[ Printer Friendly Version ] [ Report Abuse ]
Chapter 2 : The Art of Attracting Perverts with Ketchup-Stained Parkas
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 22|
Background: Font color:
*Author's Note: First up, HOLY FREAKING WOW! I did not expect the prologue to be received as well as it was! The first chapter has already had over five hundred reads, and I'm completely flabbergasted. You guys are amazing! And all of your reviews made me do the Sue Heck dance. I'm not even kidding. And, if you know what the Sue Heck dance is, I love you. But I love you anyways since you are reading this. THANK YOU WONDERFUL PEOPLE! :))
Secondly, I am VERY SORRY about the wait. I am a bit of a perfectionist, and thats why this wasn't updated sooner. I swear when I submitted the prologue I had another chapter ready, but it sucked so I scrapped it. I wrote a few more chapters, submitted them, edited them to death, then deleted them. And then I finally wrote this, which probably sucks too, but I am extremely sleep-deprived right now so I can't even tell if this is terrible or not. Hopefully not. But I'm going to give you guys this anyways. Its fillery but I really hope its okay.
Thirdly, this is dedicated to Ryan Gosling because he is the most beautiful man ever and attractively awkward. :)
PS: This author's note is really long because I'm in a rambling sort of mood. Also, let it be known that I fell flat on my face during my food break while writing this chapter, so that can be my punishment for the slow update. Especially since it really hurt and my sister laughed at me. :) Also this was previously rejected which is part of the reason the update was slow. Its all my fault though because I'm a lethargic/busy cotton headed ninny muggins... :( :( :(
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING YOU RECOGNIZE. ESPECIALLY NOT THE GREAT GATSBY WHICH IS OWNED BY F. SCOTT FITZGERALD AND NOT ME! OR POCKETFUL OF SUNSHINE OR NATASHA B. OR RYAN GOSLING. (UNFORTUNATELY)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
BEAUTIFUL BANNER BY charme. AT TDA!
(yes, I can and will use Regina George for the bitchy character. :)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
November 6th – Saturday – 4:42pm “Prior to the Incident”
My favorite part of one-on-one time with my best mate is when she calls me out on my lack of interaction with the opposite sex.
No, seriously! Being reminded you are a sixth year lip virgin, by a part veela mind you, really boosts the self-esteem meter!
“Do you want to be an effing kneazle lady for the rest of your life? Because, I'm sorry, but that is the direction you are headed in.”
“Don't worry, Dommie,” I reassured my cousin cheerfully, scrawling the thesis of Albus' Potions essay. “I'll be something cool... like a hippogriff or dragon lady.”
You know what? I'll just run a farm of grotesquely large and vicious creatures!
Except, considering my rotten luck and tendency to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, I'd inevitably be burned or eaten alive. Which isn't really a pleasant possibility.
Yeah, I'll just stick with the kneazles.
“Oh, shut up,” Dom huffed, flicking my arm playfully. “I'm being serious, Rosie. I mean, you have to make a move sometime. Before you wake up and realize you're thirty and effing old and wrinkled and shit.”
Madam Pince released an unhappy gargling/hissing sound from a bookshelf a few yards away that either meant for us to quiet our voices, or that she had a particularly large wad of mucus lodged in her pharynx.
I've been around the library a lot; I know these things.
Actually, I've been around the library too much to be considered socially acceptable, but thats irrelevant.
“I have another fourteen years before that happens. And, besides, I just want to concentrate on academics,” I whispered, pushing my glasses up to the bridge of my nose.
“Seriously? Are you, like, seriously right now?” Dom asked, her eyebrows ascending to the middle of her forehead.
“What?” I puzzled, flipping the yellowed pages of my Potions book.
“You want to... 'concentrate on academics,'?” Dom made air quotes, her eyebrows still nearly touching her hairline.
“Yeah,” I shrugged innocently, shooting Dom what was supposed to be a winning smile, but probably turned out looking like a constipated goblin grimace.
Hey, Merlin couldn't make all of us attractive. Or, you know, human-looking.
“Concentrating on academics, prefect, dorky glasses, ninja turtles panties... Godric, Rose, did I ever tell you how much of a complete sexual animal you are?”
