Status: I'm in the process of rewriting a few things, this story being one of them.
The Raven
I was Waiting with My Black Umbrella
As usual, she’s smoking. Professor Binns doesn’t seem to care. Most likely because he’s a ghost; he can neither smell nor breathe. I suppose it’s arguable that Hogwarts doesn’t have any rules or policies about smoking. Plus she’s by an open window. Doing as she pleases, and yet remains considerate. Even Algie, the boy sitting next to her, doesn’t seem bothered, and there’s always something bothering him. He is, without a doubt, the most up tight prefect I’ve ever met or heard of. His behavior in itself is puzzling; Gryffindors aren’t supposed to care about such insignificant, petty things. Perhaps it’s the disorganization of History of Magic. This class, unless failed at any point, stops being mandatory after fifth year. No one likes it much, which is why students of all four houses are in this class session.
“Tom,” Binns droned, “If you find Nyathera so intriguing and staring at her more valuable than today’s lesson, you can write me a paper about her.”
I immediately stand up straighter, “Sir, I—”
He waved a hand at me, as if to dismiss my thoughts, “You will read it for the class by Monday.”
I nodded then quietly sighed. I caught a glimpse of Nyathera in my peripheral; I’ve been somewhat embarrassed and she doesn’t have the decency to even fake some sort of feeling of being phased or affected. Completely focused on her blowing smoke rings out of her mouth. Her feet crossed at the ankles and on top of her side of the table, she leans back on her chair, putting most of her weight on the back two legs of the chair, her head tilted back, but still staring out the window.
I sighed angrily. I don’t pay attention for just a moment, but she can smoke in class, stare out the window, and put her feet on her desk? All at the same time no less! Practicing smoke rings is related to magical history now? Ridiculous. And she’s ignoring me! Who does she think she is? And she doesn’t even wear the uniform! Why hasn’t she been reprimanded? Fixed? Anything? Tattoos and piercings and not just pants, but leather pants, sometimes just pants that are tight but look fuzzy, sometimes she walks in with her muggle-like sailor dresses! Sometimes she doesn’t even wear a shirt, just a jacket that shows her stomach when she reaches up high! She puts her hair up in these weird pompadours or puts it up as one, large curl that flops near her forehead! She brings in her devil rock and roll! She taints the halls with its dances! She skips school for days to go to muggle things and brings back records of the “next star to mark rock.”
As if anyone cares about the “next star,” much less the current stars. Especially muggle ones. What’s a pureblood like her doing dabbling in muggle affairs anyway? And why doesn’t anyone here stop her from these shenanigans? No regard for the dress code or any of the classes! Another crazy Lovegood, huh? Not even the craziest of the Lovegood’s would disrespect either Hogwarts or Wizards! What, because she’s quiet in class she can smoke and wear what she wants and arrive and leave whenever a time pleases her?
Abraxas distracted me from my thoughts by quietly ripped a piece of parchment off the side of some old notes and passed me, “Her friends call her Cecilia.”
I smirked and wrote back to him, “She has friends?”
We smirked and quietly chuckled. Binns shot us a cold look, so we quickly quieted ourselves. Abraxas still passed me another note, though. “She’s supposed to be one of the most academically accomplished students in Hogwarts.”
I sighed and passed back, “I know that, Malfoy. Do you really find me that incompetent?”
My peripheral caught sight of his body suddenly stiffening. He hurriedly passed me, “Of course not, I just thought it best to tell you what I know.”
I nodded and crumpled up the parchment. I took notes until the class ended. I watched her flick her ashes out of the window and walk out. Algie stayed behind an extra minute to put his things back into his bag, so I walked over to him. “Longbottom.”
He sighed and looked up at me, “What do you need, Tom?”
I drew in a deep breath, “Today is Friday.”
Algie nodded his head.
“I have to present an essay on Nyathera on Monday.”
Algie nodded again.
“You being her friend and all—”
Algie picked up his back and comfortably adjusted the strap on his shoulder. He walked away after saying, “It’s your essay, Tom, not mine.”
