The silent treatment; one of the best types of revenge on a person there could possibly be. I mean, ignoring someone is the perfect way of getting your point across that you are mad/hurt/annoyed without having to say anything and avoiding those big confrontational shouting matches that attract loads of attention.
I’ve had enough of those in a day to last a lifetime.
Speaking once, just one slip of the tongue; ruins the days you’ve built up ignoring the blankee.
I also love the way the silent treatment has escalated since when you were about five and your crush at that time pushed you in the mud, and you would ignore him until you forgot, which was always about twenty seconds later, to teenagers ignoring people for days, even weeks, at a time.
But, then, I made three mistakes that day.
I exited the portrait hole with a rumbling stomach. Which is strange, seeing as I ate so much I nearly puked last night and fell asleep with an overly strained belly. Everyone else was still asleep upstairs, on my bed, after staying up till five am apparently, but I wouldn’t know – I crashed out in the fourth DVD, at one, waking up every hour or so for roughly 20 minutes before dozing off again.
It was only half ten and the only people who were up were the first years, who looked incapable of having a lie in on a Saturday morning, and were running about excitedly, practising spells on each other. I swear to God, I have never been up this early. Usually I didn’t emerge on the weekend till after noon, but today I was just so damn hungry.
“Mollie!” A voice behind me exclaims, making me stop in my tracks.
No, Mollie, no. Keep walking, ignore him.
I reluctantly placed my feet in front of each other as Freddie called out behind me and I could hear his pace quickening as he fought to catch up with me. “Mollie?” He sounds confused. Maybe I should stop and inform him why he’s getting the cold shoulder...
No. Think Ice Queen.
“Mm, I hope they have waffles today,” Bugger-face says, matching my stride as he finally catches up with me. I turn my head to the wall, so I’m not staring at his stupid, but oh-so-pretty, face. Which is not as easy as it sounds, let me tell you. I had to keep looking in front of me every now and again so I wouldn’t crash into something or fall over a tiny person.
“So, Mollie,” Freddie begins conversationally as if we totally didn’t make out in front of the portrait last night. “You like pancakes? Or are you a waffle lover like me?”
You know, just so I’m contradicting him. I’ve actually hated pancakes since I was eleven and, when trying to cook, flipping the pancake and having it fly onto the ceiling and get stuck. There’s still a black mark on the ceiling and my brother and sister never forget to gleefully remind me what a sucky cook I am. And then I always remind my mother when she tries to make me cook. It’s a win-lose situation, I guess.
“So, yesterday, huh?” I could almost hear his smile.
And hell, ‘cause it’s so pretty, I thought I could just catch a quick glimpse of it, glaring why I ogle him, and turn away huffily and storming off. Running if need be.
That’s where I made my first fatal mistake.
He’s grinning goofily at me, his hair neat as always and probably as silky as it was. I had to fight the impulse that wanted me to fling myself at him and repeatedly run my fingers through his hair. My scowl slipped from my face as I looked at him, but somehow I still held my grudge and held my tongue. Not that I could talk anyway; it probably would have come out as rubbish. Something seemed different – Freddie looked the same as always but wrong, somehow.
“Where’s your beard-thingy?”
I inwardly groan; my plan had been to ignore Fred for a couple of days and I had blanked him for a grand total of nine minutes and fifty two seconds. I feel as if someone should be doing that slow, sarcastic clapping behind me.
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, exhaling in frustration, and clenching my fists, before angrily marching off, leaving a confused Freddie in my wake. A rather dramatic exit, if I do say so myself.
Well, it would have been if Freddie hadn’t trailed after me, pestering me on what’s wrong by poking me in the side. And every time he did that I had to hold in a snort of laughter, which I guess didn’t look too attractive.
I sat down grumpily, and began piling waffles onto my plate and Freddie sat beside me, following my example, and kept looking knowingly at me. What he knew, I had no idea. It was probably the pancake theory.
