Fools | Draco Malfoy

𝐈- 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬

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      𝔱𝔴𝔬 𝔶𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔰 𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔯- ℑ𝔰𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔩'𝔰 𝔓𝔒𝔙

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A sudden shout echoed throughout the house. My jet-black owl, Twilight, fluttered in her cage and hooted unhappily from being awoken from her sleep. I was equally startled, my quill swiping across the parchment from the scare.

I groaned, and let my posture weaken enough for me to slip further down in my seat. The chair creaked from the shift of weight.

This year had already made a bad impression on me, and school hadn't even started yet. Twilight had been restless all summer, and I couldn't complain about it because Harry had gotten her for me for my birthday at the end of second year. I suppose I was uneducated of how much care an owl needed when I was always longing for one. But it was sweet of him to get it for me, and I guess it's nice to have company when my parents were fighting. Even if it was just an owl.

Ron was finally starting to accept me as a Slytherin, despite the complaints coming from the rest of his family. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were kind to me, but not enough to invite me over while Hermione and Harry stayed there. I suppose it wasn't because they were bias, instead because most of the Weasley children wouldn't be to happy a Slytherin had stepped foot in their house.

Ron and Ginny weren't as bad as the others, such as Fred and George, but it still took some time for them to accept me.

Well, maybe not a little time. More like the first two years of school, and it wasn't until I helped saved Ginny from the chamber of secrets that they were okay with me.

On top of that, Hermione was forcing me to take a bunch of extra classes with her this year, much against my preference. Once I had finally gathered the effort to write my request to the school to sign up for these classes, my father decided to arrive home.

I stood up and slammed my door, but it only muffled my parents arguing slightly. The walls in this house were thin, and since it was more of a cottage, pretty much everything could be heard echoing throughout the house.

I then studied the piece of parchment I had been writing on moments before, the line of black ink swiped across what used to be perfectly scripted writing.

I crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash. Or at least I tried to, but instead it fell onto the floor. I ignored it, as all it did was add to the building-up pile that surrounding the can.

Giving up on writing my request, I pulled my tattered suitcase out from under my twin bed. I had to scoot my chair farther back to make room for it in my cramped room, and still the suitcase was pressed between my bed and my legs so I couldn't open it.

The yells from downstairs seemed to be louder now. Too loud.

Loud enough to make me storm downstairs, my suitcase thumping loudly on the steps behind me. I heard my mom shush my father.

My blood boiled with annoyance.

This is how it was every single time I came downstairs.

As I turned the corner toward to kitchen, Twilight's cage in hand, my mom was casually drumming her fingers on the rusted tabletop.

My father was looking intrigued by a newspaper. It was eerily silent.

They both attempted to look as if nothing had been going on a moment before, but I always noticed the small things.