The Flip Side

The Flip Side

Chapter Seven

Fred and Abby did as they should and avoided each other for the rest of the week, so by Friday the rumours had died down. After their last class that afternoon, Fred and George entered the Gryffindor common room and looked around. Only a few people were present: Harry and Ron were playing chess, Ginny was by herself writing something, and a few third year girls were chattering by the fire. The twins heaved themselves onto the large sofa closest to them, kicked off their trainers and stretched out.

"I thought this week would never finish," Fred sighed in relief.

"Really? I though you were enjoying all the attention." George grinned at his brother, who gave an annoyed snort. "I'm only joking, Fred. It is good to have things back the way they should."

"Does that mean we're back on, then?" Lee asked excitedly as he entered the room through the portrait hole.

"Cool it, mate," Fred laughed. "We've got all year."

"Oh, you aren't serious, Fred?" Hermione piped up. The three turned to look at her; she had been reading a rather large book that had hidden her from view and they hadn't noticed she was there. She was sitting with Harry and Ron, who had stopped their chess game to look at her as well.

"Go on, Hermione," Fred replied. "Surely there's no love lost between you and a Malfoy."

"That isn't the point," she stated firmly, wearing a face quite like Professor McGonagall's. "I just don't see why you would want to go about causing all sorts with that lot again! I should think this past week would have discouraged you from getting into any more trouble."

"You don't know him very well then," Ron told her. "Nothing discourages him."

"Not for long, in any case," George agreed.

"If it makes you feel better, we can get back at all of them rather than just her?" Fred offered.

"How does that help?" Hermione argued.

"Don't hurt," Fred shrugged.

Hermione scowled and her cheeks burned scarlet. "You're impossible!" she burst. "Do what you like but don't say I didn't warn you!"

"Right then, now that's settled," Fred grinned.

"She's got a point, Fred; Flint did say he'd kill you if you tried ought funny this year," George reminded him.

"Don't you start." Fred eyed his brother suspiciously.

"You're right - don't know what came over me," the other replied. "Been around Percy too long." The three of them laughed. "Honestly though, I do think we should hold off a while."

"As do I," Fred nodded. Lee looked like his whole world had just come crashing down around him. "I don't want them to see us coming," Fred winked and Lee visibly brightened.

"Brilliant," he beamed.

*

Ginny watched as Fred, George and Lee laughed together and then she looked back at Hermione, who was furiously trying to ignore them and read. The youngest Weasley frowned and turned back to what she had been doing prior to the twins' entrance: writing in her diary.

She called it her diary but really it was much more than that. It was a small, thin, shabby little book that looked more like a piece of rubbish than anything else, and it was what Ginny treasured above anything else she owned. Of course, this was because it was enchanted.

Inside the diary (for Ginny did not really know how else to think of it) lived a boy named Tom Riddle. She had first met Tom a week ago upon writing in what she had thought to be a present from her parents. Suddenly the diary began writing back to her and she had found herself recounting just how afraid she had been watching Fred fighting and how she had thought the other boy would kill him. And Ginny had started to cry again as the emotions came back. And Tom had listened to every word. He'd even written comforting things back to her.

When Ginny had stopped crying and asked him how he came to be in the diary, Tom had said that it was simply so long ago that it wasn't important. What was important was that he was here for her now.

So Ginny wrote in Tom's diary every day and told him everything. She told how Colin Creevey would not leave her alone once he'd discovered Harry had stayed at her house for part of the summer. She rambled about her first class with Professor Lockhart and how good a teacher he was. She complained about Fred and George and how they had not learned anything since they were still on about getting back at some students from Slytherin and how they were always teasing her.

In fact, that was what she was writing about now, and was so enthralled that she didn't notice the twins until they were standing right behind her.

"Fred! George!" she yelled angrily and quickly covered the diary.

"What's this then, Ginny?" Fred asked and tried to pry her off the book. "You haven't been writing nasty things about George and me, have you?"

"Nah, Fred," George grinned. "She's probably writing about a certain young lad we know with wild black hair and rugged good looks."

"Oh yeah? Do you reckon she's got a load of mucky poems of her undying affections?" Fred nudged his twin and watched Ginny's face turn the colour of her hair.

"It's the scar." George tickled Ginny's ribs. "Girls go mad over a bloke with scars."

