[✓] 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗲. draco malfoy

85| Heart and Soul

''𝘽𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙄 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧.''

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

𝑫𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑶 𝑴𝑨𝑳𝑭𝑶𝒀 𝑷𝑶𝑽

𝗜 𝗱𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝘁𝗼 𝗚𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝘆 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲, 𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗶𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗮 𝗯𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗯𝗹𝗲𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗜 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲. Once I had left and gone back to the cold embrace of my room, which was bland and tasteless, I still had barely spoken. The only time that I had opened my mouth was to eat, drink or let out a few jumbles of words. I jumbled just clear enough for father to be able to hear me though, so he didn't have to raise his voice and start ranting on about how I've got to keep up appearances.

He always says the same thing, keeping appearances - even in our own home. If it wasn't that usual speech it was him vaguely talking about an opportunity that would soon be open for me. He didn't tell me what, exactly and didn't give much hint as to what it would be, either. Mother only tried to get him to stop talking, but now I knew that it wasn't as good of an opportunity as I thought it would've been. 

If anything, I'd thought he would be meaning something from the Ministry. Something that had to do with degrading muggle-born's, half-bloods and blood traitors lower then they already were. That's not to say that I'm on his side and I'm not completely regarding his side either, as I've heard Granger say, 'I'm on the fence about it'. 

They haven't been home much either, doing more work then they had before. I only thought that it was something big going down in the Ministry, especially if mother had go down with father. The house elves had been cleaning non-stop, which means I can hear s few mops and brooms clanging against the floor at night. It lets me know that there is still a few people in the house and I'm not just sitting there by myself. 

Sitting in my room with the window propped open, I was currently hunched over my desk with a quill in my hand and a half-empty ink pot sitting beside the empty parchment. This was my fourth piece of parchment, since the others had been ruined by unnecessary drips of ink or words that I didn't think had looked right at the time. My quill was my second one, since I had snapped the other one a few minutes ago and got rid of that one. 

Through my window, the familiar breeze of upcoming September had swept through and carried the parchment a few inches from where I had placed it. It didn't matter, as long as it hadn't flown out the window and into the sky to who knows where. Tapping my quill that hadn't been dumped in ink, against the desk, my nose barely touching the parchment.