Give in to Love, or Live in Fear

As January lagged on, the chilly weather only got worse. Snow was still hiding the green grass beneath it and the Whomping Willow shivered in the cold breeze.

Mirabelle was happy to have Quidditch practice. It drove away her thoughts that insisted on haunting her.

''Montague! Glad you could join us.'' Marcus spoke sarcastically, glaring lightly from where he hovered a few feet off the Quidditch pitch.

''Got held up. Prof. McGonagall.'' He sneered, he had, no doubt, been doing horribly in
Transfigurations, like last year.

Mirabelle sniggered at this.

Montague suck his tongue out at her, mounting his broom and zooming up to hover by her.

''Let's begin!'' Marcus threw the Quaffle, and Adrian lounged forward, to receive it.

Mirabelle landed on the ground, to release the Blunders, and when they rose high in the air, she did too.

One aimed right for Draco's head, while the other zoomed around, decided it's target.

He was lucky to have Mirabelle there, for if she was one second later, he would need to see Madam Pomfrey on a stretcher.

The air ruffled his pale locks, causing them to rebel against his usual slicked back look.

The Blunger pelted around, making it's distraught noises of disappointment as it passed.

After more than an hour of practice, Marcus at last dismissed his team.

''We missed 15 minutes of dinner!'' Adrian expressed his disapproval in the locker room, his voice muffled under his Quidditch robes.

Mirabelle chuckled at his tousled hair, changing her wet and miserable Quidditch boots for her black velvet ankle boots.

''You will be reunited with your beloved food soon enough.'' Marcus shook his head, and their attention was turned to Miles, who was having trouble getting his tight white Quidditch pants off.

After ages, it seemed, they made it to the Great Hall.

The chatter was almost as heavy as the smell. Mirabelle, Adrian, Miles and Marcus sat together, near the middle of the Slytherin table.

''Pass the meat!'' Adrian reached like a child toward the large, juicy turkey just a few feet out of his reach.

''Say please!'' Marcus teased, waving it tauntingly in front of him.

''No.'' Adrian crossed his arms stubbornly.

Mirabelle cast a hover charm on the silver plaitor holding the turkey and smirked.

''I am your master now!'' She cackled teasingly, only loud enough for the four of them to hear.

Marcus shook his head, smiling lightly.

''Come on! I want it!'' Adrian pouted, attempting to grab it, but failing.

''Oh, alright.'' Mirabelle sighed playfully, dropping it gently in front of him.

''Ha!'' Adrian stuck out his tongue at Marcus.

After eating as much as their stomachs would allow, the boys left her for the showers and she made her solitary way to the exit of the Great Hall, which also happened to be the entrance.

But before she could make it down to her common room, she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned.

She was beginning to say 'yes?', but wasn't able to when she saw who it was.

''Oliver.'' She said stiffly. ''What do you want?'' Mirabelle asked, standing her ground and not allowing herself to seem affected by his presence.

Oliver bit his full lower lip, his eyes cast down. ''Is the time up for thinking?'' He asked quietly.

''Haven't you given up yet?'' She asked in an exhausted exasperation.

Oliver shook his head, as quiet as ever and that make her simply want to leave. He didn't seem very keen to fight for her, actually fight.

He was too nice, when she didn't deserve it.

''Oliver...'' Mirabelle looked up at him, a serious expression possessing her fair features. ''Shout at me. Do something! It's only fair to you, after all I've put you through.''

Oliver frowned. ''Why would you want me to shout at you? I couldn't.''

Mirabelle sighed, slightly disappointed. ''Then I have to go.''

Oliver caught her wrist, and blocked her way. ''Why? Because I'm not angry?'' He asked, his tone disbelieving.

''Yes!'' Mirabelle jerked her wrist back, crossing her arms over her chest. ''It's like you don't even care enough to get angry! To yell at me!''

Oliver frowned. ''You think shouting means someone cares for you?'' He asked, feeling horribly saddened by her views. He knew, now more than ever that he had to show her how someone who cares for her really behaves.

''No, this is how you know someone cares for you.'' Oliver corrected, lifting her chin gently. He leaned down and kissed the lips that begged for more, softly and slowly.

Mirabelle closed her eyes hesitantly, and began kissing him back, more aggressively than he, though Oliver did not mind.

His heart was going at a pace in which he was sure was not healthy, but as long as her lips moved against his own, he did not care.

Mirabelle suddenly went rigid for a second, then pushed him away very quickly.

With her lips swollen, she said, in a breathless tone, ''This is the main hall! Anyone could have seen!''

''I'm sorry...'' But he wasn't really. He never regretted kissing her, and it hurt him to know she was mortified by the idea of someone knowing about it.

''I need to go. Really.'' She pushed her dark, loosely curled locks out of her emerald eyes and began to leave.

''Wait!'' Oliver called after her, he needed to know. ''Will I see you again?''

Mirabelle could have say so many sarcastic, dry remarks in reply to his question, but she did not.
Instead, with a small bite of her full, pulsing lower lip, she said, ''Without a doubt.''

A small smile, he received, { and his heart's rapid beats } before she disappeared down the dimly lit corridor and left him with a smile of his own.