Chapter 9: I Do Something Very Satisfying but Ultimately Immoral
Ah, first kisses are magical things, aren't they? Swapping spit with that special someone! Tonsil tennis with your inamorato! Canoodling with your handsome beau! Nothing beats it!
Unfortunately, yellow journalism kills all.
My chin is resting on my hand as I stare toward the Durmstrang table, noticing the absence of my favorite piece of eye candy. My breakfast sits untouched before me, and I'm lost somewhere deep in my thoughts when Cedric's voice breaks through like nails on a chalkboard.
"You're not going to be happy," Cedric says as he sits beside me, tossing a newspaper before me.
"What?" I ask him, not bothering to fend him off when he starts eating off of my plate.
"Second page," he says shortly, finishing an entire piece of toast in two bites. I wrinkle my nose at him and leaf through the newspaper. The blood leaves my face. And then it comes back with a ferocious heat.
"What is this?" I ask and look at Cedric, angling the paper away from him even though I already know that he—and who knows who else—has already seen it.
"It's exactly what it looks like. Rita Skeeter snapping photos of anything and everything," he says and gestures to the paper before moving on to my fruit salad. "Congratulations, killer; you're famous."
I look back down at the newspaper and blush as I stare at the picture of Viktor and me kissing. Maybe I wanted to remember the moment, but not like this.
"We were alone up there," I protest as I look away from the picture, biting down on my lip. How would Viktor react? Was he allowed to have a... whatever I was? A lady friend? A darling? A kissing partner? A spit swapper?
"Or so you thought," Cedric corrects and points at the picture, his finger landing right on our connected lips. I rip the photo away from his hand and glare at him. "This lady is absolutely nuts, constantly taking pictures and making a bunch of stories up. I'm sure you'll find her article just as interesting as the picture."
I scoff to myself and read at the article, which details my and Viktor's 'forbidden' and 'steamy' teenage romance, which according to Skeeter, is forbidden by our families, so we have to participate in a 'perilous' tournament to see each other, stealing special moments whenever we have the chance between our 'busy' and 'dangerous' schedules.
"This is ridiculous," I say and push out of my seat. "She can't do this."
"At least you guys aren't minors. She has been writing all sorts of stuff about Harry too, about his love life and his tragic backstory. Look at the bright side though! She spelled Viktor's name right this time."
"She lied about everything else," I say.
"Welcome to the world of yellow journalism," he says and spreads his arms. "Listen, I'm just the messenger. I just thought you'd like to see it before someone asks you about it."
"Thanks, I guess," I mumble. "Can I take this, to show Viktor, I mean?"
"Be my guest. Can I have the rest of this?" he asks, gesturing to my breakfast.
"I don't care," I say and shake my head. What a git.
I begin to march toward the courtyard, hoping Viktor is somewhere to be found. I'm beyond pissed off. It's one thing for Skeeter to do her job and report the results of the tournament despite how aggravating the woman can be, but to take pictures of our personal affairs and make things up? It's not acceptable, at least in my opinion. I don't like to think about the implications of her presence. What about our conversation prior to the kiss? It was personal. It was supposed to be between Viktor and myself, no one else. And what else had she been around to see or hear that she decided didn't make the cut for her paper? It's disgusting.
"Hey, sorry, have you seen Viktor?" I ask a group of Durmstrang students. They shake their heads and watch after me as I rush off.
"Have you seen Viktor Krum around?" I ask another group of students, who shake their heads as well.
"Yeah, on page two of the Daily Prophet with his tongue down your throat," one of the students chuckles.
"Excuse me," I say and stop in my tracks to stare at him.
"Everyone's seen it. Maybe you shouldn't be a whore if it bothers you," he suggests, shrugging his Ravenclaw robe-clad shoulders. Robert, one of the boys who Cedric claims tried asking me out. I never noticed, but I'm now glad I didn't if it's true. Being involved with him in any capacity sounds like a very efficient form of psychological torture.
