As You Are // D.M.

A THING FOR LIBRARIES

Armena Riddle-Lestrange

Monday: May 10th, 2010

I stared at the book in front of me, trying to decide which one would be best for Draco's lecture this week. It was ironic that we were now sitting in the library at the Ministry. A library housed with all the history that the Wizarding World has ever experienced. I knew that my file, as well as Draco's, was somewhere in this room, waiting to be stumbled upon and filled with dark secrets of my past .

I threw back my head, letting a loud groan escape my lips. I needed to walk around to get my thoughts organized before Draco arrived. I pushed back from the wooden table and walked down the long tall rows. Books flew over my head as they were being restacked on the ancient bookcases. I nodded my head at the various witches and wizards as I passed through the rows. I found myself letting my mind wander as I walked through the rows.

The week moved by slowly, almost painfully slow. I did exactly what Potter told me to do— I just treated Draco like any other Auror coming through the Ministry. I wasn't going to let my underlying feelings affect my work.

But I couldn't help let the small touches, the brushes, and the sideways glances get to me. It was like a thousand alarms went off inside of my head, they were all warning me not to react but I couldn't help it. I couldn't help but melt under his slight touch even if it was only just a brush. The electricity that we had, when we were teenagers, was still there. I wondered if he still felt the same or if it was all just in my head. I knew that I could have slipped into his mind, we were so vulnerable in that training room that it would have been easy but I didn't want to. I was honestly scared to face the truth so I would rather just be left in the dark.

Before I knew it I was deep into the rows, finding myself in the familial history section. My fingers trailed along the spines of the ancient books, which housed the deepest and even darkest secrets of all of the wizarding families. Some of the information in these books would shock you and some would scare you half to death. I paused, my finger laying on an emerald and gold bound book.

House of Lestrange

Un jeu différent

Est. 1600s

"A different game" I whispered our family motto.

I knew that if I opened this book, it would open a thousand different doors that I didn't want to be opened. I let my mind think back to that day, it was so raw in my mind like it happen yesterday. I knew I was in no state to rehash out my past memories of killing my mother and uncle under my fathers command but I wanted to. I couldn't really put the blame on him, I was in full control that day. I knew exactly what I was doing when I cast the unforgivable curse on Bellatrix Lestrange. My uncle's murder was preformed out of pure blood lust. I couldn't help but let my rage that I experienced from The Dark Lord's torture on Draco. It has sparked something in me, deep down that I had been suppressing— my dark blood. As much as I would love to say that I didn't remember what it felt like to slaughter an entire room of Death Eaters, I knew I would be lying through my teeth.

I felt my body start to buzz with the thought of my dark magic running through my skin. These past two weeks with Draco have brought out something that I hadn't experienced in a long time. Passion— pure lustful passion that came with dueling someone who you loved but also hated. With Draco, it was a dance that we both knew well. We were well matched partners in every sense. If they ever put us out in the field together, there would be no doubt in my mind that we would wipe out everyone in a matter of seconds. Azkaban would be singing our praises for our quick work.

I placed my hand over my forearm where my black ink rested. The dark mark was still there. It would never go away until the day that I died, then it would fade into nothing. I was the one who carried out my father's bloodline still, not that I was planning on using the Death Eaters but it always made me wonder. I had always thought about this when lying in bed at night, I always wondered if Draco ever stared at his dark mark— wondering why it was still so prominent on his arm. Potter's scar had healed into a faded red mark but our dark marks remained.