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Things That Plunge
Topic Started: Sep 28 2010, 08:49 PM (189 Views)
Saoirse Matthews
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"Oi, Leslie," Saoirse called as she banged on the door of the loo with her fist. Leslie was the girl who knew how to be a girl. She'd helped Saoirse get gussied up for her first date with Sebastian and now Saoirse was counting on her to help make her beautiful for this masked ball with Davis. But, she was not helping at all. "Open the sodding door!"

There was no way she was going to wear that thing. She eyed it dubiously, hanging from the rack next to the sink all threateningly and slutty. "I'm not wearing that bloody thing, mate. Can't force me to do it."

"See," came Leslie's amused voice from the safer side of the door. Where her dorm was, all stocked with a cozy bed that she could hide in while the masque passed her by. Saoirse scowled at the door. "Sam Davis is even more sexually charged than Sebastian, See. Bancroft's like a... well, a lion. But, Davis is like a great, perfectly sculpted, tanned and masculine panther."

"Oi!" She sniped out, not sure if she was offended on Sebastian's behalf, or on her own for having to hear it. Speaking like she was actually going to this ball just to have sex with Davis. No, she wasn't going there again. Ever. She watched the door cautiously as if it were going to burst down.

"Saoirse." She could hear Leslie's eyes roll. "Put on the dress."

"No."

"Put on the bloody dress."

Saoirse's eyes darted back to the dress. She took in the plunging neckline and the way that the skirt was half-there, half-not. She huffed. "No. And there's no such thing as a tanned panther," she informed her friend, rather immaturely.

"Alright, fine." Leslie's voice had taken on a vicious tone, a tone that promised Saoirse was going to pay for her insubordination. She didn't like that voice. Trying pointlessly to open the loo door, Saoirse twisted the knob, pushed, kicked and threw her weight against it. Nothing budged. "You won't put on the dress. I'm going to set fire to your entire wardrobe. One band tee shirt at a time."

Saoirse kicked at the door again. Magic was a bitch. "Oh, fuck no you're-"

"Put on the dress!" Leslie's voice sounded oddly triumphant.

Saoirse turned and pressed her back to the door, letting all her weight fall against it. With cold anger, she stared at the little floozy dress. It wasn't so bad, right. No flowers. Nothing frilly. Not pink. Just a simple, slutty looking black number that would have her showing off enough skin to have her temporarily removed label of slag slapped back on again. And the shoes. Little strappy things that looked like a bad accident waiting to happen.

She could do it. She could wear it. Just not out in public. Her lips parted in a devious smile. "Alright, alright. Keep your knickers on," she told Leslie in her best miserable voice.

Moving as fast as she could, she changed out of her pajamas and into the dress. It hugged her curves and the neckline that was plunging was found to be so fecking plunging that it practically went to her sodding navel. Saoirse looked down at where the neckline stopped and poked her finger into the material. She peered underneath the satin material and exhaled deeply. Okay, perhaps not down to her navel. But it definitely revealed quite a bit of skin between her neck and her stomach.

“Leslie…” She said tentatively, trying to keep herself calm, malleable. “Open the door, please. I’ve got this stupi- the dress on.”

The door swung open, revealing Leslie’s victorious face. Saoirse glowered. Leslie, however, seemed impressed. She whistled, an exaggeration of the catcall, and gave Saoirse the once over, from head to toe.

“You cannot wear a bra with that dress, Saoirse Noel Matthews.” Saoirse winced at being middle-named.

“How the hell should I know?” She shot back, glancing down at the white bra that was poking out between two black pieces of satin fabric.

“It’s white, first of all. And second, the whole point to having exposed skin is to keep it from being covered up.” Leslie shoved Saoirse backward into the loo and closed the door behind them.

Well, so much for her plan to rush Leslie and book it for the kitchens to hide until the masquerade was over. Saoirse sighed and moved to stand in front of the mirror, where she removed the bra with a contortionist’s movement.

“Now, let’s get your hair done.”

Leslie was far too excited about all of this, Saoirse decided. She was a torture device in and of herself. Hair, make up and the bloody shoes took another hour, and by then it was already time to meet Davis down in the entrance hall.

There was something to be said about her dysfunctional relationship with Davis. It made her feel something apart from immense sadness. It might not be happiness, but it removed the pangs of disappointment that breaking up with Sebastian had left. Why they’d decided that a masquerade ball would be a good idea, she might never know. But when she thought about being in that close proximity with him again, something fluttered inside of her. Not in the sweet way as Sebastian made her, but in a pure, womanly way.
Her hair was worn down, annoyingly swinging to and fro when she walked even a pace. It was bouncy and curled and had stuff in it that kept it that way. Stuff that had been sprayed almost directly into her face, causing her to caught. When her painted eyes met the girl in the mirror, she took a deep breath.

Yep. Leslie had managed to make her look beautiful. With a side of tart.

“I can’t go out looking like this,” Saoirse whined, stomping a heeled foot to the ceramic ground. “I’m Penelope Meyers on her best day!”

“You look a lot better than that trollop, dove,” Leslie said softly as she finished pinning up her own hair. “Davis is going to ravage you.”

“But I don’t want that.” It was true. All she wanted was a good time. Something to take her mind off of Silas, Sebastian, and her dwindling grades.

Linking their arms together, Leslie led them from the loo and had to force Saoirse out of their dorm and down into the common room. She tried her best to avoid eye contact with everyone, keeping her eyes on the ground, watching her footsteps.

“Matthews?” Crap.

“Hey, Tobes,” she said quietly, not able to meet his eyes.

“If that’s not the way to make a gay man turn straight…” Toby playfully elbowed her in the side, drawing a nervous laugh from Saoirse.

“Alright, Tobes. I’ll see you at the masquerade.” She did a little wave of her hand and bit her lip before being carted off again with Leslie leading the way.

The moment that the portrait door opened, Saoirse was filled with dread. Several girls were on their way down to the entrance hall with practiced steps. A sea of colors swept down the staircases, all leading to the staircase by the huge, double doors. Saoirse swallowed loudly and grabbed Leslie’s hand at the crook of her elbow.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered anxiously, grounding her foot into the floor.

