The next morning, I sat at the Gryffindor table with Penelope, eating my cereal, while the new time tables were being handed out. To most people, Penelope is a shy, quiet girl, with a talent of blending in with the background. She has long red hair that she always keeps in one braid down her back. She has a few freckles on her slightly upturned nose and is pretty tall. Being the extremely simple and queit girl that she is, she's never gotten much attention from the male population, not that she's ever expressed any bitterness towards this fact. I envy Penelope's freckled nose that she hates so much, since mine is big and pointed. I have grey eyes and skin so pale I look like I'm permanently sick; I keep my light brown hair layered, a tad below my shoulders. I've never considered myself pretty, certainly there's nothing special about my appearance, but I guess Jacob must have seen something he liked. As I'm finishing my cereal, Staey walks into the Great Hall and plops down beside me, grumbling to herself; she's not a morning person. Stacey is easily the perttiest of the three of us, and is also probably one of the prettiest girls in the school. She has strawberry-blond hair, shimmering blue eyes, and a perfect body. A lot of boys ask Stacey out, but she only accepts about a quarter of the offers she gets. Needless to say, she's gone out with some of the best looking blodes at Hogwarts. Angus Wood, was in seventh yesr, Quidditch Captain, and one of the best-looking boys to ever walk these old halls when he asked out little fourth year Stacey. She dumped him after two weeks, as she does with most of the boys she dates. She insist that she hasn't met anyone interesting enough to hold her attention for long than that.
After breakfast, the three of us head up to our first class of the day: Potions. The Potions Master, Professor Aisworth, was a no-nonsense man, with eyes and hair the colour of a raven's feathers. His towering height only increased the intimidating aura he had about him. I sat taking notes as he explained the effects of the Draught of Living Death, when suddenly I felt someone's eyes on me. I looked up to see Aaron staring at me. His flat blue eyes once again betraying nothing, but his dark eyebrows were drawn together and his perfectly sculpted forehead was creased, like he was concentrating hard on something. Any normal person caught staring would blush furiously and turn away. But no, not him. He keeps staring at me, and I meet his gaze, not wanting to be the first to look down. Time seemed to stop as we were locked in our "staring contest", and Professor Ainsworth's voice became a dull buzzing in the background. After a few moments that felt more like several days, he shook his head, not to me, but to himself, and turned away.
I frowned. He is so infuriating! Why was he not paying attention to Ainsworth's lecture? It's as if he thinks such things are beneath him. And what with that shake of his head? It seemed to imply that he knows something I don't. With a roll of my eyes and a scowl, I return my attention to the notes I'm suppose to be taking. As I look back down, I notice Stacey staring back and forth between Aaron and I. She's noticed our little exchange, and I bet she could easily read most of the emotions as they flicked across my face. With a tiny, contemplating frown, she too returns to her notes. Penelope and the res of the of class are too busy furiously writing down everything that escapes Ainsworth's mouth to have noticed anything.
I'm sitting in the common room that evening, in-between Stacey and Penelope on our favorite couch in front of the fireplace. My head is rested on the back of the couch and I start to doze as I listen to the calming voices of my friends discussing the Transfiguration essay we were assigned today.
I open my eyes quickly when I hear they've abruptly stopped talking and I feel a shadow fall over me. I look up and it's Aaron, towering above me.
"Patrols, Boscawen" He says in an uninterested voice. I check my watch. Bullocks, he's right, it's 8 pm. I resist scowling at him for using my surname, for making me get up from my comfortable position, and for just plain speaking to me in the first place. Not wanting to shirk my duties on the first day, I reluctantly lift myself out of the comfortable armchair.
"Right. Let's go, Everard" I say, retaliating (albeit meekly) with the use of his last name. It's the best I can think of at the moment. As I'm leaving, I see Stacey give me a playful wink, and Penelope smile sympathetically. I follow him across the common room and out the portrait hole.
