In the third book where they sing and stuff, I thought that they might have a chourse class or something. I know its Professor Flitwick who was constructing, but I want someone else. Please Review my story. I'm not sure how good it is. Thank you!
The fifth year sat at the Gryffindor table, picking at her scrambled eggs and pancakes. As usual she wasn't very hungry, for she was quite small for her age. About 5 foot and maybe a little under 100 pounds. As the owl post came through she took a small sip of her orange juice. She was about to put her glass down in the same place she picked it up, when a letter drop in that spot, causing her to put her glass on the other side of her plate. She took the letter carefully in her hands and slid one small finger under the seal.
When it was completely open she took out the letter. It read in her mother's handwriting:
My Darling Cynthia,
I'm sorry I haven't written in some time, I've been a bit busy. Your Father and I are getting along better and are doing fine. We don't yell at each other anymore and he never hits me anymore. So when you come back for the summer, he won't get angry enough to hit you. Isn't that great dear?
Anyways, we miss you very much and we can't wait to see your beautiful face again. I'm sorry you dad isn't here to write anything on here. He went out with some friends. Oh wait, I think I just heard him coming in. I'll ask him if he will write anything on here.
Well, honey, he's very busy. Don't worry about that little bloodstain Dear. It's a nosebleed that's all.
Love you always, Mom.
Cynthia noticed that the last paragraph was shaky. She wasn't fooled. Her mom's nose probably was bleeding, but not by it's self. More than likely her Father had smashed her nose against the desk.
Cynthia got up from the table and left the Great Hall a bit early to go to the bathroom. When she reached the bathroom she let the tears slip from her face. She went into a stall with a mirror and sink in it and dropped her backpack to the floor.
"Shit," she whispered when she looked into the mirror. Her black mascara had smudged down her cheeks, making her complexion paler than usual. She reached over to the towel suspensor and grabbed a couple of napkins. She put them under the faucet of the sink and ran warm water over them. She put them up to her cheeks and cleaned off the black make-up.
She then picked up her bag and rustled through it, looking for her mascara. She found it and pulled it out, but something else came out and clattered onto the tile floor.
She looked down to see what it was and saw that it was her little pocketknife. She gulped at the site of it. She hadn't done it in such a long time. Why now?
Because you hate life a lot right now. You hate your father a lot right now. Just do it. It's pain you can control.
She nodded to the voice. She bent over to and picked up the knife. She clicked it open and stard at the shine of it for a few moments. She rolled up her sleeve to her elbow and raised the knife down to the inside of her elbow. She pressed the blade down and let a couple drops of blood slip from her arm and onto the porceilian sink. She heard someone come into the bathroom.
Cynthia snapped the blade close and slipped it back into her backpack. She grabbed the forgotten masacra and put a little onto her eyelashes. She hurried out of the stall while pulling her sleeve down and rushed out of the bathroom.
She slipped into her chorus class about 10 mintues late.
"Sorry Professor. It won't happen again." Cynthia said as she went to take her seat next to her best friend, Marie, in the back of the classroom.
"That's what you said the last two times, Ms. Janis." Retorts Professor Conly.
"Oh, oh. Professor! That's three lates in a row! She gets a detention now!" A snobby Slytherin girl says, glaring at me but then going back to smiling widely at Professor Conly.
"Thank you Ms. Parker."
Class carried on for an hour until he dismissed us.
"Ms. Janis, could I see you?" Asks the Professor as the class leaves. I nod my head and walk to his desk.
"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to give you detention tonight. Unfortuanly, I'm not going to be able to be here. At dinner I will tell you who you'll have detention with. You may leave."
Detention? Me? I've never had detention. God this day is just going badly.
The fifth year sat at the Gryffindor table, picking at her scrambled eggs and pancakes. As usual she wasn't very hungry, for she was quite small for her age. About 5 foot and maybe a little under 100 pounds. As the owl post came through she took a small sip of her orange juice. She was about to put her glass down in the same place she picked it up, when a letter drop in that spot, causing her to put her glass on the other side of her plate. She took the letter carefully in her hands and slid one small finger under the seal.
When it was completely open she took out the letter. It read in her mother's handwriting:
My Darling Cynthia,
I'm sorry I haven't written in some time, I've been a bit busy. Your Father and I are getting along better and are doing fine. We don't yell at each other anymore and he never hits me anymore. So when you come back for the summer, he won't get angry enough to hit you. Isn't that great dear?
Anyways, we miss you very much and we can't wait to see your beautiful face again. I'm sorry you dad isn't here to write anything on here. He went out with some friends. Oh wait, I think I just heard him coming in. I'll ask him if he will write anything on here.
Well, honey, he's very busy. Don't worry about that little bloodstain Dear. It's a nosebleed that's all.
Love you always, Mom.
Cynthia noticed that the last paragraph was shaky. She wasn't fooled. Her mom's nose probably was bleeding, but not by it's self. More than likely her Father had smashed her nose against the desk.
Cynthia got up from the table and left the Great Hall a bit early to go to the bathroom. When she reached the bathroom she let the tears slip from her face. She went into a stall with a mirror and sink in it and dropped her backpack to the floor.
"Shit," she whispered when she looked into the mirror. Her black mascara had smudged down her cheeks, making her complexion paler than usual. She reached over to the towel suspensor and grabbed a couple of napkins. She put them under the faucet of the sink and ran warm water over them. She put them up to her cheeks and cleaned off the black make-up.
She then picked up her bag and rustled through it, looking for her mascara. She found it and pulled it out, but something else came out and clattered onto the tile floor.
She looked down to see what it was and saw that it was her little pocketknife. She gulped at the site of it. She hadn't done it in such a long time. Why now?
Because you hate life a lot right now. You hate your father a lot right now. Just do it. It's pain you can control.
She nodded to the voice. She bent over to and picked up the knife. She clicked it open and stard at the shine of it for a few moments. She rolled up her sleeve to her elbow and raised the knife down to the inside of her elbow. She pressed the blade down and let a couple drops of blood slip from her arm and onto the porceilian sink. She heard someone come into the bathroom.
Cynthia snapped the blade close and slipped it back into her backpack. She grabbed the forgotten masacra and put a little onto her eyelashes. She hurried out of the stall while pulling her sleeve down and rushed out of the bathroom.
She slipped into her chorus class about 10 mintues late.
"Sorry Professor. It won't happen again." Cynthia said as she went to take her seat next to her best friend, Marie, in the back of the classroom.
"That's what you said the last two times, Ms. Janis." Retorts Professor Conly.
"Oh, oh. Professor! That's three lates in a row! She gets a detention now!" A snobby Slytherin girl says, glaring at me but then going back to smiling widely at Professor Conly.
"Thank you Ms. Parker."
Class carried on for an hour until he dismissed us.
"Ms. Janis, could I see you?" Asks the Professor as the class leaves. I nod my head and walk to his desk.
"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to give you detention tonight. Unfortuanly, I'm not going to be able to be here. At dinner I will tell you who you'll have detention with. You may leave."
Detention? Me? I've never had detention. God this day is just going badly.