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Chapter 1 : A Tale of Mesh and Lace
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Love is not a many splendored thing. It is a many dreaded thing that I wish I didn't have to deal with during examination prep.
He clutches her close as if she'd disappear if he weren't there to hold her.
"I love you," she murmurs, looking up at him.
"I love you more."
"That is not possible."
"It is," Lorcan whispers into her ear.
She looks up into his gorgeous bright blue eyes smilingly.
"Don't mind me," I mumble.
They, of course, don't mind me at all. Lorcan Scamander and Marianne Price are not the sort of people to indulge in displays of affection in the audience of Hogwarts at large. Actually, I do believe that it is Lorcan Scamander who prefers to avoid such open displays of affection. However, it happens that I am honoured with the distinct pleasure of witnessing such affectionate acts.
I think I'll go be sick in Myrtle's bathroom.
Marianne doesn't look at me as she tells Lorcan, "I think we're boring Madeleine."
"Mad doesn't mind," he tells Marianne.
Yes, actually, she does.
"Do you, Mad?"
I all but stifle groan.
Though I sound cynical and untrue to my own ears, the starry eyed couple is deaf to anyone that is not the other.
"What're you up to, Mad?"
It is very likely that he notes my surprise at his addressing me - I am quite used to being ignored when in their combined presence and probably look like a puckering fish for a moment.
He nods absently as he turns back to Marianne and probably doesn't notice my roll of the eyes.
It isn't horridly comfortable to try and complete an assignment when two hormonal teenagers sit across from one.
I sigh very irritatedly and shake my head wishing I had the bollocks to preform a silent silencing charm on them.
It isn't as though I try to put myself in these situation - Marianne had commandeered the table not long after I'd occupied it and only thusly did Lorcan choose to sit here.
I again attempt to ignore their wretched sweet nothings and reread chapter six for what would be the fourth time. It's been an even five months of their cooing and canoodling; needless to say such affectations from my two closest friends has yet to grow on me. Groaning as I realize that nothing I've read has permeated my consciousness, I look away from my book (and, of course, away from the couple opposite me) to I see someone lurking in the bookshelves. Lysander seems to be taking pains to remain unseen by his brother as he searches for a book in the shelf nearest our study table. I try not to grin too widely when he turns to see me looking at him. He waves at me, sheepish smile and all. He is a funny one, that Scamander.
"You're so cute when you get upset," I overhear Lorcan say absently and am forced to cover a snort with a fit of coughing. Marianne is quite the opposite of cute when she is genuinely upset - frantic and unstable would be more appropriate terms - and I am unsure whether Lorcan has actually seen Marianne upset.
I roll my eyes as I try to read chapter six once again not all together astonished that neither Lorcan or Marianne took note of my hacking.
In our dormitory that evening, I am obliged to hear an extensive dissertation regarding the many redeeming qualities of Lorcan Scamader.
Marianne talks of his eyes, his smile and the surprising roughness of his hands as I nod and try not to cringe.
Laying in my four poster with the hangings drawn, I absently wonder whether she realizes that he hates Witch Weekly and would never go to a performance by Tawdry Trick for any amount of money or begging. I wonder if she has ever read one of his articles in The Quibbler or is she believes in Fleshdwelling Burlies or Sharp-Toothed Krummels.
I wonder all this knowing the answers. I know that she doesn't know his favourite Bertie Botts flavour, Weasley Wizard Weezes product or the fact that he is happiest when exploring the forrest by his family home.
It isn't that I in any way hold bitterness for the happiness of my dearest friends. It isn' that I wish them ill will. It isn't that I wish it were me. It isn't that I am jealous.
It's that she chose Lorcan. It's that she could have anyone and chose Lorcan Scamander. But also, or perhaps more than that, it's that he chose Marianne Price. It's that the one wizard I've seriously fancied is dating my best friend.
And even worse than that, it's that I have to deal with them during my preparation for sixth year exams. The precursors to Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests are hard enough without your secret crush snogging your best friend every which way you turn.
Why do these things have to happen to me?
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