Settling the Score
The Banquet Plan Road Less Traveled
"…leaves sixty-five galleons for the band and plenty for the decorations, but all of the boat rental prices are ridiculously high because of some insurance incident with paraplegic gno—are you even listening to me?"
Angelina made no indication of hearing me, shrewd hazel eyes focused on a point just above my shoulder. We were seated across from one another in the overstuffed armchairs of the Gryffindor common room, me knee-deep in research for my banquet pitch to Wood and Angelina working on a Potions essay, though I was fairly certain something by the window had caught her attention because bitch was totally ignoring me.
"Johnson!"
"Shh," she shushed, flicking up a silencing finger and narrowing her eyes even further. Her lips were pursed into their trademark 'contemplative Prefect frown', and despite my irritation, I knew better than to question her. Angelina's Prefect frown meant business.
Instead, I glanced over my shoulder and followed her line of vision, eyebrows arching when my gaze landed on none other than a certain Mr. Harris and a certain Ms. Spinnet. They looked to be in the middle of a quite a row—or at least, Alicia did. She was shouting and thrusting her hands in the air dramatically whereas Gabe was merely lounging back against the wall, tossing an apple from hand to hand, shoulders loose and totally at ease.
Merlin, it was weird to see them interacting so much. Both of them were part of such separate parts of my life—Alicia was my mental best mate and Gabe was my Arithmancy best mate, and prior to a week ago, there had been no overlap between those categories. Now, however, the two were developing a whole relationship entirely independent of me, and it was pretty cool.
Weird, but cool.
"—not going to write a bloody gossip column! This is hair-color profiling—would Aiden have asked an ugly brunette to do this!?"
Gabe chuckled. "No."
"That grounds for a discrimination lawsuit!"
"Not really, seeing as you were offered a position, not denied one," he pointed out easily, apple still jumping from hand to hand, and Alicia bristled in outrage.
"I have been denied one! The position of a serious journalist! One who writes gutting pieces and shocks her readers and—"
"—joins a paper to get the gay bloke she's been stalking to fancy her back?" he interjected, apple halting in his hand as his brow raised into a rather cutting expression. Alicia faltered a bit at the severity of the look, and he rolled his eyes to diffuse the accusation in them. "You're not a journalist, Locks, you're a girl with a crush—the least you can do is be honest with yourself about it."
"Would you stop calling me that?"
"What?"
"Locks, Goldie, or any other annoying variation of Goldilocks!"
"Ah, that," he chuckled, resuming tossing his apple from hand to hand. She stared at him expectantly, eyes blazing with vexation, and after a moment he realized she'd asked a question. "Oh, right—no."
"No?"
"I like Goldilocks—it suits you better than Alicia," he replied, and without any sort of warning, Alicia reached out and smacked the apple out of his hand. I choked out a laugh—she was so unnecessarily violent, it was great.
"That was rude," he pointed out, watching the apple roll under the feet of an absently walking fourth year and tripping the boy up. At the glare he received, he pointed at Alicia. "All her." The boy glanced at Alicia and fell into a lovesick daze, and I rolled my eyes in tandem with Gabe—typical.
"First of all, buck-o, rude is calling someone something they don't want to be called," Alicia snapped, bringing his attention back to her. "Second of all, I'm not going to write a fucking gossip column, so Aiden can bloody well suck it. Third of all—"
"Your boy-toy just walked in," Gabe interjected, eyes straying over her shoulder to the tall, skinny boy with platinum blonde hair who'd just traipsed through the portrait hole. His smile was lopsided and a bit wicked, and Alicia's voice lowered into a hiss.
"Don't call him that!"
"Sorry: the poof you stalk just walked in."
"You—"
"Oi, Sebastian!" Gabe called out, eyes dancing. "How's the Donahue article coming along?"
Alicia's face flashed with rage before forcing itself into a dazzling smile. "Sebastian!" she greeted, turning around and switching into all out vixen mode—shoulders thrown back, hips jutted out, and eyes sparkling with all kinds of forbidden promises.
A fifth year boy playing Exploding Snap fainted.
"Gabriel Harris and Alicia Spinnet," Sebastian purred, sidling up to them with dark, seductive eyes, "my two favorite blondes." Alicia's eyes lit up with excitement whilst Gabe's grew immensely amused. "The Donahue article is going swimmingly, Gabriel—nothing short of scintillating, I assure you."
"Brilliant," Gabe replied with a grin, clapping a jovial hand on Sebastian's shoulder. "I expect nothing less of our most controversial columnist."