Both looked across the room at Harry, whose ears had gone crimson as he tried to ignore them and concentrate on the chess game. Ron's face bore a mix of sympathy and restraint from laughing.

"Push off," Ginny growled.

"Right then, we'll leave you to it." Fred winked at her as he, George and Lee left for their dormitory. Ginny watched until they were out of sight and then turned back to the diary. A line of curvy writing had appeared:

That was mean.

Ginny sighed. That's how they always are, Tom, she wrote. That's why I'm so lucky to have you.

You'll always have me, Ginny. I promise.

*

The Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones arrived Friday night. Lucius Malfoy had sent an owl with instructions on where and when they would be delivered, so just before supper, Flint and Draco crept outside and crossed the grounds to the Quidditch pitch. There they waited in the darkness behind the changerooms and kept watch on the skyline.

"Been back here loads of times," Flint mused.

"What?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Did you know your sister has this little spot just off her belly button that makes her squeal if you--"

"Please stop." Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I really don't want to hear it, but I'm sure Fred Weasley would pay to know all this. And that's saying summat." Flint smacked him upside the head.

"Stuff it, Malfoy." Flint's demeanor did a complete one-eighty. "You got me into a right mess last time with talk like that."

"I'm sure Father would be pleased," Draco replied.

"Did he put you up to it?" Flint snarled.

"No," the other smirked. "It was just for a laugh, but I'll be sure to tell him it works."

"You'd best watch yourself. Your luck he'll believe you and reckon you'll go for a Weasley too."

"Give over, Flint, I was only joking," Draco scoffed. "Any rate, I've got better taste than my sister." This time it was a punch he received squarely on the shoulder. "And I don't think my father would look lightly on you knocking me about, do you?" he drawled.

"No, but now I can tell him it were Quidditch practice what left them lumps," Flint sneered. "You'd deserve it for being a bloody little liar."

"Oh, I'm lying, am I?" Draco asked slyly. "I've got you believing it."

"Leave it, Malfoy."

"You're not even going to deny it?"

Flint shot him the Mother of all Death Glares. "You listen to me - your sister wouldn't touch a Weasley with a fifty foot pole. And if he makes any sort of move, I'll rip his flaming head off."

Draco smirked. "Right then, I'll leave you to it." He glanced back up into the sky and spotted seven dark shapes silhouetted against the moon. "Right on time," he noted and directed Flint's attention toward them.

They watched as seven black screech owls carrying seven long bundles swooped down one-by-one and delivered the packages into the boys' waiting hands. Flint tore the wrapping off one end and admired the polished handle with the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One shining in the moonlight.

"Nice one," he grinned, entranced by its beauty. "Let's get these to the common room. Welcome to the team, mate."

*

The next morning Pucey was subject to a rude awakening, courtesy of Flint, as he was dragged out from beneath his warm blankets to the cold dungeon floor.

"Bloody hell, Marcus!" he howled as the icy chill shot up his spine and he scrambled to his feet. "What are you playing at? It's Saturday!"

"Get dressed," Flint ordered and then moved to the next bed and bounced Bletchley awake. "In your Quidditch gear." Pucey suddenly noticed Flint was wearing the team uniform.

"Have you gone barmy?" he asked, rather rhetorically, and sat back down on the bed, wrapping his blanket around his bare shoulders. Higgs, who had been awakened by the shouting, muttered something into his pillow that sounded very much like 'yes.' Bletchley groaned, turned over, and pulled the covers over his head.

"Wood's had his team out there since before sun-up," Flint replied.

"Bully for Wood," Pucey grumbled.

"Now's our chance to show off our new secret weapon," the older boy insisted.

"What's that then - our sudden hatred for our Captain?" Bletchley's muffled voice came from beneath his blankets.

"Very funny," Flint glared. "Get up and let's go."

"Hold on, what about breakfast?" Higgs sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"You've missed it," Flint said, indicating the empty beds belonging to the room's other two occupants. "That's where I heard Gryffindor was practicing. Potter's mates were talking too loud."

Pucey was beginning to nod off on his bedpost and Flint took Bletchley's pillow from under him and chucked it at Pucey's head. "Move," he demanded. "Malfoy's already up. I'm off to fetch Derrick and Bole; I want you lot in the common room in five minutes." He bounced Bletchley one more time and then stomped off in the direction of the fifth year boys' dormitory.

