It's half past six and Draco is looking through the whole house for a wand, his soup untouched, (like hell he'd fall for that one) he'd sooner die of starvation. She's so naive sometimes.
He's alone. There are no house elves. No annoying prats that drones on and on about piss poor 'strategies'. No one. There is not one other person left in the house. There are dementors patrolling the streets and he has to have the assurance that he'll be able to protect himself before he even gets to Hogwarts.
Running out there to get to her is suicide. As lovesick as he is, though he'll never admit it, he won't walk down that path.
He wants to be breathing when he meets her.
"Crusty fuck!"
A horned creature emerged from end of the narrowly lit hallway, it was bleating as the bell around its neck tinkled noisily. He jumped away and bumped on the shredded wallpaper only then realizing that it was just a goat. How pathetic can he be that farm creatures start to scare him a hairsbreadth from death. He's hopeless is what he is.
The goat has left a door ajar.
A wind that smelled of death emerged from that room. No. Not death per say but it was as close as it could get. It smelled of fire and blood. Smoke and rot. Draco felt his blood run cold at the feel of the cursed air touching his skin, that fire is not natural, a fire that smells like that could not have been conjured with a simple flick of the wrist or a muggle match. It's cursed. His pulse quickened as all his other senses were sent in full alert at the familiarity of the feeling, the smell-- everything. Danger is just around the corner.
With a slight push of his hand the door opened further, showing a sitting room and a fire place. Piles and piles of books and junk that wouldn't sell for a knut a pound. It was dark and the fire from the chimney has gone out.
So where is that smell coming from?
His eyes slowly drifted to the portrait. It was of a girl. A simple girl with brown eyes and blonde hair wearing an outdated dress. Something his mother will slap a servant for if brought to her but will probably cost galleons in the right shop. The portrait was well polished, a contrast to everything in the room. A simple girl. It's always the simple girls. He doesn't know the whole story, of course, but he could derive the heart of it.
The simple girls make you feel the most.
"Where's that smell coming from?"
The girl in the portrait looked at him. Her brown eyes examined his face, she looked no older than a third year. But still no words.
"I know that you know," Draco said. His voice showing the desperation that he's trying to hide. Hermione and the Death Duo couldn't have walked the street, they couldn't have apparated either-- it's a secret passage.
"Please."
The girl looked sad and walked away. Draco wanted to smash the portrait then and there but restrained himself which was a good thing because she came back. She was crying when she did.
Her portrait revealed a secret passage.
Fuck. There we go.
He hurriedly stepped over the counter over the fireplace. Kicking off the various dusty knick knacks that crowded the fireplace, each and everything crashed to the floor. "Thank you," he said to the girl.
She was sobbing then. "Danger," she whimpered, a finger pointing to the direction from where she came from, the same where Draco is headed.
To this he just nodded and pushed on to the dark passage ahead.
YOU ARE READING
Yours in Mayhem |Dramione
Fanfiction"The greatest love story never told." --- Draco Malfoy writes a series of letters to the most impossible crush that he has and will ever have and gets his heart broken again and again in the process. AKA Draco Malfoy and the Impossible Crush AKA if...
