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The Time of Cupids
By: Gryffindorgirl153

A/N: sorry to do this to you guys, but this is a new re-write of the previous chapter. there is a paragraph or two that's taken from the previous one, but that's it. it's rather different. i had to rewrite this one since i had no idea where i was going with the other chapter, and it was just too messy for my liking. enjoy!

edited 8.24

Chapter Two
James Potter

I was a man with a mission. I felt like I should have dressed up in completely black attire while I successfully crouched behind dull suits of armor, hid behind tapestries, and quietly maneuver my way through the corridors of Hogwarts in search for a certain Cupid whose wings were probably spread out in plain sight. It was around nine, the time when most students began to retire back to their common room. It was during this time that Desmond felt it was best to work. Regrettably, he was sneakier than I could ever be; he being, an experienced Cupid with wings, while I, on the other hand, am simply one of the three offspring’s of the infamous Harry Potter who seemingly neglected to pass down his infamous abilities. It was a ridiculous fact; The Boy Who Lived refuses to teach his own sons how to sneak up on his own best friend so that they may proceed in beating the life out of them.

Perhaps my almighty father had foreseen this, therefore, had managed to avoid cleaning up the mess his own son had made from a bloody murder. In my opinion, my father has had a taste of much too many prophecies during his time. He had probably tasted more than a (mislabeled) seer.

Nevertheless, despite my lack of agile abilities (one reason why I was not fit to be a keeper), I was able to track a Cupid down. I was a Seeker, for Merlin’s sake! If I could not track down a six-foot boy with a set of wings, a bright halo, and a bow strapped to his back, then I will be ashamed to even call myself a Seeker.

I was going to kill him—that wanker—I was going to kill him. How dare he shoot Victoria, his best friend and the one girl I cannot stand, with a bloody arrow so that she can fall in love with me? Victoria! Victoria Rose! Of all bleeding girls, he chose Victoria Rose. (Yes, I am aware of the fact that he did not choose Victoria—it sort of just happened. But please, allow me to be overdramatic for just a short while.) She’s that short annoying girl that I can never seem to evade. Wherever I go, she’s standing right there, just waiting for the next chance to piss me off. It did not help at all that we had five other mutual friends, and we were on the same Quidditch team, which killed any chances of avoiding one another. I did not live a day of my life without seeing her horrendously (pretty) face.

I felt like a shark going for its prey—I probably looked like one too. Nevertheless, I didn’t care. At this moment, I wanted nothing more than to have Desmond’s detached head in my hands. I was going to rip his head off with my bare hands—with absolutely no help from magic.

There was no way he was going to do this to me and get away with it.

No flippin way.

“Oi!” I finally spotted him poking his head out of a thick tapestry. Honestly, if I can spot him aiming an arrow at some helpless bloke, I’m pretty sure everyone else in the castle can.

I watched carefully as his fingers released the tight bow, causing the arrow to shoot straight towards the Ravenclaw. A shout of pain echoed throughout the corridor as the bloke’s hand immediately shot to his arse in attempt to soothe the pain. A look of triumph spread through Desmond’s face as he spotted a short, stout blonde rounding the corner—right in the bloke’s line of view.

“Oi!” I repeated, deciding that it was safe to distract Cupid from his daily work, not that I really cared at this point. “Des! You bloody git, get your arse over here.” I ordered in my most threatening voice.

Desmond pocketed the rest of his arrows before he completely immerged from the tapestry. “How’s it going, mate?” he began causally, flipping his hair.


I growled at him with distaste. “Don’t ‘how’s it going, mate’ me, Pierce!” it was rather strange calling my best friend by his surname, but I had to enforce my anger as well as my (nonexistent) authority. “Reverse that arrow you shot at Victoria’s arse!” I bellowed desperately; pleadingly. “What were you thinking? How can you make her fall in love with me? Are you bloody insane?”

“No can do, James.” Desmond replied. “And no, I am not insane. I am Cupid.” He flashed me a grin as we began walking towards the staircase leading to the rest of the moving staircases. “Arrows can’t be reversed, remember? They can only be pulled out if the other person falls in love with the one who is shot. We already went through this, mate. Get with the program.” He snapped his fingers at me—he bloody snapped his bloody, fucking fingers at me.

