Lysandra was a bit befuddled by the look on her brother's face the next day, not that she'd been watching him goof around with his Slytherin friends. The moment Potter and his ginger sidekick strode through the door, cheerful but obviously tired, Draco's face had soured, and his mouth pinched like the time she had given him a lemon wedge instead of an orange. He had stabbed his eggs with a ferociousness that surprised the raven-haired girl.
The rest of the week went relatively smoothly, essays completed and handed in long before their due dates and extra reading done before it was assigned. Lysandra had started burying herself in books when her first attempts to reach out to the other girls in her dorm failed. She was earning the highest marks classes, except for the Muggleborn Hermione Granger. Oliver Wood occasionally looked at her funnily, but then ducked his head into the black notebook he carried around all the time.
Nothing interesting happened until about a week later.
Owl flooded the Great Hall like they did every morning, delivering their post to their respective owners, but everyone's attention was caught by the long thin package being carried towards the Gryffindor table by six large screech owls. It landed, most obviously, in front of perfect Harry Potter, knocking his bacon to the floor. Another owl swooped past and dropped a letter on top of the large parcel, mirroring the one that dropped in front of her seconds later.
Lysandra unfolded the letter and glanced at Potter before she read her own.
Miss Malfoy,
As you come from a family wealthy enough to afford a broom, I am delegating the task of purchasing your broom to your parents. Enclosed within this letter is a form explaining the exceptions made, which you may send with your own letter to your parents. Mister Wood has asked for the utmost discretion when the broom is being delivered, as by now the rumor of Mister Potter's placement on the Quidditch team is bound to circulate the school very quickly.
You may have your new broom delivered directly to either Madam Hooch or I, but please notify us before it arrives so we may store it appropriately.
Professor McGonagall
The girl glanced at Potter, who was having a hard time hiding his glee as he handed the note to Weasley.
"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned, not at all quietly nor subtlety. "I've never even touched one."
Potter and Weasley scooped up the package and left the hall quickly. Lysandra was quick to note that her twin and his lackeys had stood and hurried out of the hall to confront them. Sighing heavily, the girl pulled a piece of parchment from her bag and a Self-Inking quill her mother had sent to write a letter.
Dear Mother,
How are you and Father? I hope everything is going well at work for him. I am glad that Lady Fawley's pregnancy is going well and that your teas are not affected too badly.
My marks are still at the top of the class, and everything is being handed in on time. The professors have expressed that they are pleased with the promptness of my homework. In fact, I received five points for handing in an essay to Professor Flitwick the day he assigned it.
This letter is not entirely for catching up, Mother. I have been recruited into the Gryffindor Quidditch team for a stunt I pulled during our first flying lesson. I am sure you have received a letter explaining the incident that happened. However, Professor McGonagall and Oliver Wood, the Captain of the team, have asked me to acquire a broom promptly to begin training. Potter, as I am sure you will hear in Draco's next letter, is also on the team, the Seeker. Professor McGonagall has purchased him a Nimbus Two Thousand. If it does not interrupt your undoubtedly busy schedule, would you or Father send my broom, please? I've been asked to send the letter attached along with my own, and ask that you send the broom to either Professor McGonagall or Madam Hooch, the flying instructor.
Thank you,
Your Daughter, Lysandra
"Malfoy."
The raven-haired girl flinched sharply and lifted her head from Chapter Nine of her transfiguration textbook, coming face-to-face with frustrated Hermione Granger. The bushy-haired first year was clutching a roll of parchment and a quill, and a streak of ink lay on her cheek.
"Can I help you?" Lysandra asked, straightening her posture and face to cover for her unladylike flinch.
"Tell me about Quidditch," Granger demanded, shoving Lysandra's homework towards the end of the table. With a cry, Lysandra lunged for the three rolled-up essays that the Muggleborn had just launched into the fire. "Hurry up. I have to get this done."
Lysandra stared at the pieces of singed parchment she had just managed to save from a fiery death and stood slowly, reaching for her wand. She ignored Granger's persistent mutterings in favor of murmuring the repairing spell she'd mastered in the first week, watching carefully as each of her essays fixed themselves.
