Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Can I make it any simpler?
Note: I got sick of all the clichéd OC plots. So I made my own, and, I'm afraid, with a twist. There's something for everyone. A little (a lot, really) of romance, angst, drama, action, and of course, humour (sarcasm is really the better word).
Chapter One: Meeting Malfoy
Jasmine
He was there, - just as she had promised.
Jasmine pushed her squeaking trolley forward, the wheel on the front left shook for a few seconds making it hard to steer, cursing as she did so. It wasn't just the uncontrollable trolley she was pissed off about, well maybe a little bit, but she had other things on her mind that involved neither the train nor this person.
Stupid woman, she thought angrily, the one time she keeps one of her worthless promises is the one time I don't bloody need it. 'Meet him there.' Were the last words her mother had said to her, and, when Jasmine had reminded her that they weren't the best of friends, 'Don't worry – he'll be there,'
This was the bit she was most dreading. Meeting Malfoy. It wasn't as if they were strangers – they had known each other since, well, forever. That was the problem. She knew him too well. She smiled at her memories when he was actually a normal, fairly nice (if a little spoilt) boy. But now, judging on when she had last seen him, she was wondering if he was still an obnoxious brat. Her cat, Capella, mewed indignantly when she bumped into someone else's trolley. Jasmine smiled apologetically automatically and scolding herself for not being strong enough to push a trolley. It wasn't even a big one.
She stopped to gather her bearings and her train of thought.
Ah yes – him.
Deep down though, she knew she was jealous of him. He got to go to Hogwarts instead of being shoved off to Drumstrang in the middle of nowhere. Nowhere being the most cold and miserable place possible. He got to chose the subjects he wanted to take instead of them being chosen for him. And, although the difference was minute, he was a child for longer than her. Lucius didn't actually hit him, though Draco did have mysterious bruises one or two times, but there are other ways to abuse people than physically bullying.
When she finally made her way over to him, he managed to find the furthest pillar to lean against, he still didn't notice her. He had grown, she thought, unconsciously studying him, but maybe he finally had that growth spurt. A lot can happen in two years.
If he was going to ignore her, she might as well embarrass him.
He still had that blonde hair and, unless something terrible had happened, she was willing to bet that he still had cold grey eyes. And he was probably just as loathsome. Draco checked the clock and put the flat of his left foot on the wall still not seeing her.
She coughed. Rather loudly. Draco stood up quickly, pushing off from the foot on the wall, whether she had made him jump or if he was getting ready to bite the head of some small child off she didn't know. But now he somehow managed to look down at her from small height difference between them and made her feel like a bit of chewing gum on the pavement. She took a calming breath.
Yup. Still obnoxious.
Looking her up and down then smirking, she began to feel a frown growing on her face. This was certainly Lucius Malfoy's son, smashing her earlier hopes into pieces.
"You're Jasmine then I suppose."
It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a statement. It was just as if he had spoken his thoughts aloud – it didn't matter if she didn't reply. He was right. He knew who she was.
As if anyone would willingly talk to him anyway.
"As you can see," she answered, realising that he might be just showing off in front of all his peers. Peers, not friends. Another smirk caused her to take out her anger on the handle of the trolley instead of his nose. She was gripping it so hard the white of her knuckles stuck out like streetlights.
Apparently oblivious to her mood, he made the smallest motion for her to follow before walking off and disappearing into the massing crowds around them. Jasmine, who naively thought that he would at least help with her luggage, stood there for a few seconds just blinking and waiting for him to come back – maybe with a porter.
Then it hit her. Did he just leave her? For the second time in two minutes, she started to push the faulty device through the horde of crying parents and embarrassed children and slowly made her way to the scarlet train in front, always just out of sight. .
When she finally reached the damn thing, Draco was nowhere to be seen – not that she expected him to be. He was probably in the prefect compartment somewhere now he had 'met' her. She looked up and down the train, still no sign of him, and squinted through the steam towards the front.