"I swear to you, Robert, I will stun you in the middle of this hallway," I threaten. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"It's not my fault you can't keep your legs shut," he says.
"Watch your mouth."
"You watch yours," he says and snickers. His friends do the same. My cheeks heat up with shame.
"Okay, sure, I'm the whore," I say slowly. "But how can you criticize me when there are two of us in the picture? What about him?"
"It's different for guys. A key that opens all locks is a master key. A lock that opens for every key is a faulty lock."
My eyes narrow. Maybe I'm not completely in control of my temper, but any man who compares a woman to a faulty lock deserves to have his shit rocked. Not to mention that kissing one guy didn't make me a whore, but it was nobody's business how many guys I had. One of the benefits of bodily autonomy.
My hand closes around my wand, but I feel a hand on my arm. I tear my narrowed eyes from Robert and meet Viktor's eyes. His eyebrows are raised as he takes my wand, leaving my hand empty.
All the better.
I march over to Robert and smack him across the face as hard as I can. He stumbles to the side, and if the stinging of my palm is any indication, I gave him a good one.
"You'll never get a girl if you call any one who touches a man a whore," I spit as he curses at me.
When Viktor's hand closes around my arm, I allow him to tug me away, afraid that Robert might reciprocate. As angry as I was a moment ago, the norepinephrine is no longer doing the trick, and suddenly, I feel as though maybe slapping Robert wasn't the move.
"He deserved it," I say. I don't want Viktor to think poorly of me.
"I know he did, but you are better than that," he says quietly. "Come on."
I huff and follow him when he drops my arm.
"Where are we going?" I ask him, looking at his hand, which is closed tightly around my wand, his knuckles whiter than the rest of his hand.
"I do not know... somewhere quiet where we can talk," he says and leads me to an empty stairwell. He sighs and sits down on the steps.
"Sorry," I say and sit beside him. "Did you, uh—Did you see the picture?"
"I did."
"I'm sorry about that, too."
"It is good," he says, "to have a good kiss immortalized."
I blush and look down at my lap.
"I figure that you would have regretted it," he says and runs a hand over the back of his neck, "if I had let you kill the boy in the middle of the hallway."
"He said some things I didn't like. I was willing to do the time."
Viktor furrows his eyebrows, and I have just enough time to wonder if he understands the expression before he says, "I am sorry about the picture."
"It doesn't matter," I say. "I just don't understand why she is actively trying to make life harder for us."
"She is only doing her job."
"Why can't she do what she was actually hired to do?" I ask. "I mean, report about the tournament?"
"I do not know. You know that boy was wrong, right? About what he said?"
"Yeah," I sigh and lean my elbows on the step behind me. "He's just a jerk but he shouldn't be able to say things like that unchecked."
"You should speak with your headmaster about it rather than get yourself into trouble."
"I know," I admit, "but sometimes I think that if I just showed them one time that I'm not a person that they call walk all over, then maybe they would leave me alone."
"You are too good to do that," he says. "Let's report this first and then if anyone else says anything to you, I will take care of it. I do not have a reputation to uphold."
"Yes you do," I say with a laugh. "You more than I do."
"But people expect me to be neurotic. If I fight someone, it will be okay," he says.
"Let's both promise to sheath our weapons," I say and lean forward, finding an excellent opportunity to feel him up. "This one first." I poke his bicep. Frustratingly hard under my finger.
"I will never use it to harm another," he says. "What about this one?" He sets his hand on top of my still-stinging one.
"Holstered," I say and shove it into my pocket.
"And what about this one?" he asks, pressing his thumb into my lip. "You say some terrible things when you are angry."
"Maybe... maybe you can holster that one?" I say and scoot a little closer to him.
He holsters it in the best way imaginable.
Happy Valentine's Day friends! Hope y'all enjoy the bonus chapter!!! 💕