Chapter Text
I have come to realize that having your childhood fantasies come to life at the age of eleven does not mean it will be as phenomenal as you’d always imagined. In fact, there are times that you can’t seem to escape the parts that your immature mind skipped over and forgot about. Every world has flaws. This one, however, has Lorenzo Berkshire, which is probably ten times worse than anything my sixteen year old brain could think up nowadays.
Speaking of the spawn of satan himself, as I walk through the halls, I catch sight of him in the corner of my eye. My gaze stays pointed forward as I just barely manage to avoid him. That is… Until he rams right into my shoulder.
Okay, so maybe he didn’t ram into my shoulder, but whatever he did was definitely on purpose! The force of his shoulder colliding with mine causes me to stumble back for a moment before I turn to face that annoying smirk with a scowl.
“Get a life, you insipid, obstreperous bayard, ” I snap, flipping through my mental dictionary to find every single huge word he wouldn’t know that describes perfectly who he is.
A glimmer of confusion radiates in his deep brown eyes for a moment as he stares at me, dumbfounded, before he schools his expression and rolls his eyes with a sigh. “Goodness, Hanson,” he murmurs. “We talked about this. Stop with the big words. I don’t like you enough to dissect whatever language you just said.”
“It was English,” I say, resting my hands on my hips as I shift all my weight to one leg. “And I don’t like you enough to accommodate your needs just because you’re illiterate.”
His eyes narrow. “I’m not illiterate!”
“How do you spell insipid?” I ask.
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Narrows his eyes even further. Then opens his mouth again, murmuring under his breath as he storms past me. “Filthy mudblood.”
“Fatuous milksop,” I breathe while he walks past, before continuing my journey down the hall.
That interaction right there was what I like to call a civil disagreement when it comes to Lorenzo Berkshire and I. See, it has always been this way between the two of us. He hates me; I hate him. Always have, always will.
It’s no mystery when it comes to the reason why he doesn’t like me. In fact, the answer is pretty clear: it’s because I am a ‘mudblood.’
The term mudblood is a much more derogatory way of calling a wizard muggle-born. Yet he’s called me that since we were kids. I don’t even remember how old we were when it started. One day, we just met and then he saw my parents were muggled. Everything went downhill from there, and now I have a lifelong enemy I didn’t know I’d ever have. If he disappeared from my life, I’m one hundred percent sure that every day would be so much more peaceful and so much more smooth. My only escape from this annoying, curly-haired brunette is my dorm and the library. So I utilize those two places like drugs.
My best friend since first year, Scarlett Meadow, waits not far down the hall. She’s leaning against the wall with some dumb smirk on her face, letting me know that she most definitely saw what just happened. The idea of it just makes me roll my eyes. She’s too smug at my own misery, and it makes me want to throw something, but I can’t help but love her anyhow.
“Well, that was interesting,” she muses, uncrossing her arms as I approach. “ Insipid, obstreperous bayard . I’ve got to say, that’s a new one.”
A sigh ripples past my lips as we turn and make our way toward Potions, which is a class that Lorenzo also takes, so it makes me wonder why the hell he turned in the opposite direction—not that it’s any of my business anyhow. “What can I say?” I ask sarcastically. “I like to humiliate him. He makes it easy, you know?”
She chuckles. “Any of those boys make it easy,” Scarlett adds.
We reach the Central Hall when she glances at me with some hesitant look on her face. “Are you fine with walking the rest of the way to class on your own?” she asks. “Ron asked me to go meet him for a quick moment.”
A smirk pulls at the corner of my mouth. “Ron, eh?” I tease.
She tilts her head, eyes wide in annoyance. “ Melanie Hanson!” she whispers. “We don’t mention it in public!”
That same smirk that was on my lips is now replaced by a full-blown grin. “Right, right. I apologize,” I say, raising my hands up in defeat. “Go have fun with Ronald. ”
Her eyes narrow before she turns on her heel and walks off somewhere to my left. With an amused chuckle, I turn to my right to go down the stairs toward the Potions classroom. I glance up and see Patrick Woodridge walking up the stairs. His eyes meet mine and he gives me one of his charming smiles.
He slows his pace when he’s next to me. “Why hello there, beautiful,” he says.
I smile softly, stopping mid-staircase as well. “Hey there, handsome,” I reply. “How did Divination go?”
He shrugs, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his trousers. “Same old, same old,” he jokes. “Are you mentally prepared for Potions? I hear that those Slytherins are awfully rowdy today.”
I narrow my eyes playfully. “I’m a Slytherin.”
“Well,” he jests, “that means I’m not too far off with my observation, am I?”
The corner of my lips involuntarily starts to pull into a charmed smirk as I shake my head. This boy always manages to make me feel better, even when I’m pissed off. He’s kind, and is everything that I ever wanted when I was growing up. What’s even better? He’s my boyfriend.
I huff. “As much as I’d love to talk to you forever,” I drawl, “I have to get to class. See you in Defense Against the Dark Arts?”
A disappointed look shines in his eyes before it’s wiped clean from all existence. He sighs playfully, “Alright, I guess.” I feel the same tickling feeling in my stomach that I feel every time he does what he always does next. He leans in and presses his lips to my cheek. When he pulls away, there’s a bright, beaming smile on his face. “If Lorenzo gives you any more trouble than usual, let me know.”
“Define usual. ”
He cackles at that before returning to his ascent up the stairs.
God.
I love that man.
Well, we haven’t said love yet. In fact, I’m far too terrified to even say it out loud. I think about it from time to time, but I never actually tell anyone. Sometimes I wonder if I even mean it when I think those words to myself.
I love you. That’s reserved for someone special. Not that Patrick isn’t special, but I need to know if he’s the someone special. I don’t want to walk around telling just anyone that I love them just because I’m in a relationship with them. It’s a terrifying concept: getting yourself attached to someone so much to the point that you feel the most powerful emotion known to mankind. Love.
And, again, the scariest part is that I don’t know if I really mean it. Do I mean it? Or do I just say the L word just to say it because it feels nice when it rolls off the tongue?
Lorenzo and Mattheo Riddle are wrestling on top of one of the desks when I walk into the classroom. Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, and Pansy Parkinson, all housemates of mine, watch in entertainment as if this is some hot Blockbuster film that those muggles watch. Other students are scattered around, but they just spare a few glances of annoyance at the two hooligans before returning to their conversations.
I glance at the teacher’s desk, and what do you know? Snape isn’t here. I don’t know why I’m surprised. These boys walk into an empty classroom and suddenly start hallucinating that it’s a playground.
With an annoyed sigh, I squeeze past Pansy, who is leaning against the desk that Theodore and Blaise are sitting at, before settling down at my own desk. I set my books in the chair beside me to save Scarlett’s seat. My notebook sits in front of me on my desk. Desperate to find something to focus on other than the annoying people I have to associate myself with whenever I tell people what house I was sorted into, I decide to open it and rip out one of the parchments.
I don’t know what I’m drawing. It could be a flower; could be the sun. No one really knows what they’re going to end up with when they start something. They just start, and see what happens. When I glance up from my paper at the annoying boys, and take a moment to look at my progress…
Scribbles.
It’s all just a big blob of circles that I created when I swirled my quill in endless loops. What an amazing accomplishment…
“You’re not going to win this time!” Mattheo practically shouts as he chases Lorenzo past my table. The suddenness of their arrival causes my paper to fly off the desk and onto the floor. I sigh, annoyed, grateful when I hear the doors open and turn over my shoulder to see her.
Scarlett.