Aelin tried her best to stay well away from Lysandra during Defense Against the Dark Arts. Truly, this was her favorite class and she wouldn't let that gods-damned Slytherin ruin it for her. No matter how many times that self righteous bitch smirked contemptuously at her. No matter how many times she "accidentally" sent a rogue charm hurtling at Aelin.
Aelin exercised beautiful, serene, self control. At the moment, however, it was wearing terribly thin. Lysandra was currently whispering to her minion, whom Aelin refused to learn the name of. Lysandra happened to be a terrible whisperer.
"Did you see the way Aelin was looking at Professor Hamel? Seems she still has that school girl crush. I can't believe she thinks would ever have a chance with him."
Aelin gritted her teeth. It was true that she used to have an embarrassingly obvious crush on Arobynn Hamel. And it was undeniable that she still found him attractive. But that foolish adoration had passed.
And Lysandra was one to talk. She had had a crush on him too, Aelin thought, dredging up painful memories of her and Lysandra practically clawing at eachother for his attention. She supposed that's when their rivalry started.
Now, their feuds were little ones more than hateful glances and whispered rumors. The latter mostly from Lysandra's end. Aelin preferred to use her fists.
As class ended, Aelin watched, dread coiling in her stomach, as Lysandra slinked up to her.
"Hey Aelin," she purred, flicking her luscious, dark hair behind her shoulder in an almost rehearsed fashion.
Aelin steeled herself against the urge to slap that confidence off of her face.
"What do you want, Lysandra?" she asked, annoyed.
"Why do you always assume, I want something?" Lysandra tutted, "I was actually trying to be helpful for my dear friend, Aelin. I thought maybe you'd want to hear about this."
Aelin couldn't deny her interest was peaked.
"Well get on with it," she uttered, impatient.
"Wellll..." Lysandra drew out, causing Aelin to clench her jaw in irritation, "There's a nasty rumor going around that you and Rowan Whitethorne... well, you know. Did it."
Aelin felt as if she could burst into flames. Rowan Whitethorne? That prick?
Rowan Whitethorne was Slytherin's Prince. He was rumored to have a heart of ice, and Aelin wouldn't say she didn't believe it. She couldn't remember a time when she had even spoken to him. Aelin shuddered at the thought.
Sure, he was easy on the eyes, and he had more than his fair share of girls dumping themselves at his feet. But who would believe that Aelin, Gryffindor's fiery golden girl, would ever submit herself to the charms of a Slytherin.
"Would you happen to know who started this little rumor?" Aelin questioned, not bothering to keep the accusation out of her voice.
Lysandra feigned indifference.
"I just thought you'd want to hear it for yourself," she sighed, then leaned forward, "Especially before Aedion heard of it."
Aelin mentally cursed Lysandra. She knew this rumor was her doing. Rowan Whitethorne wasn't even in her year.
Aelin now knew why Lysandra had even bothered. She knew Aedion would get into a brawl with Rowan. He couldn't afford to get another detention, or to start a bigger fight between the houses. Lysandra just had to pick one of the most muscular kids in Hogwarts.
"Rowan Whitethorne," Lysandra mused, twirling a lock of her hair, her emerald eyes distant, "Now how did you manage to do that?"
Her pretty face contorted into an ugly sneer as she glanced at Aelin.
Aelin shrugged, forcing a look of nonchalant confidence into her face as she walked towards the door. She mentally ran through all of the places she could find Aedion before this got bad.
Aelin glanced over her shoulder to see Lysandra waiting for an answer.
"I didn't. He's not really my type."