HP:: The Study of a Boy [Andromeda/Ted::PG]
Title: The Study of a Boy
Character(s): Andromeda Black, Ted Tonks, [and a bit of Bellatrix Black]
Prompt: 02. disheveled
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1139
Author's Notes: In a weird way, this was inspired by a variety of 80s songs and has a bit of foreshadowing.
His hair is always messy. That fact is not really a bad thing, and she rather likes the way it looks. A few of his curls fall into his eyes and he is always running his fingers through it and she thinks that she would like to do the same sometime. Just reach up and clasp her fingers in his hair.
She thinks in an odd way, it makes him look a bit like a rock star. She wonders if he is a musician and if so, what instrument he plays or if he is the singer.
She decides in the end that the disheveled, unkempt look works for him and that she is quite fond of it.
His eyes are green. She likes them, finding them nice and indisputably kind. They’re the prettiest things she’s ever seen and she has grown up in a world of green. They color they are dwarfs even the green of her tie and the hangings in the common room and that awful green dress she was once forced to wear. They’re a shade unto themselves.
She wonders what he’s like. If he’s boring like most Ravenclaws or if he’s got some spunk to him. If he’s quirky and interesting and if he would be able to keep up with her, challenge her, keep her from being bored.
She watches him from her spot at the Slytherin table, examining his actions, his nervous habits, his rituals, and decides that he just might be. She lightly spins her fork around on her plate, ignoring the grating sound of tines on pewter and studies him.
She decides that it’s a shame that Ravenclaws and Slytherins don’t really have classes together, because that would be an ample opportunity to study him a different environment, see how he acts in a classroom setting, judge if he really is a clever as he could be, and if see if the disheveled appearance of his is something strictly reserved for meal times.
She studies him, and decides that today she shall sit next to him in Ancient Runes, the only class they have together. It wouldn’t be so odd, and even if people thought something of it, she’s a Black and people don’t gossip about Blacks. She wonders if he is any good at translations, and if he’s not, then that would be a disappointment. She concludes that she might not even talk to him, just sit next to him and observe up close.
Bellatrix nudges her and her thoughts are broken, interrupted by Bella’s shrewd look and questions. “Why are you staring at the mudbloods?” her sister asks, coldly, her dark eyes flicking over at the other tables.
Andromeda just shrugs. “Because I don’t understand why the school has to be dirtied with their filth,” she answers partly lying through her teeth, but so skilled at lies such as this that Bella doesn’t even notice.
The truth is, that she is fascinated by these strange creatures that are Muggles and the wizards and witches that come from them. She wouldn’t actually want to live amongst them or give up what she has, she just wants to observe them, the way one watches butterflies under glass.
Time ticks by and she looks back at the Ravenclaw table to see that the bright eyed possibly clever boy is gone and realizes that it might just be time to attend class.
She rises slowly from her seat, making no real effort to move quickly to be on time or early. She’s a Black and that name carries a lot of weight.
Bella watches her and Andromeda wonders what her sister is going to say next.
“I will see you at lunch, and we’ll talk,” her sister says, in a manner that is affectionate for her, but frigid for the majority of the rest of the world.
Andromeda nods. “Yes, I will see you then,” she answers, and she begins to turn away, but Bella grabs her arm, stopping her.
She turns and looks at Bella again, not understanding why she was stopped, and sees Bella giving her a pointed look.
“Do the family proud,” her sister orders and Andromeda nods slowly, taking this bit of advice to heart. It’s a sendoff she receives at least once a week, and she wonders what could’ve triggered it now.
Andromeda walks away from her sister and her fellow students, holding her bag and she wonders if this is a sign that she should not watch the Ravenclaw boy.
She mulls this advice and thought over until she reaches the classroom, and decides that in the end, the pursuit of her curiosity is worth the slip this time. It’s not as if anything will come of this anyways.
She can always say that he sat next to her. That’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. Not that she’d really need one.
She walks into Ancient Runes with more confidence than most seventh years posses, even though she is only a fourth year, and sees him seated in a desk near the front.
She never sits in front. Always the back, but she figures a momentary change won’t really do that much harm. She walks to the front and stands next to the open seat next to the boy.
“Is this seat taken?” she asks, looking down at him, her expression vaguely curious and apathetic.
He looks up at her and then sputters a reply, moving his books out of the way and running his fingers through his hair.
“No,” he stutters. “No, it’s not, go ahead.”
She slides into the seat, feeling his eyes watching her as she sits down and gets herself settled, pulling out her homework and opening her book. She turns her head and looks at him, noting how he quickly looks away.
“Thank you,” she says. She notices he has a smudge of ink on his nose and she taps him on the shoulder, touching the spot on her own nose when he turns to her. “You have a bit of ink on your nose,” she tells him.
He reaches up to try to wipe it away and misses the spot terribly. She rolls her eyes slightly and reaches out and touches the spot.
“Here,” she says, her delicate finger on the smudge.
He manages to successfully wipe the spot away this time. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m Ted, by the way.”
He looks at her, clearly waiting for a response. She smirks and looks at him from the sides of her eyes.
“Meda,” she answers and he smiles at her, and before the conversation can go any further the class is being called to attention.
