Settling the Score

Never Bite Off More Than You Can Levitate

Occasionally in life, one tends to have these darling little things called epiphanies. They assault you from virtually nowhere, lingering stealthily in the shadows, creeping into your peripheral vision, and then slapping you right smack in the face.

In my case, I mean that statement quite literally. You see, for today's epiphany, I've come to the realization that Katie's dark, lengthy plait is possessed by I-Hate-Andy demons. (Life's been recruiting, it seems.) How else can the vindictive bugger manage to smack me across the face twelve times in the past five minutes?

Every time Kats so much as blinks, her stupid braid swings up into a graceful little arc and sucker-punches me in the face. Sometimes in the nose, sometimes between the eyes, and sometimes it manages to stuff itself in my mouth mid-whisper.

Let me just say that Herbal Essences does nottaste as scintillating as it smells.

Granted, Katie, Alicia, and I are crammed within a pretty tight spot at the moment—crouched behind a withering, moth-eaten tapestry in the Seventh Floor corridor, shamelessly spying on Angelina and Fred. Why, you ask? Because we're creepy as sodding hell.

"…and you have to make sure to stir three times counterclockwise before adding the Powdered Snare Root…"

Alicia groaned irritably from beside me, the sound muffled by the pale curls lodged all over her face. "Could Angelina beany more sodding boring? They both know they're not there to study—drop the blasted act already."

Kat's titled her head to the side slightly, which resulted in her braid Karate-chopping my jugular vein. "I dunno, I think it's rather cute, actually. You know Fred's completely anti-studying, yet he's willing to set that aside just to spend some time with her."

"Yeah, and pay so much attention," Alicia observed sarcastically, peering over my shoulder through a moth-hole in the rotting fabric.

"Oh, he's definitely paying attention," I corrected, stifling my anger with Katie's satanic hairstyle-choice as I followed Alicia's gaze into the classroom across from us. Fred was simply staring at Angelina intently, head cocked to the side, slight smirk on his lips. "Just not to a word she's saying."

It was quite obvious, the way his dark green irises were tracing her lips, taking in their every curve, smile, purse, and pout, yet not bothering with the academic words they were forming. He was observing her as shamelessly as we were observing them, yet there was an underlying sense of attraction in his raffish stare.

"…but make sure you set the burner at 100 degrees Celsius, or else—"

"Angelina."

All three of us snapped out of our bored inconsequence immediately—Fred hadn't uttered a single, solitary word for the past half-hour. We all scrambled forward on our hands and knees to peer out of the largest hole, shoving each other out of the way in stunning displays of feminine grace and etiquette.

"Katie, get your stupid braid out of my face!" I hissed as I once again got assaulted by a lovely series of whacks, though the brunette ignored me completely as she peered out of the hole, wide-eyed.

"Andy, do you think you could do something with that electrocuted hippogriff you call hair?" Alicia snapped in a harsh whisper, annoyed with the fact that she got the worst view of us all—I was behind Kats, Alicia was behind me.

I pulled a Katie and ignored her, scrambling to another, if not slightly smaller, moth-hole and feasting my voyeuristic eyes. Angelina had stopped her didactic droning, reluctantly pulling her gaze up to meet his. I had a view of both of their profiles, which was limiting in certain aspects, but I'd take it.

"You fancy me."

I nearly choked—Fred was certainly taking the forward route.

Angelina's dark eyes widened considerably, obviously finding the comment as unexpected as I had. Her lips parted briefly in fumbling response, her composure cracking slightly as she descended into flustered and unconvincing statements of denial.

"Fred, I—I don't—I mean, obviously, that's just… well, frankly, just… ridiculous to even—"

"It wasn't a question, love," he stated with traces of a half-smile, leaning forward slightly in his seat, copper hair characteristically disheveled. "I've been watching you be bloody boring as hell for the past hour, and I can see it."

Angelina's gaze was glimmering with uncertainty, as if unsure how to proceed in the precarious situation. Beside me, Katie's breath was stilted and excited, biting down on her lip eagerly, while Alicia was murmuring a steady chorus of 'jump his fit bones!' under her breath.

"Hypothetically," Angelina began with a forced calm, though her countenance was still visibly flustered, "if what you're saying wasn't complete bollocks and I did… you know, fancy you… how could you tell?"

Her expression tried to stay speculative and detached; typical logical and collected Angelina, though a nervous earnestness marked her last four words. His smile widened slightly.

"Hypothetically," he mocked a bit teasingly, making her eyes narrow slightly, "I noticed that you look even more damn beautiful than you usually do, which means you've put on a bit of make-up." Angelina held her composure rather well, though a distinct flush tinged the line of her cheekbones.

