SEQUEL TO OF SERPENTS AND ANGELS:
Two years after the Second Wizarding War, Angel Dawson has started to heal. Draco Malfoy has not. But it didn't matter, because they had each other.
When a new prophecy is foretold, Lucius Malfoy re-emerges, determ...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
There was once I had sat with Angel in the Astronomy Tower, years ago. I said she shone brighter than a thousand flames; that she was a prism, and if one day darkness were to shroud this world forever, I would still see her colours.
Over the years, my soul had learned to breathe with hers. I knew her face without seeing, her hands without touching, her voice without hearing.
It was through this very innate connection that I knew Angel was gone.
I did not know when, why, or how, but I sensed it the moment I crossed the threshold of our gate. Usually, Rutherford would be around somewhere, but tonight, he was nowhere to be seen. The driveway seemed never-ending as my feet pounded the road. Our house was in darkness. I flung open the door.
Our furniture stared back at me. The air was cold and still, devoid of the warmth Angel carried with her wherever she went.
I tried to ignore the blood beating in my ears as I rushed through the house, calling her name and looking into each room. Empty, empty, empty.
I closed my eyes, telling myself this was a dream. When I opened them, she would be there in the kitchen, making tea. She was not.
She was in the bathroom; I just haven't checked properly. She was not there either.
I willed myself to be calm. She had just gone out for food, or a drink. Perhaps she had gone to meet Hannah or Susan or Lorcan to tell them all about our terrible fight. She would be home in a bit.
I waited on the couch, flicked on the telly. Beauty and the Beast came on - her favourite. I watched it for a while, trying to distract my mind from the wild, pervading thoughts. Outside, the garden was drowned in inky blue, and the crickets had started to sing.
It was now close to midnight. Any moment now, she would burst in, hang her coat, and throw herself onto me laughing, as she always did. I waited some more.
I must have drifted off to sleep at some point, because when I next opened my eyes, the sunlight was already burning my cheeks through the glass doors that led to the garden. I glanced at the clock. Nine-thirty in the morning.
I walked into the kitchen, but Angel wasn't in there making breakfast like she always does. It was only then I remembered she had not been home.
Again, I raced through our house, calling her name. She was not here. My heart was leaping and galloping, like a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
Where was she? She couldn't have been taken by force. The house was immaculate, just as she always left it. She would not have gone without a fight. My mind conjured horrifying images - Angel dead in an alley. Angel running away, suitcase in hand.
