Lover's Night

by Brooke

Roger Davies sneaks out at night to woe Fleur, but there are many obstacles on the journey to his silver-haired goddess.

You check your reflection in the floor length mirror - thank goodness for the Prefect's Bathroom - nervously adjusting your tie and tugging at your handcuffs. You spray a bit more peppermint cologne on yourself - you spent about 20 minutes deciding whether to use butter pecan cologne (courtesy of Honeydukes) or peppermint, and finally decided on peppermint after inconspicuously consulting his mates - and tuck the cologne bottles in the pocket of your robes. Your outfit is bordering on immaculate (Ravenclaws are Ravenclaws, after all) and you are pretty sure that you have everything that you need for the night (wand, bouquet of flowers, picnic basket…), but there's still a little knot of worry in your stomach, and the hypotheticals are still fluttering in your head like butterflies, demanding that their presence be known. What if she thinks I'm not genuine? What if she doesn't like the flowers? What if she hates the food? What if she thinks I'm a bad kisser? With a face like that, she probably has had loads more experience than you. People like you are probably nothing compared to Fleur.

The thought suddenly makes you feel very, very small, and another hypothetical rises, unbidden, in his mind.

What if she's just leading you on?

No, she wouldn't do that.

Why? Why not?

Because it's not her.

But you don't even know what she's like. Plus, she's way out of your league.

You gulp, brushing all the negative thoughts from his mind. You even dust off your shoulders for an added effect - Fleur tends to do that to people, make them feel small - and somehow, the overly childish gesture restores your sense of ease-or whatever sense of ease you once had. Act cool. Aloof. Fleur'll like that.

There is a large bronze clock on the back wall of the bathroom, and you glance up at it right now. It's 11:40-you promised her that you would be at the Astronomy Tower at midnight. 20 minutes is plenty time, but one could never be too sure. Scooping the bouquet of flowers into one arm and holding the basket with the free hand, you head out of the Prefect's bathroom, muttering a quick Lumos as you step out.

The hallway is dark and isolated, but there is a warning lingering in the air-you can feel it in your bones. So you tread quietly, thankful for your decision to wear slippers.

But even with the advantage of soft padding, it feels like the sound of your feet against the floor is magnified hundred times in the vast empty hall. Or maybe it's just you and your paranoia. You can't really be sure, since paranoia is practically your second nature.

You turn a corner into a particularly long and straight hallway - quite unusual in the jumbled castle of Hogwarts - allowing you time to wallow with your thoughts. With nothing to keep you company but the occasional creak that would always manage to make you let out a high-pitched squeak whenever it reaches your high-frequency tuned ears (yet another feature that feeds your paranoia), the hypotheticals and unwanted thoughts start to crawl in. They make you uncomfortable and worried, so you decide to set on finding the nearest clock - there aren't many in Hogwarts (the ones in the classrooms are enchanted to only work during the day) and you only know of four different locations with clocks: the Prefects bathroom, the library, the Trophy Room, and the Common Room. You know from your frequent walks around the castle that the Trophy Room is closer to where you are now, and is also on the way to the Astronomy Tower, which is a plus. You want to arrive at just the right moment: not a second too soon, not a second too late.

It has to be perfect.

Still deep in thought, you walk into the Trophy Room, gently closing the door behind you. You hold your wand high above your head, and wince as the illumination from your wand sends white light flying in all directions, including yours. You raise your arms to protect yourself from the gleam of the trophies, holding your wand higher so that you can see the clock, which is near the ceiling, but in the process, you manage to knock your own wand out of your hand. You lunge down to catch it, and your attempts are not only unsuccessful, but they also cause you to drop your picnic basket. It spills open, revealing treacle tarts, apple pies, sandwiches, pumpkin juice and other goods inside. You hurry to stuff all the food back in, but then you hear something that makes you freeze mid-action.

Footsteps. Then…

"STUDENTS OUT PAST CURFEW!"

Filch. Dammit.

You hit yourself on the head for being so stupid and clumsy, then realize you don't have time for that - the footsteps are growing more hurried and louder. You wildly stuff some more of the fallen food into your overflowing picnic basket (you hadn't had time to put it in properly so that it would actually fit) and hurry behind a large display case, which has a good view of the rest of the Trophy Room. You just have enough time to whisper Nox before the doors burst open, revealing a crazed Filch and a slightly frazzled Ms. Norris.

