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lolita, mimosas & waking up in my own bed by littlealice
Chapter 1 : Day One: Johnny's bed~
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 4


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AN: Hey guys! So I know, the whole notion of this story is overdone like a million times on this site alone, but I wanted to write something bubbly and stupid and fun whilst challenging myself to write in first person. It's also full to the brim with bitchy OCs and background next-gen characters, painful cliches and hate-love triangles and the occasional insert of food I'm craving.

That said, I love you all and reviews make me smile so I hope you enjoy at least some of Lolita, Mimosas & Waking Up In My Own Bed.

Also; all gorgeous chapter images were made by the fabulous Lubi [silv3r_ic3] over at the dark arts. Thank you meine lieben!

x Jenny.









Rhonda, Lolita and Darla ~





“You know who’s fault this is, don’t you?”


Rhonda popped her gum and continued to leaf through the magazine, evidently not caring in the slightest about the fact that I was close to having a heart attack. “I can guess, Darl.”


“This is Lolita’s fault. This is all her fault! If she’d have just stopped forcing gin and Firewhiskey down my throat I’d have been fine! I’d have woken up in my own damn bed without this dark and suspicious cloud hanging over me!” I ranted, arms flailing around in desperation. “I mean, the fact that You-Know-Who wasn’t there when I woke up makes no difference whatsoever. He knows I slept there. I could tell, his smirk had extra vindictive undertones at breakfast…”


“You’re rather poetic this morning, Darl.” Rhonda mused, still not looking up from her magazine. “You should wake up in your arch-nemesis’s bed more often.”


Let me backtrack.


I hate Johnny Graves more than anything else in the entire world. He’s Satan. No, you know what? He’s the spawn of Satan. And even Satan couldn’t stand having the sod around his Empire of Hell so he booted him out and now we have to deal with him.


When I say ‘we’, I mean the Gryffindors.


We have to deal with him lounging around with his limbs stretched across four sofa cushions when the common room is full to the brim. We have to deal with him leaving his stupid leather jackets everywhere with the knowledge that if anyone touches them they would probably wake up missing a finger. We have to deal with him smoking in the common room.


And as for me?


I have to deal with his incessant smirks. His underhand comments has he strolls past me in the corridors. Having to sit next to him in eighty percent of my lessons because his surname happens to be right before mine on the class registers.


The only good thing to come out of this is that I will resort to physical violence when it comes to Graves, and he doesn’t like hitting girls. I mean, I’m about as strong as a moth, but there are always handy ornaments or small pieces of furniture within grabbing distance, and I can generally hit him with them until someone forces me to stop.


That’s usually where Lolita comes in. Stupid bloody Lolita.


Lolita Greengrass is my best friend. No, correction - was my best friend. We’re so very over after last night. You see, Lolita’s pretty and blonde and has the energy of a ferret, and she’s always looking for some excuse to get everyone drunk… because apparently people are happier when wasted. I disagree, but whatever. And yesterday, for the first time in forever, the Gryffins won a Quidditch match.


Cue totally uncaring and sarcastic cheer.


Of course, who was the first person to suggest a party to celebrate this fact? Lolita. I wasn’t too concerned, Lolita always has some excuse to throw a house party (my personal favourite was the week of ‘day that ends in Y’ parties) and Albus Potter had somehow managed to smuggle enough alcohol in to sink a battleship, so there wasn’t really any way to stop it happening.


I had plans to leave around midnight.


Lolita didn’t.


Rhonda generally sticks by me in these situations, but she was busy making out with Albus when my argument with Lolita arose, so I had no wingman and about eighty of Lo’s admirers gunning for her. “Come on Darla!” she whined, taking my hands and shaking them. “Just a few more drinks! It’s Saturday tomorrow and there’s no Hogsmeade trip until lunch time! You can spend all morning in bed!”


“Doesn’t she spend every morning in bed?” one of her posse commented dryly. I narrowed my eyes into the crowd in general, too idle to actually seek out the offender.


“I’m tired Lo!” I pleaded, trying weakly to pull my hands from her grip. “You guys stay here and have fun. I’m just going to go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”


Aah if only Lolita Greengrass gave up that easily. She’s about as moveable as a valley when she makes her mind up, and at that moment she was determined that I was going to get completely ploughed. One of her lackeys loyally thrust a glass of what appeared to be gin forward. Lolita’s cheerful grin threatened to split her face in half. “Come on Darl.”


