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 air in Malfoy Manor was colder than usual, heavy with the tension that Aurora could feel settling deep in her bones. She had always known that this place would be hostile, that stepping into the world of Death Eaters as a spy for the Order would mean walking among enemies. But it was the feeling of it, the constant watchful eyes, the whispered insults just barely concealed behind cruel smirks, that gnawed at her resolve.
She had prepared for this. For the sneers and the side glances. For the suspicion.
But nothing could have prepared her for the open cruelty of the others.
Aurora turned the corner into the long, candle-lit hallway, heading towards the meeting room where the Death Eaters gathered. As she passed, the whispers followed her like a dark cloud.
"She thinks she belongs here," Bellatrix Lestrange's voice hissed from behind. Aurora didn't need to look back to know that Bellatrix was flanked by two other death eaters, as usual. "She's no better than the blood traitors."
Aurora clenched her jaw but kept walking, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. She had faced worse—far worse—in the last few days. Cruel words were easy to bear compared to the haunting loneliness that came with her mission.
But as she moved forward, something cold and wet suddenly splattered against the back of her neck. Shocked, she stopped, touching her skin to find that Bellatrix had thrown a slimy concoction at her—a curse she didn't recognize that made her skin crawl with a disgusting, oily sensation. Her fingers trembled, and she felt bile rise in her throat.
Laughter echoed behind her.
"Look at her, Lestrange!" Dolohov guffawed, elbowing Nott. "All high and mighty, thinking she's one of us. She's filth, just like her father was."
Aurora's stomach churned at the mention of Sirius. She had heard it before, the insults hurled at his name—traitor, blood traitor, disgrace to the Black family—but hearing it now, in this house, made her blood boil.
Swallowing her pride and the burning urge to lash out, she turned sharply on her heel and marched down the hall, the oily residue still clinging to her neck. She could feel Bellatrix's eyes boring into her back, hear the low hum of continued laughter, but she refused to stop.
Not here. Not now.
Aurora reached the far door to the meeting room and leaned against the wall for support, breathing hard. She couldn't break. Not when she was so close to gaining their trust. Not when Harry and the Order were counting on her.
But she felt alone—isolated in a world where even the slightest hint of weakness would spell disaster. She needed someone she could trust, someone who would help her, if only for a moment. She knew only one person who might listen.
