i am nearly always working on this story and nearly always forget to update. very ironic!
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ares. Terence scratched his thin quill over at the small thing of parchment paper as he wrote the name.
Aye, you're clearly not obsessed with the Weasel then, are you? His internal voice sounded a lot like that tosser Bletchley, as much as he hated him. You trying not to think about that tosser is like Roger Davies passing by a female without giving her bottom a whack and my mum serving a fried slice that isn't sent to St Mungo's for investigation of a Salmonella outbreak!
He watched the words fade into the ink, feeling his stomach reel—and it wasn't because he had to spend all of yesterday night consoling that bloody plonker Adrian Pucey that nobody really thought that he wore pumpkin-coloured underpants.
After all, everyone knew that even if he did wear knickers, it would be black.
This did little to comfort Adrian for some bizarre reason.
Not to mention that Adrian had a go at Terence, ranting on about how the twins must've added a concealment charm of some kind to prevent his knob from poking out of the underpants. This was all fine and dandy (or in Terence's case—brandy considering that was the only thing that stopped him from committing an honour killing) until Adrian started to undo his pants with a haste to try and verify his aforementioned statements... Terence grimaced and told Adrian that if he dared take off his underpants then Terence would make sure that by the time that he was done with him, he wouldn't have a knob.
Terence surveyed the class and noticed Percy sitting in the front of the class, horn-rimmed glasses just about to slide off his face as he attentively scribbled about. He barely had time to double-dip his quill in the ink with the way that he was writing. Bloody tosser.
The Miles voice in his head was snorting. I understand I mean. If I fancied blokes, I'd definitely want the one that looks he's suffering from a long-term case of the dragon pox.
Shut up, you bellend. Terence wrote Ares again, watching the words fade away.
A tight knot formed into his soft stomach whenever Terence mulled over that short time period where he nicknamed Percy as Ares. He had meant it as a joke, but he felt like there was something more than met the eye. It came as a silent thought in the middle of a long summer night in July and it hadn't left him since. When he found himself completely blank of all other thoughts, his mind always flicked back to that small nickname that he'd given that old twat. There was something more. He knew it with every fibre of his being that there was something more.
Aye, you're madly in love with a bloke that has less arse than a Runespoor and he still manages to have a wand shoved up there! Miles jeered, which made Terence sigh deeply under his breath. Even if Terence was inclined in that direction, he thought he could do better than the bloke that once spent three-quarters of the summer holidays trying to look for Kenmare Kestrel quills because he'd heard a bloke shouting about how "the Kenmare Kestrels are a right sort! Shame they're all as gay as pink ink!" Apparently, it took four Ravenclaws, seven Hufflepuffs, three Gryffindors, half of Slytherin, two ancient textbooks and Minerva McGonagall to tell him that 'gay as pink ink' didn't refer to illuminating ink at all.
Terence poked his quill again, thinking back to that nickname. He knew that there was something that he was missing. He knew that there was something related to Greek Gods, and he was sure that it was just as innocuous as that right tart that asked him out for a date at Hogsmeade (of course, he'd agreed to that but that wasn't the point he was trying to illustrate).
He had to find out what it was. It would tear Terence apart not to know.
AFTER a quick snooze in the History of Magic, he had double Potions.
Normally, Terence would be eager to have a chance to show off his perfect potion-making skills (I know Malfoy's that are more modest than you are, his Miles-like inner voice told him) but fuelled by hunger, all he could think about was chomping down on a dozen or so bacon butties. Funny thing that yesterday he'd eaten so bloody much at the feast that he thought there was no way that he'd arise that morning feeling hunger, but he was. In fact, he was hungrier than usual and Orphan Wood's tousled brown hair was looking surprisingly chocolate-y this afternoon. He rather fancied scoffing down a whole nundu with how famished he was.