“Oh my gosh, Dom! You can't just discuss someone's... undergarments... in public!” I whispered, my eyes flitting around the library for people.
“Prude,” Dom scoffed just as someone cleared their throat.
Madam Pince was towering over our table with a repulsed expression on her face.
“Oh, erm, hello, Madam,” I greeted sheepishly, my complexion scarlet.
How coincidental that every time I'm in a mortifying situation, I'm with Dom.
I tried to glare at Dom, who was snickering into her palm. Unfortunately, my face doesn't do glaring - it apparently just does constipated goblin - so the attempt was useless.
“Ladies!” she snapped creakily, wagging her finger in our faces, “There will be no discussion of such vulgar topics in this library as long as I'm alive!”
“So not very fucking long then,” Dom muttered under her breath.
A frightening growl rumbled in Madam Pince's throat.
“She said it!” Dom pointed at me, her opposite hand covering her heart.
I widened my eyes in horror at Dom, who smirked.
Dom Weasley... the best mate who not only loudly announces the content of your panties, but then blames you for her harsh, f-bomb loaded comments about the librarian!
Cousin of the year, right there!
Madam Pince turned her furious countenance to me, “You had better learn to respect your elders, Miss Weasley, before I banish you from this library!”
“But I didn't... I- I'm sorry, I-”
“Immature, rude, little...” Madam Pince muttered bitterly as she limped away to her desk, ignoring my apologies.
“Merlin, she's such a bitch,” Dom snorted once she had situated herself in her awesome rolly librarian chair. “Oh, come on Rose. Don't look at me like that.”
My jaw remained anchored to the ground, my eyes still magnified to saucer size.
Not only does the librarian know that my panties feature fighting cartoon turtles, but now she loathes my guts.
“She thinks I'm bad person!” I said worriedly, twisting the quill tucked behind my ear. “She probably hates me now, Dom!”
Anxiety rushed through my veins.
You see, nothing makes me more nervous than someone disliking me.
Well, except arachnids.
And tattooed Swiss people wearing berets. (Its a really long story.)
“She's just a batty old hag,” Dom rolled her eyes, then examined her manicure. “Why do you even give a shit about her?”
I looked back at Madam Pince; her face was twisted with burning hate and her eyes were shooting Avada rays into my forehead.
In other words, she wore an expression that blatantly said, “I would adore watching you suffocate to death in a pile of books while I laugh.”
“Because she's nice!” I exclaimed.
Dom cocked an eyebrow.
“Well, I mean, she probably is nice. She just- she just- … Maybe she was just having a trying afternoon.”
“For the past century?”
“You know what?” I shook my head, pulling myself feet. “I can't take this anymore, I have to go apologize.”
“Rosie! Its been less than thirty seconds! The old cow has probably forgotten about what I said by now!”
“But what if her feelings are hurt? I need to talk to her.”
“Stop trying to be such an effing people pleaser. You know, its okay hurt someone's feelings, especially if they're old.” Dom stated with a tone that implied this was obvious.
If there was an award for most superb advice, Dom Weasley would win it hands-down.
Great, and now I'm being facetious.
Plus I might have maybe sort of kinda made a Hufflepuff joke earlier today.
I'm pretty sure I'm about a -1000 on the karma meter right now for being a such a generally terrible person.
“I'll be right back,” I breathed, causing Dom to groan in annoyance.
I ambled up to Madam Pince, twirling the quill in my hand rapidly.
“Hi!” I exclaimed once I had reached the desk, the word saturated with too much joy and cheer for just one syllable.
“I'm busy,” Madam Pince spat.
I gulped, wiping her saliva from my nose. I looked back at Dom for support, but she was in the midst of flirting with some Ravenclaw guy.
“How are you, Madam?” I asked timidly.
She fixed her bloodshoot eyes on mine.
“I just wanted to say, I am extremely sorry, Madame. I am terribly sorry, actually. And I didn't mean any of it. None at all!”
She still hadn't blinked yet.
Well, this is slightly uncomfortable.
“I actually think you are very youthful, Madam, I...” my voice trailed off as her heated glare intensified.
