Chapter 3
Ben doesn’t want to go to Potions. What’s the fuckin’ point? He’s bad at it. It’s boring.
Luckily, Dameron‘s bad at it, too. So naturally, they ditch.
The Slytherin common room is warmer than it looks. Coziest place in the castle, if you ask Ben.
Poe’s retrieved a few snacks from his Hogsmeade stash and shares a few with Ben as they each find a chair to lounge in. Dameron settles sideways in his and pulls out his Quidditch notes—a tiny, charmed parchment he always carries in his shirt pocket. He’s constantly adding strategies, erasing failed plays, picking apart the moving pieces in moving, magicked ink. Sometimes, when he’s bored or tired of studying, Ben finds himself peeking over Dameron’s shoulder at the notes, mildly fascinated by the intricate magic behind his friend's charmed chicken-scratch.
He’s just melting into a peaceful mid-morning nap on the couch next to Dameron when Bazine saunters down from the ladies’ wing.
Ben pretends to be asleep.
Bazine is a fifth-year, too, but acts more like a first. Everyone in the school knows how flirty she is. And not in a cute, quirky way. Her ‘methods’ are far closer to a stalker’s than an admirer. And unfortunately, for some Merlin-Forsaken reason, Ben is her target this year. (Poe likes to claim it's because he's finally hit "the right side of puberty" and is officially the tallest Slytherin boy, but Ben doesn't see how those things cancel out his massive ears and giant Solo Nose.)
“Hello, boys,” she greets.
Poe, the stupid fucker, replies with his typically friendly, “hey, ‘Zeen, what’s up?”
“Free period,” she replies. Ben can feel her leaning over him from behind the couch. “‘Solo asleep?”
Ben can’t hear any movement from Dameron--his eyes likely never leaving his quidditch notes--when he says, “Probably. He naps like a geriatric cat.”
At least I don’t snore like a screaming mandrake.
Bazine hums. “That’s cute.”
Ben wants to cringe and tell her, emphatically, ‘it’s not cute. It’s the least cute. The most unattractive thing about me. I’ll sleep on dates, I’ll sleep through dinner. You’ll never get a wedding vow out of me so long as I’m asleep through the ceremony.’
Dameron scoffs. “Sure.”
Aside from her flirty reputation, Bazine Netal is equally notorious for holding a grudge. She’s held one against Dameron since their third year, during which he’d established a reputation for pranks.
The year during which he’d hidden dung bombs in the Slytherin girls’ dorm upstairs.
Thereby ruining a particularly expensive dress of Bazine’s. Saved for a particularly uppity ball.
Ben cracks an eye open just in time to watch her flick Dameron’s ear as she passes to leave the common room. “Shut up, Poe. I’ll hex you into another dimension.”
He mutters, “Accio fucks-to-give” before lazily tossing his quill at her retreating figure. It misses her by a mile. Dameron sits up just enough to turn and glare over at Ben. “She gives me the heeble jeebles.”
“Cold soup gives you the heeble jeebles,” Ben snarks, closing his eyes again. "But ditto."