Chapter 2: House and Home

Racquel was the only person in the world who was capable of taking news that totally shocked while still remaining as cool as ever. She didn't freak out. She hardly blinked an eyelash. It could have been the fact that after I'd left she'd dug into her secret stash of firewhiskey and starting tucking it away or it could have been that she was just awesome like that. I put my money on the former. She'd only gone through about a fifth of the bottle of firewhiskey, but nonetheless, she wasn't fazed when I told her about my little encounter with Draco Malfoy, something that was still shocking to me.

"And you kissed him back?" she questioned as she put the cork back into the bottle, deciding she'd had enough for tonight, saving some for another un-special occasion.

I cringed, "Yeah…and I have no idea why!"

"Pfft, I do," she scoffed as she set the bottle carefully back in the free space in her trunk.

"You do?" I asked.

"Yep. Pure animal nature. Draco Malfoy is, funnily enough and please don't hurt me for saying this, exactly like you in a lot of ways. He is dangerously sexy, a very deep thinker, and he's controlled by his father. He attracts you because he's the one person in this entire school who can know on the exact same level how annoying families can be."

My eyes popped in shock. Racquel was known for her astute observations and giving me some of the best advice in my life at times, but right now she didn't have a clear head and yet she still made everything make sense. "Oh. My. God. How could you know this? I would never have figured that out!"

"I told you before; we're soul mates and that means I know you inside and out. That and I pay attention a lot more than people think in my classes. Just because I have blonde hair doesn't mean I'm totally clueless hun."

"I know that," I muttered. She had a complete lack of confidence in my believing in her brilliance. "I know you're brilliant, Racquel."

"Thank you!" she nodded her head towards me and then took off for the bathroom.

I plopped down on my bed, having previously been sitting on Racquel's, and leaned back against the headboard. So my deeper psychological attraction to Draco had been brought to light. Now, was there anything I could do to get rid of it? Or was I doomed to lust after Draco forevermore, now having kissed him?

Oh, his kisses, the tingling sensations were still reverberating through down to my toes whenever I thought about it. He was so primal, so dark. I shook my head and rolled my eyes, chiding myself. It was just like me to fall for the bad boy. I would fall for anyone who went against the grain. That's what got me into trouble the last time. Dating the bad boy was definitely a lot of fun, but in the end I knew that bad boys were just like me; afraid of commitment any longer than a few nights of pleasure. My relationships never lasted very long because of this very reason. I backed down, they backed down, but then they thought because it had been so easy the first time they'd be able to just come back whenever they wanted more. But when I left someone, they no longer interested me. I didn't want another person on my back telling me what to do and where to be and how to act. So did I need to do that with Draco, I wondered?

It worked pretty well with all the others, why not him? Date him and then dump him? It sounded really harsh in those terms, but if these lustful feelings didn't wane then I would need to come up with some solution. I didn't want to go around turning into a puddle every time I saw him. That would definitely be the end of me.

I decided, after much deliberating with myself, that I would wait and see what happened the next day, and the following, and then I'd have the weekend away from Hogwarts to make a final decision. If the feelings remained throughout the whole weekend then I would approach the subject on Monday when I returned.

Racquel came back into the room from the bathroom. I looked up and she asked, "Well, what's the verdict?" She knew me very well.

"We'll wait and see," I replied.

"Good idea. No point in getting ahead of yourself. We don't want an Alec repeat. Anyway, goodnight." She climbed into her four-poster bed and shut out the bedside lamp.

I narrowed my eyes briefly as I went over her words in my head. No we didn't want a repeat of Alec. Alec had been bad news right from the start. He was the only boy, to date, that I had ever wanted more from; more than a couple of nights of pleasure, and more than just a quick, fun-filled fling. He was also the worst kind of bad boy that went to this school. He charmed, wined and dined all his girls because he had the money to do it, but when he was done he didn't let you know in the nicest of ways.

I had poured a lot of myself into our two-month relationship because I thought, finally someone who understands me, maybe this could actually work. A few days later I heard rumors that he was dating Morgan DeSantos. I didn't believe it obviously because I thought we'd connected on some deeper level. I discovered the truth of the matter one afternoon when I went looking for him in the back corner of the library, where we usually met to have a little "alone time". Instead I found a topless Morgan with her back against a bookshelf and a sweating and grunting Alec giving her his all.

