Albus Potter and I, Gwendolyn Lewis, would never get along. The minute I found out he was Head Boy I congratulated him. The minute he found out I was Head Girl, he went straight to McGonagall and complained. It was rather entertaining; especially when he realised that a whole bunch of students, were in the office. I still laugh at the memory now. He just, well, blushes. Our first conversation went like this, in our Head's common room. We have to share a room. He didn't like the idea.
"Okay, rule one. This is my side of the room," He pointed at a line of duct tape going straight down the exact center of the room, a small rectangle stopping around the door. That was the "sharing space" and were "people entered" he told me. "And you don't cross it and I don't go onto your side."
"Ever?" I asked him, amused. He didn't recognize the amusement in my voice though.
"Never."
"Okay, what's the exception?"
"…Exception…?" The word sounded foreign.
"Yes, there's always an exception to every rule." He stared at me like I was joking.
"Okay, say if there was a crazy axe murderer or a bunch of ravenous werewolves on your side of the room, I can't just yell instructions at you, especially if you're dead. So, I can't cross the line and drag your body outside the room before you get bloodied up too badly, so we can still make some ashes from you for your funeral. And if your brother comes back to prank you, and I wake up surprisingly just because his aurora is so magical, I could easily save you from humiliation—"
"OKAYOKAYOKAY! If there are werewolves, my older brother, or a murderer who is bloodthirsty, only then can you cross The Line."
"Can I cross it when there's werewolves, your older brother and a murderer who is bloodthirsty, or is that just out of the question?" He rubbed his eyes.
"Yes." He then stalked out of the dorm.
The next month went like this, him making up stupid rules and me always finding exceptions for them. His face just went red whenever "ex-" exited my mouth. By the end of the month, he had found 686 rules that I had to abide by, and he remembered them all, their numbers and everything--even the exceptions.
I wandered down to the Transfiguration classroom to hold detention. Apparently a bunch of students in Binns' class had received a month's detention. It was amusing, and I wanted to know what they had done. I walked in the door to hear:
"What are you wearing?"
"Pajamas, Potter. And I'm carrying ice cream. My hair is indeed up and you can stop gawking at my beauty, not that I mind, of course," I gave him a woofy grin and a sexy wink. He blushed and went back to reading a large history book. I sat down on one of the desks of the detention-ee. He was grinning up at me.
"So, what did you do to land your self in here?" I asked. Potter's voice, of course, interrupted.
"You can't talk to them!" He practically screamed. Not breaking eye contact from the very cute detention-ee, and already knowing the answer to the question, I asked,
"And just why not?"
"Because it's against the rules."
"No. Actually you don't have a rule for this…yet," I told him, finally looking at him.
"Well, fine then. No talking to anyone serving detention—'
"The exception being time-travels, people we fancy, or aliens," I continued on.
"Time travels? Aliens? People we fancy?"
"It could happen!" I told him, turning back to the boy. "So, did you plead innocent?" I asked. Potter opened his mouth, his face going completely red, but then he shut it and held his book firmly in front of his face for the rest of the night.
"Nope. I'm a bad, bad boy," He told me, leaning forwards. I nodded, and let out a loud laugh.
"I tried telling McGonagall that in third year, it didn't go over too well," I replied. He let out a loud laugh this time.
"Seriously?"
"Yep, the exact words. She told me she reminded me of student she once had…"
"Did she say which student?" He asked, flicking some stray hair out of his eyes.
"What? Are you scared of some competition?" I asked, a smirk coming to my face.
"No, of course not. Just, she told me that, too," He shrugged it off casually.
"I told her 'Yes, I am a sexy man who frequently escapse ministry officials. I'm just too bad'."
"You think bad boys are sexy, huh?"
"Sure, besides the fact that they're smart enough to escape from jail, they're actually pretty hot," I shrugged.
"Rule 23#," Potter extracted through his teeth. I couldn't help but snigger.
"Technically, I haven't slept with him, nor have I dated him and I haven't had a crush on him. He isn't my dad, or your brother and he isn't a character of a book," I told him, immediately and without a pause.
"Can I make a rule?" I asked him.
"No. Rule 687, you can make no rules—"
"On the exception that we fall madly and passionately in love then I get 10 rules with absolutely no exceptions unless I agree—" He snorted and said, "Done."
"If I knew you were gonna make it 10, I would of raised the number," I told him, trying to earn a reply from him.
"You could make it ten thousand and it wouldn't make a difference—"
"What does that mean?" I asked, my arms crossing themselves.
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."
"No, it means something? What? Do you have DTDOL or something?" I asked sarcastically.
"What's DTDOL?" He asked, rolling his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.
"It's—argh, nevermind. Basically, it means you can't love, and therefore you make yourself unlovable. But…unless you're telling me that I can't be loved—?"
"You're not my type, that's all."
"Oh, lookie here, Potter has a type. What's that? Incest and balls?" I asked him.
"No attitude, no daftness—"
"No humor, no sex before marriage. We get it. My grandma would by a prime candidate."
