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Dolche Vida by ariellem
Chapter 4 : Ballet Dancing Pandas
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 8


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Let me start this off by telling you all that it is never fun to wake up on some couch that you don’t  recognize and you can’t remember what the hell happened last night.

First you panic, you start wondering if you were kidnapped or worse pregnant.

Do you know what being pregnant would do to my career?

Well, nothing actually, considering I don’t actually have a career yet. But it would screw up Parvarti’s, she’d have to stay home and take care of the baby while I worked and went to school so that one day I and my baby could have a life together.

Poor Patil.

Then once you realize that all your clothes are still on (even if they do smell suspiciously of vomit) and that there is no half naked man lying next to you, you start to feel somewhat of a relief.

Then you start to panic again when you hear a sound. Like I was doing right now, but that could have been anything right? That could have been a small dog or something.

“Oh, you’re finally up.”

Or Seamus Finnigan.

I quickly turned around, he was standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and was foaming around the mouth (not the least bit sexy considering the foam was toothpaste).

I wonder if his breath smells minty.

“Yes and I’ll be leaving,” I said my voice getting higher and higher in pitch.

“Okay,” Seamus just turned around and walked back into the hallway bathroom.

Okay? Okay? That’s it? I’m sitting here on his couch and telling him I’m leaving and all he says is okay? He probably thinks that just because he has great abs that he can do whatever he wants.

The least he could do is fall to the floor and beg my forgiveness.

Or make me breakfast. I do enjoy scrambled eggs.

“Fine, I’ll see you around then,” I said standing up, there was a dull banging in my head but nothing that a few of Parvarti’s muggle pills wouldn’t cure.

“By the way Lavender,” said Seamus as I made my way towards his door. “Today’s Saturday, you don’t have to worry about work.”

My eyes widened and I began to frantically search my pockets for my watch.

Then I realized something, this apartment was not just some foreign apartment. This was my apartment, well, mine and Parvarti’s.

What was Seamus Finnigan doing in my apartment? What was he doing in my apartment wrapped in a towel? And did he use my special shampoo? I hoped not because that stuff cost quite a bit. But Seamus Finnigan probably didn’t care about me and my bills because he was some big, fancy Quidditch player.

Stupid Seamus Finnigan.

“Did you use my shampoo?” I asked him, my head was banging and I felt the urge to hide my head between my couch cushions.

“The strawberry stuff?” Seamus asked, I nodded and then felt the need to rip my head off because of the pain. “Yeah I did, it smelled good.”

Stupid Seamus Finnigan, at least he was shirtless, if he wasn’t I would have thrown him out of my house by now.

“Why were you in my shower?” I asked, not really sure I wanted to know the answer, it was days like this that I was glad Parvarti had bought disinfectant instead of listening to me and buying donuts.

“Because when I put you on the couch you vomited on me,” said Seamus, I didn’t look at him and instead covered my head with my blankets.

“And Seamus?”

“Yes,” he asked expectantly.

“Can you please shut that bright light off?”

“You mean the sun?”

“Yes please.”

“Sorry I can’t do that.”

“I figured.”

“Can I borrow a shirt from you? Do you have any Quidditch shirts I can wear until I can go home and change? I wouldn’t mind walking around shirtless but my Grandmother would have my hide.”

I nodded, I understood the situation, I could remember the time when my Gran caught me spying on Jeremy Fisher—her neighbor’s twenty-something son—when he was doing push-ups.

To be fair, they were shirtless push-ups and there is nothing more sexy then shirtless push-ups. I bet Seamus does shirtless push-ups. I wanted to ask him, but I doubted that would be appropriate, after all he did have a girlfriend. Even if she did have fake boobs.

“I think I have an over-sized Harpies shirt,” I said, my head was pounding.

“I’m not wearing a Harpie shirt, I’m a Cannons player.”

