Selah Ex Animo: Thanks so much for the review, I really appreciate it. I
see what you mean about the paragraphs...I've tried to improve it for this
chapter.
Draco awoke early the next morning, still tired and aching, without a thought to spare for the beautiful room in which he lay. He heaved himself from the comfortable mattress and blinked at the bright, newly minted sun which shone through the window. He pulled off his warm, uncomfortable robes and clothes in which he had slept. He dragged a clean pair of trousers and a t-shirt out of his trunk, and pulled them on, still rubbing his eyes and running his fingers through his hair.
He walked out of his door and to the bottom of the staircase where the boy's bathroom was situated. He walked in a closed the door behind him. The floor gleamed white beneath his feet and reflected the light shining through the window at the opposite end of the room. The walls were pale blue and hung with pictures of seaside scenes. Sunk into the middle of the floor was a fairly large bathtub with dozens of silver taps around the edge. He padded silently across the tiled floor, stripping off his clothes as he went. He stepped into the shower and let the warm water run over his body. He started to feel dizzy in the heat and so sat down on the cool tiles of the floor. There he sat with his eyes closed, feeling the water massage his twisted muscles, shifting every now and then when the jet his an open cut, making it sting.
When he eventually climbed out of the shower, after washing his hair and gently washing around the cuts and bruises on his body, his finger tips were wrinkled from the prolonged exposure to the hot water. The patted his self dry on one of the soft white towels which hung by the sink and pulled his clothes back on. He walked back across the tiles and pulled the door open to see a very disgruntled looking Harry leaning against the wall outside. "'Bout time," he muttered as he pushed past Draco into the bathroom.
Draco made his way slowly back up the stairs and pulled on a clean set of robes from his trunk. He flicked his wand and all of the draws of his dresser flung open. He swished it again and all of his clothes and robes removed themselves from the trunk and landed haphazardly into the draws. He slipped on his boots and walked slowly out of his room and down the stairs into the common room. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was only 7:30; far too early to go down to breakfast, so he seated himself on the comfortable armchair in front of the charred embers of the extinguished fire. Staring at the dust dancing in the sunlight from the open window, which was allowing a pleasantly cool breeze to seep into the room.
When the clock above the fireplace struck 8 o'clock the blond sitting in the chair arose and made his way towards the portrait hole, followed by several other prefects who had just emerged from the dormitories. He arrived in the great hall and sat down at the very end of the long table. He pulled a stack of toast towards him and spread butter thinly over it. He took a bite and slowly chewed it, a pensive look upon his face. He stared at the second piece of toast on his plate, giving it a pleading look, as though wishing it to solve his problems. He sighed and, leaving the toast he had been contemplating so deeply, he began to leave the table. After a moment he remembered he did not yet have his new time table. "Damn it," he thought. He couldn't stand a moment longer sitting at the table, being shot worried glances from his fellow Slytherins, but the timetables were not to be given out for another 20 minutes. Instead he told Blaise to bring it to him in the library before his first class, and, with that, he stalked out of the hall and up to the library. He sat amongst the book shelves reading a book on memory potions he had pulled off the shelf. It was only mildly interesting and he soon was on the search for a more appealing looking book. He came across a book smaller than those around it, thin and leather bound, it didn't look like the other books which all contained complex potions and spells. Just as he was about to open it and take a look, he heard a voice through the peace of the empty library. The sound made him jump, and he soon realised it was his own name being called. He quickly stuffed the small book into his bag and walked to the end of the aisle and found Blaise peering down one of the other rows of books. "Hi," said Draco, causing Blaise to jump slightly. "'Hi," replied Blaise, getting over his surprise, "timetable," he said, holding it out. "Thanks," said Draco, "eugh, double transfiguration first, McGonagall is so unfair to us." "I know, but the Gryffindors get the same from Snape, so it's only reasonable I suppose," reasoned Blaise." "I guess so..." muttered Draco as they made their way towards the transfiguration classroom on the first floor.
Draco paid little attention throughout his classes that morning, his mind was on the book he had been so intrigued by, which was currently residing in his school bag. He didn't know why he was so fascinated by it, all he knew was that he needed to know what was written inside. He spent transfiguration, potions and charms drumming his fingers on his desk, trying to ignore the stabbing pains across his back and thinking more and more intently about what he might find in the mysterious book's pages.
When the bell rang for dinner he did not, like so many other students, stampede towards the great hall, but headed back up to his common room in order examine the book more closely. He gave the password to the beaming Fabian and threw himself down onto the sofa in the common room. He hurriedly rummaged through his bag until he found the small, leather back book, he took a deep breath and opened it to the first page. To his immense surprise, and slight disappointment, he found only one line written there, in elegant, black writing was written;
"One day your screams will break the silence."
