Chapter 5, "Team up"

For many sixth years, the extra three periods added so generously to their academic schedules were not truly that of relaxation; workloads were increasing, as were curriculums, and many of Mavis's originally innocent classmates had found themselves swimming in work during their free time while they attempted to keep up with the homework being set.

The Slytherins, however, remained on top of their classes, as usual, being the only house to truly take advantage of their extra time; Gryffindor was infamous for gossiping or chatting away their afternoons well into the night; Hufflepuff was often ahead in the classes they had an affinity for, but not the ones they didn't, which was undoubtedly their downfall; and Ravenclaws, despite their reputation for obviously being ahead in academics, typically ended up over-working, their strenuous minds in need of respite by halfway through the second week of school.

So, really, it was Slytherin who were the silent assassins, when it came to schoolwork. And, as if to prove such point, during one of their midday free periods (when any other sixth years would be found slaving away in the library or Great Hall), Mavis herself was strewn across an emerald green couch in the common room, sitting in contented silence—and perhaps taking a slight catnap, though she wouldn't say so aloud.

One foot kicked up on the couch and the other hanging down toward the ground and a hand gingerly holding onto the spine of her book, she was merely resting her eyes when the cacophony erupted. Her attention was shot and her eyes popped open to greet the usual suspects.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mayberry," said Malfoy, as he strode into the common room, taking a seat in the armchair diagonal from Mavis and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. "Were you sleeping? I extend my deepest apologies for waking you."

"Piss off, Malfoy," she suggested, rubbing her eyes. "Shame you lot had to return from whence you came; it was almost peaceful down here for once. And wherever is 'from whence you came'?"

Blaise scoffed a laugh, collapsing into a chair of his own. "We've just been around. Here and there."

"Here and there?" Pansy giggled, rolling her eyes dramatically. "C'mon, Blaise, I think hexing the first years' shoes to the floors is a little bit more than here and there."

Mavis sat up on her couch to allow Theo a spot next to her, but—though there was room for her anyways—Pansy chose the armrest of Malfoy's chair to perch upon.

"How third year of you," said Mavis, unimpressed, shutting her book with a clap. "If you want to further validate the prejudiced views that the rest of the school share of our house, I'd say go right ahead, if it weren't such an immature manner of doing so. I mean, really—"

"As opposed to your mature method of sieving Potter's potion the other day?" Theo challenged, arching an eyebrow from across the couch. "Yeah, that's a load of rubbish. Witches in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, or however the saying goes."

Mavis kicked at his thigh in retaliation, and he pushed her legs off the couch entirely.

"What was it with that class?" said Malfoy thoughtfully, his pale face flickering in the light of the fireplace; grey eyes lost somewhere the rest of them couldn't reach. "Slughorn's clearly lost some of his marbles, ask me. I know he's one of our own, and all, but—"

"But you're wondering why he'd even assign a Draught of Living Death in the first place," said Theo, bored, flicking lazily through the pages of Mavis's book (which had been stolen outright from her very hands). "None of us even know how to craft that, the old nutter. Well, except Mayberry—and Potter, apparently—"

"Not Potter," said Mavis, scowling, crossing her arms. "He cheated. I intend to prove it."

Blaise crossed his legs and gave Mavis a curious glance. "Alright, then. What's your evidence?"

"There's none needed," scoffed Malfoy. "Potter's always been a numpty when it came to Potions; how could he possibly have turned his entire academic career around in the span of two months? Not to mention, Slughorn positively loves him."

"Like a damn son," added Mavis sourly, nodding along with Malfoy. "It's definitely no coincidence, in my opinion."

"Nor in mine," said Malfoy with a firm nod of his head.

Theo laughed dryly, glancing between the pair of them with a sort of amused glint in his eyes. "So you two sleuths mean to tell us that you think Slughorn somehow set Potter up for success during that lesson? When could he possibly have done? We were in there the entire time."

"Trick cauldron," suggested Blaise with a noncommittal shrug.

"Don't tell me you're in on this conspiracy now, Blaise," said Theo. "Did any of you ever think that maybe Potter just knew how to draft the potion?"

Mavis and Draco shook their heads.

"Right," said Theo, nodding, "because it just makes more sense for his work to have been an inside job due to Slughorn's favouritism. Right, of course."

"Glad you're finally seeing the light, Nott," said Mavis, snatching her book back from his hands and standing from the couch. "Anyway, I've got Runes in ten minutes. Haven't any of you anywhere better to be?"

