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Chapter 10 : Of Paparazzi and Gossips.
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Here we go, yet another update! I bet you all want to murder Holden after this! (:
All proper young ladies avoid allowing the same mistake to be made twice.
“Good morning, Dominique!” someone cries out in a high pitched voice, followed shortly after by a bright white flash of light. “Time to get up!” The light flashes in my eyes yet again.
I scream out in anguish, sitting up abruptly and covering my eyes. Mornings are not generally pleasant moments in my life, and when I’m sharing a dorm with a daft airhead, a paparazzo, a she-devil, and a freakishly perky pain in the arse, they’re even less pleasant. I like my sleep, but Piper Creevey and Elizabeth Greenly are obnoxious early risers, and they ruin it for me every single morning. Especially Piper with her bloody camera- she apparently takes after her late uncle, Colin, who died during the Second Wizarding War; Uncle Harry told me about her. I respect the whole following-in-her-uncle’s-footsteps thing, but if it means that I wake up every morning with a camera flash in my face, I’m going to have a minor problem.
“Piper, Merlin’s bloody beard,” I scowl, falling back against my pillow. I wish I was a boy. James and Fred have normal roommates. They don’t have one who shoves a camera in your face as you’re asleep, or one who would probably murder you if you crossed her once. “Why the fuck do you insist on taking pictures so early in the morning?”
Piper bounces away from my bed, clutching tightly to her camera. She almost always holds the black piece of magically adjusted technology right in front of her eyes, which is probably best for her. She’s kind of oatmeal colored- her hair is a dull beige, her skin is the same shade, and her eyes are a plain brown that don’t stand out even a bit. The camera hiding her boring features is almost good for her. Of course, I’m less rude about her looks whenever she hasn’t just woken me up with her blasted camera. I’m less rude to Piper in general when she hasn’t just woken me up, honestly.
“Sorry, I just couldn’t pass up the shot,” she replies.
That’s always her excuse. She just can’t pass up the shot. I don’t know why Jones hasn’t tried to kill her yet. I’d understand her completely if she did. Jones isn’t a morning person either, nor is Finnegan. However, I never see Piper attacking them with her camera. Nope, just me. Always me.
I push the blankets off of my legs, sliding out of bed. My eyes slowly adjust to the warm light filling our dormitory, after the bright shock they’d received from Piper’s camera, and I glance around the dormitory. The girls unpacked last night, while I fell asleep after casting a Silencing Charm on my bed so I wouldn’t hear their annoying laughter and high-pitched chatter, and the dormitory looks normal again. Jones’ side of the room looks like she hasn’t even entered the dormitory yet; Piper’s is already littered with her camera equipment and framed photographs of magical and Muggle folk; Delaney Finnegan’s portion is strewn with all of her expensive robes and Muggle clothing; and then Elizabeth Greenly’s is neatly organized and very tidy. The five of us have never gotten along very well when it comes down to how clean we keep our portion of the dormitory. Elizabeth is often frustrated with my bubblegum wrappers and Quidditch kits, Delaney’s pricey clothes, and Piper’s magically-altered Muggle equipment, and we all argue with her when she tries to clean up our things for us. Jones never says anything about our organizational skills- or lack thereof- and only mentions it whenever our belongings encroach on her space. Believe it or not, when it comes to how well we get along over cleanliness and the dormitory, Jones causes the least amount of turmoil.
“Good morning, Dominique!” Elizabeth Greenly squeals when she sees me standing up.
Delaney made an excited squeak. “Oh, g’morning, Dom!” she chimes in after Elizabeth. Delaney is the kind of girl can be so epically stupid, you have to wonder how she’s managed to stay alive. Once, she asked me what would happen to her if she stopped breathing- because that’s not common sense or anything. I’m telling you, she’s daft. Very sweet, I suppose, but daft.
