You know how you get that feeling in the pit of your stomach that tries relentlessly to try and tell you something? You don't know what about or why it is sending the alarming tone up to your brain, but it's there, increasingly growing and eternally disturbing. That's how I felt for a big part of my summer as a newly found witch. It wasn't that I hadn't felt it before. I'd felt it loads of times. I just never seem to locate the source that was setting the alarm off. This time, however, I had a pretty good idea what the whole feeling was about. I knew it because I had a very clear and vivid memory of me accepting the stupid invitation of spending the summer-although I was hoping not a big chunk of it- at Malfoy's house. Why did I have to go and put myself out there? I did not have the slightest idea. Hermione, forever the rational mind, would have never done it, but me, oh no! By all means, yes Mrs Malfoy I'll spend the summer at your wacko house with your wacko son and ever more wacko husband! Splendid idea! I guess I would be slightly lying if I said I didn't fear for my life. I was dead, done for.

Although, and this really eased my soul tremendously, my parents still had to agree to let me go, a task I was sure they were going to completely say no to. Hermione had told them about infamous Draco Malfoy and his extremely racist comments, specially this year. Last year she limited herself to say he was a brat, too full of himself to have a functioning brain. She also talked about his lack of manners and seemingly jealousy towards Harry, always trying to get him in trouble without really thinking he'd get in trouble himself-which he obviously did-.

This year, however, she spewed hatred whenever she talked about Malfoy. She went on about how he had called her a mudblood in front of the entire Quidditch team of both Slytherin and Gryffindor, how he had made my first year at Hogwarts a miserable and hellish one, about his racist comments and actions; to mention a few of his ever magnificent masterpieces through his second year. So, of course, he was not in good terms with my parents. Not that I wanted him to be in good terms with them. I guess that point worked in my favour now. I hoped.

Thing is, though, while Draco Malfoy was the devil's child in flesh, his mother was the most charming lady I had ever met-right before my mother and Mrs Weasley, of course- and I had not disliked her in the least. In fact, I had liked how she forced Draco to be nice to me. I liked how she did not sneered at me. I liked that she treated me as an equal, an attitude so lacking inside Slytherin it was almost ridiculous. I mean, we're talking about Narcissa Malfoy, wife of one of the most influential wizards, member of an ever-pure-blooded family. Narcissa Malfoy had been nice to me, the person her son had decided to make miserable for as long as he lived.

"Darling, you've barely touched your food. Is everything alright?" My mom asked, concern written all over her face.

I snapped out of it rather abruptly, "Yeah, just…it's weird being back home. Did you feel weird after your first year, too, Hermione?" I switched the conversation stealthily. I wasn't ready to actually tell either of my parents what was really bothering me.

"Not really. I love being home, but I do get what you're saying. Being a witch does change some things in your life," she smiled reassuringly, "but don't worry about it. You'll be back before you know it."

I smiled back, if only to reassure not only my sister but my parents as well. After that, I dug straight into my dinner. Whatever I could do to keep my mind busy, and their questions at a minimum, was good with me, at least until I returned to Hogwarts. Problem was, however, that if I couldn't keep myself distracted enough I was going to fail at hiding this whole Malfoy ordeal from them. I wasn't good at hiding my emotions or my thoughts, for that matter. I was an open book. Concealing anything from my family was literally impossible. I really had to concentrate.

That night I had trouble sleeping. Everything felt extremely surreal. I wasn't ready to admit that it was only Malfoy's invitation what was bothering me, because it wasn't the only thing pestering me. I had a very weird sensation ever since I arrived home. I thought it would dissipate as time passed and I would feel normal again, but it never went away. I had this tingling sensation in the pit of my stomach that made me feel nostalgic. I was home and yet I yearned to be home. Did that make any sense? Of course it didn't. I was literally home, but I didn't feel home.

I didn't feel entirely like myself. That was another issue. Was that normal? Could I talk to my parents about it? To my sister? Could I trust them with this uncomfortable feeling? I had to, didn't I? Or I was going to go crazy! Each day the feeling intensified and my inconformity grew. I was walking in a dream and I wanted to wake up.

The next morning, after turning over in my bed all night, I was determined to talk to my family about my feelings and the like. I had to admit I was a little scared of them thinking I was losing my mind. But the thing was that I wasn't crazy. I didn't feel crazy, I just felt uncomfortable and out of place. Truly, I just wanted to look at my parents without feeling like I was living with complete strangers. I wanted to feel comfortable being home.

As I made my way down the stairs, I could hear the light conversation happening in the kitchen. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but I could clearly hear the muttering. The walls in our house weren't particularly thick. Conversations could very easily be heard. If I couldn't hear what they were talking about, they had to be whispering. Whispering was never a good sign in this house.

