How The Mighty Have Fallen

Static. Nothing but static.

Fred backed up a step, then two, rubber soles squeaking against the damp flagstones of the dungeon floor. Tilted his head to the side to listen better, two fingers tucking ‘neath the shaggy locks to adjust the earpiece nestled in his right ear. Still static.

His mouth pursed. Out came the earpiece, as he waved it back and forth randomly while walking towards the end of the corridor, deeper in. Static.

“Oh come on.”

More wavy motions. He even gave it the Lysander Treatment- scrubbing each little groove with the flapping hem of his cloak in order to clear out errant earwax or something, like how the Scamander polished his glasses. Sure, the lenses ended up looking even foggier by the end of it all, but it was worth a shot.

Yeah, you guessed it. Static.

Fred fought with the temptation of just hurling the stupid thing against the wall. Banging the remote worked so well at home, it was practically a certified mechanic/engineer technique. Sure, the earpiece would most probably shatter instead…….but the action would be so satisfying.

“F*cking, useless piece of ju-“

“-eddie?”

A slight widening of the eyes, and Fred was crouched on the opposite end of the corridor in a second, where he’d sent the modified Muggle tech whistling through the air in his frustration. A few grabby, hurried motions later, he stuffed the earpiece that was most certainly not spouting static now into his ear, words spilling indiscriminately with no small amount of excitement. “Lys? Lys, you there?”

Lysander Scamander’s voice was faintly distorted, interrupted by buzzing noises intermittently, but most certainly echoing within the stone walls of the dungeons in spite of the source sitting in Ravenclaw Tower on the opposite end of the castle. “I’m he-“

“Yes, yes, yes.” Hooting with delight was certainly the way to go, offset by a perfectly triumphant punch in the air. Merlin, he was brilliant.

“I am brilliant.” Because of course he couldn’t keep that to himself, could he? Some things could just never be stated enough. “Universal fact though it may be, it bears repeating Scamander. I am brilliance personified.”

“For someone who’s brilliance is apparently so unquestionable, you’re sure acting a whole lot like relieved when it did start working, Fred.” He could hear the eyeballs rolling in Lys’ sockets from atleast seven floors away. Surely that could only be proof of how utterly successful and brilliant his latest attempt at meshing magical and Muggle tech had been.

Lysander could breathe utter volumes of prose and poetry in his sighs. This one didn’t need to be all that eloquent, considering that Fred was bestowed with it about once a week. Lysander’s Lament Over Your Terrible Life Choices he liked to call it. “If you’ve finished patting yourself on the back, might I remind you that you have a rather important Quidditch match tomorrow?”

Fred systematically considered and discarded several options, finally settling upon the Sanity Is Such A Chore response. “Caffei-“

Lysander cut across the conversation with blasé brusqueness and the ease of practice. Though he would be hard pressed to admit it, Fred admired his utter non-Claw bravery at times. Hardly anybody else had the balls to do that to him. Speaking of such idiots…..”The house elves are under strict instruction to not serve anything caffeinated at breakfast tomorrow, and Dyllan has already smuggled away your stash of coffee beans.” Lysander sounded near gleeful. Fred demoted the admiration to annoyance immediately. Bloody blonde prick. “I couldn’t quite decipher it among all the impassioned ranting, but it seems like she appears to think that caffeine or sugar jitters are a bad idea for player focus.”

“If that girlie wasn’t a fantastic Beater-“

“You would have squished her under your pinky, yes, I’m well aware Fred.” The glee had morphed into the weariness of a fifteen year old who had heard a rant way too many times for it to be mildly amusing anymore. Even if Fred had plotted her demise via giant turtle in the latest iteration. “Or butchered her self-esteem. Which I believe to be fairly impossible considering she’s oblivious enough to not give a shit even if you were a penguin waving around a stick of wood, provided you could still hit Bludgers with it.”

“I know, its freaky.” Fred didn’t have to fake the shudder too much. “She gazed in my direction soppily the whole of the first practice, which yeah I can’t judge her for- but then I realised she was staring at the broomstick rather than the perfect ass straddling it. She wants to mate with my broomstick, Lys. I can’t leave it lying in the Quidditch lockers or anywhere for fear of it being molested. Lizzie would never forgive me.”

“I’m sure nothing will happen to Lizzie without its consent, Freddie. Children do grow up eventually, even if they are extremely sexy Comet 1200’s.” Lysander was sounding highly distracted now. Probably doing his homework at the same time, the twit. “Remind me why Lizzie is an it, again?”

“Because Lizzie can’t speak, and I can’t assign it pronouns, as it would be gender-discriminative.” Fred nodded with mock solemnity. He wasn’t even fully joking. Aunt Hermione’s lessons on that particular area of discrimination, in addition to the entire discrimination speech as a whole, could make orthodox Catholic pastors weep in their habits and had haunted Fred’s nightmares for weeks after. “And back to the original topic: this little earpiece of genius is for the match tomorrow. Could you imagine how much more deadly our Chasers, our entire team would be with proper coordination on-field?”

