Author's Note: This is my very first fanfiction story, so I ask that you readers go gently on me. I'm wanting to produce stories where traditionally male characters are portrayed as female. I'm finding a distinct lack of F/F fanfic that makes sense, so this is my attempt. Read, rate, or ignore, but please don't curse me out. :P

Draco Dresia Malfoy had just kicked Harry Potter in the face after covering him with his own invisibility cloak, and damn did it feel good. Dres had never gotten the opportunity to truly take out her hatred on the Boy Who Lived in a way that was as satisfying as the methods she used now. 'Muggle violence is more satisfying then cursing, it appears', Dres thought to herself.

After giving the invisible form of Harry a small sneer, she quickly walked off the train, happy that everybody had already departed except for the struggling first years who were rushing to finish putting on the last part of their robes as they ran off the Hogwarts Express. Allowing herself one more sneer, she walked past them with the grace of a pureblood, but it was a grace she didn't feel. Her snow-white hair was braided into an elegant bun that sat atop her head, and her face had a few glamour charms to hide the near purple bruised bags under her eyes from lack of proper rest. She had to learn the glamour charms from her mother, in order to hide the effects of the hell that was her home caused her. It wouldn't do to be the richest pureblood in wizarding society and look like a hag.

She shifted her eyes upwards as she made her way to the carriage, the imposing sight of Hogwarts herself in the near distance, filling her with a sense of safety she hadn't felt in weeks. Hagrid was calling all the first years towards the lake, where the fresh blood would take the boat ride to Hogwarts, and make a lasting impression on them all.

She shifted her sleeve absently, suddenly remembering she was returning to Hogwarts an undercover Deatheater. Dresia never hated herself more in that moment then she had before. Nausea rolled tightly in her stomach as she boarded an empty carriage, hoping nobody would enter, and if they did, that her mask would maintain its perfected arrogance. She especially hoped that neither Crabbe nor Goyle would board the carriage. The last thing she needed was her so called protectors that her father assigned her to see her in any way unsettled.

Luck was not with Dres on this evening, however, because in came the mudblood Hermione Granger and the blubbering oaf Ronald Bilius Weasley. On an average day, Dresia would have sneered and made a smart remark about the lack of money the Weasley family possessed, or perhaps snidely insulted Hermione. Yet, she just couldn't seem to muster up the effort.

"This carriage is taken", she said simply, hoping beyond hope they would behave disgusted and file out to avoid her. She had no such luck.

"Did you bloody buy it, Malfoy?", Ronald retorted back, a disgusted hate filled look on his face.

Dresia cocked an eyebrow ever so slightly, "Perhaps I did. It does have my name on it, afterall." With a flourish of her wand that she slipped out of her arm holster, she wrote her full name on the roof of the carriage, smirking cockily. This, of course, caused Ron to turn a bright flaming red in anger. He moved to withdraw his wand, but halted when Hermione touched his arm.

"We aren't leaving, Draco. The other carriages are taken. Do ignore us, and perhaps work on your glamours. They are looking a bit sloppy", said Hermione, a deadpan expression on her face which gave nothing away of her true emotions on the situation. Dres sneered menacingly, but decided the fight wasn't worth it.

She got up and slipped out of the carriage just before they began to move, deciding riding with a buffoon and a know-it-all would just cause her ever short temper to snap. She would rather walk up the Hogwarts grounds herself then waste her precious time arguing with them.

Little did Dres know, Hermione Granger had followed her with her eyes as Dres walked out of the carriage, and she was analyzing every detail she had noted about the infamous Draco Dresia Malfoy. The sloppy glamours, the forced arrogance, and the way she carried herself as if her very soul was defeated. Hermione would never admit it to Harry or Ron, but she felt a twinge of concern for Draco. The budding woman had always been so put together with flawless makeup, a natural arrogance swagger that only came from a pureblood, and no hesitation to pick fights at every interaction with the famous Golden Trio of Gryffindor. Yet, for some reason, she had retreated in a manner very unlike her presented personality.

'How curious', Hermione thought.