Didn’t help. Heels slid as Leslie dragged her onward. And then she was in the middle of a group of girls. Leslie stood in front of her with what Saoirse could only imagine was a gigantic grin on her face. She was proved right when Leslie spun around to take a last peek at Saoirse and her satin and chiffon dress. Saoirse had the distinct urge to kick her in the shin.

“Your mask is tilted,” Leslie said, not losing her smile. She reached up to the black satin mask and straightened it out. “Take deep breaths.”

Saoirse took the advice, perhaps a little too well. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to hyperventilate and then she would be landed in the hospital wing. Perhaps that option was preferable to the fast approaching one. Each step down another stair was cause for her breathing to hitch. She tried to distract herself, looking around at the crowd of people in the entrance hall.

It wasn’t hard to spot her tall, gangly brother. He held a plastic sword in his hand and was waving it threateningly at another bloke. She stopped breathing. She’d know him anywhere, just by the smile on his face. Sebastian. With a beautiful blond in a pink dress on his arm. Her heart stopped beating.

She took a step down absently and earned a howl from Leslie, who spun round again. The smile on her face was replaced by a scowl. She mouthed words to her, but Saoirse couldn’t make them out. Her line of vision was blurry from the tears in her eyes. This was a very, very bad idea.

“I’m going to go, before anyone notices me,” she said quickly.

Sidestepping Leslie and yanking her arm out of her friend’s grasp, Saoirse bolted down the last couple of stairs. Instead of running toward the statue that she was supposed to meet Davis by, she curtailed around the stairs and started heading toward the first empty classroom she could find.

And that’s when things went from bad to wish-she-had-a-sword bad. Penelope Meyers in all of her glory stood in front of her with her red hair whipped up in a curly mess on top of her head. She hadn’t bothered to put her mask on yet, but who would be looking at her face when her cleavage was practically hanging over the top of her emerald colored dress like that?

“Sam Davis is just over there,” Penny said with a very knowing tone inflicting her voice. “You weren’t trying to ditch him, were you?”

“N-no, I just…” Saoirse’s eyes darted everywhere. “Needed some water.”

Penny snorted a laugh and took Saoirse’s arm in her hand. Saoirse yanked it away, but Penny had done it a second time, not being fool enough to keep her grip loose. She marched with Saoirse dragging steps behind her. Every step they took was closer and closer to Sam, who was staring directly at her.

Penny yanked her forward, only feet away from Davis. “Believe this is yours,” she said with that stupid perky voice.

“I’m not his.” Saoirse let a crooked scowl form on her face before her eyes rose to meet Sam’s. She wanted to slam her elbow back into Penny’s gut, but refrained against all of her better judgment. Instead, she tried to remember to breath and forced a very unconvincing smile onto her face. Penny’s flitting laughter was fading away. It was so heartwarming to know that a once-friend was so thrilled with her utter humiliation.

For the first time, she let her eyes trail along Sam’s features. The strong jaw, the masked face, those gorgeous sea green eyes peering down at her in a way that made her feel like the prey to some ferocious beast.

She let out a deep breath and tried to keep her hands from trembling. Poxy nerves. She’d already slept with the bloke; there was no reason to be nervous now.

“We could always skip the ball,” she offered him in a flighty voice. She wasn’t even very sure that it came from her. It sounded far too soft. “Or, I can if you’d rather, uh, find someone who doesn’t look like a complete slag.”
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Samuel Davis
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This was as bad as all those tedious society functions that his father had forced him and Theo to attend as children. It was bollocks. His father had been a staunch believer in the traditions of pureblood society and

Sam was never a fan of the stodgy dress robes so tonight he’d opted for a modern take on the traditional. Hugo Boss Wizarding line had come out with a set of robes that seemed to be a blend of the two worlds. Traditional enough that his father would deem them appropriate, yet they had a modern muggle twist that helped stop him from feeling like ponce.

He straightened his crisp, white bowtie before resting his back against the wall. He drew in a deep breath and let his eyes wander over the group of ill dressed miscreants (better known as the male part of the student body) that were waiting eagerly by the stairs. Every set of eyes was focused on the stairs. Waiting impatiently for the dolled up birds to begin their descent.

The decidedly feminine scent of jasmine filled his senses as another body leaned against the wall beside him. Turning his head only slightly, Sam flashed a genuine smile at the feisty redhead now at his side.

“Just my luck,” He said with a note of teasing in his tone, “A bad Penny turning up like this.”

Her lips quirked up in an easy grin as he nudged her gently. The Meyers family was an old pureblooded family of high regard, so obviously, Andreas Davis was careful to cultivate a bond between their families. And because of that, Sam and Penny had known each other since they were toddlers. He saw her as if she were a sister. They’d endured more than their fair share of ridiculous balls, stupid charity events, and other pureblood nonsense together. It was definitely the type of torture that caused people to bond into a friendship.

Sam let his eyes move over her frame. Her deep emerald green gown was formfitting and stunning, her dark red hair was piled up on top of her head, a few loose tendrils came free to brush over her pale shoulders. Her face was free of a mask and her eyes sparkled in a mischievous way as she grinned back at him.

“Looking good, Meyers.” He said with a grin. It was as close to a compliment he’d ever offered her. “Who’s the unlucky bastard tonight?”

“None of your damn business, Davis.” Her eyes glinted in merriment as she cast a gaze at him. “Still trying to keep Daddy happy I see?” Her own comments were laced with a teasing tone. “No, need to ask who your poor victim is this festive evening. The whole school is buzzing with the fact that you and Miss Matthews are attending together. Merlin, above you should hear the rumours that are floating about.”

“And no doubt you started every single one of them.” He spoke with a chuckle. Penelope Meyers was queen of the gossip in this school. There was not a rumour that she hadn’t heard and most of them she’d created for her own agenda, whatever that might be.

“Speaking of your lovely date, she seems to be a tad upset. And looking delightfully trampy tonight. Looks like you may just get a second chance at that whole “parenting” thing.” Penny was gone before he could respond, but his eyes followed her as she made her way toward the girl in question.

Saoirse Matthews looked absolutely gorgeous in her low cut gown. His eyes moved over the plunging neckline before he finally brought his eyes back up to her face. She looked miserable as Penny hauled her over toward him.