Lysander didn’t even mention anything about cheating in the aftermath of that little line. Fred felt almost proud. The boy was learning.

But apparently he had much more significant contributions to make to the conversation rather than reprimands on dishonest play and lack of sportsmanship. “Still a laughing stock if someone falls asleep mid-match. Idiotic bets with Scorpius Malfoy in the Slytherin dungeons at the dead of the night can keep.”

If the earpiece had been in Fred’s hand at the moment, he would have squinted at it. Even now, as he backed step by step around the corner to the row of empty Potions labs lining the corridor, his eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. “This is the cue for me to freak out over how you know more of what I do than my stalkery fanclubs, yes?”

“As much as it pains me to acknowledge that you have stalkery fanclubs……yes.”

Fred leaned against the last door in the corridor, knob digging into his spine, shoulder blades pressed flat against the cold, a generous smirk gracing the curve of his mouth. “Training to be my much harried, lowly secretary?”

“Training to be your caretaker when you eventually make it to that mental asylum.”

“Your belief in me-“ Fred began and could never complete, as the door sagged open behind his back, resulting in pinwheeling arms to keep the balance and a stagger past the threshold. He backed a couple more steps, heard a startled noise from the corner of the room he’d just literally stumbled into, and immediately swung around, hand on wand holster and eyes alert. The earpiece had slid free during the little incident, landing in some shadowed spot with a clatter that he couldn’t spot standing.

Well. This definitely wasn’t Scorpius Malfoy. Too much man musk, subtle as it was through the fumes of the potion gently simmering at one of the stations. What Malfoy called cologne but was probably one of the girly body mists that giggly girls ordered from catalogues, was eye wateringly strong even in Potions labs. No, this was someone lower on his shit scale, but fairly present nonetheless.

“Hayes.” Fred’s canines bared in a smile that stung worse than any sneer. Random Slytherin to take out his triumph on, and someone on the team no less? Hell, this was exactly what he needed. What was a Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match without a few well thought-out barbs and violent altercations the day before?

And Hayes wasn’t even the sort to break out in rage and splinter all of Fred’s bones anyway, even if the boy could catch hold in the first place. Right now, Fred’s veins were buzzing with adrenaline and he had absolutely no compunctions in admitting that he was spoiling to take it out. So he leant back on the door again, this time backing it shut, which it did with a quiet click.

Baiting, barbs, maybe a single punch thrown, a well aimed Stinging Hex. What could go wrong, really?

“Even if that’s Felix you’re brewing there, I do hope you’re not entertaining delusions of beating us tomorrow.” Fred took a lazy step forward, hands comfortably tucked in pockets. “I’m a fair kind of guy. I like to tell my opponents the odds before a match. And I have all the faith in your team's calibre to make new records. By being the first team ever that ends up with negative scores at the end of the match.”

Dinner was on, and the Slytherins were having quite a time of it. One Keiran Hayes, especially, was fully enjoying himself at the expense of the others around him. As a near-man of seventeen and the captain of potentially the first Slytherin team to win the cup in ages, he was riding high and appreciating the attention it gave him - particularly from the girls seated throughout the hall. Even ones from other houses glanced over when he shouted down the table to Albus, saying that he had a bet going and the Potter boy had better not screw it up for him.

Halfway through the meal, however, someone ran over from the end of their table and shoved aside the person sitting in front of Keiran so they could plant their hands on the table. "You'n Aud are coming to the party, right? Req Room after dinner."

"Why am I not surprised, Luke?" Keiran replied with a shake of his head and a chuckle. "We'll be there," he confirmed after a moment.

Keiran's arm was tossed lazily over Audriana's shoulders as they left the Great Hall, and he wondered yet again how nobody had realized their arrangement by then. He ducked his head towards hers, making a show of his fake affection towards her as he spoke. "Alright, Swan. We're heading for a party. I already said we would be there."

"What? Hayes, no. The final game is tomorrow and it's me versus you. I'm not about to walk into a Slytherin party and pretend I'm supportive of you," she glared up at him from behind her hair.

Keiran laughed, a little too loudly, the show always playing on. "That, my dear, is exactly why you're coming with me. A girlfriend would do so. And you're the one who asked for all of this. I can't have my reputation ruined, love. So let's get going."

Audriana huffed and dragged her feet and generally pouted all the way to the Room of Requirement, but in the end, she walked in with him, a stupidly endearing smile lighting her features as though she wanted to be there, wholeheartedly. It wasn't more than five minutes before she started making jabs at everyone she could and finding just about every way to spectacularly ruin the evening. Long before curfew even set in, Keiran was glaring almost blankly at the wall.

