As if he’d thrown a bucket of frozen water over her, Parkinson’s cheeks sheeted white in an instant, and hot tears flooded her eyes again.
Her lower chin quivered, her lips pursed into a thin, straight line, and her jaw clenched as she struggled not to fall apart in front of him.
For a second, staring into the raw, naked hurt so obviously etching her face, Ron felt real shame flood through him.
Sure, he and this infuriating witch had traded some nasty barbs over the years, but he’d always assumed those were just empty words meant to rile and blow off steam, or occasionally to jab or prod to test each other’s strength.
They’d never been meant to seriously wound, however.
Now, however, he realized something important: sometimes words weren’t just meaningless, and sometimes, they could hurt.
It was a lesson he’d never taken seriously when ‘Mione had explained her feelings every time Malfoy had called her a ‘Mudblood,’ but now he was learning the moral in record-fast time as he stared directly into Parkinson’s anguished face.
Looking down in mortification, he shuffled his feet again.
“Look, Parkinson, about what I just said-”
He never saw the blow coming.
It was the slap that reverberated around the world, as loud as the one ‘Mione had given Malfoy in third year, he was sure.
Stunned, he took a step back and his eyes flew to the witch’s face…
…only to find those fat, welling tears had escaped and were streaming down her cheeks.
A deep misery was etched into every line of her face.
Somehow, she’d seemed to age a few years in a matter of seconds.
“I hate you, Ronald Weasley!” she shrieked around a sob, then ran past him and didn’t look back once.
He turned to follow her path, watching her shaking shoulders as she cried until she’d turned the corner and was out of sight.
Only then did he let out the breath he’d been holding.
What the hell had just happened?
What had he said specifically to set her off like that?
Blinking away the after-effects of Parkinson’s blow, he shook his head, rubbed his stinging cheek, and numbly continued on his way to class, feeling disoriented by the events of the last five minutes. This chapter was taken from NovelPing without permission.
By the time he’d reached Transfiguration, though, he’d convinced himself that the incident in the hallway with the Slytherin Queenher acting like a loon–was probably just a result of PMS.
Heck, his sister and ‘Mione were always a bit barmy that time of the month, too.
He felt sorry for the poor sod that drew her name on Saturday night, as a woman on her period certainly limited what you could and would want to do with her in private.
X~~~~~~~~~X
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland Seventh Year’s Transfiguration Classroom Friday, June 12, 1998 (morning)
Tracey had received her Transfiguration final review with Professor McGonagall earlier that morning, and now sat, staring across the room at the boy she’d secretly had a crush on since first year.
Harry Potter… Merlin, but he was gorgeous!
His charming smile was currently turned on by something that Neville Longbottom had said, and she loved the way it lit up his face.
She had to admit that she liked him much better without his glasses in the way now that he’d had his eyesight magically corrected this past year, although she would miss his rounded spectacles, as they’d been a mainstay of his appearance for as long as she’d known him.
His dark, messy hair made her fingers itch to smooth it back, as usual.
At least that would never change.
“Keep staring at Potter like that and he’s going to find out,” Hestia Carrow murmured to her.
Tracey blushed and elbowed her best girlfriend.
“Shhh, not so loud,” she admonished.
Hest looked about, pointing out the obvious – that they were the only ones sitting at the back of the class at the moment.
Everyone else was situated closer to the front.
“Who’s going to hear?”
Tracey sighed and swung her head back around to take in Harry’s profile.
He was now in a discussion with his best mate, Ron Weasley, who had slunk in late today, looking a little mystified. This story is hosted at g.com.
“Doesn’t matter anyway, I suppose.”
Hestia’s arch tone was a tad scathing.
“Why, because he said he’d never be caught dead dating a Slytherin?” She sniffed in scorn.
“For such a ‘nice guy,’ Trace, he sounds like a total toffee-nosed prat to me.”
But Tracey adamantly shook her head.
“House enmity is too ingrained into all of us, Hest. It’s tradition for the four Houses to be rivals, because of personality differences. Gryffindors are diametrically opposed to Slytherins, and vice versa. It’s the same with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Because of that, no one from our House has dated anyone from his House in over three decades. I’m not sure any of that is going to change within the next week, either… and then, it might not really matter, anyway.”
Hestia snorted indelicately.
“Then why bother following him into the Auror apprenticeship program?”
Tracey bit her lip, watching the boy she’d fallen for hard laugh over something his best friend said, feeling that familiar, sweet, painful pang in her heart once more.
“Because maybe outside of Hogwarts, he won’t see me as a Slytherin, but as a woman.”
Her friend said nothing for a long minute, contemplating her.
Finally, she gave up and sighed.
“I still say you weren’t sorted into the right House, Trace. You’ve always sounded too sentimental to me to be a snake. You should have been a Hufflepuff.”
Hiding her smile, Tracey did not reply to the allegation, but merely continued staring at the boy-man who had utterly captured her heart, praying for a miracle at this weekend’s game.
Even having a slim chance of being partnered with Harry in Eros was worth any price, as far as she was concerned.
Maybe if he could see her as a woman sooner, rather than later…
If destiny was in her corner and he picked her Partnerscard, she was going to give him everything, she decided, and let the chips fall where they may.
At least then she’d have the memories of a few hours in Harry’s arms to recall with fondness throughout the rest of her life, if nothing else.