Bad Apples
I had gotten back, distraught. I kicked a chair in the kitchen and stormed upstairs to collapse onto my bed and wail and weep into my pillow over the gruelling day. I then warred with myself for an hour on whether or not to tell someone about Malfoy since everyone was always saying to speak out if I was having any troubles.
I ended up deciding against it, brushing it off as not that important to complain about a bitchy student. Honestly, who cares? Every school had at least a few bad apples, that didn't mean there was a point in ratting them out just because I got frustrated.
That didn't change the fact that I had never wanted to step foot in any school ever again.
I didn't even know why Malfoy bothered me so much. She just did.
By the time Sirius got home from work and came to ask me how my first day went, I had calmed down considerably and managed to say that it was nothing special and was exactly how I imagined it to be, other than the fact that I had made a few acquaintances, which Sirius was delighted by. I gave him the hug from Remus, but also just because I wanted one myself.
That night, as I laid down in bed with Hedwig slumped over my chest and purring just as loudly as the Nimbus 2000, it dawned on me that I hadn't felt such intense, passionate emotion in weeks.
Shock was the first thing I felt after my parents' death — like being thrown into a lake of ice, and then having my head dunked back in again and again, with the cold so sharp and stabbing that you can't even move besides tremble involuntarily.
Then the adrenaline and emotion kicked in, where all I could do was scream and cry until I wore myself out and chaffed my throat raw. Only ever wondering why me?
Since then, it's mainly been a hollow numbness. Just... empty. And I realised very quickly that I'd rather feel something than nothing at all.
As some time dragged on day-by-day, pangs of emotion would pass through — mainly hurt, but sometimes things like love and appreciation; actually feeling it, and not just knowing it.
I'm pretty sure everyone 'feels' numbness differently. For me, it felt like my insides were just scraped open, leaving a black hole where things that should have affected me simply didn't. I lost a lot of care for doing things, no longer having the motivation and letting myself waste away because there wasn't really anything else I could bring myself to do.
So when that pure white beacon of pale perfection got me to cry and shout and stomp away and kick something with force, I craved more. I craved to feel more and let things out that had been festering rapidly, building up within such a short amount of time.
I wanted to lash out more. I wanted to do anything that wasn't just shutting myself away and drowning myself beneath my blankets. Not just drag myself to school and every class because I had no other choice. I wanted to see her again, and I wanted her to piss me off.
I wanted. Not just wished. Not just dealt with.
﹌﹌﹌
The next day was better... And worse.
It was better because it wasn’t raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Hermione came to sit by me in double Psychology that morning at the top of the tower block, heaving our way up each step with panting breaths. I noticed Luna Lovegood was also in the same class, looking just as dazed as yesterday and lost far away in her own mind. I wasn't sure if she was actually paying attention or just daydreaming for the whole two hours.
People didn’t look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Ron, Hermione, Neville, and several of the same people from yesterday. I began to feel like I might treading water, instead of drowning in it.
It was worse because I was tired; socialising was just as exhausting, and I still couldn’t sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Professor Flitwick, as nice as he was, called on me in Psychology when my hand wasn’t raised and I had the wrong answer. Hermione immediately jumped in to provide the correct answer. It was miserable because I had to do more pain-staking warm-ups in PE with Ron for third period. And it was worse because Draco Malfoy wasn’t in school at all.
All morning, I was awaiting lunch and her bizarre glares, antsy to feel them and stare back. Part of me wanted to confront her and demand to know what her problem was. And another part of me wanted her to snap back with nasty retorts so I could argue with her. While I was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say.
But when I walked into the cafeteria with Ron after PE — trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for her, and failing entirely — I saw that her four siblings were sitting together at the same table as before, and she was not with them.
Ron steered me and Dean (who also had PE with us) to their table, and Hermione and her friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment Malfoy would arrive.
She didn’t come, and I got more and more tense.
Fucking hell, I groaned inwardly. Even her lack of presence was igniting emotions.
I walked to Art with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, she still hadn’t shown up. Neville walked faithfully by my side to class, and it didn't feel awkward when we walked in silence, a subtle but deeply appreciated reprieve. I held my breath at the door, but Draco Malfoy wasn’t there, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. Neville followed, talking about an upcoming trip to Brighton Beach with the others and offering me to come along. I told him that I'd think about it, and he nodded in acceptance of my hesitancy before going to sit by a sunshine-blonde girl with braces. I think I caught her name being Hannah.