Yeah, things were starting off smashingly.

Penny yanked her forward, only feet away from Davis. “Believe this is yours,” she said with a perky tone.

“I’m not his.” Saoirse glared at Penny before turning her angered eyes back to Sam. Her eyes moved over his face as Penny finally left them alone. “We could always skip the ball,”

Those words caused a wicked grin to slide over Sam’s features. “Darling, you don’t have to ask me twice.” He teased her lightly. He knew that wasn’t what she meant but damned if he was going to let that go without comment.

“Or, I can if you’d rather, uh, find someone who doesn’t look like a complete slag.” She finished softly. Her voice filled with an uncertainty and nervousness that was unlike her.

That comment caused Sam to move forward. Stepping away from the wall, he took Saoirse’s hand in his own and bent at the waist in a very proper bow before her. He kissed the back of her hand softly. His eyes never leaving the worried brown of hers.

“Saoirse, stop looking so scared. You look stunning, pet.” His tone was filled with sincerity. “There isn’t a girl here who could hold a candle to you tonight.” He straightened up and offered her his arm which she took after a moment’s hesitation. “Every bloke in the room is going to be jealous of me tonight. I’ve got the sexiest lass in the room on my arm.”

Even as he spoke, a vision in a flowing pink gown caught his eye. A sharp pain hit him in the heart for a brief moment as he took in the sight of Lucy on Bancroft’s arm. She was beautiful and in that moment a deep seated sadness hit him as he realized once again how much he missed her. To his credit, Sam recovered rather quickly and flashed a small grin down at the beautiful girl on his arm. And she was, beautiful, that is. The only problem was that she wasn’t Lucy.

No one was.




Edited by Samuel Davis, Oct 11 2010, 11:55 PM.
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Saoirse Matthews
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One of Saoirse’s dark eyebrows rose as Sam took her hand, bowed before her and kissed it. Like a gentleman. Okay. But this was Davis. At the very least, she expected some kind of derisive snort of disapproval over something that she was doing wrong. Instead, his gestures and his tone were genuine. It sort of worried her more. Was he alright? Did the manticore poison him after all?

“Saoirse,” she noticed the lack of her surname for once, “stop looking so scared. You look stunning, pet.” Yes, there was definitely something very wrong with him. “There isn’t a girl here who could hold a candle to you tonight.”

As he straightened up, she had the decency to blush and use her free hand to fidget with the side of her form-fitting dress. If that was even what it could be called? Her bottom lip was between her teeth as she tried to figure out all this strange new territory. Nice Davis. Scant apparel. He was holding his arm out for her to take, though she stared at it for a moment as if it had grown seven different midget hands.

When she looped her hand around his elbow, her bottom lip popped out of her mouth along with a steadying breath. He really was trying his best to make her comfortable. The least she could do was stop thinking that at any moment a deranged pixie was going to fly from his ear and explain why he was acting so… different.

“Every bloke in the room is going to be jealous of me tonight. I’ve got the sexiest lass in the room on my arm.” Through his sincerity, Saoirse could sense that something was off in the way that his arm stiffened considerably beneath her touch. When she glanced up at him, however, he was smiling down at her.

The faint pink on her cheeks still hadn’t faded as she grinned up at him, quite stupidly in her own opinion. “Alright, who’re you and what’ve you done with my pompous jackass of a date?”

He merely winked at her with a cheeky smile stuck on his face, and then began walking toward the front doors. It was sweet how he kept them steered away from Sebastian and Lucy, though she couldn’t help the glance she spared the couple as they passed. Sebastian was smiling at the pretty girl in pink, and the girl was smiling up at him… adoringly. Saoirse’s stomach plummeted and she gripped Sam’s arm tighter, throwing her line of vision up to his handsome face.

It seemed as if he was avoiding the entire display between the two; his jaw was clenched, a muscle twitched just at the side of his neck. Saoirse tore her eyes away from him and stared out of the open doors, a small curve of her lips secretly to herself that he was as effected by the other couple as she was. At least they had each other. That was something.

Though she wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

The carriage ride to The Three Broomsticks passed by rather uneventfully. They squished next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, as somehow they had to squeeze in with two other couples. Saoirse placed her hand on his lap and somehow their fingers managed to lace together. She spent the entire shaky ride to the Ball staring at their conjoined hands. Every couple of seconds she would feel Sam’s hand tighten around hers and she wouldn’t look up at him, but raise her cheek in a lopsided, stupid smile.

Her thumb traced a scar along the edge of his pointer finger as she mused about their tumultuous relationship. How far they’d come. It was an odd, natural progression from anger and resentment to understanding to trust… to this. Whatever it was.

As the carriage slowed, Saoirse took a deep breath and finally decided to find the green of Sam’s eyes. Something hit her then. Just how dashing he actually was. Of course, she knew how good looking he was, but this was different. He was handsome. Classically fetching. She bit back the urge to groan at her moronic, girly thoughts. And if she was even about to utter the fact that she found him good-looking, she made sure that her lips were pressed together to avoid it.

The two other (very chatty) couples they had ridden with had jumped from the carriage with such excitement that Saoirse could have sworn she was doing something wrong in accordance with some secret rules of Masquerades. Ducking out of the carriage, Sam stood tall in the dark of the night with the moonlight crashing against his ink-black robes. She was momentarily breathless.

He reached his hand out of her to take and in her stunned state, she grasped it a bit too tightly, sure that she had heard a small pop of his knuckle as she used his hold as leverage to escape the carriage without bearing all her goods to those who stood outside. Their hands still wrapped around each other, Saoirse used her free hand to make sure that all her bits and bobs were in place. Breasts still inside the scant fabric on her chest, hem pulled down to cover her arse. For a second, she wished that Leslie was around to do the ritualistic “check.”

Instead, she ran her hand over her backside and felt the chiffon of the dress flatten under her touch. That would have to do. If somehow the very back of the material was … But Sam had caused her thoughts to stop dead; his hand was at the small of her back, leading her forward with a gentle push.

