::Disclaimer:: Okay, well, I don't own Harry Potter. I do own Lucy, though. But since she's a Malfoy, I can't say she's ALL mine (since, let's face it, she'd be nothing without Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco, lol).

::AN:: Wow, sorry for the long wait, you guys! But guess what?! It's my birthday today!! Cool, huh? I know I should be out doing stuff, but most of my family isn't awake yet so I'm all, "Um, uh, okay... Maybe later?" lol Anyways, I love you guys! I don't have time to respond to reviews (that makes me feel bad!) but I'll try to do it next time! Oh, and sorry for any errors you may find in this chappie, I just finished most of it, and I reread it, but I probably missed some stuff, like always (sorry!). Hope you like! Please review!

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Chapter 6

I shrugged and was about to say, "Oh, my last name is Malfoy. As in, my full name is Lucinda Katarina Malfoy. As in, my mother is Narcissa Malfoy and my father is Lucius Malfoy. And yes, my brother is Draco Malfoy." And even go on to say how Katarina means 'pure' in Latin, which goes to show just how pent up my family is about the whole "pureblood" biz. (Katarina also means 'virginal' but we won't get into that, now will we?)

But, anyway, I didn't even get a chance to say more than, "Oh, my last name –" before the compartment door banged open again and my brother stood there, standing stupidly like the idiot he is.

"Can I help you, Malfoy?" Hermione said coldly to him.

Draco sneered at her, but then turned to me and spoke. "Come with me, Lucy. There're things that need to be done."

I shook my head and scowled at him, "I don't want to –"

"I don't care what you want, you idiot." He spat back. "Come on with me, you need to be sorted. That old hag of a headmaster keeps changing his mind about what he's going to do with you."

"Don't speak like that about Dumbledore!" Ginny hissed.

Draco rolled his eyes, but continued to glare at me. "Are you coming, Luce? I haven't got all day to be running your little errands."

I raised an eyebrow as I stood up. "I'm going, I'm going…" I mumbled as I turned back towards Harry and the others and shrugged. "Wish me luck, eh?"

Brother-of-mine rolled his eyes again and grabbed onto my elbow. "Let's go." He hissed and pulled me out of the compartment.

"Ow, that's my arm!" I hissed at him as he pulled me down the aisle. I tried to stomp on his feet as he dragged me along, but as he was walking in front of me, my sad mission was kind of pointless.

After what seemed like a million years – can you imagine how my arm felt by then? Draco has no compassion for his younger (and only) sister – Draco shoved me in a compartment and before I could turn around and say something along the lines of… Okay I don't know what I would've said. I probably would have had one of my wild-animal moments or something and attacked him, but whatever.

I looked around the compartment curiously. It was empty.

Turning back to Draco as he shut the compartment door, I scowled. "Really, Drakkie, you had plenty chances to rid me from your life at home. I've already met The Boy Who Lived and His Friends, so don't you think it would be just a wee bit suspicious if you attempted to off me now?"

He blinked at me and then his face got into one of his less-attractive, contorted-with-rage expressions that he's gotten into the habit of wearing around me. All the time. "For your information, Lucy," he spat icily, making me jump clear out of my knickers (well, pretty damn close, I tell you), "I do not want to 'off' you, as you so call it. I brought you here so that I could talk to you, you self-absorbed ditz."

I stared at him blankly and opened my mouth to say something (Merlin only knows what I would've said. Maybe something like, "Mrfrglfnk" or what have you.) but quickly shut it when I saw his face get even more rage-contort-y.

"Sit." He ordered.

And I sat.

It's times like these that I don't know who I should call for help.

Granted, no one really knows me, so they'd be all, "What? Lucinda who? Draco's torturing her? Oh, who cares?" and continue pigging out on Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans or whatever it is they eat here.

I thought of calling out for mum. (In the insane instance that people at GREAT distances could hear me.) But then I remembered that she's fully Draco-oriented so she'd probably just smile and give him a nice pat on the back while she left to go eat beans with the Hogwarts-y crowd.

I pondered the thought of calling out for Dad, but… Really, what would he do? I was pretty scared of my father (Merlin bless him), and right now Draco seemed to be pretty much the total image of him. The image of my father, I mean. Which means I was scared of my brother.

But as he's my brother, the whole "fear" thing didn't last too long. After he took a seat across from me, I tried my best – which, I assure you, isn't as pitiful as it sounds. I am a Malfoy, jeez, have some respect – to regain my scowl as I regarded his blonde tallness – even though he was sitting down – in front of me.

"You lied, then?" I asked him. "To those people? You lied to them? I'm not going to be a sorted. I'm going to have to sit here. With you. Alone."