The hall was busier than I’d expected it to be, but then again I’m not one to usually rise before 12, and only a few teachers were sitting at the staff table, reading their newspaper or talking lazily amongst each other. I rub my face sleepily as I yawn and shovel waffles into my mouth, not realising I’m ignoring Freddie who’s jabbering away nine to the dozen in my ear. James sits down beside me and I grunt in acknowledgement while he and Freddie start a conversation about the quidditch training today, obviously wanting me to join in and be like; “Oh goody, I can’t wait!”
“I had a dream about you, Mollie,” James says casually, snapping me out of my reverie.
A dream about me? Oh, this sounds promising.
“You didn’t have a bellybutton and kept flashing your buttonless belly to everyone.”
“Ngghh,” I grunt. I shovel yet more waffles in my mouth for something to distract me from him, probably giving the overall hamster look from too much food in my mouth.
“You do have a bellybutton, right?” James says, sounding quite worried.
“Merlin, you don’t, do you?” Gulp. “Oh crap! Mollie doesn’t have a bellybutton!” He yells, attracting the attention of the rest of the table. “Alien! Alien!”
“Shut up!” I screech. “I do so have a belly button!”
“Oh, yeah?” James challenges. “Prove it!”
So, what do I do but stand up grandly, glaring triumphantly around the room, and lift up my shirt but only enough to reveal my bellybutton. “Belly button!” I announce smugly to the boys in front of me, pointing to my belly.
Oh God, I’m such a freak.
“Outstanding!” James says in awe.
I sit down, once again my face flushed in embarrassment, and glare at James. “Dickhead. Made me flash my bellybutton.”
“No need to be embarrassed, Mollie, it was a perfectly lovely bellybutton,” He replies, trying to lighten my mood by giving me a reassuring smile. Trying and succeeding, might I add. James’ smiles send my legs into a state of jelly, which is probably not the most helpful thing seeing as, last night, I snogged his cousin.
“Mollie, please tell me you did not just show the school your belly button,” Dom sniggers as she sits next to me, fixing the pancakes on the table with a hungry eye.
“I, er... did not just show the school my bellybutton.”
Dom merely rolls her eyes at me as she digs in, looking as if she hadn’t just had five hours of sleep with her neat hair and perfectly made-up face. I, however, had gotten eight hours sleep (or there about) and couldn’t be arsed to put on any make up, or even put any frizz-ease in my hair but had just lazily thrown it into a loose ponytail. Overall, I look like I’ve been repeatedly beat around the head with a broom.
The morning owls suddenly burst through the open window for the daily post and began swooping down upon the students who had got mail. I continued eating, I didn’t expect any mail as my parents were muggles and I had cancelled my weekly subscription to ‘TeenWitch’ mag as soon as I found out that Dom got it as well – I would just filch off of her. Dom held her hand open automatically as a tawny owl dropped her magazine onto it and landed down beside her. She rummaged in her pocket and brought out a galleon before placing it into the pouch attached to the owls’ leg as James unfolded a letter he had received from an identical owl. The owl hopped off, feeling its heavier pouch and Dom began flicking through the magazine when her hand froze on a page about half way in, and her eyes narrow considerably.
“No flipping way,” she growls as James eyes bulges as he reads his letter and he grins.
“I’ve been named ‘The Hottest Teen Guy!” He squeals, flashing his letter to everyone at the table. “Haha, Fred, haha!”
“Let me see that!” Freddie barks, snatching the magazine from Dom’s hands. Normally, I’d be expecting Dom to do some serious kick-arse to Freddie for taking her property quite rudely. I think she’s in a state of shock. I’m actually not that surprised – I did vote for him after all, along with most of the girls at my old school.
“You’re not even in the top 10! Even Wagtail beat you!” James crows, mentioning a boy in a band, to Freddie who’s looking at the magazine in bewilderment. “Hahahahahaha.”
“James, don’t be a jerk,” Hally scolds, appearing behind James with her perfectly straight hair, that I now know she casts a straightening spell on it. “I doubt they even know who Freddie is!”
“Way to make a guy feel loved, Hally,” Freddie grumbles and James laughs harder. Hallys eyes widen.
“No, no! I meant that you’re equally as um... you know but they only know who James is because of his dad!”
