The Beckoning

Draco woke with a violent start; a cold sweat encased his tired body. He slowed his fevered breathing as best he could and pulled himself to a sitting position. Draco's tense muscles screamed in exhaustion as he took in the room around him; as if trying to assure himself that there was no threat lurking in a shadowy corner of his quarters. No presence was there, but Draco's fragile nerves could not be put to rest.

He grasped his wand from its resting place on the self next to his bed and forced his body to rise. Walking silently towards the large window; Draco uttered soft words and several candles flared into life, casting a weary light in the drafty room. He pulled the dark green curtains aside and scanned the expansive Hogwarts grounds. The full moon lit the peaceful land; its reassuring glow lightened Draco's worry. He watched the play of water on the small banks of the lake and tried to remember what had woken him.

I was having a dream, Draco thought, a pleasant dream. A sound woke me, he recalled, someone screaming from somewhere far away.

 Draco cursed as he remembered the prickling feeling that had accompanied that scream. It was a feeling he knew very well, a feeling that he should not have forgotten for even the slightest of moments. He was being summoned.

Draco kept his panic-ridden feelings at bay as he quickly pulled his robes on over his sleeping clothes and made his way out of the luxurious Headboy rooms and into the hallway. His crisp black shoes made no noise on the stone floor when he swept passed elaborate statues and unused classrooms. He silently thanked the Gods that he did not have to bear the cold of the dungeons; he had been given special accommodations due to his position.

Draco slowed his pace and tried to remember exactly where his caller dwelled. Draco took a deep breath and attempted to access the cord that held them together, the normally strong bond seemed frail somehow. Draco was overtaken by a strong sense of worry; he prayed that nothing bad had happened. His contact could not answer in words, but put a fragmented image in his mind of swooping shelves and dusty books.

A few moments later the familiar musty smell hit him as Draco opened the doors to the library. Quickly looking around, he made his way to the back of the room where desks were provided for working students. From the right, a voice captured his attention.

"It took you long enough you sorry piece of filth," the figure smiled. "I was worried."

He was in his normal form: that of a tall dark-haired man of about twenty years.

"Wynfrith," Draco began. "Are you alright?"

"Oh I'm jolly good," Wynfrith lapsed into his usual mockery of Draco's British accent. "But it seems, old chap, that I have been summoned."

Wynfrith moved aside and Draco saw, for the first time, a lone figure slumped over a large pile of books. Hell, he cursed, Hermione Granger has got to be the biggest pain-in-the-ass that I have ever met in my life.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.