The room was dark and quiet. Five slumbering boys snored and moaned quietly, each absorbed in their own erotic dreams, twitching on their own four poster beds. The smell of young adolescents, dirt, and cologne lingered in the air, waiting to be cleaned by the small and wrinkly big eyed creatures the boys had deemed "trash." In the middle of the bunk, a slender but muscular boy whimpered as an old flashback dominated and consumed his previously rather enjoyable dream. His breath came in rasps, quick and fearful, as the images splayed across his mind's eyes. Dreams of punishment, destruction, and other horrible things that had befallen his mother flitted through his brain as his body twisted in agony, as if he was suffering the punishment opposed to his mother.
The lanky 16-year-old let a cry out and bolted upright when he felt a private recess of his soul snap, sheathed in sweat. Reality hit him like an oncoming train as he sank back into the bed and cried- something he really hated to do. The teenager embraced his pillow as he wept like a tortured soul, his brain completely oblivious to anything except how pathetic he was to be sobbing over such an old nightmare.
He swung his feet over and planted them firmly on the dark wooden floor, feeling the chill of an approaching winter. Six feet of male padded quietly towards his black trunk where he pressed a thumb to a magical keypad. The bottom of the trunk lifted out and levitated itself, along with its contents onto a patch of clean floor. The boy turned his attention back towards the black leather trunk- handcrafted by the finest goblins in Europe. With trembling fingers, he lifted a solitary picture frame from male magazines and other rubbish given to him by his hormone-possessed doormats. Not sparing a glance that way, the boy stared at the picture in the frame as the woman in the picture stared back. She was tall, lithe, and beautiful, a pale blond with blue eyes that only softened for her son.
Encased in a gem encrusted frame, she beamed at the boy as he smiled through his tears back at her . When his heart had stopped thundering, he gently replaced the frame, muttered the necessary enchantments, and walked back into bed. Only until a breezed that ruffled the curtains shined a sliver of silver moonlight was one able to recognize the muscular profile of the schoolboy. Clad only in plaid black boxers and now sleeping peacefully was the reason for many a girl to be dreaming in History Class.
The light shot straight through the room and traveled to the black and silver crest of his family and, on top of it, a silver engraved plate that read the boys name: Draco Malfoy.