"Kegs, mate," Mesut groaned, falling into the chair next to Keiran. "Your girl is mental."

"Don't. I. Know it."

Mes turned his head to grin at his teammate. At only twelve - almost thirteen, as he would say - the elder Avery twin was already exceptionally friendly and outspoken. Keiran's eyebrows raised over the rim of his glass when he took a drink from it, wondering why a second year felt it made sense to tell off both a near-graduate and his Quidditch captain.

"Think I should get her out before someone tries to kill her? We aren't the friendliest bunch, after all." Keiran wasn't even sure that he was joking. He looked up at Audriana just in time for her to throw a drink in the face of one of the Rookwoods. Keiran still wasn't sure what the kid's name was, given the age gap, but he supposed they probably had not actually earned it. "Right," he sighed, pushing off of the couch. "That would be my cue."

Turning to look at Mesut again, Keiran shook his head and gave an almost fond smile before ruffling the boy's hair just to make him angry. "Do try to be awake in the morning..."

Then he crossed the room, taking Audriana's arm without warning, and pulled her straight out of the room and into the hallway. They came to an abrupt halt outside of the door and he turned towards her, a highly unamused expression on his face.

"You deliberately ruined that party," he accused, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning towards her to invade her space.

"Not nearly as much as I would have liked," Audriana grinned, giving his shoulder a shove as she passed by. "Good look in the match tomorrow!" she called, waving a hand even though she didn't bother looking back at him.

Keiran sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. With a shake of his head, he started downstairs, making a beeline for the dormitory. A painting or two reminded him about the fact that he would soon be expecting a bit of trouble if he were found out of bed too late. He nodded, but he felt sure that even the portraits knew that he wasn't taking them seriously.

As he made his way through the halls in the dungeons, he began considering what he had left to do before graduation. Aside from very publicly breaking up with Audriana - because, really, she was kidding herself if she thought he would keep it up anymore. Blackmoor would probably punch him, finally, if he didn't. She had made him promise to make a show of being together, still, before the match, and he knew what she was after.

Obviously, it had led to him making a comment about how badly she must want him to kiss her. She had not been amused.

For someone who wanted Gavin to ask her out, Keiran mused, Audriana was absolutely shit at showing him. But worse than imaginary relationships issues, the Slytherin still had exams to pass. How wonderful. His father would probably have a conniption if he did poorly on his potions exam, and that was the first thing he had to deal with on Monday.

If the match went well, he would spend Saturday partying and Sunday getting rid of his hangover. If they failed, he would still end up with a Sunday hangover, but for an entirely different reason. Either way, he wouldn't get any time to study or practice brewing the potion he knew they would be asked to create. The professor had grown up with Keiran's father, so a hint here and there wasn't too much of a surprise. He was just lucky nobody had noticed yet.

Still, he was passing one of the labs, and nobody was down to check where he was going or what he was doing. He wouldn't get caught if he stayed out a bit longer, Keiran told himself. So he felt at the door handles until he found one that was unlocked. Closing the door behind him, Keiran made a mental list of the things he would need as he moved between the tables and started digging through the supply cabinet.

Perhaps ten minutes later, he was writing notes for himself while he waited for the potion to change colors. His stool scooted back loudly when he heard the door open and he looked over his shoulder. He didn't even bother responding to the greeting, rolling his eyes instead and turning back to his work.

When Fred went on, Keiran could only look up at his cauldron with a completely deadpanned expression. The Slytherin liked to think he was fairly mature for his age, but it was clear that such claims did not apply to Fred.

"Negative points...?" he asked, one eyebrow lifting slowly as he turned to look at Weasley more properly. Shaking his head for what must have been the hundredth time that night, Keiran ran the fingers of his left hand over the thin layer of scruff along his jawline.

"How could I ever be so delusional as to think someone with such a spectacular lack of knowledge about the game could actually beat me? Nonetheless my team. How about you at least pretend you're rational and let me get my work done, hm? No girl wants a child, you know," he pointed out as he inclined his head, taking a direct aim at what Fred seemed to be most proud of: the female interest that appeared to follow him. "You'll be hard-pressed to find one who likes you for anything more than the average well, everyone else does.

"At least some of us know what we bring to the table," he said firmly, standing and looking down his nose at the Gryffindor, "and we use it efficiently. Let me know if you start falling into that category, mate. Otherwise," he concluded, turning back to his cauldron, "piss off."

Fred was an honest kind of guy. Sometimes. Occasionally. Once in a while. When he was compelled to be.

There was nothing compelling him now, yet he could admit to himself that he didn’t mind Hayes all that much, really. Sure, the guy was a nasty, slimy Slytherin. And the Captain of their Quidditch team. A non-imbecilic Captain, to add insult to injury. And he totally infringed upon Fred’s territory with the girls sometimes. And he was a Slytherin. But compared to twerps like Malfoy……..yeah. A vessel for the general kind of hatred for his poor Slytherin-ish life choices deserved, sure, but not all that loathsome.

