Chapter 1 : Good Girls Go Bad.
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 25|
Background: Font color:
This fic is loosely based on the song by Cobra Starship called "Good Girls Go Bad" and that's where I got the title. Awesome song, give it a listen!
I, Roger Davies, am many things.
Player Of The Year.
But the one thing I mostly definitely am not, is a loser.
I always win. I always have my way. And that’s never going to change. Even with my ways, be it so, I would never leave a challenge unfulfilled unless I was truly satisfied. Until I won.
But lately…I’ve been feeling a bit different.
“Roger,” my flavor of the week, Marissa, hisses delicately into my ear, “Let’s go somewhere more private.” She starts kissing my neck but alas, my attention is elsewhere. And Marissa’s pecks here and there are starting to feel like nothing. She’s been doing this continuously for the past ten minutes.
“The library is hardly public. There’s no one here,” I lie smoothly, even though we aren’t alone; and she knows that. She stops moving her hands up my chest and shoots a venomous glance at Amalia Einhardt, the person I happen to be staring at.
“That stupid Gryffindor is here. Ugh, what a nerd. I’d much rather we go up to my dorm…” She trails off pettily.
I keep sneaking glances back to Amalia between Marissa’s kisses. She’s sitting in a chair, much like the one I’m sitting in now, all the way across the library, in a small corner. She has her glasses perched up on her nose and a book completely covering half her face. Her eyes dart back and forth, briskly running through the pages in her novel. Anyone in their right mind can tell how involved she is with her book. I’d be surprised if Amalia even noticed Marissa and me getting cozy right here in the library. She hasn’t looked up since I’ve set foot in here.
And I don’t like that.
“We’ll have the whole Seventh Year dormitory to ourselves. Everyone’s at Hogsmeade.”
“Oh, come on, love,” I murmur charmingly. “Doesn’t the possibility of getting caught make it that more exciting?”
She sighs and looks me in the eyes. “I can’t get caught, Roger. I’m a prefect. They could remove my badge. And besides, it’s creepy. That Einhardt girl is practically in front of us. I don’t want that freak staring! Giving someone a free show isn’t exactly classy.”
I almost laugh.
Opposed to the other things she’s done with class…
“But I don’t want to get up.” I’m cozy, damn it, can’t she see that? “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
She groans and stops kissing my chin, my neck, and my exposed shoulder through my open shirt. How disappointing, that’s my sensitive spot. I was enjoying that.
“Don’t push it,” she snaps, even though she isn’t even looking me in the eyes; her head is resting on the crook of my neck. I wiggle, making her change her position on my lap so she is face to face with me.
I raise my eyebrow. This girl thinks she has authority over me?
“Sweetheart, I’m nobody’s plaything,” I clarify. If Marissa is going to try to be the boss of me, she might as well try harder. Her attempt at controlling me is out of line, uncalled for, and a little bit pathetic. Desperate, even. “I’m not leaving,” I tell her lastly, letting my eyes roam back to Amalia.
Marissa grabs a hold of my jaw and snaps it back to her. She’s glaring.
I’m unaffected. “Yes?” I ask, annoyed.
“Please,” she begs with impatience, “Let’s go.”
“I told you once, and I won’t tell you again,” I say coldly.
Marissa’s jaw drops and she let’s go of my face like a hot plate in her hand.
Honestly, women these days…
“Fine,” she growls, getting off my lap and buttoning up a few snaps on her school shirt. I look at her collect herself, in amusement, with my head propped up on my fist against the armchair. My elbow is resting on the cool leather and my thumb grazes my cheek as I watch her.
“Obviously, I don’t mean enough to you,” she says, with the final tug of her skirt, pulling it back to the appropriate length.
I sigh boringly. Oh, please. I’ve heard that line a million times. Of course she means nothing to me. She knows that. Girls always throw me that line for attention, in hopes I’ll confess my undying love for them. How preposterous and needy of her to say that to me.
“I can’t believe this,” she huffs. “Some nerve you have, Roger Davies.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
With the final stomp of her heel, she takes off, out of the almost vacant library.
I smirk knowingly and look across the room.
Amalia Einhardt was the nerd of Gryffindor; and everybody knew it. But, of course, I had never really gotten the chance to know her passed the glasses. For the last three years, I’d been secretly admiring the girl. She was fascinating – she never wore make up (to be honest, she didn’t need it) and her hair was always in a messy bun. Not exactly that desirable, if you ask any boy my age. But there was something about her that always intrigued me. Something that would always make my eyes land on her.
