a/n Here's some ridiculous Hogwarts fluff to balance out all the angst of the last few fics I've posted! Don't worry, we're back to angst with besties tomorrow. Happy reading!
Clarke's not sure why she bothered showing up to this party. She has plenty of other things she could be doing right now, thank you very much. She surely has better uses for her time than standing around at the Gryffindor celebration for winning the house Quidditch cup. She could be studying for her NEWTS which start in a couple of weeks if nothing else.
OK. That's not quite true. She knows exactly why she's here – why she's braving being pretty much the only Slytherin in the room, why she's drinking lukewarm butterbeer and nodding at passing acquaintances.
She's here because she has a pathetic crush on her best friend. There's no sense in denying it to herself. He invited her, said he really wanted to hang out with her here tonight, and so it is that she's here.
She could swear she had more self-respect before Bellamy Blake showed up in her life and wrapped her around his little finger.
No. That's not right. She still has self-respect. It's just she also likes to do what she can to make him happy, these days – and really, is that such a bad thing?
Maybe it is a bad thing, if it leaves her standing next to a butterbeer keg when she could be at home with her Potions textbook.
When Bellamy finally shows up, Clarke does not run straight to his side. She's not needy like that. But she does walk briskly towards him, because frankly she's missed him in the couple of hours since they last spoke. She hasn't had chance to congratulate him on his team's victory yet, either. But as she walks over, she notices that there's something odd in the way he is moving. He's sort of shuffling, rather than striding with his usual confidence. Is he hurt, maybe? Did a Bludger get him on the shin?
"Are you OK?" She asks him, hurried, when they're close enough to speak. "Are you injured? Did you -"
He cuts her off with a kiss.
Honestly, it's one of the strangest experiences of her life. She's had this crush on Bellamy for years now, and she'd sort of resigned herself to doing nothing about it. She certainly didn't expect him to just kiss her in the middle of the Gryffindor common room.
More than that, it's an odd experience because he doesn't kiss like she was expecting. She expected him to be confident, and she knows he's had plenty of practice. But instead there's something tentative and slightly shy about the way he moves his lips against hers.
Maybe that's because he's feeling nervous, she wonders, as she kisses him back. Maybe she ought to wrap a hand around the back of his neck to encourage him a little and show him she wants this at least as much as he does. Maybe -
Before she can do anything of the kind, he's pulling away.
"I've been wanting to do that for years." He mutters hoarsely.
"Me too." She agrees, flushing slightly.
"I need to grab a drink." He says, voice a little choked. "I'll be right back."
And then he's just gone, shuffling away through the crowd as if kissing her and then abandoning her is a perfectly normal thing to do.
What the hell is wrong with him?
She doesn't go after him. She has some pride – and anyway, how long can it possibly take him to get a drink and then head straight back to her? There will be time enough when he returns for them to dissect the kiss, and kiss again, and for her to figure out why he's acting so weird.
Only then he doesn't return. She checks her watch three minutes in, decides that's longer than it really takes to fetch a drink. And when he's still not back by her side seven minutes later, she truly is starting to freak out.
Was kissing her so very terrible? Is that why he's fled? No – he did say he'd been wanting to do it for ages, acted like he enjoyed it.
So is it something else? Some lingering nervousness? Is his leg injured worse than she guessed? Or has he been accosted by a friend on his travels?
She decides to take the situation into her control. Obviously she does – taking control of distressing situations is what she does best. So that's why she stops waiting pathetically where Bellamy left her and goes looking for him instead.
He's nowhere near the butterbeer keg. He's not standing with Monty near the illicit firewhiskey, either. And nor is he at the large central table where a muggle drinking game is in full swing.
When she does eventually find him, he's skulking near the portrait hole.
"There you are!" She cries, heading towards him.
He raises his head at the sound of her voice, walks over towards her. At least he's moving more normally now, she notes – more of a confident stride rather than that odd shuffle of earlier. Maybe he's not so injured after all.
