Her right hand reflexively tightened around the quill, threatening for half a heartbeat to bend it, before quickly (read: forcingly) relaxing. Cori bit down on the urge to grumble as the unlikeliest of her circle of friends attempted to curator a scholarly tone with his “observation”.
He would not be the first nor the last person to note such a thing (even Cori knew she made a dour Hufflepuff). No, she’d surely hear about her lack of visible cheer for the rest of her life – just as surely as this wouldn’t be the last time James Fletcher, a bane to the existence of studying and good grades in Hogwarts, would come around to press her buttons. For a brief moment, she thought to tell him to go away, to leave her in peace and go harass some other poor unfortunate soul…
But, after putting her quill back in her ink well, made the decision not to.
(Sometimes, even she was surprised by the well of exasperated patience she found within herself for the short boy’s shit-stirring antics…)
Bookmarking and putting aside her tome – Unicorn Hair and Favorable Charms – she straightened up in her chair and, oh so slowly, turned to face her fellow fifth year. Her gaze was starkly deadpan and cutting, her eyes half-lidded as she cocked a brow at him. The corners of her lips threatened to pull down in a faint scowl, but she fought to keep her most neutral, unimpressed expression on her face.
“Fletcher,” she propped an elbow up on the table and rested her chin on the back of her left hand, “if your keeper skills are truly on par with your astuteness, I shall go ahead and congratulate Slytherin team on their victory this November.”
(…though her ‘patience’ did not mean she wouldn’t give as good as she got.)
He would not be the first nor the last person to note such a thing (even Cori knew she made a dour Hufflepuff). No, she’d surely hear about her lack of visible cheer for the rest of her life – just as surely as this wouldn’t be the last time James Fletcher, a bane to the existence of studying and good grades in Hogwarts, would come around to press her buttons. For a brief moment, she thought to tell him to go away, to leave her in peace and go harass some other poor unfortunate soul…
But, after putting her quill back in her ink well, made the decision not to.
(Sometimes, even she was surprised by the well of exasperated patience she found within herself for the short boy’s shit-stirring antics…)
Bookmarking and putting aside her tome – Unicorn Hair and Favorable Charms – she straightened up in her chair and, oh so slowly, turned to face her fellow fifth year. Her gaze was starkly deadpan and cutting, her eyes half-lidded as she cocked a brow at him. The corners of her lips threatened to pull down in a faint scowl, but she fought to keep her most neutral, unimpressed expression on her face.
“Fletcher,” she propped an elbow up on the table and rested her chin on the back of her left hand, “if your keeper skills are truly on par with your astuteness, I shall go ahead and congratulate Slytherin team on their victory this November.”
(…though her ‘patience’ did not mean she wouldn’t give as good as she got.)