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Chapter Text

I'd never given much thought to how I would die — though I’d had reason enough in the last few months — but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.

I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me.

Surely it was a good way to die, fighting to avenge someone else, people I loved. Noble, even.

That ought to count for something.

I thought that if I’d never gone to the London Borough of Islington, I wouldn’t be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it’s not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me.

Chapter Text

I hadn't had to wait long for my Godfather to pick me up after my parents' death. They had been killed in what was assumed as a 'mugging gone wrong' after a night out for dinner. They had been found dead with a single stab mark to the throat each. I was at home, unaware.

I try to tell myself that I should be grateful that I had the luxury to hug my parents and kiss them goodbye, tell them I loved them before they left to have a night for themselves, and now have a place for me to stay with a trusted family member. Lots of people don't have that luxury. But I can't help but stay bitter all the while. I hope, at the very least, that my parents had a lovely time together before they were murdered.

I've been staying with my Godfather, Sirius Black, since Christmas break. It's not like I had anywhere else to go or could even afford to live on my own. My maternal Aunt and Uncle certainly wanted nothing to do with me and had made that very clear for years before I was even born. Racist pricks.

I like my Godfather. He's nice and what one might call 'The Cool Uncle.' He's been a family friend since my parents were in school, so we've grown quite close growing up.

But still. I didn't want to leave my village, Godric's Hallow. I didn't want to go to a different school to finish my A-levels. I didn't want to lose my parents, and Sirius didn't want to lose his friends.

But such is the way of life.

In the London Borough of Islington, a terraced house named number 12 Grimmauld Place exists under a near-constant cover of clouds, as is the standard for the UK. Most of the other attached houses have been turned into flats, but Grimmauld Place has always been a single home to Sirius. 12 Grimmauld Place was... well, a grim, old place — living up to its name. I've been here a few times in my life when we — my parents and family friends — came to visit. It was the ancestral home to the prestigious Black family, which is probably why it looks and feels so ancient. As far as I know, only Sirius remains. I learned not to ask about his family at a young age.

It was 12 Grimmauld Place that I now resided in — an action that I took with great horror. It's not that I detested Grimmauld Place, I've had some fond memories here, it's just that — as previously established — I'd rather not be here.

Sirius was ready to take me in as soon as I called him. He was actually the first and only person I called after the police showed up at my house at two in the morning, and he did the rest in informing everyone else. It's a bit hectic when you don't know how to handle a situation like this, because you think it'll never happen to you. I've always wondered what happens when someone dies — how the family sort things out with possessions and stuff. I still don't really know.

Sirius reassures me that I'm not a burden by staying with him and that he feels better knowing I'm somewhere safe and away from where the trauma happened. Although, I can't help but feel bad. He has never been the type to have kids or be a guardian to a teenager. Despite his babysitting me since I was young, he still struggles to know what to do, especially to a teen in mourning. But he tries, and I'm thankful for him and the space he gives me to adjust. I know he needs space to mourn just as much as I do, so it's not that bad when we retreat to our separate corners of the deceptively large townhouse and wallow in our depression.

My room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was very young, as there were a few rooms to spare for guests. The dark wooden floor, the sage-green wallpaper, the yellowed lace curtains around the window, the mahogany writing desk, and even the rocking chair I asked Sirius to put in the corner of my room when I was ten — these were all a part of my childhood. The room, despite having all of my belongings, still felt dark and dreary. A fairly good place to hole myself up in and cry.

On Christmas Eve, I asked Sirius to give me a haircut. I had already been through so much change in such a short amount of time, but this was a change I had control over. I couldn't stand looking at myself in the mirror anymore, and I just wanted something different.

He cut my long, wavy, dark hair so that it reached just below my shoulders. My hair had always been an untameable mess, and it still is a mess now. But the layers cut into a shag sort of make it look like it was on purpose. I liked it.

I asked him for a tattoo on Christmas day. He's littered with them and had the experience of giving others tattoos and piercings. My ears are already pierced, so I asked for a tattoo instead. I think it upset him when I asked for stag antlers and lilies on my arm to represent my parents. Or made him happy, I'm still not sure. But with tears in his eyes and a wobbly smile, he agreed and said it was a good choice. I like my tattoo.

Christmas was shit, as to be expected. Remus — Sirius and my parents' other friend, and possibly Sirius' crush — came over. It was awkward, and none of us had a good time. But Remus was always the calm in a time of distress, the head of reason and rationality, much like my mum. His presence was not unwanted, but it still felt heavy. I think he didn't appreciate Sirius giving me a tattoo, but he never said anything about it to me. At least he liked and complimented my hair.

A few weeks passed since then. The new year was nothing to celebrate but rather grieve over a new year without my parents and the many years yet to come. The funeral at Godric's Hallow Graveyard was just after New Year's, which was a miserable affair and consisted of only close family friends.

And as the last week of Christmas break came to an end, the thought of going to school the next day was daunting, filling my aching chest with dread and despair. I didn't want to go, no one really does, but I just didn't think I could stomach it.

When I heard a car pull up outside, I thought it might be Remus since Sirius drove his motorcycle everywhere — his job being a mechanic. But when I crawled out of my cocoon of blankets, righted my crooked glasses, and staggard over to look outside my window facing the front yard — petting my white Ragdoll cat, Hedwig, perched on the windowsill — it was, in fact, Sirius who exited the dusty red truck.

I stumbled downstairs, my legs feeling weak and jelly-legged, on my way to ask Sirius if I could take another few weeks off of school, which I'm sure he would have agreed in understanding.

I slipped on my Umbro sliders — they're far too big because they used to be Dads — opened the front door, and waddled to the end of the small, gated yard. I had to squint my eyes against the bright light of the dull white sky blanketed by clouds. It wasn't actually bright outside, but compared to the darkness inside Grimmauld Place, being outside hurt my eyes.

There, parked on the pavement, was the truck. It was a faded red colour, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. It was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged — the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed. But, I'd rather not think about accidents.

"Hey, Harry. So, what do you think?" Sirius grunted with a pat on the truck once he saw me shuffle over.

"Of what?" I questioned, eyeing the truck and crossing my arms to fruitlessly shield myself from the winter cold.

"Your gift," Sirius stated simply. Then, he fumbled out sheepishly, "Well, James said that he'd buy you a car once you'd finished sixth form. But, obviously..." Sirius licked his lips with an awkward wave of his hand in a gesture to Dad's passing. "And Bill at work had this old thing he wanted to get rid of. He knew you'd be staying with me after what happened and offered to sell it to me to give to you," Sirius rambled on nervously, looking anywhere else but me. "And I just thought that James and Lily would want you to have this..."

My mouth opened, but I was rendered speechless. To my intense surprise, I loved it. I could see myself in it.

"I rebuilt the engine for you and put new tyres on it," Sirius sputtered out, probably misinterpreting my speechlessness as distaste.

"Siri, I love it! Thank you!" I quickly blurted out and darted forward to give him a hearty hug.

I felt him breathe out a great sigh of relief and reciprocated my tight hug, patting me on the back.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said gruffly, embarrassed.

"You didn't have to get this for me," I said once we parted.

“I don’t mind. I want you to be happy here," he shrugged. "Well," he quickly corrected, "as happy as you can be." Sirius wasn’t comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud.

I now felt as though asking to take time off of school was out of the question, and I'd feel guilty not going now that Sirius bought me my own car. At least my horrific day tomorrow would be just that much less dreadful. I wouldn’t be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or catching two public buses.

“That’s really nice, Siri." I gave a small smile and rested my hand on the truck bed. "Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

"You’re welcome,” he mumbled, embarrassed again by my thanks.

"But I thought you were going to get me a motorbike," I attempted to joke.

"Ho-ho," Sirius chuckled, wagging a reprimanding finger at me. "We can talk about motorbikes at a much later date."

At this, I grinned widely, the smile reaching my eyes. The first real smile in a month.

"Come, let's get inside. Too bloody cold," he grizzled, guiding me back to the house.

I helped Sirius make dinner, just something light and simple, despite the fact I wasn't really hungry and had lost my appetite over the month. Sirius never was the best cook, but I always enjoyed cooking with my dad.

I've never been that academically talented. I always got good grades, such as C's and B's in core subjects like Maths, English and Science, but I never excelled beyond that unless it were subjects such as Art or Physical Education, in which I'd get A's and A*'s. I never really knew what I wanted to be when I grew up either, so I just picked A-levels I knew I would enjoy. My parents were more than ok with this and always encouraged me to just do what I loved. It was because of this that I chose Art, Psychology, PE and Design and Technology.

Remus was actually the one who got me into pottery and carpentry (he's made me the fair share of odd-looking bowls and mugs I now have a proud collection of), as well as engineering because of Sirius, which is why I picked DT as a subject. Remus works as the DT teacher at Willow Parks Academy — the school I'll be attending tomorrow. What a coincidence. Willow Parks was also the school my parents, Sirius and Remus all attended as kids, but my parents moved away once they graduated before having me.

I've now been rethinking my career choices since my parents' death. I want to make a change. Do something good with my life instead of just wasting it away on inconsequential things.

Although I used to like cooking with my dad, I could never see myself making a career out of it. Maybe I could work with Sirius as a mechanic, I never minded helping him when I went to work with him on the odd occasion. I'm a pretty quick learner and picked up the basics early on. Sirius was content; it was something he enjoyed doing even though he was loaded with old money from rich generations past — he still stayed humble, doing honest work that I once overheard would have pissed his mother off.

But working with Sirius just didn't feel like enough for me. Not at this moment, at least.

I would say, if I wanted to make a change, that I could become a policewoman. But honestly? Fuck the police. All cops are bastards.

Maybe a firefighter? They're unproblematic, right?

I used to love PE and was quite the athlete, much like Dad was, but now the mere thought of having to get up and move about so much pained me. How could I run around and chase after balls when I can hardly even get out of bed and slump up and down staircases? And however much I wanted to get up and make a change, I couldn't fathom doing it right now. It was simply wishful thinking.

I mustered up all of my energy after dinner to take a shower and prepare myself for tomorrow. As gross as it sounds, I haven't showered in a week. Lucky are those who can function properly after a parent's brutal death twice over.

I couldn't go to school reeking of a week's worth of sweat and grime. I could even feel it clinging to my skin, which looked sallower, unhealthy. I only managed to keep my tattoo clean when necessary, and that was enough for me.

Even showering was a draining feat. It was an 'everything' shower, hoping that if I felt fresher, I would feel better. It did help somewhat, especially after dressing into new pyjamas and changing my bedsheets so that I could crawl back into my cocoon of fresh bedding. Hedwig jumped up onto the bed to snuggle with me, instantly getting all of her cat hair stuck to the fabric. Typical.

"Love you, Hedwig," I mumbled, kissing her goodnight.

And so I fell asleep to Hedwig's vibrating purrs as I petted her white fur dusted with light grey on her forehead and tail.

﹌﹌﹌

I didn’t sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. Nightmares had been an issue for me since my parents' death, and Sirius often came barging into my room to check that I wasn't dying after screaming bloody murder in my sleep. I don't remember having a nightmare tonight, though, which was a saving grace. I was just restless, waking up a few times in the night, and the constant whooshing of the rain and wind against the windowpane wouldn’t fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I didn't fall back asleep until four in the morning when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle. Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning.

Breakfast with Sirius was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Sirius left first, off to the garage to work. After he left, I sat at the large, old oak table, just mentally preparing myself to take on the day by sitting in silence, motionless.

I didn’t want to be too early for school, but I couldn’t stay in the house anymore, it felt foreboding with the many portraits and its darkness. I called Hedwig for breakfast after refilling her bowls (made by Remus, of course), and kissed her goodbye, to which she meowed back at me in a seeming wish of good luck. I donned my jacket — which had the feel of a biohazard suit — and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I locked up. I couldn’t pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Sirius had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint, which was fine by me since I liked the smell. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn’t expected. It was fiddly, but I managed to tune into Smooth Radio after wiping my glasses free of rain droplets — one of the only bearable radio stations besides Heart Radio.

Finding the school wasn’t difficult, though I’d never been there before. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Willow Parks Academy, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-coloured bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn’t see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the ugly modern architecture with dull-coloured panelling?

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading RECEPTION. No one else was parked there, but another gated car park further back had cars there, so I assumed that was for staff only, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I’d hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, pale linoleum flooring, notices and awards cluttering the walls, and a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots as if to make up for the lack of greenery in town despite the lush foliage just outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter with a glass window barrier, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly coloured leaflets taped to its front. One long desk was behind the counter, which was manned by three women.

The large, grey-haired woman in the middle of the desk looked up. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Harriet Potter,” I informed her and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip, no doubt. Goddaughter of the local mechanic whose parents were murdered. Sirius must have informed the school of my situation to be let in mid-school year.

Thankfully, one other receptionist was chatting on the phone, and the other too busy to notice me.

“Of course,” said the middle receptionist. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk until she found the ones she was looking for. “I have your timetable right here, and a map of the school.” She brought several sheets through the gap in the window to the counter to show me.

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and told me assembly would be in the Great Hall at half eight, where I shall be introduced to the sixth form students. Great. She smiled at me and hoped, like Sirius, that I would like it here at Willow Parks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, others were starting to arrive, parents dropping their kids off where I was parked before driving off, so I knew I was ok to park there. It was a tiny bit embarrassing to be the only one with a rusty truck, whereas these parents had the average car. But I liked my truck, which I decided to name 'Nimbus 2000,' because it deserved a name. At home, I was a middle-class citizen who lived in one of the lower-income neighbourhoods that were included in Godric's Hallow, so I was thankful that the nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out.

I looked at the map as I sat inside Nimbus 2000, trying to memorize it now; hopefully, I wouldn’t have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the pavement, crowded with teenagers and tiny kids in grey uniforms and black blazers, with the only colour being the ties striped with red, green, yellow and blue and the matching school emblem on the blazers breast pocket. My plain black jacket didn’t stand out, I noticed with relief.

I distantly remembered being one of those tiny kids, looking up at the older students as if they were the cool teens. I didn't feel like a cool teen now, and it felt a bit maddening to realise how short year 7's actually are.

Once I got through the front gate, I walked across the playground and around the outside benches — this was the courtyard. I spotted the grassy fields further back, where a dead, pruned willow tree waded in the wind. That must be what the school was named after.

I headed to the building on my right, where other older students in home clothes were filing through the double doors to what I presumed was the Great Hall as the students in grey uniforms played outside or hid from the light rain under the building's overhead hangings supported by pillars and arches. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

"Hello! You must be Harriet Potter!" said a squeaky voice beside me, making me jump.

I looked down beside me to see a very small, mousey-haired boy holding a camera, his bright smile exposing large front teeth he hadn't grown into yet.

"Uhm, just Harry," I corrected, wondering how he knew of me.

"Harry?" he questioned with a tilt to his head.

"My nickname. I prefer being called Harry," I elaborated.

"Oh! All right then. I’m — I’m Colin Creevey,” he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. "D’you think — would it be all right if — can I have a picture?” he said, raising the camera hopefully.

“A picture?” I repeated blankly.

"I work for the school newsletter, and you're the front page news!" Colin said excitedly. "I was told that a new pupil would be arriving today, and I wanted you as the feature!"

"O-oh," I sputtered, wanting to shrivel up on myself. "Please don't," I pleaded, "I'd rather not be featured at all."

Colin's shoulders slumped, and his bright smile dropped into a disheartened frown.

"Why not?" he asked with a quiver in his tone.

"I just don't want to be, Colin," I said with as much sympathy as I could. "I don't like to be talked about. You must understand."

Colin heaved a large, dejected sigh and hung his head.

"Ok," he said sadly. "I hope you have a good day."

And with that, he slumped off, all the bubbliness popped. I actually did feel bad for him, but I was firm in my resolution. So slipped in with the last of the sixth-form students through the doors, heading for the Great Hall.

Ignoring the loud chatter of the sixth form, I sat myself down on one of the front-row benches so I wouldn't have to slink my way past others and stumble up and down the stairs when called to introduce myself.

I looked over and could see Remus standing at the side of the room with the other teachers. I caught his eye, and he gave me a wink with a proud smile and I gave him one back with a subtle wave.

Beside me, a ginger boy littered with freckles turned to me.

"You're new here, right?" he asked, holding his hand out for a friendly handshake. "I'm Ron Weasley. I'm also in year 13."

Weasley? He must be related to Bill at the garage.

"Harry Potter," I greeted with a tentative smile, accepting his firm handshake. "You're Bill's brother?"

"That's right," he nodded, his smile widening.

"He works with my Godfather. If you see him, please tell him I said thank you for the truck and that I love it," I said sincerely.

"Yeah, no problem," said Ron happily.

"Hello," piped up another girl, sticking her head out from beside Ron and leaning over him to reach out for a handshake, to which Ron groaned and leaned back for space.

"I'm Hermione Granger," the girl introduced as I shook her hand. "Also in year 13. I know all about you, of course — I did some research before you came. I'm so sorry about your parents," she said very quickly, still shaking my hand.

"Oh. Thanks," I said dumbly, unsure of how else I should reply.

"Bloody hell, 'Mione," Ron grumbled, detaching Hermione's hand from me, "give the girl some room to breathe."

"I was only being polite," Hermione tsked, to which Ron rolled his eyes.

"Ignore her," he murmured to me, "She's a mad one, she is," he chuckled.

"Ronald!" Hermione hissed, whacking Ron on the arm. "Ignore him," she said to me, "He's a bit dim-witted."

"Hey!" Ron whined.

"I-it's all right," I waved off awkwardly.

Hermione was very pretty, with poofy, curly brown hair, a button nose sprinkled with fair freckles and bunny teeth. She also had a kind smile reaching her chocolatey brown eyes when she wasn't scolding Ron.

"Anyway," said Ron, turning back to me, "Our parents knew each other. They both went to this school but weren't here at the same time. They know each other through the grapevine kind of thing, y'know?"

"Oh, right," I said with surprise.

"So, what's Harry short for?" Ron asked me curiously. "Was it Harriet?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"What A-levels are you taking?" asked Hermione. "I'm in Economics, Further Maths, Phycology and Sociology."

Ah, so she's very intelligent, then.

"Oh, I'm in Psychology too," I said, watching her face light up. "And I do Art, DT and PE."

"Ah, nice! I'm in PE and DT," Ron beamed, landing a firm pat on my shoulder. "I'm also in Business and Computer Science," he finished with a snore as if it was boring, causing Hermione to roll her eyes.

"Quiet, please!" called out a tall elderly woman with glasses and a stern face, her grey hair tied in a bun.

At her call, the students quieted until their chatter died down.

"Good morning, all," she said.

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall," everyone chorused.

"I hope you all had a good Christmas," the Professor said, and I wanted to die in that moment.

Professor McGonagall began with a few school notices, and I cringed when she stated that the girls' netball would be starting again next week. I used to be in the girls' netball team in my old school, and I missed playing, but I didn't know if I could even bring myself to try to join this time. It was probably too late for me anyway.

Horror then overtook me when the Professor called me out, asking me to step forward.

With shaking legs, I rose to my feet and, for the life of me, tried not to make a fool of myself by somehow tripping over my own feet as I walked to her side.