I was shocked at the sight for a few moments before it settled inside me that I knew this would happen. Somewhere, deep inside me, I always knew this was coming; I just didn't want to see it right away. So I grabbed the nearest book from the shelf and hurled it at them. I think it caught Alec in the corner of the eye and he was knocked over, taking Morgan with him. To finish them off, I used my wand to take all the books from either side of where the couple had landed, off the shelves and pile on top of them. It was very satisfying at the time. Later in the week I saw Morgan with a split lip and Alec had a black eye.

But I had only hurt them physically whereas Alec had hurt me emotionally, and that was a blow I was unfamiliar with. I felt that when my mother left and I had to stay with my father, but not since then. I had formed a tough outer shell when she left and it hadn't been breached yet. Not until Alec.

I really didn't want that all over again with Draco Malfoy, who would undoubtedly be a thousand times worse when he threw his women aside. I didn't want that.

So I would wait and see if my tingling feelings remained, and then I would attempt to flush him out of my system the only way I knew how.

I saw Draco twice on Day 1 of my stakeout, and then three times on Day 2. Each time it had simply been in passing, walking in opposite directions down various corridors. I avoided the library deliberately incase of another intimate encounter and instead spent a lot of my time with Racquel in the common room doing our homework. The common room was very noisy sometimes, but it had an air of homeliness that I didn't know anywhere else.

Draco's gaze always seemed to burn through me when our eyes met those two days after he kissed me. I could feel the fire start in my toes and quickly flood through me. My heart stopped for the few seconds each time and then restarted after he'd passed.

It might have been all in my head, but I knew that it was never going to be out of my head until I did something about it. As I was packing my clothes for the weekend I told myself that I would do something about it first thing Monday morning without fail.

There was a knock on the dorm door and I went to open it, finding Professor McGonagall standing there. She had pursed lips and looked rather stern. I almost felt my person shrink away from her intimidating figure. She was more intimidating than my father, and that's because she's a witch who didn't like being told what to do. Every other weekend that my father "summoned" me was a weekend she didn't approve of because it meant creating a connection between Hogwarts and the outside wizarding world. This was very "unsafe" she had told me on my fourth consecutive weekend last year. I had told her then I would be extremely happy to leave the outside wizarding world behind me when I stepped foot on Hogwarts premises, but my father could not be stopped. He had many high-up official contacts at the Ministry, and was somewhat close to Professor Dumbledore, though I doubted Professor Dumbledore and Loden Morris ever had afternoon tea together.

"Miss Morris, we have seventeen minutes to see you off before the connection is terminated by the Ministry. Let's proceed," McGonagall said. I almost cringed.

"Yes, Professor." I snatched up my backpack and slid my pumps on, the shoes most preferred by my father. I rather liked them myself, but for traveling they were really inconvenient. But my father hated my boots, as well as my tatty sneakers that I'd managed to keep away from him since my third year. My sense of style was always top-notch because according to my father, even in school, I was the face of BonneChique. But he couldn't have my sneakers.

I clicked my way down the dorm stairs, past my classmates who had settled in for a busy afternoon of homework before having the rest of the weekend to themselves. I waved to Racquel who was sitting in the corner with Hermione Granger. She waved back and Hermione raised her eyes in my direction before letting them drop back to the page she'd been reading. She and I were no more than acquaintances, but she and Racquel had a surprisingly friendly relationship. They were both muggle born and took the same Muggle Studies class.

I continued to go tap-tap-tap down the corridors towards Professor McGonagall's office where I stepped into the fireplace and tossed down a handful of ashes. The first time I had traveled via Floo Network was when I was seven and we were heading to my Aunt Deidre's for Christmas. She was my mother's eldest sister, and at the time we had still been one big happy family. The experience had been exhilarating. Since then I have lost count how many times I had traveled through Floo Network channels, but this year alone (current date October 15th) I had gone home for seven weekends, out of the eleven that had transpired. And I was sure there were many more weekends to come where I would be called home.

The swirling sensation of traveling via Floo came to an abrupt halt as my pumps hit the stone fireplace at BonneChique studio in the West End of London. I had fallen on my first trip but since then had not toppled out of the fireplace to cause a certain disgrace to my father. No, I was well practiced in these heels.