"And hypothetically," Fred pressed on, his hand moving closer to hers, "I also noticed that every time you meet my eye, you have to fight back a smile, which is perhaps why you've been avoiding it this whole time."

Her gaze flew down as his hand covered hers, taking in a breath primly to try and keep her calm—bloody hell, she fancied him. I felt a surge of triumph and joy rush through me—all these years…

"And hypothetically," he finally murmured, using her hand to pull her closer to him, leaning forward simultaneously, "when I kissed you two days ago, you kissed me back—albeit you came to your senses after a few minutes, but overall," he paused, lips curved though eyes serious, "you fancy me, Angelina; and I sure as hell fancy you."

Their faces were mere inches apart, the tension tangible as Katie began practically convulsing with excitement—she was the world's biggest sodding sap, bar none. My face was glued to the hole in the fabric, and Alicia's wide blue eyes threatened to bulge out of her face as she clung to her tiny hole desperately.

Finally, Angelina found the courage to look up, expression hard.

"Weasley?"

"Yes, Johnson?"

After a moment, she rolled her eyes exasperatedly, smile spilling onto her lips as she muttered, "Bloody hell, I have to do everything…" And with that she wrapped her fingers around his tie, closing the microscopic distance between them as his lips captured hers.

"Bloody—!"

Katie, physically unable to contain herself, had squealed. Earth-shatteringly. Like really, if I didn't know any better, I'd think a pig had been slaughtered in my left eardrum.

"Kats!" Alicia hissed, furiously pointing to Fred and Angelina as they broke apart, staring out of the door perplexedly.

A deep flush tainted Katie's pale cheeks as she winced, mouthing 'sorry' silently as she tried to move backwards away from the hole, further obscuring herself from the lovebirds' view. However, this proved to be a weebit unproductive—her foot caught on the corner of the aging tapestry.

In a series of painfully loud rips and tears, the dank, heavy fabric came crashing down from it's fixture on the wall, sending the three of us into a chorus of curses and surprised cries. "Argh—I can't see!"

"Forget seeing—I can't bloody breathe!"

"None of us can, you chit!"

"I can't get the stupid thing off!"

"Corners, people—corners!"

"How am I supposed to see the damn corners!"

"We're running out of air! "

"Feel them out!"

"MUST. HAVE. OXYGE—"

And suddenly we were bathed in blinding light. Well, not blinding, but I have a flair for dramatics. And right in the center of the ethereal glow, white light washing over them like gods, stood an indignant Angelina and an incredibly amused Fred.

"Alright, you lot?" he asked easily, tone laced with humor as he took in our entangled limbs, wild-and-ready-to-kill-for-survival expressions, and utterly disheveled hair.

"If they're alright now, they won't be in a few minutes," Angelina threatened heatedly, eyes full of utter disbelief as they ran over us. They held a hint of 'you-three-are-so-in-for-it' in them.

"We were just… you know… tapestry… sniffing," Katie fumbled out, sending Alicia and I encouraging looks, her eyes full of desperation. She clearly didn't want to ruin Angelina and Fred's moment.

"Er, yeah," I said, trying to play along as I grabbed the end of the mottled tapestry, bringing it up to my nose and, for lack of a better option, taking a tentative sniff. It smelled like Hippogriff dung. "Er, it's a good one, guys!"

"Brilliant!" Katie chirped uncertainly, forcing some sort of smile.

Alicia watched this all with distinct impatience, sighing shortly and rolling her eyes. "Look, we were just making sure that you wouldn't screw this up again—a few nights ago you were all binty about this whole thing, and we knew today would probably be your last shot to stop being so thickheaded."

Katie groaned—Alicia was too blunt for her own bloody good. Angelina looked affronted. "I'm more than capable of making decisions on my own, thanks!" she snapped.

"Well you sure as hell weren't a few days ago!"

"Who are you to tell me if I'm right or wrong—I'm the sodding Prefect!"

"Oh, of course, bring up the stupid Prefect argument!"

"What, you're calling my stupid, now?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Johnson, I wasn't before, but if you're going to resort to that than yeah, I am!"

I glanced over at Katie, who was always the mediator in these types of situation (I was usually a bit too amused to come off as sincere), and she tossed me a defeated look, knowing it was all on her shoulders—

"Calm down, love," Fred suddenly murmured into Angelina's ear, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and gently pulling her against his chest. "You're both overreacting, it's nothing worth fighting over."