“You’re Cupid! There must be something you can do to reverse this hell-hole you have created for me!”

Desmond thought for a moment, giving me the slightest bit of hope that there was something he could do about it. “Well, there is one thing.” He said, his hands moving to the side of his head as he began thinking. “Fall in love with Victoria and pull it out yourself.”

I stared at him with a good ten seconds. “Are you insane?”

“Nope, I’m Cupid.” He repeated, giving me a stupid grin, and I wanted to punch it right of his face. “Relax, James. I gave her a play arrow.” Finally, he was saying something reassuring. “She doesn’t really love you—well actually, I wouldn’t really know. But anyway, it’s only an arrow that forces her to love you”

Even so, I groaned and ran my hands through my hair. “I don’t care if she doesn’t love me! I just want it to stop! Do you have any idea what she did this morning during breakfast?”

“Of course I do, mate. I was there.” He replied, chuckling at the memory.

“She started putting food on my plate.” I growled. “No girl puts food on my plate—that is something that I do. She’s not my bloody wife, or mother, or fiancé or girlfriend—she’s not even my friend!”

“I hate to break it to you, James, but the only way that this will ever go away, is for you to pull it out yourself.”

Exasperatedly, I let out a cry of annoyance. “Why are you even close to being stupid enough to shoot Victoria with an arrow?” I asked, running down a flight of stairs after him. “Des, if you haven’t noticed, Vic and I hate each other. We can’t stand being in the same room as one another without wanting to rip each other’s heads off. What makes you think that we won’t go crazy if we end up in love?”

He shrugged. The wanker shrugged. “You two bicker like there’s no tomorrow, and it’s about time that it stops. Listen, mate,” Desmond stopped in his tracks and turned around with a serious look on his face. “You and Vic are my best friends, and honestly, after seven years of fighting, I can’t stand it anymore. She quit the Quidditch team yesterday because the two of you were bickering once again. Do you have any idea how important Quidditch is to her?”

I scowled. “All she has to do is beg and grovel, and I’ll let her back on the team.”

Victoria Rose

“Please, Layla.” I groaned with annoyance, rolling around on my bed as I gripped at my hair. “Layla, make it stop.”

From her bed, Layla sighed exasperatedly for the fiftieth time that afternoon. “For the last time, Vic—I cannot stop you from thinking about James Potter.” She said nonchalantly as she flipped through a fashion magazine that was propped up on a pillow. “Why don’t you start thinking about food instead?” She flipped a page roughly. “You like food more than Potter, don’t you?”

I groaned again, and pressed my face tightly against the soft pillow beneath my head, trying to push all thoughts of James Potter out of my head. “I wish I did.” I mumbled against the soft fabric. “Merlin, I wish I did.”

This time, Layla laughed loudly. “Honey, when Desmond shot you with that arrow, he shot you good.”

I’ve never been shot with one of Desmond’s love arrows before. He generally opposed all relations that concerned me and another teenage boy (or any boy of any age for that matter). His arrows are particularly different (or so he says) from other cupids. Usually, a Cupids arrow would simply put false feelings and thoughts into one’s mind until they are completely and irrevocably in love with the first man or woman they (luckily, or unluckily) set their eyes on. Desmond’s, on the other hand, is a whole different story.

You see, Desmond does not shoot people for fun. He is definitely not one of those Cupids who fly around shooting arrows at random people for amusement. He plays on the strings of fate (or so he says). I’m not exactly sure how it works; maybe his little invisible Cupid wings flutter when a potential couple passes by, and then BAM. He shoots them. His arrows draw out all the feelings of doubt, embarrassment, anger and/or sadness; leaving only the feelings of ‘love’ they hold for their ‘significant other’. Desmond says he simply draws out their emotions on the table, making it easier for both parties to see what has been boiling in between them.

