Disclaimer-I am not JK Rowling, never have been, never will be. Although, I admit, Id love to be. Alas, this is not to be.
Shorter chapter, and not AS much action. Mainly plot building, which is always good. Enjoy!
Hermione wandered around the head's common rooms, wondering at the beauty and sheer spaciousness of it. It was huge! Her bedroom alone was the size of her former common room. The decor, admittedly, surprised Hermione, who was expecting the patented gold and red. To her delight, however, it was a rich midnight blue and silver, which instantly soothed her mind and emotions. The four poster bed was larger then her previous one in the Gryffindor forms, and the fabric was much softer, and luxurious. Across from her bed was a vanity, complete with an oval mirror, frosted at the edges.
Hermione briefly wondered if Draco had the same vanity, seeing as, normally, there wasn't a difference between male and female rooms.
To the right of the bed, against the wall, a few feet from the balcony (balcony?) was a large cherry wood desk. It was beyond beautiful, with ornate carvings around the edges. She wished, for only a few seconds, that she had her digital camera with her, but discarded the thought, knowing that, even if she remembered it, it wouldn't work around the magic.
She wandered around some more, finding her trunk, which she unpacked. Toilitries in hand, she went to find the bathroom, so she could finally get to bed. She was completely exhausted, the day having lasted, what seemed like forever.
Her bathroom, which came off a niche in her room, housed a shower, and a bathtub, which gleaned black marble. The fixture and accents were a shining chrome, the floor tiled black. The overall effect was breathtaking. Hermione put her things away, and set to brushing her teeth, and doing her face. She would just shower in the morning. It was just too late for that kind of thing.
Draco watched as Hermione, the new Head girl (such a surprise) marched up to her room, not even bothering to say goodnight. He hoped that the year wouldn't always be like tonight. It would be frustrating and, quite frankly, tiresome to deal with an uncooperative woman. Not that he generally had that problem, in fact, they were usually more then cooperative to the point of creepy and stalker.
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He was thinking about the Head girl way too often since the night her family was murdered. He wondered at that, but could not, for the life of him, come up with a logical answer. There were a few illogical answers, but, Draco was a man of logic, and rejected those thoughts. He pushed Hermione, with her beautiful hair, and intelligent amber eyes out of his mind.
His thoughts went, rather predictably, to the "other woman" in his life, if either could be considered to be IN his life, Pansy. He recalled the look of complete shock on her face when she entered the Great Hall for the feast. She, like a lot of students, weren't expecting him back that year. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure he would be allowed back this year, considering the events of the year before.
"Draco?" Pansy had shrieked, making sure that absolutely everyone in the entire great hall knew he was there, and had not been on the Hogwarts express.
She had run into his arms, giving him a bone crushing hug that was entirely uncalled for. She had seen him only a few weeks previous, for dinner, by invite from his mother. Damn the woman. She was convinced that Draco and Pansy would marry, and produce a heir. Fat chance. Truth be told, he couldn't stand her, and her clingy-ness.
She had, of course, asked as many stupid pointless questions as she could, but he was having none of it. He point blank told her to shut up,. and to stop asking stupid questions. She looked like she'd been slapped, but that only lasted a few seconds. She had smiled, and cuddled next to him, saying that she knew how he felt, and she would make it all right.
Crazy broad. She had to be delusional to think there was anything to base that assumption on.
Actually, the both of them had to be crazy, since both Pansy and his mother harbored notions that they would b happily married.
Not if he, Draco, had anything to do with it. He had ideas that he would have a harem of sorts, and, most likely, die alone. That is, of course, if he lived much longer. He had already incurred the wrath of the Dark Lord, and, most likely, his father. It was only a matter of time before one of them killed him.
Draco walked up the stairs leading to his own rooms. Despite living in a castle, he was impressed with his lodgings. They were big, spacious and very well furnished. He was, initially, surprised at the color of the decor-midnight blue and gold-but he much preferred this compared to the traditional green and silver. He was beginning to loathe those colors, especially when they were paired together exclusively.
He sank down on his bed, stairing at the blue canopy above him. Merlin, he was exhausted. He was sick and tired of being something he wasn't. Or, rather, pretending to be something, while hiding his underlying self. He wondered if he was even pretending anymore, if what he thought he was was only a lie, but instinctivly, he knew otherwise. He knew something wasn't right about the world, both of them Muggle and Magical, and the views that he had held for so long. Views that were foistered upon him by his father. Draco had believed them all, swallowed them up, trying to impress someone who could not be impressed, which Draco found out too late in life.
He only hoped he could escape before tragedy struck. Hoped he could right his wrongs, for there were many to fix.
Draco stretched from his bed, and shook his white blond hair. It was time for bed, which meant, time for a Dreamless sleep potion. It was the only way he got any sleep these days, and, even then it was scattered and fragmented.
If he could remember his dreams, then at least he could do something about it, but, alas, he could not. He remembered feelings, and impressions, but that was all.
He was, at times, thankful that he could not remember-the feelings and impressions were enough to terrify anyone senseless. Yet, he knew that some sort of answer awaited him within the nightmares.
He just needed to reach out and grab it.
If only he wasn't as weak as he was.
end transmission