Scrabble (The Distraction Mix)
 | Written for Remix Redux II: Electric Boogaloo.
Remix Author: Wyoming Knott Original Story: Scrabble by MartianHouseCat Summary: Slytherins take Scrabble very seriously. Rating: G |
This year's Hogwarts Scrabble Championship tournament had gone very much like previous years'. The few non-Slytherin participants (a handful of ambitious Ravenclaws and two Gryffindors, but no Hufflepuffs) were eliminated in the first round, intelligence and bravery not being enough to succeed against a House determined to find glory on some battlefield.
This was my second time making the finals. Last year had been a disaster - I wound up with a negative score, a three-week stay in the hospital wing, and a scathing admonishment from my Head of House. While supposedly not an option this year, losing was beginning to look like a distinct possibility for me again. I was playing better than ever before, holding my own against the other finalists, but it wasn't going to be enough. I was distracted. I could not focus on the game. After all, how could I possibly concentrate with Harry Potter watching me?
The losers, and their fellow House members, had all left the Great Hall before this final Championship round began, with two notable exceptions. Potter was most unexpected. Professor McGonagall, on the other hand, was a fixture at the tournaments, having captured the title once herself back in 1938 - the only Gryffindor in the history of the Hogwarts tournament to do so. Legend has it that she was the mastermind behind the mayhem when the headmaster tried to ban the game in '37 (six students landed in the infirmary, the prefects were banished, and the Head Boy was disrobed, bound, and tossed into the lake).
Any self-respecting Slytherin Scrabble player knows the history of the game - from its humble beginnings as an educational tool invented by former Slytherin Philipa Wordsmith (her portrait hangs in the Slytherin common room), to its current success in professional circuits worldwide. Slytherins take Scrabble very seriously.
I take Scrabble very seriously. And that made this Potter 'thing' that much more frustrating. My mind should have been on the game, not wondering why he was here. Why he was looking at me. There was a distinct possibility that he had realized that I had been watching him during our shared classes (and any other time I could get away with it) and was now exacting his revenge. I didn't even want to entertain the notion that perhaps, maybe, he returned the attraction I had towards him... a most distracting notion, that.
The final game was well underway when I first noticed. He wasn't even trying to disguise the fact that he was watching me. I looked right back, and he didn't even flinch, much less break eye contact. I had to be the one to look away first - it was my turn again. I made my play, and when I looked back up he was looking at me again, grinning. I raised an eyebrow in question, but didn't get to see his response. Draco Malfoy was yelling about something. I looked at the scorekeeper, a small statue of a robed wizard carrying a lantern in one hand and scythe in the other.
Bulstrode: 49, Malfoy: 47, Parkinson: 39, Zabini: 30
Malfoy had landed an impressive triple word score, leaving me in the dust. I looked up to scowl at Potter, but he was busy staring at Malfoy. Malfoy didn't notice, as he was busy being attacked by the letter bag. I was beginning to think I was going to have one less roommate when he finally called a time-out.
Madam Pomfrey hurried over from her seat next to Professors Snape and McGonagall to check on Malfoy. He was fine, just out of breath after nearly being suffocated by the bag. Pomfrey made the ludicrous suggestion that he quit playing, prompting me to remind her just what was going on.
I jumped up, letter holder still in hand. "Are you mad, woman? We are Slytherin, and therefore we play!" She had been at this school long enough to know better than to make such a statement, even in jest. The crowd burst into cheers around me, some spectators chanting their support for different players. Pomfrey rolled her eyes and returned to her seat. I stole a glance at Potter as I sat back down. He was cheering with the crowd around him.
The game clock indicated Malfoy's time was up. The point penalty he received wouldn't bring me out of last place, but it was enough to make my deficit not quite so appalling. I resolved to ignore Potter and focus on the game.
Millicent Bulstrode was next. She was an amazing strategist and had a bag technique that put many professionals to shame. Pansy Parkinson was aghast when, after nearly ten minutes, Bulstrode simply put down "that" on the board. It might not have been an impressive word, but it certainly made things difficult for the rest of us, given the word placement. She made up for the meek play on the board with a ferocious bag maneuver that made even Professor Snape take notice.
Parkinson's next play was nearly the opposite - amazing board play with a blank tile and the word "xenophobia". And then her bag move, so subtle as to not be allowable. She stroked the bag! Made it purr! I couldn't contain myself. I pounded the table and cried out, "That's... that's cheating!"
I must have thumped the table too hard and offended the board. It attacked me, sliding across the table and pinching my clenched fist. I pulled back and cradled my throbbing hand. I swear the board was glowering at me.
And then it was my turn. Careful study of the board and my letters showed me few options. As tempting as it was, quitting was not one of them. After Parkinson's and Bulstrode's moves, my chances of winning were non-existent, but there was no way I was going to give up. Not with Potter watching. Oh yes, Potter was still looking, eyes darting back and forth between me and the board; only now he was biting his lip.
It was time to get serious, not that I hadn't been already, but it was time to bring out a Big Move. I rolled up my sleeves, squared my shoulders, and gathered my letters, glaring at the board all the while. The room had gotten exceptionally quiet, but I barely noticed.
