Severus Snape: The Half Blood Prince

*(90) Cup

"Diadem, check," Sophie murmured to herself, her voice carrying a mix of determination and resolve that seemed to bounce off the ancient stones of the castle. Her grip on the strap of her bag tightened as she shifted her focus to the next item on her list. "Next... The cup."

Hogwarts's once vibrant and bustling halls now echoed with an eerie stillness that seemed to seep into every crevice. The air hung heavy, carrying with it an unspoken tension that replaced the lively energy that used to thrum through the corridors. Once animated and chatty, the portraits on the walls appeared to have fallen silent, their painted eyes reflecting the somber mood that had befallen the school.

The change in atmosphere was palpable, like a weight pressing down on Sophie's chest as she moved through the castle. It was as if the walls themselves were mourning the loss of normalcy, the absence of Umbridge a bittersweet victory that left everyone with a sense of unease.

The Slytherins, who once reveled in their prestige, now seemed subdued, their usual arrogance replaced with a quiet acceptance of the new order. Even the preppy and high-classed students, who had once been the embodiment of entitlement, now seemed to recognize the gravity of the situation. Sophie's footsteps echoed through the corridors, a stark reminder of her purpose in a world that had been shaken to its core.

Amidst the silence, the ghosts, those ethereal figures that usually danced through the halls, appeared frozen in their eternal routines. They drifted aimlessly, their normally animated interactions reduced to mere echoes of their former selves. Time seemed to have slowed, and each second stretched out like taffy as if the castle was collectively holding its breath.

Draco Malfoy's name echoed in Sophie's thoughts like a haunting refrain. Her steps quickened as she combed through her memories, trying to piece together the puzzle of his whereabouts. The emptiness of the castle seemed to reflect the void left by his absence. She felt a pang of concern, wondering what he had endured during this tumultuous time.

Exiting the castle, she stared across the landscape, the mountains casting long shadows in the fading light. Her mind raced, and her thoughts meandered through the maze of possibilities. The sense of isolation weighed on her, and she found herself lost in her contemplation, her gaze momentarily distant as she wrestled with the enigma of Draco's whereabouts. She could only see the tiny amoeba 'crawling' in her eyes due to her dozing off a bit.

As Sophie's gaze was pulled from the distant mountains, her reverie was interrupted by a small, persistent disturbance. Something darted through her field of vision, teasing at the edges of her consciousness. A hint of annoyance tugged at her, and she tried to swat away whatever it was that dared to disrupt her thoughts. However, the fleeting presence persisted, refusing to be ignored.

With a resigned sigh, Sophie pushed herself up from her seated position, her curiosity piqued by the persistent nuisance. She moved to the edge of the clearing, her steps growing purposeful as her eyes followed the object's erratic flight. A black blur emerged from the confusion, taking the shape of a broom with a figure perched upon it.

Her heart skipped a beat as recognition set in. It was him – Draco Malfoy, on a solo flight around the quidditch fields. The sight was both unexpected and strangely fitting, like a lone eagle soaring through a vast sky.

Driven by a mix of relief and determination, Sophie's legs carried her forward, her movements a blend of eagerness and urgency. She couldn't quite keep up with the pace her heart had set, her upper body lagging behind the rapid rhythm of her feet.

Approaching the quidditch fields, the hushed ambiance struck her. There was an air of solitude as if the arena was a sanctuary untouched by the chaos beyond its boundaries. Draco weaved through the air in this tranquil haven, his focus unrelenting as he pursued the elusive snitch. His usually immaculate appearance was marred by sweat and dirt, evidence of his intense endeavor.