Whenever she got sad, there was 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲.
And on the other hand, whenever he got sad, there was 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫.
Until they discovered something that only required both of them in the same room -- nothing else.
𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧, 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 �...
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𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐏 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐓 𝐇 𝐈 𝐑 𝐓 𝐘 warning: profanities and mentions of death ahead.
C L E M E N T I A
That same night, I owled mother. I know, a very thirteen-year-old-who-got-her-first-love-confession move, but my case is different. I'm not giddy nor excited about it enough to be telling my mother of something most people my age keep to themselves; i'm telling her because I know she definitely has a role in it.
I tell her I know what she's doing, and I return to the dormitories in a flash—not wanting to bump into him—and spill everything I have to say to my trustworthy confidante.
"He barely knows me," I loll my head to the side to look at Danielle, who was lying on her own bed as she listened to me. "And half of the time he's seen me—I was hospitalized, for Merlin's sake."
"I don't even think he knew what house I was in before he entered Hogwarts. I never told him. Perhaps, mother told him about that one—like every other information about me you don't just learn from mere observation. Like my birthday, my favorite animal, my favorite flower! Tell me, Dani, if we weren't friends, would you be confident enough to send me a flower every single day because you know I like it?"
She shoots me a gaze. "Huh?"
I stand up and open the small drawer on my bedside table. Inside it were the eight wilting roses I had all kept after leaving the infirmary. I took them out and held them up, studying them, as if to find a clue somewhere in the darkening velvet petals.
"Every day when I was in the hospital wing, there'd be a rose on the bedside table. A red rose." I turn to see her watching them closely too. "I know that's a pretty common flower that most people would choose to send, but to send them everyday without changing or adding a variation..."
"Your mother must have told him."
"That's what i'm saying," I sat up, setting the roses down on my lap. "She shouldn't be meddling. My love life is none of her business!"
"I should have seen this through—the moment she introduced him to me on the Bass Industries' 50-year anniversary. And then when she didn't tell me we were having breakfast with them in Paris, and now, this! I'm not that lonely!"
Danielle raised an eyebrow at that last sentence. "But you are."
"Am not!" I retorted, head snapping her way.
"When have you last touched a boy?" Her eyes were narrowed, almost mockingly. "Your father isn't counted."
"Touch?" My heart was suddenly plunged in a cold pool of water.
