tap tap tap tap
Procrastination is one of Cormac's favourite things to do. He's great at avoiding his homework, forgetting to revise, and never practising flying. Delays and distractions lead him astray until it's almost too late. But it's fine; he works best under pressure anyway.
tap tap tap tap
"Please stop it before you drive me fucking cuckoo. The noise is worse than Binn's droning."
Ruiairdh's words cut through Cormac's trance, bringing his attention back to the Great Hall and the thick cream envelope in his hand. He spins it again, rapping the edge against the long wood surface to annoy Ruairidh before tossing it amongst the mountains of breakfast food. The rhythmic beat was doing nothing to quell the anxiety bubbling in his stomach like a poorly brewed potion.
"Why don't you open it, get it over and done with," Ruiairdh states before stuffing a sausage into his mouth. "It's probably from your parents."
"Oh, I know it's from my dad. I can tell by the seal. Not sure why he didn't send a Howler, he usually loves the dramatics."
A smirk flashes onto Cormac's face as he recalls the countless explosions from his classmates' disappointed parents that have erupted along the table over the past few years.
"Remember the one my Aunt sent a few years ago?" Ruiairdh interrupts Cormac's daydreams again. "Singed all my butt hairs off. I'd forgotten it was in my pocket."
"Yeah, well, you need to get better at not getting caught, don't you? I mean, putting dungbombs in all of the girls' toilets was a brilliant idea, but leaving one of your school books behind was a rookie mistake. I, on the other hand, manage to stay on the right side of the school's ridiculous rules and regulations. Even when that bint Umbridge was here. Unlike Fred and George, the idiots."
Not that it's hard.
"Anyway," Cormac continues as he shovels more eggs onto his plate, "it's not like Dumbledore's attention is on me. The old codger is distracted this year. And did you see the state of his hand?"
With a scoff, Cormac takes a long swig of his pumpkin juice, letting the bitter drink wash away some of his nerves. How long can he ignore the letter? Maybe he should go for a fly first, drag the wait out for a little longer. Why is his dad getting him into so much of a tizz? It's not like he's here waiting to put one of his punishment charms on Cormac.
"I know what you're thinking, but the letter will still be there," Ruairidh retorts. "Here, I'll open it for you."
Without waiting for Cormac to protest, his friend reaches across him, pushing his elbow through the pyramid of egg Cormac was building on his plate. Ruairidh snatches the envelope and uses his butter knife to break the seal before unfolding the parchment within.
After clearing his throat, he reads, "Dearest Cormac." His first words are muffled by a snigger. "Dearest?! Why is your dad writing to you like a lover? Is he not right in the head?"
"Just because you were deprived of affection from a young age, doesn't mean my family has to stop showing it. Anyway, will you stop reading it out loud? I know what the letter says, I don't need you blabbing it to the whole table."
Ruairidh slides a finger over his lips, signalling his silence before dropping his eyes back onto the parchment. This might be a bad idea, letting his best friend read the awful words Cormac's dad has written, but there's no way he dares to face them. It's easier this way.
"Your mother is well, and your brother almost set fire to his primary school teacher. But they got your latest letter and oh—"
Cormac doesn't need to listen to any more. Ruairidh squirms as he finishes the letter, confirming Cormac's greatest fears. His parents are disappointed in his performance, they will have to reassess their plans over Christmas, Cormac was entitled to the Keeper position, a shame to the McLaggen name, blah, blah, blah.
Sure, his grades last year were lower than perfect. It had been difficult studying when that toad Umbridge was changing the curriculum every time she waved her wand. But Simon McLaggen still spent the entire summer break drilling Cormac in Arithmancy equations, the meanings of dreams, and the ins and outs of Muggle life. Because Merlin knows what might happen if Cormac doesn't get E in all his N.E.W.T.'s in May.
Ruairidh discards the parchment without folding it, and Cormac feels a surge of annoyance at his carelessness. The paper soaks in a patch of brown sauce, blurring the ink on the page and he focuses on it as a wave of misery crashes onto his shoulders. I'm such a fuck up.
But he doesn't get long to mope. As Ruairidh blathers on about the latest flavours of Acid Pops at Honeydukes, an explosion of noise from the opposite end of the table distracts Cormac. His eyes shoot along the wood in time to see a massive stupid wonky grin spread onto Ron Weasley's face. The ginger dickhead must have told a joke because Harry fucking Potter and the messy-haired girl that's always trailing after them are in fits of giggles. She rests her hand on Ron's arm for a moment too long, piquing Cormac's interest.
