‘I’m not grabbing that foul, slimy thing!’ I shouted, cowering in the corner. Though I doubt Brennon McKinnon even heard me. The air was rent with screams and yells, mostly of terror. I ducked for the umpteenth time that day as a pair of shears whizzed by, nearly taking out my eye.
‘Come on! This is supposed to be a group effort!’ Ophelia Finch-Fletchey hissed, wrestling with a particularly large, bulbous tentacle. The Venomous Tentacula writhed, extremely reluctant and indisposed to be trimmed and forced into a new, steel pot the size of the average cauldron. I backed further into my safe little corner, cringing as the Venomous Tentacula swung, trying to decapitate me.
‘Make sure your gloves don’t touch the poison!’ I called.
‘Get over here and help!’ Fred Weasley tugged me over. He was struggling with a ginormous pair of clippers. ‘Hold that withery tentacle down. I’ll clip it.’
I braced myself, readjusting my goggles (Venomous Tentacula tend to spit poison when really aggravated). When another tentacle came veering by, I jumped onto it and tried to hold it down with all my body weight. It felt rather like riding on a bucking, angry Hippogriff, ‘cept Hippogriffs aren’t usually covered with a thin film of slime and yellow, disgusting abscesses. Nor are they usually prone to giving you painful, agonizing pus-filled boils that hurt like shite. ‘Augh!’ I screamed.
‘Now!’ Ophelia Finch-Fletchey screeched.
Fred neatly chopped the stupid bugger’s tentacle off, and the Venomous Tentacula squealed. It’s severed tentacle immediately shriveled up and died. Yeugh. Now it looked like a dead branch. I threw it behind me, panting and sweating profusely. Brennon McKinnon already had a huge boil on his face from the Venomous Tentacula’s poison.
‘Get the pot!’ Fred instructed. I grabbed the extremely heavy pot and sagged under its weight. ‘Take—it—’ I gasped.
The Venomous Tentacula wailed as we hurriedly dumped it in the pot and quickly covered it with dirt that was infused with dragon dung. Yuck. Thank Merlin we’re wearing gloves, I don’t fancy having to scrape dragon dung from underneath my fingers later on.
‘Fantastic job, students!’ Professor Neville happily strolled by, nodding at our handiwork. I’m not saying that Professor Neville is a bad teacher, or anything, but he’s completely obsessed with Herbology. He gives us all these impossible/thorny assignments that usually involve dangerous and perilous plants. Apparently he assumes everyone loves plants and fungi just as much as he does. Last week, he made us pick all the Assyrian Aphids off some Mimbulus Mimbletonia. I couldn’t get the rancid stench of Stinksap out of my hair for weeks after. ‘Commendable teamwork.’ Professor Neville beamed, dimples forming in his cheeks. ‘Nine out of ten for today’s project!’
What? Why did he minus that one mark for?
‘Barking mad.’ Fred muttered under his breath.
‘Too right.’ We both sat down on pots for a moment, calmly dodging our furious Venomous Tentacula’s limbs. It was the last period of the day, and Slytherin and Gryffindor had Herbology together. I watched as Dobby, Elisha and two other Slytherins tackled their own Venomous Tentacula. Fred sniggered as one oafish Slytherin got whacked right in the side of his face with a tentacle. Almost instantly, boils sprouted all over his left cheek and he howled in agony, clutching at his head. Professor Longbottom hurried over, carrying a crystal vial filled with purplish liquid—presumably the antidote.
My eyes wandered over vaguely to another table. Scorpius, Warrington Nott, Iris and Poppy were tending to their own Venomous Tentacula. I absent-mindedly observed Scorpius as he nimbly sidestepped a tentacle and sliced it off. Iris and Poppy were completely useless; they simply shrieked and recoiled, leaving the two Slytherins to do all the work. Their exhausted Venomous Tentacula calmed down somewhat and meekly allowed Warrington and Scorpius to move it into a pot.
Scorpius straightened up, breathing heavily. He clapped Warrington Nott on his broad back and said something I couldn’t hear. His thin white uniform was soaked with patches of sweat. Under normal circumstances this would disgust me to no end, but on Scorpius it was…
When did bodily fluids ever start to seem appealing to me?
There’s something that’s been bothering me since Tuesday: Why hadn’t I ever noticed how fit and attractive Scorpius was?
