Yours in Mayhem |Dramione

17 sixth year: fifteenth letter

Dearest Mother,

Even though Draco knows that his mother is not the only one who will be reading this letter. Every word that he writes will have a meaning to them.

My initial attempt at having the highest mark at our class was trumped. I am currently working on ways to get to the top and stay there. I thought that it will be harder this time but it's proving to be easier.

He had no luck with the cursed necklace and worse yet, Katie Bell had been involved. What seemed to him as a foolproof plan turned out to be a glorified mess.

I hope to see you again soon.

And he knows that the moment the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement is fixed, his plan will be in full swing and he will let all hell break loose on his alma mater. Like it didn't matter in the first place. Like he hated it with passion.

Bellatrix Lestrange will kill and destroy as much as she could.

Fenrir Greyback will try to bite as much of the children as he could. Just like he did to Remus Lupin, someone Draco never expected to look up to. Fenrir is disgusting and smells of death-- he can freely say that in his mind. The Dark Lord probably doesn't have the time of day to give a shit what Draco thinks about the scent of his subjects.

And other Death Eaters who are hungry for glory and destruction will come too. Not caring that the population in Hogwarts is actually innocent children.

He winced. If there's one sound that he can't stand it's the wailing of a child.

He never looked at himself as a child. Not anymore.

I only wish to make you proud.

This, at least, he truly means.

Faithfully yours,

Draco

He folded the parchment and got dressed. Crabbe and Goyle's bed drapes are still closed, they're snoring louder than ever probably an effect of the Polyjuice potion that he is continuously making them drink with hairs of first year girls that he instructed Parkinson to get. Zabini and Nott  have gone but Draco didn't wish to run into them. The common room was quiet with only some underclassmen doing some early morning reading. The light from the lake casted a blue shadow on everything.

It was colder than cold and fog has started to creep inside the castle. He pulled the Slytherin scarf closer to his neck and put his hands on his trousers pockets. Even though it was freezing, the colors of the landscape was bright and pure. The color of the dead, he thought bitterly.

The owlery was empty. He hated it here. Hated the sound and smell of animals. Not because they smell bad but because the owls looked so free. They have wings, they can go whenever and wherever they liked but they didn't, they just stayed put.

"Bubo bubo," he held out his sleeved arm and his majestic hawk like owl perched there. He stroked Bubo's soft gray feathers, "You're getting a bit too heavy for me," he whispered, "but that'll be our secret."

Bubo cooed in understanding.

Draco allowed himself a small smile. "I have a letter for Mother. Make sure she gets it, will you?" He let Bubo perch on the railing before he tied the note safely on his leg. "Get back as soon as you can, alright?" He said as quietly as he could again, hoping that no one will hear him talking to a creature so gently. 

And Bubo was off. Will probably be intercepted somewhere but he was off into the direction of the sun. The rays of gold against the whiteness of the snow made Draco squint and realized that breakfast in The Great Hall has probably started.