As for Potions, he was late as ever. Snape was as ecstatic as always, as he drawled on about the O.W.L's and more than less subtly mentioned how they were all doomed to fail in their life. Uplifting stuff that was.
It was a funny trick though—whenever the word O.W.L was mentioned, the Weasel stiffened up and his eyes became as big as dinner plates. Terence felt like a bloke that was about to receive the Kiss would look less stressed and less likely to collapse from lack of blood flow to the brain. As Snape and Percy competed for who could look more like death personified, Terence wondered how many nails and how much coffee Percy Weasley would dawn down before he took the first of those bloody exams.
He smirked as he filed away his thoughts of dumping Sleeping Draught into Prissy's coffee.
Terence was pulled out of his thought process when a black-haired bloke walked inside the room. Terence felt like the bloke couldn't be more than five-foot-nine. Definitely taller than half the class, but shorter than the other half. It didn't help that his off-black robes were longer and bigger than he was. His Slytherin uniform underneath looked like it hadn't had been ironed out since the first wizarding war and his nearly-fallen apart grey loafers made Terence wonder if he'd decided to throw his loafers off a large building several times then whack it over a misbehaved house elf until it started to lose molecular integrity.
Interesting look that bloke has, his Miles-like voice noted before he added on. His eyes are wider than a Puffskein and if his knees were are any sharper; Filch would add them to his List of Banned Objects.
Snape looked like he was about to send raging walls of fire towards the bloke. He was stupid enough to walk up towards Snape with some kind of parchment paper in his hand.
The Miles voice continued his ravishing commentary. And if his head was any thicker, he'd pass as an extended copy of The Monster Book of Monsters.
The potions master practically tore it from his hands and took a quick read of it.
"Detention, Flint," Snape bellowed out callously. "Sit with Higgs. He's looking too full of himself."
Terence immediately sat up straight as Marcus walked towards him and sat down beside him. Marcus opened up his book and was smoothing out a few wrinkled pages. Even more eerie was how calm Marcus looked. Terence didn't recognise him because not he was always used to Marcus being bigger and taller than his little eleven-year-old self, he wasn't used to seeing Marcus look so... content.
He's probably shagged a gorgeous bird down in Durmstrang, Terence concluded.
Maybe, Terence's spiteful inner voice replied by sardonically. If she was a veela on Amortentia.
As Snape insisted that they attempt to brew the Draught of Peace, Terence slowly went about with crafting the potion. He'd a knack for potions that very few had. He had no doubt that he would perfect this potion and that the class would go by quickly—which it had to because he was one second away from scoffing a thing of bloody powdered moonstone at this rate.
He looked over at Marcus. He had his cauldron out and was looking back at the crumbled sheets.
The truth was Terence didn't even know if Marcus could read or write. As vindictive as that statement was, it was supported by the fact that eleven-year-old Marcus kept on dragging his Charms books to his History of Magic classes, was barely able to spell his own name correctly and thought that Ice Mice was actually written as Mice Lice (which put Terence off a box of those things for a long while).
Terence was careful with his potion making, but couldn't help but look over at Marcus every now and then to make sure that he wasn't going to kill the both of them or suddenly fall asleep into his cauldron like he had multiple times before.
It didn't take more than five minutes until someone's cauldron exploded, or some smoke to fill the classroom. Snape was most displeased, and Terence tried to eschew the feeling of apprehension that came with Ole Greasy looking over their heads.
Terence looked over at Marcus, whom was had his nose stuck in his book and seemed to be stirring in his cauldron... almost like he knew exactly what he was doing. This feeling was so foreign that Terence's heart started to beat so loudly he could barely hear the explosion beside him, as sparks of neon pink suddenly popped out of a cauldron from the lass beside him. Thanks to Terence's skilful approach to situations and his ever-so-brilliant tendencies to not act like a complete knob during such situations, he avoided falling into a deep sleep never to be woken up from again... which was good news he supposed.
Terence felt relief soak his bones when the class was dismissed.
