Settling the Score

Nice Girls Finish Last

I'm going to be nice today.

I decided that the second my eyes opened.

You see, I woke up this morning feeling strangely refreshed. Perhaps it was because of my run, or perhaps it was because I hadn't gotten much sleep due to certain… you know, situations earlier that weekend, but for some reason or other, I'd slept deeply through the entire night, and now I was rather ready for a brand new day.

To hell with confusion and contemplating things—life was for living, and that's exactly what I intended to do. Heading over to the bathroom in a decidedly good mood, I went through my morning routine, taking a bit more time to ensure my bun looked a bit less… messy.

Slipping on the plaid skirt and white Oxford shirt, I chanced a glance at Angelina's dresser, seeing a mahogany eyeliner pencil lying abandoned on the otherwise perfectly organized surface. What the hell—why not?

…I quickly found out 'why not' when I accidentally stabbed myself in the eye. You'd think a former Seeker would have better hand-eye coordination. Alright—reroute: after yanking on the prescribed black tights and penny-loafers, I instead dashed a bit of color onto my cheeks, finding the soft brush far less lethal than the stick-o-death.

A few minutes later, I was waltzing into the Great Hall, ready for an easy, healthy morning breakfast with my friends. There was only one problem with the aforementioned scenario—my friends.

"I heard you and Oliver got it on in a broom-closet," Fred announced the instant his eyes met mine, roguish grin on his lips. Angelina immediately elbowed him in the ribs quite fiercely, forcing a 'he's such a joker' smile at me as Fred winced. "Bloody hell, woman—wear a sign when you're PMSing."

Too hell-bent on seeing out my good mood for the rest of the day to get angry, I merely brushed the comment off, taking a seat next to Katie. "Morning, everyone."

"Have you been out in the sun, Andy?" George asked, brows furrowing as he eyed me curiously. "You look a bit sun-burned—"

"Can you pass me the fruit, Lee?" I interjected hastily, cursing my stupid experiment with blush—I should've known nothing good would come from that. On the back it said 'Get that sun-kissed look in seconds!', though I suppose by 'sun-kissed' it meant 'skin cancer'.

"So, Andy," Lee began, dark gaze intent as he handed me the bowl of assorted fruit, "we never had a chance to really chat about… kaleidoscopes. "

I raised a brow, expression perplexed as I started dumping a healthy serving onto my plate. "What?"

"Kaleidoscopes…" he repeated slowly, behavior frightfully conspicuous. "You know… kaleidoscopes…"

Digging my fork into a pineapple slice, my gaze grew pointed. "Lee, repeating the same word over and over again isn't going to do mu—" My eyes suddenly widened, the epiphany hitting hard. "Fuck! Kaleidoscopes!"

"Yeah, kaleidoscopes!" he agreed, nodding emphatically. His split-second glance at the oblivious girl next to me merely confirmed my fear—he was talking about Katie. God, couldn't he just let that go already? I don't even know if she still fancies him!

"No, no—no kaleidoscopes," I affirmed, shaking my head a bit anxiously. "That's not, you know, table conversation."

Fred snorted. "How scandalous can a kaleidoscope get?"

"Why are we talking about kaleidoscopes, exactly?"

"What the hell is a kaleidoscope?"

"It's a little telescope-like bugger with patterns and colors and whatnot—"

"We're done talking about kaleidoscopes!" I interjected, flustered. My good mood was slowly chipping away, courtesy of the mutants I inexplicably refer to as 'friends', and it was driving me crazy.

"Ah, snippiness," Fred intoned gravely, leaning over to George with a rueful expression, "side-effect of snogging your enemy."

My fork screeched against my plate at the words, coming to a halt at the very edge. Was he seriously bringing that up again?

"Is it really?" George asked, tone genuinely curious—the casual way they were chatting made it all the more infuriating.

"Oh, yeah—Johnson kicked me the first time I snogged her," Fred disclosed, wincing at the memory, "nearly fractured my shin." Upon noticing the very pointed expression Angelina was wearing, however, he forced a quick grin. "Totally worth it, of course—enemy snogs always are, just ask Andy."

