In the time of the Order of the Phoenix, a mysterious transfer student from the United States of America comes to Hogwarts. With hair to rival Hermione's, and a tongue to rival Draco's, the suspicions and tensions rise in Professor Snape's classroom. And we thought Dolores Umbridge was the problem...

This story will be told in many different parts, in many different times. It will jump from the years at Hogwarts to the years after the war, and it'll be up to you to figure out the puzzle.

Draco 20

Cokeworth wasn't as dingy as he'd imagined it to be, but that was perhaps because of the setting sun over the river. There were flowers in many of the windowboxes, which he didn't expect in such an industrial Muggle town. The old factory towered over the identical houses in the distance. The sun was setting, and he hadn't much time.

He felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck as he tried to discreetly walk down the narrow sidewalks. Some Muggle children rode by on bicycles, loudly gallivanting with no notice of Draco at all. His bones shifted, a little to the left; he still strolled slowly and appeared to enjoy the view of it all on this lovely spring evening. Noting the street signs, he turned left one way and then right the other.

"Are you lost, sir?" He would have jumped, but his better nature had thankfully kept him calm enough to simply turn around. A muggle boy, about seven, was behind him. His clothes were so mismatched and patched that it almost looked intentional.

Draco looked around, wondering where the boy lived. He wasn't quite sure if he should even be speaking to a Muggle, considering the circumstances.

"Are you looking for Miss Princess, mister?" Draco tensed. "Because you're going the wrong way if you are."

He frowned. There would likely be only one person called 'Princess' in these ruddy parts. "Who's Miss Princess?" Draco finally asked with a smile, pretending to play along with some childhood game.

"She's the lady that lives on Spinner's End. Lots of people in nice clothes come to see her all the time. And her house is the only one in the whole town that's covered in flowering vines." The boy pointed to his left, down an alleyway. "You can't miss it."

Draco bent down and smiled. "What does she look like?"

"She's pretty. She's got lots of hair and gives us boiled sweets when our mums aren't looking. And sometimes she invites me inside for tea when I show her friends the way to her house. She's American, y'know; but I guess if you're her friend, you knew that. My mummy says there's no Princesses in America, but we all still call her Miss Princess. Come on, I'll take you there." The boy skipped down the alleyway, which was narrow and lined with trash bins. "Come on, mister. I know where I'm going." The boy smiled and motioned for Draco to follow; reluctantly, he did. It was hard to maintain an air of aristocratic ease when he felt his bones shifting, his skin crawling, his shoes skirting near the filth of Muggles, but Draco managed to keep a straight face as they walked through the very narrow alley.

"I'm Skip, by the way. My real name's Barney, but nobody calls me that." Draco said nothing, but smiled. "You're not from 'round these parts, are you? That's okay, nobody that visits her is. Except us kids, o' course, we're all from 'round here. Sometimes we see Miss Princess on the rooftops watching the sunrise, but she don't fall never. And she's got this tea that tastes like clouds and fairy floss! She makes this yummy cake out of plums at Christmastime, too, and leaves them on our doorstep in a green box with a ribbon. You know what's funny, too, is that when you open the box its always warm. Ain't that something?"

That's definitely Ella, then, thought Draco as they turned the corner. Looking up, he saw a glimmering green in the sunset's light just ahead, at the end of the alley. His heart jumped to his throat as the boy made a sprint for the door around the other side. Just as the boy had described, vines were growing impossibly through the pavement, climbing all the way up to the second story and flowering up to the pitched roof in gorgeous purple blooms. Of course, this is where Ella lives, he thought. Even when she tries to fit in, she stands out.

Coming around to the corner, Draco caught glimpse of Ella's hand holding a silver plate of palmiers. Skip took two and ate the first while stuffing the second one in his pocket. Ella's voice sounded so different, so sweet and caring, thanking the boy for guiding her friend to her home. Draco wasn't sure what they were, but he doubted they were what you could call 'friends.'

"There he is," said Skip, nodding pointedly towards Draco. Ella leaned out of the house with a smile; her quick change in expression alluded to the fact that Draco was not at all whom she was expecting. "Well, bye Miss Princess! I'm gonna go home now." Without another word, Skip ran off down the street, leaving the two of them standing on the sidewalk, staring at each other.

Draco had never seen Ella wearing her hair up with a silk scarf tied in a headband before, nor in a white dress. It was a lacy eyelet that showed off her thin yet muscular arms, with a simple black apron over the skirt. She tilted her head in question, her diamond stud earrings catching the pinkish-orange light of the sunset.

