Dear Daphne,
I don't believe in Divination.
I don't believe in tea leaves or tarot cards or twigs arranged on tabletops. I don't believe that planetary transits or lines on our palms can lead us to our hearts within or our futures without.
I believe in hard, cold reality and a future I myself can craft with my mind and my wand.
And I believe in you.
Which is why I'm sitting in the Divination Tower with a gaggle of supremely annoying Third-Year girls, who keep giggling and whispering and rustling their scrolls. One sadly misguided soul is writing a love note to Draco, of all people. (I told her that petal-pink is a compound adjective, but apparently hyphens aren't poetic.)
I have always believed in you, Daphne, which is why I wore your protection pouch during the War and why I kept returning to Malfoy Manor in the evilest of times because you kept returning again and again and would not listen to reason and because a well-placed Notice-Me-Not, cast from behind a curtain as heavy footsteps approached you, was the only protection this timid wizard could offer.
I hid in dark corners because you would not.
Earlier tonight I asked Professor Trelawney to cast a Love Prophecy and she lost no time lighting candles and scattering rose petals all over me. Then suddenly her eyes glazed over and her jaw went slack, and she said in a high, monotonous voice:
Sons of snakes,
Coiled in darkness,
Strike to capture hearts undeserved
And the predators become prey.
Then she came to herself and poured us both some sherry. Thank Merlin.
Daphne, I don't believe in Divination. But I believe that prophecy.
And I believe in you. I love you.
Theo
YOU ARE READING
The Darkwood Wand
FanfictionDraco Malfoy's history of poor decision-making continues after the war, when he returns to Hogwarts under strict probation. Bored and restless, he decides to cast the infamous Vanishing Cabinet spell to link his bed with the bed of a willing witch...