“You know,” Saoirse said with a lively tone to her voice, teasing him, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you quite like me, Davis. You’re all…” She cocked her head to the side as they maneuvered around several people who were just standing around casually. “Chivalrous.”

Their steps paused and she turned so that she was facing him, though still only able to stare at his neck until she lifted her chin with a saucy smirk on her face. “You’re not just pretending to nice so that you can get into my knickers later, are you?”

She wasn’t sure if she asked because she almost hoped the answer was yes, or because she desperately hoped the answer was no. Her blood was fluttering through her veins in a weird way, causing her to feel a bit giddy. If nothing else, she was very attracted to Sam. Even when he was being a perfect ass.
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Samuel Davis
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“Alright, who’re you and what’ve you done with my pompous jackass of a date?” Her cheeks pinked slightly as Saoirse grinned cheekily up at him. He cast a wink in her direction as then began to lead her toward the front doors. His eyes seemed to automatically seek out that pale pink in the crowd and he instinctively steered them away from the other couple.

Part of it was completely selfish. He didn’t deny it. He had no desire to see Lucy in Bancroft’s arms but he was shocked to realize that in his selfishness, there was also a part of him that hoped to spare Saoirse the sight of the other couple. He didn’t want her to hurt over the sight anymore than he wanted to feel the ache himself.

They piled into the carriage with two other couples, and Sam found himself pressed against her side. He could feel the warmth of her through their clothing. Her perfume was light and spicy and completely intoxicating.

Saoirse’s fingers tangled lazily with his on his lap. Her head tilted down slightly as she let her thumb trail gently back and forth over an old fencing scar on his finger. Occasionally he’d squeeze her hand, though he wasn’t sure if it was to reassure her or himself. There was a contemplative silence that stretched out between them. Each of them lost in their own musings for the duration of the ride. It was in stark contrast to the rest of their relationship up until this point.

There was always a lot of heated emotions, angered words and malicious threats that had ricocheted between them but tonight was different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what had changed or how. Maybe it was the propriety of a formal masquerade that had worked its magic over them, or perhaps it was that tonight they had finally seen each other in a different light. Whatever it was, it was a welcomed change.

His eyes lingered on the profile of her downturned face as her face lifted in a smile. A stray curl of chestnut hair fell forward onto her pale cheek and without thought, he lift his free hand to brush it back. His fingertip skimmed the silky skin of her face as he moved it back to rest with the soft cascade of curls that hung down her back.

Sam drew in a deep breath as she looked up at him. There was an air of vulnerability that lingered in her chocolate brown gaze. He’d seen her at her worst moments, only hours after her break up with Bancroft and she’d had a wounded pain in her features then. But this was different somehow. A wave of protectiveness washed over him. As though he’d do everything in his power to shield her from pain and harm. A feeling that he’d never thought he’d feel towards Saoirse Matthews. Yet here it was.

After a few moments, Sam realized that the other couples had moved from carriage, leaving Saoirse and himself alone. He finally stepped outside and took a second to draw in some fresh air, trying to clear his mind, but when he turned back to the carriage, Saoirse was in the doorway. He was struck by how beautiful she looked tonight. There was a definite sexiness to the cut of her dress and the amount of skin she was showing, but it was something else. Something more. The way her eyes sparkled as she looked at him, the faint upwards curl of her lips and the way her tiny hand clenched his as he helped her out of the carriage. He couldn’t put his finger on it but there was a glimpse at the true loveliness that she possessed. Sam guided Saoirse into the ballroom with a gentle hand at her back.

“You know,” Saoirse said with a lively tone to her voice, teasing him, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you quite like me, Davis. You’re all…” She cocked her head to the side as they manoeuvred around several people who were just standing around casually. “Chivalrous.”

A genuine grin lit his face as he gazed down at her. The subtle quirk of her lips and the teasing gleam in her eyes made it impossible not to smile at her. She was luminescent.

“Chivalrous? Well, that must mean I like you well enough. Others seem to think that I’m a bit of an arse.”

“You’re not just pretending to nice so that you can get into my knickers later, are you?” she teased, with a light hearted smirk. He leaned in close so that his lips brushed against her ear and spoke in a low tone.

“Saoirse, love, if memory serves me correctly, it was the opposite that got me into your knickers last time.” As he said the words, he knew that this could be a defining moment for how the rest of the evening was going to play out. He meant the words as a joke. There was nothing malicious or mean to what he said but they could easily be taken that way.

As he pulled back to take in her expression, he let a bit of a wicked grin slide over his features and could only hope that she’d take it in the good natured manner that he meant it.
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Saoirse Matthews
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You know that feeling that you get when you do something inexplicably embarrassing? Your entire face beams red from the hot flush that masks it. Your hands break out into cold sweat. Your vision is a little blurry, and you feel like someone has pulled the plug on your motor functions. Saoirse was amplifying those feelings by a multiplier of at least ten.

And that was only because his lips had caressed her ear. When he spoke in his husky, deep voice in her ear, she was sure that her wobbly knees were going to collapse beneath her. “Saoirse, love, if memory serves me correctly, it was the opposite that got me into your knickers last time.”

Yeah, she didn’t really stand a chance. She gripped his hand tighter and turned her face to the side, almost colliding their lips together. Letting out a puff of breath against his lips, she raised her mortified brown eyes to meet his roguish gleam. Thank Merlin he pulled away when he did, because she was about thirty seconds from trying to harness all of the nervous energy in her system by way of snogging those cheeky lips of his.

That wouldn’t have proved her point one bit. Mighta proved his though.

Recovering sluggishly with a useless blink and deep breath through her nose, Saoirse’s lips turned up in a teasing smile. If she had more control over her bodily functions, she probably would have grinned rather stupidly at him. For once she and her body had understood each other.

“Well, I suppose that’s true enough,” she purred quietly, a chuckle lingering on her tongue.

Her eyes glossed over the dance floor, ambivalent to the idea of dancing. Silas had taught her when she was younger. There were some definite moves that she knew now to be a bit, ah, ridiculous, for lack of a better word. But he had slowed it down a notch a few times and showed her the art of slow dancing. So, she wasn’t very worried about being spun on the dance floor with Sam. It wasn’t until her eyes caught sight of a perfectly well matched couple, laughing together, that she knew she wouldn’t want to go anywhere near the throws of the other frolicking couples.

