Fatal Attraction | D.M. (Soft Rewrite)

Chapter Twelve - The Date

A date. I'm on a date with Blaise.

The butterflies in her stomach hadn't relaxed since he'd collected her from the common room.

Walking close together their hands had only hesitantly grazed one another, until Blaise had taken control - linking his finger through hers.

They talked about class and school work, but the thought of where their bodies touched, dominated both their brains.

Things for Ophelia hadn't regressed but touching him felt more intimidating. She questioned whether her palms were too clammy, or how tightly she should hold his hand.

Tonight she was sober - she couldn't rely on firewhisky to squash her nerves, or soothe her butterflies.

But she liked listening to him talk, watching his lips as he spoke. Her head spinning as she wondered whether there would be be any secluded seats at the pub.

Wow I'm getting ahead of herself.

~

Blaise leaned over the bar and collected two butterbeers. He felt lucky that the only available table had been a cosy booth at the back of the room. He smiled smugly. I mean just look at her.

He noticed the stares they received from the other students. He felt proud to have her on his arm.

He knew Ophelia was not aware of most of the gossip that had spread around the school concerning her. He knew she'd be surprised to hear how positive the details were. It mostly included compliments or conspiracies about her past. In sum, the school felt drawn to her allusive presence.

He couldn't blame them.

Her eyes were trained on him as he walked back to their table. Placing the drinks down, he chose the spot next to her on the bench, rather than sitting opposite.

He needed to be close.

Watching her take a sip, he chuckled when the foam stuck to her top lip. He couldn't waste the opportunity. Cupping her chin in his hand, he drew her face to his. Kissing her deeply, swiping his tongue over her top lip, to remove every trace.

'Delicious,' he murmured. Her cheeks flushed.

Yes this is what I want, she thought.

Ophelia had not anticipated these feelings, especially after such a short time. She would have happily spent the whole night on his lips had their date been more private.

The Three Broomsticks was surprisingly full for a Sunday evening, considering class resumed tomorrow.

A series of loud chants and raucous singing issued from the other side of the room. Looking around she hoped there would be no familiar faces.

'So, how's next week looking?'

'Oh no,' she grimaced, 'don't remind me.'

Having so far avoided the topic, she recalled Malfoy's note. His request had only arrived an hour before leaving for the date.

That boy has excellent timing.

~ Proudfoot has demanded we practice our Patronus. Meet me after potions tomorrow. D. ~

She would have complimented the sweeping cursive handwriting, had its scribe not been so foul.

How blunt! How rude of him to assume I would be free! And 'D,' who the hell does he think he is? So pretentious!

Her temper sufficiently flared, she had considered excuses to avoid meeting. Feign illness? Skip potions? Pretend to forget? I could say I never received the note?