditch, maybe bigger," Paris said. Oliver didn't look at all convinced. "Then there's cricket, basketball, tennis, baseball, squash, rugby...loads of sports," Paris continued, checking off her fingers as she said the names.
"Are you going to teach me all of them?" Oliver asked, picking up the Quaffle and flicking his hair from his eyes.
"One day. And I'll teach you about the Olympics where they play shot put and javelin and all that," Paris said but Oliver wasn't really listening, he was busy watching her speak with such enthusiasm about weird Muggle sports he had no clue about.
"What?" Paris said when she realized Oliver was watching her. "Have I got something on my face? Fred and George were trying to get me to look through something earlier..."
"I'm just looking at you," Oliver said. Paris smiled bashfully and self consciously tucked her hair behind her ear. Oliver stepped slightly closer to Paris and threw the Quaffle on the floor.
"Oh and there's running at the Olympics," Paris murmured, watching Oliver reach up and stroke her face gently.
"Running isn't a sport," Oliver said, looking at the red highlights shimmering in Paris' hair.
"It is," Paris replied quietly, wrapping her arms around Oliver's waist and looking up at him.
"Well I can do that then," Oliver said also wrapping his arms around Paris and pulling her close.
"You run like a chicken," Paris said into his neck and Oliver laughed.
"Smile," Oliver said, tilting Paris' chin up so he could look at her. Paris smiled at the absurdity of the question more than anything else. Oliver smiled back and kissed her softly, softly.
Paris was almost there when a voice cut through her like a knife.
"Get a room," Marcus sneered after making a disgusted noise. Paris and Oliver both turned to see who it was. Marcus had his Quidditch team behind him, all of them in their ugly green and black uniforms. Paris gave Marcus a scathing look and stepped back from Oliver but clamped her hand firmly around his.
"You should be ashamed of yourself, kissing Mudbloods. Who knows what you might catch," Marcus said and his team laughed nastily.
"Don't!" Paris hissed to Oliver, yanking him back as he started toward Marcus.
"Come on Wood, show us what you've got," Marcus taunted. Pansy's shriek was louder than anyone else's.
"I'm warning you Marcus, I will put you in detention," Paris said through gritted teeth. Marcus didn't care about detention and it was a feeble threat.
"Come on then, try it," Marcus replied, folding his arms.
"Right, ten points from Slytherin!" Paris said loudly. "Care to carry on? Because I can take points away all evening. It won't take me long anyway, Slytherin only have about twenty points!"
"Go on then, I'll just go to Snape," Marcus said obnoxiously.
"Twenty more points then from Slytherin!" Paris barked. Marcus' smirk faltered.
"We want to practice, get going," He said simply, every member of the team glaring horribly at Paris.
Paris and Oliver began to walk past the team but Marcus grabbed Oliver's arm tightly and hissed "I'd make sure she's in your sight at all times. Who knows when she'll have a little accident?"
With that, Oliver turned around and knocked Marcus clean off his feet with one punch.
"Absolutely unacceptable behavior! You are a seventh year and have responsibilities! I have a right mind to suspend you from Quidditch!"
Oliver was sat in Professor McGonagall's office looking incredibly angry and irritable.
"NO!" Oliver said suddenly, jerking his head up. His scowl turned into fear but Professor McGonagall folded her arms and pursed her lips.
"I don't want to suspend you, Wood but your behavior is unacceptable. Professor Snape has already read me the riot act, something I did not need to hear, especially from him," Professor McGonagall sighed.
Oliver hung his head and concentrated on what he'd like to do Marcus for getting him in so much trouble.
"All this over Miss Knightley, I see. You three seem to have a track record of getting each other into trouble," McGonagall sighed again, picking up a piece of parchment with very small, spidery hand writing on it.
"He keeps calling Paris a Mudblood," Oliver said reluctantly. Professor McGonagall looked up sharply; her hands creased the parchment where her grip tightened.
"Then I suggest Miss Knightley comes to me about it. That is a serious accusation," Professor McGonagall said as lightly as possible.
"It's not an accusation; she is a Muggle-born. I didn't even know till Marcus called her it on our first day back," Oliver replied, unsure whether McGonagall knew or whether Paris would mind him telling her.