They had to go put their phials up for marking. There were so many colours on Snape's desk that they could use the bottles as references for Twilfitt and Tatting's new Colourful, Classy and Charismatic robe collection.
His heart did a double turn when he noticed Marcus produce his phial, which had a silver sheen to it.
No. Terence decided. Marcus brewed a potion properly the first time? Merlin, him brewing a potion at all? The Draught of Peace? He looked around for Percy Weasley, whom he suspected would be entirely nude, suddenly dark-haired, doe-eyed with a body sculpted to perfection and shagging Gemma Farley. No such thing thankfully! Percy was standing beside Snape's desk, looking like someone stole his liquorice wands.
"Detention for cheating, Flint," Snape suddenly said in a monotonous voice.
"But I didn't cheat, professor," Marcus mumbled in an annoyed voice, but toned down from what Terence was used to when Marcus was frustrated, i.e. a transformation from a half-troll to a Chinese Fireball.
Snape stared at Marcus as if he was telling a very bad joke. "You're testing my patience."
"I'll do it again, professor," he sounded like he was threatening Snape.
Snape's eyes twitched. "So you will," he said in a droning tone. "During your detentions."
As their professor went on about when Marcus was supposed to report to these detentions, Terence stared at the perfectly constructed phial that Marcus had put on the desk. Was it terrible for him to assume that Marcus did cheat? He would've stuck up for Marcus if he believed otherwise. Terence didn't actually think that Marcus knew how to do it. This was the bloke that thought that Newt Scamander was a potion ingredient and found a way to cheat even when playing rock cake, parchment paper, severing charm.
Fuming, Marcus stormed out of the dungeons and Terence trailed after him. Marcus seemed to have blocked out the whole world, with how he was staring down at his feet like he was the only being that existed in Hogwarts. It wasn't long before Adrian and Miles blocked off an unsuspecting Marcus' path.
It was so strange to see Marcus being shorter than the rest of his mates.
It was so strange looking down at Marcus and seeing those stony grey eyes stare back up at him. His shinier-than-Prissy's-prefect-badge black hair unkempt. Terence noticed how Marcus' robes were collecting dust.
"Hi, mate," Terence said in a soft voice. "We're going to the Great Hall. Want to join us?"
Marcus nodded his head and Terence felt an intense need to stay close to Marcus, as if any minute now, the Earth would open him up and swallow him whole.
His mind flickered back to the Potions class but he pushed that aside.
A vibrant host of unwanted memories seemed to fill Terence's mind, as he recalled being a complete plonker and letting Marcus drink that tea that made him tear his tooth away. The gap between his rather large and mismatched teeth was still there with how Marcus' mouth was parted. Marcus' Slytherin tie was terribly made and his shirt was so haphazardly buttoned that a few had already popped out. It seemed like Marcus had slept in his uniform (likely) or been attacked by a vicious tornado (also just as likely).
"Where's the Weasel?" Marcus suddenly asked, tucking his book under his arm.
Terence immediately stiffened at Marcus' mention of the redhead. "We ain't mates with that sodding bastard anymore. In fact, we haven't been since you've left."
Marcus raised an eyebrow and then snorted, "Stupid reason then, is it?"
Terence felt a bit stunned. He wasn't used to Marcus sounding as quiet as this. The comments were supposed to be acerbic and cutting but failed. He sounded like he was making a poor jibe that wouldn't even offend Penelope Clearwater. Terence was used to Marcus spitting them out in fury so this was definitely a difference. He kept on staring back at his mate as if he'd just Incendio himself at any point in time.
"Not a stupid reason," Terence insisted but now that Marcus put it in that way, it did seem like a stupid reason. "We shouldn't have let the blood traitor in our circle in the first place."
"In our circle?" Marcus snorted again. He seemed rather amused by this. "We ain't holding hands and ringing round the Rosies here, Higgs."
