Just a bit more interaction between the two before I wrap up this arc of the story. I hope you've been enjoying it so far!
McGonagall's office was located in the Defence against the Dark Arts tower, and overlooked the Training Grounds. It was on the first floor, so I was spared the task of climbing a long flight of stairs. Bell and I were now seated on a wooden bench, waiting quietly for McGonagall to see us. Pomfrey was probably already at the pitch: sooner or later, McGonagall would be informed.
The door creaked open, and a shaken-up Neville Longbottom slunk out. He cast Bell and I a strange look, and scampered off. Bell's look of confusion seemed to mirror mine, but we got up and walked in.
The office was spacious and comfortable: nothing like Snape's room in the dungeons. I wondered if she got the room due to her post as a Head of House, Transfiguration Professor, or as Deputy Headmistress. She gave me a pointed look, but her voice was even as she asked, "Ms Bell, Mr Bletchley. I trust you have come to see me to discuss something you find important." From her position behind her desk, I could see that she was calm. She probably won't feel that way much longer...
Bell shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her eyes flitted around the room's numerous decorations, before settling on McGonagall. "Professor McGonagall, it's a different matter altogether..." She was silent for a moment, looking for the right words to say. I decided to continue. Looking the Deputy Headmistress straight in the eye, I felt my heart thump. She had a way of peering into someone's thoughts.
"Marcus Flint, the Slytherin team captain was involved in an altercation with the Gryffindor Quidditch team." I paused for emphasis, and McGonagall frowned. "How serious was it? Who was involved?" she questioned, her voice professional and curt. I was a Slytherin, so she was probably expecting me to be one of the combatants. What I said now would be very important in acquitting me and the others of guilt.
"To begin with, it was Flint's idea. He couldn't come to terms with the fact that we lost the game yesterday, and decided to... assault the Gryffindors." This was news to both Bell and McGonagall, the former's eyes widening as the Deputy Headmistress peered at me from under her glasses. "And the rest of the team went along with it?" Doubt seeped into her voice.
"It wasn't like that! He threatened us with physical force if we didn't cooperate: everyone but Draco Malfoy had to agree. I'm not sure where Draco is now, I haven't seen him ever since the match yesterday." McGonagall took this in for a moment, absorbing the news about Malfoy too. I thought for a moment, deciding who to paint as innocent.
"Graham Montague and Lucian Bole didn't do much: it was mostly Peregrine Derrick and Cassius Warrington that hurt the Gryffindors the most: not to mention the fact Flint started it."
Bell nodded furiously in agreement, coming to my defence. "Miles didn't lift his wand, except to hinder Flint when he was attacking us. You have my word, Professor." McGonagall stared at her for a long time, seemingly deciding whether her words held any truth.
"I believe you, Ms. Bell and Mr. Bletchley. Where are the others involved now?" The determined expression on Bell's face was replaced by one of melancholy.
"On the pitch, Professor. As soon as the fight ended, Oliver went to get help from Madam Pomfrey. Almost everyone on both teams are injured, except for me, Angelina, Oliver and Bletchley. Lucian Bole and Draco Malfoy weren't at the fight at all, and Harry had to miss training." McGonagall gave an understanding nod, but the stern expression etched on her face remained.
"Thank you for coming today. I will see to this matter." There was an edge of finality to McGonagall's voice, as she dismissed us. With a quick flick of the wand, the doors of the office swung open. Bell and I stood up to leave. She seemed relieve, flashing me a grin. I nodded at her, exiting the office.
"It took a lot of courage for you to come here, Mr. Bletchley." The professor's parting words stopped me as I stepped into the hallway. Courage. That was an interesting thought: a brave Slytherin. Had that suggegstion come from anyone but the Head of Gryffindor House herself, I would have dismissed it as a foolish notion. Professor McGonagall, however, was always frank with students: something I respected her for. Looking back once more, McGonagall gave me an appreciative nod, a look of approval displaying on her hawklike eyes. I felt my lips curl up, and slowly closed the door behind me.
As comforting as her words may have been, she didn't know everything, though. What I did today wasn't about standing up to my fears, it wasn't about righting a wrong. It was about repaying a personal debt to someone else: no more, no less. And today, that was settled. I was still a Slytherin at heart: ambition, cunning and power.
"Professor McGonagall's right, you know." Bell spoke up quietly from my left. I could detect the weight of her words as she stared seriously at me. "I don't think any other Slytherin would have defied Flint, let alone go against him. You're brave for doing that."
"I didn't do that because of courage, Bell." The words were tumbling out of my mouth before I could think of a proper answer. "You saved me from injury, so I did the same. That's it. There was nothing to stand up to: Flint basically had no more real authority short of getting his lackeys to harass me. I wasn't a hero during the fight either, I summoned those birds from the sidelines." That was technically the truth.
Bell pouted, looking unconvinced. "It's one thing to protect your friends, but to protect a stranger is something else altogether. I still think that was a good thing to do." It seemed like she doubted my Slytherin qualities. Then again, persistence was one quality nearly all Quidditch players would possess, regardless of house.
This was getting nowhere. I sighed before looking away from her, breaking eye contact. "Whatever you say, Bell."