I mean, all this time, this close-to-perfect male specimen was right under my nose, and I hadn’t realized this until a few days ago. Seriously though, comparisons to Greek gods would be apt. Straight nose, sharply angled face, strong jaw, muscular body (as I can readily attest)… As reluctant as I was to admit it, Scorpius Malfoy was male beauty personified.
I’ve seen his Dad a couple of times during the start of every school year at Platform 9 and ¾, and the two of them look uncannily alike, though Scorpius doesn’t have that pinched, unpleasant expression on his face. I reckon if Scorpius were a Ravenclaw, Gryffindor or Hufflepuff instead of a Slytherin, he’d have all the girls (and probably most of the blokes) salivating after him.
Good God, if you told me three weeks ago I’d be associating a Slytherin with the word “attractive” I’d laugh right in your face. And then dock you ten points for daring to say something so preposterous.
But of course he can’t even hold a candle next to Aaron Eckenhart. Pssh.
‘Who’re you staring at?’ Fred cut off my dreamy train of thought.
‘What? Oh—no one. Just day dreaming.’ I hurriedly turned back, palms clammy.
Fred peered in the general direction of where I’d been gawping at. ‘Who—’
‘Nothing!’ I shrieked, forcibly twisting Fred’s head back with my palms. I think I might’ve splintered his spinal cord but that doesn’t matter. It probably matters to Fred but that isn’t important either.
‘Er—er—’ I searched around frantically in my head for something to say. Distraction! Come on, there must be something you want to talk to Fred about—
‘Yes! Oh, um, I want to ask you something.’
‘What?’ Fred groaned, massaging his neck.
‘James mentioned something to me about Quaffles.’ I said breathlessly, internally rejoicing at my smooth and extremely suave save. ‘What does that mean?’
‘You see, Rose, Quaffles are those big red things Quidditch players toss about in Quidditch games—’ Fred explained carefully. I smacked him around his head.
‘I know that!’
‘Well, then, I don’t know what definition of Quaffle you’re searching for.’ He grumbled. ‘Quaffles are Quaffles.’
‘He said it something like this…’ I scrunched up my face, trying to remember. ‘Er—he described Veronica Imp as a Quaffle.’
‘Dunno.’ Fred shrugged and looked the other way. ‘Look at that!’ he pointed, gesturing at a Venomous Tentacula that had escaped from Albus, Trey Florence and two other Slytherin girls and slithered away on the dirty greenhouse floor, cackling.
I dutifully chortled along with him. Oho. He might think that he hid it well, but I’d seen that momentary expression of shock and incredulity on his face when I mentioned Veronica Imp and the Quaffle, only to be hastily concealed with a well-practiced I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about face. I think I’m on to something here.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang.
‘Right, class dismissed!’ Professor Neville cried, clapping his hands and waving us out good-naturedly. ‘I want an essay on the properties of Venomous Tentacula and the effects of their poison next week, Tuesday latest! Twelve inches!’
Everyone groaned in unison as we filed out of the greenhouse in twos and threes. Dobby joined Fred and I, covered in dirt and smelling like a week-old dung heap. ‘Aeugh.’ He groaned, removing his goggles. ‘I hate my dad. I swear, he gave me the biggest, foulest Venomous Tentacula.’
Professor Neville also tries too hard not to show any preferential treatment or favoritism towards his own son. Hence, whenever he teaches Dobby Herbology he treats him like a runaway fugitive from Azkaban. It’s quite amusing at times, actually.
‘Hey—James referred to Veronica Imp as a Quaffle a few days ago. What does it mean?’ I asked Dobby.
Dobby’s mouth slid open slightly. He abruptly acquired the look similar to that of a deer caught in headlights. ‘Er—’
His panicked gaze drifted to somewhere above my left shoulder. I whipped around, and Fred immediately dropped his hands, and pretended to scratch his chest area while admiring the late afternoon sunshine in an extremely exaggerated way, as though he’d never seen the sun disappearing below the horizon before.
‘Would you look at that!’ Fred exclaimed, eyes wide. ‘A sunset!’
I’ll bet ten galleons and my left sock that Fred had just been wildly signaling to Dobby behind my back. Probably telling him silently not to tell me anything.
I stomped off. ‘Fine, then, of you lot won’t tell me anything.’
I’ll make sure I get to the bottom of this! It must be something really, really big, if Dobby won’t say anything. Dobby is the worst secret keeper ever. If only I could just—
‘ARGH!’ I screamed, as someone suddenly reached from behind me and clapped a hand on my mouth, silencing me.