Bletchley threw his blankets off, got up, crossed the room, and snatched his pillow back from Pucey. He flopped back down on his bed and the three boys looked back and forth from each other to their beds to their brand new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. Finally Pucey stood up.

"Right, let's go then," he said as he reached for his trousers.

Higgs and Bletchley groaned but followed his lead.

*

Pucey, Higgs and Bletchley were last into the common room, and Flint wasted no time in herding his team out of the dungeons, through the castle and outside to the grounds.

"I can't wait to see the look on Wood's face," Flint said. "I've even got a note from Snape giving us permission to use the pitch, so there's nought he can do about it."

Pucey yawned and looked around. "Where's Abby?" he asked, changing the subject completely.

Flint blinked. "Dunno," he shrugged. "Off with Violet I reckon."

"She usually watches us practice, is all," Pucey shrugged.

"He'll not want her there today - not with the Gryffindors around." Draco was trying it on again.

"Stuff it, Malfoy," Higgs snapped, having been getting better at recognizing what would get Flint upset.

"Like I said last night, Malfoy," Flint said nonchalantly. "There's nought to worry about there."

Higgs nearly fell over.

"Hang on." He grabbed Pucey's sleeve and pulled him back out of earshot. "How come he didn't go mental on Malfoy like he did me? That was ten times worse than what I said, and mine was an accident!"

"True," Pucey nodded as they continued on the way to the Quidditch pitch. "But you've got to consider Flint's already been in the doghouse with Abby for not trusting her. If he'd lost it just then, the little git would run off and tell his sister next chance he got, and then where would that land him?"

Higgs looked like he'd just been told Hufflepuff had won the House Cup. "Blimey," he shook his head. "I'll just keep my mouth shut from now on."

"Best way, really." Pucey slapped him on the back and directed his attention to the mass of angry Gryffindors that were headed their way as they stepped onto the pitch.

*

Abby was, in fact, off with Violet. The two girls were sitting on the soft grass by the lake using the quiet Saturday to finish their extraordinarily easy Defense Against the Dark Arts homework.

"'What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?' This is ridiculous!" Abby hissed as she flipped half-heartedly through Voyages with Vampires in search of the answer, hoping it was the right textbook. "Draco said this is the exact quiz he gave his class as well. Lockhart must have handed it out to every single year! Honestly, who gives a toss about the stupid git's favourite colour?"

Violet stared down at her answer of 'lilac', which she'd known without having to look up, and smiled sheepishly. "He's really not all that bad...and you'll be wanting Year with a Yeti for that one," she said quietly.

Abby's eyes darted to her best mate's parchment. "Violet! You haven't even opened a textbook and you're on the last question! How on earth do you know all this rubbish?"

"Oh, here, Abigail!" Violet pushed her homework into Abby's lap. "It's the only time I'll ever be able to say you've copied from me."

"Thanks for that!" Abby sighed gratefully and hurriedly finished the quiz. "I can't believe this can pass as an assignment. I mean, really! How are we supposed to learn proper Dark Arts if Lockhart's too busy with the absurd notion of 'harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples'? Dumbledore must have been right off his trolley to have hired-"

Abby jumped as a sudden, loud echoing bang cut her off, and both she and Violet whirled around. "What was that?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, love, but I think it came from the Quidditch pitch." Violet was peering in the indicated direction in an attempt to uncover further details.

"That's where Marcus is!" Abby's voice was tinged with worry. "Come on," she said as she pushed herself to her feet and pulled Violet up as well.

They ran across the school grounds, passing the many curious faces of students wondering at the noise but not thinking it worth investigating. As they neared the stadium, they noticed two figures - a boy clad in a scarlet Quidditch uniform and a girl in ordinary school robes - supporting a third with telltale red hair between them as they hurried in the other direction. Running along a short distance behind them was a smaller boy, excitedly taking snapshots with a Muggle camera. Interesting as this was, when the girls reached the edge of the pitch, Abby stopped short.

"Wait, I-I've changed my mind." She stepped back under the cover of the bleachers.

"You what?" Violet blanched, joining her in hiding. "Abigail, what's gotten into you? Only a minute ago you were worried about Marcus."

"Yes, well, I can see from here that he's quite all right, and also we've only just left all our books by the lake-"

Violet looked suspiciously from her fast-talking friend out to the pitch and took note of everyone gathered there, now recognizing the scarlet uniforms among the familiar green ones. "You're not still on about him, are you?"

