ledsafelyintheGryffindordormitory,HarryPottertossedandturnedinhisbed,lenhedinthejawsofanightmare.
Blood.Therewasbloodeverywhere.Bloodthathehadhelpedtospill.Yes,allofitmusthavebeenhisfault.Sirius,hismother,hisfather,ountlessothersthathadbeenkilledduringthesummerraidsthattheDeathEatershadunhedwhilehewastukedawayinPrivetDrive.Hehadonlyfoundoutaboutthesewhenhearrivedbakatshool,andnow,threeweekster,itstillhauntedhim.
Darknessseemedtosurroundhim,butthiswasadifferentdarkness.Notthedarknessofhatredthatwasfilledwithblood…thiswasalmostadarkness,adarknessthatfeltlike…feathers?Silkenfeathers.Wings.
Twoarmsenirledhimasthebkwingsseemedtoradlehisbody.“DonotdespairHarry,”avoiewhispered,“Donotdespair.”
AndHarrysleptpeaefully.
“Yo,Malfoy!”
Disdainfuleyesshiftedfromwheretheyhadbeenoingthewalloftheelltothewizardthatstoodatthebarreddoortothis,thisage.
“Yougotaletter.”Thentheguardmutteredunderhisbreath,“Thoughwhyanyonewouldbesendingaletteratthishourisbeyondme.”
Theguardwasshakenoutofhisreverieastheletterwassnathedoutofhishandandtheell’sinhabitantretreatedbakintotheell.Mutteringinaudiblyaboutmannersofprisonersandidiotswhosentlettersatfiveinthem,theguardwentonhiswaybaktohispostwherehehadbeenshakenfromhisstuporbyaneagleonlyafewminutesbefore.
Luiuslookedattheletterbrieflybeforerippingitopen.Draohadwrittenit.Hiseyesseemedtoraedowntheletter,anemotionthatwasneverseenbytheworldapparentinhiseyes.AshereaditLuiussmiled.Draoknew.Hispride,hisson,wasnowjustbeginningtograspthetruthoftheroadthathehimselfhadwalked.Luiusfeltasmallpangofregretthathewouldnotbeabletohelphissonbeomeaustomedtothislife…untilhereadthestparagraph.TheelderMalfoysmiledintheshadows,andforoneheallowedhisemotionsthrough.Beautiful,wingsthatglistenedinthemoon-lightstreamingintotheellfromthebarredwindow,eruptedfromhisbakandflutteredasiftheywerehappythattheirownerwashappy.Thesoftrustleoffeathersfilledtheellasthewingsstrethed,theirwingtipstouhingtheeiling.Luiuslookedathiswingsthoughtfully.SomedayhisDrao’swingswouldbethissize,twiethelengthofagrownmanandpowerfulenoughtosupporthissoninflight,andinbattleifneessary.OutofuriosityLuiusrolledupthesleeveofhisrobeandlookedatthepalefleshofhisupperarm.Noblemish,notevenasmudgeoftheDarkMarktobeseen.
Chapter2:Aspetus
HarryhatedMondays.No,hereallyhatedMondays.BeauseMondaysalwaysseemedtostartoffbadly,whihsettheentiremoodofthedaytobeabadone.Why?Oneword:Potions.Thatwasallthatwasneededtobesaidonthematter,thatword.Anditdidn’thelpthattherewerelukypeoplelikeRonwhoweren’ttryingtobeanaurorandthereforeouldaffordtosleepteonMondaysiftheysowished,beausetheyweren’ttakingPotions.Ofourse,RonneverdidsleepteonMondays.Hefigureditwastheleastheoulddotogivehisfriendsomeenementbeforethat…therewasn’tawordbadenoughtodesribethatssinHarry’sopinion.
AndspeakingofRon…itwasRonwhowasurrentlydraggingHarrydownthestairstotheGreatHallforbreakfastasparthenormalMondayroutine.AndlikeeveryMonday,Hermionewasalreadythere,ensonedinabook.RonandHarryslidintoseatstoherthatshehadsavedforthemasshedideverym,andbeganloadingfoodontotheirptes.
“Oh,Harry,didyouhear?NoPotionstoday,”Hermionesaidasifshewasommentingontheweather.
Harry’slookeduphopefully.“Really?”
Hermionenodded,eyesnotleavingthebook.“He’snotheretoday.bsp;wasaneled.”
BothRonandHarryturnedtolookatthestafftableand,sureenough,theirPotionsmasterwasnotthere.