Guest: I will try to answer you questions the best that I can, thanks for the comprehensive review, I really really appreciate it :)
1) The Shakespearean connect - to be honest, I had to think about what you meant for a second, then it all came back to me... Romeo and Juliet, the ninth grade... write about when I started writing horrible fanfiction lol... maybe on some subconscious level there is a Shakespearean connect with Montague and the potion. I really have no idea. I haven't done any character development beforehand, to be honest, so all the characters sort of just write themselves.
2) The Warringtons - hopefully this chapter answers a bit more of your curiosity regarding their affiliations. I would say they're more supporters, but much too... Slytherin to risk their actual lives in battles to support an ideology that isn't guaranteed to put them in the best position if the Dark Lord is on the losing end of a potential war.
3) Alicia's mother is still alive and kicking. The reason why Alicia didn't want to write a letter to her is... well, because she's a teenager. Who wants to admit to their parents that they've been sleeping around, especially given the circumstances... admitting that she would need a stopper would lead to some uncomfortable questions as to the identity of her partner, and more questions about her sexual history (most of which she was too drunk to properly remember haha).
Anyway, hopefully this chapter will help to answer some of your questions in addition to the answers I've provided. Let me know how I do with this one btw. There is an explicit scene towards the end, and again, I had some trouble writing it, but I felt like it was important to include as part of the dynamic between Cassius and Alicia.
If you guys think it really sucks, let me know because if you prefer I go back to a T rating, that can be arranged.
Enjoy!
Three weeks passed by with a suddenness that Alicia had not anticipated, and when the double-trouble weekend of the Ravenclaw-Slytherin match and a Hogsmeade visit loomed near, she felt a rise in anxiety that had her nerve-wrecked. Even the prospects of Quidditch tryouts, which Angelina had announced the day before, could not quell her nervousness. Things had begun to heat up with both Cassius and Carson over the past three weeks, and she felt helplessly alone in dealing with the situation, unable to turn to either Katie or Angelina for advice.
Cassius was no big help either. He'd been a moody roller coaster since the potions incident with Montague, and while they'd continued shagging on the side on Sundays, after working on their weekly reports, something had changed in him. He could be taciturn and volatile one second, then he could look at her with such clear frankness the next that it made her squirm. When Alicia mentioned her fear to him that her relationship with Carson seemed to be getting serious, his answer was simply, "I told you, I'll throw him off his broom," which only tripled her anxiety for their upcoming match, and left her even more confused as to his feelings towards her.
Carson's growing infatuation with her was a bigger source of anxiety to her than Cassius' mood swings, as was the coming of Yule. Alicia was desperately hanging on, hoping that she could make it to their date in Hogsmeade without snapping, but when the weekend finally arrived, she was a wreck. Carson was, simply put, singlehandedly the most gentlemanly person Alicia had ever met. He'd spent three weeks being his usual kind self, only he became more and more of every little girl's dream with each passing day, sending her lovely notes on days they couldn't see each other for more than five minutes at a time, conjuring flowers for her whenever they went 'out', strolling the castle grounds... hell, he didn't even try to cop a feel until two days earlier, and even then, he'd asked her permission first. The word 'no' had been on the tip of her tongue, but she hadn't dared say it, her Gryffindor courage all but dissipated in the face of guilt. She found herself comparing him with Cassius whenever they were together, and it made her feel even worse. When Carson's hand had slipped under her bra that first time, she'd nearly jumped out of her skin. It had taken all her effort not to cringe. The worst part was, Carson was a dream. He was actually the sort of boy that Alicia had always dreamed about, the sort of boy who would sweep her off her feet. But the fact was, the devil had gotten to her first, and she was doomed. Guilt ate away at her every second of the day.
That he was her escort to the debutante ball made things that much worse. Alicia knew she couldn't break things off with him at this point, and certainly not until she at least made her coming out, but she truly feared what might happen if Carson wanted to take things further. His hand on her breast had made her stomach churn in guilt and in discomfort. It made her shudder to even recall the feeling, and Alicia didn't dare analyze why. In fact, in the last three weeks, she'd completely stopped even thinking about her relationship with Cassius, the mechanisms behind it, the whys and the what will happens that had driven her insane since their first kiss. It was simply safer not to dwell on it. With each D.A. practice and each new whisper of witches and wizards reported dead or missing, Alicia became increasingly aware of the divisional split that was going to draw a line in the wizarding world. She knew she'd already chosen her side (not that she had any other choice), and something in her broke every time she realized that Cassius was not on it. She didn't dare dwell on it. It wouldn't do.
The day of the match, Alicia and the rest of Gryffindor House appeared in the Great Hall sporting Ravenclaw blue and bronze. Alicia had charmed her school skirt blue, put on the tie that Carson had given her with a grin ("For good luck!"), and slipped on the same golden headband she'd worn on the day of her own match against Slytherin.
