Chapter 10 : Slytherin Matches and Dirty Troll's leg
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In short, breakfast the next morning was unbelievably cold. Colder than the Slytherin common rooms. I was planted in between Layla and Desmond, which was probably the most awkward seat in the entire Great Hall. Layla has built a large, cold wall in between her and Desmond who, by the way, was eating his breakfast in silence, most likely wondering what he has done wrong.
For the next hour or so, I chose my movements carefully, afraid that I would somehow start a fire that I would not be able to put out. Dominique and James seemed to have noticed this as well, since I caught them stealing worried glances towards the two.
The only two people actually speaking were Dominique and Tyler.
“Tyler, will you please eat your breakfast and stop staring at me?
“But Dom, you’re just so beautiful. I rather starve to death than take my eyes off of you for just one moment.”
It was corny, and a bit ridiculous, but it was unbelievably cute.
The worst part of this entire ordeal was that there was a Quidditch Game today. Yes, it was the Slytherin VS. Gryffindor game, and two of the best players on the team were troubled, distraught, and not to mention, acting like a bunch of babies. Two out of the three chasers were having their own little (completely one sided) cold war. The three of us are supposed to work together on the pitch—completely trust each other—or else we’ll end up looking like the Slytherin’s; ridiculous and stupid, which would in turn, cost us the game.
I was positive that Potter would not let that happen.
SO WHY WAS HE LETTING THIS HAPPEN?
Why was he allowing this cold wall in between his two best chasers to grow larger and larger?
Oh dear, sweet, mother of frogs and flies. This is not good.
“Sylvia.” Desmond turned around and opened his mouth for the first time since he arrived.
There she was, standing before him with her arms awkwardly wrapped around her midsection. I could tell she was nervous, which was understandable, considering this was probably the first time she spoke to Desmond, instead of shouting at him.
She shifted her feet and looked around for a moment. “Good luck today.” Sylvia finally said. “I really do hope Gryffindor beats Slytherin.”
I watched with disgust as Des offered her a small smile. “Thanks. We definitely will.”
Not when you and Layla are like this, we’re not.
She nods—another awkward move—and walks away without another word.
What a strange girl, that one.
It wasn’t long until the game finally started. The Great Hall slowly cleared as students rushed to the Quidditch Pitch before all the good seats were gone. By the time breakfast was over, only Desmond, Potter, Layla and I (with a few other insignificant students, of course) were left in the Great Hall. Potter was still chewing on some left over bacon, while I absentmindedly picked off pieces from a blueberry muffin sitting on a plate.
That blueberry muffin was the only one that was not acting like an awkward prick at the moment, and it was currently my favorite thing here.
Hi there, muffin. Would you like to be my new best friend?
People don’t normally eat their best friends, do they.
“We better get to the pitch.” Potter said, finally breaking the silence. “Vicky, stop looking at that muffin like it’s your lover.”
I scowled openly at Potter. At least my muffin cared about my feelings.
Nevertheless, I stood up and followed Potter out of the Great Hall, knowing that Desmond and Layla were bound to follow suit. There’s no way in Merlin’s bed that they would last more than thirty seconds sitting alone in the same vicinity.
Once we reached the doors of the Great Hall, I turned around, and there they were, following suit.
“Hey Vicky.” Potter brought my attention away from my two idiot best friends, causing me to whip my head around so fast that I wouldn’t be surprised if I got whiplashed. To my surprise, he was standing incredibly close to me; entirely too close for comfort.
Strangely enough, my body felt differently.
My heart sped up, and it took a while to catch my breath. It was hiding deep in my throat, along with my voice and the rest of my goddamn mind. All because of sodding Potter and my unfortunate situation.
Surprisingly, he smiled at me.
I was expecting something along the lines of a joke, or maybe a small miniature prank before a big game.
This time, Potter actually smiled at me.
