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Real Ladies. by ilharrypotter
Chapter 3 : Of Serenades and Socks.
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 22


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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter!


 




 

A/N: I just discovered the new editor on here, and it's rather amazing. (: Made me happy.


Anyway... I apologize PROFUSELY for the extended period of time that has passed since my last update. (Personal life babble begins here, skip to the story if you don't really care!) School started about a week ago, and I almost cried from stress and frustration. Actually, I did cry. Scratch the almost. I'm getting into a rhythm now- wake up, get dressed, do homework, leave for school, get to school, do homework, pre-calculus, ap chemistry, lunch, ap us history, ap english 3, marching band, homework, go home, homework, eat dinner, have Paige-time, homework, take a shower, homework, nap, homework, sleep. Isn't that excellent?


It's okay, though. Because not only do I have two best friends going through the exact same thing alongside me and supporting me, I also have a best friend who has already gone through all of this, providing me with her binders from the classes and books, and a boyfriend who doesn't get to be stressed out until next year, but is always willing to carry my bag of books to my car every day and lend support wherever he can. So I shall survive- and so will Real Ladies!


I hope you guys like this chapter. let me know, IN A REVIEW! (:


 

 


 




 

 


 

All real ladies will deal with stress however they think it should be dealt with.


 

 


 

I lean against Fred’s chest, kicking my feet up onto the low, scuffed table in front of me, and let out a deep breath. Fred, James, and I are lounging on the sofas directly in front of the blazing fireplace in the common room, and I’ve sprawled out over Fred, who makes absolutely no complaints. I’m absolutely exhausted, and my head is killing me, thanks to Vesper and her little spaz attack in Transfiguration. To say the very least, today has been a very long, difficult day. N.E.W.T.s are going to kick my arse. That, I can tell you with full certainty. I’ve never been a fan of studying and I avoid it at all costs, but it looks like this year, I’m going to have to crack open a few books before every single exam. Damn. I’m not looking forward to that.


 

 


 

“Aren’t you excited, Dommie? As soon as you finally cure yourself of this headache, you’ll have Transfiguration again on Wednesday, with Professor Clearwater and that spaz of a bird,” James teases.


 

 


 

My horrible cousin still refuses to call me ‘Dom’, obviously. It’s always Dominique or one of his horrific nicknames; Amy, short for Amalie, and Flower- Fleur, in English- show up a lot nowadays, but thankfully, he’s almost permanently retired ‘’Nique’. I’m going to be a grown, middle-aged woman with three strawberry blond, grey-eyed children who all wear mismatched socks and swear frequently, and James is still going to call me ‘Dommie’ or ‘Nicky’. I’ll be a world-famous Beater for the Holyhead Harpies- that is, after I find a way to wipe Honor and Gwenog Jones’ memories- and all of the newspaper articles written about me will be about ‘Vicious Dommie Weasley-Scamander’ or ‘The Bloodthirsty Harpies Beater, Flower’. No one is ever going to take me seriously as long as James is alive. Too bad I can’t kill him. Fred and Penelope would be depressed if I did.


 

 


 

“Lay off the fucking owl, James,” I growl in response. I’m not energized enough to fight with him over Vesper again today, and Penelope isn’t here to be our buffer. Neither is Lorcan. I’m already disliking their Head Boy and Head Girl duties. They’re seriously cutting into my normal life. “That’s the last thing I need to worry about today.”


 

 


 

Fred snorts. His arm is around my shoulders, and it feels like old times again. I’m usually curled up next to Lorcan when we’re in the common room after classes, but it looks like I’m going to have to readjust to snuggling with Freddie while Lorcan is away patrolling the halls until eleven every single night. I don’t know how James is going to deal with all of this time away from Penelope. More than likely, the poor girl’s going to end up spending almost every night in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, just to make up for the hours of patrolling she spends away from James. He doesn’t take well to separation.


 

 


 

“What else do you have to worry about, Dom?” Fred asks, laughing.


 

 


 

I elbow him sharply in the ribs. “Lots of things,” I snap in response. Like trying to hint to Lorcan that I want to get married before he’s whisked away to Auror training, perhaps? Of course, there’s no reason for James to know that just yet. “Like, maybe that my entire career rides on my ability to suddenly befriend Honor Jones, so that her mother doesn’t hate my guts and keep me off of the team I’ve been dreaming about for my entire life?”