There was a Clean-Screen set up right outside the fireplace and as soon as I stepped through all signs of ash and dishevelment vanished. I stepped out and saw my father. I sometimes wished I could actually say I had missed him, but I rarely missed my father because the time between my summons was rarely more than a few weeks. I held out my backpack to him and he took it without comment as I was then whisked away to the change room by Genevieve De'Coeur, my stylist.

Genevieve had come into my life when I turned fourteen and my father had fired the last stylist who worked with me. Alexandrè Marquiss had been competent for a time, according to my father, but after his five year term his technique had started to repeat and my father had redistributed him to somewhere in Japan. I had always thought Alexandrè had been treated unfairly, but when I broached the subject with my father, he'd said it was none of my business. And it would continue to be "none of my business" until my next birthday and then he would no longer control my life. I was almost smug at the thought of his losing his meal-ticket to the fashion world.

I didn't know if I would abandon him completely because technically a part of BonneChique was in my name and would officially take over that sector on my next birthday, but I certainly wouldn't be at his beck-and-call anymore.

Genevieve was an expert at what she did, and sat me down in the familiar stylist chair quickly set to work. She applied a light tapering of make-up; rouge to my cheeks, eyeshadow to my eyelids, mascara to the lashes, and then faint colour to my lips. I prayed that tonight's session would be brief because I was in no mood to stay up till midnight going through countless clothes changes. She then teased my hair to her satisfaction and I was assisted into the satin-red strapless cocktail dress that was the highlighted dress of this season's design team. It was, of course, tailored to my fit and pulled and plumped in the exact right places.

I was out on the floor of the shoot, a simple white backdrop surrounded by low-lit lamps to illuminate the setting, in record time. From that moment on, I merely saw flashes of light here and there, blinding my vision. I gave the effort only because I partially enjoyed this part. The parts I didn't like were missing school and listening to my father.

The night continued like a blur and I went through several more outfit changes. It was almost 10pm when the photographer caught my yawn and called it a night. We would reconvene tomorrow at 8am. My father tried to protest and make it 6am (apparently he was on a deadline) but Juan, the photographer, and Genevieve, both told him flat out that it wasn't happening. I sent up a silent prayer for both of them. Where my father fell short in understanding my wants and needs, they—despite being on my father's payroll—knew I was a teenager and needed my sleep and didn't want to get up at 6am.

We took a car back to my father's West End penthouse condo where I had spent the past six years of my life when I wasn't at school. My father made the decision to sell the house after my mother left, claiming that two people didn't need that much space. He also wanted to remain close to the office. I often wondered if he didn't want to stay because it was a home he and my mother had built together, but I never got a conclusive answer.

Together we rode up the lift in silence. He unlocked the condo and let me walk in first. It was cold and unwelcoming, unlike the atmosphere in Gryffindor Tower. Behind me he dropped his keys on the table beside the door and continued forward towards the bar he'd installed when we moved in. He poured himself a drink and took a swig. I stood where I was in the entrance.

Our relationship was as cold as the apartment itself.

He looked up at me and then spoke the first words to me directly all night. "You should probably head off to bed, Princess." The endearment held no affection whatsoever. My name, Sadie, is Hebrew for "princess" and he'd used the term for as long as I could remember. It used to be said with affection, but no longer. He never said my name out loud anymore, unless he was angry or upset at me and we were fighting.

I didn't say a word. I turned on my heel, literally, and started mounting the stairs to the second level, towards my room. I heard more clinking of ice in the glass and then the swishing noise of more liquid. I hoped to drown that sound out forever one day, but right now I would have to live with it.

I opened the door to my room, the largest room in the apartment. I suspect my father had given it to me as some sort of severance payment or peace offering between us after my mother left. It was a nice room, and I had decorated it to my style, with blues and greens. My room also boasted the balcony and was my favorite part of the entire apartment. It was cold outside right now, but I opened the sliding doors anyway and let the cold air in. Perhaps it would distract me from the cold atmosphere that surrounded my father. I stepped out and looked out at the lights of London. It was one of my favorite views.

I took a deep breath and then exhaled all my negative emotions. Each weekend was like this. It had become a monotonous life with my father, and I relished anything new that life brought me. My mind drifted across London and back towards Hogwarts where I knew Draco Malfoy was, perhaps sitting in the Slytherin common room. I couldn't imagine what he would be doing, but that hardly mattered at the moment. I just hoped that the thought of Monday and what that day would bring could hold me grounded for the rest of the weekend.