The Absolute Worst Shorts and Junk

Character Introduction Short: The Unlucky Masked Man

Hello everyone, little author's note here. This is not the start of this story, I've decided to make a kind of story sketch dump for parts of the Absolute Worst that don't yet fit into the cannon of the full story. The full story, titled The Absolure Worst and the Loudest Silence will be posted soon. This is the first little bit I have wrote for the cannon of The Absolute Worst. It will be joined with more charater discovery writings and other fun things later on, as well as maybe some "deleted scenes" so to speak. This originally was a little fun writing project where I took my friends and I and wrote us into the Harry Potter Universe. I liked the characterization and story so much that I decided to write a full fanfic featuring us. The names have been changed of course. This isn't going to be something that only my friends and I will understand, in fact, none of them will probably ever read this. I'm treating all of the charaters in The Absolute Wost as original charaters modified from my friends and my personalities. That being said, I hope this will be a story that all fans of Harry Potter will enjoy. Please enjoy and keep your eyes out for The Absolute Worst and the Loudest Silence.

“Who… who are you people?” Stammered the masked man, from his position bound on the floor of a men’s public restroom. It was the perfect place for an interrogation, unless someone actually entered to use it, the smell alone was enough to be considered torture.
        I ran my unoccupied left hand through my hair nonchalant as Clovis II’s three heads simultaneously snarled at the man. He tried to scramble backward on the grungy tile of the restroom floor but was hindered by the thick vines cast from the end of Hart's wand a few moments before.
        It was impossible to tell if he was the one who had broken into Hogwarts the previous week, he still had a ski mask pulled over his face, and besides no one had seen the intruder clear enough in the night to provide a good description. He could have just been an average burglar who just happened to cross paths with the wrong group of teenagers. I shrugged, either way…
        I leveled my baseball bat wand to his throat, an intimidation tactic that I found looked both clumsier and cooler than when using a usual wand. I considered the proper answer to his question. Should I reveal who we were to a masked stranger? At this point it may not have mattered since most of us had our wands out in full view and were in robes, though we could have passed as fanatic cultists I supposed.
        I took some time before my answer, remembering the many crime movies I had watched and that silence was powerful when used correctly. I glanced over at Con who was faced away from the suspect, trying to wash blood off the handle of his broomstick which had been used the bludgeon the masked man before they had trapped him in the men’s room. Much of the scarlet fluid had transferred over to his hands and his robes. It was the only type of red that seemed to suit him. Con would have fit much better in my house with it’s dark and violent history than in the gaudy halls of Gryffindor, I don't know what the Sorting Hat was thinking with that one, or for that matter any of the choices it made concerning our houses. I watched Con pump soap onto the wicked, black, knotted handle of his broomstick until the soap dispenser ran out. He narrowed his eyes at the cheep machine like he considered blowing it to bits and instead moved on to the next.
        Hart was also paying little attention to the apprehended man. After casting the well placed binding spell he had then focused his attention on the hand driers lining the far wall, casting spell after spell on them to try and strengthen the air they were blowing enough to lift him into the air. Or, that's what I assume he was doing. The only thing he seemed to accomplish however, was lifting his Ravenclaw robes a few inches off the ground, clearing leaves and twigs from them that had lodged themselves in the fabric after our impromptu chase of the aforementioned man through someone’s neglected rose bushes. Con was the only one who brought a broomstick.
         Only Andrew seemed to be trying to help, holding his flimsy wand in the culprit’s general direction. The man seemed afraid of this as well, as he wasn't let on to the secret that Andrew was basically a muggle. The Hufflepuff had about as much magic ability as one of those toadstools that Hart had accidentally made grow out of the professor’s hair the first week of school. I finally answered the man edging my magic baseball bat closer to his Adam’s apple. I felt an out of control gust of wind from Hart's hand drier experiment lift the back of my stupid witchy ropes and green school uniform.
        “We’re just the worst,” I told him.