I got there unscathed and kept my eyes downcast. I could feel the hundreds of eyes boring into me, inspecting me like a bug under a microscope, and I longed for the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

"I expect you all to greet our new year 13 student, Harriet Potter, with nothing but kindness and respect, and to do your part in honouring the school by showing Miss Potter what it means to be a Willow Parks student," she said firmly with a gentle hand on my back. "Is there anything you would like to say, Miss Potter?" she asked me quietly.

"Uhm," I swallowed thickly, looking up just a bit so that my eyesight only reached the first few rows of benches. "Please, just call me Harry," I said, inwardly wincing at my shaky voice.

"Very well," said Professor McGonagall softly. "You may sit."

Thanking the heavens, I walked back to my seat at what I hoped was a reasonable, unrushed pace and sat back down beside Ron, who gave me an encouraging smile. I tried not to make my breathing as laboured as I felt it wanted to be and waited for the Professor to finish giving out notices and reminders. The bell rang, signalling it was the end of assembly and the start of lessons.

"Don't forget to sign your name on the register on your way out! Single file, please!" the Professor yelled over the noisy chatter that erupted. "Oh, Miss Potter, could you stay behind for me, please?" she said once she spotted me.

I gulped and sat back down.

"I'll see you in DT," said Ron as he passed me, DT being our first period of the day. I smiled at him vaguely with a short nod.

When there were only a few students left signing the register, Professor McGonagall and an even older, bespectacled man with half-moon glasses, an impressive grey beard and long white hair came over to me.

"My sincerest apologies for having to put you on the spot like that, Miss Potter," Professor McGonagall apologised with regret.

"It's fine, I understand," I brushed off.

"I'm the Headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore," said the older man, shaking my hand gently. "This is the Deputy Head, Professor Minerva McGonagall," he gestured to the other. "Our deepest regrets and condolences to you to hear of your parents' tragic passing, Miss Potter," he said gravely, a sad glint in his eye. "I was their Headmaster here."

"I taught your parents and Godfather — incredibly bright students," McGonagall remarked with upset, her hands clasped together and fidgeting fretfully. "I am certain you will do well here, just as they before you. I do hope you can learn to be at home here."

Jesus. Did everybody know everyone here?

"If there is anything you need at all, any trouble or concerns, our offices are always open to you. Help will always be given at Willow Parks to those who ask for it," Dumbledore said in earnest, and I could see it in his eyes and the hard-set lines of his frowning face.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, blinking back the stinging in my eyes with the threat of tears escaping. I cleared my throat.

"Thank you, sir," I croaked and cleared my throat again. "I'll keep that in mind."

"We shan't keep you," said Dumbledore and looked over his shoulder to Remus waiting by the door. "Are you all right to have Professor Lupin escort you to DT?"

"Of course," I mumbled and got up, thanking them again and walking over to Remus after signing my name on the register.

He placed a grounding hand on my shoulder as we walked. "How're you doing so far?" he asked.

I heaved a shaky sigh, wiping my eyes before tears had the chance to fall.

"As well as I can, I s'pose."

"Mm," he hummed in consideration. "I know it's a lot, Harry. And it's ok to struggle. But I assure you that I, as well as other staff here, will do whatever we can to support you."

"I know," I sniffled. "Thanks again."

"For what?" he questioned in confusion.

"Just... being there," I shrugged. "Especially for Padfoot. I know he appreciates your company right now."

Remus hummed again, and I fear I struck a nerve somewhere, but his grip on my shoulder and our stride to the Arts and Design building never faltered.

"Give him a hug for me when you get home, will you?" he said with a light shake to my shoulder.

Home... at Grimmauld Place. I wanted to scoff.

"'Course, Moony," I smiled up at him instead.

We walked the rest of the way in silence. I was surprised to have managed this much walking so far.

It was a simple two-hour lesson for DT that morning, with most of it being written work and planning for our end-of-year project. Unsurprisingly, I had no idea what I wanted to make. There weren't that many students taking DT since it wasn't that popular of a subject all around, so I sat beside Ron, and we actually got on fairly well.

He was like one of those golden retriever type of guys, and I found it was quite easy to talk to him about stuff like sports and how he loved playing chess. He didn't seem all that dim-witted to me, so Hermione must have been taking the piss out of him. Ron never questioned me about my life back at Godric's Hallow — or, I suppose you could call it, my past life — and I was grateful for that. I didn't mind getting to know him better as a friend. I asked him about Hermione, and he reaffirmed that they were friends, but they just bicker a lot because Hermione was a 'smarty-pants.'

I hadn't really had any friends back at my old school. I mean, I had the odd few, but like most school friendships and relationships, they didn't last very long and had the tendency to shift with cliques, forgetting you if you didn't shift with them.

During break, I met a few more of Ron's friends, who all seemed nice enough. Neville was quite shy but sweet, while Dean and Seamus were extraverted, which was good because then I didn't have to talk so much and let them do the talking for me. I also met Ron's younger sister, Ginny, who was the youngest Weasley in the family and a year below us, with long, fiery red hair and just as freckled as her brother. I often caught her staring at me. Hermione's friends were similar to the girls in my old school. Lavender brown was bubbly and a bit squeaky. I think she was crushing on Ron a bit. The twins, Parvati and Padma Patil, were nice. I felt a bit awkward being surrounded by the lively chatter, but again, I got along with everyone decently.

It was a bit exhausting, having to go through introductions, persuade Padma to not feature me in the school newsletter since she, too, was working on it, receive condolences and ask what happened to my parents, as well as why I have a boy's name for a nickname. But I sternly shut down any talk about my parents and home life — which they were accepting of — and I powered on through the day. I longed to snuggle up to Hedwig in bed and sleep away the tiredness.

Once break was over, I inwardly sighed as I walked with Ron to our third class of the day: PE.

PE was in the Great Hall today, where the conjoined benches we sat on that morning were pushed back flat against the wall. Ms Hooch was strict in her teachings but a good coach, from what I could tell. She, mercifully, took it easy on us today, with just warm-ups and exercises for the whole hour to prepare us more for our two-hour class on Wednesday. Still, I had never felt so out of shape, and my face was flushed red with staggard breaths by the time we finished, and I felt faintly nauseated. I worried my legs would give out before the end of the day. I had no idea how I managed this far.

I made an effort to clean myself up after PE; no one ever uses manky school showers, and then headed to the cafeteria with Ron for Lunch.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with Ron and Hermione and their friends, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren’t talking, and they weren’t eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren’t gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught and held my attention.

They didn’t look anything alike, except for maybe two of them. Of the two boys, one was tall and muscular, his skin a deep, dark taupe with a buzzcut. I’d guess he was six-two or even more — was clearly the school’s star athlete. And the Prom King, if there was ever one in the UK. And the guy who always had dibs on whatever equipment he wanted in the weight room.

Did he not take PE? How could he not? Surely, I would have seen him earlier. He was clearly too cool for this school or any other I could imagine.

The other was a little shorter but lean, with tanned skin, sleepy but intense eyes, and hickory brown waves. They looked like they could be in university or even teachers here rather than students.

The girls were a contrast. The second-shortest, pixie-like girl was petite and wiry. Her hair was cut in a short jet-black bob, styled with loose waves sticking out and over her forehead in a thin fringe. Her features were East Asian — high cheekbones; sharp, cat-like eyes; a small, upturned nose and full lips stained a berry-red.

The shortest girl was the opposite, softer and a bit curvier. Her pale-blonde hair was so long that it reached below her waist in a waterfall of tight, messy waves and hanging over the one side of her rounded face. Her non-hooded, large eyes were tired-looking and droopy, and her narrow lips bow-shaped in a dazed smile.

The last was the tallest of the girls — her legs went on forever. Her features were straight, pointy and sharp. She had a beautiful figure, an hourglass figure with a tiny waist, the kind you saw on models on the cover of fashion magazines, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was platinum blonde, almost white, and fluffy, bouncy waves curled at her waist and fringe. She looked as if Disney's Sleeping Beauty morphed from an animation to an actual real human. She was, I think it was safe to say, the embodiment of perfection.

I felt, in that very moment, a raging bi panic — one unlike ever before.

I had known I was bisexual since I was, like, thirteen. I liked this sweet guy called Cedric Diggory in my old school, who had the face of an ancient Greek sculpture. But not long after I realised I was crushing on him, I also then realised I was crushing on his girlfriend, Cho Chang, who was just as sweet as him. Cedric was two years above me, and Cho was one year above me. Of course, I never got either of them, which I don't at all mind because I thought they were very cute together and wished their relationship nothing but the best. I don't know if they're still together, but I hope they're doing well.

I came out to my family a year later with tears after working through the confusing thoughts, and they all just laughed, saying it was all right and they didn't give a rats-ass who I fancied and comforting me with many hugs and kisses and my favourite foods. It was that year that my parents bought Hedwig for my birthday.

I didn't exactly go out of my way to tell people at school I was bisexual, I just let them figure it out, and I'd do the same here. And now, looking at these fine people, I guessed it wouldn't be that hard for people to figure out my sexuality.

The two blonde girls were the only ones I could see being related; both were chalky pale, the palest I've probably ever seen, almost translucent. The only things they all shared in common, however, was that they all had very dark eyes — from here, they looked black — despite the range in ethnicities. They also had dark shadows under those eyes — purplish, bruise-like shadows, as if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose, although I couldn't tell from the tallest guy because of his darker complexion.

But all this is not why I couldn’t look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. The girls and the guys were both beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or in a museum, painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to believe they were real.

I decided the most beautiful of all was the tallest girl with platinum-blonde hair, though I expected the female half of the student body would vote for the taller, dark-skinned guy. And I could see why. I mean, all of them were gorgeous, but the tallest girl was something more than just beautiful. She was absolutely perfect. It was an upsetting, disturbing kind of perfection. It made my stomach uneasy.

They were all looking away — away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. It reminded me of models posed oh-so artistically for an ad — aesthetic ennui. As I watched, the smallest blonde girl rose with her tray — unopened pop, unbitten apple — and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer’s step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.

“Who are they?” I asked Ron.

As he looked up to see who I meant — though he could probably guess from my tone — suddenly she looked at us, the perfect one. She looked at Ron for just a fraction of a second, and then her dark eyes flickered to mine. Long fox eyes angled up at the corners and thick, pale lashes.

She looked away quickly, faster than I could, though, and in a flush of embarrassment, I dropped my eyes at once. I could feel the patches of red start to bloom on my face, and it wasn't easy for me to blush because of my brown skin. In that brief flash of a glance, her face contorted into something akin to distaste — it was like Ron had called her name, and she’d looked up in involuntary response, annoyed at having been called and wanted her name out of his mouth.

Ron laughed once, uncomfortable, looking down at the table like I did. I could see Ginny tense beside him.

“That’s Draco Malfoy, the other girl is Pansy Parkinson. The two guys are Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott. The girl who left was Loony Luna Lovegood; they all live together with Dr Snape,” he muttered under his breath.

"Loony Luna Lovegood?" I echoed with a frown.

"She's a bit weird," Ron shrugged, looking guilty. "Everyone calls her Loony Lovegood. Kind of a habit at this point."

My frown drew tighter. That didn't seem very nice, and I felt disappointed in Ron for going along with calling a girl names.

"Please don't call her that," I said, to which everyone looked away shamefully.

I glanced sideways at the perfect girl, who was looking at her tray now with deep irritation pulling at her perfect features, picking a bagel to pieces with thin, pale fingers. Her mouth was moving very quickly, her heart-shaped lips barely opening. The other three looked away, and yet I felt she was speaking quietly to them.

I hadn't failed to notice all of the unique, old-fashioned names, even the ones I was familiar with, like Sirius and Remus. Maybe that was the thing here? Small-town names?

“They are... very nice-looking.” I struggled with the conspicuous understatement.

“Yes!” Lavender agreed with a giggle, inserting herself into the conversation. “They’re all together though — Blaise and Pansy, and Theo and Luna, I mean. And they live together.” Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even anywhere else in the UK, it would cause gossip. And Brits loved to talk shit about everything.

I didn’t know why, but her reaction made me want to defend them. Maybe just because she sounded so judgmental. But what could I say? I didn’t know anything about them.

"They live together, but none of them are related?" I further questioned, my curiosity piqued.

“I think only Draco and Loo- Luna are related — cousins, I believe. I don't actually know if Dr Snape is related to Draco or not, but I'm pretty sure they're familial somehow," Ron tried to explain, but he, too, looked just as perplexed as everyone else trying to make sense of his words. "They’re all adopted. I don't know, it's confusing,” he waved off.

Oh. As awful as it sounded, I was sort of glad that I could relate to them.

“They look a little old for foster children.”

“They are now," said Hermione. "Blaise and Theo are both eighteen, but they’ve been with Dr Snape since they were eight, and Draco and Luna have been in his care for even longer.”

“That’s really kind of nice — for him to take care of all those kids like that and everything.”

“I guess so,” Lavender admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn’t like the doctor for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at his adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. “I think that Dr Snape can’t have any kids, though, and never married,” she added as if that lessened his kindness.

"I think he's a bit creepy," commented Ginny. "He doesn't act or look very kind to me." At this, everyone seemed to agree.

It was a bit frustrating. Ron and Ginny had lots of siblings, so it irked me that they felt like they could comment on how many kids a single man could adopt. Also, hello? I'm sitting right here! My single Godfather practically adopted me, that does not make him creepy! I think it was admirable for a man to provide safe and secure homes for kids, and they looked well-off, based on their stylish clothes alone.

Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat. If anything, the conversation just drew me further into their mysterious auras. There was something about them that almost felt bone-deep that I could relate to and sympathize with.

Of course, one should always be wary when they see something odd. But I think I would have been justified in my beliefs if nothing had been done about their odd situation after so long. That, or — God forbid — the system had failed them.

“Have they always lived here?” I asked, digging further.

“No,” said Lavender in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. “They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in France.”

I felt a surge of pity and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were still outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn’t the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard.

As I examined them again, the perfect girl looked up and met my gaze with the same look of disgust from earlier. I couldn't blame her because I would probably do the same if some rando kept staring at me. But, this time — as her gaze settled on mine in a fierce staring contest I couldn't seem to break away from — obvious curiosity graced her expression. As I got myself to look away after a bit, it seemed to me that her glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

“What did you say that girl's name was? With the white-blonde hair?” I asked. I peeked at her from the corner of my eye, and she was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today — she had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again.

“That’s Draco Malfoy. She’s hot, sure, but don’t waste your time trying to befriend her. And if you're into girls, she doesn’t go out with anyone. Apparently, no one here is good enough for her,” Seamus said sourly, then grunted. I wondered how many times she’d turned him down.

"She's into girls?" I perked up, and damn myself for being so obvious.

I glanced at her again, damming myself another time. Draco. Her face was turned away, but I thought from the shape of her cheek that she might be smiling.

"Who knows," Ginny scoffed. "She's aro/ace for all we know. Why? Are you into girls?" she asked with a gleam of hope.

I bit my lip, feeling like I was wading through murky waters here and unsure of the reception I'd receive from coming out. It kind of felt like a showdown in Western films to see who would shoot first. It was probably fine since the topic was brought up casually. And even if it wasn't ok with them, I'd be more than happy to distance myself from homophobes. I still felt cross with myself for giving myself away so quickly — in record time, at that.

"Uhm, yes. I'm bi," I mumbled.

It was fine, surely. It's not like I was actively looking to date anyone, especially not for a while.

"Me too," Ginny smiled happily. That was comforting, to know that I was not the only outed queer person here, and no one else on the table seemed to care either.

"I'd rather none of you go telling people, though," I quickly added, flicking my eyes around to everyone with slight panic. I couldn't deal with people talking about me for any reason right now. I had already been gossiped about at my old school because of my sexuality.

Pretty much everyone at the table looked up at me with confusion and concern.

"Of course. We wouldn't do that," Hermione frowned. "We promise."

"Thanks," I sighed in relief.

"Our school's not really like that," said Ginny with a reassuring smile. "It's not the end of the world if people here know you're queer or anything."

I nodded at the consolation.

Suddenly, the strange family left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful — even the tallest one. Blaise, was it? It was unsettling to watch them in motion together. Draco didn’t look at me again.

I sat at the table with Ron and Hermione and their friends longer than I would have if I’d been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that his name was Neville, the shy one, had Art with me for the next two hours. We walked to class together in silence.

A friendly giant of a man was about to pass us by before he cheerily greeted Neville and introduced himself to me as Rubeus Hagrid, one of the caretakers of the school who mainly focused on gardening and outside clean-up. He also jokingly told me to steer clear of Mr Filch, another caretaker, if I ever saw him before he lumbered off to continue work.

When we entered the classroom, Neville went to sit at a paint-splattered table beside someone else. In fact, all the tables were filled but one.

Next to the centre aisle, I recognized Draco Malfoy by her luxurious hair, sitting next to that single open seat.

My heart started pounding a little faster than usual.

As I walked to the corner of the room to introduce myself to the teacher, I was watching her, trying to make it covert. I felt the fan I was standing in front of blow my hair into my face, and I quickly tried to brush the strands back to not look like a twat. Draco suddenly went rigid in her seat. Her face turned up toward mine so fast it surprised me, staring with the strangest expression — it was more than angry, it was furious, hostile. I looked away quickly, stunned, going red again.

I’d been right about the eyes. They were black — coal black.

Ms Trelawney finished her ramblings about catching up with the rest of the class with no nonsense about introductions. Just like most art teachers, she seemed a bit eccentric, but I hoped we were going to get along. Of course, she had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by her, confused and awkward, wondering what I could have done to earn the antagonistic glare she’d given me.

I didn’t look up as I set my sketchbook (still using the old one from my previous school) on the table and took my seat, but I saw her posture change from the corner of my eye. She was leaning away from me, hand clamped over her mouth and nose, sitting on the extreme edge of her chair and averting her face like she smelled something bad.

Horror struck me for the second time that day. Oh God, did I smell bad? Was it because I stank of BO from PE earlier? Or was it because I hadn't showered well enough the night before, and I still reeked of a weeks-worth of sweat and grime?

And, again, for the second time, I wanted to shrivel up and die.

Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair. It smelled like cherries, the scent of my favourite shampoo. It seemed an innocent enough odour. Was I just nose-blind to my own stench? No one else had even alluded to the fact that I smelt. I practically scrubbed my skin raw with baby wipes and drenched myself in deodorant and perfume after PE.

I was sort of grateful for the fan because it was quite stuffy in the classroom, and I feared I'd break out in another sweat.

I scooted my chair to the right, giving her as much space as I could, let my hair fall over my left shoulder, making a dark curtain between us, pushed up my glasses to stop them from slipping down my nose, and tried to pay attention to the teacher. We were starting to draw up ideas for our final exam piece with the criteria of "Body" and note down our thought process.

I couldn’t stop myself from peeking occasionally through the screen of my hair at the strange girl next to me. Throughout the entire class, she never relaxed her stiff position on the edge of her chair, sitting as far from me as possible, with her hair hiding most of her face. Her hand was clenched into a fist on top of her left thigh, tendons standing out under her pale skin. This, too, she never relaxed. I wondered how she could wear a skirt with only black tights and white legwarmers in this weather. She had the sleeves of her white, lacey henley shirt pushed up to her elbows, and her forearm flexed with surprisingly hard muscle beneath her pale skin. I couldn’t help but notice how perfect that skin was. Not one freckle, not one scar. The only times she dropped her hand from her face was to quickly sketch things down until she had to stop and take a break by covering her face again.

