Chapter 8: Shock
After yet another night of shallow sleep and convoluted dreams, Draco woke up by a peremptory rapping on his door.
Still dazed, the youth crawled out of his bed, not forgetting to take out his wand, and opened the door.
"I brought you breakfast," greeted the figure, moving away from the pointing wand.
The first thing Draco noticed was the green eyes, and for the slightest moment, he thought that his old nemesis, Harry Potter, was standing in front of him.
However, his mind caught up with the rest of his body and with a single, and rewarding, glance down, Draco realised that the person standing in front of him was no other than the beautiful owner of the humble establishment that housed him.
He fought off the growing blush and lowered his wand.
"Good morning to you too, Rosmerta," Draco replied with sarcasm, prompting the witch to raise an eyebrow.
"I see you woke up cheeky today," she remarked and simply handed the boy the tray she was holding before taking her leave.
Nice ass, he couldn't help but observe, watching the woman's swaying legs as she left.
The Malfoy heir looked down at the offered container, noting down the food and drinks it held.
There were two simple ham and cheese toasts, accompanied by fresh apple juice. There was also a teapot filled with hot water and an empty mug with an English breakfast teabag. To finish the set, there was a small bowl with cookies, presumably to be eaten with the tea.
The breakfast offered at the three broomsticks was quite plain and cheap.
I like it though, Draco thought, surprised that he felt so.
The typical breakfast at the Malfoy manor consisted of freshly baked pastries, such as croissants and scones, served with rich butter and imported jams. Alongside those, there were perfectly poached eggs accompanied by thinly sliced, lightly seasoned smoked salmon, with a side of crisp bacon. Fresh fruit, including strawberries and raspberries, were arranged artfully on a silver platter.
Not much different from Rosmerta's, the drinks consisted of strong black tea and freshly squeezed juice.
Needless to say, the meal was served in the grandeur of the Malfoy Manor dining room, with polished silverware and fine china.
Albeit rarely, the meal could also be accompanied by live music, mostly classical, and played by a duet of a violin and a piano…
With a swish of his still-held wand, Draco transfigured a pencil on his desk into a silver goblet.
The spell was the one taught and used in his first year, however after so much practice and experience, the results were nothing like what they were used to.
Standing tall and regal, it featured a perfectly balanced stem that tapered gracefully down to a wide, sturdy base, intricately engraved with delicate patterns of vines and leaves. The bowl of the goblet was polished to a mirror-like finish, reflecting light in a way that highlighted its flawless, smooth surface. Around the rim, a thin band of gold filigree added a touch of opulence, contrasting beautifully with the cool sheen of the silver. At last, the inside of the goblet was gilded, ensuring that each sip taken from it was a rich experience.
That goblet was not just a vessel for drinking but a statement piece, fit for royalty, for a Malfoy.
I bet McGonagall would be thunderstruck, unable to understand how a meagre fifth-year managed to transfigure something as extravagant as this, Draco thought, eyeing his creation.
And he was right.
Unknown by most, the young pureblood harboured a gift for the art of transfiguration, something he had chosen to hide as soon as he found out.
It wasn't smart to showcase one's abilities in Slytherin unless, of course, they had to.
Thankfully, the Malfoy name took care of any reasons he might have had to show off.
Had taken, Draco corrected.
It would probably not do so anymore.
If anything, it will only bring and cause me difficulties, something I could do without, he thought with bitterness.
He'd have to take drastic measures if Slytherin turned on him.
"I can always become best palls with Potter," he muttered with self-mockery and sighed.
"Aguamenti," Draco said, pointing the wand to his goblet, filling it with water and then drinking it.
Best pals with Potter… what a ridiculous notion…
He poured the hot water from the teapot into the mug and watched the dark tea steep through the bag, swirling slowly.
As the aroma of English breakfast tea wafted through the room, Draco's thoughts wandered back to the previous days.
I paid a hundred galleons for staying in this room until tomorrow when I return to Hogwarts… I've read The Darkest of Magical Arts, skyrocketing my understanding of the forbidden piece of magic, at least its basics. I've also started owling and studying muggle books on the mind… That's not going very well but it will have to do for now. Reading Into The Mind without understanding most of the terminologies got really annoying, really fast. There was also that incident,Draco listed in his thoughts.
Draco sighed again as he took a sip from the steaming mug, the warmth of the tea bringing him back into the present.
He knew he was playing a dangerous game, dabbling in occlumency and especially dark magic.
Heck, just getting caught could reading such books could land me in Azkaban… But what choice do I have? he thought and he felt a sense of desperation trying to overwhelm him.
Suddenly, the room seemed to close in on him.
Draco's heart raced like it was trying to escape his chest, each beat loud enough to drown out rational thought.
What's happening?
His breathing slowly became erratic—shallow and quick, he lost control.
There's, there's not enough air, he mumbled and inhaled like drawing through a straw.
Black spots appeared in his vision and his legs gave out.
He heard a forceful thud, followed by a sharp, crackling noise.
Something inside him knew that was the cup, falling and cracking, however, he couldn't care less at the moment…
Suddenly there was a flash.
A big, bright and overwhelming flash.
A fire manifested itself inside his room out of nowhere and Draco heard someone singing.
It was a soothing melody, reaching his very soul, at least he thought so.
His vision started returning to normal as his breaths calmed down, and the air in the world felt plenty again.
It's the phoenix. Again, Draco realised as he caught sight of the fiery bird which floated over his bed with a steady flap of its magnificent wings.
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