This little fact causes me to worry. Desmond definitely should not go against his morals and values just to make Potter and I fall in love as joke! Unless he is indirectly saying that there is something going on between Potter and I—no, that’s freaking impossible. Not even on my good days, do I even like him. I have this theory. If the victim feel absolutely nothing for the other person they set eyes on first, then there would be no feelings to draw out to the table, which would mean that the love arrow would be useless.

My theory is amazing, right? That means that Desmond’s little plan is completely futile!

(Or so I thought)

“Shut up, Layla.” I murmured, scowling against the pillow. “But I am hungry come to think of it.” I said after thinking for a while.

Layla glanced at her wristwatch, and continued flipping through the magazine set in front of her. “Lessons start in fifteen minutes. You’re going to have to wait until lunch.”

Layla and I have been in our dorm room for about half an hour now. With a free period and a break, we had a lot of time to spare before our next lesson. Usually, we would find an empty table in the library and catch up on some unfinished homework, but today, considering my current ‘love’ situation, we decided to leave our unfinished homework as it is, and retire to our dorm room. It was incredibly unproductive to be sitting in our beds, flipping through magazines and screaming into a pillow on this wonderful afternoon, but hey—I just fell in love a couple of hours ago, and there is no way that I am going to act like this is something normal.

It must seem like falling in love with James Sirius Potter is every girls’ dream. Well, it’s not really a dream—more like a reality. Every day, girls would fall over his feet, regardless of his asshole tendencies. They would constantly try to snag a date with the infamous Potter, who was the second heartthrob of Hogwarts, standing right beside Michael Conner, the last of their trio boy-band group (or whatever you want to call it).

Potter was everything a girl wanted. He was sexy, handsome, smart (I know, surprising, right?), amazing at Quidditch and (well, from what I’ve heard) an amazing kisser. Not that I would know from personal experience, or anything of that sort. However, along with all these amazing (haha—not) qualities, Potter was an—for a lack of a better word—asshole. He was a downright asshole, and girls loved it. The only person he was not an asshole to was Desmond, Michael and his cousins.

“Merlin, I feel like I’m on my period and this is just some killer cramp that won’t go away.” I mumbled to Layla. “I’m going to kill Desmond. I swear to Merlin that he will die at my hands.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little… overdramatic? We ate breakfast with Des, but you managed to refrain yourself from killing him.”

“I was.. er.. slightly distracted during breakfast.” And then I glared at her. “What would you do if he made you fall in love with a complete asshole?”

Layla laughed again and flipped the page of her magazine. “I thought you were supposed to be in love with James. How can you still call him an asshole if you’re in love with him?”

I blinked a couple of times and asked myself the same question. “I don’t know, actually.” I admitted. “Well, the feeling is there—I know I love him, or at least I like him a heck of a lot, but it’s just a feeling. I know Potter is an asshole, so why deny something that I already know?”

All I got from Layla was a strange look. “You are seriously a very strange girl… according to Desmond, you’re supposed to be a tub full of rainbows and sunshine while you gush about your love for James.”

I groaned against my pillow. “Ugh, don’t remind me of Potter!”

I never understood what it felt like to think about a single boy non-stop. I was never in love, and I will never be in love—on my own terms, that is. This silly little game that Desmond has forced me to play with Potter is not love. It’s mere—oh what’s the word… infatuation. Forced infatuation; nothing more. So you can probably guess my reaction to all these strange feelings and thoughts that I have been overloaded with since yesterday.

I was freaking the fuck out.

“Good afternoon girls!” Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence. Dominique Weasley, the last third that completed me. In other words: my best friend. She walked in carrying a pile of books in her arms, and a cup of steaming liquid in the other.

This is why I loved Dominique so much. She randomly graced me with cups of coffee, just the way I liked it. “Ooo, thank you.” I squealed happily, all thoughts of Potter leaving my mind.

Darn, they just came back.

“They need a new bloody librarian.” She complained. “It took me twenty minutes just to track down this bloody book.” She scowled as she handed me the cup of coffee before she made her way over to Layla, handing her the first book on her pile. “I had to ask Jonathan Elk to find it for me. That boy practically lives in the library… it’s actually really strange.” She set the rest of the dusty books in her arms on her desk under the window.

