Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It is the property of J.K.Rowling.

To know everything about a person but not know them at all can be horribly irritating, indeed. Mysteries often are the most maddening situations in existence.

This woman was no exception to the rule.

I observed her from afar, drifting between classes, sparking eccentric conversations with students who'd sooner tackle an O.W.L. than listen. I refused to speak to her myself, maintaining an appropriate distance.

From my perch she seemed ordinary enough, albeit peculiar. Even that infuriating 'Luna' something or other once described the woman as being 'rather quite odd'.

Wildflowers knitted in her russet hair, windswept bun drooping low and neglectful; the woman was positively unkempt. She cared little for appearance and blatantly made that sentiment clear. With old fashioned gown and mismatched cape, how one could go throughout life neglectful of a mirror was amazing. Didn't even wear makeup – face rouged naturally by autumn's chill.

It was downright disgraceful.

Not that I was one to talk, hardly looking 'dapper' myself. Sallow skin, long crooked nose, greasy hair. Even on the best of days I was a regular nightmare. But I preferred the solitude that accompanied my unattractive fate, I welcomed it.

This woman was quite different.

She seemed to radiate appeal despite her behavior, and I loathed her for it. I loathed her for her optimism, her irksome ability to get under my skin. Most of all, I loathed her for being an enigma, shamelessly unpredictable like the tide.

Personality quirks were one thing, but she was a weirdness all her own.

At least, that's what I decided while crossing the courtyard to the nettle-scaled fountain she currently occupied.

Exasperating woman, nose-deep in a book she would never appreciate. How could she? So bizarre, this woman would never fully understand the genius of potion literature. It was a miracle she could read at all.

No, too content was she in being unusual, careless. Unorthodox. It was an outrage to witness her reading such a book and I needed to make this fact pointedly clear.

But before I could speak, two limpid green eyes washed their peaceful gaze over me. Colorless pools of peridot – hardly as exquisite as emerald; what a sin to be blessed with green eyes only to have them be that color instead.

I sneered, realizing it would do nothing to this woman or her tranquility. Drawing myself to my most impressive height, I loomed over her darkly and frowned.

She gently closed her book, letting it slip deliberately to the cold stone beside her.

"Good afternoon, Professor." Voice like a whisper on the wind, I sank into those peridot eyes despite my better judgment.

Those infuriating eyes!

A faint smile brushed her lips as if she understood. "Please, sit."

Mindlessly I accepted her suggestion, smashing myself as far away on the fountain's edge as possible. How had this happened? What began as a reproach became a surrender, two figures resting silent beneath the cloud dappled sky.

Even the wind had died, mocking my strange dilemma.

For the first time in forever I felt completely baffled, stealing the book without so much as resistance. Not even a second glance, how odd she would make no fuss. I inspected my plunder with a skeptical eye, discovering it to be a wonderful piece of literature. My favorite, in fact.

Positively peculiar. But then again, so was she.

This was a woman who picked wildflowers just to throw them to the lake, sat under trees to watch their foliage change with the season. It was clear I was not dealing with a sane person here. Refusing to cower under my best sneer was proof enough. I'd have to add that to my list of reasons to loathe her later on, for sure.

But despite all of that, surely even she would be upset by my taking her –

In horror I watched another book materialize from the depths of her cape, a quiet smile painted on the woman's face.

"A nice day for reading, wouldn't you agree?"