 

 


 

James laughs too. “If your entire career rides on your ability to make nice with Queen Bitch, I’d suggest picking a new future. Maybe Dad can get you into an advanced Auror program, too. Or Penelope can make room for you in the Healer program she’s applying to.”


 

 


 

“Or maybe you can get me a spot on the Cannons,” I shoot back nastily. Today is really not the day to mess with me. Don’t you think James would realize this by now? It’s the first evening after classes I don’t get to spend with my boyfriend, I spent the morning talking to my Head of House about my future, which is not turning out the way I want it to, and I’m taking enough N.E.W.T. classes to kill me. I’m stressed. He needs to lay the fuck off. And if he doesn’t want to, I’ll make him regret that decision. “Oh, wait. Never mind. They aren’t looking for any talent this year.”


 

 


 

“Ouch,” Fred winces for James’ sake. “Low blow, Dom.”


 

 


 

“He deserves it, Freddie. And anyway, give me a break. I miss my boyfriend,” I say shrugging my shoulders. I think I’m justified to be a bitch. I miss Lorcan. Even though I just saw him during dinner a few hours ago, before he left for patrolling with Penelope. “I don’t like this Head Boy business.”


 

 


 

Freddie moves the arm that’s around my shoulders so he can look at his watch. He’s addicted to that fucking watch, I swear to Merlin. He got it for his seventeenth birthday, and it was our late Uncle Fred’s watch from his seventeenth birthday, which is Fred’s excuse for why he checks it almost every five minutes. “Bollocks, Dom. It’s already ten thirty-two. Lorcan will be done with his patrols in twenty-eight minutes. Don’t spaz out on us, yeah?”


 

 


 

“Put the fucking watch down, Fred.”


 

 


 

Fred opens his mouth to make a retort when the portrait hole opens, revealing two younger students, a slim boy with ruffled black hair and glasses and a gangly girl with two long blonde pigtails hanging down her back. The girl is huffing irritably, and the boy is smirking and trailing close after her as she storms away from him.


 

 


 

“Longbottom, how’d you like to go along with me to Hogsmeade on our next trip?” the boy, also known as my sixteen-year-old cousin and James’ little brother, Albus Potter, suggests, practically on the girl’s heels. From the way he asks the question, I assume it’s not the first- or the fifteenth, to be honest- time he’s asked. He’s smirking at her the same way his brother smirks at Penelope, an ability I didn’t think ickle Allie-kins had. He’s the awkward Potter brother, not the one who smirks and flirts and attacks poor unsuspecting females. I didn’t know Allie knows how to talk to females, besides his cousins and sister.


 

 


 

The girl, Blair Longbottom, stops dead in her tracks and spins around to face Albus, her pigtails flying in the air around her. “Will you leave me alone, Potter?”


 

 


 

“Oh, come on, Longbottom!”


 

 


 

“Leave me alone, Potter!” she repeats stubbornly.


 

 


 

“Blair. Oh, Blair; oh, my wonderful Blair,” Albus begins to serenade, putting a hand on his chest and leaning towards her.


 

 


 

Oh, fucking hell. He’s serenading the poor girl? Most awkward cousin I have, I swear to Merlin. Who taught this boy how to interact with other human beings? He’s even more awkward than me. More awkward than Freddie. More awkward than Lysander Scamander. Uncle Harry should be so proud, his son is more awkward than Lorcan Scamander’s twin brother, who still believes Nargles exist and talks backwards when he gets nervous. And Aunt Ginny needs to slap her son until he forgets what the word ‘awkward’ means. And I really need to quit using the word awkward.


 

 


 

Blair narrows her eyes before spinning around and disappearing up the girls’ staircase, leaving poor little Albus behind in mid-song with a disappointed look on his face. I can’t blame the girl, really. Albus is kind of… well, creepy. He trudges over to where the three of us sit and throws himself onto the chair across from Fred and I. None of us say a word; instead, we wait for Albus to explain what the fuck we just witnessed.


