[a.n. Ah. Writer's block really took me this time. Like really. So sorry
for the delay, really.]
disclaimer: the usual. Don't own nothin but b/d/p. [brooke, dialogue, plot].
Ron told the story with great contempt...
Brooke didn't blanche, which was a good sign. If she had, Harry might have feared rejection for Ron. Ron wasn't good at rejection.
A tinge appeared at her cheeks, an attractive on. A flush, if you will. Harry stilled, with bated breath.
She let out a laugh. "Do you really?"
Ron looked down, picking at his shoes.
She giggled. Then the giggle evolved into a full-on laugh.
Ron looked up, defiant. "Why is it funny?"
"It's not funny," she replied, stifling her laugh. Or trying to, anyway.
Ron's cheeks were red, masking his freckles. Harry tried desperately to think of something witty to say, to save the situation. And it could only come out of Brooke's mouth. The aforementioned was playing with her hair, chewing slowly, and looking down at her feet. Then, her eyes lifted onto Ron's fuschia face.
"Aren't you going to say something?"
"W-What?" He stuttered.
"Like a follow-up or something." She searched his face for any hint of something to come, anything at all. It didn't take her long to realize Ron was at a loss for words. She packed her things, got up, and said "I'm going to the Quidditch pitch. I want to see if the Slytherins' have anything on you guys. I'll see you two at dinner, ok?"
Did it look like she was rushing to get out of there? Or was it just Harry?
Ron sank to the ground, his head in his hands
**
"So that's it? She just walked away? She didn't even say anything?"
"Well, she did, it just wasn't, well, helpful," concurred Ron.
"If she didn't say anything, then maybe you have your answer."
"What are you trying to say? That if she did fancy me back, she'd say something?"
"Of course she would! If the guy she fancied just told her that he fancied her, wouldn't she say something?"
"But...but...but what if she's shy? Not that type of girl?" Harry didn't want to believe Hermione or her twitch.
"I don't know, Harry, I'm just saying what I think."
"So she doesn't like me."
"Maybe she does! Maybe Hermione's wrong!" Harry shot a glare towards Hermione, who shrugged matter-of-factly.
"Maybe..." Ron, instead of sinking even further in the armchair, got up and walked slowly and dejectedly to the portrait hole.
"I'm hungry...I'm going to go see if Dobby's got anything good cooking down there. Haven't been to see them in ages..." His tone didn't invite either one of them to accompany him.
"Alright then, see you at dinner," Hermione answered in a business-like tone. She set her books on the table and started to write feverishly, though her face still had an expression of calm. As soon as the portrait hole closed, Harry pounced.
"Why'd you say that?"
Hermione looked up, surprised at Harry's ragged tone.
"Say what?"
"Say that Brooke doesn't like Ron!"
"Because that's what I think."
"Well maybe you could have said so at another time, not right after Ron was supposedly rejected!"
"He asked my opinion; I gave it to him!"
"You used to be more sympathetic! Smart move Hermione!" He launched into an impression of her, as accurate as a boy doing an impression of girl could be. He turned his head up and said, "Oh, Ron, she definitely doesn't like you! After all, who could? Forget about her, she hates you!"
"I didn't say that!"
"That's what it bloody sounded like!"
Her big eyes didn't fill with tears. Rather, her face turned stony and her expression turned cold. "That's not what I said, Harry." She had a tone of finality.
They sat there, both of them. Doing nothing, but shooting looks of death towards the ground. Harry sat in a thoughtful trance, then broke the silence.
"You don't like Brooke, do you?"
"What?"
"You don't like her very much."
"Says who?"
"Says me!"
"Shows how much you know."
"There! You said it!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"Did not!"
"Just admit you hate her! Then it'll all be clear!"
"But I don't hate her! I don't know her well enough to hate her!"
"Then what's your problem?"
Just then, Neville burst in. His cheeks were red, and he panted heavily. "Har-Hermi-come...quickly..." Neville put his hands on his knees, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. After exhaling, he stood up straight, and said, in a clear but clearly frightened voice, "There's rumors of duel going on in the hall before the Great Hall! Everybody's watching!"
