warnings: isolation, imprisonment, physical and mental abuse - some described in great detail, some only hinted, unlawful discrimination and God knows what else i decide to put in last minute... that 'God know what else i decide to put in last minute' includes suicidal ideation (possibly an attempt may it be successful or not later on) and mentions/possible illustrations of self-harm.
adding onto the warnings (you should've expected an add on): mentions of sexual harassment/assault.
i really wanted to lighten up the next subsequent chapters, but i'm finding such a difficulty in it. i've been doing it for a week, but it's just... not coming as easily as i hoped that it would. i just thought that maybe, let's just keep the plot rolling. depressing as it is.
i will attempt to go back to updating this fanfic on Thursday or Friday. it's Saturday right now, but hopefully expect a chapter on Thursday/Friday next week!
responses to any inquiries:
Maeve-Juniper: oh, this is going to be a very messy and long comment reply, but firstly, i'd love to say that i appreciate your chapter-by-chapter commenting. i was just about to die of glee when i've checked my inbox! it's made my day and what thorough comments you've left me! aye, i attempt with my grammar and spelling, and sometimes, it works out well and other times, it does not. aye, the trigger warnings... i'd have to say i don't think i have it in me to fully fledge myself into a light hearted fanfiction unless i write it bits and blots here and there! i do have to say that the 'fondling the chicken' comment wasn't really meant to indicate much, other than Charlie's interesting imagination. Percy's persistence on running away with a leg injury is, indeed, an odd writing choice. it's one of those moments where the fanfic wrote itself, so i'm not sure about how credible it is but i do know that in one hand, it does make sense (Percy's mental fear triumphing over his physical pain/him not understanding how bad his injury was, him believing that it is easy to make it out on his own even at that young age), and at the same time, it doesn't, because children typically do not keep persisting when they are severely hurt and they give up long before they got to Percy's point. it does give a bit of food for thought but it's one of the things that's shaped up this whole story as it is.
i think many of my readers believe that Percy is justified in leaving. others do not. i, personally, do not and think that he is being overly dramatic (as Penelope had pointed out), but then again, he is ten years old. to him, a lot of things are very "end of the world." that's why i love putting in the other point of views, as he tend to be a very self-centered character. i had to put in all the other point of views just to everyone else could pick what they really think of the character. each character is supposed to attempt to persuade you so that this piece isn't too biased (it will always be biased because it's a Percy fanfic and his point of view is highlighted the most. also, the fact that i am biased and i absolutely adore Percy, but i do make him do stupid and exceedingly selfish things that make you want to shake him because he does do that in canon, e.g. Percy sending back Molly's Christmas jumper.)
i love how over-the-top i did make Lucius Malfoy. as mentioned before, they're very cartoon-like villains. "methinks he pays too much attention to Arthur at work" i loved this bit. reading your other comments and you mentioning shaking Percy - i have to say that you are not the only one that thinks like that (i wanted to shake him and i'm writing it!). but really, your comments are brilliant. i've smiled so much whilst reading them, i think i might've just died! thank you.
i think Arthur in this particular fanfiction is very "i love my son more than anything, but i have a hard time showing it. i have my own issues (even though i don't believe i do)." his intentions are very pure, but i think the idea behind certain things just get past his head. i must say i did laugh to myself when i realised you thought the child abuse warnings were more so towards Percy (they were originally and it was going to be Arthur but... i preferred it this way because i prefer Arthur not to be a complete and utter bastard and i prefer that Percy not get all the angst pointed towards him.)
