Amorphous
Saint Potter.
“Bloody, Saint Potter.”
Malfoy was sulking again as he moved down the table toward the section reserved for Prefects. Potter was in the paper again, Rita Skeeter having a day of making him out to be the most tragic thing that breathed and this was no doubt what had set my fellow Prefect off. ‘Saint Potter’ looked startled in the photograph taken of him and the picture was nearly a year old from the time of the Tournament. Malfoy kept on, Potter thinks he’s so wonderful, Potter is a Muggle-lover, Potter this or Potter that and maybe Potter should’s.
I prodded at my eggs pretending to listen to the fair haired little whine of a male in front of me. One couldn’t see Potter’s famous scar from far away, something I’d taken to pondering when I got bored. He’d tried to grow out his hair the year before and I had the suspicion that it was to hide his scar from view. Everyone knew the event of the scar, though many forgot it was the Potter families death night, I knew the story almost by heart from my dear pureblood mothers angry hisses of disloyalty and filth. I’d always tried to figure out why, why that shape, why that place, why him, why them, why why why. I always had questions with whys.
“Everton, what’s wrong with you?” Malfoy was looking at me like I was stranger than before, “You’re acting very odd.”
“I’m perfectly alright, thank you, Malfoy.” I responded my voice sounding dull and uninterested even to my own ears, “What is it that Potter’s done this time?”
Those were the perfect words for any situation when one wanted to avoid a perceptive Malfoy. He was off again, ranting under his breath about whatever injustice Harry Potter had done him this time. I think that when Malfoy got like this he was that eleven year old boy again being denied the right to friendship with the famous Boy Who Lived. It would take him a lot to get over that day five years ago, I knew that much at least.
Crabbe and Goyle had come in and look their seats flanking their bitter blond leader. The table tilted slightly in their direction when the plopped down piling their plates before their bottoms touched the seat. They greeted me after it had come to their attention that their leader was talking to me today. I nodded back crossing one of my legs over the other and rested my chin in the dip my laced fingers made.
It wasn’t only the dear Savior I had started watching, it was everything. It had been a habit of mine for years, one of many that disappointed my mom to tears. Another that she couldn’t seem to bare was my accent, the sharp clean cut of my American tone from my growing up years abroad with my father had caused more fights than I cared to recall. I was watching the small group in front of me now observing the little things that I found oh-so intriguing.
Crabbe and Goyle never changed sides. Crabbe was forever on Malfoy’s right and Goyle his left. Malfoy had taken to using less of that thick slick gel on his hair, his mother’s idea I was sure. Pansy was walking down the way headed for our section of the table, she was wearing new lip gloss that shimmered brightly in the morning light and made her look like a lip-less fish. That is not to say that the Parkinson girl was unattractive because she was or else the brooding boy in front of me had greatly diminished his standards.
I could never quite figure out what those two wanted with each other, the more I watched them the more confusing it got. At least half of Pansy’s passion for getting Malfoy was his money and status but sometimes the way she looked at him was different, almost like she actually cared. For all the world I had no clue what Malfoy wanted with Pansy, he would have never bothered with her had she not been the one of two girls that were capable of putting up with his finicky narcissistic attitude. That and the fact his mother had asked him to play nice with her.
“Darling!” Pansy’s shrill voice broke through my train of thought and I watched the way Malfoy barely hid his grimace, “Darling, you didn’t wait for me!”
“You took to long.” Was Malfoy’s annoyed response, “I wanted to leave before all of the good rolls were gone.”
Pansy huffed a little throwing out her chest a bit and I tried not to laugh at the girl standing next to me, “Well you could have let me know.”
She sat down as well bumping her elbow slightly against mine. I moved down off center from my plate but I didn’t mind, just here provided a better view of the tables beyond Slytherin’s. One of the Hufflepuff girls, Abbot I think, was a peculiar shade of red holding hands under the table with the boy next to her whose face suffered the same fate. A very pretty Ravenclaw girl was turned around in her seat talking to one of the older year Slytherin boys and leaning forward too much to show off what was under neath her slightly unbuttoned top. I used my hand to cover my snort.
Pansy bumped my side with her elbow and looked a bit startled to find that I was there, “Oh, Everton, good morning.”
I raised an eyebrow at her and picked at the roll on my plate, “Good morning.”
“You weren’t around when I came in last night and you were gone in the morning. Having fun somewhere?” She laughed in a manner that said she wouldn’t believe I was with someone even if I had pictures.
“I was already in bed when you came in,” I turned my head away from her again resting my head in the crook of my hands, “and I am always up before you.”
“Yes, that is true.” She was done with me now my life too boring to keep her attention for long, “Draco, my family is going to Rio this Christmas-”
I stopped paying attention to her after that and peered down the way at my fellow housemates. No one ever changed seats here, it was like an unspoken rule that applied only to our table. The first years were a little haphazards in their seating arrangement at the end of the table by the door, they’d learn by mid-May. There were clear lines between the years, a small space between each that seemed to unintentionally cramp within. I wondered what would happen should just one person switch seats, disaster was my best guess.
Across the Hall, Potter had finished his breakfast and was preparing to leave. That was my clue that I had been lingering too long and I tapped my plate with my wand, calmly watching it disappear into the table. The people around me didn’t notice when I gathered my bag and left, they were too busy comparing the extravagance of their vacation plans.When I swept out the door, Potter was just standing and saying his goodbyes, which would take much longer than mine had I knew.
The outside morning was warm and clear, a prefect day for the weekend. A couple of Slytherin’s in the year above me walked in as I went out snickering and saying something about Longbottom and the beech tree. I headed that way not sure if what had happened was something I wanted to see or not.
