Settling the Score

Revenge is Best Served by McGonagall

Poke.

"Are you going to try out?"

"No."

Poke.

"Try-out."

"No."

Vicious poke.

"Do it!"

"No!"

Torpedo poke.

"George, poke me one more bloody time and you won't have any fingers left to do it with!" I finally snapped, swiveling around in my seat and glaring. We had been stuck in Herbology – which was actually more of a study hall today since Professor Sprout had come down with some sort of cold – for over an hour and about eighty percent of it thus far had been poke-filled.

George simply puffed his lips into a perfectly executed pout, his eyes widening with fabricated sadness. "Please?"

I rolled my eyes, immune to the trite look after so many years of succumbing to it. "You look like a gold fish with down-syndrome."

The expression crumpled right off his face, replaced instead with a defeated, martyred look. "C'mon, Andy – Slytherin match is in a fortnight! This little game you and Wood are playing is costing the whole team."

My eyes narrowed. "Well why don't you go tell him that, since he's the one who's not letting me back on."

"He's letting you try-out again!"

"Exactly – again!" I echoed heatedly, turning further in my desk so that my legs hung off the side of the chair. "If he weren't so bloody stubborn he'd just let it all blow over and readmit me."

"And if you weren't so bloody stubborn you'd just try-out," George countered, raising an auburn brow at me when I glared fiercely. "It goes both ways, love."

I parted my lips to respond, but upon realizing I didn't really have anything to retaliate with, settled with a low grumble. "Whatever."

I turned back around in my chair, scowling bad-temperedly and absently picking up my quill. A moment of miffed silence ensued until…

Poke.

"GEORGE WEAS—"

"Is there an Andora Wiles is this class?"

I cringed at the sound of my full name, glancing at the front of the room warily. A seventh year boy with primly combed black hair and rather feminine features stood at the front of the room, gazing about with vacant eyes.

"That's me," I responded guardedly, fully aware of the Slytherin prefect badge pinned onto the breast pocket of his robes.

His bored gaze landed on me, and he motioned with his hand for me to follow him out the door. I threw a suspicious glance at George before sliding out of my seat, ignoring the obnoxious 'ooh's I heard a few students begin to jeer.

I pushed open the heavy door, noting the fact that the boy let it slam in my face without any intention of holding it open. Chivalry personified.

He was waiting outside the doorway, his gaze floating over to mine impatiently. "I have places to be, Gryffindor, so let's make this quick." He had an odd way of talking – for some reason none of the rest of his face moved.

My eyes narrowed as he began to walk away briskly, assuming that I'd follow him like a spineless First Year. "Whoa - hold up, why'd you take me out of class?"

He stopped and swiveled around, his gaze tapering slightly at the sight of my unmoving frame. "Oh, me? I just thought it'd be fun to have you follow me about and ask me questions, given the obnoxious, dimwitted nature of the people in your House," he responded sarcastically.

I felt my temper beginning to simmer beneath the surface of my skin at the haughty remark. "It's funny, Botox-face, because you just described your own House quite accurately."

His upper lip curled into an outraged sneer, his dark eyes flashing angrily at the comment. "Botox-fa – I have not had Botox, you hag!"

I raised a dark brow, snorting derisively. "Someone must've petrified your face then – too bad it didn't work on your mouth."

"Why, you—!" he began, but then he suddenly stopped, taking a step closer and peering at me curiously. "Wait a minute… Wiles…"

I stared at him strangely, wondering what the hell he was doing as he tried to place something in his head. After a moment he snapped his fingers, a malicious smirk overcoming his lips. "Gryffindor Seeker."

I stared at him dryly. "Very good."

"Or as most of us have taken to calling you, Viper bait."

My stubborn pride flared dangerously at those words, sick of all the overrated buzz surrounding that one, stupid name – Irik Viper. The only reason he looked so magnificent on the field was because the only team he'd played against – Ravenclaw – had an injured Seeker and two sick Chasers, thus rendering it an easy win.

I mean, honestly, it's really easy to look amazing when you're being compared to someone with a few broken limbs.

