Edit (2nd Aug '14): I think I might rewrite some parts of the story: if there are scenes you'd like to see elaborated upon, or you want to see a scene I've hinted at actually written out, drop me a request. I think there might be a few inconsistencies/odd plot points too, and I'd appreciate it if you could point them out too!
I strode into the Great Hall with an air of confidence, but inside, I was feeling uneasy. Bell helped me out during the Quidditch game yesterday, and the least I could do for her was to not play a direct role in harming her. Wasn't this what basic human beings did? Repayed favours? Still, I was torn over the issue. It's not like she'll ever know, a part of me reasoned. What's stopping you from hurting her? Just a quick flick of the wand, and you can put a nice good dent in that pretty face of hers later...
No! I couldn't do this! Yet my mind, eager to play Herpo's advocate, yet again questioned my stance. Why not? People are inherently self-serving. You should already know that, being a Slytherin, it mused. Still, what had I to gain? I wasn't about to advance my Quidditch career by harming the Gryffindors, was I? If that wasn't the case, why do such a thing? Why risk even being caught in the first place? What did I have to gain?
A hand lightly planted itself on my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts. With a jolt of surprise, I blinked twice, turning around, to see the smirking visage of Flint. "You're early," his gravelly voice informed me. Well, I try to be early: it's always been a habit of mine. But there were more pertinent things worth discussing with the captain.
"Flint. I've been wondering, why're doing this to the Gryffindors?" His grey eyes bored intensely into mine for a second, and my willpower was cracking: it felt like he was peering right into my thoughts. His face, an expression of boredom at first, morphed into one of distaste. He grabbed me both both shoulders firmly.
"Look, Miles. You're a rational person, you know they deserves payback. Payback for crushing our hopes, and our dreams. Those lions dashed our hopes! Slytherin's never won under my captaincy, meaning I'll never get to play professionally! Graham! Cassius! We suffer for their glory!" His voice reached a crescendo, and he was practically roaring already. The milling students around were oblivious to the tirade: Flint must have had the foresight to cast a Silencing Charm.
Nodding, I didn't break eye contact with him. "I understand, Marcus." There it was, then. Flint was doing this for vengeance. To gratify themselves. The less functioning limbs the Gryffindors had, the worse their performance would get during their match against Ravenclaw the week after. Flint wanted to tip the scales of the Quidditch Cup in favor of the Ravenclaws because of his vendetta. It wasn't my call to pass judgment on this misguided attempt to bring justice against the Gryffindors: just so long as I stayed out of it.
Or maybe it was. We might get hurt in this altercation, for those Gryffindors would surely put a good fight: yesterday's results proved that, after all. I definitely didn't fancy an extended stay in the Hospital Wing. And we weren't the only ones who were going to get injured! The Gryffindors might, too! And Bell was one of them: was this really necessary? Harming her was one way to widen the gap between what I've done for her and what she's done for her. I had a moral boundary, and I realized at that moment that Flint had crossed a line. No, he'd overstepped it and tried to get to pull me across too.
My face was a calm mask. "There's something that worries me, Flint. I don't want the plan to go wrong." This piqued his interest. He now viewed me, eyebrows creased. "What do you mean?"
Time to see if I could get Flint to change his mind about doing this. "For starters, we're planning to attacking seven people. How are we supposed to finish the job without being detected?" My words caused him to scowl even more. "And not to mention the fact we're pretty much done for once the Gryffindors tell on us! We may have gotten away with a few blows, but a full-on... assault will probably end up with us being expelled." Those were good points: I couldn't believe I had not even considered those flaws in our plan.
Flint flashed a toothy grin, before regaining the usual sly smirk he wore. "Don't worry, Miles. I've thought that one through. You're good at memory charms, aren't you?" I was. That was a fact. I had just learnt to cast the False Memory Charm earlier this year, and I had mastered the Befuddlement Charm in my second year at Hogwarts. "Yes," I conceded.
"Well, it's obvious: You charm them afterwards! I know how to cast the Oblivate spell myself, I'm sure they won't even be able to testify." Uh oh. Even when cast by seventh-years, Oblivating was a tricky spell to master. Only the Oblivating Squad were allowed to use the spell for good reason: without a good three years of training, most Oblivating spells tended to backfire. Most improperly-casted spells would wipe away a large chunk of the victim's memory: far more than the caster intended. I was fairly sure I'd read about a case where a misfired Memory Charm left the victim an invalid, unable to carry out basic motor functions. Marcus Flint wouldn't just be inflicting physical damage on them.
I was about to protest, but Flint's attention wasn't on me. Tracing his stare, I watched as the rest of the team gathered. Montague and Warrington swaggered in, gesturing animatedly. A soundless laugh escaped from his lips. Lucian Bole's mouth opened, but no words came out. Confused, I looked over to Flint, who proceeded to cancel the Silencing Charm with a swish.
"-gathered here, and we're just on time. Should we head to the pitch now, Marcus?" Bole sounded tired.
Flint grunted. "They're having practice now., so you should start heading out. Montague, we'll go ahead first and cast a Notice-Me-Not charm. I don't want anyone interfering today." So it seemed like Flint had a plan after all to prevent any interruptions. I had no way of stopping the attack now. For now...
The walk to the Quidditch pitch from the Great Hall was tense. A few students cast suspicious, surprised or admiring looks our way, but most cowered at our group of well-built, menacing and bloodthirsty Slytherins. Each step was heavy, as I resigned myself to my fate. Where was Slytherin cunning when you needed it?
Do leave a review to tell me if you've been enjoying the story, or have any criticisms. I've been thinking of writing a chapter from another POV once in a while: any thoughts?