Draco laughed then. I mean, he outright LAUGHED, although it wasn't very pleasant. It was actually kind of freaky. (And the "fear" returns…) "Lucy, listen!" He said once he had calmed down enough to form coherent sentences. "First of all, it doesn't matter what The Prat Who Lived and His Friends think, is that clear? You are, by no means, to become involved with any one of them, or any of the sort they prance around with."

I gawked at him. "If you mean what I think you mean, I think I'm going to be sick. That's disgusting, Draco. I may sort of hate the way you treat me – and, well, the house elves – but that doesn't mean I'm about to get involved with The Boy Who Just Won't Die."

Draco smirked, but he looked slightly bemused. "I didn't mean romantically involved, you know."

I nodded. "I know. Obviously." Riiight. 'Cause that's exactly what I had been thinking.

Can you imagine, though? Being romantic, I mean. With Harry Potter.

Well, now that I've met him up-close-and-semi-personal, I can't say that I actually don't wonder but –

Oh, never mind. I'm going to go crazy if I keep on with this.

There was a long moment of silence. I tried to keep on with the staring contest Draco was having with me, but I had to blink, and so after I did, he said, "The Boy Who Just Won't Die, huh? I like that."

I rolled my eyes. Of course he would like that. "Don't kid yourself, Drakkie. I bet you're probably boiling with jealousy at him right now."

"I AM NOT JEALOUS OF HARRY BLOODY POTTER!" He bellowed.

In an effort to keep things light, I said, "That's not his middle name, is it? 'Bloody,' I mean. Poor bloke. And I thought the thing about his parents was sad. Can you imagine? Bloody."

This, however, seemed to mellow my elder sibling out a little as he regarded me for a moment. I thought that he'd maybe confide in me for a short mo and tell me exactly WHY he seemed to hate the Potter-boy so much (well, besides him being all anti-Dark-Lord and all, really), but he just rubbed his chin for a moment.

"I wanted to discuss some things with you, Lucinda." He said, getting all full-first-name on me. "Do you think you could act as though you're not as immature as you are for a few minutes?"

Me? Immature?

Well, yes, but I'm FIFTEEN! Name one totally-mature fifteen-year-old and I'll, well, I'll… I don't know what I'll do, as I've totally lost my point. Or this argument. Self-argument. Whichever.

"Whatever you say, cap-i-ton-o." I said as gravely as possible.

Really, I'm just a comedian stuck in a fifteen-year-old-pureblood-witch's body, you see?

Or, well, maybe not, but that's just you, I assume.

Draco gave me one of his looks (no, not the rage-contort-y one, but close) and opened his mouth to speak at me ("speak at me"… Is that grammatically correct? I think not.) "Lucy," He said seriously. "Do you know what house you want to be sorted into?"

I shook my head slowly. "Um, no. I don't even understand the whole 'house' thing? What's it do?"

"It's where you'll live for the next two years. Not including the holidays." He added.

I blinked at him (oh come on, what else was I supposed to do? Applaud? Are you daft?). "Um, okay. So, whatever. Who cares? All I know is that you're in Slithery, right?"

"Slytherin." He corrected, although he started coughing afterwards, smirking a bit.

"Right." I said, as though I hadn't made a mistake whatsoever. "Slytherin. And Dad was in that place, too, right? And Mom."

"Yes." He nodded.

"Okay." I said and we sat there for awhile before I sighed all fake-heavy-like and went, "But really, who cares?"

He scoffed at me. "You are, by far, the stupidest person I have ever met."

I had to roll my eyes at this. I mean, seriously, am I the only one who noticed the two huge-o codependent individuals (is that an oxymoron? Codependent individual. Really, now.) "Whatever, oh platinum-hued-one. Are you just going to call me stupid or is there actually a point to this business?"

"There's a point." Draco sneered. Lovely sneer, Brother Dearest. Keep up the good work! "It is, that you must be sorted into Slytherin. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." I replied.

"Good." He nodded again, moving to stand.

I hesitated. "Well… That 'crystal' I mentioned? Yeah, it might have a few spots on it."

He sat back down. "What don't you understand, Lucinda? When the sorting hat is placed on your head in Dumbledore's office, don't even THINK of letting it place you in another house. If it even suggests it – which it shouldn't, unless you're that much of a disgrace to the Malfoy name – don't back down. If you do as I say, you won't be placed in any other house."

I bobbed my head up and down in what I hoped was a nod, but I'm not quite sure that it was. "Okay. Slytherin it is."

He stood up and made for the door, but I made a squeaky sound (don't ask, okay? I don't know how it happened, honestly! I thought I go over that squeak-age thing! HONESTLY!) and he turned around, a bored look on his face. "But, Draco," I whispered, looking around out of the corners of my eyes suspiciously, even though no one else was in the compartment. "What if I don't get into Slytherin?"

