A/N This is just a little something to say how very sorry I am for not updating and to prove that I have been working very hard on my lit coursework :P You have no idea how grateful I am that people are still showing an interest and I swear that I haven't given up- I have had literature and language coursework due in in the last month so I've been concentrating on that. The story below is my literature coursework which had to be based on a literary novel, so I wrote mine in the style of Ian McEwan. Happily, over the past few days I have had an immense pining for fanfiction and Draco-ness in general so I should have something up soon. Fingers crossed :)

Love you all! Lily xxx

Lavender

By Esme Symes-Smith

Tick...tick...tick...

The silver arrow, illuminated eerily by candle light, was watched, as it made its journey around and around the clock face, by the unblinking brown eyes of a small boy with mousey hair and blue-white striped pyjamas. Liam stood- a small unimposing figure- just in front of the cold, marble fireplace, pale face turned upwards as he waited. And waited. And waited. In his hands, he clutched a sheaf of papers, each one covered in childish, barely legible hand writing. The result of two days' obsessive work and Liam's greatest master piece, which had caused him to miss a breakfast and a lunch, much to his mother's dismay. It was a present, an epic novel of three parts, to herald the return of Father and to prove (although in what way he was not quite sure) that it was more important and worthwhile to remain at home instead of going off having adventures or meeting people or whatever else Father did when he was away.

Tick...tick...tick...

Ten thirty, that was when Father was supposed to be home. That's what Mother had said this morning, casually, uncaringly over breakfast as she sipped lightly at her coffee. Liam had listened with a frown, then hurriedly excused himself before dashing away to complete his staggeringly original and obviously bestselling manuscript. Nobody knew what he doing, Liam had made certain of that. He wanted it to be a surprise, for Father only. It had to be special... Luckily, Mother had been Entertaining this afternoon with ladies who wore big feathers in their hats and made you sneeze if you went too close because their clothes smelled too strongly of soap and flowers and old books. She didn't care what he was doing as long as he kept out of her way.

Tick...tick...tick

He was supposed to be in bed. Asleep. They would be angry if they knew he was still up...but Liam was almost- no, he was certain that Father would forgive him tonight, once he realised how much Liam had put into his surprise, once he knew how much he had been missed...Liam hoped- really hoped- that Father was in his Good Mood tonight...

Tick...Tick...Tick...

Suddenly, the mechanical whir of the wheels stirred the soft velvet of the silence and the clock struck one. Finally. Heart pounding, half from excitement, half from nerves, Liam gathered his wits, took a long, deep breath and padded his way silently across the carpeted floor of his room, unslippered feet noiseless and relishing the softness of the floor. A hand, small and pale, reached out to grasp the bronze handle of the door, which turned easily in his childish fingers and allowed the boy to cross the threshold out into the dark, forbidding wilderness that was The House.

A thousand portraits watched sternly as the small boy with bare feet, a large wad of papers and an eager expression hurried past, through dark corridors filled with shadows and around endless corners- each leading Liam deeper and deeper into the heart of The House. His lips moved silently as he went, counting each step almost obsessively. His eyes were bright and alert- constantly moving and seeking anything out of place that could signal danger. There never was, but you could never tell with these old buildings... or so the house-keeper was always saying and Mother was always telling him to 'Mind what Mrs Cookson tells you, Darling. She knows about these things.' Liam was never quite sure what 'these things' were, but it was easier to just agree and pretend to understand when Mother has been sorting through the cabinet in the drawing room. Which she seemed to do quite a lot when Father was away... Liam found himself confronted by a very tall, very intricate and more than slightly austere looking doorway

Six hundred and forty three steps later (including staircases and excluding wrong turns),. Hesitantly, heart thumping as loud and as steady as the hands of the clock had been ticking, the boy raised a hand, clenching it to form a fist with an almost reluctant slowness. In all the excitement of Father coming home and with all the exhilaration which came from producing an obviously best-selling manuscript, Liam had quite forgotten that it was possible that Father wouldn't be quite as glad to see him or as appreciative of Liam's efforts as he had been envisioning...

But he was here now, Liam decided resolutely. There would be no point in not doing it. What was the worst that could happen anyway?

Chin raised and eyes bright with determination, Liam took one more step towards the ominous wooden door. He clenched his teeth so tightly together that he half expected them to crack, took a deep breath to gather courage and...

The heady, distinctive scent of lavender oil and libraries accosted the boy's senses suddenly and violently, making his head spin- both from the impact of the aroma and from the confusion that this caused.

It made no sense, thought Liam dizzily. Father's study never smelt of flowers, Mother only wore the one that smelt a bit like ginger-bread and nobody else was ever allowed in because that was the rules! The only people who ever wore such things were Mother's friends, but why would they be in there? It was impossible because Liam had seen with his own eyes when they had all filed out through the front door and into their cars with the doors held open by men in black jackets and shiny caps.

Convinced that he had been mistaken and had maybe imagined it, Liam inhaled deeply again, just to be sure, just because it was ridiculous to think that Father's study smelt like ladies' perfume.

But the same sweet scent filtered steadily through the slight gap in the door and tickled the little boy's nose, just like it always did. Liam knew what was going to happen even before his body did, but it was too late to do anything to stop it. There was no time to run and no way that he would be able to silence himself. Sure enough, in less than a second, the internal earthquake had begun. Liam bit down hard on his lip, in one last desperate attempt to prevent the inevitable.

But it was no use.

Bony fingers tightened around the sheaf of paper, creasing it horribly.

His small, pyjama clad body heaved and his eyes clamped shut...

And Liam sneezed. Only once, but with such a strength that it echoed through the dimly lit halls and stirred the silence of the sleeping household.

Before the little boy mind could process what had just happened and think of a way to escape trouble, the door was wrenched open from inside furiously, violently and out stepped Father- tall, smartly dressed in the grownup version of the suit that Liam had in his wardrobe and glaring down at him with such anger on his face that Liam almost shrank back in fear. The boy didn't notice the way that Father's hair was sticking up in odd places, nor the fact that his tie seemed to have come loose...

"What," said Father in his dangerously calm voice that always sent shivers down Liam's spine, "do you think you are doing out of bed?"

"I...I um...I didn't mean-"

"Answer the question!"

Liam flinched, his mouth going completely dry, and tried to remember why he was out of bed... but he couldn't remember. His palms were sweating and his head was spinning and his feet were suddenly cold and he couldn't for the life of him remember what he was doing in front of Father's study.

A strong hand lashed out and grabbed the front of the boy's pyjama shirt, jerking him roughly forward. "Well?"

"I-I don't know...I'm sorry...please..."

A movement behind Father caught Liam's attention suddenly- a flash of brightly coloured feathers and green silk swept briskly around a corner and out of sight before he could see who it was properly. But he was certain that he'd seen those feathers before...

"Who's that?" asked Liam with a frown, trying to twist his head so that he could see better. "Why's Mother's friend here? I saw them go home. Does Mother know? Is there-"

"Silence!" Liam froze and promptly shut his mouth. "There will be no more questions," Father hissed, gradually loosening the grip he had on Liam. "You will go back to your room, immediately, and no more will be said on the matter," there was a slight hesitation then, "Providing you say nothing to your mother."

"Why?" asked Liam before he could stop himself, frowning deeply with tiredness and confusion.

"Because I said so! Now get out!" These furiously spoken words were accompanied by a hard shove, causing Liam to stumble backwards and fall hard against the wall.

The door was slammed shut, accompanied by a strong waft of lavender scented air.

Silence engulfed the little boy who sat, stunned and shaking, against the grey stone of the wall. A sheaf of papers lay strewn and forgotten around him.