“You're disrupting my work. Sit down or leave,” she advised viciously after I squirmed.
“Thank you?” I mumbled weakly.
Let's pretend that wasn't terrifying.
I walked back to Dom, only stumbling over my feet one time!
At least one thing is going right today.
“You can leave,” Dom snapped once I had plopped back down at the table, waving the Ravenclaw bloke away. He hung his head sadly and staggered to a nearby bookshelf.
“God, all of the guys in this school won't frickin leave me alone! Its, like, so annoying. Like, no matter what the hell I do, they literally won't back off!” she complained dramtically.
Dom was wearing lipstick, a mini skirt, high heels, a pushup bra, and a shirt two sizes too small with a plunging neckline.
I have a peculiar feeling she doesn't mind attention from men.
“Sometimes I wish I was more like you, Rosie,” Dom sighed. “I mean, no blokes ever approach or try to flirt with you anything. It must be nice.”
“Oh, yes, its just lovely to be the undesirable nerdcake!” I laughed sardonically.
You see, its usually difficult to string together an appropriate response to most of Dom's comments, so I just reply with self-deprecating sarcasm. I mean, I never know if what she says is meant to be flattering or offensive. I'm pretty sure she means everything as a compliment, but what she says usually leaves me feeling sort of... ouch-ish.
Ouch-ish. I'm astounded that one didn't make it into the dictionary.
“You need a new tactic. Like, no guy would ever hit on you first – no offense – so maybe you should just come on to a bloke instead.”
I let out a disbelieving and completely unattractive snort, “Yeah, just ignore the fact that I'm too bloody awkward to even converse with a guy.”
“True. Maybe I should chat you up to someone.”
Yes, why don't I just let my gorgeous veela cousin try to persuade some guy to go out with me? That would totally make him want an me, an awkward ginger, over my blonde bombshell wingwoman.
“You know what? That is extremely nice of you, but no thanks.”
“Come on, Rosie, who do you fancy?” Dom demanded earnestly, tossing her blonde locks behind her shoulder.
“Dom, I already told you, I don't fancy anyone here.”
“Yeah fucking right. Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn't want a piece of Lysander Scamander's hot arse right now.”
As if determined to expose my five year crush, my cheeks flushed scarlet.
Outstanding job, cheeks. Knew I could count on you to keep a bloody secret.
“Oh my God!” Dom gasped, widening her eyes. “You like Sander!”
“No!” I objected, although my complexion said otherwise.
“You naughty girl... crushing on the big Quidditch star,” Dom smirked mischievously, slapping my shoulder.
My cheeks burned even hotter, and I resisted the impulse to slam my flaming face against table.
“Don't you think he's a bit out of your league, though, Rosie?” Dom asked curiously, tilting her head to the side. “Besides, he doesn't really go for goody goodies.”
Rose Weasley, a goody goody?
I am the antipode of a goody-goody.
I mean, I may be a prefect. I may abide by the rules. I may have never cursed in my life. But I am not-
Oh, Merlin, who am I kidding? I'm the flipping epitome of goody-goody.
“I'm not trying to be mean or anything, but you and Sander aren't really on the same level. You know what I mean?”
Thank you for that assesment; I was never aware that the beautiful Gryffindor Quidditch Captain/ Hogwart's Head Boy was out of my league.
“I know,” I said defeatedly, adding another sentence to Albus' essay.
“Not to say that you shouldn't try for someone more... attainable. I'm just saying you should go for someone more on your level, you know?”
“Definitely,” I agreed absentmindedly, more focused on articulating the value of a bezoar rather than our conversation.
“What about that bloke?” Dom asked, nodding her head to a boy a few tables across from us.
“Harold?” I replied incredulously.
Harold McLaggen is a wiry, redheaded guy in our year with incredibly bad acne and pants that are usually three inches short for his legs.
“He's, like, perfect for you!” Dom exclaimed.
“I mean, you're both always reading, you're both in the top three of our year, you're both gingers...You guys are like totally destined to be!”
I took one more glance at Harold, who was slouched in his chair, discreetly inspecting his earwax before sticking it to his Charms book.