Fred felt rather proud of his utter objectivity at times.

Most Snakes were, rather ironically, completely unambitious in their insults. Repetitive little arseholes, the lot of them. It was all ‘blood traitor’ this, and ‘filthy Weasel scum’ that, and come on. He was the son of George Weasley, one of the most successful entrepreneurs in the last decade. It was just hilarious now when someone emulated their great fathers and forefathers and tried to make fun of the famed ‘Weasley poverty’. His dad could probably buy out those ridiculous Pureblood ancestral manors three times over by now. Honestly, was it too much to ask to research your insults a little?

Hayes though, could snark and jibe and insult with the best of them, though of course he wasn’t anywhere near Fred’s level of expertise, in his own excessively objective opinion. He didn’t harp on about blood purity or filthy half-breeds either, which was a nice change of pace, and actually had the audacity to outright ignore Fred at times, which he would never have the self-awareness to admit, made the guy not half as bland as everyone else in this castle.

So yeah. Fred was bored and there was a match tomorrow that he was getting pumped about today and Hayes wasn’t an idiot and would probably be actually challenging if Fred taunted him into a duel in fifteen minutes. So he wasn’t quite feeling the inclination to ‘piss off’.

“Ah, but you Slyther’sins’ are creative twats.” Fred leaned lazily against the desk right next to the door, stretching his hands over his head in an exaggerated yawn, making himself at home. “I’m sure you’d find a way to manage it. Negative scores, the school would be talking about it forever. Isn’t that what all you lot aspire to?”

Then his smile broadened slightly because…..really? Hayes had practically thrown that on his plate. Guy must be losing his touch. “Well, considering that the only girl that cares to snog you on a regular basis does it to make her pretty little not-boyfriend jealous…….yeah, I’ll hold back my tears.” A little leaning forward, a little quirk of the head. “Well……I’ve got game, mate. I don’t need girls to hold my hand and gaze into my eyes and tell me how they’d love to be Mrs. Fred Weasley. Which…..” A further cock of his head to the right. “-they do anyway, fancy that.” A smirking curve of the lip. “My dick doesn’t need the reassurances.”

“But everyone can’t be like me, I understand.” Fred nodded sympathetically, hopping to sit above the desk and crossing his knees languidly. “You need to study before exams on the night before a Quidditch match to get lovely O’s and feel all happy about yourself. You need a girl to link a pinkie with and tell you how precious you are. Oh, I get it, its completely understandable.”

And that was his little jab at a weak spot, because Fred knew that funnily enough, the most enraging thing about him wasn’t his smart-alec comments, but the fact that he’d taken after both his namesakes and tended to ace examinations without cracking the spine of a single book. Nerds shook fists at him in libraries. Fists. It was why he bothered turning up at the exams at all.

So to crown it all off, “Some people don’t need efficience, mate.” His teeth cut around the word, smirk intact. “Some people have enough talent to spare and be luxurious about it.”

And then, though that motion didn’t add anything to the tableau he wanted to create at all, his fingers slid up to undo a button at his collar. His neck was getting a little damp. Huh. Was it getting a little hot in here?

Was there a rule somewhere that said all Gryffindors had to make it their personal goal in life to ruin Keiran's day? Keiran's life, really? Audriana was bloody good at it, and then along came Weasley and all of his cocky, snarky comments that made Keiran just want to punch something. Fred had that provocative quality in him - the sort that could make people furious in an instant, among other things.

Weasley's voice hit the air again and Keiran almost had to smile. He wasn't willing to allow himself to get distracted so much that he lost track of what he was working on. The Slytherin prided himself on his ability to remain focused on whatever task he assigned himself. That obviously wasn't the only thing he thought he was particularly skilled at, either.

It quickly became clear that Keiran wasn't going to be rid of the annoying git any time soon, and although he might have just walked out if it had been Blackmoor, it seemed oddly unlikely that he would be able to just leave the room without anything happening. Or, perhaps better put, without anything aside from the average bickering they were already experiencing.

At the accusation about Swan, Keiran turned to look at Fred, his expression one of deep reproach. Merlin, but Weasley was a prick, wasn't he? He clearly didn't have trouble saying precisely what he felt. "I didn't realize you had one of those," Keiran retorted, his tone dry. "Or, at least, I didn't realize it was, ...prominent enough for anyone to actually find it, nonetheless notice it."

Clearly pleased with himself, Keiran leaned his hip against the lab table, only shaking his head when Weasley went on. "In case you were wondering, the deal with Swan as much for my amusement as it is to get Blackmoor's attention. She gets irritated. He gets frustrated. Gryffindor does badly during matches..." Keiran shrugged, his expression one of utter nonchalance.