And it was a bloody amazing smile. His eyes shined (I know that’s a bloody corny thing to say, but I swear to Merlin that I saw his eye twinkle in the freaking light), and his unbelievably cute dimple appeared and said hello. Okay, it wasn’t his dimple, it was his scar. But boy, was it amazing.
I swear, time just stopped.
All I could focus on was Potter and his beautiful features. His eyes bore into mine, and all I could think about was how amazing it felt to be locked under his gaze; to be standing so close to his perfect body.
After what felt like ages, he tore his eyes away from my own, allowing it to drift lower down my face. I wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Perhaps it was my nose, or my lips. Or possibly my chin? Regardless, his eyes found mine once more, and his smile, if it was even possible, grew wider.
“Good luck today.” He said quietly. “Do your best, yeah? Try not to get yourself hit by a bludger or anything.”
I stared at him, bewildered. Did Potter just . . . did he just wish me good luck?
It seems like this year is filled with first timers.
Twenty minutes into the game, I wanted to beat Desmond and Layla with Tyler’s beater bat. I wanted to take the bloody bat and beat their bloody heads until their brains popped out of their ears. How could two amazing Quidditch players be stupid enough to allow outside emotions to conflict with the game? THE GAME THAT WE’VE EXCESSIVELY TRAINED FOR, THEREFORE, BEING THE GAME THAT WE MUST—emphasis on must—WIN! If we didn’t win the fucking game, I was going to kill myself with my own wand. I went through hell just to prepare for this game (not that it was my fault of course. It was Potter’s—the Quidditch Nazi—fault).
We were down fifty points, (the score being 100-50) since Layla and Desmond would not bloody cooperate with each other. Whenever Layla was in possession of the quaffle, the quaffle would either be passed to me, EVEN WHEN DESMOND WAS WIDE OPEN or intercepted by a Slytherin, EVEN WHEN DESMOND WAS WIDE OPEN. Whenever Desmond gained possession of the quaffle, it almost became impossible to pry it out of his bloody hands. It seems as though he’d do anything just to score, possible to show Layla that he was capable of playing Quidditch.
Now, the worst part of the entire game, is when I have the quaffle. You see, being one of the three chasers leaves two other chasers to play with. These two
Chasers happen to be my best friends. When I have possession of the Quaffle, suddenly, all Slytherins back off and they’re suddenly by my side, demanding for possession. If I throw it to Layla, Desmond goes off thinking that I think he’s a ‘useless tosspot’, and when I pass it to Desmond, Layla thinks that I’m taking his side.
Honestly, what the fuck?
This is QUIDDITCH. Not a fucking teenage movie.
“Victoria!” I heard Potter roar as he flew over me. I had finally gained possession after many tries, and I was currently heading for the goals. Tyler and Fred aimed bludgers towards incoming Chasers while Desmond and Layla seemed to have been doing a marvelous job distracting the Slytherin beaters as they raced towards me. “You better make this one in!”
“No shit, Potter!” I shouted in return. “No, I’m going to drop the fucking quaffle and allow the Slytherins to win one of our most important games of the year! Do you honestly think I’m that stupid?”
Suddenly, a bludger came soaring across the pitch, missing me by an inch, but enough to divert me away from the goal posts.
“Vicky! I’m open!” Desmond called from my right.
I looked straight ahead and found one of the Slytherin Chasers zooming towards me. However, I was determined, and I tightened my grip on both the quaffle and my broomstick before I sped faster towards the Slytherin. As the space between us closed, I dove in a triple axle loop.
It wasn’t long before I found myself colliding into something hard. My vision blurred and I felt the quaffle slip out of my arms. My hands frantically searched for my broomstick, but I couldn’t feel anything but air. A haze of blue and white filled my vision, and once I focused, all I could see was the beautiful blue sky, staring right at me.
Was I falling?
I felt rather ridiculous for asking such a question, but at this point, I wasn’t too sure what was happening to me. What did I bump into? Am I going to pass out?
So I closed my eyes.
