TA

Lady Auroura Azrael. Romanian for the Angel of Death. A name that had once been whispered in castles, feared in battlefields and worshipped in the darkest corners of the wizarding world. She was not simply a warrior, a hero or a queen; she was a legend given human form. An immortal, a vampire of sorts, and the one creature even monsters feared to meet in the dark. She was the girl death itself had refused to claim. Little was known about the Azrael family, their history lost between centuries and forgotten records, but one name had always been tied to hers: Klaus Salvatore. Her lover, a legendary wizard, a feared warrior and a vampire who, unlike Auroura, could still be killed. To the ordinary wizarding world, she was nothing more than a bedtime story, but within the wealthy pure-blood families, the elders still remembered. Soldiers carried faded portraits of her into battle, believing the Angel of Death would guide them home, that no matter how terrible the war became, it could never compare to what she had survived. Yet, three hundred years had passed since anyone had seen her. Her name had become little more than a forgotten myth, and Hogwarts had long since stopped teaching the story of the girl who once terrified the darkness itself. Almost everyone had forgotten Lady Auroura Azrael. Almost everyone, except one ice-haired Malfoy. Draco Malfoy had carried an ancient black-and-white photograph of her in his wallet for as long as he could remember. A beautiful girl staring back through the faded paper, untouched by time. None of his friends knew who she was, and nobody had ever thought to ask. The truth was, Draco didn't know either. He only knew he couldn't bring himself to part with it. And now, with war closing in on Hogwarts, the girl in his photograph was finally coming home.