this chapter is albeit less dark in content, and is more of a filler. the next chapter isn't very dark either (humiliation abound), but has a bit of a mini subplot so to speak!

responses to any inquiries made in the last chapter:

chemical violets: truth be told when i first wrote this, i never thought that Adrian would take center stage but apparently, he seemed to have a mind of his own! also, no, i don't think that your language is offensive. actually, on contrare, i actually enjoy it... i did laugh. oh, Perce.

Spirits in the Sky: it'll be implied later on that they do know about Percy's escapade, but without a separate chapter on how they found out. ;) though it isn't hard to know that Adrian's the source of it.

Chapter Twenty

Oliver Wood poked his head into Minerva McGonagall's chambers after knocking a few times. He slowly entered the chambers, with a large stack of books into his hands and a pile of essays sloppily placed on top of the books. Looking very weary with big circles around his eyes, Oliver slowly stepped inside of her office with shaky hands as he looked down at his feet.

"Miss McGonagall?" Oliver called out in a squeaky, frightened voice.

"Professor," McGonagall correctly, putting down her quill as she gave a stern look towards Oliver. "I do not appreciate you giving me these essays late, Wood. What's the excuse this time?"

Oliver flushed darkly. "That's—that's not why I'm here, Professor McGonagall... ma'am," he stammered, the flush reaching his ears. He debated placing the books and essays down on the table, but he did not want to make McGonagall more cross at him. "I haven't finished the last few, but I've—I've to give them to you tomorrow. Tomorrow morning. Is that alright?"

He offered a watery smile towards the woman.

"I will have to deduct a letter grade, Wood," McGonagall mentioned strictly, before she pursed her lips. They became a very thin line, and Oliver felt himself growing more nervous. "What it is that you have to see me for? I must remind you, for future visits like these, I would like to be informed before you simply barge into my chambers like I've invited you in."

Oliver slowly nodded his head, and then in let his shoulders slump. "I want to leave."

"Pardon?" McGonagall's eye twitched. "I'm not keeping you into my chambers by force, Mr Wood."

Oliver looked around, afraid that someone was there or someone was going to jump at him and laugh. His heart sunk into his chest just a little further and he pushed the tears that were bubbling into his eyes away.

"I don't want to stay at Hogwarts," Oliver suddenly mentioned, his eyes softened. He couldn't take the ridicule anymore, and he wanted out of this. It was very hard for him to learn anything. It wasn't that he was so lazy that he procrastinated or didn't care for his studies. It was that he spent all his time studying but the words just didn't seem to sink into his hard head no matter how long he spent reading about Bouncing Bulbs and getting smacked by them. He didn't remember a thing other than the fact that sitting there with one in his hand for hours produced a very worrying red mark on his cheek. "Do I just leave school? How can I leave? Would the Hogwarts Express take me back to the Glasgow orphanage?"

"Wood, you're taking nonsense," McGonagall called out. "Why in Merlin's name would you want to leave? You're not even halfway done with the first semester."

"I'm denser than pound cake," Oliver commented in a heavy Scottish tone. "I'm not...I'm not going to get better. I've spent three weeks trying to transfigure this stupid quill into a matchbox. I don't think I'm capable of transfiguring a matchbox into a slightly bigger matchbox, Professor. Maybe I'm a squib."

"You are not a squib," was the first thing she stated. "I've heard from this orphanage worker—a Loretta if I recall correctly—that you've managed to morph yourself into a dog when you were living in the orphanage, Wood. By the way, it is illegal to turn oneself into an animal unless they are a registered Animagus and it takes a lot of skill, practice and dedication. I hope you know what you've been doing with this. I will send an owl to Dumbledore to allow him to get the proper documentation you might need to register an as Animagus when you've turned of age. For, it can stay between me, you and the Headmaster."

Oliver flushed deeply at this and slowly nodded his head.

"You are not dense, Mr Wood. Contrary to that actually," McGonagall expressed, allowing Oliver to nod his head again and let himself feel just a bit better. At least McGonagall didn't think he was a complete waste of space. "Also, twenty points from Gryffindor for unintentionally breaking the law."

