As far as she was concerned, there was nothing special about Cassidy Winters. She's simply a girl who drinks far too much coffee than she would like to admit and reads books to escape her life as an unwanted orphan. Then, when she appears in a world...
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Cassidy's POV:
Ron was tense and stiff as we swayed awkwardly on the dance floor. His hand was gingerly placed on my waist and I stifled a laugh as he grimaced when I put my hand on his shoulder.
"He's going to kill me," Ron muttered.
"Why's that?" I asked with an amused expression.
"It's obvious he likes you. Even if he hasn't said anything," He said with a roll of his eyes. "He even has a nickname for you...Wait, why does he call you Phoenix?
"Long story...but at least we aren't you two. You both just bicker non-stop. Gods, the list I have made of your argument topics is long as fuck."
He narrowed his eyes at me. "Right. But then again we aren't taking turns staring at one another across a ballroom."
I felt my face turn florid. The red was surely visible to Ron who glared at me. "Great! Now he'll be pissed!"
"What? Why?" I snapped up, in concern.
"Because now you're blushing!"
I clear my throat, "I am simply having a good time!"
Ron rose an eyebrow. I knew that he was right. Some part of me knew that Harry had been looking my way. I knew that there were eyes on me when I was looking away from him.
It made my stomach riddle with butterflies only to have them burst into flames when I remember what I'm here for.
"You know," I began, "He isn't supposed to like me."
"What are you on about?" Ron said. He stepped on my foot and muttered a small apology before I answered.
"Well, in the books he is supposed to like someone else, but when I asked him he said he didn't like her. So, he can't like me. He isn't supposed to."
Ron considered this for a moment. "Don't tell Hermione I said this but...maybe what's in the books isn't everything. You just have to live and see for yourself."
I pursed my lips, "I guess...When did you become Mr. Smarty-pants?"
"Smart?" He echoed with wide eyes. "I've never been called that before"
A laugh left my throat and Ron followed. The music stopped and we walk back to the table.
I sighed as I sat back down. The heels were pretty but as Beyonce said: Pretty Hurts.
"What time is it?" I asked.
"Uh, I reckon it's half-past eleven," Ron shrugged.
"Well, as fun as this has been, I had my dance, ate great food, took some pictures, and now I am getting a bit tired in these stupid shoes," I complained.
