The Sugar Quill
Author: Jaime (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: Her  Chapter: Default
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

He watched her



Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling, genius that she is.. is not me. So I donít own a darn thing. But thanks for asking!

Authorís Note: I wrote this in about 15 minutes and posted it in my Live Journal, then my page and; I have no idea why I never submitted it to SQ. I think I was scared or something. Heh. Thanks, as always, to Elanor for the beta, though Iím sad that she canít stand one of my favourite words. ;)


* * * * * * *


He watched her.


He watched with his usual sense of irritation as she worked her quill across the parchment furiously. Hurriedly. It was the way she always worked, in a bit of a rush, as though her hand simply couldnít keep up with her thoughts. She occasionally shot a glare at him, left over from their most recent row, but for the most part, she was writing. And he watched.


She always had to be right. So incredibly stubborn, that one was. She absolutely refused to see when she was wrong, no matter how illogical she was being. She probably felt the same about him, but so what? He was the one who was right.


He was annoyed by her.


Of course, she usually was right. He would never admit it, but it was true. She knew the spells, the potions. She had the cat that knew the rat. That horrible argument still managed to bring up angry memories; he really had liked that rat. She hadnít seemed to care at all when it happened. But no matter in the end, eh? he thought bitterly. Even when she was wrong, she was right.


He was infuriated with her.


She was always always always trying to force work upon him. His mind mocked her: You need to revise! O.W.L.s are coming up in only eight months! Giving him time tables. Always with an arm in the air, waving it about in class. She never let him see her assignments; she was afraid heíd copy her and not learn anything for himself. Well, yeah, but who was she to assume it? Honestly, what other word was there for her, if not Know-it-all? Except perhaps Ďbossyí; he smirked.


He couldnít stand her.


She let out a noise; almost a tiny Ďeureka!í and looked up at him to smile brightly before turning back to her parchment and continuing. Well. He supposed she was over their last argument by now. Her smile seemed so much moreÖ alive than it ever had before her teeth got shrunk. She wasnít exuding confidence or anything, but there was something about that smile.


He was intrigued by her.


Every so often, it was as though she forgot to play by the rules. Slapping Malfoy across the face. Stealing potion ingredients - from Snape, no less. Up and quitting that pointless Divination class. Just seeing her giggling with his sister tended to be a bit of a shock, as she rarely seemed soÖ girly. Then there was the Yule Ball. The less he thought about that, the better.


He was surprised by her.


Sometimes she didnít know things. Certain wizarding ways; she still had some Muggle instincts. He didnít allow anyone else to tease her, insult her. After all, she knew he didnít really mean it, didnít she? It was just their way. And she always came through; it was only for them that she broke rules. Always in the library looking things up for their adventures. Sometimes getting hurt for it.


He cared for her.


Suddenly, she slammed her book shut, sighed, and announced that she was finished. She asked him how his own essay was going, and when her eyes fell on his nearly empty sheet of parchment, she tutted. Then she moved to sit next to him, opening her books once more. She began to lecture about his bad revision habits, mixed with helpful hints about what he could use. Taking her quill in hand again, she jotted down some notes. She was writing.


He was complete around her.


And he watched her.







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