Matches and needles
Clint had been so thrilled when he found out he shared a class with Vladimir - one of his first classes, no less. So, moving stairs permitting, he’d shown up to transfiguration five minutes early, and kept the stool next to him free by putting his bag on it and shooting foul looks at anyone who looked like they might want to take the seat.
Vladimir showed up two minutes late, rubbing his jaw and sitting down in the seat beside Clint without hesitation.
“Trouble?” Asked Clint quietly, which got him a little shake of Vlad’s head. Luckily, Professor Granger hadn’t shown up yet, so that gave Clint more time to interrogate Vladimir about why exactly he was late. “So, one of your ‘friends’ socked you in the jaw?”
Vladimir turned a little to scowl at him, dropping his hand. “It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing” Clint protested petulantly
“It’s not even bruised. Just fucking drop it, Мудак” He snapped, half-turning away to stare at the front of the classroom. His language startled Clint, but he answered snarkily anyway.
“Fine. Figure it out yourself, then.” Clint huffed, pouting a little as he turned back. He could hear Vlad muttering to himself in what he assumed was Russian, but he wasn’t quite sure.
Just as he was about to speak again, the door closed with a bang, and all the first years jumped, looking up at the middle-aged witch who’d come in at last. There was a moment of silence as she stalked through the aisles of desks until she reached the front of the classroom. “My name is Professor Granger, and I will be your Transfiguration teacher. Anyone who tries to fool around in this class will leave and not come back. Am I understood?” At the quick nod everyone gave, she began writing on the chalkboard.
The first half of the class was spent taking notes, and then the professor went through the classroom, passing a matchstick to every individual student while reciting the spell needed to turn it into a needle. Clint nervously took his wand, practising the movement a few times and mumbling the spell under his breath, which was enough to make the match quiver a little. Then he glanced aside, and noticed Vlad leaning back, a perfectly neat needle laying on the table in front of him. He hadn’t even heard Vladimir say the spell.
“How’d you do that so quickly?” he hissed, eyebrows scrunched up. Vlad shrugged. “Is easy for me. I just… Get it.”
Well, it couldn’t be so hard then, could it? Clint said the spell confidently, waving his wand, but all he managed to do was get the match to wiggle. Suddenly, Vladimir's hands were on his, and he was shaking his head. “You’re moving your wand wrong.” He explained.
“Here, like this.” He took his own wand and waved it slightly, and Clint mimicked the movement, frowning. “Yes, now say the spell”
Clint nodded and did so, biting his lip in concentration. The match became slightly silvery and pointy on one end. Clint huffed out a breath, but Vlad grabbed his hand again, showing the movement once more. “No, no, much better. You almost have it. You need to draw out your vowel more, too. Come on, try again”
It took him four more tries, but eventually he had a passable needle in front of him. Professor Granger passed them, then, and beamed down proudly. “Twenty points to Gryffindor and Slytherin each. Well done, boys!” Clint grinned at the praise, and even Vlad ducked his head to hide his smile.
By the end of the lesson, only they had managed to change their matches into needles, and even then, Clint probably couldn’t have done it without Vlad’s help. At the thought, he glanced over at said boy, and noticed that his jaw had begun to swell up.
“You should have that looked at in the hospital wing.” Clint suggested. Vlad looked offended by the very idea. “It’s nothing.” He snapped, and Clint blinked. He didn’t know why Vlad seemed to hate the idea of getting help, but he left it alone.
Clint thought he had blown it with Vlad when he had stalked away without saying goodbye, and sat at lunch picking at his food until he heard a familiar sigh as Vlad dropped into the seat beside him again.
“Just can’t get enough of me, huh?” Clint teased, though his tone was cautious. He didn’t want Vlad to be angry with him again. Luckily, though, Vladimir teased right back. “Just don’t want you going into withdrawal without me” Which made Clint laugh, relieved.
“It’s good you’re back, then. I was starting to get twitchy already.” He snarked back, making Vlad smirk.
“Then it seems I was just in time.” Vlad hummed in return, reaching for the jug of pumpkin juice to pour them both a glass. He hadn’t tried it before, though, and after a sip he completely abandoned it to dig around in his bag, withdrawing a metal flask and taking a swig of it. His shoulders seemed to relax, and he thoughtlessly offered it to Clint.
Clint frowned as he was offered the flask, taking it and sniffing the contents. before carefully taking a sip. He pulled a face and only barely managed to swallow it down, a shudder going through him as it burned all the way down into his stomach.
“Why do you drink that?” he asked, quickly drinking some more juice to get rid of the taste. Vlad snatched the flask back. with a shrug. “It helps.” Was all he said, taking another drink before letting out a sharp whistle. At the slytherin table, Toly’s head jerked up just as the flask came sailing his way. He caught it and raised it in thanks, downing most of the Vodka inside it before he tossed it back.
“Helps with what?!” Clint sputtered. “Hypothermia?”
Vlad shrugged again, before calling something out to Toly in Russian, sounding kind of pissed. Clint glared at him. “Vladimir! Why do you drink it?!” He asked snappishly.
“Already told you. Helps.”
“Didn’t answer my question, though.”
“It just helps with things, okay? I just does. I have my reasons.” He mumbled into his flask as he drank the rest of it.
“Sure you got your reasons.” Clint muttered, a bit angry that Vlad was already drinking.
“Да, I do.” Clint had noticed that when Vladimir didn’t want to talk about something he would fill his mouth with food at that would be the end of the conversation. Such as what he was doing now. He had filled his mouth with a huge bite of his sandwich and turned away from Clint.
Clint just huffed, muttering something crude under his breath, and left it at that.