Phoenix of Olympus (PJO/Harry Potter) UNEDITED (PJ FANFICTION)

Ch.10- My Familiar Breaks the Professors

The bird chirped beautiful, a nice high pitched twitter. It resided in a small circular cage with wires running vertically down. Its partner was quiet as it looked in the opposite direction. It was observing the figure walking past the room, his dull footsteps echoing throughout the corridors. He was tall, thin, and lean. The shadows of the hallways covered his face, casting him in shadow. His clothes were black, the only sign of contrast was his pale, sickly white hair.

He walked up towards an ancient tapestry. Its image depicted the capture of a pure white unicorn with a very long silver horn. Surrounding it was a wooden fence. The creature was reared back, his mane flying as it protested its capture. It had a metal collar chuckled to its neck. The color had faded greatly but you could still see and feel the fear and sadness in its sky blue eyes. Surrounding the poor, unfortunate soul was a crowd of people, laughing and pointing as it fuitily tried to escape. The boy paused as he looked at the pure creature, not seeing how he was the beast as well. Pure at heart but caged by the darkness of the world. Alone and weak.

The boy whispered words to the wall and tapestry, looking behind his back as he waited it to comply. The Room of Requirement shifted according to his needs, a metal and stone door forming behind the tapestry. The boy pushed it aside and entered the room.

There was the faint noise of moth wings fluttering, the eery echo of a skipping record grating against his ears. The air was stale with dust. The room was filled with cabinets and desks, old ruined pieces of furniture destroyed and piled into small mountains. Each shelf was full of creepy and ancient antiques, much like what you would find in a Professor's office or an old abandoned museum. He cautiously walked further into the room as he turned his head to gaze in wonderment at what he was presented with. There was a small pathway through all the rubble and he followed it while casually throwing an apple up into the air and catching it with a loud slap of sound. His right hand rested in his pocket. If anyone had walked in, it would have appeared as if he was taking an afternoon stroll. If, of course, they missed his apprehensive gaze and tense shoulders.

He walked past a group of hanging chandeliers, a faint bang echoed throughout the room. The birds chirps were a whisper, the creaking of the room setting him on edge. He stopped at a window, the light illuminating his nervous and pale face. He turned around apprehensively. Behind him was a large and tall piece of furniture covered with a faded red and white patterned rug. He walked up to it and grasped the red in his right hand while grasping the apple tightly in his left. Please be it he thought. He pulled down and the coarse fabric fell from the object with a loud gush of wind.

The object revealed was a large black and dark brown cabinet. The Vanishing Cabinet. Draco was caught between feeling smug and being intimidated. It was very tall, the edges outlined by an intricate design of metal. The wood looked very old and creaked slightly. It was cast in shadows and seemed to ooze an ominous aura. Draco swallowed slowly before a smirk began to form across his face.

Finally.

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The dense mist distorted the environment as the blanket of fog caressing the ground. The dew was so condensed that it mimicked a light rain, soaking everything it touched. The Quidditch arena was reduced to black shadows amongst the gray whitewash, the large structure intimidating and vacant. A single figure clad in red and gold glided down from the sky, his broom steady beneath him. As he approached the ground, a small group of figures came into view. Boys and girls of various ages were gathered, chattering together in anticipation.

All but one.

Ronald Weasley stood in the foreground, facing his best friend Harry Potter and his little sister Ginny. His expression was that of pure desolation and hopelessness. The aura around him was so heavy with the impending doom and foreboding Ron was expecting. His already naturally pale skin was ashen, nearly translucent. The cold did not even touch him, his clothes sagging against his skin as the muscle pads seemed to swallow him. His eyes were hollow, staring into oblivion as a miserable scowl claimed his mouth. Harry and Ginny could not help but despair  upon looking at him and his white-knuckled grip on his broom. They awkwardly exchanged glances, Harry's own nerves intensifying.