Lost Thoughts in the Library (Open)

Rita watched from the window as two ant-like bodies emerged from the eery tentacle-like branches of the Forbidden Forest. She looked on as the creatures parted ways, one toward the lake and the other back in the direction of the castle. She sucked on the end of her quill and squinted her bright blue eyes. She followed the second figure on its journey across the spotted lawn. The blotchy character grew in size as it came closer to the large, ominous, brick building. With a slight pause, the presence disappeared into the castle entrance and Rita looked back down at her journal. Interestingly, she got the answer to her last entry. The world was a wondrous place; the living, breathing world, full of funny coincidences. ”Was it a Creature of the Dark Dawdling on the Doorsteps of Danger?”

With that she closed her observation journal once more. Before sliding the sparsely worded essay back under her nose, she pulled the blue ribbon out of her blonde hair. Rita shook out her loose curls and massaged her temples, attempting to sooth away the tension in her stretched scalp. It was a habit to put her hair up while she was working on studies, or during class, but after a while the tight tie felt as if it was pulling her skin straight off her skull. However compulsive Rita may be at moments, she sometimes needed a release from her restraining habits. Now was one of those times.

With a deep intake of breath Rita slid her curls behind her ears and bent over the work in front of her. She really could not be late on another deadline. It would mean detention certainly, not to mention a drop in her grade, which would not look good for her future job opportunities. All this thinking about the future was distracting her though. She needed to start thinking about what was in front of her at the moment, namely, her History of Magic essay . . . due tomorrow. Furrowing her brows, Rita concentrated long enough to make a few sloppy sentences based on her previous puzzling about the plentiful pasts surrounding her. With some more scribbling and scratching she managed to get some decent work underway, however ridiculously contrived it seemed.

After successfully managing to finish another entire page, leaving her with two of the five required, she shook out her narrow shoulders a bit and grabbed another leaf of parchment. She was only partially through her next sentence when a whir of footsteps caught her attention. Rita tried to ignore the oncoming personage as much as possible, if only as long as it took to finish her phrase. Quickly she jotted the rest of her thought before the approaching noise became a distracting sight to squiggle about in her journal. For a moment she had thought the disturbance had gone by and she was free to continue with her scholarly writing. However, that was not the case.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a pair of chuck taylors and black skinny jeans. At first they appeared to be heading straight past her but in a moments hesitation they turned. Leaving a trail of thin mud behind; the distinct creak of the chair across from her solidified her fear. She looked up at a familiar brunette just in time to catch him telling her that she looked as if she were in need of a distraction. Typical. Not that she wasn’t exactly on board. “Oh Jarom! I didn’t know you knew where the library was? How ever did you find yourself here?” She said with a giggle. Looking down one final time at her essay, she supposed she should give up for the time being. It assuredly would not be the first, or last, time she would have to pull an all-nighter on account of this dreaded class. Without another thought she numbered and arranged her pages and finally stored them in her barely-bothered book and slid it all inside of her bag. . “I think it more likely my brain turn to mush from talking to you, but I suppose it’s much more fun, is it not?” Rita said with a playful smirk. With a toss of her hair and a tilt of her head, Rita’s brain had switched gears quite fluidly. She was unsure if she should take her journal out. Perhaps she should get some information from him, something about this new club of his, she had heard something about underground gambling. Or maybe she should and just not let him know she was doing it. Or perhaps she should just let herself be distracted all together. Her fingers twitched for a fraction of a second before resting peacefully on the table in front of her.

Did the boy ever stop smiling? Rita pondered the question as she stared back at his silly little grin. It was as if he was waiting for a compliment on the permanently placed prominence. Rita only used those techniques in special cases though, cases like the well-known Rodolphus Lestrange who needed to be doted on at least a little before he would divulge in any other subject. This situation however, Joram, he was someone that Rita wasn’t sure needed the attention quite as much. In fact, she was quite certain he would chase after the attention as it ran from him. “Lonely? Hah. I laugh at the very idea.” Rita said with a chortle. “Take you, for example. Much like everyone else in this castle, you walked right up to me and started this interaction all on your own.” Rita pointed out with a gesture toward Joram. A small smirk played upon her lips as she realized the truth in her words. Though there were certain stories she scouted after, most of them found a way to her by themselves. “I don’t often have to seek out people, you see. They know I’ll listen and so they speak.”