Now that classes were finally over, Adrian, Miles and Terence were rubbing sleep out of their watery eyes. Marcus looked well rested to say the least, despite looking like he'd been eaten, chewed and spat out. Adrian's hair was a hazard against humanity and Miles looked like he was suffering from locked-in syndrome. Terence clung onto his parchment papers, quills sticking out of the pockets of his robes as he walked down the corridor with his mates. Terence was absolutely famished, and he bet than nearly everyone else hadn't woken up early enough to have a spot of breakfast before being flung into a room with that boring old sodding ghost at around eight in the morning; followed by a rather refreshing lesson with euphoric Ole Greasy. The only reason why Binns was teaching the class was because they couldn't find a living twat that was stupid enough to do it and the only reason they had Snape's classes after that was to make sure that all fifth year students lost their will to live before they even attempted to take their bleeding O.W.L's.
Sitting in the Great Hall, Terence started to pile his jacket potato with cheese, salad and baked beans. As he chewed, his eyes flicked back to Marcus, whom was nursing a milky cup of tea. When he was done with the first, he'd immediately gone and made himself another one.
Adrian and Miles staring at Marcus, hawk-eyed, as if they were waiting for something to happen.
Marcus pulled his hand out and gestured for Percy to come and sit with them.
Percy stood there, confused for a few minutes, as Marcus kept on gesturing for him to accompany them. The black-haired Slytherin was starting to look more than mildly irritated by then.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Marcus sounded out, losing patience. "Sit down before I shove you down."
Terence immediately stiffened as Percy wedged himself in between Marcus and Terence. He glanced back at his mates whom just shrugged their shoulders and returned to their plates. Their plates were piled high with potatoes, roasted gammon and vegetables.
Yes, this bothered them immensely. No, they could not sound this out to Marcus.
He didn't think any of his mates would be able to deny Marcus anything, and Terence didn't even know if it was a bad thing or not. It had to mean something awful. Terence would never see Marcus as he used to before. He would now always just be a victim of abuse. He didn't think he could waver away the feelings that at some point, Marcus was simply going to disappear into fine dust; almost like his body couldn't go on anymore. He couldn't see that five-foot-eleven ten year old that used to cheat on every bloody game they did, or the one that tried to charm Adrian's chocolate frogs to change his hair colour and appearance just to frustrate him. Terence regretted every time that he did reject Marcus' offers, or tell him that no, he did not want to go down to the Gryffindor dorms and try to wreck hell on them. Terence felt like no matter how blocky, tall or confident Marcus would get, they would always remember how small, skinny and helpless he had been. It didn't help how quiet he sounded. He looked content... but was he? Terence didn't think he could accept the fact that Marcus was fine. He'd always be waiting for something to suddenly Confringo. He didn't think anyone could see Marcus as anything but what he suffered from.
"Durmstrang was the best thing that ever happened to me," Marcus mumbled, as he put his tea down for a second just to put a few things of roast potatoes on his plate, followed by a few pieces of steamed broccoli. "I only transferred back to warn this tosser about his impending doom, but he doesn't believe me."
"Impending doom?" Percy echoed with an irritated expression, as he picked up a buttered bread roll. He ate half of it in five seconds. Even perfect prefect Percy didn't get up in time for breakfast this morning it seemed. "If you're referring to the premonition, then I'd like to announce that it was more like bad fiction! And I cannot believe that you're bringing them into this."
"Marcus, are you alright? You're starting to sound like you've taken one too many pain potions," Adrian reached over to place a cold hand on Marcus'. The part-troll immediately pushed his mate's hand away.
Marcus nodded his head. "Shut up, you twat," he warned, cutting his roast potatoes into two halves.
"My father is a Seer," the part-troll mumbled, taking a mouthful of roast potato and not bothering to swallow before he spoke (this action made Percy visibly cringe). "He'd not seen much I'd give you that but he predicted when one of his mates would die—right up to the second. He predicted Lestrange escaping the ward. He predicted that he'd turn into a right arse. Mum didn't believe it at the time..."