I grimace weakly, stumbling towards the armoire across from my bed. I pull open a few drawers, my eyes still not fully functioning, and pat their contents, trying to find a set of robes. After a bit more effort, I unearth a new set, along with the same pair of jeans Rose and Albus criticized the day before yesterday and a simple, faded Puddlemere United t-shirt. All female students at Hogwarts are supposed to wear our uniform: a black knee-length skirt, a white blouse, our house tie, black knee-high socks, and our robes. However, once we reach our fourth year, the uniforms usually go down the drain, and they stop enforcing them on us. A lot of the girls take this as an excuse to wear skimpy clothes hidden underneath their Hogwarts robes, but I’m just pleased it means I can freely wear jeans all year long.
Slowly, I shed the jeans and jumper I’d fallen asleep in from the night before, replacing them with the new set of clothes. The girls are ignoring my existence now, since I’d ignored Elizabeth and Delaney, so I finish dressing in my robes before exiting the dormitory in the direction of the Gryffindor girls’ washrooms.
I’m tying my strawberry blonde curls back in a loose knot when Lily Potter enters the washroom and stops at the mirror next to the one at which I’m staring. “Hullo, cousin!” she chirps, looking like an angelic redhead already this morning despite her frumpy black skirt. She’s so tiny that the hemline of the clothing item reaches past her knees. Poor girl. However, despite her awful uniform that she has yet learned how to ditch, she’s still smiling. Okay, you know how I said Lily and I are almost exactly alike? There’s one major difference. Lily is a morning person. That’s right. I can’t stand to communicate with the girl before nine in the morning. She’s just that intolerably perky. She’s joined the bloody dark side.
“Hey, Lils,” I mutter to her, tucking my toothbrush away in my bag. I don’t really want to talk to Lily this morning. One, because she’s so alive and vivacious so early in the morning, and two, because she’s going to ask what Wood wanted from me yesterday. I know my cousin far too well.
She pulls out a comb from her own toiletry bag, running it through her thick red waves. “What was with Wood yesterday?” she asks happily, smiling at her reflection. Sometimes, I think she acts like this in the mornings just because she knows it bothers me. That sounds so like her.
I shrug. “He wanted to talk to me.”
“And snog you.”
“Lily Luna Potter!” I snap at my cousin. “How did you know that?”
Lily shrugs at me, much like I’d just shrugged at her. She really needs to stop learning from me. “Everyone is talking about it. The whole common room is buzzing and-”
I don’t want to hear anymore. I drop my bag in the sink, running out of the room before Lily can finish her sentence. In a few seconds, after almost busting my arse on the slippery hardwood floor in the hallway, I’m launching myself down the staircase. As usual, I trip near the bottom of the staircase, tumbling forward- straight into the chest of none other than Holden Wood, who grins smugly down at me as I back away from him. I see James has yet to kill him. Damn unreliable cousins. It’s just typical that I encounter him. I couldn’t run into anyone else? I don’t think I’d mind running into that creepy seventh year boy with the greasy black hair and ghastly pale skin in place of Wood at this exact moment.
“Why, hello there, Dominique,” Wood smirks to me, taking a step back as I try to collect my balance.
I glower at him. “It’s Dom,” I inform him rudely, before pushing past him to enter the common room. Only a few people are left in the room, most having left to dress for class or get something for breakfast. Which means, if I decide to brutally murder Wood, no one will have any idea. Ah, so tempting.
He catches my arm in his hand. “I apologize, Dom,” he says. He has one of those annoyingly attractive voices, all velvety and smooth and… I shudder. I hate him for being attractive and for having a shudder-inducing voice. “Are you going to the Great Hall for breakfast?” Wood releases my arm, then holds his out as if he really thinks I’m going to take it. Oh, as if. He’s delusional.
“Did you tell someone you snogged me?” I snap brusquely at him. Yeah, I could’ve waited to slide that into the conversation. It would make more sense that way. But I rarely ever make sense, and I don’t have time for games. I really don’t. “Well? Did you?”
Wood laughs. Of course he has an attractive laugh, too. Merlin’s fucking beard. Can something about this bloke be repulsive? Please?
“Do you have a fucking answer or not?” Ooh, bad move, Weasley. He’s a prefect. They’re supposed to lash out a detention the second they hear profanity. Thank Merlin I’m related to a prefect or two, or else I’d never get my arse out of detention- however, Holden Wood? Not related to me. And I’ve just said “fucking” in his presence. Oh yes, I’m fucked.
