Along the silent sleeping streets of London, a spectral light cuts through the dark, illuminating the houses beside it. If anyone were to look out their window at the right moment, all they would see would be a streak of silver, shining like the stars.
The light moves too fast to follow. It sails over pavement, gravel, and grass, taking corners without hesitation, never slowing down. The light has a purpose of its own, and it knows exactly where it wants to go. Flashing like lightning, it heads single-mindedly across a square to disappear quite suddenly into the wall between two brick houses.
-:-
In the basement kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, about a dozen members of the Order of the Phoenix look up as a patronus descends through the ceiling. It takes the form of an Abraxan horse, the tips of its enormous wings almost scraping the walls. The horse lands without a sound, though if it were solid it would have crashed through the floorboards.
As it folds its wings, the occupants of the room remain seated around their wooden conference table. They watch with varying degrees of curiosity. There it stands, tall and proud with its head held high. It could command anyone's attention with ease, its shimmering form giving out too much light, taking up too much of the room.
It directs its gaze towards the head of the table, at a man with steepled fingers and waist-length hair glinting orange in the firelight. The flickering flames in the hearth reveal the concern etched on his inquiring features, but the horse does not need to see that. It came for only one thing, and it speaks, sending rumbling echoes around the chamber.
"We were separated on ze way back," it says curtly. "But we delivaired ze message."
The man nods and his brow smoothens out, though his eyes fail to look as impassive. With a toss of its mane, the horse turns away, dissolving into a silvery mist.
Review, critque, tell me if I did any grammar mistakes or if my sentences are too long, and things like that, please.