Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Note: Like SHMAH, this story is one that I'd already started writing. When I gave up with Quizilla (because, you see—it's now over run with stories like, "I GOT KIDNAPPED BY A VAMPIRE STALKER WHO IS MY BROTHERS BEST FRIEND AND NOW I'M IN LOVE WITH HIM?" or something like, "I HAVE AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE WITH THIS RICH GUY I'VE NEVER MET, AND I HATE IT, BUT I LOVE HIM.") I was on part twenty-ish on this story. It's one that I'm very partial to, because I'm in love with Draco Malfoy. :D
So, I decided to give it a new face, and this is that new face. I hope to finish it this time around, too.
This takes place after the sixth book. I think that's important to know. :)
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"Hayley—why in god's name are you not getting ready?" My mother entered my room holding a large garment bag, she laid it carefully over the bed—then sat another bag on the bed, in which I assumed my shoes were in, then turned to me, "I do not understand why you are sitting at that vanity—with wet hair!" She placed a manicured hand on her forehead, "You're trying to hurt my nerves, aren't you?"
"I wouldn't imagine doing such a thing, Mother." I replied rather coldly, "And to be frank, I just stepped out of the shower about three minutes ago."
She clutched her robe tighter to her chest, the rollers in her hair protruding from her scalp at odd angles, "The ball is in an hour, young lady. As your season begins tonight, you will be ready to meet your father in fifty minutes, am I clear?"
I sighed, "Yes, Mother. Crystal." She moved the corners of her lips, in what was a cruel smile.
"Beautiful." Then, turning she left me alone.
The ball was the oldest and most traditional form of punishment. Every teenage girl was presented to pureblood society upon coming of age, and as I had turned seventeen a little less than a month ago, it was now my turn to be presented to society as the debutante that I was. Everyone who mattered in the wizarding society would be here. Pureness of blood was something that needed to be taken into effect. It was practically written on the invitation. I did not even know what my dress looked like—of course, I should not have any say in what it looks like. That would be ridiculous. Trophy women are not supposed to think for themselves (Something that I can never understand nor grasp the concept of).
I picked up my wand and flicked it over my hair. Instantly dry—the stupid muggles could not do that. No, they'd have to spend hours—and in no way would it look as good as mine did. My ridiculously curly hair laid in thick ringlets, nearly to my waist, I leaned over the edge of my vanity, my face nearly pressing against the glass. I was drop dead gorgeous. My tresses were glossy and shiny, my eyes were rounded, and looked slightly surprised. My lips were gentle pink, and in a perfect pucker. My skin nothing but ivory and roses.
I began pulling back pieces from the left side of my part, leaving the right side down and hanging free, pinning them into place with tiny bobby pins. Finishing, I snapped in my antique serpent hair clip—adorned with emeralds and onyx (a family heirloom, of course). It was my personal tribute to the only house worth attributing to—Salazar Slytherin.
I then picked up the crèmes and powders necessary to creating a flawless look. Mudblood's did not spend time on their appearance—and they should. Especially mudblood granger. Her hair looked worse than road kill. Offense, meant.
I cleaned up my ivory skin—letting just enough blush show through on my cheeks for a charming look—and then fixated on my eyes. My wide, multicolored eyes. A ring of green around the pupil, the middles a sea foam blue, and the edges honey brown. I applied dark shadow, making my deep-set eyes even more round—I was such a knock out.
I finished by swiping red lip stick over my lips that put that pureblood turned mudblood lover, Angelina Jolie to shame. I stood up, and walked over to my dress, the moment of arrival was here at last. I only hoped mother hadn't gotten a dress that was too revealing. I only liked the classics.
Unzipping the garment bag, I realized that she hadn't done me any shame. I carefully slid the dress off the hanger, and even more carefully over my head. I zipped up the side and regarded myself in the floor length mirror.
It was black silk—and fit my body snugly. The straps were about an inch thick, and sat dangerously far on my shoulders. The neckline was a sweetheart—and dipped low enough, but not too low. The dress hugged my hips gracefully, and flared out around my calves.
I turned to the side, admiring the back. The dress plunged down treacherously low. Yet, I appeared to be completely covered.
I fished in the bag for shoes, and jewelry—and the must have accessory for every ball—gloves.
For shoes, I had a pair of retro looking things in shiny black—that had been the height of fashion for the last few weeks. I found a diamond necklace—something that merely draped, and hung down low. But no gloves were in the bag. I quickly hooked the necklace—careful of my hair and marched over to my mother's room.
"Yes, Darling?" She inquired as it came to her attention that I was standing in her doorway.
"You've forgotten my gloves."
"No, Silly. You mustn't wear gloves."
"What?" I snapped. That was an outrage—a scandal!
"I want everyone in that room to see your new tattoo." She took my left hand, and twisted it, my palm facing the ceiling.
