The beginning of another school year was commencing. Outside of the stone walls that composed the fabric of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the air hung damp and heavy, quiet yet foreshadowing. The Black Lake resembled a sheet of glass, a mirror reflecting the turrets up towards the sky, only allowing for a few shy ripples in the early hours. It had rained heavily the night prior as students were arriving in droves, and as a result there was fog clinging to the landscape in an eerie gesture.
I had transferred to Hogwarts the previous year from the south of France, Antibes to be exact, on account that my father felt I would have something to gain from an extended education abroad. While the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic had been a delightfully entertaining experience, my English was akin to a bowling ball making it's way down a back alley. This lack in development could be attributed to my stubbornness to only participate in activities that suited my fancy, and learning another language had never been easy or interesting to me. Pushing me out of my comfort zone and right into the damp setting of England apparently was what my father deemed best for my attitude.
I had already completed one year at the school which had been painful, isolating and awful to say in the least. I hadn't made any solid friends at my first year in Hogwarts. This was partially due to the fact that everyone had already been seventeen when I had arrived and with well-established history. The older students seemed to move around in tight-knit groups as though to markedly imply they were at full capacity. The other half of that problem was rooted in my lack of English dialect, causing most individuals to show obvious frustrations while conversing with me. Because I had been sorted into a particularly unfriendly and judgmental house I was especially victim to that attitude despite having a Parisian pureblood status.
Thankfully, I had time to make up for the lost years as Hogwarts had increased it's school years to nine, and we were just beginning our eighth. This was in part due to a long and tedious study partaken by the Ministry to evaluate the secondary education style of muggles, who spent considerably more time training and preparing their kind for the world through institutions known as Universities. It seemed to have been accepted by the British wizarding community as a sign of progression, given that sending seventeen year old's out to start their life long careers was mildly winged and had been causing a lot of workplace set backs.
Due to my foreign status I had become highly introverted even though it wasn't my natural personality. As I combed through my hair that morning I mused if this year would be more stimulating and social for me, having improved my English enough to hold more structured interactions. The previous year I had typically spent my weekends reading and writing out by the lake under a large Oak tree, trying desperately to increase my ability to speak English fluently. It was that or flying around for hours trying to memorize the terrain around the gargantuan academy, or collecting samples of odd, unfamiliar plants from the grounds.
There had been boys some nights, when an opportunity had presented itself which required minimal speaking - the accent typically caught their attention, but they never tried to actually maintain conversations with me because of how difficult it was.
It was the first day of classes, mine beginning with potions - similar to many students my age. I found it odd that anyone would develop a class schedule to begin the morning down in a dark dungeon. In fact compared to the avian and airy atmosphere of the Beauxbatons Acadmeny, Hogwarts felt like a massive seven story tomb of cave-like classrooms and tunnels of stone. The rooms were frequently frigid and uninviting, and on more than one occasion the walls could be seen soaked with water or moss creeping in through the mortar.
As much as I dreaded being in the chilly classroom and seeing Professor Snape who had been very hard on me for not being able to speak fluently, I had overheard Draco Malfoy reading his class schedule out loud to Blaise Zabini in the Slytherin common room. This was one of the classes we shared together, and I had intentions to seat myself directly next to him.
Almost instantly I'd found myself attracted to the Malfoy boy. He was tall, handsome, intelligent, and brooding. But perhaps what was most intriguing was how he skillfully kept people at a distance. It was a toxic trait of mine to desire the most unattainable men. It had been a slow process of gaining any attention from him at all however, as he seemed to preoccupy himself mainly with his male friends, school work and quidditch. He was annoyingly difficult to speak to or even distract. On a few occasions I'd managed to slip in some awkward conversations with him in the great hall during meals at the Slytherin table, but he had a habit of abruptly losing interest and turning around.
It didn't help that my nerves were against me. And it wasn't as though I had a particular issue with anxiety or was socially awkward. In fact, I was known to be rather bold and assertive at my previous academy, using my popularity and charm to get whatever I wanted. Draco however had an excellent ability to turn his steel blue eyes into lasers and his intense stare, sometimes one stacked with suspicion or judgement, was often so overpowering that I would lose track of my prepared topics well into the first minute of speaking. He would raise an eyebrow and either move away or just go back to eating.
There were moments I was genuinely concerned that I was viewed, if at all by him, as nothing more than an irritant that wasted his time with odd conversation. I was sure that studying hard on my English over the summer would improve my odds with Hogwarts students this year, instead of sitting there saying complete gibberish to them.
I finished brushing at the last subtle wave in my long, bright blond hair and stood back to inspect myself in the girls bathroom mirror. The room was packed with Slytherin beauties getting ready for the first day. I had worked on my hair for a good chunk of time while watching intently the reflection of Pansy Parkinson in the mirror a few feet down from me. I had to actively prevent myself from scowling as I glared at her exhaustive efforts to appear impeccable for Malfoy as well.
She had gained her place on my radar last year by actively flirting with him in public, and to my dismay he hadn't totally dismissed her. Not that I was worried he had anything concrete established with her – he was rarely reactive to her efforts to publicly swoon over him – but I could tell that she wanted him. Ergo, she was competition.
