He was a snorer.
The heavy, now annoyingly muscular arm was draped across my waist, pinning me there, to the damp sheets and his red mouth, pressed to my ear, released another animal-like grunt in which a time I questioned myself over ever having an attraction for such a oaf of a man.
An oaf of a boy, more like.
I was about one hundred and three percent sure he had been a virgin until I had met him.
Well, at least someone would be happy tomorrow, and someone would have a nice story to tell their friends over the breakfast table and then again in the changing rooms. Now he would have more than Quidditch to high-five over.
How lovely. I was like a fucked-up version of Mother Theresa, or Mrs Merlin.
If there even was a Mrs Merlin, which is highly unlikely given the stories about how saggy the old geezer’s underpants were.
Now I was thinking about an old man’s draws, oh, what was wrong with me tonight? Though, that question had to be asked; was it still the safe refuge of night or had dawn come to play with my head again?
The day brought new things for some, but for me it only brought bad realisations and nasty hangovers. The night was my friend, it let me forget. The day didn’t allow for such pleasantries.
Trapped under the burly Hufflepuff beater’s arm, I could not strain my head to see out of a window, on the other hand, that was if there were
any windows. As with the Slytherin common room, the Hufflepuff’s slept underground and unlike the other two houses, were most likely without a pretty view of the grounds, which conveniently told a person whether it was dark, or light.
With a grunt, my tryst rolled away from me, to the other side of the small bed, and instantaneously, a long rattled breath that I had no knowledge of holding was released. It hovered in front of my face in the cool air for several seconds; I watched it float away from me with mild interest.
It was supposed to be summer, and even I had to roll my eyes at the irony of that statement. It was always cold here. No castle in the world was draftier than Hogwarts.
Someone was stirring in another one of the beds and I chose that moment as my time to move, I had already waited long enough.
I scrambled out of the four poster bed as quickly as I could and blindly searched the floor for any item of clothing that I could find, whether it was mine or not. As I pulled on a foreign jumper over my pink bra and a skirt I was quite sure that was mine, I heard my midnight liaison murmur in his sleep. The murmur almost sounded like my name. Almost.
I chose to ignore it.
I always did.
I wasn’t exactly what you would call a ‘nice girl’, I never had been. Due to my mother’s side of the family, I, along side my three darling cousins, was part Veela – though the exact amount I was not sure of – and thus allowed for me to be just a little bit heartless.
It meant that I was part monster.
People wouldn’t believe that I was part Veela if they were not attracted to me in a way they could not understand, for I was not exceptionally pretty like Victoire and Dominique, I did not have a bright smile, blonde hair and a sunny face that you automatically loved.
Part of the father I had never met had sullied that and I was left dark haired, cold eyed and beautiful in the same way frost was – icy and cold, yet inexplicably alluring. Veelas, when not enraged, tended to remind people of summer, I, however reminded all of winter. A long, dark winter full of rainy nights, roofs that leaked and ghastly gails.
Or so I had been told.
I didn’t usually believe in idle gossip, but that description of me actually did sound true – and besides, it was far nicer than half of the other things people called me when they thought I couldn’t hear; bitch, bitch queen, slag, harlot, harpy. Most commonly however, from my very own housemates, I received what was, in my opinion the worst; Hufflepuff.
It wasn’t in a Slytherin’s mind to call anyone in their own house a whore, not because they chose to ignore it but because they themselves were just as bad. They all called me a Hufflepuff because no one was sure exactly how pure my blood was and because no one saw behind my façade, which told the entire world that I was nothing more than a silly little bimbo who thought she was a fairy princess if even the slightest bit intoxicated and fell asleep during her Charms O.W.L - twice. They didn’t think I was cunning, or worthy of wearing the green snake upon my breast.
I should have cared, but I didn’t. Not in the least.
I probably should have cared about the boy whose dormitory I was, at that moment, sneaking out of.
But I didn’t.
