Heliophilia; d.m

IV

DRACO

The weekend had finally started, and I was on my way to the great hall with Crabbe and Goyle for breakfast.

As usual, there were a lot of people and a lot of noise. And it was annoying.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" Just as we entered the hall, someone, maybe from first year, bumped into Goyle and he pushed a freckled boy with big eyes back, looking at him with a wild, menacing look that made the little Hufflepuff stumble back.

When we finally reached our table, I could hear the conversation about the upcoming ball, which had been going on for the past few days, as if nothing else existed.

I rolled my eyes and turned off my hearing, lost in thought, because I was fed up with all this, and I hadn't even invited anyone yet — I was not interested.

A few minutes later, I heard a hum and packages and letters delivered by owls began to fall on the table.

I didn't even look up, because I knew there was nothing for me. My parents never sent me letters or packages when I was at Hogwarts, but when we were younger, we were excited and impatient for Crabbe to open his package, because his mother always sent him something. And that time was no exception.

Nothing had changed, and his mother still indulged him with her attention, which was shown in the form of various gifts and cute letters in which she wrote how much she missed him. But we had changed. Or at least me. I didn't care anymore.

"Okay, let's get out of here." I said and got up to go to the common room, after a few minutes of pointless talks.

I hated the fun and joy that seeped through every person in the form of loud laughter and enthusiastic conversations, especially when Christmas was approaching — decorations all over the school, music, cheerful whistles, and snowflakes falling from the ceiling were hateful to me.

"Wait," Crabbe stared at the other end of the table, where the package lay untouched.

It was Sombrey's seat and she wasn't there again.

"Are you her porter?" I asked him, as he picked up the package and caught up with us at the exit.

It was big enough, wrapped in dark grey paper and tied with a silver ribbon.
I noticed that it was dripping with glitter and I laughed when I saw Crabbe's sweater shimmered.

He followed my gaze then and, noticing what I was laughing at, held out his hand with the package in front of him.

"Why are there so many sequins? Does anyone really like it?" He was outraged and seemed to regret taking it. But when it came to Violet, he almost blew a speck of dust off her, but it was all in vain. She was cold and unapproachable, and treated poor Crabbe only as a friend.

"I think it was assumed that it would reach the recipient directly, and not through intermediaries. Girls probably love this stuff. Like sequins, ribbons." Goyle said and moved aside when Crabbe began to shake the sequins off his sweater.

Maybe some girls liked that kind of thing, but Violet wasn't like one of them.

We were lucky, because when we entered the common room, Violet was sitting on the couch, staring blankly into the fireplace. She didn't even look at us as we entered the room and came to her.

"You missed breakfast." Crabbe said carefully, rolling from his toes to his heels, an expression of awkwardness on his face — we could never know what kind of mood Violet would be in when the new day came.

"I'm not hungry." Her low voice was almost inaudible and she was still looking at the fire, hugging her knees.

We stopped by the couch where she was sitting, waiting for her to say something else, or to notice the package in Crabbe's hands, but she remained silent, and she continued to stare at the fire, which cast dancing, fluttering shadows on her pale face.