Like That Muggle Thing
By Moste Piratical Ursh
Prologue-
A beautiful ice blue sky hangs above the train. Thin tatters of cloud are strung out across it like a magical cats- cradle. Blades of weak sunlight dapple the green country side golden and shadow.
The scarlet steam train shiver and jolts it way steadily northwards, exhaling sooty clouds of smoke in a continuous moan. The train track
Hermione lifts her face towards the sky, hanging like a sheet, just past the glass of the carriage and smiles. Possibilities seem to pop and bubble in the very air around her, shooting up like pop-corn from a seed.
Even though she sits here on the train, her heart is already home. She is going home, and a laugh tickles and strains at the bottom of her throat. Tears prickle on the back of her eyeballs and a constriction settles on the bridge of her nose. She doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry.
The steam train chugs on towards Hogwarts with no particular urgency.
Rain slates the thin panes of the study windows, and the cream walls are awash with a haze of green and grey. A small fire cackles to itself in the corner, licking out with greedy hands over the guard and sending impish sparks fluttering to burn holes in the tattered hearth rug.
The scratching of a quill pen and the sharp whistle of a boiling kettle are the only other sounds. The mountainous landscape being pummelled by the elements is streaked a wild and vivid mix of teal, green and stormy grey.
A young man sits behind a tired old desk, scribbling feverishly at a piece of scratty parchment. His ash blond hair looks almost golden in the merry glow of the fire.
He has grey, deep, eyes and striking cheekbones set in a deathly pale face. Only his cheeks show signs of rosy colour.
Currently, his features are contorted into a state of deepest concentration.
Slowly the light fades from the storm washed sky, and the small room languishes in a comfortable darkness; the light of the flames chase the shadows in the corners.
Draco extinguishes the candles and the dwindling fire and leaves the paintings to their solitary whispers, satisfied that the next weeks lesson plans are complete.