"Are you going to help me or not?" Granger demanded. Lysandra straightened her posture, schooled her face into a familiar sneer and stared down her nose at the Muggleborn girl.
"Not." She replied.
Granger looked startled. "What?"
"I am not going to help you," Lysandra stated once more, gathering her things into her arms and sneering once more. "Find someone else to do it, and try not to have such a blatant disregard for other people's things."
And then she turned on her heel and stormed away as gracefully as she could, right up to her dorm and into her bed, where she pulled the hangings closed and ignored the rest of the world the remainder of the evening.
Lysandra woke up Halloween morning to the wonderful scent of baking pumpkin wafting past her curtains. She almost floated down the stairs, led by her nose, to the Great Hall and breakfast. She was early, as usual, to Charms that morning, handing in the essay assigned the day before and taking her seat at the back of the class.
When everyone else had arrived, Professor Flitwick announced in that he thought they were ready to start making object fly. He sorted them all into pairs, Potter with a boy called Seamus Finnegan, Neville with Lavender Brown, Granger with Weasley, her brother with an overjoyed Pansy Parkinson, and herself with Finnegan's friend Dean Thomas.
Thomas was reluctant to sit with her, keeping his seat as far from her's as he could without being unnecessarily rude. Lysandra glanced once at him, straightened her back, and picked up her wand as Flitwick gave each student a large white feather.
"Now," The tiny professor called out from the front of the room. "Don't forget the nice wrist movement we've been practicing! Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic word properly is very important too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."
She and Thomas worked in silence, taking turns swishing and flicking until Finnegan caught his feather on fire somehow and caused a disturbance.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Weasley shouted, waving his arms like a windmill. Lysandra shifted her grip on her wand and prepared to try again.
"You're saying it wrong," Granger snapped. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa. Make the 'gar' nice and long."
"You do it, then, if you're so clever."
Lysandra rolled her eyes and stared down at her feather. Her hand moved, swished, and flicked, and she felt the answering rush of magic as she said, clearly, "Wingardium Leviosa" at the same time Hermione Granger did.
Granger's feather rose dramatically off her desk and hovered triumphantly about four feet above their heads, wobbling a bit. Lysandra's feather rose elegantly and hovered at eye height, completely unnoticeable in the back of the room, with only Dean Thomas as her witness. She smiled and directed the feather back down to her desk as Professor Flitwick awarded Granger five points for getting it first.
"You did it," Thomas said quietly.
"I did." She replied, looking at him. "Now you do it."
He nodded sharply and turned his attention to his own feather. After several more tries, in the true Gryffindor fashion, Thomas complained grumpily that it wasn't working.
And then Lysandra Malfoy completely surprised her classmate. Because instead of loudly announcing he didn't know what he was doing, like Know-It-All Granger, she politely suggested a different pronunciation of Leviosa and a slight twist of the wrist when he finished flicking, saying that it had worked for her.
It did work.
After witnessing Granger fly out of the classroom in tears, Lysandra made her way to her next class, quietly following her classmates. It was right before dinner when she heard Parvati Patil telling Lavender Brown that Granger was still crying in the girls' loo and wanted to be left alone.
"Well really," Lysandra spoke up behind them. "She's overreacting. If she weren't so obnoxiously rude all the time, people wouldn't talk about her like that, and she'd have friends."
"Nobody asked you, Malfoy. Go away." Brown snapped, tossing her hair.
"Yeah." Parvati supplied, also tossing her hair. Lysandra rolled her eyes and brushed past them to find a seat in the Hall.
It was loud, which was to be expected, but the rustling of wings added to the cacophony of noise. Thousands of live bats fluttered about the walls and ceiling, causing the candles to flicker. The feast appeared on golden plates as it had at the start-of-term banquet. She ate beside a pair of seventh years who seemed more interested in each other than the feast and a group of fourth years who made a lot of rude jokes. She was enjoying the last bit of her mashed potatoes when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the Hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table and gasped.
