Ten Questions (Harry Potter x Slytherin reader)

Chapter 12

" '-His eyes shone with the ghost of his past at the mention of his parents, who had died tragically fourteen years ago the day You-Know-Perished.'" I smirk as I set the daily prophet down. Potter buries his face in his hands, mortified as he looks up at me. "My, my, Potter. Your interview seemed to go well."

"Your sarcasms isn't helping!" Potter snaps. He groans and leans back in his chair, running a hand through his impossibly messy, jet black hair. "Everyone at Hogwarts is talking about it!"

"Any publicity is good publicity." I say with a shrug.

"What are you? My manager, or something?" Potter growls, raising an eyebrow.

I shake my head. "Of course not. I'm just saying, the article is already published, and there's nothing you can do about it. It's a load of bullshit, and if other people don't realize that, then they're... well, idiotic."

"Well, I guess everyone at Hogwarts is an idiot, then."

I grin, flashing my teeth. "Now you're getting it, Potter. You're about three years late, but that's okay."

Potter chuckles as he reaches for a Bertie bots every flavored bean package and pops a bean into his mouth. He wrinkles his nose and swallows with much difficulty as he turns back towards me.

"So," he says, leaning back in his chair, "you get to ask ten questions tonight, remember?"

"Right." I grin. I reach into my robes and pull out a sheet of paper that Daphne and Adrian and Terrence had helped me create. It had taken more time, since we spent so long debating which questions were better than the others. We had ended up creating a grand total of forty one questions instead of ten. This had quickly become my favorite part of the day, as much as I hated to admit it. I suppose I just needed to come to terms with the fact that I was beginning to like being with Harry Potter.

I clear my throat.

"Question one," I begin, giving Potter a mischievous grin, "what was the three headed dog guarding when we were eleven?" It was Adrian's question, and it had been a rather brilliant one, since all of us had been dying to know for quite some time now.

Potter tilts his head. "You mean Fluffy?" He asks, eyebrows furrowed. "You want to know this three years later?"

"He has a name?" My eyes widen and I lean back in my chair, shaking my head in disbelief.

Potter grins and nods. "The thing was Hagrids, of course," he tells me. "It was guarding the philosophers stone."

I nod thoughtfully as I glance down at my list. I wanted to know what the bloody hell that was, but I would just have to research it later, since I didn't want to waste any of my questions.

"Um..." my eyes scan the list again, and I look up at Harry, "first kiss?" Daphne's suggestion, of course.

"Oh." Potter scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "I haven't had mine yet."

I laugh. "You're saying that you, the boy who lived, hasn't had his first kiss yet? Merlin's beard, Potter, you're famous! You should've at least had one-"

He blushes. "You don't have to make me feel bad about it, Pucey."

"Anyone in mind?" I question, wiggling my eyebrows as Potter shifts in his seat, thinking about it for a moment.

"Nobody." He finally says.

I sigh.

"Potter, I thought we agreed not to lie to each other."

"Fine." Potter turns to face me, smirking. "I do fancy someone, but why would I tell you?"

"Because, as of three days ago, you're my friend." I answer simply. I lean forward in my seat, grinning. "So, who is it? What lucky girl has the pleasure of being fancied by Harry Potter?"

He shakes his head. "Just because we're friends doesn't mean I have to trust you. Next question."

"Fine." I roll my eyes playfully, smiling as I move onto the next question on the list. "The sorting hat took an awfully long time to sort you into Gryffindor," I read aloud, "what other houses did it consider you for? Was it Ravenclaw? Was it Hufflepuff?" I grin. "I'm willing to bet it was Hufflepuff, since you're a big softie."

Potter looks at me with an odd sort of smile on his face. "Slytherin, actually." He says, his voice quiet. I lean forward, wondering if my ears have deceived me. Harry Potter? In Slytherin? It's quiet for a moment, and we stare at each other. Potter hated Slytherin's. He hated Draco. He hated Pansy (then again, who didn't?), and I was sure he hated Blaise and Daphne. The possibility of him being nearly sorted into my house makes my head hurt. Potter grins at my disbelief. "Surprising, isn't it?"

"You git!" I punch him in the arm, smiling like an idiot. "We could've been in the same house, and you chose Gryffindor?"

Potter laughs as he puts his arms out, defending himself from the wrath of my embarrassingly weak punches as he leans away. "If I had known you then, I would've joined you. Maybe." He winces as I punch him in the shoulder again. "Ow!"

"I'll never forgive you." I say once I finish.

"I've never actually told anyone this before," say Potter quietly. "Not even Hermione or Ron."

"That's because they were never forced to tutor you and ask questions for entertainment," I point out. Potter opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "Shut up. Next question: The name of your owl?" My question, actually. Probably the most boring of all the suggestions, but I was curios.

"Hedwig." He smiles. "She's a good owl."

"I'm sure," I deadpan, uninterested. "Mine is Athena," I quickly add before moving on. "Okay, next question: If you couldn't be a seeker, what position would you play for Quidditch?"

Potter's face brightens at the mention of the word Quidditch, and he begins to bounce in his seat excitedly.

"Oh, that's a good one!" Potter says with a smile. He leans back and taps his chin thoughtfully, pausing for a moment. "I think I'd do chaser," he finally answers. "It always seemed fun, I guess. Kinda like basketball." Potter sees my confusion and quickly explains, "It's a muggle game."

I nod. "I see. Favorite class?"

"Defense against the dark arts."

"If you could have one wish granted, what would it be?"

Potter hesitates. "I don't want to answer that question."

My features soften when I hear the pain in his voice, and I nod, understanding. I assume it had something to do with his dead parents, so I move on. "Do you think Daphne is cute-?" I look at the list again and curse. "Damn it, Daphne!"

Potter laughs. "If she really wants her to know, I think she's very good looking."

"I'm going to tell her you said that," I reply as I move on to the ninth question. "If you were of age, would you have entered the tournament willingly?"

Potter shakes his head. "If you had asked me that before, I would've said yes, but now that I'm actually in it, absolutely not."

"And for my final question," I say dramatically, repeating the all-too familiar words, "what's the core of your wand?"

"Phoenix," he says, "you?"

"(Y/w/c)." I answer. I look at his wand admirably, wondering what power it's capable of. My eyes then wander to the top of his forehead, where his lightning scar is. The scar tells a story. A tragic one, at that. Most of it is covered up now due to his longer hair, but it's still fairly visible. He grins at this.

"Pretty ugly, isn't it?"

"No." I shake my head, a distant look on my face as I eye the scar. "Strange, yes, but not ugly." I smile. "I think it's beautiful."

Potter sits up and nods thoughtfully. "I've never really thought about it that way before. I suppose you could put it that way."

"Beauty is often found in the strangest of things." I state simply, reciting the words Adrian had told me long ago. Potter's eyes flicker over to me, a ghost of a smile spreading across his face. I frown. "What is it?" I ask.

"Nothing." He says quickly. He smiles, a faraway look crossing his features. "Nothing at all."