You stormed through the deserted corridors, heading straight for the Gryffindor dormitories, seething with rage. You came to a halt in front of Gryffindor's portrait hole, as a woman in a large pink dress, glowered down at you. She surveyed your emerald green Quidditch robes, which were now covered in mud and grass stains, making you tap your foot impatiently.
"Can I help you," she asked, coldly.
"Caput Draconis," you snarled, only making her suspicion deepen. A crease appeared in between her eyebrows as she debated whether or not to let you in. Fred and George has given you the passcode to Gryffindor Tower, in the off chance that you ever needed accomplices for any last minute pranks, but this was the first time you had ever dared to use it. The fat lady bit her lip nervously, as you continued to glare at her.
"You're a Slytherin," she pointed out, as if that wasn't obvious. "I'm afraid that I can't allow you to enter," she commented, dryly. You growled in response, your patience running low.
"I gave you the right passcode, did I not," you muttered angrily, through gritted teeth. The woman bit her nails in nervous contemplation. You rolled your eyes.
"Well... Yes ... I suppose..." you cut her off before she could finish, your anger threatening to boil over. You were not in the mood for a debate.
"Exactly! Now open the damn door!" She looked you over one last time before the portrait swung aside, reluctantly. You sighed in exasperation as you marched into the common room, repulsed by the crimson red and gold coating the walls. Gryffindors looked up at the sudden commotion and gasped. You sent them all maniacal glares, making them shrink back in complete and utter terror. You heard whispers and fearful whimpers as you scanned the room for a patch of fiery red hair. Instead, a tall figure, with sandy brown locks intercepted your path. Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain and your natural born enemy. His eyes were immediately drawn to your Slytherin green robes, coated in mud.
"What are you doing here, Middlebrook? Have you lost your way back to the Dungeons? How did you even manage to get in here?" Oliver interrogated, in his thick Scottish accent. "Or did Slytherin decide that they should send their own team captain as a spy? If so, you're not very inconspicuous," he commented, as you scoffed in irritation.
"Oh, sod off, Wood! I'm not here to spy," you shot back. "Besides, Slytherin doesn't need a spy, watching your pathetic excuse of a team would be a waste of our time. My team could kick your asses at any given time. Or, do you need me to get the trophies from the last three years to help jog your memory?" You taunted, as he grimaced at the reminder.
"Not this year, (Y/N)! Not this year. That cup is our's! Gryffindor is going to win this time around, just you wait!" You snorted, making Oliver narrow his eyes in anger.
"Is that so? And why's that, Oliver? What makes you think that the miserable group of clowns, you call a Quidditch Team, will be able to beat Slytherin? You seem awfully confident for someone who's lost for the last consecutive three years," you replied, grinning at his stunned expression. He opened his mouth to respond, but before the words escaped his lips, two redheads came bounding down the stairs of the tower. They froze at the bottom, surveying the heated discussion between the two rival captains. Fred and George laughed mischievously, as they jumped onto Wood's back, making him grunt in response.
"Well, Georgie! Isn't this a pleasant surprise? Tell us, (Y/N/N), what brings you to our humble abode?" Fred questioned, curiously. You rolled your eyes for what seemed to be the umpteenth time that day and sighed.
"Marcus Flint," you growled, gnashing your teeth. You could feel the rage coursing through your veins as you mentioned his name, your eyes turning a violent shade of red, appearing as if they had suddenly burst into flames—a side effect of your fiery temper, that you had unfortunately inherited from your father. All three boys took a step back cautiously.
"What does Flint have to do with any of this," Wood asked, nervously. You shrugged, doing your best to suppress your anger.
"Let's just say, he'll be in the infirmary for the next few days and it may be a while until he's able to sit on a broom again," you commented nonchalantly. Oliver's mouth fell open, while Fred and George tried to contain their laughter. You bit your lip, as Wood rubbed the back of his neck, anxiously, the fear in his eyes, rather obvious.
"I...U-Um...A-And w-why's that?" Oliver managed stiffly, as you shrugged again, as if it were nothing. Images of Flint's nasty smirk haunted your vision, making you shudder.
"It's really quite simple, he tried to kiss me, and if that wasn't enough, he suggested that he'd be doing me a favour by letting me sleep with him," you barked. The twins looked at one another before they lost themselves in a fit of laughter.
"That's our girl," the Weasley's shouted in unison. Many people turned to stare, glancing at you before quickly turning back in fear as your lips formed themselves into a maniacal smirk. Wood looked as if he were at a loss for words, when his frown suddenly converted to a grin.
"What," you demanded, staring at Oliver expectantly, noting the mischievous glint reflecting in his eyes. He shrugged, his smile widening.
"Flint is in the infirmary, you say? Well then, it seems Gryffindor has an ever larger advantage than I had previously thought with one of your Chasers injured! How awful that it had to happen only weeks before the big game! What ever shall you do?" Wood teased, dramatically.
"Is that what you think? You think that you have an advantage because I just so happened to have kneed one of my Chaser's in the groin and managed to snap is ankle in half? Flint will be fine! He'll be ready to play before the match! But even without him, Slytherin would kick your team's sorry asses, just like we always do, and if you think otherwise, well then you are just a ignorant and filled with denial as Marcus is stupid," you scoffed, making Wood laugh.
"You don't stand a chance, Middlebrook! This year, we've got a strategy. We've got a secret weapon," he bragged, peaking your interest, though you managed to keep your face emotionless. You wouldn't let him get into your head.
"Good for you! You need all of the help you can get, Wood! Even with your secret weapon Slytherin will crush you. We have too much talent not to win," you shot back and with that, you turned on your heel and flounced out of the tower. As soon as the portrait swung closed, you broke into a run, heading straight for the dungeons in search of Higgs and Pucey. You could feel the familiar drive of completion. You were even more determined to win and determined to figure out what the Gryffindor's were hiding. What was Oliver's secret weapon?
YOU ARE READING
Too Shy To Tell You (Cedric Diggory x Reader)
Fanfiction(Y/N) Middlebrook was terribly excited for her fourth year at Hogwarts, but at the same time, she was extremely anxious. This was the year she wanted to tell her crush that she was hopelessly in love with him. But how? Cedric Diggory. He was practic...