I was somewhat relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Malfoy was absent and wouldn't be judging my art. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn’t get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason she wasn’t there. It was ridiculous and egotistical to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It was impossible. And yet, I couldn’t stop worrying that it was true.
When the school day was finally done, I walked swiftly out to the car park. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my Nimbus and dug through my bag to make sure I had what I needed.
Today, I was doing the food shopping since I was now free from school while Sirius was still at work, and he said that it would be good for me to get out of the house more, which I couldn't argue with, despite however much I tried to. After double-checking that Sirius' Tesco Clubcard keyring was attached to my car keys and that I hadn't accidentally left it at Grimmauld Place, I gunned the thunderous engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and carefully backed into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the car park.
As I waited, trying to pretend that the ear-splitting rumble was coming from someone else’s car, I saw Malfoy's siblings walking up to their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. I had noticed they were stylish before, but now that I looked properly, it was obvious that they were all wearing stuff that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins. Attractive as they all were, they could have worn bin bags and started a trend. It seemed like too much for them to have both looks and money. Though, as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn’t look like it bought them any popularity here.
But I couldn’t really believe that. The isolation had to be something they chose; I couldn’t imagine any door their beauty wouldn’t open for them.
They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. I saw that the tallest guy — Blaise, if I remembered correctly — had his hand casually on the hip of the petite girl with the black bob. Though he was obviously pretty sure of himself, I was still kind of surprised he felt comfortable doing that. Not that she wasn’t stunning — truly stunning — but not... approachable. Like, not even the Rock would dare to chat her up, if you know what I mean. She caught me looking, and the way her sharp, cat-like eyes narrowed in a judgemental, menacing way made me turn straight ahead and keep my eyes straight forward, relieved when I finally was free of the school grounds.
Tesco was not far from the school, just a little closer to town. I was a bit nervous to be inside the supermarket after so long; it felt like everyone I passed was judging the poor state I was in, even though I reasonably knew that they were more concerned with themselves and the prices of items. But I got what Sirius and I needed without issue, even earned a few club points, and I was a bit proud of myself for getting through the small task, mentally giving myself a pat on the back.
When I got home, I unloaded all the shopping, stuffing it in wherever I could find an open space as there never really was any specific place certain foods went here, unless it was the fridge or freezer. When I was finished with that, I took my book bag upstairs, kissed my precious Hedwig lounging in her cat tower, fed her a small treat, and changed into a pair of dry joggers, pulling my damp hair up into a claw clip. I'd do a bit of coursework before I served Hedwig dinner and start cooking once Sirius got back.
As I decompressed in my spinny desk chair, I did feel a bit lighter, and I wanted to punch whoever discovered going outside was good for people's mental health in the face.
And yet, remarkably, a frown still twitched at the corners of my mouth, grinding my teeth together. Damn Malfoy. I wanted desperately to know why she hadn't come in today. What was she doing? Lazing around in her swanky house like some fair maiden? I scoffed — I could just envision her strutting about some grand mansion with those hips, long legs and cinched waist.
She better be at school tomorrow, I thought bitterly.
The arrival of Sirius brought me out of my stupor, and I went downstairs to greet him and start the household dinner, Hedwig hopping down from her perch and trotting after me because she knew it was dinner time — the spoilt princess, as she should be.
Sirius and I sat at the table, eating in peace until he tried to stifle his cough with watery eyes, making me giggle.
"Easy on the spice next time," he swallowed, pounding his chest.
"It's really not that bad," I smirked. I had only made a simple curry with rice since we had more food in now.
"No, it's good. I've just never been that good with spice," Sirius replied, gulping down his water.
I giggled again, shaking my head fondly.
"So," Sirius heaved out, setting his glass down, "how's school going? Moony said you'd done all right in DT yesterday. What about your other subjects?"
My mind instantly flashed back to yesterday's art class.
"Yeah, not bad," I lied with a nod, biting my lip and looking down at my food. "My art teacher, Ms Trelawney, seemed to like my art."
"Good," Sirius gave a single, firm nod. "Your art's brilliant. Almost as good as mine," he winked.
I let out an amused huff. As much as Sirius' fun-loving, cheeky personality had died down after my parents' passing, it still seemed to be embedded within him, something he could never really lose, no matter the situation. I vaguely wondered if it was actually used as a coping mechanism to make light of everything and keep up a strong front for my sake.
