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Scandal by ShieldSnitch3
Chapter 1 : Initiation
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 6

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James Potter II is the bane of my existence.

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. I’m overreacting. It’s just one of those ‘love-hate’ relationships.


I am not overreacting.

He is literally the devil. I’m serious. Describing him as the spawn of Satan wouldn’t do him justice. He's actually the worst person to ever walk the face of this planet. I’m talking worse than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, people. Potter is an endless pit of evilness that destroys light just by looking at it.

All right, you believe me now. I really don’t like James Potter. But why?

Well, I’ll tell you why.

He sucks.

And for some reason, I’m the only person in school who can see it. Everyone else is so obsessed with perfect James Potter that they’re blind to the fact that he’s a little demon child who stole the skin of some poor defenseless human so he can walk among us. I really don’t understand how no one else sees it. It’s like he’s got them under some sort of spell.

Everyone loves him, or at least knows of him. From the nerds to the jocks to the rabid fangirls, he’s got every clique in school covered. I swear on Merlin’s mystic bowling shoes that last year Marion Magloire legitimately tried to get me to join his fan club. His fan club.

Depending on who you ask, you’ll get a different description of Potter. The nerds, for example, will tell you that he’s the dumbest prick to get sorted into Gryffindor since, well, ever (half true). The jocks will tell you that he’s a menace both on and off the pitch, and he’s got the enemies to prove it (mostly true). The rabid fangirls will tell you that he’s the sexiest thing they’ve seen since that photo spread of international Quidditch star Jeremy ‘Abs’ Atkinson came out in Witch Weekly (totally, completely, absolutely not true).

And if you ask me?

Well, I’ll tell you that he’s the single foulest creature to crawl out of the primordial ooze (one hundred percent true).

Everything about him makes me shudder with repulsion. The way he smirks with one corner of his mouth turned up. The way he struts around the halls. The way he cracks his knuckles. The way he drums his fingers on the table.

It’s all so utterly obnoxious. I didn’t even think it was possible for finger drumming to be obnoxious. But somehow, Potter has achieved it.

Congragu-bloody-lations, Potter. How does it feel to be such a winner?

tap tap tap

Dear God, someone shoot me.

tap tap tap

Potter is, of course, drumming his fingers against the hard wooden surface of a library table. Obnoxiously. I mean, it’s not like people are trying to study in here or anything.

tap tap tap
obnoxious obnoxious obnoxious

Each rap of his fingers beats into my brain a little bit harder, testing my patience. But, as any good girl would do, I bite my lip and steel myself against reacting. I will not give in. That’s exactly what he’s trying to get me to do, and I never give him anything that he wants.

tap tap tap
obnoxious obnoxious obnoxious

The sound burns a tattoo into my head, making it utterly impossible to concentrate. Bloody tosser.

tap tap tap
obnoxious obnoxious obnoxious

“Potter,” I hiss.

The drumming stops.


tap tap tap
obnoxious obnoxious obnoxious



The sound of his voice literally makes me want to gouge my own eyes out. I’ve actually been conditioned so that anytime I hear it, my body immedatiely starts having a physical reaction similar to the symptoms of the flu. Honest to God, I am not making this up.

My eyes practically spit fire as I slam my book down on the table and glare at him, even though I take great pains to avoid looking at Potter whenever possible. He meets my gaze, mocking me ever so slightly as I attempt to stare him down. Wanker.

Must not blink. Must not blink. Must not blink.

Eyes. Watering.

Mustnotblink. Mustnotblink. Mustnotbl -

I blink. Potter smirks.

But it’s not just any smirk. Oh, no. It’s the Smirk. The one that he’s specially designed to piss me off. No, seriously. He sat in front of a mirror for three and a half hours to create different variations of the Smirk, then tested each and every one on me during a Charms lesson in fifth year. The redder they made my face, the more points they scored.

I mean, honestly. What kind of a nut job does something like that?

“You know, Mitchell, if you keep staring at me like that, people might think that you actually like me.”

“You know, Potter, if you keep staring at my chest like that, people might think that you’re actually a pervert - oh, wait.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Mitchell. You have nothing to stare at.”

My jaw literally drops an inch in rage as his smirk twists farther up the left side of his mouth, dark hazel eyes glinting mischievously. That fucking bastard.

“Left you speechless, have I?” he taunts.

“Yes. Speechless at your jackassery.”

“Ooh, good one. Did you learn that in primary school?”

“At least I could pass primary school.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Oi, stuff it,” Nate Dawson moans as he drops into the chair beside me.

Typical. Potter and his sodding Quidditch team are inseparable. Honestly, it’s like they’re in some kind of creepy cult and Potter is its leader. How he made Captain, I’ll never know.

“Are you two going at it again?” Luke Chambers asks, sliding into to the seat next to Potter.

Dawson and Chambers are both Chasers on the Gryffindor Quidditch team along with Potter. The three of them always travel in a pack and hang out together constantly; it’s almost like they’re attached at the bloody hip. You really can’t get one of them alone without the other two tagging along. Annoying as hell, all three of them.

Potter smirks (yes, again) as Chambers’ words ring throughout the library. I swear it’s the only facial expression he knows how to make. Well, that and one of sheer stupidity.

“We can hardly keep our hands off of each other,” he drawls.

Oh, God. Disturbing mental images. I will never be able to unsee that.

Chambers grins at the look of horror on my face and shifts forward in his seat, eyes flickering between Potter and I. “Here’s what I don’t understand -”

“I’m sorry, Chambers. I don’t have time to explain everything to you,” I cut in snidely.

