The notebook was his first real gift to himself. Years and years he had been stuck receiving nothing but hate on his birthday, but this time he was free, free to do whatever he chose to do.

So he bought himself a notebook.

It had been an impulse buy, the shiny new leather exterior drawing his attention to it in the window. Then, after entering the shop, the hidden details and security features had tempted him to give in just that once and buy it.

It was a dark brown leather, waxed and polished. The inside contained lined parchment. 48 pages in total. Beautiful and exact. It had been dutifully keyed to his blood so that it would only open to him in the shop prior to him leaving.

It was completely his. No one else could open it; no one else could even try and prise apart the pages.

He had waited for ages, considering what he could possibly write down within the pages. What could he possibly write that would be able to leave a true mark against these pages?

Months he had left it blank, staring at the empty pages. Thinking and considering.

Then he had his epiphany.

Why strive for perfection when he could document every single imperfection in his life? Every lie he had been told.

He quickly had to rethink that; if he wrote down every lie he was told, then he would have needed a new notebook every other week.

No, this was a special notebook. It would only be reserved for the most spectacular of lies.

And so he waited many more months, the notebook lay untouched but not out of mind.

Every single lie that was told to him remained etched in his mind.

"Five more minutes and we'll be done."

"If you're late again, I will turn you both into mice."

"One more time, Potter, and I will have you thrown out of my class for good!"

All the comments just had glossed over him. He had known they were all lies, but he had known just as well that they were all meaningless comments, now adrift in the wind. No permanent consequences of them all being uttered. Nothing that could go terribly wrong from them.

But he had known that there would be a day when his whole notebook would be filled. He had known that day was coming.

And it had finally come.

He had finally got to write in the book, on what was the first page of many.

He had used his finest quill, split and sharpened it once more to ensure it had the smoothest of glides across the parchment.

Then, he had been sure to use the ink he had put aside months ago. Solely for use in this notebook. It was a dark plum colour that stood out vividly against the bleached white parchment. An expensive ink, but it had been worth every knut.

Finally, he had been able to stare down at the first influential lie he was willing to document only after months of ensuring it was a true lie.

It had been written perfectly.

"There's no safer place, except perhaps Hogwarts."


THC/The Houses Competition.

Round 3 - Drabble

House - Gryffindor

Class - HoH

Prompt(s) chosen -

[Object] Notebook

531 words (wordcounter .net)