A/N We're back to Jolie's POV this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy!
Thanks for reading
xx Ana
~
Barely asleep as it was, Jolie's eyes quickly fluttered open when she felt the end of her bed dip beneath an unknown source.
A subtle glow from the tip of Daphne's wand made her squint slightly.
"Sorry," Daphne whispered as she settled to get more comfortable on the bed.
"Daph..." Jolie mumbled sleepily, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands. "What time is it?"
"Just past one last I checked," Daphne whispered back as she waved her wand, shutting the bed hangings.
"Care to tell me why you're waking me up, then?" Jolie sighed, giving Tea Kettle's sleeping head a little pat. "We have class in the morning—"
"I'm ambushing you," Daphne quickly said before casting a silencing charm.
Jolie raised a brow at her friend.
"Ambushing me?" she echoed.
Jolie watched Daphne nod, grinning surreptitiously. With just a few days ago being the full moon, a tinge of green light cut through the Black Lake from the windows of the dorm, casting an ominous glow on her friend's features.
"While I thank you for not blabbing about Blaise and me when you could have," Daphne started, "it's about time we talked about what I saw last Wednesday—"
"Daphne," Jolie groaned. "I already told you. Nothing happened—"
"But that's all you told me!" Daphne argued. "You seriously didn't think I was just going to drop it altogether."
Jolie smacked both hands over her eyes.
"I mean," Daphne continued. "Merlin—you two were sleeping together—"
"Will you quit putting it like that?"
"Well, you were!"
"Daphne Rose..." Jolie warned.
"Okay! Okay—Let's pull back for a second." Daphne held up both hands. "You didn't have to study in the dorm—"
"You weren't there!" Jolie argued. "I tried to get him to go to the library. He wouldn't move!"
Daphne raised a disbelieving brow. Jolie groaned again.
"I swear—"
"I believe you!" Daphne cut her off. "But you're telling me you couldn't have, I don't know... threatened him? Hexed him, maybe?"
Jolie cracked a smile.
"I mean, really," she continued. "If you hadn't actually wanted to stay in the dorm, we both know you wouldn't have."
Jolie's shoulders slumped. Her friend had a point.
The truth was, she really had wanted to stay in the dorm instead of their usual study spot. George and she had just been in the library so often. The change in scenery had sounded—nice.
When Jolie still said nothing, Daphne continued. "And... as I've said: You two really did look sweet—"
"Ah," Jolie raised her hand. "I'm going to stop you right there."
"Why?" Daphne whinged. "I'm trying to tell you—"
"Daphne Greengrass, I love you. But I don't want to hear whatever you're trying to tell me."
Daphne stared at her for a moment.
"If you love me, do you promise to be honest with me?"
Jolie frowned at her. "Of course."
"Do you swear that there's nothing going on between you and Fr—sorry—George Weasley?"
"I swear," Jolie responded without hesitation. "There is nothing going on between him and I."
For whatever reason, Daphne frowned deeply. Jolie stared back earnestly.
After a beat:
"Nothing? Are you sure?"
Jolie laughed. "Yes, I'm quite sure."
"You don't even... Do you not find him attractive?"
Jolie's breath hitched. If she was honest; yes, she really did find him attractive. She just didn't really like the idea of anyone knowing that.
Unfortunately, though, Daphne noticed her hesitation.
"I knew it! You totally do!"
"I—No, I—But that's it," Jolie stammered. "He is an—objectively handsome—"
"Oh, don't try to defend yourself now!" Daphne giggled. "I think he may fancy you too."
Jolie's eyes widened. He couldn't possibly—
Daphne laughed.
"Really! You should've seen him at dinner on Wednesday—"
"Daph, he doesn't—"
"I think he does! And he seemed worried about you—"
"Oh, please." Jolie shook her head. "He wasn't worried about me. He was worried I was going to hex him for being late to our study session."
Daphne stared ahead, looking thoughtful for a moment.
"Even then, he did seem concerned that you weren't at dinner," she finally said. "And if he noticed you weren't there, that means he was waiting for you..."
