Disclaimer: See chapter one
A/N: Welcome to chapter two. Please R&R. Constructive criticism needed! (As is barefaced flattery and hateful flames. Yep, I need 'em all!) I don't like this chapter as much as the first, so if anyone has some suggestions as to how to improve it, well, it would be much appreciated.
Harry watched Malfoy storm out of the room, and made last ditch effort to stop him to try find out what he was doing here. If only he could stop laughing. "Malfoy, wait...." But Draco had gone, slamming the door (rather pettily, Harry thought) behind him. He wiped the tears from under his glasses with the corner of his robe, as his giggles subsided... only to laugh out loud as his mind conjured the image of Malfoy's startled face searching the room for 'the voice'.
*Wait until Ron hears about this. Oh that really was far too brilliant! What
was Malfoy, of all people, doing here at this time of night?*
He mentally shrugged and let it slide from his mind. He let his gaze drift around the dusty room he had discovered while wandering through the astronomy tower only a couple of nights ago. For some reason the room called to him, and he found himself returning here, night after night. It was reasonably small, but it was dark and cool in an oddly comforting way. The room's best feature, however, was the arched window overlooking the grounds. Harry sighed, and settled himself on the window seat recently vacated by one Draco Malfoy.
He sighed softly to himself and, pulling his feet up towards him, rested his head against his knees. The moonlight streamed through the window, reflecting softly against something right outside. Harry frowned, leaning in to look. "Argh!" He jerked backwards, tumbled and landed rather ungraciously on his backside. "Ruddy spider." Cursing all things arachnid, he crawled back onto the seat and stared at the spider in horrified fascination. He saw none of the poisonous, alien beauty reflected upon by the former occupant of the room. As if sensing the waves of hostile revulsion emanating from the boy, he spider darted forward. Harry jumped, but managed to save himself another inelegant sprawl on the floor. He shuddered slightly in revulsion. "Ergh!" he whispered quietly to himself. It was then he realized he had knocked something from the window seat onto the floor beside him.
*Hello, what's this then?*
Reaching over, he picked up the slim, red, leather bound book. Gold embossing glinted at him from the front cover. Harry opened the small book, curiosity getting the better of him. Manoeuvring the page into the steady moonlight, he read 'This book is cursed. Any further attempt to open these pages will result in immediate death." Harry snorted softly to himself. What kind of warning was that? He was sure he recognized the curvy, slightly effeminate writing that belonged he seemed to remember belonging to one of the students here. But as to whose... well, it eluded him completely. Sure that the book was relatively curse free, he turned the page. Harry snorted to himself as he read the title 'Poetry?' written as if by a shaking, unsure hand. Someone was obviously embarrassed by the title, but felt the need to write it anyway.
~*Thud*~
Harry froze, looking wildly at the door. Someone was in the corridor outside. Shaking his head to clear it, he grabbed his cloak, throwing it over himself hurriedly. Filch's voice echoed outside the door. "What's wrong my beauty? Is there someone in the tower?" Haryy cursed as he heard Mrs. Norris gave a sharp yowl, in what he supposed was an affirmative. Wincing slightly, he pushed himself right back against the far wall, throwing his cloak over himself. The door creaked open, and Filch's craven face peered through the crack, highlighted by the shifting pool of light emanating from his rusted lantern. His eyes rolled over the room once before he snarled softly and retreated. Harry stayed where he was until the footsteps disappeared into the distance. "Whoa, that was too close. AGAIN." The book he was holding snapped shut in his hand. As he walked towards the door he found himself glancing at the golden writing on the deep red cover. He almost choked in surprise, then amusement as he read "Property of Draco Malfoy" etched on the book in his hands.
*Oh, this is too much! Draco Malfoy writes poetry?!?*
A/N: Welcome to chapter two. Please R&R. Constructive criticism needed! (As is barefaced flattery and hateful flames. Yep, I need 'em all!) I don't like this chapter as much as the first, so if anyone has some suggestions as to how to improve it, well, it would be much appreciated.
Harry watched Malfoy storm out of the room, and made last ditch effort to stop him to try find out what he was doing here. If only he could stop laughing. "Malfoy, wait...." But Draco had gone, slamming the door (rather pettily, Harry thought) behind him. He wiped the tears from under his glasses with the corner of his robe, as his giggles subsided... only to laugh out loud as his mind conjured the image of Malfoy's startled face searching the room for 'the voice'.
*Wait until Ron hears about this. Oh that really was far too brilliant! What
was Malfoy, of all people, doing here at this time of night?*
He mentally shrugged and let it slide from his mind. He let his gaze drift around the dusty room he had discovered while wandering through the astronomy tower only a couple of nights ago. For some reason the room called to him, and he found himself returning here, night after night. It was reasonably small, but it was dark and cool in an oddly comforting way. The room's best feature, however, was the arched window overlooking the grounds. Harry sighed, and settled himself on the window seat recently vacated by one Draco Malfoy.
He sighed softly to himself and, pulling his feet up towards him, rested his head against his knees. The moonlight streamed through the window, reflecting softly against something right outside. Harry frowned, leaning in to look. "Argh!" He jerked backwards, tumbled and landed rather ungraciously on his backside. "Ruddy spider." Cursing all things arachnid, he crawled back onto the seat and stared at the spider in horrified fascination. He saw none of the poisonous, alien beauty reflected upon by the former occupant of the room. As if sensing the waves of hostile revulsion emanating from the boy, he spider darted forward. Harry jumped, but managed to save himself another inelegant sprawl on the floor. He shuddered slightly in revulsion. "Ergh!" he whispered quietly to himself. It was then he realized he had knocked something from the window seat onto the floor beside him.
*Hello, what's this then?*
Reaching over, he picked up the slim, red, leather bound book. Gold embossing glinted at him from the front cover. Harry opened the small book, curiosity getting the better of him. Manoeuvring the page into the steady moonlight, he read 'This book is cursed. Any further attempt to open these pages will result in immediate death." Harry snorted softly to himself. What kind of warning was that? He was sure he recognized the curvy, slightly effeminate writing that belonged he seemed to remember belonging to one of the students here. But as to whose... well, it eluded him completely. Sure that the book was relatively curse free, he turned the page. Harry snorted to himself as he read the title 'Poetry?' written as if by a shaking, unsure hand. Someone was obviously embarrassed by the title, but felt the need to write it anyway.
~*Thud*~
Harry froze, looking wildly at the door. Someone was in the corridor outside. Shaking his head to clear it, he grabbed his cloak, throwing it over himself hurriedly. Filch's voice echoed outside the door. "What's wrong my beauty? Is there someone in the tower?" Haryy cursed as he heard Mrs. Norris gave a sharp yowl, in what he supposed was an affirmative. Wincing slightly, he pushed himself right back against the far wall, throwing his cloak over himself. The door creaked open, and Filch's craven face peered through the crack, highlighted by the shifting pool of light emanating from his rusted lantern. His eyes rolled over the room once before he snarled softly and retreated. Harry stayed where he was until the footsteps disappeared into the distance. "Whoa, that was too close. AGAIN." The book he was holding snapped shut in his hand. As he walked towards the door he found himself glancing at the golden writing on the deep red cover. He almost choked in surprise, then amusement as he read "Property of Draco Malfoy" etched on the book in his hands.
*Oh, this is too much! Draco Malfoy writes poetry?!?*