"What are you doing here?" she finally asked.

"I…" He visibly shuddered. "May I come in?"

Ella looked up at the sky, then looked back to Draco with an understanding smile. She stepped to the side, motioning to the door. "Take your shoes off when you come in." Nodding, Draco gave a strained smile and tried his very hardest to stand up straight as he crossed the threshold. He slipped his black leather shoes off and left them by the door, feeling the cool wood through his socks. Ella quickly slipped inside and closed the door behind her.

"Come down to my laboratory," she said, moving the Persian runner off to the side and opening a trap door into the cellar. A faint blue glow came from beneath as she descended, and Draco followed.

Her potions laboratory was extremely well-stocked, notes and things flitting about in the shape of paper cranes. Blue glowing orbs of light floated around the low ceiling, and everything seemed to be organized by color instead of by name or what they did.

Draco put his hands in his pockets as he looked around, finding himself nearly unable to see in the dim blue light. "How do you see anything down here?" asked he, squinting a bit.

"Ravens have excellent vision that is extremely sensitive to light," answered Ella, poking around in the blue section of her laboratory. "Actually, I'm surprised that you're having any difficulty."

Draco said nothing.

"Ah, there you are, you sneak!" she seemingly said to a glass phial in her hand. "Hold out your hand." Draco obeyed and felt a small sort of something in his palm, but could hardly see it. Whatever it was, it appeared to be sort of elliptical and blue.

"Is this a…tablet?" he asked.

"Indeed!" said Ella proudly. "Odorless and tasteless—a big plus for that nasty potion—and it can't spill out over everything and stain your clothes or get easily contaminated…tablets are the future for things like this, and I am spearheading it. I've already got a patent in the works for it!"

Of course she is, thought Draco. Ella is brilliant; whom but Ella Zamora could do such a thing? "It'll work?"

"My ideas always work." She gave a smile(he guessed) and put her hand on his shoulder in reassurance. "I'll stay up until dawn with you to make sure it does." She then took a goblet from her desk and brought out her wand. Ella gracefully waved it over the goblet in a sort of wave motion and cool clear water came pouring from its tip. She offered the goblet to Draco. "Bottoms up," she said.

Reluctantly, Draco swallowed the pill with a big gulp of water. He immediately felt the pill hit his gut, almost like a rock. Feeling rather sick, he doubled over and shuddered violently. Ella seemed to cringe.

"Uh, yeah, that happens sometimes…"

Draco looked up at her in horror, wondering if he would again be the subject of her experiments.

"Don't worry, it will still work!" she insisted, with much waving of the hands. "Just do your best to keep it down! Here, drink more water—" She wordlessly cast more water into the goblet and tried to force it down Draco's mouth, which caused more spillage on her floor and Draco's clothes than anything. "Alright, alright—come upstairs, you can lie down." She took his hands and guided him shakily up the stairs, which was rather hard with his groaning.

"You've killed me! You've killed me, you stupid woman!" he wailed. "Good luck explaining to the Daily Prophet how you've killed me!"

Ella didn't seem to care, just silently sat him down on her soft white sofa in the middle of her library. She took both his legs and put them up on a pillow, then calmly sat down in a rather out-of-place worn armchair.

"Feel better?" she asked once he stopped whining.

Draco huffed and looked up at her ceiling, which appeared to be painted with a scene of a lovely English garden. Silently, he took in the library, which was nicely organized with new shelves of white pine with absolutely no visible wall space other than that above the fireplace, which also appeared to be new, and fashioned of a gorgeous gray-green French marble. When Ella noticed Draco looking at it, she smiled and said:

"That was a housewarming gift from my grandmother." Draco must have visibly tensed, for Ella smiled and gave a dismissive wave of her jeweled hand. "Don't worry, she doesn't drop in unannounced." He breathed a sigh of relief through his lips.

Silently, Draco tilted his head over to look at her, the most brilliant and beautiful Witch in the world, and only twenty years old. She smiled, too polite to say anything first. There were many things between them that were unspoken, but the biggest was this: that he should not be there. Draco's wedding was only two short months away, in June, and the last place he should be is with temptation embodied. His eyes wandered down her long legs to her bare feet; her toes were polished with a blood red. She bent down to meet his gaze. "My eyes are up here," she said with a grin.

"I-I was just…" Draco cleared his throat. "That chair is so old, it doesn't go with the rest of your things."