"Of course not," said Draco, in a sort of high-refined voice.

"When have we ever had anywhere better to be?" added Blaise. He nodded to Mavis. "See you on the pitch."

She stuck her tongue out at him on her way out, and he returned the favour.

As it turned out, poor Professor Babbling had come down with an awful case of Spattergroit. Instead of cancelling classes, though, as would be common sense (at least Mavis thought), Ancient Runes was still on, even if the babbling of Bathsheda Babbling was less pronounced and slower than was usual for her.

It was an exceptionally boring class, Runes was, but not difficult to understand whatsoever, so Mavis took it as an easy Outstanding. Not that she had much trouble obtaining high marks in any other classes—on the contrary, in fact. But gathering as many N.E.W.T.s as possible was enviable for the occupation of a Potioneer.

Granger seemed to have the same course of thinking as Mavis, for every single one of their classes were shared between the pair of them, and by the end of the day Mavis had declared herself lucky if she wasn't seated directly next to Hermione every hour.

She'd begun the school year with hardly a thought towards Granger; knew she was rather bright, not at all a petulant tosser (like her choice of friends), and that there was at least some mutual respect between the two of them. But she had no strong opinions for Hermione Granger either way—unlike Draco, whose distaste for the Mudblood was highly palpable and expressed daily.

Although Mavis did not care one way or another about blood purity, she did care strongly about chatter. And Granger, apparently, was full of it.

"Interesting," she would mutter to herself during the dreadful and dull Arithmancy class, before hunching over her notes and scrawling something illegible in that deep black ink of hers.

"I'd've never known," she'd say with an impressed sort of laugh, ogling down at her Transfigured worm as it took notes of its own accord as a quill.

"How beautiful!" was her exclaimed response when Professor Sprout revealed to her Herbology 5 students the flowered blossom of a mating Dittany branch—which was, to Mavis, of average appearance, at most. Nothing to lose her hat about.

By the end of the first week, Mavis was already trying to appeal to Snape to give her an entirely new schedule. He wouldn't hear of it, of course—simply drawled, in a bored tone, that he had already pulled one too many strings for Mavis this term, what with allowing the Slytherin team to practice on the pitch before the start of school. Mavis tried to argue that she hadn't been the one to request such a favoyr, but Professor Snape pulled his lips together and did not again look up from grading his papers, so Mavis knew it to be a cut-and-dry sort of answer.

Dejected (and worn-out of hearing Granger's high-pitched exclamations every hour), on Saturday Mavis spent the entire day lounging about the library or the common room, lazing around with a book in her hands and a bored expression upon her face.

It was the day of Quidditch trials, so every once in a while a stray Quaffle soared past the library window tailed rather hurriedly by a worried-looking upstart from any of the houses. Once, a hopeful for the Slytherin team whirled past the window in a mass of green robes, looking like he didn't know up from down nor Quaffle from Snitch. Mavis rolled her eyes, suddenly glad she wasn't in Graham's captain position.

Around dinner time, when pretending to read her book and hearing sharp whistles from the Quidditch pitch grew dull, Mavis heaved a sigh and leaned over to pack her bag back up.

That was when she heard the now-recognizable, infuriating voice of Hermione Granger, shrilly berating someone from the next aisle over.

Curious,—and, yes, nosy—Mavis perked up her ears and moved to press her bottom half against one of the tables, feigning a diligent search for a textbook.

"It might have been a girl," came Hermione's voice, in a determinedly hushed tone—though Merlin knew there was no such thing as hushed when it came to Granger. "I think the handwriting looks more like a girl's than a boy's."

"The Half-Blood Prince, he was called," said Potter, and Mavis imagined a curl of his lip as he retorted to Granger's know-it-all-ness (though maybe that was just how Mavis would have replied). "How many girls have been Princes?"

There followed a short pause, then came the sound of books being shoved into a bag. Mavis used the break to reach out and trail her fingers down the spine of an old Arithmancy book curiously.

"Well, fine," said Hermione, sounding the opposite. "Look, all I'm saying is that—"

Mavis pursed her lips. Pulling the Arithmancy book off its shelf had opened a window between the two aisles, and she now found herself nearly face-to-face with Granger.

"Oh!" She broke into a grin, and Mavis got the sinking feeling that due to their proximity and amount of classes shared, Hermione now thought of herself and Mavis as friends. "Hello! I had no idea you were there."

