Harry Potter love story. Years 4-7.
Mature content.
Ruby & Harry swore up and down they would never develop feelings for the other. That would be disgusting! Until they started their 2nd year relationship... They may have had that spark in the past...
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"Mainly because I couldn't find any ways to rhyme the name Evans with whore or mudblooded slut—" —————————
The frosty grass crunched under our feet as we hurried down the lawn towards the Quidditch Pitch. There was no wind and the sky remained the same pearly white color it had been in the Great Hall. Harry and I kept a quiet conversation to ourselves with blushing smiles and grazing noses as we walked. Neither of us had any doubts going into the match, and it seemed like trying to have a conversation with Ron was absolutely pointless.
The others were already changed when we had entered. The three of us slipped our own robes on and listened to Angelina as she coached us for several minutes. Harry tugged on one of my braids playfully while I was distracted, making me knock my head into a nearby metal locker and cause a loud pang to echo through the room. He clamped a hand over his mouth and held in his laughter as I hissed and Angelina shot daggers in my direction for the interruption.
"Prick." I rubbed the spot gingerly and glared at him, his chuckles still slipping out as he leaned over and pecked the bump on the side of my head as his form of apology.
"Alright everyone. It's show time. Good luck." She gave us a final nod and grabbed her broom. Harry grabbed my hand as I tried walking out with the others, pulling me back to him until I landed against the front of his built chest.
"Good luck." He whispered deeply before he slowly pressed a kiss to my lips. I smiled into the feeling, pulling away and readjusting his glasses for him with one hand.
"You too, pretty boy." I winked, grabbing my broom and walking through the exit the others had just used. The roaring of the crowd only made my heart pump more, the blood in my body circulating so quickly as my adrenaline rose. The Slytherin team was standing just outside, waiting, those stupid silver badges on display over their chests. It didn't help anything that their team looked like they had eaten our team for breakfast, all except for Malfoy— whose shoes I spit on as we walked past...
"Captains, shake hands." Madame Hooch ordered in the center of the field. Both reached for each other, and the smirk on Graham Montague's face told me how roughly he was squeezing Angelina who gave a slight recoil in pain. I stole one last glance at Harry across the pitch, his eyes already looking in my direction. His left eye winked at me under his glasses before he mounted his broom with a devious smirk.
The whistle blew and I shot upwards with the others. I could see Ron sneaking off towards the goals in the corner of my eye as I zoomed through our competitors to catch the Quaffle. I tucked it under my arm and took off immediately, dodging everyone flying towards me to head straight for Bletchley at the Slytherin goals.
"And it's Evans, Evans with the Quaffle to start us off here today, folks. What a brilliant player that girl is. I'll tell ya, she's just as talented as she is beautiful. I tried sending her a Valentine last year, but-"