I slammed my fork down a bit roughly in frustration, letting it clatter against my plate. Could the idiot not take a sodding hint—clearly I didn't want to talk about it! However, before I could growl out some sort of scathing response, I remembered my resolution to be nice.

Grudgingly, I slumped down into my seat, forcing down my irritation with a sharp sigh. Picking up my fork, I resumed waging war on my fruit salad, expression slightly sour.

"Andy… what exactly are you doing?" George asked, raising a brow.

He was staring at me oddly, green gaze following the path of my fork as I assaulted my fruit salad quite violently. "Eating," I managed in as pleasant a tone as possible, struggling to hold back a scowl as I speared a grape with a frightening amount of force, "sometimes humans do that."

Nice-thoughts-nice-thoughts-nice-thoughts.

"You know, you seem a bit…" He watched as the grape split in half from the violence of my action, raising a brow. "...angry this morning."

The corners of my lips twitched manically in protest of the smile I was forcing on them, "Angry?" I echoed lightly. "Not at all! I'm in a great mood."

Fred's face suddenly brightened with mischief. "Good, 'coz George and I have this little favor to ask of you—we were wondering if you could seduce Oliver into giving us the day off tomorrow; you know, offer him a more scintillating alternative?"

My knuckles grew white around the fork I was now strangling, expression tightening dramatically.

"Merlin, I'm dating a sodding idiot," Angelina muttered ruefully, shaking her head, "let's go for a little walk, Weasley—we can learn some 'do's and 'don't's on how to avoid getting murdered," she said, grabbing said idiot by the forearm and pulling him to his feet.

"But my bacon—"

"We'll get you more bacon later…"

As the two walked off, Fred sending longing glances over his shoulder at his plate of half-eaten bacon every so often, I took a few moments to settle down. Jesus, as if dealing with my own reaction to The Snog (I wasn't even going to think about The Second Snog) wasn't difficult enough—now I had other people's reactions to deal with, as well.

Fred's M.O., it seemed, was mention it every five bloody seconds. And he only knew about the first one. Bloody hell, there was more than one—this was ridiculous.

"Oi, Alicia – why'd you paint your nails black?" George randomly piped up, scrunching his nose at the gothic color coating Alicia's nails.

"My horoscope said it was my lucky color this month," she replied pertly, as if it wasn't the world's most idiotic answer ever.

Predictably, George snorted, making Alicia's stare snap over to his. "Don't you snort at me."

"I can snort at whoever I want to."

"Not at me!"

"I'm pretty sure I just did."

"And clearly I'm not letting you get away with it—moot point!"

"This is such a stupid argument."

"Only because you're losing it."

Unfazed by the whole thing, George merely shook his head, careless grin in its dutiful place. "Fine."

In light of my rather delicate mood, I welcomed the distraction of their aimless arguing with open arms. It was always rather funny to watch Alicia and George squabble, anyway—Alicia always got really angry really easily and George was totally impervious to her 'insults', for lack of a better word.

"Bloody hell, it's 8:28?" Katie squeaked, staring at her watch with wide-eyes. Transfiguration started in two minutes, and she had a bit of a history with tardiness in McGonagall's class. "Damn it, I've got to go, guys—see you later."

"I'll come with you," Lee said abruptly, speaking for the first time in a solid five minutes. Scraping his chair back and rising to his feet before I could form any coherent sort of protest, he offered Katie an awkward hand to help her up.

For a moment, she simply stared at his hand, confused. "Lee, you're not in Transfiguration."

"No, I'm—I mean, yeah, I know I'm not, but," he replied, seeming a bit out of it, "I need to go… by it… to… you know, do something."

Katie arched a brow. "Now?"

He merely nodded a bit shiftily. "Right now—it's an important… something."

"…alright," Katie said, still looking thoroughly puzzled as she shot Alicia and me quick look. I shrugged as convincingly as I could, feeling Alicia do the same as I tried to swallow the knot forming in my stomach.