Merlin, how far away that seemed now.
She felt a strange pinch of guilt as she laid out her clothes though, and so she pulled out a matching set of lace lingerie that had a tiny silver bell with a ribbon in the centre of both the bra and knickers, and she charmed the fabric green. Hastily, without analyzing why she'd done it, she threw them on and then slipped into her skirt, blouse and Carson's tie, before placing the golden headband on her head.
Alicia scanned the Great Hall as she, Katie and Angelina stepped in. Cassius caught her eye first, and she could practically feel the stormy irritation brewing behind his stony face as he took in her attire. But then Carson, whose table was adjacent to the Slytherins', waved her over, and Alicia was forced to tear her eyes away from Cassius' burning stare.
"I'm just going to go say hi to Carson," she said quickly, glancing at her friends as they smirked at her.
"Tell him to beat those snakes down," said Angelina vehemently, as Alicia quickly walked away.
Alicia desperately wanted to avoid having to pass between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, but found it would be impossible to do so without looking stupid, for if she chose to go in between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, she would have to go all the way down the aisle towards the professors' table, then turn, and come back up the other side anyway. Though she'd be exposed to the Slytherins for less time that way, it was a long silly route to take.
She put on her grin-and-bear-it face, and quickly made her way over to the Ravenclaw table. Carson was sitting at the end of the Ravenclaw table closest to the staff table with the rest of the Ravenclaw team, where Roger was briefing them amidst the chatter. The Slytherin team was at the opposite end of their table, closest to the doors leading to the Great Hall, also being briefed by Montague. Alicia felt Cassius' eyes slide over her as she walked past him, but she kept her gaze evenly focused on the Ravenclaws.
Carson was sitting on the side adjacent to the Slytherins, his back to them, and when Alicia finally made it to him, he gave her an ear-splitting grin and stood up to give her a kiss. When she finally pulled away, Carson bent down and whispered into her ear, "I'll make sure to give them a proper beating."
"Hey Alicia, good to see you too," said Roger loudly, causing her to blush.
"Hey Roger, sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to say good luck out there!" she said brightly. Roger grinned.
"I was just kidding. But thanks! We'll definitely try our best. We've got a few tricks up our sleeves, let's just say."
Alicia wished the rest of the team luck, said a couple of quick hellos to some of her other Ravenclaw friends, then quickly headed towards her own table, thankful that she could cut across in front of the staff table. She joined Katie and Angelina for breakfast, and the girls chatted amongst themselves about the upcoming game.
"I really don't know about this one," Angelina was saying as Alicia squeezed in next to her. "Montague's upped the game since we won the last match. Not that Davies hasn't either, but Montague's gone round the bend if you ask me... I haven't even seen the Squid around, it's been so cold, but he still has them swimming around in the Lake at the bloody crack of dawn."
"Well we'll just have to see, won't we?" said Katie, shrugging. "The Ravenclaws will have to score like maniacs to keep up with points if they lose the snitch."
After breakfast, they joined the rest of the school in crowding onto the stands, and Alicia relaxed into the crowd, feeling much better about being camouflaged amongst the crowd of blue and bronze. She didn't want either Cassius or Carson to be able to see her, much less make eye contact, and being just another faceless person in the crowd made her feel relaxed for the first time in three weeks.
Watching Quidditch was always strange compared to playing it. When she was a little girl, her mother had taken her to see a local game, and she'd fallen in love. While her parents had never been able to afford to send her to the sumer camps or have her sign up for the junior leagues, in the summer at the DeWitt villa, her grandfather occasionally snuck her onto an old broom whenever her grandmother was out. It was probably the one thing that Alicia could say she loved about her two weeks with her grandparents. Though she obviously preferred to be on the broom than off it, watching a game (especially if it was high-intensity offensive) was always exhilarating. The Ravenclaw-Slytherin match would be interesting because of the clash of styles. Roger definitely preferred an intricate defensive game, and Montague's style was the exact opposite. But Alicia had a feeling that Roger's usual exhaust-the-opponent method wasn't going to work as easily with the Slytherins this year, not with the madness they called training on their side.
When Hooch released the whistle and the balls flew into the air, the crowd rose to their feet in a simultaneous motion, cheering loudly as Lee Jordan drawled out his usual entertaining comments. Quidditch at Hogwarts simply wouldn't be the same without him, she mused, and pitied the next generation of students. Another last, her brain reminded her solemnly.
The Slytherins were definitely on the offensive, but interestingly, so were the Ravenclaws. A last minute change of tactic, the crowd remarked excitedly, and the Ravenclaw offensive was definitely as well coordinated as their defensive, though perhaps not as aggressive as the Slytherins. This was going to be an interesting match.
