Papillon

13 - la prophétie

C H A P T E R 1 3

Draco

Gold and red, the colors of Gryffindor, left the streets and were exchanged for empty pavements and a returning dark, cold atmosphere. Christmas trees were taken down, decorations put away as the holidays came to an end; and therefore Draco's trip to England as well. It hadn't been easy to say goodbye to Harry again, not knowing when would be the next time they would see each other. Would another opportunity to visit Grimmauld Place in the summer be awaiting him? The boys both didn't know as they knew things would become more difficult by the second; Voldemort luring behind their backs and Draco's curious father joining him by his side.

Wearing Molly's jumper with pride, Draco flew back to the forest surrounding the Manor. His lips still tingled with Harry's last kiss and he wished he could feel the slight bruising for more days to come. Landing without a sound he took a look around and heard the wind whisper in his ears, blow by and never return again. With his broom shrunken, he started his search of finding the rotten apple that would once again serve as his Portkey; that would take him back to Beauxbatons. He knew Madame Maxime always sent it to the forest; even when he actually did go home for the holidays. But as Draco arrived at the usual spot; a clearing in a circular shape surrounded by trees — the apple wasn't there. Under rocks, under leafs, under the soil — the apple was nowhere to be found.

Panic raced through his heart and mind as he searched the clearing for the fifth time; turning every something around to find nothing underneath it at all. Why had Madame chosen a rotten apple, anyway? She always picked the most scrubby things for him of all — as if she was testing wether he could stand picking up such an item.

What if she had sent the apple to the Manor — totally forgotten she usually sent it to the forest? The panic spread, his body now trembling to the bone. He couldn't go home; he couldn't explain to his parents where he had been and certainly not with whom. Draco took a glance upon his timepiece, one he had borrowed from his mother as his own had been given to Harry, and noticed that he had only a few more minutes left before the Portkey would leave without him — make him unable to return to Beauxbatons.

After yet another thorough search, Draco knew for sure it wasn't there. It must be at the Manor, he concluded. His feet already dragged him in its direction; the house towering above the trees like an angry demon. The little windows were darkened, only a few on the ground floor lighted up with the warm glow of a fireplace. A hedge surrounded the property; a magical one that would keep all trespassers away by strangling them to near death and blasting off the most awful alarm — but Draco knew a weak spot somewhere to the left; a small opening that he had discovered as a child. He hurried himself towards it, found it almost immediately and slipped through it as if it didn't contain any dark magic at all. The elaborate garden of the Manor doomed up in front of his eyes; hedges cut in the shape of peacocks and white animals alike passing by as he made his way closer to the house. A few roses to his left, colored red like blood and lilies to the right, reflecting the pale moonlight and blinding Draco's eyes.

As he neared the Manor itself, he could see the silhouette of his mother, standing in front of one of the windows and looking at the garden with a blank face. She looked somber and held a hand to her neck — upon a medallion Draco knew contained a photograph of him as a five-year old. That very medallion had been Draco's inspiration for Harry's gift; knowing that it had always given his mother the feeling that he was somehow there, beside her, all the time. He hid behind one of the peacock-figured hedges and watched her from afar, glanced upon his timepiece to notice there were only two minutes left. The panic in his body turned to hysteria as he had no idea where that damned rotten apple could — be... His eyes that had still been set on his mother had followed her look — had moved themselves to the object she was so blankly staring at; a rotten apple, all abandoned in the middle of the large field of grass.