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Cat and Mouse: The Chase
By Ela-chan

Exactly who's the cat, and who's the mouse?

Chapter Two

Dinner and Unique Ways

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Now, to endure dinner. Where it's bound to last as long as two hours. Two hours of pointless talking, eating and top of the class champagne drinking. I don't mind so much the champagne drinking, but I know for sure that James is going to be sitting next to me. And, if he feels as sleazy as the look he's giving me right now, it's sure that he'll make a few passes on me. And, if he does, I'll be sure to have an extra fork on hand.

A girl needs a weapon to defend herself from rabid dogs wanting their feed and such. In this case, a weapon which will inflict maximum pain with the first stab on the jackass who won't take a bloody hint to save his life. But, only hypothetically speaking, of course.

As everyone made their way to the dining table, I tried my best to stay as far away from that Potter boy. His wanting-to-stick-by-my-side didn't help in the least. I decided to ignore him. So, I tried to busy myself by staring at the other people. And so, I did.

Every single person present had their own, let's say, unique, way of carrying themselves. Even though, at the back of their minds, they know no one would be observing their every move, they could not help but show off to a non-existent audience. Well, that's what I think, anyway.

For example, Mrs. Potter. She walks as if she were on a cat walk and her nose was always slightly upturned like there was something nasty under her nose every time she sniffed. Her delicate little fingers were always out or folded behind her back. And her eyes. Bloody things are so shifty, I swear.

Then there's Mr. Potter. Honestly, he walks a little bit like a pregnant penguin, really. And he always had one hand balled into a fist, resting on the left side of his chest. It was his quirk. And, probably, most people find it weird. I do, too, as a matter of act. But we don't talk about that.

Then there was the jack ass of the millennium himself.

I'm talking about Potter Junior, of course.

To tell the complete and raw truth, the guy walks straight-backed; like he owns everything and that the world awaits on his every order. His features were well defined, I admit. His body is well sculpted, I reluctantly agree. But it's disgusting to admit those things. I'm tired of everyone showering him with praise all the time at Hogwarts. Don't those Gryffindors know he's a pompous git? Don't those Hufflepuff girls know he's a shallow maggot? Don't they all know he's one of the worst men any girl could fall for?

I think not.

Everyone pulled themselves a grand seat, except the ladies, who had the men pull a chair out for them. I was just about to pull one out myself when a larger and much stronger hand got there first and pulled it out gently. Just right. I looked up and locked with hazel eyes. We, or rather he, stared for a few moments. I rolled my eyes and plopped myself onto the seat and crossed my legs. Does he think, with that one act of politeness, that he can win over my heart? Whatever to his face. Even if he rescued every endangered animal in the world, saved every human from starvation or ensured world peace, I wouldn't change my view of him. He's just a stupid dude always craving attention. If you ask me, he's got a bad case of A.D.D. – Attention Deprived Delinquent. I don't know the true meaning but hey, my definition works just as well.

'Dinner is ready,' came my mother's soft voice. All at once, butlers of every age - there were at least seven of them - came out from behind the grand doors of the kitchen.

Can you believe I've only been in my own kitchen three times? Once, because I hid in there from one of the perverted sons of one of my dad's friends. Twice, because I wanted to get a drink at the dead of the night. And thrice, when Petunia pushed me in there for a good laugh. I came out covered from head to toe in flour, eggs and milk. She had to push me in there while they were making the usual cakes, didn't she? She had to. Bloody banshee. That's a second reason for me to kill her.

Score.

Anyway, as I took hold of the spotless white napkin, James sneezed, causing his mother to shoot daggers at him. I suppressed a snigger, spreading the serviette over my lap. This was another thing my mother's implanted in my mind over and over again during the near sixteen years of my existence. Something about putting a napkin over your lap before eating - and eating delicately, mind - was seen and taken to be a very ladylike thing to do. Or something like that. I don't really listen to what she says, anyway. Whenever she glares at me, I know a lecture was on the way. So, I just roll my eyes and make eye contact to give her the reassurance that I'm listening to the useless ramble escaping her lips. But really, I start singing horribly within the enclosed walls of my mind. That surely occupies me. It sounds terrible, trust my judgement.

'So, Lillian J.' I flinched slightly, the low voice of Mr. Potter ringing in my ears. 'I hear my boy here has quite the liking for you.'

He did not just say that in front of the whole table.

I looked down at my plate, a smile threatening to spread over my face. Jerking around the pieces of lamb I was about to devour, I could just see James glaring ferociously at his Father. I'm not smiling because James's infatuation of me has been mention at the very start of dinner, hell no. I'm smiling because James has now been embarrassed beyond belief. And in front of three other people no less! In front of me! This is too good. I nearly cried with happiness.

'Really?' I responded airily, tilting my head to direct my gaze towards James, my locks tumbling down to one side of my face. 'James?'

Mr. Potter looked horrified. Mrs. Potter raised her eyebrows. I take it they thought that I already knew that James had an infatuation with me, and that bringing it up over dinner at someone else's home was quite the amusing act. I actually do know about his little – obsession.