Oliver only grinned sheepishly.

"GET up, Marcus!" Terence grabbed Marcus' arm, and tried to drag him out of the bed before their classes started. He didn't know how Marcus could still be asleep. He hadn't woken up since he returned back to bed yesterday. Adrian poked him just before they went to bed just to make sure that Marcus was still breathing. Marcus had essentially been asleep for more than twenty-four hours, and he still wouldn't wake up.

Marcus shoved Terence off, and buried his head into the pillow. Extracting Marcus from the bed was a difficult task most days, but it was particularly difficult after the weekends.

"Marcus," Terence's voice was soft, as he placed a hand on his mate's shoulder. "Marcus?"

Marcus slowly opened his eyes. This time, he didn't push Terence to the other side of the room, as he yawned heavily. In seconds, he took a look at the clock that rested on his table, and his eyes suddenly bulged widely. A rage encompassed his eyes. "It's five in the bloody morning!" he bellowed out, causing Adrian to groan in his sleep and turn to one side. Miles threw a pillow towards their direction. In the other end of the room, Percy was already awake and dressed, eyes buried into a book.

"I thought maybe you'd want to change and we can go down to Pomfrey together before breakfast," Terence said, shoving a clean pair of Slytherin robes towards Marcus, along with his uniform just underneath—the crisp white shirt, the black pants, the green-and-grey tie. Marcus' choice of shoes included dull black loafers and they were tossed beside his bedside, along with his school bag.

"You thought wrong," Marcus mumbled, looking down at his thick robes as if they were offending him.

Terence wondered what would happen once Marcus went through puberty. He didn't think so much testosterone should be enclosed in one person, but he tried not to think about it too much. That was years beyond now. Now, he had to make sure Marcus survived the next few hours with him and Pomfrey. "She's expecting you, and she even told me that she will write up an owl to your parents if you don't come."

"Blackmail," Marcus huffed, stretching. Terence heard something crack. "If I wasn't so pissed, I'd be impressed, princess."

Terence followed Marcus well into the shower room, which was empty given the fact that it was five in the morning. Marcus' glare told Terence that he was supposed to wait outside. It took Marcus approximately fifteen minutes to shower and dress into his school robes and uniform before they ascended upstairs that bright early Monday morning. The stairs were nice this time and Terence didn't end up losing a shoe or two. A roll of parchment paper slid out of Marcus' bag but he gave no attention to it. Terence would bet that it was an essay that Marcus was planning on rewriting up to acceptable enough standards.

BY the time that they'd gotten to Pomfrey's office, Marcus was losing patience. Terence was gaining apprehension.

She was waiting for them, not as happy as Terence wanted her to be. Before Marcus could suggest that he go back to bed, the woman had him pinned to one of the cots and had disappeared to get a chart from her quarters, and came back to Marcus with a quill in her hands.

It was then that Terence had wondered: why was it so easy to get Marcus here? Normally, it wouldn't be. Was he secretly fed up with this too, or did he not fully wake up enough yet? Seeing Marcus rub the sleep out of his eyes, Terence had thought that maybe Marcus was simply too drowsy to get a good idea of what was happening right now.

"It's come to my attention, from several students, including your friend here, Terence, that you might be getting ill-or-mistreatment at home. What do you have to say to this?" Pomfrey asked, as she filled out details that Terence couldn't quite see.

Terence tried not to lean in too much. It didn't give him much of an indication for what she was writing, but it was badly straining his back.

Marcus closed his eyes. "It's none of his or anyone else's business," he wasn't exactly so aggressive that he was spitting. "Damn Weasel told everyone, and now, I'm stuck here when I'm supposed to be asleep."

Pomfrey's lip curled. Obviously, she wanted to tell him to be more polite, but she refrained from doing so. "I was told here by some of the prefects that they had seen bruises on your shoulders from forceful restraint and bruises on your neck from what they think are attempts to asphyxiating you. Professor Snape had also mentioned that the first time you were cornered with questions about them, that you made up lewd explanations for them, insisting that they were pre-term Quidditch injuries."

