This is proper infuriating. If he reckons it's some sort of bloody joke⎯ I mean, who cracks jokes like that?⎯ then just give him a good slap in the cheeky face so next time he won't laugh at you.

You charge towards Evan like a tornado to break his nose. The rest of the lads⎯ his friends⎯ as soon as they clock you on the horizon scarper pronto. Of course, they twig that this witch would give them a right earful, because they're just as to blame for the mess with you and Evan.

Although, if you think about it... All those tender kisses by the fireplace. And swapping sweets because you both sleep in until lectures, and brekkie isn't always an option. Sweet coos and whispers in each other's ears in front of the common room fireplace. Waking up on holidays on his bed under his blanket, when there are no other male students around. Pressing yourself against his chest and then planting your lips on the crook of his neck. Hmm, finding time to snuggle in the broom closet and the library. All those little moments that make it all feel proper. Just a couple of lovebirds.

Well, it ain't difficult to clock that you've found out this relationship is just his bet with his friends.

Evan sighs softly, muttering, “Tu seras ma mort.” His graceful fingers persistently, but gently take the wand from your hand, dropping it on the stone floor. He pulls you into his arms, burying his nose in the silk of your hair. Of course, there's no point in denying. It's true. But how to admit to himself, that by the end of the year, he does love you?

“Listen... yeah, it's all a daft joke at first. But not now,” his melodic voice cuts through you, totally sending shivers down your spine. Cool palms cup your cheeks, and he feels devastated when he spots tiny tears in your eyes. “I love you, dove. And...” he fishes out from his pocket a ring that you recently weave from grass for him. What a berk⎯!

“Will you marry me?”