Falling for You PV Scott closed

Scott, even after the seven long and eventful years that had passed since he first learnt how to read, still hated books. And to make it worse than that, it didn't make any sense. The boy loved stories! And he loved hearing other people tell them. He loved learning things, too, about all the different topics that he had no clue about before. But there was just something about having all of those incredible stories and pieces of wisdom printed on a page... it lost all of its appeal. The stories disappeared.

Admittedly, some of this dislike had originated just in how hard he had once found it to read at all- but this wasn't the case anymore. Not as much, at least.

But books were, wether he liked it or not, a fact of life. Nothing he could do about it. They were as big a part of the curriculum as the lessons were, and as his wand was in most of their subjects. He had no choice then, but to visit their "home" whenever it couldn't be avoided. Because he did care for his marks. That was the irony.

"Puffapods..." he mumbled to himself in boredom, as his index finger tapped along every back of every book standing at his eye level. Not that he honestly expected one of them to suddenly read Puffapods: Volume 1 or All You Need to Know About Puffapods!, but he had to say it aloud so to not let his mind wander, as it otherwise always did. He knew himself well enough by now.

This was the third aisle in a row that Scott searched through, and he was beginning to notice the titles were becoming more and more related to different sorts of magical fungi. This was a bad sign, he thought, because he'd already spent longer in this place than he'd originally hoped he would. He could feel the thin rays of the day's final sunlight erupting from the tall windows in his neck, and it teased him.

Well. Nobody could claim he didn't try. They could all probably argue that he didn't try very hard, but not that he hadn't tried at all.

That, he felt, was good enough for a Friday.

Satisfied with having come to a decision so very agreeable, Scott threw his bag back behind his hip and turned briskly on his heel to head out, exiting the aisle and passing the number of reading spots on the way. There were very few students in the library at the time, but some were indeed there: sitting curled up with a book or two and enjoying something in a way he found absolutely unfathomable himself. Still, he envied how rarely they must feel lonely.

They weren't reading about puffapods, though, that much he could assume. Unless they all were, and that's the reason why he couldn't find any books about them on the shelves... after all, odder people had done odder things in the past.

Speaking of odd things: a girl in the middle of the reading aisle seemed to be dancing on one leg.

Scott smiled at first, getting closer to her flailing arms for a second, before the realisation that the poor girl was falling hit him like a saucepan to the head.

"Oh. Oh!"

Dropping his bag quickly to the floor, Scott rushed forwards to grab after the girl's shoulders in a guilty panic. Getting a hold of her in the very last second, he was able to steady his own legs to stand them both up straight by her upper arms.

"I'm sorry!" He exclaimed immediately, not at all sure what he was sorry for, but letting it go as it slipped out more naturally than anything else at the moment. "I mean, are you alright? You sort of screamed. I mean you did scream. You screamed. And fell. But you know that."

Realising he should probably let go off the girl, Scott pulled his hands back to his sides very quickly, brushing his robes, and took a short step back to study her with concern, from top to toe. He recognised her now, actually. A Gryffindor, like himself... Though probably a year or two younger.

Could've probably remembered her name, too, if he'd ever been any good at that...

"And you..." He started slowly, still looking at her. "You... you dropped your book! That's right!" Spinning around quickly, Scott looked around and then grabbed after the copy that had flown out of her grasp and landed against the base of a bookshelf some feet away with a thud. Then, turning to give it back to her, he finally smiled a more recognisable, collected smile.

"I hope for your sake that it isn't damaged, they don't tend to like that very much."

Anastasia was sure she was doomed as the floor rose to meet her. Suddenly, she stopped. She felt someone catch her by the upper arms. Well, she was certainly grateful for that. She met her rescuer's eyes and her voice caught in her throat. He was a tall, blond boy that she vaguely recognized as another Gryffindor. She figured he was a third or fourth year. Despite the fact that they had been prefects around the same time, she couldn't for the life of her remember his name. Although, at the moment, she could hardly remember her own. She felt her face heating up and didn't feel like she could breathe. 

"I'm sorry! I mean, are you alright? You sort of screamed. I mean you did scream. You screamed. And fell. But you know that."

She smiled breathlessly, trying to get her brain to function. Like, at all. At the moment, all the lump of fat that ran her life seemed interested in doing was running around in circles and screaming. "I - um," she said, apparently unable to string a sentence together. "Yeah, um, I screamed. Cause I tripped or fell. Fell for you. Not fell for you, you caught me. Cause I fell. Sorry, this is awkward. Not you're awkward, just this situation, you're perfectly lovely." 