Twenty minutes later, we've finished two floors and are heading up to the next one. Neither of us has said one word to the other, and we're walking on opposite sides of the hallway, so as to be as far away as possible from each other. You could cut the tension between us with a knife. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He's got his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he strides in that 'who gives a rat's arse' manner. Personally, I'd rather be doing a million other thins than this, including patrolling alone, or being chased by a fully grown Blast-Ended-Screwt.
We're on the staircase heading to the forth floor when suddenly there's a rumbling noise. It feels as if the world is shifting. The staircase is moving.
"Are you kidding me?" I groan in frustration.
"Are you talking to me or the staircase? Because I'm afraid the staircase isn't going to respond" Aaron says with a smirk on his face.
"Oh, ha ha, aren't you just hilarious," my voice is dripping with sarcasm- it's one of my few talents. "You're not funny, you know." Fortunately, we emerge from the staircase still on the fourth floor, just at the opposite end. We continue the patrol from this side.
"I wasn't trying to be" he responds, the smirk still plastered on his face.
"Good, because you're not" I snap.
"What is wrong with you? I'm just joking around, no need to get your knickers in a twist" he's frowning now, the smirk definitely gone.
"Joking around?" I hiss. "I don't know whether you've noticed or not, but we aren't exactly on joking terms, Everard".
He stays silent, still frowning, and looking at the floor, so I continue, letting gout some of the things I've held in for so long.
"We've been on the same Quidditch team for three years, and I could probably count the words we've exchanged on one of my hands" I'm almost shouting at this point.
Finally he speaks up; he's looking at me and is still frowning. "I don't know how easy that's going to be now that I'm Gryffindor's captain".
I hadn't known that. My head spins for a moment. Captain? Him? Why? Simon Jones and Pierre Smith are just as good as he is. Now I've gotten even angrier, if that's possible. "Oh Great! Another thing to inflate your already giant ego! Well maybe I just won't join this year!" I shout.
"FINE!" He yells. "Don't join! We'll be better off without you! Why don't you go join the Ravenclaw team? Your pathetic excuse for a boyfriend may let you on even though you fly like a muggle!"
"Don't you dare bring Jacob into this! You're just jealous that I've found someone who loves me and whom I love! While you, you're going to die alone because no one would ever would want to be with an arrogant, conceited, inconsiderate jerk like you!" I'm panting now. All the tension that's been building up for the past three years between us is finally bursting out. In the silence that followed, I readied myself for his round of shouting.
But it never came.
Before I know what's happening, he's taken two long strides and is standing right in front of me. I can feel the wall against my back. He's too close. I can't breathe; his scent is making me dizzy. I look up and he's bent his head. Our faces are so close I can spell the mint tooth paste and pumpkin juice scent emitting from his slightly open mouth.
"Davis does not love you. I doubt that prat even knows what love is." He whispers. I'm paralyzed; all I can do is listen to him as his eyes bore into mine. He moves his face lower still, so that his lips are almost touching my ear. His breath on the side of my face sends violent shivers down my spine, and I can feel the hairs at the back of my neck stand up. "And let's be completely frank Irene," he uses my first name for the first time since third year, "you certainly do not love him."
He stepped back, still meeting my gaze, looking thoroughly satisfied with himself. As soon as I could no longer smell his scent- cologne, freshly mowed grass, broomstick wood, and parchment- I snapped out of my reverie. "You've no business insulting what Jacob and I have." My voice was now at a deadly whisper, and he seemed more intimidated than when I was yelling. "The biggest mistake I ever made was befriending you and I'm glad I've hated you since third year," and with that I reeled my hand back and slapped him across the face as hard as I could. I could see the tears well in his eyes from the pain, and my hand was stinging. On his right cheek, I've left a red, angry hand print/ His mouth is open in shock, and all he does is stare at me, his eyes wide. Then, I turn on me heel and leave him there stunned, as I make my way back to Gryffindor tower, alone.
- POV
I watched her walk away in silence, my cheek burning with pain. If only she knew… I feel like vomiting and crying at the same time. Gross, what a mess that would make. "The biggest mistake I ever made was befriending you." If only she knew, the emotional pain is a hundred times worse than the physical.