a wild child au in which lily is just as if not more dreamy than alex pettyfer
i. there’s absolutely nothing for us here
[…] it’s better than a reputation
as a miserable little tyke
He arrives at boarding school a week after he drives his Mum’s new boyfriend’s Harley Davidson into the Thames.
He didn’t plan on being there. It’s why he refuses to get out of the car.
A kindly, rotund woman in a grey pantsuit knocks on the door of the back seat; he rolls down the window and she smiles in at him.
“Bags are in the boot,” he says, not looking at her.
“That’s charming, Mr. Potter,” she tells him, “but I’m not a footman. My name’s Mrs. Evans, I’m your headmistress here at Abbey Mount.”
“Look,” he starts, turning to face her, “I—”
She stops him. “Listen to me, Mr. Potter. I find that negotiation is rather like a nightclub; not something I tend to enter into. Now,” she opens the door, “come along.”