"Besides, she's no idea what happens behind closed doors. Slytherin portrait entrances, to be specific," he clarified with an incline of his head. "It's just lucky she isn't friends with any of the girls in my house. Snobbish thing," he added in regards to Audriana, frowning. "Or is that a trait all Gryffindors aspire to? Being stupidly self-righteous?"

Keiran couldn't claim to the O's Fred suggested - not all of them, anyway. So he didn't bother responding to that part directly. He opened his mouth to respond when his dark gaze narrowed in on what Fred was doing. Unable to find a proper comment about that, Keiran played at being oblivious to the action and instead went back to the last claims the younger student had made.

"Talent? That's what they call it these days?" he asked slowly. "Last I heard, people with your unending ineptitude were just called dimwitted, not talented."

To be fair, he was tempering what he actually wanted to call the Gryffindor. A word that had started with an F and ended in "wit" had definitely come to mind, but he wasn't sure that it would save him from getting done in the next morning by a few 'rogue' bludgers. Keiran wouldn't have put it past him, to be fair.

Despite the sheer wit that Keiran thought he was presenting, there was something odd happening to the air around him, and he couldn't quite explain what was wrong with it. He swallowed with a bit more effort than usual, his fingers moving to rub at his head to see if he couldn't gather his thoughts enough to find something better to say. Perhaps he could get Weasley to leave if he struck the right nerve. Or, maybe he could just pretend to agree to whatever it was and be left alone to finish off his work.

He took a step forward, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing Fred with an exasperated expression. "Come on, then," Keiran drawled finally. "Tell me what you want so I can deny it and we can both just move on. Needless to say, we've got things to do tomorrow, and it would do for you to focus your attention instead of just playing around whatever it is."

Ohhhh. Oh oh. Hayes had just migrated up his shit list. That took talent. Or a blonde smarmy face.

Regardless, the point was that Hayes had crossed a line. Size jokes. He was definitely going to suffer for that one.

Fred had a brilliant rejoinder ready too, rip-roaringly hilarious, fabulously witty, something that would reduce Hayes to spluttering, a riposte for the ages. Except when he drew his mouth open to voice it, somehow he also drew in a lungful of something, something that tickled at his throat and made him cough, trying repeatedly to clear it. He reached up a hand to drag his knuckles around his itching nose, his olfactory senses seemed almost overloaded all of a sudden by a cloyingly sweet scent. Rose petals rotting, plums gone bad, it was sickly sweet and absolutely odious and damn, this was why Fred loathed potion labs. Why was he here again?

He raised his eyes and ….right. That was why he was here. Hayes. Whose throat was bobbing constantly as though he was trying to swallow past something, skin around the neck shiny with sweat and…….huh. Fred blinked, and returned to the matter at hand. He had an opponent to eviscerate.

“For someone harping on and on about talent…..you sure aren’t confident enough to try without using stinky tricks to win.” Sliding off his seat on the desk, Fred leaned forward, amber eyes sharpened to a daring point, challenge oozing from every single damn syllable. Of course, the fact that he’d been discussing less than honest means with Lysander not five minutes prior didn’t even flit through his brain. His brain was highly convenient like that. “Too bad your failing levels of competence don’t let you win even in spite of that. Blackmoor and Swan are professional enough not to let this affect them….and we reached the final anyway.”

“Though I’m starting to think all this is an excuse.” The distance between them was decreasing rapidly, felled by his forwardly inching steps. Which was a good thing. Because that would show that he wasn’t cowed. Yes. That. His voice was descending lower though, in free fall through octaves. “You know where you stand, what your league is limited to. Sad really, that the only way for you to score one of us ‘stupidly self-righteous’ Gryffindors is through schemes.”

….though Fred was starting to think that perhaps getting right into Hayes’ face wasn’t necessary to demonstrate his non-cowedness.

Well. He was here. Better make himself comfortable. Hayes was turned halfway towards his cauldron, halfway towards Fred, lips parting around tell me what you want. In a haze of non-thought, Fred shook his right sleeve to leave his wand sliding out of the holster into his right palm in a wonderfully smooth motion. He twirled it between his index and middle finger, thumb sliding over the supple wood- back and forth. “Nothing you don’t.”

“Just a way……to blow off some steam.” Incendiary might be a word to describe the gleam of his eyes right now, the curl of the smile basking around the precincts of his lips. His voice had crossed the normal limits of human speech a long time ago. It was waving languidly from somewhere really, really deep down, warm and satisfied. Hayes’ nose was perhaps five inches away from his. It seemed closer. “I’m focusing my attention. Are you ready to play around?”

The world was looking incredibly hazy, Hayes in obnoxiously bright focus right in the centre of it. Fred blinked again. A duel. Yes. He was talking about a duel.