What the fuck?!
I bit on the stupid wanker’s hand, furious. Who the hell does this kind of shite nowadays? Smack their hands on their victim’s mouth and drags them into corners, I mean. Probably some psycho rapist. Oho, you’re not getting your filthy hands all over my chest!
The person quickly let go, yelping in pain.
‘What the feck do you think you’re doing—’ I stopped short when I saw my kidnapper was, in fact, Scorpius Malfoy.
This is making less and less sense every second.
‘Sorry about that.’ He said sheepishly, sucking on his thumb. ‘Just a spur of the moment thing.’
I stared. ‘Erm.’ Was all I managed.
‘You free?’ he grinned, pushing back a stray lock of fluffy fringe.
‘Right now… yeah. More or less.’
‘Alright, I’ve got about two hours until my team needs to practice.’ He removed his thumb and peered at it, wincing slightly.
‘Sorry about that.’ I apologized, flushing. Good God, he must think I’m some sort of crazy woman for doing that to him. ‘Is that—shit, it’s bleeding!’ I watched in horror as a big fat drop of shockingly scarlet blood oozed out from the wound.
Yes, blood. I suppose you were expecting a Slytherin to bleed tar, piss or liquefied dung?
‘A little, yeah.’ He snorted. ‘Just so you know, that seriously hurt.’
‘I’m so sorry!’ I said, flustered. I pulled out my wand. ‘Here, let me heal it. Mendius.’ The stray bit of skin of his thumb slowly sealed itself together neatly.
‘Cool.’ He admired it and licked off excess blood with a surprisingly pointy tongue. ‘Right, let’s go. I’ve found the perfect spot to practice.’ He curled a hand around my wrist and tugged me along.
If he’d turned around to look at me, he would’ve seen me gaping at his pale hand on mine, thinking about how nice his sure grip felt.
Elisha was not having a good day. Her hair was spotted with dragon dung, the three healed boils on her arm still hurt and her friend Rose was nowhere to be found.
‘Hey, have you seen Rose?’ she asked a passing Fred, who was deep in conversation with Dobby. He jumped a mile in the air and glanced around twitchily. ‘Rose?’ he repeated, jaw slacking a tad.
‘Yes, Rose.’ Elisha said impatiently. ‘Ro-ose. R-O-S-E.’ Sometimes she couldn’t understand just how Rose could be related to these half-witted goons.
‘She was walking right in front of us a moment ago…’ Dobby said vaguely, pointing. ‘Maybe she went over there?’
‘Thanks a lot.’ Elisha said, though if Dobby and Fred picked up on the sarcasm in her voice they didn’t show it. They walked off. Elisha sighed and roughly combed her fingers through her hair and smelling said fingers. She recoiled, gagging. She’d have to use her entire bottle of Sheila’s Sudsy Shampoo to get that sickening, stomach-turning stink out. She walked out to the greenhouses again, peering left and right. No sign of Rose.
‘Rose!’ she cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed for all she was worth. No reply. ‘Rose!’
‘Elisha!’ Iris passed by, carrying her book bag. She arched an eyebrow inquisitively. ‘Rose gone missing?’
‘Yes. Help me find her, will you? She’s got my Herbology 101 in her bag and I want to do my essay.’ Elisha grumbled.
She continued this wretched endeavor to search for Rose for a few minutes, walking behind greenhouses. ‘Rose!’ Iris accompanied her, calling Rose’s name.
‘I don’t think she’s anywhere here.’ Iris puffed, out of breath from all the screaming.
‘She didn’t come in just now, she’s definitely out here somewhere.’ Elisha was beginning to get suspicious.
Just when they were about to give up, Elisha saw something out of the corner of her eye. ‘Over there!’
Curious, Elisha walked towards the two people walking about in the small clearing behind the ten greenhouses, about twenty yards away from where the Whomping Willow stood.
Rose! There she was… with—Malfoy?
Elisha scowled—so this was where Rose had her little excursions with Malfoy.
‘Is that—is that a Slytherin?’ Iris gawked, looking utterly stupefied.
Shit. Elisha’d forgotten Iris wasn’t supposed to know about this.