It took Saoirse only a moment’s worth of mental pep talks to force any sadness from her mind. She was here with Sam. Sam who wanted to be here with her. He’d really been there for her all along, in his weird, prat way. But he was there when Seb wasn’t. He never lied to her. Never tried to manipulate her. Sam really was a decent guy. Spending the ball – their date – pining over the love lost with Sebastian wasn’t going to do either of them any favors.


It was a front, of course, but it did the trick and returned the smile to her face rather quickly. She brought her eyes back to Sam and reached forward to put her hand on his chest. A gesture she’d found comfort in when they were facing the manticore. Something about having her hand there, over his heart and feeling his warmth… it was different. Nice even.

“It’s a shame-” Her sentence was caught off as some floozy little bint crashed right into Saoirse’s back, her arm flying around her shoulders. If the initial shock of it hadn’t stiffened her movements so instinctually, she would have flown straight into Davis. Her eyes lifted to his in a brief millisecond, wide and confused.

Chilled, orange drink spilled right down her chest. Between the two satiny bits of fabric that kept her covered. The liquid and the ice trailed along Saoirse’s ivory skin, making it look as if she had gone trampling through a field of pumpkins. A startled shriek left her after a moment of shock.

“So sorry!” The trifling trollop said gaily, which completely negated her apology.

Saoirse’s eyes narrowed as little droplets of icy beverage slipped around her skin. Her hand had balled into a fist at Sam’s chest as she spun around to face the dozy tart. She really, really didn’t want to let go of Sam for fear that she’d knock the slutty bitch’s head off for ruining what Leslie had worked so hard to put together. Not that she’d wanted any part of it at the beginning of the night.

Well, she sodding did now.

Dropping her hand from Sam’s shirt, Saoirse made to advance on the girl wearing an even more revealing dress than she was. A sapphire blue number that had slits in the side and barely any neckline to speak of, and the skirt on it… if that’s what you could call it… barely covered her… Saoirse brought her eyes back up to the shiny, obviously intoxicated eyes of the slaggy ruiner of dresses.

Just as she took a step forward she felt Sam’s hands on her hips holding her in place. “A blind leper has more directional skills than you do,” she shouted at the girl, still struggling to rush at her. “Bloody hell, what’d you do, drink them out of Pimms and Lemonade already?”

The girl had the audacity to look affronted. “I’ve only had one, thank you very-“

“Oh, get stuffed,” Saoirse huffed out tetchily. She glanced up at the bloke that had now caught his scantily clad date by the elbow. He stared at the girl with a frightened expression on his face. “She’s only telling you she’s had one drink so that you won’t feel bad for taking advantage of her tomorrow.”

Well, there. If that wasn’t blunt, she didn’t know what was. The only thing that relaxed her was the sound of Sam’s rumbling chuckle in her ear. She hadn’t even realized he’d gotten so close to her. She stiffened, thoughts of her destroyed appearance starting to take hold.

“I need the ladies’,” she blurted out, her scowl melting into something more like anxiety. Throwing one more sharp glare at the girl who’d made a mess of things, Saoirse spun round so that she was face to face with Sam.

Feeling a tad guilty for spoiling a playful moment between them (because really, how often did they actually have those?), Saoirse lifted herself onto her toes (no easy feat in heels) and planted a soft kiss at the corner of Sam’s lip. She lingered for a split second while she scorned herself for wanting just a smidge more… or maybe even more than that.

Leaving him to wonder, or whatever it is that boys did because she honestly had no clue apart from the odd book here and there, Saoirse wiggled out of his hold and bolted toward the loos as fast as she could in heels. It wouldn’t be until later that night that she’d realized that she ran straight past Sebastian and Lucy and hadn’t even spared them a glance or a thought.

Luckily, it was still the beginning of the night, so there weren’t very many girls lined up to use the mirrors. Saoirse stood in front of the cobweb decorated mirror and ripped some paper towels out of the little canister that sat on the sink. She didn’t use any ladylike mannerisms as she swiped at the orange liquid that stained her skin.

She’d gotten to it quick enough that it didn’t leave any trace of stickiness on her chest, thank Merlin. With a fleeting glance at her reflection, Saoirse smiled. Well, she’d averted fighting with Davis, crying and chasing after Sebastian, and pummeling a sickly inebriated lass. So far, the evening had been a success. She realized she didn’t have any reason not to smile.

So, as she made her way out of the loo to find Sam again, the grin on her face still stuck. It was entirely possible that she looked deranged.
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There was a brief moment that Sam thought that the evening was about to take a dramatic turn for the worse. After uttering his light hearted comments, Saoirse whirled around. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson and her hand gripped his tightly. He braced himself for the slap he was sure to receive, but the second that his eyes locked with hers, he could see that she too was under the spell of whatever it was that had caused this sudden change in their relationship.

Perhaps facing the manticore together had brought their relationship to a new level, it would be difficult not to forge a bond after such a shared ordeal. Or maybe because they had truly seen the worst in each other, they were able to appreciate the best aspects of the each other as well.

Whatever it was, it obviously was a feeling that had them both firmly in its grasp. A gentle rush of air escaped her and brushed against his mouth only seconds before he pulled back slightly, reluctantly.

“Well, I suppose that’s true enough,” she purred quietly, a chuckle lingering on her tongue.

Her response caused a low laugh of his own to bubble out of him as he watched her study the dance floor. Her body tensed visibly and he followed her line of sight. Bancroft and Lucy. Looking cozy together on the dance floor. Sam felt a sharp stab of pain as he watched them for a few moments. Laughing and beaming at each other.

He’d never had the chance to dance with Lucy. At the moment, he couldn’t remember why that had never happened, just that it hadn’t. He had never held her in his arms quite that way and though it was a small thing. Taking a girl to dance, it seemed so very important at the moment.

Saoirse shifted and Sam’s gaze fell on her face as she rest her hand on his chest. It was an odd gesture but one that felt important, special even. It was tender and surprisingly touching.