Keiran was definitely listening to what Fred was saying rather than the mere sound of the Gryffindor's voice. Most definitely. Because he could have told you... most of what had been whipped out at him. But the changes in pitch made it just strange, made it curious, and made it very distracting. So by the time Weasley made a comment about the real reason he feigned at dating Audriana, Keiran was frowning as he tried to decipher why his brain thought it was so distracting.

It really shouldn't have been. But something about it must have just irked him, Keiran mused silently. Otherwise he would never have noticed unless the pitch went up instead of down. Then, he would have found additional reasons to make jokes about the more important regions of Fred's anatomy.

Huh.

Keiran made a mental note to stop thinking about anatomy altogether.

But then he glanced at Weasley out of the corner of his eye and realized how fast the other student was coming towards him. It made him lift his torso properly to its full height, a strange show of bravado in place of what would have usually been an extra layer of nonchalance. Keiran's fingers itched to do something, but he wasn't completely sure what that was.

His eyes dropped to the Gryffindor's hand, even as he turned to face Fred full-on. His gaze raked slowly back up to to the eyes that singed with something and the mouth that practically dared him to break the rules. Keiran wasn't sure whether he meant his own personal ones, or the school's list. Either way, though, he was definitely considering it.

-it was just so bloody hot in that room. Not for the first time, he was tempted to check whether his cauldron's contents were burning. But he knew they werent. That scent wasn't coming from his potion, and he had a feeling that it wasn't coming from the student in front of him. Beneath the acridly sweet smell that seemed to just coat everything, there was something more masculine that he couldn't place, so he decided to pretend he could ignore it.

A duel. In the potions lab. That was pretty... Well. Keiran was starting to hate the word interesting. But his brain couldn't come up with much of anything besides that and how oddly close Weasley was standing to him. Merlin, it was warm. He brought his hand up to his throat, tugging the knot of his tie from side to side, but ended up deciding to just be rid of it so he could feign being unaffected by how little space was between them. He didn't want to appear intimidated, he told himself as he slid the material down and away from his neck.

Once that was tossed aside, the first two buttons at his throat were flicked open and he allowed his gaze to meet Fred's once more. Realizing that he hadn't actually responded, Keiran noted that he had two choices: go through with the duel, or try to stop it. It was stupid to duel with ingredients lying behind them, he decided, even as his hand reached for his pocket.

The fingers of his right hand curled around the shaft of his wand, lifting it from its confinement. Without so much as blinking, Keiran let the arm raise enough that he could stick the tip of his wand just below Fred's chin. His fingers were no more than an inch or two away from Weasley's chest; if he inhaled too deeply they could be touching the buttons of his shirt.

"Are you sure you really want to do that?" Keiran asked slowly, his voice somehow smoother than usual. As he spoke, he took a step to the side, unconsciously trying to corner Fred against the desk they stood next to.

Hayes was taller than him. An unnoticeable difference, usually, when they were on opposite sides of the Quidditch pitch or snarking at each other from across House tables and down corridors. Here though, with the silk of Hayes’ tie brushing Fred’s wrists with every sideward pull, as it slithered through the Slytherin’s fingers down and onto the floor, with the unconscious straightening of those shoulders…..it was apparent. They would probably be the same height if they were the same age…..but Fred was two years younger.

Something in his head told him he was supposed to be unerringly bugged about this one-and-half inch difference, that he was supposed to flare higher, bluff harder, fill the room with his presence enough that all flaws would be swept under the carpet.

But Fred could barely find the annoyance, buried as it was, cloaked and coated underneath the heat settling into and over his skin, drawing colour into his face, drawing back moisture from his mouth. It was so unbearably warm…..and a stray thought nudged into his head, maybe pulled from the heat in Keiran’s piercing eyes, that he wanted to be warmer.

His tailbone nudged against the edge of the desk, wooden and sharp, and he flattened against it without a thought, except for the fact that it made Keiran’s almost not-there height advantage all the more visible. But the Slytherin seemed to be remedying it immediately, and Fred couldn’t find it in himself to comment or complain, especially when he felt something relievedly, relaxedly cool pressing into the underside of his chin. Fred let it tilt his chin, lifting it up, up…..disclosing the line of his throat, the collar as unbuttoned as Hayes, the red-and-gold line of the tie still hanging loose and languorous around its ends.

Are you sure you really want to do that? Hayes asked, and some absent part of Fred noted, almost impressed, that the Slytherin’s voice could crank on the heat just as easy as his could. Which seemed an odd context to realise this in, because hadn’t they just been talking about duelling?

Fred smirked, slow and easy, chin still hitched unerringly high, and brought his own wand into play, pushing his hand into the barely existent space between them, elbow to wrist firmly pressed against the line of Keiran’s chest. He tapped the ebony tip against that lower lip lightly, twice, and wondered if Keiran realised that it was pushed out, just slightly. He wondered if the Slytherin could feel the thrum of magic vibrate against that thin, pink skin. He brought the tip down, scratching through that little depression between lower lip and chin, through the stubble. “What does it look like?”

