The World is Round
By Nyx
This is a little fic about jealousy and human emotions. I don't know who the quote is by; I heard it on the radio. If you don't like it, I don't care, because this was one of those glorious fanfictions that just wrote itself. Flame away, baby - the firefighters are standing by.
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It's crazy thinking/Just knowing that the world is round/And I'm here, dancing on the ground/Am I right side up or upside down?/And is this real or am I dreaming?
*
She's a killer. It's in the way she moves, the way her exotic eyes rest on yours. It's in the way she swings her hips and speaks in that low, sultry voice, reeling you in and spitting you out. She calls herself Jane Doe. She's anything but average, anything but anonymous. She's something straight out of "Arabian Nights," something sinister from the desert or the jungle. A Venus fly-trap, luring prey with honey and wine and then snapping down on them when they least expect it.
Nobody else can tell.
I would've thought that our illustrious young Minister would have recognized her for what she is, but he's a bachelor and as caught up in her spell as every other person who has met her. The girls flutter and giggle and ask her to teach them the dances she does so well. The men vie for her attention. The children dream of being as glamorous as she someday. Jane Doe plays her sexuality for everyone, animal, vegetable or mineral, and they all respond. It makes me slightly sick.
Looking on, stoic and silent, I wonder if maybe I'm just jealous. Jealous that she's everything I never was; jealous that even my best friends in all the world won't spare me a glance when she walks by. But I was never the jealous type, and to tell the truth, I wouldn't want to be her - I have an idea of how much time she has to spend on those silky tresses each morning. It's atrocious. Maybe I am just jealous. Maybe it's just my bitter little mind, the mind that spends at least an hour every day cursing my tendency towards pudginess and plainness.
A man comes over to me, sitting down next to me. It's the Minister, and I think that perhaps he's realized what Jane Doe really is. But no, he's just smiling like any other person who only wanted to chat. He asks me why I'm not dancing, and I reply that I'm feeling a little ill. He takes it at face value, but pulls me out onto the dance floor anyway. The music is slow, and I can't pay attention to him as he chatters on about whatever is news now - the updated Muggle Protection Acts or the changed Underaged Wizardry laws or something. I smile and nod into his shoulder and mutter my agreement, not listening to his words. I'm really watching Jane Doe, as she sways with her partner. His hands are on her ass. Slut, I think, but because I don't voice it nobody notices.
And then I agree to some unimportant statement, and the Minister seems unutterably surprised and pleased. He pulls me into the tightest hug I've ever felt in my life, tighter than even when we left Hogwarts, and I wonder what he's just said. I'm not paying attention to Jane Doe anymore. I can feel his arms around me and feel his aura of euphoria and he whispers in my ear that he never thought I would say yes, and am I going to change my name? and that he loves me so much.
This is insane, completely crazy, like one of the wacko dreams I've had. Have I just accepted a marriage proposal?
And do I have Jane Doe to thank for it?
*finis*
Disclaimer: The Minister of Magic belongs to J.K. Rowling. Jane Doe is © Nyx 2000. This fanfiction is rated PG.
A/N: Some people may not understand that last statement. Usually I don't explain (I go by "never explain, never complain") but this time... because 'she' (whoever she was) was watching Jane Doe, 'she' wasn't paying attention and 'she' answered on autopilot... so she has Jane to thank... never mind. As always, this story leaves much to the imagination, so cut 'n' paste in any characters you want.
~Nyx~
the gaudy, blabbing and remorseful day
has sunk into the bosom of the sea
-Shakespeare
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