"Oh, and what's your "type", then?"
"Someone who understands you have to show the world love," I replied, quickly. He laughed at that reply.
"No guy will ever understand that. Good luck—"
"I don't need your luck, because in fact I've got a date tomorrow night," I told him, honestly. I was just gonna sneak out, shove some cookies into his mouth, but this seemed right at the time. Anger makes people do crazy things.
"Oh really? With who?" He asked, sarcastically. I saw curiosity and jealousy in his eyes. I smirked, and went over to the corner.
"Why do you care?"
"Because I don't believe you—"
"Just like I don't believe you. You are so jealous, Potter."
"I-I-I—"
"Want to make a new rule?" I sniggered. I could be mean. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to plan my outfit for tomorrow night." The door slammed after me. I heard a voice say, "Man, she's hot!" A voice replied, "Shut up! You're in detention."
I, Albus Severus Potter, just couldn't get Gwendolyn off of my mind. So what if she was out on a date? So what if she kissed him? So what if I was insanely jealous that I was pacing backwards and forwards across the floor making it squeak? I stopped pacing immediately.
"I don't care about her. She is stupid, she is gross, she is…so beautiful and funny and smart and—She hates me! She's out with some other guy! Not here with me! What kind of idiot leaves me? And now I'm talking to myself. Well that's just bloody great. Okay, Albus, on the count of three you shall magically stop talking to yourself. 1, 2, 3…Yes! It worked! Damn. Okay, it's Friday night. What to do? What to do? HOMEWORK! Oh, why doesn't someone just yell out eureka?! STOP TALKING TO YOURSELF! STOP IT NOW! NOW, I SAY NOW! DAMN YOU, I HATE YOU! I AM YOU! WHY AM I STILL TALKING TO MYSELF?! Because you're mentally unstable and everything. Okay, go to your happy place Albus, now," I shut my eyes, closing myself off from the red common room that I shared with Gwendolyn, the walls lined with bookcases, the wooden floor lined with red carpets, the fire place and comfy red chairs, and thought of my happy place.
My happy place consisted of my reading a book to Gwendolyn and she just laughed and smiled in my arms, not even playing attention to the book. In my happy place, she loved me, too. In my happy place she gazed at me because she wanted to, not because it was only polite. In my happy place she—I got pushed over and fell backwards over the coffee table. I looked up at my friends and scowled.
"Sorry, you were in your happy place, again," Scorp smirked at me. Max and Scott nodded their heads in agreement. I grumbled and stood up.
"So, where is fair lady Gwendolyn?"
"On a date," I muttered, crossing my arms and sitting down.
"Oh, Albus don't grumble like a child," Rose snapped at me.
"It's not my fault—" I stopped complaining with her glare. "Well, it isn't," I added under my breath.
"Albus, I overheard her friends talking. Why are you setting up all of these rules?" She sat down, laying a supportive hand on my knee.
"Because if I don't she'll find out what an idiot I am! If she finds my diary she'll think I'm some sort of stalker—"
"Which you are," Scott added.
"If she sees the presents I've bought her but haven't given to her, she'll think I'm in love with some other woman--"
"Which I hope you are," Max told me, glaring playfully. Max had always teased me about being in love with his second cousin.
"And if she finds out anything more about me she'll obviously hate me and will never want to talk to me again. It will hurt less if she hates the rules, than if she hates me," I finished.
"The boy has logic," Scorp told them.
"Of course he does, it's Al—" Max began.
"If you call me that, I'll punch you!" I snapped, stopping the nickname of 'Al'.
"C'mon, Big Al—" My fist collided with Scott's nose. I apologized and sat down again. Rose fixed his nose and gave me a glare. Changing the subject, we spent the remainder of the time talking about random stuff. At about midnight, Gwendolyn came in.
"Hey people. Wassup?" She asked, grinning. My heart beat twice as hard and sweat appeared on my hands. I gripped onto my shirt so I couldn't wipe a hand through my hair; it would, surely, give me away. "Goodnight," I said shortly, before standing up and leaving.
"Don't you want to know how my date went?" She asked, skipping in front of me. Merlin, she was too beautiful. I looked down at her gorgeous almond-shaped, chocolate brown eyes, and her beautiful heart-shaped face, her full lips, her cute, round nose, her high cheekbones, her long dirty blonde lashes that matched the colour of her wild layers.
"No," I managed to choke out quickly, before rushing past her. She stood in front of me, again, and tortured me more by listening to her soft, laughing bell-like voice recall her date with…Timmy Hampton. What the hell was up with his name? And how did he get off stealing hearts of innocent, unsuspecting girls and tearing them apart? And where did he think Gwendolyn was going to touch him? I growled and threw myself onto my bed, and started punching my pillow, thinking it's his face.
"Jeez, if I didn't know any better I'd have to say you were a little bit angry. Don't worry, I'll find you a date. Nighty, night, Potter."
I could have told her I loved her, I could have told her I didn't need those dates, I could have told her what I wanted to do with her.
Instead, I punch my pillow.
Great, Albus.
Just great.