See, there was a difference between Marissa and Amalia. Marissa feigns dominance, in the hopes of making the other person believe she is stronger, when she doesn’t even believe it herself. As soon as you tell her who is boss, she quivers in defeat. She was boring. There was a little part of me that was willing to go to her dorm, but I wanted to test her. See if she could live a little, do something dangerous in Hogwarts. Her excuse to leave was bland and unsatisfactory.
Amalia, on the other hand, was unlike any other girl. I could tell. All those years I observed her in her natural habitat, I could tell just what a different story she was entirely. I could tell by the way she minded her own business, by the way that she walked without swinging her hips, because she didn’t care about getting the attention. By the way she was completely and utterly unapproachable. By the way she didn’t reveal so much skin like the other girls. Amalia Einhardt was modest. Modest as a mouse.
She was comfortable with herself in that way. This was how she liked things. She holds an air around her that only she controls. Certainty, I think, is what it’s called. Amalia had an attitude that was both self assuring and dominating. Almost like…almost like myself.
It turns me on, to be honest.
If Amalia was in the same situation Marissa was just in, there’d be no doubt in my mind – Amalia would fight for what she wanted. That, to me, was so attractive. Now here was a woman who would have the guts to take control, and not have to fake authority, because it came to her so naturally. Here was a woman who would be the boss of me.
And the fact that I barely know her makes her that more enticing to me. She’s like one of the many books she read through the years, her pages are open and legible but you have to read between the lines to figure her out. And I did just that.
I’ve been with plenty of women. Hell, during Quidditch season I’d have to watch where I walked at night, just in case some girl would come out of the hallway and jump me. Girls at Hogwarts, the easy ones, would always throw themselves at me. Every person with breasts in their anatomy would try to make me theirs. After a while, they all tasted the same. All felt the same. All looked the same. Except Amalia. She stood out. She was the only girl in my year that I’d never touched or been with. Not even an accidental shoulder bump/shove in the corridors.
I think it’s time to break that record, don’t you think?
Every other girl I’d been with in the past few months was so easy to control. I always had authority over them without a fight. And something told me – male intuition, maybe? – that Amalia wouldn’t be so easy to win over. I relished this fact, because, truth of the matter is, she was a challenge. And I wanted nothing more from a woman. That was all I usually asked for: a challenge of some sort, that made me appreciate my prize. So I would be rewarded for my accomplishment. But in a school full of girls that didn’t hold their own, I was finding the dating game to be tiresome. Amalia looked like a winner in her own light. Although she looked like both a winner and a challenge (considering the fact she willingly did not make herself approachable and she did not date around), I didn’t find myself threatened by her presence. I didn’t feel like I’d have to fight for control, but at the same time I know she’d never share it.
I can’t explain how I know these things about her, but I do. I’m good at observing, figuring out how people work, what makes them tick. My experience with other girls have given me practice in the ‘mind reading’ field when it comes to knowing what women want, or how they feel, or how they like things to be done. And Amalia liked to do things alone, by herself.
But something told me…something told me that I knew better than to just leave her be.
I get up slowly, not bothering to button up my school shirt. I let it hang open, revealing my white beater from underneath. I don’t have a belt on, but my pants are still in tact around my waist. I walk, each one of my steps clacking louder than the last, towards her. I can hear my shoes echo off the walls as I make my way across the room lazily. Amalia can hear me, and she knows where I’m headed. I can sense her back stiffen at this fact and I inwardly smile. She still doesn’t look up from her book.
As soon as I reach Amalia, I stand in front of her - just to see if she’ll say anything to me. And as I would have expected, she doesn’t say a thing. She doesn’t even glance at me. I almost smirk. I like her already.
I grab an equally cozy chair from the fireplace and position it right in front of her. I take a seat and smile, even though she won’t put her book down to look at me and say hello. It’s quiet for about a minute.
“Hello,” I say, my voice a bit raspy.
She sighs, and peeks over her novel at me. “Davies,” she says impatiently.
Hm, her voice sounds completely different when she’s directly speaking to you. It’s clear and clean and almost full of happiness. Like when you open a can of soda pop and the liquid just starts spraying out. She’s a talker, this one. Just not in public. Get her going, and she won’t be able to shut up for hours. I guarantee it.
“Don’t get too excited,” I say sarcastically.
