In third-year halls, their paths first crossed,
A Raven boy, a Blonde girl lost.
"Stay out of my way," she warned with a glare,
But something lingered in the frosty air.
Crimson with his scar and fame,
Emerald with her secrets untamed.
Two worlds ap...
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The night air was cold and heavy as Aurora stepped out of the small, hidden alleyway where she had just Disapparated from the safety of Privet Drive. The familiar, ominous silhouette of Malfoy Manor loomed ahead, its dark turrets cutting through the moonlit sky. A sense of dread crept up her spine as she walked toward the wrought iron gates, her every step feeling heavier with the weight of her new mission.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, not out of fear—she had trained herself to suppress that—but out of the overwhelming sadness of what she was leaving behind. Harry's face, his green eyes filled with unshed tears, replayed in her mind like a haunting echo. Don't look back, she had told herself, but how could she not? She could still feel the warmth of his hand holding hers, the silent exchange of promises neither of them were sure they could keep. She closed her eyes briefly, recalling the last thing she had said to him before walking away into the night.
"I'll come back, Harry. I promise."
And she had meant it. But as she drew closer to the Manor, the reality of how uncertain that promise was weighed on her. Her fingers brushed the cold metal of the Black family ring still circling her finger, before quickly slipping it off. She had given Harry a part of her, the one link to her father, Sirius, as a symbol of her hope that they would both survive this war. She couldn't let herself think too long about what would happen if they didn't.
As she reached the gates, they creaked open, as if sensing her presence. The magic in the air here felt oppressive, stifling, reminding her of the house's dark history. This was the place where Voldemort himself had gathered his followers, and now, she was walking into its heart.
Her breath came out in slow, controlled exhales. Aurora was not new to danger—she had fought alongside Harry and the others for years—but this was different. She was about to face the people she had been trained to despise, and worse, she would have to pretend to be one of them. A loyal Death Eater. The thought sickened her, but she buried it deep within her, just as she had been trained to do.
As she approached the grand, heavy doors of the Manor, they opened for her, revealing the dimly lit, marble-floored entrance hall. Cold swept in with her, and she felt the weight of the house's gaze on her. Every portrait, every shadow seemed to be watching her closely, assessing whether she belonged.
"You're late."
The voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife. Draco stood at the base of the grand staircase, his arms folded, his usual smirk replaced with something far colder. His pale eyes swept over her, as if searching for signs of hesitation or fear. But she gave him nothing.
"I wasn't aware we had an appointment," Aurora replied smoothly, her voice calm, detached. She had learned to wear masks all too well, and this was no different.