Sebastian looked like he was going to orgasm right then and there, and I had to stuff a pillow into my mouth to keep from howling. Angelina shot me a glare and I managed an apologetic nod, struggling to keep it together.
"The Donahue article—is that the one about the communist groups rioting in Durmstrang?" she asked, taking a rather violent step toward Sebastian and forcing Gabe to step back. The scruffy blonde obliged easily, leaning back against the wall and watching her with a wry expression.
"That's the one—loaded piece, really," Sebastian commented, eyes sweeping over Gabe's leanly muscled form from over her shoulder. "Gabriel always assigns the best pieces."
"Flattery only works with Aiden, Melmoth," Gabe replied, lips quirking at one corner, and Alicia's fingers began curling into fists.
"Flattery makes it sound like it isn't true, and I'm being nothing less than sanctimoniously honest, darling." This statement came loaded with flirtation, and Gabe's face flickered a bit uncertainly.
"Well, thanks then," he offered, running an unsure hand through his hair, and Sebastian licked his lips at the motion.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Alicia suddenly snapped, whirling around to face Gabe with a furious look. He parted his mouth to say something but Sebastian's velvety voice cut him off.
"Actually, I'm meeting Aiden in forty-five and in desperate need of a nap, so I'd best be off," he said, giving an airy wave, "but I'll see you both at the staff meeting. Cheers!"
"Bye, Sebastian!" Alicia called cheerily, waiting for him to disappear up the stairs before rounding back on Gabe with a snarl, "If I had a knife on me, I would slit your throat and watch you die."
"That's festive," he commented idly.
"Look, I don't know what twisted game you're playing at—"
"I'm not playing at anything, Locks, I just asked him how his article was coming along."
She scoffed, "Yeah, and leaned back against the wall all sexily so he could drool at you."
He arched a brow at this. "First of all, you shoved me back: seeing as I was already standing by the wall, I really had no other option besides leaning back against it. Second of all—sexily, you said?" At this, his expression became charmingly cocky, and Alicia's brow furrowed in confusion.
"Yes. And?"
He shrugged, voice teasing. "Didn't realize I was so staggeringly seductive without even trying."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please: you're good-looking. Good-looking people don't have to try and be sexy—we just are."
He snorted at this. "We?"
She looked confused again. "Yes, we. You and I. Us—Merlin, you're Chief Editor of a paper?"
He looked entirely incredulous, and I realized that not everyone was used to the tower of staggering self-confidence that was Alicia Spinnet. Humbleness was a waste of time to her—she knew she was bloody fucking gorgeous and she saw no use in pretending like she wasn't. She was insecure about other things, sure, but she never pretended to be unsure about her looks.
And to be honest, it made her a hell of a lot more bearable. If she were one of those gorgeous girls that was constantly belittling herself and calling herself ugly, we would've all smacked her in the face. Granted, that was because we were her best friends—everyone else could probably do with just a little more modesty from her…
But that was what made her Alicia.
"You are amazingly self-assured," Gabe finally managed to say, surprise rippled with a flicker of curiosity, and Alicia rolled her eyes.
"Self-assured, blunt, bitchy, whatever," she listed, waving an errant hand. "Doesn't change the fact that you were hitting on Sebastian." He laughed openly at this, tossing his head back and everything, and she ruffled in outrage. "Don't even try to deny it, I saw you!"
"Why the bloody hell would I be hitting on a bloke?" he asked, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the accusation. "I like girls, in case you forgot."
"You sure about that?" she countered, stare bright with challenge, and his playful eyes slowly grew hooded.
"Want proof?"
And just like that—bam. Something changed in the air between them. I couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but whatever it was, it was sexual. I obviously wasn't the only one who noticed it, because within less than a second, ten viciously overeager fingers were digging into my shoulders. "Jesus!" I hissed, whipping around and coming face-to-face with none other than Katie. "Claws in, Kats!"
Upon hearing the name, Angelina glanced over her shoulder and groaned. "Oh, great."
"How did I not know about this?" Katie demanded in a zealous whisper, wide eyes glued on Alicia and Gabe, and Angelina shook her head as I shrugged her hands off.
"Nothing's going on, Kats."
"Yeah, like hell it isn't—look at them!" she countered, her whole countenance buzzing, and Angelina and I both turned around to look again. Okay, to be fair, they looked like a bloody Polo ad—you know the ones where the insanely gorgeous girl in a preppy school uniform and the scruffily handsome bloke in the Oxford shirt and undone tie look like they want to tear each others clothes off (but don't for the sake of advertising said clothes)?
