Disclaimer: Sadly, I only own our heroine.
Author's Note: In light of the recent Harry Potter release, I think it's appropriate to clarify; this story is written in general Harry Potter knowledge. New details/discoveries are going to be briefly crossed over in this fic because I haven't read the new book. Also, for the record, at this point in time, voldemort is dead. Big thanks to all who reviewed.
Chapter Two: Smoking Habits Under Construction
On the brightside, I won't have to smoke in a closet. Or at least, that is what I was telling myself as I prepared for my meeting with my board. Yes, I am doing this so I will not have to smoke in a closet. Some deep psychological motivation being activated I am sure but other than that . . .
Well anyway, the board barely, just barely bought my proposal. Once they had officially given me the okay, it was time for me to sit down and delegate all the office work I do to others; I would be mailed all the important things. You know what was interesting? When I actually sat down and started assigning things, I realized there is a lot of work I really am not required to do. At least, that is what this briefcase full of all my "work" for the month of September is telling me.
Indeed, I got out of the office with just a briefcase and obligations to weekly meetings via floo. Yes, I would say that Marlow Enterprises has finally gotten itself together. No thanks to Harry sodding Potter. The nerve of that arse, dragging me into the storeroom of a bloody jokeshop just to talk. He needs to get shagged by something, preferably not me. Maybe Granger?
Why am I talking about this?
I tried to focus on reports while the train pulled out of the station but my mind wandered back to my strange encounter with my old posse. Or should I say, the old posse I was apart of.
I had just gotten on the train with just my briefcase (already dressed in my robes) when I passed by Pansy's compartment. She was sitting with a group of slytherin girls (Daphne, Bulstrode and two others –Moon was absent). It took her a moment to recognize me (no idea why) and when she did she literally screamed. It was a short scream mind you but I did evoke a scream from someone.
"Marlow! What are you doing here!"
"I am going to school, Pansy. Lovely to see you again too."
"I thought you were locked away in Azkaban," Bulstrode interjected.
"If you read a newspaper maybe you would realize that she was released with Draco," Daphne hissed.
"Like you're one to talk," the larger girl retorted.
"You're staying for seventh year?" Pansy asked, ignoring the turmoil in her kingdom.
"Until I have other engagements," I said. Don't want to sound too attached to this bloody school.
"Are you going to sit with us?"
"No actually," I lifted up the briefcase, "business calls."
"Oh," Pansy said, her tone falling drastically. The circumstances of our friendship (not that it is such) are the same—in school—but obviously, we live separate lives. God, why does it sound like I had a baby?
Farther up the train, I walked past Draco's compartment. Typically, on the ride to school, Draco, Theo, Blaise, Crabbe Goyle and I would sit together. Every year someone different sat with Crabbe and Goyle, depended on size that year. Sixth year it was Draco I believe because Theo and I were smoking by the window. But this year . . . Avery was sitting with them.
Blaise looked up and we made eye contact. I could tell that he was surprised (maybe even happy?) to see me but at the same time uncomfortable. Draco looked up after Blaise had averted his gaze. He just looked at me, up and down and I couldn't tell what he was thinking. It was most unnerving due to the fact that for then years I had read Draco Malfoy like a book.
I walked on which is how I ended up here, alone in a compartment, halfway through my paperwork and halfway through a cigarette. The window is completely open don't worry, no one will notice. Remember when I used to not care? I wasn't sitting alone then.
Something disturbed me from my bubble of thought. I didn't even move my head when I glanced up. I was staring at a toad. I should be surprise but for some reason I am not. The toad hoped off the edge of my briefcase and onto my papers. I mentally tried to tell the frog that I would kill it and smear it's guts on the seat if it did not move itself.
"I'm terribly sorry but have you seen—Trevor!"
"Huh?" I jerked up, causing the toad to jump onto the window. Some kid had just busted into my compartment, looking distressed. Was that a gryffindor crest?
The kid lunged for the frog, I think we under the impression that I was going to move. I didn't move and the boy crashed into me, the frog somehow got into my robes and my papers somehow got out the window.
"Bollocks!" I cried, shoving the boy off me and frantically grapping at the paper which had just departed the train.
"Oh good god, good god," the boy was hyperventilating. "I am so sorry. Where is Trevor? I am so sorry."
I turned to curse the bloke when I felt something wriggle in my bra. I screamed and jumped, unintentionally flailing my arms as I tried to get the amphibian out of my underwear. Don't quite remember how it happened but the bloody toad ended up hitting the boy in the face. Serves him right.
The boy quickly tucked the toad away and turned to me. Steam must have been coming out of my ears as I surveyed the mess all my work was in or it could have been my cigarette smoldering in the upholstery; you pick.
