The wind glided over his face, whirling the lovely scent of warm english
tea into his nose. His breath was soft; his lips molding perfectly to the
rim of the tea cup as he took a sip. A crescent shaped moon could be seen
in the distance, even though the skies still shimmered with the vibrant,
pastel colours of the sun. His eyes traced the cracks running along the
window edge. From the corner of his eye he saw someone emerging from the
shadows cast by the castle.
Harry reached for his glasses, which were sitting on the far side of the window ledge. Placing them comfortably on his nose, he peered over the window, looking for the mysterious figure. He squinted a bit to the left and found his target. The boy below looked up at Harry. Strands of his exotic silver hair strayed across his face as the wind blew hard against his body, pressing his robes against his elegant figure.
Harry shook his head. He had been staring at Draco Malfoy for over five minutes. What was he doing? Immediately he looked back down and saw Draco holding his one and only Firebolt; the broom his dear godfather, Sirius Black, gave him. Harry glared down at Draco.
Draco was still looking directly into Harry's eyes, piercing his soul. He smirked then turned around and walked into the shadows, disappearing from Harry's site. Harry jumped up from his seat and raced over to his bed, stuffing his feet into his shoes. He pushed against his left leg, but tripped on part of his dangling shoelace. He muttered a curse under his breath and then blotted down the stairs to the common room, knocking Neville over on his back side.
Ron was severely whipping Hermione's butt at wizard's chess; both sitting in plush armchairs near the fireplace. They both glanced up at Harry, surprised at his winded expression. "Are you okay, mate?" Ron stated, looking concerned about Harry's ruffled up state.
Harry took a deep breath; his heart was beating fast. He could feel his blood pulsing through his veins. Why was he so exhausted from running down the stairs? He closed his eyes, swallowed, and opened them again. He looked back up at Ron and Hermione. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I have to go meet up with Malfoy. He stole my broom!"
"Bloody hell, why did he do such a thing?"
"Shall we go with you then, to get your broom back?" Hermione inquired.
"No, no. Thanks anyway, I'll be fine. Well I gotta run." With that, Harry rushed out of the room, giving Ron and Hermione no time to reply. He pushed the picture of the Fat Lady out of the way, leaving her swinging as he departed.
"Where are you going, young man!?" yelled the Fat Lady, but Harry didn't bother to answer for he was already down the hall. Harry was soon out of breath; he wasn't used to running so much. Why was he in such a hurry? Well, he wanted his broom back of course. But then why didn't he want his friends to help him retrieve it? His heart was pumping faster. But faster than it should be. What was wrong with him? Harry's head hurt, he just wanted to get to Malfoy as soon as possible.
Harry reached for his glasses, which were sitting on the far side of the window ledge. Placing them comfortably on his nose, he peered over the window, looking for the mysterious figure. He squinted a bit to the left and found his target. The boy below looked up at Harry. Strands of his exotic silver hair strayed across his face as the wind blew hard against his body, pressing his robes against his elegant figure.
Harry shook his head. He had been staring at Draco Malfoy for over five minutes. What was he doing? Immediately he looked back down and saw Draco holding his one and only Firebolt; the broom his dear godfather, Sirius Black, gave him. Harry glared down at Draco.
Draco was still looking directly into Harry's eyes, piercing his soul. He smirked then turned around and walked into the shadows, disappearing from Harry's site. Harry jumped up from his seat and raced over to his bed, stuffing his feet into his shoes. He pushed against his left leg, but tripped on part of his dangling shoelace. He muttered a curse under his breath and then blotted down the stairs to the common room, knocking Neville over on his back side.
Ron was severely whipping Hermione's butt at wizard's chess; both sitting in plush armchairs near the fireplace. They both glanced up at Harry, surprised at his winded expression. "Are you okay, mate?" Ron stated, looking concerned about Harry's ruffled up state.
Harry took a deep breath; his heart was beating fast. He could feel his blood pulsing through his veins. Why was he so exhausted from running down the stairs? He closed his eyes, swallowed, and opened them again. He looked back up at Ron and Hermione. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I have to go meet up with Malfoy. He stole my broom!"
"Bloody hell, why did he do such a thing?"
"Shall we go with you then, to get your broom back?" Hermione inquired.
"No, no. Thanks anyway, I'll be fine. Well I gotta run." With that, Harry rushed out of the room, giving Ron and Hermione no time to reply. He pushed the picture of the Fat Lady out of the way, leaving her swinging as he departed.
"Where are you going, young man!?" yelled the Fat Lady, but Harry didn't bother to answer for he was already down the hall. Harry was soon out of breath; he wasn't used to running so much. Why was he in such a hurry? Well, he wanted his broom back of course. But then why didn't he want his friends to help him retrieve it? His heart was pumping faster. But faster than it should be. What was wrong with him? Harry's head hurt, he just wanted to get to Malfoy as soon as possible.