“I resent that,” James quips, still reading his letter gleefully. “I’ve got to meet a journalist in Hogsmeade next Saturday to interview me.”
“That’s Halloween,” Dom seems to have recovered. “We have a trip then, anyway.”
“Did you know about this?” Hally asks, indicating the page with 10 moving pictures of hot guys; the biggest picture showing James grinning cockily at the camera, his nose wrinkling every now and then as he cracks his knuckles or shows a cute dance move.
“Yeah, they told me I was nominated back in July,” he replies shrugging. “And I had to sign something saying I’d go for an interview if I won.”
“Your mum’s going to go mental,” Dom says brightly.
“And what makes you think that?”
“Well, for one, when a reported came up to you last year, your mum hexed her and told you to ‘stay the hell away from them,’” Dom states, looking thoughtful. “Oh, and, when Al was put in ‘Witch Weekly’ sneezing, with snot flying from his nose, under the heading ‘Snotty Potter,’ your mum almost sued them and there was that one where that reporter asked your mums views on Harry’s affair with Hermione and she punched the reporter in the face. And also when Lily kept quoting the newspaper to you and you burst into te-.”
“I am so screwed!” James groans, banging his head on the table.
“James, you will bash up your face doing that and then no way in hell will you be the hottest teen wizard anymore,” I say gently, pulling his head up by his scruffy black hair. He looks a bit dazed but no bruises seem to be forming on his forehead, which, by the way, looks as if it’s never had a spot in its life.
“Yeah, and then you’ll be in the advert for head trauma,” Dom says, looking particularly pleased at this scrap of information, as does Freddie.
“Mollie, we got Quidditch practice in a couple of hours,” Freddie informs me.
That’s where I made my second mistake.
“I know, dumb-arse, you and James have been banging on about this for the last half hour.”
Yeah; letting Dom know that I hadn’t even gone a day without talking to Freddie? That probably wasn’t the smartest move. And, seeing as she is looking at me in outrage right now I should take the best care in avoiding her.
“Mollie, can I talk to you outside for a moment?” Dom growls.
No way in hell.
“I’m eating, Dom,” I sigh as if she’s totally bothered me.
“Mollie. Outside. Now.”
“May I ask what this is about?”
“Well, it’s about yours and Fred’s little rend-,” Dom retorts and I let out a rather peculiar sound that halts Dom mid-sentence. Freddie looks at me.
“Outsides good!” I squeak and stand, practically running out of the hall as everyone stares bewilderedly at each other, wondering what on earth I am doing running out of the hall when there is still a half-eaten waffle on my plate.
“I’m sorry!” I exclaim once Dom has finally reached me, standing outside the hall doors. She growls back at me and I frown at her. “But why do you even care so much?!”
That totally shut her up.
In fact, she looks kind of startled. “Because you’re Mollie.”
“You’re so innocent and Freddie’s a total pig when it comes to girls,” she continues as if it’s so blatantly obvious. “Freddie’s that guy who kisses-and-ditches countless of girls. I bet you’ve never had a boyfriend.”
“I have, too!” I protest, deliberately ignoring the part about Freddie. “It was, um...”
Oh, crap, she’s right. Sure, I had had a summer fling once upon a time but it was never anything as serious as a ‘boyfriend.’
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt, Mollie,” Dom says, smiling reassuringly at me, before checking the big clock on the wall. “I guess we better go get ready for Quidditch.”
It just so happened to be crap weather on the pitch. And James was being a particularly crap captain – making us all run around the pitch where we squelched in mud up to our ankles. And ‘cause I look so utterly crap running, you could truthfully say I was in a crap mood.
It was just such a crap practice.
And if you think the practice couldn’t possibly get any worse than you’re totally wrong. ‘Cause, you know, I ‘accidently’ threw the quaffle at Freddie and it ‘accidently’ hit him in the face sending him flying into our keeper while I laughed in his face. And then James gave me a stern look as if Freddie didn’t deserve having the quaffle ‘accidently’ hit him in the face and sent me off the pitch to do another ten laps. Ten freaking laps around the massive pitch? I officially hate running. And James for making me run. And then Freddie for making me ‘accidently’ hit him in the face with the quaffle.