The class seemed to drag on longer than DT. Was it because the day was finally ending, or because I was waiting for her tight fist to loosen? It never did; she continued to sit so still it looked like she wasn’t even breathing. What was wrong with her? Was this how she usually acted? I questioned my quick judgment on Seamus' bitterness at lunch today. Maybe he wasn’t just resentful.

Ms Trelawney came around to inspect everyone's sketches when the class was almost done. Upon hearing Trelawney begin her musings over Draco's art — she was clearly the teachers favourite — I took a sneak peek.

Jesus, it was pretty, and it was only a fucking sketch. Sketches aren't supposed to be brilliant, they're supposed to be messy and imperfect. She drew a half-arsed sketch of a lamb being strangled and devoured from the inside out by a snake. I drew a tangled, scribbled mess of an ugly rat king.

Trelawney also seemed quite impressed with my idea, despite it not being nearly as neat as Draco's. Hearing this, Draco flickered her dark eyes to my sketch, and I instantly felt self-conscious. The feeling only worsened when she glared up at me again, her long, black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from the hate radiating from her, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind. She turned her head away again with a pained look as if I had just gut-punched her.

What the fuck was wrong with her?! My drawing wasn't that bad! Trelawney liked it!

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Draco Malfoy was out of her seat. Fluidly she rose — she moved like a dancer, every perfect line of her slim body in harmony with all the others, her back to me, and she was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after her. She was so harsh and mean. It wasn’t fair. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block out the confusion, anger and guilt that filled me for fear my eyes would tear up. For some reason, sometimes my temper would be so overwhelming that I'd cry when angry, a humiliating tendency that has become more frequent than I care to admit. Besides, why should I feel guilty? I hadn’t done anything wrong. How could I have? I hadn’t actually even met her. And I was almost certain I didn't smell that bad.

I quickly caught up with Neville and pulled him back into the classroom to wait for everyone else to leave.

"Do I stink?" I blurted out in my anger.

Neville gave me a funny look. "What?"

"Smell me," I demanded. "Do I smell bad to you?"

Neville looked a bit frightened aside from his shock. But he obediently leaned in to take a tentative sniff.

"Uhm... no? You smell fine to me. Normal," he shrugged, hoping it was the right answer.

"You're not lying?" I pressed. "You'd tell me if I smelt bad?"

"Well, yeah," he shrugged again. "But you don't, so it's fine."

I heaved a ragged breath, my anger rising. So Draco was just being a bitch for no reason then. Great.

"Thanks, Nev," I said before storming out of the classroom.

"N-no problem," he stuttered out in bafflement, scurrying to catch up with me. As we were leaving, ready to go home, he asked, “So, did you stab Malfoy with a pencil or what? I’ve never seen her act like that.” I winced. I guess I wasn’t the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn’t Draco Malfoy's usual behaviour. "Is that why you asked me to smell you? Because she thought you smelt bad?" Neville asked in confusion, but I could see the smirk he tried to bite back tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I don't know why she acted like that. She didn't even talk to me once!" I growled, furious with Malfoy. "I never even said anything to her either!"

"Don't take it to heart," Neville tried to soothe. "She's very... cold as a person. It's not uncommon for her to be mean to people."

"She's mean to others too?" I asked, feeling some of my anger trickle away at the thought that it wasn't just me she hated for no reason.

"Uhm..." Neville hesitated, searching for the right words. "Well... yeah, she is a bit," he nodded sheepishly. "She's picked on me a few times, as well as others like Hermione and Ron. Called them poor and stuff."

"Really?" I gasped in surprise, halting in my rampaging tracks. "Neville," I said, stopping him and getting him to face me. He was quite a bit taller than me, all lanky limbs, so I had to look up and him look down. "If she ever picks on you or anyone else again, either tell me or a teacher, yeah?"

"Jeez, Harry," he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head, "I'm not a child."

"I'm serious, Nev," I warned. "I don't tolerate that shit."

"Yeah, all right," Neville nodded quickly, looking a bit frightened of me again.

Seriously, who bullies people for being poor or for literally no reason at all? I hardly know the girl, but I don't care what kind of trauma she's been through. It's not right, and I won't stand for it if I see it.

We stepped out of the building and into the open air. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong and colder. I zipped my jacket up, shoved my free hand into a pocket, and parted with Neville with a smile and a wave goodbye.

"Nice meeting you, Harry."

"Likewise. See you tomorrow, Nev."

When I walked into the warmth of the reception office, about to ask for a new timetable sheet because mine had gotten soaked in the rain with the printer ink dispersed, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Draco Malfoy stood at the desk in front of me. Impossible not to recognize her frustratingly glorious head of pale, lush hair. She didn’t seem to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.

She was arguing with her in a low, velvety voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. She was trying to trade from fourth and fifth-period Art to another time — any other time.

This could not be about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I got to the Art room. The look on her face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that a stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me.

Or... could it be because she saw me come in with Neville, and it was now known that she disliked him and therefore now disliked me? It couldn't possibly be the fact that she's racist — her adopted siblings are people of colour.

But the more I ran it through my head and argued with myself, I wasn't so sure anymore. She felt unpredictable — like she would think one thing, so you'd make the obvious assumption about her, only for her to prove you wrong the next second.

I tried to remind myself that people aren't that two-dimensional and that making assumptions about people was a flawed and unreliable way of thinking, but I just couldn't wrap my head around what her problem with me might be.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Draco Malfoy's back stiffened, and she turned slowly to glare at me — her face was ridiculously perfect, not even one tiny flaw to make her seem human — with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. As if she were going to pull a knife out and stab me. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut and swallow down the bile rising into my throat, scrubbing my eyes free of images I remembered only in nightmares. She turned back to the receptionist.

“Never mind, then,” she said quickly in a voice like silk and a posh accent. “I can see that it’s impossible. Thank you so much for your help.” And she turned on her heel without another look at me and disappeared out the door.

I went robotically to the desk, my face pale and drained of colour for once instead of red, and asked to have a new timetable sheet printed.

“How did your first day go, dear?” the receptionist asked maternally.

“Fine,” I lied, my voice weak. She didn’t look convinced.

When I got back to Nimbus 2000, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this place. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Grimmauld Place, fighting tears the whole way there.

Chapter Text

I had gotten back, distraught. I kicked a chair in the kitchen and stormed upstairs to collapse onto my bed and wail and weep into my pillow over the gruelling day. I then warred with myself for an hour on whether or not to tell someone about Malfoy since everyone was always saying to speak out if I was having any troubles.

I ended up deciding against it, brushing it off as not that important to complain about a bitchy student. Honestly, who cares? Every school had at least a few bad apples, that didn't mean there was a point in ratting them out just because I got frustrated.

That didn't change the fact that I had never wanted to step foot in any school ever again.

I didn't even know why Malfoy bothered me so much. She just did.

By the time Sirius got home from work and came to ask me how my first day went, I had calmed down considerably and managed to say that it was nothing special and was exactly how I imagined it to be, other than the fact that I had made a few acquaintances, which Sirius was delighted by. I gave him the hug from Remus, but also just because I wanted one myself.

That night, as I laid down in bed with Hedwig slumped over my chest and purring just as loudly as the Nimbus 2000, it dawned on me that I hadn't felt such intense, passionate emotion in weeks.

Shock was the first thing I felt after my parents' death — like being thrown into a lake of ice, and then having my head dunked back in again and again, with the cold so sharp and stabbing that you can't even move besides tremble involuntarily.

Then the adrenaline and emotion kicked in, where all I could do was scream and cry until I wore myself out and chaffed my throat raw. Only ever wondering why me?

Since then, it's mainly been a hollow numbness. Just... empty. And I realised very quickly that I'd rather feel something than nothing at all.

As some time dragged on day-by-day, pangs of emotion would pass through — mainly hurt, but sometimes things like love and appreciation; actually feeling it, and not just knowing it.

I'm pretty sure everyone 'feels' numbness differently. For me, it felt like my insides were just scraped open, leaving a black hole where things that should have affected me simply didn't. I lost a lot of care for doing things, no longer having the motivation and letting myself waste away because there wasn't really anything else I could bring myself to do.

So when that pure white beacon of pale perfection got me to cry and shout and stomp away and kick something with force, I craved more. I craved to feel more and let things out that had been festering rapidly, building up within such a short amount of time.

I wanted to lash out more. I wanted to do anything that wasn't just shutting myself away and drowning myself beneath my blankets. Not just drag myself to school and every class because I had no other choice. I wanted to see her again, and I wanted her to piss me off.

I wanted. Not just wished. Not just dealt with.

﹌﹌﹌

The next day was better... And worse.

It was better because it wasn’t raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Hermione came to sit by me in double Psychology that morning at the top of the tower block, heaving our way up each step with panting breaths. I noticed Luna Lovegood was also in the same class, looking just as dazed as yesterday and lost far away in her own mind. I wasn't sure if she was actually paying attention or just daydreaming for the whole two hours.

People didn’t look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Ron, Hermione, Neville, and several of the same people from yesterday. I began to feel like I might treading water, instead of drowning in it.

It was worse because I was tired; socialising was just as exhausting, and I still couldn’t sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Professor Flitwick, as nice as he was, called on me in Psychology when my hand wasn’t raised and I had the wrong answer. Hermione immediately jumped in to provide the correct answer. It was miserable because I had to do more pain-staking warm-ups in PE with Ron for third period. And it was worse because Draco Malfoy wasn’t in school at all.

All morning, I was awaiting lunch and her bizarre glares, antsy to feel them and stare back. Part of me wanted to confront her and demand to know what her problem was. And another part of me wanted her to snap back with nasty retorts so I could argue with her. While I was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Ron after PE — trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for her, and failing entirely — I saw that her four siblings were sitting together at the same table as before, and she was not with them.

Ron steered me and Dean (who also had PE with us) to their table, and Hermione and her friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment Malfoy would arrive.

She didn’t come, and I got more and more tense.

Fucking hell, I groaned inwardly. Even her lack of presence was igniting emotions.

I walked to Art with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, she still hadn’t shown up. Neville walked faithfully by my side to class, and it didn't feel awkward when we walked in silence, a subtle but deeply appreciated reprieve. I held my breath at the door, but Draco Malfoy wasn’t there, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. Neville followed, talking about an upcoming trip to Brighton Beach with the others and offering me to come along. I told him that I'd think about it, and he nodded in acceptance of my hesitancy before going to sit by a sunshine-blonde girl with braces. I think I caught her name being Hannah.

I was somewhat relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Malfoy was absent and wouldn't be judging my art. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn’t get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason she wasn’t there. It was ridiculous and egotistical to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It was impossible. And yet, I couldn’t stop worrying that it was true.

When the school day was finally done, I walked swiftly out to the car park. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my Nimbus and dug through my bag to make sure I had what I needed.

Today, I was doing the food shopping since I was now free from school while Sirius was still at work, and he said that it would be good for me to get out of the house more, which I couldn't argue with, despite however much I tried to. After double-checking that Sirius' Tesco Clubcard keyring was attached to my car keys and that I hadn't accidentally left it at Grimmauld Place, I gunned the thunderous engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and carefully backed into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the car park.

As I waited, trying to pretend that the ear-splitting rumble was coming from someone else’s car, I saw Malfoy's siblings walking up to their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. I had noticed they were stylish before, but now that I looked properly, it was obvious that they were all wearing stuff that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins. Attractive as they all were, they could have worn bin bags and started a trend. It seemed like too much for them to have both looks and money. Though, as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn’t look like it bought them any popularity here.

But I couldn’t really believe that. The isolation had to be something they chose; I couldn’t imagine any door their beauty wouldn’t open for them.

They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. I saw that the tallest guy — Blaise, if I remembered correctly — had his hand casually on the hip of the petite girl with the black bob. Though he was obviously pretty sure of himself, I was still kind of surprised he felt comfortable doing that. Not that she wasn’t stunning — truly stunning — but not... approachable. Like, not even the Rock would dare to chat her up, if you know what I mean. She caught me looking, and the way her sharp, cat-like eyes narrowed in a judgemental, menacing way made me turn straight ahead and keep my eyes straight forward, relieved when I finally was free of the school grounds.

Tesco was not far from the school, just a little closer to town. I was a bit nervous to be inside the supermarket after so long; it felt like everyone I passed was judging the poor state I was in, even though I reasonably knew that they were more concerned with themselves and the prices of items. But I got what Sirius and I needed without issue, even earned a few club points, and I was a bit proud of myself for getting through the small task, mentally giving myself a pat on the back.

When I got home, I unloaded all the shopping, stuffing it in wherever I could find an open space as there never really was any specific place certain foods went here, unless it was the fridge or freezer. When I was finished with that, I took my book bag upstairs, kissed my precious Hedwig lounging in her cat tower, fed her a small treat, and changed into a pair of dry joggers, pulling my damp hair up into a claw clip. I'd do a bit of coursework before I served Hedwig dinner and start cooking once Sirius got back.

As I decompressed in my spinny desk chair, I did feel a bit lighter, and I wanted to punch whoever discovered going outside was good for people's mental health in the face.

And yet, remarkably, a frown still twitched at the corners of my mouth, grinding my teeth together. Damn Malfoy. I wanted desperately to know why she hadn't come in today. What was she doing? Lazing around in her swanky house like some fair maiden? I scoffed — I could just envision her strutting about some grand mansion with those hips, long legs and cinched waist.

She better be at school tomorrow, I thought bitterly.

The arrival of Sirius brought me out of my stupor, and I went downstairs to greet him and start the household dinner, Hedwig hopping down from her perch and trotting after me because she knew it was dinner time — the spoilt princess, as she should be.

Sirius and I sat at the table, eating in peace until he tried to stifle his cough with watery eyes, making me giggle.

"Easy on the spice next time," he swallowed, pounding his chest.

"It's really not that bad," I smirked. I had only made a simple curry with rice since we had more food in now.

"No, it's good. I've just never been that good with spice," Sirius replied, gulping down his water.

I giggled again, shaking my head fondly.

"So," Sirius heaved out, setting his glass down, "how's school going? Moony said you'd done all right in DT yesterday. What about your other subjects?"

My mind instantly flashed back to yesterday's art class.

"Yeah, not bad," I lied with a nod, biting my lip and looking down at my food. "My art teacher, Ms Trelawney, seemed to like my art."

"Good," Sirius gave a single, firm nod. "Your art's brilliant. Almost as good as mine," he winked.

I let out an amused huff. As much as Sirius' fun-loving, cheeky personality had died down after my parents' passing, it still seemed to be embedded within him, something he could never really lose, no matter the situation. I vaguely wondered if it was actually used as a coping mechanism to make light of everything and keep up a strong front for my sake.

I mentally shook that depressing thought away and continued my (watered down) retelling of events, knowing he'd want further details.

"Psychology was all right, too. I sit with Hermione, the girl I told you about yesterday."

"Oh yeah?" Sirius hummed quietly, raising his eyebrows in a silent suggestion.

"Sirius, please," I groaned, picking up what he was throwing down. I'd rather not talk about relationships right now. Or ever, at that.

"Sorry!" Sirius quickly apologised, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Please, continue."

I sighed, leaning my head against my hand and picking at the rest of my food. "PE is frustrating me a bit," I admitted sourly. "I don't have the same energy as I used to, and I feel like I've lost all my strength."

"That's understandable," Sirius said gently, much more serious (ha ha) this time. "You've not been as active as of late, so it's only natural it'd take some time to get back into the swing of things. And I'm very proud of you for getting through all this."

When Sirius would make the first move to open up, it was awkward and he'd ramble, stumble over his words. But when I did it, it was like second nature to him to comfort me with easy words of reassurance. Maybe Remus rubbed off on him. And yes, I did cringe at that thought, not meaning it in that way.

"Thanks," I attempted to smile.

"You have PE with Bill's brother, right? Ron?" Sirius asked, oblivious to my cringing.

"Yes?"

"Yeah, Bill mentioned him. He got your message about the truck, by the way," Sirius smiled. "Ron's a nice kid — good family, the Weasley's."

I scratched the back of my neck.

“Do you know Dr Snape's family by any chance?” I asked hesitantly.

“Dr Snape?” Sirius echoed with no recognition.

"Uhm, the adopted kids?" I tried, Sirius still shaking his head in confusion. "Draco Malfoy?" I asked with dying hope.

There, something flashed in his eyes, squinting as he searched his memory. He looked at the wall as he recalled and lifted his flimsy hand up in an over, or rather, under exaggeration of estimated height.

"Tall girl, long blonde hair," he murmured to himself.

"Yes!" I yelled eagerly, practically slamming my hands down on the table and clawing at the wood top surface. "Shiny black Volvo."

"That's right!" Sirius snapped his fingers, it finally coming to him. "I believe she brought her car in once for a tyre change. I only remember because of the unique name, like my own. Draco is a star constellation, you see."

"Oh, really?" I said in fascination.

"Yeah," Sirius hummed again before he suddenly frowned. "Why'd you ask?"

"Oh, I just — interesting family," I commented, scratching the back of my neck again. "She goes to my school with her four adopted siblings and wondered if you knew of them. Dr Snape is their guardian."

"That's nice," Sirius remarked happily. "But, unfortunately, I don't know a Dr Snape or the fact that Draco had siblings," he shrugged in regret. "Dr Snape sounds like a nice man, though. Have you spoken to Draco at school?"

I clenched my fist under the table.

"Uh, no. I haven't."

"Ah, well, maybe you should get to know her," Sirius smiled. "She seems interesting enough."

Yes, Sirius. That is why I asked you about her.

When I told Sirius that I wasn't going to finish the small leftovers on my plate, I cleared the table while he placed everything in the dishwasher. After, he went to the lounge to watch some TV — probably to distract himself from getting lost in thought — Hedwig climbed into his lap as he subconsciously stroked her back, and I went upstairs unwillingly to continue my Psychology coursework. I could feel a tradition in the making.

I quickly googled the Draco constellation out of curiosity. It looked a bit like my star sign: Leo.

That night, it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. Sometimes I'd lose motivation to concentrate in class because my mind would wander to darker places, but the mundane routine and consistency I'd gained in going back to school was a decent way to take my mind off most unsavoury thoughts.

I'd sometimes pass the tiny Colin Creevey boy, who always seemed to get a thrill whenever he waved, "All right, Harry?" and hear, "Hello, Colin," back, however exasperated I sounded when I said it. Despite getting used to the routine of my classes, the double PE on Wednesday practically killed me off. I woke up Thursday morning with sore legs, my feet aching, but it was a sweet relief because I had only written work on Thursday and no PE at all on Friday — I never thought I'd be happy to not have PE.

Draco Malfoy didn’t come back to school.

Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of her siblings entered the cafeteria without her. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. But I didn't relax, because I still wanted some form of relief. Mostly, the lunchtime conversation centred around the trip to Brighton Beach in two weeks that Ron was putting together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire, and because Sirius encouraged me to — I knew he would, which is why I told him about it in the first place so that it would make me feel bad if didn't go.

By Friday, I was perfectly comfortable entering my Art class, no longer worried that Malfoy would be there to judge my skill. For all I knew, she had moved schools. I tried not to think about her, but I couldn’t totally suppress the worry that I was responsible for her continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

My first weekend off school passed without incident. Sirius worked some of the weekend, but shorter hours. I did the little bit of cleaning I was assigned to in the house, did as much homework as I could manage, and spent some time napping when I could. The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet and peaceful, so I was able to sleep well.

