METANOIA. ❪ harry potter ❫² [REWRITING]

𝐢. LETTERS, LIES, AND LONGING

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

  AT THIRTEEN YEARS OLD, NYX was certain she was dying. There was no other explanation for the sheer, gut-wrenching agony twisting through her stomach. One moment, she had been sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware of any impending doom. The next, she was curled into herself, clutching her middle as though her insides were trying to stage a violent escape.

With a groggy groan, she kicked off her covers—only to freeze in absolute horror.

Blood. 

A strangled scream tore from her throat. Had she been cursed in her sleep? Were her organs failing? Had she unknowingly been sliced open by some unseen assassin?

Her cries sent her animals into a frenzied panic. Hypnos, her owl, gave a furious screech and flapped wildly inside his cage, feathers scattering like panicked letters from a Howler. Poppy, her cat, who had been dozing peacefully on a vacant pillow, launched herself three feet into the air in terror before vanishing under the bed in a streak of startled fur.

And then, as if summoned by her distress, the bedroom door slammed open.

Draco Malfoy—sleep-rumpled, wand in hand, and looking as though he had been rudely yanked from a dream of grandeur—stood in the doorway, eyes darting about for immediate threats. It was still dark, and he squinted through the gloom, searching for the source of the catastrophe.

"What?" He shouted. "What is it?"

Nyx was far too distraught to form a coherent sentence—not that she truly understood what was happening herself. Her breath came in sharp, panicked gasps, her mind a whirlwind of horror.

Draco, realizing that no amount of questioning would yield an answer from her, made a snap decision. Without hesitation, he turned on his heel and sprinted down the dimly lit corridor, his slippered feet barely making a sound against the grand Malfoy Manor floors.

He needed to alert his parents.

Now, Lucius Malfoy had not been particularly pleased with Nyx as of late. Since summer had begun, their relationship had been tense at best, strained by the "rebellion" she had staged during her first year at Hogwarts. Against all of his explicit warnings, she had gone and befriended people he disapproved of—muggle-borns and blood traitors, as he so derisively called them.

And yet, at Draco's alarmed summons, Lucius wasted no time.

He strode into Nyx's room with an urgency that betrayed his usual composed demeanour, his wand raised high, casting a bright glow over the scene. Behind him, Narcissa swept in, her midnight-black silk robes trailing behind her, the picture of effortless grace despite the late hour.

Their gazes landed on Nyx—still curled in bed, wide-eyed, her entire being radiating pure panic.

"I'm dying," she wailed.