On the other hand, he wasn't especially looking forward to talking to Marcus Flint, either, since it looked like Flint was intent on killing him. Oh, good. Thank you, McGonagall.
"What was that about, Jordan?" Flint asked, when he was close enough to shove Lee back into one of the support beams. Lee stood his ground, but his back struck the wooden beam nonetheless. He wasn't going to lie: Flint was strong, and that fucking hurt.
"Er," Lee said. "Nothing? Sorry?"
Flint looked at him. He had his broom hooked under his arm, and his hair was a tangled mess from the wind. It was-- imposing, Lee thought. Worrisome. Something like that.
"Sorry?" Flint repeated. "You fucking-- complimented me. And you're sorry?"
Lee thought back. He was sure he hadn't done anything of the sort, because complimenting Marcus Flint would mean he was not only stupid, but also lying. Flint wasn't good at anything and must have known it; that was why he was so mad that Lee had said something nice, right? Because it was a lie?
Only Lee didn't remember saying anything of the sort, so maybe Flint was just delusional. That was it.
"I," Lee started, then stopped. "Actually, you know, I don't remember complimenting you at all, but if I did, sorry. Very sorry."
Flint's jaw twitched, and Lee was quite certain that hadn't been the right thing to say. Lee usually left backtracking up to the twins, because he was no good at it, and this just reinforced the fact. Bloody hell.
"I'll remember that," said Flint, and then added, nastily: "I don't like you, either. And that's not a good thing."
Lee watched him walk away, and hoped that meant the apology was accepted.