"Troll, troll… in the dungeons. Thought you ought to know!"
He then sank to the floor in a dead faint, causing an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.
"Prefects," he rumbled in the silence. "Lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately."
Percy Weasley leaped to his feet, calling loudly from near the end of the Gryffindor table for the first years. The first years tended to congregate together, so they all managed to follow the Weasley boy out of the Great Hall like ducklings, except for Lysandra, who's seat was closer to the front of the hall and facing the direction of the Ravenclaws and Slytherins. The Hufflepuffs behind her had nearly all vanished despite the sudden warning, and something dawned to the Malfoy girl after witnessing a couple of the older Slytherins exchanging looks.
Lysandra pushed herself from the table and hurried in the opposite direction of her peers, straight to the staff table and to where McGonagall and Dumbledore were still standing. She pressed herself to the table and leaned as far as she could towards them.
"Professors!" She exclaimed, as politely as she could. Both Dumbledore and McGonagall turned to look at her with surprise.
"My dear, you must return to your dormitory!" Professor McGonagall cried, staring at her first year with an unreadable expression.
"Professors! You cannot send the Slytherins to their dorms!" Lysandra protested, drawing the attention of Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick. "The Slytherin House dormitories are down in the dungeons! It would be dangerous for them!"
"My girl," Flitwick squeaked, turning abruptly to face the Slytherins, all of who were lingering near the door. "You are correct. Slytherins!"
Over the chaos and the noise of the other three Houses, poor Professor Flitwick couldn't be heard. He was lifting his wand to cast a charm when Professor McGonagall raised her voice in his stead.
"Slytherins!"
A wave of black and green turned to face the staff table with a couple of well-hidden looks of surprise.
"Slytherins, your House will remain here in the Great Hall until the troll has been located." She called, gaining a few murmurs of astonishment. The Gryffindor Head of House swept her way around the table and hurried out of the door.
Dumbledore turned to the Malfoy girl with a kind smile and waved his wand to vanish the House tables for more comfortable sofas and chairs in a lovely emerald shade. "Thank you, Miss Malfoy. Ten points for Gryffindor."
"Thank you, sir…." Lysandra flicked her eyes over to her brother who was bragging to his group of year-mates about how he could take down the troll. "But I don't need them."
"I'll award them anyway," The Headmaster moved from beside her, heading for the doors. "But I must ask that you also wait here in the Great Hall."
"Yes Professor." Lysandra nodded, moving towards an out of the way pair of chairs to wait out what would likely be a long few hours. "Good luck."
"Thank you, my dear."
Lysandra tucked a flyaway into her tight braid and pulled her book bag closer, rummaging carefully inside for her essay for Herbology and the Self-Inking Quill. There was a small side table near her chair, and she made immediate use of it for her nearly completed homework. She was alone for nearly an hour, moving from her Herbology essay to an extra-credit Defence Against the Dark Arts assignment when someone suddenly dropped into the chair across from her.
Lysandra's eyes went wide, and her hand stilled on her page as she registered the loose green and silver tie around the boy's neck. He slouched lazily in the seat with a grumpy look on his face, and shaggy brown hair fell into his eyes in a careless flop. His eyes were a dull brown, but they stared at her with obvious intensity. Lysandra dropped her grey eyes down to her page.
"I saw what you did." He announced to her, not so loudly that the other Slytherins noticed but louder than Lysandra would have liked.
"Awfully chivalrous of you." He continued, blowing his hair out of his face and kicking his feet out. Lysandra kept her gaze averted and dropped her hands into her lap. "Oi Gryffindork, I'm talking to you."
"I'm not entirely sure what to say." She replied after a moment.
"I'm Cassius." He grinned at her momentarily, before his face dropped back into a scowl. "Cassius Warrington."
"Lysandra Malfoy." She murmured politely, still not looking at the boy.
"Oi, I'm not going to eat you." He leaned forward abruptly, snatching away her Defence extra-credit and looking it over. "This is Second-Year stuff, Malfoy. What are you doing with Second-Year stuff?"