"Miles knows what thestrals look like which means he can probs see them, which means he's seen someone die..." i think you're the only one that's commented on this. it's true and yes, i have a particular backstory for that. will it ever come to light? God only knows.
i also believe that people do, in fact, handle others' situation better than their own. "Also Percy, trying to clean someone's period-bood underwear... just, no, child." Percy is a very special child indeed. interestingly enough, i do have answers for the Elijah comment but i'm not exactly sure how to tie it in. i think i've spent all yesterday just thinking about it. yes, Mr Flint's appearance was a bit of a confusing and not properly planned thing - but i relied any confusion on the fact that Caius is a Seer (well, you figure that out later but still). there is a lot of implication, but i tend to let such loose ends to be figured out by the reader rather than me attempting to write a perfectly sound explanation with obvious loopholes. mostly because i'm oblivious to most loopholes.
i've written a paragraph and it was deleted. aye, i did notice how Chapter 21 and 27 mentioned menstruation. i genuinely attempted to find other means, but there are so many bodily fluids that could be implicated - and let's just say the alternatives are worse for me to write about. "Since Percy's decently tall though maybe the guy thinks he's an adult." this actually is what i was going for, especially since Percy has passed off as much older to Audrey as well. the age different used to serve a purpose when the plotline was going in a certain direction. it doesn't now. i do imagine Audrey being older than Percy but maybe by a year or two, certainly not eight. it was actually very weird writing them with this difference, but it seemed to have levelled out right now. your prediction towards Percy's mates ditching him is actually spot on.
"To me, Arthur comes off as really well meaning." he is very well meaning, but Percy has his issues with him, and most of this story is written in his point of view, so he comes off less lovingly. i think the obvious contrast and irony is that Molly sees Percy as her favourite and is pinning for his attention and he just doesn't notice it. he is very alike to Arthur but doesn't realise it. and yes, it is a bit odd that Terence felt like something was up with the Ares nickname and shot it down himself even though they were giving him a link. ah!
thanks again for leaving such lengthy, beautiful comments!
Chapter Thirty-Five
The halls seemed practically abandoned at three in the morning. A sweat-soaked, fuming Oliver Wood wanted to seriously thrash his fist into Marcus Flint's face—and if that tosser was around, he would.
All day! All day, Oliver had to try and get rid of the boils and blemishes Flint hexed him with!
He had a look to his face that reminded him of Loretta's lumpy porridge oats!
He hadn't felt this humiliated since he was eleven.
Almost as if thinking of how angry he was at Marcus made him materialise, he caught sight of the black-haired bastard walking down in ugly black striped pyjamas, holding what looked to be a raggedy old blanket that looked like it just barely survived the first world war intact. Even a mile away, Oliver could smell him—that distinctive part-troll smell (it wasn't ruddy roses either). His hair was absolute chaos. It looked as if doxies were playing round with it all day.
As Marcus passed by Oliver, the Gryffindor grabbed him by his shoulder and then shoved him to the wall.
As an eleven-year-old, he would allow Marcus to do him over, but Oliver hadn't been picked on for ages, and he had this deal with Marcus just so that he would keep it that way! Oliver had an image to maintain now. Captain of the bloody Quidditch team! And as Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he couldn't allow himself to walk around looking like he had dragon pox. How on Earth would he be able to play Quidditch professionally if he had "long term dragon pox sufferer" in his application?
"You bloody bastard!" Oliver wasn't used to being this forceful—and to Marcus! "Why did you hex me for?"
Usually, Oliver was so nervous and scared of Marcus. He had trouble looking at the part-troll and often felt his limbs freeze and his heart pound when his brown eyes locked with Marcus' grey ones.
That seemed to all go away in four days. The four days that they were mates in. All of the fear just...
Just this morning, Marcus was sitting alone on the train, looking outside the window. Whenever he got up to move around every twenty minutes, he tripped over at his trousers. He looked particularly upset and Oliver wanted nothing more than to sit with him so that they could keep on talking about Quidditch. Oliver remembered trying to buy a chocolate frog but having not a Knut to his name. When he got up to have a stretch of his legs, Marcus accidentally-on-purpose bumped into him and shoved a chocolate frog in the pocket of his trousers with such practised expertise. Oliver couldn't stop grinning like a bloody loony the whole train ride. Every time he took a bite out of the frog, he glanced back at Marcus who was pretending that he wasn't doing the exact same thing but Oliver knew that he was.