Half an hour into the game, there was a snitch spotting, causing the crowd to go into a frenzy, but a well-timed bludger from Carson sent Malfoy spinning off course. The Slytherins were up by ten.
Two hours later, exhaustion began to set in. The Ravenclaws had been playing the defensive for at least half an hour now, but it was clear that their starting offensive play had drained them. The Slytherins, meanwhile, kept up their onslaught, albeit their passes were getting sloppier as the minutes ticked by.
The wind howled in the air, and it was a wet cold that bit into the skin. Despite reapplied warming charms, even the crowd was starting to feel restless. Just when Alicia thought she couldn't handle it anymore, she watched as Cho Chang and Malfoy suddenly skyrocketed into the air from opposite ends of the pitch as the noise in the stands tripled.
She watched with baited breath as Carson winded up to send a bludger towards Malfoy, but just as his bat was about to collide with the ball, another came flying from the direction of the Slytherin end of the pitch, and she watched in horror as Carson took a direct hit in the arms. She could practically hear the crunch of his bones, and half the crowd let out a sound of disgust as he slumped forward in obvious pain, unable to grasp his broom due to his broken arms. His bat clattered to the floor and shattered, sending shards of wood spraying into the air.
The crowd screamed as Carson's broom veered wildly about, and it was clear he was holding on by the sheer strength of his thighs while his mangled arms dangled about by his sides. Simultaneously, the Slytherin stands erupted into cheers as it became clear who had won the match. Alicia didn't care. She found her eyes drifting towards Cassius, who was still clutching Goyle's bat, looking grimly triumphant, while the bat-less Slytherin beater hovered stupidly next to him.
"That prick," Angelina fumed as the girls exited the stands as fast they could. "What a way to win, absolutely disgusting."
Alicia agreed, but they all knew that Cassius had committed the move without a single foul. There was nothing in the books about another playing seizing his own beater's bat, and still less about aiming a bludger at an opponent beater.
Still, it disturbed her nevertheless that he had so unhesitatingly broken Carson's arms when he could have simply aimed the bludger for his bat. Something in her gut told her that the move had been a little bit on the personal side.
When Alicia arrived at the Hospital Wing, the rest of the Carson's teammates were just leaving, and she felt a sting of guilt as she looked into their disappointed faces, clearly suffering from their loss.
"Hey Alicia," said Peter glumly. "Here to see Carson, I guess?"
"Yeah," she replied, "How's he doing?"
"He'll be fine... thank god for magic, eh? Bloody Warrington shattered his bones, he'll be in for a couple nights with Skele-Gro. Anyway, see you around, yeah?"
Alicia cringed at the mention of the deadly concoction. Nobody played quidditch without experiencing the lovely delights Skele-Gro had to offer. While single breaks in larger bones could generally be mended with a few spells, the nature of quidditch led to most breaks being too severe or too delicate for such simple remedies. In such cases, the broken bones had to be vanished and regrown, as was apparently the case with Carson's arms. Alicia had experienced something similar when she'd taken a bad fall in her second year, and her entire foot had more or less disintegrated into a thousand little pieces. She shuddered at the memory.
Suddenly, she realized with awful pleasure that Carson would be in the Hospital Wing for another day, possibly two, and that he wouldn't be able to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow with her after all. God, had she ever felt so guilty in her entire life? If only she hadn't said yes, if only she hadn't kissed him that day... she was sure that he wouldn't have taken it badly, and they would have remained friends, and everything would have been so much less complicated...
Her brain snidely reminded her that everything would have been so much less complicated if it weren't for Cassius, and she sighed unhappily as she pushed open the door to the Hospital Wing, trying hard not to let her guilt show. Mercifully, Carson was knocked out, and she asked Madame Pomfrey to let him know that she'd swung by before quickly escaping the sombre room.
At lunch after the match, Montague congratulated the team on a game well played, rewarding Malfoy with one of his rare smiles which had the younger boy preening.
Cassius and Montague's relationship had been somewhat strained over the past three weeks, which even Pucey had noticed (though he hadn't dared question them about it), but they remained friends nevertheless. Cassius knew that Montague had done what he'd done partly out of anger, and partly out of concern. He also knew Montague well enough to know that the games he played weren't personal - it was simply how he dealt with life, ever the chess master. Even as young as the age of four, Montague knew how to twist a person's arm through a mindfuck. But still... it grated on his nerves whenever his friend shot him his knowing looks when he came back to the dorm on Sunday nights, or as he did now, whilst wryly congratulating him on his excellent marksmanship and contribution to helping Malfoy catch the snitch.
