The Grim ➸ R. Weasley

Detention

   
    
     A emerald light emitted from the common room window that showcased the Black Lake, the murky waters reflecting their tranquility onto the peering students who were dying to catch a glimpse of a merperson. Many first years sat on the cobblestone ground, leaning against the window listening in wonder as the Slytherin prefect listed off numerous accounts where they themselves had encountered the people from the green waters. Jamie had never seen one, much to his disappointment. The most he had ever seen was the pitch black scales of the merperson's tale before they disappeared in the green abyss.

Jamie was lounging on the couch, his socked feet resting on Draco's lap as the boy continued to read from the book he desperately wanted to snatch away from his cousin — but he didn't because he was nice like that, when suddenly they were approached by Marcus Flint.

Marcus Flint, seventh year Quidditch Captain for the Slytherin team. He was tall and lean, his dark hair cut short and lips pulled up into a nasty grin, his dark eyes gleaming in mischief. Jamie never liked the boy — he happened to be the exact stereotype of a Slytherin: mean, cruel, and did not care for morals. He cheated relentlessly in Quidditch and the classroom and because of this he thought he was top-shot, only fueling his cocky attitude.

"Draco," Marcus greeted, completely ignoring Jamie whose eyes were boring into his side profile.

"Flint." Draco greeted, sitting straighter and closing his book, giving the boy his full attention. "Is this about the starting game? Because I'm ready, I've been practicing, I won't let Potter distract me, promise."

"It is about the games, I actually need a favor."

"What is it?"

"As you know, the weather is terrible. We cannot play in that. I need you to milk your arm injury a little longer, I'll tell madam Hooch you cannot play yet because of the pain. Our game will get pushed to a later day, hopefully when the weather is nice. Have you ever played in a storm? It is not fun and I would rather avoid it."

"Okay." Draco agreed, he looked disappointed in not being able to play, but nodded none the less. "I'll do it."

"I knew I liked you." Marcus snickered, eyes glinting, dark pools swirling with madness. "I'll tell Hooch right away then rub it in Wood's face. He'll envy us."

Jamie watched in disgust as the boy practically skipped away then turned to raise a brow at Draco. "Why would you want to push away a game?"

"I don't. But he does have a point. Playing in rain, how will I see the snitch?" He hummed then added as an afterthought: "the water would mess up my hair."

"Oh no, not the hair." Jamie rolled his eyes, snickering when the younger boy's face flushed.

"I'm going to talk to Blaise." Draco sniffed indignantly. "Here hold this for me, and don't let him read it. I mean it." He handed the book to Gregory Goyle, then jabbed a finger to Jamie, who was smiling innocently.

Draco turned and stomped away. Jamie knew the boy was not really mad at him, he was just being overdramatic, so he let himself snicker once again at the boy's retreating back. Gregory studied the book in his hands with furrowed eyebrows, carefully cracking it open to see the description on the last page. He hummed, looking behind him to make sure Draco was gone before looking at the elder boy.

"You want to read it?"

Jamie was surprised he would ask such a question, he thought Goyle and Crabbe followed Draco's orders until the ends of the earth, that they were nothing but mindless robots or obedient puppies that would trail after the white haired boy. Of course it was mean and cruel to assume such things.