Hogsmead was busier than ever.
The snow falling thick around her, collecting in her ebony black hair and sprinkling it with small flakes.
Daenyra pulled the thick coat closer around her, burrowing her face in the soft fur in an attempt to escape the cold. Truth be told, when she had come here a few hours ago, she had misjudged the development of the brewing storm, underestimating just how many students would use this last opportunity to go out a last time with their friends or buy presents for family or simply enjoy the little village all covered in white or whatever, before the holidays and Christmas would arrive with chiming bells.
Moreover, of course, there was the upcoming yule ball in a mere three weeks, held at the honor of the every three years event of the triwizard tournament, this year to her utter unpleasantry organized in Hogwarts.
She admitted, she got why everyone was so thrilled by it, many only experienced it only once, if ever in their school career, especially since it had been prohibited for the last few hundred years or so, if she was to believe her old headmasters words. Nonetheless it was less pleasant if one was in their 5th year and only sixteen years of age, therefore too young to compete.
Not like Daenyra would ever want to, no, hell she had no idea what happened in a person's mind to voluntarily risk their life for the enjoyment and pleasure of others, especially if it was the mind of someone off age, someone supposed to be mature.
But then again, wasn’t that the problem with the whole tournament?
Even though it was mostly boys, she couldn’t exclude the girls in her year completely, that seemed to be blinded by the possible fame and glory, winning promised. Despite them being too young to enter the game, they thrived for it like starved dogs and when they realized they couldn’t, wouldn’t be able to participate they lunged for everything that brought them closer to that imaginary thrill. By merlin, so fucking immature.
She gripped the bag tighter, when it dared to slip through her fingers.
As much as she complained about her fellow students, in the end it really had been her fault, dreading to do this year's Christmas shopping, until, eventually there was no other option, but to do it on the last weekend of exit permission. So she had squeezed past laughing friends, her own had offered to join, but she had politely declined, not wanting to force them through such an ordeal, instead promising it’d be way faster if she went on her own, spend hours in this and that queue and torturously slow scratched each and every item off her list.
When the event, initially supposed to take just a couple hours, suddenly had occupied the whole of her Saturday, Daenyra had decided to stop for a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks; those plans had abruptly been canceled as well. More than just the locals and her fellow students, those from Beauxbeton and Durmstrang had waited in the entrance as well and as much as she respected and admired both of those institutions, she cursed every single person attending them at that moment.
Irritated, she had made her way to both the Squealing Owl and the Bubbling Potion, hell, she had even popped her head into the Leaky Cauldron, but nowhere was even a single empty seat.
Finally she had vowed to start her way back, with the sun almost setting and curfew inching closer, her last attempt being the Wilting Flower on the very edge of the village. Although she hadn’t too much hope, since it was directly on the route back.
Her worry was proven reasonable when she closed in on where she knew the little hut was situated and the noise of at least a dozen people reached her ear.
As soon as the tavern came into view she corrected herself, two dozen alone standing outside in the cold, in tight clusters occupying half the street before the entrance, the door invisible in the sea of mostly red uniforms.
Durmstrang students, she realized.
It wasn’t that they were unpleasant, but the few she had talked to simply weren’t her cut of person. However she was slightly ashamed to admit that based on those experiences she without further ado, walked straight past the etablement.
Or at least that was what she had intended, before a loud shout made her stop in her tracks.
It sounded a few times before she realized the chorus of ‘eh’s was indeed addressed to her. The shopping bag heavy on her arms, face half sunken into the warmth spending fur of her coat and hands clutched tight before her breast, rubbing through the cotton of her gloves for some additional warmth.
She hated how easily she was cold.
What was it with her being so sensitive to temperature?
An array of words she couldn’t identify reached her and she spun to locate where the voices were coming from.
Clearly they had to originate from somewhere within the group of students, standing in the cold and sipping their drinks.
‘Eh Slytherin girl!’
Was she meant?
Apparently, because one of the students in red was waving at her. He didn’t seem to be cold, in fact, his face looked slightly flushed. But then again, even though no one knew exactly where the eastern school of witchcraft was located, everyone was certain it was somewhere cold and she agreed when seeing the thick wool robes they had arrived in.
The boy seemed slightly older than her, maybe even in seventh year, although she hadn’t seen him stalk around with his school's champion, so, maybe sixth?
Her considerations were cut short, when he spoke again.
‘My friend told I, you are шлюха from Hogwarts.’ Her brows furrowed at his broken English, skin tingling as more and more faces turned towards them.
