Octavia reclined in the bench seat by the window, her curls tied into a high pony-tail as she gazed at the passing scenery. It was her favourite part of travelling on the Hogwarts Express, hands down. The view. The train whizzed through the forestry and nature of Britain, Octavia watching it all blur by through the square window.

Hermione sat opposite her, a copy of Hogwarts A History open in her lap as she read absorbedly. Octavia couldn't even guess how many times Ninny had read that blasted book. Harry and Ron sat beside Hermione, both of them indulging in a game of Exploding Snap. The cards were surrounded by sweet wrappers and the residue crumbs of the pumpkin pasties they had greedily consumed earlier in the journey.

As Harry and Ron were not Octavia's biggest fans – something that had not changed over their seven years at Hogwarts – they barely conversed with her during the journey. In fact, they expertly ignored her for the vast majority of the time, pretending that she wasn't even in the compartment with them. They had only acknowledged her when the food-trolley came by, and Harry had asked if she wanted anything. She had grown accustomed to their treatment of her over the year, though. But it still send pangs of rejection through her at times.

Octavia's head snapped to the side as the compartment door was wrenched open, Lovely Luna appearing at the threshold. A smile graced Octavia's plump pink lips at seeing her friend, grateful for the pleasant company that she would provide. While Octavia thoroughly enjoyed becoming engrossed in the scenery of the Highlands that they were now passing, a little conversation would be delightful in that moment. For not a soul had spoken to her in the two hours since Hermione opened her favourite book.

"Hello," Luna chimed, entering the compartment as she clutched a stack of magazines against her chest.

The boys grunted in a gesture of greeting, not tearing their eyes away from their apparently fascinating game of exploding snap. Hermione didn't even blink, for she was much too absorbed in her reading it seemed.

"Hey," Octavia smiled, glancing at the magazines briefly. "The Quibbler?"

"Yes," Luna nodded, seating herself beside Octavia. "Released this morning, actually. Father printed a rather interesting article about wrackspurts."

"Really?" Octavia responded, feigning interest in the rag.

Luna nodded, placing the stack of magazines on the seat before correcting the crumbled hem of her atrocious yellow skirt.

The boys erupted into a mixture of cheers and boos as Harry triumphed in their card game, Hermione emitting an irritated sigh as she snapped her book shut dramatically.

"Do you mind?" Hermione hissed, the boys not even registering that she spoke.

Octavia rolled her eyes as Harry goaded Ron, the latter of the two turning red out of annoyance at his failure.

"Oh Luna," Hermione smiled, having just noticed her friend's presence. "How are you?"

"Good, thank you." Luna responded warmly as the boys reset their game, Ron grumbling under his breath.

"What a lovely dress," Hermione commented, Octavia seeing the lie in her brown eyes.

"Thank you," Luna smiled, glancing down at her fluorescent yellow attire, scattered with images of lemons and plums. An odd combination, Octavia mused disapprovingly.

"Where were you?" Octavia asked, changing the topic from the crime against fashion.

"Hm?" Luna hummed, meeting her friend's curious hazel orbs.

"In the train," Octavia explained. "Where were you?"

"Oh, I was with Neville." Luna answered, Octavia grinning widely in response.

"How is Neville?" Hermione asked pleasantly.

"Yeah, Luna." Octavia winked. "How is your lover?"

"He's not her lover, O." Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes as Luna blushed lightly.

"Coulda fooled me." Octavia smirked deviously. "It would explain Luna's absence for the past five hours."

Luna cleared her throat, her cheeks bright red as the boys began to eavesdrop obviously.

"What happened Luna?" Octavia teased. "Did you make good use of the storage compartment, huh?"

"No," Luna muttered, her face the colour of a tomato. "We were discussing the wrackspurt article, if you must know."

"Sure you were," Octavia nodded, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"What about you, O?" Hermione interrupted.

"What about me?" Octavia frowned. "I've been here the whole time."