“It’s a shame...” Her words were cut off abruptly as an obviously drunk blonde twit crashed into Saoirse. Her drink drenching Saoirse. Sam’s eyes narrowed in anger. Accident or not, the floozy’s behaviour was simply unacceptable. He opened his mouth to begin to berate her for her idiocy when something caused him to hold his tongue.

Saoirse went off.

Her hand clenched into a fist into his shirt front. And the moment she whipped around on the blonde, Sam couldn’t help but feel a swell of amused pride (and relief that he was not on the receiving end of her anger for once) as she tore a strip off the ridiculous bird. Yet there was a mild apprehension that Saoirse would beat the holy hell out of the intoxicated clutz. He rest his hands at Saoirse’s hips and held her firmly so that she wouldn’t be able to reach the girl.

“A blind leper has more directional skills than you do,” she shouted at the girl, still struggling to rush at her. “Bloody hell, what’d you do, drink them out of Pimms and Lemonade already?”


The girl had the audacity to look affronted. “I’ve only had one, thank you very-“

“Oh, get stuffed,” Saoirse huffed out tetchily.

Sam pulled her back against him, his grip firm on her hips loosen only momentarily as he slid a hand around her waist, to rest on her flat belly. Her back was pressed against his front and he could feel the anger thrumming through her. The tiniest trembling of her frame reverberated through him. Saoirse barely missed a beat before she turned her attention to the dolt who was accompanying the drunk girl.

“She’s only telling you she’s had one drink so that you won’t feel bad for taking advantage of her tomorrow.”

He couldn’t help it. It was too perfect. From Saoirse’s angered berating of the girl and her clueless date, to the tramps protests to the very bewildered look on her date’s face. Sam burst out laughing. It seemed to be what Saoirse needed, he could feel her tense against him for a split second before she turned within his grasp to face him. She explained that she needed to go to the loo and then in a moment that seemed almost surreal given their history, she planted a gently kiss at the side of his mouth. The gesture was simple and sweet. And he was shocked that he felt completely at ease with it.

He nodded in understanding as she moved quickly through the room. His eyes followed her until the bathroom door closed behind her before he turned to face the drunken floozy and her date. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he closed the gap between them.

“Get her a sober up potion, you daft git. The night has just begun. You’ll be holding back her hair while she pukes every one of those fruity little drinks all over your hand-me-down shoes and rented tux. And if you think you’ll be getting any after that you are sorely mistaken.” The dozy date looked affronted at the suggestion but Sam was far from done. “Besides, Darlene, here, puts out more regularly than the Daily Prophet, so why waste your money on booze for her, you idiot?”

The girl’s indignant gasp was lost on Sam, who was already making his way toward the loos in search of his date. He spotted her almost instantly. Her smile was radiant. Her entire face was lit up in a way that made her that appear even more lovely.

As he reached her side, his own grin was almost as wide as hers. He caught her hand and brought it up to his lips to press a soft kiss on the back of it. As he lowered it, he didn’t let go. Instead he let their fingers tangle together as they began to walk back toward the bar.

“And you still look as beautiful as ever.” He acknowledged the job that she’d done at cleaning up the mess the other girl had left on her skin. “And I have to say you are fierce when you are angry. I’m just glad it wasn’t directed at me this time.” His grin widened. His eyes sparkling merrily.
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Saoirse wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to this debonair side to Davis. Even as her eyes widened, though, her smile didn’t falter. She liked it. Which was bloody weird. She wondered only briefly if they were putting some kind of potion in the food at school, but the thought was banished the second that their fingers wound together. Glancing down at their hands, she realized it didn’t matter why anymore.

“And you still look beautiful as ever. And I have to say that you are fierce when you are angry.” Sam seemed genuinely pleased.

She beamed up at him and squeezed his hand. “You learn after years of living with Silas the Menace,” she told him playfully.

“I’m just glad it wasn’t directed at me this time.” If someone didn’t know them well, they would probably guess that Sam and Saoirse were a happy couple, got on well and adored each other. Just judging by the way that they seemed to glow together tonight. It made her stomach slither around all giddily.

“You’ve done nothing to deserve it,” Saoirse informed him, sincerity lacing her chipper tone. “This time.”

As they approached the busy bar, Saoirse eyed the liquor counter a tad greedily. She wasn’t quite of age yet, but still, having a sip of liquid courage might encourage her onto the dance floor at some point. And she found herself really really wanting to dance with Sam. Perhaps it was the gentle beat of the music, or the way he made her feel absolutely alluring. It seemed that he had read her mind, because not more than a few minutes after she finally tore her eyes away from the bottle of vodka on the shelf, she had a drink in her hand that smelled of that spicy alcohol.

“Bad boy,” she chastised him huskily with a smirk on her face. It didn’t take her any encouragement to take sip after sip of her beverage as Sam did the same. Her lips puckered and her throat burned lightly as the drinking glass emptied over a short space of time.

Her stomach felt warm; that tranquil feeling that flitted in with a simple taste of hard liquor made her brain slow down minutely. “D’you want to dance, Davis?”

Draining whatever drink he had, Sam set his empty glass on the bar and wasted no time at all in pulling her out to the edge of the dance floor. She spun out gracefully and was pulled back in to his very warm and masculine embrace. The beat of the song wasn’t quite fast, but it wasn’t a dull tempo either; it fit somewhere in the middle. A beat that Saoirse found easy enough to get in rhythm with. As Sam’s hands found her hips, hers wound around his neck until they clasped. They were impossibly close, the slight of space between them only present because otherwise they’d be smashing their faces together.

Flush against his torso, Saoirse’s memories from the afternoon they spent in the Shrieking Shack were rushing back with full intensity. The kisses, the harsh breathing, the way he made her body respond so easily to him. Every feeling that brought about explosions of pleasure from every nerve inside of her body. She knew her breathing had sped up as their footwork slowed down. Her body was moving against his in a way that was probably inappropriate, but apparently not unwelcome.

It took her a great deal of confidence to finally look into his eyes. And whether she imagined it or it was real, Saoirse’s thrumming heart began to palpitate at a pace she remembered from their first and only romp together. His attention was solely hers. Those green eyes were riveting in a way that her throat constricted and her mouth went dry. There was no one else in the entire world. It was just her and Sam. Her hand moved to the back of his head and she was treading her fingers through his silky hair, her thumbs rubbing concentric circular patterns against his scalp.