"Oh, stuuuuuudents out past curfew," he cackles, holding up an old-fashioned gas lamp. "Students will get in trouble. Oh, student!" he sings. "Come out, come out, wherever you are, or Ms. Norris will catch you and I'll take you to Dumbledore!" he calls out gleefully. As if on cue, Filch pats Ms. Norris on the head, hands her some catnip, and gives her a little push. "Meow if you see the student," he tells her. She starts to slink towards you, and you cower against the wall in a vain attempt to increase the distance between you and Ms. Norris. To your surprise, she pauses when she is a few feet from you. She starts to prod the picnic basket experimentally.

Laughing quietly to yourself, you take out a treacle tar and offer half to the cat. "No telling Filch, OK?" you tell Ms. Norris.

Ms. Norris only stares impassively at you.

The longer she stares, the more anxious you become. What if the cat doesn't like tarts? What if it's just going to eat the tart and go tell Filch? You smack yourself on the head. Stupid hypotheticals.

You wait with bated breath as the cat opens its jaws wide, saliva dripping from its sharp incisors, and...sinks its teeth into the tart.

You let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you!" you say loudly. "Good cat." You pet Ms. Norris, who purrs contentedly. "Good…"

"STUDENT OUT PAST CURFEW!" screeches a voice from behind you. You whip around to see Filch staring at him with a stricken, but delighted, expression. "Oh, you'll get punished, all right," murmurs Filch to himself. "Dumbledore won't be letting any of you brats off the hook again!" he said delightedly. "AND DON'T PET MY CAT!" he adds suddenly, lunging for you.

You use this moment to escape. You dodge his outstretched hands, quickly ducking underneath his body and race out the door. You hear Filch crash into something and start to curse very loudly, and you are almost positive you can hear a Hufflepuff complaining about the noise through the walls - well, at least you think it's a Hufflepuff. After all, no other person would complain by saying "Oh, dear me! I do hope Filch is alright! I am quite sleepy, though, and he was interrupting my sleep."

You race down the hall, preparing to turn the corner any minute now. Once you've rounded the corner, you start up the seemingly endless staircase that leads to the top of the Astronomy Tower. Filch is close behind by only one flight of stairs. Adrenaline pumps through your veins as you zoom up the stairs, desperate not to become the first wizard mince pie.

You allow yourself to slow down when you hear Filch grumbling and telling himself to just sleep it off. By then, you are on the last flight of stairs. As you jog lightly up the stairs, you realize that you never actually checked the time.

When you finally reach the top, you hunch down, hands on kneecaps, panting heavily. When you finally look up, you see Fleur.

Her hands are on her hips, her stance languid. Her lips are twisted up in half-amused, half-bored smile (either way is beautiful). She is wearing a long white chiffon that clings to her every curve and that is finished off with a golden belt imprinted with a simple olive leaf design. Her blue eyes are twinkling with mirth, which is what really gives away the fact that she is close to laughter. But all she says is, "You're late."

You stand up slowly. "I know." She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, tossing her sparkling silvery-gold tresses over her shoulder. "I - I apologize," you add quickly, wanting to please her.

She smiles thinly at you. "Wonzerful."

They stay in awkward silence for several tense seconds before you break it. "I - er, brought the picnic basket," you say lamely.

"Wonzerful," she says, and doesn't move to help. The hypotheticals start to race across your mind as you scurry to set up the picnic blanket. When you are finished, she daintily sits on the edge of the blanket. You hand her a treacle tart, and she bites into it, chewing thoughtfully, before taking another bite. You let out a sigh of relief. "Zo," she starts, after another long period of awkward silence, "why 'ere you zate?"

You sigh. "It's a long story…"

She smiles. A real, genuine smile, not just a smug grin or an alluring smirk. A smile. "'Zee 'ave all ze time in da world."

"Okay…" you say. "But it will be long," you add.

"Just zay it."

"But - "

"Please?" She looks up at him with wide, blue eyes.

You sigh in defeat.

And nod.

A/N: I know this wasn't exactly Brooke at her best, but could you still review? :) Oh, also, the challenge info may be updated within the next 24 hours, so be aware of that. :)

Now...BROOKE OUT! :3

Written for…

QUIDDITCH - LITTLE LEAGUES

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Position: Keeper

Prompt: Suspense

WC: 1696

Team: Gryffindor

JUNE BONUS!

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Prompts used: 2

Prompts: Butter, Call

CHALLENGE TICKETING CHALLENGE

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Challenges: 2

Points: 2