Hi folks, squibbles here. :)
For a while I've been toying with the idea of writing about a non-mainstream HP student. I enjoy the process of developing character traits, and since not much is said about Terry Boot, I decided he'd be a prime person to choose. For those of you that don't recall this name, Terry is mentioned in the first book during the sorting ceremony. (McGonagall calls "Boot, Terry!" and the sorting hat places him in Ravenclaw.)
I also plan on bringing in Mandy Brocklehurst, another Ravenclaw mentioned during the sorting ceremony, and alternating third person POV between her and Terry.
So, that's that. Here's the first chapter of There's Something About Terry by squibbles! Enjoy!
There's something about Terry Boot.
On first glance, he really does seem like the typical Ravenclaw.
He gets caught up in heated discussions over steak-and-kidney pie with his fellow housemates. His homework comes before his Quidditch. His days are planned. He memorizes his schedule within ten minutes of receiving his timetable. He is reserved, but opinionated when he has to be.
A regular bookworm. A sharp intellect, with a sarcastic wit to match.
Typical. At first glance. But there are little things that inevitably lead to that second glance.
He clucks his tongue when he's thinking. One of his eyes is the color of bitter chocolate, the other of milk chocolate. Snowflakes stay intact in his curly hair longer than they keep shape anywhere else. He has reading glasses, but keeps them perched on his forehead when absorbed in a book. He wears a purple wristband at all times. Muggle Greek mythology fascinates him. He sleeps with a nightlight on.
All it takes is that second glance to see these quirks and become intrigued.
There is indeed something different about Terry Boot. But it's the kind of different that his peers take interest in, boys and girls alike. When he speaks, the people around him listen. An eloquent conversationalist, he can change opinions through reason.
Terry is popular. More often than not, he prefers to be alone by the lake with a good book. Yet he has a flock to turn to if he ever needs advice (although his friends usually end up coming to him). His band of mates are always up for a candid debate on the school's grading policy or just hanging out in their common room. Terry is modest and respected, but at the same time, always up for a bit of fun. Not the type of young man one soon forgets.
He stands out, but not in the ways other students do. He's not a hilarious prankster or particularly handsome. He never survived a strike of Avada Kedavra. He has accomplished no feats worthy of history books.
But there's something about Terry.
"You sound a little cocky, Captain Corner."
Terry Boot mock-saluted his best mate.
"I'd call it confident. Seriously, the Quidditch Cup is ours this year. I mean, we've got the cleverest tactics," Michael boasted.
"Gryffindor's won it since, like, before the Triwizard tournament," Lisa Turpin noted.
The three seventh year Ravenclaws were strolling through the busy hallway to their NEWT level Transfiguration class. Michael and Lisa strode on either side of Terry.
"Look, that's not much of streak," Micheal insisted. "Besides, I've got Potter figured out. All his fake dives don't fool me."
Terry laughed.
"Yeah, Potter never fools you. Except for, you know, every time we play Gryffindor."
"Shut up, Terry!" Michael exclaimed, flinging an arm out to his side in frustration, sending a scrawny brunette who was walking the opposite direction clear to the floor.
Terry slipped out from between his two friends and knelt to pick up the girl's scattered books. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Michael had hardly missed a beat and was still talking animatedly and walking with Lisa.
A real gentlemen, he is, Terry thought, scowling.
He rose to his feet, holding the girl's books.
"Thanks."
She smiled appreciatively, her cheeks flushed a rosy hue. As she dusted off the front of her robes, Terry noticed the Ravenclaw emblem on the breast pocket. He recognized her, but couldn't put a name to her face.
"My pleasure," he replied, placing the pile of textbooks in her outstretched arms.
With a final coy smile, Terry turned and paced quickly down the hall, though his friends were already out of sight. The crowd of students was thinning, and the last thing Terry needed was to be late to class.
Terry took his usual seat next to Michael just as McGonagall started the lesson.
"We have done much study on partial human Transfiguration," the professor began in her sharp, carrying voice. "The wings of an eagle, the limbs of a lion, and so on. However, full human Transfiguration takes precise concentration and numerous hours of practice."
Terry poked Michael in the arm.
"She was a Ravenclaw, you know," he whispered, trying not to move his lips.
"Who?" asked Michael, appearing completely miffed.
"That girl you clocked with your spastic arms in the hallway!" Terry reminded him, exasperated.
Michael blinked.
"What girl?"
Terry rolled his eyes and pulled a quill and a roll of parchment from his backpack.
"Forget it."
Michael shrugged and leaned back in his chair, interlocking his fingers behind his head. Terry converted his attention to McGonagall and commenced his feverish note-taking. Within ten minutes, a foot of parchment was covered with his half-printed, half-cursive scrawl. He re-read what he'd written, his eyes flicking hurriedly across the messy lines.
"Quit making that clucky sound with your tongue."
Terry pried his gaze from the notes and peered at Michael, who was looking very bored indeed.
"Sorry, I was just thinking."
Michael's eyes bugged out as they dropped to Terry's parchment.
"Merlin! You are so anal with your bloody note-taking!"
"And you are so the opposite," Terry snapped. "Do you even have parchment? Honestly, how can you call yourself a Ravenclaw?"
"It's all up here, mate," Michael stated as he tapped his hairline with a finger. "I absorb knowledge like a sponge."
"Well, you better start paying real attention. I'm not letting you copy my notes again."
"All right, all right. Typical Terry, always making me work like a dog. Where would I be without you?"
"First year," answered Terry, grinning.
"Sod off," Michael muttered with fake grouchiness.
"Make me, Spongebrain."
The boys shook with stifled laughter until McGonagall told them to calm themselves and take notes. They remained silent for several minutes; the professor's voice and the scratching of quills were the only noises heard. Terry, who was concentrating on the lecture, jumped at the sound of Michael's voice.
"Terry."
"What?"
"The clucking, mate. Knock it off."
"Sorry."
I realize nothing too important happens, but this chapter, entitled "Meet Terry", was written for a self-explanatory purpose.
Well, you've read it. What are you waiting for? REVIEW!