Jolie grinned slightly, thinking about the treacle tart he'd brought her that evening. Daphne raised her brows, seeing Jolie smile. Maybe she could tell her...
"He, erm... He brought me a slice of treacle tart. That night."
Daphne's eyes widened into saucers.
"He WHAT?"
"Shhh!" Jolie admonished. "It's not a big deal—"
"But that's your favorite!" Daphne interrupted, placing one hand over the other on her chest. "Aww, that was so sweet of him. He was thinking of you—"
"Yes, it was—kind of him. But, he was just being friendly—"
"So you consider him a friend, yes?" Daphne suddenly asked.
"I... No. An acquaintance, maybe. A friendly one."
Jolie rolled her eyes when Daphne began to wriggle those accusatory brows at her.
"What more do you want from me?" Jolie asked dismissively. "I already told you that nothing is going on between us—"
Daphne pouted.
"And," Jolie added, "he's a Weasley. A Gryffindor! There's no way—"
"It just makes sense, though," Daphne stopped her. "With all the time you two spend together—"
"Studying," Jolie reminded her.
"Ugh, I know! But, you know, you don't complain about him anymore. In fact, you complain more about Theo than you ever do him."
Jolie sputtered as Daphne watched her with a devious smirk.
"I-I don't—He's... He's just more manageable than I previously thought, I suppose," Jolie tried.
Daphne just continued to grin.
"You... go to bed." Jolie glared at her. "Before I unleash the beast on you."
Both girls looked down at Tea Kettle, still sleeping as she purred softly.
"Terrifying," Daphne murmured.
They both laughed.
"But, fine," Daphne sighed, beginning to stand from the bed. "I'll wake you at half seven. Bright and early."
Jolie groaned.
As Daphne finally left for her own bed, Jolie lie there in hers thinking deeply.
Yes, she could admit to herself (and Daphne, now) that George was attractive. He was tall, had a strong jawline, a captivating smile, and the red hair—well, it suited him nicely. And bringing her the dessert had been very thoughtful. And, yes, he had told her that she was pretty once. And there had been a... moment. In the library. His hand gently caressing hers.
None of this meant anything, however. That 'moment' had been for Savannah to see. He'd been thoughtful to do it.
But it didn't mean Daphne was right. He didn't fancy her. He couldn't.
While Jolie knew that she was an attractive witch, she also knew that she wasn't really George's type. She was a Slytherin. Mean to him. Argued constantly with him.
The mere thought was absurd.
~
The next morning, Neville Longbottom waved her over just before she could enter the Great Hall.
"Jolie!"
She shifted her footing, walking toward him instead.
He was standing just outside of the open doorway of the Hall, looking a bit sheepish. Jolie raised a brow, grinning as she stood before him.
"Yes?" she drawled.
"You're going to the match on Saturday?" he asked.
She nodded slowly.
Gryffindor would be playing Ravenclaw that Saturday afternoon. If Gryffindor lost, that meant Slytherin would be a shoo-in for the 1994 Quidditch Cup after their major defeat of Ravenclaw back in February.
"Right. I thought so," he mumbled, more to himself than to her, she thought.
"Why do you ask?" she probed.
"Oh. Well, erm," he muttered, wringing his hands. "I just wondered if you'd be going to any of the, uh... parties. Afterward."
Jolie raised her eyebrows. Neville wasn't usually one for parties.
As if reading her thoughts, he quickly added,
"Not for me to go with you! It's just... if Gryffindor wins..."
"Yes..." she tried to get him to go on.
"Well—would you be attending? If we won?"
Jolie thought for a moment. She'd never been to a Gryffindor party before—she'd never gotten the password. She wasn't opposed to the idea, though.
"I don't know," she finally answered. "If I received an invite—"
"I could invite you!" he cut her off.
She tilted her head to one side, watching him closely. Something was seriously up with him.
"Neville..." she started.
His shoulders slumped.
"It's just... If I gave you the password... maybe you could help me remember it."