I shot another hopeful look in Rhonda’s direction, hoping that my back up would come and back me up. Nope, still very much preoccupied with Potter.


“Fine.” I sighed, taking the drink from Lolita’s pawn and taking a reluctant gulp. Lolita clapped her hands happily and sought out her own beverage, which someone had faithfully refilled for her. God, Lolita and her damn followers. “But this is the last one, Lo.”


Ohhhh if only.


I can’t even remember how many I had. I don’t actually remember much past that first gin; right now all I can remember is waking up to painful sunlight and thinking that my roommates must be having really bizarre hangovers if their voices were so low and manly.


Then I stopped being stupid and my eyes opened wider than Bambi’s.


I was lying on my back in a standard Gryffindor four-poster, and thankfully the curtains had all been drawn around me. I mean, it wouldn’t have made much difference, I was still mercifully clothed, but there was definitely something unusual about the bed… for one thing, I have never before seen a vast pile of boys clothes by the bottom bedstead. For another, the sheets smelled different.


Not bad different… but kind of like aftershave.


A nastily familiar aftershave.


Once the voices had all trailed out of the room, I carefully knelt on the bed by the split in the curtains, drew a deep breath, and pulled them apart.


“Morning sunshine.”


Shit.


~


“So he was just sat on Albus’s bed waiting for you to wake up?” Lolita recounted when I told her at lunch (well, it was probably more like brunch by that time. Lolita eats early and she hadn‘t been at breakfast). “That was nice of him.”


I spat out orange juice and gaped at her. “What now?!”


“Well, I mean… it was nice of him to wait for you to wake up. You were in his bed. He could have kicked you out at any point.” she said, picking through her pile of grapes. “Be thankful he wasn’t in it with you.”


I glared at her. Typical Lolita, find the nice side to someone I’m trying to hate out of existence. “The point is, this is all your fault.” I snapped, throwing one of her stupid grapes across the table at Rhonda. “Yours too.”


“Why mine?!” Rhonda demanded, flicking a strand of dark hair over her shoulder. “You slept with him, not me.”


“I did not!” I practically shrieked, hurriedly lowering my voice when several groups of people seated around us fell silent. “If you’d have detached yourself from Potter’s face for a few seconds when Lolita was forcing alcohol down my throat, I wouldn’t be in this mess!”


She thought about this for a moment, before shrugging unapologetically. “I still don’t see how this is my fault. Lolita talked you into drinking. You let Lolita talk you into drinking. Your mother gave you genes that react badly to alcohol. Johnny somehow took advantage of that. Albus is a really good kisser and seduced me into not helping you. And the Gryffins won their first Quidditch match in decades, prompting the house to party like it’s nineteen sixty nine. If you think about it, this is everyone’s fault but mine.”


I didn’t even bother wondering how she came to this conclusion. “Shut up Rhonda.”


“Personally, I don’t see what the problem is.” Lolita continued, throwing a grape into the air and catching it in her mouth. “If you still had your clothes on and he wasn’t in there with you, you obviously didn’t do anything.”


“But he’s going to hold this over me forever!” I wailed, letting my head fall forward onto the table with a dull thud. “Ow. And anyone could have seen me asleep there! Or going up into the boys’ dorms! And I can’t remember how the hell I got there, so he could tell the rest of the school whatever he wanted!”


“Who could?”


I didn’t bother looking up. Neither Lolita or Rhonda would tell Albus of my plight, even if they were finding it hilarious, and he wasn’t the naturally curious type. After a few moments of silence he shrugged and started piling pastries onto a plate.


“So Al,” Rhonda said after a while. Recognising a sly undertone to her seemingly innocent voice, I warily rose my head and narrowed my eyes across at her. She pointedly ignored me in favour of looking at her boyfriend. “Where’s Johnny this morning? I haven’t seen him yet.”


Ever unsuspecting, Albus ripped off a chunk of croissant and shrugged one shoulder. “In bed I think. He was up most of last night with some girl…”


I felt my stomach churn in terror. “Anyone we know?” I managed, wishing I wasn‘t so high-pitched when I freaked out.