I mentally shook that depressing thought away and continued my (watered down) retelling of events, knowing he'd want further details.
"Psychology was all right, too. I sit with Hermione, the girl I told you about yesterday."
"Oh yeah?" Sirius hummed quietly, raising his eyebrows in a silent suggestion.
"Sirius, please," I groaned, picking up what he was throwing down. I'd rather not talk about relationships right now. Or ever, at that.
"Sorry!" Sirius quickly apologised, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Please, continue."
I sighed, leaning my head against my hand and picking at the rest of my food. "PE is frustrating me a bit," I admitted sourly. "I don't have the same energy as I used to, and I feel like I've lost all my strength."
"That's understandable," Sirius said gently, much more serious (ha ha) this time. "You've not been as active as of late, so it's only natural it'd take some time to get back into the swing of things. And I'm very proud of you for getting through all this."
When Sirius would make the first move to open up, it was awkward and he'd ramble, stumble over his words. But when I did it, it was like second nature to him to comfort me with easy words of reassurance. Maybe Remus rubbed off on him. And yes, I did cringe at that thought, not meaning it in that way.
"Thanks," I attempted to smile.
"You have PE with Bill's brother, right? Ron?" Sirius asked, oblivious to my cringing.
"Yes?"
"Yeah, Bill mentioned him. He got your message about the truck, by the way," Sirius smiled. "Ron's a nice kid — good family, the Weasley's."
I scratched the back of my neck.
“Do you know Dr Snape's family by any chance?” I asked hesitantly.
“Dr Snape?” Sirius echoed with no recognition.
"Uhm, the adopted kids?" I tried, Sirius still shaking his head in confusion. "Draco Malfoy?" I asked with dying hope.
There, something flashed in his eyes, squinting as he searched his memory. He looked at the wall as he recalled and lifted his flimsy hand up in an over, or rather, under exaggeration of estimated height.
"Tall girl, long blonde hair," he murmured to himself.
"Yes!" I yelled eagerly, practically slamming my hands down on the table and clawing at the wood top surface. "Shiny black Volvo."
"That's right!" Sirius snapped his fingers, it finally coming to him. "I believe she brought her car in once for a tyre change. I only remember because of the unique name, like my own. Draco is a star constellation, you see."
"Oh, really?" I said in fascination.
"Yeah," Sirius hummed again before he suddenly frowned. "Why'd you ask?"
"Oh, I just — interesting family," I commented, scratching the back of my neck again. "She goes to my school with her four adopted siblings and wondered if you knew of them. Dr Snape is their guardian."
"That's nice," Sirius remarked happily. "But, unfortunately, I don't know a Dr Snape or the fact that Draco had siblings," he shrugged in regret. "Dr Snape sounds like a nice man, though. Have you spoken to Draco at school?"
I clenched my fist under the table.
"Uh, no. I haven't."
"Ah, well, maybe you should get to know her," Sirius smiled. "She seems interesting enough."
Yes, Sirius. That is why I asked you about her.
When I told Sirius that I wasn't going to finish the small leftovers on my plate, I cleared the table while he placed everything in the dishwasher. After, he went to the lounge to watch some TV — probably to distract himself from getting lost in thought — Hedwig climbed into his lap as he subconsciously stroked her back, and I went upstairs unwillingly to continue my Psychology coursework. I could feel a tradition in the making.
I quickly googled the Draco constellation out of curiosity. It looked a bit like my star sign: Leo.
That night, it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted.
The rest of the week was uneventful. Sometimes I'd lose motivation to concentrate in class because my mind would wander to darker places, but the mundane routine and consistency I'd gained in going back to school was a decent way to take my mind off most unsavoury thoughts.
I'd sometimes pass the tiny Colin Creevey boy, who always seemed to get a thrill whenever he waved, "All right, Harry?" and hear, "Hello, Colin," back, however exasperated I sounded when I said it. Despite getting used to the routine of my classes, the double PE on Wednesday practically killed me off. I woke up Thursday morning with sore legs, my feet aching, but it was a sweet relief because I had only written work on Thursday and no PE at all on Friday — I never thought I'd be happy to not have PE.
Draco Malfoy didn’t come back to school.
Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of her siblings entered the cafeteria without her. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. But I didn't relax, because I still wanted some form of relief. Mostly, the lunchtime conversation centred around the trip to Brighton Beach in two weeks that Ron was putting together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire, and because Sirius encouraged me to — I knew he would, which is why I told him about it in the first place so that it would make me feel bad if didn't go.
