Oh Merlin. Someone just, please, Avada Kedavra her now. It would be much appreciated.
(It's not that bad.)
Nothing's going right. She's not dressed properly, there's not a hint of make-up on her, her hair's all scraggly and ugh, and she's too tired to even begin considering feeling embarrassed and horrified and downright mortified.
(It's not like he cares about all that.)
Besides, it's not like she meant to blurt the whole thing out.
(You always mean what you say and when you say it. So there's a reason you said it.)
And look at him. He's just standing there, staring at her all dumbfounded and shocked and she doesn't know whether that's a good thing or not because her mind has gotten to that point where absolutely nothing makes sense anymore.
It takes another moment of utter silence before she decides to wave off her confession like it was just the weather she had been talking about.
(He's not going to like how dismissive you are about this.)
She's more than halfway down the halls when she hears pounding footsteps chase after her, and maybe the mortification of confessing finally hits her because she picks up her pace and soon enough the two of them are tearing through the halls of Hogwarts.
(I'm amazed you can keep your distance from him.)
She's honestly shocked. For someone who's never made any effort to participate in anything physical besides the mandatory flying class in first year, it's quite a feat to be able to outrun someone like him.
(He'll still find a way to find you.)
Not if she can help it.
She's hiding from him. It's quite obvious from the way she's constantly surveying her surroundings, slinking from corner to corner, and never straying from the shadows.
He's tried to corner her at least twice already, and both times she manages to slip from his grasps.
(Close calls. Too close.)
She can see his friends up ahead and makes a quick detour, tucking into the nearest room she can find, which just so happens to be a closet. It's dark and murky and smells not so great, but it's better than facing him and his friends so it'll have to do.
(This is getting ridiculous. Just face the boy already.)
She will not. Not until her dying day because she just knows that he's going to reject her and everything and why wouldn't he. She's loath to admit, but she's been a right bitch to him the past few years and five months of friendship isn't going to suddenly change that fact. The only reason he hasn't scorned her is because of the shock of her sudden confession and the fact that she's currently hiding from him.
She can hear talking in front of the door but the blood pounding through her ears aren't allowing her to hear whatever's being said. The next thing she knows, the door is being yanked open and he's crawling in.
(Not good. Alert! Abort mission!)
She's scrabbling back, trying to put as much distance between them. Something indiscernible to her flits momentarily across his face before a look of pure determination settles in and this scares her, more than his foreboding rejection does.
He's advancing and she's retreating.
(Don't come any closer. Please.)
She's managed to maneuver her way around the cramped little space so that when she's finally cornered she's at the door and not in some corner. She's trapped between the door and him, his body looming over hers. Her hands fumble for the knob and her planned escape must have shown on her face because his rough, callused hand covers hers, stopping her from swinging the door open.
(Oh Merlin his hand.)
He's talking to her. She can see his lips moving, but that's all. She can't hear a word of what he's saying and even if she could, she doubts that she'd be able to understand.
From his furrowed brows, she can tell that he's getting upset with her unresponsiveness.
She fumbles for an answer or a question or something, and all she can say is a mumbled, unintelligible noise.
He looks amused for a second before that look of determination returns.
There's heat pooling in her abdomen, her eyes suddenly glaze over, and she's biting her lips. He stops talking, eyes roving over her body and stops on her lips and his eyes become hooded and glazed just like hers and she admits to herself that it turns her on even more to know that she's having that kind of effect on him.
(That's undeniably hot.)
Well, she'll be darned if she doesn't want to jump his delicious ass.
(You want to. You know you want to.)
Yeah. She wants to.
(Go for it.)
And she does. She throws all inhibitions to the wind and her fingers grasp at the nape of his neck to pull his face down so that she can finally kiss him and he's kissing back just as fervently and she's not sorry one bit.
(See, I told you it wasn't that bad.)