Now, he felt none of that. Marcus could fall down a rabbit hole for all Oliver cared (and Marcus was bound to, with how he kept tripping with those massive pants of his. He looked like he was suffering from chorea).
Oliver's hands gripped tighter onto Marcus' shoulder. "What was the point of trying to be my mate if—"
Marcus sleepily rubbed his eye. "You're the one that said you wanted everyone to think that we bloody well hated each other! How do you think it'll look like if I didn't hex you? People will start asking questions about it, that's what! Open your sodding eyes, Wood! Do you think that I wanted to hex you?"
Oliver's grip weakened. That did make sense, but it didn't change his disgust towards the situation.
He was angry at Marcus for doing this to him, for humiliating him, for making him feel so small. He was angry that the worst he'd felt in ages was attributed to his mate—at the same time, he had asked for this, so how could he really complain? Oliver was standing at a crossroads.
"I heard you made a perfect phial of the Draught of Peace," Oliver suddenly mentioned in a small voice.
Marcus stiffened but nodded his head.
"How did you do it?" Oliver inquired in a firm voice, cocking his head to one side. He wasn't trying to be rude, but Marcus actually was really stupid. Oliver would genuinely be surprised if he even knew how the word 'Slytherin' was spelled. "You cheated, didn't you? Just like you do with everything."
Marcus shoved him off this time, obviously surprising Oliver.
Oliver thought he had a hold on Marcus, that he was pinning him down and cornering him, but Marcus could've always broken out of that grip. The reason why he didn't shove Oliver back the minute he'd pinned him to the wall made the Gryffindor confused.
"I thought you weren't like everyone else..." Marcus said sombrely, "...that you were different."
"Wake up, Flint! How thick could you be?" Oliver snapped, only for Marcus to gape at him. "We've only been mates for four days and they weren't even all that good! And then you hex me! It took me all day to get rid of those nasty buggers! And they hurt."
"You told me to," Marcus said, voice low, placing his hands in his pockets. "You could've hexed me back."
That statement suddenly made Oliver's heart sink down to his chest. He realised that he'd mucked up then. He'd asked Marcus to make them look like enemies, and then he told him off for doing what he told Marcus to do. He didn't want anyone to know that he was befriending a Slytherin... and Flint to boot! Oliver knew that this would absolutely trivialise his Quidditch tactics and what about his team? They wouldn't listen to a ruddy word he said (well, even more so than usual!) How would Oliver win the House Cup if they knew? But he just didn't know how to explain it to Marcus without sounding like an arsehole.
Oliver looked down at Marcus with a softened expression. "I'm sorry for what I said. It was..."
"It's okay," Marcus said in that same low voice.
"I don't want to hex you," Oliver admitted, and then looked down at his feet.
"I just...I didn't expect you to do it," Oliver tried his best to explain. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. I promise next time I won't be so awful to you."
The silence made Oliver's fingers twitch.
Seeing Marcus wasn't saying anything, Oliver continued to try and console him further, "You can hex me again. You're right. People will start to suspect something if you don't and..."
Marcus stared vacantly at the Gryffindor.
"I just... I still want us to be mates," Oliver called out. "I want us to be best mates."
Marcus slowly nodded his head at this, and Oliver smiled weakly.
"Do you know how the Gryffindor commons look like?" Oliver perked up slightly.
He didn't want to make light of the fact that he'd said some pretty rubbish things to Marcus, but he didn't want them to have an awkward chatter about it.
Marcus shook his head. "An Auror's crime scene?"
"No!" Oliver pouted. "Do you want to see for yourself? I could sneak you in. Godric, I think we could even sneak you into my dorm—it's just me! I'm the only Gryffindor in my year, so it could be just us, having a bit of a laugh before bed! And The Fat Lady likes me. She says I'm the only student that gives her portrait a polish sometimes. She'd definitely let you in, just don't make any one of your brimming comments..."
Marcus chuckled at the last bit, and then followed Oliver with his ratty old blanket.
