Hurricane
Ginny Weasley slammed the portrait to the common room as hard as she could, her hair flying behind her in a mass of auburn. "Thanks a lot!" complained the Fat Lady warily, who had just been waken from a deep sleep at the side of her picture. Without bothering to apologize, Ginny began to walk away hurriedly, a book in her hand, shivering as she pulled her arms around herself to refrain from the cold. Even hovering around the castles was the detailed sample of the weather outside, stormy and dewy, thousands of raindrops rippling across the sky and splattering on the ground with the fast pace of the embers in a fireplace seen from the frosted windows.
She had wanted a quiet place to read. This was not possible, however. The common room was filled with a massive portion of people that were gossiping, doing late night homework, or hanging around and making various noises every so often. As an alternate, she had gone up to her dorm, which had been a more worse idea. Instead of the quiet, peaceful haven she had been anticipating, there were a roomful of girls sitting on their beds, laughing to one another.
But she had a very keen idea on where to go. She had entered it only last year, where the D.A.D.A. lessons had taken place. The Room Of Requirement, they called it, but she liked to think of it as a more magical concept, something that could appear when she needed it. As she passed the paintings of Andorra the Great and Desore, 1455 Transfiguration Teacher, she reached the corridors that were between the woeful, shabby looking wall.
A place to read, she thought timidly to herself, her eyelids moving slightly through her closed eyes as she concentrated. A place with a fireplace, a window to watch the rain go by, she told herself wistfully, feeling the drowsy sensation cause a smile to wrinkle through her lips. A place to comfort myself, to find something new, to read, just to be at peace.
As she opened her eyes, it still ran a chill through the nape of her neck as the door appeared. Tentatively, she turned the doorknob and walked inside, examining it, her features growing awestruck. It was a dark, small dim room, almost like a study, a burgundy-colored table with a comfy red armchair at the side, a fireplace plopped at the end, it's fire going, flames like orange-flamed strings dancing in the air, providing the only light. But what she found to be most beautiful was the window that was sparkling visibly above the table, where rain seemed to be audible through it's slightly open peak, wind blowing across it, leaves sputtering so you could barely hear them. Only if you tried.
Sighing, she walked slowly to the armchair and settled into it, the book tucked into her hands as the words began to drown into her mind in a melodic rhythm along with the rain.
Draco Malfoy was furious with himself. He couldn't study, eat, nor sleep. It seemed the weekends made him distraught, unable to find anything to do. Walking around the corridors, trying to seem the least suspicious, he began to wander, his mind pondering away. He wondered if his mother was alright now that he had returned to school, he wondered if the second week would pass by as quickly as the first, and he wondered what it would like to have his life calm again, before the Death Eaters, before Saint Potter, that bastard, and before his father went to Azkaban. It would be routinely, without every Gryffindor or every Hufflepuff trying to push him purposely because of his now dreaded surname. Because it was now known that his father was a Death Eater. And nobody except the Slytherins seemed particularly joyful at this thought. They were trying to get him out of the school - but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't. It just wasn't possible.
Father will come for me, he reassured himself as he leaned against a door, pausing his walking feet. Father will come for me soon, and he will send me to a real school.
With that, he tried to make a turn but found that a wall was blocking where he had entered. Grumbling something, he stared fixedly at the wall, as if wishing for it to tell him what to do. Surprisingly, as he looked away and thought, damn it, I need to get out of here, he turned back and saw the wall had now the faint outline of a door. Cautiously, his heart thumping, fear rising in his chest, he turned the doorknob and walked in.
The world immediately began to split into a million different flashes of colors.