𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝

Written In Blood

Rewritten

Aurora the Creature found herself loitering outside Dolores Umbridge's office in the corridor, using magic to make the dust motes float in certain shapes. She'd been there for the past hour or so, smoking cigarettes and reading her book, leaving the butts right outside her door for Umbridge to clean.

Come not, when I am dead,
To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,
To trample round my fallen head,
And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save.
There let the wind sweep and the plover cry;
But thou, go by.

Tennyson reminded her of cold winter afternoons and sweet tea in the window seat, of that cut she had on the inside of her elbow that wouldn't stop itching and so Golden Boy, wrapped it for her so her fingers couldn't reach it, of that dusty book from the chest in the attic.

For the past hour or so Aurora was content in her company, enjoying the silence and the nicotine. Hogwarts rarely had a quiet moment, much worse than Grimmauld house.

The reason for her vigil was Harry Potter's detention. As part of her job, she was required to observe the punishment Umbridge deemed fit for students. That was only part of the reason. The other part was that Aurora recognized in Umbridge what she'd seen in countless other Ministry employees and worse, that sinister disregard for others. If she was anything like the employees that had come after Aurora, then The Boy Who Lived would need her.

Currently, the only sound she could hear from inside was the scratching of a quill, so Aurora assumed he was writing lines. Harmless enough, but one would never know for certain with someone like Umbridge.

She sat stretched out in one of the windows, legs in front of her as she read.

Perhaps content was too strong a word, Aurora was momentarily calm, more like it. Most of the time the flying restriction took a toll on her wings and made her all the more snappy, the loudness and crowd of Hogwarts had Aurora smoking like a chimney to wade off the uneasiness.

Had someone come up to her a year prior and told her she'd join a secret organization and then go to one of the most prestigious Wizarding schools in the country, Aurora would have called them bonkers.

But here she was, killing time so she could later help her friend. . .should he need it.

The logical part of Aurora still disagreed with the notion of friends. Someone like her didn't need more attachments, friends did not help you survive the cruelty of the world, friends did not shield you from it. Friends were more people for you to worry about.

But then again, Potter had looked at her in such a way that Aurora did not know how to refuse. A look she's trying to decipher to this day.

When at long last the door to Umbridge's office opened and closed, Aurora smelled blood.

More importantly, someone's blood.

In a single moment, her book was stuffed away and a pocket knife was out, gripped tightly between her fingers. Harry Potter paused upon seeing her, her eyes steely and her posture defensive, as if anticipating a blow. Aurora looked at him, sensing that the blood was on him, but the smell wasn't so much meaning it wasn't a mortal wound, but a mere scratch or a cut.