House of The Rising Sun

Chapter Three

Draco was dreaming.

He was sure of it. Wandering an unfamiliar cemetery with the ground dredging up fresh moisture at every step. The smell of moss and soil was almost overwhelming in the humidity as he passed by mausoleum after mausoleum. Many covered with ivy or so eroded he couldn't make out the names.

His steps halted as his mother appeared in front of him, tears spilling down the ghostly planes of her face. She looked exactly as she did the day of the Battle, distressed, but accepting.

"Mother?" His voice sounded weak, as if he hadn't spoken aloud in months.

"You have to go, Draco," she said without a hint of emotion in her voice. Cold. "You have to run."

"I promised I would stay with you, no matter what," Draco shook his head, nearing her. He took her hands in his own, but he couldn't feel them.

"Staying, my love, is only giving the upper hand. Death has offered you a shadow, it wouldn't do well to run into the light."

Her pleading expression burned into the back of his eyelids as he startled awake, panic marring his barely-conscious brain as he didn't recognize the ceiling. He lifted himself to his elbows, observing the sculpted fleur de lis above him and the gentle moonlight streaming into the quiet room. Macaria was asleep to his left, dark hair splayed across the cream pillowcase, a soft rhythm to her breathing.

They had bickered over the sleeping arrangement once they'd gotten back from getting a wand, the many hours catching up with them in the early evening of the city. Eventually, they just decided to share the bed, though he had to keep to his side.

He felt like it was closer to six a.m. and his mind didn't seem to want to settle. He considered writing to his mother. Tell her that he's alive.

The thought riddled him with guilt, that he'd been so swept up in the attempts on his life and being swept away to a new city that he hadn't thought to check in on her.

He wondered if Blaise ever had.

There wasn't an owlery that he'd heard of or come across yet, so he stored the thought away and relaxed for a moment.

Sweat stuck his t-shirt to him - an old one he'd forgotten about until Macaria drew it out of one of the drawers, throwing it at his face without a word before they'd gone to sleep. He ripped it off and settled back under the duvet.

Draco's heart began racing as he stared at her sleeping frame, the bare shoulder with a few freckles dispersed. He thought it funny that they resembled a constellation.

He let his fingers trace over the visible curves in her skin, some feather of shame coiling in his gut as she awoke at the touch, looking fearfully into his eyes. He felt himself at a loss for words until the emotion faded from her.

"Oh, it's you," she relaxed and turned to face him, moving to the center of the bed, tucking her head under his chin like it was made to be there.

Then

Macaria Lightlauder didn't like Hogwarts much. It was far too cold in the dungeons and the library always had its regulars in the better seats. She felt lucky that all the commotion of having two other schools invading had made her transfer less of an ordeal.

She liked the alcoves of the quiet hallways. Ilvermorny had a few professors willing to work privately on more questionable subjects, provided she excelled well enough in her mandated ones. When she was alone, she could practice her non-verbal, wandless, and transfiguration. She didn't dare attempt the combat, even though her wand seemed to have a mind of its own and would fire off a hex occasionally. It didn't bode well when she would come across some couple making use of the deserted path and a stinging jinx hit the stone near them.