A/N: Not a particularly exciting update today, sorry, but stay tuned to see a ghost from Breseis's past…

Dandylion_05

Chapter Ten

Platform 9 ¾ was strangely quiet, Draco observed. There was no doubt about it, there were less people than normal. The muggle-born population of Hogwarts were now all either in hiding or imprisoned in Azkaban. However, there were still enough people on the platform that there should have been a considerable noise. Draco watched as parents, faces pale and drawn, held onto their children tightly before seeing them directly onto the Hogwarts Express. Their fear was tangible, and he felt for them.

Breseis stood at his side. Already dressed in her new school robes, he thought she looked very strange. He was so used to seeing her in her, somewhat dramatic, silky, French clothing and the plain robes made her look like another person. Secretly, he noted that they made her look a little prettier, her hair a tiny bit shinier. But then again, perhaps it was just that in her school robes she no longer looked like a Death Eater.

His mother leant in a kissed his cheek, leaving a crimson smudge of lipstick. His father gripped his shoulder sombrely and Draco patted his hand. He watched Breseis tentatively reach up on her tiptoes and wrap her arms around Rabastan's neck. Rabastan awkwardly patted her back once before unwinding her arms. They turned to leave then, bidding final farewells. Draco and Breseis strode to the train, fearful faces moving quickly and silently to create a straight path for them. Breseis glanced back over her shoulder to see her father turning on the spot and disappearing into thin air. He hadn't stayed to see that she left safely.

She followed Draco silently onto the train, ignoring the unpleasant, constricted feeling in her chest. Draco peered into the windows of the compartments as he passed them, and Breseis hoped he was seeking an empty one so that they could be alone together for the journey, which she understood was quite long. Her heart sank a little as Draco opened the door to a compartment where three boys sat. Two were big and burly with thickset features and jet black hair. The other was tall and slim, with luminous dark skin and strange slanting eyes.

Draco took Breseis's heavy trunk and heaved it onto the luggage rack above him before sitting down beside the boy with the strange eyes, leaving enough room for her to sit beside him. She felt annoyed by the way the three boys were appraising her, their eyes moving too slowly up her gaunt frame. She sat defiant, though, willing one of them to pass a comment and feel her wrath. There was something about returning to school that was making her feel angry- or, at least, angrier than was usual.

Draco cleared his throat. "This is Breseis," he said, patting her knee awkwardly, "She's my Uncle Rabastan's daughter.

"Breseis," he turned to her now, "This is Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle," he indicated the burly boys opposite, "and Blaise Zabini."

"How do you do?" she spoke and he was more aware than normal of her strange drawl.

The compartment door opened again, and Pansy entered, greeting the boys before noticing Breseis. She stared at her scathingly for a few moments before choosing to ignore her and turning to Draco.

"We have to go to the prefects cart," she smiled, triumphant that Breseis wouldn't be able to follow him there.

"Will you be okay on your own?" he turned to Breseis, concern on his face, before glancing at Crabbe and Goyle.

"I'm a big girl, Draco," she said, "I can look after myself."

He smiled apologetically at her as Pansy grasped his hand tightly and dragged him from the compartment somewhat violently. Breseis cast her eyes around the compartment again. Zabini was eyeing her strangely, as if he didn't quite know what to make of her. She stared back at him, one eyebrow raised at how openly he was looking at her. Unfazed, he turned to look out of the window. The compartment was completely silent. Breseis felt like it was going to be a long journey.

An hour later, Breseis followed Zabini down the train. The time in the compartment had elapsed slowly and silently, besides from the occasional snore from Crabbe and Goyle. They smelt slightly of stale ale, and Breseis could only assume they had spent the previous night in the pub. Every girls' dream, she mused.

A small and terrified looking student, presumably only a second or third year, had knocked the compartment door not five minutes ago. She had two notes, one for Blaise and one for Breseis. The note was an invitation to lunch from a Professor Slughorn. Zabini had told her he knew where to go and she had accepted his offer to lead the way.

"So, how do you know Slughorn?" Zabini asked, looking over his shoulder.

