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Slipping by FitzedOut14
Chapter 4 : Delirious
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 4

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It was only the middle of October and already my uniform was failing to keep me warm. That could have been because someone stole my clothing again, forcing me to resort to what fit me back in third year before I grew, and my skirt didn’t even reach mid-thigh. I pulled my robes tighter around my body, just shivering further at the thought.

“Cold?” someone asked from his position beside me, and I just grunted. I didn’t know them, didn’t know why they were sitting so close, or why they felt like the need to talk. Couldn’t they tell I was miserable enough? “Perhaps I could find a way to keep us warm.”

“Seriously?” I asked, brightening considerably and turning to the tall, dark, and handsome man sending me a slightly unnerving smirk. But I ignored my instincts telling me to scream or flee, and scooted closer. He looks familiar—he can't be that bad. Besides, the last time I ignored my instincts I ended up with purple hair and blue skin. Can anything be worse? “What did you have in mind—a charm?”

“Unless you mean charming our clothes off, then no,” he told me, not appearing ashamed at all and instead glancing at me hungrily, his eyes fixated on the part of my chest that had been visible. I flushed and clutched my robes tighter.

When I was younger, about eleven, my mother told me that it didn’t matter what I wore underneath. In her day, she wore only her knickers and a little negligee, even in the winter. I asked why, and she said she showed to boys who needed to be ‘rewarded.’ I never asked what they got these rewards for, even before I understood what she meant.

“I don’t use charms for that,” I said curtly, pretending to look appalled at the thought when really I was trying to figure this stranger out. Is he cute, or creepy? And it is terribly wrong for me not to hate this kind of attention? I deserve some fun. Merlin, I’m turning into my mother. “I much prefer my teeth.”

I can't believe I just said that.

“You’re unbelievably hot right now,” he told me, and my heart sped up in my chest. This doesn’t usually happen to me—compliments from creepers—but I happen to quite like it. His dark eyes were now studying my face, and I couldn’t help the color rising up my neck.

Is this why mum got pregnant at sixteen with me? Perhaps our family just has more sexy-time hormones than the average folk—it would explain a lot. My grandmother had like 100 children—fine, six—and is only fifty-two.

“I’m sort of turned on,” I admitted, at least having the decency to blush at my bluntness even if he just let out a low growl in response. I scratched my collarbone, allowing some skin to be exposed to taunt him.

When did I turn into such a tart?

Stupid slag genes…

I didn’t want to inherit them!

“I’m extremely turned on,” he challenged, moving even closer towards me until our legs were touching. I sent him what is supposed to be my ‘come hither’ look (although I doubt it turns out that way) and he complied instantly, putting one hand on my thigh and the other wrapped around my waist.

Our lips were just about to touch, and my eyelids had already fluttered shut, when the sound of awkward coughing broke us apart, and I turned to see Remus. He did not look too happy.

Then again, did he ever?

Content, sure. Peaceful, rarely. But completely happy? Never.

“Rosier,” he greeted the bloke now known as ‘Rosier’ coldly, and I raised an eyebrow. Did something happen between the two boys? Knowing Remus, I bet this Rosier bloke cheated on a test, or worse, cheated off him on a test. I’ll have to ask next session. “I think that you should leave now. Go spy on another team.”

I turned curiously to see what Rosier would do, but he just shrugged and grasped my hand gently, kissing it. I couldn’t help but watch as he walked away, a part of me glad that we hadn’t snogged and a larger part pissed that we didn’t.

I will not get pregnant this year, no matter how slaggy I’m acting.

He turned back to me, after making sure that no one was looking, and I watched in confusion as he took out his wand and pointed it. After mumbling a few words, I saw a bright white jet of light hit me, and then he was gone.

James flew over to us at that very moment, grinning broadly.

“It worked, then,” he speculated, and I noticed him and Remus exchange a sort of mischievous look, ending with a salute in my direction. They look like sailors without the cute little outfits. “I never actually thought that you would go for it—but I’m just brilliant!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said flatly.

“Evan Rosier is a Slytherin,” was his first failed attempt at an explanation. I raised my eyebrows, urging James onward. Is being Slytherin that awful? “And the captain of their team.” Is that why he looked familiar? “He’s been coming to our practices a lot, and I’ve tried everything. Threatening. Injuring. Detention. Nothing works, until I realized that he’s a bloke. What else, other than a hot girl, could distract him?”

“You think I’m hot?”

I’m aware that it wasn’t the most important piece of information out of the lot, but it was pretty bloody important to me at that particular moment. No one has ever said that to me—not directly at least. I’m no Lily Evans.

I don’t have a self esteem higher than the Astronomy Tower.

“Well, yeah,” he laughed, as if it was obvious. “Why do you think Remus decided to start seeing you as a therapist?” he asked, and for the first time, I really, truly contemplated it—or tried to. My brain wasn’t exactly functioning properly.

“My ad in the Hogwarts Harold?”

“Not bloody likely,” he smirked, before reaching out to pat my shoulder patronizingly. I’m not sure if he purposely got mud on my robes, but he better fix it, soon. For some reason the patch of wet dirt is all I can concentrate on. It appears to be growing larger, the more I look at it. Is it turning into a butterfly?

I went to touch it, and nothing was there.


