"Swish and flick, swish and flick..."
Drag, scrape, wand-prod, mutter, sigh. Drag, scrape, wand-prod, mutter.
The young boy now making his way into the Mansion (through the interior hallways) is entering back-first, dragging behind him a broken schoolbag overflowing with supplies; he looks as if he's trying to drag his entire collection of school supplies with him at once. He stops occasionally to prod it with his wand and mutter a furtive "Wingardium Leviosa,." He's not perfected his technique on this charm yet. Occasionally, the bag might lift an inch or two above the ground and thump back down again. When he eventually gets the overstuffed, heavy bag to float, it splits further, and the boy groans as his books fall to the floor.
"Merlin," he mutters, picking up a collection of books and hugging them to his chest. He takes the strap of his bag in one hand and faces front with a deep breath; he's definitely going to be late for History of Magic at this rate. Very definitely, as he sees where he is.
"Merlin," he repeats. Then, as it dawns on him that he has no idea where he is and no idea how to get back to Hogwarts, he frowns and refrains from saying anything.
If for any reason one might be curious about the eleven-year-old dead-ringer for a certain Draco Malfoy, this is the time to ask.
Typist: I promised I'd get him and I did. This would be the very sadly named little Scorpius Malfoy, the solitary Malfoyspawn from the future. Guess which book he's from!
The young boy now making his way into the Mansion (through the interior hallways) is entering back-first, dragging behind him a broken schoolbag overflowing with supplies; he looks as if he's trying to drag his entire collection of school supplies with him at once. He stops occasionally to prod it with his wand and mutter a furtive "Wingardium Leviosa,." He's not perfected his technique on this charm yet. Occasionally, the bag might lift an inch or two above the ground and thump back down again. When he eventually gets the overstuffed, heavy bag to float, it splits further, and the boy groans as his books fall to the floor.
"Merlin," he mutters, picking up a collection of books and hugging them to his chest. He takes the strap of his bag in one hand and faces front with a deep breath; he's definitely going to be late for History of Magic at this rate. Very definitely, as he sees where he is.
"Merlin," he repeats. Then, as it dawns on him that he has no idea where he is and no idea how to get back to Hogwarts, he frowns and refrains from saying anything.
If for any reason one might be curious about the eleven-year-old dead-ringer for a certain Draco Malfoy, this is the time to ask.
Typist: I promised I'd get him and I did. This would be the very sadly named little Scorpius Malfoy, the solitary Malfoyspawn from the future. Guess which book he's from!