Chemistry - Ron Weasley fan fic

13 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑙𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑦

"I don't know some Slytherin called Barry was it?"

2.8k words

The common room was a divine contrast compared to the cold and docile weather Margo had just endured for the past three hours. That's right, tryouts took three bloody hours. Margo thought she was dead by the end, the bitter wind nipping at her face so much she was sure there were holes.

Tryouts really weren't as enjoyable as Margo thought they were going to be. Ron kept glaring at her the entire time, slipping of his broom once; nearly costing him his entire quidditch position.

Margo had absolutely no idea why he was acting so hostile when the day before he had wanted to speak to her so badly, even she was beginning to want to speak to him. But she could never admit that to herself. For some strange reason Margo subconsciously knew, the glares and the subtle sneers that were sent into the air by the gryfinndor keeper was quite wounding. Every time he looked her way -which was quite a lot of times- and just rolled his eyes so high they nearly got stuck, or when he just looked at her blankly, it chipped more and more and her good mood; That wasn't even that good to begin with.

So there she sat, in the common room, mulling over every single detail of the tryouts. Picking at the chapped skin around her fingernails anxiously, a bad habit Dean had made her swear to stop. Her eyes glossing over in transfixed thought staring at the golden embers jumping around the dusty fireplace. That fire place had been one of the only delights of Margo's day. It was beautiful to Margo, simple, but beautiful.

Margo's mind began to rewind back towards the very beginning of the tryouts, starting of with when Blaise approached, was that the problem? She knew Ron and Blaise weren't the closest of people, but did Ron get angry at her for talking to Blaise maybe?

Just that single thought erupted tiny, fragile butterflies began swimming around Margo's stomach. 'No snap out of it Margo what the hell' she screamed to herself, rubbing her clammy palms against the rugged fabric of the red, decorative sofa.

Deciding she had enough of her thoughts Margo directed her eyes towards the substantially sized grand clock near the dormitory stairs.
7:47pm. One hour and forty seven minutes into dinner. But Margo wasn't hungry, guessing it was the unholy amount of popcorn she had inhaled a few hours before. But she didn't feel full. No, more... empty?
Like her quench for something unknown had not been fulfilled. But god knows what it was.

Margo was aware that people would be turning up soon, interrupting her war with herself. So she stood up and began to dust herself of from the nonexistent dirt that had presumably accumulated on her cashmere cardigan. Luckily Margo was able to change out of her wet, muddy clothes from tryouts, which was a huge win for Margo as she felt like an actual human popsicle.

Blaise's jumper was folded upstairs on her bed, which was definitely being returned as soon as possible. To Margo that jumper was like a dementor, ripping all her happiness and comfort from her small frame. It was a strange crawly feeling Margo had never really experienced before. Except for in second year when Michael corner had gone in for a snotty, spitty kiss in the middle of herbology.

Once again falling knee deep into her thoughts Margo shook of the shudder that was quickly approaching before casually walking towards the stairs. Just as Margo's foot was about to make contact with the stone step the password was confidently spoke from the other side of the door.

Turning her head Margo watched as Hermione, Harry and of course Ron stepped in. Hermione and Harry laughing about something as the portrait began to shut itself, the lady within it singing a nice rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody.