❝HOW COME YOU NEVER TRIED FOR SEEKER?❞
❝I ENJOYED AIMING BLUDGERS AT YOU TOO MUCH.❞
The Gryffindor Quidditch Team finally has some real competition. And Harry Potter is totally conflicted.
warning: this book has many mature, NSFW scenes that contrib...
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TW: mention of drugs, alcohol & physical violence
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IT WAS TIMES like these that Harry wished he had an older sister. He didn't know shit about clothes, when it came down to it, and he knew that no one had ever considered his t-shirt and zip up combo or way-too-big flannels anything remotely attractive, and he wished he had someone who could give him a bit of wardrobe advice. Why did he care, anyways? It was just some stupid Slytherin party that Ron was dragging him along to because he was too worried to let Hermione go by herself (even though Hermione said she'd be spending her time with Nancy Woods).
Harry stood in front of the mirror of his bathroom, his hair messier than he'd like, his stupid glasses smudged and his clothes looking painfully average. The bags under his eyes were deep and practically purple, and his cheekbones seemed to have sunken in (or maybe they were just more defined) greatly since he last checked. Frustratedly, he brought his arms over his back to yank at the material of his flannel, tugging violently and practically ripping it off his torso; he pelted it to the floor, and although it felt like a great bit of force, it only fluttered down with a soft pooft.
He wasn't as lanky as he once had been, he said to himself to try and better his mood. Even he could see the muscular shapes of chest, the sharp lines leading down his toros and towards his pelvis; had he been playing that much Quidditch? He hadn't even realized the effect it was having on his body.
"Harry!" Ron called from outside the bathroom. Harry silently groaned and hung his head low as though his friend had ruined the mood. "You ready?"
He turned his head down to the floor, spying the crumpled ball that was his flannel and heaved a deep sigh. Swiping it off of the ground and shaking it to unfold it, he shrugged it back over his head and called out, "Yeah."
Hermione looked rather pretty, wearing a very 1970s-esque pair of flared jeans and light colored top that made Ron's eyebrows jump up. Throughout the period of time that the Gryffindor trio exited the common room and made their way down to the dungeons, Ron had already tried to get Hermione to change her mind twice; Hermione also had to keep reminding Harry that yes Nancy was going to meet them outside so they didn't just walk in blindly.
"Hey, Hermione!" Woods waved enthusiastically from her spot leaned against the wall, a bubble of bright pink bubblegum popping in between her curved lips. Hermione immediately grinned, lifting her hand up in a small wave. Ron frowned. "Cute jeans, I love your style!"
"Thanks," Hermione turned a bit pink in the face. Woods was wearing a blue and pink patterned mini skirt, with a matching denim jacket over a black shirt. Harry suddenly felt very underdressed. "Quite quiet, isn't it?"