"Between who, Neville?"
"Malfoy!"
"And..."
"A girl!"
Hermione bristled at this, but still pressed on. "Which girl, Neville, which? We can't just go and watch a random duel; we've got exams to study for!"
"Says you. Those are at the end of the year; I'm going!" Harry got up and motioned at Neville to take him there.
Both of them walked, quickly, toward the hall, the noise greatening as they did so. As they rounded the corner, the sight of the crowd overwhelmed him. There was a huge swarm of people, arranged in a circle. Harry could see purple, red, and yellow, all mingled on one side. On the other side, behind who Harry now saw was Malfoy, was a great big mass of green, rowdy Slytherins. Malfoy looked at his opponent, whom Harry could not see (for he was standing behind her), paler than usual, hands unsure. Harry spotted Ron, holding his stomach as if he had been punched there, sitting off to the side, but still in the circle.
A voice, clear, rang out, obviously not for the first time. Her voice was soaked with honey, masking vendetta with a sweet ring.
"So, are you up for it, Malfoy?" Harry froze. This couldn't be who he thought it was.
"Y-you're a girl."
"Thanks for noticing."
"I can't duel with you!"
"What? Fifteen and still think girls have cooties?"
"No!"
"Then why not?"
"I-I-I—"
"You what? Afraid of being beaten by a girl? I thought you'd get over that once your voice deepened!"
Malfoy swallowed and looked his opponent in the eye. For the first time since Harry could remember, his eyes were pleading. At the comment, however, the rest of his face tried to harden. "Not here," declared Malfoy, in the most malicious voice he could muster at the time.
"Alright, then where?"
"Near the lake, right before the Quidditch field. After—"
"After nothing. You can't run away, Malfoy. We're dueling now."
She turned on her heels and the crowd parted to let her through, like a national hero or celebrity. She walked through, head held high enough, wand gripped tightly in her hand. Harry shoved through some starry-eyed second years to catch up with her.
"Brooke! What are you doing! Have you honestly gone mad?"
"I haven't gone anywhere, Harry. I just think its time for me to have a little fun with Malfoy. And not in a way that he would enjoy."
"But why?"
"Do I really need to answer that question?"
The sky was a bright blue, but dark, rumbling clouds were in the west, like a premonition. She picked a spot, quite close to the lake, and held her wand upright in front of her face, in customary dueling position. Malfoy arrived, with a sweeping of robes, and took his stand opposite her, hand slightly shaking as it held in front of his face. He could have fallen into the lake if his footing were to be lost. Ron lapsed behind, limping slightly, but trying desperately to keep up.
"What happened to you?"
"Brooke."
"So she doesn't like you?"
"No, she tried to hex Malfoy, but he redirected it to me."
"Oh god."
They stood there, face to face, Brooke looking confident, Malfoy, not so much.
"Count of three. No cheating, idiot, or I'll make sure you regret it." Her trash-talking wasn't expert, but it was frightening. She mouthed something to herself.
"Do we have to?" said Malfoy. Harry and Ron both grinned wide at his show of weakness.
"Yes. You deserve to be beaten."
"Who says you're going to beat me?" Malfoy retorted in an attempt to retain some dignity.
"Everyone. I bet even your worshippers think so," said Brooke, gesturing with her free hand towards Crabbe and Goyle.
Malfoy didn't dare turn around.
"So are we going to do this or not?"
"You still haven't given me a reason why we have to."
"Who says there is one?"
She took her position, with her wand above her hand. Malfoy closed his eyes, apparently hoping this situation would vanish, and did the same.
"One."
The crowd, now lacking scared third, second, and first years, whispered the numbers along with her.
"Two."
Everyone, including Malfoy, it seemed, lingered with baited breath.
"Three."
A splash was made, and before anyone could do, say, yell, or cheer anything, Malfoy fell, giant squid by his side, square into the lake, wand, robes, arrogance and all.
[a/n. Like it? A little unconventional and conventional at the same time. Hopefully, new chapter coming soon. Writer's block has hopefully left the building and made its way to somewhere far away, like Fiji. R&R&R!]
disclaimer: the usual. Don't own nothin but b/d/p. [brooke, dialogue, plot].
