Settling the Score

The Calm Before the Broomcloset

"I'm trying to study."

"I noticed."

"Then do you think you could stop?"

"Stop what?"

"Don't be thick, Fred."

"I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about, Johnson."

"Oh, I doubt—FRED!"

"Problem, love?"

Angelina set her Potions book down with an exasperated huff, swiveling around to glare at the redhead sprawled beneath her. Fred merely blinked innocently in response. Rolling her eyes at the deceitful expression, she turned back around and resettled herself into his arms, gaze dropping back down to the pages of her book. His eyes darkened with mischief as he waited a few moments, then stealthily lowered his lips to the exposed patch of skin right below her ear. The instant he made contact, brushing them lightly against her neck in a teasing sort of kiss, she let out a growl of frustration.

"Weasley!"

"Oh, c'mon, love—you've been studying for two hours," he griped, his whole face scrunching in boredom.

"Yeah, for a huge test, Fred! Doing badly would jeopardize my entire Potions grade," she snapped, attempting to twist her way out of his grip as he playfully clung on to her, "and thanks to you, I've barely even covered half the chapter." He merely rolled his eyes, refusing to let her go by tightening his arms around her waist. She squirmed around more fiercely, seemingly doubling her efforts, but the roguish grin was already curling at the ends of his lips: she wasn't going anywhere.

"Fred!"

"Just take a quick break…"

"No."

"Please?"

"No!"

"Angelina…"

She hesitated as he caught her gaze, staring at her with a devastatingly persuasive expression: lips curved slightly upward, copper hair ruffled, eyes suggestive. "I…"

"It'll be a short break," he murmured, drawing her closer and capturing her lips in a light kiss, "ten minutes tops, I swear."

"Liar," she said.

"Guilty," he replied in between kisses, causing her to smile briefly against his mouth.

I watched this all unfold in the Common Room with a distinct look of nausea plastered onto my face. Don't get me wrong, I'm sodding ecstatic about the fact that Angelina and Fred finally got together and everything, but in my present state of cynicism, PDA is the last thing I want to see, from Angelina and Fred or otherwise. Apparently, however, I'm alone in this sentiment: everyone else seems to be swooning over Hogwarts' newest It Couple, clinging to their every little move like they're a soap-opera. I mean, if you think about it, they kind of sound like one: a love/hate feud between the Future Head Girl and the Resident Prankster? One makes the rules, one breaks them?

Boom: love.

To be honest, it's kind of a weird feeling to hear everyone talking about them—a bit like realizing we've turned into the people we used to hear things about when we were still new to Hogwarts. I remember when I was a first year, the sixth years were the class that everyone always gossiped about. There were always wild rumors circulating about parties and drama and lies, but by far the two most talked about people were Juniper Street and Dominic Hale.

Juniper was considered one of the most striking girls to ever set foot in Hogwarts—tall and curvy with dark hair and even darker, exotically cut eyes—and she was also considered one of the most, well, accommodating. 'Take a ride on Juniper Street' was the slogan, I believe. I don't think I fully understood it at eleven. Dominic was a complete and utter playboy, and it wasn't because of his looks. He was a decently attractive guy, sure, but there was another aspect of him that probably gave him most of his star appeal: he's considered the best Quidditch player Hogwarts has ever seen.

Ever.

His statistics are legend—Seeker since first year, Captain since third, seven House Cups, cut the existing record for catching the snitch in half, broke his own records several times, invented moves now emulated by Pro-teams… the bloke was a monster. And a complete prick. And hence, the vapid rollercoaster of Juniper and Dominic's relationship was anything anyone ever talked about—who cheated on who, who lied to who, who got drunk and slept with who—people were obsessed. It was somewhat engrossing, I'll admit it, but we all grew out of it pretty fast. Come third year, our own inter-house dramas and scandals started to form, and like clockwork, a new batch of fresh faces came along to eagerly watch the show.

It was just weird to think that now, Angelina and Fred, two people that are so normal and everyday to me, are one of the hottest new stories to follow. It's so trivializing, gossip is—half the rubbish about Dominic and Juniper wasn't even true. Who knows what the hell they're saying about these two? Or why I'm even taking the time out to care, for that matter. I just feel like being a bitter cow about everything. Apologies in advance.