Hufflepuff was forced to forfeit against them since they were a player short due to failing marks, though they weren't exactly a powerhouse this year anyway. Gryffindor cruised through that game easily, though they did have a very talented Keeper.

Ravenclaw was actually in full health when Gryffindor was matched against them, and they were back with a vengeance after being annihilated by Slytherin. They put up a tough fight, but the Gryffindor team was simply too strong and fast for them.

Hence, due to the fact that Gryffindor actually had to play against Ravenclaw, Slytherins turned up their noses and scoffed about their superiority, claiming that their game was a blow out whereas ours was rather close.

Thickheads.

"Well you can tell Viper that, once again, his overrated arse is going to get the easy way out," I snarled heatedly, for the first time really realizing what my quitting would entail, "because I'm not on the team anymore."

He raised a nicely-shaped brow—a bit too nicely shaped to be natural. "You're not?"

I gritted my teeth together, forcing my chin up. "No."

His face broke out into a leering grin. "Afraid of him, are you? I knew the hype about you was straight bollocks."

"I'm not afraid of that nancy cow!" I snapped in defense, taking a menacing step forward and clenching my fingers tightly at the mere thought.

"Convenient time to be quitting."

My eyes tapered into mere slits, volatile rage threatening to spill from them. "Don't even go there, this has nothing to with that puffed up swine – it's between me and Wood."

The boy snorted wryly. "The moronic slave-driver, I almost pity you."

My anger stilted slightly at the words, and I suddenly felt strangely defensive. I mean, I could insult and snap and whine about Wood all I wanted, but I wasn't too fond of this pompous Slytherin doing the same. "Slave-driver, maybe, but we do win our games – moronic is just absurd."

"Oh, please," he replied, motioning at me haughtily. "That ponce doesn't have a thought in his head that isn't Quidditch-related."

My eyes grew steely with indignation – indignation – what was wrong with me? "I suppose that's why he was offered Head Boy."

I mean, honestly, even I know that Wood was uncannily bright – how else could he dream up such brilliant game plans? It was actually insanely annoying, because it made bickering with him a very mentally-taxing process – he usually knew exactly what to say to leave me brooding.

"He was offered Head Boy?" the boy echoed in astonishment, his fingers shooting up to his over-polished Prefect's badge tentatively.

"Yes," I replied smugly, unsure of why I was gleaning such satisfaction on behalf of Wood's defense, "but he declined it - too many scheduling conflicts."

The boy simply stared in stunned disbelief, slowly cascading into a jealous world of thoughts concerning his own deprival of the coveted badge. "Oliver Wood… un-bloody-believable…"

I rolled my eyes dismissively, feeling suddenly very tired with the conversation. "Look, you needed to tell me something?"

The boy snapped out of his thoughts, his lips curling back into their haughty sneer as he composed himself. "Right – McGonagall wants you in her office."

I felt a pang of wariness shoot through my body at the idea of a private conference with the strict Head of House. "Now?"

"Yes," the boy responded with a sniff, turning around and taking a few strides away before adding, "actually, you're late."

"Oh, piss," I muttered as I pushed a loose strand of hair out of my face, trying to dream up the fastest route to the Transfiguration room.

After a moment or two of quick thinking, I decided on just taking the long route since I wasn't quite as crafty as the Tomato Twins and I didn't know any crazy secret passage ways. I have to make George give me a tour of all the secrets of Hogwarts one day – he knows every shortcut and room in the entire castle somehow.

She's not going to be very happy with me, I thought wearily as I reached her door a good five minutes later, taking a deep breath before pushing it open.

I stopped after a moment, surprised to see Wood sitting in the chair in front of her desk, apparently trying to reason with the strict older woman. McGonagall was shaking her head in obvious disagreement, preaching something about respect going both ways when her stern green eyes met mine.

"Oh, hello, Ms. Wiles – nice of you to join us," she greeted in a surprisingly sincere way, no sarcasm lying beneath her tone.

I smiled uncomfortably as I took a few steps, surprised that I wasn't receiving a lecture about punctuality – her little spat with Wood must've been a sufficient distraction. "Er – hello."