Ron told the story with great contempt...
Brooke didn't blanche, which was a good sign. If she had, Harry might have feared rejection for Ron. Ron wasn't good at rejection.
A tinge appeared at her cheeks, an attractive on. A flush, if you will. Harry stilled, with bated breath.
She let out a laugh. "Do you really?"
Ron looked down, picking at his shoes.
She giggled. Then the giggle evolved into a full-on laugh.
Ron looked up, defiant. "Why is it funny?"
"It's not funny," she replied, stifling her laugh. Or trying to, anyway.
Ron's cheeks were red, masking his freckles. Harry tried desperately to think of something witty to say, to save the situation. And it could only come out of Brooke's mouth. The aforementioned was playing with her hair, chewing slowly, and looking down at her feet. Then, her eyes lifted onto Ron's fuschia face.
"Aren't you going to say something?"
"W-What?" He stuttered.
"Like a follow-up or something." She searched his face for any hint of something to come, anything at all. It didn't take her long to realize Ron was at a loss for words. She packed her things, got up, and said "I'm going to the Quidditch pitch. I want to see if the Slytherins' have anything on you guys. I'll see you two at dinner, ok?"
Did it look like she was rushing to get out of there? Or was it just Harry?
Ron sank to the ground, his head in his hands
**
"So that's it? She just walked away? She didn't even say anything?"
"Well, she did, it just wasn't, well, helpful," concurred Ron.
"If she didn't say anything, then maybe you have your answer."
"What are you trying to say? That if she did fancy me back, she'd say something?"
"Of course she would! If the guy she fancied just told her that he fancied her, wouldn't she say something?"
"But...but...but what if she's shy? Not that type of girl?" Harry didn't want to believe Hermione or her twitch.
"I don't know, Harry, I'm just saying what I think."
"So she doesn't like me."
"Maybe she does! Maybe Hermione's wrong!" Harry shot a glare towards Hermione, who shrugged matter-of-factly.
"Maybe..." Ron, instead of sinking even further in the armchair, got up and walked slowly and dejectedly to the portrait hole.
"I'm hungry...I'm going to go see if Dobby's got anything good cooking down there. Haven't been to see them in ages..." His tone didn't invite either one of them to accompany him.
"Alright then, see you at dinner," Hermione answered in a business-like tone. She set her books on the table and started to write feverishly, though her face still had an expression of calm. As soon as the portrait hole closed, Harry pounced.
"Why'd you say that?"
Hermione looked up, surprised at Harry's ragged tone.
"Say what?"
"Say that Brooke doesn't like Ron!"
"Because that's what I think."
"Well maybe you could have said so at another time, not right after Ron was supposedly rejected!"
"He asked my opinion; I gave it to him!"
"You used to be more sympathetic! Smart move Hermione!" He launched into an impression of her, as accurate as a boy doing an impression of girl could be. He turned his head up and said, "Oh, Ron, she definitely doesn't like you! After all, who could? Forget about her, she hates you!"
"I didn't say that!"
"That's what it bloody sounded like!"
Her big eyes didn't fill with tears. Rather, her face turned stony and her expression turned cold. "That's not what I said, Harry." She had a tone of finality.
They sat there, both of them. Doing nothing, but shooting looks of death towards the ground. Harry sat in a thoughtful trance, then broke the silence.
"You don't like Brooke, do you?"
"What?"
"You don't like her very much."
"Says who?"
"Says me!"
"Shows how much you know."
"There! You said it!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"Did not!"
"Just admit you hate her! Then it'll all be clear!"
"But I don't hate her! I don't know her well enough to hate her!"
"Then what's your problem?"
Just then, Neville burst in. His cheeks were red, and he panted heavily. "Har-Hermi-come...quickly..." Neville put his hands on his knees, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. After exhaling, he stood up straight, and said, in a clear but clearly frightened voice, "There's rumors of duel going on in the hall before the Great Hall! Everybody's watching!"