"…be done in about an hour, and we can do whatever you want, alright?"

By the time I'd pulled myself out of my thoughts, Angelina had managed to free herself from Fred's death grip and was planting a kiss on his scowling forehead. She badly repressed a smile at the childish look on his face, grabbing her precious Potions book and ruffling his hair. "Later, Andy," she said, her voice a bit more tentative then it usually was, and I scowled: everyone had been treating me like a pregnant woman on steroids since last night's little episode. It's like they thought I was going to snap and kill everyone at any second. Yesterday I walked into the dormitory and found Alicia, Angelina, and Kats huddled together and whispering confidentially, and naturally they went silent the second they saw me.

It was a bit on the aggravating side, but at the very least, I appreciated the space to think.

Fred sighed as he watched Angelina exit the portrait hole, leaning back against the couch with a look of half-hearted annoyance. "That's what I get for dating a Prefect." The grin beneath the words was unmistakable. He swung his gaze over to me, and after a moment, parted his mouth to say something—something a bit more serious from the look of his toned down expression—when a sudden commotion came crashing through the portrait hole. I jolted a few inches in my seat, pushing myself up from my slouched posture and craning my neck to see—

Oh, bloody hell. My friends are complete idiots.

Streaking through the portrait hole on sodding brooms were none other than George Weasley and Lee Jordan, expressions of intense competition furrowing their faces as they swerved dangerously close to a few unsuspecting heads. People ducked and a few girls screamed as the reckless duo shattered the previous calm of the room, flying low and dangerously fast overhead in what appeared to be some sort of race. George flew slightly ahead of Lee, though Lee was gaining on him.

"How many times?" George called over his shoulder, bent low over his broom, eyes dancing with competition.

"Three!" Lee bellowed, and the two instantly veered around the corner of the room, circling it recklessly and knocking down a few lamps and a painting in the process. I watched in sardonic disbelief as the two whirled around the room three times, a chaotic blur of skin and hair that left nobody safe. Lee nearly took out a little boy playing Exploding Snap, and George managed to knock over the Wizard's Chess table with his foot. "Where next?" Lee called, swerving last minute to avoid hitting the same little boy—the poor thing was going to be scarred for life.

"Divination Tower—through the back window—over the lake—back in through the Astronomy Tower—over the Great Hall…"

Upon completing three laps, they both made a sharp turn back to the portrait hole, zooming through it one by one—George in the lead—and leaving a whirlwind of flying papers and shocked expressions behind them. Fred and I both looked at each other, expressions flat and unsurprised. "A week, y'reckon?" I asked, raising a brow—he knew better than I did what kind of detention that would get them.

"Nah," he surmised, assessing the damage with a brief flit of his gaze, "I'd say a good month." His lips curled into a grin as his eyes re-met mine, gaze taking on a twinkle. "Two if McGonagall's feeling feisty."

They're plotting something.

I can feel it. Every time I walk into the room, Kats says something stupid, Angelina goes silent, and Alicia rolls her eyes at how suspicious they both look. Take now, for instance. It's somewhere around midnight, and even though it's a Friday, I'm more than ready for bed. Quidditch try-outs were on Wednesday, and it's been a hell of a long week to finish. I think I've snapped at people more in the past two days than my entire life combined.

And I don't mean people I know, who'll realize why I've turned into a psycho-bitch and let is slide for a few days—I mean people I've never even talked to before. Yesterday, a group of fourth year girls was sitting next to me at the Great Hall for breakfast, talking about blokes and blokes and—oh, could it be blokes?—the entire sodding time. One said something along the lines of, "I got a new lip gloss, and he didn't even notice!" and I might've said something along the lines of, "Why don't you try a positive IQ—he'll probably shit his bloody pants."

These were scattered intermittently throughout the day, making me a rather disliked person among the various underclassmen of Hogwarts, but I really couldn't bring myself to care. I was irritable and grumpy, and I didn't feel like letting it out any other way. What's more, I usually run or something to keep active whenever Quidditch is off-season, but for the past week I've done absolutely nothing requiring mitochondria—my movements are all sluggish and inescapably lazy.

