Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
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Author: Rulinian. Rating: PG-13 should do fine...
Author's Notes: Another HP ficlet, written for a challenge, of course. I refuse to quote who the characters are, find out for yourself.
Credits: To J.K. Rowling, for making this wonderfully canonical. I'll shut up now.
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..... Discipline. It's not very disciplinary to knock a glass of water off your table with your sleeve, especially in front of your inferiors. Not that I prefer to think of them as inferiors, of course, but certainly, they most often lack the sense of order and management that is quite compulsory.
.....Glancing at them, quite apologetically, I point my wand at the mess I had caused, muttering a drying charm. Annoyed at myself for being so uncoordinated nowadays, I walk up to my room, which I fondly prefer to think of as my office.
.....Drawing in a deep breath, I check myself in the mirror, making sure everything is worn to a point of platonic perfection. Duties are meant to be ritually performed.
.....Duty. I cannot define this as duty. Nor is it casual. Ten weeks, I've been organzing everything for this, for ten weeks, considering every word, every move, every casual gesture, planned without a single flaw, spare for my pitiful nervousness.
.....The Yuletide Ball. As I raise my hand, to knock on your door, I feel embarrassed, afraid, and pathetic. At this situation, before you, I'm an inferior. Intellect, orderliness, superiority, and about everything else that is important, you have it all. Not to mention authority, and a keen sense of style.
.....And with all your virtues, you would never go to the ball with, after all, me.
.....But hope reigns eternal, as I rap on your door, then realize there's a brass door knocker. Embarrassed, I hastily reach out for the brass ornament, but the door swings open, before I as much as touch it. With a sigh, I straighten my posture, as you glance at me from behind your desk. You're signing (evidently important) papers arranged in a neat pile, every swift move of your wrist superbly perfect, beyond excellence.
.....I open my mouth, a thousand words, all breaking up into incoherent syllables in my mind. I gape at you, awkwardly, furious at myself for losing my composure.
.....You stand up, running a hand down your silvery-gray impeccable robes, smoothing them. My breath catches in my throat, and I choke, embarrassing myself once again.
.....Words fail me.
.....You walk out of the room, your manners so glorious, as you mutter a few instructions at me. I still stand there in a daze, before your words begin to eventually make sense. Then, struck by a sudden feeling of duty consciousness, I resist the urge to scream at myself, for ever having...
.....I step outside, with a wistful sigh. Deciding to do what you had asked of me, of course. Remembering, that I was not part of the Yuletide Ball, after all. And personal affairs can only hinder progress.
.....Actually, staring dumbstruck when trying to ask someone out, really hinders progress.
.....But of course, I'll always admire you. Worship you.
.....Love you.
.....And I know, I have noticed.
.....That you still call me Weatherby.
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All the characters and books/movies/TV shows/whatever else potrayed in these fanfics belong to their copyright owners, and I do not claim ownership of them.
