The Forbidden Four: Year One

Chapter Eight - Torture Method #187

Chapter Eight - Torture Method #187

     After class, Castor could be found sitting at the shore of the black lake, his tie undone and his jacket laying across the ground, his shoes thrown in some random direction and his feet soaking in the ice cold water. It was already incredibly cold outside, the wind howling and blowing Castor's already messy hair in every direction. The icey water pricked at his feet, but he found comfort in the feeling. His eyes were filled with complete focus, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth and his brows furrowed as his hand ran smoothly across the page of his dragon-hide journal.

He drew from imagination, creating an image of horror yet beauty just from his racing thoughts.

     Drawing was one of the only things that truly calmed him down, brought him something other than nerves. Ever since he had been sorted into Slytherin, all Gryffindor's and even some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws alike, had been treating him the same as they did all the others: like he was evil. Which, he didn't really mind it at first, seeing as he couldn't care less what people thought about him, but it began to get incredibly frustrating when he needed a quill and everyone glared at him like he was the Dark lord himself.

It became increasingly obvious how Slytherins were treated at Hogwarts, and that nobody was doing a damn thing to stop it.

     Eventually Castor just stopped caring.

He drew with a Muggle pencil, one he had found laying untouched on the ground near Malfoy Manor, he decided it was a much better tool for drawing than a quill. Castor had never shown anyone his drawings, nor had he showed them his pencil. It might have seemed trivial and pointless to hide a mere pencil from the Malfoys, but it was a Muggle tool. And everyone in the Wizarding World knew that the Malfoys treated Muggles like they were a completely different species. Castor had never known exactly why they treated them that way, seeing as it wasn't their fault that they were born without magic, but he never tried to stop The Malfoys from hating them, seeing as it wasn't his problem.

     Castor bit the end of his pencil lightly and looked down at his drawing; a crow, a crow that's inky black wings were spread wide open towards the blinding sun, it's wings slowly began to turn into obsidian mist. Rays of light penetrated through some of the holes forming in it's feathers, bouncing off the trees and hitting the black lake in front of the bird. An image filled with imperfection, jagged lines, smudged strokes and dull lighting.

He scrunched his nose up slightly, not good enough, he thought, before ripping the page out of the book and throwing it into the water.

     The boy sighed and closed his book, pressing his fingers to his temples and his elbows against his knees. As he rubbed at his face he took a deep breath, focusing on something other than the stress that came with trying to make something perfect.

It was only the first day of class, and yet Castor wanted nothing more than to gauge his own eyes out.

     So far, Castor hadn't found anything that he didn't like at this school, except for the people, but he generally hated anyone and anything that came within six feet of his personal bubble. He had been at Hogwarts for a mere two days and yet he was already dreading Christmas, a holiday he had never liked or ever celebrated. Usually he would sit upstairs, listening to Draco's excited shrieks as he opened presents, and he would just draw, and draw, and draw the night away. But things were different this time. This time he was scared. He hadn't been scared since Bellatrix was arrested and put into Azkaban. Sometimes he even thought he could hear her. . . saying that she was coming home, that she was coming back to continue torturing him. Her memory haunted him like a poltergeist.