 

 


 

Albus adjusts his glasses. “I fancy her a bit,” he confesses immediately. It doesn’t take much to get a secret out of my cousin. Potters are usually pretty good about that. They blab without even being prodded- without even being acknowledged. “She’s not too fond of me, you know.”


 

 


 

“Really? She seems to adore you,” I quip snippily. Oh, I’m all sunshine and Pygmy Puffs today. “Should I write Grandmum so she can start planning the wedding?”


 

 


 

The raven-haired boy wrinkles his nose, offended with my quick sarcasm. Really, it shouldn’t bother him anymore. He’s only known me for the entire sixteen years he’s been breathing. This should be expected. In the big file cabinet of things in Albus’ brain that he will never forget, right underneath ‘Your father saved the magical world’ is ‘Dominique Fleur Rachelle Amalie Weasley is a bitch and will make bitchy, horrible, and-slash-or sarcastic comments whenever she feels like it’.


 

 


 

“Who bit your arse?” Albus whines like his older brother does all of the time whenever we offend him. He really harnesses James sometimes, I swear. So not only is he an awkward little git, he’s also obnoxious, egotistical, and James-like. Poor Allie.


 

 


 

James waves his hand at his little brother. “Ignore her. She’s stressed. Who’s the girl, mate?”


 

 


 

At that, a creepy, dreamy expression passes across Albus’ face, and he sighs happily. Oh, Merlin. “Her name is Blair,” he says, even though both Delaney Finnegan and Ivory Archibald could’ve picked that up from the beginning of his little song. “Blair Longbottom. I’ve known her all my life, but this year-” he paused to sigh again. “Something has changed. It’s like I’ve never really seen her before today. Isn’t she wonderful?”


 

 


 

Fred shrugs. “She seems like she hates you,” he points out, apparently oblivious to the sarcasm dripping from both mine and Albus’ voices.


 

 


 

Dear Merlin. I think my head would hurt less if I cavorted around with Elizabeth Greenly, Piper Creevey, and Delaney, my three perky, happy, obnoxious roommates.


 

 


 

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Albus retorts, crossing his arms over his chest.


 

 


 

Fred salutes him. “Anytime, Doctor Sarcasm!”


 

 


 

Face plus palm.


 


 


 


 

 


 

I pull my knees up to my chest, watching Lorcan as he brushes his teeth in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning against the doorjamb. The seventh year boys’ dormitory is seemingly uninhabited, for the most part. Fred, Penelope, and James are still in the common room in front of the fire; my ex-boyfriend, Holden Wood, and the other seventh year Gryffindor boy, Madden Gallagher, are also downstairs, in one of the alcoves playing Exploding Snap.


 

 


 

It’s a rare occasion to get the dormitory all to ourselves for a little while. It’s the prime opportunity to bring up the topic of weddings- specifically, ours. However, all I can do is stare at my boyfriend with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. It’s not my fault, though. He’s not wearing a shirt, and you have no idea how distracting Lorcan Scamander without a shirt can be. His hair is wet, too; he just got out of the shower five or so minutes ago, and it’s sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. Damn it.


 

 


 

Rolling onto my back so I can stare at the ceiling and not at my boyfriend’s surprisingly-sculpted chest- I don’t remember forcing them to do any workouts during Quidditch practice that would develop muscles in that region- I make an attempt to bring up the topic. “So, this whole future thing, it’s pretty- erm, it’s scary.”


 

 


 

Lorcan waits for a moment to respond, probably taking his toothbrush out of his mouth. “Yes, it is,” he replies in a gurgled voice, his obviously mouth full of toothpaste and spit. Ew. I should’ve waited until he finished brushing his teeth. I’ll remember that next time.


 

 


 

“A lot of things to think about, you know?” I continue, once again not thinking. He’s still brushing his teeth, you big idiot. Shut the fuck up, Dom.


 

 


 

“Uh huh,” he mumbles, and I hear him step into the bathroom. When he exits, he sits down on the bed next to me, automatically reaching out to place a hand over my stomach.


 

 


 

Well, so much for not distracting myself. My eyes fly open at the touch, and then I frown. I’m never going to be able to have this conversation if he doesn’t stay at least two meters- maybe kilometers- away from me. He’s still not wearing a shirt, either.