“I wouldn’t plan on it,” she remarks, putting her book back in its position - right in front of her face. I lean back in my chair and wait; my eyebrow arched and my face resting on my hand.
I wonder where things will go from here. Will she ignore me, like she’s ignored the other Hogwarts students countless of times? Or will I somehow spark her interest enough for her to ask questions? She seems the type.
Amalia releases a long breath and turns the page of her novel.
I’m eager on the inside, though I don’t let it show.
I want to find out just how this girl ticks. The way she operates. Why she does the things that she does, and why she chooses to not do the things she chooses not do. After the countless hookups, and the unreasonably large amounts of people that treat me like a trend, I start to get bored with society. And every so often I would just glance at Amalia from far away. How luck she was, I thought. She was part of this quiet society where no one bothered her. Or at least, she chose not to be bothered.
Did I choose to be bothered?
I furrow my eyebrows as I think this through, and I see Amalia peak at me from her book but I don’t give it a second thought. She goes back to reading as soon as I see her eyes on mine.
I like attention. I like it a lot. Not because I’m a dickhead, but because I feel…I don’t know. I can’t explain it, but I guess the answer to my question would be yes. I choose to be bothered by the people in this school. Yes, I need to be bothered. I get twitchy if I don’t get some kind of annoyance with the female population. Sometimes I hate it, and other times, it feels like a show. And I’m just playing my role. I guess that’s what so alluring about being a pretty boy. About being the one the girls want. The school things I’m this sort of celebrity. It’s fun to see how many different versions of me people think there are.
It makes for fun daytime television when you think about it, does it not?
“Why do you have a devilish grin on your face?”
I almost intake a gasp at the sound of her voice. So it begins…
“Naturally,” Amalia says coolly, though her eyes are still glued to her book.
I turn over in my chair and sit up straighter. I lean my elbows on my legs and lean over. If I moved a couple inches forward, my nose could touch the hardcover of her book.
She turns another page.
“I wonder,” I begin, “why you’re not as welcoming and quiet and sweet as you seem.”
She has an internal fight with herself about whether she should ignore me, or tell me off. Her hand shakes the novel a bit and I get a peek at her face. The difference between her usual looks and now is the size of her eyes and her perfect complexion. And the fact that since the beginning of this conversation, she hasn’t looked me dutifully in the eyes not once, until now. When she lifts her head and looks me in the eyes, she moves as if she’s about to shut her book, but at the last minute decides not to. The face she has on reads: It’s for me to know and you to find out.
In any other situation I’d find that quite suggestive. But with Amalia Einhardt, it’s coming out as more of a peeved statement. Annoyed, yet subdued. A bit curious, but not interested enough to find out more.
At least not yet.
“Looks can be deceiving,” Amalia tells me before continuing with her reading.
She turns another page.
“I think you’re being rude,” I comment.
“I’m sitting right in front of you, I position myself so that we can have a civilized conversation, and yet you greet me with an annoyed expression. And then you continue to ignore me. That’s not nice.”
Her eyes dart across the pages so quickly I can barely keep up. She’s good at multi-tasking, Amalia is. “You and I aren’t necessary best friends. And it’s not like there’s an unwritten rule that states I have to be nice to you by choice. What are you going to do if I don’t talk to you, punish me?”
“Only if you want me to,” I bite back a smile just in case she looks up from reading. She doesn't.
This is fun.
“Oh,” I chuckle, “Now don’t say that…”
“No, really. I’m losing IQ points just talking to you. I’ve met rubber duckies smarter than you. And I’m pretty sure my pigmy puff has a better personality.”
“Ouch,” I say, a tad offended. Okay, I wasn’t expecting that, but I was expecting the whole anti-man attitude. That, I can learn to get around. But her saying I have no personality? I’m going to have to change her opinion on that.
“Who gave you the right to say I have no personality?” I ask lightly. “Do you know me? Have you come up to me and started a conversation before? Did you ever think that maybe you should get to know me before saying false things? I know, that you know, there’s that saying that says you shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover. I was stupid to think you’d follow that rule, I mean, you do read.”
Amalia tightens the grip on her book and for a few minutes, she’s quiet. She’s trying to read but is failing terribly. Now she’s feeling guilty and the more she tries to read the same sentence over and over again, the more it doesn’t stick. The more words from her novel start to unglue themselves from her mind. Finally - an emotion other than hatred of ‘my kind’. The fascism against pretty boys.
