One we'd reached the hospital, he had spent a good hour trying to convince Madam Pomfrey that I was responsible for the ink spill while she generously applied a green solution to his face and wiped furiously. I had stared back into his eyes, holding his gaze from the hosital bed opposite him and said nothing. Pomfrey seemed disinterested in the topic of blame and more concerned with stopping the ink from relentlessly regenerating from where she had managed to remove it.
We had both been released at the same time with newly darkened hair. Mine had streaks of brown throughout it while Draco's was nearly fully gothic black. He was now reminiscent of a miniature Snape with his obsidian hair and pale complexion. I was secretly jealous of anyone who was going to be in the boy's bathroom at the moment he saw his new appearance – it was surely going to be hysterical.
After the ink accident I didn't see Draco around for almost a week. He seemed to have found a way to collectively avoid almost everyone in the Slytherin common room. I was sure he'd claimed illness or a family issue in order to get out of classes.
I wasn't particularly bothered by it and kept my mind busy on schoolwork and hobbies.
I read an entire divination textbook that week, making the most of my time outside under the tree. The weather was starting to dampen around the edges and winter's bite was beginning to creep into the smell and temperature in the air.
I also spent a lot of time flying over the Black Lake, trying ridiculous tricks like hanging upside down at breakneck speed just over the water's surface. The move felt like an optical illusion, as though flying extremely close to the ceiling of the sky. My daring personality with sports had often led to broken bones and serious injuries, but I had never shaken the habitual approach to games. My parents had eventually given up trying to stop me. My mother would walk around the house wincing when she saw me with any sort of equipment in my hands or on my body.
On Saturday I woke to the sound of excited yelling in the common room. The girl whose bed was next to mine blinked at me in a similar state of sleepy bewilderment. She sat up with messy brown waves sticking up in every direction and groaned in annoyance. I spent a few minutes braiding my long hair into two braids and wrapped a lanky silk robe around my petite nightgown. I knew if Snape saw me traipsing around the common room in only the short night dress he would surely deduct points from the house, or worse. It wasn't the same in France, where rules about clothing were far laxer. The British seemed more uncomfortable with their own thoughts.
The girl and I only nodded to each other as we left the room. I recognized her from sharing sleeping quarters the previous year. She tended to be wild and rude, but had a witty charm to her and confidence bigger than anyone else in the room combined. Her snarky retorts at the boys in the common room made her popular and she was always seen with a flask on the weekends, laughing too loudly and sitting in the center of the crowd. She was tall, slender, and beautiful with tanned skin and dark blue eyes that commanded the attention of whomever she was speaking with. I knew she assumed I couldn't speak any English at all because the previous year had basically been that way. She probably didn't want to risk wasting her precious energy on decoding my poor word choices.
The common room was packed with shouting students at one end, closest to the dungeon exit. The soft green fire was flickering with nonchalance in the stone hearth, completely ignored in the seating area. Bizarre that a fire would be burning at that hour of the morning, but it was on an endless loop no matter the time of day.
The other Slytherins were dressed in muggle clothing, most still in pajamas and gesturing towards a piece of parchment nailed to the wall.
I squinted and noticed that it was a bulletin for Quidditch team tryouts. Three spots were miraculously available, and I felt my heart lurch longingly. A sport opportunity.
Montague, one of the veteran players on the team was standing close by the parchment and snidely answering questions regarding the positions. He looked annoyed; as though whoever had posted it had not consulted first with his disinterest in bringing on new players. I recognized the spindly cursive writing instantly, although it would have been an easy guess. Malfoy was the team captain and had maintained that position for a few years now. It was his decision when they needed to bring on more players. I knew right away that I had more than one reason to try out, and so I would be there on Sunday.
"You're not seriously thinking of trying out for that, are you?" The girl who had come down with me finally broke her silence. She had an amused gaze on her pretty face as she tried to read my intense focus.
"Why not?" I asked in a surprised tone.
"There's rarely ever Slytherin girls accepted to the team," She quipped matter of factly, "The boys usually make sure of it. They don't like playing with girls. Pathetic little fucks." She rolled her eyes and picked at a manicured nail.
"At my school in France I was on de team. I can play quite well," I defended my interest stubbornly.
"Well.." She trailed off looking somewhere over my shoulder, then glanced back at me with a grin, "Then knock them all off their brooms for me at least, Frenchness."
