CHARACTER INTRODUCTIONS: Monday Mornings Are Terrible !
There was something truly unappealing about Monday mornings. As usual, Daphne Greengrass woke up, yawning and stretching as she got out of bed. Groaning inwardly, she wondered what she did to deserve such punishment -- the punishment of having to wake up early just go to her NEWT-Level Transfiguration class with Professor McGonagall. Glancing sideways, she noticed that her dormmates were still asleep. Pansy, in particular, was snoring unusually loudly. Rolling her eyes, she went off to wash her face, then proceeded to change her clothes -- no peeking! -- and brush her mousy brown hair. Nothing she was going to do was going to make her look better that morning, and she knew it too. Actually, she had known it since her First Year. Pouting slightly at her reflection, she shook her head and messed her hair up, causing it to be ruffled. Now all she had to do was go to the Great Hall to get some breakfast; hopefully she wouldn't be bothered by anyone before class. How she detested people coming up to her and asking her random questions! It was most irritating.
Then again, Miss Greengrass was hardly the noticeable person like her friends, and so she was left in the background. She, however, did not mind this since it was better than having to face with such extreme amount of attention like the Boy Who Lived. As she went down to the Slytherin common room, she was greeted by the murmurs of good mornings by her peers, and she merely nodded. Friendly greetings in the morning did not suit her well. A few younger girls smirked at her and pointed at her hair. Daphne was all too used to this; and she learned not to care what people thought of her. Pansy had once suggested that she dyed her hair darker with magic, but she had decided against it. Anyway, she had a feeling that her mother would not be very happy if she found out.
Going down the stairs of Hogwarts was no trouble at all -- the witch did have legs. Though they were too short for her own good. Daphne was considered a midget among her taller classmates, and that annoyed her. Everyone knew that anything that had everything to do with height was an unspeakable around her, or else her temper would rise and Very Bad Things would happen. It was quite true; the young lady had pushed or hit anyone who had done so plenty of times before. And even though she was now seventeen -- a supposedly mature age for a witch, she wasn't going to put a stop to that habit. A nearby portrait of a woman in a nightgown smiled weakly at her and waved, but Daphne paid no attention. Her mission was going to go to the Great Hall and have her breakfast without any disturbance.
Once she reached her destination, she took a seat by herself at her House table, pouring herself some tea, and then proceeded to spread strawberry jam over her toast. It was going to be an ordinary morning. But there was something a bit off about it. As she placed her toast into her mouth, her blue eyes glanced around the seemingly quiet Great Hall (as it was very early morning). A normal student would say that to eat breakfast in peace was absolutely normal, but for Daphne, it wasn't. Something was bound to happen later. It was better to be cautious than get oneself into a sticky trouble. Unfortunately, she was quickly distracted by her food, and kept on eating contentedly.
Until several water balloons dropped on her head, soaking her from head to toe. For a moment, she was unable to register what had just happened -- and when she did, she looked up, expecting the resident poltergeist, Peeves, floating above her. Nothing. Whipping her head around, she noticed her Second Year brother, Oliver, smirking from the Ravenclaw table. Face turning red with fury, she forgot all at once that she was wet, and started levitating food to throw across the tables. In less than five seconds, the Great Hall and its visitors were covered with breakfast.
For Anthony Goldstein, waking up was an easy task. To him, starting the day early was the best way to go, and unlike a certain brunette, he didn't need any forcing. He could have nothing planned for the day and he would still wake up absurdly early. His uniform was worn neatly, his tie was straight and his hair was unruffled, as it had always been. He was a perfect Prefect, and everyone knew it. He also wasn't going to start denying it, since it was a nice reputation to hold. Going up to his four-poster bed, he took out his wand, and quickly made his bed. Ah yes, everything was going to be immaculately perfect, undeniably tidy, and his day was going to go smoothly. As usual. Normality was something he valued most, and being the typical Prefect, he would be very displeased if that 'normality' was somehow disturbed by a rule-breaker. With green eyes and a tall figure, he would be considered good-looking; unfortunately, if it wasn't for the fact that he looked tense all the time and his hair – oh his hair. His hair was black and greasy. It wasn't his fault that he didn't want it ruffled. He heard some Gryffindors associating him with Professor Snape – but he swore that he never meant to copy the professor's hair. Anyway, obviously Anthony's hair was better-looking.
Straightening his tie once more, he went out of his dormitory, only to be greeted by younger students holding their Arithmancy books. It was quite well-known that he was exceptionally good with numbers, though according to his friend Michael Corner, it was due to his boasting. Now, that was a complete LIE. He never boasted. Or, perhaps his peers had somehow gotten the wrong interpretation. He had only told them how he had easily understood the latest chapters of the subject. Honestly; some people were so fickle. Brushing the students off with a small smile, he quickly went out of his common room. An early start; that was what he wanted – not people going around him and asking about numbers. As much as he loved studying, there had to be some sort of limit. He placed a hand on his head where Michael had thumped him with a book last night when he was talking about how he was certain that he'd be able to get a decent job at Gringotts and when he started to lecture his dormmates about the importance of planning ahead. That had hurt, and it took Anthony every ounce of his self-resistance to not thump his friend with a thicker book. Luckily for him, the Prefect – I repeat – the Prefect preferred orderliness. Problems should not be easily arising, especially in your own dormitory.
