I was a woman on a mission.
A deranged woman on a mission albeit, but a woman on a mission nonetheless.
I could see his stupid little pin-head bouncing along happily under that mass of thick black, wavy hair. He was laughing, I was sure; from the way his head kept tilting back, clearly one of those incessant three boyfriends he surrounded himself with had made a most highly amusing comment. A joke or comment that I was sure to incorporate some sort of bullying, misogynistic comment about the poor first year who had just dropped her books at their feet, dicks.
Not that any of that mattered; even the poor first year who, on any other occasion but today, would have got my full attention and support, and for her I would have happily have hexed all eight of their little balls off for laughing at her (and no doubt causing her to drop her books in the first place). But today even the prospect of hexing the prats gave me little comfort, the only thing that would, and oh how I wished that it was never in my life going to be this, was; talking to Black.
I was quite sure a little bit of vomit came up in my mouth every time the notion entered my mind.
I quickened my pace, which in reality was quite an effort for two reasons; one, because I was already practically running without actually running down the sodding corridor to catch up with Black, and two; because my short stumpy legs were straining, and it hurt, like a bitch. I could finally see that I was gaining on them, until I realised that in fact it was not because of my athletic skills, but rather they were slowing down in order for Lupin and Pettigrew to leave the group to go to Arithmacy. Which was good, it meant that I now only had to battle for Black’s attention with one of his boyfriends. The bad news was that it was his most adoring and loyal love of his life that was left. So I went for the only option I really had; to fuck embarrassment and shame and just call out to him, like the sodding thirteen year old squeaky girl I really was.
‘Black!’ I called.
The whole sodding corridor, of course, looked round because of course I, Callie Stebbins was calling for Black, (which usually meant drama/ a fight/ a hexing battle/ some new truths being spilled for the ears of the average Hogwarts student). What probably made the whole mass of students milling stop and stare, when really they should really have been in lessons (oh if only Lily were here), was the fact that I had called out Black’s name in an almost reasonable, un-high pitched, call, for any Hogwarts student who had ever seen when Black and I met, I’m sure they thought the apocalypse was coming.
But nothing happened.
Black continued to walk along the corridor with Potter (though I’m sure his pace had quickened slightly). The git had ignored me!
‘Black!’ I repeated again, my voice rising several octaves higher.
I saw Potter mutter something to Black, who nodded in return, before Potter exited into the boy’s toilets. Which in a way was good, because it meant I had no annoying boyfriends around Black when I wanted to talk to him, the bad news was I couldn’t catch up with the git.
‘Black you prick turn round and talk to me!’ I shouted.
He stopped, finally and turned to face me, allowing me to coming jogging up (wheezing) to meet him.
‘Yes Stebbins?’ He drawled lazily, as his eyes flickered over the passing swarms of students who were walking by.
‘I need to talk to you.’ I said slightly out of breath (I really was that un-fit).
‘About?’ He sighed lazily, still not meeting my eye.
‘You know what about.’ I hissed in a deadly tone.
‘Nope, sorry I don’t think I do Stebbins, I think-’
But I cut him off before he could make some highly patronising, aggravating comment. I was becoming flustered quickly by the number of pairs of eyes watching us, how hot the sun really was down this corridor and the fact that Black would still not look me properly in the eye.
‘You know exactly what I’m talking about,’ I hissed again, and he finally caught my eye (and, I’m happy to note, he looked scared shitless), ‘last night you miserable git, and the fact that you kissed me!’
He looked at me shrewdly for one moment, eyeing me closely for Merlin-knows what reason, before replying.
‘Didn’t.’ He replied childishly.
‘You did you little git.’ I hissed again becoming tireless and wanting to get to the bottom of this whole façade. I just wanted to know, had to know. But before I could ask, what I really wanted to ask; he turned on his heel and walked away quickly. Cowardly dick.
‘Oi Black! Where’d you think you’re going?’ I called.
He simply turned to look at me before continuing his prance down the bloody corridor.
‘You like me!’ I shouted becoming thoroughly irritated.
It slipped out, without even meaning too, without me ever wanting to really ask the bloody question, I’d just accused Black of liking me. And what was worse is that when he turned to face me, he wasn’t scowling, he was smirking.
‘Oh how you dream Stebbins.’ He chuckled, trying (and failing) to be the optimum of sodding cool.
‘You do!’ I shrieked like some bloody banshee on day release. Merlin knows why I was going with this, I didn’t want it to be true.
