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Chapter 2 : II.
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“Ugh, just look at her, Tabitha. Who does she think she is? Hogging up our sofa like she owns the place - just because she didn’t have the audacity to sneak back into the dormitory after her late-night fuck fest with Merlin knows how many people.”
“Shut up, she might hear you. I heard she’s like the other two, y’know those Weasley girls – Dom and Victoire, who are supposed to be feisty as fuck.”
“As if, just look at her. She’s all pathetic looking and short.”
“That’s because she’s asleep, Adrian.”
“Pfft, nope. I mean, look at her, she’s wearing the bloke’s jumper – got her face all buried in it – what does she think; he’s going to love her or something? No one loves little skanky Huffie, not even herself.”
“Ooh, burn. Someone woke up on the bitchy side of the bed this morning! I like it!”
Laughter, that actually sounded more like the neighing of a herd of horses, soon died away as the pair of girls eventually left the common room. My eyes, having remained closed the whole time, flickered open the moment I was sure that I was alone in the communal room. I was late for my first period, which was, irritatingly; Potions, but that didn’t bother me.
Professor McKinney loved me anyway, I wouldn’t put it past him to be another one on my mother’s little list in her ‘petit livre’ of secrets. He was alongside my former flying instructor, who, even when I was at the age of eleven, looked at me as though he were looking for someone else in me, but thankfully not in a sexual way.
Maybe he thought he was my father, they all did from time to time.
They were all wrong though, my mother was specific when it came to my true father. His name started with a ‘D’ and his surname ended in an ‘ey’. That’s all she would ever give me as to when I started making inquires about the bloke from the age of seven.
I just presumed he’d broken her heart by becoming gay, or getting married – or both, and she thus was too cowardly to face him again, even through me.
His biological daughter.
Another one of my predictions came true too, I was late for Potions.
But I wasn’t alone.
Albus Potter was stood at the front of the room, looking strangely smug for someone who was in trouble, and as I entered, Professor McKinney’s stern face melted and a small smile took the place of the frown.
“Ah, Miss Delacour, how kind of you to join us today.” Around the classroom people tittered, and I rolled eyes. Only I had seemed to hear the distinctively non-sarcastic way that he had said that. “Now, let’s see. Both you and Mr Potter are late, and partnerless, whilst the rest of the class are all paired up. I hope that you both see where I am going with this, time is pressing on. Come on, come on, get inside Miss Delacour, don’t dordle about in the doorway.”
Irritated over being put in the spotlight, I made damn sure he knew I was annoyed as I made my way up the isle and to the front of the class. Albus Potter attempted to exchange a smile with me and I suppressed the urge to aim a kick at his shin.
“Here you are.” The Professor said, handing me a shabby looking book and several Potions items I didn’t recognise, and I blinked back at him expectantly. “These are your ingredients, Miss Delacour. Please, go sit down at the free desk over there with your partner, Mr Potter, and get to work like everyone else. There’s a good girl.” He smiled at me warmly and winked, it made my skin crawl.
“There’s a good girl.” Albus Potter mimicked quietly as we both made our way to the desk we, unfortunately, had to share and I bit my lower lip, once again fighting the urge to hurt – or maim - him. “You do realise that you are wearing your skirt the wrong way and look like you have just been involved in a Muggle duel?” He asked me, his tone intentionally pompous.
“I’m sorry, were you talking to me, you moron?”
“So,” He began, both his smirk and tone exceedingly arrogant. “you’re mademoiselle Delacour?” His eyes travelled up and down my body in a demeaning way and I glowered at him until he ceased.
“Unfortunately, we’ve met before, Potter. Many times, actually.” I responded dryly, turning my attention to the Potions book before us. I read half of a page. I understand not a single word. I felt myself smirk slightly over this.
I’d always known about my incompetencies, it seemed to me that only Professor McKinney did not.
“I know we have, I just didn’t remember you.” He sneered, attempting to annoy me with his petty insult and childish playfulness, and I smiled, unable to help myself. “That was supposed to be an insult, Delacour.”