A boy pushed past her to get out of the train. She ignored him. There wasn't even any porters. What kind of school was this?
How was she going to get a heavy trunk, a small bag and a angry cat on the train? As much as she hated to admit it, she wasn't that strong and she needed his help.
"I suppose you need me after all," someone drawled as if reading her thoughts. She did not need to turn around to see who it was. Who else had that voice? Who else would state the complete obvious?
Gritting her teeth and applying a smile on her face, she turned around,
"Yes," she replied, and then added as an after thought after seeing his face fall a little, "Please. That's if you don't mind."
She thought she saw him nod to himself. Some where in the distance, or just above the racket all of these awful people were making, she heard a clock chime before followed by a shrill whistle. The whistle was followed by more screams of excitement and Jasmine wasn't the only one to blanch.
"C'mon," Draco muttered gruffly shoving her cat (who hissed at him crossly) and bag in her general direction and picking up the trunk, "If you weren't so bloody late we wouldn't have this problem."
Jasmine bit her tongue, she had this awful feeling this was the rest of the journey would be like. It gave her no small feeling of satisfaction to see Draco struggling with her trunk. She glanced down the train to see children leaning out of windows waving goodbye to siblings and parents or just leaning out to wait for the train to start. Two high-pitched whistles blew again in quick succession followed by the closing of doors along the train.
She had to jump on and shut the door just as the pistons started and despite herself, a small, excited grin spread across her face. It had been a long time since she had been looking forward to school. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad; she might even learn something at this school. A small bubble of hope began to grow. She might make some nice, new friends. She might not have to manipulate people just to survive.
But when she came to the passage and faced Draco scowling and with her trunk hovering in the air, her smile faded slowly. The little bubble burst.
Draco
And just what did she have to pleased about? Coming onto the train all smiley and hopeful – it was disgusting. It was only school for the god's sake; it wasn't like it was anything new and exciting. And it only took a single scowl to destroy it.
Acting all high-and-mighty as if she owned the goddamn place. Turning up late – so late they almost missed the train – with a dodgy trolley and a psychopathic, gangling cat. That thing was almost as nasty as its owner. Almost.
She was just as he remembered her to be – she still looked no older than fifteen, or there about. She had got a little taller and her hair had gotten darker but apart from that it was as if he was seeing her the day after they last said goodbye. Only this time it was funnier to tease her because he knew that she couldn't do anything back to him – something that might get the better of him.
Draco smiled to himself as he gazed out of the window and at the country in front of him. This year was going to be fun. He could feel it. It would be fun to watch from a distance, maybe even got involved at the end. Who knew what would happen, whatever would though, it would be different.
But seeds of doubt had been sown. Dumbledore had taken him aside last year (well he was summoned to his office) and had asked him if there was anything he wanted to talk about. It was all he could do to look right in his eyes and say 'no'. If he had asked him questions Draco wasn't sure if he could answer untruthfully with more than one word reply's.
Maybe this wouldn't be fun. Maybe it would be hell.
Jasmine wasn't exactly known for her loyalty to certain groups. She preferred to stay neutral in most situations, smiling dismissively at questions or laughing them off, changing the subject seamlessly. She had done it to him and others.
He might need to get to know her a little better. He needed to know if she was going through with it.
If she wouldn't, he not might act on it.
Jasmine
All of her previous, joyful, thoughts had flown out of her mind now. In fact, she couldn't even imagine imagining them now. And if that ever happens to you, it's bad.
Of all the things she expected the journey to be, this wasn't it. A possibility of polite small talk, a good chance of bickering and a one in a million chance of them getting on. But not complete silence. Not even comfortable silence – hate filled silence. It wasn't all her fault. Half of the blame lay with Mr I've-got-the-sun-shining-out-of-my-arse over there at the very least.
