Disclaimer: I do not own rights to Harry Potter. All characters and related material belong to J.K. Rowling. This is for entertainment purposes only, no money is being made.
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Quills
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spectrosilver
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a/n: Had the idea for an immature style 'crush' story, and simply couldn't pass it up. Short, simple, and in no way meaningful. Crushes and such can make people so silly. ;)
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She sucks on a sugar quill while he just sits. They're all taking notes, the full class of students. Everyone but the girl sucking on the soft-pink sugar quill and the boy to her left. The curse of the alphabet has left a Malfoy and a Parkinson with just an aisle between. She can feel each breath escape her, and sits with overly forced perfect posture. In case he looks over. She wouldn't want him to see her slouched over, no. Why, that would be absolutely dreadful! So she sits straight up and can barely breathe. Her eyes wander around the room. She can't force herself to look to the left. She's not paying attention to the class and has to look somewhere, just not to the left. So she makes a big scene, glaring at the students on her right every other minute. Because if she doesn't look over at him, she might forget he's there. Him and those grey eyes. She feels them pierce into her and has to fight not to look back at them, because if she does, she'll only get stuck.
"Parkinson." He whispers with that sparkle in his eye.
"Hm?" She says, hushed voice and eyes wide open. She has those long, black eyelashes that you'd never believe were real. She blinks and they flutter and she's looking at him. "What is it?" She asks again, impatient with his cold stare.
"Do you have an extra quill? I've forgotten my bag in the common room again." She groans and opens her bag, pulling out her favorite quill. The expensive one she got for Christmas last year. The one she only uses on really special occasions, the one she's never loaned to anyone. But he isn't just anyone and so she hands him the quill and a jar of ink. He snatches it away without another word, and begins to scribble down the notes. She looks away and never does look back. The professor stops talking and the class is over. This is the worst part. It always is. The free time between the daily lesson and dismissal. She waits the entire class period for this free time, yet she dreads when it arrives. Because he just sits there sometimes, and she just sits there and there's nothing to say. She's bored and he's bored. And they just sit. Out of discomfiture, maybe, her heart begins to race and race and she just can't do anything So she doesn't.
"Pansy," a girl comes running over, a streak of strawberry-blonde trailing behind, "are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" The raven-haired girl proudly lifts her nose and nods, replying how fun it will be.
"I hear there's some real weird shops down there," the boys says, tossing her quill back and smirking, "and a real creepy hut. I do intend to check that out." The girl stares back, accidentally locking eyes with the boy for a second too long. He doesn't seem to mind, his smirk growing wider, but she looks away, down at the quill, examining every last ripple in it. She's about to say something back when the boy's friends appear, the two idiotic cronies that they are, and steal his attention. And this time it's gone for good. She just sighs and tries to rejoin the conversation between the strawberry-blonde and a larger, heftier girl who has appeared. The larger girl begins to examine the quill, but Pansy scoffs harshly.
"Millicent! Put it down now, it's my best quill!" The larger girl is angry, and she and the strawberry-blonde take the conversation elsewhere. Alone and with no one to talk to, Pansy Parkinson sits silently and dreams of the blonde boy with the silvery eyes.
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