A/N: YAY NEW CHAPTER I am mucho hoping that it is not crap. Please let me know. And thanks once more for reviewing last chapter! :D
All these words we speak casually
Well, maybe I'm just weak, but it hurts me
Everything you said, well it cuts like a knife
It hurts me deep inside and I know that you are just like me
Oversensitive
I should put on my armor the next time I see you
So I won't be harmed
But I know I can shoot my own arrows, I'm sorry I hurt you
I know that like me you can be
Oversensitive
-Dangerous and Sweet, Lenka
Dear Malfoy –
No, no that sounded wrong already. I couldn't address it 'dear', that was too forward. Maybe just 'Malfoy' would be a better start to the world's most groveling apology… letter. To the man who works in the same building as me, because I am too ashamed to look him in the eye and grovel in person.
Malfoy –
But that just sounded so impersonal and cold. I decided that maybe I shouldn't bother with addressing it at all, and just jump right into the sniveling.
I'm sorry I said such cruel things at your flat. And I'm sorry that I was going to cheat on you (even though we're not even really dating) and I'm sorry that I said you were a hypocrite. And I'm sorry I didn't knock.
That had to be the worst apology the world has ever seen. It dawned on me that this was the real, true reason that I was so averse to apologizing; it's not that I have an ego problem that causes me to be unable to admit that I'm wrong, it's just that I'm so crap at begging for forgiveness and nobody likes to do things they aren't good at! Maybe if I practiced more I would have more luck… But nah. I don't think there will be much need since I plan to do nothing wrong for the rest of my life. Just needed to get this teensy tiny problem sorted out, and all would be well in the world.
I sent it. Before I could change my mind, and talk myself out of it; though, I wish I had edited it a bit more and made it sound more eloquent. However, I knew that I had a limited time to get it out of my sight before the monster inside me either ripped it to shreds or burned it or ate it or something. But I got to use our spiffy office mailing system, which made the whole situation slightly brighter.
Now that it was out of my office (and, clearly, out of my mind; I wasn't thinking for a second about whether or not he would reply or what he would say if he did) I could get down to business and finish my pump-up piece for the Cannonball regarding tomorrow's season opener. Which made my hands shake slightly just thinking about it, because I just wanted so desperately to see the Cannons make a respectable appearance for once.
There was an awful lot of speculation about the impact that Malfoy was going to have on us, and there seemed to be, for the first time in years, some actual expectations for success.
Which stressed me out completely; I just knew that Loboutin would make me write something extra 'inspiring and motivational' if the boys were to drop the game and let down basically all of mankind –
A letter zoomed into my office. Even though the door was closed firmly. Told you the mailing system was spiffy. One could only assume that it contained Malfoy's forgiveness, but as I am very busy and important and not all that interested in what he thinks of me, I refrained from reading it's contents until I got back to my apartment after work.
Or, I would at least wait until after Lunch.
But maybe it would be best to read it before Lunch, just so it won't seem like I am carrying the morning's business over to the afternoon; that's not organized at all.
Expectations are higher than they've been in years for these Chudley Cannons, and all fans are feeling that it is time for a comeback year. Will the addition of famed seeker Scorpius Malfoy be enough to bring the Cannons back to a competitive level? All the answers lie in the letter that is sitting on my desk –
Oh drat. That's not right. Well, so long as the blasted thing was distracting me from my work, the only professional and responsible option would be to just read it right away.
I'm sorry that you are an idiot. Have fun with O'Riley. Invite me to the wedding.
I felt the familiar sense of dread sweep over me as my stomach dropped down to the first floor. It's no more than you deserve. Shut up, brain. I hated him for being so snippy, and I hated myself for letting it affect me, for letting it make me want to cry.
I hated myself for caring.
"Don't you just look like a ball of sunshine this morning!"
Such was the greeting I received bright and early Saturday morning as I met Natalie in our box, ready to watch the Cannons be decimated by the Winbourne Wasps. Best thing about this job hands down, though, had to be the free season tickets in the best seats in the house. I didn't even care (sort of) that my stomach was in knots and I felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding; at least I would be able to watch the mass destruction from an excellent angle.
That's something that doesn't happen every day.
I couldn't help but be reminded, however, of the fact that there was soon to be a 'mandatory family meeting' going on that I had never said I would not be attending; I just knew that as the seconds ticked by I was digging myself a bigger hole with my parents, but I couldn't bring myself to talk to them, to tell them I wasn't really dating Malfoy but for some reason the rumours about our 'romance' still hadn't stopped.
And also that we snogged in the broom shed.
That would just be an unbearably awkward conversation that I was not quite prepared to have.