“Mollieeeee,” Freddie calls in a sing-song voice, flying down to my level as I try to run through the mud, apparently having forgiven me for hitting him in the face. Try being the operative word; I swear I have moved a metre in ten minutes of running. Which totally sucks seeing as I’m getting so puffed out. “What’s up?”
What’s up? What’s up?!
“I’m running.” Darn, I was totally meant to come out with something witty and sarcastic not the sad, little truth which made me seem even sadder and littler in comparison.
“You’re not too chirpy this morning, are you?” He says, observing me, as he glides along slowly beside me. “I thought you’d be the total opposite and be like; ‘Woohoo, I kissed Freddie; the ultimate Sex God!’”
“Well, I don’t have a ‘Hot Hufflepuff’ to amuse me,” I snap while breathing heavily as I run, expecting for him to look at least the teeniest bit embarrassed. ‘Cause, I swear, no way in hell am I going to let that go. But, you know what, he doesn’t look uncomfortable in the slightest, instead choosing to arch an eyebrow and smirk.
I stop. Freddie stops.
“You,” I growl giving him a sharp poke in the chest.
“Are the most-” Poke.
“Arrogant, annoying, inconsiderate twat-” Poke and glare.
“I have ever met!” Angry foot stomp and then resume running. All in all I thought it was a pretty good rant.
“Surely I can’t be worse than Geoff,” Freddie says and continues flying beside me. Did he not just hear my rant?
“Nobody can be worse than Geoff,” I reply. Bullocks. Why can’t I keep up a grudge for more than half an hour? It’s totally ridiculous. “Er, I mean; shut up and die.”
“Why don’t you want to tell anyone about us?” Freddie demands, ignoring my ‘die’ comment.
I actually don’t know. What is wrong with me?
“See; that’s why I like Abby,” Freddie barks and I wince when he says the name of the girl who he was ‘talking’ to last night. “She’s so uncomplicated.”
“Oh, so now I’m complicated?”
He sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Mollie, you’re-”
“Oi, Fred!” James hollers from above. “Get up here now! We need another chaser!”
“Mollie, it’s just-”
“Freddie!” James bellows again and begins to fly lower, coming closer by the minute.
“Sorry,” Freddie mumbles and, ruffling my hair, he leaves, flying to where James was a minute ago to continue practising while James takes Fred’s place, flying along beside me.
“What is it with you boys? Do you purposefully like showing off that you’re on a broom and I’m not?”
James grins and replies. “Get on your broom, Pert.”
“Ten laps, my arse.”
“Well you weren’t really moving much, were you? I thought I better save you the embarrassment.”
“How considerate,” I reply dryly and walk over where I had thrown down my broom earlier in one of those fits of unfairness. Which, I guess, some would call a minor tantrum but they are totally wrong. I do not, being a fifteen year old girl, have tantrums.
“How long does it take you to get on a broom?” James sighs and I turn around to glare at him before climbing on my broom and joining Dom in the air, who high fives me in greeting.
“Woop!” The keeper, Jas, cheers. “Let’s practise!”
“Someone’s a little enthusiastic.”
“Leave the hormonal keeper alone, Al,” Freddie advises, clapping Albus on the back as he flies past.
“Screw you, Weasley,” Jas shouts. “Er, I mean, Fred. Sorry Dom.”
“Freddie prefers ‘hot Hufflepuffs’ screwing him, Jas,” I say, looking meaningfully at Freddie.
“Ergh, nasty mental image, Mollie,” Jas winces.
“And some people are too blonde to realise when somebody actually likes them,” Freddie retorts, ignoring the keeper who has her hand tightly clamped over her ears and her eyes squeezed tightly shut.
“I am not blonde!” I seethe and then promptly look confused as everybody gives me a dubious look. “Well, I am blonde. But I’m not blonde.”
“Do you think I’d suit blonde?” Albus suddenly pipes up. “I think I’d suit blonde.”