Angelina, still scowling angrily, relaxed slightly into his grip, some of the stiffness leaving her posture. The motion was both unexpected and endearing. Usually she would've just bitten his head off and stalked away, or pressed on with her relentless argument; but this instant kind of ameliorating effect was unprecedented.

Even Kats, who could probably soothe bloody Voldemort on a good day, usually took ten to fifteen minutes to calm the girl down. However, with those few words, Angelina's breathing was slowing to a steadier level, her anger dwindling into annoyance before my eyes.

"C'mon, let's go get some lunch, yeah? We've been studying for hours," he persuaded, to which she finally nodded irritably, eyes moving away from Alicia's.

"Fine, let's go," she muttered, allowing him to steer her along as they wandered down the hallway. After a good few yards, he glanced over his shoulder, tossing the three of us a mischievous wink.

I couldn't help but grin—good ol' Fred.

"Oh, I do love myself sometimes," Alicia chirped merrily, making Katie's gaze snap over to hers.

"Don't even let me start with you—you were being a right prat!" Katie scolded, eyes narrowing in disapproval. "Be happy that it just so happened to work out nicely."

Alicia rolled her eyes, scoffing. "Please—it wouldn't have worked out any other way. If we had all been normal, she would've stayed behind to yell at us and get all huffy; but this way, she's still with Fred, letting him comfort her and thus solidifying what I predict to be a very happy relationship." She nodded decisively after her diagnosis, pert smile in place.

I stared at her for a second, brow raised. "So you planned that?"

"Basically."

"Hot Merlin, we like to intrude," Katie observed, shaking her head briefly.

A conspiring grin crept over my lips. "But hell, do we do it well."

Alicia and Katie both smirked—credit where credit was due, after all.

"So, I don't know about you lot, but I'm starving—and sick of this stupid blanket!" Alicia grumbled as she shoved the remains of the suffocating tapestry off of her, getting to her feet and brushing her shorts off.

"Agreed," Katie said as she followed suit, flattening down the chaotic wisps that had come loose from her killer braid.

I, however, simply sighed. "Can't," I replied, straightening my clothes but not bothering with my hair—it was way beyond repair at this point. "I got an owl from McGonagall—says I'm supposed to meet her in about fifteen minutes for some Banquet Planning Joy."

Katie wrinkled her nose, lips curling. "Sounds fun."

"Yeah, super," I said dryly.

"Does that mean quality time with Oliver?" Alicia asked, eyes glimmering with amusement.

"Unfortunately," I replied, chewing my lip. Honestly, I was actually a bit anxious about that. I don't know why, really, since we've had plenty of odd, awkward moments before, but my nerves were a little on-edge.

We hadn't talked since that strange moment in the Common Room, and it was making things feel like they were hovering, unsaid. I had yet to decipher what his words had meant, so I still didn't know how to react to them.

Trying to dispel these thoughts, I sighed, causing an array of dark curls to lodge themselves in my face. I tried pushing a hand through them, but my fingers just got stuck midway in the mess of tangles. Why do I even bother?

"Well, have fun then," Alicia said with a grin as she swiveled about, walking toward the staircases with Kats, undoubtedly discussing Fred and Angelina.

"Will do," I muttered, glaring as a loose curl once again fell right between my eyes. Giving my jeans a final brush over, I began to venture to McGonagall's office, wondering what my step-mum would do if I shaved my head.

"Alright, how exactly are we going to do this?"

That was the very question Wood and I had been stumbling upon for the past half hour or so, casting about rather fruitlessly for ideas on how to plan the dreaded Gryffindor Banquet. If I had thought anything was going to be the least bit different between us after last night's encounter, I was sorely mistaken. Wood was as surly as ever.

He sighed irritably in response, maple eyes swimming with annoyance and impatience—neither of us was thrilled to be there. Knowing that we'd never take the initiative to get together ourselves, McGonagall took the time out to make a schedule for our meetings, assigning us two hour planning blocks ever Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday.

That meant that for the next three weeks—two hours a day, three days a week, and certain holidays—Wood and I would be cooped up within some stuffy old classroom, bickering. Lovely woman, that Minnie.

"Look, rolling your eyes like a stroppy cow isn't going to solve anything, alright?" I snapped, irritated by the fact that he was making me do all of the brainstorming as if it were entirely my fault.

"Yeah, and asking the same question seventy sodding times is going to solve somuch," he replied sarcastically, leaning back into his chair with a bored, dismissive air.

My eyes narrowed, shooting him a distinctly annoyed look as I plucked my quill off the table, bringing it to the empty piece of parchment before me and letting it hover purposelessly. After a moment, I simply scribbled 'Banquet Ideas' on the top of the page, underlining it rather crookedly, much to my annoyance.

