Chapter 1 : Of Cinderella to Sherlock Holmes
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Disclaimer: I don’t own Cinderella, The Jungle Book, Sherlock Holmes, Artemis Fowl or, of course, Harry Potter and all that jazz because I am not awesome enough;)
HP is JK Rowling, and even though it would be nice to be her, I am clearly not :)
Sherlock Holmes- Arthur Conan Doyle wrote dat shizzedybang
Eoin Colfer for le Artemis Fowl and ect.
All listed above are not written by me and no copyright infringement was intended, these were simply used because of how good they are.
Anyway, enjoy :)
I was sat in a little alcove in the back of the library, eyes flitting over a page of text from a dark blue leather bound book, reading of heroes and heroines, monsters taller than skyscrapers, and landscapes that were so beautiful and mystical that they were almost impossible to comprehend. I had enchanted the book to appear as any other book you could find in the library, today it seemed to have taken on the look on a herbology textbook- funny, considering I didn’t even take the subject, but nobody would have particularly noticed anyway.
I didn’t want them knowing about my secret obsession with muggle tales- ranging from Cinderella to Sherlock Holmes to Artemis Fowl- and I didn’t want them to know that the only reason my everyday clothing was very plain and never seemed to change was because I spent any money I earnt in a muggle bookshop I’d become so closely attached to.
However, the spell hiding my secret seemed to only work at a safe distance- luckily nobody would have the nerve to even consider sitting within twenty metres anyway, unless forced to as punishment for messing around with another student; nobody would sit next to the seemingly serious girl with a girl that could, from what I’d heard, rival one of the librarian: Ms Pince.
So I was pretty much safe from the embarrassment of going from the ‘serious girl’ into ‘fantasy realm girl’. Sure, it sounds a little over-dramatic, but if I turned out to be obsessed with fairy tales and magical creatures in muggle books, I’d find myself being pulled into rooms with the Scamander twins, intent on making me go on nargle hunts with them and expecting me to break rules in order to sneak some sort of weird and wonderful creature out of Hogwarts, and into their home.
And I was not breaking rules over them.
Anyway, I was confident that nobody would sit on my table. In fact, I was certain.
“Hey, do you mind if I sit here?”
I found myself involuntarily wincing at the irony of what I’d just been thinking, before raising my eyes to the male in front of me:
Tall, at least 6”3, black scruffy hair that went down to just below his ears, deep brown eyes- the type that sappy girls could go on about ‘losing themselves inside his eyes, before, of course, he finds himself inside of them, red and gold striped tie completely askew, collar up in an apparently ‘cool’ fashion, the sleeves of his school shirt rolled up so much that he may has well have just purchased a short-sleeved shirt in the first place, and a smirk so arrogant and devious that he began to remind me rather a lot of the snake from The Jungle Book.
After assessing all of the characteristics, I could only come to one conclusion:
James Sirius Potter.
It was clear that my time wasting was bothering him a little; he had started to look rather uncomfortable as I surveyed him and his every movement, and I allowed the corner of my mouth to give a slight pull upwards, in an almost-smirk, before suppressing my humour and returning once again to the serious façade.
“Yes.” I responded, tone dull as my eyes flitted back to the current tale I was engaged in, The Hobbit by J.R.R Tolkein. That was, until I heard him shuffling around as he lowered himself slowly into the chair opposite.
“What do you think you are doing?” I asked him, feeling my eyes glaring into him, golden and dangerous, like molten lava, as he looked up at me, seeming rather bemused
“You said ‘yes’… Meaning I could sit here?” He sounded very unsure of himself and his actions
So you’re afraid of me Mr Potter?
I vowed to store that as information that could be used if I ever had to go through the experience of running into (or as the case may be, being run into) him.
“Wrong.” I responded, only deciding to clarify my response by the fact that he still looked confused “You asked me if I’d mind if you sat there, I said ‘yes’ as in, I do mind. So I’d rather you’d leave, thanks.” After all, I couldn’t have him- of all people- or anyone, for that matter, finding out that my serious façade was just that:
His face finally morphed into a slightly not-so-bemused expression, looking more offended than anything. I shot him a questioning glance and he finally worded what his face was attempting desperately to get across- rather terribly I might add, I hoped he didn’t plan on taking up an acting career, because he would be quite pitiful at it.
“Why?” he asked, sounded like a lost puppy and it took a lot of control to stop myself laughing at the pout that had worked onto his usually arrogant face
“Because, Mr Potter,” I refused to grace him with his first name- after all, I didn’t know him, and I didn’t particularly embrace the idea of getting to know him either- “I do not know you, nor do I wish to know you either. From the behaviour you have shown in the classes we have together and al those particularly ignorant and idiotic pranks you play, while still getting away from punishment, it is clear that- even though you publicly announce your wishes to not constantly be in the shadow of your father; the boy-who-lived must, after all, cast rather a large shadow, you are still willing to use his fame to your advantage and, frankly, I’d rather make friends with a pig; they are far less dramatic and not as…well, pig-headed. Ironic, isn’t it? So how about, instead of pestering me like a mosquito out for blood, why don’t you go and find one of your Potter club cronies to sit with and you can make the difficult decision as to which one of those sluts you will be sleeping with tonight, while you leave me to get on with my studying?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could even attempt to stop them- not that I wanted to prevent their escape anyway; he deserved a bit of blunt truth once in a while.
He sat there, mouth wide open and eyes the size of golf balls; a picture of astonishment and looking vaguely like a goldfish. He finally took control, attempting to out glare my lava-like gaze; needless to say he was unsuccessful in doing so. It gave me a slight satisfaction that I, the serious girl with no apparent emotion or imagination could cause such an effect on one of the school’s biggest players. At last, the boy gave up in trying to defeat my burning eyes, and instead spoke
“What did you just say?” In all honesty, it was more of a demand than a question- and I don’t take too kindly to demands, so instead, I allowed a sickeningly sweet smile onto my tanned looking features and simply whispered a calm response
His face twisted into a disgusted-looking scowl and, grabbing his things as he did so, he pushed himself off the chair and stood up to his full height. I thought he’d finally leave, but something stopped him. Suddenly, I found him within inches of my face, tearing into the personal bubble I had been so fond off, before he moved so his lips were right next to my ear
“That doesn’t look much like herbology, honey. If that’s what you use to study, then I don’t understand how you could achieve the grades you do.” I could almost feel his smirk as he breathed the words. My eyes widened and my breathing became harder to control as he kept on talking “But don’t worry, love, I won’t tell anyone; I wouldn’t risk you losing that cold pretence you have going for you,” my eyebrows furrowed slightly, confused as to why he wasn’t going to spread it round like wildfire. “But remember,” he continued, lowering his voice even more so it was barely even audible “you owe me one.” And then he was gone, with a wink and I was left worrying as Ii thought of all the possible ways he could use this to blackmail me into doing anything he wished.
My forehead fell against the table and Ii closed my eyes, wishing I could wake up from all the chaos, like it was just a dream, like so many muggle tales would tell.
But of course, that is just a fairytale.
Damn my arrogance.