“I understand if you detest me before you meet me, but that’s no reason to tune me out. I’ve never judged you a day in my life, and yet you have a million and one things to say about me. But that’s only if I push you hard enough for you to tell me. I wonder, did you ever think I’d come to you, seeking friendship or…I don’t know, small talk, for lack of a better word? I sit down and say hello just once, and I receive an unwelcoming response. We’re in the same House, you know. It’s kind of disappointing.”
The grip on her book tightens even more now. Her knuckles are almost turning white. Amalia is trying so hard not to listen to my voice, to try and keep reading so she doesn’t have to deal with me. I’m frustrating her, and there’s nothing she can do about it. Because now that I’m giving her a ‘speech’ that is proven to make prejudices quiver in defeat, she’s bound to respond back and try to defend herself. Or at least make things right. It’s in her nature. She’s a good person, like me. But we’re two different kinds of GOOD. But who says equals don’t attract? We compliment each other, I think. She’s interesting to me. Not to mention my main obligation is to annoy her to the point where she’ll just burst.
“You’re acting completely hypocritical.”
And I think I’ve reached critical level.
“How dare you!” She puts her novel face down in her lap, but it’s still standing open. She rests her forearms on the top of the hardcover’s rough edges. “I’m not being hypocritical at all. In fact, I think that I have every right to be peeved at your current existence. Your insulting just sitting in front of me. And it’s not because I dislike what I’ve heard about you. I dislike what you stand for, and I’ve seen what you can do to people. You drove Miranda and Alyssa at each other’s throats last term! They were best friends,” she rushes out, clearly insulted. “I witnessed their friendship’s downfall.”
My face is curiously involved. “Oh, really?” I test, my eyebrows raised high. I rest my chin on my hand.
“Yes,” Amalia says strongly. “So I don’t really understand why you are over here trying to make conversation.”
Bahaha! And here I was thinking the nerd of Gryffindor was a sweet, mousy girl.
“I sense hostility in my peripheral vision.”
She sighs again, this time with an eye roll. “I’m not going to waste my time with you,” she concludes.
“Firstly, I didn’t break up their friendship,” I start off randomly. “They’re friendship had been on the rocks for ages. No one saw it, but I did. They were jealous of each other. It was bound to happen eventually. Whether it be over me or over a set of high heels. You can’t blame me for that. As for the other things you probably heard, and might have taken into consideration… ignore it. All of it.”
Amalia glances at me skeptically. “So your saying all that bad stuff I heard about you isn’t true at all?”
I shake my head lazily. What? Not all of it.
Her facial features instantly change as she reconsiders my proposal for conversation and, of course, letting go of prejudices.
“I’d appreciate if you could free yourself from the gossip inducing students for a second, and perhaps get to know me. You can judge me then,” I slowly tell her, in my most sincere but strongest voice.
Her lips are firmly pressed into a straight line. I bet her thoughts are going around like a circus. This is probably too fast for her. Me introducing myself (kind of), her putting up a wall instantly, as predicted, and me telling her off in the nicest way possible.
“Okay,” she says, eyebrows knit together in curiosity. “Fine.”
I give her a little nod. “Okay.”
“That seems fair,” she admits. “I guess I was kind of hard on you.”
“I’m not always this crabby.”
“And maybe I shouldn’t believe everything I hear.”
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t have reason to doubt,” she says quickly, waging her finger at me.
I raise my hands up in defense. “Point taken. I understand.”
“I just… I can’t fathom why you’re talking to me. You’ve had years to come up to me and make conversation. Now, all of a sudden, I’ve become an interest to you? Try to understand from my point of view. What would you do in my position?”
“Go along with it,” I say daringly, staring into her eyes. Her irises penetrate through mine and for a second I forget where I am, and how much time has past.
“Along with what exactly?” she frowns, showing me a face that gives off an almost inquisitive vibe.
“You tell me.”
Her expression pushes me to speak more, but she gives up after nothing but unresponsiveness on my part. Amalia lifts up her book for the umpteenth time and picks up where she left off. Her glasses are slowly slipping off her nose but she doesn’t care.
And just like that, the wall slowly diminishes.
“Don’t judge me in that mind of yours,” I remind her.
“I’m not judging,” she sing-songs.
“We called a truce, remember? Don’t be mean to me. I’m fragile.”
“I don’t remember a truce at all, but I think there was an understanding somewhere.”
