WHEN GODS SLEEP - DRACO M.

FIFTEEN.

WHEN GODS SLEEP
Chapter Fifteen

If Epione were to be one of those romantic heroines that somehow managed to find sleep underneath the presence of stubborn sunrays, she'd have risen with its light seeping through curtains and not a disconcertingly loud pop!.

          Such sound had undoubtedly been the product of Apparition, and for those few seconds of amnesia following one's dead-like rest, her mind registered only the panic of being scared awake. And then, lying in complete darkness, as if her memories had been sneakily selective in the way they returned, she was struck by fear – it definitely was not her bed, neither her Slytherin-green Hogwarts sheets or the lighter ones of home.

            But then a squeaky, somewhat pitiful voice cut through the black and her mind found relief; her body too, newly basked in the morning glow.

            'Good morning, young miss. Jaxter didn't mean to surprise.' It wasn't the same flower-clad house-elf that had greeted her before, but she recalled him aiding in decorating the ballroom. 'Mrs. Malfoy sent Jaxter for breakfast.'

          She studied the silver tray between his palms, mouth-watering assortment of fruits and a couple of baked sweets – and propped atop a tiny jam pot, an envelope. That did not ring well.

           'Thank you, Jaxter.' She said, but couldn't retrieve further information before he left with another pop! – which sounded significantly quieter when fully conscious – the food left resting just by her on the bed.

           Her hand reached for the blank piece of paper before her brain had properly commanded it to – blank, she considered, fiddling with the corners, it was unlikely to be a letter. Within was a scented piece of parchment, which she recognized from two very familiar letters - and wondered whether Narcissa owned anything that wasn't elegant or feminine.

         Dear, I hope you're well rested. I did not want to ruin our festive mood with such matters (the word was underlined, she recalled Draco's warning and her heart skipped), but it seems to me like we will be devoid of any time today to discuss it in the lengths I had planned. I sent you breakfast for it is not advised that you go downstairs until called. The Dark Lord has arrived earlier than expected and is in reunion. My sister, Bellatrix, has too returned from her trip and is to stay with us. I trust that you will dress and act accordingly – and please, be prepared in case he summons you. – and under a much smaller, nearly frightful script if handwriting could be such, read a warning to burn it upon reading.

          Epione would need to muster every bit of knowledge she'd earned in Occlumency to omit even the flimsy memory of reading the letter; thankfully, there was nothing else she considered relevant to hide. Her mother was nothing but appreciative and loyal to him, her sisters and her had been faithful servants in properly carrying their task, and whatever her friends' views were, they did not discuss politics or ideologies on principle. However, even the certainty that he would see nothing of guilt didn't provide sufficient relief.

          It was quite a taxing experience, being under the Dark Lord's scrutiny; his high voice, the chalk-white features and the vicious red eyes, analyzing, pondering. She'd heard he'd been quite handsome before – well, no one knew with certainty before what, - and though she could not see a trace of beauty in him, something about the calmness and poise with which he carried himself made him even more terrifyingly imposing. If he in fact had also been as good looking as rumored, she could certainly see where his massive following had originated from.

           Epione grabbed her wand from under her pillow (an anxious habit of the recent year) and made the paper hover before casting incendio - it dissolved in tiny fragments that she vanished with another flick. The delicious food stared at her from its pretty fine plates and she found no urge to eat. Readying herself seemed a much more urgent task than devouring miniature tartelettes.