Of Horn And Halo | Draco Malfoy

Chapter 8 | 1996

"You have barely completed three years of schooling," Snape hissed, his already pinched face dark with anger, "you are not of age. Casting such a spell is far beyond the bounds of sanity!"

"That will be all, Severus," Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively, face impassive. His intelligent eyes followed Snape's form as the head of Slytherin house stormed from the headmaster's office. Then, a smile appeared on his wizened face, "I must say, I am impressed."

Maeve and Anthony shared equally terrified expressions as they shared a glance. Neither elected to respond to the headmaster as he stroked his beard absently.

"Severus would have you both punished, of course," he murmured absently, "but truly, such a feat demands congratulations. How long did it take?"

"T-two months, sir," Anthony stuttered out, his ears pink and his hands clutching at his trousers.

"How about this," Dumbledore spread his hands, "we forget about this little misstep-" the two stared up at him with eyes like saucers, "-as long as you file for registry with the ministry once you come of age."

Maeve couldn't believe their luck. She had been sure the old wizard had been about to expel them for so brazenly breaking the rules. Anthony and her both nodded empathically, lost for words.

"Now," Dumbledore offered them a kind smile, "you may return to your dormitories. Take a sherbet lemon on your way out. They're quite delicious."

Maeve hadn't seen a hair of her mother since she'd stepped foot into their country manor a few days previous. Her father had received her at King's Cross and the two had apparated home, before he'd been called to the ministry to investigate a crisis involving Les Plébéiens coming across an enchanted object he had to identify.

The manor had been decorated for Christmas beautifully, no doubt by the house-elves, but it still felt cold in the absence of her family. Not for the first time, Maeve wondered what it would be like to have a brother or sister to share her time with.

She wondered if they'd share her distaste for the state of the Wizarding World or, if they'd join a side, wand at the ready, like she never could.

It was the dead of night, but the windy snowstorm had kept her wide awake. She slumped back in the overstuffed armchair facing the fireplace at the end of her large room, letting her head thump against the green upholstery.

Her mind kept replaying the last time she'd been at home.

Midnight, and the night before she'd left for Hogwarts.

"This is for your own safety as well as ours," her mother hissed in her ear softly, before grasping her forearm firmly.

Maeve reached her arm forward, splaying her fingers as far apart as they'd go. The faint red lines crisscrossing the back of her hand going white. She clenched her teeth in concentration as she glared at the burning hot coals at the centre of the flames.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as the ember she focused on slowly rose. The effort of maintaining the magic without a wand to conduct the power caused her to physically flinch back when the tension became too much.

She hadn't forgotten what Theo had mentioned to her. It would be a great asset to be able to fend for herself without a wand in the state of things.

After a few shuddering breaths to steady herself, Maeve turned her head to look at the cherrywood desk that was strewn with parchment and books along with her wand sitting near the edge.

She held out her hand, and for one glorious moment, it shot forward. It landed on the ground, narrowly missing the hearth. Her lips turned firmly down.

When her hand closed around her wand she heard the distinct sound of the front door slamming shut. After her previous experience listening in on things she didn't want to hear in the first place, Maeve wasn't exactly brimming with excitement at the thought of abandoning her safe room.

But the sounds of more than two pairs of footsteps were what caused her trepidation.

With every step she took, her stomach seemed to drop further. The door opened silently as she crept across the cold floor with quiet, bare feet. Instead of leaning close to see between the banisters, she continued to creep along the floor until she had a direct line of sight to the sitting area directly to the side of the entryway where the guests stood.

Shrouded in shadows, Maeve was sure there was no way they'd be able to detect her presence unless by magic.

Narcissa Malfoy, immediately recognizable by her pure blonde and black hair, along with her deranged sister, Bellatrix Lestrange. The two women stood in black robes similar to the ones she'd seen Yaxley in months before, holding decanters of amber liquid.

Facing the two witches was none other than her mother, Angelica Selwyn. She looked elegant as ever with her slick dark hair and sharp features, despite wearing the same shapeless robes as her companions. Her mother wore a grim smile mirrored in the other witches, but as she spoke Maeve found herself unable to catch the words.

Maeve recognized the wry expression on her mother's face, and judging by Bellatrix's much louder outburst of, "it is an honour to serve Him. There is no such thing as inconvenience," she had said something opposing the dishevelled witch.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Maeve took a step back. She swallowed at the lump in her throat and turned her back on the scene. Her hands fisted in her thin nightdress and she forced her feet to walk away.

Only when she closed the door to her bedroom did she allow her body to slump against the door. She slid to a heap on the floor and willed tears to come, to prove that her mind wasn't broken, to prove she felt anything.

No tears came.

There was an ever-growing hole in her chest as more and more of her life fell to the darkness, like a blot of ink eating up everything in its patch on parchment. Her family was tainted and her home was no longer her home. All she had were tiny pieces of herself she seemed to lose before she found them.