❝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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"DOES THIS LOOK okay?" Harry, both hands swiping through his hair frantically, asked in a panic as his wide green eyes stared back at himself in the mirror. On the other side of the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, was Ron, looking unbelievably tired. "Does it?"
"I think you look like a twat, actually," Ron teased. Harry blinked, before huffing frustratingly. "I'm kidding. It looks fine."
"How m' I supposed to trust you know?" Harry complained. "What if it looks awful and you're lying to me?"
"Quit fussing over your hair and come down to the common room, will you?" Ron's voice sounded further and further away as he exited their dormitory. Harry could hear the thundering of his feet down the stairs, and he only sighed and glanced at himself again. He had tried to flatten his hair, but it just looked like he had fallen asleep with a book on his head, getting rid of all its shape. "Harry!"
"Coming!" he called, ruffling his hair again before slipping through the bathroom door and jogging down the steps. His hands found the sides of his shirt, tugging at it as though to rid himself of the imaginary wrinkles, but just as he began to fuss again, Ron whacked him on the shoulder.
"Quit it! You're fine!" Ron told him exasperatedly. "It's gonna be fine. You've been through worse situations than a bloody date. You've fought a dragon."
"I'd take the dragon right about now," Harry murmured anxiously. Before he could say more, there was a sharp banging on the portrait entrance. He could hear the Fat Lady complaining. "Oh, god, d'you think that was her?"
"Who else would it be?" Ron asked rhetorically.
"Oh, wait! I forgot something!" Harry said, practically tripping over his feet to get back up the steps. "Hold on a second!"
"You want me to tell her you're not ready?"
"Yes!"
Ron, sighing, turned around and dragged his feet to the portrait entrance. He paused for a moment before swinging it open, poking his head out to see Indiana leaning against the railing of the staircase, lower lip pulled between her teeth. She snapped her head to look at him, but seeing that it was him, she pursed her lips.
"Well?" she said expectantly, fiddling with the sleeve of her shirt, and it was then that Ron noticed she was wearing a blue sort of flannel shirt. One that he had seen on Harry's trunk many, many times. "Did he die in there?"
"He says he's not ready," Ron told her. "Forgot something in his dorm."
"Oh," was all Indiana said. Ron spied her fidgeting hands, seeing her twiddling her thumbs, as well as her dark eyes anxiously shifting up and down and left and right.