"Did you tell Luna about your little encounter with Cedric Diggory?" Hermione asked politely, her brown eyes twinkling.

"Yeah," Octavia shrugged casually.

"Oh," Hermione nodded, looking a little put out. "Well, ok then."

Octavia grinned, relishing in Hermione's failed attempt to embarrass her. She had certainly missed the regular company of her two closest friends.

"What's this about Diggory?" Ron asked, frowning as he glanced between the three girls.

"Octavia and Cedric ran into one another at the Leaky Cauldron last week," Luna explained, her voice singing like a wind-chime.

"So?" Harry frowned, the boys not grasping the implications in the slightest.

"O fancies him," Hermione stated casually, placing her hefty book in her bag that lay at her feet.

"I don't," Octavia scowled, her cheeks flushing lightly.

"Oh, come on." Hermione scoffed, zipping her bag shut. "You've fancied him since he bought you an ice-cream in Hogsmeade."

"I have not," Octavia gasped, appearing thoroughly offended.

"A Slytherin fancying a Hufflepuff?" Ron scoffed, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Harry laughed. "If that's true, then I'm not the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Octavia scowled, finding their prejudicial views against her house quite offensive.

"No offense," Harry shrugged. "But … well, you're a Slytherin."

"Good observation, Captain Obvious." Octavia rolled her eyes.

"Well, come on." Harry laughed. "As if a Slytherin would pay any attention to a Hufflepuff."

"Why not?" Hermione asked, glaring at Harry.

"Slytherins hate everyone." Ron stated as though it were obvious. "Especially Hufflepuffs."

"I don't hate any house," Octavia scowled at the two boys. "It's rude to stereotype, you know. Not all Slytherins are bad. But you would know that if you just gave me a chance."

Ron scoffed indelicately, turning his attention back to the deck of cards on the seat. Harry, however, just stared at Octavia curiously for a moment before helping Ron reset the game.

"Didn't Cedric say he would see you at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, filling the uncomfortable silence that consumed the compartment.

"Yeah," Octavia nodded, grateful for the distraction from the little spat.

"Isn't he a year above us?" Luna asked dreamily.

"Um," Octavia frowned. "Yeah, actually."

"Then he won't see you at school." Hermione stated, gazing at the wizard-born curiously. "He's already graduated."

"Perhaps you misheard him," Luna shrugged dismissively.

"Uh," Octavia frowned. "Maybe, yeah."

Despite agreeing with her friends, Octavia could have sworn that he said he would see her at Hogwarts. They hadn't said much to one another during their brief encounter, so it wasn't likely that she had mistaken his limited statements as something other than what they were. But Hermione was correct. He was in the year above them at Hogwarts. And Octavia was now in her seventh and final year. She must have misheard him.

Oh well.

"Congrats, by the way." Octavia spoke, catching Hermione's attention once again. "On Head Girl. Blaise got his letter a few days ago, it said that you got the position too."

"Yes," Hermione beamed proudly, crossing her legs. "I expected it thought, so it's hardly a surprise."

"Of course," Octavia rolled her eyes.

"Your brother is Head Boy?" Luna asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Yeah," Octavia nodded.

"I wonder why Malfoy didn't get the position," Hermione mused, voicing Luna's thoughts.

It was common knowledge that Draco Malfoy was the top-scoring student in their year, followed by Hermione and then Blaise. Octavia, however, was definitely on the bottom when it came to academic results. She hadn't even made Prefect in their sixth year. But neither had Blaise, which added to his allocation of Head Boy all the more peculiar. Draco Malfoy was the Slytherin Prefect in sixth year; much to Octavia's dismay. He wouldn't hesitate to dish out detentions in her direction for merely breathing and attending Hogwarts.

"He turned the offer down," Octavia shrugged, opening a packet of Hermione's muggle sweets … something called 'crisps'.

"How would you know?" Hermione probed politely.

"Mother and Father talked to Blaise about it when we went out of dinner," Octavia sighed, sniffing one of the crisps as she eyed it suspiciously.