“Dunno.” Al shrugged again, obliviously tucking into some kind of powdered donut. “He didn’t say. Are you guys going to Hogsmeade this afternoon?”


I let the conversation tune out. This was bad. This was so very, very bad. Even if Graves kept being vague about the girl he had been fooling around with, eventually someone would realise that I hadn’t been in my bed that night. Or even worse, someone would remember seeing me head up to the boys’ dormitories and connect the dots. My life was over. No-one was ever going to take me seriously again.


I mean, who the hell would believe that I hated the smug prat if they thought I’d slept with him?!


I was never going to be able to show my face again. I’d have to take my lessons at night, never coming out during the day. I think one or two teachers might protest, but really it was for the greater good. And the House Elves don’t care what time of day you roll down to the kitchens for a snack - do the little guys even sleep?! No, it was better this way. I could vanish from society and simply become a memory. Maybe I could be the new Hogwarts ghost…


“Are you gazing into space for a reason?” Rhonda interrupted my plans by flicking a strawberry at me. “Get back down to Earth. We’re leaving for Hogsmeade when Lo finishes her grapes, so you might want to go get a jacket.”


“I can’t leave the school.” I said. “I’m going into seclusion for the rest of my life. Only coming out at night. Living with the House Elves so that I don‘t disturb their sleep patterns.”


She arched a dark eyebrow. “Off the crazy pills, Darl. Going into seclusion would be boring and you know how much fun war with Graves is. Especially to the spectators.” she added, gesturing to herself and Lolita. When I remained unconvinced, she rolled her eyes and sighed melodramatically. “Look, Darla. I hate to say this, but you let Graves get the better of you too often. If you let him take advantage of this, it’ll be one time too many.”


“What did he do?” Albus asked, halfway through a cream bun.


Rhonda lovingly shoved him further down the bench. “Not now Potter. The point is, Darl, that if you let him walk all over you with this one, he’s going to. As far as you know, he doesn’t even know how you ended up in his bed.” she added in a whisper. “He could have spent the night with some other girl and returned this morning to find you!”


She had a point. When I had yanked apart the curtains to find myself face to face with Graves, he had been fully dressed in the clothes he had worn at the party. I had been too mortified at the time to pay much attention to anything as I shot out of the dormitory to the sound of his laughter, but as far as anyone knew he could have only just arrived.


And besides, I wanted therapy. Honeydukes style.


“Okay fine.” I muttered begrudgingly. “I’ll go get a stupid jumper. But if this goes sour and I end up being forced to hide from the world‘s laughter, I am taking you down with me.”


Rhonda smiled triumphantly. “Good girl.”


It was almost eleven thirty, and I was a wreck. I walked in the vague direction of the marble staircase feeling as though every person that smiled at me on their way past knew my secret. Which… would suck, because even I don’t actually know my secret yet. How ironic would it be if the rest of the school found out what I was doing in Johnny Graves’ bed before I did?


And Rhonda was right. I never have ammunition like this on him. He’s always the one who stands smirking while I snap and start throwing things, he’s always the one who laughs when I trip over one of his hilarious invisible tripwires. And you know why?! Because he knows everything about me. He knows my father is a surgeon in St Mungos, and that my mother photographs rare magical creatures for the Ministry archives. He knows that my younger sister will start Hogwarts next year and that she is a lot smarter than me.


He knows my eating habits and which subjects I suck at and which teacher I had a crush on in my first year. Anyone could tell you any of these things about me because I’m kind of an open book. Not many people particularly care. But certain gits choose to use personal traits and quirks as the subject of their side-splitting jokes.


Tragically, the only thing I have on him… is that no-one has anything on him.


No-one knows who his parents are. Where he lives. What food he likes. Whether he’s pureblood, halfblood or muggleborn. What sports he likes. All anyone can tell you is that he laughs at my humiliation, wears leather jackets like he’s some kind of freakin’ biker, and sits with his feet on the desk like he’s Little Lord Fauntleroy.


Which the faded jackets and worn boots declare he isn’t.


“Hey Darla!”


“I DIDN’T DO IT!” I shrieked. Minnie, the cutesy little first year that just skipped up to me to say hi, backed off looking petrified. I guess she brought me out of my thoughts a little too quickly. “Uh… sorry Minnie. You made me jump.”