This was bad. This was very, very bad. I should start counting the number of breaths I have left, because the second Lee spits out what I told him a few weeks ago, I'm done for. Kats is an extremely privacy-oriented person—when she confides in you, it's a life and death sort of thing.

Right now I'm looking at a pretty nasty death sentence.

Glancing away, Katie took his outstretched hand a bit reluctantly, not expecting this sudden and rather random show of gentlemanliness. Brows knitted, she wandered out of the Great Hall with Lee, whom I could've sworn put his hand on the small of her back as he ushered her through the door.

Averting my stare, I felt the knot of dread twist further—God only knew what uncomfortable and potentially life-threatening conversation was about to ensue.

"Well, that was horrendously awkward," Alicia observed, staring at the spot the pair had just disappeared through with a twisted look on her face. It was strange to see such pretty features bearing such ugly facial expressions, but that was Alicia for you.

"Yeah—I dunno what's been going on with Lee lately, but he's been acting all dazed like," George agreed, brows drawn together in a contemplative fashion.

Alicia frowned suspiciously. "Odd."

George nodded. "Very."

I simply sunk further into my seat, my nose practically level with the surface of the table. I suddenly found the particular grain of the wood absolutely fascinating.

"Speaking of odd," George began, cocking his head to the side as his gaze landed on me, "Andy appears to be melting."

Alicia rolled her eyes, "Oh, she's just mortified about the whole ravaging Oliver thi—

"Oliver, mate!" George greeted loudly, cutting Alicia off just a smidge too late to save whatever was left of my shattered dignity.

"Speak of the devil," Alicia grinned, not a shred of shame visible in her bright blue eyes, "we were just talking about you…"

By this point, my head had sunken beneath the tabletop, my back entirely meshed to the bottom of my chair. Case-in-point: I was finding new friends. Now. I had to, before both my pride and sanity were lost forever.

"Right, yeah—listen," I heard Wood say from above the table, a distracted quality to his voice, "I need you two at the pitch at exactly five o' clock. No excuses, no exceptions—five sharp, is that clear?"

Had I not been in the midst of a mental breakdown, I would have snorted—how typical. The two-day stretch before the big Slytherin match had finally arrived, and Wood was in all out Quidditch-Nazi mode.

"Perfectly clear," George replied, matching Alicia's innocent smile.

"Crystal."

"Good," Wood said, oblivious to the slightly sardonic edge in their replies, "I've already told Angelina and Fred, but I can't seem to find Ka—wait, is that her under the table?"

I tensed slightly, feeling the heat of his gaze skimming my hair.

"No, she's off having a really awkward experience with Lee," Alicia remarked offhandedly, inspecting her emo-colored nails. "The freak under the table is Andy."

Figuring this was as good a cue as any, I slowly slid up my seat, offering an uncomfortable smile as three different pairs of eyes stared at me. "Er, found it!"

Alicia frowned. "Found what?"

"My… you know…"

"Oh, good," George cut in with a nod, a tinge more perceptive than Alicia. "That'd be bad if you lost your… you know." I fought back a fierce glare as he smirked.

"Anyway," Wood said a bit dismissively, shifting the topic back to Quidditch, "if either of you see Bell, make sure to tell her about the time change."

"Sure thing," George replied with a nod, "five-thirty, right?"

Wood's jaw tensed, "No, five—"

"Joke," George interjected, slowly raising his palms in defense.

"That means he was kidding," Alicia clarified unnecessarily, making George shoot her an odd look.

"Right," Wood said, entirely unamused, "well, I have some Arithmancy to finish up—I'll see you at the pitch, then."

"Till five," George agreed, and Alicia merely gave an airy wave. For a moment, I mentally debated whether I should make some sort of goodbye-motion or not, though before I could reach a definitive conclusion he was off, movements just a bit tenser than usual.

Somewhere beneath my relieved expression, I frowned. That was a bit… dismissive.

"Oh, joy," Alicia drawled, "he's back into Mr. Growlsworth mode."

Mr. Growlsworth was a nickname that Alicia had dreamed up for Wood a good two years ago, and to this day she was the only one who ever used it. She was also the only one who found it even remotely funny.