"Okay, so—"

"Look, Wiles," Wood interrupted, raising his hands up in resignation, "you're a girl of sorts—planning parties and whatnot is your sort of thing. Strict no-bloke zone."

I raised a brow, expression cool. "A girl 'of sorts,' Wood? If you're going to try to get yourself off the hook, keyword being 'try', you might want to refrain from insulting me in the process."

He rolled his eyes at my crisp tone, exhaling irritably. "Oh, shove off and quit acting like you're insulted," he responded, angling his chair back onto its two back legs, "what I meant is you're not a girly girl, but go ahead and take it as an insult, hell would probably freeze over if you didn't."

My eyes narrowed as I twiddled the quill about in my fingers, expression taking on a grumpy tinge. "Yeah, well... whatever," I grumbled dismissively, refocusing my attention on the empty parchment before me and sighing. "Alright, well how about we look at some past banquets for examples?"

He shot me a pointed look, eyes flat and dismissive. "You're kidding, right? What's there to look at?"

I glanced down at the parchment, mindlessly chewing my bottom lip—he had a point. All there had been in the past was a few boring speeches, mediocre food, the occasional slideshow, and every now and then a bit of stiff, awkward dancing. Nothing to really go off of.

I sighed irritably, slumping back against my seat and returning his flat gaze. "Well, what do you suggest? I mean, it's not like we can make it much better than last year's—"

I paused as his gaze took on a spark of challenge, the very corners of his lips lifting ever so slightly. I decided almost immediately that I wasn't too fond of that look, despite the fact that it made him look oddly se—well, never mind.

"Why not?"

My face crumpled slightly with confusion. "Why not what?"

"Why can't we make it better than last year's, and the year before that, and the year before that?"

My brow furrowed, eyes staring at him with blooming perplexity. "What do you—"

"Hear me out, Wiles," he interjected, straightening out his chair with a heavy clatter as he leaned forward, face taking on an inexplicably conspiring look. "All of the past years, the banquets have been right miserable, yeah?"

"Yeah…"

"And everyone's always on about how maybe one day, someone will actually make it bearable, yeah?"

"Yeah…"

"But everyone says it with a tinge of 'oh-that'll-never-happen' in their voice, yeah?"

"Stop ending your bloody sentences with yeah!"

A look of confusion briefly swept over his face, though it was promptly replaced by the all-too familiar ambitious look his features took on whenever he was about to attempt a dangerous save. "Well… why don't we make it happen?"

I stared at him, confused. "You mean make the banquet… fun?"

His smirk widened into a conspiring grin. "Not fun—bloody fantastic."

My brows steadily furrowed, head easing into a slow shake. "That's like… not possible, Wood – the very foundations of earth would self-destruct if a Gryffindor banquet were ever actually good."

"See, that's what everybody thinks," he corrected, eyes taking on a distinct glow, "but what if we're the ones to finally break the stereotype and make it a night everyone will remember?"

I simply stared at him, unable to fully comprehend the enormity of his words. "But… I mean… why?"

It was a simple question, but legitimate all the same—the amount of work it would require to make the Gryffindor banquet exciting, let alone bearable, was gargantuan. They'd need to up the decorations, the music, the guest speakers, the food, and the overall hype: everything.

He merely shrugged, leaning back into his seat easily. "Dunno—if we're stuck putting this rubbish together, we might as well make it worthwhile."

He had a point—if we were going to have to organize it regardless of choice, it'd probably be more bearable if we actually got into it. Besides, we were both part of the group that was always the first to complain about how terrible the banquets were; that should theoretically mean that we know how to make it better.

"You realize how much work that'll take, don't you?"

"So what?" he responded, challenge glimmering in his gaze. "We're both used to work—Merlin knows I've ridden you hard enough during—"

His words trailed off as their double-meaning hit, striking both of us at the same time and rendering me in a state of momentary shock. Images that I had great difficulty handling barged into my mind unannounced, briefly seizing hold of my thoughts without any sort of invitation.

Images that I did not want roaming around my mind. Most of the time. All of the time, I mentally snapped, disgusted by my own hormonal brain.

"…during Quidditch," he finally clarified, tone low and even. "I've been… hard on you during Quidditch," he changed subtly, having briefly searched for a different phrase.

"I got it," I replied a bit awkwardly, internally rolling my eyes. I mean, obviously I knew he didn't mean it sexually, since Merlin knows that would never happen.

"I never said it would," he replied with a hint of indignation, making my eyes narrow briefly before widening into round circles—had I really sodding said that out loud? "Besides, I don't see why you would be so quick to deny, since you'd have gotten the good end of the bargain," he huffed.