Needless to say, Harold is a real catch.
“Erm, well, he seems...” I paused to find a nicer subsitute for 'undesirable earpicker' in my mental thesaurus, “... cool?”
Welcome to the Rose Weasley mental thesaurus, the only location where 'cool' and 'undesirable earpicker' are synonymous!
I pushed my glasses back up my nose, “But, erm... he's not really my 'type'.”
“Nonsense,” Dom waved away my statement with her hand, pulling herself to her feet. “I'll go tell him you're interested right now.”
Oh, Godric, no.
“I don't think that's a good idea!” I grasped Dom's wrist and attempted to pull her back.
Unfortunately, I don't possess any upper body strength, so Dom's arm easily slipped from my hand.
Curse you, stupid lack of arm muscles!
“I think its a brill idea! You obviously like him, Rosie. I can totally tell by how you're acting.”
My mouth hung open. This is one of those moments where I wonder how Dom can possibly be this bad at interpreting my actions after sixteen entire years of cousinhood and mateship.
I mean, maybe its just me, but I'm pretty sure physically trying to prevent my cousin from talking me up to the bloke doesn't spell attraction.
“I'll be right back!”
Dom winked and pranced away before I could deny my supposed feelings Harold.
I had an urge to tackle Dom as she strutted up to Harold, but decided on burying my face in my palms instead.
This is bad. This is really bad.
I peeked through my fingers; Dom was speaking avidly to Harold and his eyes were glued to her chest.
And – dear, Merlin... Dom's bloody pointing me!
And did Harold just... He just licked his lips at me.
Harold McLaggen's tongue totally just moistened his creeper lips while looking at me.
I feel slightly scandalized.
My jaw plummeted to the ground and remained there... even after Dom had collapsed back into her chair.
“I just told Harold how much you like him, and totally suggested you guys should hang out at the party later,” Dom explained happily, clearly under the impression she had done me a gargantuan favor.
She did not just tell him that.... Merlin, please tell me she did not just tell him that.
“And he totally said yes!” Dom squeezed me in excitement.
Oh. My. Merlin.
My jaw was still glued to the floor and my larynx refused to make any sound.
Dom crossed her arms, “This is the part where you say 'thank you'.”
I still had not regained control of my voicebox.
“You know, you should be grateful, Rosie. I mean, Harold McLaggen is as good as its going to get for you,” Dom said sharply, like a mother scolding a child for poor manners.
I glanced at Harold. He was spitting on his spectacle lenses and then wiping them with his ketchup-stained parka.
If the kid who wears a parka to the library is the best I can do, I must really suck.
I mumbled an incoherent attempt at 'Thanks,' to Dom.
Harold couldn't be that bad... right?
I dared another look in his direction; he was sniffing his armpits.
“Er, hey Dommie?” I said apprehensively, watching my cousin pucker her lips to a compact mirror.
“Yeah, erm, this whole 'going to the party with Harold' thing? Its not really working out for me.”
Dom released an irritated grunt, glancing up from her reflection, “Why the hell not? Are you saying he's not good enough for you? That's so shallow, Rosie.”
“No, of course not!” I said defensively. “I mean, I guess Harold's fine.”
“Good,” Dom said coolly, snapping her compact mirror shut. “Now you won't have to cling onto me the entire party.”
“What?” I asked, thoroughly confused.
You see, Dom drags me to parties. And I mean literally drags me. And when we arrive at the party, I immediately endeavor to find the nearest sofa or chair, then devour a novel while Dom most likely makes out with gorgeous blokes.
Its actually a great system because I manage to not socialize or interact with anyone the entire time! Amazing, right? Well, except for that one time that Slytherin girl pushed me out of my chair and chucked my copy of The Great Gatsby into the butterbeer bowl. I guess that would be considered interaction.
But I didn't try to make her apologize or anything afterwards because, honestly, she was a complete beast. I mean, the girl had a mustache and bodybuilder muscles and everything! I don't remember what her actual name was, but everyone called her 'Testosterone Tami.'
Yeah, I'd probably be pushing undersized gingers off of sofas and thrusting classic literature into pools of alcohol too if I was stuck with that nickname.
