𝗽𝗶𝘅𝗶𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄, james potter

02. APOLOGIES

And that poor ginger girl had all arrows pointing to her.

✧

"Matilda!" He called, almost tripping over a first-year as he hurried down the hallway, away from the Fat Lady's portrait. "Jesus, they make you smaller and smaller every year... Matilda!" James continued, despite the lack of reply and despite the dirty looks he was getting. "Matilda... Matilda!"

She didn't say anything, despite the fact several people walking around her looked up in acknowledgement of his yelling, obvious dirty looks coming from all angles.

His voice raised even more, and he tried to reduce the desperate yelling because he didn't actually want to seem like a madman, because he just wanted to apologise. He sped up more, too, as he repeated her name a couple times over, tried to cement it in the old walls, that echoed around them in a reminder of all the wizards who had ran, shouted, chased a girl down a hallway.

"Matilda, please." He added, just one last time when he was several strides away from her and he watched as, this time, she stopped in her tracks, pretty ginger hair slowing to a stop.

Her shoulders tensed, she turned around, hair curling over her shoulder, uniform near perfect, although he was sure McGonagall would have something to say about the ladders running up her legs. There was a hole next to her knee that exposed a scar that covered almost the entire perimeter. He offered something like a smile as he, too came to a stop.

"Do you have to make a racket wherever you go, Potter?" Matilda asked, head tilted, eyes sharp. "Because it certainly appears as though you don't give a shit about everyone else's mornings." Her arms were folded tight across her chest, a gold chain hidden beneath the angled collar.

"Yeah, something like that." He replied briefly, hardly even listening to what she said as he focused on regaining his breath – summer had really taken its toll on the sharp routine of Quidditch in the former year. Perhaps, it was his first mistake.

"Something like that?" Matilda repeated, blinked once, twice, and shook her head. "Whatever, if you think you can run around like a lunatic and disrupt bloody everyone first thing, it'll be your funeral. What do you want?"

"Wow, er, very direct."

"I don't think I'll bother myself with small talk right now, Potter. My first order of business is not harassment but rather breakfast."

"Oh, this is not harassment." James scoffed, shook his head. "Trust me."

"Only to get to the point of this useless conversation." She continued, adjusted the sleeves of her jumper; they had become all scrunched at the elbow as she folded her arms pointedly, glaring at him like she always did. "So, what the fuck do you want?"

"Probably shouldn't swear in front of the first years, Moody." James had gotten his breath back and seemingly, that innate, effortless confidence he had employed for years on end. "Wouldn't want them to repeat that back to any of the teachers." He tutted, shaking his head. "Honestly, a seventh year-"

"And their head boy running after a girl like a lunatic?" Matilda cut him off. "That's setting quite some example there, James." She sighed, glancing at the watch on her wrist. The glass was smashed, yet the clock within ticked merrily away. "If you're wanting to talk with me, like a normal feckin' person and not a complete feckin' melt."

"Fine. Fine... now what did I say about the language? Can't be swearing your face off. What if I took points off you?" James fell into step beside her, looking all too cheery to be there for her liking.

"Then you'll be taking points off yourself. I know how much house pride means to you. And what if I report you for abuse of power? I'm sure McGonagall would be very interested in hearing this." Matilda hummed, the messenger bag filled with her school books and her wand - which had a pretty engraving into the end - was sticking out the side. "And the swearing? What the fuck do you expect. You should hear my dad... Irish people swear like they've never heard anything else."