She wanted to say something. But everything that came to mind seemed entirely too lame. ‘You’re bloody gorgeous’ and ‘my knees feel really weak’ wouldn’t exactly spell sexy. So, she bit her lip instead and kept her thoughts to herself. Her hips sashayed, pressing herself against him in an entirely seductive way. Though, through no premeditation of her own. It was just what her body was doing. It was what he was making her do.

Sam had her completely captivated.
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There was an obvious longing in Saoirse’s eyes as she gazed at the bottles of alcohol that lined the wall behind the bar. Sam grinned as he slipped a small silver flask from his inside pocket of his robes. He tilted the flask up to pour some of the whisky into the two glasses of juice that the bartender had handed him.

A cheeky grin lit his face as he handed a glass to Saoirse with a wink. Her beaming smile filled him with a warmth that even the hard liquor couldn’t touch.

“Bad boy,” Her voice was low and sultry and he moved a half a step closer to her as they each took a long sip. “D’you want to dance, Davis?”

Without hesitation, he lifted his glass to his lips and finished off his drink before reaching for her hand. He led her to the dance floor with a gentle step. His arm moved out and Saoirse spun out away from him and with a soft move of his wrist, she twirled back into his grasp.

Her body was pressed flush against his in a way that left him feeling a bit like a young boy on his first date. Something about the feel of her in his arms and the way that the scent of her subtle perfume filled his senses, made him nervous and excited all at the same time. His heart was racing and his palms were slightly damp as his arms wound around her and drew her closer still.

He felt her hands move up behind his neck. His breathing was becoming difficult to control with her so near. The feel of her against him brought with it a flood of memories. Every heated exchange between them had seemed to build up momentum until that fateful day in the Shrieking Shack. The experience between them there was anything but romantic. It was hot and fiery and filled with a combustible mixture of confusing emotions. Yet despite the anger and hatred that had burned between them, the day had been passionate.

Saoirse’s head moved the tiniest bit. Her chin lifting so that her eyes met his. Her fingertips toyed with the sensitive flesh at the back of his neck. Her body moved against his in a way that caused his brain to short circuit. Lost in the endless depths of her chocolate brown eyes, Sam didn’t think – couldn’t think of anything other than her.

In an act of pure impulsiveness, his head dipped slightly. His lips met hers in a soft yet unrelenting kiss. A soft gasp of surprise from her danced against his lips that caused him to smile the tiniest bit as he deepened the kiss . His hand moved from her waist to trail lazily up her spine, coming up to tangle his fingers in the soft curls of chestnut locks that brushed over the soft, warm skin of her back. He was lost in the moment. The rest of the world ceased to exist.

That was until he heard a very annoyed ‘Ahem’ from nearby. Reluctantly, he pulled back from the kiss and he turned his head slightly to see the disapproving eyes of Professor Shaw. Her feathered mask did little to hide her identity. He’d know that glare anywhere.

The professor had gone all out for the masquerade. Her outfit was not exactly the standard formal gown that most witches of her generation would wear. It was definitely a bit more… risqué. Sam supposed that was the polite term for the terrifyingly low cut leopard print thing she was wearing. Sam’s eyes moved quickly up to the ceiling to avoid catching sight of anything that would scar him for life.

“Mr. Davis and Miss Matthews, this type of behavior is highly inappropri…” Shaw began with that irritating shrill tone that meant they were in for a very long, tedious lecture.

Sam pulled back from Saoirse as his hand found hers . Then without a moment’s hesitation he took off like a shot. He couldn’t contain the laugh that escaped him as he pulled Saoirse along behind him. They darted in and out of the crowd. Shaw was left on the far side of the room.

With a rather breathless chuckle, he pulled Saoirse to through the crowds to a rather quiet area by the wall. He leaned back against it and Saoirse stood before him with a rather shocked look on her face. As though she couldn’t quite believe that they had just run away from a professor.

“Don’t look so surprised, love. We are not at a Hogwarts function. She can’t punish us here.” He reassured her with a grin.

His hands rest on her hips as she stood in front of him. He pulled her forward a step or two so that she was once again in his arms. He slid his palm over the soft material at the back of her dress and held her close against him again.

“Besides, it was just bad manners on her part to interrupt a moment like that.” His tone was light and playful as he lifted his lips to brush chastely against hers.
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Her lips were searing from the very second that he kissed her. Days and weeks and months of anger and annoyance and emotional baggage crackled in the air around them. The feel of it surprised her; she never would have assumed there would be so much energy between them. But there was. Loads. Saoirse couldn’t help but immediately get lost in the touch of his lips.

She forgot that this wasn’t the plan. This date – or whatever it was – was just for appearances. To mend broken hearts. To drown the lonely feeling that plagued them both. But definitely not to feel flutterings of her heart or the coiling of her stomach. Not to be so pliable to his coaxing tongue or the thundering of his heart against her chest. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Still, it didn’t stop Saoirse from wrapping his hair tighter in her fingers, pulling him closer and more firmly against her lips. He was warm. He made her feel like the only girl in the room. They kissed and her brain was quieted of all the drama in her life; all that remained was the need to keep that feeling. The desire to keep her lips attached to his.

And, of course, that was when they were interrupted. Embarrassed at being caught snogging in public, Saoirse pressed her face into Sam’s shoulders while he addressed the adult that had caught them. She heard the quick pace of his breathing and couldn’t help but feel relieved that he was feeling as racy as she felt.

“Mister Davis and Miss Matthews, this behavior is highly inappropri-” Of course Shaw would recognize her. Of all the times and places. Saoirse could feel the deep stain of red on her cheeks. The burn ran all the way down to her chest.

Then her hand was wound around Sam’s and she was jerked forward almost being taken off her feet. She was semi-hunched over, trying to gain back her footing when she looked up at him. Saoirse tried to yank on his hand, to get him to stop, but the free laugh that left him and the tight crowd were playing against her.

“Sam! We can’t-” She bumped into someone and quickened her pace so that she could get past a couple that wasn’t paying attention to what they were doing. “Sam!”