By Friday, I was perfectly comfortable entering my Art class, no longer worried that Malfoy would be there to judge my skill. For all I knew, she had moved schools. I tried not to think about her, but I couldn’t totally suppress the worry that I was responsible for her continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.
My first weekend off school passed without incident. Sirius worked some of the weekend, but shorter hours. I did the little bit of cleaning I was assigned to in the house, did as much homework as I could manage, and spent some time napping when I could. The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet and peaceful, so I was able to sleep well.
People greeted me in the Courtyard Monday morning. I waved back and smiled at everyone obligatorily, including Colin. It was colder this morning, but happily not raining. In DT, Ron took his accustomed seat by my side, Remus giving me a small pat on the back as he walked past us to the front of the class and to his desk.
All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.
When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks and nose.
“Wow,” Ron said. “It’s snowing.”
I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face, some flakes sticking to my glasses.
I grinned. I always loved snow.
Ron laughed as we stuck our tongues out to catch the flakes in our mouths, probably looking like right nob-heads. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of his head, erupting a choked yelp from him, and I couldn't help but giggle at the undignified sound and look on his face. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my suspicions about Ginny, who was walking away, her back toward us — in the wrong direction for her next class. Ron apparently had the same notion. He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush. I watched in amusement as the Weasleys broke out in their little snowball fight, stepping well out of the way so that I wouldn't get hit and be forced to join in. It ended with Ron grabbing Ginny and slapping a pile of wet snow to her face, only for her to push him into the build-up of snow on the ground. They called it a truce, "until next time," said Ron darkly with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; the first snowfall of the new year, and a bit early for England, as snow didn't normally come until February and hardly ever stuck to the soggy ground. Maybe I should have seen it as a sign.
I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Ron and Dean after PE. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I kept my sturdy DT folder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Ron thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept him from lobbing a snowball at me himself.
Hermione caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, shaking the slushy snow from her wild hair and spraying us all in the face with it. She and Ron were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table.
Hemione pulled on my arm.
“Hello? Harry? What do you want?”
I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn’t done anything wrong.
“You good?" Ron asked me, brows furrowed.
“Fine,” I answered. “I’ll just get an apple Radnor today.” I caught up to the end of the line.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Hermione asked with concern.
“Actually, I feel a little sick,” I lied, my eyes still on the floor. Ron shuffled a few steps away from me.
"Is it because of PE?" he frowned.
"I think so," I mumbled, taking the obvious opening.
"Maybe get some water instead," Hermione advised, and so I did.
But my whole body was actually buzzing, an invisible tug beckoning me to stride over toward Malfoy and confront her. I waited for the others to get their food, and then followed them to a table, my eyes on my feet.
I sipped my water slowly, my knee jerking rapidly up and down. Twice Ron asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling. I told him I would be fine, not wanting to be sent to the nurse's office and miss out on Art.
I decided to permit myself one glance at Malfoy's table, keeping my head down, pushing my glasses up my nose and glancing up under my lashes. None of them were looking this way. I lifted my head a little.
They were laughing. Malfoy and the others all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow (except for Blaise), and Blaise's girlfriend looked irritated as she attempted to dry and brush out her hair which was now limp from the dampness. The rest were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else — only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us. I watched as Draco pulled out her own hairbrush, running it through the long strands with ease. It had lost the poofiness at the ends, but it was no less mesmerising.
But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn’t quite pinpoint what that difference was. I examined Malfoy the most carefully. Her skin was less pale, I decided — flushed from the snow fight maybe — the circles under her eyes much less noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change as she and her black-haired sister pulled out a compact blush and fluffy brush, reapplying dustings of pink to their cheeks and noses that must have washed off in the snow.
I licked my lips as I followed the fluid motion of pink lip gloss gliding across Malfoy's dewy lips, examining herself in the small mirror. I had no idea what imperfection she was looking for, I didn't think she was ever capable of exhibiting exterior flaws. On the interior — perhaps.
“Harry, what are you staring at?” Hermione intruded, her eyes following my stare.
At that precise moment, Malfoy's eyes flashed over to meet mine.
I dropped my head, letting my hair fall to conceal my face. I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that she didn’t look angry or disgusted as she had the last time I’d seen her. She just looked curious again, unsatisfied in some way.
