"That was Francine on the phone."

"Oh, shit," was all I could say back.

That, of course, was the moment I realised that maybe, just maybe, I'd screwed up big time.

I stared at her, she stared at me. There was a predatory gleam in her eyes, and I couldn't help thinking that that was most definitely not how a mother should look at her daughter. In that instance, I feared for my life. Truly. But then a different look shone in her eyes, one that was perhaps even worse. The 'thinking' look. And suddenly I was really, really worried. This was typical of my Mother, she'd have an idea, think it over thoroughly and firmly make up her mind in the space of about two seconds. And this looked set to be one of those times. Shit. So, what had she decided?

"We're moving back to England." Wait, what?

"Nooo..." I said, drawing out the syllable, confusion slapped across my face.

"Yes." She nodded firmly to prove her point.

"No!"

"I'm your Mother, I get final say. And that say is yes."

Well, that was my life ruined.

So. England. Yeah.

All I have to say is that our house is gorgeous. So far, that's been the one good thing about London. Hell, about England in general. Well, that and the guys. Who knew that London was hiding all the completely gorgeous guys in the world? I mean, not that I'm looking or anything, but every time I step outside of our house I can easily find at least three smoking hot guys to ogle at any one point in time. Honestly, I mean any time. Like right now; cute blonde dude walking his dog, hot guy with glasses standing outside the house next to ours and one of the guys Mum hired to carry our furniture. His name was Vladimir and he was from, you guessed it, Russia. Best accent ever.

So, it was my first day in London, and I was standing outside our new house grappling with a huge box destined for my brand-spanking new bedroom. I wasn't sure what exactly it contained. The box, I mean. It had just been the first one I could find in the truck that had my name written on the top. From the weight of it, it was my books, or at least, some of them.

Finally managing to get a steady grip on it, I walked up to the gleaming white door of my new home. Home. What a strange word. But yes, I was determined to call it that, even if this (admittedly beautiful) house didn't feel like it yet. Moving away from New Zealand was hard, but I was determined to make the best of the situation.

Sighing, I looked behind me and smiled at Mum, who was talking with the guy in the moving truck. She caught my eye and gave me a tight lipped smile back, which was the only type of one I'd been getting from her lately, because of the whole 'sex-drugs-partying' thing. That was the entire reason we moved here, after all. I couldn't even be mad at her for being angry at me, because I know she's right... That's definitely the worst part.

But anyway, because I know I did some pretty messed up things, I made a list of rules that I have decided to follow to the letter. These especially apply to school (which I start tomorrow), so I must follow them all day every day. And I will, because, strange as it may sound, I don't want to let my Mother down again. So my rules are as follows;

1) Do not get involved with any guys. This was the main reason Mum had freaked out, because she found out about all my previous boyfriends and that most people called me a slut behind my back. I deserved it too, so I've decided to not be a tease. I will not sleep with, date, or even so much as flirt with any male at Hogwarts.

2) Do not go to any parties. Ever. Just don't.

3) Stop smoking. Pretty self-explanatory, I guess. I know that smoking is terrible for you, but it's also very addictive, obviously.

4) Stop drinking. Again, pretty simple.

5) Make proper friends. I'd only had one good friend in New Zealand, and she'd ended up stabbing me in the back. So, I'm going to pick my friends a tad more carefully.

6) Try out for the Quidditch team. My school back in New Zealand had a pathetic team, and I didn't bother joining as I knew it was a lost cause. I played a lot of Quidditch with my Dad when I was growing up, though, so I'm pretty good. Flying's one of my passions.

I feel like there should be more rules for me to follow, but I can only think of six. Oh well. I'll add to it as I go.

Shoving open the door with my backside, I gasped when I saw the interior of our house. It was even more beautiful from the inside than out.

The first room you walked into was small, with gleaming marble floors and crisp white walls. The marble flooring continued out into what could only be called a grand entrance room. And oh my god there were staircases. Two of them, curling up on either side of a kind of platform that overhangs over the room slightly. Well, all the bedrooms were upstairs, which was where I needed to go, so I walked in wonderment over to the stairs and began my ascent. I felt like royalty.

