Chapter 5
I think for a moment. “No. the red one looks better. It matches your eyes.”
“But I really like the blue one!” he whines as he puts away the blue wool coat. I giggle, “Well, the blue one doesn’t like you.”
He huffs, but I can tell he’s enjoying himself, “fiiiiiiiine.” He hands the shopkeeper three sickles and pulls the coat over his shoulders. It looks much better than the blue, I think, pleased.
We walk along the storefronts, staring into every display window, stopping for candy in one. Hatter, I’ve decided to refer to him by that name, is out of touch with types of candies in the wizarding world, and frankly, I’m not much better.
The shop is filled with laughter, students haggling candy and talking to their friends. Eventually, we purchase chocolate frogs, pumpkin pasties, every flavor beans, and acid pops.
“Chocolate frogs,” I read from the deep blue box, “I don’t suppose this is regular chocolate?”
Hatter shoves a pumpkin pastie into his mouth, “beats me,” he said.
Nervously, I tear open the box, before I can grab the candy inside, it shoots out of the packaging. I can tell, it is indeed a frog, a seemingly alive one if it wasn’t for the fact that it was so obviously chocolate. It lands on my cheek.
Hatter, who was watching, choked on his pastry, spraying crumbs everywhere. I attempt to grab the frog, mostly just smashing it into my face, as it slips out of my grasp, and somewhere into the street.
“Stop laughing!” I demand as he doubles over laughing, hands on his knees. I sighed, “all it did was jump out,”
“That’s where you’re wrong, love,” he said, wheezing. “Wha-?” I ask, he takes me by the shoulders and spins me around, facing the glass. I can see my reflection in the window.
Oh.
There were smears of chocolate all down my face. I wiped at the stains with my sleeve. Behind me, he was still laughing, “You’re just smearing it!” he says.
I whirl around and put my hands on my hips, “then you try.” I retorted. He seems to take this as a personal challenge, because he grabs my hand and drags me over to the bench in the middle of the square, in front of a trickling fountain. The part of the street is empty, everyone elsewhere.
Sitting down next to me, he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. I stared.
“What? Do people not carry handkerchiefs around anymore?”
I shake my head, “Some do, but you’re like an old man.”
“Hm,” he says, “must be because I’m so wise. Now, hold still.”
One hand holding my chin, the other clasping the cloth. I sit, still as a rock, as he dabs at the chocolate stains, eyes focused, hands gentle. “Bastard,” he mutters. “It’s not working.”
I shrug, trail a finger down the thickest smear, and pop it in my mouth. “It tastes good though.” He laughs and does the same. I blush, clearly, he didn’t feel any type of way about that.
He dips the handkerchief into the fountain next to the bench. “It’s kinda cold,” he warns he leans close, he doesn’t waste a moment, scrubbing it down my face. The cloth is shockingly cold, icy. By the light of the shop windows, his face is bathed in a golden light.
My teeth chatter. “Are you done yet?” the cold water is dripping down the cloth, down my face, down my neck. Soaking into my uniform.
I grab his wrist, yanking it away from my face. He lurches forward, knocking me back to where I have to latch onto his shoulders so I’m not lying flat on my back on the bench. His breath catches.
He’s close. Our faces are inches away. His hair brushes my face, “I-” I start to say, but he stops my lips with a kiss.
I let out a small gasp, a hiss of air before I give in. He’s so gentle, acting as if I was fragile. And, as soon as it started it was over.
He flushes bright red and covers his mouth, “I- I’m sorry- I didn-”
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull myself to him, touching his lips to mine. He freezes, shocked for a moment, then relaxes. He is no longer gentle. He presses me into the bench, his kisses are rough. We stay like that for a few moments, his tongue slips into my mouth. Our tongues intertwined with one another. He finally pulls away, propped up on his elbows, on top of me.
Our eyes are focused on each other, afraid to look away, afraid to say something, anything, and filled with shock.
His deep red eyes are wide, mouth slightly parted, and warm complexion tinted pink.
I finally break the silence, “We should start heading back.”
He nods his head, “Yeah, probably.”
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I lower myself down into the tunnel, carefully. My pulse is racing, replaying the passionate kisses we shared. “Easy coming down,” he whispers. I whip my head back, those are the only words he’s said on the way back. When I reach the ground, he grabs onto my hand.
I jump and blush in the darkness. It's just so you don’t get lost, there’s nothing more behind it, I scold myself.
He drags me through the path. My heart is pounding, not out of fear, but of anticipation, of whether or whether not something happens though, that I am unsure of.
We walk the length of the path.
He stops and releases my hand. Something extremely obvious makes itself present in my mind.
“How are you going to get up to the floor?” I ask, “Surely you can’t jump that high.”
“Nah,” he says, rustling around with something on the wall, “but there’s another entrance that we can use to get back to Hogwarts.”
He lets out a sound of excitement and something clicks on the wall. I see him, a few feet away, crouched on the ground. “Come on,” he says and crawls out of the entrance. I follow suit, smearing my elbows and knees with dirt.
I find myself in a small room lit with moonlight. I stand up and find myself face-to-face with a hunched-over witch with one eye.
“Gah!”
I say, stumbling back.
Strong arms catch me, it's Hatter pulling me close to him.
I look back at the witch, my ears burning with embarrassment, to realize it's just an incredibly lifelike statue.
He laughs, “This passage is shorter, but I like it less, for this exact reason.”
“Makes sense,” I say.
We just stand there for a moment. Both are so conscious of how close we are. “Hatter-” I begin to say as he spins me around to face him.
His hands are protective, one on my chin, the other on my back.
“What are we?” I ask.
~to be continued~