Evan Rosier 0.2

"Emotional abuse?" I snorted, not quite turning toward him, though a crooked smile was already forming. My steps were quick, confident, as if I really wanted to leave him behind, but the truth was, I was hoping, almost anxiously, that he would do exactly what he did: run to catch up.

"You're so unbearable, Crouch," I finally said, stopping in my tracks and turning to face him with a sharp twist of my cloak, as theatrical as it was involuntary. My eyes searched his, a gleam between mock fury and real amusement. "I thought you were at least going to invite me to the Gryffindor-destroying party, and it turns out you didn't, that you just leave me out like I was just anybody. What am I to you, then, Barty? Your audience? Your shadow?" I charged every word with irony, but also with that spark that always exploded in my chest when it came to him.

I crossed my arms, brazenly throwing my head down, letting a stray strand of hair fall over my forehead. "And now you're playing the victim. Pathetic." There was a pause, long enough for the weight of my words to hang. Then I added, with a dangerous half-smile, "Though, to be fair, you look good at begging."

I leaned forward just a little, lowering my voice. "Next time you want to have fun, you take me with you. Or I swear, the ones who end up badly hurt won't be first-year Gryffindors, but you."

And although my tone was threatening, my eyes belied it: they shone with complicity, with that absurd loyalty that bound me to him. "Come on, surprise me. Convince me that I shouldn't be mad at you anymore."