Draco nodded. "It's already been discussed between Dumbledore and Mother. I'm not sure of the details, but they'll most likely change your name and forbid you from speaking of your true relation of the Malfoy family. And you'll have to act as though you don't know me." And with that he quickly exited the compartment.

Okay, wait, back up! Rewind, people!

They can't do that!

Um, can they?

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Oh, God, that was almost frightening. I am never – EVER – riding in one of those horseless-carriage-things again! I am so going to be sick. I am going to be sick all over the two boys who rode with me all the way to the castle.

What are their names? Oh, I forget. I am so nauseous.

Gah, even the word "nauseous" is making me nauseous.

If that makes any sense. Which, well, okay… I think not.

"Are you alright?" The shorter one asked me. "You look like your going to vomit!"

Way to state the obvious, little man.

"Do you need some help?" The older questioned, raising his hand near my arm. I think he was going to rub my arm in comfort or something like nice people do, but my do-that-and-you're-dead look probably made him think better of it. Thank Merlin.

I shook my head, then stopped mid-shake (heh, mid-shake… shimmy, anyone?) and nodded. "Professor… McGonagall…?"

The boy nodded, his blonde hair doing a cute (but nauseating - even the tiles on the floor were making my stomach go all woobidy) WOOSH thing. "Sure, the first years haven't crossed the lake yet. Follow me, then." He turned to the short boy. "Stay here, Dennis, alright?"

Short Boy protested in an utmost annoying way. Oh MERLIN, I'm going to upchuck my lunch! (Wait, did I eat lunch? I forget, I think I was holed up in my room at the time. Oh, dear Merlin in Wherever-You-Are, please don't give me dry heaves. Those are SO gross.) "I'm not a baby!" He practically shouted and opened his mouth to bellow some more before I rested my hand on his shoulder half for support and half for threatening-purposes.

"Listen, short stack." I said coolly. (Although it sounded kind of raspy, as I was trying not to breathe while I spoke, as doing so promotes vomit-age.) "Let the Slightly-Taller-One show me where the professor person is and I swear on everything I own that I won't hurl my lack of lunch all over your tiny little body."

Mr. Shortness just nodded and kind of gulped (well, he DID gulp, I was just being nice when I said he "kind of" did), backing away.

"Right." Blonde-Taller-One said to what-was-just-then-registering-as-Dennis as he ushered me down another hall. "Professor McGonagall!" He called at a tall, middle-aged woman. "Professor!"

The lady turned around swiftly (GAH… my stomach can't handle this! Why is everyone moving so fast?! What's the rush, I ask you?!) and studied the two of us for a moment before nodding her head curtly at some students nearby (oh, hey, look it's Hermione! Hi Hermione! Okay, um, FINE, don't notice me here, all pale and dying-like) before shooing them away from her. "Miss…" She hesitated.

"Oh." I paused. "My name's… Lucy." I blinked and wobbled a bit. "Well, it's really Lucinda but, I mean, ew." I sort of leaned on the blonde boy for support. "And I mean 'ew,' I think I'm going to be sick."

"Mr. Creevey, you're dismissed." Professor McGonagall said stiffly and I tried to sympathize with her (she wear her hair in a really tight bun at the nape of her neck, see? Like me. Except my bun is loose and considerably sloppy, which allows my face to move. She probably can't move properly.).

The blonde boy gave me a small smile before rounding the corner in the direction we had come from (at least I think so... How big is this place?). "He's nice." I said to Professor McGonagall, although I'm not sure why, as I usually have this "issue" with authority figures (I mean, I didn't draw a proportional mural of Karkaroff for nothing. Well, if want to call if proportional, sure. Although it really wasn't… It was rather tiny, you see… Oh, gross, I'm going to spew all over the bun-lady.). "Smells like soap." I added.

Professor McGonagall still looked rather stiff, though (how tight IS that bun?!) and she just nodded to me. "Follow me." She ordered.

And I followed.

What the heck else was I supposed to do? Really!

Plus, I secretly hoped that wherever she was taking me, there would be a toilet I could relieve myself in (and I mean vomit, not pee, thank you). Or at least a bucket. Oh, Merlin, maybe two buckets at this rate.

After awhile we stopped and I was too busy trying not to walk into her back from my momentum of walking so fast while trying not to ralph all over the marble flooring. I heard her mumble something under her breath, but I still couldn't look up. The pounding in my head was slowly subsiding (but not enough), and I figured that any sudden movement would hinder me hereby barfing.

Professor McGonagall had me follow her up a staircase that (I'm not kidding) winded up all spiral-like. I was so going to share my breakfast with her. I even looked at her and went, "I had ham with my breakfast."