It was sort of natural for me, to close my eyes when I was too scared to know what was going on.
“What the fuck, Vic.”
I peeled my eyes opened, and found an angry looking Potter staring at me. I examined at my surroundings and became aware that I was still in the air.
“Potter?” I asked, dazed and confused.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he continued flying while he carefully balanced me in front of him on his broomstick. I noticed that the game came to a halt while the players lined up on separate sides of the pitch.
“What’s going on?” I questioned, turning back to Potter.
“Hooch called a foul against Gryffindor.” Potter answered, his jaw tight and his eyes focused straight forward.
He was angry.
No, he was furious.
I could tell.
He flew straight in the locker rooms before he landed and slowly set me down on my feet. “You alright?” he asked, his jaw still clenched tightly. “Any dizziness or nausea?”
I had to admit, the moment my feet came in contact with the ground, I felt a short wave of dizziness. I wobbled slightly, only to be steadied by Potters large hands. “Easy. Do you want to go to the Hospital Wing?”
I shook my head before I realized what stupid idea it was. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” he pressed further.
“I’m fine, Potter. Where’s my broomstick?”
“What the fuck were you thinking flying straight into Goyle like that?” he asked, raising his voice while he successfully disregarded my question.
“Is that who I flew into?”
But Potter didn’t even stop to acknowledge that I had asked a question. “Honestly, Vic, what the fuck were you thinking? Did you even stop and think of looking before trying to pull off a dive like that? What if I wasn’t watching? Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”
Without even noticing it, I felt an overwhelming feeling of anger wash over me at that precise moment. “Did you ever stop and think that maybe, Goyle flew in to intercept the fucking quaffle while I was doing the dive? The Slytherins may suck, but they’re really good at playing dirty. You of all people should know that, Potter!”
“Don’t get smart with me, Vic. It’s your fault we’re fifty points behind!” He bellowed, advancing towards me.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Desmond and Layla act like babies during the game, and I’m getting blamed for it?
“My fault? Are you kidding me, Potter? Layla and Desmond have been going at it all morning, and you’re blaming me? I’ve been trying my best to keep them in line the entire game!”
“You missed more than half the shots you took.” Potter growled, glowering at me.
“I made most of the shots during the whole game!” I exclaimed with anger. “Don’t you dare accuse me of playing the useless one when I’ve been the one scoring the majority of the points here.”
“Well you need to make more, or else we’re going to lose this game.” He said in a low voice.
My eyes narrowed into slits as I stared at him. “Then catch the fucking snitch before the other seeke—”
He kissed me. Potter fucking kissed me. Right in the middle of my fucking sentence, he kissed me.
His large hands cupped both sides of my face as he pressed his lips closer to mine. I can’t say I wasn’t shocked. For about thirty seconds, I stood there like an idiot with my arms hanging limp by my sides while his lips moved swiftly against mine.
All too soon, Potter pulled away but he didn’t move. However, his hands traveled from my face to my hips. He gripped them tightly before pulling me closer to him and planting his lips on my own once more. This time, my body responded eagerly, despite my rational thinking. My arms slid up his shoulders and around his neck, to deepen the kiss.
What can I say?
Potter was an amazing kisser. The way he kissed my lips so softly, yet with urgency that made me smile mile a fool, forced all rational thinking out of my head and allowed my body to take control. And boy, did my body like this. His hands ran up and down my back and occasionally pushed my hips closer to his. His tongue slid into my mouth, and I opened willingly, absentmindedly groaning slightly as he squeezed my bum. I was on fucking cloud 9, and nothing could bring me out of this high.
Except of course Potter detaching himself from me.
Which is what he did.
I watched, flustered, as he picked up his broom and turned to look at me. His lips were swollen, his hair tousled more than ever, and his eyes looked hungry; animalistic.
“Get to the pitch.” He ordered breathlessly. His chest was heaving up and down, and. . . fuck, he looked downright ravishing. “We have a game to win.”