Ella paused, and almost looked offended, but quickly smiled and dismissed it with another wave of her hand. "I'm planning on getting it reupholstered. Maybe a nice jacquard or toile du juoy will do the trick."

Draco glanced around. "If you can get one in the right shade of green, I don't see why not," he said. Polite conversation would not be safe the entire evening, but it was a good start. He sat himself up straight and adjusted his suit jacket and tie. "I should have asked; is your father here?"

"Hm? Oh, no, he's working in London for the week. I offered him a place to stay in my spare bedroom, of course, but he'll probably be more comfortable in a hotel. Daddy's like me…a bit particular in his surroundings, you do understand." Ella then glanced around absentmindedly. "I don't think he likes my house…"

Draco gave a curt nod in understanding. If Draco had a daughter as extraordinary as Ella, he might not like the idea of her living in a place such as Cokeworth either. Then again, if he had somehow managed to raise a daughter as extraordinary as Ella, he might be fully confident in her abilities to manage herself just fine. "I suppose I should thank him again for his aid on the case, for getting the Aurors off my back."

Ella then gave a rather hearty laugh. "No thanks are needed, I assure you. He gets to help his daughter, throw the British magical government into an upheaval, and piss off his former mother-in-law all in one fell swoop. I'm sure he's glowing." Draco laughed and loosened his shoulders. He then leaned back into the couch, a bit more at ease. There was a moment between them when they were suddenly fifteen again, sitting together in the Slytherin Common Room, silently enjoying one another. Ella then motioned toward the kitchen.

"I wonder… Have you eaten?" Draco suddenly remembered the time. He had been working at the Ministry and had quickly excused himself when he felt the sun going down. He hadn't even gone back to the hotel, for he knew that what he needed most was not there. The investigations going on all around the manor were taking up any free time he might have had, and his mother couldn't be bothered with…that…since she, too was preoccupied. Finally, Draco shook his head with a smile.

"Not yet," he said, "No." He hoped that she wasn't about to suggest going out anywhere. A short two months before his wedding, he didn't need to be seen with her, unless they were going to Paris, again…

"Have you ever had chicken and waffles before?" Draco frowned in question, which was an answer enough for Ella, who smiled and stood. "Come on, sit in the kitchen with me. I was just finishing when you came."

Without waiting for him to come, she strode into the kitchen, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Draco noticed a mirror by Ella's door, which he checked his hair and clothes in before joining her in the kitchen. Tentatively, he poked his head through the door, where a combination kitchen-dining room was. The walls were painted in a warm yet dreamy blue, and all of the cabinets were perfectly white with antique silver knobs. Ella's stove looked to be a Muggle device, with many different buttons and knobs, but Draco soon realized that he hadn't ever seen a Muggle stove before, so he wouldn't truly know the difference.

A mechanic device opened its mouth and out popped golden-brown waffles, which Ella snatched up with her bare fingers, so quickly that Draco barely noticed the deep thrust of the spoon in a pot of sauce which came up to her mouth for a taste-check. She moved so quickly and so precisely, like the conductor of a symphony, so gracefully opening and shutting the oven door and pouring golden syrup into a white milk pitcher. Before he could blink, there was a stack of waffles and a pile of golden-crisp fried chicken on the small table, which could likely only fit four.

"You haven't magically expanded the house?" Draco then said, gesturing at the small kitchen.

"Well, I did for the housewarming party. Once I saw how empty it felt when everyone was gone, though, I changed it back," she said, taking a set of white ceramic dishes out of the cabinet. "Besides, it's only me living here."

Draco leaned against the doorframe and motioned to her small round table. "What if you wanted to have more than three people for supper?"

"I wouldn't," she answered, taking two sets of silver from the drawer. "Any more than four is a party, and parties should be out on the town, shouldn't they?" She set the table neatly and precisely. Draco noted that her left hand was bare. "Besides, I so seldom entertain more than two people at a time that it's not worth the trouble. I much prefer it this way; if I get tired of partying I can just go home, alone, instead of having to awkwardly kick people out of my house." She then took a pitcher of a sort of brownish-gold liquid from what, Draco assumed, was a refrigerator. "Would you like some sweet tea?"

Draco sneered. "You drink your tea cold?!"

"Just try it, asshole," she said with a smile, pouring two glasses from the pitcher. She set them both next to the plates and set two linen napkins down. Draco then smirked and came into the kitchen. Ella took a dish of butter and set it in the middle of the table, then set a waffle on each plate, with a large piece of fried chicken smack in the center. She drizzled the golden syrup slowly over each plate, wiping any excess off the pitcher with her finger and then licking it off with a light smack of her tongue. He crossed Ella's path and held out her chair; she smiled and took the gesture as friendly, for she certainly didn't protest when she sat and he slid her in. In any other situation, he would have loved nothing more than to bend down and bite her ear, or plant a kiss on her neck. He, of course, minded his manners and sat down at the seat across from her.