She paused, noticing how bored Marcus looked like. "Mr Flint, I want you to tell me exactly what is going on, or I will keep on pestering you. We will send an official letter to both your parents and we will get them down here if you are not compliant. I need to know whether to progress or not—"

"What do you want to know?" Marcus sounded incensed.

Pomfrey didn't react to his tone, and just began to go through the list of questions that she had prompted for him. "Can I see these bruises that everyone is speculating about?"

"I healed them," Marcus mumbled.

Pomfrey didn't seem surprised by this. Terence had wondered how bad they were. Percy had seen them before, so it had to be just recently that Marcus had learned how to heal himself. Probably because everyone was pestering him about it. "You've been recorded as absent for many classes. Care to comment on this?"

Marcus nodded his head. "I can't be bothered to get up."

Terence had winced when he said this, mostly because Marcus had a valid excuse for not attending his classes and he was just choosing to make it difficult for them to help him.

"What about your grades?"

Marcus looked up from the ground. His good will had melted and all that was left was annoyance. "I'm part troll. I'm stupid. That's why my grades are ruddy awful. It's got nothing to do with what he does to me."

Pomfrey had been writing something on the sheet. "Has he ever touched you inappropriately, Mr—?"

"No," Marcus immediately said, sounding disgusted. "Not like that. Never like that. He wouldn't dare."

Terence had cocked his head to one side. This was getting nowhere, and he couldn't help but feel like it would end soon and Pomfrey would be convinced that nothing was wrong with Marcus. The thought of having Marcus go back home in the Christmas holidays was terrible.

"How many sets of robes do you own? School uniforms? What about parchment paper? Quills?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow at this. "Two robes and two sets of uniforms. One pair of shoes. I borrow parchment paper and quills from my mates."

Pomfrey nodded her head. "Do your parents send any owls?"

Terence tried to remember this. He did remember multiple occasions where a barmy-looking burrowing owl sending letters to Marcus on the table. He tried to remember what Marcus had done to them, but he was pretty sure most of the times, he'd shoved it in the front pocket of his robes, and told the owl to go away without bothering to give it any treats.

Marcus grimaced. "Yes."

"What were the contents of these letters?" Pomfrey asked. "And best you tell me, else I'd have to make it everyone else's business to get a look in at what kind of letters your parents have been writing."

"Idle threats," Marcus muttered.

"Idle threats?" Pomfrey echoed. "What do you mean by—?"

Marcus rolled his eyes, and then mimicked a high-pitched, squeaky voice, "If you don't get your act together by the end of the semester, I'm going to break every bone in your body."

Terence's run blood cold and he found himself biting his lower lip. He had thought that maybe Marcus had been lying so far, but he seemed to have mildly given into the pressure.

"And these are idle?" the nurse mentioned in a surprised tone of voice.

"He's got troll blood in him. What do you expect?" Marcus asked. "He could threaten to kill me and it wouldn't matter. I tell Higgs that I'm going to snap his neck all the time, but nobody cares about that."

"But you don't hit me," Terence mentioned. "He does."

Terence suddenly staggered to his feet, looking up at Pomfrey with a softened expression. "Nurse Pomfrey, I-I have to mention that Marcus is so skinny," the words even sounded wrong coming out of his mouth. Looking at Marcus now, he looked like he could crush him into bits with his seemingly brawny built. "It's not natural. It can't be natural. He looks fine when he's wearing clothes, but when he's not; he looks like a walking, animated skeleton. It's not normal."

Pomfrey raised an eyebrow at Marcus, whom just flushed into a deep red hue.

She put the chart away, and disappeared to get another chart. This one looked much larger than her older one and from what Terence had noticed was a species specific one. Part vampire, part troll, part veela... she seemed to scribble on Marcus' height and weight after getting him on the magical self-calibrating height and weight scales. Pomfrey looked back at Terence and nodded her head, "Marcus, for your age, you are three inches shorter than the average height for your species, and are two stones lighter than expected for this height. Care to comment on this?"