After picking up a full Slytherin quidditch uniform from Snape's office, I headed back to the dorms to get dressed early Sunday morning. The sun had hardly peaked over the trees and I was surprised by the fact that he even answered the door. He was clearly an early riser. With his eyebrows raised in entertainment he had tossed me the green and beige clothing set and swiftly shut the door in my face, barely failing to smash my nose off of it.
I stepped out of the bathroom stall to inspect myself in the girl's mirror. My hair was braided in two blond lines down the sides of my head. I had on enough makeup to look natural but pretty. The uniform fit much more bulkily than the beautiful, feminine French ones had. I cast a quick tailoring spell and the uniform shrank and reformed itself to emphasize my slim physique. I was not about to look like a lumpy toad in front of a bunch of men.
A stall door opened and Pansy walked out, shocked by my presence. She looked me up and down and hardly bothered to stifle a laugh, "So...desperate, are we? He's not going to be interested in a girl who plays men's sports." She looked at me knowingly, her brown eyes glinting cruelly. Even though I was taller than her, she was projecting a lot of energy up at me.
I raised my chin at her, "Some of us don' play sports for men. We play for amusement."
"Some of us can speak proper English." Her upper lip curled into a snarl.
I huffed past her, trying with all my might to poke her with the end of my expensive broomstick on my way by. She made a last second dodge to my dismay.
The walk down to the pitch was long but gorgeous. It was already a blue bird day and my spirits were high. The air was wet and warm, whispers of summer clinging desperately to September. I could've flown there but I wanted to warm up my body with a rapid walk instead. My broomstick glimmered in the sunlight; the gold was exquisite in my opinion. Although the typical colors of Slytherin were silver and green, I was always fonder of gold as a color. Besides, I'd had my broom custom painted a year ago before caring about Hogwarts color drama. I knew it was a better broom than most families could afford, and that was all that mattered.
As I neared the pitch on the final few stone steps that gave way to a long stretch of grass a group of Slytherin boys came into view. They were crowding around, stretching, yelling - brooms were thrown on the ground at various angles, perfect tripping hazards that no one seemed to acknowledge. There was a signature head of white, blond hair in the middle, huddled closely by Montague who was trying to call for order. Marcus Flint was a few yards away busy causing more distraction by kicking a younger boys broom continuously out of his hands.
I vaguely was wondering how Draco had managed to revert his hair back from the intense black color when Montague tapped on his shoulder and pointed at my approaching figure.
Draco's face instantly soured, and he sighed gruffly, walking up to me with heaving aggression, "No! No, no, no, absolutely not!" He shoved me so hard I had to throw my broom back to steady myself from not falling completely over. My ridiculous mind tried not to focus on the fact that he had just pushed me by my breasts, even though I doubted he realized that.
"What are you playing at? What's your next trick hmm?" His eyes were boring into my soul, his face mere inches from mine. I took a split second to acknowledge how fresh his breath was, "You going to knock me off my broom when my back is turned?"
I hesitated for a second before making a face that gestured at saying of course not. What the heck was he talking about?
My silence was suddenly used against me, "Oh yeah, you can hardly even speak. Right," He was nodding his head as though having a conversation with himself in a mirror. Marcus snorted in the background as he kicked at the younger boys broom for a fifth consecutive time.
"'ow did you clean your hair? It was quite black, no?" I mused, as though I hadn't heard his unrelenting dismissal. I could feel his breath on my face.
"Why do you care? What, was that your preferred color on me?" He laughed looking behind him, and several of the boys joined in.
"I much more prefer dis," I gestured flirtingly at his wind-swept blond locks, my fingers flicking some of his hair up lightly from his forehead. Some of the boys snickered, "But besides dat, you 'ave to let me try out. Esn't et a rule or someting?" I had spent the week working on my English hoping it would've improved, but my accent tore up my words like a knife to a cake.
Malfoy's face formed a disgusted sneer as he stepped away from my reach, "Absolutely not – go back to the dormitory. This isn't for girls." He crossed his arms and stood his ground as if blocking me from the rest of the team. He was noticeably much taller than me and I felt shadowed by his proximity.
I looked down and sighed. I could see my long lashes in my vision and knew I must've looked adorable and disappointed. I had drawn him in. I looked up swiftly, my eyes meeting his, and for a brief moment it seemed as though he was taken aback. His blue eyes glittered with a pinch of unreadable conflict.
"Fine," I said curtly as I turned and swung my shiny broom from my shoulders in one fluid, experienced move, and then I was gone.