Flight of the Stars

Chapter Twenty-One

Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, never has, and never will, so I might as well stop deluding myself.

Note: For this chapter, I'd recommend Crown by Camila Cabello.

o-0-o

Book Two

The Riddle House was grand. Far grander than any one person could ever want, and certainly more than a person would ever need. Tall and stately, situated on the outskirts of Little Hangleton, with large windows overlooking the small village, it was the object of envy of Muggles and wizards alike. Gardens trimmed to perfection, not a single blade of grass out of place, it radiated that the average person was not welcome inside its imposing doors.

If someone should be fortunate enough to receive an invitation, he would immediately notice, upon entering, the terrible chill of the manor. Oh, there were fireplaces, all the fireplaces a person could afford, and it even had a Muggle form of insulation that they called fiberglass, but it was a different sort of chill than simply that often associated with large houses. A residue of magic remained, from Dark magic not long ago cast, that left a sinister feeling in the air, and a prickling feeling between your shoulder-blades, the feeling that you were being watched. The manor had been left empty for a reason, and after the Riddles had died in that strange accident a little over two years ago, the house had never been quite the same.

However, as of late, it had been occupied again, and the residents of Little Hangleton were left to wonder why anyone, much less thirteen people, almost all male, would wish to occupy such a dreary place. They of course disapproved of the one young woman staying with them, thought her a woman of loose morals, so there was much gossip to be had, but everyone, old and young, were bewildered at the state of things inside.

The young woman, a certain Hermione Granger, couldn't care less about what the villagers were saying of her at that present moment. She was too busy occupied with a letter. She was writing so quickly that she left blots all across the parchment, and there was a smudge of ink on her nose that she didn't seem to notice. A warm fire crackled in the grate, casting a low light across the sitting room and giving off a heat that was causing her to sweat slightly, even in the cold weather, but she wasn't paying attention to that, either.

A man about her age, perhaps a little older, was leaning against the doorframe, quite tall and strikingly handsome. His stance appeared casual, but his fingers were tapping restlessly, and his dark eyes were hard with impatience. Every so often, his eyes would flicker over to what she was writing, and his mouth would purse in a thin line that betrayed the annoyance he was trying to hide.

They were not the only people in the room. A man with white-blond hair, of the famous Malfoy family, or infamous, depending on where you stood, was sitting restlessly on the couch, waiting on Tom Riddle's word to take the message and deliver it personally to whomever it was addressed. He was not as skilled as Tom at hiding what he was feeling, and kept shooting anxious glances over to the writing desk, where the woman was writing as fast as she could. Whatever this message was, it seemed to be of dire consequence.
"Done!" Hermione announced, letting the quill fall and hurriedly sealing the letter. They had created their own seal insignia, so that whoever received this message would know that it was from the Lady Persephone. The Lady would have quite a lot of power, soon. One would never think that she was a Muggleborn, much less the woman sitting at the desk at that very moment with ink stains on her fingers.

"Finally," Tom muttered. Hermione shot him a look.

Abraxas Malfoy shot out of his seat and hurriedly took the letter. He glanced at the address on the front, and the color drained from his face. "Are you sure?" he whispered.