It was supper time. Oliver was already at the Griffindor table. He looked
up expectantly at each person who entered the great hall, hoping to see
Melody. She finally strolled in, with Fred and George, one on each arm.
They grinned at Oliver, not knowing what had gone on the night before.
Oliver looked up at Melody with searching eyes, not quite knowing what he
was looking for in that perfect face. She smiled at him, and he felt his
heart miss a beat. She came and sat down next to him.
"Hey you,", he leaned over and whispered in her ear.
"Hey yourself," she laughed. "Did McGonagall speak to you too?"
"Yeah, she said I should concentrate on my NEWTs and quidditch," he said, resentfully.
"Well, honey, just you concentrate on whatever you want. Ignore that old bag. Can you believe it? She's wearing burgundy. Burgundy!!!" As if you do. You just don't! Some people have no dress sense," she sneered, glancing down at her own clothes, knowing that 'no dress sense' did NOT apply to her. She was wearing a short, pale blue dress which showed off her long tanned legs.
"Don't let it worry your pretty little head sweetheart," He said affectionately.
She smiled, she loved a compliment, even an indirect one. She leaned back into him as Professor Dumbledore climbed onto the stage. He kissed the top of her head and her mouth curved into a smile.
Oliver and Melody were in their own little blissful world, Melody quietly nibbling Oliver's earlobe, and they were completely oblivious to the jealous stares coming from one girl further up the table.
Polly Jones was an orphan. She had messy mousy-brown hair, mud coloured eyes and acne. Polly was in the fifth year. She had just shared defence against the dark arts with Melody, and had seen how eager the boys were to answer Melody's every beck and call, especially that Fred Weasly. All the girls wanted to be Melody's friend and no-one in the class knew as much about defence against the dark arts as Melody Winslet seemed to. Polly was the sort of unfortunate person with practically no personality, no brains, one friend and she REALLY wasn't about to win the Miss World pageant. She also had just about the biggest crush in the history of all crushes. This crush was on the drop dead gorgeous head of the quidditch team, Oliver Wood. Who at that very moment in time was whispering sweet nothings in Melody's ear. Polly was very jealous and possessive. She was also possessive of some things which weren't STRICTLY hers, for example, Oliver. She didn't want to look at Oliver and Melody draping themselves all over each other, but she couldn't not. Melody was everything Polly wasn't, but wanted to be.
Polly leaned over to her friend Jessika Newman, and started to whisper malicious things to her
"Oh my God, talk about forward, can you believe that stupid little new girl, why doesn't they just get a room?" Polly muttered to Jessika.
Jessika was the sort of weak person that every school has at least one of. She was pale with almost white hair which hung limply down her back. She had no opinions of her own, or if she did, she was too scared to speak out. The other girls had tried to like her, but she had it made it too difficult for herself. In the end, all she had was Polly, and if she was truly honest to herself, she knew Polly only was friends with her because a) no-one else would have her and b) Jessika wouldn't answer back.
"Um… yes, you're right Polly," Jessika mumbled.
"And that dress, could it BE more slutty?"
"No Polly," was Jessika's meek reply.
"What gives her the right to come waltzing in and stealing my Oliver?"
"Dunno Polly," Jessika said, 'HER Oliver?' she thought, 'who's she kidding?'
"Hey you,", he leaned over and whispered in her ear.
"Hey yourself," she laughed. "Did McGonagall speak to you too?"
"Yeah, she said I should concentrate on my NEWTs and quidditch," he said, resentfully.
"Well, honey, just you concentrate on whatever you want. Ignore that old bag. Can you believe it? She's wearing burgundy. Burgundy!!!" As if you do. You just don't! Some people have no dress sense," she sneered, glancing down at her own clothes, knowing that 'no dress sense' did NOT apply to her. She was wearing a short, pale blue dress which showed off her long tanned legs.
"Don't let it worry your pretty little head sweetheart," He said affectionately.
She smiled, she loved a compliment, even an indirect one. She leaned back into him as Professor Dumbledore climbed onto the stage. He kissed the top of her head and her mouth curved into a smile.
Oliver and Melody were in their own little blissful world, Melody quietly nibbling Oliver's earlobe, and they were completely oblivious to the jealous stares coming from one girl further up the table.
Polly Jones was an orphan. She had messy mousy-brown hair, mud coloured eyes and acne. Polly was in the fifth year. She had just shared defence against the dark arts with Melody, and had seen how eager the boys were to answer Melody's every beck and call, especially that Fred Weasly. All the girls wanted to be Melody's friend and no-one in the class knew as much about defence against the dark arts as Melody Winslet seemed to. Polly was the sort of unfortunate person with practically no personality, no brains, one friend and she REALLY wasn't about to win the Miss World pageant. She also had just about the biggest crush in the history of all crushes. This crush was on the drop dead gorgeous head of the quidditch team, Oliver Wood. Who at that very moment in time was whispering sweet nothings in Melody's ear. Polly was very jealous and possessive. She was also possessive of some things which weren't STRICTLY hers, for example, Oliver. She didn't want to look at Oliver and Melody draping themselves all over each other, but she couldn't not. Melody was everything Polly wasn't, but wanted to be.
Polly leaned over to her friend Jessika Newman, and started to whisper malicious things to her
"Oh my God, talk about forward, can you believe that stupid little new girl, why doesn't they just get a room?" Polly muttered to Jessika.
Jessika was the sort of weak person that every school has at least one of. She was pale with almost white hair which hung limply down her back. She had no opinions of her own, or if she did, she was too scared to speak out. The other girls had tried to like her, but she had it made it too difficult for herself. In the end, all she had was Polly, and if she was truly honest to herself, she knew Polly only was friends with her because a) no-one else would have her and b) Jessika wouldn't answer back.
"Um… yes, you're right Polly," Jessika mumbled.
"And that dress, could it BE more slutty?"
"No Polly," was Jessika's meek reply.
"What gives her the right to come waltzing in and stealing my Oliver?"
"Dunno Polly," Jessika said, 'HER Oliver?' she thought, 'who's she kidding?'