No, I do not own Harry Potter. But I'm flattered some of you think I do! :)
Life as Usual
The room was dark when I awoke. Black.
I sat up, leaning back on my elbows, and looked around. My robes from the night before were still at the foot of the mattress, about three meters away from me. They lay, crumpled and strewn haphazardly in a semicircle, atop the dark, emerald green and silver blanket. The thick, winter cloak had fallen in a heap on the cold, stone ground. One sock was balanced atop the spherical cap of the ebony post at the bed's corner.
A heavy, intricately carved clock hung to the left. One hand pointed to the six, the other to the one.
Heavy curtains, their color so dark they were undistinguishable from the rest of the black room, blocked out the dim, but strengthening sunlight that would have been streaming through the four great windows, though one was not closed the full way, allowing a crack in its defenses.
A sliver of light, thin as a hair, surged through the crevice, casting a blaze of gold on the ground. Just this one strand of light. Just this one, golden strand. Killing the darkness. Refusing to budge, though no streaming beam followed it, ready to back it up should the darkness prevail.
There was no sound – none at all. But it was not quiet. The silence roared in my ears, banging on my eardrums. It seemed at first to fog my vision, but then, suddenly, clarified it, making every detail stand out – the soft, silver fringe on the curtains, the hard, metallic sheen of the wardrobe handle, the single piece of red string, misplaced, perhaps, laying like lost puzzle piece in the darkest corner of the room. Somehow, the red stood out.
I tried to ignore it – the color clashed horribly with the rest of the green and silver mirage – but that piece of string gleamed with a force greater than those of all the fine, delicate furnishings put together.
Why wouldn't it stay hidden?
I stared at the red for several minutes. I glared at it. It almost seemed to be changing colors…
Russet, ruby, cherry, brick, crimson, scarlet. Every shade of red, brighter, and brighter, and brighter...
It was as if the tiniest, most minute details on that piece of string were being magnified – each strand within the string, each fiber within each strand, each filament within each fiber. They were wound together by some invisible force…
What is that? Why was that string acting they way it was?
"Young Master, your mother calls you to breakfast." A high, squeaky voice shattered the roaring quiet. My eyes whipped around to the door.
"Master Draco?" the voice asked, warily.
"Tell her I'll be right there."
My own voiced sounded foreign. Unfamiliar. I cleared my throat, and spoke again.
"You are dismissed."
It didn't help.
"Master–"
"What?" I interrupted the meek voice, impatience glowering darkly through. It was harsh, in contrast to the voice of the elf.
"Young Master," the voice spoke rapidly, "Young Master, Luty has been instructed to tell you Master will not be joining you. He is away! On business!"
Business. That's funny. I never knew one could make a living on the blood of muggles and their relatives.
"Very well. Now go tell my mother I will join her for breakfast shortly."
"Yes, Master Draco!"
I heard the quick footsteps patter away from the – my – room, the bearer of the message rushing off to deliver the spoken note. Nothing written.
I sighed and stood up, walking slowly, unsteady on my still-sleeping legs, towards the closet, sparing no glance for that red string in the corner.
And there it lay, forgotten.