Cassius scanned the Great Hall as Montague and Pucey grumbled about Yule. Pucey had, thus far, avoided any attempts on his family's part to shackle him with Flint's half-sister, "the horsey faced one with the fit bod", but the pressure was coming down on him. His father had sunk their finances last year in the same sad speculation scheme that had brought down a couple other good families, and was now barely managing to stay afloat. The Puceys were down to their one London townhouse and a country house in Wales, having been forced to exchange the rest of their properties to various relatives for financial security. The Flint sisters were far from the loveliest ladies on the market, as indicated by the fact that they hadn't been courted since their coming-out some five years earlier. Old Flint was getting nervous. Finances be damned, the girls had a dowry fit for a king. He just wanted to see them wed and bed and with child before he crawled off into his death bed. The Puceys were a fine family with good genes, not a single child born with a deformation since seventeen-eighty three. History of madness? Limited, a couple odd ones here and there over the last three centuries... Squibs? One, and not in living memory. And Adrian was a good looking boy, the sort who could have easily had his pick of the lot were it not for his family's unfortunate financial situation. It was clear that the Flints and the Puceys were looking to get everything in writing by the New Year. And so far, Adrian hadn't managed to snag a single prospective girl to save him from his impending doom.
The Mark had been mentioned more frequently too. Oh, it was never spoken about explicitly, but it came up. Especially whenever Pucey had a freak out about his potentially pending nuptials. They knew that once the holidays came rolling around, their fathers would call for them to discuss the matter more closely in person. With graduation round the bend, and the undoubtable stirrings in the wizarding underworld, the boys would have to make a decision, and they would have to do it soon.
The three of them were lucky, Cassius mused, in that their fathers hadn't been involved in the first war. Not directly, anyhow... they wouldn't be as pressured to take the Mark as say, Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy, whose fathers were very highly regarded members of the Dark Lord's inner circle. But if they were to avoid taking the Mark, then the financial consequences would be steep... Cassius and Montague could afford to fund their way out of taking the Mark by financing the Dark Lord's operations if they so chose, as their fathers had done the first time around. Pucey, on the other hand, no longer had that choice. It was take the Mark or take the wife. Both, if push came to shove.
As Cassius glanced around the Great Hall, he tried to estimate the number of students who were actually purebloods, and found the number to be slim. Most of them had at least a half-blood somewhere in the line, if not all. He tried to think of a single 'pureblood' family that hadn't blasted a wayward member off a family tree at some point in their history. It was a matter of illusion, really. Most of the truly pure families had died out with the last century thanks to the combined factors of dwindling wealth and health, attributed to too much in-breeding. Not to mention, there was the simultaneous abolishment of titles with the whirlwind of changes in wizarding bureaucracy... if his parents were still referred to as Lord and Lady Warrington, it was more out of respect now than because of any actual social obligation.
"Cassius."
"What?"
Montague shot him an annoyed glance.
"I was saying that I spoke with Flint and some of the scouts before lunch. The Bombers were pretty impressed with you, they'll be inviting you to closed try-outs in August, provided you improve on passes. Their scout said he'll be coming back."
Cassius scoffed. He'd been playing Quidditch for practically his entire life, some of his earliest memories consisting of Montague dragging him out on their toy brooms with his set of soft Quidditch balls for children, and for as long as he could remember, fumbling on passes had been his (and Montague's) biggest vexation. He just couldn't do it. Something about flying at a ridiculous height and speed prevented him from being able to pass or receive a ball. Get it into his hands, sure, it was practically a guaranteed goal, but that was the problem... you had to get it into his hands. Sensing what he was thinking, Montague glanced at him askance and said, "Adrian and I got offers too. You can practice with us... if you're interested."
"Who'd you get offers from?"
"Arrows," said Pucey. "For their reserves, though. No one's retiring quite yet, and they just closed their trades, so their first string roster's set for another year at least. Graham's obviously got half the league lined up at his door, though, and most of 'em haven't even sent scouts for him."
The conversation quickly turned into another argument over which teams were better, and Cassius tuned it out as he noticed with some discontent that Alicia hadn't made an appearance for lunch. His mood soured as he thought about her holed up in the Hospital Wing next to Bishop, which was where she undoubtedly was, showing her moral support as the 'girlfriend' or whatever she was.
After lunch, they went their separate ways, Montague and Pucey to work on an Herbology project in the greenhouses, and Cassius to the library. They would have to get as much work done as possible within the next six hours, because after dinner would come the inevitable post-win party, and the following day they would be at Hogsmeade until dinner time, and nobody was ever in the mood to do homework after a Hogsmeade trip.
Cassius was dismayed to see that the library was crammed full of people, everybody struggling to get their end of term assignments handed in, or studying for tests. The atmosphere was absolutely not condosive to studying. He required peace of mind, and just by stepping foot into the library, he'd practically absorbed a little bit of stress emanating from every person in the room. He could feel irritation humming in his bones.
He made a hasty retreat.