"Yeah, that was probably the point," said Ron, peering through the hole at Mavis suspiciously. "Spying on us, were you?"

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Weasley," Mavis said flatly, "but nobody other than yourselves cares about anything you lot say."

Hermione exhaled a little laugh. She cast a glance over her two dimwit friends, waving a dismissive hand. "Mavis has a sort of dry humour."

"Call it that," said Mavis with a light shrug. She reached up to place the book back in its place and disconnect the two aisles. "Okay, goodbye now."

"Wait, hang on," said Harry quickly, shoving himself front and center. Rolling her eyes, Mavis acquiesced. "How good of friends are you with Malfoy?"

Mavis gave him an unimpressed glare. "What?"

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, unperturbed. "I said how good of friends are you with—"

"Okay, I heard you," she snapped. "Why do you want to know?"

Suddenly looking as though he were a star in a Muggle spy movie, Harry glanced around carefully, then leaned in, making sure only Mavis could hear him. She rolled her eyes.

"I think he's... up to something."

She laughed dryly, tipping her head to the side in mock curiosity. "Surely this isn't like the time you broke into our common room and accused him of being the Heir of Slytherin."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course not. This is serious, Mayberry."

"Oh, I'm sure," she said, widening her eyes in sincerity. "Yeah, you three are going to break open the case and find out just what Draco's planning."

"So you admit he's planning something!" burst in Ron, pointing an accusing finger through the bookshelf.

Harry shoved him out of the way, his face retaking the window. "Anyways, yes, that is exactly what we're going to do. But I sort of need your help to try and figure it all out."

"Absolutely not," said Mavis simply, and she placed the book back into its spot.

A moment later, the trio rounded the corner into her aisle and she rolled her eyes. She truly should have known better than to think a simple no would suffice when it came to Gryffindor stubbornness.

"I'm not helping you," she said, stuffing her book into her bag and avoiding looking at any of them. "I already deal with Granger enough on a daily basis, and Potter, I can only handle you for the hour I have to see you in Potions."

"What about me?" said Ron, sounding a bit dejected.

"I can barely handle seeing you at all," she told him, which, oddly, seemed to be just what he wanted to hear. "Look, I'm not going to help you three try and accuse Malfoy of some grave evil again. You do it enough on your own; why should I aid and abet another attempt at getting my teammate expelled?"

"Do you really like him?" said Harry, looking baffled.

"More than I like you," she said, giving him a judgmental up-and-down glance.

"Oh, come on, Mayberry," said Hermione, whose outlook that she and Mavis were now friends seemed to have been crushed at Mavis's earlier comments. Then she seemed struck with an idea; her back straightened and she smirked a little bit, giving Harry a sideways glance. "What if I told you we would give up Harry's Potions secret?"

It wasn't the original taunt that got Mavis's attention, but Harry and Ron's response to the offer—both of them straightened up, giving Hermione a disbelieving, sort of pissed glare, like they couldn't believe she'd actually say something like that.

Mavis cocked an eyebrow. "There's a secret?"

Begrudging, Harry crossed his arms, apparently deciding he cared more about outing Malfoy than his Potions career. "Well, you have accused me of cheating multiple times, so you can't be that surprised."

She laughed, glancing between the three of them. "I.. I mean, I knew it. Well, then, spill, Granger—come on, don't leave a girl hanging like this."

Hermione tipped up her chin, looking pleased with herself. "Not until you help us out."

Mavis's smile melted. She glared now at the three of them, arms crossed and jaw clenched. Her mind turned into a battlefield—her arrogance versus her ego, her hatred for Harry versus her house pride. Giving up Malfoy—assuming he was even up to anything in the first place—meant unveiling how Potter had become so adept at Potions, a class Mavis always prided herself in being the best at.

If Mavis didn't help them, she would never know how Harry beat her. Perhaps he had become better than her; it would be Schrödinger's Potions Class. She hated not knowing.

Finally, she exhaled a sigh, shutting her eyes so she didn't have to see their faces.

"Fine," she said, and she heard a gleeful little laugh from Hermione. "I'll help you on the basis of satisfying my pride."

When she opened her eyes, Harry was grinning at her, though he looked as though he'd expected her to say yes all along.

Mavis tightened her lips—it took plenty of self-restraint to keep her hand at her side and not let it smack the smile from his face. She figured these next few weeks would prove to be much more difficult than she'd bargained for.

Author's Corner

Was gonna name this chapter "squad up" but thought it too unserious. Xx hope you guys enjoyed