"Do you like Exploding Snap?" Oliver asked, as they continued to walk down the hallway, looking over at Marcus every few seconds. Suddenly, all the things that he wanted to say in the train came rushing back to him in an instant. He was glad that their row wasn't so bad, but he still felt guilty because he wasn't talking about the awful stuff that he'd told Marcus. "Or do you want to raid the kitchen?"
Marcus slowly nodded his head. "I want biscuits."
"Which are your favourite?" Oliver asked, excitement running in his veins. He was going to be staying up all night playing Exploding Snap with Marcus!
Well, that was what Oliver thought would happen but instead, Marcus fell asleep in the middle of their game together and not even having his hairline nearly maimed by a card rose him up from his state of imminent hibernation. Carrying Marcus to the bed at the end of his huge room, he wondered if Marcus ever wore those Gryffindor scarves that Oliver sent him over during the Christmas holidays...
ADRIAN Pucey was having the bloody time of his life. The whole of Hogwarts thought that he wore carroty frilly knickers and played Quidditch to fill a void regarding his lack of balls.
The stress of it all had led to Adrian having his first few spots! He even had a few of these little buggers on his bum of all places—brilliant to say the least! A ruddy spotty botty was exactly what he needed to perpetuate his declining self-worth. Adrian felt like the lasses wouldn't go out with him if they were stuck in a dark closet with him, having have bathed in Amortentia before they took a gander at his sorry blotchy arse.
Not to mention that his black hair had enough grease to pound out a hearty British fry-up for the whole of the United Kingdom.
Oh, and everywhere he went, he was tossed knickers that were more colourful than Duncan Ingleebee.
Bletchley attempted to cheer Adrian up by telling him; at least you can say you've gotten into a girl's knickers now! Easy for Bletchley to say, who was riddled with enough zits that he looked like he was closely related to a spotted thick-knee! And that hair! Looked like he'd been exchanging hair tips with Rita Skeeter.
To add onto his tale of woe, his mate, Marcus Flint, was spewing out more bollocks than The Quibbler.
Said mate also somehow convinced Miles and Terence that they should not attempt to actually stick an old Tinderblast up Perfect Prefect Prissy's arse when he was asleep... an event that would indeed have perked Adrian up immensely. Instead, he had a bag of raw baby potatoes sat on his desk with a note that said: thought you slip these in your knickers to make it look like you've got something going on down there besides Chlamydia.
Adrian got rid of the note before any of his mates saw it. He could just imagine Terence trying not to burst into laughter as he 'consoled' Adrian: Chlamydia? Everyone knows you can't get Chlamydia from your hands, mate.
Sat in the library with an open Divination book, Adrian tried to work with his tea cup—try being the key word, as he wasn't exactly allowed to be brewing tea in the library. He couldn't very well do it in his dorm. With his luck, his mates would spike it with so much firewhiskey that he'd probably killed any hopes for anything good in the near future (pun intended). Adrian couldn't go do it in the common room because he was sure that the minute he took his eyes off the thing, a bloke or a lass would enchant miniature sized knickers and have them floating round his tea. This morning, he recalled six red-and-blue polka dotted knickers swimming in circles in his strong brew.
Just as Adrian brought the small white cup to his mouth, it was immediately ripped away from his hands. His surprise dissipated when he noticed that it was Marcus Flint that stole his tea.
"Did you get lost?" Adrian suddenly called out, bewildered. "This is the library."
"Shut up, you twat," Marcus mumbled under his breath, as he sunk down against the small little table that was in front of him. He shifted uncomfortably in his position and Adrian didn't waste any time in sticking a rather large pillow behind the black-haired part-troll so that he'd be more comfortable. A few seconds afterwards, Marcus took the pillow and sent it soaring towards a case of books. It knocked over a few Herbology volumes over a poor unsuspecting first year.
This resulted in them being thrown just outside the library by a furious Madam Pince.
Marcus was laughing gaudily whilst Adrian stared at the library door with annoyance. He was actually trying to study so he could get a higher grade in his Divination class than a D. Grades. Something that Adrian forgot was completely irrelevant to Marcus Flint.
