Dark Phoenix (Nico Di Angelo & Harry Potter)

3

While he wouldn't have branded his work as artful deceit, Nico found himself thoroughly impressed that he had managed to tweeze out enough information to pull himself up and out of this mess.

So the boy put on the face that showed he was pleased as punch until he had stepped foot into the roaring hearth and willingly let himself be consumed by the emerald green flames.

And then–

Ah fuck.

It was all soot, splinters, and stone.

Nico had barely whispered his preferred destination, but he already found himself being flung back, his bony elbows grazing the decades old, coal crusted stone of the fireplace, and an unusually loud wind numbing his ears as he felt his feet leave the ground.

Perhaps it was the wet heat that had truly gotten to his head, but when Nico felt the floor appear below his feet, he lurched forwards, pushing his hands forward to break his fall. Instead, he ended up colliding with the BACK of the fireplace, chin first.

Of all things–

Nico felt the sharp pain snake through his teeth. He hissed in response and brought up a hand to rub his sore jaw.

It came back wet.

Blood.

And he could smell it.

Ah, what a pain. He was in no mood to deal with this.

Nico pulled his hand away hastily and turned round to step out of the fireplace, only to be greeted by a chilling darkness, with the moon casting its milky glow across the rows and rows of never-ending bookshelves.

Was it already night-time?

It was a sight so ethereal that Nico ended up stumbling as his foot missed the hearth, and nearly fell for the second time onto a plush carpet.

The boy managed to steady himself before he looked around with utmost caution, throwing a glance at the first door he saw, polished ebony basked in milk moonlight.

If the house he had been in was a shell of its previous splendour, this one gave a better impression of what gothic fanfare was all about. The hardwood floors didn't creak below his feet. Rather they gleamed, pristine, as the French windows eargerly drew in the light from outside to carpet the space.

But there was no moon in sight.

Nico didn't bother searching for it, and headed towards the bookshelves instead.

He noted that, while every section was marked with gold on black engraving, the bookshelves themselves were rather plain; simply dark wood polished till the grain appeared to have been imprinted on the surface.

The owners didn't want the attention to go to the shelves. Not the case here.

It was ostentatious display of untouched tomes bound by who were perhaps the finest book binders in the region, that took a stab at Nico's chest. While he wasn't an avid reader, he wasn't one to admire bookshelves with the books left to collect dust.

Not that the books here were dusty, it was far from the case.

"Malfoy Manor, huh?" said Nico under his breath. He ran a hand across the spines of the leather bound books. Their titles had had been engraved as well.

Also in gold.

The occupants on the Manor might as well put up portraits of themselves on every corner of their house to goad at whoever chose to enter their residence.