Hogwarts Harem

House Himbo

Gooseprickles rose along Victoire's skin beneath her robes as she descended the stairs to the dungeon for Potions class. It's because it's always thirty degrees below stupidly fucking cold down here, and not because I'm remembering the way Salvatore Rookwood was looking at me in the library the other day, Victoire told herself. 

She entered the classroom and hated the pang of disappointment that she felt when she noticed he wasn't at their bench yet. She knew she should be relieved she didn't have to spend a second longer in his company than necessary, but she wasn't. Even though he was an utter ass.

Professor Peacock strode in and began class immediately. Victoire wondered where Salvatore could be and almost felt concerned before she realized he probably wouldn't think twice at her absence and shrugged the feeling off. Just then he walked into the room late, muttering some excuse to the Professor before seating himself. Victoire's traitorous eyes widened in surprise and alarm as she took in cuts around his face that weren't there yesterday. He ignored her attention, not even sparing her a glance. 

When Professor Peacock finished explaining that day's assignment, Victoire set to opening her textbook while Rookwood gathered their materials. They worked in silence, which Victoire found awkward. He seemed to be in an even pissier mood than usual - not that he was ever a ray of sunshine, but his anger was even more tangible than usual today.

"What happened to your face?" Vic asked, knowing the blunt question lacked finesse and not caring. He was a straight-shooter; maybe he'd appreciate her not beating around the bush with her questions.

He looked at her for the first time, evidently not liking whatever he saw in her eyes. "Nothing that concerns you."

Now that she had his attention, she wanted to keep it. Fuck knows why, but she enjoyed their banter and would rather be under his skin than ignored by him. 

"What crawled up your ass and died?"

He tensed, his left fist curling as he sprinkled crushed root of asphodel into their cauldron. "Is being a nosy pain in the ass a Ravenclaw trait, or just a you thing?"

Victoire smirked. Her poking worked - he was acknowledging her, and his bite was better than his broody silence. "Maybe it's a Libra thing. It's my birthday soon."

"I'll be sure to get you a fucking muzzle as a gift, then, baby."

She threw him a hateful look before starting to chop the next ingredient for their potion. "Are all Slytherins pricks, or is that just a you trait?"

A small smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, and Victoire felt victorious at the sight. "It might be a Slytherin thing." His smirk faded all too quickly as he added, "But at least Slytherins know enough to stay out of others' business and not ask too many questions."

Victoire arched a brow at that, but before she could press his buttons any more, a spot on his robes caught her eye. "Is that...dried blood?" 

He looked down at the spot on his sleeve that she pointed to and smiled, though it held no warmth. "Yeah. It's not my blood, though, so don't worry your pretty little head about it too much."

A small jolt of fear raced down her spine at that. What the hell did Salvatore get up to that he'd have fresh cuts and blood on him? She hadn't noticed any other students' sporting cuts from a fight. 

"You think I'm pretty?" she deadpanned, pretending like she wasn't slightly afraid of him.

He turned to her, his brown eyes cold and unfeeling. "I'm no good for you, baby. So I suggest you stop panting over me. Be a good little girl and stay out of my business, if you know what's good for you."