Layla laughed and set the thin book on her bedside table. “Dom, you need to stop flirting with poor innocent boys so that they can do your dirty work for you.”

After she dropped her bag on top of her trunk situated by the foot of her bed, she turned back to Layla with an outraged look on her face. “I said nothing about flirting with Jonathan!” She exclaimed, clapping a hand to her chest. “I would never do such a thing to a helpless fifth year.”

“Oh c’mon Dom, we all know you did.” I piped after I took a nice long sip of the wonderfully caffeinated drink. “Where’d you touch him this time?” I asked with a smirk on my face.

“Yes, Dom, where’d you touch the poor boy this time, you dirty little slut?” All three of our heads snapped towards the opening door, and I’m almost positive that all three of our eyes narrowed at the sight of the redhead that had just walked in.

Her name was Sylvia Bremmer, a Gryffindor in our year. Ever since we first met in our first year at Hogwarts, she decided that she was too good for the rest of us. She was smart, beautiful and popular—a triple threat that most girls are not lucky enough to be in possession of. For the last seven years, she’s been top of the class and had successfully avoided all kinds of drama that circulated around the castle. It was unfortunate for both her, and us that she had one of the nastiest attitudes I have ever come across.

“Shut your mouth, Bremmer.” Dom growled, glaring at the petite redhead.

The door opened once more, and in came Sylvia’s friend, Janice Wood. She thought that she was the greatest in the world, just because her father is a world-renowned Quidditch star. “Damn, Dom, since when did you get so scary? I’m practically shaking to my bones.” Her voice dripped of sarcasm.

“That’s lovely, Wood. Now, either you shut up and mind your attitude, or leave.” Layla snapped viciously. There was a nasty history between these two girls and Layla—a story that will be left to tell another time.

Sylvia stood by the foot of her bed, glaring at Layla. Nevertheless, she grabbed her belongings, opened a couple of drawers and shut a few cabinets before she left the room with her little minion in tow.

“I hate her.” Dominique said bluntly. “I hate her with such passion.”

Layla rolled her eyes and attempted to compose herself, ridding her mind of all traces of anger. “Anyway, Dom—you’ve been MIA for the past couple of days. Where were you?”

I sensed a long, exaggerated story coming on.

“Blame my little brother and my cousin.”

“James?” I asked.

“No, Freddie.” Dominique answered, giving me a strange look. “They landed themselves a month worth of detentions, and my mother begged me to straighten Louis out. But you know Weasley’s—they never go down easy. I had to track them down the castle, but in order to do that, I needed to track down the map, but I had no idea who had it.” It was amazing how the Marauders Map traveled amongst their family. “But anyway, after settling my business with my darling brother, Slughorn, who I can’t believe is still alive by the way, caught me with Louis hanging about teen feet off the ground upside down, so he gave me detention.”

Layla looked amused. “Don’t tell me you set the trophy room on fire again.”

Dominique shook her head; her blonde curls falling over her face. “Not this time. I was stuck in the potions room with Tyler. He wouldn’t tell me why he got detention. I figured it was because he finally got caught snogging some random girl in a broom closet, but I could never be too sure. You know Tyler, he’s always got something to hide.” She shrugged, and fell back against her pillows. “So tell me, what did I miss?”

At that precise moment, Layla and I exchanged hesitant glances. Gosh darn it, I really did not want to say ‘I love James Potter’ out loud. If I did, it just might make everything more real. “Dom, you’re about to regret refusing James’ offer to join the Quidditch team.” She said, shutting her magazine shut and crawling over to the foot of her bed. She rested her arms against the wooden board situated at the edge of the mattress, and pressed her lips together, in attempt to suppress her upcoming laughter.

“Did James get hit with a bludger?” Dominique asked casually.

Boy, I wish.

Layla shook her head. She glanced at me again, and all I could do was set the coffee cup on my bedside table, and shove my head back against the pillow on my lap.

“Hey guys, I’m kind of waiting over here.”

“Vicky is in love with your cousin!”