We walked along the corridor in silence, but I could feel her eyes probing me from behind. The occasional student that still wandered the corridors of the castle now paid us no heed, despite the fact we were still in Quidditch robes. After about ten minutes of my brisk pacing, we arrived at a familiar stone wall on the first floor of the Viaduct Tower. I gazed lazily at Bell. "Gryffindor Tower is that way," I prompted, gesturing to the exit of the tower.
"Where're you headed to?" Looks like the location of the Slytherin common room was still a well-kept secret. Looking around to ascertain none of my housemates were present, I folded my arms. "My room."
Bell stared suspiciously at the nondescript stone wall, unsatisfied with my answer. "I'll see you tomorrow during breakfast, then." Whipping around, she hurried out of the Viaduct, her robes fluttering behind her. I watched her diminutive figure get smaller as she faded into the distance, before returning my attention to the stone wall.
Two bricks from the left... Five bricks up... I traced my finger along the stone tile. Crouching down, I whispered the password. "Natrix." The stone wall slowly parted down the middle, the two parts silently sliding to the side, as they always had. The moment I stepped into the Slytherin corridors, the stone wall rejoined quickly, concealing the entrance to our common room.
One hour and one shower later, I was in the Great Hall for dinner. Bell wasn't at her table yet when I arrived, and she wasn't here now that fifteen minutes had passed. I was now comfortably seated at my usual spot at the fourth year's section. My lip curled distastefully as I observed Pansy Parkinson rest her head on the lap of a simpering Draco Malfoy. Though I was too far away to hear what they were saying, Malfoy was probably whispering sweet nothings to her. Bootlicking was the only reason he attained anything of value, that cowardly little rat...
"Hey, Miles." Scott Vaisey plopped himself next to me, and I returned his greeting, tearing my eyes from Malfoy. I swept my eyes across the rest of Slytherin's table, noticing the high number of empty seats in the hall. They're probably still in the Hospital Wing. Idly, I took the first bite of my dinner. It was a pot roast, with a spinach stew. I hated spinach, pushing it aside, I slowly took another bite of my dinner. As I watched the entrance, I spotted the familiar figure of Flint heatedly walking towards the table. I frowned.
"Something bothering you?" There was a touch of genuine concern in Scott's voice. Just Quidditch, Scott. None of your concern. "No, I'm fine," I grunted. With that, Vaisey returned to his food.
Flint quickly approached me. "Miles, I didn't see you at the Hospital Wing. Are you feeling alright?" There was a furrow in his brow: he seemed genuinely concerned. I felt a brief twinge of guilt, but remembered what Flint had tried to do. Keeping my face straight, I replied, "After you were stunned, Bole and I...retreated. We went to the Hospital Wing to get help, and met Wood there. It's a pity we couldn't hex him, because Pomfrey was there. I'm fine, though." I threw in that last bit for good measure, knowing the only person he hated as much as the Weasley twins was Oliver Wood, who Flint maintained was nothing without Potter as a Seeker. Captain rivalry only amplified his hatred for Wood: indeed, a flash of anger crossed Flint's eyes when I mentioned the Gryffindor's captain name, but Flint let it slide.
He seemed to consider my words for a moment, before nodding slowly. Glad to hear you're okay: Malfoy's the one who needs a... talking to." With that, he moved on to the next section of the Slytherin table.
Scott had been listening to the exchange. "You got in a fight?" I ignored him for a moment, chewing slowly on the roast. Scott didn't seem to take the hint. "You got in a fight... with the Gryffindors?" I sighed. He really wants to know...
"Not here. I'll tell you about it tonight, alright?" He nodded, and I was left alone once again. To my left, I could hear Parkinson screeching as Flint berated Malfoy, and to my right, Bole poked at his pie, nursing his right arm. Vaisey reached for a platter of Cauldron Cakes, offering one to me.
The chocolate and caramel crumbled apart in my mouth, as I looked around the Great Hall, bored. Flint was doing an unusually good job keeping his cool: McGonagall must not have decided on an appropriate punishment for him and the rest of the team. I wonder if I would be let off the hook: the professor seemed more relieved than angry at me after my explanation, but the other Slytherins would definitely offer differing explanations. It then occured to me that it would be mine and Bole's word against the three Chasers and Derrick. Warrington already received a suspension last year for rough play, and since Flint was technically an eighth year... It looked like I wasn't going to be the one with a year-long detention. Better them than me.
Helping myself to a final Cauldron Cake, I left my empty plate and the untouched bowl of spinach on the table as I headed back to the dungeons. Scott mirrored me as I stood up, walking behind me. I was briefly reminded of Bell and I's walk earlier, but that thought was quickly dispelled as he started to chatter on. As usual, I listened to him, adding the occasional comment or murmuring in agreement once in a while. Scott talked mostly about his Muggle Studies class, complaining how he was the only one without a partner. That's because you're the only Slytherin in the class. We occupied ourselves with chatter as we made our way back to the dorms.
School's started again for me, so my chapters will probably come more slowly. I've got a backlog of chapters (all the way up to 9 waiting to be published, but updates after that will be less frequent.
Do point out what you like about my characters so far: are they believable? Realistic?