"Bon appetit," she said, toasting her glass.

"Bon appetit," he said, raising his own and taking a sip of sweet tea, which he shockingly liked.

"It's sweetened with a lemon verbena syrup," Ella explained, sipping on her own tea. "My mom's idea."

Draco smiled. He looked down at his plate. A large deep-fried chicken breast atop a crispy golden waffle sounded rather disgusting, but he wasn't about to turn away anything Ella freely offered. Steam rose when he pierced through the breast with his fork, and juices ran rampant when he sliced a piece free for himself. It dripped with a sort of spicy-smelling golden syrup, onto the waffle beneath, which seemed to have kernels of corn in it. He frowned a bit, but still sliced off a piece of the waffle to eat all at once. This was honestly the weirdest combination of foods he could conceive of, but Ella was eating it hungrily. Bloody Yank food, he thought to himself as he took a bite. The very moment after he chewed, he tensed.

A burst of juicy and succulent honey, the smell of roasted corn, a hint of spice dancing with the intense sweetness of the maple and crunchy sugar… He took in a deep breath through his nose to let the aroma of chicken and spices and sweet honey fill his lungs. He must have unconsciously made some sort of sound, for he heard Ella laugh a little.

"I guess I should take that as a compliment," she said. Draco didn't look up, for he was hungrily cutting himself another bite.

"This is—" He swallowed. "—delicious. Really, absolutely delicious. I never would have thought it would be, but it is." He gestured to the great pile of chicken on the plate. "I don't blame you for making so much of it."

Ella smiled and nodded. "The leftovers are great. But this much usually doesn't last me that long." Glancing at her plate, Draco noticed that it was scraped entirely empty. He was shocked that she'd already eaten the entire plate without making so much as a sound, and even more so when she reached for another waffle and a chicken thigh and poured more syrup over it. He slowed his own eating to watch how quickly and precisely she gobbled up her food. The plate was nearly half-gone when he asked:

"How much do you eat each day?"

With a shrug, Ella said: "The Common Raven eats about five percent of its body weight during the day, with fluctuations on warmer and colder days. For me, that's like seven pounds of food…which is often an entire chicken."

"This is an entire chicken?" Draco asked, pointing at the pile with the fork. Ella nodded, about three-quarters done with her second plate. After a pause and another bite or two of chicken, Draco then asked: "Doesn't it bother you, eating chickens? You're a bird, too."

She shook her head. "Nah, chickens are dumb." Draco gave a hearty laugh, which soon caused Ella to stop eating and laugh. Finally, as they returned to eating, and Draco got himself the other thigh while Ella ate just a leg on its own.

"Where did you learn how to cook?" he asked.

"My mom," answered Ella, wiping her fingers on the linen napkin. "When she was fifteen, she had this group of friends that she would get together with over the summers and they'd all drive into town together in some big Cadillac that one of them had." Draco wasn't sure what a Cadillac was, but didn't ask. "I guess they really liked slumming it in No-Maj Atlanta, because there was this diner that served chicken and waffles and my mom was obsessed with it. When she moved up to New York full time after graduating from Ilvermorny, she couldn't find a good chicken and waffles anywhere. I'm sure she tore that whole city apart trying to find it, but she couldn't.

"Finally, she got sick of looking and signed herself up for some No-Maj cooking class at some NYC culinary school. Incidentally, my grandmother was horrified, of course, that she was taking cooking lessons and offered to send her extra money to hire a cook—but once my mom equated cooking to Potion-making, she got hooked. She actually ended up graduating from that No-Maj culinary school with full honors. She had all these job offers in New York restaurants, too, which—I guess—is a pretty big deal in No-Maj-land. She could have been a Chef."

Draco licked his lips and wiped his hands with the napkin. "What happened next?" he asked.

"She settled down when she met my father. I think she had just started an apprenticeship at St. Mungo's NYC as a Medicinal Potioneer when they started dating."

Draco remembered seeing St. Mungo's NYC on Ella's birth certificate. There was no possible way a child with non-magical parents was born in a magical hospital. Perhaps it wasn't the best time to bring it up, but Draco had spent nearly four years wondering if what she said that day in the library was true.