She must fancy him, but Merlin knows why.
"Oy, Cormac. Why are you watching those rejects?"
Cormac tunes back into Ruairidh and puffs out a hard breath. "They think they own the place, don't they?" he comments as he tears off a bit of toast. "They swan around, never having to worry about whether they're breaking the rules because Harry is Dumbledore's favourite pet. As soon as McGonagall announced Harry was Captain, I knew how try outs would go. Probably felt sorry for Weasley for being so poor, it's not like he's any good."
"Right? You would have saved more goals than him if you'd caught the last one. So why did Potter choose him?"
"Pure nepotism, that's what it is, mate."
Cormac focuses on the slim hand still lingering on Ron's arm, his toes curling as she gives the ginger a firm squeeze. Ron's smile widens and he turns to stare at her as he turns slack jaw. His eyes might as well be love hearts. Gross. But as the interaction continues, tendrils of an idea creep into Cormac's brilliant brain like the Venomous Tentacula seeking out a snack amongst the students. Maybe there's something he can do to get revenge.
"Nepo what?"
"Forget it," Cormac snaps at Ruairidh and abandons his breakfast. The show at the bottom of the table has turned his stomach to lead, and he needs to shake off the nausea, maybe get some fresh air, too. "Let's head out," he suggests as he gets to his feet. "I want to get a fly in before those idiots take over the pitch."
⁂
A week or so later and the common room is ablaze with red and gold streamers, the rumble of excited students filling every corner. Looks like they're in for a proper party tonight, the kind that will carry on until McGonagall appears, usually in the small hours of the morning. It's loud, and Cormac usually thrives in these situations, but the celebrations are not for him. Because I was cheated out of my position.
Instead, he's sulking in a corner, Ruairidh by his side. Not that his best friend is helping Cormac's dour mood.
"I mean, I'm not sure how the game could have gone better," the idiot comments, as he snaps open another bottle of butterbeer, the hiss of air grating on Cormac's nerves. "It was brilliant. You know, I heard rumours Slughorn gave Potter a vial of Felix Felicis. You don't think he—"
"Of course he didn't. It's illegal, Rui. Not that it would stop him, of course, but Quidditch is so precious to the git, I don't think he'd take the risk."
"Yeah but he's the golden boy, isn't he? I'm sure he'd get away with it if he did. Dumbledore fucking loves him."
"I don't know."
Cormac pulls at the label on his bottle. Across the room, Weasley and Potter are surrounded by fellow Gryffindors, adoring smiles plastered on their faces. It's only fucking Quidditch, not like they've saved the wizarding world or anything. A flash of jealousy, like Lumos Maxima turns his gaze red for a moment. Why do they get to have all the glory? It's not like the game is hard.
Beside him, Ruairidh straightens, standing tall and proud against the wood-panelled walls. "Look who it is," he mumbles, turning Cormac's attention to the ball of blonde curls making her way across the common room.
There was a time when Cormac liked Lavender Brown. Alright, that's a lie. He still fancies the pants off her. She's the stuff wet dreams are made of; perfect blonde curls that reach the middle of her back, big tits, tiny waist. Her skirt barely skims her bum, and she always seems to be getting in trouble with McGonagall over it, but as soon as the Professor's back is turned, Lavender rolls the offending item up again.
Whenever he walks past her, he catches a whiff of vanilla and bergamot and he yearns to bury his head against her neck, to drink in the perfect perfume as he runs his tongue over her skin. Cormac would bet ten galleons that she tastes like strawberries and the best sweets in Honeydukes.
He's never had a girlfriend before—another one of his failings according to his father—but he'd love it if Lavender was his first.
The blonde twists her way through the crowds like a Niffler chasing gold. She turns left and right, poking her head above the sea of people twice to check on her destination. She moves without effort as if she's gliding through water, and the students part around her. She surfaces right in front of Ron the Wanker and without asking for permission, grabs him around the neck and pulls him in for a heated snog.
Their kiss triggers three events. As soon as Ron and Lavender's lips lock, the Gryffindor common room erupts in a massive cheer, as if Ron has saved another of Slytherin's weak attempts at a goal. Only this time, the Weasletwat is the one scoring.
At the sight of the two sixth-years playing tonsil tennis, a heavy bludger rolls into Cormac's stomach, rogue and unwanted. It weighs him down, making him long to sink into the carpet, to disappear from the scene in front of him. Yet again, the redheaded bellend is getting something Cormac wants. What makes him so special?! Does he have chocolate flavoured nipples, or a massive cock or something?