He smiles shyly at her. Right. Maybe he is just feeling nervous, she wonders. That surprises her, seeing as he's Bellamy and all, but she supposes that kissing one's best friend is the kind of thing that could get even the most confident guy hot under the collar.
She decides to help him out with that in the most straightforward of ways. She arrives in front of him, reaches up to grasp at his hair, and pulls him in for a resounding kiss.
He kisses her back. Of course he does – he was the one who started all this. And honestly, it's a better kiss than their first attempt, more confident and smooth, but also more heartfelt, somehow. He's really licking deep into her mouth, cradling her hips close to his, and things are starting to get awfully heated rather quickly.
She's really not complaining.
But after a few moments she decides she had better collect herself well enough to talk to him about what just happened.
She pulls back, and looks up at him. She knows she probably looks far too affectionate in this moment, too blatantly gone for him, but she just cannot help it.
"Care to explain why you thought kissing me then disappearing was a good idea?" She asks, trying to keep the joy out of her voice long enough to make it clear she's actually a little annoyed.
"What? Disappearing? I haven't gone anywhere." He says, brows creasing in confusion. As if to punctuate his point, his hands at her waist squeeze even tighter.
"Not now. Ten minutes ago. When you kissed me really nervously and then told me you needed a drink and ran off? And then I find you here nowhere near the drinks?" She questions, all the more annoyed with him for not just coming clean about this.
He frowns deeply. "I only just got here. I'd been here maybe ninety seconds before you came over, Clarke."
"What? But – but you kissed me ten minutes ago."
His frown grows even stonier. "No. I definitely didn't – believe me, that's something I would remember. I only just got here. My sister kept me down at the pitch to help polish her broom." He explains, obviously exasperated.
"Are you saying I'm imagining things? You're suggesting – what – that I hallucinated our first kiss?" She asks. She's growing really pretty frustrated with him, now.
He doesn't rise to it. His jaw stiffens, just for a moment, but then he's hugging her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"No. I'm not suggesting anything like that. But I am suggesting we should stop yelling at each other about this and focus on the good parts." He murmurs softly. "You think maybe we could concentrate on the fact that apparently kissing is a thing we do now?"
She gives a grudging chuckle. "Yeah. Sure." She swallows stickily. "Is – is that OK with you?"
"It's more than OK, Clarke. It's perfect. Incredible." He grins down at her, bends to peck her on the lips once more. "OK with you?"
"Yeah." She kisses his neck, because it seems that's something she can do, now, too. "Maybe a little overdue?"
He laughs. "A little overdue? I've been waiting for this for years."
"Me, too." She acknowledges. Huh. She could swear she had a conversation a lot like this with a guy who looked a lot like Bellamy scarcely a quarter of an hour ago.
"Then let's make the most of it and not argue about – about whatever just happened." He says, sounding a little dazed. "You want to find a more private place to make out or you want to grab drinks and try to figure out what happened?"
She pauses, considers her options. She really does want to make out with Bellamy, because she thinks that might just be her new favourite activity. But she's a problem solver by nature. She's not one to impulsively go snog in a closet when there is a situation demanding her attention.
"You're really going to pick option two, aren't you?" Bellamy's voice, affectionate and amused more than annoyed, breaks into her thoughts.
"Yeah. Sorry. You know me too well." She reaches up for one little kiss, just to show him it's nothing personal.
And then one little kiss turns into one rather lengthy and involved kiss, and his hand has somehow snuck up her shirt onto the bare skin of her waist, and she really can't remember why she ever thought problem solving was so important in the first place.
No. She needs to figure this out. If she's hallucinating, or if someone has messed with her memories or is impersonating Bellamy, that's a big deal. She cannot let it go unresolved.
She pulls away, looks up at him apologetically.
"Let's get drinks and talk." She suggests.
He nods, leads the way over towards the butterbeer. The short journey is an interesting one, really. Bellamy keeps greeting people as if he only just got here – slapping Miller on the back and congratulating him for a string of excellent saves, asking Raven how she fixed up the lights. But the people he greets all look puzzled by his behaviour, and a few of them even say outright that they've already seen him this evening.
