Harry Potter belongs to me. god smites author Ok ok I lied...He is property of J.K. Rowling. glares at sky Are you happy now! sulks
Thaw
Liquid life. That was the only term to describe the euphoria passing over his tongue. There was no single word for the succulent flavor. It was a grand concoction of all of the things he enjoyed. Somehow it reminded him of late nights spent under the night sky, spread out across the cool grass and savoring the richness of the night. It resembled the peaceful bliss of sleep, dropping heavy shrouds over his mind to temporarily muffle the screaming voices of his life. It was also light, almost sweet, like little bits of humor only he could understand. It was all of the above, night, sleep, inside jokes, and muffled laughter. It was also so much more. He could spend the rest of his life describing it and never come close. Despite all of it only one thing mattered. It was his
A heavy eyelid began to slide skyward, revealing a single bleary silver eye. Its twin remained stubbornly closed, denying wakefulness for a few seconds longer before reluctantly joining its counterpart. Draco was awake.
Draco wasn't sure he wanted to be awake; he had been having the most delightful dream. He couldn't really recall the details, but he knew it had been beyond pleasant. He remained stationary for a few moments, attempting to recall the illusive details of the dream. All he could seem to recall was a fierce possessiveness over something. He had had something in his grasp and he was unwilling to release it. Other then that the dream had slipped uselessly through his clasping fingers, as insubstantial as vapor.
Stifling a groan, Draco temporally set aside his losing battle in favor of finding something to silence the soft growls emanating from his stomach. Still, it took all of his mustered effort to throw aside the velvet green curtains separating his bed from the rest of the common room. Gingerly, he slipped from beneath his coverlet and placed his bare feet upon the dungeon floor. Instead of the chilled stone of the rest of the chamber his feet met the soft weave of an expensive rug. Still, the temperature bled through the thick silk and met his flesh, traveling up his body with the tenderness and thoroughness of a lover.
Draco loved his dungeon room; he loved the dark complexities and the flickering torchlight. But Draco couldn't stand the cold. The stone seemed to swallow any form of heat yet still remained icy to the touch. The heat emanating from a roaring fireplace would only reach a few feet from its source, before being consumed by greedy stones.
The young man was finding it harder and harder to reclaim his warmth from his frozen surroundings. He felt as if his flesh was freezing from the inside out. As if his blood itself was gradually growing colder, and infecting the surrounding flesh with its icy ailment. Draco shivered at the thought and ran his hands along his arms, trying unsuccessfully to heat this flesh with the friction. His hands slid along the smooth skin raising gooseflesh in their wake, but the cold wasn't external, and wasn't to be availed by such mundane methods.
Giving up and suppressing a shiver, he slipped his feet into his slippers before leaving the relative safety of his silken island. The rattling snores coming from within the velvet hangings of the other beds told Draco his roommates were still in safely the clutch of sleep. Those oafs wouldn't be opening their vacant eyes until Draco was groomed, dressed, and ready to terrorize the great hall.
After a scalding shower that did little to warm his chilled flesh, and an hour before a mirror to ensure physical perfection, Dracos roommates were dragging their half-dead forms out of bed and pulling on the nearest garments at hand. Draco couldn't suppress a grimace as his housemate donned yesterdays food stained jumper, backwards. Draco observed this spectacle with boredom in his eyes, watching impatiently while leaned against the doorframe.
"Crabbe, change your jumper you great lump. And try to put it on correctly this time, your mum isn't here to dress you anymore." Draco's drawling, cultured tone let no room for argument. Crabbe immediately discarded the offending garment and began rummaging through his trunk for a fresh one. A single mercury glare silenced Goyle's brainless guffaw.
When the ogres were finally in a semi-presentable state Draco allowed them to take their places flanking his back on the trek up to the great hall.
As the silent trio ascended the stairs toward the more inviting area of the castle the temperature rose several noticeable degrees, the cold seeping from their surroundings and reluctantly retreating down to the chilled dank of the dungeons. Draco thought of it like an entity, lying in wait to reclaim him upon his inevitable return.
Stepping into the great hall could be compared to an abrupt portkey from a freezer to a furnace. The warmth scalded and caressed his skin, coaxing the blood back to the surface. Draco's eyes widened fractionally unable to move, almost overwhelmed by the sensations bringing his dead flesh back to life. It was if he had become reacquainted to a forgotten heat he hadn't missed until its return. He was intoxicated.
"Bloody hell!" a voice said from across the hall, breaking into his trance, "I cut myself."
Thank you for participating in my first fanfiction experience. Feel free to review I would love the feedback.
