Chapter 2
“Ron, don’t be a knob.” Hermione said, elbowing him to get him to stop pretending to curse her. You chuckled at them.
You, Ron, Hermione and Harry were all walking down to the quiddich pitch, escorting Harry to practice. Ron had since recovered form the effects of the befuddlement draught, no thanks to his brothers. He was still a little dim-witted, but you chalked that up to Ron being Ron.
You endured his antics the whole way to the pitch, listening to him and Hermione bicker like an old married couple.
Once you got there, the three of you waved Harry off as he joined the rest of the Gryffindor team.
“Try not do die!” You called after him, smiling.
“I’ll do my best!” He replied.
You all made your way up into the empty-ish stand, sitting in the front row as you watched Oliver Wood give the team a pep talk. Although you were a Slytherin, you usually sat with Ron, Hermione and Harry, them being your best friends. You were sat next to Hermione in potions in your first year, and you became really good friends through a mixture of needing friends and needing answers for the class, which you stole from her, of course. She introduced you to Harry and Ron, who quickly accepted you as part of their little group, and now you sat with them during quiddich games.
You watched as the Gryffindor team flew up, dispersing into the air as they took their positions, ready to start playing. You all watched Harry as he played, cheering every few minutes as and when he scored a goal.
You were chatting about an upcoming test when you were interrupted by the familiar voices of Fred and George, probably selling something.
“Two for one on Canary Creams!”
“Live out your life-long dream of being a bird!”
Ron turned round, greeting his brothers as ‘dumb and dumber’ as they sat down on the row behind you. George landed forward, tapping you on the shoulder and grinning as he held his jacket open, revealing a wall of sweets strapped to the lining. You laughed at his craftiness, wondering what they did.
“Take your pick.” He said, gesturing to the sweets.
You scanned over them, stopping at a small packet of ‘sugar hexes’ which you grabbed, looking at the packaging.
“And how exactly will these sweets inconvenience my life?” You asked playfully, raising your eyebrows at George.
He laughed, bowing his head. “Fortunately for you, they won’t. Just plain ‘ol sweets.”
You were suspicious about this, taking one out of the packet and popping it into your mouth, bracing to be transformed into a pig or turn purple, yet you stayed a normal coloured human. They were actually pretty good. You looked back at George after confirming that they were, in-fact, just sweets, humming approvingly. He shot you back a look that said ‘I told you so’. He reached into the packet, his hand lightly brushing yours as he took a sweet, watching Harry fly around the pitch as he ate it.
You tuned back into Ron and Freds conversation, listening as Fred tried to convince Ron to eat a suspicious looking sweet.
“C’mon! It’s just a sweet; nothing bad will happen.”
“I doubt that highly.” Ron said, stroppily crossing his arms as he refused his brothers offer.
Fred laughed at him, shaking his head as he put one in his mouth, Ron still watching him. “Your loss.”
Ron took one, eating it in the hopes that it was safe, but judging by the way that Fred spat it out when Ron turned away, you guessed that it wasn’t.
You leaned back, tapping George on the shoulder. “What did Ron just eat?” You whispered.
George leaned forward, getting so close that you could smell the scent of cinnamon that always hung around him. “That would be the Fainting Fancies.” He smirked, watching his brother chew happily as you both waited for something to happen. “It takes a while to kick in.” He added, leaning back and pointing to Harry as he scored a goal, cheering.
“He’s gotten better.” George said at a normal volume.
“Yeah,” You agreed. “Still reckon I could beat him though.”
Fred laughed, pointing at you. “You’ve never played a game in your life!”
“Looks easy enough.” you said all too confidently.
“You reckon?” George chuckled, crossing his arms as you turned round to him.
“Yeah!”
“Well then,” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees while he negotiated. “I bet you one weeks homework that you wouldn't last five minutes in a quiddich game.”
“You really don't have any faith in me, huh?” You tilted your head. “Deal.” You held out your hand, making eye contact with George as you raised an eyebrow.
“Deal.” He agreed, shaking your hand as he looked back into your eyes, mocking your facial expression.
The other three watched this exchange, immediately negotiating the details of the bet as soon as you shook hands. You turned back to watching Harry play, feeling the smugness radiate off of George as he scored his 6th goal.
George moved forward a row to sit next to you, taking another sweet from the bag in your hand as he leaned over to you. “There’s no way you’re winning this bet.”
You snatched the bag away in fake offence, scowling at him. “We’ll just have wait and see.”
And by that you meant that you had no idea how to play quiddich. So basically; you’re fucked.
You all watched as Harry played, emitting various ‘oo’s and ‘ah’s as the game went on. When practise was over, you all met just outside the quiddich pitch, greeting a rather disheveled looking Harry as he walked out.
“You look like death.” Hermione said, surveying his sweaty state.
“I feel like death.” Harry returned.
“Well, i may have something that might make you feel better.” George said, smirking at you as he talked to Harry. “Little miss confident over here thinks that she could beat you in a quiddich game.” He said, nodding his head in your direction.
Harry chuckled, crossing his arms. “Correct me of I'm wrong, but you've never even played quiddich before.”
“Nope,” you said, slightly regretting your cockiness. “but it doesn't seem that hard.”
Hermione turned to you. “You can hardly stay on a broom. Last time you got on one, you almost broke your arm trying to do a backflip.”
The group laughed at the image of you trying to do stunts on a broom. “Well I wont be doing backflips when I beat Harry.” You said, slightly overconfidently, but you stuck with it.