He was almost unsurprised to see through the little window in the door that Alicia was sprawled out on the floor of what had unofficially become their music room (though he refused to acknowledge it as such). He opened the door, and she looked at him over her shoulder, a frown marring her face.
"Ever hear of knocking?"
Cassius shut the door behind him.
"The library was full."
"So? There's at least a dozen other rooms in this corridor. Pick another one."
"What, you PMSing or something?" he said irritably.
She rolled onto her back and leaned on her forearms against the floor, scowling at him.
"As a matter of fact, yeah, yeah I am. My period's due in two days if you must know. Would you also like to know what size tampons I use? You bloody presumptuous arse. And may I add, I really do think it was a bit much of you to break his arms the way you did."
Cassius let his book bag drop to the floor with a loud BANG, and he glared down at her.
"So let me get this straight," he snapped. "You're telling me that not only am I not going to get laid this weekend, but you're also mad at me because I played against your stupid boyfriend's team and won? That hit was clean and you know it - hell, maybe I should just become a beater, since you seem to like them so damned much."
Alicia shot onto her feet, and she balled her hands up by her sides. She glared at Cassius, who seemed intent on staring her down with his fiercest expression.
"You're damn right you're not going to get laid this weekend. Not with me, anyhow. And clean or not," she replied heatedly, "That was completely uncalled for. You could have aimed for his bat, or better yet, you could have let your bloody beater do his job -
Cassius let out a sarcastic laugh, and gave her an unimpressed look.
"Do you even play Quidditch? Have you seen Goyle?"
"Fuck you, I play better Quidditch than you do -
"Then you'd know that I did what I had to do to win. Don't worry, Spinnet, it wasn't personal or anything. Your precious boyfriend isn't worth my breath, you really think I'd go out of my way to risk a suspension just to break his fucking arms? I could do that in the corridors with no witnesses if I really wanted to hurt him that bad. But I don't. You know why? Because I don't give a shit -
"Like hell you don't!" Alicia exclaimed shrilly. She stomped towards him and planted her hands on her hips. "I am so bloody sick of you reminding me every week how much you don't give a shit about me or about what I do, when all you do is criticize Carson or antagonize him or take the piss out of me whenever I mention him."
"That's because he's a bloody twat," Cassius sneered.
"Let me ask you something," Alicia snapped. "In six months when we graduate, no, shut up and don't interrupt me. In six months when we graduate, do you think you'll be able to look at me and say you don't give a shit? Or how about in a year? Maybe we pass each other in Diagon Alley or something, and say I'm with somebody - say, I'm with Montague -
Cassius stared at her lividly, horrified by the turn the argument had taken.
"Graham would never -
Alicia cut him off with a shrill laugh.
"Yeah, just like you would never, right? Just like Montague and I never kissed, hmm? Who knows, maybe in a year he decides it wasn't so bad - he's a pretty decent snog - and maybe he decides since I'm so fucking poor that he'll put me up for a good lay. God knows, your fucking friends have offered enough times over the years. And hey, who knows? Maybe I decide to take up your good friend on this hypothetical offer of his. And maybe you see us walking down the street one day, maybe he's got his hand on my arse like he did while we were kissing. You saw that, didn't you? I know I felt it."
"Alicia," said Cassius in a low, angry voice, "Shut the fuck up."
She smiled cruelly at him.
"And maybe we even say hi, maybe Montague mentions that he's going to fuck me, and invites you to come along since you do so love to share, don't you?"
She was doing it on purpose, and he wanted wipe that god awful smirk off her face because it didn't belong there. Not on her. Not like that.
"Stop talking."
She ignored him and was blatantly sneering now, refusing to shrink back despite the fact that he'd closed the gap between them and had her upper arm in a vice-grip. Her eyes never left his, and he felt his body clench in anger as she continued to antagonize him.
"... and just picture it, the three of us in some seedy hotel room. Would you fight him over who gets to go first? Or maybe you just don't give a shit, hmm? I mean, you're always saying it. So maybe you don't give a shit if you're dear old friend decides he wants a go at me first -
Cassius seized her by the chin, but if anything, she tilted it higher in defiance of him.
"Get one thing straight. Graham will never, ever touch you again, do you understand?"
"Then why do you?" she whispered angrily, staring into his stormy eyes.
"I don't fucking know!" he barked, letting go over her and clenching his fists by his sides. "You think I know? Because god knows I don't have one fucking clue."
"So then don't tell me you don't give a shit!" Alicia shrieked.