People greeted me in the Courtyard Monday morning. I waved back and smiled at everyone obligatorily, including Colin. It was colder this morning, but happily not raining. In DT, Ron took his accustomed seat by my side, Remus giving me a small pat on the back as he walked past us to the front of the class and to his desk.

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.

When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks and nose.

“Wow,” Ron said. “It’s snowing.”

I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face, some flakes sticking to my glasses.

I grinned. I always loved snow.

Ron laughed as we stuck our tongues out to catch the flakes in our mouths, probably looking like right nob-heads. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of his head, erupting a choked yelp from him, and I couldn't help but giggle at the undignified sound and look on his face. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my suspicions about Ginny, who was walking away, her back toward us — in the wrong direction for her next class. Ron apparently had the same notion. He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush. I watched in amusement as the Weasleys broke out in their little snowball fight, stepping well out of the way so that I wouldn't get hit and be forced to join in. It ended with Ron grabbing Ginny and slapping a pile of wet snow to her face, only for her to push him into the build-up of snow on the ground. They called it a truce, "until next time," said Ron darkly with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; the first snowfall of the new year, and a bit early for England, as snow didn't normally come until February and hardly ever stuck to the soggy ground. Maybe I should have seen it as a sign.

I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Ron and Dean after PE. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I kept my sturdy DT folder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Ron thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept him from lobbing a snowball at me himself.

Hermione caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, shaking the slushy snow from her wild hair and spraying us all in the face with it. She and Ron were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table.

Hemione pulled on my arm.

“Hello? Harry? What do you want?”

I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

“You good?" Ron asked me, brows furrowed.

“Fine,” I answered. “I’ll just get an apple Radnor today.” I caught up to the end of the line.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Hermione asked with concern.

“Actually, I feel a little sick,” I lied, my eyes still on the floor. Ron shuffled a few steps away from me.

"Is it because of PE?" he frowned.

"I think so," I mumbled, taking the obvious opening.

"Maybe get some water instead," Hermione advised, and so I did.

But my whole body was actually buzzing, an invisible tug beckoning me to stride over toward Malfoy and confront her. I waited for the others to get their food, and then followed them to a table, my eyes on my feet.

I sipped my water slowly, my knee jerking rapidly up and down. Twice Ron asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling. I told him I would be fine, not wanting to be sent to the nurse's office and miss out on Art.

I decided to permit myself one glance at Malfoy's table, keeping my head down, pushing my glasses up my nose and glancing up under my lashes. None of them were looking this way. I lifted my head a little.

They were laughing. Malfoy and the others all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow (except for Blaise), and Blaise's girlfriend looked irritated as she attempted to dry and brush out her hair which was now limp from the dampness. The rest were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else — only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us. I watched as Draco pulled out her own hairbrush, running it through the long strands with ease. It had lost the poofiness at the ends, but it was no less mesmerising.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn’t quite pinpoint what that difference was. I examined Malfoy the most carefully. Her skin was less pale, I decided — flushed from the snow fight maybe — the circles under her eyes much less noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change as she and her black-haired sister pulled out a compact blush and fluffy brush, reapplying dustings of pink to their cheeks and noses that must have washed off in the snow.

I licked my lips as I followed the fluid motion of pink lip gloss gliding across Malfoy's dewy lips, examining herself in the small mirror. I had no idea what imperfection she was looking for, I didn't think she was ever capable of exhibiting exterior flaws. On the interior — perhaps.

“Harry, what are you staring at?” Hermione intruded, her eyes following my stare.

At that precise moment, Malfoy's eyes flashed over to meet mine.

I dropped my head, letting my hair fall to conceal my face. I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that she didn’t look angry or disgusted as she had the last time I’d seen her. She just looked curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

“Draco Malfoy is staring at you,” Lavender giggled in my ear after following Hermione's eyeline.

“She doesn’t look angry, does she?” I couldn’t help asking.

“No,” she said, sounding confused by my question. “Should she be?”

I heard Neville stifle a chuckle on my other side.

“I don’t think she likes me,” I confided. I felt actually queasy this time. I kept my body angled toward Lavender, but the back of my neck had goosebumps, like I could feel Malfoy's eyes on me.

“She doesn’t like anybody," Hermione said sternly from beside Ron, shooting a glare at Malfoy. "And her siblings don't notice anybody enough to like them."

"But she’s still staring at you,” Lavender smirked.

“Stop looking at her,” I hissed.

She snickered, but she looked away.

Ron interrupted us then — he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the Courtyard after school and wanted us to join. Lavender agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at Ron left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested. Hermione shuffled in her seat. I kept silent.

For the rest of the lunch hour, I very carefully kept my eyes on my own table. Malfoy didn’t look like she was planning to murder me anymore, so maybe it would be bearable to go to Art. My stomach did little flips at the thought of sitting next to her again.

When we went to the door, we all groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. Neville and I walked across the Courtyard to the Arts and Design building further back, toward the fields and dead willow tree.

Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Ms Trelawney was walking around the room, advising us on how to annotate our art and what to include when jotting down our thought process. Class didn’t start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept briefly glancing at the door, doodling idly on the back page dedicated to mindless doodles alone.

I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the goofy doodle of Hedwig. Now was the moment I had been waiting for, my skin itching for a conflict with the girl next to me.

But, for some reason, nothing came to me. I just sat there, pretending Malfoy didn't exist. My insides kept jerking to turn to her, but my muscles chose this exact moment to stay firmly in place like they were made of stone, immovable.

“Hello,” said a quiet, musical voice.

A shiver ran through my very being, crawling up my spine like thousands of scuttling spiders. I looked up, startled that she was speaking to me. She was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but her face was turned toward me — predatory with a slight smirk on her heart-shaped, pink, glossy lips, and her long, sultry eyes shone devilishly. Her hair was dripping wet, clumped in waves down her back, looking a bit more like her cousin Luna's hair — even so, she looked like she’d just finished shooting an advert. I could smell her perfume — it smelt clean, like sea-salted coconuts and blossoms with a hint of citrus. I fell breathless from the long curvature of her downward-arched body — her thin arms crossed and elbows leaning against the desktop. She wore a black turtleneck today, paired with another black skirt and tights and boots, her black trench coat folded over the back of her chair. Did she ever wear jeans or trousers? Was she never cold? Although, I suppose, beauty is pain.

“I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy,” she continued with a purr. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Harriet Potter.”

"Harry," I snapped with a glare, jumping at the opportunity to get my lick back and ignoring the heat rising to my cheeks. "I already told everyone to call me Harry in assembly."

"Mm," she hummed in another purr, flicking her fox-eyes up and down my form, examining. "Do you not like your name?" she questioned.

"It's a fine name," I bit out between gritted teeth, already feeling the sweet relief of irritation spike within me. "I prefer just Harry."

"Well, Just Harry," she smirked in amusement, flashing her (go figure) perfect, straight white teeth, "I think I shall stick to Potter."

I couldn't believe it. Never in my life had I ever met a more frustrating person. I craved more.

"Whatever, Malfoy," I hissed and turned back to look down at my sketchbook.

This, I noticed with delight, seemed to annoy Malfoy when I saw her frown in my peripheral vision.

Ms Trelawney started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the task we'd be doing for the first twenty minutes. Working as partners, we had to discuss what we had drawn last Monday and why, taking notes all the while. In twenty minutes, she would be coming around to see what we had learned about each other and our creative vision. Both Malfoy and I perked up at this.

“Off you go,” she commanded with two claps.

“Ladies first, partner?” Malfoy asked. I looked up to see her grinning a cheeky smile so beautiful that I could only stare at her like an idiot. So close up, you’d think I’d be able to see something — a hint of a pimple, a stray eyebrow hair, a pore, something — wrong with her. But there was nothing.

She raised a straight eyebrow.

“Or I could start, if you wish.” The smile faded; she was obviously wondering if I was mentally competent.

“No,” I snapped again, flushing. “I’ll go first.”

I flipped to the last drawing in my sketchbook of the tangled rat king. She probably wanted to know why I had drawn something so ugly.

"Do you know what a rat king is?" I asked Malfoy with scepticism.

"Yes," she answered dryly. I took that as a win.

"Well, the first thing I thought about drawing was inspired by m—" I was about to say my tattoo, but if she snitched on me to the teacher because I wasn't eighteen yet, Sirius could get fined. Not that he couldn't afford it, but I'd rather not get him into any trouble. "— a tattoo my Godfather designed of stag antlers and lilies." I quickly corrected.

"Why that?" she pressed, writing my answer down quickly as if her life depended on it, but it didn't affect her swooshy cursive handwriting. Again, perfect, like she’d taken classes in penmanship or something.

"Well, I was going to draw a stag skull with lilies," I continued, but suddenly felt a bit nervous and faltered in my answer. "Because it represents my parents," I mumbled out the rest.

Malfoy quickly snapped her head up to look at me, her snarky demeanour gone. She now looked fascinated.

"Continue," she said gently, surprisingly non-judgmental. Her long, off-putting eyes confused me, and I obliged without thinking.

"A stag skull for my dad because... obviously, he's dead," I said bluntly. She did not wince. Instead, she resumed her writing, and I watched her delicate hand work over the paper efficiently with a fancy fountain pen, looping her words like it was calligraphy, like she was writing a wedding invitation. "A stag, because it was his favourite animal and his nickname was Prongs."

"Prongs as in pronged antlers?" she presumed.

"Right," I nodded, having no idea why I was really telling her this. And then I reminded myself it was for our task.

"Funny," she said monotonously as she wrote, but a tiny quirk was visible at the corner of her lips. "And the lilies?"

"My mom's name is Lily," I clarified. "They were very... in sync with each other, my parents. Very in love and probably soulmates, if you believe in such a thing."

Malfoy abruptly stopped her writing mid-word. She flickered her eyes to the side of the table for only a second before she resumed her writing.

"Which is why," I continued, "I was gonna draw the lilies winding around the antlers and bursting from the stags eye socket — I've always been told I have my mother's eyes, though I look like my dad."

Malfoy finished her writing and looked back up to stare intently into my eyes as if to investigate the resemblance. I wondered what she saw, never having met my mom. Her eyes — which I then noticed were somehow different — flashed to the splotches blooming across my cheeks. Why couldn’t my blood just stay in my veins where it belonged?

"I don't know," I shrugged sheepishly, breaking the eye contact by looking down. "It was all a bit obvious and cliché to me, so I went with something less obvious, like a rat king."

"Because of their interconnectedness despite wanting to break free from being bodily stuck and tangled together," said Malfoy on my behalf, writing it down again.

"Exactly." She catches on quick. "It's gross — a jumbled mess of flesh and scrambling limbs."

"Most depictions of rat kings are like circular patterns," she added.

"Which can be seen as embodying a constant cycle of death and destruction caused by their own environment," I finished.

She looked up at me after dotting a period at the end of her sentence. I thought she looked slightly impressed, and I inwardly preened. I was surprised to have even had a civil conversation with her at all.

"Your turn," I said. "Why did you draw that lamb and snake?"

Malfoy flicked to the last page of her sketchbook, looking down at her drawing with an irritated frown.

"I don't know," she said, not looking up.

"I don't believe that," I challenged with incredulity.

"Believe whatever you want," she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest petulantly and leaning back in her chair.

"Why won't you just tell me?" I scowled with impatience. "It's not a bad drawing, I'm not gonna judge."

"There's nothing to say," she shrugged one shoulder elegantly.

I glared at Malfoy and her infuriating nonchalance. Was she doing this on purpose to get me into trouble, so that it made me look bad in front of the teacher for not having an answer?

"Fine. Suit yourself," I bit out.

So much for having a civil conversation. I should have known it wouldn't last.

If she wasn't going to give me an answer, then I'd just make up my own based on my assumptions, since that was what I had been doing so far anyway. If she got mad about my answer, then it's her own fault.

We spent the last of the few minutes we had left in silence until the teacher came round, asking for answers.

When Ms Trelawney came to our table, Malfoy recited a short summary of my thought process and then stated her opinion.

"I think the rat king is different to the stag skull with lilies because one was a willing connection, purposefully joined together in harmony, while the other is not, demonstrating a lack of free will and chaos. In my opinion, I like both, but prefer the rat king idea," she said with a hair-flip.

Well, I hadn't expected her to like my idea, especially the ugly rat king.

"Very good, Miss Malfoy," Trelawney complimented. "And Miss Potter?" she prompted, turning to me with her magnified eyes behind thick rounded glasses boring into me expectantly.

"Um, I think there was some religious symbolism and connotations behind her lamb and snake. Like, maybe the Lamb of God being consumed by the serpent from the Garden of Eden? I could see some inspiration taken from art like Agnus Dei and Saturn Devouring his Son. I think this could be correlated to some inner conflict, maybe even alluding to self-destructive behaviours, or behaviour that hurts others. I think the serpent represents Draco, but I'm unsure about the lamb."

"Interesting, Miss Potter," said Trelawney thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against her chin as she inspected Malfoy's drawing through a new lens — figuratively. "Yes, I see what you mean. Very good."

When Ms Trelawney glided over to the next table, I glanced sideways at Malfoy.

She was fuming. A deep scowl pulled tight at her lips, eyes narrowed and hands clenched in a death grip. I must have been fairly on point, then. I took that as another win.

I realised that I was not frightened by Malfoy's sudden rage. It was not the rage of someone who wanted to hurt me like it was before, but just someone whose vulnerability was exposed. Like a hissing cat backed into a corner, spine arched and hair raised.

"What made you think that," Malfoy aggressively whispered to me as Trelawney was speaking to others.

I shrugged, pretending to pay attention to whatever the other student was saying. "Psychology helps."

"...Did you just psychoanalyse me?" Malfoy hissed venomously. It became painfully obvious with sudden clarity that she was the depicted serpent and that I was right.

I shrugged again, lazily. "Maybe."

Another win.

We spent the rest of the first period in silence as we annotated more of our work. I had finished early, which left me with nothing to do but try not to look at her... unsuccessfully. I glanced up, and she was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration in her eyes. Suddenly, I identified that subtle difference in her face.

“Did you get contacts?” I blurted out unthinkingly.

She seemed puzzled by my apropos-of-nothing question. “No.”

“Oh,” I mumbled. “I thought there was something different about your eyes.”

She shrugged elegantly again and looked away.

In fact, I knew there was something different. I vividly remembered the one detail of that first time she’d glared at me like she wanted me dead. I could still see the flat black colour of her eyes — so striking against the background of her pale skin and equally pale lashes. Today, her eyes were a completely different colour: a strange silver, lighter than any grey, almost metallic, but still had a darker ring around her iris. I didn’t understand how that could be, unless she was lying for some reason about the contacts. Maybe she was embarrassed about the fact that she needed them. Or maybe this place was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word.

I looked down. Her hands were clenched into fists again.

"Where were you last week?" I asked abruptly, my curiosity getting the better of me. "You disappeared."

"None of your business," she snapped, shooting me a dirty look.

"Fine," I glowered back. "I won't talk to you again, then."

This seemed to upset her even more. It was intriguing to see her cool, smug attitude crack.

"I just visited home," Malfoy retorted with an eye roll.

I furrowed my brows. "Home?"

"In Wiltshire," she clarified. "To my family's old house. I missed it."

I knew the feeling.

"Do you not have any other relatives?" I asked, feeling brave enough to push into potentially sensitive territory.

"No," she answered, grinding her teeth. "Just my cousin, Luna."

"So you're not related to Dr Snape," I questioned, feeling confident Malfoy would open up to me.

She looked annoyed by my interrogation, her eyes narrowed cautiously, but answered regardless.

"He's my Godfather."

Oh.

"And... you live with yours?" Malfoy asked carefully this time, her tone was suddenly softer. I supposed it was only fair since I had asked my fair share of questions.

"Yes. He's a family friend."

Malfoy looked riveted by my response, for some reason I couldn’t imagine. Her face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.

"Same for me," she said simply. I breathed in deeply, her clean perfume infiltrating my senses. "Do you like your Godfather? How is it now living with him?" She stared at me with penetrating eyes, as if my life’s story was somehow vitally important. Maybe it was to her, so she could compare hers to mine and identify the similarities.

"I love Sirius," I said fiercely, my hunched shoulders straightened automatically, protective of him. "And living with him is fine. He mentioned you, actually. He changed your car tyres once."

Malfoy's silvery eyes sparkled at hearing this, a hint of a smile gracing her lips.

"Yes," she hummed, sounding like silk slipping through hands. "I remember him. Sirius Black."

She adverted her gaze, looking off to somewhere in front of her in a faraway daydream. I wondered what she was thinking about. Was she reminiscing about the meeting with Sirius?

"Do you not have any other family, then?" she asked, still not looking at me.

I, much to my astonishment, figured it was ok to talk to her about it; that she would understand more than anyone.

"I have an aunt and uncle and cousin, but we're not in contact. Bad blood," I answered honestly. "You?"

A crease etched between her brows, hardly visible, but definitely there.

"No," she said, and after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get.

But I wanted to know more. I wanted to know everything about her. How she and Luna ended up with Dr Snape, if she was happy with her own little found family here, why she lived in France before moving here of all places.

"Are you happy with your adopted family?" I chose to ask first.

"They're a pain in my arse," she smirked playfully, still not looking at me. "But I'm happy to have them."

I nodded.

"And how do you like school here so far?" Malfoy asked me, smirking at the table.

"It's not that bad," I replied, smirking back darkly. "Just a few problematic students I have to put up with."

She laughed, deep and rich, and the sound was like music, though I couldn’t think of the instrument to compare it to. Maybe a harp, or a violin.

"Oh, really?" she quirked a brow, finally tilting her head to look at me, and her silver eyes seemed to laser right through the surface of my skin.

"Yeah," I grinned, my cheeks dimpling. "You?"

"Yes," she agreed, her smile mischievous, "a few problematic students getting on my nerves."

I shook my head in faux sympathy before pushing my glasses back up my nose. "Bad apples."

"Indeed."

It was awkward, just looking at each other, but she didn’t look away. I wanted to keep staring at her face, but I was afraid she was wondering what was wrong with me for staring so much, so finally I looked down at my sketchbook. She sighed, flipping back to the page of her drawing of the lamb and snake, writing something down beside it in her calligraphic cursive that I couldn't make out when I glanced down at it. Malfoy's expression was different... a little frustrated, or irritated.

“My apologies,” I said sarcastically. “Am I annoying you?”

"Yes," she said bluntly with a half-smile. "But I’m also annoyed with myself,” she murmured like she didn't want to admit it.

“Why?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Reading people... it usually comes very easily to me. But I can’t — I guess I don’t know quite what to make of you. Is that amusing?”

“Yes," I said honestly. "But more... unexpected. I don't really think there's all that much to me," I shrugged. Still, I felt proud that I hadn't completely given myself away and let her know too much.

Her smile vanished and she half-glared into my eyes, not angry like before, just intense. Then, switching gears just as abruptly, she was smiling again.

"I disagree."

I scoffed. "Because I'm annoying?"

"Hm," she hummed thoughtfully. "I think it might be the why, not the fact that you are."

I didn't know what to say to that, not even understanding what she meant.

I was about to ask when the bell rang at the precise moment I opened my mouth. Malfoy rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as she had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after her with my jaw hanging open.