‘Merlin! It is a Slytherin!’ Iris squealed in outrage. ‘But—but why is Rose with him? And why’s he holding broomsticks? You don’t think—what—’
Elisha dragged Iris away, shushing her frantically. ‘Shut up! She’ll hear you—’ she grunted, muffling Iris’s confused yelps with both her hands.
When Elisha eventually got Iris back into the castle—no small feat—she released Iris, panting with exertion. ‘Shut—up—’
‘Didn’t you see that?’ Iris said, horrified beyond belief. ‘That—Rose! With Malfoy!’ she scrambled to her feet.
‘Will you keep your bloody mouth shut!’ Elisha snapped as people stopped to stare.
‘You know about this?’ Iris’s blue eyes widened considerably. ‘It’s happened before?’
Elisha groaned inwardly. Rose was going to tear her from limb to limb if she ever found out but if Elisha didn’t tell Iris she was going to explode.
‘Come in here.’ Elisha randomly searched for an empty classroom and opened the creaky door of one. The door was so rusty it immediately fell off its hinges and crashed down onto the stone floor. Iris hurried inside the empty classroom, still looking like she’d seen something unnatural and impossible. Well, Elisha reasoned, it was something unnatural and impossible. She’d assumed Rose and Malfoy would be too busy bickering and killing each other to actually learn Quidditch (since when did a Malfoy and a Weasley ever get along?), but Elisha had seen with her very own eyes that they were actually being civilized.
‘Explain!’ Iris said shrilly.
‘Right.’ Elisha began. ‘You remember two weeks ago when Rose fell off the broomstick?’
‘I’ll start with the brooms today.’ Scorpius said briskly as he emerged out of a dilapidated shed with two brooms.
‘Relax.’ He reassured me. ‘We won’t be flying today. Probably.’
My heart instantly picked up its pace when I saw those two handles glinting in the sunlight. He handed me the old, moldy one, keeping for himself the new one. Probably his own broom.
‘Can I have the shiny one?’ I asked hopefully. He ignored this. I grabbed ahold of the old one, repulsed. Yeugh. I peered closer at the handle. It looks as though someone wiped a particularly large bogey on here once. It’s all dried up and crusty now, though.
‘First things first—’ Scorpius motioned for me to sit down on the grass. This is a really nice clearing, by the way. It’s right beside the North Tower of the castle so no one comes by here often. ‘—what position do you want to play?’
‘Er—’ I considered this for a moment, having a momentary lapse in my memory. Hey, don’t blame me. My brain has a highly capable memory, it’s just not used to remembering useless facts about Quidditch.
‘What positions are there, again?’
He allowed himself a little grin before replying, ‘Chaser, Keeper, Seeker, Beater.’
‘Definitely not Beater. They’re the ones with the bats, right?’ I winced at the thought of big, heavy black balls. I’d probably get hit in the forehead by one, knowing my luck. Why would anyone be a Beater? I mean, you don’t get to score goals, you just fly around whacking Bludgers all over the place. Sure, breaking one of the opposing team's noses might give you a momentary rush of satisfaction but that's all there is, really.
‘How about Seeker?’
‘The Snitch one? Erm—nah.’ Chasing a miniscule golden ball the size of a walnut in a ginormous Quiddtich pitch didn’t seem very appealing to me. ‘Keeper—no way. I’d probably be useless.’
‘So that leaves Chaser.’ Malfoy considered this for a moment, scrutinizing me. I was abruptly aware of the fact that I was dirt all over my face and my robes were covered in Venemous Tentacula gunk. Probably not very attractive.
Since when do I care if I look attractive in front of Scorpius Malfoy?
Before I had time to further analyze my alarming thoughts, Malfoy nodded, ‘Yeah. Chaser would be good. You’ve got the right build for it. Right, Chaser—you’ll need to learn how to throw and catch balls accurately while on a broomstick, of course. You’ll need to be a speedy flier, and you’ll probably need some lessons in aiming balls into the goal hoops.’
Panic surged through me. Well. Come on, Rose. If James/Abus/Hugo/Fred can do it, you can too. Can’t be that hard, right? Maybe there’s some of Dad’s Quidditch blood, flowing dormant and hidden within me.
Yeah. And Voldemort liked to wear nothing but a pair of stilettos and prance about airing his privates when he was alone.
‘Okay.’ I licked my lips nervously.
‘You don’t have a broom of your own, right?’
‘Nope.’ I can’t exactly ask Mum and Dad for one, either. They know I don’t play Quidditch.