"It's extra-credit for Professor Quirrell." She scowled at him, eyes carefully watching her homework. The last time someone had touched her parchment, it had been lit on fire, and she didn't trust anyone with her things.
"You're pretty smart, Malfoy." Cassius looked impressed, handing her assignment back. "I'm impressed, despite your Mis-Sorting."
"I was supposed to be a Slytherin." She grumbled, ignoring the fact that if her mother had been there, she'd have been reprimanded.
"I had an older cousin who was supposed to be a Slytherin," Cassius shrugged, looking at ease if you ignored the grumpy look on his face. "He ended up in Ravenclaw though, and it was a better fit for him. Maybe you'll get lucky."
"Unlikely, but thanks."
"Thanks for talking to the Professors." The Slytherin said suddenly, averting his eyes for the first time since he'd arrived.
"You're welcome." Lysandra felt her cheeks flush, but her lips tipped up in a smile.
The two students remained in silence until the Professors arrived a couple of minutes later, announcing that the troll had been dealt with, and the Slytherins were safe to return to their dorms. McGonagall personally escorted her single Gryffindor student up to the Tower and left with a pursed smile. The Tower was quiet when Lysandra entered, climbing the stairs to her dorm with a weary sigh.
When November arrived, it arrived in a flurry of cold weather and freezing winds. The mountains around the school became an icy gray, and the lake looked like chilled steel. Every morning, the grounds were crunchy with a fine layer of frost.
Quidditch season had begun, and the first match would be on Saturday. Oliver Wood had been drilling Lysandra with their plays but had yet to start her flying drills at all. Narcissa Malfoy had been unable to send her broom without raising any suspicion to her Draco-oriented father and Oliver had wanted her on a decent broom and not one of the 'bloody crummy school brooms,' his words not hers.
The first match was Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and Lysandra was debating not even showing to the game, even though she knew that it would do her no favors with her House and it was bound to be the most exciting of the season.
News of Potter's position on the team had somehow leaked to the school's population, but as Oliver and McGonagall were the only two people other than Lysandra herself who knew about her training, no word had been heard about her, and she was very grateful for this.
Cassius had stopped her in one of the deserted hallways between classes, tossing her his Second-Year Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook, smirking as she fumbled with it. He left her there with a surprised look on her face.
Lysandra had noticed her godfather's limp as well, though where it came from she had no idea. She briefly considered asking if there was anything she could do to help him but knew that she would be brushed aside.
The morning of the Quidditch match dawned very bright and very cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good match. Lysandra joined the Gryffindor table in a fairly timely manner, around nine, and ate a light breakfast of yogurt and fruit.
Oliver, who sat a bit further down the table, gave her a glare from the corner of his eye. She'd mentioned in their Tuesday night review that she'd been wondering if she should go to the match and he'd almost threatened bodily harm to the poor girl if she didn't show up in Gryffindor colors.
By eleven-o-clock, the whole school seemed to be in the stands, and many of them had binoculars. Lysandra shuffled her way down the side of the stands where the Gryffindor supporters had shied away from the solid block of Slytherin colors. She was one of the few who dared to brave the edge, earning several nasty glares from both sides and smirk from Cassius who shifted over to sit on the other side of the railing from her.
Nearly exactly opposite her in the stands, at the top row, her year-mates had unfurled a large painted banner that read 'Potter for President'and flashed colors at the Slytherins. Lysandra lifted an eyebrow at it and wondered what it meant. It must have been a Muggle thing.
"I'm surprised that you're here," Cassius told her, watching as the teams strode onto the field. She wrinkled her nose and shivered at a large gust of wind.
"I'm supporting my team," Lysandra replied, keeping her answer generic. Cassius shook his head and leaned back on his bench. "Wood didn't threaten bodily harm to any Gryffindor who didn't turn up to support the team."
The Slytherin chuckled. "That's surprising."
Lysandra blushed and then nodded. Cassius laughed, drawing looks from a pair of Slytherin-supporting Hufflepuffs and several of his House.