Looks like Clarke isn't hallucinating anything.
When he takes a drink from a very confused Stirling, who says he served him a butterbeer scarcely five minutes ago and he must have downed it quickly, it becomes clear that something is afoot.
"It's either polyjuice or else some really good transfiguration." Clarke surmises, holding Bellamy's hand as they weave through the crowd.
He smiles at her indulgently. "Now you've figured that out, can we get back on with kissing?"
She laughs, kisses him once more while she's gathering her thoughts. "I don't think it was transfiguration. No one could be that good. They had you perfect – the freckles were in the right place and everything."
"You've learnt the layout of my freckles." He says, and he doesn't even bother making it a question.
"Maybe." Clarke concedes, flushing. "So the point is, it must be polyjuice. I don't know why I didn't see it earlier. There was something really off about your behaviour – or the way your impersonator was behaving. They didn't walk or talk or kiss like you."
"You didn't know how I kiss at the time." He points out.
"I kind of did though." She admits, grinning at him. "I had some ideas. I knew you'd be more... confident. Demanding, maybe."
He smirks happily, pulls her in for another kiss – a confident one, naturally. "So we're looking for someone who's a feeble kisser and can't impersonate my walk. Great. That really narrows things down."
"There are other clues." Clarke continues. "We can look at who wasn't here at the time. Who has enough Potions skill to brew polyjuice? And who would even want to get disguised as you and kiss me?"
"Someone who wanted us to get together." Bellamy concludes. "Maybe someone who's heard me talking about you and wanted to make a move on my behalf." He suggests, flushing.
"You talk about me? Cute." She teases, toying with his fingers while they talk.
"Please. I bet you used to pine after me as well." He jokes, but she can tell that beneath his light tone there's some real insecurity here, too.
"I did." She admits easily enough. She doesn't see the harm in disclosing that now that they seem to be together.
At least, she hopes this is them getting together.
"So who knew that you – yeah. You know." She tries. It's not the most coherent question she's ever posed, all things considered. In fact, she's not sure it even made it as far as becoming a question.
"Who knew I had an enormous crush on you?" Bellamy prompts without evident self-consciousness. "The guys in my dorm. Miller most of all, but it can't be him. Seems like he's been here all along and he doesn't take Potions." Their friend is an expert in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but not in brewing polyjuice.
"Monty has been on the Firewhiskey keg this whole time." Clarke muses, glancing across the room. Sure enough, he's still there.
"Jasper." They both conclude with one voice, turning to look at each other.
It makes perfect sense. He's a whizz at Potions, a master prankster. But more than that, he's an expert in these kinds of schemes – not setting people up via polyjuice kisses, as such, but clumsy attempts to do nice things for his friends. He's one of those people who tends to have the best of intentions, but not always think about the wisdom of his actions.
Right on cue, the boy himself walks through the portrait hole, looks around the room in a slightly dazed fashion. He's more or less returned to his own appearance now, Clarke notes, but honestly she thinks his skin tone is still a little dark and his hair has a slight hint of curl. She wonders whether maybe he would have been wise to wait another moment before rejoining the party.
Then he looks over at the two of them, sitting curled up together on a couch, and grins a pleased grin. That's the moment that absolute confirms it for Clarke – he looks rather smug at seeing this evidence of his success.
"Come on." Bellamy decides, getting to his feet and tugging Clarke up by the hand.
"Where are we going?" She asks. A day ago, she thinks she might have teasingly told him she doesn't take orders from him. But now they seem to be together and all it's far too tempting to go along with his suggestions. She supposes her usual argumentative side will return to her when she's less blissfully dazed by recent events.
"To tell Jasper we know exactly what he did and we're equal parts pissed off and delighted. And then to make out in an empty classroom."
Clarke laughs, a full and happy sound she wasn't altogether aware she could even produce, until this moment.
"That sounds perfect, Bellamy."
All things considered, in fact, it has been a pretty perfect party.
a/n Thanks for reading!