It didn't take him very long to figure out who the dainty witch was when he saw her on the train. He had heard from his father that Dumbledore's granddaughter would be coming to Hogwarts from Ilvermorny this year.
"As if one Dumbledore at Hogwarts weren't bad enough. I can't begin to imagine the sort of foul creature the bastard son of that old treacherous excuse for a wizard could have spawned. There must be a good reason why he sent her far, far away," his father had said. Draco took one very long look at her and decided there really was.
He already had two excellent reasons to hate the girl on the train.
First of all, she was a Dumbledore. He never did understand the puffery around Albus Dumbledore. The Malfoys, along with every other pureblood family, considered him to be the worst headmaster in the history of Hogwarts. He was nothing but a meddling, muggle-loving fool. What could Draco expect from his ugly granddaughter?
Well—he and his father had been wrong about that. They had anticipated her to be positively hideous, but as it turned out, she actually resembled a life-sized fairy. Draco grimaced at the realization.
Second of all, this girl was transferring from Ilvermorny—perhaps the most pathetic and muggle-inclusive school in the wizarding world.
What a joke of a school, if one could even call it that.
And not that he was prejudiced, but American witches and wizards may as well have been muggles to him.
Lucius Malfoy had notified the school that his son would be arriving one day late due to a private family matter. The school was gracious enough to inform him that the Hogwarts Express would be in use the day of Draco's travels and he was welcome to use it.
He chose a seat in a secluded area that just so happened to have a perfect view of the only other person on the train—Something Dumbledore. He couldn't remember her name from the one time his father had mentioned it. It was unbelievable how oblivious she was. How had she not noticed him staring fixedly at her the whole time? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that there was a series of columns blocking her view of him...
No—she's just painfully self-absorbed, just like her grandfather. I bet she's too dumb to notice anyone but herself.
Draco squinted his eyes, trying to see the title of the book she was reading. The Alchemist—he read through the spaces between her fingers. He had taken that same book from Hermione Granger third year. He tossed it in the Black Lake when he heard her say to her idiot friends that it was written by a muggle author.
His blood began to churn. He took a big gulp of his own saliva to alleviate the nausea forming in his stomach.
Then, the pureblooded Slytherin found himself intrigued by a gold, diamond-encrusted serpent ring that enveloped her manicured index finger. He focused on the ring as she held the book up to her face, rhythmically tapping on the cover as she read. His head shook and his eyes rolled on their own accord, disapproving of his thoughts. It was annoying that he had considered such an inconsequential thing unreasonably attractive, even if just for a brief moment. He looked down at his own hands and fiddled with his Slytherin ring.
Why a snake ring?
She was definitely not a Slytherin—didn't look like one. He was willing to bet his entire inheritance that this girl did not have a single cunning fiber in her being. He carefully studied her face and decided her features were too soft and fairy-like to be a Slytherin. She looked like those people who just sat on the sidelines of life plucking daisies off the ground and watching the rain fall type-of-shit. Definitely not a Slytherin.
Oh—She's a Hufflepuff, isn't she?
This girl could not be a Ravenclaw.
Exhibit A: She practically hadn't had a proper education for the past five years.
Exhibit B: She was reading a bloody muggle book.
Exhibit C: She kept on getting distracted by every. single. little. thing.
She looked out the window for ten minutes, leaning in and staring at the raindrops sliding on the glass like a sodding cruciatus curse survivor. Then she shuffled around her obviously-charmed bag looking for something and kept getting distracted by things from inside. She pulled out a small trinket with what Draco assumed was the Ilvermorny crest, and dangled it in front of her eyes. She examined it closely, feeling the ridges and curves. After that, she took out a small compact mirror and spent more time looking at the mirror itself than her own reflection.