There was silence. I raised my head out of curiosity. This was definitely not the reaction I expected from the loud, obnoxious, Dominique Weasley. I expected a huge outburst that would have probably sent both Layla and I flying out of our beds. But instead, there was silence—pure silence. I could hear the Earth revolving around its axis—that’s how quiet it was.

“Who, Freddie?” her voice sounded confused. I looked at her bed, and I found her playing with a lock of curly blonde hair. Yes, that’s right Dom. The most atrocious thing has just happened to me, but you can just lie there and continue playing with your cute curly hair.

“No.” Layla answered.

Dominique’s face contorted into an even more confused expression. “Albus?” she asked.

Did she think I was a cougar, or something of the sort?

“No.” Layla answered again, giving Dominique a look that said ‘Seriously, Dom?’.

“Er… Hugo?”

“Dom, really? Hugo is a third year.”

Dom suddenly stopped playing with her hair, and I could see her eyes growing wide. “No,” she said softly as she finally thought of the only cousin that would be a plausible candidate for me to fancy. “WHAT?! Ja-James?”

Grimly, I nodded with closed eyes.

“Wha—how?” she demanded, suddenly interested in what we had to say. “You… you hate James.”

“Thank you captain obvious.” I scowled, looking back down at my pillow. It looked incredibly appealing—appealing enough for me to burry my head in it, and never come out.

“Then how on Earth did this happen? Merlin, I feel like I just missed a whole thirty years of your life! How did you go from hating my cousin with every bone in your body, to being in love with him?” she exclaimed as she sat up and threw her feet over the side of her bed, leaning closer to me. “Ho—when did this happe—no.” She was smarter than I gave her credit for. As she slowly pieced bits of information together, her face grew pale, and her surprised expression slowly peeled off her face. “Desmond?”

Both Layla and I nodded.

The rest of my lessons went by rather smoothly. Of course, that is if you disregard the little run-in’s I had with Potter in the corridors where I would proceed to profess my undying love for him. It was incredibly embarrassing, and very painful. No, professing my love to someone else was not the painful part. No, the painful part came after, when Potter intrepidly showed his disgust, and simply walked away. Despite my previous hatred and contempt for the boy, believe me when I say, rejection hurts.

The moment my eyes landed on Desmond, he was unlucky enough to not have Potter to distract me with. Lucky for me, he was all the way on the other side of the castle, attending his fifth class of the day. The anger flared within me, and Desmond immediately ducked behind Tyler, whom he had just exited the Charms classroom with, and offered several feeble efforts of apologizing. I attempted to chase Desmond around Tyler, who stood in between us with amusement, but it was no use. Desmond was too fast and agile for me to catch. After our little dance around Tyler, he bolted down the corridor and disappeared around the corner. “Sorry, Vicky!” was the last thing he shouted before Victoria lost sight of him.

Dominique surprisingly took the news rather well. She was incredibly surprised at first, and it took a while for the newly given information to sink in, but regardless, she laughed at the whole matter. I’m not sure why I expected anything different from Dominique. It has always been a dream of hers for either Layla or I to fall in love with James so that she can finally have a family member who wasn’t a complete nutter. Of course, I was a lost cause when it came to any sort of friendly relationship when it came to Potter. So she turned to Layla, who eventually became a lost cause as well once she started to see the blossoming love-hate relationship between her and Desmond. In the end, Dominique was screwed, and disappointed. However, I could tell that this situation I was now in sparked a bit of hope in the poor girl. Let me tell you now, Dom. Once I’m out of this mess, there is no way that I would willingly fall in love with Potter. No freaking way.

I could not believe how sharp of a turn my life has taken in the past thirty-six hours. In less than a minute, I fell in love with the boy who used to sneak live frogs into my dinner when we were younger and more immature. In less than ten minutes, I effectively made a fool out of myself in front of the entire Quidditch team. In less than two minutes, I had given up the sport I loved the most, and it took no more than a word for my heart to be repeatedly broken by the one and only Potter.