"What happened?" Hermione asked.

"Well, we went to Paris and dined near the Eiffel Tower in the late evening," Octavia sighed, inspecting the packet of crisps for a moment. "But father doesn't like the Eiffel Tower, so we left early and came home."

"No," Hermione laughed. "What happened with Malfoy and the Head Boy position? Why did he turn it down?"

"Ohhh," Octavia sang, her plump lips shaped into an 'o'. "Uh, he's too busy I guess. He's Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team and still the Prefect for our house."

"Who cares?" Ron scowled. "He's a git."

Hums of agreeance rippled through the compartment at Ron's statement, absolutely everyone sharing his sentiments about Draco Malfoy. Although Octavia would have used a much nastier word to describe the 'git' in question. Perhaps 'demon'?

"Ok, everyone!" Hermione declared, standing from her seat with an air of importance. "Time to change into our robes. We'll be arriving shortly."


Dumbledore's annual motivational speech had finally ended after what seemed like an eternity. Octavia barely listened to a word he said anymore. She almost scoffed recalling the first speech she had been privy to by the Headmaster in her first year and how excited she was to hear it. But things had changed as the years went on. And now Dumbledore's speeches were merely the introduction to a year of torment that she would endure by her former friends. Her supposed equals.

And they would spend the year, like each before that, letting her know just how inferior to them she actually was. They would use their wands against her. They would sabotage her potions and classwork. They bully her and make her cry. Like they did each year they had attended Hogwarts together.

So the very moment that Dumbledore seated himself at the grand staff table on the altar and food appeared on the tables of the Great Hall, Octavia dug into her dinner in an unladylike manner. The quicker she finished, the better.

Particularly given the fact that Millicent sat a few people down from her, glaring at her maliciously. Yes. Octavia wished to finish her dinner as quickly as possible. To prevent the inevitable as long as possible. For the glint in Millicent's hard eyes informed Octavia that she would regain her position as the Slytherin House victim quickly this year.

Octavia didn't wish for a repeat of fifth year, when Millicent had bribed Peeves with dung bombs to pour a jug of pumpkin juice all over her head on their first night back at Hogwarts. So the quicker she removed herself from the Great Hall, the quicker she was out of the firing line of the bully.

On top of her concerns about Millicent's malevolent intentions, Octavia had to worry about the boy who caused it all. The boy who could stop her torment with a click of his fingers, or increase it to torturous levels with a mere nod of his head. Draco Malfoy.

The devil in question sat further down the long table, but that fact hardly soothed Octavia's bubbling anxiety. For she could feel his cold grey eyes fixed on the side of her face as she gulfed down copious amounts of cauldron cakes. She didn't meet his intense stare. It would only serve as an invitation for him to initiate his torment of her.

Instead, Octavia kept her eyes on the dwindling food supply on her plate. Hoping that he would grant her a speck of mercy in their final year at Hogwarts. Wishing that he would forget all about her and focus only on his studies and extracurricular activities. And by 'extracurricular activities', Octavia meant his incessant fucking of every girl in their year, of course.

A repulsive thought. She almost shuddered at the image of Draco Malfoy between someone's legs. Merely because she just couldn't wrap her mind around the girl's motives. How could someone allow a despicable specimen like Draco Malfoy to touch her? It was unfathomable. Yes, he was aesthetically pleasing. His jaw was masculine and defined. He was tall and well-built, his school shirt tight against his muscles in some areas. His silvery blonde hair fell over his forehead, brushing against his brow lightly. His pink lips were inviting. And his eyes resembled molten lava or cold ice depending on his temperament.

So Octavia could understand that Draco Malfoy possessed a physical appeal. But inside, he was rotten and ugly. Inside, he was a cruel and awful person that took pleasure in the anguish and distress of others.

Alas, the girls in the school – well, most of them – didn't seem to care about that. They cared only about his handsome appearance and overflowing vault at Gringotts. They cared about his power and authority, but not his decayed soul. Something Octavia just couldn't wrap her head around.