"Do sit down."

I slowly slid into the chair next to Wood's, not meeting his gaze purposefully – we had yet to talk since our rather angry row a few days ago. "You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Indeed," she replied curtly, her stare flitting between me and Wood repeatedly, as if gauging something. "Ms. Wiles, it has come to my attention that you've decided to resign your position as Seeker for the Gryffindor team."

My eyes narrowed slightly, fighting the urge to snap over and glare at Wood. "Is that what he told you?"

The woman frowned. "Is that incorrect?"

"Hardly—"

"Mr. Wood, I was addressing Ms. Wiles," McGonagall said curtly, seeming slightly annoyed with the insolent boy.

I fought the urge to smirk victoriously, feeling a bit more comfortable now that I knew McGonagall was prone to taking my side. "Well, although I initially did quit the team – granted I had my reasons – I had every intention of rejoining—"

"Bollocks!"

"Language, Wood!" McGonagall snapped, glaring at him sharply for a moment before resettling her flustered gaze on me, exhaling crossly. "Please continue, Andora."

The left corner of my lips lifted slightly into a smug half-smile, though I restrained myself from sending him a triumphant look. "Well, the bottom line is that Wood told me that the only way I had any sort of shot of rejoining the team is by trying out again, and even then it would be unlikely."

McGonagall processed this information for a moment, raising a severe brow and slowly switching her gaze over to Wood. "Is this true, Mr. Wood?"

I could hear him sigh with frustration. "Well, yes – taken out of context."

"Taken out of context?" I asked, swiveling about to face him now with outraged eyes. His hair was slightly disheveled and his maple eyes were bright with simmering anger – he looked like he'd been at this argument for a while.

"Yes, taken out of context," he echoed angrily, gesturing with his hand for emphasis. "You can't just conveniently skip over the part where you insult my position as captain, skip practice just to sleep in—"

"Once I'd already quit!"

"—disrespect my authority—"

"Maybe if you didn't abuse it!"

"—kind of like you're doing now—"

"You're not my authority!"

"I'm your sodding captain!"

"I'm not on the team, you bloody mor—"

"Mr. Wood and Ms. Wiles – do restrain yourselves!" McGonagall cried shrilly, her voice adopting the same high-strung, frantic quality it always took on when she was angry.

Both of us shut our mouths furiously, glaring wordlessly at each other before snapping our gazes over to McGonagall sharply. She was staring at as reprovingly, her sharp eyes narrowed. "Are you both quite finished?"

I heard Wood grunt rudely. "She started it—"

"Are you kidding me!?"

"Oh, so it was me, was it!?"

"Well, obviously, you sodding wan—!"

"Cease and desist!" McGonagall interjected yet again, her green eyes blazing at our indignant lack of respect for her authoritative presence. "Goodness, the first years are more mature than you two!"

I exhaled crossly, ripping my turbulent glare away from Wood and staring at a random piece of parchment on her desk heatedly.

"Now—if you two can search deeply and find it within yourselves to act your age, maybe we can reason this out," McGonagall said crisply, voice slightly acidic. "Do you think you're capable of that?"

My glare grew steely. "I am – he's probably another story."

"Would you stop assuming you know everything for once in your life!?"

"I don't assume I know everything!"

"Oh, really? Because it seemed like you were assuming that I wouldn't be capable of a mature conversatio—"

"There's a difference between assumption and fact!"

"Oh, it's a fact, now, is it!?"

"Did I stutte—"

"WOULD YOU LOT STUFF IT ALREADY?" McGonagall finally exploded, her voice cracking with shrill exasperation as she knocked her fist onto the polished surface of the desk.

Both Wood and I immediately silenced, our words dissolving off of our tongues at the volatile frustration in the stern woman's eyes. "Both of you are representative of my House, so you will behave civilly, is that clear!?"

We both nodded gruffly, my eyes settling into a quiet glare as I lowered my gaze to my hands. They were clenched tightly and somewhat red from my nail marks, which made me loosen my fists slightly. I hadn't even realized I'd balled them up in the first place.