Maybe it was a good thing — It was a little too intense, talking with Malfoy. I felt dizzy in a strange way. I was in disbelief that I’d just somewhat detailed my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful girl who may or may not despise me. She’d seemed almost too interested in what I had to say, but I could also see, from the corner of my eye, that she had been leaning away from me again, her hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

I sighed in frustration again and shook my head as I packed my stuff away. Despite having actually spoken with Malfoy this time and scratched that itch to bicker with her, I still felt unsatisfied. If anything, she just left me with more questions I wanted answers to, craved more of her attention.

“Malfoy seemed friendly enough today,” Neville commented as he came over and we shrugged into our raincoats.

I tried to sound indifferent. “I wonder what was with her last Monday.”

I kicked myself mentally for not confronting her about it, having forgotten to ask because she distracted me.

The rain was just a mist as we walked to the car park, but I was still pretty damp when I got to Nimbus 2000. I waved goodbye to Neville when he walked off to catch the bus down the road and I got into my truck, turning the heat up as high as it could go, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and fluffed my damp hair out so the heater could dry it on the way home.

As I looked around me to make sure the way was clear, I noticed the still, white figure. Draco Malfoy was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. The smile was gone, but at least so was the murderous glares — for now, anyway. I swiftly looked away and threw the Nimbus into reverse, almost hitting a Toyota Yaris in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my Nimbus 2000 would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again. This time I made it. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but I could see enough in my peripheral vision to know that she was laughing.

Chapter Text

When I opened my eyes in the morning, something was different.

It was the light. It was still the greyish light of a cloudy day in London, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog veiling my window.

I jumped up to look outside and smiled.

A fine layer of snow covered the yard, sprinkled atop the opposite roofs like frosted gingerbread houses, dusted the top of the Nimbus 2000, and whitened the road. But, unfortunately, the rain from yesterday had frozen solid — coating the branches of trees in fantastic, gorgeous patterns, and making the pavements and walkways a deadly ice slick. I would rather not practise my audition for Dancing on Ice.

Sirius had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with Sirius was like having my own place, and I didn't mind much, but it only worsened the feeling of loneliness.

I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton. I felt excited to go to school, and that scared me. I knew it wasn’t the stimulating learning environment I was anticipating, or seeing my new set of friends, who were nice. But, if I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Draco Malfoy. And that was very, very stupid.

I shouldn't be this bothered about her. I was still off-put by the hostility I sometimes felt emanating from her, and I was still tongue-tied whenever I pictured her ethereal face and perfect hair, longing to run my fingers through it and know how it felt. Spending more time looking at her — watching her lips move, marvelling at her skin and body, listening to her voice — was certainly not going to help with that. I didn’t exactly trust her anyway, she seemed like the conniving, mean-girl type.

It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive. I slipped when I finally got to the Nimbus, but I managed to cling to the side mirror and save myself. Clearly, today was going to be nightmarish.

Driving to school, I distracted myself from my unwanted speculations about Draco Malfoy by concentrating on not skidding the truck across the road, however, the Nimbus seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction to school.

When I reached the school car park, I stayed inside for a little while, absorbing the last of the Nimbus' warmth before I had to step outside and into the bitter cold.

But after I shut the door, I heard an odd sound. It was a high-pitched screech, and almost as soon as I registered it, the sound was already painfully loud.

I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work much faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail several things at once.

Draco Malfoy was standing four cars down from me, mouth open in horror. Her face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same mask of shock. Also, a dark blue van was skidding, tyres locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the car park. It was going to hit the back corner of my truck, and I was standing between them. I didn’t even have time to close my eyes.

Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I was expecting. My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I was lying on the ground behind the red car I’d parked next to. But I didn’t have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming. It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with me again.

“Come on!” She said the words so quickly I almost missed them, but the voice was impossible not to recognize.

Two thin, white hands shot out in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, her pale hands fitting exactly into a deep dent in the side of the van’s body.

Then her hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my legs around like a rag doll’s, till they hit the tyre of the red car. A groaning metallic thud hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt — exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.

It was absolutely silent for one long second before the screaming began. In the abrupt chaos, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear Draco Malfoy's low, frantic voice in my ear.

“Potter? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” My voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up and realized she was holding me against the side of her body in an iron grasp. I must have been more traumatized than I realised because I couldn’t budge her arm at all. Was I weak with shock?

“Stop moving,” she warned as I struggled and she righted my crooked glasses for me. “I think you hit your head pretty hard.”

I became aware of a throbbing ache centred above my left ear.

“Ow,” I said, surprised.

“That’s what I thought.” Her voice, amazingly, sounded like she was suppressing laughter.

“How the...” I trailed off, trying to clear my head, gather my bearings. “How did you get over here so fast?”

“I was standing right next to you, Potter,” she said, her voice suddenly serious again.

I turned to sit up, and this time she let me, releasing her hold around my waist and sliding as far from me as she could in the limited space. I looked at her concerned, innocent expression and was disoriented again by the force of her silver-coloured eyes. What was I asking her?

And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, shouting at us.

“Don’t move,” someone instructed.

“Get Justin out of the van!” someone else shouted. There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Malfoy's cold hand pushed my shoulder down.

"Just stay bloody still."

“But it’s cold,” I complained. I wasn't surprised when she tsked in annoyance. There was an edge to the sound.

“You were over there,” I suddenly remembered, and she glared down at me. “You were by your car.”

Her expression darkened.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“I saw you.” All around us was chaos. I could hear the gruff voices of adults arriving on the scene.

"Harry!" I heard a familiar voice roar in panic. I realised it was Remus.

"I'm ok, Remus!" I called back to appease him before turning back to Malfoy, stubbornly holding on to our argument; I was right, and she was going to admit it.

“Potter, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way.” She unleashed the full, devastating power of her eyes on me as if trying to communicate something crucial. Like the silver of her eyes turned up like her eyes were drugging me, hypnotizing me. It was intense in a weird, exciting way.

“No.” I set my jaw.

The ice-cold silver in her eyes practically crystallised before me. “Please, Potter.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Trust me,” she basically demanded, her eyes hard in determination, but her soft voice was overwhelming.

I could hear the sirens now.

“Will you promise to explain everything to me later?”

“Fine,” she snapped, suddenly exasperated.

“Fine,” I repeated angrily.

It took six EMTs and two teachers — Mr Lockhart and Remus — to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Malfoy vehemently refused hers, insisted she hadn’t been touched, and I tried to do the same, but the traitor told them I’d hit my head and then made it sound worse than it was, throwing around words like concussion and haemorrhage. I almost died of humiliation when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Malfoy got to ride in the front. It was maddening. It was a thousand times more humiliating than I’d imagined today would be, and I had only just gotten out of my truck.

When they’d lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the red car’s bumper — a very distinct dent that fit the slim shape of Malfoy's narrow shoulders... as if she had braced herself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame... I remembered the sensation of almost flying through the air... that hard mass that had pinned me to the ground... Malfoy's hand under the frame of the van, like it was holding the van off the ground...

And then there was her family, looking on from a distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval (Blaise) to fury (Pansy), but held no hint of concern for their little sister’s safety.

I tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what I had just seen — a solution that excluded the assumption that I was insane.

Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Malfoy simply glided through the hospital doors under her own power. I ground my teeth together.

They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pale blue curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm (thankfully, the one with no tattoo) and checked my temperature. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn’t obligated to wear the stupid-looking neck brace anymore. When the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and tossed it to the end of the bed.

There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Justin Finch-Fletchley from my Psychology class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around his head. Justin looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But he was staring anxiously at me.

“Harry, I’m so sorry!”

“I’m fine, Justin — you look awful, are you all right?” As we spoke, nurses began unwinding his soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over his forehead and left cheek.

He ignored me. “I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong...” He winced as one nurse started dabbing at his face.

“Don’t worry about it; you missed me.”

“How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone...”

“Umm... Malfoy pulled me out of the way.”

He looked confused. “Who?”

“Draco Malfoy — she was standing next to me.” I wasn't that bad of a liar, but even I didn’t think I sounded believable at all.

“Draco? I didn’t see her... wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is she okay?”

“I think so. She’s here somewhere, but they didn’t make her use a stretcher.”

I knew I wasn’t crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain away what I’d seen.

They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was nothing wrong, and I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, waiting, placating Justin's constant apologies and promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince him I was fine, he continued to torment himself. Finally, I closed my eyes and ignored him. He kept up a remorseful mumbling.

“Is she sleeping?” a musical voice asked. My eyes flew open.

Malfoy was standing at the foot of my bed, her expression more a smirk than a smile. I glared at her, trying to put the pieces together in my head. She didn’t look like someone who could stop attacking vehicles with her bare hands. But then, she also didn’t look like anyone I’d ever seen before.

“Hey, Draco, I’m really sorry—” Justin began.

Malfoy lifted a hand to stop him.

"I don't care, Justin. Just shut up," she said boredly, and he shut his mouth with an audible click of teeth. Malfoy moved to sit on the edge of Justin's bed, facing me. She smirked. “So, what’s the verdict?” she asked me.

“There’s nothing wrong with me at all, but they won’t let me go,” I complained. “How come you aren’t strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?”

“It’s all about who you know,” she answered. “But don’t worry, I came to spring you.”

Then, a doctor walked around the corner. He was around the same age as Sirius, with chin-length, black hair and a hooked nose. He was pale, and tired-looking, with circles under his eyes.

“So, Miss Potter,” the doctor said in a smooth, low voice, “how are you feeling?”

I read his name tag — it was Dr Snape.

“I’m fine,” I said, for the last time, I hoped.

He walked to the lightboard on the wall over my head and turned it on.

“Your X-rays look normal,” he said. “Does your head hurt? Draco said you hit it rather hard.”

“It’s fine,” I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick scowl toward Malfoy.

The doctor’s cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. He noticed when I winced.

“Tender?” he asked.

“Not really.” I’d had worse.

I heard a scoff and looked over to see Malfoy with her lip curled in irritation. My eyes narrowed, what did she have to be irritated about?

“Well, your guardian is in the waiting room — you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all.”

That sounded kind of great, missing a day of school. But... would I miss the opportunity to spend it with Malfoy?

I glanced at Malfoy. “Does she get to go to school?”

“Someone has to spread the good news that we survived,” Malfoy said smugly, a slight grin on her lips now.

“Actually,” Dr Snape corrected with a drawl, “it appears that some friends seem to be in the waiting room.”

“Oh no,” I moaned, covering my face with my hands. I suppose it was nice of them to check in with me.

Dr Snape raised his brow. “Do you wish to stay?”

“No, no!” I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly.

“Take some Paracetamol for the pain,” he suggested as he wrote something down on a clipboard.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” I insisted.

“It sounds like you were extremely lucky,” Dr Snape said with a certain drawling edge as he signed my chart. He sort of sounded bored, but there was also a nerve-wracking undertone.

“Lucky M- Draco just happened to be standing next to me,” I amended with a hard glance at the subject of my statement.

"Indeed,” Dr Snape agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of him. I could see similar mannerisms between him and Malfoy. Then he looked away at Justin, and walked to the next bed. My intuition flickered; the doctor was in on it.

“I’m afraid that you’ll have to stay with us just a little bit longer,” he said to Justin and began checking his cuts.

As soon as the doctor’s back was turned, I moved to Malfoy's side.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I hissed under my breath. She took a step back from me, her jaw suddenly clenched.

“Sirius is waiting for you,” she said through her teeth.

I really should have just left, Sirius was probably worried sick. But I glanced at Dr Snape and Justin.

“I’d like to speak with you alone, if you don’t mind,” I pressed.

Malfoy glared — but it wasn’t the same as that first day, not nearly as homicidal, so I just waited. After a second, she turned her back and stalked quickly down the long room. I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a short hallway, she spun around to face me, her hair whirling around with the motion like a fluffy cloud.

“What do you want?” she asked, sounding annoyed, as usual. Her eyes were cold.

Her unfriendliness didn't intimidate me this time.

“You owe me an explanation,” I reminded her sternly.

“I saved your life — I don’t owe you anything,” she sneered with resentment, cocking her hip to the side and folding her arms.

But I stood firm.

“You promised.”

“Potter, you hit your head, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her tone was cutting.

My temper flared now, and I glared defiantly at her. “There’s nothing wrong with my head.”

She glared back with a chilling iciness. “What do you want from me, Potter?”

“I want to know the truth,” I said. “I want to know why I’m lying for you.”

“What do you think happened?” she snapped.

It came out in a rush.

“All I know is that you weren’t anywhere near me — Justin didn’t see you, either, so don’t tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both — and it didn’t, and your hands left dents in the side of it — and you left a dent in the other car, and you’re not hurt at all — and the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up...” I could hear how crazy it sounded, and I couldn’t continue. I was so mad I could feel the tears coming; I tried to force them back by grinding my teeth together.

She was staring at me, her eyes wide and incredulous. But she couldn’t entirely hide the tension, the defensiveness.

“You think I lifted a van off you?” Her tone questioned my sanity, but there was something off; it only made me more suspicious. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actor.

I merely nodded once, jaw tight.

She smiled, hard and mocking. “Nobody will believe that, you know.”

“I’m not going to tell anybody.” I said each word slowly, carefully controlling my anger.

Surprise flitted across her face, and the smile faded. “Then why does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” I insisted. “I don’t like to lie — so there’d better be a good reason why I’m doing it.”

“Can’t you just thank me and get over it?”

“Thank you.” I waited, seething and expectant.

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“Nope.”

“In that case... I hope you enjoy disappointment.”

We scowled at each other in silence, my thoughts scattered by how beautiful her anger was. I was the first to speak, trying to keep myself focused. I was in danger of being distracted by her livid, glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.

“Why did you even bother?” I asked frigidly. I should have probably died, be reunited with my parents.

She paused, and for a brief moment, her stunning, perfect face was unexpectedly vulnerable.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

And then she turned her back on me and walked away, her hair swishing as she strutted.

I was so angry, it took me a few minutes until I could move. It felt good to be angry, but frustrating I couldn't shout in Malfoy's face. When I could walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway.

"Harry!"

The waiting room was more unpleasant than I’d feared. Sirius rushed to my side with tears in his eyes, grabbing at my shoulders, arms, face to search for a single scratch. His panic only saddened me, and I readily accepted his tight embrace, more bone-crushing than the car crash should have been. I hugged him back as tightly as I could, murmuring reassurances that I was ok and that it was just an accident. The whole fiasco was just an accident, I thought bitterly.

But having Sirius fuss over me and cry quietly into my shoulder shook any lingering thought of that away, and I focused solely on him. Remus came over, gripping our shoulders with a grounding touch. I nodded to my friends, waving them off with a reassuring look that I was fine and would see them again soon. Ron must have driven them all there, he was the only other one with a car.

“What did the doctor say?” Sirius asked wetly as he pulled back, cradling my face gently between his callused, tattooed hands.

“Dr Snape saw me, and he said I was fine and I could go home.” He sighed in relief, recognising the name I had mentioned when I asked him about Malfoy. “Let’s go,” I urged.

Sirius put one arm behind my back with Remus holding onto my shoulder, and led me to the glass doors of the exit. I waved sheepishly at my friends, hoping to convey that they didn’t need to worry anymore.

Remus got in his own car, and I went into Sirius' car — a Jaguar S-Type — to head back to Grimmauld Place.

Hedwig happily greeted me, although I could tell she felt something was wrong and was extra cuddly. Sometimes, I could swear she understood English perfectly.

Lots of tea was served as we came down from the hysterics, and I had to explain what had happened over and over again to a fretful Sirius, telling him I felt fine at least twenty times before he would calm down, ready to choke Justin with his bare hands. I stuck to the fabricated story that Malfoy and I somehow agreed upon. Sirius suddenly became reluctant about letting me go back to school, but I insisted that I would be all right, joking that I had used up all my bad luck for now and that I should be ok for another few months. Neither Sirius nor Remus were amused.

Sirius, however, was actually quite glad that I said I was with Malfoy and that she pulled me away in time, asking me how she and Dr Snape were. I lied, about Malfoy, of course. I told him that we got along just fine, but I couldn't see her being a friend, to which Sirius deflated. Remus looked unsure but didn't say anything.

I wasn't quite sure what to make of Dr Snape. He was nice and gentle enough but didn't seem all that interested in me — which, fair enough. I still hadn't spent enough time around him to conclude if I found him creepy or unlikeable like my friends had said he was. Just because he looked a bit intimidating didn't mean anything.

I retreated to bed early that day after Remus whipped up a quick, light lunch for us. I stopped at the landing, listening in to the quiet murmurs of Sirius and Remus.

"I don't know what I would have done, Moony," I could hear Sirius sigh heavily. "I can't lose her too."

"She's a strong girl, Padfoot," Remus comforted softly. "She's tougher than us all."

I slipped in quietly to my room, Hedwig following.

As I lay in bed that night, I was consumed by the mystery Malfoy presented, but I tried to think about anything else, like PE or my Psychology coursework due on Friday. I, however, had never been less interested in my schoolwork; I was rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I did have Paracetamol at Sirius' insistence. They did help, and as the pain eased, I drifted to sleep.

That was the first night I dreamed about Draco Malfoy.

Chapter Text

In my dream, it was very dark, and what dim light there was seemed to be radiating from Malfoy's skin and pale hair. I couldn’t see her face, just her back as she walked away from me with confident swings of her hips, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t catch up to her; no matter how loud I called, she never turned. I grew more and more frantic to get to her, until that anxiety woke me. It was the middle of the night, but I couldn’t sleep again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, she was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the periphery, never within reach.

The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and, at first, embarrassing.

To my dismay, I found myself the centre of attention for the rest of that week. Justin Finch-Fletchly was impossible, following me around, determined to make amends to me somehow. I tried to convince him what I wanted more than anything else was for him to forget all about it — especially since nothing had actually happened to me — but he remained insistent. He followed me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. Ron and the others weren't very pleased.

No one seemed concerned about Malfoy — no one followed her around or asked for her eyewitness account. But I always included her in my version; she was the hero — she had pulled me out of the way and nearly been crushed too, but all anyone ever said was that they hadn’t even realised she was there until the van was pulled away.

I wondered a lot about why no one else had noticed her standing so far away by her car, before she was suddenly and impossibly saving my life. There was only one solution I could think of, and I didn’t like it. It had to be because no one else was so aware of Malfoy. No one watched her the way I did. It was pathetic, and kind of stalkerish.

I sort of didn't really care, though — and I thought that was worse. But I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was going on with Malfoy. Like she was up to something, or hiding something from me.

Malfoy was never surrounded by crowds of curious bystanders eager for her first-hand account. People avoided her the same way they usually did. She and her family sat at the same table they always sat at, not eating, talking only to each other. None of them ever glanced my way anymore. Colour me surprised when I saw that Malfoy was also in my Psychology class, sitting beside Luna in the empty seat by the wall.

When Malfoy sat beside me in Art class, as far away from me as the table would allow, like usual, she seemed totally unaware that I was sitting there next to her. Like my seat was empty. Only now and then, when her fists would suddenly ball up — skin stretched even whiter over her knuckles — did I wonder if she wasn’t as entirely oblivious as she seemed.