"I am so sorry," he repeated, grabbing at my papers at the same speed he was breathing.
"Stop, stop, stop," I said. I gripped his shoulders and pulled him up to his feet. He was suddenly taller than I thought he was. Seventh year? "Before you go off messing up my work any more, how about we get introduced. My name is Alexandra Marlow," I held out my hand. Ah yes, the CEO in me is working.
"N-Neville Longbottom," he shook my hand.
I cleverly hid my surprise and while he wouldn't have been my first choice of people to meet on the train, I wasn't about to force him away. Can't afford to do that now. He really didn't look like a seventh year though.
Suddenly, the bloke started rambling on a mile a minute and all I could pick out right away was 'slytherin' 'sorry' 'your papers' and the rest, who knows.
His wide eyes were looking at me expectantly. "Pardon me?" I said.
"What could I do to make it up to you?"
I shifted my eyes from side to side as I thought. "Chocolate and some fags."
Longbottom shifted uncomfortably. "Chocolate I have but . . . what are . . ."
"You know," I said, resisting the urge to make him feel stupid, "cigarettes, smokes."
"I don't have those . . ." I opened my mouth to say something but he quickly went on, "But I do have sweets!"
Never in my life would I have expected to be sitting in a compartment, alone, eating candy with a gryffindor, much less Neville Longbottom the gryffindor clod. Oddly enough, he was quite easy to talk too without revealing too much about myself. A lot like Justin when I first met him. But I wasn't purposefully holding back information or lying, I just didn't want to frighten the poor bloke (he came off as fragile) with some weird blunt truth about my life.
The door to the compartment opened and Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas stuck their heads in. "Pardon me, is—Neville!"
"Hey guys," he greeted.
The two blokes looked at Longbottom, then to me and then to Longbottom. "What the hell are you doin' mate?"
"I was chasing after Trevor and and . . ."
Poor boy is verbally challenged, so I took over. "He knocked half of my work out the window and making it up to me by sharing his sweets."
Finnegan and Thomas (I am currently choosing to forget that I went on a date with the Irish bloke) surrounded Longbottom. I could hear them hiss. "She's in slytherin, mate! You can't let them bully you. Come on –"
"I am not being bullied!" Longbottom swatted them away. Apparently I have stumbled upon embedded issue.
"Please have a seat," I said. The two blokes turned around and almost mechanically sat down next to Neville. Dean made a move to grab some sweets but Longbottom swatted his hand away.
The silence was far too awkward so I wracked my brain for a conversation starter that I was remotely interested in. "Who won the quidditch cup last year?"
"Weren't you there?" Finnegan sounded surprised.
"I was otherwise occupied."
"But every slytherin was there!" Thomas exclaimed, obviously not getting my point.
"Then I must not be every slytherin because I wasn't there."
"Oh," they all said together.
"Well, your house won," Thomas said, sounding a bit pissed.
"Oh dear god, how?" I said making a face. Perhaps if I gave a little, they would do the same. "Slytherin house was a complete wreck last year. I don't know how anyone had the motivation to do anything."
Finnegan snorted. "That's what everyone else though too. Then Malfoy and 'arry get into a scuffle and the next thing you know 'is beaters 'ave knocked out every good chaser."
I laughed, "Draco Malfoy is so entertaining."
"You find that waste of space entertaining?" Thomas sneered. "Oh I forgot, slytherin girl, probably in love with him."
I ignored the tone in his voice. "On the countrary, he is very amusing. Tends to get obsessive about certain things. Maybe that is why we won the quidditch cup. Just hope he doesn't get too focus on you lot again. It's quite annoying to hear him rant about boys like some common pouf."
At this point the boys laughed and dun-dun-duuun, the great Xan Marlow has done it. We were conversing like equals in no time.
Several hours later, just when Thomas was getting to the punch line of his horrid retelling of summer with his aunt Mildred when the door to the compartment opened and Theo stuck his head in.
"Oi, Marlow," he said, completely ignoring my company. "You seen Draco?"
"Pleasure too see you again, too, Teddy," I said with a casual tone. He sent me a cool glare but continued to demand a response. "Why would I know where Draco is?"
Theo shrugged his shoulders. "Cell mates, bed mates." His timing has certainly improved. Wanker.
I got to my feet swiftly, "What is so bloody important?"
"I want to know if I can put a move on 'is girl."
I rolled my eyes. "Do you really need me?"
"I 'ave to entertain 'er, make sure she doesn't wander off."
"You owe me."
"I know."
I excused myself and thanked Longbottom then went up the train (Teddy went in the opposite direction—back to the girl) looking for the little prince. I was pretty sure Theo has thoroughly covered everything up to my compartment, he after all doesn't care for the needs of others. But when I began my search, I noticed a small . . . detail you could say.
