Certainly, she responded, equably, giving him a flat sort of a look, even though it was clear that she wasnt really fooling him. My favourite place in the world.

"Of course. I should have known," He stated equally flatly, unconvinced, though he didn't take the opportunity to push for further revelations in a matter that practically radiated untruth. Not to say that Morgan was a lousy liar, really, surprisingly adept as she was at spinning webs of untruth without it showing it in her face. An admitted asset among oodles of incompetence, perhaps, though the ability to lie was not, as one might say, particularly efficient if one was incapable of making the lie suitably credible. As in the current scenario, when the proper-ness of the girl beside him - as well as her unwillingness to drink - was more or less decent giveaways that she would never frequent the Hog's Head on purpose. Other than if, for some obscure reason or another, she had some tangible notion that drove her to such unusual pursuits; be it, say, a desire to step out of line and do something crazy or, perhaps, if for some reason a person she wanted to keep her eyes on suddenly took off for such a dubious establishment. Unbecoming as it was for aristocrats - or, for all that mattered, Head Boys - to lounge about such less than savoury elements in a town that had better quarters to offer.

Since you insist.

At least she realized the wisdom in accepting his offer; never mind whatever duplicity she sensed on his account. Charles himself would, of course, never have followed similar directives in a similar situation, though if Morgan had as much as a clue of what she was doing she probably knew that she was in no position to decline. That was, if she wheren't just another random student that reveled in the atmosphere of the pub, indulging clandestine slumming habits that were difficult to satiate in the near vicinity of Hogwarts. She was, after all, known to have kept questionable company even inside the walls of the aforementioned location; that was, unless one could refer to the resident stoner - Braeden Wilkes - as anything but the filth of the student population. Should that be a hint of her appetite for the scum of wizarding society, so to speak, he supposed his offer was but a like-minded gesture; a drink among Slytherins, the shared consumption of suitable alcohol between head boy and student. Tutor and pupil, never mind if those terms was no longer applicable to either.

Should, however, his original notion turn out to be the truth, she was practically at his mercy.

"It was an observation. Youre not here to spend quality time with me, certainly, you have no reason to; unless you think youre doing something you shouldnt be. Caution convicts, or something similar,

"Ah, but I suppose you are correct. I am doing something I shouldn't be, indeed," He responded, somewhat nonchalantly, though admittedly the logic in her reasoning was relatively accurate. And, if anything, her following statement was confirming of nature; not outright so, perhaps, though her following tirade of branded guessing no doubt firmly planted her on the wrong side of his suspicion. Whether or not it felt good to know he could trust in his intuition was, however, debatable. Truth be told he would have preferred to be wrong, so to speak, as it would have spared him the complications of having to conceal his actions; though, at second thought, he supposed that regardless of what ultimately drove her he would still have to initiate proper precautions.

Her mere presence was a threat, as established and in all honesty he was better safe than sorry; as in, regardless of its proven efficiency, he simply couldn't rely on ignorance alone to shield his detestable actions from the scrutiny of others. Or, at least, not in that case. Granted, as formerly captured by the ministry he was practically living in a glasshouse, figuratively speaking, but the collective eye of the masses was always easier to deceive than that of a single individual. As proven with the lies he had fed his fellow Slytherins, earlier, or for all that matters that he even was there - rather than lodged in an Azkaban cell - to begin with. That was, however, irrelevant.

So which is it, Montague? A questionable liaison? Or some great and evil thing that begets such conviction?

"As are you. Though, unless you are selective about your classification of rulebreaking you don't need me to tell you that you're guilty of the same," He continued, pointedly ignoring her most recent statement, seemingly intent on keeping the conversation to somewhat safer grounds by utilizing what only could be labelled as some sort of a social feint. A blunt admission, however fake, could perhaps conceal the real offence he was about to commit; a common move among the aristocracy as it was to hide one's dirty laundry behind lesser - trivialized - dealings of similar nature. Perhaps it could work.. And perhaps not, though perhaps that could be helped by the aforementioned influence of alcohol. Consequentially, while stifling a snicker at Morgan's drink-induced grimace, he motioned for the barmaid to bring them yet another round. All in the name of hospitality, if you will, regardless of darker motivations that currently fueled his generosity. "The Hog's Head is off limits to students this year, Morgan, and whether you came here to persecute me, blackmail me or just to get your fix of indecency you're just as bad as I am. Ironically, I believe that makes us partners in crime,"

Sarcasm ensued.

Or maybe youre just bored, Im sure drowning the sorrows of being Head Boy in a questionable joint is a wonderful way to fight such monotony.

"Maybe I am," He sneered, an emphasis on the 'maybe', her teasing mannerism undoubtedly having served to irritate him substantially. Even so he kept his temper firmly under control, meanwhile pushing another one of the shots that the barmaid brought them over in her directions. He expected objections, of course, though regardless of what excuses she had in store he was quite prepared to meet them. Once more he insisted, if nothing else. Though that was for later, his pretended defense having earned its inevitable position as top priority for the moment. "Maybe I happen to prefer this questionable joint to the alternative, though I suppose I should have been warier of nosy brats tagging along for the ride. So what are you here for, Morgan? Money? If it was to place me on probation I suspect you would have gone straight to a professor. Regardless, if you want to keep that spotless record of yours clean, you will not breathe as much as a word of my slumming habits to anyone. Lest, of course, you fancy another set of detentions together,"