Disclamer: I don't own these charachters, they belong to J.K.Rowling.
Chapter Two. Obstreperous Thoughts.
The first few weeks of seventh year have been torture. On top of being Griffindor Quidtich Captain, and mountains of N.E.W.T. homework, I have recently discovered that Victoire Weasley is gorgeous. I mean, I always knew she was really pretty, she is a Veela, but now she is totally one hundred percent stunning. I can't control myself around her, and it is making me feel like one of those drooling dummies like Manfred, just lusting after her bodacious bod. Don't get me wrong, I do lust after her, in fact I can hardly keep my hair from turning pink when I'm around her, but I also liked her before I knew she was beautiful.
That first day on the train, after not seeing her for so long, and having her jump into my arms I may have over reacted. She just looked so angry with Manfred, and I felt like hexing him so hard his cheese cauldron-inventing ancestors would feel it. We have been dancing around each other a little recently. She, as always, walks the halls alone with her magnificent head held tall and her waterfall of hair dancing behind her. I can't think of the right thing to say to her, or how to tell her how I feel. 'Hey Vic, your my best mate you know, but right now I want to drag you into the nearest broom closet and shag you.' No definitely not that. ‘I’d like to get my basilisk into your chamber of secrets.' Too crass, that won't work either. 'Victiore Weasley, I love you.' Ah hell. What am I going to do?
A brisk breeze blows around me and I shiver. I'm sitting on the roof of the owlry, my Nimbus Omega lying on the shale beside me. I often like to fly up here and read. Technically it is against the rules, but what good Weasley ever let that stop them? I am trying to read the latest Quibbler and the words are going in one eye and out the other. Why is Teddy avoiding me? He must be mad about something, because Teddy never uses to much work as an excuse not to say hello.
Far below the lawn is dusted with frost. It is late October now, almost Halloween. Hagrid is moving slowly across the Quidditch pitch, his hair and beard are pure white now. Grawp lumbers along behind him, dragging a massive qudditch goal hoop, to replace the one that got destroyed in a vicious game between Slytherin and Griffindor last week. Teddy played magnificently. He looked so agile and capable, leading his team to victory.
I tried to talk to him after the game, and catch him when he was euphoric and full of adrenaline, but he was swamped with celebrators and I couldn't get close. He is probably sleeping of a fire whiskey hangover this morning. It is only seven am. From this lofty perch I can see Griffindor tower. I know which window enters onto Teddy's dorm because in his third year him and his mates inflated a huge magical lion that spilled out of their room and floated away while the second year Ravenclaws had Care of Magical Creatures.
Teddy's dorm. The idea is a risky one, and my inner logic reasons against it, but I still jump on my broom. I fly to the afore mentioned window and step down onto the sill. Sometimes having Veela poise comes in handy. I unlock the latch "Alohamora." softly and climb into the room. The red curtains are drawn on all seven beds, but it is easy to tell which is Teddy's. There are loads of pictures of the Potters and the Weasleys on his bedside table. In the front there is one of his parents, Remus and Tonks, and beside that is one of his grandmother, Andromeda. Family clearly matters to him.
I slip of my shoes, tuck my cloak and broom under his bed, and quietly open the hangings. There he is, gloriously shirtless, his hair turned back to it's original shade of light brown. He is breathing deeply, and he looks so peaceful. I carefully climb onto the bed beside him, working myself under his covers to try and banish the early morning chill. I close the curtains tight around us, because if I can hardly believe what I am doing, what will other people think? I face my back to his front and soon fall into a doze. He makes me feel so safe.
I wake slowly, gradually becoming aware of my surroundings. The first thing I really notice is that someone is in my bed, besides me. Then I relies that the someone is Vic.
When we were little, and all the family was together, I used to sneak into Vic's room at night if I was missing my parents badly. We would sleep back to front, like we are now, until morning came when I would slip back to my own bed. When school started, and I was in the year above her as well as being in a different house, we stopped. I suppose we realized that that kind of behavior wasn't ordinary.
Right now I sure feel extra ordinary. I try to concentrate on the golden embroidery on the edge of the bed hangings and not the fresh flowery smell emanating from Vic's hair, but find it impossible. I sit up, reluctantly unwinding my arms from around her. She stirs a little then says yawning, "Teddy, you're up." She rolls over and props herself up on one elbow. "I tried to stay awake but your bed is so warm and comfortable." She is giving be a dazzling sleepy smile, and my imagination shoots into over drive. Quickly constructing a seen where Victoire is worn out for a whole different kind of reason. I yank my thoughts back to the present. Uncomfortably I ask, "Vic, this is a nice surprise, but what in Griffindor's name are you doing in my bed?" Her eyes loose their fogginess as a pale blush colors her high cheeks. "I came to talk to you, but you were asleep.", she whispers defensively. "I wanted to see you and ask why you've been avoiding me." Now it is my turn to blush. I can feel my hair morphing to white, the color it is when I am lying to someone important, as I say "I haven't. I've just been busy Vic." She looks at my hair. Her usually carefully controlled and concealed emotions play across her face. First confusion, then hurt, and last anger. "Don't lie to me Theodore." Her voice, while still a whisper, is rising and I can smell something smoking. I feel my own anger come to my defense. "Don't call me that Victoire." I shouldn't goad her. I really just don't want to tell her the real reason that our paths haven't crossed in the last while.
Vic's had problems with boys since she was tiny. I remember the summer we vowed that I was never going to become one of the boys that chased after her. It was a solemn oath, and if we’d had wands at the time it would have been an unbreakable vow. I don't want to break my promise now.
While I was immersed in memory, Vic was getting angrier. By the time I have gathered my words into some kind of apology Vic is furious. She jumps up with feline grace, grabs her broomstick from beneath my bed and strides to the open window. "When feel like telling me the truth, come talk to me, but until then stuff it." In one fluid motion Vic leaps out the window and onto her Nimbus Omega. My bed hangings burst into flame.
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