She did have pretty hands, with dainty rings on a few fingers and a silver signet on her middle finger with some sort of winding pattern — a snake, most likely. I noticed she only wore silver jewellery. I wondered what she'd look like with gold.

I wanted very much to continue our conversation from the hospital hallway, and during the next Art class after the accident, I was going to. We'd both been so furious when we talked before, I still was angry that she wouldn’t trust me with the truth, even though I was keeping my part of the bargain flawlessly. But she had, in fact, saved my life, no matter how she’d done it. And, overnight, the heat of my anger faded into awed gratitude. I didn’t think I’d thanked her properly.

Malfoy was already in her chair when I got to Art that Friday, looking straight ahead. I sat down, expecting her to turn toward me. She showed no sign that she realised I was there.

“Hello, Malfoy,” I said pleasantly, to show her I was going to behave myself.

She stayed perfectly still, with her arms crossed over her chest, one leg crossed over the other thigh, and leaning back in her seat to wait for class to start. The only sign I had that she'd heard me and responded was the slight lift of her fingers on her arm in a non-committal 'wave.'

And that was the last contact I’d had with her, though she was there, a foot away from me, three days a week. I watched her sometimes, unable to stop myself — always from a distance, though, in Psychology, the cafeteria or car park. I watched as her silver eyes grew noticeably darker day by day (then abruptly, they were a luminous silver again. And the slow progression toward black would start over). But in class, I gave no more notice that she existed than she showed toward me. I was miserable.

My mind worked feverishly and after waking from the occasional nightmare, when I finally fell asleep again, my dreams were broken and disturbed by images of Malfoy.

Sometimes I'd wake up again to the sound of Hedwig hissing and meowing at the window. It unsettled me, so I made sure to lock my window and, unfortunately, shut her out of my room so she couldn't freak me out in the dead of night.

Sometimes she'd be fine, but then I'd wake again to the sound of her clawing at my door to get inside. It was impossible because when I then let her back in, she'd wake me up with more hisses and meows now at my door instead of my window. It was creeping me out, but I didn't know what else to do.

I was fucking exhausted.

And I was, just like every other year, pissy and sour when Valentine's Day came and went.

Despite my outright lies, the tenor of my conversations with Sirius alerted him to my depression. I tried to convince him it was just the weather and season that had me down to stop him from worrying. He had been saying that I seemed a little better until the accident happened. I could only say that it had shaken me a little, but other than that, I hadn't changed. He didn't seem convinced but didn't push further, just reminding me that I could always talk to him about whatever. I knew that, and had considered it. But I just couldn't yet bring myself to.

It was stupid anyway, obsessing over some girl like I was some horny guy who couldn't take no for an answer. Get a fucking grip, Harry.

She probably wished she hadn’t pulled me from the path of Justin's van — there was no other conclusion I could come to. Since she obviously preferred me dead, she was pretending that I was.

And, even through all this and my inner turmoil, I still said nothing to her, despite having so much I wanted to say. I supposed it would be better this way if I distanced myself and not get tangled up with her like her serpent's lamb or my rat king.

Neville was also a little worried, him being the only one privy to the nature of Malfoy and I's art lessons together. He'd noticed the shift in the lesson's atmosphere and how it seemingly affected me. I told him I was fine.

The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Ron was disappointed he’d never gotten to stage his snowball fight but pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed.

Lavender made me aware of another event looming on the horizon — she called the first Tuesday of March to ask about who I was planning to take as my date to year 13's Prom. Jesus.

I told her that I wasn't going with anyone because I wouldn't be going at all. She gave a scandalised gasp, claiming it as outrageous that I wouldn't allow myself to go. I let her ramble to me.

Neville and I were chatting idly as we made our way to Art a few days later, and he followed me to my table. As always, I was electrically aware of Malfoy sitting close enough to touch, as distant as if she were merely an invention of my imagination.

Neville's eyes anxiously flickered over to his table where Hannah was already sitting before he looked back at me.

"So," he began quietly, leaning in close so only we could hear each other, "I was thinking about asking Hannah to Prom."

I leaned back, beaming a smile up at Neville leaning against the desk.

"That's honestly great, Nev. I think you should go for it," I encouraged enthusiastically.

"D'you think?" he questioned nervously, fidgeting a bit with his eyes downcast. "I don't know what she'll say."

"Absolutely," I confirmed. "I say go for it. It's ok if she doesn't accept, you'll still have the others to go with," I reassured, referring to our friends without dates.

"Yeah," Neville nodded, standing straight and firm. "You're right. Thanks, Harry." He smiled when he saw my dimpled grin until his smile dropped. "Wait, are you not going?"

I saw, from the corner of my eye, Malfoy's head tilt reflexively in my direction.

"Ah, uhm," I floundered. "No, probably not."

"How come?" he asked, disheartened and expression crestfallen.

"I just don't think I can stomach it, Nev," I shrugged with a regretful half-smile.

Neville frowned, saddened by this but understanding my reasoning. Neville was always understanding when it came to people's feelings — never one to try and give advice, but just listen to what you have to say — but often was clueless about most other things. I found it was easy to be honest with him, and I was glad that Neville felt comfortable enough with me to be the same. I thought he was just a sensitive, empathetic soul, and I admired him for it.

Neville nodded in acceptance and turned, dejected, to walk back to his seat, but not before I could shoot him a suggestive look toward Hannah with an eyebrow wiggle. Neville blushed with an eye roll, and I was relieved he returned to his seat with more pep in his step.

I watched him and Hannah talk casually from the corner of my eye, silently cheering him on. When I looked straightforward again, I noticed Malfoy was staring at me curiously, that same, familiar edge of frustration even more distinct now in her black eyes.

I stared back, surprised, expecting her to look quickly away. But instead, she continued to gaze with probing intensity into my eyes. There was no question of me looking away, and we found ourselves locked once again in one of our staring competitions. My hands started to shake. I couldn’t believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me — just because she’d happened to look at me for the first time in a half-dozen weeks. I couldn’t allow her to have this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy.

I, reluctantly, broke eye contact first by looking down at my work and starting just before the lesson began. It was Friday, so I only had Art for one hour during the second period before the rest of my day was free of classes. I tried very hard not to be aware of Malfoy for the rest of the hour, and, since that was impossible, at least not to let her know that I was aware of her. When the bell rang at last, I turned my back to her to gather my things, expecting her to leave immediately as usual.

“Potter?”

Fuck.

Her voice shouldn’t have been so familiar to me, as if I’d known the sound of it all my life rather than for just a few short weeks.

I turned to her quickly, mentally kicking myself for looking so eager. I didn’t want to feel what I knew I would feel when I looked at her too-perfect face. My expression was wary when I looked back at Malfoy; her expression was unreadable. She didn’t say anything.

“What? Are you speaking to me again?” I finally asked, an unintentional note of petulance in my voice.

Her lips twitched, hardly resisting a smile.

“No, not really,” she admitted.

I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly through my nose, aware that I was gritting my teeth. I could smell her intoxicating perfume that smelt so clean and simply delightful. She waited.

“Then what do you want, Malfoy?” I asked, keeping my eyes closed; it was easier to talk to her coherently that way. I felt a thrill go through me as I said her name, and I hated it.

She was quiet for some time — hesitant or unsure of what to say, I assumed.

"We shouldn't talk to each other anymore."

I opened my eyes. Her hauntingly beautiful face was very serious.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, my voice guarded.

“It’s better if we stay away from each other,” she clarified. “Trust me.”

My eyes narrowed. I’d heard that before.

"Are you stupid?" I asked incredulously. She let out an offended scoff at my insult. “It’s too bad you didn’t figure that out earlier,” I hissed through my teeth. “You could have saved yourself all this regret.”

“Regret?” The word, and my tone, obviously caught her off guard. “Regret for what?”

“For not just letting that stupid van squish me.”

Malfoy was astonished. She stared at me in disbelief. When she finally spoke, she almost sounded mad.

“You think I regret saving your life?”

“I know you do,” I snapped.

“You don’t know anything. Such an Idiot.”

She was definitely mad. I loved it.

I loved getting under her skin, crawling inside so deep that I was able to incite emotions and tear away at her cocky, arrogant, smug attitude. I wanted to know how she felt, about me, about others, about anything. What made her laugh, what made her mad, what made her cry, what made her Draco Malfoy the Ice Queen. What made her the serpent in her drawing.

I wanted to be the reason. I wanted her to feel every emotion because of me. I eminently wanted to reach inside so deep that I could see what she was really hiding behind her cool exterior. Why did I aggravate her so much, and why was the feeling mutual? Anyone else I could have ignored, but this girl, this crazy, wonderful, enchanting, utter arsehole of a girl had slithered and scuttled her way inside of me, and had me gnashing my teeth and vibrating for her to notice me, look at me.

You don't know anything, she said.

No, I didn't. But I desperately wanted to. I wanted to know everything.

I had never wanted so much. But Malfoy wanted none of it. She wouldn't play this game with me anymore.

It was bad enough that I was so fixated on this girl, bad enough that I thought about her all the time, dreamed about her every night. I didn’t need to sit here like the moron she thought I was and just stare while she insulted me, knowing all the while that she was right — I was an idiot, because I wanted to stay, even if all I got to hear was more abuse from her.

I clenched my jaw against all the wild accusations and insults I desired to hurl at her and yanked my sketchbook from the table, stuffing it into my bag, along with my pencil case before I shot out of my seat, attempting to sweep dramatically out of the room like she so often did. But I accidentally bumped into the corner of another table, which tugged the strap of my bag off my shoulder, sending my things spilling out over the floor. I could hear Malfoy's melodious laugh behind me.

For fuck's sake.

I would have preferred to kick all my shit rather than pick it up and put it back into my bag. But Neville was already by my side, picking up my pencil case. I sent him a tired but grateful look and picked the rest of my stuff up with him before we left the Art room together, not looking back.

I sat with Hermione, Ginny, Parvati and Seamus in the library during our free third period. I was mulling over the previous interaction with Malfoy when Ginny pulled me aside around a row of books for a 'quick chat.'

"What's up, Gin?" I asked, trying to sound as light-hearted as possible.

Because my head was still so filled with Malfoy, Ginny's words took me completely by surprise.

"I was just wondering... if you would go to the Prom with me?” she asked, blinking her fluffy brown lashes at me nervously. "I know it's early for me to ask and it's only for year 13's, but I asked McGonagall if they were allowed to bring year 12's as dates, and she said yes," she quickly added, a little breathless.

"...Oh, shit," I blurted.

It caught Ginny off guard by my mindless cursing, and I quickly shook my hands in apology.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—" I sputtered, unsure of how to handle a situation like this. "I'm sorry, Gin," I said clearly with sympathy once I recovered my composure. "I'm not going to Prom."

"Oh," she said.

"I'm so sorry," I apologised again with a pained look, "I didn't mean to upset you and sound like a twat. I'm just a mess with stuff like this. Thank you for asking, though, but I can't dance so you'd be saving yourself the embarrassment anyway," I chuckled awkwardly.

"No, it's fine," she giggled, waving me off. I was thankful that she was much smoother at this than me. "How come you're not going?"

"Just..." I shook my head with a sigh, "I don't want to go, to be honest."

I watched as Ginny's face fell upon her realising the underlying cause.

"Is it because of your parents?" she asked straightforwardly, but gentle in tone.

I liked that about Ginny; she never beat around the bush, but was nice as a person.

I hung my head and nodded, pushing up my glasses to stop them from falling off my face. I figured I owed her this little bit of honesty after fucking up the rejection so badly.

"Don't worry about it, Harry," she said with a small, warm smile and lightly placed a reassuring hand on my arm. "Let's just hope whoever Ron asks rejects him worse than you did me," she laughed lightly.

My shoulders instantly sagged in relief that she wasn't upset with me, and I gave a short huff in amusement.

"I feel obligated to stick up for him as my friend," I smirked, "but I'm inclined to agree with you out of embarrassment."

She giggled again and guided us back to where we were sitting.

I was so perplexed by the fact that Ginny had wanted to ask me to Prom that I almost missed the moment a tall figure harshly bumped into Ginny, and I had to catch her as she stumbled into me.

"Watch where you're going, Weasel," sneered Malfoy furiously. Because, of course, it was her.

I glared at Malfoy's back with contempt as she stalked away.

Before Ginny had the opportunity to retort, I snapped back.

"Shut up, Malfoy," I snarled with loathing, my anger flaring for a second time today, simply because of her. God, I hated her. "Maybe if you opened your eyes instead of your fat mouth for once, you'd realise we're in a library and look for a book about manners."

Malfoy halted in her tracks for a second or two before she smoothly spun on her heels to face me with narrowed, challenging eyes.

"What was that, Harriet? I didn't quite catch that."

My left eye twitched. I stepped forward, accepting the challenge.

I really shouldn't be so affected by her using my given name in such a nonchalant way, rolling off her tongue so effortlessly in that crisp, posh accent.

"Or maybe," I scoffed derisively, "find a book about planets and learn that the world doesn't revolve around you."

"That's rich," she hissed, stepping closer in one long stride, "coming from some four-eyed bitch who wears glasses and still can't see a table before crashing into it."

"Leave her alone," Ginny scowled at Malfoy, stepping forward to pull me back.

"Oh, look, Harriet," Malfoy smirked, taking another step closer to get in my face. I inhaled a lungful of her perfume. "You got yourself a girlfriend."

I began to lunge forward to strangle Malfoy and rag her by her hair, but was blocked by a tall, dark figure slipping in front of us and pushing Malfoy away lightly.

"Oh, just leave it, Draco," Blaise, her brother, tsked with an air of boredom in his deep voice as he steered his sister away from me.

I stayed rooted to the spot, watching him casually push Malfoy around and her just letting him, despite her looking up at him with her face twisted in wrath. Blaise simply rolled his tired eyes.

Malfoy glimpsed back at me over her shoulder, and I felt Ginny tug on my arm lightly.

"Come on, Harry," she said, trying to conceal the hint of laughter in her voice. "Let Malfoy get scolded by her big brother."

Malfoy's eyes flickered, for a split second, down to where Ginny was touching me before she turned away and shoved Blaise's hand off her, stomping off around the corner and out of sight. Blaise followed her in a leisurely stroll, hands in pockets without a care in the world.

Ms Pince, the librarian, came whizzing around to us, shushing Ginny and me and telling us to keep the racket down before whizzing away again. We weren't even that loud, and I doubted she even heard what we had been saying.

I let Ginny guide me away, back to our seats. I, too, wanted to shove her hand off me. But I didn't.

Ginny recounted the argument to the others with a snicker, thankfully leaving out the part she got rejected. Silently fuming, I sat in quiet for the rest of my free periods.

It was a relief, as always, to finish school. I almost ran to the Nimbus 2000; there were just so many people I wanted to avoid. The Nimbus had suffered only minimal damage in the accident. Sirius had to replace the taillights, and if I’d had a real paint job, I would have touched that up. Justin's parents had to sell their van for parts.

I almost had a stroke when I rounded the corner and saw a figure leaning against the side of the Nimbus. Then I realized it was just Justin. I started walking again.

"Hey, Justin," I sighed.

"Hey, Harry," he smiled back, but it faltered when he watched me yank the truck door open and jump inside, slamming it loudly behind me, not having any time for chit-chat as I wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

"Uhm," he cleared his throat, knocking on my passenger window.

I suppressed an eye roll and swallowed down another sigh before I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway down, then gave up.

Malfoy was walking past the front of the Nimbus, looking straight forward, her lips pressed together. She stopped outside her car two spaces down — leaning against it like she was modelling for some bloody Playboy magazine or something — to wait for her family; I could see the four of them walking this way.

"What is it, Justin?" I asked, trying hard to keep the impatience out of my tone. I just wanted to go home already.

"I was wondering if you would like to go to Prom with me?" he called through the opening in the window, having to lean up to speak through it.

This could not be happening.

“I’m not going to Prom, Justin.”

My voice sounded a little sharp. I had to remember it wasn’t his fault that Malfoy had already used up my quota of patience for the day, as usual.

"Oh," he slumped. "Why not?"

"I just don't want to," I repeated for what I prayed was the last time.

Then, a thought popped into my head.

"Maybe you should ask Lavender," I suggested. "I think she'd appreciate you asking her."

"Really?" Justin perked up, looking slightly confused but not uninterested.

"Just give it a go," I shrugged. "I think you'd have more fun with her than you would with me anyway."

Justin looked away, considering this.

"Are you sure?" he asked hesitantly. "She's your friend, I don't want to make it awkward for you."

I appreciated how considerate he was with everything, but I seriously didn't care about who he went with to Prom right now.

"Nah, it's fine," I shrugged again. "Have fun."

"Uh, all right," he said, regaining confidence and smiling to himself. "Cheers, Harry."

"Anytime," I sighed, thanking the heavens as he sauntered away to presumably find Lavender and wait with her at the bus stop.

I looked forward, only to see Malfoy unquestionably shaking with laughter, laughing into the palm of her hand in an attempt to hide it as if she'd heard every word Justin and I had said. I saw her siblings then slide into the Volvo, and I figured she must have been laughing at something one of them said.

Malfoy swiftly got into her car in the driver's seat, her majestic hair whirling around with the smoothness of her movements, and I had the urge to jump out of the Nimbus and finish what we started in the library.

I revved the engine deafeningly and reversed out into the aisle. But Malfoy slid out smoothly in front of me, cutting me off and driving at a steady pace behind a car in front. I considered taking out the rear of her shiny Volvo, but there were too many witnesses. However, just thinking back to earlier in Art and the library, my foot itched toward the gas pedal... one little bump wouldn’t hurt any of them, just that glossy black paint job. I revved the engine.

Once the car in front of Malfoy had finally exited out of the car park and onto the main road, she sped off in the other direction as soon as she had the opening. I drove home slowly and carefully, muttering to myself the whole way.

When I got home, I decided to make chicken enchiladas for dinner. It was a long process, and it would keep me busy. While I was simmering the onions and chillies, my phone rang. I was almost afraid to answer it, but it might be Sirius.

It was Lavender, and she was jubilant; Justin had caught her after school to invite her to Prom. I celebrated with her briefly while I stirred. She had to go, she wanted to call Hermione and the Patil twins to tell them. She once again lamented to me about how she wished I would go to Prom before we said our goodnights.

After I hung up, I tried to concentrate on dinner — dicing the chicken especially; I didn’t want to take another trip to the emergency room. But my head was spinning, trying to analyze every word Malfoy had spoken today. What did she mean, it was better if we didn't talk?

My stomach twisted as I realised what she must have meant. She must see how absorbed I was by her; she must not want someone so obsessed bothering her. I couldn't really blame her.

It didn't really seem like a very Malfoy thing of her to do, though. She seemed to thrive off of my attention before the accident, always grasping for it whenever I had threatened to take it away.

My stomach then dropped at the realisation.

Was she... actually just as obsessed with me as I was with her? But if so, why didn't she want to talk anymore?

I shook my head, ridding the ridiculous thought that she was interested in me. Of course she wasn’t interested in me, I thought angrily, my eyes stinging — a delayed reaction to the onions. I wasn’t as interesting. And she was. Interesting... and clever... and mysterious... and perfect... and beautiful... and possibly able to lift full-sized vans with one hand.

Some four-eyed bitch, I snorted. What other four-eyed bitch did she know? Did she even speak to anyone else at school besides me and her siblings?

Did she speak to anyone outside of school?

