Harry Potter Preferences

Frienemies

Frienemies....
Is that how you spell it????
Cha, who cares, on with the chapter!

Oh, a little bit of no-changing-your-house-its-already-been-decided-for-you in this chapter. Heads up.

Harry: There was no doubt that Harry Potter had a fan club and that his most devoted fans were the members of the Gryffindor house. That was, except for you. You had always viewed him with a slight distaste, never knowing why exactly. But as the years passed, your mild dislike soon turned into a full blown hatred for The Boy Who Lived. Shame, he did, by the way. So when he came up to you on the first day of Hogwarts, (You were in the same year as him, again, shame.), you just threw a cold icy glare in response to his friendly greeting. Then he had the most crushed and bewildered look on his face, which, very unfortunately, tugged on your heartstrings with a very sharp jerk. Against your logical side of your brain, you ended up muttering a quick and quiet hullo back before hurrying away, red enough in the face for steam to be blowing out of your ears.

Ron: You were a close friend of the Golden Trio, meaning you got along splendidly with them. Them not including the Weasel. If Hermione and Ron sent Harry raving mad with their quarreling, then the both of you were probably going to send the poor boy to his death bed before You Know Who would even get a chance to. You were always squabbeling, even over the most smallest and ridiculous reasons. Today, the topic was if it was possible to actually raise a chocolate frog, put it inside a cage or something of the sort. The response, no, are you daft? It'll melt, it's chocolate for Merlin's sake. This went on and on, Ron and you throwing insults and attacks at each other. Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, they supposed they were lucky the two of you weren't using more stronger words to describe the other. Then, Ron decided to yell at you to shut up and that just because you have a pretty face doesn't mean you can throw your weight around. Then, faces both red, the both of you shut up just fine.

Draco: The King of Slytherin and you were not a mixture someone would purposely put together, because there was a full hundred percent chance it would backfire back into their faces. Big time. Everyone knew this, even the wee little first years who would whisper amongst themselves whenever the two of you walked even ten inches within each other's radar. Everyone, except Minerva Mcgonagall. When you learned that the two of you were going to be in the same detention together, same room, you blew a fuse. You considered pleading with Mcgonagall, but you quickly discarded the idea, knowing that it'll never work out in your favour. So you prayed to Merlin to let you live through the night and made your way to detention. Malfoy was already there, leaning against the wall and only lifting his eyes to acknowledge your presence before looking away with a sneer. Turns out your job was to sort potion ingredients into jars for Snape. Sighing, you reached for a box full of bubbling spheres which you have seen before in your life. Something hard and warm hit you in your side and you stumbled, the box falling from your hands. You turned with a glare, ready to kill him when you noticed the box in his hands. "These things are corrosive and does she bother to put gloves on? No, how daft can you get?" You stared at him for a while, before turning back around, wondering what in the world just happened.

Fred: "Fred Weasley, you are the bane of my existance." "Well, love, too bad. Cause you're the light of mine." You groaned. The redhead had been sticking to your side like glue for a whole week now, showering you with compliments and adoration. In other cases, you would have loved for someone to do this, but in this case, you were normally just seconds away from ripping his head off sometimes. "You look gorgeous, today, by the way." "Thank you, now piss off." Your friends around you stifled a laugh, including George. "Nah, I think I'll stay here for a bit longer." "Your measurements of time are messed up, if you think that a bit is a week, Weasley." You muttered, stuffing books into your book bag next to you. "Remember our deal, love." Fred purred into your ear, making you jump. You blushed, "Yeah, well, that's never going to happen." Another part of part whispered, it's just one date, just one small tiny date and you're done dealing with him. You stood up, huffing, and very nearly tipping over the milk jug on the table. "Going to class early, now, are we, love?" Fred bolted up, and this time sending the milk jug right off the edge of the table. He didn't seem to care though. "I'll walk you there." When you were out of earshot of the others, you grumbled to him, "You know, if you keep this up, annoying me to death and back and all, I might just go on a date with you, you know?" He laughed, "That's the point, darling." And he spent the rest of the day teasing you about how he saw a little smile on your face just then.

George: "Hello, George." You said brightly to the redhead,  well, not really anymore. Instead, his usual bright red hair was now a purplish shade of blue. He poated at you, knowing full well that you had caused this. "Nice hair, by the way." You quipped, which made his bottom lip stick out even more. "Hmph," he said in response. "Look on the bright side, at least now we'll all get to tell the difference between you and Fred now." You smiled as you smothered the slice of bread you were holding with butter. He groaned and leaned over and buried his head into your neck. "I hate you," you heard him mutter through his bright blue locks and your natural ones. You giggled, petting him on the head, "Love you too, Georgie."

Neville: "Honestly, Neville," you groaned. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" The boy beside you fumbled about clumsily and nearly upsetting the small cauldron set on the table in front of the both of you, he continued to apologize profusely. You let out a long and quiet sigh, careful not to let Neville hear. You didn't need him getting the potion to explode with his excessive clumsiness. Though you had to admit the red on his cheeks was quite the adorable sight. NO NO NO. Concentration on potion, not the very cute boy next to you who was now rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly in a manner that was strangely intri- NO NO NO. You turned back to the bubbling cauldron sharply, which made your neck crack painfully. You had to bit your tongue as to not scream bloody murder. "Oh Merlin, are you okay? Oh my god, that's a stupid question. Here, lemme help." Neville shifted closer to you, causing pink to blossom on your cheeks, despite the pain. Then the tips of his fingers touched your neck gently and you erupted in shades of red.

Oliver: "Knock on Wood!" You yelled at the top of your lungs at the Quidditch team a few ways away from you. Fred and George immediately snapped their heads up, both faces wearing the same identical mischievous grin. It was a routine thing you had with them and them also included the whole Quidditch team and more. Every Quidditch match you would go in search of them and yell the phrase loud enough for the people surrounding you to hear. Then, they'd all swarm over to Oliver Wood and rapped him smartly with their knuckles. The most enthusiastic ones were, of course, the twins. They'd sneak in extra knocks. It was a good distraction from pre-game jitters and it was fun and it built team spirit. Everyone was happy. Everyone, except Oliver Wood. You couldn't blame him, you supposed. You'd be pretty pissed in his shoes too, but it was just too fun and, besides the pros outweighed the cons. Then, one time, after you'd yelled, Oliver scowled fiercely, fiercely enough that it pushed back the wave of people going to knock him. He made his way through it, pushing and shoving until he got to you. "You talk too much," He said before kissing you full on the lips.