So, tired and irritable, clambering up the stairs to the dormitory, I could already hear the hum of their hushed voices emitting from the crack beneath the door. Occasionally Alicia's voice would get too loud, and I could hear the mention of 'locked' and 'whole night' through the muffled mumble. I wasn't exactly thrilled by that verbal duo. I parted the door quietly as they continued to murmur, slowly pushing it forward and managing to avoid the inevitable creak near the middle. Huddled together atop Angelina's bed, the three heads were pulled together in clandestine scheming, the blond one bobbing up and down more than the rest.

"…has to be tonight, tomorrow's Hogsmeade and class starts up again on Monday."

"Bloody hell, are we really doing this?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you got into someone else's business." I didn't even have to look to know that was Angelina.

"And now you have a boyfriend you can't stop grinning like an idiot about, so stuff it." Alicia, naturally.

"I'm so happy you two finally got together." Hi, Katie.

"Oi, guys, focus—we have a plan to follow through that I'm risking my badge for!" Angelina-the-Pragmatic.

"Alright: so are we going to use a broom closet or the dungeons for this?"

"I dunno, Wood—"

"PECKERS!"

Katie's eyes were gaping saucers as they stared straight at me, horrified. I was leaning against the doorframe, head tilted with a distinct look of curiosity splashed across it. Angelina and Alicia were utterly confused, their backs turned to me, a sea of blonde curls and a pretty mane of long braids.

"Kats, what the—"

"Wood-peckers prefer, er, you know, wood, so I think a broom closet would be a better place to hide them…"

Alicia turned to Angelina, profile concerned. "I think she's got Mad-Cow…"

Her words drifted, however, as her sardonic gaze landed on mine, dawning realization clouding the clear blue. Her mouth parted briefly into an 'o' of understanding, and she followed this action with a not-so-subtle jab in Angelina's ribcage.

"Oi, you little bint—!" Her words silenced as she caught sight of me, entire body freezing conspicuously. I raised a brow: if these three ever had to lie for me on a witness stand, I would just convict my bloody self and get it over with.

"'Lo, you lot," I said a bit more breezily than absolutely necessary, brow still arched and arms dutifully crossed.

"Hey, Andy," Katie chirped—over-brightly, as usual. She was honestly the worst liar I'd ever met in my life.

Angelina didn't even say anything; she went with her usual M.O. of just going silent. Yeah, because that's not suspicious at all.

"We're coming up with a plot to make you get over this whole rut and stop acting emo, and it involves Oliver," Alicia stated simply, making Katie's eyes widen and Angelina groan.

You see, there's this little thing about Alicia: she thinks that if you just confront everything straight-on, without so much as blinking, right in someone's face, then it'll avoid all potential conflict. No one will care about it anymore. Her reasoning it that either people won't believe you—because why would you just confess your plan to them without even trying to cover it up?—or they'll see you not making a big deal out of it and conclude that it must not be big deal. I'll give it to her that sometimes—sometimes—this philosophy works. But very, excruciatingly rarely. Usually it just makes everyone involved in the scheme want to throttle her pretty little neck and tell her to grow a sodding filter between her mouth and her brain. Kind of like now.

"Bloody hell, Alicia, you're the stupidest smart person I know," Angelina muttered, shaking her head in disbelief at the blunt blonde beside her.

"Oh, stuff it—I didn't tell her what it was," Alicia retorted, rolling her eyes at the two—in her opinion, she'd done nothing the least bit incriminating.

I simply snorted at the trio, figuring that because of Alicia, their element of surprise was ruined, so whatever it was wouldn't be anything I wasn't prepared for. They'd probably try to get Wood to apologize.

Fat.

Bloody.

Chance.

And there was an even smaller chance that I would forgive him even if he did. Smaller meaning zero. But that's alright, because I knew he wouldn't anyway. He had his alleged justifications and I had mine, so we were just going to be in a perpetual stalemate. Fine by me, if he stays out of my way. "Don't worry about it, guys—I can guarantee you that if it involved Wood and a broom closet, it wouldn't have worked anyway," I muttered, ambling over to my four-poster and flopping down onto the comforter.

It did involve Wood and a broom closet.

And I wasn't prepared for it.