The half-smile is still on her face she turns to the front of the class and decides that this observation is going to be well worth the risk.
Character(s): Andromeda Black, Ted Tonks, [and a bit of Bellatrix Black]
Prompt: 02. disheveled
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1139
Author's Notes: In a weird way, this was inspired by a variety of 80s songs and has a bit of foreshadowing.
His hair is always messy. That fact is not really a bad thing, and she rather likes the way it looks. A few of his curls fall into his eyes and he is always running his fingers through it and she thinks that she would like to do the same sometime. Just reach up and clasp her fingers in his hair.
She thinks in an odd way, it makes him look a bit like a rock star. She wonders if he is a musician and if so, what instrument he plays or if he is the singer.
She decides in the end that the disheveled, unkempt look works for him and that she is quite fond of it.
His eyes are green. She likes them, finding them nice and indisputably kind. They’re the prettiest things she’s ever seen and she has grown up in a world of green. They color they are dwarfs even the green of her tie and the hangings in the common room and that awful green dress she was once forced to wear. They’re a shade unto themselves.
She wonders what he’s like. If he’s boring like most Ravenclaws or if he’s got some spunk to him. If he’s quirky and interesting and if he would be able to keep up with her, challenge her, keep her from being bored.
She watches him from her spot at the Slytherin table, examining his actions, his nervous habits, his rituals, and decides that he just might be. She lightly spins her fork around on her plate, ignoring the grating sound of tines on pewter and studies him.
She decides that it’s a shame that Ravenclaws and Slytherins don’t really have classes together, because that would be an ample opportunity to study him a different environment, see how he acts in a classroom setting, judge if he really is a clever as he could be, and if see if the disheveled appearance of his is something strictly reserved for meal times.
She studies him, and decides that today she shall sit next to him in Ancient Runes, the only class they have together. It wouldn’t be so odd, and even if people thought something of it, she’s a Black and people don’t gossip about Blacks. She wonders if he is any good at translations, and if he’s not, then that would be a disappointment. She concludes that she might not even talk to him, just sit next to him and observe up close.
Bellatrix nudges her and her thoughts are broken, interrupted by Bella’s shrewd look and questions. “Why are you staring at the mudbloods?” her sister asks, coldly, her dark eyes flicking over at the other tables.
Andromeda just shrugs. “Because I don’t understand why the school has to be dirtied with their filth,” she answers partly lying through her teeth, but so skilled at lies such as this that Bella doesn’t even notice.
The truth is, that she is fascinated by these strange creatures that are Muggles and the wizards and witches that come from them. She wouldn’t actually want to live amongst them or give up what she has, she just wants to observe them, the way one watches butterflies under glass.
Time ticks by and she looks back at the Ravenclaw table to see that the bright eyed possibly clever boy is gone and realizes that it might just be time to attend class.
She rises slowly from her seat, making no real effort to move quickly to be on time or early. She’s a Black and that name carries a lot of weight.
Bella watches her and Andromeda wonders what her sister is going to say next.
“I will see you at lunch, and we’ll talk,” her sister says, in a manner that is affectionate for her, but frigid for the majority of the rest of the world.
Andromeda nods. “Yes, I will see you then,” she answers, and she begins to turn away, but Bella grabs her arm, stopping her.
She turns and looks at Bella again, not understanding why she was stopped, and sees Bella giving her a pointed look.
“Do the family proud,” her sister orders and Andromeda nods slowly, taking this bit of advice to heart. It’s a sendoff she receives at least once a week, and she wonders what could’ve triggered it now.
Andromeda walks away from her sister and her fellow students, holding her bag and she wonders if this is a sign that she should not watch the Ravenclaw boy.
She mulls this advice and thought over until she reaches the classroom, and decides that in the end, the pursuit of her curiosity is worth the slip this time. It’s not as if anything will come of this anyways.
She can always say that he sat next to her. That’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. Not that she’d really need one.
She walks into Ancient Runes with more confidence than most seventh years posses, even though she is only a fourth year, and sees him seated in a desk near the front.
She never sits in front. Always the back, but she figures a momentary change won’t really do that much harm. She walks to the front and stands next to the open seat next to the boy.
“Is this seat taken?” she asks, looking down at him, her expression vaguely curious and apathetic.
He looks up at her and then sputters a reply, moving his books out of the way and running his fingers through his hair.
“No,” he stutters. “No, it’s not, go ahead.”
She slides into the seat, feeling his eyes watching her as she sits down and gets herself settled, pulling out her homework and opening her book. She turns her head and looks at him, noting how he quickly looks away.
“Thank you,” she says. She notices he has a smudge of ink on his nose and she taps him on the shoulder, touching the spot on her own nose when he turns to her. “You have a bit of ink on your nose,” she tells him.
He reaches up to try to wipe it away and misses the spot terribly. She rolls her eyes slightly and reaches out and touches the spot.
“Here,” she says, her delicate finger on the smudge.
He manages to successfully wipe the spot away this time. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m Ted, by the way.”
He looks at her, clearly waiting for a response. She smirks and looks at him from the sides of her eyes.
“Meda,” she answers and he smiles at her, and before the conversation can go any further the class is being called to attention.
The half-smile is still on her face she turns to the front of the class and decides that this observation is going to be well worth the risk.