"Two-day stretch," George supplied with a shrug, "what can you do?"

"Um, nothing."

George merely rolled his eyes, "Ever heard of a rhetorical question, Spinnet?"

"Obviously."

"Yeah, well you just answered two in a row."

"I'm going to go," I announced abruptly, sitting up in my seat. I wasn't sure why, exactly, but I was suddenly struck by an intense need to just… leave. They both shot me rather odd looks, frowning as I hurriedly gathered my stuff and got to my feet. "Later, guys."

They watched in confusion as I strode away, pushing the doors open with strangely urgent movements. After a moment, Alicia merely shook her head, bringing her glass to her lips. "Between her and Lee, the world's going mad," she muttered, taking a rather large gulp of her specifically iceless water as George merely smirked.

"…which corresponds to the numerical value forty-two; four representing the sense of completeness through obvious parallels to squares and other quadrilaterals…"

My eyelids grew heavier and heavier with every word that passed over Professor Vector's lips, threatening to reach two-ton status as the lecture droned on—this couldn't possibly get any drier.

"…the two signifying the paradoxical quality of light—wave or particle—which often complicates more advanced forms of illuminating spells…"

Now, don't get me wrong—I'm fascinated by Arithmancy. Really, why else would I take a Seventh Year class when I could easily take some no-brainer like Muggle Studies? I've always liked working with numbers, so I'm usually fairly attentive, too.

However, this particular lesson is all about 'Exploratory Application'—opening the mind to the lesser known potential uses of Arithmancy in unexpected areas like Matchmaking, Housekeeping, and Magical Cooking.

AKA bullshit.

I sighed, shaking my head slightly to try and dispel the threat of sleep—my gaze was horribly unfocused, everything around me a blur of colors and shapes. I'd had a long, drawn out day to let whatever tension I'd felt this morning subside, allowing me to relax back into somewhat of a decent mood (oh, I'm sticking to it).

The only trouble was I'd relaxed a bit too much, and now I was falling asleep. Briefly, I wondered what I must look like to an observer: eyes crossed in exhaustion, lips parted slightly, cheek scrunched into folds by the pressure of my hand.

Stunning, I'm sure.

I felt myself slouching steadily into my seat (something that I seemed to be making a habit of lately), my head nodding forward as my eyelids once again resumed their descent to slumber—and then whack. I jolted upright violently, head snapping upward as my chair made a loud screeching sound against the floor.

Professor Vector's sharp stare flew over to mine, her blonde brows gathering into a pointed look. I smiled meekly, running a taming hand through my disheveled waves to try and neaten them somewhat. The woman's lips pursed briefly, though after a moment she looked away, resuming her lecture.

After waiting a precautionary fifteen seconds, I relaxed my posture a bit, feeling Gabriel Harris's perplexed stare burning holes into the side of my head. Chancing a glance at my table partner, I glowered at the amused quality in his expression, shrugging helplessly when he mouthed, 'What the bloody hell was that?'

Determined to figure out what had just attacked me, I swiveled about in my seat, eyes narrowed as I searched. A few seconds passed until my gaze landed on a delicately folded square of parchment, settled innocently by the leg of my desk.

Discreetly, I slowly slid down my arm down the corner of my seat, lowering my hand until my fingers clasped around the tiny piece of paper. Bringing it up to my lap, I silently unfolded it, eyes narrowing as an unfamiliar swirl of curly lettering unfurled before me.

Andy,

First off, I want to say that it's really sad for all of us to see you leave the Gryffindor Quidditch team—you were a brilliant Seeker and all that. However, now that it's up to someone else to fill your shoes, I presume you'd want them to be as good as possible, right? So I was wondering if, sometime before the game, you could teach me that move you did a few months ago in the Ravenclaw match—the Grislow Feint? Meet me after class to schedule a time. Thanks, you're an absolute star.

Fi

I raised a brow, unable to keep my nose from scrunching—Fi? Was she for real?