“Fine, I’m pretty sure I have a Cannons shirt buried somewhere,” I said using every ounce of my strength to sit up and get off the couch, I almost fell sideways. It wasn’t like Seamus cared or anything, he just stood in the doorway wrapped in my pink fluffy bath towel.

I am never going to use that bath towel again, which is sad because it really is very fluffy and it has my name stitched on the side in bright purple.

The idea of actually walking to my bedroom, which in my present state felt like miles rather than a couple of steps, was horrifying. But the idea of Finnigan going into my bedroom was even more horrifying and the idea of him going through my drawers and shifting through my underwear and bras to find his shirt made me want to curl in a ball and cry.

He’d know that I wore push-up. He’d know about my colorful and patterned underwear—my favorite being the one covered in pandas that were ballet dancing, he’d know about my extensive collection of fun-flavored lip gloss, and he’d know that I keep bags of chips in my drawers as well, for days when I’m just to tired to care about health.

I’m sure Ms. Fake Boobs doesn’t have childish underwear, or lip gloss that tastes like cookies, or even eats chips. I’m sure she just eats salad all day, not even with dressing or croutons, just plain lettuce.

“I can just go into your room and get it,” said Seamus, noticing my wincing and the fact that I just walked into a wall because I hadn’t opened my eyes yet.

“No!” I said, wrenching my eyes open to avoid any more pain, not that it helped, the sun really had it out for me. “I’ll get it; I don’t want you in my room.”

“Okay,” said Seamus, he put his hands up in surrender. “I yield to you.”

I wanted him to yield to me, on the couch, with that towel gone. But I didn’t bother saying anything and instead stared at the doorknob for bit, trying to clean out my thoughts.

“Where did you get a Cannons shirt?” Seamus asked as I sorted out my unsorted drawers, I really need to just buckle down and organize my stuff someday.

“Um, an old boyfriend gave it to me,” I said, lying through my teeth.

“Ron?” Seamus asked.

“Yeah, Ron.”

I had actually bought that shirt for myself and I had gotten us two tickets for a Cannons game for Christmas, I had gotten him a joke necklace and I was going to surprise him a couple months later, just weeks before the game.

Honestly, Parvarti tells me that I was kidding myself, that I knew it was always going to be him and Hermione, but I really did like him. But in the long run, I suppose it was my own fault.

“Here,” I said coming out of my room and handing him the shirt. “You can keep it by the way. I’m not a Cannons fan.” I kept the door closed so that he couldn’t see the inside of my room, it’s not like I had posters of boys or pink walls or frilly bed sheets everywhere, but some things are private.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seamus grumbled as he pulled on my shirt. The Cannons are amazing. “They are brilliant players, they work together seamless—”

With the way he was going on and on about how fantastic they were I was starting to wonder if he had gotten them mixed up with another team.

“And they will win this year!” Seamus finally proclaimed triumphantly after a long tirade. I promise you that. “And if they don’t—”

“I’m sure they will,” I said, wanting nothing more than to cut his rant off.

“I will walk through Diagon Alley completely in nude!”

“Don’t yell, you’re hurting my head,” I said sitting back down on my couch and massaging my forehead with my hand.

“How many drinks did you have last night?” Seamus asked. “Ten? Twenty? Most have been more then that because you are acting like a child.”

I held up one finger to indicate the number of drinks I had had.

“One?” Seamus looked disgusted. “And you’re acting like this? You’re a total lightweight.”

“Shut up, you’re Irish,” I muttered as if that ended the argument.

“True,” said Seamus, he pulled on my shirt, I looked at him in amusement.

“It suits you,” I said, trying not to smirk. It didn’t look to bad, the orange color didn’t clash with his hair, but the V-neck was another thing entirely.

“I think so too,” said Seamus, he flexed a bicep and I had inappropriate thoughts. Basically, even though my head was exploding and Seamus was in drag, everything was normal.

“Would you like a pair of my skinny jeans to go with that?” I asked, trying not to laugh.