My heart raced and I stopped cold on my tracks. My bravery and determination had suddenly vanished, and I was left with a very bad feeling. I didn't know why it meant bad news for me, but it seemed that way. I was the only one not present at the kitchen and they were whispering. I can do math, I know this meant they were talking about me.

"Are you spying on mom and dad?" I heard someone whisper from behind me and it startled me so much that I fell down a few steps. Of course, I also made quite some noise, and certainly interrupted my parents' discussion.

"What is going on here?" my mother asked, alarmed and rushing towards the scene.

"I slipped." I said before Hermione could say anything other than that. It wasn't a lie, I had slipped, right before she freaked the hell out of me, but I had slipped all the same.

"Well, be more careful, sweetheart. Those are made of wood, you could have seriously hurt yourself." I nodded and her face notably relaxed but not entirely. "Well, now. Breakfast is served." And with that last statement, she left towards the kitchen.

"Don't you think she was acting weird just now?" Hermione asked me as she helped me up.

"I suppose," I cleaned off the invisible dust off my pyjama, "Thanks for that, by the way. Now I'll definitely bruise."

"Don't even try to cover what you were doing. You were trying to listen in on a conversation that you weren't part of." She replied, matter-of-factly.

"I wasn't. They were whispering so I was waiting on them to stop whispering." I rolled my eyes and started for the kitchen. Hermione stayed a bit behind me, but I did not turn around to see why. I was starving and I could smell freshly baked waffles. The stomach wants what it wants.

As I entered the kitchen, the smell of melted butter and maple syrup filled my nose. It smelled delicious, and for a moment I had completely forgotten about their secret conversation. All I wanted to do was eat. My mother sure had the gift of delicious cooking.

Dad was already sitting at the table. He was usually the first up. His morning routine included showering, and drinking his coffee while going through our mail and he was doing just that.

I pulled the chair on dad's left—the one I always sat at—and accidentally called his attention.

"Ah, Corinne, you're finally up." His tone was that of disapproval. He was an early bird, as were Hermione and my mom, but I definitely wasn't. Dad never liked me getting up late in the morning. "This came in for you." He laid a black envelope with my name written in silver.

"What's that?" I asked, without even so much as picking it up. Waffles were calling me.

"A letter." Dad sounded annoyed. He got up, with the rest of our mail still on his hands, and left the kitchen. I turned to mom, expecting her to know why dad seemed so irritated, but she just sighed and returned to her cooking.

Just then, Hermione entered the room. She sat across from me, her plate with only one waffle covered in chocolate syrup. This girl clearly did not appreciate waffles as much as I did. How could she just have one? She eyed the black envelope, and then her eyes travelled to mine. I shrugged and shoved a big piece of waffle into my mouth. I know she was about to ask about it, and also about dad leaving, but I wasn't letting her. Hermione turned her attention to her breakfast as she did small talk with mom. I continued eating as they talked, and I also tried to ignore the tense atmosphere that lingered inside the house since yesterday.

I was thankful breakfast ran along smoothly. I finished eating, washed my dishes and hurried towards my room with the envelope before Hermione had any chance to follow me. She ate slowly, and enjoyed talking to mom while she ate. That only made her eat even slower. I, on the other hand, was a rather fast eater. I did not enjoy talking while I was eating; it distracted me from enjoying my food. It served to my advantage today. Besides, I was also the only one who hadn't showered. So me running to my room right after breakfast wasn't that much a big deal.

Hermione and me shared a bathroom. The bathroom was located in-between my room and hers, however, it had a weird architecture. I'll explain. To get to our bathroom, you had to enter either my room or Hermione's. The bathroom had two doors, one that opened from my room and other that opened from Hermione's room. There was not third door. The bathroom connected our rooms. It had its cons and pros. One big con: you had to lock both doors; otherwise anyone could walk in on your shower or bathroom-break. It had happened before and I had learned to lock both doors the hard way.

Having this in mind, I took the envelope with me and locked myself in the bathroom. I had a feeling where this envelope came from, or rather from whom it came, and I wanted to confirm my doubts alone—although I did want to be wrong about it—

Once I made sure I had properly locked both doors, I turned on the shower. While the water heated up, I opened the envelope, already fearing the worst.

Dear Miss Granger,

I extend this invitation to have your company for dinner next week. I do hope you agree on meeting with us.

I shall be happy to receive you.

Yours truly,

Narcissa Malfoy.

Shit.

AN: I know it's a short and rather shitty chapter, but please bear with me. It had to be written; otherwise the sequence of the story would be off.