Glancing over my shoulder furtively, I saw 'Fi' sitting at the table behind me, chin poised airily on her well-manicured fingers, hazel eyes cool and attentive. Sensing my stare, her gaze shifted over to mine, dubiously friendly smile spreading over her pouty lips.

Still clinging on to my whole 'niceness' thing, I returned the expression half-heartedly, a bout of mistrust welling within me—Fiona Price had never boded all that well with me. Everything about her just seemed… manipulative; like schemes were constantly forming themselves in that platinum blonde head of hers.

And after that little incident in the Common Room, yesterday… well, I wouldn't exactly call us best friends.

I glanced back down at the note, wondering what exactly I should reply—given that I was being nice today, that ruled out a simple 'Hell to the fuck no, bitch.' Plucking my quill up to formulate some sort of response, I was interrupted by the sound of Professor Vector's clap.

"Alright, so now that we know some of Arithmancy's more… frivolous uses, why not have a bit of fun and test a few out?" the blonde woman suggested with a rare smile, her high-heels clicking as she strode over to her desk.

Professor Vector was a rather severe woman—strict as hell with zero tolerance for disruption or chaos—but she was also young, blonde, and leggy, which rendered her a dominatrix of sorts in the eyes of the testosterone-happy Seventh Year males. They watched her with interest as she bent down to grasp her attendance sheet, some even angling their heads.

Despite the rather sickening male-obsession-factor, I have to say I quite liked her. She was an excellent professor, and she managed to be incredibly bright and incredibly fit at the same time, which was a step-up for female empowerment. In a class full of some of Hogwarts' fittest blokes, she remained strictly professional and didactic, never tolerating the slightest bit of flirtation.

Rising with an air of stern obliviousness, though she clearly knew she was hot, she let her sharp blue eyes sweep down the list of students. "Okay, it looks like everyone's here, so we should have an even number of students—everybody pair up!"

Everyone looked around for a moment, sluggish and unmoving, until Vector merely rolled her eyes. "Today would be nice—c'mon, tut tut!"

People slowly began moving, rising from their seats and signaling to other people indicatively. Hand still poised over the note, I didn't even bother with looking up—Gabe and I always worked together, mostly because both of us were too lazy to move. "Howdy, partner."

When I received nothing but silence in return, I glanced up, unsurprised with what I saw. Gabe was simply staring at the list of things we were supposed to complete with his lip curled, expression not-so-thrilled. "We're not actually going to do this rubbish, are we?"

I fought back the urge to roll my eyes—there was nary an Arithmancy assignment he didn't start without posing that exact question. "Yeah, we actually are."

His head lolled back as he groaned. "Why?"

"Because we have to."

"C'mon, Andy—be a rebel," he urged, scrunching up his face like a petulant four-year-old.

I scoffed. "For what?"

His face suddenly sobered dramatically, eyes filling with earnestness. "…for the children."

I couldn't help but snort at this. "Oh, please," I muttered, shaking my head as the girl passing out the proper materials, Becky something-or-other, reached our table. "Two of each, please."

"Child-hater," Gabe snapped at me, tossing me a dirty look before switching his gaze over to the slightly confused-looking Becky. "Andy's a child-killer," he explained casually, leaning toward her with a secretive expression and dropping his voice into a whisper, "she eats them—"

"Don't listen to him," I said, rolling my eyes.

He merely rubbed his stomach as Becky started backing away, lips curled at the corners as he held her stare. "Yummy, yummy."

The second she turned around, I couldn't help but burst into laughter. "You're such a creep," I said, shoving him in the shoulder as he grinned.

"Better than a cannibal..."

The remainder of the class went by rather uneventfully, filled with a number of stupid exchanges and Gabe's brainless commentary. By the time we'd finished, there were still about five minutes left in class, leaving me a bit of time to refocus my thoughts on Fiona's note.

I mean, I suppose I could maybe help her out—she did ask rather nicely. And it was more for the team than anything else, really—I still wanted them to win…

These were the unusually nice thoughts I was having, courtesy of the good mood Gabe's affable company had put me in, up until the bell rang.

