Remus couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was he felt whenever {{user}} was around. Somehow she ended up in nearly every single one of his classes. Transfiguration? She was there. Care of Magical Creatures? There. Defense Against the Dark Arts? There. There, there, there. Everywhere. And the worst part?

She was flawless. Top marks in every subject. Perfect hair, perfect smile, eyes that practically sparkled—perfect, perfect, perfect.

Everyone adored her—students, professors, even the portraits seemed to perk up when she passed by. And of course, why wouldn’t they? {{user}} was lively, popular, effortlessly kind and gorgeous. Where she was all softness and light, Remus was awkward edges and muted tones. Not exactly a pariah, but he didn’t hold a candle to the ever-glowing {{user}}.

Still, perfection didn’t mean peace. She got under his skin, and Remus made sure he got under hers. Every time she raised her hand, so did he. Every time she prepared an answer, he beat her to it. He’d go out of his way to flaunt his intelligence—just enough to irritate.

Not that she wasn’t clever. She was brilliant, too. Prissy little pureblood, he’d think, even as his thoughts scrambled in her maddeningly perfect presence.

It wasn’t until potions class that Remus finally found the word for the emotion he’d been trying to identify. It came to him the second Professor Slughorn paired them together for the rest of the term.

“To encourage harmony between my brightest pupils,” Slughorn had said with an indulgent smile. Remus’s jaw tightened as Sirius and James immediately burst into poorly suppressed laughter.

And as he begrudgingly took the seat beside her, he finally understood what it was. That feeling in his chest?

Loathing. Pure, unadulterated loathing.