Courtship, the Slytherin Way

Two small figures sneaked down the stairs to the Slytherin dungeons. It was long past midnight and they had been out on what they imagined to be a successful trip to prepare the Gryffindor table for breakfast. Preparations that for the most part consisted of partially sawing trough the legs of the benches and covering the seats in hexed glue.

"It will not dry until someone sits on it, then it hardens instantly," said Draco, who had stolen the small jar of glue from his father's study. Mostly it was she who sawed and painted the glue, while Draco alternated between ordering her around and trying to remember exactly were Potter usually sat.

While trying to walk silently down the stairs to the Slytherin Common room they could hear voices. Draco stopped unexpectedly just in front of the dark entrance to the now deserted and dark Study room and she banged straight into him.

"Watch your step, Parkinson," he whispered and quickly dragged her with him into the doorway.

He peeked around the corner, where he had a perfect view over the room and she tried to look over his shoulder. On one of the dark brown leather sofas in front of the big fireplace they could see the Slytherin Quidditch captain, Marcus Flint. He was making the strangest noises, and she wondered if he was sick in some way. His arms were outstretched and he held the back of the sofa in a white-knuckled grip. Flint really sounded like he was in serious pain. His eyes were closed and he was sighing and breathing heavily. Then she discovered that he wasn't alone. There was someone in front of him, partially hidden behind the armrest. Crouched over the knees of Flint was a boy; at least she thought it was a boy, since she didn't knew any girls at school who had short-cropped brown hair. The boy in front of Flint stood on his knees, they could hardly see much more than a pair of legs clad in grey trousers and two black shoes sticking out under a black cloak. When the brown-haired head tilted upwards for a second, they recognized him. It was Flint's Gryffindor counterpart, Oliver Wood.

"Well, well, isn't that special?" Draco whispered to her, "finally a Gryffindor at his rightful place, on his knees in front of Slytherin." Draco craned his neck, like he could see through the armrests of the sofa if he did.

"What are they doing?" she asked.

"What do you think they are doing?" Draco whispered back, and punched her arm, his voice suddenly filled with glee as he moved her to his other side so she could get a better look. Draco was shaking behind her, and seemed to be trying his best not to laugh out loud.

From that position she saw that the Gryffindor's mouth was attached to a part of Marcus Flint's body she had never wanted, nor expected to see. She closed her eyes and tried not to look at the purplish thing peeking out from his open trousers. Or that Oliver Wood actually did put that in his mouth, sucking on it like a lollipop. Marcus Flint seemed to enjoy it, though and occasionally encouraged Wood with small "yeah, like that" and "more, more" and "faster".

"What?" she asked Draco.

"Blow job, stupid," he said and smirked, "Wood's sucking his..." She clamped her hand over his mouth, afraid that the couple on the sofa would hear them.

"I can see that," she whispered, mustering all the iciness her voice could hold. Draco just giggled.

It ailed her a little that Draco seemed to know more about this than she thought he did. Not like two summers ago. Really, eleven was far too old to still believe the things he did. She knew perfectly well that children were not delivered by fairies and found in flowerbeds, nor were true wizards brought to the proud parents with little silver wands clutched in their pink little baby hands. Not that she had parents who actually explained such things to her. But she had two older brothers and a Grandfather with a pretty extensive library that they sometimes pursued.

The ancient Ars Amandi volumes had covered many kinds of interactions between men, women, sheep, dogs and other domesticated animals but there was nothing like this in it.

Between her oldest brother's giggling and somewhat lacking translations of the ancient Latin, she looked at the moving pictures that told, in great detail how, when and why little wizards and witches came to be. Pansy had stared at the book, more and more wide-eyed, for a whole afternoon.

She remembered with a smug little smile that Draco had been livid when she told him. He raged, cried and refused to believe her. Apparently he had furthered his education since. And she felt like she had lost an advantage over him that she ill could afford.

She wondered if she ever would be able to look at Marcus Flint again without blushing. When she looked up again Flint attached his hands to the Gryffindor's head and seemed to be pressing it down.

Oliver Wood made a strangled noise and wriggled free from the Slytherin's hands.
"Are you trying to kill me, Flint?" he got out in a strangled voice.
"Just relax and enjoy, Wood," Marcus Flint said, "put that tongue to use on something else than blubbering like a baby, will you." Oliver Wood took a deep breath and bent his head down again.

"Oh my god," she whispered to Draco.
"Yes, what do you want?" Draco whispered. She gave him a clout over the head. That joke was soon going to get old. It was maybe funny the first ten times she heard it. But since then only Vince or Greg laughed, whether they got the joke or not. They always laughed anyway, especially if it was Draco who tried to be funny.

Draco watched the couple on the sofa with rapt interest. He wasn't laughing anymore, just watching. She hid behind his back, waiting. Going back to the hallways of the school wasn't an option; they had braved the wrath of Filch more than enough as it was. And they couldn't go to their respective dorms without passing directly in front of the sofa. To think of it, it was probably better to lose house points and get detention with Flich than upsetting Marcus Flint. To do that could make life in Slytherin very difficult.