“Draco Malfoy is staring at you,” Lavender giggled in my ear after following Hermione's eyeline.
“She doesn’t look angry, does she?” I couldn’t help asking.
“No,” she said, sounding confused by my question. “Should she be?”
I heard Neville stifle a chuckle on my other side.
“I don’t think she likes me,” I confided. I felt actually queasy this time. I kept my body angled toward Lavender, but the back of my neck had goosebumps, like I could feel Malfoy's eyes on me.
“She doesn’t like anybody," Hermione said sternly from beside Ron, shooting a glare at Malfoy. "And her siblings don't notice anybody enough to like them."
"But she’s still staring at you,” Lavender smirked.
“Stop looking at her,” I hissed.
She snickered, but she looked away.
Ron interrupted us then — he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the Courtyard after school and wanted us to join. Lavender agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at Ron left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested. Hermione shuffled in her seat. I kept silent.
For the rest of the lunch hour, I very carefully kept my eyes on my own table. Malfoy didn’t look like she was planning to murder me anymore, so maybe it would be bearable to go to Art. My stomach did little flips at the thought of sitting next to her again.
When we went to the door, we all groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. Neville and I walked across the Courtyard to the Arts and Design building further back, toward the fields and dead willow tree.
Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Ms Trelawney was walking around the room, advising us on how to annotate our art and what to include when jotting down our thought process. Class didn’t start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept briefly glancing at the door, doodling idly on the back page dedicated to mindless doodles alone.
I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the goofy doodle of Hedwig. Now was the moment I had been waiting for, my skin itching for a conflict with the girl next to me.
But, for some reason, nothing came to me. I just sat there, pretending Malfoy didn't exist. My insides kept jerking to turn to her, but my muscles chose this exact moment to stay firmly in place like they were made of stone, immovable.
“Hello,” said a quiet, musical voice.
A shiver ran through my very being, crawling up my spine like thousands of scuttling spiders. I looked up, startled that she was speaking to me. She was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but her face was turned toward me — predatory with a slight smirk on her heart-shaped, pink, glossy lips, and her long, sultry eyes shone devilishly. Her hair was dripping wet, clumped in waves down her back, looking a bit more like her cousin Luna's hair — even so, she looked like she’d just finished shooting an advert. I could smell her perfume — it smelt clean, like sea-salted coconuts and blossoms with a hint of citrus. I fell breathless from the long curvature of her downward-arched body — her thin arms crossed and elbows leaning against the desktop. She wore a black turtleneck today, paired with another black skirt and tights and boots, her black trench coat folded over the back of her chair. Did she ever wear jeans or trousers? Was she never cold? Although, I suppose, beauty is pain.
“I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy,” she continued with a purr. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Harriet Potter.”
"Harry," I snapped with a glare, jumping at the opportunity to get my lick back and ignoring the heat rising to my cheeks. "I already told everyone to call me Harry in assembly."
"Mm," she hummed in another purr, flicking her fox-eyes up and down my form, examining. "Do you not like your name?" she questioned.
"It's a fine name," I bit out between gritted teeth, already feeling the sweet relief of irritation spike within me. "I prefer just Harry."
"Well, Just Harry," she smirked in amusement, flashing her (go figure) perfect, straight white teeth, "I think I shall stick to Potter."
I couldn't believe it. Never in my life had I ever met a more frustrating person. I craved more.
"Whatever, Malfoy," I hissed and turned back to look down at my sketchbook.
This, I noticed with delight, seemed to annoy Malfoy when I saw her frown in my peripheral vision.
Ms Trelawney started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the task we'd be doing for the first twenty minutes. Working as partners, we had to discuss what we had drawn last Monday and why, taking notes all the while. In twenty minutes, she would be coming around to see what we had learned about each other and our creative vision. Both Malfoy and I perked up at this.
“Off you go,” she commanded with two claps.
“Ladies first, partner?” Malfoy asked. I looked up to see her grinning a cheeky smile so beautiful that I could only stare at her like an idiot. So close up, you’d think I’d be able to see something — a hint of a pimple, a stray eyebrow hair, a pore, something — wrong with her. But there was nothing.
She raised a straight eyebrow.
“Or I could start, if you wish.” The smile faded; she was obviously wondering if I was mentally competent.
“No,” I snapped again, flushing. “I’ll go first.”