At three o' clock in the bloody morning, I felt a hand clamp itself over my mouth, and before I knew it I was muffled, blindfolded, and wrenched out of my bed by three distinctly familiar female figures clad in all black.

Gee, whoever could they be?

Thrashing about wildly and trying to escape, I fought against the three pairs of arms restraining me and dutifully dragging me out of the room. It was no use, since I was still half-asleep and they were all very much alert, but I like to be melodramatic about things.

And I like sleeping. A lot.

"Bloody hell, I'm going to kill you!" I yelled angrily as they carried me down the stairs, twisting and squirming, though all that came out was a rather muffled "Bmumph hemph muh oim tuhm kilm ooo!"

Threatening, I know.

And so, for the next five minutes or so, I was manhandled and roughened up by my so-called friends, dragged through the Gryffindor Common Room and out the portrait hole entirely against my will. When I finally managed to bite the hand clamped over my mouth, which resulted in a very much Katie-like squeal, I gritted out, "Where the hell are you taking me!?"

"Broom closet."

"With Wood."

"What?"

"Katie, shut her up again."

"No—mmpphh!"

"Thank you."

Alicia Spinnet will die by the end of this night.

Once again struggling against the restraining hands—Kats was much better at avoiding my biting technique the second time around—I faintly heard the sound of a door being unlocked, and the creak of old wood being forced open. Three pairs of hands shoved me forward into a room that smelled overwhelmingly musky, like sodden mops and old rags, and before I could even turn around, the resounding smack of a door slamming echoed behind me.

Demeaned and infuriated, I struggled to remove the blindfold tied tightly around my eyes, recognizing the fabric as one of Angelina's old pantyhose from her dancing days. I grimaced in disgust as I finally wrenched it off and tossed it off to the side, not expecting another hand to shoot out from the darkness and catch the balled up tights with second-nature ease. My eyes flew shut in disbelief, head lolling back and frustrated groan leaving my lips—only a star Keeper could boast of those reflexes. They weren't sodding kidding. They'd actually locked me into a bloody broom closet with the tyrant who kicked me off his team three days ago. "This is a nightmare."

I turned my head in his direction, eyes bright with anger and arms stubbornly crossed, and was once again caught entirely off-guard by what I saw. Standing before me was Wood—that much I'd expected—with a speculative frown on his lips, staring down at the silky pantyhose balled within his fist. Clad in nothing but a loose pair of flannel pajama pants.

"Consider yourself lucky," he drawled, holding up his hand briefly to indicate the black tights, "they used Fred's old sock for me."

Suffice to say, my stare was riveted elsewhere.

This was going to be one hell of a night.

A/N: Sorry for the wait! It was written ages ago but I never got the chance to post it! Next chapter's, like, done. I feel rather bad for Oliver since quite a few people seem to be sore with him, so I thought I'd post this to try and clear up some ill-feeling:

Review: I really like this story (and its main character) but Wood is really hard to like. I've kinda stopped hoping that Andy and him will get together in the end. Does he get, I don't know, less jerk-like later on?

Author's Response: Aw, poor Wood, haha - I guess the only thing I can really say is that this is written purely from Andy's perspective, so her emotions and her thoughts are the only thing we get to see. I know I'm giving a really tainted image of Wood right now because of her feelings, but realize that we hear her justifications and reasons far more than we hear his. Perhaps dear Mr. Oliver recognizes how dangerous and reckless Andy likes to play, and it makes him worry a bit... and that's why he's constantly trying to keep her in line and make her realize that some rules are stupid, yes, but they're also easy to follow - and if she can't follow the easy rules, she certainly can't follow the more important, harder ones. I guess Wood's perspective of Andy would show you a far more daring, impudent Quidditch player than Andy herself sees, because Wood's far more rule-oriented and notices each and every one she breaks. And also, perhaps if he did find it deep within his stubborn heart to care about her, he gets tense everytime she risks her life on the field (which believe me, she does - she does anything to get a snitch)... so, just a few perspectives to see if I can make this make more sense :P And yeah, he'll lighten up eventually, don't worry. At least it's the canon character you somewhat dislike, and not the OC - which is usually the case. Thanks for the honest opinion!