"I have an unshakeable inkling that we are going to be massacred this morning, and the thought of how much work I'm going to have to do tomorrow is getting me slightly down."
"Cheer up muffin! The wasps aren't even that good, and besides, Randy Prolimorsky severed three fingers yesterday! And he has to wait a full forty-eight hours to be cleared for play again, so Winbourne has to play a reserve chaser! Today will be brilliant!"
I do so appreciate her optimism, and her calling me muffin seeing as how I love muffins and was therefore extremely flattered, but I'm not sure that anyone severing three fingers is ever good news.
Ick.
Though it did give us a slightly better chance to pull a glorious victory out of our ass; nevertheless, my nausea did not diminish any. It should be against the law for people like me to follow sports teams; I'm far too intense about it. I honestly truly feel like I might die every time the Cannons lose.
You can imagine that this isn't the most pleasant way to live one's life when the team averages about a 7:1 ratio of losses to wins.
"Cannons fans," came the booming voice of Peter Young, the eighty-three year old announcer, "please welcome to the pitch, to open our four hundred and second season, the visiting Winbourne Wasps!"
I'd like to say that we were polite fans who clapped unenthusiastically, but, er, we weren't. Natalie and I yelled a string of rude profanities at them as they flew by us, which was the most amusing thing I'd done all week.
"And now, welcome yooouur Chudley CANNONS!"
We hooted and hollered as they flew through the pitch, and I did my very best to somehow avoid looking at both Josh and Malfoy while simultaneously making a deep emotional connection through eye contact with all of the other players.
I sort of failed.
When I looked at Josh, he gave me a wink as he flew by, (causing Natalie to squeal like some sort of deranged piglet) filling me with guilt as I remembered the fight that Malfoy and I had had that was basically all Josh's fault. I think I managed a shaky smile in return, but it may have simply looked like an 'I'm going to rip out your jugular' face. I couldn't exactly bring myself to care all that much; he was speeding by rather quickly, I doubt he noticed if I scrunched up my face to make it look like I was a psychotic murderer. Maybe that's actually a good look for me, who knows.
I couldn't focus on any of that, though, because I was dwelling on how I had broken the promise I had made to myself that I wouldn't look at Malfoy as he soared by; but of course I did, just to check if he was maybe, just maybe, looking my way.
He wasn't.
Eyes focused straight ahead, and looking filled to the brim with determination, (whether it was determination to catch the snitch or to simply escape from me was yet to be decided) and I cursed everything in sight that all I could think about was how his lips felt on mine. How snogging him made me feel so warm (erm, make that hot) and then I had been so cold. What was the matter with me?
I didn't want to think about snogging him, I didn't want to like it, I didn't want to have enough thoughts to spare on him to even bother picking a fight or asking for forgiveness.
So why did I?
The match may not have provided me with the answers to all of the interrogations I was posing on my brain, but at least it let me know that whatever the Hell it was wasn't going away anytime soon. I was forced to come to the conclusion that I was becoming one of those glassy-eyed, vacant broads who titter, 'there's just something about him' while sounding like idiots.
I should have done more mental preparation for the match, but in my defence, I was not expecting it to be nearly so action-packed, and honestly, the first two hours were a snooze, so much so that when Frank Van Pollock of the Winbourne Wasps smashed a bludger into the back of Scorpius Malfoy's skull from about six inches away, I almost missed it.
Josh had already let in fourteen goals while we had only scored a grand total of three, and no one on our team really seemed to care. Or even understand that the point was to get the ball through one of the big hoops. That would be a good start.
Needless to say, by this point I was nodding off slightly, but I didn't escape seeing the blow in my peripheral vision. Van Pollock was so close to him that his bat also managed to bash his skull around, not a second after the bludger did. That's foul play if I ever saw it; and it caused Malfoy to completely black out, tumble off his broom, and fall thirty feet through the air to land with a sickening crunch on the ground as the entire stadium stared down in shock and anger.
I'm fairly certain I leapt out of my seat in horror and may have allowed myself to show some signs of outward caring towards him, but hopefully no one noticed.
Except Natalie, who mused, "You know, for someone who thinks he is a soulless sea urchin you seem oddly concerned for his wellbeing."
To which I reassured her that I was simply concerned for the team and franchise as a whole, and that I understood that it would be much more of a challenge to win this game without our one and only talented player.
But when she shot me a look that clearly demanded I stop spouting lies, I allowed the dreaded words to fall from my lips: "There's just… something about him." Oh, Merlin, why me? Why was I forced to become this monster?
