CHAPTER 3

A/N: Guys, I know it's been ages since I've updated. Seriously, it's been a half a year. I feel terrible. ON THE UPSIDE, I have recently taken a fantastic writing class and actually have a plot thought out for this story now. Therefore, I will be updating more frequently, especially since winter holiday is coming up and I have nothing better to do. Again, I apologise profusely for my neglect, but I am back, effective immediately. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jo rules all.


As I lay in my familiar Hogwarts dormitory bed after the sorting, a million thoughts were running through my head. When Harry wasn't already in the Great Hall after Ron and I got there, I had begun to grow worried- but that was nothing compared to how I felt when he did finally enter. I had seen him covered in blood, but usually I knew why! Harry insisted on waiting to tell us, but I could tell from the look in his eye that it had something to do with Malfoy. He had a certain hatred that only came with mentioning Voldemort, Snape, Bellatrix Lestrange, or Malfoy. Since it couldn't possibly be Bellatrix Lestrange or Voldemort, and I honestly could not see a school professor doing something like that to a student, the obvious conclusion was that it had been the despicable ferret. On top of all that, my stomach lurched at the memory of Dumbledore's ashen hand, the prospect of Hagrid finding out that his three favorite students weren't taking his class anymore, and Snape as a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. All these thoughts were whirling in my mind until I felt so nauseous I had to sit up. With the moon casting soft beams onto my scarlet bed sheets, my mind started to clear, and I realized I would have to do something to put my mind at ease. Someone rational (meaning not the obsessive-compulsive Harry) needed to get to the bottom of this Malfoy business. And Ron surely wasn't going to do anything.

o-O-o

I bolted upright in my four-poster bed to the sound of a scream. After a few shaky moments I realised it had been my own scream, and I was drenched in a cold sweat. I brought a trembling hand to my face and pushed back all the hair that was sticking to my dripping forehead. I had that nightmare again. That beast, I couldn't get it out of my mind. I was starting to think it was real and not some sort of horrific fantasy my mind had conjured on its own. Pulling my covers away, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and propelled myself to my feet. I trudged over to the washroom and turned on the sink, dousing my face in a cold splash of water. I turned off the water and bowed my head over the sink basin.

What is wrong with me?

Suddenly, I heard a noise come from the common room and my head jerked up in alarm. I caught a glimpse of my reflection right as I cocked my head toward the sound. I really did not look like my usual self. I looked how I felt—sickly and terrified. My thoughts were interrupted by that same muffled disturbance coming from the floor below. I pushed all other thoughts out of my mind as I turned to snatch my wand from my bedside table and headed downstairs to find the source of the noise I had heard. I was glad to have a distraction from my tortured subconscious.

Deftly making my way down the stairs, I restrained myself from igniting my wand and forced myself to squint into the darkness; In the case of an intruder, I didn't want him to know I was there. When I reached the floor of the common room, I noticed that whoever was supposed to put out the fire had forgotten because the soft green glow emanating from the enchanted flames still illuminated the room very dimly.

Probably some daft house-elf, I thought. Really, those creatures are hopeless sometimes.

As I strained to see if I could make out anyone in the vast, poorly lit room, I inched my way over to block the exit, so as to cut off any means of escape the potential invader might have had. Admittedly, I felt a bit foolish, knowing very well that the noise could've been the fire popping or a house elf apparating. No matter; I wasn't taking any chances.

I had been standing in front of the entrance to the outside corridor for quite a while, and was just about to give up and attempt to sleep when I heard the sound of a cloak across something dry and crisp. My eyes immediately darted to a copy of The Daily Prophet that was lying on the floor, and it indeed moved slightly with the sound of the rustling.

Busted again, Potter.

I quickly pointed my wand to the spot above the paper, knowing that he couldn't have moved far from it without me noticing, and whispered the same immobilising spell I had cast on the train earlier, "Petrificus Totalus!"

As soon as I heard the satisfying clunk of my archenemy's frozen body against the dungeon floor, I reignited the Slytherin common room lamps, casting the room in a slightly brighter greenish glow.

"One would think you'd have learned your lesson, Potter," I said gleefully, crossing over to where his immobilised frame rested. I crouched over the spot where part of Potter's pyjama pants was exposed and reached to remove his precious cloak so I could see the pathetic look on his paralysed mug.

"Or was a broken nose not enough for — Granger?"


A/N: Ah, I'm still pathetically predictable. :) Expect great things, though, dear readers, and they will soon emerge. ESPECIALLY if you review.
I look forward to reading your suggestions, criticisms, hate mail, love mail, etc. Until next time, dear readers!