 

 


 

Lorcan raises an eyebrow thoughtfully. He saw the frown. “What’re you thinking about, Dom?” he asks.


 

 


 

I consider telling him the truth. Blurting out what I want, my dreams for engagement and weddings and being married and our future together. If I want this to work, though, I guess I’m going to have to give him a few more hints. Lorcan likes hints. He’ll react better in the end if he receives a few hints first. Yep. That makes sense. A lot of sense. I’ll just wait. Waiting is better. He’ll prefer it if I wait.


 

 


 

At least, that’s what I’m going to tell myself, to buy myself a little more time to be ready to tell him.


 

 


 

“You,” I respond, grinning mischievously. At least that’s partially true. “I’m thinking about you, of course.”


 

 


 

“And what about me are you thinking, love?” Lorcan’s hand slides absently underneath my white uniform Hogwarts blouse, which I’ve now paired with the Golden Snitch-printed boxers I stole out of Lorcan’s trunk when I came up to his dormitory, onto my bare stomach, and I shudder.


 

 


 

He tickles my stomach gently, and despite my best efforts, I let out a loud laugh, trying to squirm away from my boyfriend. Fucking Lorcan. I hate when he tickles me. Well, no, I don’t hate it. But I wish I didn’t like it as much as I do. Not only does it make me laugh like an idiot, but it makes the butterflies in my stomach turn into Hippogriffs and I feel like exploding- in a very positive way, of course. Everything with Lorcan is positive, and thought-consuming, and incredible.


 

 


 

“Well?” he prompts, raising his eyebrows and drumming his fingers on my stomach.


 

 


 

More Hippogriffs. A lot more. Thousands of fucking Hippogriffs in my stomach right now. Damn him.


 

 


 

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to answer even the easiest question in the world when you’re doing that?”


 

 


 

Lorcan smirks. Oh, boy. Here comes his rarely-shown ego. “Really, now?”


 

 


 

This is one of those moments in those cheesy Muggle movies Lily loves so much when the coy female seducer winks at whomever she’s seducing, but I don’t know how to wink. Should I try? Probably not. He’d probably think it was an eye twitch or something, and question me as to what the fuck is going on with my eye. That doesn’t happen in Lily’s cheesy romantic comedies, but it sure as hell would happen in my life. My life is more of a romantic comedy than those damn movies, I think. So, I guess that means no winks. Definitely no winks. We’re not the winking kind of couple, anyway. We don’t need winks. We seduce each other just fine without winks. Oh, dear Merlin. Why did I just think that? Dirty, dirty, dirty. I mentally slap my forehead.


 

 


 

Lorcan laughs, and his eyes are lit up, as mischievous as my grin. (See? We don’t need winks! Oh, Merlin. I need to stop talking about fucking winks.) He reaches for my hands. Swiftly, Lorcan pulls me up and leans forward, capturing my lips with his.


 

 


 

Yep. There goes my entire thought process. All coherent thoughts? Gone. Out the fucking window. Yet again. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.


 

 


 

Kissing Lorcan back as enthusiastically as possible and without the hindrance of a wall behind him, I push my boyfriend back, wrapping my arms around his neck and practically throwing myself on top of him. His hands slide up my sides, and I can feel him smiling against my lips at my enthusiasm. He always finds my overexcitement entertaining, even when we’re in the middle of snogging. I’d yell at him right now, but I don’t feel like stopping.


 

 


 

If he ever leaves me for an entire month again, I’m going to kill him. I can’t handle the stress of being away from him and stranded alone with my thoughts and Penelope for an entire month. Look how I react to that once he comes back! I act like a fucking animal. I blame the winking. I started thinking about winking, and that corrupted my thoughts, and now I’m de-stressing all over again.


 

 


 

The dormitory door flies open and hits the wall with a loud bang. I immediately sit up, and Lorcan turns his head towards the doorway. We never seem to remember the whole lock the door concept. Or any other concept, once the first kiss is shared. I’m not the only one who forgets pretty much everything else in my mind once the snogging begins. He does too. That’s why we never, ever remember to lock the door.


 

 


 

“Oh, bloody fucking hell,” James growls. “Hang a sock on the door or something!”


 

 


 




 

 


 

Favorite quotes, anybody? (:


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