Well, that was fine. I could leave her alone. I would leave her alone. I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully figure out a career situation. Maybe take a gap year. I focused my thoughts on possible job positions as I finished the enchiladas and put them in the oven.

﹌﹌﹌

The next Monday morning, when I pulled into the car park, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the black Volvo. I didn’t want to put myself in the path of too much temptation and end up owing her a new car.

Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle at my feet. As I bent to get it, two black, platform high-heeled shoes stepped into my eyeline. I jerked upright. Draco Malfoy was right next to me, leaning casually against the Nimbus.

“How do you do that?” I asked in amazed irritation, shoving my glasses back up my nose and pocketing my keys.

"Do what?" she smirked lazily.

“Appear out of thin air.”

“Potter, it’s not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant, even with glasses.” Her voice was snarky, as usual — velveted and posh and melodic.

"Oh, back to Potter, are we?" I huffed. "Back to being 'civil,' then?"

"Hardly," she drawled.

I glowered at her deceptively angelic face. Her eyes were radiant again today; a metallic, piercing silver. Then I had to look down, to reassemble my now-tangled thoughts.

“I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don’t exist, not irritating me to death.”

"I got bored."

It felt like the heat of my anger should physically burn her, but she only seemed amused.

“Only joking," she grinned that heart-aching smile that got my knees weak. "I’m not pretending you don’t exist,” she continued.

“So you are trying to irritate me to death? Since Justin's van didn’t do the job?”

Anger flashed in her moonlit eyes. Her glossy lips pressed into a hard line, all signs of humour gone.

“Potter, you are utterly absurd,” she said, her low voice cold.

My palms tingled — I wanted so badly to hit something. I was surprised at myself. I usually didn't want to fight someone so much.

"You're worse," I growled, turned my back and started to walk away.

“Wait,” called Malfoy. I kept walking, sloshing angrily through the rain. But she was next to me, easily keeping pace with an effortless, horse-like gait; hips swaying and hair swishing.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it was rude to walk away from someone mid-conversation?" she chided.

“Why won’t you leave me alone?” I grumbled.

“I wanted to ask you something, but you side-tracked me,” she chuckled, a deep, smooth sound — something similar you'd hear from a Disney's evil Queen before she'd burst out into a manic cackle. Malfoy seemed to have recovered her good humour.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I blurted with deep confusion at her rapid mood swings, grinding to a halt in my tracks. She stopped just as quickly.

"Just shut up and listen to me."

Ugh! Who does she think she is?!

I bit my lip and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers, so I couldn’t do anything rash.

I exhaled heavily through my nose, letting her sweet, citrusy perfume wash over me.

“Fine, then. What is it my lady the Queen of England so graciously wishes to ask a humble peasant, such as myself?”

Malfoy smiled, cheeky and breath-taking.

"Would you like to go out with me?"

I could have fell flat on my arse right then and there, despite standing perfectly still.

I staggered on my feet.

"What?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she smirked teasingly. "I didn't mean a date. I'm just going out and wondered if you wanted to accompany me."

Right. Of course. Not a date.

"You can't just say that and expect me not to take it that way," I sneered. "That's how you ask people on dates."

She scoffed lightly in irritation. "Go out — that could mean anything. Stupid way of asking people on dates," she tsked, voice quiet like she was talking to herself.

I scrunched my nose in bewilderment at her muttering. "Whatever."

"I'll pick you up, of course," Malfoy resumed, getting back on track to the topic at hand. "I’m not sure if your truck can make the journey.”

Finally, I was able to start walking again, goaded by the insult to my Nimbus 2000.

“Make fun of me all you want, but leave the Nimbus out of it,” I said.

Again, she kept up easily. “Why would you think that I’m making fun of you?” she asked. “The invitation is genuine.”

“My Nimbus is great, thanks.”

“Can your Nimbus make it to London City on one tank of petrol?” she taunted with a teasing smirk.

Before the truck, I’d never cared one way or another about any car, but I could feel a prejudice against Volvos forming.

“I don’t see how that’s your problem.”

“The wasting of finite resources is everyone’s problem,” she said primly. "Well?" she asked, expecting.

'God, yes,' I wanted to scream. I wanted nothing more than to spend time with her.

But I was still stunned. And all I could get out was, "Why?”

"Because I want to?" she shrugged a shoulder, giving me a funny look like I was the crazy one for asking.

She wanted to. Malfoy wanted to spend time with me. Just because. I could have jumped for joy.

But I wouldn't let myself seem overly eager. I was still mad, and I still hated her.

“Honestly, Malfoy," I huffed tiredly. "I can’t keep up with you. I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore and stay away from each other.”

“I said it would be better if we didn't talk, not that I wanted to stop talking.”

“Oh, thanks, now that’s all cleared up.” Heavy sarcasm, but really, I was elated. I realized I had stopped walking again. We were under the shelter of one of the Courtyard's overhangs now, so I could more easily look at her glowy face flushed a pale pink. Which certainly didn’t help my clarity of thought.

“It would be more... prudent for you not to be my friend,” she explained. “But I’m tired of trying to stay away from you, Potter.”

Yes. I was, too.

Her eyes were gloriously intense as she uttered that last sentence, her voice smouldering. I couldn’t remember how to breathe.

"Will you accompany me on an outing?" she asked, still intense, but more careful with her wording.

Not a date.

I couldn’t speak yet, so I just nodded.

She smiled briefly, and then her face became serious.

“You really should stay away from me,” she warned. “I’ll see you in class." But then she grinned devilishly again with a wink. "Ciao,” she said, wiggling her fingers in a playful wave.

She swivelled on her heels and strutted back the way we’d come.

I had the sneaky suspicion I had just willingly fallen into the jaws of a serpent. Perhaps we were back in the game after all. 

Chapter Text

I made my way to DT in a daze. Remus was a little concerned by my lack of concentration, and I had almost sliced my finger open with one of the saws. He made me sit out and do written work for the rest of the lesson whilst everyone else got to saw and carve wood.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn’t just imagined what Malfoy had said, and the way her eyes had looked, her voice sounded. Something about her confused my reality. First, I’d thought I’d seen her stop a van barehanded, and now this. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I’d confused with reality. That seemed more probable than that I really appealed to her on any level.

So I was impatient and nervous as Ron, Dean and I entered the cafeteria. I wanted to see Malfoy's face, to see if she’d gone back to the cold, indifferent person I’d known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some miracle, I’d really heard what I thought I’d heard this morning. The table was lively with chatter and completely unaware of my inattention.

Disappointment hit like a punch to the gut as my eyes unerringly focused on her table. The other four were there, but she was absent. Had she gone home? What was she doing now? Was she going to disappear every time something significant happened?

I followed Hermione through the line, crushed. I’d lost my appetite — I bought nothing but a bottle of apple Radnor. I just wanted to go sit down and sulk.

“Malfoy's staring at you again,” Hermione said. I was one hundred percent paying attention as soon as she said her name. “I wonder why she’s sitting alone today.”

My head snapped up. I followed her gaze to see Malfoy, grinning, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where she usually sat. Once she’d caught my eye, she raised one hand and motioned with her index finger for me to join her. As I stared in disbelief, she winked.

“Does she mean you?” Hermione asked with scandalised astonishment in her voice. "After what she did last week?"

“Maybe she needs help with art homework,” I muttered for her benefit. “Um, I’d better go see what she wants.”

"Harry," Hermione fretted, a look of uncertainty for my well-being.

"It's fine," I brushed off, already a few steps in and my cheeks flaring red. I could feel her staring after me with worry as I walked away.

I all but wanted to leg it across the cafeteria and pounce on Malfoy like in that scene from Mean Girls. Malfoy was very Regina George-esque.

I am not a wild beast, though, and I did (hopefully) have enough decorum to stroll at a perfectly normal, inconspicuous pace around the tables and to Malfoy.

When I reached her table, I stood behind the chair across from her, unsure.

“Why don’t you sit with me today?” she asked, smiling. She lifted her long, shapely leg to push the chair opposite her out for me to sit down in.

I sat down automatically, practically collapsing into it, watching Malfoy with caution. She was still smiling. It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. I was afraid that she might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up.

She seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

“This is, uh, different,” I finally managed.

“Well,” she said, and then paused. I could tell there was more, so I waited. The rest of it followed in a rush, the words blurring together so that it took me a minute to decipher the meaning. “I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.”

I kept waiting, thinking she would explain, but she didn’t. The silence got more uncomfortable as the seconds passed.

“You know I don’t have any idea what you mean,” I eventually pointed out.

“I’m counting on it,” she said, and then her eyes focused behind me. “I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you.”

Suddenly, I could feel all their eyes boring into my back. For once, it didn’t bother me at all.

“They’ll survive.”

She grinned with a wicked glint in her eyes.

“I may not give you back, though.”

Please don't.

I gulped too loud and she laughed.

“You look worried,” she said.

“No,” I said, but, ridiculously, my voice cracked. “Surprised, actually... What’s this all about?” I gestured toward her and the rest of the empty table.

“I told you — I’m tired of trying to stay away from you. So, I’m giving up.” The smile was fading, and her eyes were serious by the end.

“Giving up?” I repeated.

“Yes — giving up trying to be good. I’m just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may.” The smile disappeared completely, and a hard edge crept into her velvety voice.

“You lost me again.”

It looked like she found that funny. “I always say too much when I’m talking to you — that’s one of the problems.”

Good. Because I had the same problem.

“Don’t worry — I don’t understand anything you say,” I replied instead.

“Like I said — I’m counting on that.”

We stared at each other for a few seconds, but the quiet wasn’t awkward this time. It was more... charged. My face started to get hot again. Funny how my stomach was rolling. Was it because I was hungry after all? Because she was smirking at me again with keen eyes?

Malfoy leaned forward, resting her pointed chin on her palm.

"You do know we can't be friends, right?" she said after a while of silence, her smirk dying on her lips, and I would have done anything to bring it back. She looked her best when she smirked in that deviant way of hers.

"Because you hate me?" I asked, not really sure what her problem with me ever was, looking back. I still forgot to ask.

"Yes," she said, then teetered her head from side to side in thought. "And no."

"Okay," I said, drawing the word out in long syllables. "Why no?"

She tapped her long, dainty finger against her cheek as she thought through her answer.

"I'm not really a good friend for you to have," she shrugged a shoulder half-heartedly.

Malfoy looked as if she didn't want to admit that.

"That — I can understand," I agreed, watching a frown tug her heart-shaped, glossy lips down.

"Why?" she questioned, seeming genuinely unsure.

"Because you're a massive bitch who's mean to people," I scoffed like it was obvious. Because it was.

"Oh," she said. "Yes, that makes sense." She didn't even try to argue with that fact. I didn't know if it was better or worse that she was fully self-aware.

"Why are you such a bitch?" I asked since I knew she wouldn't deny it or argue about it.

"Because the world bores me and I hate everyone in it."

I was a little taken aback by her brutal honesty. She said it as she glanced around the room in boredom and dislike.

She shrugged again. "Well, almost everyone," she corrected. I could only assume she meant her family.

That was fine by me. I wanted Malfoy to hate me, as long as it was me she was directing her attention to. I'd rather be the only one she hated than be grouped together with the rest of the world. I didn't care what she felt towards me, as long as she'd take out her emotions on me.

Still, that wasn't an excuse to be an awful person.

"Do I bore you?" I asked, my distaste for her shitty behaviour evident in my tone and expression.

Malfoy glanced down at the table, tapping her finger against her pink-tinted cheek again. When she spoke next, I felt the gravity of her words and tone shatter something inside me.

"You are the only thing in this world that has truly piqued my interest in a very long time, Potter."

And she said all this without even looking back up at me.

I slowly drew in a long, gasping breath. Now she peered up at me through her long, pale lashes.

"You are far from boring. Don't disappoint me."

What was that I said about decorum? Sorry, I don't know what that word means.

I clenched my thighs together, my right knee jerking up and down rapidly.

"If you’re smart, you’ll avoid me,” Malfoy said, raising a brow.

Then, I had to smile, and I watched as she grinned automatically in response.

“I thought we’d already concluded that I’m an idiot. Or absurd, or whatever.”

"You really are," she breathed out, a husk of her normal tone, and eyes so intense that I could physically feel the weight of her look splitting open my gut like a dagger.

I stared down at my hands wrapped tightly around the bottle of my fizzy apple juice, palms sweaty, not sure what to do. It was so strange to sit here with her — like normal people. But I could feel that nothing about this was normal. I wasn't normal, and neither was she. She had basically just admitted that she was just as interested as I was, abnormally so, and I had no idea what to do with that information, regardless of the fact that I was certainly delighted. What would I get out of this, if not friendship?

I knew we were similar in some ways, with our home life more than anything. But, to be the sole object of interest was mutual. I hadn't been so riveted by anything in a long time. I hadn't felt so much and so fiercely in months. And we both wanted more.

Something, at this very moment, had changed very drastically for us.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked curiously. "And stop knee-jerking. It's annoying."

I chuckled, looking up at her. She was staring again, her silver eyes curious and — like the first time I’d seen her — frustrated. Once again, my thoughts refused to pass through the appropriate filter.

"You."

She was visibly pleased by this answer, practically preening.

“I’m wondering what you are,” I elaborated.

Her smile tightened like her teeth were suddenly clamped together, but she held it carefully in place.

“Are you having much luck with that?” Her voice was casual, like she didn’t really care about my answer.

The tips of my ears burned, and I already knew they were flushed just as cherry-red as my cheeks. During the last month, I’d given it some thought, but the only solutions I could come up with were completely ridiculous. Like, witchcraft and Catwoman — level nonsense.

She tilted her head to the side, staring into my eyes as if she was trying to see through them, right into my brain. She smiled — inviting this time, impossible to resist.

“Won’t you tell me?”

But I had to try to resist. She already thought I was an idiot. I shook my head. “Too embarrassing.”

“That’s really frustrating,” she complained. "And stop knee-jerking," she scolded, lightly nudging my ankle with her shoe. She just touched me.

“Really?” I raised my eyebrows, stilling my bouncing leg. “Frustrating like... someone refusing to tell you what she’s thinking, even if all the while she’s making cryptic little comments designed to keep you up at night wondering what she could possibly mean... Frustrating like that?”

She frowned, her lips pouting out in a distracting way. I worked to hold on to my focus.

“Or is it frustrating like, say, she’s done a bunch of other strange things — for example, saving your life under impossible circumstances one day, then treating you like a pariah the next — and she never explained any of that, either, even after she promised? And then she insults you afterwards and then, the next second, she wants to hang out with you. Frustrating like that?”

Her frown twitched, then settled into a deeper scowl. “You’re really not over that yet?”

“The saving my life part? No. Not quite yet.”

“Would an apology help?”

“An explanation would be better.”

“You’ve got a bit of a temper, don’t you?”

"Terrible, really."

She pursed her lips, then glanced over my shoulder and snickered.

“What?”

“Your girlfriend thinks I’m being mean to you — she’s debating whether or not to come break up our fight.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend," I said frostily, "and you’re trying to change the subject.”

She ignored the second half of my statement.

"She absolutely wants to be your girlfriend."

All this talk about girlfriends had me getting itchy with sweat.

“There’s no way that’s true.”

“It is. I told you, most people are very easy to read.”

“Except me.”

“Yes, except for you.” Her eyes shifted to me and intensified, drilling into mine. “I wonder why that is.”

I had to look away from the intensity of her stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my apple Radnor. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked.

Her stare was less penetrating now, I saw with relief.

“No.” I didn’t feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full — of butterflies. “You?” I looked at the empty table in front of her.

“No, I’m not hungry.” She smiled like I was missing some inside joke.

“Can you do me a favour?” I asked, the words escaping before I could make sure they were allowed.

She was suddenly wary. “That depends on what you want.”

“It’s not much,” I promised.

She waited, still guarded but clearly curious.

“I just wondered if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me. For my own good. Just so I’m prepared.” I looked at the Radnor bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.

“That sounds fair.”

She looked like she was trying not to laugh when I glanced up.

“Thanks.”

“Can I have a favour in return?” she asked, batting her lashes at me.

Anything.

“Sure.” It was my turn to be curious. What would she want from me?

“Tell me one of your theories.”

Whoops. “No way.”

“You promised me a favour.”

“And you’ve broken promises before,” I reminded her.

“Just one theory — I won’t laugh.”

“Yes, you will.” I had no doubt about that.

She looked down, then glanced up at me through her thick lashes, her long, silver eyes glittering like ice crystals underneath.

“Please?” she breathed, leaning toward me.

Without permission, my body leaned closer to her, like she was a magnet and I was a paper clip, till her face was less than a foot from mine. My mind went totally blank, and my leg started bouncing again.

I shook my head, trying to clear it, and forced myself to sit back. “Um... what?”

“One little theory,” she purred. “Please?”

“Well, er, witchcraft?” Was she a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?

She rolled her eyes.

“That’s not very creative,” she scoffed.

“I’m sorry, that’s all I’ve got,” I said, miffed.

“You’re not even close,” she teased.

“No radioactive spiders?”

“Nope.”

“And no time-travel machines?”

“None.”

“Damn,” I sighed.

She chuckled. “Kryptonite doesn’t bother me, either.”

“You’re not supposed to laugh, remember?”

She pressed her lips together, but her shoulders shook from holding the laughter back.

“I’ll figure it out eventually,” I warned her.

Her humour vanished like a switch flipped off. “I wish you wouldn’t try.”

“How can I not wonder? I mean... you’re impossible.” I didn’t say it like a criticism, just a statement. You are not possible. You are more than what is possible.

"I'm also not nice," she stated like a simple fact.

"Well, yeah," I huffed a short laugh. "I'm very aware."

"No, you're not understanding, Potter," she snapped, and her sudden seriousness caught me off guard. It was like she was trying to communicate something urgent through the hardness of her eyes alone.

"So... you're trying to push me away because you think you'll hurt my feelings?" I questioned, trying to solve her unspoken riddle.

"More than your feelings."

“...Oh,” I said, as several things she’d hinted fell suddenly into place. “Oh, okay.”

She waited, suddenly rigid with stress. In that second, all of her walls seemed to disappear.

“What exactly does okay mean?” she asked so quietly it was almost a whisper.

“You’re dangerous?” I guessed, and there was doubt in my voice.

She may be taller than me, but she was delicately built, and as out of shape as I was (not so much now that PE had me working out more), I was probably stronger than her. Under normal circumstances, I would have laughed at applying the word dangerous to someone like her. But she was not normal, and there was no one like her. And I had completely forgotten, for all of five blissful seconds, that she had pushed away and lifted up a fucking van with her bare hands.

I remembered the first time she’d glared at me with hate in her eyes, and I’d felt genuinely afraid, though I hadn’t understood that reaction in the moment, and I’d thought it foolish later. Now I understood. Under the doubt, outside the incongruity of the word dangerous applied to her slim and perfect body, I could feel the truth of the foundation. The danger was real, though my logical mind couldn’t make sense of it. And she’d been trying to warn me all along.

My pulse quickened as I realised the truth of my own words. And yet, she didn't scare me at all. I was no longer afraid of her — at least, not like that.

She just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn’t comprehend.

“Dangerous,” I murmured again, trying to fit the word to the person in front of me. Her porcelain face was still vulnerable, without walls or secrets. Her eyes were wide now, anticipating my reaction. She seemed to be bracing herself for some kind of impact.