Potter left the locker rooms first, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
What the fuck was that?
Guess who won the game.
I’m a fucking boss.
I am THE boss.
Even though it was Potter who caught the snitch, it was me who bumped the final score up to 500-240.
That’s right, Slytherins. Suck my ba—
“Hey Vic, you ready?” Desmond poked his head through the door of girls’ dormitory, searching for me. “Layla and Dom are already downstairs.”
“I’m coming.” I called out. I quickly checked my hair and makeup before I ran to my closet and pulled out a long, black cardigan to pull over my tight, black dress. I pulled out a pair of black pumps and slipped them on before I ran over to the doorway. “I need to talk to you before we go downstairs.” I said before Desmond could move.
He looked cautious. “Talk about what?” he questioned slowly.
“You asked out Sylvia.” I stated plainly.
“You told me to do something about it!” he exclaimed resentfully.
“I know, I know. I suppose I can’t exactly be mad at you for it. But. . . honestly, Des, can’t you tell what this is doing to Layla?”
“Is that why she’s been so out of it lately?” he asked as if a light bulb lit up on top of his head.
I slapped my palm to my forehead. “You can be so incredibly thick sometimes, you know that?”
His expression changed, and I could tell he was ready to defend himself against any insult or accusation I throw at him. Before he could open his mouth, I put my hand up in front of him and said, “Just be careful, okay? Layla is my friend too, and she’s pretty pissed that you’re with Sylvia now.”
“I’m not with Sylvia.” He corrected. “It’s only a date.”
“And dating leads to other things.” I said. “Just, please? Don’t dangle this in front of Layla’s face or anything. If you do, I’ll kick you in the balls, I promise you I will.”
He rolled his eyes and pulled me out of my dormitory before he shut the door behind me. “Yes, mother.” He sighed, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and leading me down the staircase. The sound of the blaring music grew louder and louder with every descending step. The party sounded wild; uncontrolled; rowdy; it sounded like a Gryffindor party.
“I miss you Vic.” Des said softly before we reached the last step.
I turned to him and smiled softly, touched by his words. Sure, we saw each other every day, but ever since the whole Potter incident, my daily time with Desmond grew shorter and shorter.
“I miss you too, Des.” I replied sadly.
He kissed my forehead tenderly before the entire common room ruined our little moment. Both Desmond and I turned to find Dominique and Tyler snogging, smack in the middle of the common room. They were both standing on the coffee table, drawing attention from every single eye in the room. Several people wolf-whistled and cheered, and I was positive I heard Layla’s voice somewhere in the background cheering Dominique on for snogging a boy in public, like so.
They looked like they were about to rip each other’s clothes off.
I looked away, and found Desmond smirking at the couple.
“I suppose you, being you, already knew this was going to happen some day?” I asked nonchalantly.
He grinned down at me. “Why do you think I shot Tyler with an arrow?” he asked. “I’m not that completely moronic, mind . . . you.”
I turned around, sensing that there was something wrong. Desmond’s eyes were currently fixed on something (more like someone) across the room. His jaw tightened, and I could feel his arm slipping from my shoulder. I followed his gaze and my eyes fell on Layla.
She was leaning against the wall while a tall, blonde boy talked her up. At least that’s what it looked like from here. She was laughing, and he was smiling down at her. Every now and then, she’d push her hair behind her ear, throw her head back with laughter or slightly touch his arm. Wow, she was really flirting.
My baby girl is flirting.
I’m slightly proud.
But slightly disappointed that it wasn’t with Desmond.
“Des. . .” I began, gently placing my hand on his arm.
“I’m going to go look for James.” And then he was gone.
I knew he wasn’t going to look for James. He was going to go and sulk. That’s Desmond’s M.O. He sulks and shoots arrows: the life of a Cupid.
James. Potter. Potter kissed me. The mere thought was enough to send me over the edge.