“- if you two hate each other so much, then why do you spend so much time together?”

“Oh, like it’s my fault that he’s my bloody stalker?”

Potter leans forward on his elbows, staring directly into my eyes. Please excuse me while I vomit. Ugh. Looking at him for extensive periods of time makes me ill.

“I’m sorry,” Potter says slowly, “but I believe that I was sitting here first.”

“I’m sorry, but I believe that this is the table I always sit at,” I shoot back hotly. I’ll be damned if I give up my table just because of him. Bastard.

And then - oh, how rich is this - he drums his fucking fingers on the table.

tap tap tap
obnoxious obnoxious obnoxious

“Potter, if you drum your fingers on the table one more bloody time -”

tap tap tap
obnoxious obnoxious obnoxious

“Stop. Now,” I hiss venomously.

Potter smirks. But really, what else was new?

“That’s not what you said last night.”

Chambers and Dawson burst out into to a fit of wild sniggers as they gaze at me and my growing rage. Bloody pervs. I swear to Godric, all the blokes on the Gryffindor Quidditch team are sex-crazed morons.

“You make my blood boil,” I spit out, glowering at him.

Tremble under my glower, Potter!


Potter’s smirk grows ever so slightly up the left side of his face. “I always knew I made you hot, Mitchell.”

Ugh, you fuc-”

“Oi, enough bickering! I’m trying to study over here,” the Gryffindor Beater, Cade Williams, calls out from a table to our right.

Ha! Williams trying to study. That’s a good one. The blokes’s got fewer brains than Potter, and trust me, that is saying something.

“Williams,” I say sweetly, turning to face him, “the day you try to study is the day I shag Potter.”

Chambers and Dawson both groan at my words, and my eyes immediately flit back over to His Royal Prattiness. Yeah, probably not the best sentence I could have said.

I really should start thinking before I speak.

Potter stands up and slowly makes his way around the table towards me, a glint in his eyes that I know all too well. It’s The Look. The Look that Potter has when he goes on the prowl. The Look that makes hearts shatter and girls melt to the floor.

“Potter,” I warn, pointing my finger at him as I back away slowly.

“Mitchell,” he murmurs in kind, placing one foot in front of the other at an agonisingly slow rate.

I scurry backwards to hide amongst the shelves of the library as he approaches menacingly, looking like a demon straight out of the darkest corners of my nightmares. One hand reaches for his tie, and he slowly loosens it in that trademark ‘come hither’ bad boy way of his.

“You can run but you can’t hide, Mitchell,” Potter calls out as I dart behind one of the book stacks.

I know Potter isn’t serious about this - honestly, we can’t stand each other - but it’s still enough to make my skin crawl. He knows how that whole ‘sexy (psht, yeah right) seduction’ thing of his irritates the hell out of me. It’s disgusting, infuriating, and degrading.

...which is exactly why he does it to me.

“There you are, Mitchell,” Potter says, ambling slowly down the aisle towards me.


My back hits the hard edge of the bookshelf, and Potter leans both of his arms against it, pinning me between them. He allows his eyes to skim slowly up my body, finally coming to a rest when he locks them with mine. Bloody tosspot.

“Sod off, Potter,” I mutter, averting my gaze.

“Ouch. That hurts, Mitchell. Especially since you seemed to enjoy my company so much last night.”

“Why do you keep saying that? Is it because you know it bothers me? Honestly, if you think that I would ever -”

“What do you remember about last night?”

Wow. Rude much? Did Satan not teach him manners when he was just a tiny spawn?

“Potter, I was smashed out of my mind last night. I don’t remember a thing.”

Potter smirks. And that’s when it hits me.

Oh, Merlin, no.


“You’re right. You were so drunk last night. Luckily for you, I remember everything. Every. Single. Detail.”

“Potter,” I say, voice shaking, “what did we do last night?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he whispers, lips brushing against my ear with every word.

A small whimpering noise comes out of my mouth, and my heartbeat spikes as his breath floats across my skin. I think I'm actually going to be sick. Like, seriously. I’m not kidding this time.

Kill me now.

“If you think whatever happened between us when I was drunk changes a thing, you’re stupider than I thought. And trust me, that is a difficult feat to achieve.”

“You know, you intrigue me, Mitchell. You’re feisty. Just like last night.”

Dear God.

“You will be mine, Ella Mitchell,” he growls into my ear.

I whimper again, and Potter shoves himself away from the bookshelf, finally freeing me. With a smirk, he then proceeds to turn away from me and saunters back to his cult of sniggering Quidditch players.

Cue: eye roll.

Honestly, I can’t believe I fell for that little lie of his. There is no way in the name of Merlin’s sweet boxers that I would ever do anything with him, sober or not. Just no. He’s nothing more than a prick who’s trying to get under my skin. That’s all.

Potter waggles his eyebrows at me as I emerge from the stacks. I glare at him, grab my bag, and march out of the library, making sure to give Cade Williams’ stack of books a quick kick as I walk by. He wasn’t using them anyway.

“Looking good, Mitchell,” Potter calls after me. “You know I love to watch you walk away.”

Gag me. Please.

Chambers and Dawson dissolve into laughter, but strangely enough, Potter does not join them. Not that I’m complaining - to me, his laugh sounds like bits of metal going through a blender - but it is a bit odd. And suspicious. And it just makes me wonder if perhaps, maybe, Potter was telling the truth.


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