I looked down at the skull and serpent intertwined, burning in black onto my flesh. My dark mark—I had been a death eater for two weeks now.
"Mother, that's not a good idea. I'm supposed to be elegant and charming this evening."
"Yes, you are supposed to catch everyone's attention and make him or her talk about you. Do not forget—coming out in society is more than just your father and I parading you around in front of boys. You are very much not only wooing them—but their parents as well. I do not know a single mother that would not be impressed about your new tattoo. It is the mother's that you need to worry about, darling. For they very seldom want to let go of their little boys." She focused her eyes on me, as some hair prodigy worked with her flaxen waves.
I'd inherited daddy's raven curls. Much to mother's dismay, and to my own pleasure.
I let out a long sigh, "I wish I was still with Grand Mummy in France," I muttered, turning to leave the room, "She wouldn't have paraded me like some kind of prize."
"I'm doing what's best for you, Hayley, There is nothing wrong with that." Her voice floated into the hall as I gently shut it.
I'd spent the last six years in France—with my dearest Grand Mummy. After Emma had ran off with the mudblood, they had had the hardest time adjusting. Who would blame them? They left the country, and vacationed for a year on Isle Elladora. When they got back, they moved back into the old house in England, and I liked beauxbatons, so I stayed.
It had been so odd to be back here, and I wasn't exactly adjusting well. I did not have the friends that I had been accumulating my entire life. I did not really have anyone. Mum and Dad had Pansy around a few days ago, hoping the girlish festivities of past between us would once again ensue. It was typical for me to have attended the balls that have passed—yet, I had not. I had been far away in France, and I had not been to one of the pureblood soirees since I was eleven. I was now seventeen.
"Knock, Knock, Knock," My father entered—his dress robes, black and emerald. Of course, heritage must be paid, "Ready, hun?"
I tried not to chew on my lip nervously as I walked to greet him by my door. These heels were amazing! I felt as if I were barefoot...
"I need my shoes," I lifted my dress to reveal my bare feet, "I guess I forgot."
"Better put those on, Darling." I giggled, and nodded, slipping my feet into the brand new—and completely unbroken in heels. I would definitely be regretting that in the morning, "You look gorgeous." I shrugged.
"What can I say, Daddy? I try."
Our mansion, was of course, equipped with an elaborate ball room. With entrances on two floors. There, against the north facing wall, was a wide staircase made for elaborate entrances—any family that was worth anything made their entrance from here.
Tonight, that is where I would be entering from.
My father rapped a hand on the knocker, and then we heard the rumble on the other side quiet down as the doorman called our introduction, "Now, the event you've been waiting for. Archibald Bennett, and his daughter—Aphrodite Morgana Hayley Bennett."
The wide doors opened and I started down the stairs. I was very conscious of the fact that everyone in the room was staring at me, and I couldn't help but smirk. I heard gasps, and the low murmurs at the appearance of me.
After spending four years in France, I had been labeled as an outcast—there had to be some reason that I was hiding, after all. Perhaps it was webbed feet.
My mother automatically pulled me away from my father and led me to the arranged group of women—the Mother's, doubtlessly.
"I would like to reintroduce you to Hayley, Hayley, darling, some of these women I believe you'll remember, this is Narcissa Malfoy," She pointed the first woman, wearing deep emerald, her blonde hair pulled back and into a neat bun, she smiled sweetly. She was Draco's mother; I did remember that. How could I not?
"Don't be silly—like I don't remember Hayley Bennett? My son's little friend?" She gave me a polite smile, "How are you doing, Darling?"
"I'm fine, thanks." I replied already feeling awkward. It had been so long since I'd seen her...I didn't know how to feel. How do I react to the woman who used to be like a mother to me?
"This is Bellatrix," my mother pointed to the next woman.
"Bella!" I squealed, "It's been so long since I've seen you!"
"It's been too long, darling, and you're more beautiful than ever. How's your Grand Mummy doing?" My Grand Mother—was Rodolphus' aunt.
"She's doing great, Bella. You two have not been by in almost a year! I've missed you!" I gave her a hug, careful not to ruin my hair—or hers.
"I've missed you too, darling." She replied in her deep, husky voice, a smile alight on her face. She held my hands and looked at me, "You can have any boy in this room, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And darling, choose wisely. And by wisely—I mean my Draco, so then you can be related to me." I laughed lightly.
"Merlin's beard, Is that really...?" A woman with thick bangs asked, staring at my upturned forearms.
"Yes, Kristin, it's a dark mark." Bella's smile was wider, and the other mother's pressed in to gaze down at it.
"She's barely of age—and already?"
"She must be positively extraordinary!"
"She is!" Was that Narcissa?
"What a delight! I should go introduce her to Blaise, surely..."
"No, Elle, that won't be needed, I need to introduce her to Urquhart."
"Nonsense, We all know that she's dying to meet Caradoc."
