Twelve Fragments in Time.
StoryGirl.
January.
Roxanne sighed, slumping down against the wall, folding her robes underneath her, her heavy book bag beside her. The thick grey clouds quickly overtook the sky, shielding the previously-there blue from view, and casting shadows onto the already-eerie castle. Halloween was drawing ever closer, and because of that, their Headmaster, Jonathan Kliff, had decided to hang the decorations up a week early. Roxanne had already been scared twice, both by the insane skeleton that loitered around the entrance to the Great Hall.
When pushing her way past to lessons, she had found cobwebs in her mouth more often than not. She had laughed gleefully when Fred had found cobwebs in his own hair, and glared daggers at him when he had finally untangled them and positioned them artfully in her hair.
And now, it seemed, everyone was at the feast, leaving the common room blissfully silent, finally silent enough for her to complete her Potions essay. Quill in hand, she opened the heavy tome that was required for the essay and began to read, tucking auburn curls behind her ears as she went.
" 'Ten Uses For Roots In Common Potions', " she read, now tapping her quill against the pages impatiently, searching for the answer. Huffing with exasperation she slammed the book shut, before gathering her bag up and storming out of the common room, shoes drumming a beat on the floor as she rushed down to the library.
Madam Pince looked up to glance up at her as she rushed in, dumping her stuff on the nearest table, quills spilling from her open bag. Sighing, she searched the aisles, running her hands over the books, some quite dusty, the others shiny, as if they had just been used. Roxanne pulled out a book, heavier than her own, and flipped it open, resting it on her knee. Her brown eyes searched the page, fingers tapping impatiently, before she rushed back to her desk, picking up the scattered quills as she went.
Pulling open her rolled-up sheet of parchment, she squinted down at her own cramped handwriting, before scrawling another sentence on the page, flipping the pages in the book before finally arriving at the right page. A bubbling cauldron had been sketched onto the page, hundreds of thousands of ridiculous ingredients being thrown in it. Roxanne muffled a snigger at this, flipping the page over once more.
"You know that isn't the right book, right?"
She jumped, dropping her quill, her brown eyes searching the darkness for any signs of movement. That wasn't Madam Pince's voice, unless she had suddenly decided to become a boy, and Roxanne wasn't stupid enough to believe that silly thought.
"Who are you?" she asked, picking up her dropped quill in a single movement.
The boy chuckled. "That's for me to know and you to never find out," he told her, and the sound of shifting something reached her ears, before another heavy tome landed on her desk with a loud thump. Madam Pince glared up, before shaking her head. Assessing that nothing was wrong, she returned to her open Daily Prophet. Roxanne sighed, before flipping the book open warily, turning the pages with uneasy slowness.
The boy laughed once more, shifting around wherever he was. "Why are you alone?" he asked curiously, and she could have sworn that she had felt the gaze of eyes upon her bare neck, the auburn curls swept off of it for a moment. "Aren't you lonely?" he said, his fingers tapping on a surface.
She smiled, shaking her head. "I'm used to being lonely. It's the only thing I can rely on these days," Roxanne told him, sucking the tip of her quill in her mouth as she scanned over the pages. The boy had been right; this book did contain what she needed. Scrawling furiously on her parchment, she quickly ended the paragraph, starting a fresh, new one in a matter of seconds.
The boy sighed, before she could hear the sound of walking footsteps. "Guess I'll go then," he said, swishing his robes around. "If you're that comfortable with being alone all the time."
Roxanne whipped her head around; expect to see the back of a boy. She didn't. What she did see, however, was the form of a boy leaving the library leisurely.
"Wait," she breathed out, staring into the darkness.
"Come back."
Her essay never did get finished that night.
"I'm used to being lonely. It's the only thing I can rely on these days." This was the quote that was required for January. I hope you enjoy this! More will be coming your way soon.
Written for the Calender Challenge on HPFFC. If you haven't already, GO check it out! :)