She went back to her book, then quickly remembered she needed something from her bag. Finally, she took out some pink-framed glasses. Dear Merlin, she fiddled with the glasses, too. He wanted to march up to her, take the glasses from her hands, and just pop them onto her face and get it over with. If it took her twenty minutes only to find her glasses, he couldn't imagine how long it would take her to figure out a Ravenclaw common room riddle. Definitely not a Ravenclaw.
There was no way in hell she was a Gryffindor. She couldn't even be determined enough to read an entire chapter of her stupid book without getting sidetracked. Granger would have finished reading the whole thing by now, probably just to prove a point. Gryffindors and their unrelenting need to be the best at everything. What could this girl possibly be the best at? Twirling her hair while staring into the abyss?
When he boarded the carriage that would take them the rest of the way, she didn't seem surprised in the least. There was no reaction from her, which he found odd. He swore he'd seen her talking to herself just before he reached the carriage, too. She reminded him of that Loony Lovegood girl the Slytherins loved to make fun of. They had the same exact perplexed look on their face.
He'd have to do something to test her nerve and rule out the possibility of a Gryffindor. He completely ignored her timid greeting on the carriage and looked at her coldly. Maybe she had some of that annoying Gryffindor confidence... but nothing. She did not try to speak to him the entire way to the castle. Definitely not a Gryffindor.
So she was a Hufflepuff.
What qualities do Hufflepuffs have again? Loyalty and what else?
He smirked as he envisioned himself making bets with his friends and collecting a good sum. Easy money. Not that he needed it.
His mind went rogue for a split second:
If there was a house that was purely for stunningly beautiful, albeit seemingly brain-dead, people... She'd probably be the sole member.
He had just spent hours carefully analyzing her appearance and making empty assumptions. He swore that with each passing hour, she became more and more alluring. By now, she had been ranked in the critical categories of hair, face, and body—just like Draco and his friends did with every girl in their year—and then some.
Lazy, glossy curls draped flawlessly over her shoulders all the way to her hips—shiny, soft, snowy. Even the stragglers somehow looked perfectly in place. She wore two neatly messy knots on the top half of her head. They looked... fine.
Hair:
Eight out of ten. Too long.
Scratch that—Nine out of ten, because he could tell it smelled nice.
Her nose and cheeks were flushed pink and had dainty little freckles on them. Bummer, Draco hated freckles. Her lips were heart-shaped and both delectably plump. They were the color of raspberries, and he imagined they tasted like it, too. She had abnormally long and full eyelashes, which practically touched the tops of her eyebrows. He liked how they fluttered when she blinked a few times in a row, but he hated how they didn't allow him to see the color of her upturned eyes. They seemed to be either green or blue. She had high cheekbones and prominent, perfectly arched eyebrows.
Face:
Nine out of ten. Pesky freckles.
But... hers added charm to her appearance. He imagined she'd look incomplete without them—ten out of ten.
Something Dumbledore was thin, but not shapeless. Quite the opposite, actually—she donned a true hourglass figure. He could make out her form from the waist down accurately, thanks to the tweed skirt she was wearing. Ideally cinched waist, lovely full hips. She took off her shoes and sat in tailor-fashion at some point on the train, making her skirt rise a few inches. He could see her thighs were well-fleshed—bloody hell. She looked of average height, but her legs appeared to go on for days.
Body:
Ten out of ten. Draco had no complaints in that department.
Also, how many times had he uttered a variation of the word perfect inside his head on that bloody train ride?
Merlin's beard. Pathetic.
He had forgotten that she was a potential Hufflepuff for a second. Yes, she was bewitching. But it took a lot more than a pretty face and pleasant body to impress Draco Malfoy. She was far too beautiful to be any smart. And based on everything he had assumed about her, she would never be able to truly capture his attention.
It suddenly dawned on him that he had thought of little else during the seven hour train ride.
On the carriage, he sat neither next to her nor in front of her. It was something he had thought about on the train. The best alternative was to sit diagonally from her. He could avoid eye contact easily and prevent any accidental grazing.
She smells so fucking good.
It made him want to jump out of the moving carriage.