I flipped to the last drawing in my sketchbook of the tangled rat king. She probably wanted to know why I had drawn something so ugly.
"Do you know what a rat king is?" I asked Malfoy with scepticism.
"Yes," she answered dryly. I took that as a win.
"Well, the first thing I thought about drawing was inspired by m—" I was about to say my tattoo, but if she snitched on me to the teacher because I wasn't eighteen yet, Sirius could get fined. Not that he couldn't afford it, but I'd rather not get him into any trouble. "— a tattoo my Godfather designed of stag antlers and lilies." I quickly corrected.
"Why that?" she pressed, writing my answer down quickly as if her life depended on it, but it didn't affect her swooshy cursive handwriting. Again, perfect, like she’d taken classes in penmanship or something.
"Well, I was going to draw a stag skull with lilies," I continued, but suddenly felt a bit nervous and faltered in my answer. "Because it represents my parents," I mumbled out the rest.
Malfoy quickly snapped her head up to look at me, her snarky demeanour gone. She now looked fascinated.
"Continue," she said gently, surprisingly non-judgmental. Her long, off-putting eyes confused me, and I obliged without thinking.
"A stag skull for my dad because... obviously, he's dead," I said bluntly. She did not wince. Instead, she resumed her writing, and I watched her delicate hand work over the paper efficiently with a fancy fountain pen, looping her words like it was calligraphy, like she was writing a wedding invitation. "A stag, because it was his favourite animal and his nickname was Prongs."
"Prongs as in pronged antlers?" she presumed.
"Right," I nodded, having no idea why I was really telling her this. And then I reminded myself it was for our task.
"Funny," she said monotonously as she wrote, but a tiny quirk was visible at the corner of her lips. "And the lilies?"
"My mom's name is Lily," I clarified. "They were very... in sync with each other, my parents. Very in love and probably soulmates, if you believe in such a thing."
Malfoy abruptly stopped her writing mid-word. She flickered her eyes to the side of the table for only a second before she resumed her writing.
"Which is why," I continued, "I was gonna draw the lilies winding around the antlers and bursting from the stags eye socket — I've always been told I have my mother's eyes, though I look like my dad."
Malfoy finished her writing and looked back up to stare intently into my eyes as if to investigate the resemblance. I wondered what she saw, never having met my mom. Her eyes — which I then noticed were somehow different — flashed to the splotches blooming across my cheeks. Why couldn’t my blood just stay in my veins where it belonged?
"I don't know," I shrugged sheepishly, breaking the eye contact by looking down. "It was all a bit obvious and cliché to me, so I went with something less obvious, like a rat king."
"Because of their interconnectedness despite wanting to break free from being bodily stuck and tangled together," said Malfoy on my behalf, writing it down again.
"Exactly." She catches on quick. "It's gross — a jumbled mess of flesh and scrambling limbs."
"Most depictions of rat kings are like circular patterns," she added.
"Which can be seen as embodying a constant cycle of death and destruction caused by their own environment," I finished.
She looked up at me after dotting a period at the end of her sentence. I thought she looked slightly impressed, and I inwardly preened. I was surprised to have even had a civil conversation with her at all.
"Your turn," I said. "Why did you draw that lamb and snake?"
Malfoy flicked to the last page of her sketchbook, looking down at her drawing with an irritated frown.
"I don't know," she said, not looking up.
"I don't believe that," I challenged with incredulity.
"Believe whatever you want," she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest petulantly and leaning back in her chair.
"Why won't you just tell me?" I scowled with impatience. "It's not a bad drawing, I'm not gonna judge."
"There's nothing to say," she shrugged one shoulder elegantly.
I glared at Malfoy and her infuriating nonchalance. Was she doing this on purpose to get me into trouble, so that it made me look bad in front of the teacher for not having an answer?
"Fine. Suit yourself," I bit out.
So much for having a civil conversation. I should have known it wouldn't last.
If she wasn't going to give me an answer, then I'd just make up my own based on my assumptions, since that was what I had been doing so far anyway. If she got mad about my answer, then it's her own fault.
We spent the last of the few minutes we had left in silence until the teacher came round, asking for answers.
When Ms Trelawney came to our table, Malfoy recited a short summary of my thought process and then stated her opinion.
"I think the rat king is different to the stag skull with lilies because one was a willing connection, purposefully joined together in harmony, while the other is not, demonstrating a lack of free will and chaos. In my opinion, I like both, but prefer the rat king idea," she said with a hair-flip.