“I know, you stupid sod.” I hissed with a sarcastic smirk. “It’s just much harder than that to insult me, Potter.” His responding arched eyebrows made me roll my eyes and turn away again, however this time to examine my short, poorly kept fingernails, which were messily painted black, ironically similar to my mood.
“So, tell me, how long have you and Professor McKinney been shagging?” Albus Potter whispered into my ear, uncomfortably close, and chuckled at the way I stiffened. He thought he had just discovered my big secret, when really, I just felt sick to have him touch me. It reminded me of all the other people who had done so in the past month.
“Excuse me?” I hissed, momentarily caught off guard.
“I mean, I’m ten – well, fifteen - minutes late and I get an almost ten minute lecture. You on the other hand are almost forty minutes late and the old fellow practically falls on his hands and knees to kiss your damn feet. So I just have to assume you’re either shagging, or you’re dying. From your expression, I have to go with option a.” He was eyeing me as though he was trying to read the answer off of my face, and I didn’t like it. I looked down angrily, my eyebrows knitted together crossly. “I’m totally right, aren’t I?”
“He thinks he’s my father.” I muttered, shifting the box of weird looking insects towards him, and that way, it was far away from me.
“And so he’s getting into your pants? Dude, that’s gross.” He didn’t look very disgusted though, he looked amused – and even slightly impressed.
“For starters, don’t say ‘dude’, that’s very American Muggle of you, and secondly, we’re not fucking. He did my mother and thus, he reckons that he’s my long lost daddy. They all do, which I can’t wrap my head around. Not that I want to, actually.” I frowned, why had I told him all of that?
It had to be the hangover; I usually hated telling the truth.
“McKinney and your Mum? Well, it’s not wonder you’re so messed up then. Though, I don’t see why – I mean, your Mum’s a real looker and he’s – he’s, well, he’s McKinney. There’s no one quite like him.” He laughed, and I hit him. Hard. “Hey, there’s no need for violence, Emma. We’re all friends here.”
“You just told me your sop story, so I think we might as well be on a first name basis, don’t you?” Albus Potter said reasonably and I laughed some more. He thought my name was Emma, how bizarre. I usually got something a little more exotic than that.
No one knew my real name, or at least, no one remembered. Everyone had known it in first year, then, by lack of use, it had faded out of everyone’s memory - even the teachers’. If I was ever addressed, and not by an insult, I received only three things; Miss Delacour, Delacour or ‘Em’.
That was it.
By calling me ‘Em’, people just assumed that my name was Emma, Emily, Emmeline or something equally as common and boring.
My name, my actual name, isn’t important, it never has been. Labels always seemed to trump it.
“My name’s not Emma, Potter.” I stated simply, rearranging the bottles and little boxes of things that we were meant to be putting into a caldron and working on like good little students.
“Then what is it?”
“If you don’t know by now then you don’t deserve me telling you. Shame on you.” I snapped, feigning upset.
“You’ve hardly given anyone the chance to know you; I hear you’re quite the little monster.” He murmured quietly, his left eyebrow rising slightly at the amused expression that flitted across my face.
“I am a Slytherin you know, it’s in my nature.” I rolled my eyes, expecting him to make a joke about his bloody father destroying us Slytherins’ only decent hold over the over students; our monster, which was now actually dead, in a chamber, without any teeth. The poor thing. I pitied poor Salazar; apparently he had been quite fond of the thing before he had locked it up for two thousand years.
“It’s from Slytherins that I have been hearing this from.” He pressed, momentarily – and most uncharacteristically - serious. My eyebrows rose in light of this, unsure why he was still talking to me and appeared to be interested, nonetheless I was uncaring as always.
I already knew that before I forgot him, he’d forget me.
“I hear you’re finding it dark and cold in your big brother’s shadow.” I responded, cold and icy, and his face shifted, it became guarded. “See, Potter, this game isn’t fun at all.”