Someone’s elbow went into her side as they finally reached the other end of the ballroom. Sam spun around and leaned against the wall, looking carefree and jovial. Saoirse, on the other hand, was mortified. They ran away from a professor after being caught snogging - and not that innocently, to boot. She could feel her eyebrows furrowing as she hurried to come up with an excuse to their abrupt departure.

Really, Professor Shaw, I saw a gigantic spider on the ground and Davis was saving my life. Or, he obviously has some terrible affliction of the brain and needs psychological counseling…

“Don’t look so surprised, love. We’re not at a Hogwarts function. She can’t punish us here.” The grin that he flashed her did little to calm her nerves. She never, ever, ever ran away from a professor before. What if there was punishment or-

The ‘or’ didn’t’ matter. At that moment, Sam placed his hands on her hips and forced her to step forward between his spread feet. She fell against him easily and the numbing cloud of Sam Davis stole her nerves away and replaced them with warmth and comfort. It was unnerving.

She opened her mouth to protest, even as his hands began to caress her back. He stopped her, though, speaking his mind instead. “Besides, it was just bad manners on her part to interrupt a moment like that.”

Saoirse had every intention of correcting him. Shaw was well within her right to monitor their behavior and report it back to the Headmaster and seek reprimand. Something the strict professor was bound to do regardless of their flight from her. But, she couldn’t utter a single word. His lips found hers again in a sweet, playful kiss.

Like a boyfriend would give.

Her heart hammered. Eyes widened. Epic romance music played in the background (no, really – the music had slowed down to a very gentle tempo). A sharp puff of air left her parted lips. She whipped her head to one side, to find what, she wasn’t sure. She turned her head to the other side. There were exits both ways. All she had to do was sneak off, feign the need for the loo, and she could get out of this sudden awkward situation. The one that had her feeling like Sam could be her boyfriend.

“I need-” She brought her eyes to his finally and then realized that she couldn’t – wouldn’t – leave him at the ball on his own, ditched by his admittedly dramatizing date.

His stare was intense, curious. There was still a glint of mirth lighting them up. Her knees felt weak. Throat was dry. She hadn’t felt this way in what seemed like ages. Since Sebastian. Saoirse took a deep breath and placed a hand on his chest to steady herself.

“Bollocks,” she whispered, defeat swamping her as she realized that she couldn’t deny the attraction she felt for Sam, nor the feelings that accompanied it. Her eyes swept over his face, the tight jaw, the unrelenting stare, the raised chin. She was giddy. And girly. And she hated it.

Without another second’s hesitation, she leaned against him. The only thing keeping their bodies from being flush against one another was her hand that rest over his steady, thumping heart. Her eyes remained locked in his for only another beat and then they were closed. Her lips melted against his, soft and searching.

It didn’t calm her worries; instead it heightened them. The soft kiss that was meant to contradict her did the exact opposite. It was penetrating and fiery and tender and… She pulled away, still feeling his breath against her cheek. Her eyes met his, though in such close proximity it was hard to focus on any feature of his face.

Really, she should have bolted from his embrace just then. Whether it was the tight hold he had on her body or the voice in her head shouting at her to kiss him again, she didn’t know. Saoirse stayed where she was, unmoving, unable to control the very feelings she never wanted to have for Sam Davis.
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The gentle pressure of her lips against his was light and tender but it was more than enough to cause his heart to thump erratically. Her hand that rest on his chest was sure to feel the sudden quickening of his heartbeat, and for once, he didn’t care that a girl would have that insight into his emotions.

His eyes opened slightly as she pulled back from that sweet kiss and he took in the expression on her face. A pink flush stole over her cheeks and her half lidded gaze met his. He could see the flurry of conflicting emotions that were racing through her dark eyes.

Instead of speaking right away, Sam let the corners of his mouth tug up into a reassuring grin and he tilted his head forward once more. His lips dancing over hers in another soft kiss. His hand moved up to cup her cheek as he pulled back. His eyes sought hers out again before he spoke.

“You know, it’s not polite to look so completely scandalized at the idea of enjoying a kiss with me, love.”

Before she could answer, he chuckled at her expression. It was a laugh very unlike his normal laugh. It wasn’t cruel or unkind. There was nothing hurtful in the chiding way he teased her.

“Lucy, no…” The words were spoken with quiet determination and it was surprising that Sam had picked up on them at all, with all the noise in the crowded ball room. Yet he had and his eyes flitted momentarily towards the source. He spotted Bancroft standing in the middle of the dance floor but it was the blonde at his side, who managed to pull Sam’s gaze. Her tear filled brown eyes met his and he could feel the accusation and sadness in her stare. It was a moment that spanned no more than a heartbeat but it was enough to cause his own heart ache at the pain that he’d once again managed to cause her.

He never wanted to hurt Lucy but he seemed to do it over and over again. He wanted to be the kind of guy who didn’t care. And for any other girl he wouldn’t care. He’d scoff and mutter something about moving on. He’d be callous and cool. Hell, he likely wouldn’t even notice their pain.

Lucy wasn’t just any other girl.

Burying that guilt that was welling up within him, Sam pulled his eyes from her as she tore away from Bancroft and headed to the exit. He turned his attention back to the beautiful brunette in his arms. His eyes had left hers for only a few seconds but Saoirse was a observant girl and she was bound to have noticed. Instead of explaining, he let the smile dance over his lips again. He opened his mouth to say something. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say but he felt the inexplicable urge to say something.

“Saoirse!” A shrill tone cut through the din of music and voices that filled the room. Saoirse and Sam both let their heads turn towards the voice. “It’s Silas, please hurry!”

Sam’s eyes caught sight of Isabella Turcotte’s panicked expression from one of the doors to the courtyard. Saoirse’s body was already pulling away from him and he followed her with a look of worry flickering through his eyes. He couldn’t let her deal with this alone. It wasn’t even an option.

The complicated romantic entanglements of the four of them suddenly felt insignificant and small compared to the concern that filled him over Silas. He and Silas hadn’t been on the best of terms as of late but there was a time when they were close. They had been friends and the thought of something happening to him filled Sam with an overwhelming concern.
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