Draco's POV
I felt sick as I played around with Voldemort's message to his daughter. The paper was only a piece of information. The real message lay in the death of her hawk. She was silent after I told her, though I had seen her horror. It made me wonder how much worse she had been through. It must've been bad, if she could face things so impassively. She was Voldemort's daughter through and through, half of her was his pure evil. But the sadness that rolled over her at the death of a creature differentiated between her and her father; he, who didn't even flinch while killing innocent people. Halfheartedly, I try and distract her. "The Vanishing Cupboard is in the attic. I've been working on it. D'you want to see it?" She nodded, her face painted over till she looks like she did before I delivered her father's 'message'. "For the sake of my Father's cause, of course." She specified sharply. "Of course." I conceded, curious as to why she felt like she needed to explain herself to me. I turned on my heel, leading the way. Silently, with the same deadly grace she did everything with, she followed.
It took some time, as it always did, to reach the attic while taking the winding, lazy stairs of Hogwarts. We probably could have magic-ed ourselves up; but it was an unnecessary risk when what I was trying to do was waste time with her. We still walked swiftly, our black robes billowing behind us. At one point I tripped on my robe and fell over, thankfully off the mischievous stairs of the school. I rose up hastily, grumbling under my breath. When I looked up at her to brush off the fall, I lost my breath for a second. She was out of breath too, probably not used to actually moving for so long since she could just apparate everywhere. She was leaning against the (unmoving) railings in a posture more relaxed than anything I had ever seen her in, with a brilliant smile on her face. A quiet laugh erupted from her mouth, and I thought, wow. See, Phoenix was beautiful. Anyone who saw her would agree with that statement. But her beauty was mysterious and dark; she was untouchable. In this moment, though, the smile opened up her face till she was someone else. She was an angel fallen, finally at arms length and down on earth with the rest of us. In that moment, she was touchable and in reach. I couldn't help the smile that crept across my face, and soon I was laughing too. Half the humor of the situation was that it was us just standing and laughing. Us, perhaps the youngest deviants of the magic world, with the darkest orders and blackest blood running through our veins. Disapproving faces flashed before my eyes; mother, father, Snape, Voldemort himself, but my eyes resettled on Phoenix's smiling one, looking open for the first time.
It was a few minutes before we recovered and our moment of childishness faded. We straightened again, readjusted our faces to fit the stony facades that were expected of us. "Well..." She trailed off awkwardly. "We should go." I declared, trying to act sure of myself. She nods, looking relieved. Our walk was silent, yet thankfully short. The doors were ornate, and familiar after all the hours I had spent up there. I pushed them open quietly, cautious as I had learnt to be since a first year had almost seen me once. Through the sliver of a crack between the doors I saw something as horrific as it was bizzare. I actually physically pushed away from the door, with a disgusted sound deep in my throat. "What is is?" Phoenix hissed, moving forward to peer through the crack. Her surprised sound was quieter than mine, and just as silently, she closed the doors.
We were silent for a few moments, reeling from what we had seen. "I didn't know that was a thing." She began quietly. I nod, "Me neither," trying to erase the image of the youngest Weasley and Potter making out, something I could have lived a long and happy life without seeing. She sighs as quietly as she does everything else. "That's going to be a problem. Now I obviously can't seduce him to distraction." I look at her at that, confused. "I, um, didn't know that was the plan." I comment, trying to sound light. "Your father was okay with that route?" "Yeah. I don't think he cares how I get the job done. Potter under our thumb would really help." I nod, seeing her logic, but not exactly feeling it. She continues to speak, telling me the logistics of her plan, but I find myself kind of happy that the plan is out of commission. When she's done, I don't say anything for a few moments. "Draco?" She questions. A few second pass, before I say, "You don't have to sell yourself for this, you know." She gives me a surprised looks. "Of course I do. This is what I was born for. My life is just another piece of something bigger. I thought you would understand." I look down at the floor, wishing I could explain that sometimes I questioned my loyalty to the cause. But Voldemort had bred the perfect follower; a powerful witch ingrained with the kind of loyalty that was unshakable. She would never understand. So I just nod, silent as I have taught myself to stay.