The same story every day. No matter how well you do everything, he doesn't trust you. He's compulsively jealous, but if you tell him, the next Magical War starts here. He doesn't accept it, he cries and you feel pity.

Your friends say he's a psycho, but he's so hot. They don't understand you, but you don't understand either why you keep thinking that his jealousy will go away with time.

He goes straight to the point without an interlude. "Why are you going so pretty and fragrant to the library?"

Come on, Nott, didn't you want a studious girlfriend like all your friends in the gang?

He always thinks something is going on under the table, he always produces a movie in his head, in it you're always with other guys, scratching their backs between moans.

You're always wrong, he's always right.

He always has an excuse to fight and you don't say anything because with the look of his storm-like gray eyes he turns you into stone next to him as if he were Medusa.

The last time he got upset, he made you walk around school wearing his Quidditch shirt with his last name emblazoned on the back.

"I'm not jealous," he repeats once more, the Italian accent slipping out from between his molars as he clenches his jaw, "But who was that idiot who was sitting next to you at the Quidditch match?"