Enjoy the Harry Potter cameo!


~ kittykittyhunter ~

She isn't 'beautiful'. Back in secondary school, when the popular girls studied flaky subjects where they painted their nails to pass the class (she read chemistry texts to pass the time), she was embarrassed by her mouth and her hair. Yet, there was one thing that she could never be called.

An idiot.

She's in forensics. Her job is usually met with raised eyebrows. People watch her, deciding if she fills the stereotype of people working in a morgue. (What is that stereotype? Old men in musty tailcoats?) She's had many awkward discussions with awkward family members at awkward annual gatherings.

No, wait. Intelligent girls don't emphasise their points through repetition. That's what teenage girls do.

Aesthetically, he's… stunning. Tall, dark, handsome. He's virtually a Jane-Austen-hero – and every girl loves Mr Darcy, whether or not she admits it.

His mind.

His mind.

He sounds ridiculous when she describes him. She likens his brain to a spider's web, where only he can see the connections because he's the arachnid at the centre. No one believes her. So, she tries something different: his thoughts tie constellations, except that only he can plot the stars. It's a pretty simile, in her opinion, worthy of poetry.

She has a repetitive daydream: he turns. He smiles.

Because he spots her.

Knowledge gives him power, not compassion. He's accustomed to exercising the authority that he is awarded, a prize for his natural brilliance. He can twist outcomes, see fifteen steps ahead, discern situations within seconds. He's turned into an Internet sensation for his observation skills, yet –

He never realises when he's crushed her feelings.

They've been acquainted for a while. She knows precious little about him – trivial things. He favours dark colours and dark coffee. If she had been a psychology student, she could have made an assessment, impressed him with a casual, smart remark. Sometimes, when she's at home and contemplating doing something dumb – such as leaving a pile of dishes in the sink till the next day, or letting her bank statement sit open on the table – she catches his voice in her ear, the clipped syllables scrutinising her foolishness. She isn't stupid!

Unless she's around him.

It isn't good for her self-esteem. He has to be prompted into apologising. He probably has to practice smiling in front of the mirror. He's defensive about his status, correcting people when they call him a psychopath. He's a sociopath.

She tries to be more attentive. Once, when she's sitting in a café drinking hot chocolate, she watches a couple across the street. The woman has dark red hair. Is that a natural colour? Probably not. As for the bespectacled man holding her hand… he's ecstatic. They're clearly happy together.

She can't stare any longer. She decides to buy a cat.