"I am fully aware of Paris' background and also fully aware of her decision of keeping it to herself so do not feel put out that she didn't divulge her personal life to you," Professor McGonagall said impatiently. "I can assure she had her reasons."
"But it's no big deal," Oliver argued. He still didn't understand why everyone wanted to be so secretive about Paris all the time.
"You are a male pure-blood wizard; they don't come much more oblivious than you Oliver. You don't have a clue what Paris has been through or what it's like to be the only magical person in your family. Her family disowned her because of who she is," Professor McGonagall said quietly but seriously.
Oliver gaped at his teacher unbelievingly.
"Paris stays with the Weasley family during holiday's I believe, they offered her a home when her parents moved away shortly after Paris began Hogwarts. They refused to have anything to do with their daughter when they found out who she really was.
How do think Paris took that? Eleven and disowned," Professor McGonagall said grimly.
Oliver felt a mixture of emotions. He felt an intense urge to find Paris and take away her pain. He felt anger towards her family for what they did and jealously that Paris hadn't told him but Fred and George and Percy were in on it.
"I have told you this incredibly personal information in an attempt that you may understand Paris a bit better. She needs someone she can trust in her life, a male figure that isn't a Weasley. She needs someone to love and someone to love her in return Oliver. Do you understand?"
Oliver nodded his head vigorously, feeling uncomfortable that he was having this conversation with Professor McGonagall.
"I don't want you to tell anyone what I have just said. Paris will tell you in her own time, when she is ready. Don't pity her because that's why she kept it to herself, she doesn't want pity or sympathy. But be more understanding and tolerant, be the person she knows and cares for," Professor McGonagall said finally. Oliver was absolutely speechless.
He sat forward in his chair and held onto the back of neck as he stared at the floor. He wanted to be sick, to cry, and to shout. But he didn't.
Oliver took a deep breath through his nose and looked up at Professor McGonagall, his chin barely higher than her desk.
"Thank you," is all he managed to say as he didn't know what else would be suitable.
"You may go Oliver," Professor McGonagall said giving him a short smile. Oliver got up numbly and left her office.
"Oliver! What happened? You're not in trouble, are you?" Paris said, jumping up from where she sat on the floor facing the door to Professor McGonagall's office.
"No, I got a warning," Oliver replied.
"That's ok then! Ha, at least Slytherin are now thirty points down, Snape'll probably replace them though," Paris said cheerfully, tucking her hand into Oliver's and attempting to walk down the corridor but Oliver didn't budge.
"Come here," Oliver said quietly and pulled Paris toward his chest, where he held her there. He screwed his eyes up tight as Paris coiled her arms around his waist. Oliver kissed the top of her head and smelt her hair which smelt of outdoors.
Reluctantly, Oliver let Paris go but held her hand firmly as they went down the corridor toward their common room, where everyone was unaware of what he now knew.
Oliver watched Paris thrash various contenders at Wizard Chess before being beaten spectacularly by Fred Weasley. He didn't laugh when Fred shimmied around the common room, in some kind of victory tribal dance.
Oliver knew Paris probably belonged in Gryffindor more than anyone as Fred and George dragged her up and danced about the common room with her, laughing and genuinely having fun.
Oliver realized he respected Fred, George and Percy far, far more now.
"Yes, very good Marino!" Professor Lupin replied. Marino looked extremely pleased with herself.
Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only lesson Marino really paid attention in, mainly because she fancied Professor Lupin rotten.
"Paris, can you give me the date of when werewolves were classed as dangerous half-breeds?" Professor Lupin asked mildly.
"Pardon?" Paris said suddenly, snapping out of her gaze on the back of Oliver's head.
"1542," Marino said promptly before Lupin even had a chance to repeat the question.
"Thank you Marino," Lupin said, smiling knowingly at Paris before turning to the blackboard to write some more facts down. Marino adopted her snobbish smile once again that reminded Paris strongly of Percy.
Over the past few weeks, Paris and Oliver had slipped into a comfortable relationship and become incredible friends. Paris never realized just how funny and likeable Oliver was, when he wasn't shouting and ranting about Quidditch.
