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❛ fighting with a true love is boxing with no gloves ❜
· ⎯⎯ ୨ • ୧ ⎯⎯ ·
The silence was loud between Camryn and Potter during the past few weeks.
He had mastered the brilliant art of speaking no more than two words to her a day, pretending as if the past few months of tension never occurred. Unfortunately, he couldn't escape her presence during their Potions lessons and was forced to communicate at least ten words a day with her.
Camryn didn't bother trying to explain herself - she knew how it looked and despite her intentions hovering over the opposite spectrum of hurting Potter, there was nothing she could say to undo the mess.
Instead, she chose to ignore his snippy remarks and sit quietly. A month ago, she would've been furious at herself for allowing someone to step all over her.
The coldness from Potter went on for several weeks, leading into the bitterness of November. Autumn leaves were coated in a lining of ice each morning while breath formed into fog outdoors.
Camryn's body was trembling as she stood out on the Quidditch field one cold, late afternoon, staring at her team while trying not to pay attention to Potter across the grass. Of course the next Ravenclaw match had to be up against Gryffindor, and she wasn't looking forward to kicking his ass.
"Alright, y'all know the drill!" she announced, loathing how abnormal her American accent was, "Gryffindor is a tough team to beat, but we've done it before so we can do it again."
Her eyes darted often towards Potter on the opposite end of the field, admiring the way his Quidditch jersey fit him like a glove. His brows were furrowed in concentration as he addressed the Gryffindor team hastily, bright green eyes standing out amongst the grey day.
"Cam," Kevin nudged her shoulder suddenly once she had finally dismissed the Ravenclaw's to get into their positions, "You need to focus. Stop paying attention to that bitch."
She blinked quickly, "Right... yes, definitely. Good luck."
Camryn mounted her broom and took off into the air with one last glance at Kevin, before scanning the field in search of Madam Hooch. Her numb fingers curled around the wood as she closed her eyes and shakily inhaled- she often became extremely anxious before a game, and picked up quite a few techniques to ease her panic over the years.
When her eyes fluttered open, she was face to face with Harry Potter.
He stared right through her, as if she were made of glass. A somewhat bored expression remained painted across his features as his eyes met her focusing ones, and once she saw his lips flicker down to hers for just that moment she couldn't help do the same, and she prayed he wouldn't notice.