As she failed at functioning like a sane human being, her mind focused on the fact his fingers were still wrapped around her upper arms where he'd grabbed her to catch her. And he was also really close. He was also really tall. And he smelled amazing. Like most of the boys, she knew struggled to smell like they knew how to bathe, but he smelled surprisingly good. She inhaled the scent again, trying to figure out what it was, but she couldn't place it. Maybe something citrusy mixed with freshly cut grass. Ana, stop smelling him, you loon, a small voice in her head snapped. In an effort to avoid him getting wind of her strangers, she stopped breathing for a moment, which was not her best idea. Because of the lack of oxygen, she was rather red and felt faint when he released her arms.  Her throat was very dry as he released her and took a step back. She smoothed her skirt nervously, sure it was a mess after what just happened. She inhaled sharply. Oxygen was good.

Now that she wasn't quite so close to him, her brain decided it could at least speak English now, which was nice and certainly an improvement. However, it didn't seem to be in the mood to do anything other than that. Lovely. Actually having the chance to see what he looked like beyond blonde and tall, she realized that he was quite handsome. She bit her lip nervously and exhaled before beginning to speak again. 

"And you... You... you dropped your book! That's right! I hope for your sake that it isn't damaged, they don't tend to like that very much."

Just as her brain started to function again, he had to go and do that. It was so sweet and completely unexpected that Ana's brain decided that it really didn't feel like being helpful. It said thank you kindly, but I'm going home for the day. "Oh, right. Yes, the book. It's not my book really. Not that I stole it, I'm not a thief or anything," she began to ramble before stopping herself and exhaling. This conversation was an utter and total train wreck, or at least, Ana's side of it was. Blushing at her sudden inability to have a normal conversation, she clasped her hands together behind her back to try to compose herself a bit. 


Exhaling again, she managed to sound like something resembling a sane non-thief. "I just meant it's a library book," she said, smiling tensely. An entire sentence! She was so impressed with herself. Acutely aware of the fact that her normally pale skin was a bright shade of pink, she persevered and tried to continue. "Sorry, I'm just a little shaken. I'm Anastasia."

As she introduced herself, she extended her hand to shake his. Three whole sentences! 

Now, Anastasia was a feminist. She was a badass and believed that she could do anything she wanted better than just about anyone else, boy or girl. Except, now, she was having difficulty speaking. And breathing. What the bloody hell? This was just a boy. Most of her friends were boys, her stupid cousins were boys. Except, this wasn't just a boy. This was a tall, handsome, chivalrous boy. And while Ana was a strong, independent woman who needed absolutely no one, she might need this boy to catch her again, because she was on the verge of swooning. 

The girl, after several confusing moments during which Scott had begun to worry he'd scared her, finally introduced herself by a name he recognised. Anastasia had been a prefect too a while back, he remembered, and at the same time as him as well. This called for him to slowly reply "Scott Alexander..." and shake her outstretched hand carefully. The girl looked dazed and red about the face, and it had him narrowing his eyes at her, hopefully not looking too unfriendly, to try and determine wether or not she had hit her head after all.

Then he felt bad about that. Some people, he reminded himself sternly, just talked that way! They could trail off, very much like himself, and they could stammer, like Alan. It shouldn't make the slightest difference, should it? He supposed he was only worried he'd made her uncomfortable... He knew for a fact that there were people, like his mother for example, who would much rather fall flat on their face than have somebody see them stumble, and try to help. Either out of pride or out of shyness.

"Oh it's all right you're shaken." He assured her sincerely and nodded, though not without adding: "After all, you could've died if I hadn't been here - which, I can assure you, was rare happening in itself - and then the book would've never been returned! Can't have that, now, can we?"

Scott smiled widely at her and stepped back away, as he was now at least half-certain that she wouldn't just fall again if he did so. Then, looking down, Scott realised that the plummeting must've been due to her foot getting caught in one of the straps of her book bag, as it still lay circled around her feet.

"Treacherous thing." He sighed, addressing it. "Though bound to happen. We all get beat by our possessions in the end, don't we? I pricked my finger on my quill just the other day. Truly makes you think..." What of, Scott had no idea. He was only trying to make her feel better, because she still looked weary. Perhaps, Scott realised, he'd even gotten it wrong: maybe the bag hadn't caught her foot? Maybe she was ill? Maybe she needed help to get somewhere, or for him to fetch someone for her. He hadn't even thought about that, which was unlike him as it was usually all he thought about...