Malfoy was sulking again as he moved down the table toward the section reserved for Prefects. Potter was in the paper again, Rita Skeeter having a day of making him out to be the most tragic thing that breathed and this was no doubt what had set my fellow Prefect off. ‘Saint Potter’ looked startled in the photograph taken of him and the picture was nearly a year old from the time of the Tournament. Malfoy kept on, Potter thinks he’s so wonderful, Potter is a Muggle-lover, Potter this or Potter that and maybe Potter should’s.
I prodded at my eggs pretending to listen to the fair haired little whine of a male in front of me. One couldn’t see Potter’s famous scar from far away, something I’d taken to pondering when I got bored. He’d tried to grow out his hair the year before and I had the suspicion that it was to hide his scar from view. Everyone knew the event of the scar, though many forgot it was the Potter families death night, I knew the story almost by heart from my dear pureblood mothers angry hisses of disloyalty and filth. I’d always tried to figure out why, why that shape, why that place, why him, why them, why why why. I always had questions with whys.
“Everton, what’s wrong with you?” Malfoy was looking at me like I was stranger than before, “You’re acting very odd.”
“I’m perfectly alright, thank you, Malfoy.” I responded my voice sounding dull and uninterested even to my own ears, “What is it that Potter’s done this time?”
Those were the perfect words for any situation when one wanted to avoid a perceptive Malfoy. He was off again, ranting under his breath about whatever injustice Harry Potter had done him this time. I think that when Malfoy got like this he was that eleven year old boy again being denied the right to friendship with the famous Boy Who Lived. It would take him a lot to get over that day five years ago, I knew that much at least.
Crabbe and Goyle had come in and look their seats flanking their bitter blond leader. The table tilted slightly in their direction when the plopped down piling their plates before their bottoms touched the seat. They greeted me after it had come to their attention that their leader was talking to me today. I nodded back crossing one of my legs over the other and rested my chin in the dip my laced fingers made.
It wasn’t only the dear Savior I had started watching, it was everything. It had been a habit of mine for years, one of many that disappointed my mom to tears. Another that she couldn’t seem to bare was my accent, the sharp clean cut of my American tone from my growing up years abroad with my father had caused more fights than I cared to recall. I was watching the small group in front of me now observing the little things that I found oh-so intriguing.
Crabbe and Goyle never changed sides. Crabbe was forever on Malfoy’s right and Goyle his left. Malfoy had taken to using less of that thick slick gel on his hair, his mother’s idea I was sure. Pansy was walking down the way headed for our section of the table, she was wearing new lip gloss that shimmered brightly in the morning light and made her look like a lip-less fish. That is not to say that the Parkinson girl was unattractive because she was or else the brooding boy in front of me had greatly diminished his standards.
I could never quite figure out what those two wanted with each other, the more I watched them the more confusing it got. At least half of Pansy’s passion for getting Malfoy was his money and status but sometimes the way she looked at him was different, almost like she actually cared. For all the world I had no clue what Malfoy wanted with Pansy, he would have never bothered with her had she not been the one of two girls that were capable of putting up with his finicky narcissistic attitude. That and the fact his mother had asked him to play nice with her.
“Darling!” Pansy’s shrill voice broke through my train of thought and I watched the way Malfoy barely hid his grimace, “Darling, you didn’t wait for me!”
“You took to long.” Was Malfoy’s annoyed response, “I wanted to leave before all of the good rolls were gone.”
Pansy huffed a little throwing out her chest a bit and I tried not to laugh at the girl standing next to me, “Well you could have let me know.”
She sat down as well bumping her elbow slightly against mine. I moved down off center from my plate but I didn’t mind, just here provided a better view of the tables beyond Slytherin’s. One of the Hufflepuff girls, Abbot I think, was a peculiar shade of red holding hands under the table with the boy next to her whose face suffered the same fate. A very pretty Ravenclaw girl was turned around in her seat talking to one of the older year Slytherin boys and leaning forward too much to show off what was under neath her slightly unbuttoned top. I used my hand to cover my snort.
Pansy bumped my side with her elbow and looked a bit startled to find that I was there, “Oh, Everton, good morning.”
I raised an eyebrow at her and picked at the roll on my plate, “Good morning.”
“You weren’t around when I came in last night and you were gone in the morning. Having fun somewhere?” She laughed in a manner that said she wouldn’t believe I was with someone even if I had pictures.
“I was already in bed when you came in,” I turned my head away from her again resting my head in the crook of my hands, “and I am always up before you.”
“Yes, that is true.” She was done with me now my life too boring to keep her attention for long, “Draco, my family is going to Rio this Christmas-”
I stopped paying attention to her after that and peered down the way at my fellow housemates. No one ever changed seats here, it was like an unspoken rule that applied only to our table. The first years were a little haphazards in their seating arrangement at the end of the table by the door, they’d learn by mid-May. There were clear lines between the years, a small space between each that seemed to unintentionally cramp within. I wondered what would happen should just one person switch seats, disaster was my best guess.
Across the Hall, Potter had finished his breakfast and was preparing to leave. That was my clue that I had been lingering too long and I tapped my plate with my wand, calmly watching it disappear into the table. The people around me didn’t notice when I gathered my bag and left, they were too busy comparing the extravagance of their vacation plans.When I swept out the door, Potter was just standing and saying his goodbyes, which would take much longer than mine had I knew.
The outside morning was warm and clear, a prefect day for the weekend. A couple of Slytherin’s in the year above me walked in as I went out snickering and saying something about Longbottom and the beech tree. I headed that way not sure if what had happened was something I wanted to see or not.