And that's when the whole bloody playing field changed.

"…honestly—you vastly underestimate me, Oliver," I heard Fiona asserting from the table behind me as I packed my stuff up, flipping through Wood's precious play book with well-manicured fingers. They both seemed to have no intention whatsoever of leaving the classroom, ignoring the bell and the departing students in favor of strategizing for the Slytherin match.

"Haley's Comet? Freudian Feint? I can do those in my sleep."

Despite my pleasant mood, I snorted. Really loudly. Gabe sent me an odd look as he stuffed his quill into his bag, raising a brow, but I brushed it off—a Freudian Feint? Please—that cow couldn't do a Freudian Feint if she were injected with every steroid on the planet, let alone 'in her sleep'.

Pulling the zipper of my messenger bag closed, I shook my head briefly—Freudian Feint. Even I was sodding weary of those.

"Well, what do you have in mind?" Wood asked, and I could simply envision his crumpled stare scrutinizing his choices carefully. As the day had gone by, I got over my initial instinct to fidget awkwardly at the sight of him, though perhaps that was because we'd yet to really talk one-on-one.

"Something… rougher," Fiona replied silkily, her voice lowering into a purr. "I've always liked it rough."

My furrowed expression sky-rocketed as I nearly choked—oh, please. Oh, please!

Honestly, did she not know Wood at all? When he talks Quidditch, he talks only Quidditch—nothing else can penetrate his thick head, not even shamelessly sexual innuendo. Anyone who'd ever even casually brought up the sport with him would know that, ad nauseam.

I glanced over at them, unable to believe my ears. Predictably enough, Wood merely shook his head, brow furrowed. "I don't want any unnecessary risks—rougher isn't always better."

Despite my whole unaffected thing, I found myself fighting back a smirk, returning my gaze back to my stuff as I hefted the strap of my bag onto my shoulder.

"No, I agree—not always," Fiona continued, her voice still strangely velvet-like, "sometimes it's better to do it nice and slow…"

I nearly choked again—God, this girl was shameless!

"No, no—never slow," Wood automatically corrected, predictably oblivious, "smart, yes; careful, yes; but you have to be quick to be a Seeker."

"Oh, I completely agree, quickies—"

"You wanted to see me, Fiona?" I managed to convey before she could go further, amazed with the semi-straight face I was keeping. Sidling up to their table, I added an extra touch of innocence to my expression, keeping my gaze away from Wood—I still wasn't quite up for dealing with him one on one.

A shadow of a scowl began to sweep over her face, though she caught it after a split-second, neutralizing her expression into a cool mask. "Sorry?"

My brow rose slightly. "The note you sent me earlier…?"

"Oh, right," she said, suddenly plastering an exuberant smile onto her face as she turned to face Wood, "Andy's going to teach me how to do a Grislow Feint, Oliver—she absolutely insists I learn it—isn't that lovely of her?"

Instantly, I could feel Wood's demeanor change, going from tense to authoritative in 0.5 seconds. "Hell no—a Grislow Feint?" he echoed, bringing his narrowed gaze over to Fiona. The blonde nodded innocently, frowning at his stern expression.

"Yeah—it'll be fun, she can teach me all sorts of risky, game-winning tricks," she gushed, making me frown slightly at her enthusiasm—'risky, game-winning tricks'? I just agreed to teach her one thing.

As Oliver's frown of disapproval deepened, making me feel the slightest bit wary—something seemed more and more underhanded about this whole situation—Fiona quickly interjected. "Oh, damn it!" she exclaimed, bringing her palm to her forehead, "I forgot to get my Transfiguration notes back from Lori."

I raised a brow as she shuffled to her feet, not entirely convinced with her act—this all seemed a bit… staged. "I'll be back in like two minutes—you guys stay here and chat," she said, tossing an out of place smile over her shoulder as she swept out of the room.

I watched her leave with a distinct frown of confusion, trying to ignore the awkwardness that set in the moment Wood and I were left alone. My whole body grew a bit tense as a thick silence overtook the room, and I stubbornly kept my gaze on the doorway.