"...You're sure you're all right, though? Because sometimes people only say that, in order to get left alone. I sometimes do. But I suppose you did call me perfectly lovely, so clearly your judgement hasn't been impaired..." He smiled again, and reached to pick up his own schoolbag, which had landed only a little way away from the two of them.

She recognized his name when he said it but didn't think she would have come up with that on her own To be fair, she wasn't thinking of much of anything on her own at the moment, so maybe she would have thought about it if she hadn't been so freaked out. Good Lord, was the library always this warm? The heat was almost suffocating. When he took her outstretched hand and shook it, her heart was in her throat again and she felt her face somehow grow redder than it was, which she didn't actually think was possible. 

When he continued talking about how she would have died without him, she realized that he really was quite nice. Ana knew that if their positions were reversed, she would have likely not caught the falling student, and if she had, she would have likely mocked them for falling and certainly would have mocked someone who was tripping over themself the way she currently was. He was comforting her and not even mentioning the fact that she apparently didn't speak English. "I-um-yeah, that would have been most unfortunate, for the book," Anastasia said. "For me too, dying would be bad. Dying is bad for practically everyone unless you're a phoenix or a plant, in which case it's normal and part of the cycle of life." 

She was rambling like a drunk again, so she just stopped. What was she doing? Normally, she would have a perfect, flirtatious reply to something like that. Her perfect response would make the guy be the one who was tripping all over himself and she would be in control. Why was she talking about dying and plants? Maybe she had hit her head and switch bodies with someone who was just an idiot. At least she had managed to continue speaking English the whole conversation. When she'd been in China and gotten flustered, she would automatically start speaking French for reasons unknown to her. 

When Scott smiled at her, her insides turned to butter. She was certain she was ill. Sure, she liked boys, but not like this. Not like a stupid potato who couldn't talk to them. She was dying internally. When he pointed out her schoolbag, she glanced down and saw the little traitor still wrapped around her ankle. That explained a lot. When he related some story about a quill, Ana wanted to faint again. He was probably one of the genuinely kindest people she'd ever met. She definitely would have been mocking the person, if she were in his position. "They really do, my cat tries to eat everything of mine, even though it makes her sick and honestly, I'm worried she's going to get herself killed doing that," Ana began, stopping herself again. 'Stop talking about death!!!' a little voice in her head screamed. 'Don't talk about your cat either, weirdo.' That was really helpful, just the best. 

As he continued speaking and reached for his school bag, Ana tried to get her heart to stop pounding and her face to return to its normal fair color, instead of the burning blush that had decided to make camp there. "Yes, I'm perfectly fine," she replied, stringing together a full sentence and even managing a somewhat normal smile. As he continued to speak and said that she had called him perfectly lovely, her checks returned to the embarrassing reddish pink. Had she really said that? She couldn't remember from her rambling, but she was sure she had. After all, she was the one who was apparently losing it. "I-uh- I have excellent judgment. It's never impaired since I don't drink. Well, butterbeer, but nothing else, since I'm too young. Not that I'm young, I've been told I'm rather mature for my age." Forcing herself to stop again, she considered punching herself in the face. First of all, she had absolutely terrible judgment most of the time although she thought she was a good judge of people, and second, why was she talking about drinking now??? Maybe she was drunk. Maybe she'd had too much butterbeer and this was all an embarrassing dream. She doubted it though.

When Anastasia went on to make the controversial suggestion that dying would be bad, Scott couldn't do anything but nod and smile in bewilderment. Maybe this was what it felt like to speak with him, a year or two ago? In the end, he couldn't say she was wrong- dying would be bad. Unless, much like the perplexing girl in front of him had just stated, you were a phoenix... or a plant... And he was happy to see that despite her confusion, she was at least aware she wasn't one of those.

"Sounds like you're quite the well of wisdom. Must be because you read."

He wasn't intending to tease her, not at all, but didn't know what else to say: she was fidgeting, the shade of red that had already occupied her cheeks seemed to only get darker by the second... he needed to relieve the poor girl in one way or the other: every time she seemed to collect her thoughts it was as if she dropped them all over again, like she was gathering gravel.

Scott couldn't for the life of him determine why she would act this way. He hadn't ever known Anastasia, per say, but in the few memories he had of her she didn't generally strike him as a very shy or gauche girl. Now, of course, she strangely struck him as the epitome of both of those things.

