Synchronized Heartbeats: A Reluctant Love Story

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I am SuperGirl

And I´m here to save the world

But I wanna know

Who´s gonna save me?

I am SuperGirl

And I´m here to save the world

But I wanna know

Why I´m feelin´ so alone...

~ Crystal, `SuperGirl´

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Chapter 1: Body of Stone, Heart of Glass

I took my parchment out of my bag and tied it to the leg of an owl with my purple hair ribbon. My hair fell in down my head like a shiny brown river. The frigid northern wind from the open window burned my fair cheeks and turned them a bright pink. I wrapped my cloak around me tighter and the door to the owlry creaked open. It was late fall, but the season was quickly changing into something that resembled a Hogwarts winter.

The owl hopped onto my arm and I carried it to the window. "Go to my father's house, stupid bird, and if you don't, you're screwed!" I screamed as it flew away.

I knew this bird, I had named it Spirit. She was a creamy white bird with a brown spot of feathers by her right eye. I had thought of naming her Defiled or Chaste for a bit the irony, but she flew like a spirit, so I chose it for her. It seemed perfect, though I have yet to decide if she is a demonic or angelic spirit.

I turned back, looking at all the owls. There were brown ones, white ones, black ones, and gray spotted ones. They were small and large and they all sat side by side, lining the walls.

"Oh, excuse me," said the person as I ran into them. My bag bounced back and the strap tore, my school supplies littering the wood floor. I turned and looked up, a sneer developing on my face as I saw who it was. Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor Prat Extrodinare, whose tips of ears were beginning to turn red.

I could tell he wasn't too happy to see me.

"Weasley."

"Parkinson."

The Slytherin and Gryffindor dispute goes back thousands of years. It probably all started with the founders, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and of course, Salazar Slytherin. Gryffindors are infamous for being so righteous to the point where it's annoying, and Weasley was no exception. In fact, aside from Harry Potter, he is probably the most annoying person I have ever met. Slytherins like me are well known for being cunning, sly, ambitions, and incredibly sexy. Most Slytherin families are practice the Dark Arts and plan on becoming Death Eaters when they grow up, or so we like to hint at everyone else.

"Please, Weasley, let's not get too excited here. You're only standing in the presence of greatness," I said sarcastically. He kept staring at me with dark brown eyes. I looked back, then glanced down. My stuff was spread all around me.

"Pick up my stuff, Weasley."

"Go to hell, Parkinson."

"You first."

He glared at me as he drifted down and lowered to pick up my stuff. He picked my new books and piled them together. He gathered my quills with a large freckled hand that I gaped at. He gathered up my parchment that had been tied together with a baby blue silk ribbon.

"Here," he said in a disgusted voice, shoving my books into my chest. I caught them, but just barely. He turned to walk out of the owlry, the only entrance and exit door open.

"Be fortunate that I allowed you to touch them, Weasley. They're brand new, which is more than I can say about anything you own."

He pivoted slowly and I licked my lips, preparing my smirk. He stared into my eyes as he started to advance on me. Tall and lanky, he towered over me. The top of my head came to about his nose. His eyes never wavered off of mine, invisible lasers boring into my own doe-colored ones.

"You bitch," he muttered, though I could hear it clearly, walking slowly to me. "You half-assed Slytherin whore."

I ran a hand through my hair and its floral scent filled my nose. His insults couldn't hurt me; I was raised to be made of stone. He was breathing down on my neck, his hot breath smelling like fresh mint. I wondered if he and Draco used the same toothpaste, because Draco's smelt like that too.

My heart started to beat faster as I stared up. His eyes were like chocolate, and they were fixed on mine. He kept on telling me things, but I couldn't hear him. The owls stopped hooting and everything was mute - it was just my heart pounding loudly in my ears.

"You're not listening to me, are you?" he asked out of the blue. Suddenly, the noise of the small room filled my ears, the hooting, the whistling wind, the creaking floor boards, and Ron.

I faked an exaggerated yawn, covering my right hand over my open mouth. "No. Was I supposed to?" I said blandly. He glared at me with anger and hatred and I batted my long eyelashes at him. He shook his head, red hair moving from side to side. It looked like dancing flames.

"Fuck you," he said in a final kind of voice, then turned around and stalked down the stairs. They echoed in the stone hallway and I couldn't help but feel sad that our little game hadn't continued.

I turned and picked up my broken bookbag that lay on the ground and used my wand to repair the broken stitches. Spirit had long since vanished from the overcast sky and I trudged to the open door. I closed it, leaving the hooting owls behind and tried to figure out why my heart was beating so damn loud.