As I hurried down the flight of stairs leading into the common room, I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder. I knew already what would happen the next day, I had seen it all before; he’d be upset with me at first, angry perhaps, and want to know where I had gone, why I hadn’t left a note, however it would all subside and then he’d want it again – and that was something which I couldn’t allow.
The Hufflepuff common room was cosy and warm in comparison to my own, and I suppose that I could have liked it if under different circumstances.
My bare feet made not a single sound upon the carpeted floor and neither did the portrait when I pushed it open and crept out of it. The portrait itself was a person, rather like the Gryffindor one, and it snored quietly, unaware of my existence.
Some security guard. It was a good thing Hufflepuffs were the most boring students in the entire school, otherwise all hell would break loose if they so easily were able to sneak out at all hours of the night.
It wasn’t far from the Slytherin common room, which was situated in the dungeons, but that wasn’t my problem. I had the so-called ‘night watchman’ to hide from as well as the ghosts that had taken a liking to grassing on any students that were caught out of bed, as opposed to the good old days when they would just leave you the hell alone.
Or tell you an amusing story about how ghost life was treating them, which was a wonderful little tale when you were drunk off of your face.
The floor was chilly underfoot and I shivered uncontrollably, clutching the oversized male jumper to my slight frame. I could not quicken my pace, I knew myself too well to know that all my years of smoking Muggle cigarettes had left my lungs in poor shape as well as having zero level of fitness. The only thing I did that was physically exertive was generally on my back, which I doubt would please the school nurse.
I heard the echo of voices as I rounded the corner, just about to descend the stairs down to the dungeons, and they were headed in my direction.
“I don’t know why the fuck we have to do this, no one
is awake. Everyone is asleep, as we should be.” It was Scorpius Malfoy, the Head boy; I’d know his voice anywhere – the reason being because he hardly ever used it. The only persons he spoke to in great lengths were myself and the Head girl. Why? Because we both annoyed him to no end.
It wasn’t that I annoyed him because I disliked
him, as with most people – in fact he wasn’t half bad – I did it because I knew it annoyed him, which I supposed made me an even bigger bitch than I already was. Not that it mattered to me though.
Scorpius was the most surprising Head boy choice since James Potter the first and James Potter the second. He wasn’t half bad; he gave the right people detentions and didn’t dock points off of Gryffindor for no reason. The same however couldn’t be said for Hufflepuffs, as it was no secret that he didn’t exactly ‘like’ any one of them. But he was a good enough sport so that if I flirted with him enough, he’d let me off without a detention if he ever caught me in the middle of a misdemeanour.
The same, however, could not be said about the Head girl, Rose Weasley. The biggest swot Hogwarts had ever seen since her Muggleborn mother, Hermione flippin' Granger.
“Language!” She snapped, her high-pitched, surprised tone making me shudder in irritation. She was like a disease
, befriend her and all of a sudden the idea of parties were surprising, drinking was shocking and studying was sublime. I loathed
her. We’d been friends once upon a time, until she caught me snogging her boyfriend in the broomstick cupboard during fifth year. “Anyway, we have
to do this. It’s our duty.”
Scorpius announced, his tone making me smirk, and stalked off without saying another word. Rose started after him with her mouth hanging open, as she so often did.
“Scorpius Malfoy! Don’t you dare
leave me to do rounds by myself! I’ll report you!” Rose screamed pointlessly at his retreating back and after he disappeared down the stairs, she seemed to sage and sighed. “I hate
him! I hate
him!” She said to herself, her voice tight, as though she were about to cry.
“Psst.” I hissed, once I was sure that Rose had scampered off, in tears no doubt. I edged my way around the pillar I had been hiding behind and scuttled down the stairs, stalking my fellow Slytherin. “Psst.”
“I’m going to bed, Rose, piss off.” I heard respond from the darkness, and I felt the smirk etch more and more onto my face.
“You rude, arrogant twat, don’t you know it’s disrespectful to treat women that way?” I teased, placing both of my hands onto my annoyingly narrow hips.