After a moment or two of what was most likely an alleged 'calming' silence, McGonagall nodded brusquely, somewhat satisfied.

"Very well – now I've come to a conclusion," she stated matter-of-factly, making both me and Wood glance up questioningly, eager to hear her verdict.

She had to side with me, I mean, she outright snapped at Wood a few times. Granted, she snapped at both of us quite a few times, but she doesn't like blokes as much.

Besides, I'm the right one.

In fact, I know what'll happen – she'll make Wood beg for me to rejoin and I'll feel much better and laugh obnoxiously in his smarmy fa—

"Neither of you is justified."

I blinked, slowly and deliberately. What?

"You two have personal issues that you need to resolve outside of the pitch, because after those consecutive outbursts, it's clear that you're rather violent antagonism toward each other goes beyond Quidditch," she declared, making both of us stare at her like she was utterly mental.

We had nothing else in common besides Quidditch – that's the only thing we ever talked about! We weren't even in the same year, we had none of the same classes except for Arithmancy, which I was a year ahead in – how were our issues 'beyond Quidditch'?

"The only way I see fit to remedy this situation is to give the two of you more time together to battle it out—"

What!?

"—so you can really get past this silly nonsense and do what's best for the team," she stated authoritatively, though a competitive gleam surfaced in her eyes, "because Merlin knows I am notlosing to Slytherin; Severus has been positively insufferable these days with that Irik Viper…"

Somewhere in the back of my mind, the name made my brain jolt with irritation, though at the moment my head was too consumed with apprehensive dread – more time with Wood? Did she not realize that more time spent together simply meant more time spent fighting?

"Anyway, what do you two think about heading the Gryffindor Banquet?"

An immediate surge of bile rose in my throat at the idea, my stomach swirling with an unpleasant squirm. The House Banquets were just about the lamest, most painfully boring functions Hogwarts ever had the stupidity of creating.

They were just a stupid excuse for each house to go off about how amazing it was and what talent it had – of course Ravenclaw and Slytherin always had a field day. Slytherin always got thousands of galleons put into their banquet, making it as extravagant a party as humanly possible; while Ravenclaw simply couldn't quite fit all their nerdy accomplishments into one night.

Both houses made a huge deal out of the House Banquets, whereas Gryffindor and Hufflepuff saw them for what they were – utterly pointless. Hence, theirs were always shoddy – a few boring guest speakers, a bit of ball dancing, and idle chitchat.

In fact, the only thing that could possibly be more boring than attending the Banquet would be planning the Banquet.

I pity the person who has to do both. Oh, right – silly me. I am that person.

"…are you serious?"

McGonagall's no-nonsense eyes snapped over to mine mirthlessly. "Incontrovertibly."

McGonagall speak for 'you're damn right', I took it. "Do we have a choice?"

Her eyes simply narrowed into dangerously thin slits. "Take a wild guess." This seemed to fall into the 'no' category.

"There's no chance of getting out of it?" I ventured, feeling the beginnings of desperation in the pit of my stomach as I watched her lips purse coolly.

"Buckbeak's far more likely to become Minister of Magic." Another form of 'no' – you'd think that the simple word would suffice.

My eyelids lowered in tetchy defeat as my gaze snapped over to Wood, accusing glare already in place – a good chunk of this was his fault, after all.

He was staring at McGonagall with a skeptically wary expression, dark eyes serious. "Surely you're kidding, Professor – those banquets are hell…"

Her tight lips lifted slightly into a satisfied smirk. "I don't 'kid', Wood."

I sighed heavily, crossing my arms in front of my chest as she began listing the various projects we'd be undertaking, each one getting considerably more boring than the last—the exciting range went from the silverware selection to the wild world of napkins.

My eyes narrowed dryly as she droned on.

This was going to be fun.

Author's Note: Quick-ish update; please review! I haven't forgotten about the Weasley plot, for those of you who are wondering what it is :o) Fav. quotes (although I know there are probably not all that many in this chapter) are always scrumptious!