Clint snorted. "I can't imagine a Weasley being good at much,"" he said, somewhat derisively. To be fair, he didn't really care one way or another about them but they'd been on the list of blood traitors and all. Though, he ought to be best mates with one of them just to piss his parents off. Course, he couldn't really imagine wanting to be friendly towards them. It wasn't like any of them had a thing in common. Flexing his fingers, he caught Penny staring at his hands. He had the most ridiculous desire to run a calloused digit over her smooth lips.
"When I snogged her?" he asked, thinking back. "I was thirteen. I slept with her when I was fifteen." Of course, that was when he found out his father was always shagging the help and Clint had really started to compete with his father in ways that weren't good for a teenage boy. His father, of course, found it hilarious and would goad him on. "Course, my father thought it was a laugh..." And he'd critiqued his son's performance afterward.