“Nevermind,” Dom sighed exasperatedly, before a puzzled look crossed her face. “You know what? Why am I even here in the first place? I hate the library.”
“I don't know. I was just working on Al's Potions and you sort of randomly plopped down and started talking to me.”
Or badgering me about the severe lack of blokes in my life.
Dom nodded, considering this, before she slapped her forehead in epiphany. “Oh yeah! I came down here to see if you had my Transfiguration assignment done.”
“Right,” I said, rummaging through my bag for a piece of parchment.
“Voila!” I exclaimed in a terrible French accent as I offered it to Dom.
“Oh my God, awesome,” Dom breathed, her manicured hands snatching the paper. “I was so busy earlier. And my friends would have literally murdered me if I didn't go out with them. You know how the Ravenclaws are. But, of course, Professor Chang just had to be a bitch and force me to make this up and turn it in today. Seriously, who makes stuff due on Saturdays? And, I knew you never do anything over the weekends anyways so, well....”
“No problem. Al persuaded me to do an entire Potions essay for him, so, really, a Trans assignment was not a big deal.”
“Cool,” Dom grinned. “Let's go to dinner. I'm starving my fucking arse off.”
“A novel idea, my dear Dom! A novel idea, I do declare!” I agreed enthusiastically, scooping my school materials into my bag.
“Rosie, did I ever mention how much of a fucking weirdo you are?”
“Don't judge my amazing expressions!”
Dom rolled her eyes,“Godric, you're an embarassment.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
November 6th – Saturday – 8:11pm – Gryffindor Girls Dormitory “Prior to the Incident”
“... and I was just like, 'Bitch, no, that's not even attractive.' And she was like, 'Fuck off.' And I was like, 'Why don't you put a paper bag over your face before someone blows chunks, you ugly whore.',” Dom explained, puckering her gloss-coated lips to the mirror.
This was the standard routine for Dom and I before parties; she would enhance her face to perfection with makeup, and I would sprawl out on my four poster while completing the assignments of my various other cousins.
And by various other cousins, I mean a plethora of relatives. I know I tend to exaggerate, but plethora is seriously the only word that can describe the staggering number of my cousins.
Well, plenitude could work. Or abundance. Or mob.
Actually, not mob, because that would imply my cousins are a mass of livid peasants armed with pitchforks. Which, you know, they're not. Though, the lot of them are quite intimdating. And usually angry. Fortunately, none of them own pitchforks.
At least I don't think so...
“So then I told the bitch to go rot in hell like the ugly slut she was.”
“Oh,” I said from my bed, scrawling the killer concluding sentence to Albus' Potions essay. “That's nice.”
You see, its sort of hard to conjure an intelligent response to Dom's stories. Especially the ones that mostly involve her insulting random girls at pubs and a lot of 'and I was likes.'
“Yeah, and then she was like, 'Oh my God you did not just say that!.' And I was like, 'Damn right I did, slut.' And she totally walked away, like almost crying. It was freaking hilarious.”
Dom applied another coat of mascara to her lashes. I hadn't bothered putting any makeup on.
Which was sort of ironic considering I was the one who actually required it. I mean, Dom could still be a ten with a natural face.
Actually, I've never worn makeup in my entire life. Not because I don't need it, more due to the fact that I don't trust myself with sharp objects (eyeliner pencil) near fragile body parts (corneas). I mean, I tried putting on eyeshadow once and nearly blinded myself.
I can injure myself with practically any unanimous object.
Aside from academics, its my only talent.
“Are you seriously going to wear that?” Dom asked incredulously, turning from her reflection to raise her eyebrows at me. She was dressed in a denim skirt, a sparkly black top, and incredibly high high heels that looked fantastic.
I glanced down at my outfit...my uniform completed with a three year old pair of battered flats. You see, my feet and unfortunately every other part of my body ceased growing in third year.
"I was going for 'school chic'?" I tried.
Dom looked thoroughly unimpressed.
Dom exhaled agitatedly, “Hopefully Harold won't care that you look like a prune.”