My golden eyes were probably very noticeably staring, but thankfully her concentration was quite drawn to herself. A short, clean bob of dark hair framed her pixie-like features. Her dark eyes were large and magnetic. Truly, she was gorgeous in her own right if you could look past her lack of intellect and nasty demeanor.
I had to leave before Pansy did to ensure no seating conflicts so I grabbed my bag and headed out the door. She continued to stare into her reflection completely clueless of my intentions to replace her as the girl that sat next to Draco.
The classroom was already half full of loudly chattering students. People were milling around, some already seated and most just socializing to catch up on summer news. There was a flurry of yellow and green robes everywhere and I realized that the Hufflepuff's were going to be our class companions this year.
It seemed they paired up different houses for tandem classes every year. It was a relief to know that Harry Potter wouldn't be in the same classes as Malfoy, which was usually a deeply distracting issue for both boys. That combination had occurred the previous year - the Gryffindor's and the Slytherin's - which had culminated incredibly slow-moving and interruptive periods. The two consistently picked on each other or openly fought. It had been a puzzling experience for me trying to wrap my foreign mind around the apparent enemies and whatever it was they were saying that was so foul, banking mostly on watching how other students reacted in order to understand.
I scanned around the dungeon classroom for my target; nobody interrupted my mission as I stood glued off to the side of the doorway.
There – white blonde hair, sitting at the back of the room and surrounded by laughing boys. I drank in the sight of his pointed nose and sharp jawline, the sound of his deep and signature voice, his hands clasping onto the edge of the narrow table in front of him. His green and black robes looked impeccably clean and properly pressed. He had a gentle smirk on his face as he marked something down on parchment paper and handed it down the line of Slytherin boys to his right. And right on the edge of Malfoy along the isle, was an open gap.
I walked confidently up to the table and sat down rapidly beside Malfoy before I could come to my senses, our legs and arms touching. I started dropping my bag and collecting my parchment and quill from within, while my sweet perfume began to radiate around me and Malfoy. I fought the ridiculous and sudden desire to burst out laughing at the thought that I had just invaded his nose with my over eager application of it that morning. My lips trembled at the corners and I forced myself to breath through the urge to wheeze.
He glanced over quickly at the odorous bombardment and narrowed his eyes on my face and body. His gaze came to a rest on my green Slytherin tie momentarily, and I realized he still had not registered me as someone he knew. From my peripherals I noticed that his eyes continued to linger, taking in my features. I finished setting up my parchment and ink and by then his attention was once again elsewhere.
"What is that smell? It's like, fruit or candy?" Goyle's long face was contorting from the unfamiliar fragrance of a woman.
Draco gave out a loud snort and without turning to face me he jabbed his finger back towards my direction. I felt heat in my cheeks as they began murmuring. The group of boys were now leaning forwards and backwards to see around Malfoy.
"Ah, Frenchie is here," Crabbe leered at me, "Come to finally make some friends?" His round face was smug and cruel. Frenchie? I queried the offensive nickname in my head. So they did know of me.
Malfoy turned to face me, the corners of his mouth curling downwards in a judgmental way again, like he was completely at a loss as to why I was sitting next to them. I half expected him to give me a push out into the aisle way but he just frowned at me.
"Silence," A heavy, commanding voice sliced through the air. Severus Snape was situated at his typical post at the front as though he just time traveled there. Dozens of heads turned in sudden concentration. He had darned his predictable garb that almost resembled something Dracula would be caught in; long black robes and a silver pocket watch peaking out from beneath his waist coat, a white collar barely an inch showing around his neck. I had learned quite swiftly that he was unforgiving and intolerant to anything that was inconvenient or frivolous.
Snape began slowly explaining the first lesson which would mainly be recapping the previous semester. I started tugging at my skirt hem anxiously. Pansy had been staring at me from across the aisle a few rows down, sending expressions of loathing for moments at a time before swiveling her bob back to the front. She was clearly displeased about my current location in the room as it was likely her spot.
I ignored her and looked down at my blank paper. The smell of Draco's clean clothing against his warm skin was beginning to intoxicate me. Every movement he made was like a sharp knife to my awareness, the scent of pine and smoke infusing the tight space between us.
I was stealing sideways glances down at his arm, his hands, what he was writing. I thought I had been sneaky about it when suddenly he was leaning towards me and whispering, "Write your own notes. Mine aren't for sale."
My face blossomed with heat as I looked up into his bright blue gaze. He had a confrontational smirk across his face like he'd just caught me in some heinous act.
Momentarily I felt indignant as I had not been copying his notes by any means. But quickly I became cognizant that this was an opportunity, "Like I would copy your notes, don' flatter yourself." I grinned slightly and went back to my own notes, my white quill scratching fervently, blatantly aware of his eyes still boring into me. My long hair draped over my shoulder partially shielding my face from his view.
He leaned towards me a second time only to hiss under his breath, "I don't believe you." I sighed and paused my writing, looking down towards the front of the class where Snape was waltzing in slow motion back and forth while pointing at spidery chalk writing on the board. My eyes slid over to look up at his face which was plastered with suspicion.