"Is that what you want?" he shouted furiously. "You want me to give a shit? Do you have any idea what me giving a shit entails? Let me give you a fucking picture, Alicia. It means you don't fucking go near any other bloke when I'm around, it means you make damn sure that I don't even hear about somebody else touching you. It means you get to stand on the sidelines pretending I'm not shagging the life out of you on the weekends, pretending you don't exist when I've got my arms wrapped around some other girl right in front of you. It means you get to play mistress while I get married to some bitch I've never met and have the required fucking heir and spare. It means maybe one day I really stop giving a shit and toss you over for some younger, prettier girl. Is that what you want from me? Because by all means, I'll give it to you. I'll put you up in my goddamn family townhouse where you get to wait around like every other Warrington mistress who's been through those doors. It's even got a name, the bleeding Berkley House, there's been so fucking many of them. That's what you get if you want me to give a shit. You should be thanking me for not giving a sodding fuck. I've told you over and over again, no romance -
"Yeah, yeah, same old song, Cassius," she snapped, tears rolling down her cheeks. "No Romance. Well I don't want your fucking romance, alright? Never did. But here's the newsflash, this is it, you imbecile! Half the fucking things you've just mentioned are already happening. You think I don't see you with those other girls? You think it's easy for me to pretend that I want to stomp on your face in the corridors? You think I like watching you pretend to laugh while your fucking friends insult me and throw knuts at me when I walk by like they think I'm some desperate slag? When all I can think about when my fucking boyfriend kisses me is your sodding face? How do you think I feel when you tell me you just don't give a shit, when the next time I see you, you're going off your rocker because you saw my boyfriend slip his hand under my shirt? This is your own twisted brand of Warrington romance, you sadist masochistic fuck! Only it took me a hell of a long time to realize it for what it was. You can thank your friend for that, the goddamned bastard. I fucking hate you."
Cassius' face went white and Alicia wiped her eyes, furious with herself, furious at his honesty, and just all around disappointed. But what had she been expecting? A goddamn declaration of love? She had trouble admitting to herself that she was attracted to him on a more than superficial level, so why should he? But they both knew it, had known it for awhile even, that something that shouldn't have existed between them was well alive. She waited for him to say something else, but his face was drawn and shuttered, pinched and exhausted looking. She choked back another furious sob and turned away. She couldn't stay in this room a moment longer. Too much had been said that couldn't be taken back. The room itself was stifling, full of too many associations that she didn't want to think about. They were at another threshold now, and she wasn't sure if it was something she wanted to face.
"This has to end."
His voice reverberated in the silence, serious and resigned, punctuated only by the sound of their breaths, and Alicia knew that it was his way of recognizing the truth. Of course it had to end. They were going nowhere, it was a doomed thing from the start. School was a fake little haven that shielded them from the real world. In six months, there could be a war. In six months, she could wake up with his wand in her face while somebody encouraged him to kill her, or worse. And he'd have to do it, wouldn't he... So of course it had to end. Now. Before things got worse, if that was even possible.
The truth was, though, that things had already gotten worse. They'd stepped into the land of no return.
Alicia waited to hear the door slam shut, to be left alone in silence, but neither of those things happened. She could still hear his quiet breaths behind her, could still feel the terrible tension in the air, could still smell the intoxicating combination of his cologne and that scent that was just him. It made her want to cry.
"Just fucking say something," he snapped, and Alicia shook her head.
"Turn around."
Cassius and his commands. She wondered if he was even capable of requests. She heard him stride over towards her, and felt his hand clamp down on her shoulder like that very first day in front of the library when he'd asked her if she'd wanted to shag.
Three months felt like three years in her mind.
How had this happened?
Proximity, she thought. That's what it was. There was no escape. As long as they were at Hogwarts, there would be no escape. He would always be there in his back corner of every class they shared together, chair tilted against the wall, cool expression on his face. He would always be there in the Great Hall, three times a day, sitting with his shitfucker friends. He would be in the corridors, and on the pitch, and maybe even in the kitchens whenever she felt like a late night snack. Three months felt like three years because they saw each other every damned day, at least three times a day if not more.
She tried to tell herself that the next term would be better. The project would be over by then. Then they could go back to properly ignoring each other because there would be no need to talk to each other... no excuse to meet up under any circumstances whatsoever. And maybe by then she'd fall for Carson. Or for somebody else, anybody else. And he could go back to shagging his newest flavour of the week. They'd be Spinnet and Warrington again, and then they'd graduate and they'd never see each other again. And if one day it so happened that they found each other at opposite ends of each other's wands, she'd do what had to be done in order to stay alive. And he'd do the same. No hard feelings because it wouldn't matter. He'd be just another Death Eater, and she'd be just another half blood. The End.
But it wouldn't work out that way. As she turned around, forcefully guided by Cassius' hand on her shoulder, she felt her illusion shatter. They would never be the same again, even if it ended now.
"Fucking say something," he repeated, eyes hollow but voice cold and firm.
