Sabrina's notes: Hurrah! *waltzes around with the torch*
Disclaimer: No one in this ficcie is mine...Unfortunately.
C h a p t e r . T w o :
Whoever created butterbeer deserves to sit atop a golden throne.
These were the thoughts that swirled through my mind as I greedily raised the golden goblet to my famished, slightly chapped lips--chapped only from the journey from the Hogwarts Express to the castle. For the sixth time. It was difficult, at the time, to imagine that I would only be making that journey one last time in the duration of my lifetime, only one last year would I be so privileged to spend my days in this ancient castle. Only one last time...
My thoughts veered back to the present time, now, the sweet butterbeer as it warmed my lips and my body as Ron nudged me. Sharply. I don't know why he felt the need to nudge me with so much bloody force, he was sitting right next to me and it wasn't as if I had suddenly passed out, unconscious, and he needed to jolt me back into a functioning state.
"What was that about?" I asked Ron, setting my goblet down lightly upon the table, glancing to him whilst letting my left hand stray to push my clouded yet essential spectacles up the brim of my nose. Though I had tried to correct my bad eyesight with magic over the summer, I felt peculiarly nude without my glasses, and just got myself a pair of useless petite rectangular ones so I wouldn't feel completely exposed.
"You looked like you were in a trance." Ron said, bordering on a vacant tone. "It was bloody creepy."
"Well, I wasn't, I was just thinking."
"About what?"
About what? It's none of his bloody business about what, I don't know why he's so bloody concerned. I shouldn't be so hard on him, though, and maybe my slightly gloomy mood is due to the long train ride. Maybe not. Who am I kidding? In the past I was so happy to return to Hogwarts. Hogwarts is my home, but maybe I'm so bloody pissed off lately due to the fact that Sirius... That's how Hermione puts it, 'pissed off'. What kind of expression is that? And who's she to say that I'm pissed off? Uncle Vernon would always go off about 'That Boy's hormones' and talk about me as though my name was 'That Boy' or 'That Awful, Terrible Boy Who Deserves to be Disowned', if I caught him in a particularly stroppy mood.
"Nothing, really. I'm just glad to be back here. Butterbeer's a nice change from what I got at the Dursleys', you know." I somehow managed a smile without looking like I was about to be ill. Or, at least, I gathered so much, as this explanation seemed to satisfy Ron's curiosity.
I was able to enjoy a few moments of silence before being interrupted. Ron. Again.
"What?"
"Malfoy's been looking at you, Harry." Ron said, practically whispering the words into my ear.
"Has he?" I queried, an inquisitive brow cocked, torn on whether or not to genuinely be concerned about this development. Part of me wondered why Ron was looking at Malfoy in the first place.
Ron nodded. "Yeah. He has."
I never knew exactly what to make of Draco Malfoy. As I covertly glanced in the direction of the Slytherin table, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, that silver-blonde hair, that smirk, those cobalt gray eyes. Malfoy had a peculiar expression on his face, and I honestly wasn't so sure whether or not he wanted to spit at me or kiss me. It does indeed seem that he hates me, to all who would observe an interaction between us. Sometimes, though, I did feel like kissing him, just to shock everybody. People are always questioning me as to what girl I like, and I wonder what makes the general populace believe that I have to be attracted to a girl.
"But you're Harry Potter," they say. "You have to go out with a girl."
'But you're Harry Potter.' What sort of argument is that?
When Malfoy started whispering to his two henchmen - who in turn giggled - I turned around and resumed my concentration (or, at least, partially concentrating) on nourishing myself. Butterbeer. Yorkshire pudding. Ham. Chips. Draco.
But why was he looking at me? Draco.Draco Malfoy. I didn't even like the fellow, particularly his dreadful personality. I have, however, in the past, had bizarre dreams and.fantasies.but that's not the point. Things such as that are normal. Everybody has those.yes, even Harry Potter.
If they were simply normal.
They are normal.
I just have this peculiar tingle in my stomach. I am normal.
That I've never felt before.
Aside from when he's around.
