He had been in Knockturn, not  for any particular suspicoius reason, but mostly to check out the tattoo parlor that Gracie Slant was so fond of. He was considering getting a tattoo, but to be honest he was more fascinated with the idea of getting one rather than committed to it. He admired the art that Gracie had gotten, particularly the stunning red poppies. Hands in his pockets and a rather slouchy beanie on his head, Eli passed several businesses-- until he saw...

A giant friggin dung beetle.

Or rather, it was a giant person dressed as a dung beetle, handing out fliers.

"Niffler spleens for sale, three galleons apiece. Color is good. Quality is good too. A buy. Definitely a buy."

Eli could recognize that voice anywhere. "Truuuumbllllllle!" He exclaimed, looking up at Zelig's pale face-- popping out from underneath the scarab's antennae. "Working at--" He peeked at the flier, "Sellaphix Apothecary?"

The werewolf nodded, "Uh-yes... We're having a sale on niffler... Spleens."

"Fascinating. Really, it is." Eli peeked through the window of the shop. There he was.  A certain classmate who had lost a bet on the train back home. "I'll go check out those spleens, okay mate?" He clapped Zel on the arm before bursting in through the door. His eyes locked on the eldest of the Sellaphix brothers, working behind the counter-- back turned to the door.

Little Figlet was up front as well, sweeping the floor.  Eli raised a finger to his lips and pointed at Figaro. "Watch this." He mouthed at Frank. Regardless of whether or not the ickle firstie listened did not matter much. Even if Ol' Figgy saw him, it wouldn't change the Slytherin's plans.

Eli had two slaps left. And he was going to make good use of them.

"OIII, FIIIIIIG!" He exclaimed, leaping towards the Hufflepuff with every intention to smack his cheek. However, Eli greatly misjudged his leaping skills and his torso collided with the counter. He somersaulted over the edge. Alas-- it was not meant to be.

Or perhaps it was.

And so Eli landed a triumphant, open handed blow on Figaro's grand posterior.

It all happened so fast.  One second, Figaro's eyes had glazed over the ledger dense with numbers and abbreviations.  The next second, he was under full-on seige.  He hadn't even heard the door bell jangle before a youth dove over the high counter, spill onto the floor beside him and whollop him in the arse so hard his knee buckled.

Frank was shrieking with laughter, broom forgotten where it had clattered to the floor.

"For th-! Sheeeee-!" Figaro bit back a bevy of curses through grit teeth and gave Eli Amherst a kick.  He was holding his backside while trying not to hold his backside.

"Cheater!"

He gave Eli another kick and stepped down from behind the counter.  "You got a running start!" 

Though he seemed sore, Figaro was glad to see his friend and glad even for the distraction of a slapped bum.  Frank was still giggling.

Frank had a few winks more warning than Figaro, so had the luxury of watching the acrobatic assault unfold. 

"He...slapped you...in the bum!"  Frank was breathless from high-pitched laughter.  Rarely did Frank have the pleasure of seeing his older brother the butt of a joke.  Fig looked so flustered!

"He....! He....! Figaro, he was like...WHOOOOSHP! KAPLAAAAW! PSH!"  Shaking, Frank did a valiant job of miming Eli's trajectory over the high counter top, spilling over, and WHAM! slap Fig in the rear.

"Your...face...!"

Eli had crashed to the floor not-so-triumphantly, only to be kicked by Figaro.

“Fig! That wasn’t part of the agreement.” That’s right, Figaro had agreed to this slap bet. He had failed to eat more Bertie Botts every flavor bean than Eli. Not only did they eat Bertie Bott’s, but they had enlisted the help of a professional— Willem Webster. Goold ol’ Will was a Gryffindor in their year who had the uncanny ability to differentiate between the delicious and the disgusting flavors of Bertie Bott’s by look alone. He had effortlessly separated the nasty flavors from the delicious ones, with Trumble as his witness.

