Chapter 8

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**Alex’s POV**

“Miss Cohen! Mr Holmes!”

I pull away and look up the steps. McGonagall is standing there, glaring at us. I can’t help but smile.

“Sorry professor,” Tobias says. McGonagall shakes her head and ushers us inside. I feel like dancing! Professor McGonagall is my favourite person in the whole wide world!

“Bad luck, huh?” Tobias grins, “we’ll get there though.”

“Uh, Tobias… I don’t know…”

We sit down at the Gryffindor table, slightly apart from everyone else.

“Don’t know what?” he asks.

“I… I didn’t realise that…” I know I’m blushing and I can’t think of how to phrase this, “I didn’t know when you asked me to Hogsmeade you meant as a date… And…”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” I lie.

“What’s the problem, then?” he asks, tilting his head on the side. I fiddle with my fork, not looking at him.

“I… I don’t like you like that,” I say quietly. He laughs.

“You haven’t kissed me yet,” he says easily, “as soon as you do, you’ll be swept off your feet.”

“I’m not sure-”

He slams his mouth into mine. It feels all wet and my teeth hurt from where his hit them. He pulls away, smirking.

“See?”

“Ow,” I murmur, touching my lips. I look at my fingers. There’s blood on them! He made me bleed.

“Wow indeed,” he chuckles.

“I said ow, not wow!” I cry, “that hurt!”

“Love hurts, it’s true.”

I feel like banging my head on the table.

“Excuse me,” I hiss grumpily.

I stomp out of the Great Hall into the Entrance Hall just as Scarlett walks in.

“What happened?” she asks, grabbing my face and looking at my mouth.

“Tobias happened,” I grumble, “he was trying to sweep me off my feet.”

“Looks like he gave it a fair go,” she laughs, “he almost knocked you out by the looks.”

“Is it that bad?” I groan. She shakes her head, smiling.

“It’ll be a bit swollen tomorrow, and that cut will take a while in healing, but we don’t have to cut your lips off or anything.”

“That’s a relief.”

She grins and turns towards the staircase.

“Aren’t you eating?” I ask, motioning to the Great Hall. Scarlett shakes her head.

“I’m not in the mood,” she says, “I want to check up on Carma.”

“Are you okay?” I ask as we walk, “you seem a bit weird.”

“Fine, just tired,” she replies. That’s her “I don’t want to talk about it” phrase.

“I’ve heard some of the older students do Seventh Heaven sometimes,” Scarlett says, “would you come with me if I found out when and where?”

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