"Mm. Nice."
Cyrilla Toran unlocked the last latch on her train case and opened the steel-gray lid, pulling out a blue cushion and nestling it in the small of her back. A compartment all to herself, a book, ample room to stretch out and enough privacy to satisfy - nothing could be better. She flipped through her book – Chapter four, wasn't it?
"My brother's a fool," said Jehan to himself; "it would have been much simpler to write Fatum. Everybody is not obliged to know Greek."
She absently rubbed her hand along the side of the compartment. The Muggle author's words sank into her mind like the wall's cool smoothness into her fingers – ow… a splinter? It looked perfectly polished earlier… she sat up to examine the now-surfacing crack on the wall when her compartment door slid unwelcomely open. Merde.
A delicate-faced, silvery-haired boy eyed her books, her luggage, and herself with a disdainful eye. "And you are?"
"I see no reason to answer that," she retorted with an icy look of her own, before returning to the book in her lap.
"Oh wonderful. Another Granger. And in my favorite compartment." He looked to the two lumps on either side of him. "I don't want company here, boys."
"Funny, I don't see your name on the -" She stopped short, eyes widening at a sudden discovery. "- place. Are you Draco, by any chance?" Cyrilla coolly slid her wand out of her sleeve, scratching its tip over the wall's tiny imperfection.
The lumps instinctively moved to protect him, but he impatiently elbowed them aside. "Yes. How - "
"You Malfoys think you own just about everything - " Cyrilla stood – "but in this case, someone seems to have reserved this compartment for you." She picked up her case, smiling graciously.
Only the two bodyguards seemed to sense anything amiss in the gesture, sending each other dehh-should-we-be-worried looks. "How kind of you," the silvery blond drawled.
Cyrilla made to leave, then turned at the door. "Oh, but before I go - " a tiny jet of white shot from her wand at the crack. "Just so you know whom to thank. …It is whom, isn't it?"
She was almost rammed to the ground by a crimson-faced Draco scrambling to get out, followed by two lumps overcome by gales of thick laughter.
"Are you sure you won't take it? It's first in line for the treat cart… oh, bugger." She let loose a malicious grin as she slid the door shut and settled back down to her book. "Ah, young love. Benefiting me. My day is complete."
Porcelain-white letters on the wall screamed:
Pretty Pansy lurrrves Draco Darling
A.N. Victor Hugo. I don't own the hunchback or the blond. Yada.