Although it seemed an age ago, that morning her mother had told her to be at least civil with Draco. She, at least, knew what the pair of them were like together. Malfoy's were supposedly the hardest in the business, or so she had also been informed. Jasmine put it down to the piles of gold piles of gold, silver and bronze in the bank and their seemingly non-existent manners.
Seeing as she was using this . . . opportunity just to go to Hogwarts, and not to carry out her 'master's' plan for her, she had spent the time when her mother had talked to her just fiddling with some hair and wondering just how her mother knew that Malfoy's were the hardest in the business.
Perhaps it was their inability to say thank-you.
"I know why you're here," he said unexpectedly, from his side of the compartment. They each had kept to their own corners of their own accord to prevent anything actually happening. Draco by the window, gazing out and occasionally shooting the cat dirty looks (the cat sent them back), and Jasmine closer to the door, reading and stroking the cat.
"Is that so."
He hadn't interrupted much. She was only pretending to read while really thinking of when they last met wondering, aside from the obvious, did he have anything that bad to hate her for. They were both fifteen and it was the summer holidays before fifth year. He had always played god with small animals and insulted anyone and anything he thought was below him. He had always been like that. Always.
And he thought a lot was below him.
But that year, he was seriously pissed off about something. He was in a malicious mood all holiday – not such a big achievement for him. If you upset him in anyway, that was it – you were doomed. With everyone he was looking for faults – the way you dressed, the way you spoke, the colour of your eyes, the way you walked, the colour of your hair – the way you breathed. He would find something. If he could find nothing, he would pick on you for the very fact you were perfect.
He never insulted her (often). Whether or not it was because she was the daughter of his host for half the summer she never found out. They were actually getting on fine – she liked him better than the other squalid miscreants she was forced to socialise with. Why did she hate him now?
The present Draco ignored her last comment.
"I could bring this whole thing down."
She didn't even bother to add her views on that. If she had opened her mouth, something undoubtedly contemptuous, sarcastic and cynical would have come out.
"All I have to do is talk to Dumbledore."
She saw him struggle with that sentence. He would rather ask Snape out on a date than talk to Dumbledore out of choice. To stop herself replying with a jibe, she checked the page of her book and folded down the corner to think of something else to say.
"Oh please don't," she gasped, holding the closed booking both hands and leaning on it, "please, please, please!"
Scooting over to him every time she said 'please' had done the trick. His eyes narrowed slightly when she started drawing figures of eight on his kneecap,
"You wouldn't give me up would you?" she implored, enjoying her name games, "I'd do anything . . ."
She let the sentence hang. The look on his face was already priceless enough with out continuing. All she had to do was use her big brown eyes. She could practically hear the cogs in his brain going round and round trying to find traces of sarcasm or looking for truth in her eyes.
"Really?" he remarked, frowning some more, not coming to the right conclusion. Poor boy, she thought, no one had ever been sarcastic to him before.
Jasmine rolled her eyes. His little body guards IQ's were wearing off on him.
"Insert sarcasm here," she muttered under her breath, opened her book and began to read once more. Draco blinked just as she had done when he left her back at the station.
"What did you say?"
"You heard me," she snapped, "Are you suicidal?" Draco was going to be the person she told about her change of heart. He wasn't now. "Or, as I suspect, just plain stupid? Only an idiot would admit that-"
She didn't finish her sentence. She should have stopped at suicidal. A hand clamped over her mouth.
"Shut it," he hissed, nodding towards the door, which was the only thing keeping the busy corridor out and their conversation in, "Or it won't be death by suicide."
Before she could have a change to spit on his hand, he removed it slowly and sitting back down. For one moment – one stupid moment – she thought it would be safe to speak here. This was Hogwarts after all. But then again – it was Hogwarts. Who ran Hogwarts? Who was suspicious when he talked to Jasmine about exactly why she wanted to come to school so close to the end of her education?