“I’m sorry!” she wailed, in true first year fashion. “It’s just… Lorcan is looking for you in the common room and he asked me to tell you if I saw you on my way to the great hall because he was worried you might have left for Hogsmeade already and-”


“Thanks, Minnie.” I smiled to put her out of her misery. “Enjoy your lunch.”


Lorcan.


Lorcan Chrystabelle.


I may just love him. Lorcan lives two doors down from me, and has since we were both five years old. He’s rich, ash-blonde and one of those guys that you think will be a complete snob because he owns a yacht and has friends in high places, but when you get to know him (or have known him most of your life) you realise he’s a total adorable dork who‘s actually surprisingly smart. And he hates Johnny Graves as much as I do.


I don’t know, ‘hates Johnny Graves’ is something I like to see on friends’ CVs at the moment.


I watched Minnie gradually regain her skip the further away from me she got, vaguely wondering if Lorcan would support my plan to become nocturnal. I was leaning toward the positive; he spent a lot of his time playing card games and dominoes and stuff with his friends on a night-time, and they were usually the last people to leave the common room for bed.


Realising that I’d still have one friend left if things with Johnny turned sour, I sauntered rather cheerfully toward the Fat Lady with the intention of jumping Lorcan and whining until he carried me to Honeydukes and bought me cookies. Lorcan’s sympathetic. Unlike Rhonda and a certain blonde best friend that I could mention but won’t.


Then the portrait swung open and the good feeling vanished as the last person I ever wanted to see stepped out.


“Well if it isn’t the last person I ever wanted to see.” Graves smiled pleasantly and strolled past me, followed by one or two of his dorm mates who were so ignorant of his gittism that they called themselves his friends. “Oh, and Darla?” he added, turning to walk backward while he addressed me. “When you get to Honeydukes, try not to eat so much you explode.”


See?! He knows me!


Unwilling to piss him off (I had to assume he hadn’t told his posse about me being in his bed), I took the higher road and forced a superior smile onto my face. “Will do.”


The smile was gone as soon as I turned around and stormed into the common room, daring someone to get in my way.


“You look ready to destroy something.” Lorcan met me on the other side of the portrait hole. “Which I will assume is because you just passed Graves.”


I unleashed a pitiful wail and jumped him. Lorcan, Quidditch-strong and sturdy as a tree, didn’t even flinch. A lifetime of being my compadre had given him perfect reflexes. I like to think that this has a lot to do with why he’s a natural Beater.


Shut up. The logic’s there.


“So I assume Honeydukes is needed?” he asked. I gave an affirmative-yet-muffled whine into his shoulder and let him carry me back out of the common room, the inhabitants of which seemed entirely unsurprised that I had stormed in and jumped on the first boy to cross my path, only to be hauled out with my legs wrapped around his waist and my face buried miserably in his hair. 


It doesn’t happen often. Really. I mean, yes, I can occasionally be melodramatic, and okay fine sometimes I throw myself at Lorcan but it’s just because he’s sympathetic! When we were eleven my cat died and I couldn’t cry in front of my dad because he seemed to think that an eleven year old girl shouldn’t cry in his presence, and Lorcan got his older brother to apparate him out of the best Quidditch match of the season to bring me ice cream and comfort me.


Which my dad then proceeded to call him a girl for. He’s now known as Lorcanina. I didn’t even bother asking what my father was taking when he said it. Lorcan found it hilarious.


I digress.


Lolita, Albus and Rhonda were waiting for us in the Entrance Hall and, seeing as in my distress I had forgotten a jacket, Rhonda took off her own cardigan and gave it to me. She had a jumper on over it and I did feel the need to point out that she could have just given me that in the first place and saved me the hassle and trauma of going to the Gryffindor tower.


“Do not make me rename you She-Who-Whines-A-Lot.” was all she said, before linking her arm through Albus’ and leading the way out of the hall. I narrowed my eyes, wondering if I could use one of the non-verbal spells Professor Czia had been preaching on about to blow up her stupid head.


“Just smile, nod and visualise the chocolate.” Lorcan murmured, swinging an arm around my shoulders and leading me outside.


I can’t promise a smile or nod, but the chocolate is so very being visualised. And so is my own damned bed.


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