That. Stupid. Idiotic. Bloody. Fool.
I clenched my fists and tried to regulate my breathing; he’s right, this isn’t his essay. That doesn’t mean I can’t figure her out by Monday.
“Tom,” Binns droned, “If you find Nyathera so intriguing and staring at her more valuable than today’s lesson, you can write me a paper about her.”
I immediately stand up straighter, “Sir, I—”
He waved a hand at me, as if to dismiss my thoughts, “You will read it for the class by Monday.”
I nodded then quietly sighed. I caught a glimpse of Nyathera in my peripheral; I’ve been somewhat embarrassed and she doesn’t have the decency to even fake some sort of feeling of being phased or affected. Completely focused on her blowing smoke rings out of her mouth. Her feet crossed at the ankles and on top of her side of the table, she leans back on her chair, putting most of her weight on the back two legs of the chair, her head tilted back, but still staring out the window.
I sighed angrily. I don’t pay attention for just a moment, but she can smoke in class, stare out the window, and put her feet on her desk? All at the same time no less! Practicing smoke rings is related to magical history now? Ridiculous. And she’s ignoring me! Who does she think she is? And she doesn’t even wear the uniform! Why hasn’t she been reprimanded? Fixed? Anything? Tattoos and piercings and not just pants, but leather pants, sometimes just pants that are tight but look fuzzy, sometimes she walks in with her muggle-like sailor dresses! Sometimes she doesn’t even wear a shirt, just a jacket that shows her stomach when she reaches up high! She puts her hair up in these weird pompadours or puts it up as one, large curl that flops near her forehead! She brings in her devil rock and roll! She taints the halls with its dances! She skips school for days to go to muggle things and brings back records of the “next star to mark rock.”
As if anyone cares about the “next star,” much less the current stars. Especially muggle ones. What’s a pureblood like her doing dabbling in muggle affairs anyway? And why doesn’t anyone here stop her from these shenanigans? No regard for the dress code or any of the classes! Another crazy Lovegood, huh? Not even the craziest of the Lovegood’s would disrespect either Hogwarts or Wizards! What, because she’s quiet in class she can smoke and wear what she wants and arrive and leave whenever a time pleases her?
Abraxas distracted me from my thoughts by quietly ripped a piece of parchment off the side of some old notes and passed me, “Her friends call her Cecilia.”
I smirked and wrote back to him, “She has friends?”
We smirked and quietly chuckled. Binns shot us a cold look, so we quickly quieted ourselves. Abraxas still passed me another note, though. “She’s supposed to be one of the most academically accomplished students in Hogwarts.”
I sighed and passed back, “I know that, Malfoy. Do you really find me that incompetent?”
My peripheral caught sight of his body suddenly stiffening. He hurriedly passed me, “Of course not, I just thought it best to tell you what I know.”
I nodded and crumpled up the parchment. I took notes until the class ended. I watched her flick her ashes out of the window and walk out. Algie stayed behind an extra minute to put his things back into his bag, so I walked over to him. “Longbottom.”
He sighed and looked up at me, “What do you need, Tom?”
I drew in a deep breath, “Today is Friday.”
Algie nodded his head.
“I have to present an essay on Nyathera on Monday.”
Algie nodded again.
“You being her friend and all—”
Algie picked up his back and comfortably adjusted the strap on his shoulder. He walked away after saying, “It’s your essay, Tom, not mine.”
That. Stupid. Idiotic. Bloody. Fool.
I clenched my fists and tried to regulate my breathing; he’s right, this isn’t his essay. That doesn’t mean I can’t figure her out by Monday.
♠ ♠ ♠
I can't seem to find much rock n' roll accept for stuff from the fifties and early sixties, so until I find stuff from the forties, I'm going to use the fifties and early sixties. So I apologize in advance if you recognize songs that are obviously not of Tom's time period. But I promise to not have any modern songs or even songs from the seventies. :)