Strawberry Banana 27 (Intruder); Marshmallow 1 (Houseguest(s))
Author: Naanaboat
Title: Sleepwatcher
Flavours: Strawberry banana 27 - Intruder; marshmallow 1 - Houseguest(s)
Story: Not An Agony Aunt
Characters: Sammy Hollingworth; April Jones
Words: 834
Rating: PG-13 (swearing)
Summary: Sammy knows when she’s being watched. Unfortunately, this doesn’t mean she always knows who’s watching her, nor does it mean she can answer their questions...
Notes: This story started off as a continuation piece to a bigger story that I can’t figure out how to write just yet. Hopefully, it’ll work itself out and won’t be too confusing.
I’m new here, by the way. Hello! *waves*
Ever since the residential trip to Buckley House in Year Three, Sammy Hollingworth has been able to tell if someone is watching her sleep. It’s a gift, really - sorts out the stalkers and the weirdoes from the good boyfriends. If she were Bella Swan, Eddiekins would have been out on his ear the second he crept through the bedroom window, vampire stealth powers or not.
So even before she opens her eyes, before the sunlight hits her face and the morning after begins, Sammy can tell she’s being watched. Luke is staring at her, watching her sleep, and it’s pretty fucking annoying. She can feel his eyes burning into her; she can feel the slight temperature drop where his body blocks the light from the window. She can hear the breaths as he tries to conceal them; his heartbeat elevated above the norm. Her senses could only be more heightened by the introduction of magical spider venom to her bloodstream.
“I know you’re there,” she croaks, the inside of her mouth tasting furry and rank. “Stop bloody perving on me - I already slept with you, no need to break out the stalkerific tendencies again.”
There’s a snort which doesn’t quite sound like Luke’s usual snigger, but Sammy doesn’t open her eyes.
“When did you sleep with me?” a voice asks, and it’s melodic, sickly sweet and slightly sarcastic. Definitely not Luke. Fuck.
Sammy’s eyes spring open and she sees the silhouette of a woman against the window. She tugs the covers up over her body and splutters for a second. “You’re not Luke,” she says. “Where is he?”
The woman grins, and Sammy hates her. Hates her so much it’s all she can do not to leap out of bed and throttle this... this intruder, but she’s a lady and doesn’t rely on violence to solve her problems. Also, she can’t remember if she’s wearing pants. Not great.
“Luke is making breakfast,” the intruder - the rather beautiful intruder who has long auburn hair and eyes the colour of spring grass - simpers. “Actual breakfast - bacon and eggs and a rose in an old beer bottle. He knows how to treat his...” she pauses for a moment, taking in Sammy’s state of undress, “...houseguests.”
Sammy raises an eyebrow. “Are you one of his houseguests?” she asks. The intruder rolls her eyes and flicks her hair, and Sammy feels another wave of hatred roll through her.
“He wanted me to be, once upon a time,” she says, as if she’s telling me a story. “Unfortunately, let’s just say I’m not his type. Or, rather, he’s not mine.” She grins at Sammy again, but this time, there’s a look of predatory hunger in her grassy green eyes. Sammy feels not unlike a tiny mouse that’s wandered into the path of a sadistic tabby cat.
Sammy gulps and looks out of the window. From her position, there’s not a lot she can see - a skyscraper or two on the horizon; a tree with branches that seem to stretch for miles. “Who are you, then?” she asks. “And why are you watching me sleep?”
“I’m April,” the intruder says, still smiling widely.
“As in the month?”
April rolls her eyes again. “No, as in the poisonous fruit fly that lives on the south coast of Australia. And I’m not watching you sleep.”
“You were,” Sammy says accusingly, but April shakes her head.
“I was, yes, but you asked in the present tense. When you asked, you weren’t asleep, so I couldn’t have been watching you sleep.”
“Answer the damn question,” Sammy grits out. Hatred is too weak a word to describe her feelings towards this April woman right now. Loathing - now there’s a word...
“Fine,” April says. “I wanted to know who you were. And if you’d actually slept with Luke.” She pauses for a second, and her eyes drift from Sammy to the rumpled bed sheets beside her. “It’s always nice to see who he replaces me with.”
Sammy’s confused. “I thought you said you weren’t one of his houseguests?” she asks warily.
April shrugs. “I wasn’t. I was his housemate.”
“Is that another euphemism?” Sammy asks. “Is that, like, you were his fiancé? His wife?”
April shakes her head violently, letting the auburn tresses tangle. “No. God no. Just his unobtainable housemate upon whom he had a gigantic and pathetic crush.” She smiles, genuinely this time, and the corners of her eyes crinkle. “April Jones,” she says, holding out her hand. Sammy shakes it tentatively, the hatred in her fading ever so slightly. “I’ll leave you to your breakfast.” Her eyes narrow a tiny amount as she lets go of Sammy’s hand. “If you hurt Luke, I’ll hurt you, you know.”
Sammy knows. Knows it in the set of April’s shoulders; in the tightness of her smile. “Nice to meet you. Sammy Hollingworth. Is my name.” Sammy’s blushing now, she knows it. Damn.
“See you around,” April says as she saunters out of the room.
“Yeah,” Sammy breathes.