The stubble.

Stubble.

Which Keiran Hayes grew. Because he was a guy.

Oh mother of…..

The scent was rotting in his nostrils, and Fred blinked, wide-eyed at Keiran Hayes, the very male Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, who had him backed against a desk and looked like he wanted to kiss the daylights out of him. Fred. Who was also a guy. A guy whom he had very clearly equated to a Flobberworm,  Bobutuber pus, and a vomiting Flobberworm in the past. Fred took another second to appreciate the fact that the tendency of kissing-the-daylights-out-of-a-guy-you-barely-tolerate wasn’t exactly one-sided. In that……he had initiated this. Almost. And wanted to convert that almost into a ‘very much f*ck yes’.

Fred jerked his chin away, to the side, breathing harshly, in the air still infected with the suicide of a million roses. No no no no. His voice was still low, but creeping over with inches of something almost like uncertainty and definitely not panic, because Fred Weasley did not do either of those emotions but Fred Weasley didn’t go about snogging Slytherin guys either dammit, so f*ck this.

“..Hayes. What on earth are we…doing, exactly?”

His eyes should have been a fierce, shocking blue, but his gaze was immeasurably darker as it swept down to peer at the wand that drew towards his face. Fred's arm found the fabric of Keiran's shirt and it was like he couldn't move. He wanted to smirk right back and maintain whatever semblance of power he had found in that dungeon classroom, but he was unfortunately caught up in the way his pulse thudded in his ears. He didn't even register the fact that his lower lip left the upper one behind as they parted, the flesh practically following down towards his chin.

It wasn't right, he told himself firmly. He wasn't supposed to be so worked up about the wand that was being pressed against his features. A large part of him wanted to be the one in control of the situation, even though he didn't understand it. And he did, actually, have more say in what happened than he realized. A threatening wand at someone's throat was a greatly effective way to quiet them.

But Weasley was suddenly looking at him differently, before he turned away and broke the hold that his eyes had held on Keiran's. Of course, that only served to confuse the Slytherin, rather than turning him away. Fred had just claimed to have every intention of going through with... whatever they were talking about without actually talking about.

The duel. Yes, right. The thing Keiran had supposedly tried to stop by aiming his wand directly at the Gryffindor's face. Right.

Except there was something besides adrenaline pumping through him, something else deciding where his focus was and what instinct was actually driving him. The instinct that had him canting towards something he shouldn't have considered. It wasn't until Fred asked his question that Keiran stopped to consider it. Now, to say the Slytherin was weak-willed would have been thoroughly untrue. But when Keiran Hayes decided what he wanted, very little could keep him from attaining it. Not if he had any say.

And just then, he definitely did.

With no chin to point at, his wand hung uselessly in the air between them, and Keiran had to take a moment to decide what he was supposed to do with it. Tuck it away? Maybe. Instead, he brought his hand down to his side, letting it just relax there. More than anything, he was able to register his muted surprise. He had worked up the single most annoying Gryffindor he had ever met... into whatever the figure in front of him was. Without even doing or saying much. Keiran would have had to be several years older to realize it, but he did have a bit of an ego when it came to being needed. And in a curious sort of way, being desired fit into that box.

Never had he considered anything like this before. And, without whatever had turned the lab into a sauna-esque steam room, he would never allow himself to think on it again. In fact, it would only determine more fully where his preferences were situated. But he was in that room and he did feel inexplicably driven to something sort of crazy.

So he stepped back a hairs-breadth or two, if only to force Fred to drop his arm, effectively creating once more that feeling of being close but not close enough. "Come now, lion," he chuckled lowly. "I didn't take you to be someone who goes back so easily on their own challenges.

"Scared?"

It didn’t take a genius to deduce that Fred Weasley was the kind of guy who was competitive in the bedroom.

Sure, he’d only turned fifteen this winter but…….come on. Had you seen that face? That body? Good looks, better words and an unassailable sense of self-assurance and desire for fun had led Fred Weasley to being, quite honestly, one of the most experienced guys in the Gryffie Tower, age be damned. Girls swooned when he strutted out of the Quidditch lockers. Swooned.

And then there was this Slytherin shit.

So……..coming back to the point at hand. While pretty blushing maidens were all well and good, Fred’s type fell more in the realms of ‘saucy chick’. The kind that could crook an eyebrow, push back, and try their best to wrest control. Fred didn’t enjoy relinquishing it. Or maybe only sparingly….just to snatch it back at the cue, vulnerable moment. What fun was the upper hand if it was just meekly handed over to you, after all? So much more enjoyable to hold it over the head of someone fighting for it.