Yeah. The picturesque view of the lake and Quidditch pitch they were standing in front of didn't exactly help, and for a moment, I forgot we were supposed to be dissuading Katie and wanted nothing more than a camera. I could sell this shit and make millions! Now if only Alicia would stop grimacing like that…
"—need to stop getting these obsessions with people getting together! Back me up here, Andy."
I snapped out of my entrepreneurial musings and glanced over to see Angelina and Katie staring at me, the former pointedly and the latter defensively. Uh-oh. Bad situation. "I… think both of you make valid points," I said randomly, putting on my best diplomat voice.
Angelina scoffed. "Whatever—I think it's unhealthy."
"Well, this isn't The World According to Angelina, is it?" Katie snapped rather sourly, crossing her arms, and I rolled my eyes: the shitty part about living with three other girls who just so happen to be your best mates is that your periods tend to synchronize. In other words, everyone's a bitch at the same time, and the unnecessary fight in front of me was exhibit A.
Thus, I simply sunk back into my seat, trying to block their bickering out and picking my notebook back up. I had a flawless plan to formulate and listening to their bitching wasn't part of it. "Finding the Boat" was scribbled at the top of the page my notebook was opened to, and I sighed a bit tiredly at the thought of it.
You see, it turns out Wood was kind of right about this whole 'not that simple' thing: there was actually a lot to take into account if we wanted to rent a boat. First of all, what kind of boat: I'd already called a few of the main companies, but they all turned out to be muggle and had no idea how the hell I expected to get a giant yacht into the middle of an isolated lake.
Narrow-minded, really.
Then, I'd contacted Durmstrang to see if we could potentially borrow one of their boats (since they were all Nordic and into that kind of thing), but after being transferred to like seventeen different people, they told me that they didn't have any boats that were nice enough for this kind of occasion—just trade boats and battleships. They told me of a few other places to try, and I did, but all of them had conflicts with the date or were way too expensive for what we were looking for.
Thus, I was kind of stuck. Without the boat, I couldn't really iron out any of the other details because all of them depended on the layout of the ship and amenities it came with. This was just wonderful.
"Bonjour, mes amies!"
Speaking of wonderful.
"Fiona, hey!" Katie greeted, smile springing up on both her and Angelina's faces as the prissy cow glided into common room, blonde hair gathered into an elegant French twist. "You're back!
"How was Paris?" Angelina asked, and I promptly realized why everything seemed to have been going so smoothly for the past few days: Fiona had been in another country. Coincidence? I think not.
"Très magnifique! The wedding was stunning—tellement belle," she gushed, French accent sophisticated and flawless. I rolled my eyes at how pretentious she sounded.
"I bet your sister's happy—all that worrying for nothing," Katie teased, and Fiona laughed her delicate little trill of a laugh.
"She's in absolute bliss, of course. Her and William are probably clinking champagne glasses on a beach in Portugal as we speak."
"That sounds like heaven," Angelina said, and Fiona waved a hand.
"That's nothing: next up is gondolas in Venice, bungalows on the coast of Morocco, vineyards in the Spanish countryside…" she trailed off at their stunned looks, lips pursing into a self-satisfied smirk. "Price women have impeccable taste in men."
Angelina and Katie gave jealous murmurs of assent, entirely missing the cutting look Fiona decided to shoot me. I gave her a blindingly fake smile in return, prompting her to scoff dramatically and divert her eyes. Yeah, that's right, bitch—look away.
"Anyway, I'm off to shower—I must look dreadful from all the traveling," she said, knowing damn well she looked like she'd just walked off a Parisian runway, "but I'll see you girls around."
"Later, Fi," they chorused as she sauntered off, and I almost gagged at the nickname—really?
"Fi?" I mouthed to them, eyes bright with disgust, and they both rolled their eyes and ignored me. Kats, Angelina, and Alicia all thought my hate for her was exaggerated and childish, but I didn't care—she was a class A cow and I could be as immature about it as I wanted to be.
"Oh, right," 'Fi' suddenly said, stopping at the staircase and spinning about with a flourish of her skirt, "you haven't by chance seen Oliver around, have you?" My grip on my quill tightened and she noticed. "Apparently he has some sort of ridiculous surprise for me, so I don't want to keep him waiting too long…"
"He's training with Fred and George right now, but he should be done by six or so," Angelina replied obliviously; at least Katie had the decency to stay quiet. "Maybe after dinner?"