Ah. That made more sense. Jolie laughed.
"Neville! You can't remember your own password?"
He shuffled one of his feet, his cheeks pinkening.
"Well, I—I can't write them down anymore, so..."
Jolie's eyes widened. "You're the one that had a list of passwords?" she hissed.
He shushed her quickly. "Yes! B-but they're so difficult to remember! I needed something to help but... then Black got a hold of it."
Jolie sighed, nodding slightly.
"So now," he continued. "Some people in my House don't want to help me with it... since they're still a little angry with me..."
Jolie's heart sank. So much for 'bleeding heart' Gryffindors. They were leaving one of their sweetest House members in the dust.
"All right. Fine. If you need help remembering the password, just come find me. I'm always in the library, my common room, or the Great Hall. You know my timetable."
He nodded, breathing a sigh of relief.
"Okay. Don't tell anyone..." He reached into an inner pocket of his robe and handed her a small, torn piece of parchment.
She took it from him and read it. 'Oddsbodikins' it read.
"S'the password," Neville mumbled.
Jolie sucked in a silent gasp. Reading the parchment once more, she vanished it and looked up at him.
"Right. I'll remember it. Just," she looked around for anyone that might be overhearing them, "no more writing them down. Got it?"
He nodded, staring down at his shoes as his ears turned a light shade of pink.
She patted him on the arm and turned to head into the Great Hall.
"I did still invite you, you know!" he called after her.
She turned back to face him.
"To the party—if Gryffindor wins. You're welcome to come," he clarified. "It'd be nice, I think."
She smiled. "Thank you, Neville. Though, I don't know where—"
He raised his eyebrows. "Sorry! The portrait of the Fat Lady. On the seventh floor."
"The... Fat Lady," she muttered.
He nodded.
"Right then," she laughed. "Maybe I'll see you then."
He smiled at her.
She smiled back, nodding her acknowledgement before continuing into the Hall for breakfast.
Finished eating, Jolie made her way downstairs toward the Potions classroom. She wasn't as early as she usually was, so she knew that most of the other students would already be there. Including George.
Just as she'd thought, he was already there in his seat, staring blankly at the parchment before him.
She gently set her bag onto the tabletop and slid into her usual stool next to him.
"Morning," she murmured, pulling out a few sheets of parchment, her quill, and inkwell.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Morning."
She looked up at him, then.
He sounded... reserved this morning; more demure than she'd ever heard.
He didn't look back at her, his eyes remaining glued on his dated parchment.
Fuck. She was really about to ask him this...
"Everything all right?"
He did look up now, glancing at her quickly before looking back down at the parchment.
Was he... blushing?
"Yeah. Everything's fine," he muttered, before looking over at her once more, though never making any eye contact. "Why do you ask?"
She shrugged. "You seem—different this morning. Less annoying."
The corners of his lips pulled up in a halfhearted smirk. "Want me to be more annoying, do you?"
She shook her head, grinning slightly. "No, definitely not."
He nodded once before looking away from her again. How odd.
"Weasley, are you sure you're—"
The door banged open as Snape billowed into the classroom. She closed her mouth.
Oh well. Maybe she would ask him during the last thirty minutes of class.
~
On Wednesday, during their study session, Jolie was a bit disappointed to find that George was still acting the same way he had on Monday in Potions.
While she hadn't had the time to ask him about it at the end of class then, she'd figured his strange mood would have assuaged by now. But, based on the way he still continued to pointedly avoid all forms of eye contact and communication, it seemed it had not.
"So..." she started, watching him across the desk with her head still angled at her book. "Everything all right with you?"
He looked up from his text, still avoiding her eyes but nodding slightly.
She stared at him. He looked back down.
He was just being so odd. And she wanted to know why.
Fine, she'd try again.
"Ready for the match on Saturday?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.
"Of course," he muttered, not looking up. "Are you going to be there?"
She nodded. Then stopped when she remembered that he wasn't seeing it.
"I am," she replied aloud.
When he said nothing more, she tried again.
"You know, it'll be quite telling if you lose to Ravenclaw."
