Head Boy // Cedric Diggory

2. The High Inquisitor.

"Detention for the three of you!" Professor McGonagall announced matter-of-factly as she sat back in her worn leather desk chair.

Phoebe Evans slumped back in her seat in frustration while the two red heads on either side of her painfully held back goofy smiles.

"What? No protest this time?" The professor queried, likely having prepared herself for the typical 'No, we'll be better, Professor, I promise!' or 'It'll never happen again!' even when they all knew damn well it would.

Phoebe had never minded getting in trouble, especially since detention was typically her and her best friends continuing to goof off, but it was only a week into her sixth year and she had promised her mom that she would behave. It was understandable for her to request something like this. Living alone in that small, dank cottage was enough to wear a woman down, but to constantly receive word of her daughter's disciplinary issues nearly sent her over the edge several times.

"We have too much respect for you at this point, Minny," Fred smirked, standing and reaching out a hand for Phoebe to pull herself up.

"You watch that mouth, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall glared at the red head. "Now off to bed with you all, it's nearly midnight. And no lollygagging!"

George stood, stopping at the Professor's desk. "Don't you worry, Professor. I'll make sure these two stay in line."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, wholly unconvinced. "I'm sure you will, Mr. Weasley. You've clearly succeeded these past six years, you wouldn't want to let them slip from your grasp on your last one."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

The three Gryffindors shuffled out of the Professor's office, both boys silently rejoicing as soon as the door shut behind them.

"Come on, Pheebs. We pulled it off! Why aren't you more excited about this?" Fred asked as she started down the hall towards the staircases.

"Just tired," she replied, smiling faintly back at them over her shoulder.

This was half true. It had been a long week, especially because it was the first week of classes, but she felt a tad guilty for disobeying her mother. Maybe McGonagall wouldn't send word to her. For all she knew, the three of them had only snuck into her quarters to steal keys to the Prefect's bathroom.

Phoebe was a good kid at heart, but befriending Fred and George Weasley her first year was a recipe for disaster. The things she did and pranks she pulled were rarely of bad nature, but often in search of a little fun. The hallowed halls of the castle were suffocating at times, especially when it seemed as if everyone around her was planning their future, or protecting it by preparing for the inevitable war against Voldemort.

"You three," a familiar voice echoed from behind. Phoebe turned to see two shadows lurking in the darkness of the corridor. Her skin began to burn as her self proclaimed enemy stepped into the light.

"Get lost, Diggory," Phoebe groaned, turning back over her shoulder, the twins following suit as they headed towards the Gryffindor dormitories.

"I mean, come on, Evans. It's only the first week," he said exasperatedly and she stopped in her tracks.

His mere voice infuriated Phoebe, not to mention his condescending tone, and it took everything in her not to punch in his doughy-eyed face. Everything about the boy enraged her, especially the fact that he never gave in to her petty insults or fought back. He just kept his cheery little smile and said he 'Wants what's best for her.' What a self-important asshole.

"We'll be going now," Fred groaned, wrapping his arm around Phoebe's shoulders and ushering her further down the hall.

"Goodnight, Pretty Boy!" George called out behind him.