Title: There's Snow Outside.
Subtitle: Did You Know?
Author: Hallie C. Winterbourne
Rating: G
Pairing: n/a
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling, all ideas belong to my mind. If you can capture it in a glass jar, please, take this story as your own. Otherwise, credit it to JK Rowling and Hallie's Mind. Thankees.
Dedication/Thanks To: Wellll, I don't like this too much. ::frowns:: My braindeadness has infected every inch of this story... so no thanks to inspiration..! ::shakes fist:: Dedicated to Chibi; Having fun in Alaska?
Summary: It's snowing outside on Christmas Day.
Story: Books never give tribute enough to the beauty of snow; the way it falls gently but harshly, caressing air and splashing against objects. They never discuss the 3D effect it gives, making the path appear long, but not fearfully long. They never discuss the layers of it, floating just ahead of you. They never properly touch on just how snow sticks to strands of hair, threads of cloth, leather of boots. But this isn't a book, so neither will I.
Winter is always a beautiful time, where everyone clutters outside during lunchtime at the first appearance of snow, no matter how small the layer upon the ground. The chill in the air, it appears, draws people together, people who have never even talked to eachother before. Still, this "bond," this "winter bond," never seems to be strong enough to tug a Slytherin in the group. It's not as though they don't want to, they just... can't.
I try not to go outside during winter. But I do anyway. And each time I turn back around, nose curled in annoyance at the snow being tossed in the air. Each time I walk quick as I can back to the castle, Crabbe and Goyle stumbling awkwardly after me. Christmas Break is of little help to ease the odd feeling handed out to me at this time of year: it gives me releif to think I'll be leaving the joyous students, yet going home brings on a whole new round of troubles.
"Draco?"
"Yeah Mum?"
"Go get your father some medicine, will you? I'll have to pour it in with his tea: he's going to give himself a heart attack worrying so, if I don't get him to sleep."
"Sure."
I actually feel bad for the Muggles each time I reach in amongst the multitude of amber bottles for Dad's sleeping potion. Odorless, tasteless, textureless, is the way of wizarding medicine. But I hear Muggles actually have to swallow pills whole, or sip at "cherry" flavored muck. I shudder slightly every time I think of this. I'm glad my father doesn't have to go through that.
Yet something makes me bite my lip as I toss the bottle around in my hand. I wonder whether I should give him something else, just to get him back. I don't know what for.
Christmas isn't my favorite time of year. My favorite time of year comes rarely, sometimes on Christmas vacation, sometimes on summer vacation. It's when I manage to slip into the large library in our manor and climb up the many stairs of the ladder leaning against the wall. It's when I read a randomly grabbed book. I guess it's kind of sad, that I'm happiest when I'm alone, in my mind. But I don't care. Christmas isn't about togetherness in my family. They often forget to pick me up. They don't understand they're supposed to laugh when there's snow outside. They don't even realise it's snowing.
Subtitle: Did You Know?
Author: Hallie C. Winterbourne
Rating: G
Pairing: n/a
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling, all ideas belong to my mind. If you can capture it in a glass jar, please, take this story as your own. Otherwise, credit it to JK Rowling and Hallie's Mind. Thankees.
Dedication/Thanks To: Wellll, I don't like this too much. ::frowns:: My braindeadness has infected every inch of this story... so no thanks to inspiration..! ::shakes fist:: Dedicated to Chibi; Having fun in Alaska?
Summary: It's snowing outside on Christmas Day.
Story: Books never give tribute enough to the beauty of snow; the way it falls gently but harshly, caressing air and splashing against objects. They never discuss the 3D effect it gives, making the path appear long, but not fearfully long. They never discuss the layers of it, floating just ahead of you. They never properly touch on just how snow sticks to strands of hair, threads of cloth, leather of boots. But this isn't a book, so neither will I.
Winter is always a beautiful time, where everyone clutters outside during lunchtime at the first appearance of snow, no matter how small the layer upon the ground. The chill in the air, it appears, draws people together, people who have never even talked to eachother before. Still, this "bond," this "winter bond," never seems to be strong enough to tug a Slytherin in the group. It's not as though they don't want to, they just... can't.
I try not to go outside during winter. But I do anyway. And each time I turn back around, nose curled in annoyance at the snow being tossed in the air. Each time I walk quick as I can back to the castle, Crabbe and Goyle stumbling awkwardly after me. Christmas Break is of little help to ease the odd feeling handed out to me at this time of year: it gives me releif to think I'll be leaving the joyous students, yet going home brings on a whole new round of troubles.
"Draco?"
"Yeah Mum?"
"Go get your father some medicine, will you? I'll have to pour it in with his tea: he's going to give himself a heart attack worrying so, if I don't get him to sleep."
"Sure."
I actually feel bad for the Muggles each time I reach in amongst the multitude of amber bottles for Dad's sleeping potion. Odorless, tasteless, textureless, is the way of wizarding medicine. But I hear Muggles actually have to swallow pills whole, or sip at "cherry" flavored muck. I shudder slightly every time I think of this. I'm glad my father doesn't have to go through that.
Yet something makes me bite my lip as I toss the bottle around in my hand. I wonder whether I should give him something else, just to get him back. I don't know what for.
Christmas isn't my favorite time of year. My favorite time of year comes rarely, sometimes on Christmas vacation, sometimes on summer vacation. It's when I manage to slip into the large library in our manor and climb up the many stairs of the ladder leaning against the wall. It's when I read a randomly grabbed book. I guess it's kind of sad, that I'm happiest when I'm alone, in my mind. But I don't care. Christmas isn't about togetherness in my family. They often forget to pick me up. They don't understand they're supposed to laugh when there's snow outside. They don't even realise it's snowing.