His head still down, he raised an eyebrow, seemingly urging her to go on. And she would.
"Because if you do, then there's no way you're going to take Slytherin for the Cup this year."
He raised both eyebrows now. "And, since you seem to know so much about quidditch," he finally, finally, started to make conversation, "tell me something: What makes you think we would even come close to losing?"
She shrugged, her shoulders falling when she remembered again that he wasn't looking at her.
In all honesty, she didn't think they'd lose—not by a longshot. With Potter's average seeking time and that shiny new Firebolt, Gryffindor would likely be leaving Ravenclaw in the dust.
Not like she'd tell George that, though.
"You never know," she answered. "You had so many good things to say about their beaters when we played Ravenclaw."
"They don't compare to me and Fred," he told her, not attempting modesty in the slightest.
This was also true. And she would also not be telling him that.
"Cocky," she tutted. "I guess we'll see in the end."
"I guess we will," he muttered back.
When the conversation stilted, and he still hadn't looked at her, Jolie groaned.
"Weasley. Spit it out."
His head shot up and he made real, actual eye contact with her for the first time in days.
"There's obviously something wrong with you," she continued. "I thought you said you weren't one to practice reticence."
He cocked a brow at her. Jolie practically preened with his gaze on her again, as silly as it was.
"Nothing's wrong," he told her. "I thought you preferred when I'm silent."
She opened her mouth and closed it. Then opened it again.
"It's—nice, yes. But also strange—"
"Strange?" he repeated. "I'm being quiet. We're in a library, remember?"
She glared at him, annoyed that he'd use her own words against her.
"You're never quiet," she pointed out, raising her chin at him.
His expression flickered, a hint of a smirk raising the corners of his mouth.
"Maybe..." he whispered, "I'm just processing what I saw in Hogsmeade on Saturday."
His tone seemed to reference an inside joke, but she didn't understand.
"In Hogsmeade?"
"At the Three Broomsticks?" He raised an eyebrow again, grinning fully now.
"I... I don't understand."
His smile turned wicked.
"I saw you, Carrow. Drunk off your wits—"
Her eyes widened. He'd been at the Three Broomsticks and seen her? She hadn't even remembered leaving the upstairs room, let alone seeing him.
She shook her head quickly.
"I don't know what you're talking about—"
"Oh, I'm sure you don't," he sighed, nodding with feigned sympathy. "You ran into me like a ton of bricks—"
She gasped loudly, causing several heads to turn toward the two of them.
"A ton of bricks?" she echoed incredulously.
"Poor choice of wording." He shrugged innocently. "Nevertheless, you did run into me. Tried talking but I couldn't understand a word that came out of your mouth."
Her face grew hot with embarrassment and shame. Her friends seemed to have left the bit of her running into anyone at the Three Broomsticks out in their recounting of the day.
"Not to mention," he went on, "seeing you making angels in the water on the pathway—"
Indignation swelled in her chest.
"Made a habit of watching me, have you?" she hissed.
"As much as your habit of making yourself a spectacle, it seems," he whispered back.
She leaned back in her chair, realizing they were both inching toward one another from across the table. She crossed her arms.
"It's not a habit," she bit out. "And, if you cared to notice, I was incoherent at that point—"
"Oh, I noticed," he muttered. She narrowed her eyes at him.
"And so," she continued, "it was quite cruel of you to take advantage of watching me in that state."
He raised both his hands in subtle surrender. "Carrow, if I'm being honest, you made it pretty hard to miss."
She looked away, her cheeks flaming. Her and her friends had never done that before—gotten drunk in Hogsmeade. She'd only agreed to do it because Theo had offered to buy a room so they would all be away from prying eyes. Clearly, it seemed the day hadn't gone as smoothly as Pansy had originally informed her. She partly remembered the playing in the rain—but Pansy had said they'd made a quick getaway.
The skin at the nape of her neck tingled, feeling his eyes still trained on her. She wished he'd go back to avoiding looking at her.
