“Why are you being so rude? This was supposed to be a nice night for us all and you’re being a right prat, Charlie!” You huffed at your friend outside the Great Hall. You’d both left the dance that Dumbledore had put on, having a bit of a fight for what seemed to you like absolutely no reason. He’d just been an absolute twat.
It was supposed to be a nice night, a time to let your hair down after exams, to dress up and dance and eat nice food and be teenagers. It was supposed to be one of those best nights of your life, one of the moments you’d look back on when you were older and think ‘that was the night’. Except now all you felt was anger and upset because Charlie had gone and ruined it.
“Oh I’m being prat? Well, maybe its because I like you and you’re all over Barnaby?!”
“What?” You quieted, confused, and a little shocked. “You think I like Barnaby Lee?”
“It’s obvious, you’re constantly dancing and flirting and talking. You don’t think that hurts? That I’m just sat there watching the person I love dance with some other guy?” It was so silly. For a pair of seventeen year old’s to be so oblivious and so dumb. It was so annoying that Charlie of all people was acting like he was twelve instead of actually being brave enough to ask you to dance.
“I don’t like him! I like you, stupid! You never asked me to dance! What was I supposed to do wait around all night, turning dances down, hoping you’d finally pluck up that Gryffindor courage and ask me to dance?!”
“You…you like me?”
“Yeah, and maybe if you weren’t such an idiot we could have had a really nice night and been dancing the whole time! The only person I wanted to dance with was you…and you didn’t even bother to ask. Next time ask me. Leave me alone, Charlie” You turn away from him with purpose. Leaving him stood there stunned, shoulders slumped. Each step taking you further away from him and closer to your common room. Maybe tomorrow you’d feel better, more able to talk and sort this out. But, right now? You were angry that he let some stupid insecurity get in the way of a good night, that he couldn’t just pluck up the courage to ask you to dance or tell you how he felt. That instead he decided to be a prat. You were also sad…he’d ruined it.
“Way to go, mate.” You hear the sound of Andre’s voice and what sounds like a hand grasping a shoulder as you turn the final corner.