She looked up at him wearily, wondering what it was that he wanted to hear. It didn't matter, though. She didn't care. She was tired of fighting, tired of thinking. It always ended in the same thing. So she told him a resigned voice, "Just fuck me," and half hoped that he would shake his head and walk away. But he didn't. Of course he didn't. This is how they were. They fought, they fucked, and they played pretend.
He didn't kiss her for once, and Alicia was glad for this obvious attempt at distance. Maybe this could work out, some desperate part of her hoped. Maybe if they just didn't kiss, didn't talk...
It turned out that he didn't even want to bother undressing. Fine, she was fine with that. Less personal that way.
He pushed her up against the wall, and Alicia shivered at the coolness of the stone bricks against her cheek. She braced herself with her arms, flattening her palms down across the wall and arching her back in the way she knew he liked. She looked back at him over her shoulder, and he stared back at her with a blank expression, but she could see the darkening of his eyes, and his breath became stilted as he took her in with one sweeping gaze.
He didn't say anything, and she watched as he undid his belt. So. It was going to be like that then, a quick shag, he'd pull up his pants, she'd yank on her knickers, and then they'd go on their way. Yes, fine, she was fine with that.
But that wasn't what happened and she should have known better. She'd realized over the past three weeks that Cassius' need for control was not limited to his school work and daily life. She stared at him quizzically when he suddenly brought his belt up to her arms, and realization dawned on her as he wrapped it around her wrists. He muttered a quick charm, she felt the belt tighten and hold itself in place. She wanted to say something, but then she remembered that she'd decided she wasn't going to speak. Better that way. Yes, quite.
She looked back at him over her shoulder, and waited for him to drop his pants then fuck her. She was almost dreading it now, wondering if it was going to be like every other shag she'd had before him. Quick. Cold. Impersonal. Emotionless.
But that's what she wanted, wasn't it?
He dropped to his knees and pulled down her knickers, and Alicia flushed, remembering how she'd so guiltily charmed them green that morning. He looked up at her, a strange glint flickering momentarily in his eyes. She glanced away and faced the wall.
She felt him tug on her legs, so she shifted back until he stopped tugging, and mused at how vulgar she must look with her arms up against the wall, chest pressed forward with her back and arse arched out and legs spread. Suddenly, she felt Cassius' mouth brush against her from under her skirt, and she let out a yelp of surprise and pleasure. She slammed her mouth shut and pursed her lips, determined not to make a sound.
She looked back down at him over her shoulder, but his head had disappeared under her skirt. Still Ravenclaw blue.
She fought back a moan, struggling to remain silent as he teased her, breathing cool air over her first before the tip of his tongue ghosted over where she wanted it the most. He kissed her up and down her inner thighs, occasionally biting hard enough to leave a bruise. When he finally kissed his way back up to her centre, she was wet and shaking. He flicked her clit relentlessly and lazily, and it wasn't until she cried out his name that he rewarded her by slowly, torturously, sliding a finger into her. He pulled it out almost immediately, and she unconsciously let out a whimper of protest.
He was doing it on purpose, she thought viciously, but her thoughts became a muddled mess when his tongue suddenly dragged its way down to another target, and she let out a gasp of pleasure, astonishment and embarrassment as his tongue lightly circled over her. He couldn't possibly be there of all places, and yet she vaguely remembered what he'd said the first time they'd shagged... she'd semi hoped it to be a joke then. "One day," he'd muttered, or something along those lines. You'll like it, I promise. Somehow, with his mouth hot against her, she didn't doubt it.
But he pulled away from her suddenly, bit her bum teasingly, then she felt him rise onto his feet behind her. She couldn't possibly look at him now, not after where he'd just been, and she listened silently as he unzipped his pants and cast a contraceptive charm, keeping her eyes firmly glued to the wall. One of his arms came down to a rest against the wall next to her head, and she felt his chest mould against her back as he tugged her a little more upright with his other arm. He pulled her skirt out of the way, and she felt him brush against her.
"Fuck," he hissed, and it was the first thing he'd said. She choked back another moan as he rubbed himself against her entrance, and she groaned as he finally sunk himself in.
He held her down firmly against the wall with his body, one of his free hands pressed down against her shackled shackled ones as the other one clutched her hips. He would leave marks. He always did.
His thrusts were slow, heavy and even, and Alicia let out a string of swear words in her head as she struggled to remain silent. She tried to buck against him, tried to silently urge him to move faster, but he held her down with even more pressure, nipping on the crook of her neck as a quiet reminder of who was the boss.
He was playing her. He knew exactly how she liked it (hard, rough, fast), and he was purposely doing the opposite. His hand moved from her hip to her chest, and he continued to thrust in that maddeningly slow pattern as he unbuttoned her shirt.