School was getting tougher, increased work loads added to Head Girl duties and Quidditch were taking its toll on Paris but somehow she managed to stay on top of things and find time to swim in lake with the twins or teach Oliver football.
"Kick it Oliver, with your foot!" Paris shouted to Oliver who looked extremely apprehensive. It was Thursday evening and the pair had wandered out after dinner.
He kicked the Quaffle that was acting as the football and rolled lazily to where Paris stood between the Quidditch goal posts.
"Was that it?" Oliver yelled.
"Kind of but you have to kick it harder and try and score past me. Try again," Paris replied and booted the Quaffle back to Oliver. He kicked it back more forcefully and Paris had to dive to stop it going past the posts.
"Muggles really play this?" Oliver asked, walking over to Paris.
"Uh huh, it's just as big as Quidditch, maybe bigger," Paris said. Oliver didn't look at all convinced. "Then there's cricket, basketball, tennis, baseball, squash, rugby...loads of sports," Paris continued, checking off her fingers as she said the names.
"Are you going to teach me all of them?" Oliver asked, picking up the Quaffle and flicking his hair from his eyes.
"One day. And I'll teach you about the Olympics where they play shot put and javelin and all that," Paris said but Oliver wasn't really listening, he was busy watching her speak with such enthusiasm about weird Muggle sports he had no clue about.
"What?" Paris said when she realized Oliver was watching her. "Have I got something on my face? Fred and George were trying to get me to look through something earlier..."
"I'm just looking at you," Oliver said. Paris smiled bashfully and self consciously tucked her hair behind her ear. Oliver stepped slightly closer to Paris and threw the Quaffle on the floor.
"Oh and there's running at the Olympics," Paris murmured, watching Oliver reach up and stroke her face gently.
"Running isn't a sport," Oliver said, looking at the red highlights shimmering in Paris' hair.
"It is," Paris replied quietly, wrapping her arms around Oliver's waist and looking up at him.
"Well I can do that then," Oliver said also wrapping his arms around Paris and pulling her close.
"You run like a chicken," Paris said into his neck and Oliver laughed.
"Smile," Oliver said, tilting Paris' chin up so he could look at her. Paris smiled at the absurdity of the question more than anything else. Oliver smiled back and kissed her softly, softly.
Paris was almost there when a voice cut through her like a knife.
"Get a room," Marcus sneered after making a disgusted noise. Paris and Oliver both turned to see who it was. Marcus had his Quidditch team behind him, all of them in their ugly green and black uniforms. Paris gave Marcus a scathing look and stepped back from Oliver but clamped her hand firmly around his.
"You should be ashamed of yourself, kissing Mudbloods. Who knows what you might catch," Marcus said and his team laughed nastily.
"Don't!" Paris hissed to Oliver, yanking him back as he started toward Marcus.
"Come on Wood, show us what you've got," Marcus taunted. Pansy's shriek was louder than anyone else's.
"I'm warning you Marcus, I will put you in detention," Paris said through gritted teeth. Marcus didn't care about detention and it was a feeble threat.
"Come on then, try it," Marcus replied, folding his arms.
"Right, ten points from Slytherin!" Paris said loudly. "Care to carry on? Because I can take points away all evening. It won't take me long anyway, Slytherin only have about twenty points!"
"Go on then, I'll just go to Snape," Marcus said obnoxiously.
"Twenty more points then from Slytherin!" Paris barked. Marcus' smirk faltered.
"We want to practice, get going," He said simply, every member of the team glaring horribly at Paris.
Paris and Oliver began to walk past the team but Marcus grabbed Oliver's arm tightly and hissed "I'd make sure she's in your sight at all times. Who knows when she'll have a little accident?"
With that, Oliver turned around and knocked Marcus clean off his feet with one punch.
"Absolutely unacceptable behavior! You are a seventh year and have responsibilities! I have a right mind to suspend you from Quidditch!"
Oliver was sat in Professor McGonagall's office looking incredibly angry and irritable.
"NO!" Oliver said suddenly, jerking his head up. His scowl turned into fear but Professor McGonagall folded her arms and pursed her lips.
