AN: I'll upload another chapter if I receive a review. All constructive criticism is welcome, but no 'lol u suk at teh writings' comments please. Much love, angelicbattenburg xx
I gazed miserably at the cracks in the cold dungeon floor. I though to myself, for the umpteenth time, why was I not put in Ravenclaw? It's not just the cold, ugly, and frankly, depressing common room, or the depressed teenagers that reside in there, but the fact that you can't go anywhere without receiving cold glances from the year above, or terrified ones from the first years.
I jogged up the stairs to the girls common room, to see if I could warm myself up, and caught a glance of myself in the mirror, which made me stop. The common room was empty, thank goodness, so I pulled out some eyeliner from the pocket of my over-sized jumper.
The mirror showed me an image of a 15-year-old girl, pale and tired. Long, chocolate-coloured hair, with bright blue and pink highlights. I put on some eyeliner, and stepped back, grabbing onto the handrail to avoid falling down the steps. Some would call me emo, or gothic, but they obviously hadn't seen the others that were in my house.
I looked at the black pencil in my hand, that I had just used on my eyes, and wondered if you could be put in Slytherin just for using eyeliner. I laughed at myself, and continued up the stairs. I sniffed the air, and thankfully, Pansy hadn't been in here. She had an almost indescribable stench, that made me wonder why she was so attractive to all the male pupils.
Sitting on my bed, I reached below me for a box, all the memories of my childhood, that I used to help me when I felt down. I didn't cut myself, like a vast majority of the girls did, I didn't think that helped at all. I've never felt suicidal, I wouldn't dream of wasting my life like that. But I feel sad a lot, and I like to think of my parents, who died 10 years ago, due to Voldemort. I stopped crying about them when I was 10, as it only led to endless harassment from others.
I picked up my wand, 13 inches, dragon heartstring, apple tree wood, and slightly springy. I smiled at myself for being able to recall that as if it was my phone number. I muttered a couple of words, and a tiny flame appeared at the end of it. I preferred this way of lighting things up than lumos, as I had an unhealthy obsession with fire. I watched the pretty little flame flicker, and I gently lifted the lid off the box.
Inside it, there was nothing special, only dusty photographs that didn't move, and a brassy necklace, which was old, and had no jewels, simply a bronze and black-coloured glass rose. Roses were always special to me, as they were my name. I mean, I was named after the beautiful, ruby red, velvety blossom, that my mother grew. It bloomed the day of my birth.
If you lifted the photographs, and the necklace out of the box, you could see a ribbon. If you pulled the ribbon, the bottom of the box lifted, and there was the treasure, the very definition of beauty itself.
A crystal dagger. My mother left it for me in her will, and I cherished it, and still do. It is wonderful, the kind that you feel you should name, which I never have. It is a slight turquoise in colour, with a jagged edge, roughly cut from real crystal.
I heard someone marching up the stairs, and I blew out the flame of my wand, and hastily shoved the things in the box, then slid the box under my bed. I didn't have time to hide under there as I usually did when someone entered the room, and ended up spinning around in circles in the centre of the room, looking for a place to hide.
I ended up ducking behind the door, just as Pansy Parkinson herself stormed into the room, two first-years trailed behind her, arms full of heavy books that Pansy didn't really need. She flung herself onto the bed, and sighed. Her bed was noticeably different from the others, as it had a hot pink, silk cover, and fluffy pillows, with endless beauty products stashed underneath.
"Can you believe it?" she whined, in her high, and highly irritating voice, to one of her small friends, who had just put a large pile of History of Magic textbooks on the floor, which I'm sure we didn't have today, as it was Sunday.
The tiny 11-year-old proceeded to sit, cross-legged on the pile of books, as the other did the same.
"He dumped me! Who would dump ME? A picture of beauty, natural face, and gorgeous hair?"
"Needless to say, an astounding natural scent," whispered one of the girls.
"Hush, Jemima, I didn't ask your opinion," which was Pansy's way of saying thank you.
She then dramatically hauled herself off the bed, and ordered one of the children to get her a glass of Butterbeer, which I'm pretty sure was banned in this school, as it was found to have high alcoholic content, after a bunch of third-years got ridiculously drunk, and ran around the school naked.
"Why would Draco do such a thing?" screamed Pansy, as she sobbed into Jemima's cardigan, "he said he had feelings, feelings!, for another girl!"
My ears pricked up, as, I had a bit of a thing for Draco. I had a boyfriend once, when I was a first-year, with Seamus Finnegan, which didn't work, as he ended up kissing another girl whilst still going out with me, not realising I was in the room. I decided to never have a boyfriend again, but after Draco started talking to me, I realised how perfect he was.
I slipped out of the room, after a minute, however, tired of Pansy's whining, and it was apparent she either didn't know, or didn't want to say, who this other girl is.
I jogged down the stairs, and lit a roaring fire, with a flick of my wand. I tucked it into the back pocket of my skinny jeans, which, I noticed, kept slipping down. I wasn't losing weight, was I? I curled up in the out-of-place, emerald green armchairs, surprisingly comfortable in the dreary and somewhat morbid dungeons.
I opened a copy of Hogwarts: A History which I found on the floor, and read away, absorbing the fascinating history of the school I attended. Looking up the stairs to the boys dormitory, as if expecting someone to appear. I shook my head, and tried to disappear.