"What would she want with your blunderer of a son? He's less intelligent than a mountain troll!"
"He received three OWLs."
"My son only received one OWL. Quite a disappointment."
"Hayley, Darling, let me take you to meet my son."
"She's meeting my son first, right, Hayley?"
"Oh, Hush—she'll meet all of them, calm down." My mother arraigned the group of gossipers, "She'll meet them on her own, as need to be done. Go off with your own age, Hayley, Really—I'll see you later. Those of you who'd like to introduce her to your sons may do so in half an hour's time. As the nature of these things, let us see who approaches her first." She smiled sweetly at me, and pushed me off into the direction of the assembled teenagers, I walked over to Pansy—the first familiar face.
"God, Hay—I feel out of place standing next to you." I looked over Pansy, her dark hair was curled much like the silent film era, and she wore a simple, strapless black dress. "It's like a hit to my self esteem."
"Ha-Ha, You're so amusing, really."
"And you, are drop dead gorgeous." I looked up at my suitor—dark wavy hair, six foot three? Smoldering brown eyes and a half smile that could charm even someone who was half frozen. "I'm Marcus Flint," He held out his hand, "And you must be?"
I burst out laughing. "You really don't recognize me?"
"I would remember you, if I ever did lay eyes upon you." He replied.
"Flint, its Boobless Bennett," I replied smirking, "How could you have forgotten me?"
"I didn't forget you, persé," he kept the smile plastered onto his face; "I just didn't recognize you. Boobless Bennett," He let his eyes wander down, "That, you are no more."
I frowned, "Charming, Flint, truly charming." Rolling my eyes, I turned from him and back to pansy—easily dismissing him, "I can't believe I have to be here." She smiled.
"It'll be alright. You're a natural at telling them to sod off."
"So it's true that you're back, Bennett?" I turned to find the face that matched that voice.
"Clearly, Malfoy." I replied.
"Welcome back."
I told myself to calm down, when I'd seen his face my stomach had dropped. My heart had stopped beating in my chest, and my cheeks inflamed with embarrassment. Draco Archibald Malfoy, it had been six years. Feelings grow and change after six years, but I felt as besotted as ever, just from looking at his face (Yes, Archibald—Lucius and my father were quite the friends, in fact, My father's first born son was supposed to have the middle name Lucius. However, my father never sired any sons).
Draco Archibald Malfoy, a person that I'd refused myself to think of, I'd refused myself to talk to this whole time.
I thought that it this strange, giddy feeling would be gone. I was eleven when I last saw him. Infatuations die...
Yet, just looking at him was painful, it brought up all the memories that I had repressed for the last six years. Memories I'd repressed every second of the last 2,200-ish days.
I was going to need champagne to make this night bearable.
"Thomas Urquhart," a broad faced boy with sandy hair introduced himself, "And this," He handed me a glass of champagne, "Is for you. Achanté," He picked up my left hand and kissed the back of it, noticing the mark on my arm and rose an eyebrow, "Very impressing," He commented.
"Merci beacoup." I grinned.
"What? Are you really marked?" Draco asked, turning my arm over impatiently. I noticed Pansy look at me longingly—no doubt she was jealous. I had a crowd of about ten boys, only three of which I knew.
"Yes, Malfoy—not that it is any of your business. But yes, I have been marked by the dark lord." I finished smugly.
"So have I, Bennett." He replied, hoisting his jacket to show me an identical mark.
"This doesn't make us equals, Malfoy." I teased. "Put that away before you hurt someone."
"You are the most spectacular creature I've ever seen in my life," Another boy—this one black with high cheekbones appraised, "I'm Blaise Zabini."
I nodded, "I think I've met you before."
"I'm Caradoc Nevelson," A boy with a dark brow stepped forward, "I'm from Bulgaria."
"And I'm," a boy next to him grinned, "Viktor Krum—I accompanied Caradoc here. I assume you've heard of me?"
"No," I teased, smirking, "I don't think I have. Victor Crumb, did you say?"
"Krum." He emphasized.
"Oh, Krum—you're a quidditch player, right?" I asked.
"I play for Bulgaria."
"Pity, I'm a puddlemere united fan."
"Only because she thinks that Oliver Wood is sexy," Pansy affirmed. I felt my cheeks reddening.
"I do not." I hissed, shaking my head, and taking a sip from my glass.
"You do too."
"Then the pity is mine—" Flint acknowledged.
"Why?" I asked.
"Your heart belongs to that Mudblood," He leaned down, staring deep into my eyes, "And not to me."
I felt my heart flustering—most likely due to the champagne, "Oh," I remarked, "Well, You see—he doesn't have my heart. I just think he's attractive," I confirmed, "For a dirty mudblood." I smirked.
He smiled down at me, and I felt my heart leap erratically.
Who knew that Marcus Flint would grow up and turn into such a hottie...