This silence, however, lasted all of three seconds.

"What are you trying to pull, Wiles?"

I nearly flinched at the blatant accusation in his tone, my frown deepening as I forced my gaze over to his. His eyes were hard and a bit guarded as they held mine, as if he were only showing half the emotions within them. "What are you talking abou—"

"A Grislow Feint?" he asked, expression a bit harsh. "Are you insane? That takes months to master."

I felt my skin prickle slightly with defensiveness. "Hey, she was the one who wanted to learn it, I was simply trying to be—"

"She obviously doesn't know how complicated it is," he interjected, making my eyes briefly narrow—since when was she totally blameless in this situation?

"Back off, Wood, she seemed pretty damn aware to—"

"And even if she were," he interrupted yet again, causing a faint glare to spark to life in my eyes, "the last person I trust to teach it to her properly is you."

A tinge of outrage wheedled its way into my glare. "What's the supposed to mean?"

He held my stare evenly. "It means that you'd rather scratch your own eyes out than actually help Fiona Price with anything."

"Oh, what, so I'd teach her the wrong thing?"

He eased back into his chair, expression still somewhat severe as he shrugged. "Why not? It's not like you could possibly get her to master a Grislow Feint in two days—"

"I would try," I stated angrily, feeling more and more defensive.

"For what?"

"For the sake of the team, Wood, for the sake of the fact that she asked nicely!" I replied, exasperated—this is why I don't do good deeds that often, because every time I do one, my motives get questioned to death. "Merlin, just because I'm not playing tomorrow doesn't mean I don't want you guys to win."

"You sure about that?"

I stared at him in slight disbelief, "Yes, I'm sure! I don't know if you've noticed, but the grand majority of my best friends are on that team."

"So what's better—a win without you where your replacement pulls a stunning Grislow Feint and steals the game, or a loss because of a failed, embarrassing attempt by the newbie to do tricks far too complicated for her skill level, thus indirectly glorifying you and making my letting you go 'the biggest mistake of my career'?"

I'd stopped listening somewhere between 'newbie' and 'biggest mistake of my career', taking instead to shaking my head in disbelief, for the gist was obvious. "What is wrongwith you?"

He shrugged a bit coldly, eyes harder than usual. "I don't mix personal life with Quidditch—I never have, I never will."

"And how is this mixing the two, exactly?" I demanded, vaguely aware of the fact that I could be entering dangerous territory here, though this thought fled the moment he leaned forward a bit roughly.

"It's obvious, Wiles, you're using Fiona to get back at me," he growled in a considerably lower tone, stare even and angry, "and you're putting the whole damn game at stake in the process."

"I'm not using Fiona for anything; I was actually going to teach her the bloody move!" I snapped, unable to believe what a turn for the worst this whole plan had taken, "and if anyone's using her, it's you to get back at me!"

"What the hell is that supposed to me—"

"Oh, please—don't act like it's a coincidence that the person you replaced me with is a right cow to me," I cut in. "She's rude, she's insulting, and she seems hell-bent on taking anything that I might potentially want for herself!"

"Like what?"

"Like everything!" I replied, growing more and more frustrated. "My position, my sodding friends—she's got Angelina and Alicia thinking she's the nicest person ever, and George practically wants to marry her! Merlin, it's like she just wants to blot me out of the radar entirely; everything I have or I want, she's after! My reputation, my credibility, yo—"

I halted suddenly, totally disoriented. I was about a millisecond away from saying 'you'.

Wood seemed thankfully oblivious, the same furrow of anger rumpling his forehead as he patiently waited for me to continue. I merely stared back, a bit frozen and deer-in-the-headlights-esque, very much aware of the civil war that was about to rage in my head.

I just… but that… wouldn't that… of course not… but then why…

You know what? No. I didn't have the time or cranial space for this right now. I was in the midst of another argument, this one with another person, so my more schizophrenic quarrels between myself and myself could be resolved later.

Taking a moment to simply reorient my thoughts, I pushed aside the new torrent of questions crashing around my mind, inhaling slowly and bringing the hardened edge back into my gaze. "Look, I'm not sabotaging you, Wood."

