The Storm | The Sister book #3 | A Harry Potter Fanfiction

chapter two

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Dear Draco,

It happened again last night. I can't tell if it's getting any better, Molly says it is- I don't have fits anymore, though I didn't know I ever had fits. I hope it isn't too bad at Hogwarts. 

I was in the corridor again, and it was dark. Umbridge was there, Voldemort, Harry, you- and then I was in pain. It was the same as before. As in when I finally caved in and looked away, one of you died. I still don't know which one. 

You should see the new packaging I developed for Fred and George. I can't send you it since it's a secret to the public until it's realised. I love it, though. It took me ages. I hope you can overcome your hate for the Weasley's and at least enjoy the packaging of some of their new products, even if it's just for me. 

However this time it was different. Voldemort didn't have or use a wand- he broke their neck.

I don't want to think about it anymore. 

How are you? I can't believe we go back to Hogwarts so soon. I'm glad. The Weasley's have been lovely, but just too lovely- Like any word they say could break me. I'm so sick of it. 

Stay safe-

I lift my quill, hesitating. I always have trouble signing off. I know what I want to say, but every time I stop myself. It's way to forward. I'll scare him off. 

Yours, Clara. 

I sit back in my seat, sighing and shifting my weight, pulling my feet up and hugging my legs to my chest. I do feel bad for kicking Ginny and Hermione out of this room all day every day, but all the same, they did kick me out of the Gryffindor dorms last year. This isn't that big of a deal. Besides, they're way too scared of me to disagree. I don't like that. Them being scared. I don't want them to be scared of me, I just want them to treat me like a normal person. 

I close my eyes, breathing in through my nose and flinching as images from my dream resurface. That sound. That cracking. It pushes against the back of my head again and again, making my stomach turn. The worst part, the part that kills me, making me want to implode, is that fact I don't know who died. Who was the boy lying in front of me, dead, at the end of the dream? I never see his face, only his uniform. I don't even remember his hair colour. Or, actually, if it is a boy. For all I know it's a girl. 

I open my eyes, shaking off the sick feeling in my stomach and sitting up. I fold the piece of parchment, placing it carefully in an envelope and handing it to my owl, Quill, who take it. She knows already who it's for, I rarely send letters to anyone else. 

I stand up, unlatching the small window by the desk and watching her fly out. I close the window again, drawing the curtains against the dark night outside. I start to pack away the ink and paper scattered on the desk. Its small, ink stains and paint plaguing the wooden surface of the desk. To the right of the desk is the foot of my bed, and to the left, the small window, then Ginny's bed. The walls are scattered with memorabilia and art, Gryffindor flags, moving family portraits and pictures of her and different groups of friends, newspaper articles, ripped pieces of paper with bright patterns on them. She told me each Christmas she saves a few pieces of wrapping paper for her wall. I didn't understand what that meant until now. 

I hear Ginny calling out from downstairs. I ignore it at first- I'm at the Weasley's and it's Ginny, the fact she's yelling is no surprise to me. 

She keeps yelling, and a few of the others join in the conversation. Curiosity gets hold of me and tugs me towards the closed door. I walk over Hermione's mattress and step out.