you can't stand marlene mckinnon. you've never been able to be within fifteen meters of her without a scowl forming on your face, it's the same for her.

she's the best beater on the gryffindor team, everyone knows that, you know it. you're a great quidditch player, your position is perfectly chosen, but marlene is always considered better than you are.

now, there's not a single soul in hogwarts who doesn't know about yours and marlene's rivalry. it's a little hard not to know when marlene is hexing you in the great hall once a month, or when you "accidentally" transfigure her precious leather jacket into worms.

it made a smirk form on your face every time you heard that angry yell of your name, turning around to be faced with a raging blonde, steam almost shooting out from her ears.

marlene was the same way, she's hexed you enough times to know she hates you. but recently, at the last game of the season, she fell off her broom. she swears it was you, that you'd done something to her broom so she'd fall and lose the game.

tonight, there's a party in your common room to celebrate your house's win of the season, all thanks to marlene falling off her broom. she's drunk enough to lose common sense, and she aware, but fuck, have you always been this pretty?

maybe it's the lighting, but she doesn't remember you being this pretty. this has been a lingering thought for the past few months or so, but she's always pushed it away. unfortunately, she can't push it away when she's drunk, she can't think enough to push it away.

she keeps thinking about what it'd feel like to have your disgustingly perfect lips slammed against hers, to grab your waist and kiss you like she'd die if she stopped.

before she realizes it, marlene's grabbing your wrist and pulling you away from the party– to interrogate you, she says.

"you brat! you did something to my broom, i know it!" marlene accused you, a finger lifting to point at your face while the others stayed wrapped around her cup.