He held my stare, not saying anything. Alright—this was better, maybe we could actually resolve this, and then I could shift all of my focus on dealing with the fact that I almost told Wood I wanted him.

"Fiona asked me for help, and I agreed—blame it on the stupid niceness resolution I made this morning; something about the sunshine and the skin-cancer blush and the crazy ideal that my friends can act like civil human bei—" I halted as I realized I was rambling incoherently, glancing down briefly. "Nevermind—but the bottom line is, I didn't mean any harm by anything. Fiona just wanted something a little more exciting, and the plays I overheard you two talking about did seem a bit on the dull side, so I thought I'd help her out—no big deal."

By the end of this little speech, despite my fragile mental state, I have to say I was a bit proud of myself. He was clearly the one in the wrong, yet here I was, the irrational one, offering up an apology of sorts.

However, when his expression didn't change, I raised a brow. "So… what do you think?" He couldn't possibly still be angry, I'd just done exactly what he always wanted me to do—show patience, rationality, and all that not-so-fun stuff.

I quickly realized, however, that he could, in fact, still be angry.

"I think," he drawled a bit caustically, his tone alone making me bristle, "that like it or not, you're not on this team anymore, so you should leave the strategizing and play-calling to those of us who weren't kicked off."

And just like that, my tentative peace offering shattered.

I simply blinked at the unexpectedly low blow, unsure what reaction to give into first. Here I was, trying to be the fucking better person and help out the team that'd thrown me off, and I was being treated like a traitor. Holding his dark stare, I realized I didn't even really feel like defending myself—I was just bloody done.

Scraping my chair back, a cold look settled itself over my features. "You know, whenever you manage to fish the giant broomstick out of your arse and realize that I was trying to help you," I growled, getting to my feet and fixing him with a faltering glare, "then just stick it back up again, because I honestly doubt it'll make a shred of difference."

Not even bothering with his reaction, I simply reached for my bag, slinging it onto my shoulder a bit roughly as I swept out of the room. Really, I was just done with even trying to make sense of things anymore—when I'm a bitch to Wood, I get snogged, when I try for civility, I get sodding insulted.

"Off in such a hurry?"

My murky gaze shot up at the sound of the frosty voice, narrowing upon contact with eyes of sharp hazel. Fiona's satisfaction was subtle yet screamingly obvious, as most of her actions were.

"Yeah, I can only take so much of Wood," I muttered honestly, not really in the mood to come up with anything insulting. Sure, Fiona seemed like nothing more than a first-class cow, but maybe if I show her I don't want a war—

"And he can only take so much of you, I'd imagine."

My expression hardened at the cool remark, jaw stiffening into a clench.

"Or at least, that's what I figured when I left you two alone," she continued, smile curling at the ends of her lips. "Especially after I spent the entire day making it seem like you were just a bit too eager to help me out—Oliver was bound to get suspicious."

At this, I merely held her stare. "What?"

"Well, you didn't think I would ever actually ask you for help, did you?" she asked, tiny smirk deepening. "Really, Andy—even I gave you more credit than that, though I s'pose the rumor about you being clever is just as false as the rumor about you being good at Quidditch."

By this point, my hands were clenched, my eyes were thin as slits, and my whole body was aching to simply lunge at the whole-hearted bitch standing before me—really, I couldn't take anymore of this. However, instead of attacking her, I simply shook my head, bitter smile pulling at my lips. "Are you and Wood dating, Fiona?"

She arched a pale brow, head tilting up slightly. "Not yet. Why?"

I scoffed, entirely fed up with everything and too done with caring anymore to fight. "Because you would make an absolutely perfect couple."

Again, I simply didn't wait for a response, brushing past the slightly perplexed girl with a bit more force than necessary and continuing down the hallway. I could feel her appraising eyes following me for a few moments, frosty and sharp as ever, though I merely turned the nearest corner without a second look.

To hell with this 'niceness' shit.

Niceness can take a spiffing little road trip to hell.

Wood can ride shotgun.