She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. She had tossed and turned for the past hour or so. The red lace with slightly sparkled gold stars decorated the ceiling – just the way she liked it. It gave her the smallest sense of hope when everything in the world was falling apart. At least her room was the way she liked it.
Being Head Girl came with its own privileges, and lots and lots of responsibility. She loved the responsibility, the amount of work that never ceased to distract her from the continuous stream of life. Everyone thought it was just her nerdy self who simply loved doing homework.
That was just the partial truth.
She loved it because it was the only way she could distract herself. She had so many things she shut out to the back of her brain – never to be revealed. No one would ever know. She really did love learning though. She would take charms and potions over english and maths any day.
Her eyelids flickered for the billionth time as she tried to go to sleep once again. Thoughts and memories clouded her brain as she shut her eyes tight, determined to be unphased.
Life was an ongoing war.
The War had changed everyone, herself included. Deaths of her friends and essentially the loss of both of her parents had took its toll on her.
A flashing green light, a tuff of blond hair, more green light and then darkness and nothing more.
It was quite a simple chain of events.
Her eyes flicked over to the clock on her left, 2.37am.
She had a meeting with Professor Mcgonagall in roughly five hours. Her lack of sleep for the past month or so was quite worrying. It was pretty obvious to everyone around her that she had been sleeping less and less – but then again it was the usual 'Oh Hermione's just probably studying for the exams that are a year away' or 'Hermione's just finishing homework and more'. She was quite sick of it actually, of the persona she had created for herself.
She just wanted to be free, to be wanted by someone and just … be happy to be herself.
He tossed and turned, staring up at the empty ceiling. He wanted some sort of decoration, maybe some green, maybe some silver. Just something. Something to bring him back to sanity.
His room was deadly silent. He tried saying something but thought against it.
He scanned the room for something, anything.
Most of his belongings had been sent home after the War. His room was the definition of clean, perfect and well 'pure'.
Piles of homework sat on the desk a couple of metres away. Lots of work to be done, things to be organised. He never did his homework until this year. He realised there was no better way to avoid the world than to study – tuck himself in a dim corner of the library never to be seen.
His life was the dullest it had ever been. Go to class, avoid stares, eat, avoid more stares, do homework, avoid stares and ignore all the insults everyone would throw him. Merlin, he hated his life but there was nothing he could do about it.
A green badge somehow glistened in the darkness.
'Head Boy'
He didn't deserve it and he knew so. Perhaps it was some sick plan of Dumbledore's such that he would never make any friends ever. Maybe Dumbledore realised that if the infamous Malfoy was made Head Boy, no one would ever want to be friends with him – with the exception of several Slytherins who he didn't want to associate with. Maybe the all great Head of Hogwarts had figured out the master plan that everyone would insult him if he was Head Boy and that it would make his hope of blending into the darkness purely impossible.
He wanted to scoff at the irony of the situation.
He listened for some sort of sound that convinced himself he hadn't died.
The slight sound of tossing and turning from the room next door alerted him of his futile existence. He wished he was dead. Being dead would be so much better than being the non-living that he was.
He had tried communicating with her, not because he wanted to, but he needed some sort of company before he needed to be rushed off to a mental hospital. He had never associated himself with her and never intended to unless it was necessary.
He shut his eyes.
The same nightmare all over again – they said nightmares were stemmed from bad memories.
They were right.
A spark of green light from a wand he identified as his fathers. One curse he couldn't remember the name of. He had blacked out ever since and when he awoke:
His voice couldn't be heard.
Hope you enjoyed this prologue :)
- K
Ps. Any feedback would be appreciated as I know my writing style isn't that good :)