Well, I hadn't expected her to like my idea, especially the ugly rat king.
"Very good, Miss Malfoy," Trelawney complimented. "And Miss Potter?" she prompted, turning to me with her magnified eyes behind thick rounded glasses boring into me expectantly.
"Um, I think there was some religious symbolism and connotations behind her lamb and snake. Like, maybe the Lamb of God being consumed by the serpent from the Garden of Eden? I could see some inspiration taken from art like Agnus Dei and Saturn Devouring his Son. I think this could be correlated to some inner conflict, maybe even alluding to self-destructive behaviours, or behaviour that hurts others. I think the serpent represents Draco, but I'm unsure about the lamb."
"Interesting, Miss Potter," said Trelawney thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against her chin as she inspected Malfoy's drawing through a new lens — figuratively. "Yes, I see what you mean. Very good."
When Ms Trelawney glided over to the next table, I glanced sideways at Malfoy.
She was fuming. A deep scowl pulled tight at her lips, eyes narrowed and hands clenched in a death grip. I must have been fairly on point, then. I took that as another win.
I realised that I was not frightened by Malfoy's sudden rage. It was not the rage of someone who wanted to hurt me like it was before, but just someone whose vulnerability was exposed. Like a hissing cat backed into a corner, spine arched and hair raised.
"What made you think that," Malfoy aggressively whispered to me as Trelawney was speaking to others.
I shrugged, pretending to pay attention to whatever the other student was saying. "Psychology helps."
"...Did you just psychoanalyse me?" Malfoy hissed venomously. It became painfully obvious with sudden clarity that she was the depicted serpent and that I was right.
I shrugged again, lazily. "Maybe."
Another win.
We spent the rest of the first period in silence as we annotated more of our work. I had finished early, which left me with nothing to do but try not to look at her... unsuccessfully. I glanced up, and she was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration in her eyes. Suddenly, I identified that subtle difference in her face.
“Did you get contacts?” I blurted out unthinkingly.
She seemed puzzled by my apropos-of-nothing question. “No.”
“Oh,” I mumbled. “I thought there was something different about your eyes.”
She shrugged elegantly again and looked away.
In fact, I knew there was something different. I vividly remembered the one detail of that first time she’d glared at me like she wanted me dead. I could still see the flat black colour of her eyes — so striking against the background of her pale skin and equally pale lashes. Today, her eyes were a completely different colour: a strange silver, lighter than any grey, almost metallic, but still had a darker ring around her iris. I didn’t understand how that could be, unless she was lying for some reason about the contacts. Maybe she was embarrassed about the fact that she needed them. Or maybe this place was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word.
I looked down. Her hands were clenched into fists again.
"Where were you last week?" I asked abruptly, my curiosity getting the better of me. "You disappeared."
"None of your business," she snapped, shooting me a dirty look.
"Fine," I glowered back. "I won't talk to you again, then."
This seemed to upset her even more. It was intriguing to see her cool, smug attitude crack.
"I just visited home," Malfoy retorted with an eye roll.
I furrowed my brows. "Home?"
"In Wiltshire," she clarified. "To my family's old house. I missed it."
I knew the feeling.
"Do you not have any other relatives?" I asked, feeling brave enough to push into potentially sensitive territory.
"No," she answered, grinding her teeth. "Just my cousin, Luna."
"So you're not related to Dr Snape," I questioned, feeling confident Malfoy would open up to me.
She looked annoyed by my interrogation, her eyes narrowed cautiously, but answered regardless.
"He's my Godfather."
Oh.
"And... you live with yours?" Malfoy asked carefully this time, her tone was suddenly softer. I supposed it was only fair since I had asked my fair share of questions.
"Yes. He's a family friend."
Malfoy looked riveted by my response, for some reason I couldn’t imagine. Her face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.
"Same for me," she said simply. I breathed in deeply, her clean perfume infiltrating my senses. "Do you like your Godfather? How is it now living with him?" She stared at me with penetrating eyes, as if my life’s story was somehow vitally important. Maybe it was to her, so she could compare hers to mine and identify the similarities.
"I love Sirius," I said fiercely, my hunched shoulders straightened automatically, protective of him. "And living with him is fine. He mentioned you, actually. He changed your car tyres once."
Malfoy's silvery eyes sparkled at hearing this, a hint of a smile gracing her lips.