"You're wondering about something?" Ella said, quirking a brow. She leaned back in her chair and folded her napkin, placing it gently on the plate. "I can see it on your face."

She always could read me, thought Draco bitterly. "I know you're a Pureblood." Ella kept her face neutral. "I saw your birth certificate. It says you were born at St. Mungo's NYC to Penelope Francine Spelling and River Luis Zamora III. It was signed by the Resident Healer. Your parents are Purebloods." Ella said nothing. "Why would you tell me that you're Muggleborn if your parents are Purebloods? Why spread this awful rumor that you're adopted from Muggle parents to everyone? Why cause so much anguish for yourself, for your family and mine?" Again, Ella said nothing. "Do you know how different things could have turned out for you had you not said such bile? How different it could have been for me?"

Ella took in a sharp breath through her nose and sighed a harsh breath through her lips. She chewed her lip a little, fire in her eyes, clearly with anger.

"Talk to me," he begged.

"Why?" snarled Ella.

"Because we have to spend the night together and I don't want to do it with you shutting me out again."

Ella shook her head in disbelief. "How can you talk like that? Seriously, how? You were the one that told everybody I was worse than the Plague. You were the one that called me a Mudblood. You were the one that threw me to the Death Eaters. If anybody shut anybody out, it's you."

"Because I thought you lied to me about your blood status! To everyone! And it turns out that you have!"

"You know what? I'm actually glad that I said what I said because it truly proves how damn shallow you actually are—promising me the world and dropping me at the first snag."

"Did you honestly say that you were a Muggleborn adopted into a Pureblooded family as a test of my love for you?!"

"No."

"Then why?!"

Finally, looking away and closing her eyes, Ella said: "I said it to piss you off." Draco's jaw dropped in shock. "I was mad about what you called Hermione Granger—after I specifically told you to leave her alone—so I said that I was a Mudblood, too. Because I was mad. Happy?"

"Of course I'm not happy—I'm furious!" Draco lowered his voice to a harsh whisper, nearly shaking. "You denounced your Pureblood status out of spite for me?!"

Avoiding his look, Ella shrugged. "I told you, I was mad."

"How could you?" he demanded. "You stupid woman, you've ruined everything! We could have had a future together! I could be marrying you right now! How could you do that?"

Ella snapped her head back to meet his eyes, quick as a cobra, and smiled icily. "Dessert?" she said, venom on her tongue. Shoving the chair back, she rose and cleared their dinner plates, nearly smashing them into the sink.

He could barely believe his ears. How could someone with such a great heart, such a capacity to love and give, be so damn angry and spiteful? How could a wealthy, beautiful, brilliant Pureblooded witch stand to set herself on fire just for the sake of burning those around her? How could her anger cloud her judgement so catastrophically so as to ruin any chance of any possible future together? Draco's mind raced.

If it hadn't been for that rumor, Draco would be setting himself up to wed her and not Astoria. Ella would be the one planning their wedding, walking down the aisle towards him, all in white lace. It would be Ella that would be moving into Malfoy Manor, Ella that he would carry over the threshold to their honeymoon suite, Ella that would be joining her friends for champagne as they sampled bridesmaid dresses in shades of silvery silk. It would be Ella wearing that ring, finally and rightfully, for real this time. It wouldn't be Ella Zamora, it would be be Ella Malfoy. Ella. Malfoy.

Then again, perhaps he didn't deserve Ella Malfoy.

"Shit!"

His eyes shot up to Ella, who was now hunched over the sink, blood dripping all down her hand. Draco leapt into action and snatched the tea towel he saw hanging off the oven to quickly bandage her hand. Glancing to his right, he saw that a knife in the sink had been the culprit. Quickly he bid her sit and he whipped out his wand.

He knelt in front of her and took her hand, gently putting pressure on the wound. He pointed his wand at the cloth and sang in a low chant "Vulnera Sanetur…" The blood retreated from the cloth. "Vulnera Sanetur…" He pulled the now-clean cloth away to see the open gash on her hand. "Vulnera Sanetur…" With the third chant, the wound closed with not a single sign that there had ever been a cut there.

Ella's breath stifled. "Where did you learn that?"

Draco thought back to the curse Sectumsempra, which had cut and slashed his body to near-bits in that old haunted bathroom at Hogwarts. He remembered choking on the smell of his own blood. Shrugging, Draco simply said "Professor Snape."

