The Raven's Call

The Storm

Monday, June 30th 1997

Just as I make it to the Astronomy Tower, I duck into a small storage area beneath the stairs, pressing myself into the shadows.

Then, with a sharp crack, Dumbledore apparates into the main room. I peer through the slats of the wooden floor above me, just in time to see him stumble, leaning heavily on Harry for support.

Something is wrong.

Dumbledore is never like this—never weak, never shaken. But now, even in the dim light, I can see it. The exhaustion in his face. The slight tremor in his hands.

Harry shifts under his weight, barely able to keep him upright. I strain to hear, but they're speaking too softly, voices barely above a whisper.

Then, footsteps. More of them.

Heavy boots against stone.

I hold my breath as shadows stretch across the floor, creeping up the walls like ink spilling across parchment. Someone's coming.

And I have a horrible feeling I already know who.

"Hide yourself below, Harry," Dumbledore commands in a hushed whisper. "Do not speak or be seen by anybody without my permission. Whatever happens, it's imperative you stay below."

Harry hesitates, his brows knitting together in confusion.

"Harry, do as I say," Dumbledore continues, his voice weaker now but still firm. "Trust me."

That seems to break whatever resistance Harry has left. Without another word, he bolts down the stairs—straight toward the storage alcove.

Where I am.

I press myself deeper into the shadows, willing myself invisible as he ducks into the small space beside me. He doesn't notice. He's too focused on what's happening above, his breath unsteady, his wand gripped tightly in his hand.

But I barely have time to process that before the footsteps reach the top of the tower.
Draco And Asteria Malfoy.

"Good evening, Draco. Asteria," Dumbledore greets, his voice calm despite the situation. "What brings you two here on this fine evening?"

Draco hesitates for only a second before blurting, "Who else is here? I heard you talking."

Dumbledore tilts his head slightly. "I often talk aloud to myself. I find it extraordinarily useful. Have you been whispering to yourself, Draco?"

"More like whispering to a ghost," Asteria murmurs, her voice nearly lost in the night air.

Dumbledore doesn't acknowledge the comment, instead watching Draco with quiet understanding. "Draco, you are no assassin."

Draco's face twists. "How do you know what I am?" he demands, voice rising. "I've done things that would shock you."

"Like cursing Katie Bell and hoping she would unknowingly deliver a cursed necklace to me? Like replacing a bottle of mead with one laced with poison?" Dumbledore's voice is gentle, almost pitying. "Forgive me, Draco, but I cannot help feeling these actions were so weak that your heart could not truly have been in them. Just like you, Asteria. In the graveyard, your heart wasn't in it either."