The Apple
Draco was running, the sound of his boots was clattering trough the corridors, doors flying open, things falling down. Draco Malfoy was running away. After him there was Ron and a couple of other Gryffindors. They found him at first in the Slytherin dressing room, after he'd finished his quiddich practice; he was just in his white boots, a vintage petticoat resting on his hips, a towel on his shoulders, as he was standing in front of a mirror combing back his hair. He noticed them entering the room and all they could see was a glimpse of understanding in his eyes; and his face wasn't expressing shock, just got a little more paler than usual- but a smirk sneaked it's way out on his mouth. This very instant moment he was gone, the other door at the end of the room closing with the noise of old and solid heavy wood. Running after him they found his comb, they found the towel he dropped- and then they lost him. Not for long, they were in the same school afterall, for weeks, months, and years. And the anger they felt marked the start of Draco's new life.
He, however, didn't think so. He was running short on air now, running along walls he had never seen before; on forbidden floors and corridors. As he found his way to dungeons, suddenly a familiar surrounding, he was almost choking on his laughter. Oh boy, is he going to have a hard time after this.
He couldn't resist tho, this infantile idea made him giggle into his pillows every time it crossed his mind. So, one day he did it, woke up early, put his robes on and grabbed the ink. With a brush he wrote on the wall in the Transfiguration class: Sirius loves James. Then he striked that, and wrote using a different color: Sirius bangs Remus. The silliness of this, the simplicity were to guarantee Potter's pain. And so it was. Nobody could be really blamed, for spells were cast and no trace was left; the Headmaster gave a speech of disappointment and reminded the students to not react to acts of such vandalism and not to look for revenge; and hoped that the wrongdoer will come to a conclusion of his own.
Draco was now catching breath, leaning forward, hands on his knees, pale back arched with the spine sticking out and ribs peeking from under the skin. His face was red, deformed with a strange grim of pain- the air felt so sharp in his lungs now- and amusement. No, not even amusement. He was enthralled. Finally, he stood up straight. There he was, right next to the kitchen. He walked in, saw a basket of apples and he carefully picked one. As he dug his teeth in it he noticed that he bites a slightly bruised fruit. How he hated it, those hidden imperfect spots, it was almost as disgusting to him as biting on a worm. But, as he was about to put the apple away, he stopped himself... and ate it, tasting the slightly rottening pulp. Why did he care in the first place, he thought. Meanwhile, Harry striked the Remus in Sirius bangs Remus sign. He wrote Lucius instead.
Draco was running, the sound of his boots was clattering trough the corridors, doors flying open, things falling down. Draco Malfoy was running away. After him there was Ron and a couple of other Gryffindors. They found him at first in the Slytherin dressing room, after he'd finished his quiddich practice; he was just in his white boots, a vintage petticoat resting on his hips, a towel on his shoulders, as he was standing in front of a mirror combing back his hair. He noticed them entering the room and all they could see was a glimpse of understanding in his eyes; and his face wasn't expressing shock, just got a little more paler than usual- but a smirk sneaked it's way out on his mouth. This very instant moment he was gone, the other door at the end of the room closing with the noise of old and solid heavy wood. Running after him they found his comb, they found the towel he dropped- and then they lost him. Not for long, they were in the same school afterall, for weeks, months, and years. And the anger they felt marked the start of Draco's new life.
He, however, didn't think so. He was running short on air now, running along walls he had never seen before; on forbidden floors and corridors. As he found his way to dungeons, suddenly a familiar surrounding, he was almost choking on his laughter. Oh boy, is he going to have a hard time after this.
He couldn't resist tho, this infantile idea made him giggle into his pillows every time it crossed his mind. So, one day he did it, woke up early, put his robes on and grabbed the ink. With a brush he wrote on the wall in the Transfiguration class: Sirius loves James. Then he striked that, and wrote using a different color: Sirius bangs Remus. The silliness of this, the simplicity were to guarantee Potter's pain. And so it was. Nobody could be really blamed, for spells were cast and no trace was left; the Headmaster gave a speech of disappointment and reminded the students to not react to acts of such vandalism and not to look for revenge; and hoped that the wrongdoer will come to a conclusion of his own.
Draco was now catching breath, leaning forward, hands on his knees, pale back arched with the spine sticking out and ribs peeking from under the skin. His face was red, deformed with a strange grim of pain- the air felt so sharp in his lungs now- and amusement. No, not even amusement. He was enthralled. Finally, he stood up straight. There he was, right next to the kitchen. He walked in, saw a basket of apples and he carefully picked one. As he dug his teeth in it he noticed that he bites a slightly bruised fruit. How he hated it, those hidden imperfect spots, it was almost as disgusting to him as biting on a worm. But, as he was about to put the apple away, he stopped himself... and ate it, tasting the slightly rottening pulp. Why did he care in the first place, he thought. Meanwhile, Harry striked the Remus in Sirius bangs Remus sign. He wrote Lucius instead.
