pleasantly unpleasant (open)

From the moment classes began on the second of September, the pressure was on. Some students pretended that there was nothing to worry about: it was as if they were staring at a fully-sized mountain troll in the face, and insisting that it wasn't a hindrance as it smashed through castle with its colossal club. Others did worry - they really worried. They demanded to know how much reading their friends had done for a particular project so they could make a comparison; were usually seen with blood-shot eyes and smelt of coffee and neglect. Alistair acknowledged the seriousness of his seventh year, yes; but he wasn't going to succumb to the pressure. He wanted to sleep, needed to eat, and had other obligations and responsibilities that he was very adamant on adhering to.

Like the fact that he was Head Boy.

Speaking of which, Alistair raised his eyes to meet the clock that was mounted to the wall above the bookcases. Apart from this clock, it was very difficult to tell what time of day it was in the library. Hours could have been minutes, the afternoon could be racing through to evening - the sparse windows inside the chamber were made of frosted, lattice glass panes and can only be seen if one were to venture through the maze of bookcases. When sitting at the desk, time stood still. Only the clock told you how late or early it was. Actually, he was quite surprised to see that it was nearing curfew and he was one of the very few students still inside of there.

Sure enough, the Librarian began to announce the library's closure, so Alistair collected his belongings together - took out the books he needed and placed everything in his leather case. The corridors were preparing for the evening time: gas lamps were subdued to a dusky, burnt orange glow and curtains swung themselves over their railings, covering the windows. He followed the motion of this all the way from the library to the dungeons, where he dropped off his case inside the common room.

As it was a Monday, it was his turn to patrol the lower floors' corridors. So he set out from the Slytherin common room once more; briefly meeting his gaze in the reflection of a mirror. Robes on straight - hair stuck back - not a single scuff on his wing-tipped loafers. Clearly satisfied, the boy inside the mirror gave a dark smile; as if he was stupid to assume anything about his appearance could be wrong.

Now five minutes to curfew, Alistair ascended the staircase which connected the dungeons to the ground floor, and strolled through to the entrance hall. There, half-shrouded in shadows, was the distinct figure of somebody who clearly was not a ghost of a Professor. "So you'll be heading back to your common room now, I expect?" He boomed, folding his arms over his chest smugly. It was within his best interests that they were freaked by the suddenness of his voice.