The next week was perfectly horrid for Oliver. Percy's advice about
staying away from Liz, although perfectly sound, was a bit hard to follow.
Knowing that she was in all of his classes, and that he wasn't to talk to
her, made the urge to turn around and stare at the girl who always sat in
the back harder to ignore. He wanted to apologize, to laugh if off, to kiss
her again, anything, but he hated not being able to sit with her in the
library and watch her while she read. He hated being away from her.
"Hey, Wood?" Angelina's voice brought him out of his dreaming and back to the defense against the dark arts.
"Hmn? What?"
"You've been spacey all class. Professor Lambert's gonna say something."
"Sorry." He mumbled and tried to focus on the textbook in front of him. Then the heavy clock chimed, sounding the end of classes. Oliver sighed and got up, trying to gather the loose pieces of parchment that he seemed to have scattered around the desk during class.
His ears perked as he heard laughter coming from the back of the classroom. He picked up his books and turned to see what the commotion was. It was Elizabeth that was laughing, he could see her face lighted up with a broad smile. He almost found himself wanting to smile with her, until he noticed Marcus Flint leaning over her, a thin smile on his sallow face.
Marcus Flint.
Oliver felt his fist begin to curl at the very sight of him, but seeing him laughing with Liz made his blood boil even more. Then, almost as if on cue, the two walked out of the classroom, Flint's eyes glued onto Liz as she floated up ahead of him.
It was everything he could do to keep from throwing his book at Flint's pointy little head. What in the world did he thing he was on about? Looking at Liz like that, like she was… exquisite. He sighed. Could he really blame someone for seeing in her what he had, even if that someone was a slimy git? Of course he could, he thought as he sauntered grumpily out of the classroom, fuming.
He never should have kissed her, he thought. If he'd just kept his hands to himself, it'd be him walking with her and not Flint. He grunted, causing a couple of first years walking past him to jump. What was he going to do? Percy said not to talk to her, but every fiber of his being screamed because he wasn't talking to her. He missed being with, her talking to her, smelling her… it was ridiculous, of that he was well aware, but somehow it didn't matter. He had to be back on speaking terms with Liz, no matter what. A small smile pulled onto his face as his feet resolutely ushered him towards the library.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Liz sat quietly in the library, at her usual table, Complete Works opened on the table before her. Her eyes grazed over the finely printed words, but were mind was blurring with subjects Shakespeare had never even dreamed about. All week she'd been having the strangest nightmares, and every night she'd wake herself with crying. The only images she could pull from her memory were broomsticks flying about a Quidditch field and Slytherin's banners flapping wildly in a strong wind. She thought she could make out faces and bodies, two more specifically, Wood's and Flint's, but she had no idea what it meant.
A nearby crash of books drew her attentions from her dreams and towards the bookshelves behind her. Liz stood up and found that an entire row of books had been emptied onto the floor, the pages bent and lying crazily open. Liz's face furrowed slightly as she looked about for the culprit. Oddly enough, she found no one around at all. The halls and tables were empty, as was usual this time of evening. Most of the students stayed in their common rooms, but Liz had always preferred solitude, and found that library suited here disposition better than anywhere else.
That's a lie, a small, nagging voice in the back of her head whispered, you never felt alone with Oliver…
Liz shook her head, as if trying to clear the voice out, and it seemed to work. She headed for the books and knelt down, gently righting the books and restacking them onto the shelf. She'd often wondered if she shouldn't be a librarian. She'd be perfect for the job. She didn't know anyone who was quieter than she was, or who had a greater respect for books. Oliver… the voice began again, but Liz just clamped her teeth shut and ignored it. Oliver was the last thing she wanted to think about, now or ever.
And yet, for all of it, she missed him. He was her first friend at Hogwarts, had shown her to the library, walked her to her classes. She felt safer with him than she did with anyone, more at home by his side than she did even in the grandest of libraries. But what could she do?
She ran her fingers along the smooth, leathery spines of the newly shelved books and sighed. She wished she were a heroine in a book. They always make the right decisions and know exactly what to do, she thought. "They also always get the guy." She murmured under her breath, thankful for her solidarity.
She slowly made her way back to her chair and collapsed into it with a heavy sigh, running her fingers over her eyes. She opened her eyes, letting her hands drop to her lap, and began reading again, but something stopped her. A folded piece of parchment interrupted the methodical monotony of the black print. Liz leaned forward and picked it up. It was school parchment, she was sure of it. The yellowed grain of the paper was identical to the kind McGonagall wanted used on all of her essays. She slowly opened it, and slightly gasped as fine, swirling, black ink came to life before her eyes. The letters had been enchanted to write as soon as the paper were opened, it seemed, so as Liz watched, the note rewrote itself, as though ghostly hands were moving over the sheet. Liz's eyes widened as she read the words…
She walks in beauty, or does she so?
Her gait is graceful and lady-like enough.
I swear I never saw a goddess go,
But her sweet step makes honeyed milk seem gruff.
Her hair could set the deepest night to shame,
Yet unkempt and unmannerly it is.
Her smile, so askew, and yet so tame,
Could melt this heart of stony make, and 'tis
Not the sun which lights the midday sky, but
Her holy-peace eye that sparks like fire on
Pentecostal souls. My intentions rot
My teeth, like sweetmeats, and hope for my child.
That its mother may this goddess be,
I may forfeit this lone immortality.
The note dropped from Liz's fingers and floated gently to the floor, like a feather. She stared ahead of her into the dark library that surrounded her for what seemed like forever. Then, ever so slowly, a smile pulled at the corner of her mouth and lit up all the way into her eyes. She sat there beaming for the longest time before she quickly bent over and grabbed the note and shoved it in between the pages of her notebook, and shot out of her chair, gliding giddily through the library towards the hall.
