꧁𝚈𝚎𝚜, 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚜 𝚊 𝙱𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 (𝕓-𝕚-𝕔-𝕥-𝕙)꧂

                                    

                                          
Word count: 6.7k
Published: June 24th, 2020
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March
                          
With the Valentine's Day conundrum forgotten, March was a breeze. Well, it started that way. Time was passing lackadaisically, making the thirty-one days feel like sixty-two. Whether this was a good thing or not was debatable.
                          
March first; Draco woke up on that day feeling drained. The rest of February had been schoolwork and figuring out who wanted to target Harry so bad. It was discovered to be a Sixth Year (as Draco had suspected) who had been jealous of who-knows-what. 
                          
Once that was settled, all went back to normal, making the future look incredibly bland. What did one do during a time of utter boredom? Apparently, more boring things. Schoolwork picked up near the end of February and dropped during the beginning of March, literally clearing the path for ennui. It was... unnerving to say the least.
                          
Spending an impossibly large amount of time with the Golden-Trio made time seem to stretch even further, though it was very entertaining, to say the least. Most days around the end of February were filled with stories. Weasley had a knack for telling them in the most riveting ways possible, though Draco hated admitting it. With most of the separated couples back together, nighttime became the point in every passing twenty-four hour period in which everyone was the most energized. Being Eighth Years, there were barely any rules to follow, besides that of illegal happenings and waking up other students. Their nocturnal behavior made classes more difficult, but, again, being Eighth Years, most of them didn't give a flying shit. 
                          
Draco, however, gave more than one flying shits about classes, as well as Granger, making them the parental figures of the group. The responsible ones, if you will. The amount of times that people called Draco "dad" while he lectured them was unholy, and Harry thought it was the best thing since butterbeer. 
                          
Speaking of Harry, he'd gone positively bonkers, and had permanent energy now. Draco was tired of chasing Harry around, but the pout that the Golden-Boy gave him was positively, criminally, adorable. Nobody understood where Harry's sudden hyperactive personality had come from, but one moment he was siting fine and the next he was running around claiming that his body was trying to rip itself in half. Draco wrote his mother about it and she called him a little bitch for no discernible reason. 
                          
Because of the winter still being prominent even in the beginning of what should have been the end, the inflorescence of Spring had yet to begin, making weather unforeseeably monotonous. Everyday was the same shit, a touch of slush, a smidgeon of snow, and a whole lot of melting. The leaves had yet to rejoin the trees, but everything was slowly becoming less and less gloomy; of course, it wasn't noticeable unless you were hell-bent on keeping track of the decreasing piles of slushy snow, or dead set on logging each and every day's temperature fluctuations . 
                          
Draco stared at the ceiling on the first of the month, watching for absolutely nothing, and waiting for nix in particular. Harry was already awake and gone, probably running up and down the halls of Hogwarts, no doubt. Draco's silver eyes flicked back and forth across the smooth tile of the ceiling. He didn't know if he like it or not, the tile. It was purple, but only subtly. Otherwise it was a hoary grey. Periwinkle. That was the color. A very diluted, grey periwinkle. 
                          
Blaise was still sleeping across the way, and judging by the snores coming from his tract of the room, so was Weasley. Theo was awake, reading on his bed. His lips were moving as he examined the words carefully, ghosts of locutions meant to be said, but not heard. Draco wanted to do that, but that would require a large amount of brain-power, something that he wasn't sure if he could supply. Minus Gregory and Vincent, the three had always been in a room together. Something simple, and, apparently, something that wouldn't change. The only additions to the room this year were, well, the room itself, the absence of two members, and the introduction of a new affiliate, one who was only staying until Draco spilled his guts. Something he would never do, by the way.