“So what if I got a running start?! You couldn’t handle the Botts. And you have one more slap left.” As Figaro tried to kick him again, Eli grabbed his leg and tried to pull him down.

Figlet’s giggles were contagious, and Eli was quick to laughter in the first place. “I was aiming for your cheeks.” He wiggled his eyebrows, “Either I missed, or I have perfect aim. You decide.”

Zel had witnessed Amherst topple over the counter. He threw his fliers up in a panic and burst into the shop, his antennae quivering. He stood there, mouth agape as Frank giggled and Eli smacked Figaro right on the butt/

He had twice entered slap bets with Eli. The first time, Zel had won—but his slaps expired before he actually got up the courage to use them. The second time, in their fifth year, Eli had won a bet over whether or not Sophie and Figaro would break up. They did, despite Zel’s optimistic hope for their relationship, and Eli had been ruthless. Zel had earned five brutal slaps due to his naďve belief in Flickaphix.

One of those slaps had left a purpleish mark on his left buttcheck. He wasn’t 100% certain that Figaro’s buttsmack had been an accident.

“Is everything okay in here?!” He asked, trying to pull the costume off so that he could aid Figaro in whatever way he could. Zel gave Frank a look that was a mixture of confused and concerned.

Figaro was tripped up by Eli's intent to fulfill their sacred adolescent pact.  "It was rigged! You paid Webby off!"

And then a dung beetle came in to rescue him.

"Zelig! Did you let this git in here? What do we pay you for?"

Frank was giggling as he interrupted to explain.  "Fig lost a bet and Eli gets to slap him one more time but hit him in the bum!  Does that count?"

"Of course it counts! It counts!" Figaro insisted crawling out further from behind the counter.

"Yes, I let him in! I thought he was going to buy some niffler spleens!" Zel exclaimed, "He seemed excited about them!" He listened intently to Frank, who was trying to explain what happened, but kept giggling so it was difficult to understand. However, he got the gist of it. Apparnently Eli had entered the shop with the sole intention of... Slapping Figaro in the bum? Why?

He gave Figaro and Eli a skeptical look.

Eli tackled Figaro again, just to give Figaro a quick snuggle before kissing the top of his head and standing up.

"Whaaaaa..?" Zel paused. "Figaro... Is there something you've been meaning to tell me..?" He asked carefully. Suddenly the dung beetle costume felt very warm. "Should I... leave?"

Eli laughed that crazy laugh of his: deep, maniacal and full of foreboding.

"Is this real life?" Zel, glanced at Frank, as if the soon-to-be-second-year held all the answers. Not that Zel would have a problem if Eli and Figaro were romantically involved, but he had never gotten that vibe from Figaro. From Eli, maybe-- but never Fig... Fig dated Sophie on and off for what felt like forever. Surely this had to be one of Amherst's shenanigans?

"We never snuggle." Zel finally said accusingly, pointing at Fig. "And we share a dorm!"

Frank could barely follow the antics of the older boys, Eli and Figaro, although he desperately wanted to.  But, like, Eli had tackled Figaro and kissed him.  Was this real life? He glanced at Zel for some kind of clue as to how to react. He shrugged, no new information to add to the situation.

"Erm..."

He took a few steps back a little less giddy.  Eli was so unpredictable, Frank had no idea what he would do next, or if he might break something!

"Oof!" Eli was on top of him again holding him with a wiggly hug-like embrace.

"We're not snuggling,  Mr. Trumble," he said in between grunts.  "You're a bloody (grunt) spider monkey!"

Finally, Figaro found some leverage and THWUNK! He'd intended to free his arm, but instead his elbow collided with a soft part of Eli's face.  Eli's grip instantly loosened and Figaro stumbled to his feet, laughing breathlessly.

"Ooooh, sorry, mate! You alright?" 

Figaro didn't figure the injury was anything major - just the normal bumps and lumps that came of horseplay.

