He woke to see her leave. Well, no, we woke a little before that, actually. He put on his glasses (his vision really was terrible) and the lines in front of him stopped being blurry, and turned clear, instead.
The redheaded girl was wearing a white button up shirt (his shirt) and putting on her black stockings (he did not remember stripping them out of her legs the night before, but he didn't really remember much of it.) Still, it was a beautiful sight. She was beautiful.
She rose from her spot at the end of the bed, and made her way over to the boy. Her eyes were green (not just any green, no) and her curves fit perfectly with his angular body. It really was the perfect combination (last night had proved that quite well.)
"I'll see you around." She said, kissing him on the cheek, her lips lingering just a little over necessary. He knew she wouldn't. His bedroom door (tall, wooden) clicked shut, and he could hear her car on the driveway.
They had met last night, at a pub, the Leaky Cauldron. He had been sitting on a bar stool, sipping on his beer. It was just a quarter before eleven, when he saw her slipping in.
"I'd like a gin and tonic, thank you." She had said. The bartender had required the girl's licence, for she did not look a day older than seventeen.
"Why is a girl like you drinking alone on a sunday night?" The raven haired boy had asked her.
"I could ask you the same question." The smirk on her lips made it clear she was not a little girl. "Why is a boy like you drinking alone on a Sunday night?"
She had sat down on the wooden stool next to him, and the conversation had flowed easily. H found her was cheeky, smart, and funny, and she had found him handsome, and a good sport. They had, as you lot call it, natural chemistry.
Just over two hours later, all clothing on the floor, they were fucking (for lack of a better word) on his bed.
He looked over at his alarm clock (7:25 a.m.). "Shit."
Hastily, the young man picked up his trousers, and started to get dressed. After all, it was just the second week of university, and he did not want to arrive late (well, later.) He brushed his teeth, and grabbed an apple.
The boy stopped by his usual coffee shop for the usual order (a two-shot of espresso, black) and drove away in his scarlet Bentley.
The boy parked his car, and stepped out for a cigarrette. He didn't usually smoke, only when he was feeling particulary thoughtful, or nostalgic (and today his head was a mess, it was only natural).
The girl would not leave his mind. Her red hair, her green eyes… He did not allow himself to think of her long, pale legs, or her soft chest (the legs and chest he'd seen bare only hours ago). The boy felt paranoid, he even thought he saw her, crossing the iron gates, but it wasn't possible (really), so he brushed off the idea. He could still sense her perfume (apples).
He walked past the reception. "Principal Dumbledore would like to see you." He was told.
The principal's office was very… neat. Actually, no, it wasn't. But it was an organized sort of mess (much like the boy's hair, he noted).
In front of the desk there were two cushioned chairs, and sitting on one was the redhead from the night before (and this morning). The two of them (the principal and the green-eyed girl) appeared to be in deep conversation, deep conversation that ceased as soon as Dumbledore noticed his presence.
"Good morning, James." He greeted the business major. "I'd like you to meet Lily Evans. She is a new student."
Oh, I've met her, he thought.
"Lily, was it?" He asked, throwing a charming smile in her direction.
"So you don't remember, do you?" She smirked right back at him. (But oh, he remembered.)
"Have… Have you two met each other before?" The principal looked at both teenagers, his gaze jumping from the boy to the girl, and then back at the boy.
"Not at all."