“Truce,” I push.
“We aren’t playing a war,” she mumbles, annoyed.
“Aren’t we?” I question.
“Don’t push it, Davies. It’s weird enough to have you approach me out of nowhere. You’re lucky I’m tolerating this; because the last time I checked, I am indeed NOT asking questions or exploding in premature anger.”
“I didn’t know there was such a thing as premature anger-”
“Hush,” she cuts off. “I’m reading.”
As you wish.
A few moments pass and I just stare at her. I watch her read and it gives me a sort of peace. Is it bad that I feel comfortable arguing with her, just as much as I do being in her presence? Let alone watching her from afar?
She puts her book in her lap again in haste. “Will you stop staring at me? Occupy yourself with something… pick up a book and read with me if you want. Just do something other than just sitting there and doing nothing.”
“Nah, I’m good.”
She grinds her teeth. “I like my quiet.”
“I’m being quiet.”
“Yet annoying. That’s different-”
“You stopped yourself reading by your own terms, I didn’t interfere. Isn’t that right?”
“And I haven’t truly bothered you, have I?”
“I’m simply being kind to you and trying to be polite; we are the only people not at Hogsmeade.”
“Well, technically we’re the only people in the library. I’m sure there are people around the castle-”
“So you can speak without a dispute arising,” I state.
Amalia’s face instantly falters and she clamps her mouth shut.
“Indeed I can. Just not with you at this moment,” she murmurs.
“And why is that, besides the obvious?”
Locks of her hair escape from their position and she quickly tucks them behind her ear.
“After years of not speaking to me, you’ve lowered yourself to the point where you are trying to make small talk with the only person that happens to be left in the room with you. That annoys me. You’re also on the popular side. Which means you get talked about often. And even though I agreed to let those rumors go momentarily, there’s still an elephant in the room.”
“You don’t need to figure things out so exactly all the time, Amalia,” I say softly, a small smile tugging at my lips. I lean closer to her. “Sometimes you have to let things happen. As for the elephant in the room, the only reason you feel awkward is because you are making it that way. Just relax.”
“How can I relax? I don’t even know you!”
“I thought you did, considering your harsh greeting just moments ago,” I say playfully.
She bites her lip hesitantly. “I…alright. Sorry. I apologize, okay? Jeez. You’re the one who approached me and yet I am the one apologizing…”
Yes, sweetie. That’s how things usually work out.
“But I don’t understand the elephant bit. How am I causing an awkward atmosphere? I’m not even speaking.”
See what’s happened folks? Audiences, playwrights from all places, have you see this spectacle of my life’s journey? I hope the show was satisfactory. Because I am quite pleased. I conquer, I win, and damn it - I’m good. Why? Because I do things in style. Not only have I broken the wall with Amalia, but she hasn’t even realized that I’ve got her hooked. Not in a bad way, of course. But I’m bringing out a more innocent side from her hostile yet quiet shield. I should get a bloody medal. Because I bet you a thousand galleons that Amalia hasn’t even noticed the change. She hasn’t even provided an inkling of inquiry for why she is all of a sudden in conversation with me. I’ve made her interested. You have to push, my lovely friends. You must push for what you want. Tempt, push, greet, break, and create. And when you lease expect it, things will go your way.
“Exactly; you are the elephant because you are making it awkward. You can’t accept things as they are. Sometimes in life there are random spurs that you have to learn to deal with. And as for you not properly ‘knowing me’ and not being able to do so for the last couple of years, you may want to blame yourself for that.”
She’s perplexed out the arse and I almost laugh out loud. “What the crap?”
“You make yourself completely unapproachable. You have everything in your favor, Amalia. Can’t you see that? You could have been the one to introduce yourself to me first.”
“I didn’t need to introduce myself, you already knew who I was,” Amalia explains.
“Ah,” I shake my head. “But that counts for me too, then, doesn’t it?”
Her face shows nothing but confusion. “But I don’t get it, what does that have to do with what’s happening now?”
I could almost thank the heavens for what she’s just asked me.
She’s already thinking like me.
Amalia and I are more alike than I thought.
All I have to do is bring out her wild side.
“Absolutely nothing,” I reply. “We are both on equal grounds. There are no rumors, there is no gossip, there are no judgments. It’s just you. And me. Getting to know each other. Randomly.”
