He swallowed deeply, staring up at the cold, intimidating, castle like house in front of him. The thick grey fog that had silently swirled in sometime during his train ride did nothing to brighten his dank mood. Running a bony hand through his blonde hair, he straightened his shoulders and pushed open the strong wooden door, the old iron hinges groaning out in protest. A rush of arctic air blasted him in the face and he was plunged into a dank darkness as the doors clanged shut again behind him.
After an apprehensive glance at the the long, dimly lit corridor that stretched as far as he could see, he marched purposefully forward. Torches flickering every twenty feet or so, their blackened iron handles depicting gruesome scenes of starving men twisted up to hold the flames. Their howling faces had disturbed him since childhood.
Keeping his head down the cold onyx tiles tapping beneath his feet reflected back up at him. Finally, upon reaching the end of the hallway, he turned left into a similar-no-identical hallway and continued, sure of his way. Occasionally a closed door would appear to his left or right but he paid them no mind. This was the servants hallway after all.
Finally, he came up to a larger door, which he pushed open with ease. It didn't make a sound, as it should not. Servants were to be seen and never heard. Much like children.
He entered the main hall swiftly, his eyes taking everything in. It hadn't changed. The ceiling was thirty feet high, easy, with a huge chandelier hanging from the center. It looked as though it had been carved from ice and gold and must be worth a fortune. Twenty foot portraits of stony looking people stared down at him disapprovingly from all sides except where a huge set of well polished black double doors stood proudly. A deep red carpet covered the floor and double staircase wrapping around both sides of the room, but it in no way made it warm. Between the stairs sat another set of doors which he knew lead into the old ballroom, not that it was ever used. Above those was a balcony from which stemmed many other dark corridors. It was all horribly quiet, enough that he could even hear the steady "drip. drip. drip." of the antique water clock he knew to be standing stiffly to his right. It seemed the Manor itself was pulsing with an aura of it's own. Something dark, unnatural, and deathly calm, yet incredibly tense in the same instant.
Hello my pretties! This was just a quick descriptive piece I had to write for school (best assignment that whole year!) but I put it up here because I thought it turned out okay. It's supposed to be Draco coming home to the Malfoy Manor during break (if that wasn't obvious). Hope you enjoyed! Love you all!