Damian had had enough of this excruciatingly cold weather; he wouldn't think about it, talk about it, or even acknowledge how very cold he was even under several layers of clothing. Coupled with the lonesome — his list of friends was still empty! — the cold was almost unbearable. Cold, sick, sad, and lonely, Damian half-heartedly dragged his feet to the Arena for a lesson in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

The last class was a giant blur, and he suspected it wouldn't be any different today either. Shoulders slumped, the strap of his bag in his hand as he hauled it behind him, a new burst of cold hit him in the face upon entering. So warm, so warm, He mumbled under his breath, keeping his gaze low; the last thing he wanted was his potential friends to witness his red-rimmed eyes from crying.

Mat or stool? Eh. The slytherin made his way over to an empty purple mat and collapsed on it, and curled into a ball. I wanna go home! He screamed in his head, sneezing loudly, and the echo enveloped the whole classroom. Great!