ferretface_git | (no subject)

His roommate never. left. the bloody. compound. EVER. He was always around, always quiet and staring and infuriatingly impossible to rattle. Even Nagini failed for frighten him off, which Draco was certain was a sure sign he wasn't human. Something nasty and soulless, of course. Or worse: Someone brave and pure of heart or some such nonsense.

But this was a special day. He was blissfully alone, Nagini having slithered out to sun herself in all the terrible heat, and his roommate gone off... to do whatever it is those types do. Draco didn't want to think about it. At the moment, he was propped up on a stack of pillows, and while they didn't compare to the down-filled linens he'd of course had back home, enchanted to always stay fluffed and warm, but it was better than nothing, he supposed. He had a heavy tome propped in his lap. An ancient book of black magic, similar to the copy from his father's library which he'd thumbed through multiple times throughout his childhood.

Today, all it did was make him miserably depressed. Not that anyone could tell the difference.

Lyra nearly banged Draco's door down with a tired fist, all but slumped against the frame.

The knocks were loud and purposeful but not at all quick, and as she adjusted her bag on one shoulder and wiped a stray lock of newly washed hair from her face, Lyra took a long, deep breath and picked a scrap of apple from between her teeth. She didn't need to see a friendly face when a consistent one would do just as well. Pan circled one of her ankles.