After Malfoy was ushered off the pitch in front of the hushed crowd, the reserve seeker emerged, and play was resumed, I can honestly say that I had absolutely no interest in watching. I was not in the mood for seeing Josh spectacularly not save every quaffle that came his way; all I really wanted to do was get my hands on Van Pollock and banish him to Antarctica and force him to live there. Naked. Until his bits fell off.
Unfortunately, I wasn't sure how to go about doing this without making a scene and/or landing myself in Azkaban for life, so I planned to hunker down and worry about Malfoy's head and pray to Merlin that he wouldn't die before I'd even gotten the chance to bed him. Or before he'd forgiven me for behaving like such a hag.
Until… Chudley called a timeout to switch seekers. Once again. Because apparently Malfoy had been miraculously healed in twenty-five minutes, it didn't matter that his brains had most likely turned into soup by being hit with a giant ball, a bat, and then the ground. He'd been cleared to play the rest of the game.
And he set out to do just that, flying like a man possessed as the crowd roared their approval of his early return and his drive to bring home a win. Which he did, in such a short time I'm sure it broke some sort of record somewhere out there. He caught the snitch, Natalie and I jumped up and down hugging each other and screaming as the entire stadium erupted in victory; fans knew to celebrate while they had the chance, because who knew how long it would be before the Cannons won again?
No party for Natalie or I however; at least, not yet. We had important business to attend to. Important business which would allow us to get close to all the players immediately, and it was extremely important that I try and speak to Malfoy in order to ensure that he knew that when I thought he might die I was upset.
Everyone likes to know that. I think.
I tried to shove my way through all of the bustling reporters, even though technically I was supposed to be taking notes on what they were saying, and managed to squeeze through all of them only to find that Malfoy was nowhere to be found. I hurried to the broom shed, and sure enough, there he was, sitting on the bench staring at nothing, rather than boasting about his wonderfulness to everyone who would listen like I would have expected.
How odd.
I tentatively shut the door behind me, and uttered, "Er, listen, Malfoy, I really really am sorry about, uh, what I said the other day, and I don't want you to die, and I think you're an excellent snogger, and will you at least look at me please?"
Until he keeled over, fell flat off the bench, and landed face down on the dusty floor at my feet.
In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have run from the broom shed screaming like a hysterical lunatic in light of the fact that there were dozens of reporters around just waiting to pounce on the next juicy story. But unfortunately, sometimes in life things like this happen, and so I am fully prepared for the ridiculous tales that are going to appear in the paper tomorrow saying that Malfoy's head is totally screwed up and that he will never play again and blah blah blah, which is total bs because obviously he will.
I think.
Of course, the first step to recovery would be for him to, er, wake up. Which hasn't exactly happened yet. He had been almost instantly transported to St. Mungo's, where I quickly followed, feeling absolutely emotionally drained and therefore worrying that I may splinch myself. Which I didn't, so that's always good news.
But there were so many strangers all crowded around him, and they kept staring at me so I just knew that they recognized me from that blasted WonderWitch article… and I knew that they were waiting for me to show some compassion for the 'man I love', to start weeping or maybe crawl into bed with him or something (which I always thought was sort of rude, it's not like I could ask his permission, it's like taking advantage of someone who has lost consciousness!). And so I could have (should have) simply announced to all of the nosy strangers that Malfoy and I were not involved, not in love, not in anything, so they could all just stop staring and mind their own business.
But of course I didn't. Because doing so would have been logical, and my mind is physically incapable of that, so instead I kissed his forehead and grabbed his hand and took a seat by his bedside to wait for him to wake up. Because that's going to dispel the rumours that we're together. All the random strangers (who were these people anyway?) gave me pitying looks that seemed to say 'I understand, sweet pea, that your world has been shattered' (even though it so hasn't) and so long as I didn't recognize a single one I figured it would be easiest to just let them believe what they wanted to believe; what difference was it to me, really?
Until my parents walked in. Apparently missing a 'mandatory family meeting' to visit your secret fake boyfriend in St. Mungo's is not something my parents are just going to let go; I'm so glad they got to see me sitting pathetically by an immobile Scorpius Malfoy's bedside while I hold his hand and wait for him to open his eyes and say something annoying.
Now I just needed to use my ultimate brains, the combination (and therefore infinitely more powerful) of the two of theirs, to figure out how I would explain this situation in a way that made sense to them.
Without mentioning any snogging.
Or feelings.
A/N: In case any of you are wondering, I'm not going to have Malfoy wake up and have amnesia or anything because I hate when that happens. Except in the Bourne Identity.
This chapter was longer than the last few, hopefully there was enough action to tide you over until the next update... whenever that is xD