I sighed heavily and ran my hand through my hair. “I need a fucking drink.” My eyes scanned the common room, searching for the usual bar Potter sets up during Gryffindor Parties. We were known for offering the best booze and music, which was basically what a good party consisted of. I finally spotted the bar by the bookshelves on the other side of the common room.
It was a challenge pushing through the crowd just to get to liquor, but it was worth it. “Give me Troll’s leg with a hint of Dragon’s blood, dirty. Thanks.”
“Troll’s leg with a hint of Dragon’s blood?” An unfamiliar voice approached me. “Are you sure you can handle that?”
I turned and found myself staring into the familiar eyes of Austin Willow. “Austin.” I greeted. “Fancy seeing you here.”
He smiled at me with kind eyes. “Yeah, fancy that.”
The bartender, a fellow seventh year Slytherin, returned with my drink. “Extra dirty. You look like you could use it tonight.” He said with a wink.
“You,” I began, pointing at him. “Are officially my favorite person in this room.”
The bartender chuckled. “What can I get for you?” he asked Austin.
“Firewhiskey.” Austin said, rapping his knuckles on the wooden bar.
“Ah, you’re a straight, conservative fellow, aren’t you?” I asked, judging him by his drink.
He turned to me, clearly amused. “What makes you say that?”
“Of all these choices, you choose fire whiskey. It’s a very plain and common, manly and a very strong drink.” I answered before taking a sip of mine. It was strong, and I loved it. “You don’t like change, and I can bet you order a firewhiskey every time you’re set to drink.”
The bartender set the firewhiskey in front of him, and Austin uttered a polite ‘thank you’. “You must be in parties like these often.” He said before taking a swig of his drink. “I reckon you’re the kind of girl that sits by the bar ordering all kinds of drinks and watches her friends have fun. Only a girl that drank a lot would know to order a Troll’s leg with Dragon’s blood dirty.”
I smiled slightly. “I dance too, did you know?” I downed my drink, and set the empty glass on the surface of the bar.
“No,” Austin said with a mix of sarcasm and disbelief. “A nice, innocent girl like you, dance in a party like this? You must be more badass than I though.”
I rolled my eyes and wrapped my hand around the new glass that appeared beside my empty one. “Please. I play Quidditch, I’m well acquainted with the Weasleys and the Potters, and not to mention, I’m best friends with Desmond Pierce.” The bartender walked by and I requested another drink, except this time, stronger.
Austin laughed, clearly amused. “Not to mention, you’re dating Quidditch Extraordinaire James Potter.” He added and took a drink. “Speaking of the boyfriend, what is he doing not dancing with you?”
I shrugged and took a drink. “Probably off somewhere with Desmond.”
The mention of Potter’s name sent shiver down my spine. Our previous kiss in the locker rooms sprang into my mind and instantaneously felt my body yearn for him.
No, I did not miss him.
I definitely did not miss him.
It was the alcohol and Cupid’s arrow talking.
“What a foolish, foolish boy.” He shook his head. “If I were Potter, I’d never let a hot, feisty thing like you out of my sight.”
“And why’s that?”
Austin gave me a smoldering look. “Just incase any sex-crazed male out there tries to steal you from me.”
“Ah, so you’re the possessive kind.” I summarized. “Jealous and possessive?”
He chuckled and downed the last of his firewhiskey. “Just careful.”
“Careful is good.” I commented. “Jealous and possessive bad.”
Austin chuckled again. “Would you like another one?” he asked, pointing to my now empty glass. I hadn’t even noticed I finished it. “You’re drinking a little too fast, aren’t you?”
I shrugged. “I’m not a cheap drunk, which is very fortunate.”
“I like a girl that can handle her liquor.”
“Well in that case, you’ll love me.” I said, laughing softly.
Austin fell silent, and I looked up to see what he was doing. Unexpectedly, my eyes met his, and I became conscious of the fact that he had been staring at me this whole time. A small smile settled on his lips, and I could tell that he was trying to convey something undecipherable through his eyes.
