Draco Malfoy:
Written over the motionless shoeprint, standing among the numerous other foot prints that crossed along the map, was the name, Elrick Gastrell.
A solitary target didn't always result in an easy capture.
I flipped through the journal that kept every possible record and information of anyone who has been sentenced to Azkaban.
Elrick Gastrell. {MURDER-CONVICT, DEATH-EATER}
September 28, 1978/Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Known for conjuring dangerous abstract varmints.
Sent for an attempt of murder. (Victim: Harry James Potter)
Ginger hair. Dark skin from excessive sunlight, and deep green eyes that bled out of the page of his mugshot. He stood with a proper body posture with smugness written all over him. He portrayed a nearly pitiful excessive pride that has reminded me of my own ego.
I can only cling to the delight of my own personal entity that has long forsaken my grip.
I heard a light thud against the table, looking up- I noticed a pink box full of macarons were placed on the table.
"What's this?" I asked, looking above at Goyle.
"Macarons. Heard of it, at all?" He mocks me, biting into the green butter-creamed filled biscuit.
Oddly enough, he portrayed proper manners as it split between his front teeth, compared to Crabbe who spills it all over his dress shirt and suit.
"You bloody idiot, eat it over a plate- you swine. You'll spill it all over the books and papers." I
tell him. He waddled into the confined ally kitchen as I continued to look over the journal.
"Elrick Gastrell" Goyle reads as he looked over my shoulders.
"He's not moving." He says wiping his mouth. "Oh bloody hell, he better not be wanking by himself over there."
It wasn't long before we left the flat. Goyle didn't dare to allow Crabbe handle the map while his finger were licked, buttered, and partially dyed from our dinner. He was nearly useless to us other than another body guard, but Goyle was a bit different and was far different than what I expected of him. He wasn't the kind to spend his weekends and spare hours studying up on common knowledge or furthering beyond his own, at least that's how I took him for. Another bloody fatty idiot off the street, I thought. At first that's what I assumed him for, consider how long he hung around... but, he had his own ambitions and goals other than tagging along for the ride.
We paused by a rather high rised gaff, built with stones and a nice blue-colored roof with plenty of windows all along its side.
"Do we have a plan, at all?" Asked Crabbe. I threw my hand up, unsure.
"I suppose we let it up a bit, and not bring up that we're wizards sent to bring his arse back into Azkaban." Says Goyle.
"Obviously." He says in response.
"Then, don't ask" I tell him.
I wasn't very fond of Crabbe during our final year in Hogwarts. He didn't turn out to be quite an intellectual bloke that most of us turned out to be. It didn't mean at all that I loathed him and desire him dead... life wouldn't be very much the same without him. We all have those kind of people growing up. Friends don't seem like friends by the end of it all, especially school. I don't know much about secondary school, but Hogwarts is all the same. I don't speak with even half the people I befriended in those unfriendly years, yet Crabbe and Goyle has been my only companions and a feeling of home since the start of it all. I couldn't replace them for any intelligent bloke, or bird.
Anyways. We wandered into the halls until we were steps away from where he stood.
I swear, he better not be wanking that rotten willy of his in there, I thought.
The three of us stood in front of the door.
"Well?" The two questioned as all three us stood staring at eachother.
"Well, go on." I tell them. The two stood on both sides of me, holding their wands out towards the door. It blows open and I charge in. With my wand at hand, his body flies off against the wall on the other side of the flat and passes out from a hard hit on the head.
"Oh. So, we're not going to explain anything or have a proper conversation with the man, instead we just toss him. Next time, Malfoy. Let us up when you have a plan in mind." Complains Goyle, who clearly recalls that no plan was even set up in the first place.
"Sorry, I was improvising." I tell him.
"Attempt in murdering Potter. I spent seven years with the bloke and you had one day. What on earth has pissed you off." I say approaching him. "At least I didn't attempt to conjure an overly excited snake to go up his pants the moment I met him. That's a terrible idea for a first impression."
Pointing my wand, I say evanesco and a dark smoke surrounded his unconscious body. It seemed out through the cracks of the window.