He sat, puzzled for a moment, then flicked through the rest of the pages. Nothing. Only that one line in the entire book. Somehow, for an unknown reason, he felt satisfied; this one line was all he needed from this fascinating book. He smiled inwardly to himself and continued to thumb through the practically blank book, despite the large case full of the most interesting book in Hogwarts behind him. After five minutes of sitting there, staring at the eight beautiful words in front of him, he lifted his head to see the portrait swinging back to admit someone. He stared, the book still in his hand, as a flustered looking Hermione Granger appeared in the common room. She glanced at him as she walked over to one of the small tables at the back of the room.
"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, a little more testily than he meant to.
"Well, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm a sixth year prefect too, so I'm entitled to sit in the common room," she answered, glaring at him, "or does His Majesty not want mudblood Granger in his presence?"
"His Majesty really couldn't care less about what mudblood Granger does with her dinner break, he was just wondering to what he owed the pleasure of her company," he drawled, not looking up from the book.
Hermione looked slightly taken aback at his last comment and chose not to reply. Draco finally decided he was hungry and stood up to make his way to the dinner hall. He replaced the book to his bag and swung it over his shoulder, wincing as he did so. Hermione heard his hiss of pain and looked over at him, questioningly. He simply stared at her for several seconds before exiting through the portrait hole. "I'm surprised Granger can stand to be in the same room as me," he mused, as he walked towards the great hall, "after what father and his Deatheaters did last year..."
It was true, of course, that Hermione, Harry and Ron were, to put it lightly, less than friendly towards Malfoy, but so far, he had given them no cause to be malicious and they, therefore, were at a loss of what to do. It would be cowardly and very Slytherin-esque to pick a fight for no reason, with no provocation, so they had decided that the best tactic would be to ignore him as much as possible. Draco did not much mind being ignored. Most people believed that he liked to be the centre of attention, but, most of the time, he would have been much happier if people left him alone. "If only father ignored me," he thought, wistfully, as he sat down to eat.
After double defence against the dark arts that afternoon, with a new teacher, Professor Spark, he trailed slowly back to his common room. Once in his room he removed the small book from his bag. He read the words written on the pages, in twisted, graceful writing, over and over again. Why he was so spellbound by it, he did not know. He reached for his quill from his bag and poised it over the page for several minutes, before beginning to write. He had no idea where the words came from, he just felt that they needed to be said. "Well, I'm not actually saying this am I?" he thought to himself, "maybe I should..."
He mused on this for several more minutes. After going over his words in his head, he considered their consequence. He came to the disappointing conclusion that the satisfaction of speaking his mind, for the first time ever, would probably not be worth the sacrifice. "The sacrifice of my life..." he thought, smirking inwardly, despite the seriousness of what he was thinking.
One day your screams will break the silence
Draco awoke early the next morning, still tired and aching, without a thought to spare for the beautiful room in which he lay. He heaved himself from the comfortable mattress and blinked at the bright, newly minted sun which shone through the window. He pulled off his warm, uncomfortable robes and clothes in which he had slept. He dragged a clean pair of trousers and a t-shirt out of his trunk, and pulled them on, still rubbing his eyes and running his fingers through his hair.
He walked out of his door and to the bottom of the staircase where the boy's bathroom was situated. He walked in a closed the door behind him. The floor gleamed white beneath his feet and reflected the light shining through the window at the opposite end of the room. The walls were pale blue and hung with pictures of seaside scenes. Sunk into the middle of the floor was a fairly large bathtub with dozens of silver taps around the edge. He padded silently across the tiled floor, stripping off his clothes as he went. He stepped into the shower and let the warm water run over his body. He started to feel dizzy in the heat and so sat down on the cool tiles of the floor. There he sat with his eyes closed, feeling the water massage his twisted muscles, shifting every now and then when the jet his an open cut, making it sting.
When he eventually climbed out of the shower, after washing his hair and gently washing around the cuts and bruises on his body, his finger tips were wrinkled from the prolonged exposure to the hot water. The patted his self dry on one of the soft white towels which hung by the sink and pulled his clothes back on. He walked back across the tiles and pulled the door open to see a very disgruntled looking Harry leaning against the wall outside. "'Bout time," he muttered as he pushed past Draco into the bathroom.
Draco made his way slowly back up the stairs and pulled on a clean set of robes from his trunk. He flicked his wand and all of the draws of his dresser flung open. He swished it again and all of his clothes and robes removed themselves from the trunk and landed haphazardly into the draws. He slipped on his boots and walked slowly out of his room and down the stairs into the common room. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was only 7:30; far too early to go down to breakfast, so he seated himself on the comfortable armchair in front of the charred embers of the extinguished fire. Staring at the dust dancing in the sunlight from the open window, which was allowing a pleasantly cool breeze to seep into the room.