My room, I discovered, was the only room in the house that didn't have white walls. While I was somewhat glad about that, I was dismayed to see that they were orange, which was actually my least favourite colour. My bed had already been set up in one corner, and I dropped the box onto it before walking to the window seat. Yes, I said window seat. Mum had managed to transfigure the house a bit, and it was nice to know that she'd listened when I asked for a nice sunny place to read. Although 'sunny' might be a stretch seeing as we're in England and all. Sitting, I gazed out of the window, and realised I was staring straight into someone else's house. Well. Not the best view. Maybe ten metres away was the house of our next door neighbours, the Peters, I think Mum had said. I sighed and sat in the seat, resting my head on the glass and staring at the sky. Overcast. It was always sunny in New Zealand. Hardly ever rained. Here, it was the opposite.

Dinner that night was a horrible affair. Mum had thought it was a good idea to invite some of Dads colleagues from the Ministry over, so we were stuck at a table with prissy purebloods who were subtly rude to us the entire evening. The Malfoys, they were called. I only remember their name because I was thinking that it sounded like 'malformed', or 'malfunction', which are both words with negative connotations. Their family was a negative connotation, alright, and I think they were trying to set me up with their son. His name was... What was it? Lucian, maybe? Merlin I'm bad with names. But he was devastatingly handsome, so I was polite to him throughout the evening. When I excused myself, his parents sent him up with me 'to help me pack'; as that was the excuse I'd used to get away. Mum looked worried, but she couldn't be rude. It was true, though; I needed to pack for my new school, (yay) Hogwarts, which started the next day. I would be flooing with Mum to King's Cross and catching some kind of train out into the middle of no-where, or wherever the school was, so I didn't have a lot of time to pack. I hadn't even settled in yet and I was leaveing already.

Pulling out my huge suitcase from the closet I'd only just filled, I turned to the Malfoy boy with a polite smile on my face. I couldn't help but imagine him topless for a second.

"So," I asked. "Did you go to Hogwarts?"

"Yes," he practically purred. "I finished a few years ago, actually."

"Oh," I said. So he was quite a bit older... Oh well, I could deal with that. "Is it... Nice, there?" He tweaked an eyebrow up at me, leaning on the doorframe and folding his arms. So much for helping me pack.

"It can be, if you're friends with the right people." I glanced at him knowingly. My old school had been just like that. Popularity was everything, and if you weren't 'cool', the ones who were would make your life a living hell.

"Right." I said bluntly. While I sorted through my clothes, wondering which would be good to bring, I searched my mind for another conversation starter. "Oh," I said suddenly. "My Mum said you get sorted into Houses?" I looked at Malfoy quizzically.

"Yes," He said smoothly. "There's four Houses, each which value a different set of skills. Believe it or not, a talking hat decides which House you get put into." I raised my eyebrows at him and he smirked back at me. That was definitely a good smirk. I noticed he'd taken a step closer, he was no longer leaning in the door frame but standing only a handful of steps away.

"Well, that should be fun." I didn't bother asking anything else, Mum would tell me or I'd just find out when I got there. I turned my attention back to my clothes, trying to ignore the blonde guy getting steadily closer. I forced myself not to look at him, telling myself that I would not do anything at all to break my no.1 rule.

"How old are you, Gracie?" I looked at him sharply, warning him off with my eyes. I must stick to my rules! I stepped towards him, folding my arms across my chest and taking an angry stance. He just looked amused.

"I'm only sixteen," I said coldly.

"Well, I'm only nineteen," he said seductively. His sleek blonde hair trailed down to his shoulders and his ice-blue eyes were staring straight into mine, gleaming with triumph. I noticed I'd leaned in towards him and dropped my arms, no longer looking angry. He knew he had me. Brushing a hand across my cheek, he pulled me closer with the other, wrapping it firmly around my waist. Oh god.

"Gracie," I heard my Mother call. I leapt away from Malfoy, just as she walked into the room. "Come and say goodbye to our guests."

"Ok," I muttered. Malfoy walked out after her and I followed, trying to calm my blushing cheeks.

After all the pleasant goodbyes had been exchanged, Mum turned to me.

"Lucius seemed nice," she said, plainly suspecting something.

"Oh, that was his name?" I said innocently. "He was ok, I guess." She seemed satisfied with that, and wandered off after my Father.

I went up to my room and finished packing, a lot on my mind.