He yawned (what sort of person would not yawn at such an ungodly hour), but only when he was sure that there wasn't anyone around. No, he wasn't ready to let anyone see that he was like them – also sleepy when it came to early mornings. That would show that he was weak, and that was the last thing he wanted to show. He took his title very seriously, and he was going to make sure that he was good enough to be depended on. The sixteen year old liked having people impressed with him, and he wasn't going to start messing up the image he had put for himself. Ever since First Year, it seemed like everyone decided that he was going to Prefect, considering how rule-abiding he was and the way he was dressed. He had carried himself with dignity, though at times, he was considered a snob among many students. That sort of thing did not matter anymore, since he had what he wanted all along.
And, as usual, he walked alone to the Great Hall, to eat alone. He didn't care, though – weren't leaders supposed to be alone? He was on good terms with his dormmates and co-Prefect. A girlfriend? Anthony Goldstein didn't need a girl around to cling on to him constantly. He had told people so many times that he wasn't hormonal (yes, those were his exact words) and that he would only respect girls and regard them as study partners. Social deficiency, most probably. Sighing in relief as he nearly reached the Great Hall, he looked forward to what was for breakfast. Monday mornings meant treacle tarts and strawberry jam. Smiling in the most satisfied way, he walked into the Great Hall. Now, Anthony had always made a big deal about walking into the Great Hall – as silly as that sounded. He had always loved making an entrance.
When he was nine years old, her mother (who had spoilt him too much, God bless her) told him that walking into Hogwarts' Great Hall wearing a Prefect Badge was something that's not easy to comprehend. 'To know that you're one of the students that are depended on the most means that you are significant among the waves of students that surround you is important'. He liked being significant. Too often had he imagined people looking up at him admiringly, impressed with his looks, the way he walked, the way he did everything. And when his imagination was being extreme, he would picture fireworks exploding around the Great Hall in celebration of his entry, and sometimes when he was feeling like a bloke, he'd imagine girls in flashy outfits dancing around him. Oh, and a banner greeting him. Anthony also thought that there should be a House named after his name.
Now that would just be brill –
SPLAT. His face was covered with numerous treacle tarts. The Great Hall, filled with soft murmurs of students before, now became ghostly silent as they stared at him. As the tarts slide down his face, it left white cream on his nose and – well, practically all of his visage. It was like a bad Muggle movie, where everyone was silent, but soon, around two point five seconds later, laughter erupted. Loud, loud laughter, and they were mocking his creamy face! This was truly something unheard of – no one had ever dared to cover his face with treacle tart before. What sort of berserk person would do this sort of thing? He felt his robes being tugged, and the six footer noticed a boy smiling up at him -- a short, Second Year boy who he had noticed running around the Ravenclaw common room before. Obviously he wasn't the culprit. Someone else was.
Turning red as a tomato that could probably challenge the Weasleys' hair, he looked around the crowd of students, and finally saw who the perpetrator was. Standing near the Slytherin table was Daphne Greengrass herself, her hair looking messy as always (it always surprised Anthony since her hair was supposed to be straight). Sometimes he had a feeling that she deliberately messed her hair up since there was nothing to be done about it. Unfortunate, really – she wasn't that striking enough to catch his attention. What she managed to do, instead, was to annoy him. There were few people that could test his temper, and she was one of those people. She had a problem with her head. He still remembered that she used to spread rumours that he was half-troll and had hexed him far too many times before he was a Prefect. Seeing what she was doing now was enough to bring back memories.
"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?" he demanded, his voice unusually loud. There went the thought of having an undisturbed, peaceful morning. Out of the window. Gone with the wind. Whichever dramatic setting you'd prefer.
Putting her hands on her hips, she pointed a finger at her brother. "This has nothing to do with you, Goldy," she spat. "My idiot of a brother was being stupid as usual." Her voice as also loud, matching his. This was no surprise since the two had had these sort of arguments far too many times that he had miscounted. Anyway, Anthony never liked people raising their voice with him, especially this pathetic excuse of a Slytherin. How dare she used that nickname in public! Anthony wasn't sure whether to die from embarrassment, or keep his cool and calm composure. He chose the latter – his ego was far too big for him to start doing something silly like blushing.
"Well I can't let you start casting spells in the Great Hall," he said, calmly. Calmly. He was trying to be as calm as he could. This wasn't the first time she had defied his orders, but considering that he was in a different House, that was a given. However, he was still a Prefect. Prefects had to be obeyed. "Ten points off Slytherin and detention." This was actually the first time he was giving her detention – as much as he didn't want to admit it, he had always chickened out whenever he was thinking about punishing her. The girl had an aura of a berserk animal. He regarded her closely, expecting some sort of reaction.
And a reaction he got. Several more treacle tarts landed on his face, making him stumble back. "Ten more points from Slytherin!" he shouted, shocked at being attacked again. Before he could close his mouth, a piece of toast was neatly shoved into his mouth. The idea of keeping his cool composure dissipated at once and he kept on yelling, like a bullied, injured boy who was too pathetic to attempt a revenge, "I'll get you back for that, Greengrass!" Wiping the cream off his eyes, he saw that Greengrass had already turned around, kicked the table loudly, and then stormed out of the Great Hall.
She was an animal.
Author's Notes: This fanfiction is based loosely on the now non-existent Anthony/Daphne ship at Tragic by Default RPG (that has also died, by the way). I just decided to put it on FFN to see what people's take on it is, and maybe I'll keep updating it if people actually like it xD Hahaha, enjoy!