‘So that’ll be your temporary broom.’ He waved his hand at my unsightly, musty broomstick. ‘It’s an old Cleansweep Seven.’ He tapped my broom’s handle.
I peered at the handle. I could just about detect Cleansweep Seven carved on it. ‘Is it any good?’
Scorpius looked sheepish. ‘It’s bloody awful, actually. Goes really slow. But it’ll do. Okay. Lay your broom down on the ground.’
I didn't know whether to feel relieved I'd gotten a slow broom or insulted Scorpius thought I was only good enough for an ancient Cleansweep Seven. I followed his instructions carefully anyway, setting my broomstick down on the grass.
‘Put your hand over the broom.’ Scorpius demonstrated by hovering his outstretched arm somewhere over his broomstick.
I did so, fearing the worst. What’s he going to make me do?
‘Say, “up”!’ His broomstick whizzed up and flew straight into his palms.
‘Er—okay. Em, up!’ I said in a wavering voice. The broomstick didn’t react.
‘It can sense your fear.’ Scorpius explained, pursing his lips a little. ‘Look, think of the broomstick as your friend.’
My friend? How am I supposed to think of a metre-long piece of moldy, bogey-encrusted wood with several twigs attached at its end as my friend?
‘Okay. My friend.’ I shuffled my feet, staring hard at the broomstick. My friend. Friend…‘Up!’
The broomstick vibrated a little and went limp.
I shot Scorpius a shamefaced look. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘What’re you apologizing for? Okay, let’s try another way. Hmm.’ He rubbed his chin, thinking. A light breeze ruffled his blonde hair. I suddenly felt the extreme and frankly very unexplainable urge to reach up and put my hands in said mop of hair.
Only because it looks, you know, really soft.
‘I know!’ he snapped his pale fingers, a smile brightening up his sharply-angled face. ‘You’re going to sleep with it.’
‘Take this broom with you—’ Scorpius picked up my broom from the ground and shoved it in my palms. ‘—and hide it under your bed. Every night, try and get familiar with it—’
‘Eugh!’ I shrieked, backing away.
‘—No! Not in that way.’ To my surprise, he flushed a rather endearing shade of red. Dear Merlin, I didn’t know Slytherins were capable of feeling embarrassed. ‘I meant, you know, trying to get comfortable with the thought of having a broom. Talk to it if you want.’
‘Talk to it?’ I echoed. I pictured myself in my dorm, sitting on my bed with the broomstick propped up on my knee and telling it happy stories of my childhood. That’s an interesting way to learn Quidditch.
‘Trust me, it’ll work. Seriously though, sleep with it every night.’
‘Let’s have a go at the golf balls again.’ Scorpius glanced at his brass watch again, frowning. ‘I’ve only got about an hour left.’
Okay. Golf balls I can handle.
I’ve been catching golf balls for about half-an-hour and I’m ecstatic. Out of sixty-two thrown balls, I’d managed to catch about fifteen. Fifteen! That’s a success rate of 24.193 percent!
‘Good work.’ Malfoy clapped me on the back, grinning every so slightly. ‘Fifteen balls isn’t bad.’
‘Hee hee.’ I jumped around, whooping. ‘I caught fifteen balls! Fifteen balls! Seven plus eight balls! Nine plus six balls! Ten plus five balls! Three plus twelve balls!’
I’m so happy I could cry.
Well, not really. I’m not very big on crying, especially since whenever I tear up my whole face goes red, my eyes puff up like a balloon and my nose starts to produce copious amounts of slimy snot that dribbles all over the place.
‘We’ll practice again tomorrow. Make sure you talk to your broom. Trust me, it helps a lot.’
‘Okay.’ I fibbed. No way am I going to talk to a broomstick! Everyone already thinks of me as somewhat eccentric, what with my extreme clumsiness and the exceptional ability to trip over air. Once people start seeing me talking to a broom I’m going to be carted off to St. Mungo’s Psychiatric Ward faster than you can say “Cleansweep Seven”.
Malfoy’s brows furrowed. ‘Stop lying.’
‘I’m not lying!’ I exclaimed, outraged. Really, he had no proof that I was telling lies. How impudent!
‘Yes, you are.’ Scorpius rolled his eyes and began picking up golf balls. He bent down to pick one out of a shrub and…well. I got a rather nice view of his arse. And yes, it’s a very nice arse. ‘It’s bloody obvious you’re telling me a porkie.’