They were gorgeous. His eyes I meant. They were a nice mixture between blue and green, with specks of brown scattered amongst the pigment. Any sane girl in this room would fall for him in a snap. He was funny, nice, smart and sensitive, which is something men lack in today’s society.
Why wasn’t I attracted to this boy at all?
He was flirting with me, and I supposed I was flirting back. But not once did I ever find myself attracted to him.
It’s cause he’s not Potter, stupid.
“Would you like to dance?” Austin asked, breaking through my thoughts.
And he’s a gentleman as well.
I nodded with slight hesitation.
He took my hand and led me to the center of the dance floor. It was a haze of bodies, moving rhythmically against one another, matching the beat of the music. We were surrounded by horny, drunk teenagers who were dancing way too inappropriate for a girl and a boy who had no (as in not allowed) relationship whatsoever. I had a ‘boyfriend’, and that boyfriend of mine was James Potter.
Nevertheless, we danced—a bit awkwardly, but we danced. He laughed at my apparent shyness, and I couldn’t help but giggle at his complete lack of dancing skills. I supposed anyone who walked by would call this reckless flirting. To be completely honest, I call this slightly-tipsy-girl-dancing-with-boy-who-is-just-a-friend. It’s a pretty accurate adjective if you ask me.
“Okay I admit, you’re a pretty good dancer.” Austin complemented as the beat of the song slowed.
“And you are rather entertaining on the dance floor.” I replied with a giggle. “Tell me, where ever did you learn those horrid dance moves?”
“My dance moves are perfectly acceptable, thank you very much.” He replied indignantly. “I’m sorry I’m not on your level yet.”
I laughed, throwing my head back in the process. “Maybe if we got a bit more alcohol in you, you’ll be able to work your way up there.”
“And I think if you drink anymore, you’ll wake up with an extremely revolting headache in the morning.”
“Haven’t you heard? It’s not a Gryffindor party unless you wake up with a hangover. Pot—James personally see’s to that.”
“Potter is still MIA I see.” Austin said, looking around the common room. “Are you sure he’s with Desmond.”
I shrugged, unsure of what to say. As far as Austin knew, James and I were dating. I reckoned the girlfriend usually keeps tabs on the boyfriend. “I saw him with Tyler a not a moment ago.” I lied; I lied rather badly.
Curious myself, I looked around and searched for Potter’s familiar messy head of hair. “He’s probably around here somewhere. . .” I murmured. I noticed that I was suddenly unsure of who I was trying to convince; Austin or myself. “Oh, there he i—”
I spotted Potter sitting on an armchair by the fire.
I also spotted Amelie Elkin on an armchair by the fire.
Guess fucking what?
They were sitting on the same armchair.
See, the thing with armchairs, is that they’re made for one person to sit on. It’s a one person chair. Not a two person chair, a one person chair. What good is an armchair if one can’t put both their arm on the fucking armrest? Otherwise it wouldn’t be called an armchair. It’d be called a fucking loveseat or a couch. But no. This one was an armchair. An armchair for one.
So why the fuck is Amelie on Potter’s lap snogging the pants off of him?
What the fuck was she even doing in the Gryffindor Common Room? The bitch was in Slytherin. Slytherin lost the fucking Quidditch match. SO WHY WAS SHE IN HERE?! WHO THE FUCK LET HER IN.
Merlin, I think this alcohol is starting to sink in.
“What the fuck.” I breathed out loud unintentionally.
Before Austin could input another comment, I swiftly turned around and pushed my way towards the bar. “Give me another drink and keep them coming.” I ordered the bartender. “Make it strong, please.”
“I’m sorry.” Austin said once he reached me. “About Potter, I’m sorry.”
I scoffed bitterly. “You didn’t put that blonde on his lap.”
“I know,” he whispered. “But regardless, I’m sorry.”
I ignored his useless apology and reached over the bar, grabbing the entire bottle of Tequila from the bartender’s hand. “I’ll just take this entire thing then, thanks.”
