Pride and Prejudice [Percival]

[Kyle Winters]

Saturday, 3 December 2005
4:00pm
The corridors were fairly quiet when Kyle returned to Hogwarts Castle after his solo Quidditch training. He guessed that most of the students were either studying in the library, or hanging out in the Common Rooms. As he strode down the hallway past a stairwell, he thought he heard a noise of some sort upstairs. Initially he didn’t think too much about it, but a voice floated down from above: “He needs to be taught some manners.”

That didn’t sound good at all. Ascending the stairs as quietly as he could, he craned his neck to see what was going on.

“Yes indeed,” a second student said. Like the owner of the first voice, this person sounded pretty young.

“I–I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!” A third voice rang out, terrified and trembling. Kyle recognised it almost immediately: this was one of the First-Years whom he had shared a cabin with on the Hogwarts Express. Abandoning stealth in favour of speed, he raced up the stairs and found the poor Muggle-born boy on the ground, cornered by three other slightly older students with their wands drawn. The colour of their robes indicated that all of them were Gryffindors – even the quavering boy on the ground.

Kyle didn’t know what had caused this confrontation, but what he did know was that he had to intervene regardless of what had happened. “Hey!” he yelled, and the trio turned around, startled by the sudden and unexpected intrusion. Judging from their looks they were probably Third-Years, and the hostility in their eyes that contrasted strongly against their young faces was quite shocking to witness. “Back off, all of you!” he warned as he instinctively interposed himself between the First-Year and the three bullies and drew his own wand.

“Think we can take him on?” The last of the trio whispered to his mates nervously. “He’s older, but there’s three of us.”

“Let’s do it,” the others agreed. As one they pointed their wands at Kyle, but the older student was way faster. “InTEGumentum!” Kyle recited, and a glowing shield appeared on his left hand, blocking and nullifying the trio’s opening salvo. “Is that all you’ve got?” he scoffed, before retaliating with a spell of his own. “Aguamenti!” The jet of water struck the leader of the trio in the face, and the boy flinched, gasping and sputtering in shock. His two mates were next, and within moments the bullies were all soaked to the bone. “Still game?” Kyle taunted as he continued to drench the trio to humiliate them further. “Gryffindor students, eh? I’ll make sure Professor Murphy hears of this.”

Right at this moment, another person emerged from the stairwell, presumably drawn here by the commotion. Catching sight of the newcomer, he hastily cancelled his Water-Making Spell, but he didn’t know if he had been quick enough to spare the newcomer from an impromptu shower.

[Percival Scranton]

Percival muttered under his breath as he made his way up the stairs from the Great Hall. His mood had been soured, and he was frustrated with people's stupidity. He never understood why people had to be so bloody stupid and stick their nose in the business of others. He had mountains of homework due, and now he had to fight himself with the fact that there was someone he might actually give a damn about. That, however, is a story for another time. He took in a deep breath, and as he rounded the last few stairs, he heard a commotion at the top.

A small groan escaped his lips, he didn't want to deal with more people being stupid. He had no choice, however; it was the way he needed to go. He reached the top just in time to catch a faceful of water. He sputtered and wiped his face. Heat and rage distorted his face as he looked around to see who the culprit was. Winters! The moron had blasted him with a spell and his eyes narrowed. "You will pay for that, Winters." He growled as he drew his own wand. He didn't care what was happening with the Gryffindors nearby, nor that he hadn't been the target of the spell. All he knew was that he was now sopping wet and angry. His foul mood was getting increasingly worse.

[Kyle Winters]

A pang of regret and guilt hit Kyle when he realised that he probably had inadvertently doused an innocent party with water. “I’m so terribly sorry, I—” he began, only to have the rest of his apology die in his throat as he recognised the sopping wet mop of light blond hair and the usually smug mug twisted in anger.

Percival Scranton. That foppish, narcissistic, arrogant prick of a popinjay.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

This was Kyle’s fault. His fault for wanting to toy with the bullies. His bloody fault for catching his dearest nemesis in the collateral damage. And now he was certain that he was going to die at the top of the staircase with no witnesses to attest to what had happened. At least he wouldn’t die alone; he’d have these Gryffindors as company when his nemesis unleashed his indiscriminate fury upon him.

(Still, he’d be a biggest liar on the planet if the sight of Percival Scranton drenched to the bone and looking like a sopping, sorry mess didn’t elicit the tiniest shred of schadenfreude in him.)

As if sensing the impending storm, the older Gryffindor students fled in terror, and the First Year picked himself up and scrambled away as quickly as his legs could carry him. When elephants fought, it was the grass that would suffer, and they had wisely chosen to evacuate from the danger zone. There was no such escape for Kyle, however. He was squarely to blame for ruining Percival’s day. His pride be damned, but his mother didn’t raise him to be a coward who wasn’t man enough to admit his faults and apologise for his wrongdoings.

“Look, I’m sorry for this,” Kyle hurriedly blurted out, hoping to get his apology out before Percival could do anything. Even in his haste, he still made it a point to specify that he was restricting his apology to this specific incident, where Percival – as much as Kyle hated to admit it – was undeniably the innocent party and the anger was perfectly justifiable. And though his wand was lowered, he maintained a firm grip on it, ready for any trouble that might arise.

Or rather, would probably, quite definitely, most assuredly arise.