While I walked back to the Gryffindor common room after completing my book outside in the courtyard, I flittered through my restless mind, wandering around my thoughts. Similar to Layla, I found that it was, in fact, strange that I was still able to think about Potter’s flaws, and still be ‘in love’ with him. I saw him for what he was—an asshole—and no feeling in the world could ever change that. Is this what love was like? Knowing their flaws, and yet, loving them still? I couldn’t be too sure—I’ve never understood the feeling.

I entered the common room quietly as I fed the password to the portrait of the Fat Lady. There were a couple of students littered around the common room, most of them working on their unfinished homework, while the rest did activities in leisure. My heart jumped once i spotted Potter sitting at a table by the bookshelves on the far left corner of the common room. There was a piece of parchment set in front of him, and he seemed to be bothered.

Hesitantly, I approached him, my legs not allowing me to do anything different. He didn’t seem to notice my presence until I pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. My legs jerked forward slightly as I eyed the empty chair beside him, but I decided that it was best for me to keep a reasonable distance. It’s amazing what pain does to young girls like myself; it makes you stronger.

“What’s got you in a strop?” I asked, silently praying that Potter wouldn’t push me away. His face turned hard upon my arrival, and I could tell that he was slightly trying to suppress his annoyance.

My eyes seemed to be glued to his face. His head was bent slightly, and I noticed the flattering angle he was under. His hair was dark and ruffled, giving him a slightly badass look. Although I could not see his eyes, I knew that they were green, just like his fathers. His face structure was defined; chiseled. It was not a wonder why girls swooned at the mere sight of him.

Potter didn’t answer me. There was a small part of me left in my brain that was telling me to pick up my arse and leave the jerk alone. But the arrow spoke louder than my own mind, forcing me to stay put and try to converse with the love of my life. Pft. Love of my life my arse. Potter was anything but.

My eyes settled on the parchment in front of him, and I suddenly realized that I was the sign up sheet for the open Chaser position on the team. I felt a slight pang of pain in my chest upon the realization that he was actually on his way to replacing me. I was being replaced on my own beloved team. How dare he?

“When are try outs?” My voice sounded sweeter than I would have liked.

“Tomorrow.” Potter answered coldly.

I nodded, showing him that I understood. Silence fell between us, and I was reminded of how much I hated awkward moments like these. There was an unnoticeable tension between Potter and I, and it was simply eating me away. I wondered if he felt the same. My question was answered when he shifted slightly in his seat, looking immensely uncomfortable under my presence.

Thanks Potter. That’s rather reassuring.


“You know, James, all you have to do is ask, and I’m back on the team.” I informed him, smiling cheekily. “You know as well as I do that none of these people on this list are nearly as good as I am.”

He scoffed bitterly. “Are you actually asking to be put back on the team?”

“Did I stutter, James?” I asked. “I didn’t ask to be put back. I’m simply offering you a second chance.”

You’re offering me a second chance?” He raised his eyebrows at me, clearly amused. “Don’t make me laugh, Vicky.

I shrugged. “Oh well. Just a simple please would have sufficed. I would have been back on the team, and you wouldn’t have to waste your time watching these amateurs play.”

He laughed bitterly. “Please, we both know that you wouldn’t have accepted a simple please. You wouldn’t be content until I was on my knee’s begging you to come back.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and I noticed his rippling muscles under the thin material of his white school shirt. “Which I won’t do, by the way. Just so you know.”

Tearing my eyes away from his biceps, I looked at him, suddenly feeling serious and emotional. My eyes bore into his for the first time in my entire life. I forced every once of affectionate feelings through my eyes, hoping that he would see just how much I truly (not) loved him. “I would have.” I said softly.

Merlin, what am I doing? I sound like I belong in some sappy drama. Please, let me just die now.

“Oh really? And why is that?”

“Because I love you, James.” I answered bluntly. “And I would do anything for you.”

He abruptly looked as though he was beyond creeped out. He quickly pocketed the parchment, and swiftly stood up from his seat. “You’re bloody insane, Rose.” He snapped.

The arrow went into overdrive and I stood up, instinctively running after him. He bolted for the boys staircase, probably forgetting that I could follow him up the stairs. “James!” I shouted, not willing to let him go just yet (or ever for that matter). “James!” I called again. “No, James, come back!”