“Ok then,” Harry said, holding out his hand. “Tomorrow. Lunch. The quiddich pitch. No-one’s using it so it'll be the perfect time for me to beat you.” He smiled.
You grabbed his hand, slightly hesitantly smiling back. “In your dreams, Potter.” You chuckled, only then realising what you'd just agreed to.
“Then it’s settled!” Fred called out, clapping his hands together ceremoniously. “Tomorrow, at lunch, there shall be a battle between these two warriors to determine just who is , n fact, the best at quiddich!”
“You’re so dramatic.” Ron rolled his eyes at his brother, scoffing.
The group started walking off to the castle, and you trailed behind, listening to Hermione scold Ron for something or other as you stared at your feet, not sure why you agreed to the bet. You were lost in thought when George put a hand on your shoulder, pulling you slightly behind form the group. He bent down and lowered his voice slightly, just enough so the others couldn't hear him.
“So, be honest; Do you really think that you're gonna be able to beat Harry?”
“Yes!” You held your ground, crossing your arms.
George raised his eyebrows, shooting you a look that said ‘I know you're lying.”.
“Ok, no.” You admitted, lowering your voice to match his. “But there’s a chance that I might win, so I'm just praying on that.”
George chuckled. “Well, if you really wanna win, I know where you can get something to help you.”
“Cocaine?”
“Liquid luck.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, leaning down to you. “Theres an extra vile that Fred’s been saving for a special occasion. Just say the word, and it’s yours.”
You considered it for a second, thinking about how good it would feel to say ‘I told you so’ to your whole friendship group, but then you realised that it would be a hollow victory, one that meant nothing because you didn't actually win, the potion did. “Thanks for the offer, but I don't cheat.”
“Fair enough.” George chuckled, standing back up and resting his elbow on your head, using you as an arm rest. “But how exactly do you play to win this when you can’t even stay on a broom?”
“Practise.”
“Practise?” He looked at you, raising an eyebrow. “Before tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” You said, realising that you were going to have to do a week of homework that wasn't even yours.
“Well, good luck.” He chuckled.
You nudged his arm off your head, rolling your eyes and jogging to catch up with the others.
You all reached the castle, Hermione, Harry and Ron bidding you farewell as they headed off to the Gryffindoor common room to chill, leaving you with the twins. You walked along the hall with them, listening them talk about their joke shop, agreeing to double prices when Ron buys from their e.t.c, when the deep gong of the bells rang out.
“Shit.” You cursed, realising that you were meant to be in Defense Against the Dark Arts five minutes ago.
“What?” Fred and George said in unison.
“Gotta go, bye.” Was the best you could offer as you dashed down the hallway, speeding round the corners as you tried to come up with an excuse as to why you weren't in class.
Thankfully, you got there at a reasonable time, scurrying in and taking your usual seat, flicking through the paper in for of you as you tried to avoid drawing any more attention to yourself. Just as you'd imagined, you knew next to nothing that was on the test. The only questions you answered were in the section about the unforgivable curses, and you only knew those answers because you payed attention to the textbook, and the only reason you payed attention to the textbook was because the dude in the diagram illustration one of the curses was hot.
You pretty much bombed the test, filing out of the room at the end of the lesson with all the other students as they all chatted about how well they did on the test.
You were, to say the least, bummed. You walked down the hallway, heading to the Slytherin common room to stare into the fire in a pit of existential despair, when you heard two familiar voices calling your name. You turned round to see Fred and George walking up to you, their usual cheeky smiles painted on their faces.
“What’s up.” You greeted as they walked either side of you, making you feel like you were being protected by body guards.
“Heya.” They both sang in unison, resting their elbows on your shoulders.
“Where ya headed?” Fred said.
“Common room.”
George looked at you, noticing the sullen look on your face. “What’s got ya so down?”
You sighed. “I totally fucked the test, and I'm pretty sure I was the only one who did so badly.”
Fred and George looked at each other, glancing back to you.
“Im sure you didn't do that badly.” Fred said, a tinge of hope shining through his voice.
“I only answered 10 questions.”
“Well thats ten marks!” He persisted.
You looked up at him, raising and eyebrow. “And I guessed most of them.”
Fred did say anything, just shot you a look that said ‘oh’.
“And,” You continued, remembering about the bet you'd made. “tomorrow I'm going to continue my loosing streak by getting beat at quiddich.”
The twins went silent for a second contemplating something. Out of the corner of your eye you saw them look at each other, George mouthing something to Fred.
“Ah, I just remembered,” Fred said, taking his arms off your shoulder. “I left something in that place back there.”
“What thing?” You questioned.
“Y’know, the thing.” He said, breaking away from you and George as he walked back down the corridor, leaving you George and you, his assigned arm rest.
“You’re really bummed about that test, huh?” George said, looking down at you.
You looked up, meeting his eyes and nodding your head.
He paused, looking off in thought, before looking back at you. “Meet me outside your common room at 11.”
You looked up at him, puzzled. “Wait, why?”
“Just meet me at 11.” He repeated, a devilish smirk painted across his face, the same one that lingered around whenever he was pulling a prank.
You were slightly worried. “But that’s after curfew.”
He leaned down so you were eye-to-eye, his caramel brown eyes dancing with mischief as he gazed at you. “So?” His voice was laced with sickly-sweet joy, spilling though his teeth like molten honey down his porcelain skin.
He stood back up, walking ahead of you as you watched him disappear into the crowds and round the corner, wondering what mischief he was planning. You pondered this all the way through the rest of your day, the thought hanging around the back of your mind.