And then I fled.
The last thing I saw before I disappeared up the staircase was Ginger Star staring right into my eyes.
Seventeen years old; Hufflepuff.
She enjoyed sunsets and walking on a beach.
Honestly, who doesn’t fucking love doing that shit?
Mother of Merlin, I was bored out of my mind.
How could anyone be so goddamn boring?
I picked the wrong blonde.
I thought she was a Ravenclaw, which is mostly why I approached her in the first place. Throughout our Hogwarts years, James and I have learned that the Ravenclaws are the best. They’re smart and feisty, yet quiet and conservative.
It’s always the quiet ones you have to look out for.
This is definitely, definitely true.
“Desmond?” I turned around, entirely too thankful that someone had come to save me from this miserable, miserable conversation. It was a redhead. Ginger Star, James’ neighbor and Al’s lifetime crush since he was a child.
“Ginger! Oh I’m so sorry, I forgot about that thing!” I exclaimed, shooting out of my seat.
A look of confusion spread across her face as she watched me walk practically sprint towards her. “Sorry Mallory. I’ve got to go do this thing that I forgot to do, over there with the thing, and yeah I really have to go. Bye!” And before she could say another word, I guided Ginger through the large mass of people before we found a clearing near the portrait hole. “Thank Merlin you came.” I let out a sigh of relief. “Why on earth are Hufflepuffs so boring?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Desmond, but I didn’t know who else to tell this to.” She ignored my question and began. “I saw Victoria run upstairs with a bottle of, was it Gin or Tequila? I’m not entire too sure, but she looked distraught, and then I found James over there with . . .”
I’m going to kill him.
I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.
I’m going to wring his fucking neck until he can’t breathe, and then do it all over again as a form of torture.
Because that’s what fucktarts deserve.
And James fucking Potter is a motherfucking fucktart who cheated on his fake girlfriend—who happens to be my best friend—who is head over heels in love with him.
It’s a shame that my arrows can’t protect these innocent souls from the pains of heartbreak.
I was intoxicated.
By both this girl and alcohol.
I had been snogging Amelie since she pounced on me the moment she walked into this common room. There were several questions that popped into my mind the moment she stepped through the portrait hole, but they all flew right out once I felt her soft lips moving against mine once again. Before I knew it, she pushed me down on an armchair and straddled me before I could even object.
She smelt amazing.
And her body felt unbelievable beneath my hands.
I made my way up her legs and around her bum. I groaned as she ground her hips against mine.
We went at it for what felt like hours. I could never get tired of kissing her. It was like sitting on a could, and simply waiting to be transferred to heaven. I could kiss her all day for the rest of my fucking life.
It was just so fucking amazing that I couldn’t even fully comprehend anything but the things her body was doing above mine.
All too soon, everything ended, and I was left wondering why life was so cruel to take something as beautiful as Victoria away from me.
What the fuck. I just said Victoria.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I opened my eyes and jumped slightly when I found Desmond glowering at me. His hand was wrapped around Amelie’s arm while his other was wrapped around his wand.
Awesome, James. That’s the only thing you can think of after you’ve realized you’ve fucked up? ‘Des’? Fucking ‘Des’? Apologize your ass out of this one!
“Shit, Des, I’m sorry.” I said, immediately standing up. “I didn’t know what I was doing. Shit, where’s Vic? Fuck, shit, fuck. I’m so sorry.”
He turned away from me and directed his attention towards Amelie. “I don’t know how you got in here, but I expect you to be smart enough to understand that there are no Slytherins allowed in this common room except those who serves drinks. If you happen to be one of those people, then get your arse behind the bar and start serving. If not, then get out or else your house will be notified of your presence at a Gryffindor party.”
Amelie immediately gave me a pleading look but I turned away, unable to deal with her at the moment. I felt disgusting, dizzy, nauseous, and not to mention, guilty beyond belief.
