FIC: Fiction in the Spaces Between (Ravenclaws, PG)
Title: Fiction in the Spaces Between
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Justin, Terry, Michael
Rating: PG
Word Count: 563 words
Summary: Lisa Turpin watches Ravenclaws from the sidelines.
Additional Notes: For the fanfic100 prompt Middles. Also for siobhanohare, because I couldn't finish the other fic just yet without getting distracted by this one. This was only supposed to be 100 words. :| Inspired in part by Telling Stories by Tracy Chapman. A little scattered, a little weird, I hope you forgive me. :|
She spends the hours making up stories. Curled up against the large leather chair in the corner of the common room, she watches her Housemates studying, flirting, gossiping, and in her head are various backstories to explain every glance, every movement, every pause in speech.
Terry Boot enters the room, face flushed and nearly stumbling over himself, and she imagines him coming back from some romp in the Room of Requirement with a mysterious Slytherin girl. His glasses are slightly askew and she imagines painted fingernails removing them haphazardly, a forceful hand tugging on blue-and-bronze tie to pull the poor boy closer, scarlet lips pressing against Terry's.
"You aren't listening to me," he points out patiently, although this was the seventh time he'd had to say something.
"Mm?" Bright blue eyes look up at him, and a shamelessly brilliant grin is thrown his way.
He sighs. "Stop that."
"Stop what?"
He feels a naked foot rubbing up his leg, and he swallows hard, forcing himself to reread his Arithmancy notes. "Justin, please."
Michael Corner follows him, pouting petulantly and glaring at Cho Chang, who was in the huge couch with most of the Quidditch team. She remembers the break-up a few days ago, how it had been the subject of mild gossip among the girls, and she feels a pang of pity for Michael, who must have still been a little bitter over the whole affair.
"It hasn't worked!" he complains, kicking a rock that had defiantly placed itself in his path.
She shrugs, long black ponytail bobbing along with her head. "I told you, you're using the wrong tactic."
"Oh? What tactic should I be using then?"
"You ought to ask him to tutor you in Arithmancy or some such subject," she replies, glancing at him slyly from the corner of her eye.
His reaction comes belatedly. "What."
"You don't have to believe me if you don't want to," she says. "But check out the library tomorrow, if you like. That Hufflepuff could teach you a few things."
Cho Chang pays him no heed, and she watches her from behind her huge copy of A History of Hogsmeade, slightly contemptuously, imagining that Cho simply liked validation, and boys, and perhaps because she was pretty and popular got what she always wanted, including Roger Davies, who'd just leaned over to whisper some secret in her ear, causing the both of them to grin conspiratorially as they discuss in hushed tones. They must be planning some tryst in the Quidditch sheds sometime soon, she surmises, now that Cho's available again.
"She's looking at you again," he whispers.
"She is not," she hisses back, although a corner of her mouth lifts up in an irrepressible grin. "Is she really?"
"Doesn't look too friendly, though."
She sulks a little. "I don't understand why she loathes me."
"Who can say what goes on in the minds of the quiet ones?" he asks, almost philosophically.
She spends the hours making up stories. Curled up against the large leather chair in the corner of the common room, isolating herself from the daily lives of her Housemates and watching from outside their circle, she assumes drama after intrigue after secret, studying every small action to form conclusions of her own, never knowing just how far she strays from the truth in between what she sees.
Ravenclaws don't really know everything.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Justin, Terry, Michael
Rating: PG
Word Count: 563 words
Summary: Lisa Turpin watches Ravenclaws from the sidelines.
Additional Notes: For the fanfic100 prompt Middles. Also for siobhanohare, because I couldn't finish the other fic just yet without getting distracted by this one. This was only supposed to be 100 words. :| Inspired in part by Telling Stories by Tracy Chapman. A little scattered, a little weird, I hope you forgive me. :|
She spends the hours making up stories. Curled up against the large leather chair in the corner of the common room, she watches her Housemates studying, flirting, gossiping, and in her head are various backstories to explain every glance, every movement, every pause in speech.
Terry Boot enters the room, face flushed and nearly stumbling over himself, and she imagines him coming back from some romp in the Room of Requirement with a mysterious Slytherin girl. His glasses are slightly askew and she imagines painted fingernails removing them haphazardly, a forceful hand tugging on blue-and-bronze tie to pull the poor boy closer, scarlet lips pressing against Terry's.
"You aren't listening to me," he points out patiently, although this was the seventh time he'd had to say something.
"Mm?" Bright blue eyes look up at him, and a shamelessly brilliant grin is thrown his way.
He sighs. "Stop that."
"Stop what?"
He feels a naked foot rubbing up his leg, and he swallows hard, forcing himself to reread his Arithmancy notes. "Justin, please."
Michael Corner follows him, pouting petulantly and glaring at Cho Chang, who was in the huge couch with most of the Quidditch team. She remembers the break-up a few days ago, how it had been the subject of mild gossip among the girls, and she feels a pang of pity for Michael, who must have still been a little bitter over the whole affair.
"It hasn't worked!" he complains, kicking a rock that had defiantly placed itself in his path.
She shrugs, long black ponytail bobbing along with her head. "I told you, you're using the wrong tactic."
"Oh? What tactic should I be using then?"
"You ought to ask him to tutor you in Arithmancy or some such subject," she replies, glancing at him slyly from the corner of her eye.
His reaction comes belatedly. "What."
"You don't have to believe me if you don't want to," she says. "But check out the library tomorrow, if you like. That Hufflepuff could teach you a few things."
Cho Chang pays him no heed, and she watches her from behind her huge copy of A History of Hogsmeade, slightly contemptuously, imagining that Cho simply liked validation, and boys, and perhaps because she was pretty and popular got what she always wanted, including Roger Davies, who'd just leaned over to whisper some secret in her ear, causing the both of them to grin conspiratorially as they discuss in hushed tones. They must be planning some tryst in the Quidditch sheds sometime soon, she surmises, now that Cho's available again.
"She's looking at you again," he whispers.
"She is not," she hisses back, although a corner of her mouth lifts up in an irrepressible grin. "Is she really?"
"Doesn't look too friendly, though."
She sulks a little. "I don't understand why she loathes me."
"Who can say what goes on in the minds of the quiet ones?" he asks, almost philosophically.
She spends the hours making up stories. Curled up against the large leather chair in the corner of the common room, isolating herself from the daily lives of her Housemates and watching from outside their circle, she assumes drama after intrigue after secret, studying every small action to form conclusions of her own, never knowing just how far she strays from the truth in between what she sees.
Ravenclaws don't really know everything.