As I leaned forward and reached with both hands toward the board, it started edging away. I dropped my first tile, but the board managed to deflect it, sending it off into the crowd. I heard it ricochet a couple of times before someone yelped as it hit flesh and stopped. I hoped that it wasn't Potter.
I had been prepared for the board to be tricky; that first tile wasn't even needed. I dropped my elbows onto the board one at a time, pinning it in place. The board resisted being secured and thrashed about, leaving me no choice but to climb up on the table and restrain it with my knees as well. I carefully placed my letters, spelling out "existence". The letter bag surely must have taken notice, as it gave me no trouble at all.
There was cheering, but as it died down, all eyes turned to Malfoy, mine included. My play might have looked spectacular, but the score wasn't high enough to necessarily keep me out of last place for long. And Malfoy had something up his sleeve. I could feel it. I caught his surreptitious signal to Crabbe, who then ran interference with Pomfrey, leaving Malfoy clear to throw Cruciatus at both the board and the bag. He didn't waste any time and dropped his letters quickly onto the board.
The board flashed - "juggernaut" turned out to be the Secret Word of the game. The crowd went wild as Malfoy's score was doubled, putting him in the lead. Bulstrode, though, remained calm, paying no need heed to the self-assured expression on Malfoy's face. She didn't wait for the noise to die down; she just smirked and calmly laid out her letters...
"Antidisestablishmentarianism."
The game was over. Bulstrode won. We all made our ritual bows, and the crowd carried off Millicent to deafening cheers. Parkinson, Malfoy and I just stood there for a moment. I couldn't contain my grief for long. "How does she do it?" I wailed.
"Well, Blaise," Malfoy started, "it's clear she's a genius, and therefore... therefore we shouldn't be upset by her winning." He had the nerve to look resigned rather than enraged, or even disappointed.
"Oh, yes, Draco," I replied bitingly, "that makes it ever so much better!"
I had to get out of there. I had to start planning for next year's tournament. I had to prepare for what was sure to be a truly painful dressing down from Professor Snape. I turned and stalked out of the room, heading automatically for the dungeons. I hesitated momentarily as I exited the Great Hall; I certainly didn't want to find myself in the middle of Bulstrode's celebration, but a quick listen for the noise of the crowd told me they'd gone in the other direction. Relieved, I quickly made my way across the entrance hall and down the staircase leading to the dungeons.
Too busy going over the debacle of the final game in my head, I didn't even notice I had been followed.
"Hey! Zabini!" Potter called, as he ran down the corridor to catch up to me.
"What is it, Potter?" I practically spit his name, sounding rather like Malfoy. Had Potter not been there watching the game, I might have stood a chance. I continued down the corridor without slowing.
"Hey," he said again as he caught up to me and grabbed my arm, forcing me to stop. He didn't let go even after I pointedly looked at his offending hand and shot him a patented Slytherin Death Glare. "I just wanted to say that you played a good game back there."
"Potter, in case you didn't notice, I lost back there. Quite spectacularly, at that." I tried to shrug his hand off and continue on my way back to the dungeons, but he was having none of it and maintained his hold.
"Yeah, I noticed." He rolled his eyes. "Doesn't mean you didn't play well." He let go of my jumper, but still left his hand on my arm.
"Fat lot of good it did me. I didn't play well enough. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to put as much distance between myself and Snape as possible." He no longer had a grip on me, but something in his expression kept me from leaving and diffused my anger. He looked sincere, like he cared.
"Well, if you're trying to avoid Snape, you're going the wrong way." He cocked his head to the side and took his hand off my arm. "I would think the dungeons would be the first place he'd go." He smiled and leaned forward, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, "Gryffindor Tower would be much further away." He nodded once, winked and stood up straight again.
He couldn't possibly have suggested what I thought he suggested. He distracted me from my game, and now he wanted... And I was actually considering it? "And what exactly would I do in Gryffindork Tower?" I asked, trying to sound vaguely disinterested, but not too much so.
"You could teach me how to play," he said, shrugging.
Paranoia trumps lust, and it reared its ugly head. "Why don't you get Granger to teach you?" Was that what this was about? Finding a Slytherin he wasn't already an enemy with to teach him?
"Hermione? No way." He grinned. "I want *you* to teach me."
I shook my head. "I don't think so." I really didn't need mixed signals at that moment. I had no idea what was going on with Potter. At least in the dungeons with Snape, I knew what was coming and what it was about.
"Why not?" he demanded. I should have known he wouldn't take no for an answer.
"For starters, you're not Slytherin."
He laughed. "Not every Scrabble player in the world is Slytherin, Blaise."
I rolled my eyes. "Of course not. But if they had come here, they probably would sort Slytherin." I smirked. "It takes a certain drive to do well. The bag isn't just going to hand you letters... It could conceivably hand you your own hand if you're not careful. You saw what it did to Malfoy. The board isn't quite as vicious, but it's certainly capable of showing disapproval." I held up my hand, showing off the welt the board had left when it pinched me in the last game .
"We could go to my dorm, and you could show me how you pinned the board on your last turn..." He raised an eyebrow and positively leered at me. Well. There was no mistaking that signal, and I was all for that. But I was still going to make him learn the game.
"Okay, just remember," I said, "Slytherins take Scrabble very seriously."
~~~
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