Blimey-who read this shit for fun?
He flipped to the next page.
"-as I made my way down to the dragon's den, nestled far below the ground we normally strode upon, I realized that I was alone. But no matter. It was safer this way. The wasn't a need for someone to get hurt. He could handle this himself-LIKE HELL HE COULD! This bloody little fraud couldn't spell his way outta a moistened paper bag!"
John shoved the book across the house dorm's main room, merely watching as it slide across the table and over the edge.
The mage rolled his eyes, taking out another class's work instead.
But too bloody bad he didn't get far.
His gaze went up in an instant, the door opening and letting in the foreign yet familiar faces of the rest of the Slytherin house students.
They were cackling something evil.
John did not want to know.
"-did you see his face?-"
"-bloody moron can't work a curse correctly-"
"-hah! Serves em right to be caught-"
"-you really think he had a hand in doing it?-"
"-I don't see why not, but he probably wouldn't have the stomach of doing it himself-"
"-Nobody liked the bloody creature anyways-"
John forced his head down as they made their way up the stairs, laughing at whatever poor schmuck was on the receiving end of their wrath this time-focusing his gaze on his new textbook.
-A mature Mandrake is the more sought after regarding the plant. The Mandrake's leaves, when collected, purified, and curated, can relieve up three fully grown victim of complete paralysis. With proper procedures and treatment, the stricken may fully heal within a 48 hour duration of time-
The blond snuck a glance up, breathing out a sigh of relief when seeing the area clear.
But something tingled in the corner of his mind, making him pause and look around the common room closer.
He ran a hand through his hair, feeling a little anticlimactic when finding nothing.
Absentmindedly kicking around the fool of teacher's 'educational textbook', John didn't recon that he could return to studying as effectively as he did prior.
He shrugged.
Closing the book(and begrudgingly picking up the fallen), he packed them away in his bag and went to find something else to do until curfew.
To his dismay, he couldn't sleep.
He had tossed, and he had turned.
But under his skin his nerves were bundles, coiled and ready to spring him into action.
His window was drawn and opened, letting the night's cool breeze filter through the room and moonbeams light the dark area.
John felt his features steel and rose upright.
There wasn't any point in trying to catch sleep when he knew it would never come to him.
The mage prompted to rise from his bed, cleaning himself up and readying for the next few days of an assured hell.
Not bothering to fix up his tie, he made his way downstairs and waited...for something...
He paced as a shiver ran down his arms and crawled up and along his spine.
But his chills weren't the cause of a lack of heat-but of crafted skill, instinct, and the obvious presence of black magic.
Not for the first time, he cursed his status as not only as a child-but as a supposedly 'curfew following' student.
John had already cut it close a few times last year-and it was too early to make any sort of attempt of investigation.
He growled, pushing down the need for a cigarette as his feet surely burned tread marks through the hardwood flooring.
Something bad had happened.
And John couldn't do a damn thing.
Prey.
Kill.
Slaughter.
Next.
Prey.
Skill.
Slaughter.
Next.
Old Terrain.
New Prey.
Slaughter.
Next.
Listen.
Listen.
Stalk Prey.
Next.
Little Prey.
Scared Prey.
Easy Prey.
Next.
"Oi. What in the blazes are you doing up this early?"
John looked up sharply, turning his body from its position on the couch and towards the stairs.
Draco Malfoy.
The child was still in his night clothes, barely awake in the similarly barely lit up hours but came in search of him nonetheless.
The platinum blond rubbed at his eye, his loose hair and tired, youthful features finally letting him look his age.
"...couldn't sleep mate..."
He left it simply.
But the was apparently the wrong thing to say, the other straightening up and his eyes growing alert.
Clear and full of accusation.
"You weren't wondering the halls agin were you? It's a miracle in itself that you lost us next to no points last year with your little...expeditions."
John sighed, too tired to argue.
"No mate...I hadn't..."
Draco stared at him for a moment, taking in his own surely shit appearance.
"Are you leaving for breakfast soon?"
John shrugged, not quite particularly feeling like waiting for their commons to fill up with energetic and loud students.
Grey/blue orbs narrowed.
"Wait up for a moment will you?"
John didn't have time to say otherwise, the young wizard turning on his heel and back towards their room.
When concerning this sort of stuff-John was usually right.
And when concerning this sort of stuff-John hated being right.
Something had happened.
Something always happens.
What was with this bloody school and not being a normal bloody school?!
Every painting, ghost and teacher were tense.
Uprooted like trees and paler than snow-they all looked as John felt.
"...god I hate being right..."
"Right about what?"
His companion asked, eyeing a particular jumpy teacher fumble with her cup.
Perhaps he had noticed their behavior as well.
He decided to be a little honest with the other.
"Couldn't sleep last night."
Because if the danger was great-brat or not-the kid deserved to informed if his life was on the line.
"Bad feeling 'bout something."
Draco paused, looking at him puzzled.
"You mean...you didn't hear?"
"Hear what?"
The Malfoy blinked before enlightening him
"Filch's cat, the mangy thing that tears at everyone's feet, was found strung up and paralyzed the other night."
He made a glance at the teachers once more.
"Potter and his friends supposedly found her."
"Supposedly?"
"Well don't you think it's odd that they found it before any other student or teacher? Most of us figured that it was just Potter's way of keeping him and his little groupies in the limelight."
Draco merely shrugged.
"Some bloody weird stuff was phrased up on the wall-muttering some nonsense about a Chamber of Secrets. The mess'll surely be giving Filch something to do for once."
John felt his jaw unhinge a tad bit.
He wasn't one for hitting kids-but god did he sometimes wish to make the exception.
Harry was one of the nicest kids he'd met here.
He hated his unwanted and born into stardom with a passion-simply wanting to learn magic peacefully, and more importantly, to be left alone.
No bloody way in hell either one of the trio pulled this.
But the fact remained the same.
The cat was still injured.
A verbal threat at the very least still remained.
And the bad feeling in his gut still hasn't fully dissipated.
Why couldn't this year be normal?
Was that really too much to ask for?