[attr="class","SSimg2temp1"]

[attr="class","SScontent2temp1"]
Scorpius normally spent his saturdays off in rounds. But he did himself the favor of taking the day off. With most of the students going to hogsmeade, he knew that he wouldn't be missed. When was he ever missed, anyway? He was a lonely creature. People dreaded his presence, his absence went unnoticed. He was complicated, but it lead to very lonely afternoons. Some which were filled with studying, books, assignments. So long as nobody knew that about him, but he decided, laying in bed this particular day, that he would venture to the towers. He hadn't been in a while and it did hold some special value to the boy. Being up near the sky, above the idiocy of his fellow students, it was a sort of sanctuary to Scorpius. One that didn't come with traveling out to the quidditch field to fly, or being trapped in a dusty old classroom to read. His spots of comfort perhaps equaled those of others, but he was very much humanized because of this. </br>
<br><br>

Who was this mysterious prat? </br>
<br>
<br>He once asked himself this as a second year, and during such at time he honestly couldn't place it. Was he quiet? Was he loud? Did he have an edge to his voice, did his need to sneer come from the rumors of his father? Did he want so much to be like him? Certain friends, as they were then, helped him with this. They discovered aspects to him that he did not know how to place without their help. He was grateful, but always reserved. He found that about himself too. He enjoyed his solitude more than any time with his friends. Soon he lost them, but kept one. One which he refused to think about, not since incidents before. Incidents which he did not mention, even to himself half the time. It was in the past, yet he was so wonderful at pushing people completely from his life from the small things. Once he is hurt, he remains so for a while. Sensitivity and compassion are a problem in Scorpius. He feels for others, himself included, in ways which were difficult to understand for others, but he did. But he was sensitive and had this need to preserve himself. Keep himself safe above others. So being betrayed in trust, love- especially, kills him. Especially after it took so long to let them in. But friends were a dime a dozen, and he's long since gotten over some things. Other wounds were fresh in his memory. </br>
<br>

Scorpius removed himself from his bed, rubbing his forehead and running a hand through his hair. He took a shower, got dressed, in a pace that was entirely his own. Nobody was around, all at hogsmeade- he expected, but Scorpius was glad to have the room on his own. He took a collective work of shakespeare, tucked in a bag along with a journal of his, subtly- always so, as he made his way to the north tower. He wasn't in a rush, gave a few glares to certain people in passing and settled himself, finally, on a bench. Comfortably seated, he then opened his journal, writing down the past few days events, releasing, what others would to the ready ears of friends, into the pages of the leather bound book. He felt a cold breeze through his hair, and was more than content.</br>
<Br>

The journal he kept was definitely only for his eyes. Only a few people really knew the inner workings of his head. One of which still inhabited the school. The girl which meant something to him for what would have seemed like a lifetime ago if not for the pain that often came with that reminiscent thought.

[attr="class","SSbox3temp1"] RIISA

[attr="class","SSbox3temp1"]TWENTY

[attr="class","SSbox3temp1"] EST