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Post by caradoc on Apr 21, 2010 19:29:26 GMT 1
Turning and tossing around in his bed, Caradoc Dearborn kicked the sheets of with his feet. The night had not been kind to him, the entire time, from dusk till dawn had he been struggling with the warmth that his body spilled out, only to start shivering moments later. He sat up straight in his bed, his arms loosely hanging over his knees as he stared ahead, his head banging against the board of the his four-poster. Headache was already setting in and it wasn’t even six o’clock in the morning. Grumpily he got up, not something that was rather common with Caradoc, since he normally was one of the optimistic people around the castle of Hogwarts. Seemed like today would be different though.
He got up, under a few nasty grumbles from his dormmates as he put on some loose jeans and a white t-shirt, just something casual to spend the rest of this Sunday Morning with. What stupid bloke got up at six a.m. on a Sunday morning anyway. Making his room down to the Ravenclaw tower it was obvious to him that he was probably the only one being so bloody stupid to not have a lie-in. Tomorrow, lessons would probably kill him again, he would have to fight his sleep during some periods, but well, it could be worse, couldn’t it?
Walking out of the Ravenclaw Common Room he made his way through the castle, aimlessly turning corners whenever he felt like it. His mind was making even more turns as he was fiercely changing between anger and self-pity. Why th heck had he woken up so early again. He sighed, breakfast was miles away and his training schedule didn't include a long run across the lawns today, so what was there to do?
He took a few turns, descending another staircase before he turned right. With absolutely no clue of where he was going, he went back up again, his feet taping the stone steps while he ran up. Yes, he didn't need to work on his training today, but you could never tell a true sports fanatic to kick down on his training, could you?
He came out to a deserted Tower, the moon was still giving a light shine over the lawns below. Yet you could see that the eternal darkness that was spread during midnight had already been replaced by a soft glow of the approaching dawn. He glided down against the stone wall, put his head against it and from his back pocket he took out a small black tattered book.
The book was completely torn up, coffee-spills on the pages, a few ripped off corners. He'd had it for a very long time, the first book his mother had bought him when he was about to enroll at Hogwarts. A gift he had always kept close with him, and read so many times that he could probably recite it from heart...
It had to be said, though a Muggle, Dickens had written some serious good stuff, Caradoc found. His stories were full of fantasy that might be too much for the men living in Charles' own ear, but that was just what made him fantastic. No one, no, no one could live up to the imaginary world that Dickens could create in a book that had little do do with fantasy, but more of life. And thus, he started to read.
Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail. Mi-
He stopped reading, looked up and around the Tower. A sudden noise had interrupted him, but where was it coming from?
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