Marcus swallowed and took a sip of his tea before continuing, "I've turned into the hospital and seen him this summer..." this made Terence's heart race. As dumb as Marcus could be at times, he didn't like to think that his mate fell for any explanation that bastard of a man could give him. Marcus' attempt to excuse this man was pitiful at best. "He told the Weasel and I that was under the Imperius by Ares."
Miles looked stunned. "Marcus, mate... the lack of food must've killed off some of your brain cells."
"Are you seriously trying to tell us that your bastard of a father was under the Imperius... by a Greek God?" Adrian reiterated incredulously; laughing. "Was he, too, under the Cruciatus by the Loch Ness Monster?"
"Shut up, you arseholes," Marcus sounded out, fuming as he stabbed a potato. "I'm not as bloody dense as you think I am. You're worse than my mum about this! Give me the benefit of the doubt for Salazar's sake."
He paused and then added on, "It wasn't your face that he pounded in so stop bloody acting like it."
"Last time we let you dictate a situation involving him, you were quite happy about letting the bastard pound your skull out," Miles reminded him. "Forgive me if I'm concerned."
"You don't sound concerned," Marcus retorted challengingly.
Miles busied his hands by stuffing a buttered bread roll with turkey and lettuce, looking like he was close to inflicting physical harm on Marcus (which was ironic to say the least). "Every time you've opened your mouth, Marc, you've tried to give excuses for why he's pounding your head in. I don't understand why you're defending that git but anymore of this bollocks and I'll be—"
"Giving me a good whack?" Marcus spat out. "Knocking some sense into me?"
Everything stood in a stand-still silence after that comment. Terence's heart flipped a little bit because on one hand, he thought that Marcus really did lose his senses from surviving on little else but tea for most of his life and on the other hand, he felt at fault for his complete disbelief towards anything that had come out of Marcus' mouth today—but how could he believe Marcus? Miles was right. Every time that Marcus brought up his own father was to defend the man for why it wasn't that bad that he'd turned Marcus into his poor form of anger management. How was this any different? Yes, Terence was aware that he had some Ares-related suspicions that he'd kept to himself but he'd taken Marcus' mentioning as a sheer coincidence. Besides, Imperio-ed by a Greek God? Even if that was true, didn't Greek Gods have anything better to do?
"Look, mate, don't you see how ridiculous you're being?" Miles asked in a soothing voice as he took a bite of his sandwich. "A Greek God? Really, Marc?"
Marcus continued to chew the few bits of broccoli he had on his plate. "It's true."
"It's true!" Adrian immediately called out in surprise. "It's not the least bit true! He's trying to con you is all and you were daft enough to fall for it! I'm sorry, Marcus but this is preposterous."
Percy was rubbing his temple. "See, Marcus? These people loathe me and they still agree with me!"
Marcus kept his mouth clenched tight. "And you?" he looked over at Terence with an irritated look on his face. "Want to tell me how daft I'm being?"
Terence simply stiffened.
Marcus' irritation melted away and he gave a sharp nod of his head.
"I've visited him again, my father and he told me that this plonker over here," he had a glance over at an irritated Percy that was in complete disbelief, "He's being targeted by Ares. He isn't sure how or why but father reckons he's going to end up in the bloody ward. He thinks that Ares wants to start a war and that he wants to ascend to Olympus I've heard. Zeus, he's... he's banished him. Called him the most hated son he'd had. And he wants to use the Weasel as a weapon."
"For Helga's sake, Marcus..." Percy exclaimed. "I hope you don't add onto this—this foolishness!"
"I'm not daft," Marcus took his plate and cup and disappeared. "You'll see."
"Too late for that," Miles noted, as he watched Snape violently threaten Marcus with another detention after Marcus Flint had hexed Oliver Wood.