I slapped my quill down and cocked my head at him, knowing full well that my eyes looked big and mesmerizing from the angle, "Why not? What reason 'ave I got to copy a lazy boy?"
"Lazy?" He questioned in disbelief, a sly grin crept over his face. His eyes drew down over my body to examine me and I tried not to flinch from the boldness. Then he was holding my gaze again, "I have some of the best marks in this class. What makes you think that I'm lazy?" His expression was serious but amused, as though I had just suggested the floor was lava.
I had absolutely no reason to think that he was lazy. I knew actually that he was quite studious. I had slightly panicked from the nerves of him paying me full attention and now I was in a hole. I thought quickly on the spot, "Aren't all boys?" I shrugged and made a face.
He snorted under his breath and looked back at the boys behind him who were leaning around each other slightly to peer at us. He turned back to me and bit his lip, "What's your name?"
My heart fell through the floor. I could feel my blood pulsing in my ears with the force of the ocean, "Wouldn't you like to know, hmm?" I playfully quipped as I toyed with my quill, trying to avoid direct eye contact with him so I wouldn't pass out or say something else stupid.
"I would," he said bluntly. The other boys had now fully turned their attention on the situation and were snickering quietly.
I shook my head with a smirk, "Don' take dis de wrong way but et is dat, you're not my type." My French accent was still heavy and awkward, but it had nevertheless improved and I felt a stab of pride for even getting that far into a conversation with little to no trouble. And it was ridiculous; he was entirely my type. But I'd learned at a young age that acting disinterested gained boys attention much better than openly chasing them.
I was really pushing his buttons now. I wondered vaguely if it was just his pride urging to gain my interest, or if he genuinely wanted it. I could feel his breath on my hand as he put his elbow in my view and leaned into me, "Then what is your type?" His eyes were concentrated on my face with a raised eyebrow.
Pansy was now staring unflinchingly at the display behind her. I could see from the corner of my eye how hard her head was twisting, making it look like she was giving the exorcist a run for it's money.
I turned my head to him again so that now we were very close. I gave him a sympathetic grin, "Boys wit'...practice." I winked at him and reached my hand over and delicately placed it on his upper leg below the table, bracing for the response.
His confidence seemed to vanish like smoke and I watched his brows furrowing with a combination of deep confusion and a warning look to remove my hand. I stared up into his bright blue eyes and gave him a small flirty grin, biting my lower lip. He held my gaze while taking deep breaths and shooting me more versions of confusion. It was like he had never been touched by another human in his life.
The iconic, bored tone of the professor floated around the room in lazy arches as he summarized the agenda. No one else was moving a muscle or sending a single whisper around, out of respect for the merciless teacher. My heart was racing as I slowly dragged my hand higher up his pants.
Before I could reach any further I felt a crushing hand seize over mine, pinning it against his leg momentarily before leaning further into me and harshly uttering, "Stop." He shook his head with an irate stare. Some of the other boys flickered their eyes back towards the situation.
My hand squirmed in his but he kept it pinned where it was, glaring at me. "What are you doing?" he demanded in an icy whisper.
I shrugged, smiling at him.
His mouth dropped open slightly in disbelief at my boldness and his eyes narrowed at me. The flirting had completely dissipated, replaced instead with fear and anxiety. He actively threw my hand back towards me under the table, but his knuckles hit the bottom of the wood making a loud banging noise.
"Malfoy? Can we help you with something?" Snape's voice was quick to respond as his eyes darted up towards us. He suddenly looked suspicious, "What are you and Ms. Desrosiers doing under the table? Care to share with the rest of us?" There was a cluster of keen students staring up at us within moments, some lightly giggling. I briefly realized that it did in fact look like we both had our hands in something below the table.
Malfoy rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling, sighing in agitation, and brought both of his hands up flat onto the table to showcase his innocence. I noticed then that he had a shiny Slytherin ring that glinted in the dim lighting, "We're doing absolutely nothing, Professor," he said, his voice now dripping in acid. I was mind boggled at his ability to switch his mood like gears. Without sparing me a glance, he shoved his elbow hard into my rib cage to indicate that I should bare my hands on the table as well. I followed suit, wincing from the force.
"Good.." Snape said slowly, turning away but looking unconvinced.
Malfoy avoided looking at me for the entirety of the class, emphasizing his new disdain at my presence. He sat more rigidly with his arm defensively across his entire left leg, which must have been difficult for him because he was left-handed and forced to write with his right hand. I tried hard not to acknowledge his cursing from the unavoidable ink blots that blossomed across his notes.
When the class had concluded, Draco snapped his book shut while ignoring the cacophony of mockery from the other boys to his right, "Oooh, Draco, what's under the table?"
"Shut up!" Malfoy seethed, turning towards me, "Get out of my way." He faced me for the first time since the incident, his eyes glittering with disgust.
I stood quickly trying to smooth out my skirt to ensure it wasn't stuck up awkwardly. His shoulder slammed into mine as he climbed out of the booth, practically running away from the classroom.