The tranquillity of the warm rising marigold sun over the cold drizzly grounds was penetrated by the piercing scream of an old, delapped alarm clock. Groaning, a half-conscious figure wrapped themselves tighter in their green patterned duvet.
Ring-Ring, Ring-Ring .
It's flashing interface illuminated a large, highly furnished bedroom with a stately arched ceiling and walls plastered with emulated, emerald banners. A blood-red threadbare carpet barely concealed a worn wooden floor, where on top a timeworn oak desk stood overflowing with books and parchment.
Ring- Ring, Ring-Ring.
Eventually, admitting defeat, the figure gave a last lethargic, drowsy sigh and lifted a disconcerted, groggy hand for the calling clock as if trying to swat an especially aggravating fly. Giving a final banshee-like cry, it stopped, leaving a ringing silence.
Raising them self from their pit of warmth and comfort, the figure revealed a shortish, bedraggled mop of blonde hair. Sitting up, the pale, pallid figure of a 15-year-old boy gazed around the room in the little sunlight passing through the glazed, mullioned windows. Then, a posh, upheld voice echoed up to him. "Get a move on! Come on now... you have to catch the train on time!" Finally and slowly, the small, slight build of Draco Malfoy rose to get ready to go back to Hogwarts.