Not that it didn't result in a delightful conversation.

Finally, Anastasia managed to reassure him that she was, indeed, alright. And apparently, a mature teetotaller too.

"I can tell." He lied, in regards to her maturity. Not that he could really say anything himself. "Truly, a lady." he bowed his head with a grin and threw his bag over his shoulder. The lack of books made it light, and it swung back and forth across his back before he settled it to his side, but he wouldn't let that nasty reminder of why he was really there get to him.

"Although, I've been told I'm everything from a 40-year old mother to an absolute toddler, so you can't always trust the evaluation of others. It contradicts. They don't always have the same excellent judgement as you or I... Plus both of the sentiments were expressed by my dear brother, and he's an unreliable source in any case. Do you have brothers? You would know if you did. Oh, but you do have a cat- the enmity is similar."

Looking at her curiously, Scott chuckled to emphasise how he was joking. She really did look peculiar. Not peculiar as in plain, of course not, but peculiar as in peculiar. He'd found her wonderfully absurd when he first spotted her, mid-fall, and she had somehow managed to only up that game with every sentence that left her lips since. If anything, it impressed him- which had him fill up with a sort of amused sympathy for the girl, now that he figured she really was okay.

"Well, as you insist that you're a shrewd, mature, and most importantly sober young woman- I take it you won't need me anymore. Your short moment of dependance has ended. I am both proud and saddened by this... Must be how our parents feel when they have to leave us on the platform every year. Letting you go is a necessary evil, Anastasia."

Before backing yet another step away from her, Scott patted the side of her shoulder encouragingly with a grin.

"There are six staircases between here and our tower, isn't there? Try not to die on your way, you're not a plant."

She smiled and nodded as he spoke. His mentioning that she read gave her some slight hope that maybe he didn't think she was a complete trainwreck. Not much, but some. Still, she blushed at that as well. Honestly, she almost wished that he had been a jerk about it to her. Then, she would have been able to snap at him, possibly cuss him out, and flounce off as she did in a solid 60% of her interactions with other people. Instead, he just insisted on being nice to her and making sure she was okay. Ugh, it was so considerate of him. She couldn't even stay mad at that for very long. Considering saying something about her reading, she decided against it, since she would probably end up saying that she couldn't actually read or didn't know how to or something along those lines.

She blushed when he said that he could tell she was mature. She absolutely knew that he was lying, since, this was the longest interaction they'd ever had and she was behaving like a deranged, drunken three-year-old. Still, it was kind of him to act like she wasn't a complete mess. Again, she wished that he had behaved the way she would in this interaction. She realized that her abrasive attitude to strangers was really just kindness, sparing the poor clowns from the humiliation she was currently subject to. 

"I don't have brothers, I'm an only child, actually, although, I don't mean I don't have children, wait, I do," Anastasia said, feeling the verbal vomit coming up again. She wanted to keep it down, but now it was flowing forth and she couldn't do a thing to stop it. "I mean, I'm thirteen, I don't have children. Nobody has children at thirteen, of course, I mean, I'm sure you don't. I'm sure that, when we're older, we can. " She was able to force herself to stop, although it didn't do much good. She was pretty sure she had just said that she wanted to bear his children. She wanted to die, right then and there. Right then, he mentioned that he had to leave and she about wanted to kiss him for that. Wait, no, she didn't. She wanted to die now. 

"I-evil is necessary sometimes," she said, squeezing her mouth shut before she could say anything else that would probably involve condoning fascism or telling him that he was a death eater or something. When he patted her shoulder, she melted again. The small brain that she had gotten to function was all gone again. 

"I won't die, I can't die," Anastasia said. She had just lost it at the way her name sounded with his accent. She couldn't function. What the hell? What was that supposed to mean? "I mean, I can in fact die, I just haven't yet. I don't have Horcruxes or anything. I actually am likely going to die soon." WHAT. THE. BLOODY. HELL. She just needed to stop herself now. Turning abruptly, she grabbed her books, and turned to leave. Except, there was something that stopped her. Was it destiny, fate? Nope, her book bag. She caught herself, gathered the books she'd dropped and yanked her bag out from under the chair. With speed that she didn't know she possessed, she shot up and fled. Over her shoulder, she called "Parting is such sweet sorrow!" 

WHAT WAS THAT? That was painful. She realized she was still running and she didn't stop until she reached her dorm room and face planted into her bed. She was definitely about to die. She could never speak to Scott ever again.

Anastasia Beckett has FLED this thread.