Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ A Touch of Peridot ❯ A Book is Worth a Thousand.... ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It is the property of J.K.Rowling.

 

 

To know everything about a person but not know them at all can be horribly irritating, indeed. Mysteries often are the most maddening situations in existence.

 

This woman was no exception to the rule.

 

I observed her from afar, drifting between classes, sparking eccentric conversations with students who'd sooner tackle an O.W.L. than listen. I refused to speak to her myself, keeping my distance.

 

From my perch she seemed ordinary enough, albeit peculiar. Even that infuriating `Luna' something or other once described the woman as being `quite odd'.

 

Wildflowers knitted in her russet hair, windswept bun drooping low and neglectful; the woman was positively unkempt. She cared little for appearance and blatantly made that sentiment clear. Didn't even wear makeup - face rouged naturally by autumn's chill.

 

It was downright disgraceful.

 

Not that I was one to talk, hardly looking `dapper' myself. Sallow skin, long crooked nose, greasy hair. But I preferred the solitude that accompanied my unattractive fate.

 

This woman was quite different.

 

She seemed to radiate appeal despite her behavior, and I loathed her for it. I loathed her for her optimism, her irksome ability to get under my skin. Most of all, I loathed her for being an enigma, shamelessly unpredictable like the tide.

 

Personality quirks were one thing, but she was a weirdness all her own.

 

At least, that's what I decided while crossing the courtyard to the nettle-scaled fountain she currently occupied.

 

Exasperating woman, deep in a book she would never appreciate. How could she? So bizarre, the woman would never fully understand the genius of potion literature.

 

No, she was too content in being unusual, careless. It was an outrage to witness her reading such a book, and I needed to make this fact pointedly clear.

 

But before I could speak, two limpid green eyes washed their gaze over me, colorless peridot pools. Hardly as exquisite as emerald; what a sin to be blessed with green eyes only to have them be that color instead.

 

I sneered, realizing it would do nothing to this woman or her tranquility.

 

She gently closed her book, letting it slip deliberately to the cold stone beside her.

 

“Good afternoon, Professor.” Voice like a whisper on the wind, I sank into those peridot eyes despite my better judgment.

 

Those infuriating eyes!

 

A faint smile brushed her lips as if she understood. “Please, sit.”

 

Mindlessly I accepted her suggestion, smashing myself as far away on the fountain's edge as possible. How had this happened? What began as a reproach became a surrender, two figures resting silent beneath the cloud dappled sky. Even the wind had died, mocking my strange dilemma.

 

Perhaps death had softened me.

 

For the first time since my return I felt baffled, stealing the book without finding resistance. How odd that she made no fuss. Surely even she would -

 

In horror I watched another book materialize from the depths of her cape, a quiet smile painted on the woman's face.

 

“A nice day for reading, wouldn't you agree?”