When the clock above the fireplace struck 8 o'clock the blond sitting in the chair arose and made his way towards the portrait hole, followed by several other prefects who had just emerged from the dormitories. He arrived in the great hall and sat down at the very end of the long table. He pulled a stack of toast towards him and spread butter thinly over it. He took a bite and slowly chewed it, a pensive look upon his face. He stared at the second piece of toast on his plate, giving it a pleading look, as though wishing it to solve his problems. He sighed and, leaving the toast he had been contemplating so deeply, he began to leave the table. After a moment he remembered he did not yet have his new time table. "Damn it," he thought. He couldn't stand a moment longer sitting at the table, being shot worried glances from his fellow Slytherins, but the timetables were not to be given out for another 20 minutes. Instead he told Blaise to bring it to him in the library before his first class, and, with that, he stalked out of the hall and up to the library. He sat amongst the book shelves reading a book on memory potions he had pulled off the shelf. It was only mildly interesting and he soon was on the search for a more appealing looking book. He came across a book smaller than those around it, thin and leather bound, it didn't look like the other books which all contained complex potions and spells. Just as he was about to open it and take a look, he heard a voice through the peace of the empty library. The sound made him jump, and he soon realised it was his own name being called. He quickly stuffed the small book into his bag and walked to the end of the aisle and found Blaise peering down one of the other rows of books. "Hi," said Draco, causing Blaise to jump slightly. "'Hi," replied Blaise, getting over his surprise, "timetable," he said, holding it out. "Thanks," said Draco, "eugh, double transfiguration first, McGonagall is so unfair to us." "I know, but the Gryffindors get the same from Snape, so it's only reasonable I suppose," reasoned Blaise." "I guess so..." muttered Draco as they made their way towards the transfiguration classroom on the first floor.
Draco paid little attention throughout his classes that morning, his mind was on the book he had been so intrigued by, which was currently residing in his school bag. He didn't know why he was so fascinated by it, all he knew was that he needed to know what was written inside. He spent transfiguration, potions and charms drumming his fingers on his desk, trying to ignore the stabbing pains across his back and thinking more and more intently about what he might find in the mysterious book's pages.
When the bell rang for dinner he did not, like so many other students, stampede towards the great hall, but headed back up to his common room in order examine the book more closely. He gave the password to the beaming Fabian and threw himself down onto the sofa in the common room. He hurriedly rummaged through his bag until he found the small, leather back book, he took a deep breath and opened it to the first page. To his immense surprise, and slight disappointment, he found only one line written there, in elegant, black writing was written;
"One day your screams will break the silence."
He sat, puzzled for a moment, then flicked through the rest of the pages. Nothing. Only that one line in the entire book. Somehow, for an unknown reason, he felt satisfied; this one line was all he needed from this fascinating book. He smiled inwardly to himself and continued to thumb through the practically blank book, despite the large case full of the most interesting book in Hogwarts behind him. After five minutes of sitting there, staring at the eight beautiful words in front of him, he lifted his head to see the portrait swinging back to admit someone. He stared, the book still in his hand, as a flustered looking Hermione Granger appeared in the common room. She glanced at him as she walked over to one of the small tables at the back of the room.
"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, a little more testily than he meant to.
"Well, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm a sixth year prefect too, so I'm entitled to sit in the common room," she answered, glaring at him, "or does His Majesty not want mudblood Granger in his presence?"
"His Majesty really couldn't care less about what mudblood Granger does with her dinner break, he was just wondering to what he owed the pleasure of her company," he drawled, not looking up from the book.
Hermione looked slightly taken aback at his last comment and chose not to reply. Draco finally decided he was hungry and stood up to make his way to the dinner hall. He replaced the book to his bag and swung it over his shoulder, wincing as he did so. Hermione heard his hiss of pain and looked over at him, questioningly. He simply stared at her for several seconds before exiting through the portrait hole. "I'm surprised Granger can stand to be in the same room as me," he mused, as he walked towards the great hall, "after what father and his Deatheaters did last year..."
It was true, of course, that Hermione, Harry and Ron were, to put it lightly, less than friendly towards Malfoy, but so far, he had given them no cause to be malicious and they, therefore, were at a loss of what to do. It would be cowardly and very Slytherin-esque to pick a fight for no reason, with no provocation, so they had decided that the best tactic would be to ignore him as much as possible. Draco did not much mind being ignored. Most people believed that he liked to be the centre of attention, but, most of the time, he would have been much happier if people left him alone. "If only father ignored me," he thought, wistfully, as he sat down to eat.
After double defence against the dark arts that afternoon, with a new teacher, Professor Spark, he trailed slowly back to his common room. Once in his room he removed the small book from his bag. He read the words written on the pages, in twisted, graceful writing, over and over again. Why he was so spellbound by it, he did not know. He reached for his quill from his bag and poised it over the page for several minutes, before beginning to write. He had no idea where the words came from, he just felt that they needed to be said. "Well, I'm not actually saying this am I?" he thought to himself, "maybe I should..."
He mused on this for several more minutes. After going over his words in his head, he considered their consequence. He came to the disappointing conclusion that the satisfaction of speaking his mind, for the first time ever, would probably not be worth the sacrifice. "The sacrifice of my life..." he thought, smirking inwardly, despite the seriousness of what he was thinking.
One day your screams will break the silence