"I don't want to suspend you, Wood but your behavior is unacceptable. Professor Snape has already read me the riot act, something I did not need to hear, especially from him," Professor McGonagall sighed.
Oliver hung his head and concentrated on what he'd like to do Marcus for getting him in so much trouble.
"All this over Miss Knightley, I see. You three seem to have a track record of getting each other into trouble," McGonagall sighed again, picking up a piece of parchment with very small, spidery hand writing on it.
"He keeps calling Paris a Mudblood," Oliver said reluctantly. Professor McGonagall looked up sharply; her hands creased the parchment where her grip tightened.
"Then I suggest Miss Knightley comes to me about it. That is a serious accusation," Professor McGonagall said as lightly as possible.
"It's not an accusation; she is a Muggle-born. I didn't even know till Marcus called her it on our first day back," Oliver replied, unsure whether McGonagall knew or whether Paris would mind him telling her.
"I am fully aware of Paris' background and also fully aware of her decision of keeping it to herself so do not feel put out that she didn't divulge her personal life to you," Professor McGonagall said impatiently. "I can assure she had her reasons."
"But it's no big deal," Oliver argued. He still didn't understand why everyone wanted to be so secretive about Paris all the time.
"You are a male pure-blood wizard; they don't come much more oblivious than you Oliver. You don't have a clue what Paris has been through or what it's like to be the only magical person in your family. Her family disowned her because of who she is," Professor McGonagall said quietly but seriously.
Oliver gaped at his teacher unbelievingly.
"Paris stays with the Weasley family during holiday's I believe, they offered her a home when her parents moved away shortly after Paris began Hogwarts. They refused to have anything to do with their daughter when they found out who she really was.
How do think Paris took that? Eleven and disowned," Professor McGonagall said grimly.
Oliver felt a mixture of emotions. He felt an intense urge to find Paris and take away her pain. He felt anger towards her family for what they did and jealously that Paris hadn't told him but Fred and George and Percy were in on it.
"I have told you this incredibly personal information in an attempt that you may understand Paris a bit better. She needs someone she can trust in her life, a male figure that isn't a Weasley. She needs someone to love and someone to love her in return Oliver. Do you understand?"
Oliver nodded his head vigorously, feeling uncomfortable that he was having this conversation with Professor McGonagall.
"I don't want you to tell anyone what I have just said. Paris will tell you in her own time, when she is ready. Don't pity her because that's why she kept it to herself, she doesn't want pity or sympathy. But be more understanding and tolerant, be the person she knows and cares for," Professor McGonagall said finally. Oliver was absolutely speechless.
He sat forward in his chair and held onto the back of neck as he stared at the floor. He wanted to be sick, to cry, and to shout. But he didn't.
Oliver took a deep breath through his nose and looked up at Professor McGonagall, his chin barely higher than her desk.
"Thank you," is all he managed to say as he didn't know what else would be suitable.
"You may go Oliver," Professor McGonagall said giving him a short smile. Oliver got up numbly and left her office.
"Oliver! What happened? You're not in trouble, are you?" Paris said, jumping up from where she sat on the floor facing the door to Professor McGonagall's office.
"No, I got a warning," Oliver replied.
"That's ok then! Ha, at least Slytherin are now thirty points down, Snape'll probably replace them though," Paris said cheerfully, tucking her hand into Oliver's and attempting to walk down the corridor but Oliver didn't budge.
"Come here," Oliver said quietly and pulled Paris toward his chest, where he held her there. He screwed his eyes up tight as Paris coiled her arms around his waist. Oliver kissed the top of her head and smelt her hair which smelt of outdoors.
Reluctantly, Oliver let Paris go but held her hand firmly as they went down the corridor toward their common room, where everyone was unaware of what he now knew.
Oliver watched Paris thrash various contenders at Wizard Chess before being beaten spectacularly by Fred Weasley. He didn't laugh when Fred shimmied around the common room, in some kind of victory tribal dance.
Oliver knew Paris probably belonged in Gryffindor more than anyone as Fred and George dragged her up and danced about the common room with her, laughing and genuinely having fun.
Oliver realized he respected Fred, George and Percy far, far more now.