"No," Abby replied pointedly. "No, of course not - don't be daft." She tossed her hair and put her hands on her hips. "But they've got things sorted by the looks of it, haven't they? No need for us getting involved..."

"Oh, go on, Abigail! I want to know what's happened!" Violet latched onto Abby's arm and tried her best to drag her toward the Slytherin-Gryffindor confrontation. Abby twisted free.

"You go ahead then," she insisted. "I'll meet you back in the common room."

Violet stopped. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Dead serious. It's like you and Daddy said - I've got to keep away from bloody Fred Weasley," Abby replied. "Besides, we'll hear all about it later, I'm sure."

"I suppose," Violet pouted and took one last wistful look across the pitch, noting the absence of Harry Potter and making the connection to the scarlet-robed boy they'd seen moments earlier. "I'll not leave you on your own."

"You're a star, you are," Abby smiled.

"No need for that," Violet gushed, but then her face fell. "Don't look now."

Abby raised an eyebrow and turned her head to see what Violet was looking at: Percy Weasley and a curly-haired Ravenclaw girl Abby vaguely recognized were headed their way. "Bloody hell."

"Who's th-- is that Penelope Clearwater?" Violet squinted at them. "What's she doing with him?"

"Who's Penelope Clearwater?" Abby screwed up her face.

"You remember, Abigail - she was only our Herbology partner for four years, along with that Raquelle Newberry." Violet rolled her eyes at her friend's seemingly deliberate ignorance toward the social scene.

"Oh, aye - Mudblood, isn't she?" Abby's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Never cared for her, really."

"Honestly I'd have thought she had more sense than to muck about with his sort," Violet nodded, clearly having instantly changed her opinion of the other girl.

"Who cares?" Abby sneered, all desire to hide forgotten. "I'll not let him get off two nights in a row, and if she's prepared to 'muck about' with our Percy then she'd best be prepared for what goes with that." The two girls stepped out from behind the bleachers. "All right, Percy, love?" Abby smirked.

Percy started as he suddenly noticed them. "Not you," he huffed.

"Charming," Violet said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Funny bumping into you all the way out here, Percy," Abby said. "Anyone would think you were following me. Can't have all that again."

"Though I doubt many people are extraordinarily concerned with the events of three years ago, I'd think they'd be rather pre-occupied wondering why you seem to be following my brother," Percy returned haughtily, and stood up straight.

Abby inadvertently glanced out across the pitch and accidentally caught Fred's eye. Both quickly looked away. Penelope stifled a giggle.

"Think that's funny, do you, Penelope?" Violet interjected. "The only thing funny I see is the state of your hair - did you forget to brush it this morning or is it naturally so disgusting?"

"Could do with a wash too," Abby said, finding her voice again. "But a sack over your head might work better."

Penelope cast her gaze to the ground and pursed her lips as she fought very hard against the tears that were stinging her eyes. Percy was grinding his teeth.

"You'll never change, will you?" He composed his words with dignity in an attempt to keep from exploding. "You'll always be a selfish, viscous, thoughtless-"

"You're breaking my heart," Abby cut him off and her steely blue eyes flashed maliciously.

"And you are completely out of line," he replied, checking his emotions again. "Penelope and I are Prefects and therefore obligated to ensure school rules are being followed. Not that it is any of your business, but we are investigating the small matter of a disturbance that went on here. Now, if you'll excuse us-"

"Not much point, Weasley - you've missed the whole lot," Flint said as he came up behind them, followed by the rest of the Slytherin team. "Your brother put on quite the show, but if you hurry," he was pointing in the direction the younger Weasley had been escorted off the field, "you might catch the encore."

He went over to Abby, wrapped his huge arms around her waist and shot a wicked grin at Percy, who scowled in return as he and Penelope marched off to where the Gryffindor team (minus a Seeker) was gathered. Flint watched him go with a satisfied gleam in his eye and kissed Abby on the top of her head.

"Are we still practicing then?" Higgs asked.

Flint turned his attention to the fury that still adorned Oliver Wood's face over his sabotaged practice and shook his head. "We've done what we set out to do. Might as well have a proper practice next week."

"Right, in that case, I'm going back to bed," Pucey declared and was already undressing on his way back to the castle.