At first only other Durmstrang students, his friends and a few neighboring tables, but the lack of chatter also attracted other students, who in fact did not understand what the boy had said, just like her, their curiosity peaked nonetheless. Much too soon she found herself the object of interest.
‘Eh Slytherin girl!’ another called her attention, her gaze finding the empty shot glasses. So they had to be over eighteen or at least tricked the bar keeper into believing that.
‘He said you open legs easy.’
Immediately her cheeks were on fire. Without understanding what the fair haired boy had said previously, she suddenly had a rather good comprehension for what the foreign word could’ve ment.
Shame as much as anger washing over her, her blue eyes found the brown ones of a Gryffindor boy standing nearby.
He had his legs crossed, leaning against one of the tables, stretching his head to get a better view of the show. Daenyra knew him, sixth year, an absolute wreck but an ego the size of the atlantic ocean. She remembered some Slytherins talking about how much he despised Salazar's house, going out of his way to make their lives harder.
Still she had no clue how on this very evening she had the luck to become the center of his chicanery.
‘Are you pureblood?’ another snatched her attention, eyes focusing back on the now almost howling group.
She wanted to go. Their shouts were too loud, her bags too heavy and the fading sun suddenly too light. But somehow her feet had taken root, grounding her where she stood.
‘I pay you!’
Another one joined, calling over the hustle and laughter of his friends. Tears started to collect in her eyes.
By Merlin, why did she have to cry now, out of all moments?
Her vision became slightly blurry, her knees shivering under the force of their words.
‘держу пари, она великолепна со своим языком’
‘мне не нужен ее язык, только она охотно’
Seconds became minutes, became hours, became years and while she stood their, unmovingly, she cursed her body for its weakness. She would’ve loved to walk away, head high, but by Merlin if she could run away, tears streaming down her face, she’d still prefer that to staying here.
‘Heard you are good in bed!’ The one who had called her switched back to English and she suddenly didn’t know if she preferred being able to understand them.
Somehow the rush of her blood in her ears, had made her unsensible to the steps pressing down on the snow, closing in from her side, where the street was.
‘In fact she’s incredible.’
Her mind alarmed at the familiar voice, locked her in place, she didn’t dare to turn around.
‘Shame you’ll never be on the receiving end of it.’
Without looking she knew the way he was smiling at those words, had memorized his lips movement the way one would memorize basic spells, the look of his dimples branded into her mental sight, unforgettable. Then a heavy arm weighed down on her hip, fingers settling right above her lower stomach.
‘никогда больше не говори с ней так, иначе я позабочусь о том, что от тебя останется, как только она закончит’
The foreign tongue was heavy in his mouth, nonetheless it seemed to come to him like his native language.
Daenyra refused to acknowledge the goosebumps rising underneath her coat, just as much as the fact that she eased into his embrace way too easily.
Over the drum of her heart she barely heard him leaning down to her. If it hadn’t been for the warm touch of his breath against her skin, she wouldn’t have realized he was talking to her.
‘Let me take that, darling.’
What did he want to take?
By Merlin her brain had reduced to a puddle. Luckily his fingers wound around the handle of the bags, where her fingers had curled around them and she gladly gave them to him.
‘Let’s get back to the castle, shall we, hmm?’
Ever so lightly he tugged her away from the crowd, now gone silent, while she still comprehensed what he had said, both the part she understood and the one she ….didn’t.
Willingly she followed his lead, away from the humiliation, the smiling Gryffindor boy, she’d curse him to the ground, she vowed herself.
They took a few steps, up and down the next hill on the street, finally shielded from the curious glances.
‘Are you alright?’
The boy turned her around.
His cheeks were flushed like hers, although she guessed it was from the cold rather than embarrassment like with her.
His nutbrown hair hanging in strands into his face, where dark brown eyes watched her, almost black in the light of the setting sun. She noticed a single drop of water drip off a particularly long strand of hair, joining the few others on the bridge of his nose.
Enzo was looking at her expectantly, but somehow her mind was still stuck on the mystery of his very presence.
The warmth of his hand seemed to be burning through her coat where it at some point had found it’s way between the buttons, causing butterflies to erupt in her belly.
‘Daenyra?’ Her eyes flickered downwards, when he set the bags on his ground. Her bags. Right, she had given them to him. One fell into the snow, but he didn’t notice or didn’t care as he leaned down to her height.
Finally she found her voice again, even though it felt weak, dwindling in her dry throat. It reminded her, was she still crying? Hastily her hands found her cheeks, luckily not finding any tears, still the movement attracted the Slytherin boy’s attention.