You know, just in case my vomit turns out to be some horrid green color or whatnot and she doesn't think I'm, like, dying.

She didn't seem to understand, apparently, since she just stared at me for a moment and then knocked on a door in front of her. Don't ask me how the door got there, or how we got to the door. I seriously don't remember walking. Maybe Professor McGonagall carried me, I have no idea.

She doesn't look ver strong, though.

Then again, neither do I, but Draco does and I'm tougher than he is.

Ish.

"Come in, come in!" I heard an old man's voice call.

So we stood there for another forty minutes or so, checking out our nails. McGonagall mentioned that she hadn't gotten a manicure since the Dark Ages, and I was all, "Oh, really? I go to this really great place in Knockturn Alley. It's fantabulous, let me assure you." She seemed really interested and so I wrote down the address for her while we talked about our hair and what products we thought worked better. It turns out that the ultimate life question really is 'Pantene or Frieda?' She can't decide either, unfortunately.

Um, no. That didn't really happen.

Obviously.

We walked into a circular office, where a white-haired man (he had a super-long beard. I was sort of scared that he might be hiding spare hunting wands in there or something. No, really, I was.). He told me to sit and did a total eye-twinky thing at me.

I know, talk about a ten on the lame-o scale. Eye twinkling is so first year.

Back when I was in first year, I mean. Oh, gah, I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore.

"Lucinda Malfoy." He said softly in a wise, old voice (um, really, he sounded wise… Don't ask how you can simply SOUND smart, but whatever. He totally could, so back off). "I'm very pleased to meet you. I am Albus Dumbledore."

Ah. The 'old hag.'

I nodded at him and tried to not think bad thoughts, as it didn't quite feel right. I thought that maybe he could read my mind.

CAN YOU READ MY MIND, OLD MAN?!

"It was such a disappointment that you couldn't join us in your first year." He continued.

Okay, I think not. About him reading my mind, I mean.

Unless he can, but he's not showing it.

Okay, that's it. No more thinking.

"I went to Durmstrang." I supplied for him. He might not know that. He might also not know my favorite color, but you can't get choosy, now can you?

Good ol' Igor knew my favorite color. I know, because I enchanted a set of his robes to that ONE COLOR, so that it couldn't be removed (unless by my wand). Hey, I had to prove that he wears the same robes all the time, right? Well, it worked…

And he does. Wear the same robes all the time, I mean. Way gross, yeah, but not my problem.

The Hogwarts Headmaster smiled for a spilt-second (I wonder if I was imagining it) and said, "I'm aware of that, Miss Malfoy." He paused to pull a small bag on his desk towards him and reached his hand inside. "Lemon drop?" He asked me.

I beg your pardon? What kind of school is this?!

And I said that. I said, "I beg your pardon?" but not "What kind of school is this?" as I thought that that would be taking it a bit too far. Because, really, it's not the entire school's fault that their headmaster went for a bathroom break when they were doling out sanityness.

I mean, look at Durmstrang. Look at Karkaroff.

I rest my case.

"Headmaster." Professor McGonagall said in a bit of a warning tone (ooh, getting testy, are we? I think I'll take a lemon drop, thank you).

"Sure." I reached my hand out to the headmaster and he blinked at me. "It's muggle stuff, right? I tried it a few years ago. Mad sour." He just blinked at me, so I waved my hand a bit. "Um, can I have one?"

Then I realized that he could be trying to poison me or something, so I pulled my hand back all slow-like and went, "Okay, um, so am I going to be a sorted soon?"

McGonagall stepped forward immediately as Dumbledore recovered and popped a lemon drop in his mouth (he also set one down on the desk in front me, but I didn't touch it. I value my life, thanks). "Here you are." McGonagall said as she placed a raggedy old hat on my head.

Okay, what the heck? I mean, seriously. As if my hair isn't bad enough as it is, now I'm going to have hat hair.

And I still feel queasy! Geez!

"Well, what have we here?" A little voice inside my head said in an amusing way.

Oh. No.

Now I not only have a lisp, the worst luck in the world, hat hair, and other such problems, but now I'm paranoid that I'm going to be killed by my new Headmaster (poisoned! Can you get any lower?) on my first day!

Oh, and I'm hearing voices in my head.

I've officially gone mad.

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::AN:: I'm kind of obsessed with cliffies on this fic... I promise that later on the clifferism-stuff will seriously die down, but right now I need to get people all interested and what have you! (lol)

Okay, so, what house should she be in? I haven't really decided yet, so I'm not just asking you to be all, "I already know, but I wanna know what you want." I need to know! (GAH!)

Also, in case people get confused... The blonde boy was Colin Creevey and the "shorter" one was Dennis. I think it's pretty clear, but I have to say that just in case, lol.