“Do you think I could pull it off?” Seamus asked, his eyes were flicking all over the apartment, probably looking for some kind of mirror. Actually I totally think I could rock a kilt with this.

I dissolved into giggles at that and then hated myself for my making my head ache again.

“Where’s Parvarti?” I asked. I need some of her wonderful muggle painkillers.

“I didn’t see her when I brought you here,” said Seamus, he shrugged, I gave him a puzzled look.

“Then how did you get in?”

“Your spare key is under your front mat,” said Seamus as if the answer was obvious. “Besides the fact that I am a skilled wizard and can open any locked thing.”

Ugh, Parvarti did tell me that the mat was too obvious. Now I’ll have to find a new place for the key.

“Was she in the bar?” I asked him, starting to get worried.

“No, or else I would have given you to her,” said Seamus, he sat beside me on the couch and I fought the urge to look down his v-neck to see his abs. It would have been too obvious and besides I’m all about being subtle.

“So where is she? Did we lose her? Did Hulk get her drunk? Did he get her pregnant? I’m too young to be a Godmother!” I said, grabbing Seamus by the shoulders and shaking him.

“Who’s Hulk?”

“Some bouncer named Nick, I just call him Hulk.”

“Patil got some?” Seamus asked, he looked pretty surprised. “I thought she was all feminist and ‘no sex with commitment.’”

“So did I, but apparently men with deep voices change that,” I said shrugging my shoulders. “I need a drink.”

“There’s some pink crap in the refriedgator, would you like some?”

“That’s lemonade Seamus, can you get me some?” I asked.

“Sure,” said Seamus, he smiled and patted me gently on the back. “Today must be pretty rough for you.”

“Thanks for taking me home though,” I said, smiling at him as he got me a cup of pink sugary stuff.

I love pink sugary stuff. Especially in liquid form.

“No problem,” said Seamus, he shrugged. “It was a decent thing to do, you were being harassed-”

“I remember that!”

“And the least I could do after punching your boyfriend in the face was to take you home.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said quickly. “I didn’t even know that guy.”

“Yeah I guessed as much,” said Seamus, sitting back down and handing me my mug. “But, you know, it’s good to guess, just in case.”

“Was that girl at the bakery your girlfriend then?” I asked, crossing my toes underneath the blanket.

“Yeah,” said Seamus, he looked awestruck that he could have a girlfriend that like, I wanted to throw my pink lemonade at him.

“Do you know she has fake boobs?”

“What?” Seamus asked, he looked confused. “She has what?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Nothing, the important thing is that we find Parvarti.”

“Her boobs are not fake!” Seamus said, he sounded horrified that I would even say such a thing.

Sure they aren’t.

“I know, I know, I was thinking of someone else, I’m sorry Seamus,” I said, lying through my teeth. “We just need to find Parvarti.”

“We aren’t finding anyone, you are finding someone and I’m not helping you because you insulted my girlfriend,” said Seamus, he crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.

“Yes Seamus, she has fake boobs, it’s painfully obvious!” I yelled. “Ask Parvarti, it’s physically impossible for a girl to have that small of a waist and that kind of chest.”

“I’d rather not talk about this with you,” said Seamus, not looking at me.

“Fine,” I said, not looking at him either.

There was an awkward pause that was interrupted by loud yelling and laughing that was coming from the outside of my front door, and then the door opened.

And in came Parvarti with a man that looked like he had his own superhero comic book series. Parvarti’s hair was a mess and all the buttons on her shirt were mismatched, she didn’t even notice that Seamus and I were sitting on the couch she was too  busy eye-snogging with her new boyfriend Super Mc. Super Pants.

Actually I’ll have to ask Parvarti about whether or not he really is Mr. Super Pants.

“Hey Lavender,” said Parvarti, finally noticing me. “Where’s my leather jacket?”

And that was when I puked on the carpet, at least afterwards my head felt a lot better.


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