“Okay,” I say happily. She looks at me twice this time, fidgeting all the while, before lifting her book back up so it’s covering most of her face. By this point though, I’ve already see it. And it’s a shame she’s concealing it so. She has great cheek bones and her eyes are a world of their own.
Amalia is now giving me weird looks with her eyes.
Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve made her completely interested in figuring me out.
Score one for the playboy!
…And one for the adorable nerd, if you must.
Her glasses are really close to the end of her nose now. But she’s too zoned out of reality - and is too worried about thinking what this really is, what’s truly going on - to realize they’re dangerously dangling off her nose. I look at Amalia a lot more closely this time. For example, her legs. They’re great. Hidden behind itchy wool knee socks, but great regardless. My eyes travel upwards to the rest of her body. Her arms, shoulders, face. And then I look back down again. I can feel her eyes on me and I’m not sure what she might be going through (mentally) at the moment.
A bad set of nerves? Her knees look close to knocking. She knows I’m looking at her figure, she isn’t blind. Even if her glasses are basically off her face, she can still tell what’s going on.
An awkward pause of conversation? Because really, what is she going to say now? There’s nothing much for her to do except stay here in front of me where I can see her. It’s time for me to step it up now. I know she won’t move. And I’m oh so curious to where this is going to go.
I wonder where she’ll lead us?
“You know,” I mumble suddenly, making Amalia almost jolt up in surprise, “I kind of wish I met you formally all those years ago. Even though neither of us would have been willing to go up to the other, I can tell we could have been friends.”
She snorts. “I highly doubt that. Even friendship is a far stretch, Davies,” she scoffs. Still using my surname, is she?
I count to twenty and I swear to Merlin, they are the longest twenty seconds of my life. I lean forward on my knees, half sitting on the chair and half using my legs for support. Her complexion really is infallible. Even behind an old dusty book. Something is telling me to go for it, to not pester around and wait any longer. And I wish I could identify it, because for some unknown reason, I feel like I can’t speak. You know when you get emotional in the head and for some reason you are so lost in your thoughts you kind of lose your voice? It’s kind of like that, except, you know - I’m obviously not emotional in the head and I’m not lost in any thoughts about Amalia. I mean…that’s just crazy.
“Amalia,” my throat practically scratches out.
She’s startled by my closeness, as her eyes (those adorable eyes) are peeking over her book at me. They’re so close now. Those are a nice pair of eyes. They are currently as wide as saucers. My face gets soft as I get closer to her. The only thing between us at this point is the book she’s holding.
“Yes?” she squeaks.
“We are very alike,” my voice smoothly informs her.
I can hear Amalia nervously gulp. She turns the page of her novel, even though her focus is utterly and completely on me, and nothing else. I could laugh out loud at the gesture, but I don’t. For a second, I am reminded that I am in the library, and not into a pool full of irises the color of hazel, brown, and everything in between. I lift my arm up and my hand slowly reaches towards her book. I do not do this at a fast pace because I’m not sure how she would react to sudden movements at this exact point. Not right away…
I have to knock her off her balance. See how quickly she reacts to my jabs during conversation? When I ambush her like this, I push up her feelings to the limit. See how delayed her reaction is to me now? She forgets about that wall and lets it crash to the ground. The truth comes out under pressure. Someone wise once told me that.
I place my hand on top of the book edge delicately, and wrap my fingers around it. Without much force, I lower her book down. Pardon me - she and I, lower her book down.
“How are we alike?” Amalia whispers.
I inwardly chuckle at the interpreted thought. “In many ways,” is all I say. I move closer to her and with my pointer finger, I push her dangling glasses back up her nose.
I did this so serenely that an earthquake could have gone on and we wouldn’t have noticed. Her eyes are completely taking over my train of thought…No- NO.
What’s going on?
Stick to the plan, Roger!
“Uh.” My intake of breath is so loud Amalia nearly closes her eyes in anxiety. “You have nice eyes…” I am momentarily sidetracked and I don’t give a damn.
“I don’t trust you.” It sounds like a whimper, only stronger.
“…Is that why you immediately pushed me away? To purposely protect yourself?” It comes out before I even realize it.
Amalia breaks contact with me and looks down in her lap. I can count the freckles on her nose. “It’s better to hide behind everyone else than to be in the spotlight.”
“Don’t hide from me,” I say groggily. I put my finger under her chin.
“I don’t know you,” she reasons. Her eyes look wondrous and dangerous and torn, all at the same time. Amazing, this girl moves one feature and her entire face changes.