Well at least I thought I didn’t.
He stepped closer to me and in one fluid motion I felt him move me away from the prying eyes of the student body, pushing me almost forcefully into some bloody hidden corridor behind a tapestry that I assumed he had used a thousand times with his countless whores.
‘Don’t you dare man-handle me.’ I hissed, recognising at least that it probably wasn’t best that the gossiping hoards situated in the corridor adjacent to us heard our heated argument.
‘I only had to man-handle you because you were screaming,’ He snapped in a most irritant manner.
I eyed him closely noticing only then that he looked extremely flushed and flustered (not that I could count on my own appearance to be that of a demure lady’s), but not angry. Not the usual look of livid anger graced his face at that moment; he looked annoyed, but not angry, not angry in the way he had been countless times before. He seemed more concerned that there were no longer any officious ears to overhear our conversation.
‘I was not screaming.’ I hissed glaring at him in the half-light of this ridiculously small space.
‘You were.’ He replied almost childishly eyeing me closely.
‘Well there was no need to bring me into your whore lair.’ I hissed, attempting to push past him.
‘Where are you going?’ He snapped grabbing my arm, ignoring my comment (clearly it was true).
‘I, surprisingly, do not want to be caught in this sexually transmitted infection infested area with you.’ I seethed ripping my arm from his rather tight grasp.
‘Well that’s rather tough,’ He spat blocking my path with his stupid Quidditch-induced muscles (he would, if the game had not existed, been as scrawny as Lupin).
‘What is your problem?’ I growled adopting the Callie-Stebbins defence position of my two feet placed firmly on the ground and my hands curled into deadly fists.
‘My problem?’ The inane idiot choked in a most condescending fashion.
‘It’s not my fucking problem Stebbins, it’s yours!’
‘How is it?’ I almost cried becoming more flustered the longer we stayed in the small passage.
‘You were the one who was just screaming for me to admit that I like you!’ He snarled, (his usual frustration for me had returned in seconds).
I faltered, hiding behind my hair for a moment to compose my features.
‘Well evidently I was wrong, now may I please leave you so you can go and find some thirteen-year old to relieve your stress with?’ I growled pushing his chest with hidden power.
I admit I was impressed that he stumbled back slightly, I think so was he. We both looked at each other in shock; both surprised that I had any strength to even move his stocky build. But as soon as he’d realised what exactly I had done, his glare (the glare that he reserved specifically for me), if possible, hardened.
‘You were still happy to shout it out in the middle of the sodding corridor.’
‘Well you must admit I had good evidence for such a claim! You were the one who bloody kissed me.’ I snapped refusing to break his steely-grey eye contact.
‘You must be dreaming Stebbins, I believe it was you who kissed me.’ He muttered almost lazily bending down to meet my stumpy frame.
‘Oh you really do live in your own little arrogant world don’t you! You must be insane to think I would kiss you!’ I cried no longer caring who over-heard us.
‘Maybe I did kiss you.’ He shrugged leaning against the wall behind him (how he managed it in such a tight space I did not know.)
I smiled triumphantly (though Merlin-knows why admitting that Black kissed me was a good thing), opening my mouth to reply, but Black evidently had more to say as he cut me off before I even managed to begin to gloat that I had for once won the argument.
‘But I don’t remember you stopping me from kissing you; in fact you kissed me back.’ He goaded looking at me closely, though no trace of a smirk could be found on his pretty-boy features any longer.
‘As if.’ I snarled turning from him in my anger.
‘Liar.’ I heard him call to me.
‘Stop making up these little lies to fill up your mundane little world Black.’ I snapped at him, not to even bothering to look at him.
I felt him walk up behind me, his towering form casting me into darkness in the barely lit passageway. He was closer than I would have ever have liked and I knew that he had bent slightly so that his lips were in line with my ear as I felt is hot breath on my bare neck.
‘So if I was to kiss you again, you wouldn’t kiss me back?’ He breathed, in a rather coarse and crude voice.
I whipped round to face him, crashing into his chest as I forgot in the flood of anger how close behind me he really was. I looked up at him glaring at his sheer stupidity at suggesting such a thing.
‘You dare!’ I threatened, attempting to fish my wand from my robes.
But the tight passageway, and the fact that Black was so close to me, meant that my movement did not go unnoticed, undoubtedly Black had felt my hand brush past his own in my dire need to grab my wand and hex the prat’s balls off. His ridiculously fast reflex’s (most probably from the years spent having to grab his clothes in a flash as he escaped the night before’s one-night stand) meant that he grabbed my hand as it brushed the folds of my pocket.