"Yes," she hummed, sounding like silk slipping through hands. "I remember him. Sirius Black."
She adverted her gaze, looking off to somewhere in front of her in a faraway daydream. I wondered what she was thinking about. Was she reminiscing about the meeting with Sirius?
"Do you not have any other family, then?" she asked, still not looking at me.
I, much to my astonishment, figured it was ok to talk to her about it; that she would understand more than anyone.
"I have an aunt and uncle and cousin, but we're not in contact. Bad blood," I answered honestly. "You?"
A crease etched between her brows, hardly visible, but definitely there.
"No," she said, and after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get.
But I wanted to know more. I wanted to know everything about her. How she and Luna ended up with Dr Snape, if she was happy with her own little found family here, why she lived in France before moving here of all places.
"Are you happy with your adopted family?" I chose to ask first.
"They're a pain in my arse," she smirked playfully, still not looking at me. "But I'm happy to have them."
I nodded.
"And how do you like school here so far?" Malfoy asked me, smirking at the table.
"It's not that bad," I replied, smirking back darkly. "Just a few problematic students I have to put up with."
She laughed, deep and rich, and the sound was like music, though I couldn’t think of the instrument to compare it to. Maybe a harp, or a violin.
"Oh, really?" she quirked a brow, finally tilting her head to look at me, and her silver eyes seemed to laser right through the surface of my skin.
"Yeah," I grinned, my cheeks dimpling. "You?"
"Yes," she agreed, her smile mischievous, "a few problematic students getting on my nerves."
I shook my head in faux sympathy before pushing my glasses back up my nose. "Bad apples."
"Indeed."
It was awkward, just looking at each other, but she didn’t look away. I wanted to keep staring at her face, but I was afraid she was wondering what was wrong with me for staring so much, so finally I looked down at my sketchbook. She sighed, flipping back to the page of her drawing of the lamb and snake, writing something down beside it in her calligraphic cursive that I couldn't make out when I glanced down at it. Malfoy's expression was different... a little frustrated, or irritated.
“My apologies,” I said sarcastically. “Am I annoying you?”
"Yes," she said bluntly with a half-smile. "But I’m also annoyed with myself,” she murmured like she didn't want to admit it.
“Why?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Reading people... it usually comes very easily to me. But I can’t — I guess I don’t know quite what to make of you. Is that amusing?”
“Yes," I said honestly. "But more... unexpected. I don't really think there's all that much to me," I shrugged. Still, I felt proud that I hadn't completely given myself away and let her know too much.
Her smile vanished and she half-glared into my eyes, not angry like before, just intense. Then, switching gears just as abruptly, she was smiling again.
"I disagree."
I scoffed. "Because I'm annoying?"
"Hm," she hummed thoughtfully. "I think it might be the why, not the fact that you are."
I didn't know what to say to that, not even understanding what she meant.
I was about to ask when the bell rang at the precise moment I opened my mouth. Malfoy rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as she had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after her with my jaw hanging open.
Maybe it was a good thing — It was a little too intense, talking with Malfoy. I felt dizzy in a strange way. I was in disbelief that I’d just somewhat detailed my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful girl who may or may not despise me. She’d seemed almost too interested in what I had to say, but I could also see, from the corner of my eye, that she had been leaning away from me again, her hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.
I sighed in frustration again and shook my head as I packed my stuff away. Despite having actually spoken with Malfoy this time and scratched that itch to bicker with her, I still felt unsatisfied. If anything, she just left me with more questions I wanted answers to, craved more of her attention.
“Malfoy seemed friendly enough today,” Neville commented as he came over and we shrugged into our raincoats.
I tried to sound indifferent. “I wonder what was with her last Monday.”
I kicked myself mentally for not confronting her about it, having forgotten to ask because she distracted me.
The rain was just a mist as we walked to the car park, but I was still pretty damp when I got to Nimbus 2000. I waved goodbye to Neville when he walked off to catch the bus down the road and I got into my truck, turning the heat up as high as it could go, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and fluffed my damp hair out so the heater could dry it on the way home.
As I looked around me to make sure the way was clear, I noticed the still, white figure. Draco Malfoy was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. The smile was gone, but at least so was the murderous glares — for now, anyway. I swiftly looked away and threw the Nimbus into reverse, almost hitting a Toyota Yaris in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my Nimbus 2000 would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again. This time I made it. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but I could see enough in my peripheral vision to know that she was laughing.