“I know you.” And that’s enough.
She swallows a lump in her throat, and this one is more pronounced now that we’re in close proximities to each other.
“You block people out before they get in.”
“Yes,” she confesses.
“Stop doing that.”
“I am quiet by nature…”
I watch how her face moves as she speaks and I really take her all in. This side of her now, this vulnerable side… I’ve finally gotten to it. She’s so shy. I mean, wow. She’s really shy. It’s so close to unbelievable, it’s inane. Surreal. Empty. Insubstantial, even.
“No you are not, Amalia,” I oppose. “You choose to be that way. Just like you and I both chose to stay away from each other…” I am so very close to her lips.
“I-” she mumbles, but I silence her with my finger.
“Shhh… let yourself be a bit free. I know you. Trust me.” I know how people like us operate. “You need this.” You need this to reach your potential.
“You’re dangerous, aren’t you?”
I smirk, my shoulders shaking a bit in laughter. My eyes don’t leave hers.
“As if you’d have liked me otherwise.”
I close the gap between us as my lips touch her softly. Just a peck, not quick but not everlasting either. She tastes so different. Compared to the other girls, Amalia’s lips breathe my kind of intoxication. My tongue hasn’t even explored her mouth and yet I can practically taste her. I pull away and her eyes are still closed. I take advantage of this.
“So tell me,” I start, my voice normal but still in the moment. “Why do you hide from who you really are? Is it nerves? Embarrassment…?”
“I am myself,” she counters, her voice shaking without a care about winning the argument.
“Oh, of course,” I say strongly. “You are undoubtedly yourself.”
“Then what do you mean?” Amalia asks dreamily, her head swaying as she opens her eyes.
It takes a true man to bring out his equal in a woman. That is what I mean. The Amalia everyone sees isn’t really who you are, is it, Miss Einhardt?
“There are two different kinds of ‘you’, Amalia. You’ve just been hiding for too long to realize it.”
You have a freak flag. Wave it.
“I think that you and I,” I continue, “Are very alike, because there are two different versions of each of us. For some reason, when I look at you, I see someone like myself. Even though we are so different. Like another…version, so to speak.”
She knits her eyebrows in confusion. “This is happening too fast. I don’t know what you mean.” Amalia gets nervous and starts to nibble on her bottom lip. How dare she nibble at herself. I am slightly offended; that’s MY job.
“If this was the first time you had met me, and be honest, would you have seen something in me that connected with you? Would you be attracted to me?”
She gulps loudly at my confident question. I guess she didn’t think I’d have the guts to ask that.
“Yes.” It is mumbled so low that it’s almost incoherent.
I kiss her again, and I graze her neck with my hands. When I let go, I hover over her face with my lips, and my eyes don’t leave her mouth. I know her eyes are on my face, but I can’t look her in the eyes. I don’t want to trigger anything. I want her to trigger it on her own.
“I don’t know why this is happening,” she says to me. Her eyes look fierce and her jaw is jet. “Why are you kissing me?” She asks demandingly.
My eyebrows come together and my face becomes hard, but still calm. I give her a small smile. “Why haven’t you stopped me?”
We’re breaking the rules of science, just being next to each other. The fact that she’s even let me kiss her at this point is astounding, and yet I feel no surprise. It wasn’t the challenge that’s made me stay so far. It’s her. It’s Amalia. As a person, she really is fascinating. She could be so many things if she just tried. I wonder if she felt anything when I kissed her too?
“I don’t know what to think of this moment.” She looks away.
Doesn’t know what to think of this moment, she says? She doesn’t need to think. Amalia needs to go with the flow and realize some things just happen in the spur of the moment. Sometimes things like this are just meant to happen.
I am suddenly stricken with even more confidence. My body feels the need to be more daring and a bit adventurous. I slowly get up and I feel her eyes land on me within seconds. She stares at me while I get up.
“Amalia, can you… do me a favor?” I ask when I take her hand and lead her near the bookshelves in the corner. I can practically feel every heartbeat coming from her chest. It’s pounding in my ears. Or is that my own?
I almost laugh.
Of course not.
Her face is blank; she is waiting for me to answer. I turn around to look at her. “Don’t think. Just…do.” I move closer to her and graze my lips on her cheek without moving my mouth. I just want her to sense that I’m here.