Perhaps it was because she already possessed abundant wealth and status. Even as wizard-born, Octavia was the heiress to a powerful and wealthy pureblood family. Her status alone secured her respect from those around her. Excluding those within her society, evidently. But she suspected that their treatment of her would change once they graduated. It would be improper to treat her as such at pureblood gatherings and official functions. Although it was rather improper to treat her with disrespect anywhere.

Sculling the last of her butterbeer, Octavia sighed heavily as she felt her tummy swell uncomfortably. It was merely a side-effect of overconsumption and fast eating. But it had to be done in order for her to make a timely escape from her fellow Slytherins.

Octavia pushed herself from the table, scurrying out of the Great Hall hurriedly as the vast majority of students remained seated, enjoying their first night back at Hogwarts. But the atmosphere was not celebratory to Octavia. It was thick and frightening. For she knew that Draco and Millicent were watching her early escape intently, feeling their eyes burning into her back as she fled the Great Hall.

And so Octavia Zabini's seventh and final year had begun. The wizard-born already escaping the company of her peers in favour of hiding behind the drapes of her bed, wishing to be left alone.

A wish that never came to be.


Pulling out her textbooks and supplies, Octavia bit her lip as Professor Snape stormed into the classroom, his robes billowing behind him forebodingly. Whilst Octavia absolutely loathed potions with a burning passion, she barely had any choice in selecting the subject in her seventh year. Her father had insisted – in other words, demanded – that she choose the subject for her final year of schooling. Of course, she had relented, realising after many lectures that she did not have a say in the matter. Her father's word was final.

In an effort to shy away from the bullying she was normally subjected to in the class, Octavia had chosen the front row for her seat for the rest of the year. The closer she was to Professor Snape, the less likely it was that her potions would be meddled with by Draco, she assumed. Perhaps he wouldn't even speak to her. Perhaps he would leave her be.

But, of course, it was foolish of her to allow hope for such things. For the moment she had taken her seat at the front of the classroom, Draco seated himself at the table directly behind her. As the number of students that had selected potions in their final year was minimal, the seating arrangements were not orchestrated by Professor Snape. This allowed Octavia to sit beside Hermione in the class, as Harry and Ron chose to partner up for potions.

Glancing behind her discreetly, Octavia noted that Draco's partner was Theodore Nott. The latter didn't pay any attention to her, but Draco was already glowering directly at her with palpable distaste. Great.

Flicking her attention back to the Professor, Octavia sighed as he waved his wand at the blackboard, instructions appearing instantly.

"There will be no meddling in this class," Snape drawled tediously, his ominous air demanding silence instantly. "I expect you all to work with your partners in silence, otherwise face detention in the company of yours truly."

The nine students in the classroom nodded to show their understanding, all seated silently at their tables.

"You may begin," Snape drawled, his black beady eyes scanning around the handful of seventh years suspiciously.

Octavia flipped open her textbook to the appropriate page, sighing deeply as she scanned the complex brewing method of the potion. Draught of Living Dead.

The potion essentially knocked the drinker out cold, forcing them into a deep sleep for an extended period of time. Octavia immediately began to day dream various scenarios of slipping Millicent and Draco the potion for the entire year. Yes, a very pleasant thought indeed.

Yanked out of her daydream, Octavia watched as a flower made of parchment hovered above her head before floating down and settling gracefully in front of her. A frown graced her pretty face as she snatched the flower discreetly, pulling it onto her lap before unwrapping it.

Despite the beauty of the parchment's form, the words inside were horrid.

Dear Squib,

How does it feel to be the most repulsive being at Hogwarts? Do you toss and turn at night, unable to accept the fact that you even more disgusting than your mudblood of a potions partner?

Do us all a favour and devour the entire contents of your potion once completed. Knowing you and your inability to produce a decent potion, I have high hopes that it will cause a permanent comatose state for yourself.

