Tick tock, tick tock.
The clock hung up on the wall, ticking away. Loudly. Kathleen resisted the urge to throw her entire math textbook book at the clock. She was usually very good at arithmancy, but today felt like she couldn’t focus.
A break sounded so tempting but she needed to focus. She had to get some studying done, but her mind just wasn’t in the right place.
Tap, tap, tap.
The ravenette perked up, glancing around, trying to locate the source of the sound.
Tap, tap, tap.
She parted the curtains to her window, and she was greeted with the face of a familiar girl- the freckle-faced, curly-haired, hazel-eyed Alice Fortescue. Shee was on her broom, still in her quidditch uniform, a boyish grin lighting up her face. With long limbs and her curly hair, she always had a way about her that was coltish and free.
She fumbled with her hands and flushed a little. She wished she had a gift for you- flowers or something of the like.
“Al?” You asked, tilting her head and dragging a hair through her long, obsidian curls- that, and gray or brown eyes and Bipolar or Borderline Personality disorder were the unfortunate byproduct of lineage that came from The Noble House of Black.
"Alice, don't you have Quidditch practice? You're Keeper, Professor Hawthorne will surely have your head if your late. You know how she is." The pureblood asked, leaning on the ledge of her open window to tuck a strand of hair behind the redhead's ear.
Alice noticed your eyes tracing her figure, and suddenly, she, who had never before given a shit about the way she looked, was embarrassed of the windswept mess her hair was, or the fact that her nose was crooked from multiple Quidditch-related badly healed brakes. She tried not to seem flustered. “I came to ask if you wanted to come and watch my practice? Maybe you could sneak over to the Gryffindor table and eat with our team?”
Bloody fucking hell. Alice thought, internally cringing at her own stupidity. Why did she have to sound so desperate? You probably liked boys that could buy you fancy jewelry or something- not the daughter of an exiled Pureblood wizard and a Muggle born witch who owned a small shop in Diagon Alley full of haunted household items?
She ran a hand through her coppery brown curls, and you laughed. Okay, okay, cool. Good. Laughter was good.
"Unfortunately, I have to study so I can't make it to your practice- stupid Arithmetic. But, I can probably eat dinner with your team. I mean, most of the Professors don't really give a shit." Kate said, gently pushing Alice's shoulder. A holler came from the ground- a sign that Professor Hawthorne had noticed, and was not endeared by it.
But, fuck that old bat.
Alice would much rather be up here with you. You ran a hand through her shaggy, copper-brown curls to push them away from her beautiful hazel eyes. You traced the slope of one of her tanned, freckled cheek. You traced the crooked bridge of her nose, frowning lightly.
You knew she got into fights to prove she was just as good as any boy on the team, and that Quidditch came with a lot on injuries. However, as your watched her face with her scarred, crooked nose and then her calloused, scarred hand with it's bruised knuckles cup your cheek.
"I can wrap your hands for you, if you'd like. Might help ease the pain and swelling." You said quietly, turning to your desk to grab your First Aid kit, which was really a small embroidered pouch that was enchanted in itself to have whatever you needed.
With some maneuvering, you managed to get her through your window. You plopped her on the bed and instructed her to stick her hands out. You got a healing salve you'd made in Herbology from the pouch, followed by bandages. You applied the salve to the Gryffindor's hands, and bagn to wrap them.
You weren't the best at flirting or compliments. You love and affection was expressed through touch and acts of service.