"Thank you," said Ella, rather stiffly, glancing down to bring it to Draco's attention that he was still holding onto her hand. His eyebrows tilted up, his grey eyes pleading for her to look at him. She leaned back slightly, quirking her right eyebrow in either annoyance or question. "What?" she finally asked.

More than anything, he wanted to ask 'will you marry me' but instead he said "Are you ashamed to be a Pureblood?" Ella rolled her eyes and growled in annoyance. "Because of the War? The Death Eaters?" She shot him a rather unfriendly gaze. "Because of me? My actions towards you?"

Another deeply annoyed sigh came through Ella's nose. She closed her eyes and shook her head. "You did what you did to me to save your parents from Voldy's wrath."

"Ella, please," he begged. "Don't place a prejudice on Purebloods because of my cowardice. You should hold your head high and be proud to call yourself a Pureblooded Witch. You had nothing to do with that awful war, what they were all doing. I was there, I saw the horrors of the Death Eaters—"

"—And yet you did nothing to stop them. None of you did. Not at home, not at school, not ever. What's really sick is that every single Death Eater's child could have stopped their parents, or at least tried, if they'd just said something."

"I-I…" He gulped and looked down. "I didn't know any better."

"It's just…" She sighed. "Do you know how much that sounds like an excuse? I mean, at least in America we keep our racism to a polite knowing glance instead of trying to wipe out an entire class of people through genocide because, like, historically that hasn't ever worked. And if the magical community ever gave a damn to learn even a tiny bit about Non-Magical history, they would know that. Of course I feel shame in being a Pureblooded Witch because, as a society, we just plain suck, and we're all too much of a collective gaggle of dickheads to admit it."

"You're right."

"I—what?"

Draco took in a breath to calm his racing heart. He set his wand down and moved his free hand to cup her freckled cheek; she didn't withdraw. "You're. Right." Ella's eyes said 'shock' but her stiff body language said 'stop fucking touching me.' "I don't deserve you. I've seen monstrous things happen in front of me and said nothing. That's not me. I'm a coward. I'm not a hero."

A little too quickly, Ella snapped "I don't need a hero."

"Then what? What do you need?" Draco begged, brushing her cheek with his thumb. "Put me to any task and it'll be done."

Ella swatted Draco's hand away, her walls fully up again. "If I needed anything, I would get it myself and certainly not depend on the one person who has, time and again, proven disappointing."

Draco stood suddenly, sneering down his nose. "You're a poisonous bitch, you know that?"

Ella stood up quickly, as if struck. "Then why are you here?!" she demanded. "I'm nice to you, you come. I'm hateful to you, you come. No matter what, you just keep on showing up! Why?! I'm the worst! I'm an awful, toxic, spoiled brat!" Draco backed away, seeing Ella's walls down again. He leaned against the counter, holding it more for stability than anything, for he felt as if his legs would give weigh at any moment. He saw a bit of a spark in her that wasn't the sarcasm or the charm or the sex appeal, but the spark of her that was the real person underneath all of that. That person was now begging for an answer. "Haven't you had enough?"

The two of them were tense. It was likely that it would never be easy between them; too much had happened. Finally, after a very long moment of intense staring and glaring, Ella let out a long breath and slumped her shoulders in defeat.

"Listen, you're right. We have to spend the night together if you want to make sure those tablets work, and I'm more than happy to open my home to you. Can't we just…try to not have this weird, earth-shattering thing we always seem to have when we're together?"

Draco gave a sort of smile and a sort of laugh. He looked up at Ella, who was giving a pleading glance with those gorgeous brown eyes of hers. He sighed and smiled, fully this time, shaking his head at her. "What is it about you that drives me so mad?"

Ella smiled, too, and gave a laugh with a shake of her head. "I don't know. Maybe you see yourself in me?"

"You mean the awful, toxic, spoiled brat part of me?" He was at ease now, taking a step towards her and placing his hands on her waist. She leaned into the crook of his neck and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"Yeah," she whispered into his neck. "That part." He felt her lips smile. Her hair smelled a bit like herbs and sugar. She then pulled away and patted his chest with her palm. "Come on. I'll give you a tour of the rest of the house."Draco pulled her back to him and leaned his forehead against hers. She didn't resist. "Don't you want to come upstairs and see my studio?" she whispered, her hot breath teasing his lips.

"I'd love to," he whispered back.

Phew! This one was fun! Not quite fluff, but drama. You get to see a bit more of Ella's nastier side in this one, which is fun.

Thanks so much to my readers! And, HeartofAspen, thanks as always for your reviews! I wish I could be as prolific as you are! Alas, I have two full-time jobs...