There were about five compartments left and Draco wasn't in any of them. Which thus leaves me to believe that he is getting to third base with some bimbo in the baggage car. I wonder if that counts as an onomonopia. No no, third base has a 't' in it. Bollocks.
In the baggage car, as I predicted, I was greeted by the back of Draco's far too blond head. I didn't however, expect to be greeted by a fiery red one as well. I leaned against the doorway kind of in shock at the thought of Draco making out with a willing Ginny Weasley.
Ew! Just had awefully flashback to when I had red hair. Let me go puke.
When Ginny pinned a reluctant Draco against the trunks, he briefly opened his eyes. I know he saw me, we had eye contact for a good ten seconds! But what was most disturbing, is he carried on.
Once they were finished and Weasley turned around, the look on her face was some sort of consolation. "Ignore her," Draco said and beckoned the girl off. I moved so she could pass me. Draco and I began a heated two-way staring contest.
"Is there a specific reason why you are here, Marlow or do you just like being a voyeur?"
"Nothing you could do would be interesting enough to risk being blinded by your nakedness." Draco was very, very pale. "Theo wants to know if he can snog your girl. I don't mean that tart who just walked out of here."
"Watch what you say," he snapped.
"Oh come on, Draco. That was a Weasley. I thought you were better than that. You after all are the one that never fails to point out how much of a disgrace their family is."
"What business is it of yours, Marlow," he hissed. "You look like a goblin after all."
"My business as your best friend."
He let out a sharp laugh. "Keep telling yourself that if it makes you sleep at night."
"Pardon me?"
Draco sneered at me before he left. "If anything you're a friend of my father's but that's a special relationship."
He left me alone in the baggage car and I quickly lit a cigarette. By the time the train stopped I had fourteen buds on the floor. Why did I come here? I felt so stupid thinking that nothing would change, that I would be accepted back into Draco's posse simply because I was there from the beginning. Talk about rough, I realized I had no friends even before I came. And here I was, still smoking in a closet.
By the time Dumbledore had requested my presence later in the week, I was feeling pretty low. You would be too and I am not afraid to say it. My first day, Zabini seemed surprised and excited to see me but when Draco entered the room, Blaise quickly made it look like he hadn't dared to speak to me. Half-heartedly mind you but still . . . there was some sincerity in his action. Fuck.
I could have pursued it, could have cornered him but I just didn't have the energy. I didn't see any sort of gain. So I just kept to myself, my work and had a couple of unplanned conversations with Neville Longbottom in the corridors. But still I found myself in Dumbledore's office all the same.
"How have you been readjusting?" Dumbledore asked, choosing his words carefully.
"It hasn't been as easy as I hoped," I said calmly. "Though I believe it will come with time."
"Yes well," he said, adjusting his spectacles. "I have spoken with several of your professors over this past week and I think it would be socially beneficial if you took up quidditch."
"Pardon me?" You have got to be kidding.
"Many of your close friends are on the quidditch team, Miss Marlow. Surely they would be able to help you. I am aware you have never shown interest in the sport prior but I truly believe it would be a good competitive outlet."
"But Professor," I tried to reason with him. "Surely you can't expect me to be a successful player when I have no experience."
"Miss Marlow, you are a CEO are you not? Surely making first string on a house quidditch team is a piece of cake for someone on your capabilities."
Oh you bastard. He had me in a corner. So I left his office with a bag of quidditch gear I didn't know how to put on and a standard broom I didn't know how to fly. All I know about the school's quidditch supplies is that even the Weasley's can purchase better equipment. How sad.
Well, it was after dinner on a Friday night and I am sure every normal person was either snogging or getting smashed. I was trying to figure out how to get into the air.
I decided to completely forgo the quidditch gear, pointless because I couldn't put it on. The main problem I was having with the broom however was that I would push off, hover then come back down. I went all of about three inches into the air.
"Fucking—bloody—sodding—stupid bugger," I began cursing as I tried to push off with more intensity.
Suddenly, as though someone had hexed my broom I was off like a shot. I mean I started sailing every which way—like when I was with Potter only scarier. Being more than a foot off the ground caused me to grip my broom for dear life and thus, having me direct it into god knows where.
Needless to say I was shrieking my bloody head off and didn't even notice someone run out onto the pitch. I opened my eyes for a brief moment and saw myself heading straight towards one of the spectator stands. I let go of the sodding broom right there and braced myself for the fall.
Apparently it was too terrible but I did hit the ground like a dead squirrel. You know, that flop and then silence. I sort of faded in and out until some bloody arse started shaking me.
"Are you alright? Is anything broken? What house are you from?"
"Ge-off me!" I groaned, feebly trying to smack whoever it was.
"Xandra?"
