Disclaimer: I do not own these characters they belong to J.K. Rowling.
My skin tingles and I shiver, erupting hundreds of tiny goose bumps to rise up on my arms. A bump to my shoulder sends my precious tombs crashing to the streets below. Panicking slightly-these texts are ancient and frail-, I quickly kneel and gather the books as best as I can.
"What are you blind? Watch where you're going, Malfoy!" A voice sneers from in front of me -I think- and I flinch inwardly. On the outside, I've composed my face into my trademark Malfoy sneer.
"What's it to you, four-eyes?" I snidely reply, using the memories from my days at Hogwarts.
When I don't hear a reply, I smirk, feeling triumphant, and inconspicuously run my fingers over my belongings. One, two, three…where is my fourth book?
Suddenly, something is shoved harshly into my chest and I fumble to catch it. It falls to the ground with a loud thump and inwardly, I sigh, grateful at least that it landed on the outer cover and not the delicate pages.
"What happened to those quidditch reflexes, ferret?"
Hatred bubbled up inside me, burning through my veins like liquid fire. Weasel. Of course he would be with Potty.
"Oh, Weasel, I see you're still glued to Saint Potty's hip. Is it nice to walk around like conjoined twins?" I sneered, glad for my quick wit and cover up.
So, should I continue it?