"I am bottled fizzy water and you are shaking me up.
You are a fingernail running down the chalkboard
I thought I left in third grade…"
Chapter Five: Bottled Fizzy Water
- Seventh Year -
Somewhere along the way, responsibility weaseled its way into my life.
I'm captain of the Quidditch team.
And I'm counting and cursing my bloody lucky stars.
I love Quidditch; I'm so passionate about that damn sport. It's always come easy to me. The flying, all that hand-eye coordination pizzazz. Madam Hooch once called me "a natural flyer." And isn't that the truth. I never practiced at home, during breaks, over the summers. I don't think the neighbors would have appreciated it much. Flying brooms aren't all that common in Muggle neighborhoods.
But here I was. Captain. And I had big shoes to fill. Metaphorically speaking. Oliver Wood. Adored by many, resented by few. Good guy, good captain. And I get to be the one to follow his act up. I'm nervous and excited and I have a feeling the butterflies flitting through my middle will be inhabiting my stomach for the rest of the year.
But I love the team. Soaring around with Katie and Alicia has always been fun. In the sky our differences don't exist. We're a team, together, one. We used to sneak out to the Quidditch pitch with Fred, George and Lee when we were fourth years. Just to fly around at night. Just us and the stars. And the eternal fear of being caught.
We never were. Caught, that is.
- - -
The handle on the locker dug into my back as Fred pushed me harder against it, murmuring some unintelligible language into my ear.
The locker room had become our most recent playground. Always quiet, always abandoned. Once practice was over there really was no reason to dwell in there.
We had a reason.
He was biting my earlobe and muttering my name over and over again. "Angelina, Ang-el-ina…" My name was growing by the second, the syllables drawn out longer and longer until "Angelina" wasn't my name anymore but a mantra and a moan escaping his lips.
I arched my back, banging my head on steel of the locker door. My head was spinning off its axis now, seeing stars and feeling altogether cartoonish.
I loved this: feeling rather than thinking. Letting my senses overwhelm me until I was a pile of mush waiting to be molded. By him. Waiting to melt through his hands and fall to the floor.
He didn't disappoint.
His maddening pace never faltered and there was never the slightest sense of hesitation. He just kept going going going going. Taking me along with him. For the ride.
He put me on fire and sent shivers down my spine. Made me keen and made me swoon. Sigh, scream, ache, pulse. He made me want to fly. And I loved him for that.
I didn't mean that.
Oh, fuck…
- - -
History of Magic has to be the most boring thing ever. Sitting at the long table in the Great Hall, staring at parchments of notes, the words refusing to gel, to make sense. I read the same sentence pertaining to goblins six times before I realized that I was no longer literate.
My thoughts were elsewhere. Wandering into places I thought I had kept under heavy lockdown.
Lee plopped down across from me. "Hullo, Angel." He always called me that. And I still haven't found a way to get him to quit.
The whole gang was here. Goblins, be damned.
And then I felt it. A hand on my shoulder.
His hand.
He might as well have been shagging me right there, fucking me right on the table. He was scorching my skin and I was going to fly apart. And there'd be one hell of a mess to clean up. One touch and I'm rearing to go.
I'm not thinking straight. I feel warm and clammy; I'm shivering and shaking. He really needs to move his hand.
Get a hold of yourself. Yes. You. Now.
And they're all talking. About Umbridge and methods of torture. But I'm still curious, confused and thinking. And frightened. All he did was touch me and I was practically orgasmic. That's not normal. Or right. Or supposed to happen. It was a hand. Albeit his hand, but a hand. On my shoulder. That's buried beneath layers of clothing. Didn't matter. He was doing funny things to me. Making me salivate over him at breakfast. Recap our latest tryst when I should be taking notes. He was consuming me, body and mind. And I just didn't understand why…
I look up and realize that he is now across from me. I didn't even realize he had moved. And he's gazing at me, with a slight smile brushing his lips. I can see the curiosity in his eyes, see the question forming on his lips. I probably looked drugged over here, or as though I was pondering the questions of the universe. Hey, for all I cared, I was.
