Hmm, this story has taken a pretty interesting turn as I wrote it. It seems to focus more on Miles: a Slytherin slice-of-life, if you may. Don't worry, though, you'll get some more of Katie soon enough ;)
In time, we reached the dormitory we shared. Scott lounged on his bed, but our conversation in the Hall had not slipped his mind. "Well, Miles. I think you owe me a little story." He broke into a cheeky grin, and I gave a dramatic sigh, inwardly feeling an odd mix of trepidation and relief. It was nice to have another person to talk to for once.
Ryan Palmer was the only other person in the large room we shared, but his nose was buried in a book, his back facing us. Scott noticed the potential eavesdropper nonetheless, and quickly cast a Muffling Charm on each of us. "There. Now you can start."
"What do you know about today afternoon?" I needed to establish his knowledge about the situation, and work my way from there. With any luck, I could dispel the rumors surrounding... the circumstances of my actions.
Scott was silent for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "I heard from Lucian that you skedaddled, but apart from that? Not much."
"Well, to begin with, it was Flint's idea." It was a well-known fact that he loathed the Gryffindors. "He was mad when we lost yesterday." Scott had been at the game too, and definitely saw that crushing defeat.
"Yeah, but it was all Cassius Warrington's fault, wasn't it? He caused a few fouls and let them get a free shot in." He bought what I was saying: not that I had said anything untrue so far, but he was also piecing together the story for himself.
I scoffed. "I'd say it's more of Malfoy. He probably couldn't catch the Snitch if you stuffed it down his mouth." Scott gave a small chuckle at that, but reverted to his curious self again. "What does that have to do with today, anyway?"
"Well, I've pretty much explained it all. Flint concocted some plan to seek revenge on them, and naturally that involved getting in a fight." Scott nodded. He reached under his bed, pulling out a small carton of Bertie's Bott Every Flavour Beans. Popping one into his mouth, he inquired yet again, "That explains the fight. But what about you backing out of it?"
I reached over and took a bean, chewing on it thoughtfully. It tasted vaguely like cinnamon. "Scott, what did Lucian Bole tell you about today?"
He put another bean into his mouth. "Well, he said halfway into the fight you were gone. He thought you might have been scared away by a flock of birds one of the Gryffindors conjured up." Scott smirked at me. "I didn't know you were scared of some canaries, Miles."
"That's not true!" I protested. Before I could continue, I bit on my lip. Should he know? What would he think of me? What could the others think of me, if word got out I attacked the Gryffindors? Scott was a good friend, but sometimes he let things slip. Better safe than sorry. "Well, they were a bunch of crows. I ran after one of them nearly pecked my eye out." Scott studied me intensely for a second.
"You're not telling me everything, Miles." His voice darkened, and stared straight into my eyes. Just as quickly, though. He grinned roguishly again. "Your right thumb twitches when you're trying to think of something to say, and you always blink too much when you're nervous. Work on it, Slytherin," he teased. His voice had regained its cheerful tone, but he spoke the truth. I had to tell the truth, then.
"You got me, Scott." I held out my hands in mock surrender, smiling darkly at him. Where to start with, where to start with? "I was at the fight... I was the one who summoned the crows, I can show you again if you don't believe me."
"I do, Miles. But why? Didn't the crows attack the Slytherins? Did you run only after you lost control of them?" He got more and more confused.
"I didn't loose control, Scott. I had to get the crows to attack them, otherwise more people would get hurt." Ugh. I just dug myself in deeper: now Scott'd be asking me why I needed to protect them.
Instead, he nodded in understanding. "Flint does get violent too often. But if you didn't want to get into trouble, why didn't you just wipe their memories? I hear Flint himself's pretty good at doing that. His mother's an Oblivator, I think, and you're pretty good at doing that yourself. Why attack the Slytherins?"
"Hmmph. I should have thought of that at the time. I suppose it's too late, though." I feigned agreement, and Scott seemed to buy it.
"I see, Miles. You should keep your cool more often, I find it helps very often. Wouldn't want you going soft on the Gryffindors, eh?" he joked, chuckling as he replaced the carton of beans under his bed. He seemed done with the conversation, taking out a book from his trunk and turning the pages open. It still bothered me, though. Going soft was what Bell had done yesterday and it probably helped me more than it hurt. Why was it so bad for us to help others, sometimes?
Scott must have read my thoughts, for he looked up from his book, and added, "Look, Miles. If you ever want to talk, I'm here for you. You know, you bottle yourself up too often for your own good."
I'll take you up on that offer. Since he already knew that story, there was no harm in telling him the full truth. It'd be nice to talk to him some more: he always was sympathetic in my quarrels with Warrington, and tended to offer advice when Flint was being brutal in training, or I simply needed help.
"You're right, Scott. I do shut myself up too often. Could you keep this a secret, though?" It wasn't like the Quidditch team already knew, but I doubted that they paid it much mind. What I was about to tell Scott though, was the real reason for my actions. He probably wouldn't judge me too much, but I needed to keep this between the two of us. He raised an eyebrow: it seemed he didn't expect me to seriously accept his listening ear, but he didn't mind. "Alright. What do you want to get off your chest?"
"Remember the match?" Scott nodded. He was always there to support the Slytherin games, even if he though he didn't actually qualify to be on the team. "Remember when I fell off the broom?" To this, Scott shook his head. "I don't remember that part."
"Well, I slipped. I probably would have ended up in the Hospital Wing for a a week or two," I clarified. It was true: Graham Montague fell from roughly the same distance, and ended up spending three days recovering, and another four under observation.
"But you're fine right now." Scott seemed perplexed about this. "The only time I remember someone falling from a height and coming out okay was Potter, and he had Dumbledore to save him. You did fall from high up, didn't you?"
"I was getting to that. I fell from about a hundred meters off the ground." Scott's eyes widened as he took in this information. Still, I continued before he could probe further. "Still, a Gryffindor Chaser, Bell, saved me." His bewilderment turned to confusion, as Scott seemed to ponder this briefly, but it was in vain."That name doesn't really ring a bell for me, sorry."
"Blonde hair, brown eyes. About this tall-" I motioned somewhere around my ears, and Scott seemed to understand. Clapping his hands together, he exclaimed, "Oh, Katie Bell! The one Lucian Bole said had the flattest chest?" Well, it was true, but I felt my cheeks warm uncomfortably for a second before I continued.
"Yeah, that's the one. Anyway, she saved me. Grabbed my hand, made sure I was fine, lifted me to my broom, and all." It would probably raise less questions if I left out the part where she stole the Quaffle, so I stayed silent, letting Scott come to his own conclusions.
"Is that why you left them alone today?" His face was impassive, but his voice had an edge of doubt to it. "They saved you... so you saved them?" I nodded. He was taking it better than Flint or even Bole would have.
"Well, if that's what you think is right, I can't stop you." He flipped through his book again, finally settling on a dog-eared page. "I wouldn't have done the same, though." With that, he returned to his book- The Handyman's Guide to Power Tools. I myself decided to start working on a History of Magic essay.
It was good for me to talk about my problems with Scott. Tomorrow, I would probably see Bell at breakfast too. It seemed my slip-up had just made a pretty big impact on my decisions, and I wasn't too sure if this was a good or bad thing.
I don't think I have a large problem with writing dialogue, though I'm unsure if characterization in this story is distinct enough. What do you think?