"I don't," she replied.

"Does your father?" he asked.

"That's doubtful, he's just served sixteen years in Azkaban, more or less," she said, sounding bored now, "he was only twenty one when he was sent down, and before that I doubt he ran in the same circles as a professor, somehow. "

"What about your mother?" Zabini pressed, unfazed by her rude tone.

Breseis thought of her mother and felt an alien pang of sadness. Marie Désirée lived with her head in the clouds, dancing through life and ignoring it's stresses. Breseis's stepfather, Vlad, spent most of him time caring for her and ensuring her life was as simple as possible. It was no secret that Marie's mental health was at best unstable. Breseis still missed her mother, though, and she could feel the distance growing further between them with every moment. But, like Draco said, there was no looking back now.

"I don't think she would know a professor either," Blaise stopped and waited for the explanation. With a small huff Breseis gave it to him, "Well, for one thing, she's French and hasn't lived in Britain for some time now. She came to school here for a couple of years, but she was never particularly talented. After that, she worked as a model and wrote a column for Witch Weekly, and then she became pregnant with me and had to marry my father." Breseis finished with a shrug.

"A model?" Blaise repeated, "A famous model?"

"I suppose so," Breseis replied, remembering a creepy old wizard who used to stalk her mother when Breseis was only about five years old. He would lurk at the bottom of the garden with a camera, waiting for a chance to take a photograph of her to add to his, already extensive, collection. It was because of the stalker that Vlad had been brought into their lives. He had been an auror with the British Ministry at the time, and Marie and Breseis were still living in Rabastan's house, as Marie had become somewhat agoraphobic. Vlad had been sent to deal with the stalker and Marie had fallen madly in love with him. Clearly, he had fallen in love with her, as well, and within the year they were married. Still, Breseis's mother would have had to be pretty important to get an auror on her case, and pretty famous to have a stalker.

"That's it then," Blaise told her, "Slughorn loves famous people."

He pulled open a door and entered a plush, if somewhat crammed, compartment. A large mix of students sat around a table covered with all sorts of interesting looking foods. At the head of the table sat a balding, portly man wearing a green, velvet waistcoat and smiling widely. He clapped together two chubby hands, his round cheeks flushing rosy read with enthusiasm.

"Mr Zabini!" he called, gesturing a seat beside a girl with wildly red hair, who gave Blaise a surly look, "Welcome back! And our newcomer!" he beamed at Breseis and patted the seat beside himself, "come and take a seat."

Breseis had less trouble than Blaise as she made her way across the compartment to the seat the portly man had indicated. Blaise had stumbled awkwardly, crashing into people as he tried to manoeuvre his way through the small space between the compartment door and his seat. Breseis ghosted it, her narrow hips easily missing every obstacle.

When she sat down the elderly man offered her his chubby hand.

"Mademoiselle," he greeted her, gently pressing his lips and bristly moustache onto her bony hand, "I am Professor Slughorn, as I'm sure you had guessed."

He went on to introduce the rest of the compartment to her, starting with a round faced boy sitting on his other side, named Neville Longbottom. Breseis couldn't remember why she recognised his name, and missed almost everyone else's as she studied his face, trying her best to remember.

"And this, everyone, is Mademoiselle Breseis Désirée," he put his hand on Breseis's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "Daughter of a wonderful French model who used to torment my Potions classroom! And you, my dear, are almost the exact image of her!"

"Lestrange," Breseis corrected, noticing out of the corner of her eye the way the round-faced boy bent forward and peered around Professor Slughorn as she spoke, "It's Breseis Lestrange, Professor."

She thought she saw his smile falter slightly as she corrected him. He made no reply, but instead invited everyone to tuck in to the miniature feast before them.

"Some sweet meat, Miss Désirée?" he asked her, causing her jaw to tense in annoyance.

"No thank you," she replied, instead reaching for a rosy apple. She needed something that would make a noise as she destroyed it in her small rage.

Professor Slughorn continued to call her by her mother's maiden name throughout the meal, to her severe irritation. And the boy named Neville could not tear his eyes away.