I had nearly forgotten about armpit-sniffing Harold with his chapped lips and ill-fitting trousers. In other words, my date for the evening.
“Alright, I'm ready,” Dom announced after a final dousing of flowery perfume.
She cast me one more disapproving look before we headed out to the Room of Requirement for Matt Finnegan's birthday party.
You see, Gryffindors go all out for parties; hundreds of galleons worth of alcohol and delicacies, disco balls, simulated dragon ride machines... everything really. Gryffindor parties are so incredible that members of other houses even show up to our Quidditch victory celebrations. So all of our fiestas are in the Room of Requirement for the sake of free supplies and enough room.
In a nutshell, basically, putting on wild parties are another thing Gryffindors are famous for. In addition to our nerve and adventurous souls, of course!
Yeah, I don't know why I was sorted into Gryffindor either.
“I'm fine!” I assured Dom a few cooridors later, choking up twenty-five year old dust.
I don't know what Mr. Filch does in his spare time, nor do have any desire to, but let me tell you it is most certainly not cleaning. Trust me... Considering the mindblowing number of times I've biffed it in this school, I would know.
“God, you're graceless,” Dom shook her head disapprovingly as I pulled myself up to my feet.
“Are you serious? I'm practically Marie Taglioni!”
Dom crinkled her nose and raised her eyebrows.
“You know, Marie Taglioni? Famous ballerina?”
Dom's brows continued to travel up her forehead, “How would you be practically a ballerina if you just tripped?”
“Er, I was being facetious.”
Her face was still distorted with confusion.
“You know, sarcasm...” I attempted to explain.
Dom cast me a confuzzled and slightly irritated glance.
And this is why I should probably contain my sarcastic comments within the confines of my mind. Otherwise I end up looking stupid.
Actually, I usually end up looking stupid whether or not I keep my mouth shut or not.
That tends to happen when you are a spectacularly awkward sixteen year old with a severe lack of coordination.
“Nevermind, I was just being weird,” I sighed as we stepped up to the portal.
We began to paced back and forth in front of the door in silence.
"Ay yayay ayayayay ...Ive got a pocket got pocket full of sunshine, I've got a love got a love and its-"
I was quelled by Dom's glare.
"Never again, Rosie."
Note to self: Stop singing in uncomfortable situations; It does not diffuse the tension, it just makes you look like a bumbling idiot.
After three more paces, I grasped the handle to the Room of Requirement.
“Shit! Wait!” Dom exclaimed, causing my hand to release the doorknob. “Teeth check!”
“Oh, thank Merlin! I completely spaced!”
Dom and I bared our teeth to eachother.
You see, both of us have always had this strange phobia that something is stuck in our teeth.
Actually, Dom and I are just extremely obsessed with our teeth. It has sort of bonded us, in a way. I mean, I was the one who helped Dom overcome her whitening charm addiction last year. And she's the one I turn to in the dead of night when burdened with frightening nigtmares of gum disease.
“You're good,” we chorused, then simultaneously sighed in relief.
We entered the portal, greeted by blaring muggle music, strobe lights, and flurries of confetti.
After a few paces into the roaring party, I saw him...
Situated directly in front of us, looking especially sleazy in all his poorly-fitted, vertical-striped, mustard-stained pants glory, was Harold McLaggen.
Dear mother of french toast.
“Bye, Rosie! Have fun!” Dom advised me happily, skipping away to flirt and kiss cute boys who probably wear regular sized pants.
WAIT, DOM! DON'T ABANDON ME!
Harold McLaggen licked his apparently critically chapped lips.
Am I supposed to flattered by this or something?
I resisted the urge to chase after Dom. Preferably at a hundred mile per hour speed.
“I suppose I have you all to myself then, smexy lady,” Harold drawled slowly, then released a disturbing and slightly evil chuckle that made me feel very very uncomfortable.
Well... This looks like a promising evening.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
*Think Rose is a complete nerdcake pushover? Think Dom is a skanky bitch? Just want a hot serving of Scorpius Malfoy already? (Its coming, its coming!) Please let me know what you think in the box situated below and you will have my eternal gratitude. :) PS - THE PLOT STARTS SOON!
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Other Similar Stories