The Storm | The Sister book #3 | A Harry Potter Fanfiction

chapter eight

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We walk back to the common room in relative silence, trying our best to avoid the attention of the few prefects we see that aren't from Slytherin. When we finally reach the Slytherin common room, it is nine at night. A lot of students have headed to bed or are quietly discussing their summer holidays. A few students smile at me and nod, and I smile in return, some congratulate me too, welcoming me to Slytherin. We walk through the room, Blaise grinning to himself, stealing glances at Draco and I until we slow.

"What is it, Blaise?" Draco says, his voice tired and unamused.

"Oh, nothing..." Blaise chuckles, leaning on the back of the black leather sofa, "Only that you too seem to be getting along quite well."

I look down to my feet, "Get over yourself, Blaise."

"Don't get grumpy, Clara. That would ruin the mood entirely."

I sigh, rolling my eyes. Pansy giggles, "Oh, did we interrupt something? Is that why you're acting this way?"

"Feeling pent up?" Blaise adds. I'll skin them alive.

"Feel free to continue, don't let us stop you."

"I'll kill you both with my bare hands if you don't shut up," I say, standing up straight, though they are all still a decent bit taller than I am.

Draco wraps an arm around me, kissing the top of my head. I pout.

"Draco they're teasing me,"

"Are they darling? We'll have to kill them."

"Can we do it in the morning? I need a shower-"

"Let me show you the girls dorms!" Pansy says loudly, her eyes wide with a sudden excitement, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from Draco.

"O-Ok." I manage, glancing over my shoulder at Draco and Blaise and she drags me across the common room. The boy's smirk at each other, but as Blaise turns away, Draco's expression drops, his eyes on his feet. I turn back to the door Pansy pulls me through, and down a long corridor lined with dark doors.

"Come on!" She hisses, jogging around a corner until she slows. She pulls her hand away from me, opening a black wooden door, swinging it open and motioning for me to lead the way.

Slowly I step inside, my eyes widen at the beautiful room before me. It's cold, with a fireplace on one wall. Slytherin's must be the only students allowed fireplaces in their dorms. I walk into the room further, stepping onto a thick, elaborate rug, adorned with snakes and black and green swirls, silver leaves curing in the corners. There are four beds, two against the wall ahead of me, and two against the walls to my left and right. The few large windows are shrouded in heavy green drapes, held open my large curling silver hooks. The four-poster beds themselves look very welcoming, boasting more than enough room for one person and ladened with thick green blankets. Tapestries hang on the walls, though they aren't needed for decoration, the room is elegant enough without them.

At the head of three of the beds, stuck to the stone wall, are different selections of images, tickets and photographs. Letters too. The three lived in beds each hold the personality of their owner, unmade or with the sheets perfectly folded, or covered in clothes. The bed ahead of me to my right has activist posters hanging on the walls, a signed quidditch picture, and a first place award that doesn't describe what it is for. The bed itself has been perfectly made, a small grey tabby cat curled up on top of a neatly folded quilt.

A girl emerges from a door on the wall to my right, trying to brush her hair, though it seems her hairbrush has gotten stuck. She's plump, shorter than pansy, and wearing a set of white pyjamas with pictures of cats on them. I freeze. Please don't let her hate me.