‘I..’ she stumbled over the words. ‘No, I’m fine, they haven’t - they didn’t do anything to me.’
He looked like he wanted to interrupt her, the sudden tension indicating he swallowed whatever he had intended to say.
Her mind still foggy, she reached for the bags on the ground, glad she had put a weathercharm on them or else the material would be soaked by now. Daenyra didn’t know what she was doing, she had no clue, all she was certain of was her school crush of three years had his hand on her waist, while her dignity had just been kicked with boots. Her thoughts were going in circles.
‘Thank you for-..’ well what had it been really, she lifted the bags from the snow covered ground, slowly collecting her thoughts again.
‘Your help.’ She intended to finish, flashing a polite smile at the older boy, -man.
By Merlin her mind was messed up.
A warm pressure stopped her in her tracks. Completely flabbergasted, her gaze found where he still hadn’t removed his fingers from her middle.
‘Daenyra.’ He called again and her mind must've cleared enough that this time she actually took him in, past his mesmerizing eyes.
He was wrapped in an elegant leather robe, concealing the suit pants and shirt, she knew to be beneath. By some miracle he withstood the freezing coldness without any gloves or hat, for a matter of facts. But at least a scarf was peaking out of the hem of his robe and she didn’t feel as cold-natured.
‘That was not nothing.’ The grin had been replaced by furrowed eyebrows and if she didn’t know better, she’d say that was a worried scowl on his face.
But that didn’t make sense, did it?
He had been the one embarrassing her in front of her friends, when he had handed her back her silly little love letter all those years ago in front of the whole of the great hall, the three letters sprawled in capitals all over the page.
𝙒𝙏𝙁!?
And ever since encountered her with that smug smile on his lips.
‘No, no, of course, I know.’ She was fast to agree with him, unsure of what else to do. ‘But I’m good, I swear I am.’
The Slytherin boy clearly wasn’t convinced. But after a few minutes decided to let it be, defeat featured on his face. ‘I’ll walk you back to the castle.’
A chill ran down her spine, burning hot, promptly followed by rigid ice flooding her senses when she realized he wasn’t only talking about him, but his friend group was waiting just a bit downhill, speaking and not even trying to conceal the glances they were throwing their way.
With not many options left she nodded wordlessly, suddenly dreading the way back to the school.
The other boys waited for them and she was hyper aware of the hand still lazily covering her abdomen, two fingers hooked inside the material of her coat. Already from afar she had recognized the faire hair of the Slytherin prince and as they closed in on the group she alarmingly grasped that following its royalty, the rest of the entourage came.
Blaise Zabini was rather easy to identify, the rich color of his skin almost glowing in contrast to Malfoy’s pale self, both standing close together, talking. Next to them she soon spotted Theodore Nott. If she thought about it, she never had heard him talk in her five years of visiting Hogwarts and his house. But then again, people whispered he was the brain behind their doings, not the face, like many people referred to Malfoy when talking about them as a group, plus, he apparently wasn’t the type of guy who needed words to communicate. Just like now, his gaze, set aflame by curious interest, made her bones shiver. And of course to round off the circle, a few steps off the group, the dark lord's son himself stood, watching them approach with a flashing grin, positioned as if considering to greet them. It was unbelievable how he looked like his father reborn, before the horcruxes of course, and still couldn’t be more different. His reputation as womanizer and casanova well known even past the brick walls of Hogwarts.
He also was the one to address the nearing pair first, as the arrival of Enzo completed the infamous quintet.
‘Did you successfully rescue our maiden in distress?’ His charismatic smile in place, but instead of succumbing to its magnetism, like many of her fellow female students swore everybody would, even the younger ones who just started to grasp the surface of what love and lust was, Enzo simply hit him warningly around the head.
It didn’t prevent Daenyra from flushing bright red once again, by Merlin she hoped they thought it was due to the temperature.
Once reaching the others, the boys continued their way back, chatting vividly with each other. Nonetheless she felt the stares directed at her. She didn’t know what to make of them. Truth be told she didn’t have any clue what to make of the whole situation.
They had overcome half the way when the voices in her head became unbearable, too loud in comparison to the silence Enzo and her had covered themselfs in, not even Mattheo’s brattiness and Draco’s annoyance could fill the void. Luckily the Dark Lords son soon had the brilliant idea to start a snowball fight, charming the white, puffy material into perfect balls and howling them at his friends. It was then that, to prevent from being hit, they fell behind.
