Summary: Draco Malfoy is getting mysterious, anonymous letters from someone who dubs herself "assassin". His goal is to find the writer before the end of his sixth year, or else his mysterious stalker will kill him... Rated R later on, so be warned.
My Dear Sweet Innocent Assassin
Chapter One - Assassin
My name is Draco. Draco Malfoy, to be specific, though how many other Dracos can there really be in this world? Probably not many. I'm seventeen years old, and last year was the strangest, most mysterious year of my life. I really couldn't tell you where exactly the strangeness began, but I'm going to start, in this story, with the letter I received the very day I was supposed to be going back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
I was at my desk, finishing the last of my summer homework, my trunk packed almost completely and open next to me, when my Eurasian Eagle Owl, Lyrasha, flew in through my window. I hadn't sent Lyrasha out on a journey in a while, so I wasn't expecting any post from anyone, but Lyrasha dropped a single envelope on top of my Potions essay and flew off again. The envelope was dark green, sealed with a gold wax stamp, and my name was written on the front in glowing silver ink. No return name or address was given.
I reached for a letter opener and broke the seal, then withdrew a letter written on pale green paper. I unfolded the paper and read the letter, which was written in an unfamiliar hand, to myself.
My Dearest Draco,
You will soon begin to notice a letter such as this one in your
post almost every time you recieve post at all, and likely it will
often be the only letter you get. I will give you my name nor
age nor any other information, I am writing only to inform you
that you are being watched. By myself, of course. If you do
not figure out my identity by the end of this year, I will kill you.
If you do figure out my identity, and tell me so, I will tell you
exactly why these letters are being written. Do you want to
hear a story, Draco? I certainly hope so, since the alternative
is death.
Good luck.
I raised an eyebrow. Whoever the writer of the letter was, they were certainly skilled at putting millions of questions in the recipient's mind. I shrugged all of said questions off, slipped the letter back into its envelope, and threw the envelope on top of my robes in my trunk. Through the course of dinner and getting ready for bed, I forgot about the letter completely. I in fact did not remember it until the next day, on the train to school.
The next day, I was risen early, I ate breakfast, and we were off. We reached the train station with a good ten minutes to spare, but Mother and Father wanted to leave themselves, so I made the trip to the platform alone. I was the first one on the train, so I chose the compartment in the very back, hoisted my trunk into the luggage rack, and sat down for a long ride to school. Only then did I think of the mysterious letter I had recieved the night before.
Just before the train was ready to leave, I heard four different voices outside my compartment. "Fucking bastards could have let us - " "Shut up, Ron, at least it wasn't Malfoy," Harry Potter's voice said. Then Granger's, "I haven't seen him at all yet, actually." "Are you complaining?" asked another girl, who could only be Weasley's little sister. "Well..."
My compartment door slid open and the owners of the four voices looked in. I rolled my eyes, "It's nice to know you've missed me, Granger."
"Ugh. I spoke too soon," Hermione said. Ginny rolled her eyes back at me, then entered the compartment uninvited and took a seat. "Seems this one's empty, guys," she said pointedly, and the other three took seats as well. I smirked and said, "I know, I blend into the wall so well, don't I?"
They ignored me. I shrugged and pulled the green envelope out of my pocket. I pulled out my wand, determined, now that I was able to use magic, to find out whose hand had written it. I did six different spells, including one that revealed fingerprints and one that would reveal the writer of any letter, and none of them worked on it. Unfortunately, the letter and my spells took up all of my concentration, or else I would have noticed one of the occupants of the compartment staring at the envelope with recognition in her dark brown eyes.
Disclaimer:
I own nothing you may recognise from any Harry Potter book. Period. If I did, I'd
be J. K. Rowling, and I'd likely be rich. And much older than fourteen.