Chapter 11.

That evening after supper, while Beatrice was finishing up her daily library book check-out, (yes, daily), someone caught her eye. She usually had everyone down-pat that went to library at this time of day, and it wasn't who she expected at all.

It was Harry the Heroic, sitting at a table with his green notebook, his quill flying at the words he wrote. Setting down her pile at a different table, she stalked over to him, peeking slightly over his shoulder. She was a curious person, and it intrigued her to wonder what troubles Harry the Magnificent could possibly have.

Harry had escaped to the library, taking Hermione's advice, and began to write feverishly, not even knowing from where or how he was writing this all, but knowing it was true all the same.

'All the fame, the pressure, the madness that has been given to me isn't just a daily reminder that I need to be great, but it comes with it's own punishment if I don't. If I don't measure up to these expectations, if I don't make it, I'm just blending in to the rest of the Wizarding world. How can I do that? That is something I definitely refuse to do. If I blend in, if I disappear among them, that means that my entire person is completely gone. Like my name will be written down as the Boy Who Lived, but there will be no need to say how I lived, or what ever happened to me because no one bothered to find out.-'

Harry stopped writing, hearing soft breathing behind him.

Whipping around, he found her, Beatrice, standing stock still, as if afraid he might bite her. He stood, ready to yell accusations, but saw her chocolate eyes. They stopped him completely, mesmerizing him with an understanding look.

Beatrice froze, caught red-handed. She backed away slightly as he stood, but couldn't believe it was him. Harry the Brilliant, Harry the Talented, how could he feel all that he wrote and not explode? She suddenly could relate to him so much better, better than she dared to, and ran off to her books and sped out of the library.

Harry paused, not sure what had just happened. She read my thoughts, my deepest beliefs, and understood them. No one, not even Ron or Hermione, has ever grasped them, why her?

He sat back down, suddenly feeling drained. After a moment or two, he snatched his notebook up and headed up to the dormitory, his mind never letting go of those eyes.

Beatrice ran up to her dormitory, knowing it would be empty because the other girls were busy flirting in the common room.

That look, oh that look! She thought, her heart still pounding as she remembered that look he gave her. It was messed up; relieved, betrayed, shocked, (mostly shocked), and at the same time he just stood there, staring at her.

She closed her eyes and rolled over onto her back, day-dreaming for a moment that maybe he could even tolerate her. Then she recalled that first day, and the amount of hatred they seemed to share, and the vision stopped.

He was so competitive, and so was she, so that ruled out any chance of relationship, right? Right, she thought sternly, almost afraid if the answer would have been otherwise. They'd probably kill each other first. Besides, no one, not even anyone who shared this dormitory could stand her.

Sighing and picking up the mirror, she sat up and waited for Derek to come home.

It took about ten minutes from the time she started for Derek to enter the scene. He came in, dropped a large bag on the floor next to his bed, and sat down at his desk on which the mirror sat. She could see pods of sweat on him, they soaked through the shirt, and he was overall not the cleanest.

Apparently realizing this, he went to his dresser drawer and pulled out a fresh change of clothes before he went to shower, leaving Beatrice all alone in the room for another fifteen minutes.

When he finally did come back, he was fully dressed and sat at the desk again, taking out a few notebooks and textbooks from his backpack and propping them open.

Suddenly interested in what Derek had for homework, she leaned to the right to catch what was set to her left, and was fascinated by the numbers and symbols she had either forgotten or never knew.

He sat there for a moment, his face more complex then when he was working on the painting. Finally, he wrote down some numbers and sat back proudly, apparently pleased. Beatrice unknowingly smiled, he seemed so simple.

Derek glanced at the mirror after shoving his books away, and took it up in his hands. Staring for a while at his reflection, he started to make faces. Beatrice outright laughed at the goofy things he was doing, he could twist his lips on top of each other and curl his tongue up like a folded pie crust. He laughed once or twice before setting the mirror back down, then stood up and stretched his extremely muscular body.

Startlingly, Beatrice felt the pit of her stomach bolt, as if his stretching had woken up something. She glanced around the room, wondering if this was normal. She turned back to the mirror, glad to see he had stopped.

A shrieking came from the lower level, "Derek, supper's ready!"

Derek rolled his eyes, his playful smile revealing his all-too white teeth as he rushed out the door, the scene blackening.

Beatrice finished her notes lazily, glad for a moment that there was no one around as she thought. Derek, he seemed so…charming, yet he was a world away from her. She shook her head of that, wishing that she had never been in this class. She couldn't handle all this, and it had frightened incredibly her when her stomach looped. Did she have a crush on him already?

Besides, even if he wasn't a Muggle or she wasn't a witch, he would treat her just like Harry the Marvelous; like a fly on the wall or an invisible cloak in the dark. Someone that wasn't worth knowing just because popularity isn't something she worries about.

Throwing the notebook and the mirror back into her bag, she pulled out her latest novel, Spellwish, and decided even if the realms she read about weren't real, at least they didn't judge her.

And as she dove into a different yet relatable realm, she couldn't help but muse about Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, now the Boy Who Wouldn't Leave Her Mind.

Another note: Spellwish isn't an actual book, I just thought the name sounded magical.