To top off the momentous occasion, the Fat Lady bellows a tirade as someone yanks her open. The portrait hole hates being disturbed—how dare students demand her to do her job, especially if she's trying to celebrate with a glass of wine or gossip with the nearby paintings.
Cormac is the only one to spot her kicking off. He tears his gaze away from the writhing couple in time to catch a brunette mess of curls leaving the common room, slamming the portrait hole behind her.
"Well, I never!" the Fat Lady exclaims. "There's no respect here these days. All I wanted was to enjoy the Gryffindor celebrations, but no, someone has to disturb my peace. It's hard being a portrait hole, nobody understands how demanding my job is—"
Tuning her tantrum out, Cormac stares at the now-closed portrait hole. Hermione, that's the girl's name. She's somewhat of a busybody, always sticking her nose in where it's not wanted. The prefect nobody asked for. Cormac was positive she and Weasley were together, but maybe he was wrong.
The plan that ignited weeks ago at breakfast takes flight. Even as Ron and Lavender continue to snog in the middle of the room, Cormac is sure there was something there with Weasley and Hermione. Cormac is good at reading other people. So maybe there's a way to get revenge on the bellend. It's not fair he keeps on stealing everything Cormac wants.
"I guess that's you out of the running mate," Ruiaridh states as he shoves another bottle of drink into Cormac's hand. "Looks like Lavender and Weasley have hit it off."
"Yeah, never mind though."
"What, but I thought you—"
"Nah, Granger is where it's at nowadays. I just need to find time to get her alone."
The corners of Cormac's mouth turn into a smirk as all thoughts of Lavender disapparate out of his head. Maybe this will work out for the better, after all?
⁂
tap tap tap tap
Cormac stares at his pumpkin juice, drumming his fingers on the table as a depression cloaks him, shrouding him in gloom and darkness. His body feels heavy as if weights have been attached to every one of his appendages. If he stepped into the Great Lake, he's sure he'll sink. Where did he go wrong?
Along the table, Hermione throws her head back and laughs. The move exposes the pale column of her neck, the expanse of skin Cormac has been desperate to kiss against since the Christmas party. But she was too much of a prude to allow it to happen. Cormac's blood boils as her long, elegant fingers—the ones that were so tiny tangled around his—rest on Ron's lower arm. Her eyes are fixed on the ginger twat as he tells them a story; probably recanting his poisoning yet again. As if anyone cares that much.
Lavender sits as far away as possible from them, her arms folded across her chest and a scowl on her face. She's been like this for a few days, ever since Ron left the infirmary, switching from anger to tears in the flick of a wand. Looks like Cormac isn't the only one that's heartbroken.
Ruairidh elbows Cormac. "I know we've run out of pancakes, but the day isn't that bad."
If only he knew.
"What do girls see in him?" Cormac asks, his eyes fixed firmly on the ginger tosser.
"You mean Hermione? I thought you'd only invited her to get your own back on Weasley. So why are you so bothered about her now?"
"She's ignored me since we left. Nobody ignores me."
Cormac slams his fist on the table, sending glasses and cutlery flying. But Ruairidh is the only one to flinch. He digs his wand out of his pocket and casts a tidying charm before replying, "Well, what went wrong?"
What had gone wrong? The look on Ron's face was priceless as Cormac took Hermione by the arm and led her away from the common room. It was almost like Ron couldn't believe it, even though Cormac overheard Hermione declaring their date in front of everyone at dinner the evening he asked her out.
"She's a prude. I even abandoned my plans to speak to Gwenog Jones to spend more time with Hermione. Dad wanted me to try and get a tryout, perhaps with the Catapults, start off small, you know? But Hermione was all over me, leading me on until it came to doing the deed. After a quick snog, she'd disappeared."
"Odd. Maybe you said something wrong?"
Cormac scoffs and picks at a splinter of wood at the end of the table. "Unlikely. I reckon Weasley did something. That must be it. Put a charm on her, or slipped her a love potion. I heard the Weasleys are nefarious for that type of shit. There's a reason why there's seven of them. Whatever he's done, he's pissed Lav off too."
"Well, maybe you can ask her out or something instead?" Ruairidh questions around a mouthful of sausage.
"Maybe."
But Cormac knows he'll have to try something more complicated. Ron won't fall for the same plot twice. Cormac has to work out what the ginger asshole has that Cormac hasn't, and after that, well, Weasley better watch his back.
Cormac will get his revenge one day.