Ellison walked across the courtyard towards the library. The last remnants of summer had disappeared over the course of the month, the leaves turning bright shades of orange and red and beginning to fall from the trees that once held them.
The air this morning was crisper than usual, causing Ellison's cheeks to flush a bright shade of pink, and a shiver to roll down her spine. She stood there for a moment, reveling in the cold morning air. Each year, she would long for when the days of summer would end, ushering in the cooler and in her opinion, prettier, days of autumn.
It was a Saturday, but the courtyard and surrounding corridors were empty of its usual occupants. Everyone had made their way down to the Quidditch pitch after breakfast to watch the match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. However, she had reluctantly stayed behind.
Her morning would not be filled with brooms flying high overhead. No, she would spend her morning in the confines of the library finishing yet another Defence Against the Dark Arts assignment.
This particular essay on werewolves was not due for another two weeks, but she was determined to get a jump on things. Defence Against the Dark Arts had never been a subject she was necessarily keen on, so she always found the assignments to be more of a chore than the ones given for her other classes. That was probably why she always found herself finishing them at the last possible moment.
She pushed through the large wooden doors of the library and walked in, scanning the room for an empty table. To her not so much surprise, the room was completely empty. That was, except for a boy sitting at the back of the room, his dark eyes scanning the pages of the book he held in his hands. Ellison walked down the aisles of tables and chairs until she reached the preoccupied boy.
"Didn't fancy watching Quidditch this morning?" The dark haired boy looked up at her, taken aback by her sudden appearance. Tom quickly closed the book he had been so immersed in just moments before and slid it into his bag.
"Quidditch doesn't interest me," he said, his demeanor calm, but his expression told Ellison her presence was not particularly a welcomed one.
"I'm not interrupting, am I?" she asked sitting down in the chair across from Tom.
"Nothing that can't be revisited later." He replied, a hint of bitterness in his voice.
"Well good, because I'll be needing some help with this essay," she said, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill from her bag. Tom's eyebrows rose, giving her a questioning look.
"I'm sorry, have I missed something?"
"The Defence Against the Dark Arts essay? On werewolves?" Ellison replied pulling out her Defence Against the Dark Arts volume 6. It hit the table with a soft thud and she opened it, thumbing through the pages until she reached the section they had been assigned to read on werewolves.
"You mean the one that is due in two weeks?" Tom asked, a small smirk forming on his face.
"Yes. That one." Ellison replied.
"Getting a jump on things are we?" Tom asked, his smirk widening.
"Well I'd rather not be sitting at the ruddy breakfast table finishing it the morning its due if that's what you're asking," she retorted. Maybe it was how early it was, or the fact she was missing a Quidditch match to do school work, but her patience was wearing thin and Tom's smug expression was annoying her more than usual. She returned her attention to the pages before her, scanning the brief section on werewolves the book offered.
"Well... for starters, you're not going to find what you need in that book." She looked up, to see a smirking Tom leaned back in his chair, watching her with mild interest.
"Well where exactly would I find it then?" Ellison responded. His smirk grew wider. Not giving him a chance to make whatever clever remark he had ready, she stood up.
"Fine, I'll just go find the book I need myself," she snapped and turned, walking towards the section on the dark arts.
"You won't find it over there," a smug voice called behind her.
"And why not?" She asked, turning on her heel.
"Because I have it right here." Tom, still seated, was holding up a black leather bound book he had pulled from his bag. Ellison stalked back and sat down. She reached for the book held out in front of her but Tom jerked it away before she could grasp it.
"What are you getting at Riddle?" she asked, shooting daggers into his dark eyes. He simply smirked, still holding the book at arm's length from Ellison.
"Fine. If you don't want to help me, you're welcome to leave." Her voice was icy as she looked back down to the book she had originally been reading. She didn't know what had gotten into her. Tom was being no more smug or sarcastic than usual, yet his very presence made her want to throw the book he was holding at his head.
Ever since her conversation with Dumbledore she had been less and less willing to engage in hers' and Tom's usual banter. Probably because Tom used it as a scapegoat whenever she attempted to turn their conversations towards more serious topics such as Myrtle Warren or the supposed Chamber of Secrets.
"If I recall, I believe I was here first." He said smoothly, a smirk returning to his face. Ellison glanced up at him, shooting him a warning look. "Woke up on the wrong side of the bed did we?" His smirk widening into a devilish grin.
"Something like that," she replied, not looking up from her book, though she could feel his eyes watching her, waiting for her rebuttal. When she gave none, he stood up.
"Well someone's no fun today," Tom said, watching Ellison for some clever response. She gave none. Being ignored was something Tom Riddle hated, and she knew it. She often resorted to this form of punishment when he was being especially arrogant, or when she couldn't think of a comeback that sufficed.
Tom grabbed his bag and pushed the chair he had been sitting in underneath the table, but she dared not look up. She heard the large oak doors of the library close with a soft thud, and finally looked up from the book she had been staring at without reading.
She was alone, but across from her on the table sat a black leather book. The book Tom had been so reluctant to give her. She reached and picked it up, turning it over in her hands. Scrolled across the top of the hard cover was, 'Hunting Werewolves.' She opened the small book and thumbed through the pages, reading bits here and there about how to tell if someone was a lycanthrope and the distinguishing markers between a werewolf and an animagus.
She smiled and glanced at the door Tom had walked out of moments before. She would have to thank him later but for now, she would have to get to work.
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Okay guys... This chapter is a filler if I've ever seen one. Truth be told, I've got half of this story written but holes all throughout. I've been trying my hardest to get it all connected, but I've had some serious writer's block. Just bare with me ... I promise it gets SO much better!
- Peace up, August out