Bugger, bugger, bugger.
My short legs could hardly support me any longer; my chest had started heaving. Dammit Lysander, you perfect git. I could've handled those dimwitted Crabbe and Goyle idiots by myself. I collapsed against the wall and gulped in air like a newborn guppy. Segregation hasn't been popular since The Golden Trio, and those bloody pricks thought they could belittle me because I'm a half-blood. HAH! Red curls tangled around my face as I attempted to cajole my adrenaline-filled heart. My hands fisted into two fists and a slightly indelicate snarl graced my face, my flushed and oh-so-Weasley face. Idiot prats. They shouldn't be insulting the Head Girl. I could have them write a 60 inch essay on how illiterate they are. Or how castration is a viable source of punishment. A smirk grew on my face as I imagined the reactions I would receive from those twits.
But reminiscing about that incident made me think of HIM, ugh stupid him. Even if I spent half the morning trying to tame my mane, it wouldn't end up nearly as effortless as his brown locks. Yesterday, when I found myself staring at his diligent form hovering over a Transfiguration essay, one particularly long fringe fell over his dreamy, blue eyes. Bloody fringe, it was blocking my view. If he is ever within a 3 meter radius of me, you can bet my concentration would be shot to hell. But, crap, those damn eyes. Lysander wasn't too much of a lady's man, but he was infamous for his orbs because GOD, they were comparable to the Pacific Ocean. I mean, they just reeled you in and laughed at you for drowning in the Great Lake. Of course, he does have one certain competition, but since when did Ferret Jr. even qualify as a human? Yeah, his gunmetal eyes are the epitome of calm and cool, plus they're surrounded by those eyelashes that could put most girls to shame, but Malfoy's personality just threw that whole top-model image down the drain. Why would the gods even consider placing such a horrid, pratty person in my life? Doesn't even help that we have to share a common room; in the middle of the night, I would sometimes see him asleep looking ador-insufferable in that unbuttoned shirt. But really, it should be normal for me to appreciate an attractive guy. Merlin knows that Amelia Longbottom does it enough, yapping over his "quidditch-toned body that made her nights unbearable" and how she wanted him to "help her with her goddamn Divination homework", which even Albus could do.
A voice broke my fury-filled reverie-a voice that I've grown too accustomed to over this past semester. There he was, my bane in a nutshell, leaning against the wall and smirking down at me. Scorpius Malfoy. Since when did he get so bloody tall? I composed myself and elegantly stood up, attempting to look as emotionless as he did. But even at my full height, I was at least a head shorter than that bleeding bum. His arms were crossed, and he was still inspecting me with his mirthful eyes.
"Well, Weasley, seems like you had a breakdown because of your insatiable hunger for me. Don't worry, I'm here now, though I usually go for females who are more," he glanced at my uncontrollable curls and blazing eyes, "willing." I gulped silently, internally shuddering at the accuracy of his comment. For a moment I considered the possibility that he read my mind. Not probable, but definitely possible. That was an irritating feat in itself.
I thrusted my chin up and stared directly into his eyes, blue clashing with silver. "Your concern is much appreciated Malfoy, but I tend to direct my attention to guys who can keep their gazes off of themselves." Giving him an ironically sweet smile, I stomped away to Potions, which I was already late to. I was about to pat myself on the shoulder for a dramatic exit well done, until I remembered that Malfoy and I had identical schedules. I groaned as that narcissistic bastard came sauntering in the room behind me.
"My apologies Professor, the heads were asked to coordinate the Christmas party. Professor McGonagall told me to inform you of our tardiness," Malfoy stated smoothly as I stood there trying to remember how to inhale oxygen and turn it into carbon dioxide.
Professor Vane looked up from her Witch Weekly magazine, one that was adorned with the Tutshill Tornados' captain. "No problem. Get to your seats and read about the effects of Veritaserum and how it can be prevented. I want a sketch and a 60 inch essay by tomorrow."
As I walked to my seat in the front of the classroom, still in a daze from Malfoy's rather disturbing ability to string lies together, the devil himself stooped down to my height and whispered in my ear.
His scent engulfed me, something incredibly spicy and comforting (I found this rather unnerving), yet intoxicating and just damn irresistible. I sucked in air as his perfect lips fell unnaturally close to my ear. Subconsciously, I could feel my body betraying me and leaning slightly into Malfoy's welcoming mass of a chest. And if you wanted to know, yes, that stupid prat's body was as warm and inviting as Amelia described it to be. "Next time you daydream over Scamander, be prepared with a reasonable explanation because I won't always be there at your disposal," his voice lowered and roughened.
After processing the noticeable effect that Malfoy's voice had on my mental and physical state, I whipped back to interrogate the blonde git who made me as weak-willed as Lily with Sugar Quills. And you know what he was doing? He was completing his goddamn assignment like Vane asked him to, like the model Head Boy he is. I bet he was secretly plotting ways to make me look like a leper in front of Lysander. My eyes narrowed at his well-built, sigh I admit it, frame. What an arsehole. Those two shirt flaps make him look like a thestral ready to take flight. Hehehe a blonde thestral. A bloody sexy one at that.
Mmmmmmmm Scorpius, since when did you start roaming the Common Room with only a pair of handmade silk boxers? It must be lonely over there, all by yourself. What the hell. Malfoy, why are you smiling at someone other than me? IS THAT AMELIA? Gods Scorpius, if I wasn't so repulsed by you sucking faces with that bimbo extraordinaire, I would say you actually look mildly attractive today. Oh thank Merlin, the snogfest is finished. "Weasley," a seductive drawl came from the blonde. Disheveled hair fell into the danger zone right before piercing eyes. "Weasel," his chanting progressively got louder. I fingered the tumble of curls resting on my shoulder and frowned. I even tried out the new spell that mum sent me over Christmas. But alas, I still merely resembled an overweight mammal on fire.
"WEASLEY." My eyes shot open, and I rocketed out of my present position to a current one 15 feet away. From my peripherals, I spotted Danica Lewis (she was rumored to be pregnant with a 98 year old goblin's baby) and the bed that I was peacefully musing on a couple minutes ago. Did I get my period during class because I'm bloody sure I just had mine two weeks ago. It must be those treacle tarts.
Not until I felt a low groan and a firm pressure on my lips did I realize that I was situated on top of a human. A comfortable human, but still not a rigid, piece of wood. Unless wood is warm and delectable-smelling. Gods, it is my period isn't it. C'mon Rose, you're a confident woman. Look up and cuss that wanker off for getting in the way of your seat. Glancing up, which was a bit difficult because of a Mr. Someone who had an iron grip on my chin, I opened my eyes and began flailing my arms in panic.
Beneath me was a very preoccupied, very egotistical, and very git-like Scorpius. Who was only wearing handmade silk boxers.