Ergo. The facts were these. The deep breaths that were supposed to calm him weren’t helping, sucking in more and more of that godforsaken sweet fume into his system, that some barely coherent part of his logical mind could determine was the cause of all…..this. Hayes wasn’t relenting, wasn’t letting go, stepping back only to not step back, creating that aching space that was demanding to be filled at this very instant, not a second delayed. Fred’s arm fell, the air squeezing itself between their torsos once more, and his instinct jerked him forward in push-pull response, primal and just managing to be controlled enough for him to pause a bare inch away. And then Hayes bloody chuckled and asked him if he was scared.

He was a guy. He was the Slytherin Captain. He was also not going to win.

(Yes, you guessed it right. Competition was directly linked to Fred’s dick. Sue him.)

Fred smiled.

“Lesson number one. Never challenge a lion to contests of bravery. Its kind of encoded in our profile to win.”

Then he surged forward and……Merlin. After all that holding back (stupid stupid stupid, why had he been holding back again?), Keiran’s lips tasted like f*cking ambrosia. They were dry, and chapped, and lacked the taste of lip gloss that he’d just barely gotten himself accustomed to, and soft, and hot- and Fred curled his fingers into the hairs at the base of Keiran’s neck and pulled him down, letting the prick see for himself what exactly it was that all the girls liked. Something curiously heady was making its way through his blood, red and heated and burning, and it was like slaking a thirst that had been so deep, so long forgotten that having his fill now was enough to drive him out of his bloody mind. (Except normal kisses weren’t like this and he was forgetting something again.....)

And then, because even intoxicating potion fumes couldn’t cure Fred Weasley of his assholish-ness, he pulled back- then dove in once more, twice…..damn, Keiran was good at this- then pulled back again, pressing his nose into the side of Keiran’s jaw, voice biting into his ear. “Noticed it yet?” Incisors sinking softly into a earlobe, words like flowing, caressing silk. His eyes darted down, gesturing to the thrice-damned part of anatomy Hayes was so bloody obsessed about rather obviously. Shifted toward Keiran’s hipbone. “Prominent enough for you?”

F*cking finally.

In all seriousness: Damn. If he had ever expected anything to happen for him regarding his skills, of this nature that is, it certainly wasn't this. He wasn't supposed to want it. So why was he so elated when Weasley replied and essentially informed him that he would be getting his way? One eyebrow had lifted, the left side of his mouth rising slowly. He was preparing to say that snakes had a certain way of... slithering their way into whatever they wanted. But there was clearly no time for that. Not anymore.

At first, he didn't know what to do with himself. That isn't to say he didn't respond, of course. Fred's lips captured his own in an obvious challenge, and pretending Keiran had no intention of winning was a fool's errand. But it took until the Gryffindor pulled away for him to register the fact that he had done nothing with his hands. The one holding his wand pushed the wood back into his pocket, and was aiming for the fabric of Fred's shirt when the dynamic changed again.

Regardless of the fact that Keiran had been the one to back the younger student against the table, he didn't have the power anymore. Not when Fred dove forward, and definitely not once he could feel it and while Weasley was so incredibly close to him. He didn't like it one bit. In fact, it put him at odds with whatever part of him was completely willing and totally accepting of this. The part that brought his hand up to search for the house colors drawn around Fred's neck and used that as leverage to draw the Gryffindor's chin back up enough that Keiran could capture his attention properly.

It wasn't elegant, it wasn't charming. But the Slytherin in him couldn't keep himself from protecting the integrity of his snake - or his snakey, Slytherin self. This student - This Gryffindor was trying to somehow one-up the seventh year who, if he was being honest, knew full well that he would have had a far more grand reputation had it not been for Swan and her damned fool ideas. He wouldn't have felt the need to prove himself. Surely, that's what this was? But he got the words out, regardless of the cliché that surrounded his need to do so.

"Can't say I'm impressed. Comparatively, anyway. However," he continued quickly, pressing forward again. "I'll let you decide for yourself."

Keiran's chin dropped as he leaned forward, his lips finding the underside of Fred's jaw before inching further south. Yes, he had been correct. Beneath the sickeningly sweet whatever-it-was that had seemingly brought them to this point, there was something else. Something he hated to say he would forever associate with Fred Weasley. Doing his best to ignore that, he tried to find something else to focus on. The heat radiating off of Fred's neck, his torso, his- No, not that. His fingers found the smooth fabric of the tie again. Obviously one with experience in doing so, he further loosened the red and gold stripes before releasing it and allowing it to flow over the other student's shoulder to pool itself on the floor by their feet.

If he had been feeling like himself instead of the strange Slythrin who was currently overwhelmed with need for someone he typically despised, he would have been outrageously affronted by his next action. In a not-quite-subconscious effort to distract Weasley enough that he could regain control, he reached his fingers towards the belt loops of Fred's trousers and tugged at the same moment he caught the Gryffindor in yet another searing collision.