I just want to kick James in the arse for all the times he's sent me flowers at the most inconvenient times. He sent me the most beautiful — no, no they were ugly, repulsive — bouquet of red and white roses on Saint Valentine's Day. God, it was so embarrassing. Even the flippin' owl had a red bow tied carefully around its neck. It didn't look too happy to be carrying such a large bunch of flowers looking like a dork (And I'm sure that's an insult, even for a damn owl). Neither was I, as a matter of fact. Even though I wasn't tied with a bow and sent to deliver a bouquet to some girl, I was furious with James. I threw the gift in the arsehole's face in the Common Room later that night in front of the whole Tower.

Oh, the joys of PMS.

Looking at the black-haired boy beside me, I was so sure my sides were about to split. The laughter hidden within me was screaming to be voiced; I was nearly deaf. But, with the strict look Mother was throwing at me, I think I'm better off keeping silent whilst James searched for an answer. I knitted my eyebrows as James pulled me closer to him, placing his mouth just beside my ear. The husky breath he was exhaling was intoxicating. Gag.

I think I'm going to cleanse myself several times after this. Complete with acid, anti-bacterial and the roughest scrubbing sponge known to the human race.

'You already know I like you,' he hissed, panic evident in his voice. 'Please don't humiliate me in front of my parents.'

The pleading was almost too much. I ignored his plea. Peh, I did say almost. Besides – like? I think that's the biggest understatement since my little cousin said to my uncle when he came prancing in drunk beyond reason: 'What's a little wand doing in between there, Daddy?'.

'Lily?' came Father, a curious edge in his own voice as he carefully placed a piece of jerky in his mouth. 'What have you got to say?'

What have I got to say? What kind of question is that? Did they expect me to accept some proposal or something? What the hell?

Let me at him.

I looked at James. His expression was near laughable. He looked like a pained puppy that was afraid of a new born, wrinkly kitten. I looked at his parents. Mr. Potter had a hand over his mouth and was giving me a scrutinising look.

Not good.

Mrs Potter, however, was now looking at me as if I was one of her large diamond rings or something! This is mental. The dinner is turning out a lot worse than I thought it would. I thought a spilt drink or a hurled pea was all that was going to happen! I thought that would be the most extreme thing that would occur! Never something like this. Bloody hell. My ill wishes towards James triple folded and bit me back in the arse.

Goodie goodie gumdrops for him.

'Well,' I started, glancing at each person on the table. All of their eyes were pivoted to my face, as if expecting me to cry, scream, or murder someone. 'I find it really flattering. Besides, –' I added with a fake chuckle – 'this isn't really new to me.'

What the hell is wrong with me?!

I'm sinking into deeper dung with each word bursting from my mouth.

'Really?' came from every mouth, including the now baffled boy next to me. I glared at James and pinched his leg under the table. I smiled angelically as he gave a strangled yelp, though he managed to cover it up with an odd sounding hiccough.

'Really, really,' I responded, smiling as serenely as I could. 'I mean, with all the talking paintings and all at Hogwarts. News goes around fast, I say.'

I forced a laugh, hoping it didn't sound nervous. My laugh must have triggered the ladies to give a gesture of humour themselves because Mother and Mrs. Potter emitted delicate laughs of their own, hands waving daintily in the air. The men, excluding James, gave off jittery low laughs themselves.

Well, that worked well. My neck was narrowly saved that time.

'Of course, of course,' Mother said, and I bet she's relieved that I didn't make a fool of myself in front of the "important people". 'Lily's told me about those things. Talking, she says? Is this true, Meredith? Sounds fishy to me.'

'Why, yes,' replied Mrs Potter smugly, as though boasting about her knowledge of the Wizarding World I was a part of. 'They're painted at first,' – I couldn't help but let a single "Duh" float across my mind — 'Then they're cast over with a spell making them come alive and act as though the real person themselves lived and will live until, well, the painting is destroyed, of course.'

I couldn't stop the continuous Duhs running across my addled brain. Damn her bluntness towards Muggles. She might as well have yelled 'Burn the brainless muggles! Mwahahaha!'

Damn her.

'That's quite extraordinary,' Mother commented, knitting her eyebrows perfectly. 'Do you have any of these – err — moving paintings, Meredith?'

Conversation went on. And on. And on and on. It was like that for the rest of dinner. Bloody hell. I think that was the most boring affair that I've ever had to put up with for the whole of my Life. And that's saying a whole lot of dung, mate. I want to go up and sleep on my bed. My warm, fuzzy, beautifully warm bed where no one can disturb me. Not even Petunia, the growing pony, can even so much as lay a finger on my door. And if she does, ooh … that's a flippin' beating inside and out.

'Dessert in the sitting room, Meredith?' invited Mother, giving Mrs Potter a polite look.

Barf.

'Very well,' Mrs Potter sighed, giving into the beauty of indulging in pudding. 'Not too much, though.'

Yeah, right, you fat walrus.

'Of course.'

Mother got up and snapped her fingers. A butler came in the instant, a white serviette thing on his arm. He gave a bow as Mother ordered, yes ordered, the dessert. It's like living in a museum and restaurant in this house.

Sheesh.

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