Trouvaille - something lovely discovered by chance
A Slytherin and a Gryffindor are sworn enemies. Families, friendships, relationships, all are infected by house rivalry.
So are James Potter, proud and brave Gryffindor, and Aquila Black, cunning a...
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
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Everything was a blur.
Aquila had very effectively blocked everything out, even though her mind wanted nothing but to ignore the pain. The feeling of the singular presence in her mind, alone, truly alone for the first time in her life.
There were murmurs about how the traitor had been caught.
Well, at least Sirius got something right.
The Boy who Lived.
Aquila focused her mind on figuring out how Harry had survived.
They had tied her bloody hands behind her back, and one of them had said something about having to stun her, but she barely moved.
Barely acknowledged.
Barely heard as they took away Bellatrix, still loudly cackling, as they took away her brother's murderer. Aquila made a conscious effort of making eye contact with Barty Crouch Jr.
Count your days, she whispered in his mind.
He blanched visibly, his face going pale.
Maybe the merging of the twin cores of Regulus and Aquila gave her some new abilities.
She'd even take wand magic to have her brother back.
But these foolish Aurors had taken her wand as if it was going to save any of them.
They would die for killing her brother. For killing her James. For taking away Frank. For taking away Alice. For destroying Harry and Neville.
They would all burn.
But before, she had someone she had to see.
Fortunately, it seemed that person wanted to talk to her too.
- - -
Never did she imagine that she would walk the Hogwarts corridors again, with blood coating her hands and all alone. No one spoke, not even the paintings, not even the ghosts she saw sneaking looks at her. Outside, an echo to her own mind, a storm raged.
She approached the gargoyle. Not for the first time, she felt tempted to rip off the head of the stone bird.
She stepped on the staircase, standing still as it came to a stop in front of the door of the office.
"Hello, Professor," Aquila said, dragging her eyes over to the old man sitting on his grand chair with his half-moon spectacles and a twinkle in his eye. As if so many people hadn't tonight, because of him and his twisted vague plans.
"Miss Black," he said, his tone solemn yet conversational. "How are you?"
"Eventful night, hasn't it been?" she said, stepping forward, grazing a sharp nail on the headrest of the armchair kept in front of the desk.