"Between who, Neville?"
"Malfoy!"
"And..."
"A girl!"
Hermione bristled at this, but still pressed on. "Which girl, Neville, which? We can't just go and watch a random duel; we've got exams to study for!"
"Says you. Those are at the end of the year; I'm going!" Harry got up and motioned at Neville to take him there.
Both of them walked, quickly, toward the hall, the noise greatening as they did so. As they rounded the corner, the sight of the crowd overwhelmed him. There was a huge swarm of people, arranged in a circle. Harry could see purple, red, and yellow, all mingled on one side. On the other side, behind who Harry now saw was Malfoy, was a great big mass of green, rowdy Slytherins. Malfoy looked at his opponent, whom Harry could not see (for he was standing behind her), paler than usual, hands unsure. Harry spotted Ron, holding his stomach as if he had been punched there, sitting off to the side, but still in the circle.
A voice, clear, rang out, obviously not for the first time. Her voice was soaked with honey, masking vendetta with a sweet ring.
"So, are you up for it, Malfoy?" Harry froze. This couldn't be who he thought it was.
"Y-you're a girl."
"Thanks for noticing."
"I can't duel with you!"
"What? Fifteen and still think girls have cooties?"
"No!"
"Then why not?"
"I-I-I—"
"You what? Afraid of being beaten by a girl? I thought you'd get over that once your voice deepened!"
Malfoy swallowed and looked his opponent in the eye. For the first time since Harry could remember, his eyes were pleading. At the comment, however, the rest of his face tried to harden. "Not here," declared Malfoy, in the most malicious voice he could muster at the time.
"Alright, then where?"
"Near the lake, right before the Quidditch field. After—"
"After nothing. You can't run away, Malfoy. We're dueling now."
She turned on her heels and the crowd parted to let her through, like a national hero or celebrity. She walked through, head held high enough, wand gripped tightly in her hand. Harry shoved through some starry-eyed second years to catch up with her.
"Brooke! What are you doing! Have you honestly gone mad?"
"I haven't gone anywhere, Harry. I just think its time for me to have a little fun with Malfoy. And not in a way that he would enjoy."
"But why?"
"Do I really need to answer that question?"
The sky was a bright blue, but dark, rumbling clouds were in the west, like a premonition. She picked a spot, quite close to the lake, and held her wand upright in front of her face, in customary dueling position. Malfoy arrived, with a sweeping of robes, and took his stand opposite her, hand slightly shaking as it held in front of his face. He could have fallen into the lake if his footing were to be lost. Ron lapsed behind, limping slightly, but trying desperately to keep up.
"What happened to you?"
"Brooke."
"So she doesn't like you?"
"No, she tried to hex Malfoy, but he redirected it to me."
"Oh god."
They stood there, face to face, Brooke looking confident, Malfoy, not so much.
"Count of three. No cheating, idiot, or I'll make sure you regret it." Her trash-talking wasn't expert, but it was frightening. She mouthed something to herself.
"Do we have to?" said Malfoy. Harry and Ron both grinned wide at his show of weakness.
"Yes. You deserve to be beaten."
"Who says you're going to beat me?" Malfoy retorted in an attempt to retain some dignity.
"Everyone. I bet even your worshippers think so," said Brooke, gesturing with her free hand towards Crabbe and Goyle.
Malfoy didn't dare turn around.
"So are we going to do this or not?"
"You still haven't given me a reason why we have to."
"Who says there is one?"
She took her position, with her wand above her hand. Malfoy closed his eyes, apparently hoping this situation would vanish, and did the same.
"One."
The crowd, now lacking scared third, second, and first years, whispered the numbers along with her.
"Two."
Everyone, including Malfoy, it seemed, lingered with baited breath.
"Three."
A splash was made, and before anyone could do, say, yell, or cheer anything, Malfoy fell, giant squid by his side, square into the lake, wand, robes, arrogance and all.
[a/n. Like it? A little unconventional and conventional at the same time. Hopefully, new chapter coming soon. Writer's block has hopefully left the building and made its way to somewhere far away, like Fiji. R&R&R!]