So I flee. Out of necessity, maybe out of embarrassment. I don't want him to know I was thinking. About him.
- - -
He won't leave me alone. I turn my head, he's there. I go upstairs, he's there. I close my eyes, he's there. He's chasing me and haunting me and he hasn't the slightest fucking clue. What he does to me.
I don't have a clue either. As to what is exactly occurring. Last I checked, the two of us were friends. Close friends, albeit, but friends nonetheless. We were friends having sex. Spectacular, fireworks-worthy, knee-melting, heart-stopping, cardiac-arrest-inducing sex.
Maybe it's just chemistry. Romantic chemistry. No. Sexual chemistry. We've got the right ingredients for each other, and when we come together…boom!
No, I don't like the sounds of that.
- - -
Quidditch plans in hand I head outside. I like working outside better than in. Helps me think better. Or so I believe.
I find a tree and have a seat beneath its branches, staring at silly diagrams and even sillier names. They take the path History of Magic took and cease to make clear sense to me. Thoughts are drifting and mind is clouding.
And a shadow falls over me.
I look up, knowing already who it is. And I'm right.
"G'day, Captain!" He salutes and has this wry, completely goofy smile lighting up his face. It makes me grin like a maniac, bordering on hysteria.
And it really wasn't all that funny. But between the comical salute, the smile, the words…it makes me smile. Crazily.
He takes a seat next to me and peers over my shoulder. "Hmmm." I turn towards him. He's studying the circles and squares that decorate the paper in front of me. "Lovely artwork you've got here. I'm guessing Late Renaissance." I laugh. This is the way things are supposed to be. The way they used to be. Our silly companionship.
"What brings you out here?" It's a sunny afternoon in early fall. Normally he'd be racing around with George at his heels and Lee even farther back, up to their old tricks, making Filch wish he had chosen a different occupation.
He grimaces. "Well, we were testing our…Nevermind. It ended with a bang. Figured we should split up. Harder to blame that way." He winks. He will forever be ten years old.
And we stayed there, under that tree on that autumn day. We stayed there the rest of the afternoon. Talking. Laughing. Joking around. We had traveled back in time. I couldn't even remember the last time we had just sat and talked. Sat and were just Angelina and Fred.
I liked his company. I liked when he talked to me. Told me his plans. Cracked his jokes. Retold stories I had heard thousands of times but never ceased to amuse me.
Dinner came all too soon for me.
- - -
Lying in bed. Trying to spy patterns on the ceiling. I think I found a heart. Merlin, what the fuck is wrong with me?
Fred is my friend. My friend, my friend, my friend.
It doesn't help that he's lying there next to me. Asleep. In my bed. The curtains are pulled shut leaving us in a canopy of darkness. I can just make out the planes of his back; he's turned away from me. And I want to touch him and draw my world across his skin and make him ask the same things I have been questioning.
I want him to feel. Like I feel.
No. I don't. He's a friend. Friend friend friend friend friend friend friend.
But he makes me feel dizzy and light-headed just by looking at me. I hear my heart as loud as hoof beats everytime he's around. He makes me think thoughts and feel things that I have labeled as "wrong."
And I'm terrified to ask myself the one question I have been avoiding this entire time: Why?
I'm afraid I know the answer. That I've hidden it deep within me, and I fear it will rear its ugly head and consume me. The way he's trying to consume me.
The way he already has…
No.
I wake up alone.
- - -
We're together again. In our usual haunt: the locker room after practice.
I don't ask him my questions. I don't confront my fears. Rather, I just fuck his brains out in a vain attempt. To forget. Forget the answers I feel swelling within me. Forget him.
But I'm already on my knees for him…
- - -
"Now my only consolation is that this could not
last forever…
Yeah, it's just a phase…"
- - -
A/N: Song lyrics from Just a Phase- Incubus.
I leave you this parting gift as I head off for vacation! I'll be back sometime in mid-July. Make my world and leave me some reviews!!!