- Rating:
- PG-13
- House:
- Astronomy Tower
- Genres:
- Romance Slash
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Spoilers:
- Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire
- Stats:
-
Published: 07/19/2002Updated: 08/14/2002Words: 3,583Chapters: 5Hits: 5,868
The River
Fayth
- Story Summary:
- An area secluded in the woods is a setting straight out of a fairytale. Tall trees, ravishingly beautiful flowers, exquisite greenery and a a river that flows with adamantine water seems the place for artists to gather - a place where the muse descends to. So it is, but only Slytherins frequent the area regularly. That is, until one night when a certain heart-broken Slytherin poet finds a certain Gryffindor wading in the river.
Chapter 04
- Posted:
- 08/14/2002
- Hits:
- 917
The River
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Chapter Four:
Sleeping In
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Draco's eyes fluttered open as the morning sun gently shone through the high up glass windowpanes. The light of the daystar seemed brutally bright on Draco's still tired eyes. One his eyes had adjusted to the light, Draco stood and began to lethargically dress himself in his school uniform. Pants, shirt, tie, sweater vest, and, finally, robes were pulled from dresser drawers and then, in the same order, Draco put them on. After running a brush through his hair, Draco turned toward the bed that was normally occupied by who he called his "only true friend" Blaise Zabini.
"Get up," Draco said flatly, as he did each morning. No response came and Draco sighed as he reached out and pulled back the emerald curtain that surrounded Blaise's bed. To Draco's surprise, not only was Blaise not in his bed, but the bed was also made. If there was one thing Blaise never did, it was make his bed. The covers were neatly tucked under the mattress and the pillows were all fluffed and smoothed out. Draco stood still, staring at the flat covers and tidily arranged pillows, his mouth hung open in shock.
With a quick shake of the head, Draco darted over to Goyle's bed only to find that not only was the bed empty and made, but both bedside table's had been cleaned off. His head was spinning.
Shaking off the odd feeling he had, Draco walked back over to his bedside and checked his clock. According to the hands, it was just past two AM. With a light chuckle, Draco placed the clock back down knowing that it was definitely not only two in the morning. He sat for a few minutes and sighed to himself as his chuckle-brought smile switched ways and turned into a downhearted straight line. The memory of his encounter with Harry came rushing back into his mind. Harry's reactions to his advances, the sudden screeching halt to a nice moment, and not even given the chance to explain.
Reaching into the drawer on his bedside table, Draco pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and a pen - not a quill, but a pen that his father had given him. It was much easier to write with than a quill was - you never had to dip it back in the ink. Draco saved his pen for writing special things, things he wanted to either keep forever or burn once he finished it.
"I am not the one you're used to seeing," Draco scribbled down, "I am not the one your friends have seen. I am not so passionless and cruel... I am not as tough as I may seem...
"And within my heart there is a place,
With a scoff, Draco looked back the poem, if you could call it that, written in neat handwriting on the parchment before him. It was horrid - no, it was worse that horrid, it was a disgrace to him and his talent. Though, he had never written a poem, or written anything for that matter, about love. Perhaps, for the first time, it was acceptable.
Sighing, Draco folded up the paper and gestured to place it on his bedside table when he felt under his had a small box. Wondering what it could be, Draco set down his poem and picked up the box. It was small and made of wood with no exterior markings on the lid or elsewhere. Shifting his eyes from side to side Draco peered around the room to make sure there was no one about lurking the corners and such - as Slytherin tended to do sometimes. Slowly, he reached for the lid, his fingers trembling. Slowly... slowly...
Suddenly, Draco heard and felt a faint rumbling. It subsided. Then again he heard it, louder and stronger this time. A hollow feeling in his abdomen told him that the rumbling was for sure his stomach speaking its need to be filled. With a light laugh, Draco picked back up his poem and started into the common room. With one last look at the little box, Draco shrugged and placed it atop the handsome wooden mantle. A third rumble reminded Draco further that he was missing breakfast.
Draco darted through the common room, climbing over a couch as he went, and out into the corridor. The damp smell of the dungeons still hung in his nostrils when he reached the main corridor, but after six years, he was more than used to the musty scent. Taking many turns both left and right Draco soon found himself at the base of the staircase the led to the great hall. He could hear the loudness of what was breakfast going on. His poem in his hand, and his finest attitude put on, Draco walked into the Great Hall as arrogantly as he did each day.