Book one of two.
Post war.
Odette Elara Viotto can't help but feel foreign in the place she grew up in, and seems to believably lie that she is coping like others around her.
After one dark wizard perishes, another forges- reeking havoc within the...
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You were dead. Yet, here you are.
- Unknown
The blonde boy convinced the girl with stygian to stay, giving her the spare bedroom down the hall from his own, promising her that if the Venators were to show up in the night he'd be quick to get her out.
Promises, as sweet as they are, frightened Odette— promises were made between people who cared for each other, and Odette knew that to care meant to lose.
But she tried her best to not let her reluctance hold her back from staying with the few people she cared for, perhaps that way— if she remained by their side— she could protect them from the fate she feared the most.
As of now, she laid asleep in the antique bed of the guest room she was assigned, drifting off effortlessly by the light rainfall that pattered softly against the window, each drop dancing beautifully in the silver moonlight.
She dreamt of something serine for the first time in months, dreaming of the time she spent the summer before her fourth year with the Weasley's in the Burrow in Devon, spending everyday outside— playing Quidditch, Harry and Hermione teaching everyone muggle games they'd once play in their old muggle schoolyards, spending the light late nights by bonfires telling stories of good times at Hogwarts.
Oh how she longed for those days, the days where all she worried about was whether or not she'd score enough goals for Slytherin as a chaser in the team, or passing potions, or making sure no one ever found out about her dead twin sister... the good old days.
The girl was startled awake by the feel of a hand grabbing her shoulder— instinctively, she reached under her pillow and placed her onyx and argent dagger against the skin of whoever grabbed hers' throat.
"I should've expected that," the distinct voice of Malfoy spoke quietly, the girls eyes soon adjusted to the darkness, noticing his bright white hair in the dim moonlight.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Odette questioned, removing her blade from his throat.
"Wondering why you're not in therapy," he jeered.
"I was," Odette spoke. "I only went once, all the shrink would talk about was Hogwarts and I didn't need to relive one of the darkest moments of my life with someone who was getting paid handsomely to listen."
"Oh yeah, I was told to go see a therapist before going back too," the boy admitted. "Must've been a requirement."
Odette sat up, leaning her elbow on her knee as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes— noticing the boy to be fully dressed, wearing a dark winter coat.
She raised an eyebrow. "Planning on going somewhere?" She glanced at the clock, the hour hand three minutes away from two in the morning.
"Not alone..." he smirked as he held out his hand.
