Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but Kahl is my character.
—
A Shadowed Storm
—
Chapter 1
Blemished Arrival
—
Kahl stumbled through the stinging rain. She ran into a tree, and a dull pain shot through her shoulder. She grunted and pushed herself away from the tree. The rain increased, pelting her bare arms and face. The sound of trees swaying in the wind faded, leaving only the rush of the wind, the splatter of the rain, and Kahl's heavy footsteps and ragged breathing. She forced her feet to move, one in front of the other, one arm raised to keep the rain off her face. Her sword hung heavy in her hand, its tip catching on the matted grasses underfoot. A shadow loomed out of the darkness.
Kahl staggered up rain-slick steps. One foot caught on her other leg, and she tripped forward, landing against a wall. She felt along the wall; her hand touched a doorframe and then the cold metal of a handle. She turned the handle and fell against the door, landing heavily on a carpeted floor. She coughed hard, hacking rainwater out of her throat. She rolled away; her muscles gave out. She lay on the thick carpet, her body unwilling to respond. In her mind she shrugged; it didn't matter anymore.
"What—" There was a gasp and the sound of feet running away. "Master!"
Kahl winced at the shriek. She coughed again and settled back on the carpet. The light footsteps returned, accompanied by a steady, firm tread. "What are you babbling about? You know I do not like to be disturbed."
"But, Master Malfoy—"
The footsteps stopped. Kahl considered opening her eyes; she decided not to.
The footsteps moved closer to Kahl and stopped beside her. There was a moment of blessed silence, except for the rain-laden wind outside the open door. "Get her upstairs. Inform me if she wakes."
There was a pause, and Kahl's sword moved in her hand. She lunged, clutching the thief's wrist, and her eyes snapped open. Pale, cold eyes looked back at her out of the proud face framed by long, white hair. Malfoy. Now she recognized the name. She lay back and relaxed her grip on Lucius Malfoy's arm and on her sword hilt. The sword was removed from her grasp. Her eyelids ached, so she closed them. There were muttered words, and she felt the carpet fall away. But she didn't follow it, though there was nothing under her. Oh, right, they'd said Wingardium Leviosa. Was that the spell? Her thoughts were fuzzy, disconnected. Maybe it was Enervate, or Stupify, or Ridikulus . . .
—
Draco glanced after the maid steering the prone form up the stairs. He turned. "Father? What's going on?"
Lucius glanced after the maid, and he looked at the sword in his hand. Draco followed his gaze. The weapon was shining as much from rainwater as from cleanliness, except for the blood settled in the engraved hilt. Lucius turned to his son. "Did you recognize her?"
The tall, blond seventeen-year-old shook his head. "I didn't really see her face."
Lucius walked towards his study. "Do not worry about it."
Draco sighed, and he returned to the library. Parchments and books were spread over the main table, his eagle quill standing in the inkwell. He bent his head over his book and continued reading.
Two hours later, Draco looked up at the clock. It was only eleven in the morning. This was going to be a long day. He bit his lip, and he put his quill in the inkwell and stood up. He quietly left the library, glancing down the hall. From there it was a short walk to the carpeted stairs, up the landing, and to the first door on the left. Draco opened the door; the room was empty. He tried the next one down. A fire was burning in the hearth, and on the bed was a still figure. Draco slipped in and walked over to the bed. It was a girl, bandages on her arms, her hair escaping from its braid. Her breathing was the deep breath of sleep, but her expression was closed, eyes tightly shut and mouth pursed. She looked familiar. . . .
Draco stepped back. It was the courier. She'd come by only a week ago with a message for his father. No wonder his father had given her shelter.
'This would probably be a good time to leave,' Draco thought. He slowly backed away from the courier and towards the door. He turned to leave and ran into the maid. He clapped a hand over her mouth before she could make any sound. "Silence. Does my father know I'm up here?"
She shook her head, her eyes wide.
"Don't feel any need to tell him. Understand?"
Nod.
Draco released her. "Don't worry. I was just curious."
"But your father said no one was to disturb her."
Draco narrowed his eyes at the maid. "I didn't disturb her, and you will not mention this to my father. Understood?"
She nodded slowly.
"Good." Draco brushed past her.
As he walked back to the library, his mind was very busy, working over the images of the courier, fast asleep but far from relaxed; the storm of that morning; and the sword, clean except for the crimson filigree of the hilt.
—
Darkness descended around her, wind tearing at her hair and clothes.
"We know what you are, so don't even try to deceive us."
Bolts of light, red and green. Shouted words and flaming steel. Lightning racing down the trunk of a tree, spewing bark everywhere. White snake sweeping through her. Water, rain, life source . . .
Blackness.
—
Kahl felt metal being forced between her lips, and warm liquid was tipped down her throat. She swallowed, and she tried to open her eyes. They refused. She relaxed against the arm under her shoulders. A hand was laid on her forehead. "Are you awake?" a gentle voice asked.
Kahl grunted; it was all she could manage. The spoon was pushed into her mouth again, and she swallowed the broth more readily. It was some time before she heard the click of the spoon being laid on a wooden surface. She tried again to look. Her eyelids cracked open. A black-haired girl looked back at her, the girl's hair mostly covered by a mobcap, her simple dress immaculate. Kahl's eyes closed again.
The arm lowered her back against the pillow. "I'll be back," the girl said. There were the sounds of movement and the opening and closing of a door.
Kahl relaxed. How long had she been there? Where was she? Something stirred in her mind, forcing itself up through the cobwebs of fatigue. The girl's voice . . . and her master. Lucius Malfoy. Kahl suppressed a sigh. Why the Malfoys?