"You want to know what would happen if it was you, me and Montague?" he suddenly hissed, his voice terribly rough and angry in her ear. She let out an involuntary whimper of disappointment as he pulled out of her, leaving her clenching at a terrible emptiness. She wanted to block her ears, but her hands were still bound, pressed against the wall underneath his unoccupied hand. She let out a moan as he toyed lazily with her breasts with the other, cupping her under her bra. "There wouldn't be an argument over who'd get to fuck you first." Suddenly, she felt his wet erection slide against her bottom while he gave one of her nipples a punishing twist. "We'd do it at the same time," he snarled. "And I always start from right here when we share." He pressed himself a little more firmly against her, and for one mad second, she wanted to thrust back against him.
He slid down lower and his hand left her chest to slide into her hair as he pressed himself back into her empty clenching core, still at that torturously slow pace. She cried out his name as his angry thrusts picked up speed and strength to the point where it almost hurt. But it felt good, too good to stop, too good to pretend that she didn't like it, and he was so fucking thick, filled her so fucking properly that it wasn't fair because how in merlin's name was she ever going to find anybody else, the bloody bastard, she hated him, hated him, hated him -
He pulled out of her again and brought her down to the floor, and she wanted to cry as he looked down at her emotionlessly while he pounded into her, eyes focused on everything but her face. She struggled against his belt, wanted to reach down and touch him, to make him look at her, but resigned herself to submission when it was clear that he wasn't going to do anything about it. Instead, she watched him as he screwed her, and she tried to forget every detail of his face. There. One last look at his lips, which she wouldn't kiss again. Dry, as always. There. One last look at his nose, a little on the big side, but a perfect ski slope nevertheless. There. One last look at his eyes, so dark and angry and - No. Stop. She couldn't look there.
He dragged her legs over his shoulders, and she found herself unable to focus anymore, heard herself chanting his name as his thrusts became short, rough, and impossibly fast. Suddenly, he dropped her legs, and she wrapped them around his waist as she urged him on, ordering him to go deeper, just a little harder -
"Fuck, Alicia," he snarled, his voice wavering between anger, pleasure and desperation. "Fuck!"
She heard herself howl his name one last time as his thrusts became erratic, before she saw a cascade of stars against blackness. He collapsed onto his back beside her and lazily undid the belt around her wrists with one outstretched arm, and pulled up his boxers and his pants with the other.
"So," she mumbled once reality had settled in. "What now?"
Cassius let out snort.
"Nothing. We're here now. Might as well finish the project," he said curtly, his voice flat and dismissive.
"That's not what I meant."
He propped himself up onto his elbow and looked down at her, and immediately wished he hadn't. He'd wanted to stay angry with her, but he couldn't, not when she looked so at peace, so thoroughly fucked. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were closed, and her cheeks were flushed and sweaty, streaked with red from his stubble. He could see her chest rise and fall with every deep breath. Bishop's blue and bronze tie hung haphazardly on her breasts, and he wanted to rip it off, the filthy reminder that she belonged to a different world, to somebody else, a sharp contrast against the lacy emerald green bra with a tiny silver bell and ribbon on its centre that matched her knickers. Green and silver, just for him... God, why did she have to bare her soul so openly? Her arms, still stretched out above her head, were marked with red welts from his belt. He felt his chest constrict uncomfortably when she opened her eyes.
"We finish the project," he finally repeated, flopping down onto his back to avoid her gaze. He propped his head behind his hands. "And that's it. We're presenting this week anyhow. Not like we'll have an excuse to meet up anymore," he said in a disaffected voice.
He fished around inside his pocket and pulled out a pack of smokes.
"You can't smoke in here!" she exclaimed as he lit a cigarette.
"I just fucked you against a wall, Alicia. I think I can have a sodding fag."
They settled into an eerily comfortable silence as Cassius smoked, and Alicia occasionally stole a drag, and he hated it. Nothing was supposed to be comfortable between them. Certainly not after what had been said, certainly not after the way he'd shagged her. And yet they were quite comfortable, and it only served as a terrible reminder of how far they had fallen down the rabbit hole. His anger had dissipated, replaced by a combination of resigned pleasure and weariness that he didn't want.
"If I'd been a pureblood -
"Don't," he interrupted. "You weren't. You're not. And you'd still have been a Gryffindor, anyhow." He didn't want to think about the what-ifs and the what could-have-beens. It wasn't worth it. It made his heart clench to know that she thought about it too. It made him want to throw up. And when she pronounced the word he'd never wanted to hear associated with his name, not from her - not from anyone, but especially not from her - in a small scared voice, Cassius, do you love me, he wished for the ground to collapse beneath him and swallow him whole.
"It doesn't matter," was all he could say, feigning nonchalance as he lit himself a second cigarette.
"I don't love you either," she lied, plucking what was left of the first one from his fingers.
And they both knew then that it was the closest thing to the truth either of them would get.
REVIEWS?! Pretty please? PS, did you guys like the old pic better?