A Tale as Old as Time (Harry James Potter x OC)

Chapter 9...Gryffindor Party

Bright marine and violet lights shone across the Gryffindor common room. In the far corner beside the fire place, a group of fifth and sixth years gathered in a PG-13 game of spin the bottle. Meanwhile, the Ravenclaws were snorting some white powdery substance off the table stretching out along the length of the wall.

In the midst of chaotic half-naked teenagers downing red solo cups of gods-know-what, Harry Potter sat on a cushiony red sofa beside his two best friends in wonder of a certain blonde who had yet to make an appearance to the Gryffindor afterparty post-Quidditch game.

Scratching his head, Harry lit his cigar. "I don't understand. She hates me," he exhaled a puff of smoke. "Why would she help me catch that snitch?"

"Maybe she's starting to catch feelings for you, mate," Ron suggested as he gnawed on a barbecue chicken wing and wiped the palm of his left hand on the new jeans he just inherited from his brother Fred. His mother, Molly Weasley, would not be pleased when she notices the stains.

"You really think so?" Harry beamed. The boy looked positively euphoric at the mere notion. This plan of his was easier than he thought. It took his father years to win over Harry's mother. The Potter boy hoped it wouldn't take him quite as long but was certainly prepared to, considering how stubborn Stevens proved to be.

Dabbing at the perspiration gathering along her hairline with a handkerchief, the Granger girl groaned in disagreement. "NO! I don't think so." How dumb can they be?, she thought to herself. "If you weren't aware, Harry, which you should be considering you've been practically stalking the girl for weeks now," Hermione continued on despite the Potter boy's protesting, "Rosemary happens to be almost as obsessed with Quidditch as the two of you."

"Really?" Harry's eyes glistened a brilliant emerald green. Gods, this girl could not get any better, he thought. "We truly are meant to be."

Ron shook his head at the boy's obsession, and Hermione began to start another long lecture on why Harry should leave the girl be if he wants any kind of future with her. However, her words fell on deaf ears, for the Boy Who Lived was no longer paying attention to either of his friends when a maine of silky blonde hair caught his eye.

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"You guys, I just want to go back to my dorm and finish my Potion's essay," the Stevens girl complained. She tugged futilely at her stockings that which her friends practically forced her into.

"Rose, just go out and have fun for once in your life. It's a party," Amanda encouraged. Despite her and Candace's efforts, Rosemary was, at heart, a total bookworm, and getting her nose out of her work was a feat in and of itself.

The blonde tried to object, but Candace was dragging her to the drink station by her arm. As her two friends indulged in the delights of butter-beer and fire-whiskey, Rosemary smoothed down her black leather dress that she borrowed from Amanda. As she fussed with the fabric, she did not know whether to pull the garment up or down. The dress must have been made for a five year-old; it was so tiny!

But Harry Potter certainly enjoyed the view. And to his dismay, some other third and fourth year guys seemed to, too. In fact, one particularly large boy approached the girl.

"Well, look at you," the burly boy whistled. His eyes raked up and down her body, and the blonde squirmed uncomfortably. "Aren't you a site for sore eyes." He tried to sling an arm over her shoulder, but Rose quickly shrugged it off.

The girl looked for her friends, but they were already lost in the crowd, leaving Rosemary to fend for herself. Stepping back a foot, she crossed her arms. "And you are," she asked.