Jester's Privilege | t.r

It was a mystery how Tom Riddle hadn't gotten himself killed yet. What with interrupting Fawn's evening and employing her with even more work to do. She swore that if he didn't get the job done soon, with his own insolence and irritating attitude, she'd happily do the honours. If only he weren't such a coward, hiding behind his posse of six baboons.

Baboons who were weirdly intimidating, Fawn realised as she stomped down the Great Hall, scarcely avoiding eye contact with Terence Avery. Pivoting to the opposite side of Tom Riddle's cult (who weirdly seemed void of their leader at the moment), Fawn found herself sitting next to an obnoxious array of yellow-clad students who eyed her random appearance at their table.

Terence Avery— her family friend— was apart of the Riddle boy's mindless clique. His family was a second home— technically her only home— and Fawn wasn't sure Ernest would take kindly to his son being humiliated in front of his 'very important' friends. Clutching the oversized sleeve of her cloak, she bit back the urge to throw the steaming chicken leg that sat lonesome at the Hufflepuff table directly on the back of Avery's head.

She never gave much thought to the leader of Terence's group. He was simply Tom, the average slytherin with some sort of great charm that boosted his grade scores. The boy who had Terence twirling around his finger in what looked like an exchange of equality, but what Fawn could easily tell was anything but. Avery simply wanted his father's approval, and the group of pure-blooded airheads delivered just that.

The boy had tried including Fawn in their endeavours, to no avail. Ever since first year, the stench of their self-served supremacy physically jolted Fawn to the furthest she could get from the seven characters. Terence, the perceptive man he is, learnt quickly not to force the girl less he yearned for a brutal end.

A hand fell onto Fawn's tensed shoulder. "What's got your knickers in a twist this time, Scout?" A yellow scarf fell into view.

"I'll have you know my knickers are anyone's business but yours, Anthony." The boy chuckled.

"And who, may I ask, falls under anyone?" The Hufflepuff lightheartedly gestured to the kid next to Fawn with a smile, making room to squeeze in next to her.

"Uhm," she muttered. "Me, myself, and I?" The incessant fidgeting of Fawn's bouncing leg increased. Anthony eyed her up and down, her irritation potent, before he gave her another cackle, grabbing the last leg Fawn had been glaring at.

"Hungry?" Fawn shook her head, jerking her head for him to go ahead. He dangled the leg like a pendant, and in a hypnotising sing-song voice replied, "if you insist." But before he could dig his teeth in, Fawn had change of mind and yanked it out of Anthony's grip. He pat her on the back not before grinning. Fawn tended to get hungry when she was angry.

The chicken was insistent on taking forever to choke down, so Fawn took the liberty of talking with a full mouth. "Guess who just got back Principal Dippet's office." Anthony raised an intrigued brow.

"You, I assume." Anthony piled a load of vegetables onto his plate. She gulped down her stolen food, nodding.

"Apparently my services are needed." Anthony blinked at her, awaiting elaboration. Fawn sighed, sneaking a glance at the slytherin table, where she was supposed to be residing.

Terence seemed amused by his friend's shenanigans. The Lestrange boy and Selwyn were head to head, fighting over something that Fawn couldn't lip read for the life of her. Fawn could feel the heat of their dispute from the other side of the hall, but Terence appeared unaffected by his proximity.