I lifted my head. My vision was almost double too add onto the bad news. "Potter?" I groaned again and flopped over. Okay, so maybe that fall did hurt . . . a lot.
"What happened?"
"Sodding Dumbledore," I said as I tried to sit up. "Put me on the bloody quidditch team."
"But you don't play quidditch."
"Glad you've noticed," I snapped.
A pained expression—pity—came across his face. "Do you even know how to fly?"
" . . .No."
"Well . . . do you want some help?"
" . . . Yes."
His expression brightened. Potter put his arm around my waist and helped me up. "Come on then, let's get you in some pads and get you back in the air."
"Oh god."
"Do you know all the rules?"
"Yes."
"Any idea how to win?"
"Isn't that the rules?"
"No, it's knowing how to use the rules."
"Then . . . No."
Potter really was an amazing teacher and I have to say it was at least humbling to be at his disposal. Within an hour he had me doing a lap around the pitch. Even though I was going about two kilometers an hour, I still went all the way around.
"That was great!" Harry said, patiently waiting for me on his own broom. "Now let's try up and down."
"Can we take a moment?" I gasped. Pack a day habit certainly takes a toll on your athletic ability.
He chuckled, apparently he found this funny. "If you want to succeed at quidditch you really are going to have to stop smoking."
"I can do both," I said indignantly.
"No, you really can't. My new chaser just found that out."
"Well, I bloody well will because cigarettes are the last thing that are keeping me from slitting my own sodding wrists!" I shouted. I grabbed my hair. There it was out. I was miserable.
"Wanna talk about it?" Harry asked tenderly.
"Mind if I smoke?"
"Go ahead."
I lit a cigarette and relaxed (as best I could) on the broom. "I am a bleeding outcast," I grumbled. "I have no friends except my secretary who is miles away and seven years older than me. I have millions of galleons yet can't even ride a fucking broom. I am more involved with the father of a former friend than I am with the son. I am addicted to nicotine but smoke in closets and look like a goblin."
"You don't look like a goblin."
I gave him a sidelong glace.
"Well," he shrugged, "Maybe a little but it's defining."
"What's defining supposed to mean?"
"Sexy," he offered shyly.
I hit him playfully and laughed. It cheered me up more than you would believe.
"Marlow!" someone shouted. Harry and I both turned to see Draco marching onto the pitch absolutely livid. "What the hell is this I hear about you being on the quidditch team? Dumbledore wants you sodding first string before November. You don't fucking play bloody quidditch!"
"Which is why, Malfoy," Harry jumped in, "it is even more pathetic that you send her out here to practice when she doesn't know now to ride a broom. She nearly killed herself."
"Sod off, Potter this doesn't concern you. Marlow if you are going to be on my fucking team then you are going to get into shape," god he sounded like a tyrant. "Twenty laps before and after every practice starting now."
"She doesn't know how to fly a bloody broom!" Harry shouted.
"Draco, it is late can't this wait?"
"Practice is tomorrow." He folded his arms across his chest and gave me a menacing smirk. "You are on my team now Marlow. You aren't the CEO here, better get used to not getting your way."
I felt like I had just been made a slave and sold to evil-rapist-who-wouldn't-dare-touch-a-hideous-goblin-like myself.
"Malfoy are you even listening? She DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO RIDE A BROOM!"
"She'll bloody well learn. Won't you, your majesty?" he turned on his heel and stalked off the pitch.
"What an arse," Harry enunciated. "Can't believe you are friends with him."
I gave a short laugh. "I'm not. He was the one I was talking about."
"Surely you don't want to be friends with him?"
"I was replaced ," I said hatefully. "No one replaces me but he did. Known him for ten years, known all his secrets and there he goes treating me as though I am beneath him! It's-it's—"
"That's what it's like on the other end."
We shared a quiet moment of eye contact before Harry said, "Well, perhaps we should get you to fly up and down before we call it a night."
"That would be good, considering I am going to be tortured tomorrow for no good reason."
Harry was quiet for a brief moment before changing the subject. "Why are you calm?"
"Because I just had an out of character outburst and my bloodline is used to anticipating execution."
By the time I got back to my dorm, I was sweaty, tired, sore and feeling like crap. I didn't even care that I had just spent four hours with horrible Harry Potter. I couldn't believe that I was supposed to be an athlete. Dumbledore must have planned this, stupid old prat. I glanced at my business robes and briefcase addressing them with a sneer just before I collapsed. I need to quit smoking.
Author's Note: Sorry this took me so long to get up. I really want to finish this before I leave at the end of August. There are distinct similarities between this new plot and my other two pieces (the presence of quidditch) but I do want to say that this will be a story all in its own, no worries. I greatly appreciate all of you for reading and will see you in the next chapter.