"So, what's my future look like, Pucey?" Marcus smirked as he kept on sipping the tea slowly.
"Why don't you ask your father?" Adrian mumbled in annoyance, only for Marcus to glare at him. "Well?"
"Hey," a voice from above Adrian sounded out and he looked up from where he was sat down at to notice the five-foot-eleven brick wall standing in front of him that had muscles so defined they looked as if his body was expertly carved by a bloke that had mastered the severing charm. Oliver Wood, with his dazzling sparkly brown eyes that could practically turn anyone he ruddy wanted bent if he tried hard enough. Too bad a ghoul had more spine than Wood did. "Leave him alone."
Adrian thought that he must be dreaming. Oliver Wood was telling him to leave Marcus Flint alone?
"I don't appreciate you talking to my mate like that," Oliver said in a stealthily stern voice.
"What?" Adrian didn't even know he could get so angry so quick. He didn't know why but he could feel the blood rush to his cheeks, and his fingers twitch. He turned to Marcus, looking at him like he was less than he'd ever been. "You're mates with a Gryffindor? Merlin, Marc, how many bloody Bludgers did you get hit with when you were in Durmstrang?"
Adrian couldn't help but turn to Oliver with a hard look in his face. "Did you know that your mate thought that his father was under the Imperius by a Greek God? Apparently, Caius Flint is a Seer too, and Ares is going to come for Weasel and tear him apart but also simultaneously use him as a weapon."
Oliver looked over at Marcus with an incredulous look on his face. The only thing that Marcus did was slowly nod, but the disbelief etched in Oliver's face disappeared in seconds.
"The stairs try to murder you and a whole war ended cause of a wee little nipper," Oliver mumbled, rubbing his sturdy arm. "Why is that so ruddy unbelievable?"
Adrian only laughed chaotically in response.
"What's so funny?" Marcus raised an eyebrow.
Adrian just shook his head. "Mate, you're not making any sense. Have a biscuit or something before you start telling me that you support the Holyhead Harpies."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Marcus hissed.
"Stop drinking so much ruddy tea and pick up a bloody tart because you're making less sense than Rita fucking Skeeter!" Adrian didn't know what prompted him to say this. He was extremely annoyed and felt like he'd been having the worst time in the world, as if he could say whatever in Merlin's beard he wanted.
"A tart?" Marcus snorted. "No thanks. I wouldn't want to be a tart like you, Pucey."
Adrian blood pressure was steadily rising. "Take that back! You're the tart!"
He could see that people were pooling around them at this point. Adrian caught sight of a very confused Terence and Miles standing there wide-eyed vacantly, with their mouths hanging open (they could've caught glumbumbles in their mouth), whilst bets were being called out on who would throw the first swing (as if Adrian would ruin his pretty hand! Marcus' cheek was sharp enough to cut diamonds).
"I'm not the one with the frilly orange knickers," Marcus raised an eyebrow in inquiry. "Speaking of orange things, your arse has more filling than a pumpkin pasty."
"At least I have an arse," Adrian spat out. "And at least I don't have the dragon scales look, what with your spine poking out of your back like that. I didn't know trolls mated with Norwegian Ridgebacks."
"At least something wants to mate with me," Marcus hissed.
Adrian was losing his patience and was actually ready to throttle Marcus. He didn't know why he was so angry about tea, but he'd been working so hard and since six in the bloody morning... on a Saturday.
"At least I have a future," Adrian snarled, raising an eyebrow.
Marcus chuckled, as if Adrian said a joke. "At least I didn't get caught wanking by my mum."
Adrian's cheeks coloured in. "At least my mum notices me."
"At least I can fight," Marcus' eyes were looking harder at the moment.
"Aye, you can fight alright! Except when it involves your father socking you," Adrian didn't even realise what he said until he said it, and then he immediately regretted it.
Marcus' face paled significantly, and then he turned redder than Rodolph's nose. He tossed cold tea all over Adrian's pants. Adrian jolted up almost immediately, looking over at the splotch on his school trousers. Like the knickers jokes weren't bad enough without looking like he'd wet himself.