From behind a nearby bookshelf, Oliver sighed, smiling.
"It's a start," he said quietly as he slowly followed suit and meandered towards the hall. "It's a start."
"Hey, Wood?" Angelina's voice brought him out of his dreaming and back to the defense against the dark arts.
"Hmn? What?"
"You've been spacey all class. Professor Lambert's gonna say something."
"Sorry." He mumbled and tried to focus on the textbook in front of him. Then the heavy clock chimed, sounding the end of classes. Oliver sighed and got up, trying to gather the loose pieces of parchment that he seemed to have scattered around the desk during class.
His ears perked as he heard laughter coming from the back of the classroom. He picked up his books and turned to see what the commotion was. It was Elizabeth that was laughing, he could see her face lighted up with a broad smile. He almost found himself wanting to smile with her, until he noticed Marcus Flint leaning over her, a thin smile on his sallow face.
Marcus Flint.
Oliver felt his fist begin to curl at the very sight of him, but seeing him laughing with Liz made his blood boil even more. Then, almost as if on cue, the two walked out of the classroom, Flint's eyes glued onto Liz as she floated up ahead of him.
It was everything he could do to keep from throwing his book at Flint's pointy little head. What in the world did he thing he was on about? Looking at Liz like that, like she was… exquisite. He sighed. Could he really blame someone for seeing in her what he had, even if that someone was a slimy git? Of course he could, he thought as he sauntered grumpily out of the classroom, fuming.
He never should have kissed her, he thought. If he'd just kept his hands to himself, it'd be him walking with her and not Flint. He grunted, causing a couple of first years walking past him to jump. What was he going to do? Percy said not to talk to her, but every fiber of his being screamed because he wasn't talking to her. He missed being with, her talking to her, smelling her… it was ridiculous, of that he was well aware, but somehow it didn't matter. He had to be back on speaking terms with Liz, no matter what. A small smile pulled onto his face as his feet resolutely ushered him towards the library.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Liz sat quietly in the library, at her usual table, Complete Works opened on the table before her. Her eyes grazed over the finely printed words, but were mind was blurring with subjects Shakespeare had never even dreamed about. All week she'd been having the strangest nightmares, and every night she'd wake herself with crying. The only images she could pull from her memory were broomsticks flying about a Quidditch field and Slytherin's banners flapping wildly in a strong wind. She thought she could make out faces and bodies, two more specifically, Wood's and Flint's, but she had no idea what it meant.
A nearby crash of books drew her attentions from her dreams and towards the bookshelves behind her. Liz stood up and found that an entire row of books had been emptied onto the floor, the pages bent and lying crazily open. Liz's face furrowed slightly as she looked about for the culprit. Oddly enough, she found no one around at all. The halls and tables were empty, as was usual this time of evening. Most of the students stayed in their common rooms, but Liz had always preferred solitude, and found that library suited here disposition better than anywhere else.
That's a lie, a small, nagging voice in the back of her head whispered, you never felt alone with Oliver…
Liz shook her head, as if trying to clear the voice out, and it seemed to work. She headed for the books and knelt down, gently righting the books and restacking them onto the shelf. She'd often wondered if she shouldn't be a librarian. She'd be perfect for the job. She didn't know anyone who was quieter than she was, or who had a greater respect for books. Oliver… the voice began again, but Liz just clamped her teeth shut and ignored it. Oliver was the last thing she wanted to think about, now or ever.
And yet, for all of it, she missed him. He was her first friend at Hogwarts, had shown her to the library, walked her to her classes. She felt safer with him than she did with anyone, more at home by his side than she did even in the grandest of libraries. But what could she do?
She ran her fingers along the smooth, leathery spines of the newly shelved books and sighed. She wished she were a heroine in a book. They always make the right decisions and know exactly what to do, she thought. "They also always get the guy." She murmured under her breath, thankful for her solidarity.
She slowly made her way back to her chair and collapsed into it with a heavy sigh, running her fingers over her eyes. She opened her eyes, letting her hands drop to her lap, and began reading again, but something stopped her. A folded piece of parchment interrupted the methodical monotony of the black print. Liz leaned forward and picked it up. It was school parchment, she was sure of it. The yellowed grain of the paper was identical to the kind McGonagall wanted used on all of her essays. She slowly opened it, and slightly gasped as fine, swirling, black ink came to life before her eyes. The letters had been enchanted to write as soon as the paper were opened, it seemed, so as Liz watched, the note rewrote itself, as though ghostly hands were moving over the sheet. Liz's eyes widened as she read the words…
She walks in beauty, or does she so?
Her gait is graceful and lady-like enough.
I swear I never saw a goddess go,
But her sweet step makes honeyed milk seem gruff.
Her hair could set the deepest night to shame,
Yet unkempt and unmannerly it is.
Her smile, so askew, and yet so tame,
Could melt this heart of stony make, and 'tis
Not the sun which lights the midday sky, but
Her holy-peace eye that sparks like fire on
Pentecostal souls. My intentions rot
My teeth, like sweetmeats, and hope for my child.
That its mother may this goddess be,
I may forfeit this lone immortality.
The note dropped from Liz's fingers and floated gently to the floor, like a feather. She stared ahead of her into the dark library that surrounded her for what seemed like forever. Then, ever so slowly, a smile pulled at the corner of her mouth and lit up all the way into her eyes. She sat there beaming for the longest time before she quickly bent over and grabbed the note and shoved it in between the pages of her notebook, and shot out of her chair, gliding giddily through the library towards the hall.
From behind a nearby bookshelf, Oliver sighed, smiling.
"It's a start," he said quietly as he slowly followed suit and meandered towards the hall. "It's a start."