Jasmine was usually a good liar but there was something about Dumbledore – something about his eyes – something about them made you think twice about telling a lie. She compromised – she refrained from answering with the whole truth.
But that 'it won't be death by suicide' comment was true. It was dangerous enough just thinking what she was thinking. Then is occurred to her that he was talking about himself. That changed things. She smiled wanly. Draco looked at her shrewdly for a second before standing up.
"Err, where are you going?"
He shrugged evasively, not looking at her,
"The prefect compartment," he murmured, "I forgot to go earlier on. They'll be wondering where I am. Besides I'm starving"
"Who exactly?" Jasmine mumbled sourly, leaning back and returning to her book. For a second Draco looked like he was going to reply but didn't and slipped out of the compartment silently.
As soon as she had heard the sliding door close (the glass inside the pane shuddered for a few moments causing the cat to wake) she threw her book to the side. It wasn't that interesting anyway. She shuffled over to the window where he was sitting before; it was still a little warm, propped her elbow up on the tiny sill and gazed at the passing landscape.
Sheep, fields, hedges, lakes, houses slipped past all the time getting gradually bleaker and bleaker as time went on and as the sun dipped behind a bank of clouds, never coming out of them again. Her mind was in turmoil, as Capella crawled onto her lap and arching in and out of the crook of her arm. A steady feeling of unease was beginning to grow in the pit of her stomach, hovering there making her feel like someone was watching her, coupled with the strong desire to be sick.
Draco still hadn't come back. An hour and a half had passed with no event but Jasmine was used to travelling. She was rarely home and it took over nine hours to get from school to the station where her parents picked her up at the end of every year. Travelling had always been part of her life – you just found ways to occupy yourself. Or you died of boredom.
That was why the feeling sick was worrying – she was never travel sick. Not ever.
A few people had come in, taken one glance at her and mumbled what she thought was an apology and shuffled back out again. It might have been something with her automatic glare (in case it was Draco) and a hissing, spiting mottled cat on lap, coiled up to spring. Capella wasn't very good with strangers; it was a small wonder that she didn't attack Draco after the way he had thrown her about at the station. In fact she actually liked him and had, until Jasmine wrenched her back, started to stalk over to Draco.
But mythering, if that was what she was doing, would do her no good. She wouldn't sleep in case someone did something to her face (it had happened), she had read her book loads of times and, with the small matter of hatred between the only person she knew, she had no one to talk to. She figured this unease was misplaced nervousness from starting a new school and all the excitement that came with it.
What house would she be in? How would the lessons be? Would anyone like her?
Would any one find out?
Draco
He had to get out of there.
The prefect thing wasn't a complete lie though. Pansy – he flinched – would be wondering where he was and if she found out about Jasmine. . . So long as they were apart, all would be fine for everyone involved.
With Crabbe and Goyle gone, he felt a little vulnerable. They had left at the end of last year when it became painfully obvious to their parents that they hadn't a chance in hell of getting any kind of N.E.W.T's. Shame really. Having two completely brainless, dim-witted partners kind of made you feel better about yourself sometimes.
Draco glanced out of the window – he would have to stay up at the top end of the train despite the fact that someone unpleasant was bound to spot him. Potter and the Dream Team were always at the bottom. He wasn't so sure now that Granger was Head Girl and Weasel was still a prefect. Did this mean Potter was on his own, friendless? Not likely. Ginny Weasley was probably sniffing around or something, or Longbottom desperate for some reflected glory.
He threw a bitter glare at a passing fourth year.
He was sort of hoping he could get along with Jasmine – well, at least not hate her. She was about the only person that treated him like a normal human and nothing more or less. But now… now she hated the very ground he walked on. Shame really. It was kind of his fault.
You just had to be horrible to her, didn't you, you stupid arse?
Maybe he should give it a few hours – after all she had to be at least not horrible to him if he was showing her where to go. Right? He kneaded his forehead with his knuckles, scrunching up his eyes
Girls