“Oh, it’s you.” He appeared out of the darkness then, not quite relieved to see me but hardly disappointed either, and I raised my eyebrows at him. “I should probably give you a detention for being out so late, but I’m too tired to deal with you.”
“You always are such a sweetheart.” I reached over, closing the gap and ruffled his white-blonde hair. He always hated when I did that, which is exactly why I enjoyed doing it so much. Its odd how the things that I loved, people seemed to hate - or perhaps it was the other way around.
“Piss off, Delacour.” He snapped, batting my hand away. “I’m up to my neck in Rose bloody Weasley, I can’t handle you too.”
“I know you fancy her, so don’t give me that shit.” I muttered, rolling my eyes. It was frightfully obvious how infatuated the pair were with each other, yet seemed to hate each other’s guts at the same time – which was something I could, strangely, understand. “It’s funny; I don’t think I have ever heard you talk so much in all my life until tonight.”
“Yeah? Fuck you.” He responded, his tone heavy with sarcasm, and he made to leave.
“Oi. Where do you think you’re going? You can’t leave me as easily as you can with Rosiekins.” I hissed, grabbing his arm. I didn’t really need his company to get back into the common room – or for anything, really – but I knew it would be pushing yet another button and thus I was instantly amused by the possibilty of it.
“That’s ‘cause you’re an infection.” He sneered, fighting to make me drop my hold on his left arm.
“Cheers, babe.” I said with a grin, ignoring his mild struggle, and I snatched his hand. “Will you be a dear and escort me back to our common room? Pretty please?” My batting eyelashes usually worked on him, just a little bit.
“One day, someone is going to kill you. That’ll be the day when I am truly
happy, Delacour.” He snarled, however without the same frustration he had had before, and he made no attempt to get me to free his hand, which made me drop it in disappointment. It was sweaty, anyway.
“You know you love me really, and you’ll miss me terribly.” I didn't think that he ever would, but I made it out as a joke. A cruel, ironic joke that probably should have twisted my heartstrings and made me wish I wasn’t such a lonely, empty human being, that lived such a half life, separate from all others except for in those few stolen moments, entrapped in a strange lover’s arms, shielded from the world.
But I didn’t, I didn’t feel anything. It was my life’s work to be cold and distant, the exact opposite of my beautiful, broken mother, Gabrielle.
Scorpius was the best company for me, he only spoke when necessary, or annoyed, and didn’t ask questions. A normal person would have been curious why I was out so late, why I was wearing clothes that obviously weren’t mine and why I had a funny sort of bruise developing just below my ear. But he wasn’t normal; he was, in a way, my friend.
My only friend.
“Salazar.” He muttered, somewhere in the darkness beside me, and the portrait door opened to reveal the passage that lead to into the Slytherin common room. The common room itself was not all that special, contrary to the belief of many, and though it was elegant and lavish, I could not find it within myself to call it home, as I should.
Scorpius had already started walking away once I had stopped pulling at a loose thread in the sleeve of the unknown boy’s blue sweater, and I smiled privately as I heard him grumbling to himself about how much of a pain I was.
“’Nighty night, sunshine.” I chortled and rolled my eyes at his response; the raising of his middle finger. “Always the charmer, Scorpius, no wonder Rose is just falling
at your feet.”
But I was too late, he’d already gone and I was alone, as I constantly told myself I preferred to be. I was a damn good liar, I could fool even myself.
I made one of the leather sofa’s my bed for the rest of the night and as I laid there, inhaling the scent of a person I did not know, I soon found myself drifting and dreaming in a place I didn’t know, but a place in which I was inexplicably happy.
Sleep was nice like that.
So, what do you think? My first story, my first chapter. What do you think of her - you'll get the name later, it's supposed to be a little bit of a mystery, I guess? And Scorpius and Rose? I really wanted to set the scene with this chapter, show one side of her life? Well, um, I would absolutely love to hear/read/see/whatever what you guys think, or if there are any mistakes (which is incredibly likely) so please leave a review.