"Still," she finally replied, "the least you could do is act as if you hadn't seen it. Seen me that way."
"Carrow," he whispered, leaning over the table. She turned her head to peer back at him. "Why do you think I hadn't said anything?"
She huffed out a breath. What a load of rubbish.
"So you mean to tell me that you were being so uncharacteristically quiet because you were saving me from embarrassment?"
He grinned at her. "Precisely." He looked back down at his book.
No, she wasn't buying that.
"Really?" she breathed, her scepticism evident in her tone. "Knowing you, I would think that you would love being able to taunt me after seeing such a thing—"
"So you 'know me', do you?" he asked, not looking up from his book. "I'm more respectful than that—"
"Respectful?" she echoed. "Had you been 'respectful' on Saturday, you would have seen me back to the castle—"
Her voice stuttered slightly when his eyes flickered up to meet hers. They were wide. Almost as though he'd been caught.
"—a-and made sure I didn't make a further fool out of myself," she finished.
They stared at one another for several seconds. Six of her heartbeats, to be exact. He looked away first, his ears pink, she noticed.
"I... I didn't want—" His eyes flitted around, seeming to search for words. "You were drunk," he stated simply. "I tried a couple times to convince you not to go out—you didn't exactly seem to hear me."
She stared at him. He went on.
"And, I would've taken you back but..." He bit his lip, thinking for a moment. She inwardly scolded herself when her eyes flickered down to track the movement.
"You were drunk," he said again. "I didn't want it to seem... indecent."
She continued to stare. His face was flushed.
"... Indecent," she repeated.
He nodded, wiping a hand over his face. "As in... a sober bloke walking a drunk girl back to the castle... alone. It doesn't—Well, it's not a good look, is all," he finished, looking pointedly back down at his text.
She let out a long, silent sigh. She hadn't even considered that.
At some point in the past month, she must have come to trust him. She trusted George Weasley. And it was... It was thoughtful of him, she supposed.
So many thoughtful things...
She inhaled sharply through her nose.
"You wouldn't have done anything," she whispered, her tone decidedly sure.
He looked up at her again, his features soft.
"No," he breathed. "I wouldn't."
She nodded, looking back at her textbook to begin reading the next passage.
Her mind raced, unable to take in the words printed on the page. Of course he wouldn't do anything. He probably wouldn't have even wanted to do anything with her if she were sober. Not that she cared. It was just as she'd figured. She wasn't his type. He didn't fancy her—
"But, if you were sober and wanted to..." she heard him breathe, barely even a whisper.
All much too quiet for him to have meant for her to hear.
He'd practically mouthed it.
He thought she was reading. Thought she wouldn't notice or hear him.
But she heard it.
She fucking heard it.
Her stomach flipped. The same way it sometimes involuntarily did when he'd make little offhanded comments like that. She blinked several times, her head still tilted down at her text.
Wanted to what, exactly? Neither of them had defined what they'd meant.
But if it was what she was thinking...
Would she have wanted to?
Did she want to?
Maybe.
No.
Did he want to?
Jolie's promise to Daphne of 'nothing going on between us' echoed in her mind.
But, then... 'I think he may fancy you' Daphne had said.
Merlin... Her whole face felt hot, no doubt a damning shade of magenta as she pretended to read the same page one, two, three times.
And over, and over, and over again.
As the final hour of their studies came to a close, Jolie began packing her books into her bag, joining George in his efforts to avoid all forms of eye contact.
He stood first and left her to gather her things without so much as a goodbye.
When she stood to take her leave, she noticed a flash of crimson left over on the tabletop.
A pair of large knitted red gloves, the cuff woven with marigold yarn. Gryffindor colours.
He'd left them.
And on purpose, it seemed; the accessory being pushed to her side of the desk.
Telling herself not to overthink the supposed gesture, she picked them up and stuffed them into her bag.
Whether he left them for her, or not, she wouldn't be wearing them.
She was a Slytherin through and through.
Though, as she left the library and made her way toward the dungeons, she couldn't dissuade the feeling of delight blooming in her chest.