Is there something wrong with me?
Disclaimer: No one in this ficcie is mine...Unfortunately.
C h a p t e r . T w o :
Whoever created butterbeer deserves to sit atop a golden throne.
These were the thoughts that swirled through my mind as I greedily raised the golden goblet to my famished, slightly chapped lips--chapped only from the journey from the Hogwarts Express to the castle. For the sixth time. It was difficult, at the time, to imagine that I would only be making that journey one last time in the duration of my lifetime, only one last year would I be so privileged to spend my days in this ancient castle. Only one last time...
My thoughts veered back to the present time, now, the sweet butterbeer as it warmed my lips and my body as Ron nudged me. Sharply. I don't know why he felt the need to nudge me with so much bloody force, he was sitting right next to me and it wasn't as if I had suddenly passed out, unconscious, and he needed to jolt me back into a functioning state.
"What was that about?" I asked Ron, setting my goblet down lightly upon the table, glancing to him whilst letting my left hand stray to push my clouded yet essential spectacles up the brim of my nose. Though I had tried to correct my bad eyesight with magic over the summer, I felt peculiarly nude without my glasses, and just got myself a pair of useless petite rectangular ones so I wouldn't feel completely exposed.
"You looked like you were in a trance." Ron said, bordering on a vacant tone. "It was bloody creepy."
"Well, I wasn't, I was just thinking."
"About what?"
About what? It's none of his bloody business about what, I don't know why he's so bloody concerned. I shouldn't be so hard on him, though, and maybe my slightly gloomy mood is due to the long train ride. Maybe not. Who am I kidding? In the past I was so happy to return to Hogwarts. Hogwarts is my home, but maybe I'm so bloody pissed off lately due to the fact that Sirius... That's how Hermione puts it, 'pissed off'. What kind of expression is that? And who's she to say that I'm pissed off? Uncle Vernon would always go off about 'That Boy's hormones' and talk about me as though my name was 'That Boy' or 'That Awful, Terrible Boy Who Deserves to be Disowned', if I caught him in a particularly stroppy mood.
"Nothing, really. I'm just glad to be back here. Butterbeer's a nice change from what I got at the Dursleys', you know." I somehow managed a smile without looking like I was about to be ill. Or, at least, I gathered so much, as this explanation seemed to satisfy Ron's curiosity.
I was able to enjoy a few moments of silence before being interrupted. Ron. Again.
"What?"
"Malfoy's been looking at you, Harry." Ron said, practically whispering the words into my ear.
"Has he?" I queried, an inquisitive brow cocked, torn on whether or not to genuinely be concerned about this development. Part of me wondered why Ron was looking at Malfoy in the first place.
Ron nodded. "Yeah. He has."
I never knew exactly what to make of Draco Malfoy. As I covertly glanced in the direction of the Slytherin table, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, that silver-blonde hair, that smirk, those cobalt gray eyes. Malfoy had a peculiar expression on his face, and I honestly wasn't so sure whether or not he wanted to spit at me or kiss me. It does indeed seem that he hates me, to all who would observe an interaction between us. Sometimes, though, I did feel like kissing him, just to shock everybody. People are always questioning me as to what girl I like, and I wonder what makes the general populace believe that I have to be attracted to a girl.
"But you're Harry Potter," they say. "You have to go out with a girl."
'But you're Harry Potter.' What sort of argument is that?
When Malfoy started whispering to his two henchmen - who in turn giggled - I turned around and resumed my concentration (or, at least, partially concentrating) on nourishing myself. Butterbeer. Yorkshire pudding. Ham. Chips. Draco.
But why was he looking at me? Draco.Draco Malfoy. I didn't even like the fellow, particularly his dreadful personality. I have, however, in the past, had bizarre dreams and.fantasies.but that's not the point. Things such as that are normal. Everybody has those.yes, even Harry Potter.
If they were simply normal.
They are normal.
I just have this peculiar tingle in my stomach. I am normal.
That I've never felt before.
Aside from when he's around.
Is there something wrong with me?