Perhaps she was being a little too narcissistic there, but it was all a part of the plan. Or at least, she was hoping a plan would formulate, and quickly. Besides, as she had thought earlier, it was quite true, really. It wasn’t as if she was the most popular girl in the school, but she was an easy ear to vent on, especially during drunken fits, which was precisely why Rita needed to get an in to that party. She was so looking forward to seeing all the scandalous pairings of students and hearing all the latest gossip from some of her usually closed lipped classmates. When Joram’s hand slapped the table after being shushed by Madam Pince, Rita let out an equally loud burst of laughter for a quick moment, not wanting to get quieted as well. “The lines just never stop with you do they? Can you even control it any more? Or is it so habituated within you that they come out without even thinking?” Rita asked with genuine curiosity. Shaking her head she chuckled to herself once more as she thought about him making the comments to professors on mistake.

Rita was amazed by the people in the school who made it their goal to sleep around as much as possible: Rod, Joram, Belatrix and the like. She had never been one to slip into another’s sheets for fun. She was far to goal-oriented for that. Messing up her reputation now would mess it up for her future in the newspaper business. If Rita planned on digging up everyone else’s dirty laundry, she had better well make sure that hers was always clean. Rita, now truly interested in what sort of thinking went behind it, continued questioning Joram. “I mean, honestly, whatever will you do when you meet someone who you truly like? Maybe even love?” She leaned her head on her right hand and let her left fall to the table in front of her, staring intently at the boy in front of her. “Would you tell them about your past? Let them find out on their own? What if they didn’t accept it?” Rita stopped herself from rambling on and gave herself a minute to breath and allowed Joram to respond.

Rita thought she had had Joram figured out before this conversation. She had pigeonholed him neatly within a womanizing, perverse cubicle. Coincidentally, this cubbyhole also held people like Rodolphus Lestrange and a few other faceless classmates. She wrinkled her brow at the boy who attested to having been in love already in his short sixteen years. “Three years ago? You fell in love at the age of thirteen?” Rita asked, raising her left brow in question. In order to not ostracize herself from her newfound companion, she added, “I find that hard to believe . . . but if you say so, I suppose I must trust you.” She was surprised at the boy’s apparent honesty. It seemed to her that it would be easier for a boy such as himself to get notches on his bedpost than someone like Rod, who was so self-centered and unflattering toward his prey.

Re-evaluating her initial reflections on the boy across from her, Rita twirled a quill between her thumb and index fingers. It was an old habit of Rita’s that she often did without much thought; it was a physical way to show the spinning notions in her head. He seemed like a much more fragile soul than she had at first expected with talk of the weight of the world. “You speak as if you know this feeling?” Rita said as she watched his fingers swim through his hair. He seemed introverted for a moment, lost in his own head. His eyes glazed over and Rita watched as the wheels in his mind spun round. She was surprised by intellectual musing, previously having seen him as a simple character; Rita had associated with egotistic, suave-like traits, not as being a thought-provoking conversationalist. He began to strum the table in a cathartic rhythm as he found his way back into focus.

Rita was taken aback by his questions. She had never considered herself as a particularly sexual person, or even romantic for that matter. She had always been too concerned with classes and her future career in journalism to even consider making those a part of her life. It was a puzzling concept to turn over in her mind, so unlike what she was used to pondering about. Unlike most others, she assumed, she was more concerned about the lives of those around her rather than being consumed by her own personal life. “No no.” Rita decided with a shake of her head. “It simply isn’t the life for me.” She said with a shaky voice, still uncertain herself. “I have always been the one that observes those lives. The one that watches them, hears of them, and takes note of them. I have never breathed the romantic air in life.” She continued to postulate her thoughts aloud. It was atypical of her nature, but for some reason she felt comfortable around what she thought may be a sympathetic soul.

Rita’s entire face seemed to scrunch in thought, “It’s not as if that lifestyle is bad. I’m quite a fan actually, otherwise there would be little to talk about in these hallways.” Rita smirked. Everyone knew how she loved to talk. “Or, say, here in this secluded crevice of the library.” Rita’s smile enhanced as she looked across the table at Joram. Rita supposed she would figure out the answers later on in life when her career was established. Experimentation in the meantime was something she thought she could live out vicariously through others.