"Sounds perfect," she replied, though before she could turn back around, I found myself speaking.
"He's busy after dinner."
She halted instantly, back stiffening the slightest bit as her eyes snapped over to mine. "Oh?"
"Yep," I replied purposefully evasively, glancing back down at my notebook and scribbling something random down. I felt her frigid stare burning holes into my head but I dutifully ignored it, bringing my quill to my mouth and chewing on the end instead. Two could play this nonchalant bitch game.
"Doing what, exactly?" she eventually asked in a falsely light voice, and I had the frivolous and completely insane urge to respond with 'me'.
Fortunately, I managed to tailor my answer into a casual, "Just discussing some things."
Her grip on the banister tightened ever so slightly. "With you?"
No, with my sodding grandmother. "Yes, with me," I confirmed, glancing up and sending her a brief, faux-friendly smile before dropping my gaze back down to my notebook.
She merely stood there for a few seconds, tense and irritated and absolutely itching to know what we were meeting about, and I knew I had her. She couldn't ask about it without being too obvious. Ladies and gentlemen, I had offically out-subtled the subtle, out-bitched the bitch, out-frigided the frigid—I'd beaten that slag at her own ice-cold little game.
That is, of course, until Alicia bulldozed into the picture and opened her big fat fucking mouth. "Do I look like the kind of person that writes a bloody gossip column?" she spat as she plunked herself into the seat next to me, shoving my feet off the armrest with an angry huff.
"Well, let's see, shall we?" Angelina said, tilting her head to the side in mock-appraisal. "Blonde hair… loves make-up… partial to pink… it's a tough call, but I'm going to say yes."
"Well, I'm going to say fuck you," Alicia snapped back, crossing her arms with a vexed growl before spotting Fiona's uselessly loitering form by the stairs. "Oh, hey Fiona." I almost cheered at the flatness in her voice—finally, someone who recognized how fake she was.
"Hi, Alicia—everything alright?" she asked, tilting her head to side with completely feigned concern, and Alicia waved her off with an incoherent grumble.
God, I love Alicia.
"What's this about a gossip column, then?" Katie ventured after a moment, still rather miffed at Angelina and thus prone to taking Alicia's side, and Alicia scowled.
"Aiden wants me to write a gossip section for the Wobbler—'Ask Alicia!'," she trilled sarcastically, shaking her head in disgust. "Such a bloody load of hipprogriff shit. I know you have that meeting with Wood for banquet rubbish tonight, Andy, but if there's any way you can get out of it, I could really use a night of bitching by the lake."
God, I hate Alicia.
"Banquet rubbish?" Fiona predictably asked, having a perfect way in to the conversation. Now it just seemed like she was curious about the banquet. Brilliant.
"McGonagall's forcing Andy and Oliver to plan the Gryffindor banquet," Alicia growled irritably, making matters worse. "They have a bunch of mandatory meetings every week—whatever, point is my life sucks." Fiona's expression was slowly veering into one of extreme satisfaction, and I had to fight back the urge to hex her right then and there.
"Mandatory meetings, hm?"
This is the last of the sequential chapters that ever got written: what follows is my kind of crazy attempt at wrapping everything up in a few snippets. When this story (and my entire account) got deleted from HPFF entirely out of the blue, I took it as a sign that I needed to move on to original fiction. My parents and friends had been hounding me about getting serious about the book I'd been plotting for years, and finding a new place to put this story back up/keep updating it would would just draw me back into the whole fanfiction world I was too desperate to keep using as a crutch. That said, the following for the this story over at HPFF was comprised of some of the best people I've ever had the joy of interacting with, and reading over the reviews I've gotten here, I know the same can be said. I posted a link up with the entire story on my profile, but I know some of you really like reading stories in this kind of format, so I'm very hastily (notice the lack of author's notes) putting it up for you here. Also, I'm sure a lot of you don't check profile pages, so again, it's the least I can do. Sorry it took me so long - life's been pretty crazy - but I hope the 37 page epilogue (obnoxious, I know - I ramble like a freaking MOFO) gives you all the closure you seriously deserve for sticking with me on this. Also, if you're just a casual reader and you're all 'why the hell is this chick being so sappy and thanking us so much, I barely know what this story is' , sorry! It's more geared toward the incredible people that went out of their way to find me/wish me luck/see if there was anything else I could send them regarding the story when it got deleted. But I'm sure you're kickass, too ;) SO LET ME LOVE YOU.