~I am fully aware that in J.K Rowling’s fabulous series, only 3rd years were allowed to go to Hogsmeade. Well, guess what? Rules come and go, and this year it was a ‘go’. So…sorry if that upsets you, but there’s absolutely no proof that this is not plausible. Not to sound rude or anything…haha. Yeah. Also, this is approximately a month after the previous chapter~
“Soooo,” Olive drags out the word ignoring the musky pile of books between us. She knocks one down, sending a clang through the library and filling my nose with dust. I cough as I glare at her.
“So,” I state crossly knowing precisely what she’s about to get at. “We have a 12 centimetre long essay due in History of Magic tomorrow and you haven’t even picked up your quill.”
“I have too!” she pouts pointedly holding up her bottle of ink, still sealed.
I shake my head and add a closing paragraph, adding a 14th centimetre to my scroll. Smiling, I hold it up in front of myself. “Perfect.”
“Yes, I’m sure old Binnsey will be ever so proud. Perhaps he’ll die of joy. Back to important matters, Abigail. The Hogsmeade trip is tomorrow! Has Tom asked you yet?”
“He’s not going to, Olive.”
“Yes, that’s why he’s been spending absolutely every single free period since the first day with you. He doesn’t like you at all. How could he even consider asking a hideous troll such as you to Hogsmeade?”
“Why does everybody treat Hogsmeade like a…dance or something? It’s not as if going with someone makes them your mate.”
“Whoa,” Olive gasps, placing her dark hand on mine. “Are you saying that he did ask you?”
“No,” I say slowly assuring that she doesn’t assume that I’m lying. “I’m saying that if he did happen to ask me, that it wouldn’t mean that he likes me. We’re best friends, Olive.”
She observes me for a moment; her bright eyes look intelligent and observant for once. “For someone so absolutely brilliant, you can be so naïve.”
My ears become hot, and I promptly slam the text book in front of me closed. A gush of wind issues from it, throwing my pitch black hair behind me. I stand up and shove the book violently into my book bag.
“Abigail!” she groans as she grabs at my arm. “Sit down. I didn’t mean anything by it. You simply don’t realize how obviously smitten he is with you. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him associate with a female before.”
I almost open my mouth to disagree, remembering the time I saw the short girl with her red hair in a bun talking to him over breakfast, but realize that it would make it seem as if I was watching him. Besides my tone might betray the emotion I felt in that moment a few weeks ago. A feeling that I honestly didn’t want to explore, but did almost accidentally: jealousy. That evil green eyed monster that lurks in me, and peaks at the most awkward of times. Something I wasn’t quite used to feeling.