Tattling is based upon the Harry Potter series written by JK Rowling. All characters and situations other than my own are sole property of Bloomsbury Publishing, Arthur A. Levine Books, and Raincoast Books [Copyright©1995 to present]
She's a Slytherin. A really gorgeous Slytherin, but a Slytherin none the less. Even with her crisp, wavy black hair and her intoxicating hazel eyes, she's still a Slytherin. A Slytherin. Slytherins only date within their house, right? And they're evil, awful, backstabbing people. So… why do I feel like this? This heart-wrenching feeling I just can't get over: I mean, I barely even know her. I know her name. Emily Beckins. Emily Marie Beckins. Rolls off your tongue, right? I know her name, and that's about it. I know what she looks like – obviously – and I know that she's one hell of a Beater for the Quidditch team. I know she excels in everything, and she's currently dating Lucius.
Oh, yeah. Lucius. I had forgotten about that tiny, itty bitty, insignificant detail. She's dating someone I despise. So why do I love her?
Oh, shit. I did not just say love.
But I did. I think I'm in love with a girl I've never even talked to before. And no, I don't mean I've talked to her when I made fun of her heavy French accent or when I poured a hair-burning potion on her head. I haven't done any of that, just for the record. I've never talked to her. This is my seventh and last year at Hogwarts… and we haven't even said a word to each other. And I know why.
It's because she's a Slytherin. A bloody Slytherin who is currently dating Malfoy. Enough said. I can't talk to her.
"Sure you can," Bloody hell! I was talking out loud? Are you kidding me?
"What, Remus?" I question, running a hand through my hair. I said that out loud. Shit dammit fuck shit… fuck.
"You can talk to her. Whoever she is, you can talk to her." Remus is quiet, and I realize I had forgotten that it was less than a week for the next full moon to come.
"Alright, man." I sat with faulty confidence in desperate attempt to diffuse the conversation. I look up from my meal, and I immediately spot her from across the hall. She is sitting with Lucius at the very end of the Slytherin table, completely alone (well, other than Lucius). They appear to be arguing, as the structure on his face is harsh, and tears tumble down her thin cheeks.
I want to go over there. I want to hug her and tell her it was okay – whatever it was. Stupid to feel such intimate feelings for someone I've never even talked to, right?
So I have my decision: I'm going to talk to her.
And I do. I do talk to her. Except it's been a week and a half later. A week and a half has passed since Emily broke up with Lucius – and I have NEVER seen anyone that furious about… well, anything. Ever. And I've seen a lot of angry people.
But there she is. Her acrylic nails are running and up down the cracks along the table she sits at, and her hair is covering up her face. She looks to be intent in whatever she happens to be reading. So I could go up and talk to her about the book, right? No, I don't even know what she's reading. So I really have nothing to go off of.
I realize a second to late that I'm suddenly standing in front of her. My question is, how did I get here? I hadn't meant to walk over… but my feet knew my true heart's desires.
She looks up. Her carmel-colored eyes stare at me, taking in my gruff appearance. She raises an eyebrow – okay, I've managed to confuse the crap out of her. Great job, Sirius. Great fucking job. You idiot.
"Hi, Emily." Oh great, now she's gonna think I'm some creepy stalker since I know her name. And I kind of am… I know how she likes her coffee and how she always takes the longer route to her class in order to avoid people she doesn't like… but that's not something I wanted her to know!
She stays quiet. I try again, "What are you reading?"
And there goes the second eyebrow. She goes back to reading. I sigh, and steal the chair next to her. I feel her tense up.
"Dickens, 'eh? Muggle literature. I didn't know you liked that kind of stuff." She likes Dickens? Muggle literature? That's crazy. She's a Slytherin – this makes no sense.
Continues to stay quiet. Oh boy, this is gonna take a lot of work.
"What happened with you and Lucius?" I try one more time. If this doesn't work, I give up. Forever. I can go find that cute little blond who's been trying to-
"He's an asshole. That's what happened." She talked to me. Looks like I found something she likes to talk about. Score.
"I'm surprised it took you so long to learn that," I smirked at her, and she looks up at me, glaring.
"I'm surprised you haven't discovered that I've turned your hair pink. It suits you, Black." She knows my name. Granted, everyone knows my name but… wait, did she say my hair is pink? Oh shit, it is. It's not even a light pink. It's hot pink. Hot, hot pink.
"I'm surprised you have such skill." I change my hair back. Her glare sharpens.
"I'm surprised you haven't left yet."
"I'm surprised you're still talking to me."
"I don't have to talk to you."
"But you are." Okay, I'm pretty determined. She was still talking to me; there was hope.
"Is there something you want, Black?" She questions me, her lips slightly parted. Man, that's hot.
"Why did you break up with Lucius?" Her sudden uncomfort is evident, but I wait for her to answer. And she does.
"I fell in love with someone else." Okay, I don't know whether to feel hopeful that with a slim possibility it's me, or to be pissed that more likely than not it's not me.
"Oh?"
"Black, what do you want?" She crosses her legs, turning her body towards me. Her tie hangs loosely from her neck, and her skirt is slightly shorter than it should be. She's probably the most seductive person I've ever met.
"Who are you in love with?" Why am I avoiding her question? I already know the answer: I have no idea what the hell I want.
She looks around the room. There's no one there. She drops her voice to a whisper, "You gonna tattle on me?"
I grin at the way she says it. She is beyond sexy. She's everything you could want in a girl… except for the fact she's a Slytherin, "Of course not. Now tell me."
She leans toward me, placing her hand on the front of my belt. As she gets closer to me, her hair brushes in my face. I can feel a discrete chill run down my spine. Suddenly, I feel her teeth biting lightly against my ear. I take in a short breath, and her tongue runs across my lobe.
"You." She leans back, sitting down, continuing to read. She's fucking with me, I know it. I can't help it, though. She's… irresistible.
"I'll be in McGonagall's classroom at 9. Meet me there." I run my hand over her shoulders, and I feel no reaction. Worth a shot.
So I leave. I leave and I pray to God she'll show up.
