Fletcher closed his eyes, not at all caring about what was happening outside of them. He didn't give a fuck who saw them, what they thought, how they wanted to take it. That was their problem, not his. His problem, he was quietly discovering was something quite along their likely line of thought, but he was not about to openly say so. Though, there was a completely unrelated problem. The matter where he'd been lying to his closest, most important friend for four years.
He wanted to say none of it mattered, that it was merely important to have Tiberius close, but somehow it sounded hollow even to him.
"I know she is, Buttercup." He let out a small sigh. There it was again. "But we just have to be absolutely certain, you know?" Lying. How long would he keep lying? He was loyal to Voldemort and he knew the man had ways of finding out. As much as he loved Tibby, he couldn't. The Slytherin in him screamed no. If he started to come off like the others, though, he would have no choice...and he'd rather tell Tibby then.
"Which one is he again?" Fletcher honestly couldn't remember which one Superman was. He had a distinctly odd feeling that it had to do with blue and red...and possibly yellow. He didn't really know. "You're Buttercup. I guess you could be the superhero of flowers," he teased lightly. "You're the only one that will matter enough," he said as a means of agreement.