"No," Marcus stated, before grabbing Terence's arm and pushing him outside with a look that told Terence that Marcus was not happy, and he was going to be in so much trouble.

DEAR mum,

Everything is going brilliant. I'm not having a mental breakdown at all. Quidditch practice is going nicely, except for the fact that it's completely and utterly wearing me to the bones and I can insist that I don't want to do anything related to it in the future. I know why Percy isn't answering any of your letters. It's because he's too busy studying himself to death, or being a permanent resident into Pomfrey's infirmary. By the way, Percy might be a wizarding epileptic and if he is, then the old sods at the Ministry are going to lock him away into a death ward until he gets better. Also, Percy is in Slytherin and is insistent on helping Marcus Flint. Marcus' dad is abusive. Marcus' dad also has no qualms about killing Percy, and no matter what I do or say, Percy is not backing out of his plan. He's as stubborn as ever. Mum, instead of making him a sweater this Christmas, just keep him in a nice big bubble and keep him in his room for the rest of his life so nothing could happen to him. Please? Because this is just going to be as pretty as the mayonnaise portrait that Bill had made when he was heavily drunk on firewhiskey.

Love,

Charlie

Charlie crumbled up the parchment paper and threw it in the air. Mid-air, he Incendio-ed it, and it fell to the ground, ashes to ashes. He muttered a cleaning spell so that nobody could know how he failed to write a letter to his mum explaining the absurdity of the situation at hand. He picked up another fresh piece of parchment and decided to get started one of his multiple essays. He thought of Percy that night. He had to practically tear him away from the commons and into his bed. He had paid Miles Bletchley in Charm Choc to tell him exactly what Percy was doing in his sleep. When Bletchley confirmed that Percy has been sneaking books, waking up at five in the morning and sometimes not going to bed until late at night, Charlie felt like he was going insane. He had no idea how Percy's body didn't give out completely.

He decided to go downstairs for a spot of supper whilst he tried to organise his thoughts.

As he piled his plate high with shepherd's pie, he couldn't help but glance towards the Slytherin table direction, scanning for Percy. He found Miles Bletchley waving with an egg in his hand (Charlie did not wish to know the context of this conversation), Terence Higgs trying not to laugh (choking hazard), Marcus Flint was toying with string beans and chicken breast in a disinterested manner (Charlie had no idea how Flint didn't collapse from malnourishment) and Adrian and Percy were sitting beside each other, both sharing a big plate of noodles. Adrian looked like he was trying not to laugh and Percy shot an icy look towards Miles and looked like he was about to this close to throwing a hex towards Bletchley's direction.

Ever since Percy had come to Hogwarts, he'd gained the little amount of weight he'd lost during his expedition to the woods. He definitely ate properly, and Charlie thought that was because he was glued to Adrian Pucey for some reason (and Pucey didn't know how to stop eating for more than a three hour period). If Percy would put on a bit more, he bet mum would be happy. She would need something to be happy about if he was going to send her send her a letter describing these tantalising tale of events.

Charlie sighed deeply, scraping his shepherd's pie without noticing that he was eating. His mates were talking about something but it flew past Charlie's head.

When he was done with his dinner, he walked over towards Percy's direction. Adrian raised an eyebrow when he saw Charlie was walking towards him but said nothing. Percy seemed to be surprised as well. Charlie knew why. He hadn't exactly been interacting much with Percy. Their schedules were both chaotic. Beyond telling Percy to go to bed when it was late at night and dragging him from the commons to his dorm, Charlie hadn't seen much of Percy these days. He'd already skipped a few weekends of going into Hogsmeade, insisting on staying at home instead during the weekend to catch up on the studies that he'd missed. He knew that he was nowhere near Bill's impressive full set of O.W.L's but that didn't bother him one bit. He was interested in working in dragon reserves (he was slowly letting his mum warm up to the idea, a tip that he learned from Bill) but kept that wish to himself for now.