‘Don’t be an idiot for once in your life Stebbins.’ He said almost huskily, pulling my hand lazily up above my head.
But the fool had of course forgotten that the human anatomy provides two hands (he had only ever been concerned in the reproductive organs), allowing me to slap his face with my other hand. He jolted from the force of the strike (and I was once again impressed with my own strength) instantly dropping the hand he had previously had a tight hold of. He looked flabbergasted, I could see his mouth opening and closing in shock, and I could see a scarlet streak beginning to form across his left cheek. At least it would match the colours of his tie.
He straightened up to face me, glaring his most livid and savage glower. He came, if possible in the small space, closer to me so that his face was so close to mine I could once again appreciate how deep those grey irises really were. I was, for once; honestly frightened that the boy would hit me, I had, to be fair, bitch-slapped him, but I feared what sort of fatal blow he would administer to me. And in the fear of it, my irrational adrenaline-induced brain chose to raise my left hand again, poised to strike once more.
But for the second time that evening I felt his hand grab my own, mid-movement, and I caught his stare. He was no longer glaring, though in all fairness he wasn’t bloody smiling either, I had just attempted to slap him for second time in the space of five minutes. His eyes, the only real feature to look for on Black to show his real emotions, were indescribable, his emotions were unfathomable, I had no clue what he would do.
His hand still tightly held my own, gripping my wrist so that I was unable to move it (or take another swing at him), he was looking at me closely. And then suddenly he acted, pushing my hand back so that it hit the wall, whilst his hips pushed my body back the little space that was between me and the wall behind.
And suddenly his lips were on mine, searing me with a passionate heat, one that I had not felt since the last time that I felt his lips upon my own. His right hand continued to pin my own to the wall, whilst the other roughly pushed its way down my body before slipping beneath my school shirt and gripping my hip tightly. It was as though all his frustration and anger at me was being released in this kiss, his rough ravage of my body was expressing all of his emotions, and yet, in the very depths of my brain, it was still the best kiss of my life.
What was worse was that I was responding to his rough touch, I found that my hands were raking his hair in a manner that I had never expected of myself. I could feel my hands clawing at his school shirt, gripping the skin that was found beneath, allowing for there to be fingernail marks left on his smooth skin.
Not that my skin wasn’t entirely unblemished. His lip’s were, at that moment, most likely leaving a rather large purple bruise upon the bare skin at the base of my neck, whilst I was sure my hip would be sporting a bruise to match that on my neck from the way his own hips were pushing me further into the wall.
I could feel his cold hand travel further up my body as his lips found mine once more, it was as though the raw anger of six years was finally being realised in this one moment. And what was worse, I knew we were both enjoying it.
After several long moments – or it might have been half an hour – or possibly several sunlit days – we finally surfaced for air. I was unable to tear my gaze from his own captivating eyes that were shining brightly in the dimly-lit passageways. He rested his two hands on the wall on either side of my head, making sure (and I knew he was doing it on purpose) that I felt every part of his body pressed against my own without any of his weight. Such close contact (i.e. Black grounding himself so firmly against me that I felt every inch of his fat-free body, oh how I loathed the boy), meant that I noted the way our chests were both heaving from our lip’s embrace.
He smirked down at me (I had to bloody strain my neck to see his face, compared to me, he really was tall, to any other person I’m sure he was average height). I could see every ounce of his peremptory, pompous, pretentious-self once more in that smirk and all my old feelings of abhorrence for the boy rushed back to me.
But for once, I realised, I shared his smirk, mirrored it in fact. And I was sure for once I looked as vainglorious and conceited as he was. My own smirk was practically splitting away from my face in pure arrogance from this little victory. He looked down at me, still smirking; the boy knew no other facial expression, whilst raising an eyebrow at me in questioning at my apparent glee.
‘Yes Stebbins?’ He said gruffly, still evidently trying to catch his breath.
‘Apparently I was right.’ I smirked looking up at him as his eyes lit with amusement.
‘Evidently.’ He replied brining his lips to meet my own once more.
I’ve been infected with restless whispers and cheats,
That manifested in words and lies that you speak
Disclosure – F For You
Reader: I hope you enjoyed it, as many of you were practically screaming for it! And I also hope you noted the direct nod to Harry and Ginny’s first kiss in there too ;) Please read and review.