Post by Elienp on Nov 19, 2011 0:26:16 GMT -8
Title: The sole book which defeated her
Warning: None
Rating T:
Words: 299
Summary: If Crookshanks could laugh, he probably would have, and hard.
Crookshanks titled his head to the side. Contact in three, two, one-
“Merlin what the-” Hermione exclaimed while jerking up.
Crookshanks jumped next to where her forehead had met the desk, wondering which book could have possibly defeated his mistress's concentration.
Hermione glanced at her clock. “Almost midnight,” she sighed while looking back at the book she'd been reading, a frown on her face.
“In two hours I've read... thirty-three pages!” she screamed. “Only thirty-three...”
She couldn't believe she hadn't succeeded in going further into it. Thirty-three pages in two hours, even when sick she wasn't so slow!
Crookshanks licked his lips. He didn't need to hear her voice or see her face to know his owner was upset. Frustration was emanating from her whole body.
Hermione kept staring at the page she'd remained stuck to. Usually, she'd never put a book aside as long as she hadn't reached the last line but there... There it seemed totally impossible. She admitted the writing was amazing and, well, that might be the problem for the descriptions were so realistic that she had the impression to live them.
She glanced again at her clock. It was late, she needed to get some sleep before going to class, she... didn't have to find so many excuses. The truth was she couldn't bear to read that book. Period.
Crookshanks was surprised to see his mistress get up, close the book, then go to her bed. It was the first time he had ever seen her give up to such a small book, three hundreds pages at most.
A spark of amusement crossed his eyes when he saw the cover.
Who would have thought Hermione Granger wouldn't be able to handle descriptions of games written by a professional Quidditch player.
Warning: None
Rating T:
Words: 299
Summary: If Crookshanks could laugh, he probably would have, and hard.
Crookshanks titled his head to the side. Contact in three, two, one-
“Merlin what the-” Hermione exclaimed while jerking up.
Crookshanks jumped next to where her forehead had met the desk, wondering which book could have possibly defeated his mistress's concentration.
Hermione glanced at her clock. “Almost midnight,” she sighed while looking back at the book she'd been reading, a frown on her face.
“In two hours I've read... thirty-three pages!” she screamed. “Only thirty-three...”
She couldn't believe she hadn't succeeded in going further into it. Thirty-three pages in two hours, even when sick she wasn't so slow!
Crookshanks licked his lips. He didn't need to hear her voice or see her face to know his owner was upset. Frustration was emanating from her whole body.
Hermione kept staring at the page she'd remained stuck to. Usually, she'd never put a book aside as long as she hadn't reached the last line but there... There it seemed totally impossible. She admitted the writing was amazing and, well, that might be the problem for the descriptions were so realistic that she had the impression to live them.
She glanced again at her clock. It was late, she needed to get some sleep before going to class, she... didn't have to find so many excuses. The truth was she couldn't bear to read that book. Period.
Crookshanks was surprised to see his mistress get up, close the book, then go to her bed. It was the first time he had ever seen her give up to such a small book, three hundreds pages at most.
A spark of amusement crossed his eyes when he saw the cover.
Who would have thought Hermione Granger wouldn't be able to handle descriptions of games written by a professional Quidditch player.
