Splinched
The Life and Times of Tracey Davis
Chapter Three
By Granny Adams
On the rainy day that followed, I had no classes for the remainder of the afternoon. So rather than waste the day away in my dorm, where plausibly I could be alone with Daphne, I chose to spend my time in the common room. I brought along all of my school work, most of it due at the end of the week- needless to say, it wasn't very pressing that it be completed. Apparently, many of my housemates had the same time free from classes, the common room was busy with people. I had no choice but to sit in one of the enormous, black armchairs that was isolated from the main cluster of chairs.
It was almost funny, imagining myself from someone else's line of vision: gawky girl wearing white sweater, completely engulfed by immense black chair. The humor gave way to sadness as a particular loud burst of laughter came from the cluster of people sitting near and around the fireplace.
There really was nothing more uncomfortable than having to enlighten an acquaintance that 'you and a certain other person aren't on speaking terms with each other'. Not only did that person walk away, embarrassed for bringing up a delicate subject, but you then were reminded of another unpleasant detail about the sad little life you lead.
The only reason I bring it up is because that sort of situation seems to have been magnetically drawn to me. I suppose over the years that Daphne and I had been so inseparable that I was considered her 'keeper'. I couldn't even count the times that someone had approached me about reminding her that "she owes 5 sickles", etc. Then, I calmly, almost automatically, would tell them, "She and I don't speak to each other any more. We haven't in about 2 ½ weeks and I don't see that changing in the foreseeable future. So sorry that I couldn't be your personal tax collector!"
Of course there was that to keep me good and depressed, and then there was being around the person I was in a fight with almost twenty-four hours a day. That also proved quite painful. The same classes, same friends, same dorm.. Oh, there was all that and then, the absolute pinnacle of my existence, being pursued by the same boy that this ex-friend of yours' had been in love with since before the summer holidays.
As you might have already guessed, I'm not being hypothetical in the least bit. Quite literally, that was my life. It's a rotten reality.
I had absolutely no one to consort with. The whole 'new friends or certain death compact'? Well, it hadn't exactly happened quite yet- I'd actually been keeping up with all of my school work, just to spend all the free time. What a sad, pitiful creature I had become.
I forced myself into doing my work on my lap, since the nearest table in the Common room was being used as a footrest. I couldn't see who the feet belonged to, just long, trouser'd legs crossed leisurely, resting on the tabletop. I decided to start with the charms paper, due this coming Friday. It wasn't a large assignment; as far as N.E.W.T's charms was concerned, it potentially could've been far worse. I uncapped my black ink, setting it on the arm of the chair, precariously wobbling before settling down. It would've tipped over at the slightest vibration, so I was careful to hold it when someone came tromping by. I used my charms text as a surface to write on. I was ready to dig in to this essay.
A few sentences into my paper, there was a huge pounding noise, and the vibrations that accompanied it. I reached for my inkwell on the arm of the chair without looking, but it was noticeably absent. The ink had already fallen and spillt onto the chair, sending specks of ink onto my pristine sweater. I exhaled deeply, reaching down for my bag. What fucking dolt had jumped, I wondered. Anger poured into my chest as I began to root through my bag, feeling for an object long and wooden. I would have to deal with Sir Idiot (or Dame Idiot-ess, perhaps) had done that after I cleaned the spill. I did not expect to feel a meaty finger jabbing my shoulder a moment afterward. I looked up enough to see that the pair of trousers taking up the coffee table had come over to talk to me.
"Hello," the Trousers said suavely, and I tilted my head up. A mostly unattractive boy with pale and lifeless eyes was staring down at me. "What're you doing down there, Tracey?" He said, in a remarkably condescending, yet incredibly stupid, voice. Of course, Adrian Pucey felt as though it would be entirely appropriate to come and speak to me after the scene on the train. Did he really set out to ruin my life, or was I just being paranoid? I was sure it wasn't the latter.
I sat up, wand in hand, my sweater still saturated in ink. "Nothing at all," I replied cautiously.
"What happened to your shirt, there?" He inquired most unceremoniously, pointing at the largest globule of ink which, funnily enough, happened to be situated right upon my bosom, for lack of a better term.
"My ink fell," I answered simply, due to the fact that I was so furious, so stunned that he would- what an insolent, cheeky thing to- how dare he actually..
"You got to be careful about that," He wisely noted, "Is it dried yet?"
"No, I don't think it has dried yet," I said in return, practically biting my tongue to keep myself from correcting his poor grammar, all the while keeping my gaze away from my own chest, because obviously, that's what he intended for me to do.
"Oh." He seemed to be straining to find something else to say, his mind running through his database of pathetic pickup lines- or maybe words. I continued looking at him, waiting for him to either speak or leave. Didn't he have enough sense to realize that I clearly did not want to speak to him? Was he receiving the nonverbal cues that I wished to be left alone- or was he really that daft?
"So, ehm.. You know, uhhh, even with all that ink on your top, I think you look really beautiful." Apparently, he was that daft.
It was so appropriate that, at that exact moment, Theodore entered the Common Room. He appeared to be heading for his own dormitory, but he must've seen Pucey standing over me, and my white sweater desecrated by my own ink. He must've seen the uncomfortable expression written all over my shrinking body, because he smiled at me, and bit his lip in a sort of grimace. Shortly after, Millicent, too, entered the Common Room and went toward him. His attention shifted immediately from myself to.. his girlfriend, whom he gave a peck on the cheek before walking off.
It was all so ironic and perfect that it nearly made me sick- how absolutely correct Pansy actually was. About everything.
So this is my life, then. This is how I am to live.
I snapped back to the conversation in which I was, grudgingly, a participant.
"Thank you, I'm very flattered," I told him mechanically, in a voice completely unknown to me.