Just before Adrian got get his wand to clean up the splotch, Marcus grabbed it and snapped it.
Marcus broke his wand.
Adrian felt all the blood rushing to his head. A rage encompassed him like no other.
He grabbed Marcus by his elbow, and shoved him to the wall before he slammed his fist into Marcus' face so hard that even Adrian's fist throbbed with the impact.
Marcus grabbed Adrian by his shoulders, gripping tightly and then they somehow ended up rolling around the floor. Adrian shoved his hand into Marcus' drier-than-an-old-lady's-fanny hair, and Marcus grabbed Adrian's long pale arm and bit it hard enough to draw blood.
"That's enough now!" Gemma Farley suddenly weeded through the crowd. "Pucey, Flint... DETENTION!"
Needless to say, Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey were no longer mates. Marcus can't be mates with Terence or Miles anymore either because they're going to back my pumpkin pasty arse, thought Adrian with a smirk on his face. At the end of the day, he'll have mates and Marcus will have... well, nothing (Oliver Wood didn't count).
"WHAT is the meaning of this?" an irritated Snape called out hotly. His eyebrows were furrowed in discontentment and his arms were crossed over his chest. "I've simply run out of hours in the day for you to spend detention in, Flint, and Mr Pucey, wipe that look off your face, or it'll end up in a permanent scowl."
Says the bloke who's face really is set in a permanent scowl, Percy thought to himself as he watched Marcus smirk and Adrian's face colour in deeply. He straightened himself up, because the last thing Percy wanted when he went on to fulfilling his potential as a responsible adult was a curved spine. Successful people did not have curved spines. To add on, Percy could just about imagine the twins "misplacing" his back brace and charming it to remind him how much of a git he was. This notion was based on the fact that currently, Percy had to deal with the fact that his Prefect badge now said Pinhead.
"Mr Weasley, would you care to enlighten us?" Snape drawled on.
Percy shook his head. "Honestly, professor, I wasn't there."
"We had a row. It got bad," Adrian suddenly confessed, knowing that sooner or later, Snape would find out anyway. He rubbed his arm and then bit down his lower lip. "That little bugger snapped my wand so I pounded that smug face in!"
Marcus didn't appreciate being called 'little bugger'. Percy could tell why. Adrian made it out as if Marcus was some snotty-nosed first year trying to play with his older brother. "That sodding git mentioned my father in front of the whole ruddy school! He told everyone that he used to sock me! You're lucky I only broke—"
"Enough of this!" Snape exclaimed. "Report to me after dinner for detention. Flint, you report earlier."
They both reluctantly nodded their heads and gave each other long, piercing stares.
"I have to say, professor," Percy suddenly perked up, his cheeks already starting to redden. "I, too, might... um... need a detention of some sorts as it seems that Adrian Pucey wasn't the only one this afternoon that might have socked someone in the face."
"Might have?" Snape echoed with a sharp look towards Percy. "Weasley, what did you do exactly?"
"Well, in my defence, sir, the blow was me being lenient," Percy offered a sheepish grin in response. "I really wanted to kill him and bury him in the Great Lake instead, but I suppose that if I did that, then getting a respectable job a-after school would be a trifle more difficult than I anticipated."
Snape cocked his head. "Was it by any chance Mr Davies? Because typically, when a Slytherin puts another student in the infirmary, I am notified of it."
"He did not need to go to the infirmary. It was a soft blow," Percy's cheeks only darkened. "He tried to pressurise Penelope, and I happened to catch them in an abandoned classroom whilst I was having a quick walk round the castle. She kept on refusing... er, more intimate behaviour than a snog, and he kept on attempting to touch her. Thus, I thought that the only logical thing for me to do was intervene."
"A soft blow?" Snape reiterated. "Pomfrey is considering sending him to St Mungo's because he's suspected to have a major concussion."
Percy's face remained still. "That's impossible, professor. You need a brain in order to have a concussion."