“Uh, Potter, Miss Delacour – work, please? No chit-chat shall be allowed unless its work related.” Professor McKinney said, glaring at Albus Potter one minute, and smiling at me the next as he hovered close, extinguishing any chance for us to hold a conversation.
Thank Merlin for that.
“McKinney must really think that he’s your father if he’s been giving you ‘E’s and ‘A’s for the past six years – you are truly awful at Potions, I mean it, you’re absolutely dreadful.”
“Thank you, Potter, how sweet of you to say such a lovely thing. You must know that your opinion matters oh so much to me and that you decided that I was worthy enough for your guidance means the world to me.” I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Albus Potter laughed, walking somewhere close beside my elbow, close enough to push me into another student.
“You annoying little sod-” I began, however was cut off unexpectedly by the person I had just stumbled in to.
“Em? Em? Oh my god, Em!” The stranger wrapped their thick arms around me before I could even look at their face. I felt all the air leave me as I was squeezed to a stranger’s body and though I struggled, they refused to let me go for at least a minute or two. “There you are! I-I can’t believe you just snuck off last night. I-I thought you’d – I don’t know? Stay? Especially after – well, you know. Are you okay? Did you get into trouble – and – and why are you with him? Why are you with Potter? I thought – we – us. You know?” It was my Hufflepuff beater, come back for more, and worse of all, he was expecting it.
The stupid arse.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” I asked sweetly as I shuffled away from the beater, his face already fallen. My innocent, sugary tone had made Albus Potter glance at me twice and my responding smile made his dark eyebrows disappear up his forehead.
“It’s – it’s me. From last night? Don’t you remember?” His voice quivered and his bottom lip trembled.
Oh yes, he had definitely been a virgin.
And I had played the thief, and stolen his innocence.
“I’m terribly sorry; I think you must have me mistaken for someone else.” I smiled kindly up at him and tried to step around him, but he seized my hand, forcing me to a stop.
“No I don’t! It’s me, Evan! And it was you last night and we slept together and this morning I woke up to find you – and my friends’ clothes – gone! I don’t understand you – I don’t understand you – why are you lying? Is it because of him? Are you two together or something?” He glared at Albus Potter suspiciously and then returned his gaze to me accusatorily.
“I don’t have any idea who you are, like I said. Now, we have to go otherwise we’ll be late for our next lesson– and again, sorry pal, but you have the wrong girl.” Brushing past him, I ignored his shocked and enraged expression, and felt Albus Potter clutch my arm, latching onto me as though he desired to go with me.
He was a strange boy.
“You fucking whore!” Evan the Hufflepuff exploded and before I could turn around to shout back at him, there was a thudding noise and a strangled yelp. I whirled round to see Albus Potter stood over him, breathing heavily, with his fists raised. The Hufflepuff beater lay on the floor, blood seeping through the fingers he clutched to his face.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.” He urged, taking my hand, as Professor McKinney’s yells thundered down the dungeon hall. I allowed him to tow me away from the scene, through the crowd that had gathered, and away from yet another scandal I had caused.
“Nice punch.” I muttered, clutching my stomach as I ran, stumbling clumsily to keep up with him.
“Thanks. Nice tongue.” He chortled and rolled his eyes once he saw what kind of physical state I was in, however stopped nonetheless and pushed me gently onto a step, beside a great tapestry I had never noticed before. Sitting down beside me, he smirked and said, “What you did back there, that was pretty damn cruel.”
“What do you mean?” I responded, attempting the same false innocence as before. It was hard to lying convincingly when my heart was hammering out of control and my head was spinning from the first bout of physical exercise I had done in years.
“As if, you knew exactly what you were doing.” He snorted, and finally released the firm grip on my right hand. He put his hand onto his knee and I stared at it, curious over the blood that was on his knuckles. Was it his or Evan the beater’s? “Your pretty little lies don’t fool me, Em.”
