#stlstarter

However, he hadn’t considered how hard it’d be to face the people he’d tortured last year. Or the family of those he had. It was like a list playing on repeat in his head, informing him of how he’d hurt everyone he was passing in the halls, either directly or indirectly. 

It wasn’t quite time for supper, but Draco had nothing better to do than sit in the library and wait. His goal for the year was to keep his head down and get through it as quickly as possible. It wasn’t working.

With a deep sigh, he lifted his head and gave a half-hearted glare in the direction he’d felt the staring. “What?” He snapped. “Do you need to borrow a quill?” 

Pansy turned another page in her diary and kept writing. Her legs, crossed in front of her on her bed, were going numb, and her back was stiff from sitting so long in the same position. She could feel the ache in her wrist sharpening as she wrote, and her penmanship suffered for it. Neat, spooling cursive had given way to chicken scratch and shorthand. The further she moved down the page, the worse it got.

--not as though he’s a prisoner here, but he acts like the whole world wants him dead or different beyond recognition. Not me. If anything, I miss the old him. He used to be such fun. Now he’s just an Augurey. It’s depressing. I’m going to call him Augurey from now on, dear diary, until he livens up bit. Honestly, I don’t know what all of the fuss is about. 

Pansy stopped and slipped her quill into the inkpot on the bedside table before stretching her arms over her head and leaning from side to side. She stifled a yawn, wondering what time it was, and was just about to check her watch when she heard the dormitory door open. 

“Is that you?”

A true Slytherin. Her mother said, her voice hinging on bitter. Switching sides like that, saving our family from complete ruin. Astoria ignored it - her mother was currently on house arrest and had a habit of angrily muttering under her breath every time she entered a room.

What she needed was an escape. Somewhere away from the huddled masses that grew quiet every time she walked past. Somewhere with peace and quiet - just her, and her well-worn copy of Macbeth. She had finally found a nice grassy spot near the lake, only to find upon further inspection someone was already there.

“Mind if I sit here?”