"I try to politely introduce myself. Enjoy a few dates before going that far" I joke, "I don't want to come off as too forward." I heard Goyle letting out a boisterous laugh behind me and it wasn't long till I realized Crabbe hasn't muttered a word or chuckle since we entered.
I turned around to see Crabbe looking over a lass who was back to a back against the wall by the door. A serpent was slowly letting go of its grip as it uncoiled itself, slithering down to the floor. Her head was jerked back and her eyes were closed shut.
"Hermione" Says Crabbe. He kneels down to pick up the three-headed serpent, letting it coil over his arm. "Hermione Granger?" He asks again. Her eyes slowly opened, one by one and then it widens. She stands completely still for a brief moment.
"Thanks" She says lowering her head. She reaches for her purse on the ground and then rushes out.
Being utterly confused, my brain failed to quickly respond to the situation. I stood looking over her brown eyes until she turned away. Going absolutely blank, I didn't say a word to her. Even if she hadn't rushed out so soon, I'd still wouldn't have been able to properly put words together.
I let the entire situations slide out of my brain, but Goyle began to act to strange soon after we left. Not a word had slipped out of his mouth that evening.
Crabbed nodded off the moment we returned to the flat, while I remained flipping through an old spell book I accidently brought back from Hogwarts. I can't even imagine what the textbook fee could've been. I'm sure fetching baddies will disregard that.
I spun my wand around, casting spells at objects. Lev-ee-oh-sa, and the journal floats in the air. I tossed my head around to find Goyle hunched over on the table.
"Has anything happened at all?" I ask him, throwing my leg off the arm of the chair and onto the ground. He didn't respond, "Goyle." I say.
His head bobs up.
"What? Oh- yeah, of course. I'm just a bit knackerd." He says before leaving into his room.
Hermione Granger:
There was a time in my life, two years ago to be exact… that I knew it was over. That my life had already served its main purpose, and for so long since the end of mt schooling in Hogwarts, I've readied myself for the end entirely.
The prospect of dying has no longer frightened me. I can clearly recall being tortured by Bellatrix, thinking to myself... am I truly prepared to die? Have I accepted this fate, to die in the hands of a nearly psychopathic witch who claims to be cynic of all things not pure?
Having to follow Harry and Ron through all those perilous adventures made me realise how lucky I was to be alive.
Right now, I thought.
I was the first victim. I am a mudblood, and that will never change. The moment I was told I was capable of these astonishing impossibilities, I refused to ever be ashamed of being a muggleborn. To be as blessed enough to be given such a gift, and to leave the world the avoid such criticism, then so be it. I can't hide it any longer, how much it hurts to hear the name.
Mudblood.
I will accept it, but I will always refuse to face the fact it hurts.
"Hermione"
The voice was familiar. It rung and rattled through my ears. I thought, Crabbe, Vincent Crabbe.
I slowly gained my conscious again, yet my body aches of the bruises from the altercation. I slowly let my eyes open, peering at a familiar pale platinum-haired boy I once saw outside the tea shop not too long ago.
I felt heat risen within my cheeks. No one was aware of my obscure infatuation of the vile boy. It was decided that at that exact moment I heard him say mudblood, and the moment the sorting hat shouted "Slytherin"- that no could know. That not a single word would be told of what has been long set in my heart. The hierarchy was cruel. It was obvious, he was a pureblood.
Every time, I can hear my Grandmother's word of a tale of this young boy falling in love with the enemy's daughter. I was always curious of what it could feel to be in a situation like that… A forbidden love.
Romeo and Juliet. That's it, I thought to myself.
I just dreadfully hope, my experience won't end in death. Now that I know, I wish I never knew the feeling. Maybe Sherlock Holmes had to suffer through the feeling when he was forced to hold a hostile acquaintance with the witty Irene Adler.
Knowing I couldn't stand to look at the person I can only dream to have, without another thought, I quickly grabbed my bag and ran out of the flat, and at that moment, I realized it was too late to turn back. Knowing that, just a second ago, I was standing only a few feet from the suave figure I have long longed for.