“Be yourself,” is all I say. I grasp her hands in mine, but before I can close my fingers around them she shakes off my hands and puts her own on my chest. She’s breathing harshly and her eyes are facing where she’s grabbed me; my collar. I tilt my head down with her, neither of us look at each other. We just listen to our steady breathing.
“I’m afraid,” she says clearly.
We are breathing the same rhythm.
“Don’t be.” I can count all of her eyelashes from this angle. I take off her glasses, but she doesn’t look up at me. She still has my shirt collar firmly grasped in her hands.
It’s quiet for almost too long, and before I am able to control my thoughts, something slips out. “You’re fascinating.”
She pushes me back against the bookshelves and plants her lips on mine. My back hits the wooden ledges and I am sandwiched. But I don’t mind. The deserted library echoes back our kissing sounds and ragged breaths. She grabs me by the face and kisses me again, this time with an invitation of entry. My tongue explores her mouth almost instantly, as if it was second nature to me to move this way with her. This feels wondrous.
I take off her cardigan and she unbuttons my school shirt. She grabs my shoulders and my back and my face. I grab her waist and her arms and her hair. I feel a twinge of excitement at the pit of my stomach.
It almost knocks me off my feet.
I take Amalia up by her hip and she puts her legs around my waist. She pushes off a row of books as I plant her on an open shelf. She pulls away for an instant and grabs my jaw with her free hand; the other is caressing my hair. Amalia looks at me with fire and her eyes are almost glistening. I stare at her wondrously as she begins to snog me again, this time leaving trails of kisses along my neck, down to my exposed shoulder. I am completely unresponsive for a moment. I stand there like a fool before she kisses my soft spot and I remember where I am. Those eyes, it’s those eyes, damn it. They make me forget where I am.
Amalia pulls at my hair and just like that she drives me crazy. I rip off her hair band and her long flowy hair is finally unleashed. It cascades down and the dim lights of the library reflect from her brunette strands.
Finally, this is who was in that adorable nerd shell. This hidden vixen, she was what I was striving for. She is two people, she is herself, and she is my other half. Two versions, right in front of me, how awakening it is to see it mere inches away. She’s like an expedition. And I am eager to uncover and discover.
I could smirk at that last statement, but I’ll hold it in for the time being. I’m just a tad bit preoccupied.
“And here I was thinking you were a good girl,” I chuckle, clutching her face and closing the gap once again.
“Who says I’m not?” She mumbles playfully while I kiss her neck.
“So you’re not a bad girl then?” I smirk.
Amalia takes her hands and moves them down my chest slowly and it feels like electricity.
“Let’s just say that I’m a good girl with some very bad habits.”
Thanks to me, that is.
Amalia’s got my full attention, and even though I would never admit this to anyone, she’s got me hooked. I’d do anything she asked me to do, right about now. Hell, if she wanted to leave the dormitory to snog in China, I’d do it. She is controlling me one second, and then I take over. We’re taking turns, but we’re barely recognizing it because it’s so natural. Well, I’ll be damned. This is going on better than I thought it would.
Unexpectedly, she bite my bottom lip playfully and she explores my chest with her hands. My hands massage the skin between her hiked up school shirt and wrinkled skirt. She kisses me passionately again, this time with so much force that my back gets clawed by her dagger nails. And I welcome it as I pull gently at her hair. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and how to do it. Amazing. Amalia is the only person I think, besides a limited amount of girls, that has made me feel alive while snogging. It’s exciting but right, all at the same time. It’s like two cars driving in the same direction. We are those two cars. Going at the same pace.
She glances up at me to find my face looking surprised but eager.
“Not what you expected?” She smirks between kisses.
I respond with a leg squeeze. She nearly squeals in surprise. How did I know that was her tickle spot?
Take in the sight before you, my people. My dear audience. Give a nice hard look at Amalia and I. Now, think to yourself how this came to be. Well, young kids, with something called perseverance., you can achieve a shitload of things. Our lesson for today is just; I am Roger Davies. I am not what people always assume me to be. I am not many things, and at the same time I am many things. One of which I have good enough proof to state out loud.
I am Roger Davies. And I make good girls go bad.
A/N: Did you like my OC? Please review, my darlings! It's my first shot with a Roger Davies/OC pairing ;] And I'm quite happy with how it turned out! Leave me some comments or constructive criticisms if need be; I usually don't write one-shots about Quidditch players slash playboys :P
Other Similar Stories
by HP lookalike