In doing so, I do not doubt that you would be providing your parents with a reprieve from the dishonour that you bring them. As well as gracing the entire student body with the pleasure of your permanent absence from this world.

Sincerely,

A True Pureblood.

Octavia scowled, Hermione discreetly leaning to her side in a successful attempt to read the letter. Tears stung at her hazel orbs as the parchment suddenly turned to ash in her lap, vanishing with only soot in its wake.

Whilst Theodore could be heard snickering behind her, Octavia knew that he was not the one who wrote the letter. She recognised that handwriting in an instant, given that it was hardly the first unpleasant letter from him that she'd received over the years at Hogwarts. Octavia flicked her ringlets over her shoulder as she brushed the ash off of her short pleated skirt, pretending that nothing even happened. She ignored the sympathetic glance that Hermione offered her. She merely picked up her quill and began to write the instructions from the blackboard on her parchment.

Hermione, however, turned around to glower at the two boys behind them, her narrowed brown eyes glaring scathingly at Draco Malfoy. But he didn't even look at Hermione. He merely continued to stare at the back of O's head intently, his jaw clenched and his grey eyes alight with fury at her dismissal of him.

All the while, Octavia fought off the tears that stung her sad hazel orbs as she feigned indifference. She would not cry in front of him again if she could help it. He didn't deserve the satisfaction of her hurt reaction. She would ignore him, and hopefully he would forget about tormenting her soon.

But if the first ten minutes of the potions lesson was anything to go by, it was hardly likely that Draco would grant her a reprieve. In fact, it seemed that he was gearing up for her worst year at Hogwarts yet.


Octavia reclined against the thick tree trunk, gazing out into the Forbidden Forrest in the distance. It was not long after the dinner feast in the Great Hall, and instead of returning to the Slytherin common room, Octavia chose to visit her favourite spot in the castle grounds.

The Whomping Willow.

Her father, years ago, had informed her of how to calm the violent tree in order to enjoy its proximity. And its proximity was pleasant, indeed. She enjoyed so many things about the tree. The rustling of the leaves, the creak of the branches, the hum of life. Even if it was deemed to be off-limits to students and feared by most, Octavia liked the tree. It was misunderstood, in her opinion.

All it took was a speedy run to the base of the tree – making sure to avoid the swinging and attacking branches – and pressed the knot at the roots. The moment the knot was pressed, the Whomping Willow would emit a sound that Octavia liked to belief was a sigh of relief. For the tree would still, and be perfectly at ease.

Its thick branches and mass of lush, green leaves offered shade from the bright summer sun in the sky. On rainy days, it offered shelter from the water than fell from the cloudy skies above.

And, due to its reputation, the tree offered solitude. Peace and tranquillity. For most other students daren't approach the tree. In fact, they barely even noticed it.

Octavia could never understand how others ignored the tree. It was one of the first things she noticed about the castle grounds. She was immediately drawn to the tree, finding it to be ferocious and magnificent. Sympathy coursed through her as she watched the tree from a distance during her first year at Hogwarts. No one wanted to go near it, thinking it was cruel and violent. But Octavia just thought it was misunderstood and lonely. In pain.

Like she was.

So she took a liking to the tree. Always watching it from the stone benches on the grounds. And once she discovered – from her father – how to calm the tree, Octavia visited it regularly. A part of her felt that she was offering the tree a little company in its lonely days. The other part was seeking the same in return; company in her own lonely days.

Needless to say, Octavia felt as though she shared a bond with the tree. A silly notion, to some. Hermione didn't hesitate to dismiss her relationship with the tree, thinking it to be rather silly and nonsensical. But Octavia didn't care.

So she reclined against the thick trunk of the tree as its branches swayed in the warm, summer breeze. Her hazel eyes glimmered as she stared at the Forbidden Forrest, not really seeing it. She gazed at the woods, but didn't observe it. Her mind was elsewhere.

Her mind was on her final year at Hogwarts. Her final year with the tree.