“Nah, mate,” the beater, Callum, replies. “Your eyebrows are too dark.”
“He’s right, Al,” Dom joins in. “How about a nice, chocolate-y brown?”
“That would look awesome!” Jas squeals, abandoning her way to keep out the ‘nasty mental images.’
“People!” James calls in a whiney voice. “Let’s play, shall we?”
So, everybody starts playing, zooming around on their brooms, chucking balls around the place and occasionally getting hit around the head with someone else’s bat. Then James throws the Quaffle into my hands and, as somebody cheers down below, I stare at the ball. And then I stare at Freddie. Well, it’s more like glare seeing as I’m totally thinking of ways to kill him. And then I, completely and totally impulsively, hurled the ball at Freddie’s head.
“Woops,” I smirk, giving him an innocent shrug of my shoulders while he rubs his injured face.
“Mollie!” James yells.
“Go do another ten laps!”
I bloody hate Fred.
I mean, seriously? Another half hour of me trying to run look particularly twattish? Yeah; I totally need to hit something now. And I’m aiming for Freddie.
“Mollie?” James says beside me, slightly making me jump. “Why do you keep hitting the Fredster with the Quaffle?”
“Uh... well, it-”
“Is this something to do with last night?”
Bugger. How did he know that?! God, I probably should give James more credit – he’s smarter than he looks. Quick, distract him with something else. He seems rather fond of games, now you mention it. That’s where I made my third and last mistake of that day.
“Hally likes Geoff!”
I am so dead.
Hally will most definitely kill me.
Or, if she doesn’t, then Dom will finish the job. Because, under no circumstances, are we ever to break the ‘girl code.’ And that is completely breaking it.
“Really?” James gasps, looking excited. “Wow, I got to tell somebody!”
“No!” I bark and turn to face James, trying to stare him down which is quite a feat seeing as he’s about a foot taller than me when he’s on his broom. “You can’t tell anybody!”
“Oh, no!” James whines. “I’m crap at keeping secrets!”
“What?!” I screech, only vaguely aware that our little scenario seems to be highlighting the fact that the captain isn’t actually playing – he’s flying along beside me.
“Well, I get this overwhelming urge whenever I know something and the other person doesn’t,” James explains calmly. I have no idea why he’s calm. I’m majorly freaking out. “And then I feel sorry for them so I tell them.”
“James Potter – Gossip Queen.”
“Make it Gossip King and then you have a deal.”
“A deal on what?!”
“On me not telling anybody.”
“Oi, Potter, that’s blackmail,” I hiss, totally having given up on the fact that I’m meant to have run ten laps and the fact that James is meant to be somewhere fifty feet higher than he is right now. “But I guess, for Hally’s sake, it’s a deal.”
“Yay! James Potter – Gossip King,” James says in a dramatic voice. “Hmm, it doesn’t have the same ring to it as Queen.”
“What about Guy?” I supply helpfully, seeing as I am the one who dubbed James with that name.
“Gossip Guy? Mollie, please,” James sighs, rolling his eyes. “How about God? Gossip God’s good.”
He trails off after a moment of pointless rambling, probably talking to himself, and begins to hover slightly upwards making me have to crane my head even further to look at him.
“Hey, James?” I ask.
“Are you serious?” I grumble, trying to inconspicuously walk back to my broom. “You want everybody to go around calling you Gossip God?”
“Ew, no,” James replies. “James is an amazing name. Only you have to call me Gossip God.”
“Oh, goody. I feel so honoured.”
“Oh, goody?” James scoffs, not seeming surprised in the slightest that I am on my broom, hovering in front of him apparently having giving up my so-called running after ten minutes.
“Bite me, Potter,” I growl, swaying slightly to the left. “But, anyway, what did you mean when you said ‘something to do with last night?’”
“At your ‘sleepover,’” James says, quoting the word with his fingers. “He stole a couple of cookies from Dom’s basket when she wasn’t looking.”
“The bastard!” I exclaim and then flash a glance at James confused face. “I mean, I knew that.”
“Let’s just play, Mollie.”