SOLIVAGANT ─ HP & GoT [ON HOLD]

☽ Chapter XV ☾

Edited: NOT YET

The man was following her. She knew that well. Amalthea Potter had noticed this several corridors ago. In fact, her destination had already passed a few doors away—Dacey's bedroom, where the others awaited her—but the witch wanted to see how far the man would continue.

She didn't quicken her step. Instead, she pretended her hair was messed up, reached into her black waves pretending to tighten her thin braids, and turned her body slightly to the right, looking back surreptitiously. Yes, there he was. Several yards behind her, hidden by shadows at the end of the corridor but Amalthea's green eyes managed to capture his shadowy figure.

Interesting, she thought amused. He doesn't even seem to have noticed that we've already passed through this corridor three times in a row.

She continued walking, humming, straining with her shoes but wanting him to hear the sound of her footsteps. She turned left at the fork, making sure he stayed behind, grabbed her wand, threw an alohomora! in the iron lock of a dark door, and slipped inside. It was a bedroom. Small, comfortable but nothing too fancy or luxurious. From a servant probably. Her gaze caught an open letter resting on a nearby chair. Even without meaning to, she ended up reading a few words.

My beloved Erin, I miss you so much that my heart cries with sadness... 'Oh, Erin!? Couldn't... Could it be? No! There isn't a single day that doesn't love you like the first time, my beauty, my nymph of the waters of the river... Ah, but it was! Someone liked that old harpy, Lady Stark's old maid. I see you every day, so elegant, so beautiful that you make me want to pull you into a room, wherever! An empty room or even the stables, lean you against a wall and...

Ew, enough Amalthea, she thought. That's what comes from being too curious. The witch was sure her face was green with disgust. Good for her, though. It may be that a good roll in the sheets will take away the bitterness.

She was so sick that she almost forgot what she was doing there and why she was there. But the sound of footsteps - she could see they tried to be light but couldn't - quickly reminded her.

He walked through the door, then stopped. She heard the footsteps return, heavier and hurried, and stop again. The next steps were hesitant as if debating what to do next, looking and not finding what he was looking for. Son of a mangy bitch, it's me you want, isn't it?

He must have been looking, must have been wondering if he had seen well or if he was wrong and turned in the wrong direction... The footsteps, after a very long time, sounded again. The man seemed to have made up his mind. He continued, down the hall.

Carefully, making sure the door did not creak, Amalthea opened it peeked out, and closed it behind her. She was quick to cast a spell to lock it again. She didn't want the harpy to hate her more than ever to find out she'd been in her quarters. Or that she read those words... A shiver of disgust ran down her spine just remembering.

The man walked hesitantly ahead of her, dressed in black, not knowing that he was now being followed. A mischievous smile curled Amalthea's lips as she hid her wand. Her dagger was at the ready, however, strapped to her thigh above the leather pants hidden under the skirt of her green dress. The skirt had an opening, easily accessible, through which she could quickly grab the dagger and use it if need be. It won't be, she told herself. But it's always good to be prepared.

Finally, tired of waiting and seeing the pathetic figure in front of her, Amalthea exclaimed into the silence of the hallway, "You're following me, my lord. I wonder why. At least, I think I deserve an explanation."