“Fine.” She huffed. With a stomp, she turned around and disappeared in the mob of dancers.
“Victoria ran up to our dorm with a bottle of alcohol.” Before I could even open my mouth to speak, Desmond held up his hand and silenced me. “I don’t give a shit about what sort of row the two of you are in at the moment, or if she’s one wrong move away from blasting your head off of your shoulders. Go find her, and fucking fix it.” He growled with a tight, set jaw.
I obliged, knowing better than to push Desmond’s buttons even further when he was raging mad. Victoria was like his little girl. And I just hurt her. If I were him, I’d hate me too.
I attempted to make quick with the stairs, which was a rather difficult feat to do when one was as intoxicated as I was. Everything was so incredibly dark and fuzzy, it was giving me a headache. I couldn’t see a fucking thing. I walked into the sixth years boys dormitory and flicked the light on before I scanned the room for any signs of Victoria.
The room was as messy as ever, and there were absolutely no signs of Victoria anywhere.
And then I spotted the bottle of alcohol on Desmond’s bedside table. An entirely new wave of guilt washed over me the moment it registered in my mind that the lump beneath Desmond’s duvet was indeed, Victoria. Desmonds bed and an empty dormitory was her refuge, which could only mean one thing.
I fucked up big time.
“Vic.” I said as I slowly approached his bed. Making my way to her was a fucking challenge. It was difficult to find my balance, therefore, difficult for me to go more than two feet without tripping on an object. “Vic.” I said again.
She shifted beneath the duvet but she did not pull it down.
I groaned and finally plopped myself down beside her. “I’m sorry.” I said, staring at the canopy of the bed. “I’m so fucking sorry that I’m such a fuck up.” She still did not move. “I’m sorry that I hurt you, Vicky.”
“Go away, Potter.”
She was fucking driving me insane. I felt bipolar whenever it came to Victoria. If she was there to annoy me, I hated it. If she was mad at me, I hated it. When she was gone, I hated it. When she was happy, I hated it. When she was sad, I hated it.
What the fuck.
“Vic,” I whispered, nudging her a bit.
“I said go away.”
There’s no way in Merlin’s stinky bathroom cupboard that I would go away without having you hear me out first, you understand that Vicky?
“Vicky,” I whispered again, staring at her figure through the duvet. My mind was fuzzy and I knew that the filter in between my brain and my mouth had vanished after the seventh shot of vodka. I watched her breathe steadily beneath the covers, instantly having the urge to wrap my arms around her and sleep by her side. No, not to fuck. Just to sleep, in the most innocent way possible. I wanted to apologize a thousand times over until she forgave me with every inch of her heart. I wanted to give her so much, but I couldn’t.
“You—you can’t expect things from me anymore.” I found myself saying. “You shouldn’t expect anything from me anymore. I—I can’t give you the t—things you want. Merlin, I can’t even stay faithful to a fake girlfriend.” I laughed bitterly. “I’m no good, Vic. Everyone knows it. Hell, even Desmond knows it. My own brother knows it. I’m only good for girls who are broken beyond repair. Girls who are fucked up, just like me. I never go for good girls like you because they all deserve someone better, someone who can treat them like a fucking princess. Fuck, Vic, you of all girls deserve a prince that can give you everything you want. Not someone like me. Never someone like me. If I were Desmond, if I were anyone close to you, I would never even let you go near me. Please, Vic, don’t love me anymore. . . all I know how to do is hurt you, and I can’t bear that.”
I felt movement beside me, and Victoria’s blonde hair suddenly appeared from the duvet. “James. . .” She was staring at me. With her large eyes, she stared.
My eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips.
Her luscious lips.
I reached forward and kissed her sloppily.
It was short, and chaste. Nothing passionate; nothing like the kiss we shared during the Quidditch match.
“Please, Vic.” I said, hovering over her as I stared into her eyes. “Just stop it. You ca—don’t love me anymore. Please. . .”
For a drunken mind,
Speaks a sober heart.
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