My stare went from wide-eyed to slitted in about three milliseconds: so that's how he wanted to play this, then? "Oh, really?"

"Really."

"You think so, do you?"

"Obviously."

I scoffed, eyes veering into a disgusted roll. "You are so bloody full of yourself—I'll have you know that I wouldn't get within a foot of you if my entire life depended on it."

"Oh, I highly doubt that," he stated smugly, making my lips purse.

"And why's that?" I asked coolly.

"Because you already have."

At this I snorted, derision lining the inflections in my tone. "Have I?"

"Yes."

"Explain."

"Is that an order?"

"Did you hear a please?"

"I'd sure like to."

"Pity."

"Agreed."

"Would you stop avoiding the sodding question and answer me, damn it?" I demanded, growing increasingly more frustrated with every passing second.

He cocked his head to the side briefly, as if contemplating. "I dunno, Wiles; I'd really like that please…"

Gaze tapering humorlessly, my eyes flattened. "Please."

His lips lifted into a smug little half-smirk. "Well, if I recall correctly, you had me pinned down to your bed just recently—"

"Oh, grow up," I interjected, rolling my eyes dismissively, "I was trying to get my diary back; that had nothing to do with getting near you!"

"I dunno, you seemed rather pleased with yourself…"

"Because I ended up getting it back, genius," I snapped testily, folding my arms across my chest.

He smirked darkly, mimicking my posture and crossing his arms. "Don't act like straddling me wasn't a convenient little plus."

I grimaced, willing myself to feel some sort of nausea and growing irritated by the fact that I was coming up short. "Try a gigantic minus."

He snorted derisively. "Please, love—far better girls have been deprived of that experience. Consider yourself lucky."

For a moment, I couldn't help but feel the slightest bit slapped—far better girls? But it came and it went without very much consequence, and my wry, cynical expression returned almost instantly. "And by that I suppose you mean tarty bints like Fiona Price?"

His brow raised, making me slightly regret using such a specific name. "You know Fiona?"

"Yeah, we go way back," I replied sarcastically.

"You know, she actually mentioned you the other day," he commented, posture once again growing casual and slightly conspiring, as if he was carefully plotting something in his head. "Said it was a pity you were off the team, given your talent and whatnot."

My irritation gave way to slight confusion as my brow furrowed skeptically—the last thing she'd seemed back in the Common Room was sympathetic. "She said that?"

"Yeah," he affirmed, half-smile dark, "but I told her not to worry, since there was plenty of fresh talent out there just waiting to replace you." He shrugged, easing back into his seat comfortably, lazy smirk infuriating. "Who knows, maybe they'll even outdo you."

"Maybe," I gritted out coolly, anger swirling lowly beneath the surface.

"Maybe," he confirmed, crossing his arms behind his head casually and pulling them up into a languid stretch. "She's quite fit, Fiona is," he mumbled through a yawn, just loud enough for me to hear.

I couldn't help but snort at this. "Yeah, if you're into that sort."

He raised a brow, intrigued. "And what sort is that?"

I cocked my head to the side. "Well, let's see, shall we? The sort that takes about three hours getting ready for things, the sort that looks like she'd rather commit suicide than get near anything that earthworms could potentially live in, the sort who—"

"Makes other girls jealous?" he ventured, lips curling at the corners—Merlin, he was bloody insufferable today.

"Oh, as if," I replied, wondering where these constant accusations were coming from, "do I really look like the sort who cares about that rubbish?" I fingered the long, dark tumble of loose curls trailing down my shoulders, pointing out their messiness. "That's afraid to get a little dirty?"

"I dunno, Wiles," he replied, leaning forward slightly, eyes glimmering suggestively, "are you afraid to get a little dirty?"

My heart inexplicably quickened for a split second, his expression making my skin feel a bit warm. Where the hell had thatcome from? After a moment, I managed to merely scoff disgustedly at the innuendo, shaking off the strange sensation dancing over my skin. "Dream on, Wood."

"Likewise, love."

For a moment we just sat in silence, staring at the other with varying expressions of critical speculation. This conversation had a far more prominent sexual undercurrent that any of our previous arguments had had, rendering it more than slightly puzzling.

For the second time this week, Wood had me confused.

"So… we're making this banquet good, then?" I asked, breaking the slightly tense silence and raising a brow.

He smirked slightly, his chair once again balancing on two legs, "Yeah, I suppose we are."

I stared at him for a moment, holding his ambitious gaze uncertainly before simply giving way to a sigh, slouching my head against my palm. "Brilliant."