Post by Deleted on Aug 24, 2014 22:13:43 GMT -5
"Like years, I slip by; hurrying past, unnoticed."
@elgin
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Beneath fort of vernacular books and scrolls built impeccably before her eyes, a corner of the yellowed parchment laid sheltered. It was never easy for her; prying into the Dark Arts while trying to ensure no one realized her true intentions. The darker I read, the stronger I feel, or so she thought it had been. Her trips to the library were becoming more frequent, lasting through the night; especially during those busy weekdays and lazy weekends, where most students flirt and frolic in the great outdoors.
She had not realized that books were never the solution to everything; even after her mischance by the Boathouse, she still held on to her belief that the darkness is her only salvation; its redeeming powers flowing freely out of the Dark Arts.
A thud in the distance broke her concentration.
A louder, more unashamed THUD.
She loathed that sound.
Why can't people treat books with greater care? Don't they realize the writings inside are fuller than their jangled thoughts! Getting up quickly, Anna rushed towards the source of the criminal – past rows of depositories and shelves of bound volumes – only to find the culprit being The Devourer Book of Greater Books; the distant cousin of The Monster Book of Monsters. The leather-bound wrecker gaped its jaws open; dauntlessly toppling a dozen thicker books, eagerly rummaging along the shelves for books thicker than he.
Frantic, her gaze shifted between the berserk book and the Second Year standing aghast by a desk; her hands clutching tightly onto a couple of texts.
With a quick swish of her wand, she muttered a soft Impedimenta and watched warily as the culprit guiltily laid itself between two thinner volumes. Raising a knowing eyebrow at the younger Gryffindor, Anna did not wait to return to her earlier endeavors.
She arrived at her carrel, one at where she was reveling in her solitude; to discover that the fact had recently been altered. A strange boy was sitting beside hers. What a jumble of mess, she thought to herself, looking disdainfully at the cacophony of belongings the boy flaunted on his desk.
Pulling herself into her seat, she furtively interpreted the possibilities; if the boy had taken notice of what she was reading.
Die Geister! Those reddened eyes!
Perhaps her peripherals had lingered for a moment too long on him, perhaps she was already canvassing his facial features with a dozen different ailments: Common cold? Flu? Sleeplessness? Oh, I'm an old hand at the last one.
Perhaps the strange boy would also think that the girl was strange.
She had not realized that books were never the solution to everything; even after her mischance by the Boathouse, she still held on to her belief that the darkness is her only salvation; its redeeming powers flowing freely out of the Dark Arts.
A thud in the distance broke her concentration.
A louder, more unashamed THUD.
She loathed that sound.
Why can't people treat books with greater care? Don't they realize the writings inside are fuller than their jangled thoughts! Getting up quickly, Anna rushed towards the source of the criminal – past rows of depositories and shelves of bound volumes – only to find the culprit being The Devourer Book of Greater Books; the distant cousin of The Monster Book of Monsters. The leather-bound wrecker gaped its jaws open; dauntlessly toppling a dozen thicker books, eagerly rummaging along the shelves for books thicker than he.
Frantic, her gaze shifted between the berserk book and the Second Year standing aghast by a desk; her hands clutching tightly onto a couple of texts.
With a quick swish of her wand, she muttered a soft Impedimenta and watched warily as the culprit guiltily laid itself between two thinner volumes. Raising a knowing eyebrow at the younger Gryffindor, Anna did not wait to return to her earlier endeavors.
She arrived at her carrel, one at where she was reveling in her solitude; to discover that the fact had recently been altered. A strange boy was sitting beside hers. What a jumble of mess, she thought to herself, looking disdainfully at the cacophony of belongings the boy flaunted on his desk.
Pulling herself into her seat, she furtively interpreted the possibilities; if the boy had taken notice of what she was reading.
Die Geister! Those reddened eyes!
Perhaps her peripherals had lingered for a moment too long on him, perhaps she was already canvassing his facial features with a dozen different ailments: Common cold? Flu? Sleeplessness? Oh, I'm an old hand at the last one.
Perhaps the strange boy would also think that the girl was strange.