How the sodding hell did he know?
‘Promise me you’ll get familiar with your broom.’ Scorpius picked up the last of the golf balls.
‘Gah. Fine.’ I agreed miserably.
‘Good.’ Scorpius nodded, satisfied, and started walking back to the castle. He was carrying a bucket of golf balls and both our broomsticks in both hands.
‘How did you know I was lying?’ I puffed, trying to catch up with his long, elegant strides.
‘I could tell.’ He said simply, giving me a grin.
‘How?’ I asked impatiently. ‘I mean, did something in my face give it away?’
‘No. Your left eye twitches when you lie.’
I stopped short. ‘You what?’
‘I told you—your left eye twitches when you lie.’ Scorpius didn’t even turn around; he just kept walking up to the castle.
I was completely flabbergasted. Flummoxed. Stunned. Astounded. Rendered speechless. Amazed. Shocked. Bewildered. I’m… running out of words that are synonymous with “surprised”.
‘That’s not true!’ I spluttered, running to catch up with Scorpius again. ‘Come on, tell me the truth.’
‘I’ve already told you the truth.’ He said, half-exasperated, half-amused. ‘Your left eye—’ he pointed at my left eye. ‘—twitches like a Flobberworm when you lie. Go try it out in front of a mirror.’ He said as we stepped into the threshold of Hogwarts and he climbed up a narrow flight of stairs. I followed, seething. I don’t believe it. Not even a bit. He’s only known me for—what, one week? If my left eye truly went into uncontrollable spasms when I lied then someone would’ve noticed it by now.
‘Don’t lie—’ my voice trailed off.
Aaron Eckenhart and his longtime girlfriend, Enid Goshawk, were just turning around the corner, nuzzling each other.
‘Hello, Malfoy. Weasley.’ He nodded his acknowledgement, giving Enid a light kiss on the top of her shiny, chestnut brown hair. Enid giggled, giving Aaron one of those doe-eyed looks. Yuck. Disgusting. Well, if I were Enid Goshawk it probably wouldn’t repulse me as much. Sigh.
‘Hello.’ I muttered, keeping my head down.
‘Wotcher.’ Scorpius said to Aaron Ackenhart, but I could feel his eyes on me. Anger flared in my chest. Stop staring, you wanker. He’s probably thinking I’m just a pathetic, wretched little girlie with this gigantic crush on a seventh-year.
‘We’re just about to go to the Black Lake.’ He told us, walking down the stairs and smiling happily at us.
‘Going to celebrate our four-month anniversary.’ Enid chimed in, shiny lips stretching into a mild smile. That’s the thing about Enid. She’s nice. Merlin, I abhor it when the person you so desperately want to hate is also one of the nicest people you’ve ever met. She’s the sort of person that always has a smile permanently slapped onto her face, the sort of person that tutors first-years for free, the sort of person that wants to make the world a happier, better place. She’s one of the smartest in her year and it probably helps that she’s a real looker, too. You know, glossy hair, perfect face, curvy figure.
If Enid Goshawk were a bowl of rich, creamy chicken soup with croutons thrown on top and bits of peas, carrots and mushroom in it, I would be a bowl of muddy ditch water.
‘See you two.’ Aaron waved, and the two of them squeezed past us, giggling and talking in hushed whispers.
I sighed silently and continued up the stairs.
‘Why Aaron Eckenhart, of all people?’ Scorpius asked cryptically from behind me.
‘What does that mean?’ I shot back angrily. I sodding wish he hadn’t found out about my adoration for Aaron Eckenhart. ‘I’ve already told you, it’s just a—a crush. Nothing much.’
I wish it was something more, though. Aaron Eckenhart seems like a very nice person to have as a boyfriend.
Scorpius paused, hands on the banister. We stood like that, facing each other for a long time—me with an angry, frustrated look on my face, and him with this calm, blank expression on his. ‘The way you looked at him just now would suggest otherwise.’ He said finally, pushing back his hair.
‘I told you to drop it.’ I hissed, poking him in his chest. A very hard, firm chest. ‘Bloody hell, I never should’ve told you.’
Without waiting for a reply, I stalked up the stairs (scuffing my sneakers on one of the steps a little) and walked off, trying not to bump into anyone else.
Author’s Note: Yay! Sorry for the slow update, next chapter will come much quicker! :D
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