“If it helps, I wasn’t aware?” Remus offered.

“I mean, you should be flattered,” James told me.

“I should, should I?” I asked, and neither was aware that they were approaching extremely dangerous territory. It feels like my eyes are watering, but I think it’s just raining out of my face. Yes, that’s probably it. Maybe my mouth will spit lightning bolts and thunder.
“We’re the hottest blokes in school, Bee. Girls literally grovel at our feet.”

It would be hilarious to witness that. I can imagine blonde Barbie dolls on their hands and knees, shouting up to James and Sirius and Remus, begging them to father their children. Except they wouldn’t be normal children, they would be part-plastic-part-pig…

I’m a Bumblee. I mean Bumblelee. Bumbleblee. Bumblebee?

“What’s Prongs is trying to say, is that he’s a disgusting pig who treats women like objects. And I’m a respectable bloke who is blissfully ignorant when it comes to their awful pranks. Does that help at all?”

“Watch who you’re talking to. I’m not Padfoot. I’m not disgusting!”

“Oh, but you admit to being a pig?”

“Shut up, wolf.”

In a fight, I wonder who would win. James definitely has more muscles—I never noticed how many, actually. He doesn’t even look real. Remus is taller, but much more lean. James would oink and Remus would growl, much more intimidating, really…

“Make me, doe.”

Does are so pretty. I wonder why we never see any at Hogwarts. Maybe they’re all hiding. I think I should go into the Forbidden Forest and explore. But I don’t want to get expelled. But I really want to see one.

“I’m going to the forbidden forest,” I announced, slurring slightly.

“Prick,” James mumbled, crossing his arms and pouting his lips. He turned back to me, offering a charming grin. “So, can you come back tonight, around the same time? Well, obviously, it’s not like you ever have anything going on…”

Is he talking to me? His lips are moving, but I can't make out a word he said.

“Prongs, you don’t just say that,” Remus scolded, sending me an apologetic shrug of his shoulders, while laughing slightly. Strange. He looks like a cartoon character. I wonder if he’s 2D, secretly, like a cartoon. Am I 4D? Oops, no, I’m double D. Heh. “Just because she’s not exactly in high demand, doesn’t mean it’s not polite to ask…”

“I quit,” I said suddenly, although I don’t know why.

Am I speaking, or is something possessing me?

Oh no, Great-Great-Great Grand'a Donald has come back to haunt his least favorite niece and completely ruin my life. I knew that I should have put daisies on his grave instead of pansies!

It was supposed to be a joke.

“I don’t have to ask when I already know the answer,” James argued, both appearing not to have heard me. “Mate, just because we’re not all super-sensitive and girlish like you doesn’t mean anything…”

“I quit.”

There I go again.

“I am not girlish!” Remus exclaimed, his face actually resembling Lily Evans’ when she gets less than an O in Potions. “I happen to be the most manly of our lot, with you obsessing over calories, and Sirius fussing over his hair, and Peter being well, Peter…”

Peter has really pretty eyes—they’re so blue and watery and beady.

“Did you not hear me? I quit.”

“You know that Peter can’t help it,” James frowned, glaring slightly at Remus and then looking at their less-than-attractive roommate and Marauder. “Have you bloody seen his father? Or his mother for that matter... Ugh, the thought gives me shudders.”

I saw Peter’s dad once. They really look alike. I wonder if I look like my dad.

I hope not. He’s a quarterback for some American ‘football’ team and unreasonably bloody huge.

“The Pettigrew’s are lovely people.”

“Oh, does Remus have a crush?”

I remember my first crush. I was in second year and Howard Davies asked to borrow my quill. That was the first time a boy asked me anything. Maybe I should ask to borrow his quill sometime…

Oh, I couldn’t.

“Stuff it before I make you.”

Remus stuffed as a turkey, oh that would be funny…

“I’d like to see you try.”

Suddenly, their bickering was too much.

“FOR THE LAST BLOODY TIME, I QUIT!” They both turned to me in shock, having clearly forgotten that I was there. But that’s me—easily forgettable Beatrice Montgomery. But wait, what am I doing? What am I quitting? Am I on the quidditch team, too? “DO YOU HEAR ME? I. BLOODY. QUIT.”

My chest was heaving and suddenly my eyesight was going blind. I could hear people talking, arguing it sounded like, over what was presumably me. Gripping the rail tighter on the stands, I could feel myself wobbling from side to side.

And then superman flew over to me, clad in his tight blue suit that I always asked for during Christmas, with his windswept hair and beautiful face and lovely eyes, and whispered something to me. It was fleeting, barely audible, and then he was gone like the wind. Did he fly away?

It was like, he's there, and then poof! Poof, he's gone. I don't want him gone. I command Superman to un-poof and get himself back to me!

“Superman?” I questioned deliriously. “Is that really you?”

I reached out to touch him, but grasped air.

Air? Am I floating?

“Superman!” I shouted. “You can't just fly away from me! I have so many questions to ask you, Superman! Do you like to go by Clark or Kent? Superman!”

I reached out again.

“Superman,” I hiccupped slightly, “I think I need help.”

And then I was falling, falling, falling, going down, down, down. There was no panic, no fear, for all I could think of were superman’s parting words. “I can’t save you if you refuse to save yourself.”

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