He said my name with disdain, I wasn’t sure why, but for some reason I didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“You’re calling me a liar?” I hissed, shifting away from him in irritation.
“Yeah I am, and a pretty decent one too.” He grinned, following me so that he sat right close to me – uncomfortably close.
“Fuck you, Potter, I was telling the truth.”
“Oh no you weren’t, Delacour. For Dumbledore’s sake, you smell of the guy – have you not even had a shower since the said incident? And besides, you obviously didn’t sleep in your own bed last night. Oh, and you have a little something on your neck. Classy as hell you are.” He said, with his tone sharp yet his face still somewhat amused and playful. He reached towards my neck and I slapped his hand away automatically.
“I do not!” I snapped, painfully aware of how immature I sounded. “And don’t touch me!”
But why did that matter? I was dealing with Albus Potter, he had the mind of a three year old.
Only he was a three year old whose head was constantly stuck in the gutter and thinking wanton thoughts toute la journée.
“Nice comeback, did you think of that one yourself?” He sneered, sounding like a petulant child, yet it still made me smirk. But only a little bit.
“Sure did. Hey, you got a cigarette on you by chance?” I eyed him hopefully, looking for the signs of a candid smoker like myself.
I found none.
“Don’t smoke, that’s my brother’s game.” Albus Potter replied, crushing my hopes in one singular sentence.
“Wish your brother was here then.” I murmured, biting down on my lip to stop myself from swearing. I’d had my last box of Muggle cigarettes confiscated by Rose bloody Weasley three days prior and I was going half out of my mind without nicotine in my system, keeping me calm.
“They always do.” He muttered in response and his tone different than before. He wasn’t playful or jokey, he sounded almost sad, and if I were not me and were some kindly unselfish person, I might’ve asked. But I was who I was, so I remained silent on the matter.
Or as silent as I could be.
“I heard he was a prick.” Was all I could muster up in response.
“I heard you fucked him.”
That one was meant to hurt, and it did. Just a little.
But James Potter II. Now, he’s someone that I would have remembered. Albus Potter, though in a way just as memorable as his brother, fell short in comparison to the James Potter II.
No one had held parties as legendary as him, or drank as much, or smoked as much or womanized as much as the James Potter – the second. He’d almost been a friend – a good friend; he’d even known my real name. Daily he’d been my go-to guy for Firewhiskey, a packet of ciggies and anything else under the sun that I had desired. His absence I truly felt for no one else could fill the vast and empty space he had left behind.
Nevertheless, no, I had never once had sex with James Potter the second.
No, he had always been far too in love with the red-haired firecracker Fiona Finnegan, who had ignored him for six years until finally noticing him after he’d singlehandedly won the Quidditch cup for the seventh year running for Gryffindor and then dating him all throughout their seventh year. Not unlike to his grandfather James Potter the first, only Fiona had never hated or hexed him, just been too proud – or ‘classy’ as someone had once put it – to put up with just being one of his one night stands.
It was almost nice that they were experiencing a glimpse of the all-too temporary happily ever after.
But it would end for them one day, just as it did for everyone else.
“Did you?” Albus Potter pressed, distracting me from my thoughts.
“You know, you’re surprisingly bitchy for a bloke, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Nope, you’re the first.”
“I always am.” I murmured, mostly to myself, and stood up, finally having regained the control over my breathing. “I’ll see you around, Potter.”
Albus Potter looked as though he were going to say something.
But he didn’t.
'petit livre' - little book.
toute la journée - all day (a more formal way of saying it)
Second chapter is done! So, how do you like Albus? I mean, Albus Potter. Yes, that is done purposely; I’m not just doing that to be annoying or anything. And the Potions teacher possibly being her father? That’s something to be kept in mind for later – I think. I don’t really know what’s going to happen; I kind of just go with the flow with these things. Or at least I have been doing so far with this fanfiction. Anyway, I’ll stop rambling, I just want to say that I hope you enjoyed and hopefully, the next chapter should be along shortly!
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