Zel realized that he was making zero sense. He looked at Frank anxiously and realized that he was probably alienating the poor kid. He didn't want to do that! He liked Frank! Zel never minded when Frank showed up when he was hanging out with Figaro. He was never in the way, though he was sure that sometimes Frank's presence annoyed Figaro. Zel could relate-- he had little siblings too, and they could be so obnoxious when they showed up when you didn't want them around.

Frank, though... Frank was cool. And it was different when it wasn't your little sibling.

He put his hand on the little Ravenclaw's shoulder and tried to give him a reassuring smile. Then he heard a smacking noise, followed by a scream.

THWUNK!!

"AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" Eli screamed as Figaro's elbow struck his nose in a veritable effort to break something. Playing quidditch all his life, Eli was used to things hitting him in the face. However, he was not used to things in apothecaries hitting him in the face and causing blood to come out of his nose.

Oh, right, the blood.

"You tried to murder my face!" He exclaimed, pinching his nose. It didn't feel broken, though a rivulet of blood flowed from his left nostril, his voice took on a very nasally duck-like quality. "Watch out on the quidditch field next year, Sellaphix!" He teased, "You will rue the day that you ruined my perfect visage!"

Eli was bleeding! Figaro reeled back in exaggerated revulsion, laughing, keen to make sure there was enough space between the two teenagers.  Fully out from behind the counter, he moved around the back of three barrels (one filled with fluffy ghostwhite mushrooms, another with what looked like but wasn't black sand, and the third thick bundles of dried thistle).

"Mate, that's nasty! You're getting face blood on my apothecary!"

Figaro had no reason to doubt Eli would make good on threats to whollop him on the pitch.  The two may or may not have wasted about ten minutes of both teams' time last year dedicating all of their Bludgering at each other.  It had taken their own bludger partners' intervention to get the game back on track.

"Don't bleed all on my apothecary!" he laughed perhaps too loudly for a young of-age wizard who was supposed be minding a shop for his long suffering mother.

"I'll bleed anywhere I bloody please!" He grinned before gagging on some of the blood that trickled down the back of his throat. Ugh, he hated that flavor-- it was all metallic and gross. It reminded him of-- "Hey, you two!" He looked at Frank, "And a half." Then he pointed at Zel, "Eh, he made up that height for you. Three of ya then." Where was Eli even going with this?

"You have all had bloody noses, right?" Yes, probably. Eli figured that Zel, coming from a large family had his experience with the injuries procured from roughhousing, and Figaro-- Ah, Figaro was a beater! For sure he had seen his nose bleed. And Frank seemed like the fragile sort whose nose was sensitive to temperature changes, though Eli had absolutely no evidence to support that belief.

"Knuts. Blood tastes like knuts." He looked at Frank pointedly, "The little bronze ones."  As if an eleven year old didn't know the difference between basic coins, "Not that I go around putting knuts in my mouth."

Zel let out a groan and smacked his hand against his forehead, trying not to laugh. However, he didn't want to offend Eli! And Frank... Well, he didn't want Frank to feel left out.

Figaro was not so genteel as Zelig; he laughed and clapped his hands at the perfection of the comedic timing and the wizarding homophone that sustained the spirits of magical adolescents all over Great Britain since the Middle Ages. 

"It's never not funny...!" he insisted to Zel who was clearly over it.  So mature!

But the blood had to stop sometime.  "Eli, here. Hold still. Let me cure you."  His tone was less Mediwizard and more Experimenter as he approached Eli with his wand drawn.

"Figaro, no!"

Frank suddenly found his voice and moved to stop his older brother.  "No magic outside of Hogwarts! You're not supposed to practice on friends!"

Those were practically direct quotes from the warnings the first years were given in their last few weeks of class before summer holidays and Frank had taken them to heart.  He had been absolutely dying to practice Charms over summer their mom had said that it'd be okay if she supervised but Zelda Sellaphix had explicitly forbidden Frank from practicing with Figaro.  "Not with your brother, Francis. Not with Figaro."