"Say I'm sick," said George.
Fred nodded.
Fred and George, now having their version of a pep talk in the boys bathroom, were ready to go. The tampered Polyjuice potion was brewed. George was planning to skip the feast and wait in the bathroom for Fred.
"I'll tell them you ate something foul if they ask,"
"Just make sure no students go into this bathroom until then,"
"Will do,"
George crossed his arms and smiled.
"It'll go fine, I—"
The bathroom door was suddenly flung open, as Marcus Flint, captain of Slytherin's quidditch team, and a young, beautiful student with short, wavy blonde hair came dashing in, arm and arm. The girl was stunningly pretty. She had a very classic smirk, almond shaped eyes that were a bright blue. Her skin was toned and pale, her waist thin and supple and her legs long and poised underneath her gray uniform skirt. Fred and George quickly jumped in the nearest stall on the nearest toilet, as the other pair found the stall next to them. She giggled as Marcus shut the door, and, as Fred could tell from the noise, pushed her against it. George stood deathly still next to Fred, barely breathing, as they listened carefully. Fred and George could tell what the couple was doing in the stall from the obvious laughs and noises and the stall shaking slightly at times.
"Who is she!" whispered Fred, pushing his hands against the walls of the stall to prevent himself from stumbling of the toilet seat. George grasped Fred tightly, wobbling from the toilet seat as well.
"What's she doing with him?"
Marcus Flint was not known for his looks or wit. It was beyond the twins how this sexy, cute, and stunning girl who they had never before seen was fooling around with Slytherin's dull quidditch captain.
After a few minutes when the sounds had quieted, they heard the girl and Marcus talking.
"Mmm, you taste good, sweetness,"
The twins could tell that was the girl talking. She had a creamy, clear voice with a crisp accent.
Marcus chuckled.
"You're hot, you know that?" said Marcus.
The girl laughed.
"Oh, you are too, pumpkin,"
The couple laughed. More sounds. After a while…
"Listen, cutie-pie, but I'm afraid playtime's over,"
"What?" asked Fred and George and Marcus all at the same time.
"Did you hear something, sugar?—hey, wait, what are you doin—" Marcus tried to say, but his voice was smothered by something that sounded like a rough kiss. Marcus chuckled
"Ohh, so you wanna keep on goin—"
"I said, playtime's over," There was a thump, and it sounded like Marcus had fallen. The stall door was slammed open as the girl walked out and chuckled. Fred and George didn't move for minutes. They didn't hear anything from Marcus' stall. Finally, they proceeded out and looked in the stall next to them. They both gasped.
Marcus was sprawled on the floor in only his bright green boxers, lipstick marks over his cheeks and mouth, his eyes shut, and mouth open slightly.
Fred bent over him and checked his pulse.
"He's breathing, just unconscious,"
"That's the work of a professional, taking his clothes and running,"
Softly, Marcus's eyelids flickered. They opened all the way, as he looked around.
"That bitch!" he shouted abruptly, jumping up with the strength of twenty men. He dashed after the girl, (Fred and George stood at the door frame, flabbergasted and terribly amused), and when he had run up the stairs, he finally realized her was only in his underwear and the lipstick marks weren't come off. Marcus stood in the middle of the stairs, frozen, while some kids who saw him started to laugh.
Marcus had a change of heart. He this time ran down the stairs, around the corridor, down one more flight of stairs, and, crying somewhat, and entered the dungeons, his face a searing engine red.
Fred and George stared.
Just stared.
And then cracked up.
They were on the floor howling and rolling around until tears came out of their eyes.
"That," chuckled George, wiping away a teardrop, "Was the most precious emotional eruption I have ever seen!"
"Marcus Flint, of all people?" said Fred, holding his stomach from laughing cramps.
"I know! That's what makes it so perfect!"
"George," said Fred, still laughing, "I'm afraid, I--," he laughed again, "Feast," Fred said, shrugging.
George nodded and Fred left, chuckling all the way to the great hall.