Note: Blah blah blah, yakkity yakkity yakkity, see Jane, see Jane jump... Ahem. I would like to let everyone know that if you keep reviewing I'll keep adding chapters, and maybe someday I'll have a PLOT!!! (Copyright junk is still in the first chapter. Have fun.)
Oh, by the way, these are getting a bit darker (and shorter) each time I put myself to it, so... yeah. Just warning you.
Chapter 3
Draco's plate disappeared. He stared at the place it had been and nudged a large boy sitting next to him.
"Yeh?" the boy rumbled, shifting to look at the smaller boy.
"My plate vanished," Draco hissed at him, pointing to the vacant spot. "Is it supposed to do that?"
"Yeh," the boy replied, getting up off the bench. "Dey always do dat. It's magic."
Draco sat and stared at his linen placemat, poking at bits of dropped food and puddles of pumpkin juice. "Hmm," he said, standing up, turning, and getting himself a royal bruise on the hip from the edge of the table. He winced and rubbed his pelvis.
Draco walked slowly up the stairs, apart from the crowd of Slytherins, but close enough to follow them through the twisting corridors. This was the part of his day that he dreaded most. No matter what he did, he could never remember the way to his house, or the password, and if he managed to get there, he could never remember the way through the labyrinth on the other side of the hidden stone portal. They slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, mixing with the sand below.
One lucky thing that happened to him is he got injured nearly every day, breaking beakers or forgetting that you shouldn't feed that big hairy thing that the Magical Creatures teacher kept with your hands, and not to mention running into walls that popped up without warning and twisting ankles on trick stairways. If he kept away from the hospital wing until evening, he could get there right at lights out and be "forced" to spend the night there.
Draco loathed the Slytherin house, with its dim, dank corridors and sputtering torches on the walls, labyrinths, things that squeaked and ran when you came close. His footsteps echoed in the common room, shadows cast by cold flames crawling across the wall like living things.
His stomach turned into a lump of ice, and he walked into a wall. As Draco fell back into darkness, he felt a dazed, pink cloud of relief envelop his mind. He was sleeping in the hospital wing again, thank goodness.
Oh, by the way, these are getting a bit darker (and shorter) each time I put myself to it, so... yeah. Just warning you.
Chapter 3
Draco's plate disappeared. He stared at the place it had been and nudged a large boy sitting next to him.
"Yeh?" the boy rumbled, shifting to look at the smaller boy.
"My plate vanished," Draco hissed at him, pointing to the vacant spot. "Is it supposed to do that?"
"Yeh," the boy replied, getting up off the bench. "Dey always do dat. It's magic."
Draco sat and stared at his linen placemat, poking at bits of dropped food and puddles of pumpkin juice. "Hmm," he said, standing up, turning, and getting himself a royal bruise on the hip from the edge of the table. He winced and rubbed his pelvis.
Draco walked slowly up the stairs, apart from the crowd of Slytherins, but close enough to follow them through the twisting corridors. This was the part of his day that he dreaded most. No matter what he did, he could never remember the way to his house, or the password, and if he managed to get there, he could never remember the way through the labyrinth on the other side of the hidden stone portal. They slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, mixing with the sand below.
One lucky thing that happened to him is he got injured nearly every day, breaking beakers or forgetting that you shouldn't feed that big hairy thing that the Magical Creatures teacher kept with your hands, and not to mention running into walls that popped up without warning and twisting ankles on trick stairways. If he kept away from the hospital wing until evening, he could get there right at lights out and be "forced" to spend the night there.
Draco loathed the Slytherin house, with its dim, dank corridors and sputtering torches on the walls, labyrinths, things that squeaked and ran when you came close. His footsteps echoed in the common room, shadows cast by cold flames crawling across the wall like living things.
His stomach turned into a lump of ice, and he walked into a wall. As Draco fell back into darkness, he felt a dazed, pink cloud of relief envelop his mind. He was sleeping in the hospital wing again, thank goodness.