Draco had woken in the middle of the night to relieve himself, but he couldn't get back to sleep. He lived alone, after his parents' deaths several winters ago. He felt alien in his home, as if his parents' spirits still lingered, bearing ill will towards their own son. He sat on the roof of the small hut, stargazing for several hours. However, a movement on the hill caught his attention. With swift movements he went to the hill.

"Eating those things will kill you," he said to the young woman. "At least cook the furry little bastards first."