Vic! Control yourself! Turn back around and get as far away as you can from Potter!

I couldn’t listen to my own mind. The arrows will was too strong, which explains why I found myself standing in his dormitory, slowly closing the door behind me. If I were in Potter’s shoes at that precise moment, I would be very scared.

“What are you doing, Rose? This is the boys’ dormitory. You don’t belong up here.” He told me coldly.

“I belong with you, James.” I found myself saying, as I began advancing towards him. He was standing close to the foot of his bed, and he slowly began to back up as I drew closer and closer to him. “How many times must I tell you? I love you!”

I rolled his eyes. “Stop it, Victoria! You’re crazy!” he collided with his bedpost, causing him to slightly change direction.

“I’m crazy for you.”

I just learned an incredibly amusing way of pushing James Potter’s buttons. Pretend that you’re in love with him, and corner him against his bed until he bursts. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find this as amusing as I would in any other situation since I have the heavier end of the stick.

“Stop!” he shouted. His eyes widened slightly as he felt the back of his knees reach the edge of his bed. “Victoria, I’m bloody serious. Stop it!”

“I’m afraid I can’t, James.” Now that was me—not the arrow.

I reached out, and on instinct, Potter leaned back and in result, he fell back against his unnamed bed. I smirked, and leaned forward. “This is actually rather fun.”

I didn’t know what came over me. I’m almost positive that it was the arrow’s doing, but a little part of me wanted to see how far Potter could go until he fell over the edge. I wanted to see how much he could take of me pushing his buttons before he bursts. So I placed my left knee against the bed beside his right, and I brought my leg over his body, resting it against the mattress beside his left. I partially straddled Potter, not actually pressing my body against his, but close enough so that I could feel the materials of our uniforms grazing against one another.

A smirk played on my lips once again once I noticed the expression on his face. He looked angry and nervous all at the same time. I saw that mask of anger and annoyance Potter always held around others, but at the same time, I saw what lied beneath the surface, which was a mixture of confusion, fear, and nervousness. “You don’t have to be afraid around me, James.” I told him softly as the smirk was drained from my face. “I’m harmless.”

As I looked down at him, I thought of the many different situations we could have fallen into in this position. We could have been snogging. Or wrestling. Or snogging. Or … snogging. I myself, found this incredibly uncomfortable as I tried my best not to touch Potter in any area of his body, particularly the part that I was hovering dangerously close to. Who knows what could happen if I planted myself—er—there…

“Get off me.” He demanded. “Annoying little bint.”

“Hm, I don’t think so.” I replied playfully.

I came to the conclusion that I rather liked Potter at this angle.

“Get off me, Rose.” He demanded again, as if asking twice would make a difference, when in fact, it’s a waste of breath. “Get off me.”

I shook my head, and my blonde hair fell from my shoulder and lightly brushed the tip of his nose. “Nope.” I smiled widely.

“Get off me.”

“Say please, James.”

“Get off me.”

I sighed. “You know, stubbornness won’t really get you anywhere.”

“You think I’m stubborn?” I suddenly felt like he hasn’t been listening to a single word I’ve said to him since we were eleven.

I nodded. “I think you’re very stubborn.”

“Then what are you, Vicky?” he questioned. “I suppose you’re anything but stubborn.”

He looked surprised when I shook my head. “Nope. You see, James. I’m just like you. We’re both stubborn. So you should know that I won’t move until I get my way.”

“And what is it that you want?” he retorted, his eyes narrowing.

I smiled again. But before I could answer, the heavy door of the seventh year boy’s dormitories swung open. “James? James! Do you have the map?” The familiar voice of Albus Potter caused my eyes to widen into large golf balls.

Me + Potter + Straddling + Albus Potter = involvement of the entire Weasley/Potter clan and my unfortunate demise.

“Ja—Oh, holy mother of Merlin!” Albus exclaimed. I’m guessing that he caught sight of the compromising position Potter and I had gotten ourselves into…

Holy mother of Merlin is correct.

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