"Do you think they are in love?" she whispered to Draco, who rolled his eyes at her and made a very rude gesture. She sighed and slapped his arm.

Soon the sounds emitting from the sofa reminded her of her Grandfather's hounds when the cook at home had given them a couple of really juicy bones. Draco started to shake with repressed giggles again.

After a while Oliver Wood got up on his feet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn't look happy. In fact he looked quite murderous.

"That was great, Wood," Marcus Flint said amicably as he scrambled around on the sofa, buttoning his pants, "a pleasure to do business with you."

Draco turned and pulled her with him, further into the shadows, out of sight.

"I have never balked on a deal, Flint," Oliver Wood said.

"Remind me never to bet against you ever again," he continued and glared at Marcus Flint with distaste. Flint just grinned.

"What?" he said, "I really hoped you would. You wouldn't cheer for Slytherin in the upcoming match, now would you?"

"I'm a Gryffindor, Flint," he said. "We stand by our word. I did. You and I will never, ever mention this, and I won't bet against you again, no matter what you say, do we understand each other?" he continued in a slightly higher voice.

"But Oliver..." Marcus Flint started.

"It's Wood to you or Mister Wood!"

"Oh, but Mister Wood, I suppose you don't want all your little friends to hear what you are so good at besides Quidditch?"

"Of course I don't! Are you stupid! And why would you tell anyone about this? You would be as implicated as I."

"I wouldn't tell about this, stupid. I would tell them about you and the pretty boy."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't think I don't know what you and Prince noble and charming of Hufflepuff were up to after the last game. Consoled you thoroughly in the showers afterwards, didn't he? I seem to remember hearing you cry like a little girl, Oliver."

"What?"

"I was there, I had left my gear in the dressing room after the morning practice, and went back to fetch it. I had no idea you were there. And that Diggory was with you. But it was quite entertaining. I don't think his little girlfriend would appreciate that he gets from Oliver Wood what she won't give him, now would she?"

"You wouldn't! Flint! That wasn't...we aren't..."

"I know you're not. But she doesn't. Sure I would tell. It would be so easy...a slip of the tongue, you know how the talks goes in the dressing rooms after Quidditch games and I know for a fact that some of the Slytherins are real gossips."

"What do you insinuate?" Oliver Wood sounded more than a little nervous.

"Well, Ollie-boy...Oliver...sorry. Mister Wood...I cannot promise not to mention it...if not..."

"What do you want from me?" Oliver Wood's voice cracked a little.

"I kind of liked this. And if you want me to keep my mouth shut I will most certainly expect you to do the same thing again. And more."

"More? When? What?"

"Oh, Ollie, old boy, I think you know exactly what. As for when - whenever it pleases me." Oliver Wood just stared at him. His mouth hanged open.

"It's up to you, Oliver."

"I thought we had a gentlemen's agreement. I thought you could play fair for once."

"Only when I deal with gentlemen. Or in the company of ladies. And I don't see any around here. Only a little Gryffindor whore."

"You're a bastard, Flint, a real bastard!"

"I expect an answer tomorrow, Oliver. We play against Ravenclaw two weeks from now."

"You Slytherin cunt!" Oliver Wood spat.

"Oh you have such a sweet little mouth," Marcus Flint laughed.

Oliver Wood balled his fists, like he was going to hit the Slytherin, but then he suddenly turned and briskly walked up the wide stairs.

They heard Flint chuckle as he walked away in the other direction. When he entered the stairs to the dorms, he started to whistle the Slytherin House song.

"That was mean," she said after a long while, "I almost feel sorry for Wood."

"What a stupid git," Draco said.

"Wonder why he agreed to bet on something like that," she said. Draco giggled.

"You might be right," he said, "The dork might have some feelings for our dear Marcus. I know that Flint never plays fair. But so did Wood. If he thought he was dealing with someone trustworthy he should stick with Hufflepuffs."

"Still, you must admit that Flint was a bit vile," she said, "but it seems like a lot of trouble to get someone to do that. Couldn't he find someone in Slytherin? I don't think there are many who would dare to deny him."

"I didn't say that Flint didn't feel the same, did I?"

"Do you really think that Flint likes Wood? They snipe at each other and fight all the time?"

"Sure they fight. But sometimes I wonder if there's more to it than that. And I'm not the only one. Like he said, people talk. They simply fight too much."

"If people who fight all the time really are in love, what about you and Potter? Huh, Draco? What? Cat got your tongue?"

"That is not the same thing. Not at all." She giggled.

"Draco-loves-Potter-Draco-loves-Potter," she sang in a singsong voice.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," he hissed and pushed her hard against the wall.

"Don't think like a stupid Hufflepuff," he said, "love, what a stupid notion, it comes down to getting what you want. It's just courtship, the Slytherin way."

"Draco," she said after a while.
"What?"
"Promise me something."
"What?"
"Please don't ever court me."