:::I Feel:::
Draco was sleeping.
It wasn't a deep sleep. He hadn't fallen into the bottomless waters of heavy rest. There was something holding him to the waves above, letting him float along in liquid tranquility.
Something—or rather, someone.
He was aware of a body snuggled close to his, keeping him warm. His arms were wrapped firmly around delicate softness. A woman, he acknowledged absently, though she wasn't familiar. The figure was too slight to be any of the fleshy girls he usually had in his bed, too fragile to belong to the worldly Jezebels he recognized.
The tiny form was surprisingly comfortable, fitting against his built one as if it was made for him alone. Who was she? A name was there in the back of his mind, just out of reach. He could wake up, find out. But he was too contented to stay as he was, his arms holding tight to the nameless source of serenity.
The sound of tapping invaded his consciousness, and he fought to push it out, to keep hold of this rare feeling of peace. The noise only grew more incessant, demanding to be acknowledged.
His eyes blinked open to a room that was not his own. The setup was familiar—in fact, was a mirror image of his—but his tired mind couldn't quite place it. Where was he? He shook his head, his gaze falling to the woman beside him.
Hermione Granger.
The night before rushed back to him in a flash. With a clenched jaw, his mind remembered the liquid door, the brutal memories behind it.
I'll never understand... Why is it so easy for them?
The noise erupted with louder force, jolting him out of his thoughts. His gaze moved to the window-wall, and he climbed off of the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping woman at his side.
Slowly, silently, he drew the curtain back. His father's eagle-owl waited for him on the other side of the glass.
Draco looked at it warily, wanting to deny it entrance. The bird had no place here, in her room. It had no right to be anywhere near her, where its darkness might touch her, where its danger might hurt her. The need to shield her, to protect her, was somehow imbedded deep into his soul.
But how could he protect her when it was him who brought the danger? How could he give her light when he didn't possess any to give?
Hating himself, he opened the door, letting the owl—and everything it stood for—into her bedroom.
The sleek bird stepped inside, its critical gaze moving from Draco to the girl fast asleep beneath the covers. It glared up at its master, its eyes calling him a betrayer.
Draco crouched down, grabbed the message tied to its leg. "Piss off," he snapped, shoving the bird, shooing it away. With one last baleful glance at Hermione, it stepped back out onto the balcony and flew off into the morning sun.
Draco sighed, watching as it became a distant speck and then disappeared completely. Once it was gone, his gaze moved to the tiny letter. With a sigh, he unfolded the paper and read the message within.
We need to discuss the parameters of your Joining into the First Circle.
One week. Be here at dawn. There is much to say. LM
Draco crushed the page in his fist, threw it to the ground with a strangled sound of aggravation. It bounced against the carpet, rolled away.
There is much to say, the note had said. Draco didn't doubt it. He knew exactly how the meeting would pan out. He would to return to the manor in the depths of the night, where Lucius would be waiting with that snide, disapproving look. His father would inform him of all the ridiculous feats he would have to perform in order to be Marked and Joined; customarily, Tasks were assigned to test a potential Eater's skill and, more importantly, his loyalty to the Dark Mark. A range of missions were assigned, from the generally benign to the conclusively lethal. But Draco was well aware that his assignment would be closer to the latter's end of the scale. Entrance into the First Circle didn't come free. Someone would have to pay—and it wouldn't just be him.
