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TWO | SPOILER ALERT!
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VERONA RAINE LIKED TO CREATE LISTS. She loved them, in fact. Lists are what kept her world orbiting. The brunette kept lists of everything and anything possible. Who she liked? She had a list for it. Who she didn't like? Oh boy was that a long list. Every morning she reviewed her lists in her mind, making sure it was all up to date. Some would say she's psychotic but she likes to call it organisation. Her universe was one thing falling out of place from crashing and burning. Verona Raine didn't do crashing and burning—that was for the incompetent. If she was going to make anything of herself, incompetent was not something she could afford to be. In no aspect of her life (well, except one. . .)
Her love life was, for lack of better word, lacking. And honestly, she preferred it like that. Boys only had one thing on their lists anyways (doesn't she know it) and she simply didn't have the time to waste giving it to them. She looked down at the girls in her class sometimes—so boy crazy. She'd rather die then have her heart broken again. (And yes, she knows what the poets say and frankly, she hates poetry.)
The library was her sanctuary amongst all the noise that was Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. She could sit in those ancient wooden chairs and lose herself between the yellowed pages of whatever novel she'd decided to pick up that day.
If fictional words were her holiday, numbers were her home. Verona Raine split her time between complex math problems and fantasy novels. Most people were either math people or english people but Verona never liked to be lumped in with 'most people'. Those who just blended in with the crowds never achieved greatness (as her father often said).
It was exactly 5:03AM and the library had been open for three minutes—of course, Verona was already there. Verona was the only student Madam Pince ever allowed to eat in the library—in fact, most mornings she had a plate of raisin toast waiting for the studious girl. Verona and the librarian existed on the same wavelength.
"Morning, dear," came the librarians shrill voice, the usual floral plate outstretched for the girl to take. The smell of the freshly toasted bread filled her nostrils with gratitude.
