The next day, John decided to devote himself entirely to training, shutting out any distractions or thoughts. The boys engaged in rigorous physical exercises until evening, exhausting themselves to the point of collapse. As the exhaustion set in, the once-brave warriors began to whine and complain, like young children deprived of their favorite toy. Each boy went their separate ways, returning to their rooms, the dining hall, or elsewhere, but John decided to head to the library, thinking: "Maybe I'll look something up there. I'll read, or just take a break, it's almost time for lights out, so I'll wander around and see what's there. Although I'm not particularly fond of reading."
The library greeted him with a peaceful silence, coolness, and the barely audible whisper of ancient pages, imbued with the scent of centuries-old dust. The soft dimness, pierced by the dim light of the lamps, gently embraced the endless rows of tall shelves. John slowly walked among them, his fingers idly touching the rough spines, as if in a futile search for a lost treasure. Suddenly, his gaze caught a familiar silhouette. At the far table, in the halo of a single lamp, stood Rolf, desperately trying to reach the coveted book on the top shelf. As before, he was completely engrossed in his reading, his face even more focused and distant from the world. John, not wanting to disturb his friend's solitude, stood in the shadows of a nearby bookshelf, observing his futile attempts. Rolf jumped up and stretched his hand upward, but the stubborn tome remained out of reach. At one point, he lost his balance and almost knocked over an elegant candelabra on the table. John, barely containing his laughter, rushed to his aid. As he approached from behind, he easily removed a book from the shelf, and Smith seemed to tower over the Slytherin. Rolf jumped in surprise, sharply turned around and met the eyes of the Gryffindor, and in his eyes there was read.. clear discontent.
– Hold, – playfully handed the book, expecting from the green-eyed cutie at least a small portion of gratitude, but in return received a cold answer:
– I could take it myself, – displeased, taking the textbook, making it clear that he did not need help.
John was a little hurt by the attitude. He'd expected more than a simple "I could have taken it myself," especially after literally saving Rolfe from turning the candelabra into a pile of shards. But he didn't argue. He'd done a good deed, and that was that.
"Do as you like," John shrugged, trying not to show his disappointment. "What are you reading?"
"Why do you care?" the boy asked with dignity, sitting back down at the table. There was an aristocratic restraint in his movements, a touch of the English gentleman in his bearing.
“Er… well… nothing,” John replied hesitantly, suddenly realizing that with each foolish question, their fledgling relationship risked being reduced to rubble, buried beneath the debris of mutual dislike. However, he was not about to give up, and after clearing his throat, he spoke again.
“Your name is Rolf, isn’t it? John… Rolf?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck, hoping for a second attempt to establish some semblance of friendship with him. "I've heard from my boys that you're a big deal on the Slytherin team. You solve all the problems without any problems or hesitation, and you're the best at concentrating on spells and..."
– What else have you found out about me?
"Fuck," John cursed inwardly. It seemed that his last hope for a "friendship" with this arrogant Slytherin was about to be shattered.
John frantically tried to figure out how to get out of this awkward situation. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and the growing irritation inside him. "Why the hell did I even approach him in the first place?! I should have just stayed in the corner, reading peacefully..." "But no, fuck it! He couldn't back down, so he continued:
"It's nothing special," he tried to smooth things over, trying to make his voice sound casual. "It's just that there are rumors going around. You know how it is. We Gryffindors always admire the talents of our opponents. Especially when they're so... outstanding."
Rolf interrupted his sugary praise, turning his haughty face towards him. "That's not what I can say about you."
The young gentleman's sharp attack slightly wounded John's self-confidence, but he didn't show it. With a calm chuckle, he added, "Heh, yeah... I'm not very good at science, especially math. It always made me feel sick." This was a sign to the annoying snake that John Smith wasn't going to give up, because he was John Smith, damn it!
"But I'm good at handling the ball on the Quidditch field. And I'm good at fighting."
Smith thought that Rolf might have softened up a little.
The young man put down his book, and his gaze became less prickly, as if the ice were beginning to melt. "Quidditch... That's a different matter. It requires courage and agility. Qualities that you possess in abundance," he thought. "But fighting... that's for fools," he said, and then added, "Quidditch is a game. Studying is a serious endeavor. Don't confuse the two."
And anyway, conversations are forbidden here, so you shouldn't open your mouth here anymore," looking into John's eyes insensitively, he gathered up all the books he needed, stacked on the table, and walked past the Gryffindor as if he wasn't there at all. And he stood there, slightly taken aback by such a conversation: "Wow." Awesome Smith, slowly blinking his eyes, "So much for a good chat," he said to himself and, not wanting to stay in the library, headed for the exit.
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