"That's Wood for you. I heard him threatening some seventh years the other day when he overheard them talking about sneaking away to Hogsmeade."
"Really?" Lysandra turned to look at him with a bit of amusement. Cassius nodded and then watched as she shivered again.
"Don't you know a warming spell?" he scoffed. Lysandra shook her head. "Fine. Just this once."
He murmured an incantation, and immediately she felt warmer.
"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive too, -" Lee Jordan, a third-year Gryffindor who was friends with the Weasley twins, was commentating the game.
"JORDAN!" And McGonagall was obviously keeping a close eye on the boy.
"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve – back to Johnson and – no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle, and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there - he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move from Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle – that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and – OUCH! – That must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger. Quaffle taken by the Slytherins – that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes – she's really flying dodges a speeding Bludger – the goal posts are ahead – come on now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!"
Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, very nearly drowning out the hisses and boos from the Slytherins.
"Slytherin in possession, Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the – wait a moment, was that the Snitch?"
Lysandra rolled her eyes as the Slytherin Chaser Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder for the elusive flash of gold that had whizzed past his left ear. Both Potter and the Slytherin Seeker dove for the Snitch, and all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten how to play. Potter was faster than the Slytherin Seeker; Higgs, Cassius supplied.
The Malfoy girl saw it coming before it happened.
"Gryffindor Seeker Harry Potter is passing Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs; he's going to get the Snitch! Marcus Flint blocks Potter and Potter's broom is off course! That's a foul! Madam Hooch calls for a free shot for Gryffindor, and the Snitch has vanished again. So – after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-
"Jordan!"
"I mean, after that open and revolting foul- "
"Jordan, I'm warning you."
"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to play, Gryffindor still in possession. Nope, now Slytherin is in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face with a Bludger, hope it broke his nose…only joking, Professor – Slytherin score – Ah no."
Cassius let out a cheer, throwing his arms in the air at the first score. Lysandra, however, was watching Potter jerk around on his broom like a bloody moron. She scoffed, pointing him out to Cassius when he asked what she was looking at.
"Stupid Potter thought he should mess around on his broom."
"Honestly," Cassius focused hard on the Boy-Who-Lived. "He doesn't look like he's in control."
"Slytherin just scored again," Lysandra said, obviously beyond caring.
A minor commotion in the teacher's stand caught her attention, and the raven wondered just how Snape had caught fire before turning back to the match. Potter was hurtling towards the ground with his hand over his mouth like he was going to be sick and hit the field hard on all fours, couching.
Something gold fell into his hand.
"I've got the Snitch!" Potter shouted, waving the gold ball above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.
"Bloody hell," Warrington grumbled, practically sulking.
"Gryffindor wins! Gryffindor wins with one hundred and seventy points to sixty! Yeah! Go Gryffindor!"
Dear Mother,
How are you? I have not heard from you since we spoke about my broom. How are your teas? Is Father well? I have not received a letter from him, but please tell him that I'm thinking of him fondly.
I am doing well in all my classes, and I have started asking for extra credit assignments. Professor Quirrell has started introducing me to the second-year curriculum, and I find it very fascinating. Cassius Warrington has lent me his second-year books.
As you have likely heard from Draco, there was an incident with a troll during the Halloween feast. Somebody had let the troll into the castle, and it had made its way into the dungeons and then later destroyed the first-floor girl's bathroom. Fortunately, no one was hurt. Cassius Warrington introduced himself to me during the aftermath of the pandemonium.
Hogwarts got its first layers of snow. Several feet of it has appeared overnight, and it has come to my attention that the holidays are fast approaching. Usually, the family spends the holidays together, but due to my placement in Gryffindor, I am unsure of what to do in this situation. I would very much like to return for the Christmas holiday.
Please write back soon,
Your Daughter Lysandra Malfoy
Hey all, it's me, obviously. Let me know what you think. Also if anyone draws Lysandra at any point, you should let me see it!
Please review. That makes me happy.