"Do you want to physically hurt me?" I asked, grinding my teeth.

I wanted to know if I'd somehow end up like my parents because of her. Which was fucking wild to think about or even consider. Only this morning I had been more worried about me hurting her.

"No!" she shouted in shock before she could hold it back. "I mean," she swallowed and exhaled a quick, deep breath, "do I want to bitch-slap you and drag you across the floor by your hair? Absolutely," she nodded with furrowed brows. I could tell she wasn't lying.

"Same goes for me," I said lightly, unthinkingly.

"But do I want to hurt you?" she repeated like she couldn't fathom ever taking it that far. But there was something else there.

She looked down, reaching out to steal the lid of my bottle, which she then spun like a top between her fingers. I took advantage of her inattention to stare some more. She meant what she was saying — that was obvious. She wanted me to be afraid of her, but not, at the same time.

I felt anxious, on edge... and, more than anything else, fascinated. There were nerves, of course, being so close to her. Fear of making a fool of myself and the fact that she could very well hurt me if she wanted. And she hadn't answered her own question, which was definite cause for concern. But all I wanted was to sit here forever, to listen to her voice and watch the expressions fly across her face, so much faster than I could analyse them.

Malfoy's gaze landed on my open bottle. She slid her hand slowly toward it, and I just let her take it, watching as she pulled it close to her and ran her fingertip around the lip edge like I had. A droplet of the juice landed on her finger. I watched, completely still and my heart in my throat, as she lifted her fingertip to her parted mouth, licking the droplet of apple juice off. She swallowed the taste. I was mesmerized as the (almost impossible to notice) single hint of taste registered poorly on her fine features.

So of course that was when I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.

I swallowed the saliva forming in my watering mouth, trying not to make my ragged breathing so noticeable like I was asthmatic.

I shoved my chair away from the table, and she looked up. She seemed... sad. But resigned. Like this was the reaction she’d been waiting for.

“We’re going to be late,” I told her, scrambling to my feet.

Malfoy looked up at me with surprise.

I held out my hand, offering for her to take it and help her stand.

She looked down at it, glimpsed back up at me through her lashes and rose to her feet, not taking my hand. I let it drop back to my side, concealing my disappointment.

She screwed the cap back onto my bottle and handed it back to me, her hand lightly grasped around the bottleneck, so I didn't really have an opportunity to graze my fingers against hers when I took the bottle back.

I would say she could keep the bottle if she was thirsty, but based on her reaction to a single droplet, I don't think she liked the taste.

Besides, I wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to drink from where she had touched.

She picked up her bag from the chair beside her before we began walking side by side, although there was a little space between us, and she always made sure to keep her distance whenever I subtly attempted to close the gap.

It was frustrating, but I enjoyed the feeling of walking with her immensely, probably more than I should.

I spotted Neville just leaving the cafeteria, and I called to him, waving my hand to beckon him over.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy hissed to me between clenched teeth, but kept her expression neutral and indifferent.

"I always walk with Neville to Art," I said, waving to Neville again as he looked at us with uncertainty. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Malfoy glanced down at me with irritation, and then at Neville as he made his way over to us.

She kept quiet, turning her head away to look elsewhere — another win.

"All right, mate?" Neville greeted me, and I could tell he was anxious from body language alone. "Malfoy," he nodded.

"Longbottom," Malfoy greeted back shortly.

Neville bit back a smirk and leaned in close to me, taking a big, audible sniff.

"Don't worry, Harry. You don't stink today," he grinned.

My eyes bulged from their sockets, shooting a betrayed look to Neville walking on my left side. My whole face burned a bright, embarrassing red. I didn't think I'd ever been so red in my life, and I could only tell because I could feel it. I hung my head, letting my messy mop of hair flop around me to hide my mortification.

"Don't you think Harry smells good, Malfoy?" Neville grinned.

I could punch him right now.

I peeked through the curtain of my hair at Malfoy walking at my right side. She was stiff, biting her lip and clenching her hands into fists.

Good God. Neville wasn't lying to me, right? I swore I cleaned myself well enough after PE and used enough deodorant, just like the first day I met Malfoy.

Could she just smell me better than anyone else? No one else thought I stank.

"She smells fine," replied Malfoy curtly, but her rigidness suggested otherwise.

She shot Neville and I an odd look, like she thought we were deranged. She turned to her purse with a put-out sigh, rummaging around its contents for something. Then, she pulled out a clear bottle, passing it over to me.

"Here, If you're so worried," she groused.

I almost dropped the — what I now realised was — perfume bottle when our fingers touched. Her skin was shockingly cold, like she'd just buried her hands in snow. Her skin was pale enough to look like snow itself, and the tips of her fingers and knuckles were as pale pink as her cheeks.

Thankfully, I didn't drop the perfume, and I mumbled out an embarrassed thanks.

I looked down at the 100ml bottle; it was simple in its design — clear glass and liquid with a black cap. It was called 'White Coconut,' the scent being coconut, vanilla and amber. I was surprised because I had seen this perfume in Marks and Spencer's, and it was only ten pounds. I would have thought Malfoy would wear disgustingly expensive perfume.

I popped the cap off and sprayed a bit on my jacket sleeve, taking a sniff.

My eyes dilated. It was the exact same perfume Malfoy always wore, the one that had me gasping lungful's to smell more. I sprayed some more all over me.

"I'm keeping this," I said, popping the cap back on and stuffing the perfume inside my bag.

Malfoy gave me an undignified scoff in dismay.

"No, you are not," she scowled, shoving her hand inside my bag to take it back.

Neville rubbed his hand over his mouth to conceal his laughter, shaking his head in amusement. I'm glad he found it funny, embarrassing me like that in front of Malfoy. I wondered when he got so brave.

As we walked together, people turned their heads in surprise at the odd little trio we made, probably never expecting Malfoy to be part of it. Some looked resentful, others looked slightly awed. I found I didn't mind this attention, and actually quite enjoyed people noticing me with Malfoy and Neville. Malfoy looked good with us, I concluded. I almost felt... proud. My head was spinning faster than the cap of my apple Radnor. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised. That always seemed to be the thing with Malfoy — she'd answer a question, only to leave me with more. At least the rain had stopped.

When we reached the Art class, Neville gave me a pat on the back and whispered, "Good luck, mate," as he passed, heading over to his table with Hannah. I should be the one wishing him good luck, but I had a feeling I would need it.

We got out our paints and grabbed provided pots of water and stained aprons. I took the opportunity to ask Malfoy to tie mine at my back. She complied, pulling the string tight into a secure bow. I wanted to tie hers, but she had already done it in a neat bow with nimble fingers and twisted her hair up and out of her face, securing it with a claw clip. Her hair looked good both up and down, and I knew then that she'd look good no matter what she did with her hair and clothes.

"So," I began, clearing my throat, "When are we going out?"

Not on a date.

"Saturday, if you want," Malfoy shrugged, coating her brush in paint. "Or, next weekend when we break up for Easter."

"This Saturday is good," I answered, internally panicking about what the fuck I'm going to wear. "I'm busy next weekend."

"Really?" Malfoy drawled, giving me a side-eye. "What are you up to?"

I fought back a smirk.

"I'm going to Brighton Beach with my friends. Why don't you come with us?"

Malfoy curled her lip in distaste.

"No."

"Why not?" I frowned up at her.

Malfoy didn't say anything, and I simply waited for her response as she began her underpainting, watching her skilful hands coat the page of her sketchbook in dark colours.

"Neville is coming," I said after a while.

"Oh yes," she scoffed with a nasty grin, "I'll be sure to come then, since my new best friend, Longbottom, will."

"Really?" I said in false cheer.

"No."

I looked up at Malfoy through my glasses, pushing them up the bridge of my nose, careful not to get paint on my face, and gave her my best puppy-dog eyes.

"You won't come for me?"

She glared down at me, unimpressed.

"No."

"Fine," I sighed. "This Saturday it is. It's a date."

"No, it's not," Malfoy drawled in a bored tone.

A thought came to me then, and I wasn't prepared for the unadulterated feeling of anger that came with it.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" I asked, keeping my tone low and even with calm curiosity to not give anything away. "Or... a girlfriend?"

This got a smirk from Malfoy.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Yes, I really would.

"I'll tell you if I'm single," I bribed.

"I already know you are," she huffed in amusement. "And painfully so."

"How?" I asked too quickly.

"You told me at lunch, idiot."

Oh, right. But, I could still have a boyfriend, and she wouldn't know.

"Besides, you don't strike me as the type of person to cheat on your partner by going out on dates with a girl you hate," she continued, keeping her cool gaze on her painting. She worked quickly and efficiently.

"I thought you couldn't read me," I reminded.

Malfoy's hand faltered for a second over the page before she readjusted her loose grip on the paintbrush.

"I can't. Just a vague observation. Are you, though?"

"Am I what?"

"The type to cheat?"

"No!" I exclaimed in offence. "I think cheating is stupid."

"I'm very glad we can come to an agreement on something," Malfoy hummed.

"Oh, you are, are you?" I grinned victoriously. She was glad we could agree, so she was glad we could get along, then.

"Don't be obtuse, Potter," Malfoy snarled at my obvious implication. "I despise anyone who disagrees on fundamental things such as that — the bare minimum."

I turned away, back to my own paintings of messy thumbnails of ideas for my final art piece. I still didn't quite know what I wanted.

Malfoy was wrong. Well, sort of. No, I wouldn't cheat. But when it came to Malfoy, I don't think I would trust myself to not be so... invested in her.

"What are you smirking at?" she glared at me with another side-eye.

"Nothing."

"No, do tell."

"Awfully nosey, aren't you?" I observed.

"Terribly so," she agreed easily. "I could say the same for you."

My knee-jerk reaction was to object in offence. But then again...

"Touché," I shrugged shamelessly. "I was just thinking that it's quite nice when you answer my questions. Such a shame you won't answer more."

"I don't owe you any answers."

"I think you owe me some."

"You're quite greedy too," she voiced quietly, more to herself.

"Oh, the double standards," I shook my head in amusement. "What happened to me being difficult to read?"

"You are," Malfoy frowned in frustration. "But you don't do yourself any favours when you pester me like this."

"Well, I don't think I'm that greedy."

I know I am a bit selfish, though.

"And there you go again," Malfoy huffed.

"What?"

"I do wonder what goes on in that brain of yours, Potter. I wonder how you see yourself, compared to how I see you."

My heart thumped.

"How do you see me?"

"An annoying little pipsqueak who won't leave me alone."

"Uhm, excuse you," I snorted, "I'm not that short, and I believe it was you who said you couldn't leave me alone," I reminded with dark satisfaction.

I supposed we couldn't leave each other alone, then. Good. Very good.

"Only because you make me feel something," Malfoy replied with an air of indifference.

My heart thumped again. I wished she wouldn't say such things like that and act like they didn't matter.

"What do I make you feel?"

"Annoyed. Now shut up and do your work."

I was alarmed by how much I wanted to kiss her at that moment and demand she shut me up with a kiss.

I had already, from the moment I'd laid eyes on her, knew that I was attracted to Malfoy. Who wouldn't be?

But now I feel like I'm in uncharted territory. I hadn't expected feelings to get involved, especially not so soon. And I couldn't, for the life of me, pinpoint what feelings. I just knew that one stood out, above all else: selfishness.

I left her be, but not before taking another glance at her painting. It was of the lamb and snake, but something was different about it this time. I unabashedly leaned over to get a better look, squinting my eyes against the darkness of the colours to identify the difference; the pencil lines were hardly visible. Malfoy just leaned back, giving me space to look.

I found it. There was half an apple in the mouth of the lamb, and what looked to be an assortment of one other fruit surrounding the lamb, as if it were on a platter. I wondered where the other half of the apple was.

I leaned back over to my side, not giving a single comment. I took a quick peek at Malfoy, and she was staring back with that same look of frustration and curiosity, most likely wanting to know what I thought of her painting. I didn't entertain an answer.

I opened my bottle of fizzy apple juice, relishing the moment my lips sealed around the edge and the flavour hit my tongue and washed down my throat. I didn't have to look to know Malfoy was watching me, I could just feel her intent gaze boring into me.

It wasn't until near the end of the last period that Malfoy spoke again.

"Does Sirius approve of your bisexuality?"

I was so startled by such the abrupt question, I had to laugh.

"What?" she snapped.

"You're crazy," I giggled in disbelief. "You're the biggest hypocrite and contradictory person I know. How did you even know I was bi?"

"Not that hard to guess," she sneered, looking away from me.

"Oh?" I urged.

"Well, first of all, you didn't correct me."

"Right, but what made you guess?"

"I heard your little conversation with Justin," she commented idly with an arched brow. "You didn't reject him because he was a guy. It wasn't that hard to hear with you two shouting through the window like that."

I let out a subtle sigh of relief that my friends hadn't gone spreading my 'secret' around. I still felt pissed off that Malfoy had even heard Justin's Prom proposal.

"Fair enough," I bit out.

"Now that I answered your question, answer mine," she demanded self-righteously.

"Nosey and bossy. Got it," I nodded to myself at the observation. "Why do you even want to know?"

It took all of three seconds for her to answer.

"Just curious."

I looked up at her again, examining her (annoyingly perfect) side profile and pensive expression.

"Well, yes, he does," I said. "He's gay himself."

"Really?" Malfoy quipped, snapping her head to me with interest.

"Mhm."

Malfoy turned away again. Her hand holding the paintbrush (which I had noticed she sometimes swapped hands — she must be ambidextrous) dropped, resting against the tabletop as she stared off into space, deep in thought.

"That's nice," she hummed quietly.

"Mhm."

Based on her intriguing reaction, I couldn't help but wonder if Malfoy was having her own little sexuality crisis at home, where her family wasn't accepting. As much as I wanted to ask, I didn't feel it was appropriate right now.

"And how is Sirius?"

I frowned up at her.

"What do you mean?"

"How is he doing? Like, in family and health and all that?" she elaborated casually, resuming her painting.

"He's fine," I answered, confused. "I mean, I don't know much about his family, and he doesn't really have one of his own, so..." I trailed off, shrugging unsurely. "Why?"

"Just curious."

"Odd thing to be curious about," I commented.

"Not really. It doesn't hurt to be polite and ask how one's family is doing."

"So you're polite now?" I smirked derisively. "Did you find that book about manners, then?"

"Do shut up, Potter."

“No, now it's my turn to ask about your family,” I retorted to distract her. “It’s got to be a much more interesting story than mine.”

She was instantly cautious. “What do you want to know?”

“Dr Snape adopted you?” I verified.

“Yes.”

I hesitated for a moment. “What happened to your parents?”

“They died many years ago.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

"Me too," she said quietly, then caught herself. "And, of course, I'm sorry about your parents, as well."

I couldn't suppress the chortle I let out. So vain.

"Cheers. And, If you don't mind me asking, what about your cousin Luna?"

"I do mind you asking," she enunciated with a hard glance, eyes cold and demeanour suddenly closed off.

I had finally found something that had crossed a boundary and struck a nerve.

"I'm sorry," I apologised quickly but with sincerity.

"Just don't ask again. Or about my brothers and sister," she commanded with a hard edge.

"I won't. Sorry again."

I shrunk in on myself with guilt, chastising myself for my audacity.

I was quiet for a long time, not wanting to bother Malfoy again and, surprisingly, not wanting to upset her. Why should I care? I liked it when she was angry with me.

But, I guessed that there were just some things that went too far, and incited negative emotions I'd rather not feel and have projected toward me. There was a limit to this little thing Malfoy and I shared. I had to accept that.

Noticing this, Malfoy sighed.

"You can ask another question, to make up for it."

I looked up at her beside me.

"You know what I'm going to ask," I said, eyes narrowed, referring to the car accident.

"Not that one," she cut off with a vague eye roll.

I thought about something else to ask, but there was so much. So many mysteries I wanted solved, but didn't at the same time, because I quite enjoyed the air of mystery around Malfoy. It made her seem unattainable — not that she wasn't already, with looks and attitude like hers. But she wore mystery well.

That didn't stop me from wanting to be in on it — the only one who knew everything about her and all her dirty little secrets.

"Why do you hate me?" I settled on. "I mean, you looked so angry with me on my first day here. Did I do something wrong?" I asked, pushing down the insecurity in my tone.

Malfoy froze mid-stroke of her brush. She gripped the paintbrush harder minutely, but the hard flex of her hand tendons beneath translucent skin was unmistakable.

"Your glasses repulsed me," she said simply.

"I was expecting an honest answer," I glared, grinding my teeth.

"I was honest."

"I don't believe you hate me because of my glasses," I combatted, "and, to be honest, I don't believe you hate my glasses either."

Malfoy exhaled through her nose like a disturbed dragon. I could practically see the smoke emitting from her nostrils.

Maybe that was what she really was — a dragon in disguise.

"I was just having a bad day," she admitted with irritation. She quickly glanced down at me before adding, "And because you stank of sweat."

My whole body seized up with overwhelming mortification, and a cold sweat broke out across my forehead, my palms growing clammy.

"Oh my god," I breathed out, my eyes wide with horror. I rubbed my palms down my cargo's, leaning away from Malfoy. "Do I stink now?"

"No," she said, the corners of her mouth flicking with a suppressed smirk. "The perfume helped."

"I'm so sorry!" I spluttered, shuffling my chair as far away from her as possible.

"It's fine," she waved off dismissively.

"No, I really-"

"Potter, it's fine," she said seriously, leaning toward me to communicate her sincerity with her eyes and pulling my chair back to where it was before, making me yelp and almost topple over.

"It was only because you had just done PE," she continued, turning away to resume painting. "Besides, I have an unfortunately keen sense of smell. No one else could probably smell you, so don't worry about it," she shrugged elegantly.

But she could. Malfoy could smell me, and that was infinitely worse. Dammit, Neville!

I once again had that awful urge to shrivel up and die. And still, I had the gall to ask, "Are we still on for Saturday?"

Please say yes, please say yes.

Malfoy giggled. An actual humoured laugh that wasn't mocking or teasing. My heart melted at the angelic tinkle of sound, and I prayed to God that I would stop fucking sweating.

"Yes, Potter." My body instantly relaxed. "We are still on for Saturday."

The bell rang, signalling the end of the day.

Everyone rushed to pack up, including Malfoy, taking her claw clip out and shaking her hair out in silky platinum rivulets, and I quickly scrambled to grab my phone.

"Uhm, I'll text you the address," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat as I unlocked my phone and clicked to add a new contact.

I handed my phone to her, and she took it carefully, making sure we didn't touch.

I heard the keys click as she tapped away, adding her contact into my phone for me to treasure and obsess over. Because that is exactly what I'd be doing, and probably spam her once I felt confident enough again.

She lifted the phone up, snapping a picture of herself before she passed my phone back to me. I took it, looking down at her contact reading '🎀Malfoy🎀' and the profile picture she had just taken. Perfect and insanely photogenic, of course.

I looked up at her again, and she was staring back at me, one hand leaning against the table and her hip cocked.

I didn't know why I was expecting her to say anything — a 'goodbye,' or a 'see you tomorrow' perhaps — but she didn't. She simply waltzed around me, strutting off.

"Ciao," I mumbled, waving at her back.

She glanced over her shoulder at me as she walked away, and her smile was enough to melt icecaps.

I took another swig of my apple juice.