—
A Shadowed Storm
—
Chapter 1
Blemished Arrival
—
Kahl stumbled through the stinging rain. She ran into a tree, and a dull pain shot through her shoulder. She grunted and pushed herself away from the tree. The rain increased, pelting her bare arms and face. The sound of trees swaying in the wind faded, leaving only the rush of the wind, the splatter of the rain, and Kahl's heavy footsteps and ragged breathing. She forced her feet to move, one in front of the other, one arm raised to keep the rain off her face. Her sword hung heavy in her hand, its tip catching on the matted grasses underfoot. A shadow loomed out of the darkness.
Kahl staggered up rain-slick steps. One foot caught on her other leg, and she tripped forward, landing against a wall. She felt along the wall; her hand touched a doorframe and then the cold metal of a handle. She turned the handle and fell against the door, landing heavily on a carpeted floor. She coughed hard, hacking rainwater out of her throat. She rolled away; her muscles gave out. She lay on the thick carpet, her body unwilling to respond. In her mind she shrugged; it didn't matter anymore.
"What—" There was a gasp and the sound of feet running away. "Master!"
Kahl winced at the shriek. She coughed again and settled back on the carpet. The light footsteps returned, accompanied by a steady, firm tread. "What are you babbling about? You know I do not like to be disturbed."
"But, Master Malfoy—"
The footsteps stopped. Kahl considered opening her eyes; she decided not to.
The footsteps moved closer to Kahl and stopped beside her. There was a moment of blessed silence, except for the rain-laden wind outside the open door. "Get her upstairs. Inform me if she wakes."
There was a pause, and Kahl's sword moved in her hand. She lunged, clutching the thief's wrist, and her eyes snapped open. Pale, cold eyes looked back at her out of the proud face framed by long, white hair. Malfoy. Now she recognized the name. She lay back and relaxed her grip on Lucius Malfoy's arm and on her sword hilt. The sword was removed from her grasp. Her eyelids ached, so she closed them. There were muttered words, and she felt the carpet fall away. But she didn't follow it, though there was nothing under her. Oh, right, they'd said Wingardium Leviosa. Was that the spell? Her thoughts were fuzzy, disconnected. Maybe it was Enervate, or Stupify, or Ridikulus . . .
—
Draco glanced after the maid steering the prone form up the stairs. He turned. "Father? What's going on?"
Lucius glanced after the maid, and he looked at the sword in his hand. Draco followed his gaze. The weapon was shining as much from rainwater as from cleanliness, except for the blood settled in the engraved hilt. Lucius turned to his son. "Did you recognize her?"
The tall, blond seventeen-year-old shook his head. "I didn't really see her face."
Lucius walked towards his study. "Do not worry about it."
Draco sighed, and he returned to the library. Parchments and books were spread over the main table, his eagle quill standing in the inkwell. He bent his head over his book and continued reading.
Two hours later, Draco looked up at the clock. It was only eleven in the morning. This was going to be a long day. He bit his lip, and he put his quill in the inkwell and stood up. He quietly left the library, glancing down the hall. From there it was a short walk to the carpeted stairs, up the landing, and to the first door on the left. Draco opened the door; the room was empty. He tried the next one down. A fire was burning in the hearth, and on the bed was a still figure. Draco slipped in and walked over to the bed. It was a girl, bandages on her arms, her hair escaping from its braid. Her breathing was the deep breath of sleep, but her expression was closed, eyes tightly shut and mouth pursed. She looked familiar. . . .
Draco stepped back. It was the courier. She'd come by only a week ago with a message for his father. No wonder his father had given her shelter.
'This would probably be a good time to leave,' Draco thought. He slowly backed away from the courier and towards the door. He turned to leave and ran into the maid. He clapped a hand over her mouth before she could make any sound. "Silence. Does my father know I'm up here?"
She shook her head, her eyes wide.
"Don't feel any need to tell him. Understand?"
Nod.
Draco released her. "Don't worry. I was just curious."
"But your father said no one was to disturb her."
Draco narrowed his eyes at the maid. "I didn't disturb her, and you will not mention this to my father. Understood?"
She nodded slowly.
"Good." Draco brushed past her.
As he walked back to the library, his mind was very busy, working over the images of the courier, fast asleep but far from relaxed; the storm of that morning; and the sword, clean except for the crimson filigree of the hilt.
—
Darkness descended around her, wind tearing at her hair and clothes.
"We know what you are, so don't even try to deceive us."
Bolts of light, red and green. Shouted words and flaming steel. Lightning racing down the trunk of a tree, spewing bark everywhere. White snake sweeping through her. Water, rain, life source . . .
Blackness.
—
Kahl felt metal being forced between her lips, and warm liquid was tipped down her throat. She swallowed, and she tried to open her eyes. They refused. She relaxed against the arm under her shoulders. A hand was laid on her forehead. "Are you awake?" a gentle voice asked.
Kahl grunted; it was all she could manage. The spoon was pushed into her mouth again, and she swallowed the broth more readily. It was some time before she heard the click of the spoon being laid on a wooden surface. She tried again to look. Her eyelids cracked open. A black-haired girl looked back at her, the girl's hair mostly covered by a mobcap, her simple dress immaculate. Kahl's eyes closed again.
The arm lowered her back against the pillow. "I'll be back," the girl said. There were the sounds of movement and the opening and closing of a door.
Kahl relaxed. How long had she been there? Where was she? Something stirred in her mind, forcing itself up through the cobwebs of fatigue. The girl's voice . . . and her master. Lucius Malfoy. Kahl suppressed a sigh. Why the Malfoys?