“I might’ve told one or two people,” he answers, like he’s proud of it. He probably is proud of it. People like Wood are proud about everything. It’s just how they are.
I raise my eyebrows. One or two? “Who?”
He shrugs his wide shoulders. He’s not wearing his school robes yet, instead sporting one of those really expensive shirts made out of a rich fabric that matches his golden brown eyes. I force my eyes away. He, at the moment, is the enemy, and I can’t notice how handsome and fit he looks in the fitted, thin shirt and his straight-legged jeans, which hang low on his hips. Bloody hell. Does he have to look this incredible all the time? It makes despising him almost hard. Almost, of course. Dominique Weasley can hate anybody she wants to, with ease.
“Delaney Finnegan overheard me telling Gallagher,” he says.
Oh, fuck. Delaney? She’s my roommate. She’s the biggest gossip in our year, and she’s practically her own radio station the way she broadcasts things across the common room every time she enters it. If she overheard Wood telling Gallagher he snogged me- which pisses me off enough, really- the whole school will know by lunch. I hate fucking gossips. Especially the ones who double as close friends with the most evil witch admitted to Hogwarts in our generation. Yeah, with that knowledge in Honor Jones’ hands, I’m most definitely screwed.
I bury my face in my hands. “Fuck.” Ooh, that’s two! I’m on a roll this morning. I should have a few more detentions by nightfall. Brilliant. Just what I want for the first day back at Hogwarts. Maman will be so pleased to hear I’m right back where I left off.
“Don’t worry,” Wood assures me.
Stupid prat. What does he know?
“Delaney won’t tell anyone. She’s a sweetheart.”
Yep, just what I thought: he knows absolutely nothing. Stupid arsehole. He thinks he actually knows people, but he doesn’t. He thinks Delaney is a good person- psh. Just like he thinks I’m rather fond of him. Just like he thinks the entire world revolves around his obnoxious self. He’s always wrong. He doesn’t know anything. Bloody hell. I hate Wood.
“Yeah, if she’s such a bloody sweetheart, why is the entire common room buzzing about it? Huh? Why the fuck would they be talking about it if Delaney is such a fucking sweetheart? And why did my bloody cousin- mind you, the girl is twelve- ask me about it this morning?” I’m just stacking up on the profanities. This might become a record for me.
“Wasn’t your cousin with you?” Wood looks confused now.
“She left before you attacked me!” I snap rather loudly. I’m completely aware of the few stragglers left in the common room, not to mention the crowd that is surely collecting on the staircases behind me, but I can really care less. Holden Wood is an arsehole, and he deserves to be told that. Loudly. In front of everyone. I hope it embarrasses him. “Bloody hell, if Delaney is such a sweetheart, no one would know, especially not a second year, of all people. But everyone knows. Everyone. This is all your fucking fault!”
“How is it my fault?”
“How is it not?”
“Don’t answer a question with a question!”
“Don’t ask such a stupid fucking question next time!”
“Dom, I’m sorry,” Wood says softly after a moment of thinking, looking straight at me. His eyes look apologetic, as does the rest of his countenance. “I didn’t mean to tell anybody. I shouldn’t have. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Oh? An apology? Really? You’ve got to be kidding me. Only a “proper gentleman” like Holden Wood would bloody apologize for something like this. Real blokes would argue until they lost their voices on something like this. But no, Wood has to be such a gentleman. What dragon dung. I mean, it’s completely obvious that he really isn’t apologetic. No bloke is really apologetic for any stupid thing he does or says. I know, my best mates are that way. It’s just programmed in their minds. They can’t help it, but some of them try to cover it up by apologizing.
“That is such a steaming heap of dung, Wood. You’re not sorry one bit, you don’t think this is your f-”
For the second time in twenty-four hours, Holden Wood takes a step forward and interrupts me by pressing his lips onto mine, taking away my ability to speak and even coherently think as his lips move against mine and his arms wrap tightly around my waist. And for the second time, despite the crowd of people who are surely watching us by now, I let him do it.
Hey, what did you think? Read & review, and let me know if you think Dominique really hates Holden, or if it's all a coverup.
Ooooh, a coverup? How scandalous!
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