"I'm going to Hogsmeade this weekend," Charlie murmured, "Do you want me to get you anything?"

Adrian immediately perked up, "Chocolate frogs. And a sugar quills. Oh, and you might as well get Percy something, so I suggest you buy the white chocolate frog variety and one of those Glacial Snow Flakes."

Percy rolled his eyes. "No, thank you," he deflated.

Adrian looked distressed. "He's lying. He definitely needs chocolate frogs. And flobberworm mush."

Did Adrian know how expensive flobberworm mush was? Charlie mused. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do with a white, slimy mush except perhaps use it for his hair. He'd heard some girls used that sludge to make their hair extra shiny and long. Adrian Pucey seemed to have perfected that. That and he'd perfected sneaking into the girl's dormitory whenever the chance arose (Charlie had no idea how Adrian had bypassed the Glisseo incantation that was put on the stairs, but he had. Multiple times.) He had been getting virtually no complaints recently, so he supposed that was Percy's influence.

Charlie snorted. "If that's all then—"

"There's this one thing!" he pulled out a broken-looking watch from his pocket that Percy looked to have immediately recognised because he flushed wildly. "A bunch of Gryffindors Quidditch players broke Percy's watch—you know these that are charmed to remember dates. He mentioned it one to me but I could tell that he was gutted that these arseholes broke it. Maybe you could get another one?"

Charlie snatched up the watch, which was indeed broken beyond repair. He felt his blood boil. Gryffindor Quidditch player. As in on his team. Merlin, he was making them wake up at three am next time for Quidditch practice, and he was ensuring that they stay in the pitch for hours after. "Percy, is this true?"

"Yes," Adrian and Percy answered in unison where Percy's voice weak and small in contrast to Adrian's annoyed and strong tone.

Charlie wrapped his hand tightly around the watch. "Who did this, Percy?"

Percy's cheeks coloured in, a rubicund hue coming to his cheeks. "Um, it's not important."

"Beaters. I don't know their names, but they're both built like a brick wall," Adrian murmured, before his eyes widened in alert. "I wasn't there when they broke it, but I was there when they kept on bloody picking on my friend, calling him all sorts of things. Just yesterday, they were muttering all this kind of bollocks about how my friend is a traitor to your name and said something about him being a Death Eater during the plight of the first war...when he was bloody five! Tell them to sod off, and leave my best mate alone."

Percy was beetroot red by then, as he cleared the lump in his throat. "That's enough, Adrian."

Charlie had decided that maybe Adrian Pucey deserved a few chocolate frogs and sugar quills after all. Charlie kept on clutching this watch, and staring at Percy's face. He seemed to look away from his elder brother, looking humiliated. "I'll be sure to remedy the situation."

Adrian beamed, grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Don't get involved with Marcus," Charlie suddenly mentioned, voice filled with worry. He had to mention it at least now when he wasn't swarmed with O.W.L revisions. "His father will track you down like fleas and he won't hesitate to wreck your life. He's a very powerful man and you mustn't underestimate him... and he's a manipulative arse too. He's managed to get himself out of murder charges before, and will do it again. He's managed to keep himself out of Azkaban after the war. He is not afraid of a few children and their best intentions and if anything happens to you, Percy, then I will not forgive myself."

Adrian's smile had disintegrated by then and Percy looked angry.

"I will get myself involved," Percy said, voice teetering with definiteness. "Marcus is my friend, and I can't just be sat there watching him be violently abused by his own blood and flesh."

Adrian slowly nodded his head solemnly. "Marcus isn't going to help himself. If we don't do it, then who will help him? We can't just be sat on our arses whilst Marcus is being beat up for failing an essay."

Charlie sighed deeply and shook his head. "Adrian, Percy, I will repeat this one last time... do not do this. I don't know what else to say to you. I've exhausted all the words in the ruddy dictionary. If you're going to go on with this inane cacophony, the least you could do is make sure that your names are excluded."

Adrian nodded his head sternly. "We'll be careful," he promised, and then whisked Percy away.