Clumsily she verbalized the words she had spent minutes forming and aligning in her head.
‘Look,’ he did, in fact, look at her. And even though she had requested him to, she was suddenly reminded of the reason she had hoarded this silly crush on him for this long. She gulped down some air, knicking the drive to escape his intense gaze that spread goosebumps along her arms and made warmth pool in her belly.
‘I’m grateful you helped me. I really am.’ For some reason she felt the need to make that clear, because she was, more so than he probably understood. Only he had pulled her straight into a situation even more delicate with her knowing everyone since years, nonetheless of the lack of an actual relation.
‘But you don’t need to escort me back.’
He didn’t answer at first, eyes trained on her face from where they looked down at her, as if he hadn’t heard a single word she said.
His head moved to the side with his question. ‘Do you know my name?’
Well, that wasn’t what she had anticipated.
‘I -..uhm’ she started, unsure of what to say. ‘Of course I know your name.’ The bit that followed hadn’t been intended to actually leave her mouth, but his presence had something intoxinating to it. ‘I was the one writing to you back in third year, I adressed you on there.’
By merlin couldn’t she shut her mouth for once. Thinking of her long time friend Mirabel, she knew, she’d hit her around the head.
However Enzo’s only reaction was a low humm, the tip of his tongue wettening his lips in thought. They continued their way back to the castle wordlessly, the only communication between them being physical. When she slowly went rigid against him, thoughts tireless, his pointerfinger drew small circles above the cotton of her pullover. When she almost tripped, he gripped her elbow and steadied her, by the time they had finally reached their destination she felt like puddle in his arms. Therefore she didn’t dare to turn again before she hurried off, gates barely in sight, mumbling something about dinner and changing.
She believed to hear a distant shout, probably Mattheo from the way his distinct spanish accent was dripping off the words, an exxagerated ‘Fuck you, Matt’ the only answer before she escaped into the darkness of the dungeons.
□□□
The next morning arrived to Daenyras utter disaprovement way too early, the sun mocking her where it reached through the murky water of the Great Lake right through her curtains into her room. Sleep hadn’t overcome her until two, maybe three hours ago, the tiredness finally overpowering the forcefull move of her thoughts. It had left her more exhausted than anything.
Especially skipping dinner proved to be a shortsighted decision, still she couldn't get past her own pride and tge sheer risk of what could’ve gone wrong had simply been too great.
Only it wasn’t any slimmer now, was it?
She hadn’t talked to Mirabel, whose bed was already made, her towel from where it normally hung next to her wardrobe gone, she was probably showering. To be precise, she actually had exchanged a few words with her friends, but generously left out the fact that she had spent a not insignificant part of her afternoon in the presence of not only Slytherins but Hogwarts fucking elite, the royals, the bachelors, the snakes, the girl surpressed a laugh at the creative names the younger ones had come up with for the five boys. Painfully she remembered being one of them herself and sunk right back into the protection of her sheets.
By merlin, she was embarrassing.
And nevertheless, each single one of those titles held some sort of truth to it.
Oh, yeah, and then there was of course the part where Lorenzo fucking Berkshire had rescued her from…what had it actually been? Daenyra couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but the unsettling feeling of shame and anger was enough of the toxic emotion cocktail to make her suppress the memory.
She pulled her blanket over her face, a loose attempt to escape the world and what it made her face. She stayed like that, hidden for approximately another
two minutes, an additional two she spent tossing around, battling with her ever growing hunger, tangling her ebony black hair even more. However when Mirabel reentered the room, already in her leisure clothes, a simple jeans and top, make-up in place, long brown strands of hair flowing in curls above her shoulders, all tidy and ready, she abandoned the warmth of her bed.
Ultimately she had to admit, even though her hunger would’ve made her go sooner or later, it were Mirabel’s curious glances, the undertone of worry that caused her to choose the lesser evil.
So while combing through her tangled hair, Daenyra took a deep breath.
She had to face it. She would tell her friend what had happened. Mirabel would discover it either way with the Gryffindors gossiping away.
Her eyeliner rolled off the counter and she dove for it, catching it before it could reach the ground but bumping her head on her way up. A collection of swears left her mouth and she was suddenly relieved there was no one else in the communal washrooms year one to six had to share. It was rare that one would have them for themselves and once again she longed for the privileges only seventh year, graduation year would bring her.
Her eyes went wide, blue orbs staring at her from her reflection.
Why was no one there?
Scooping up her belongings in the little bag she stored them in, Daenyra hurried back to her dorm.
Sure it was Sunday, meaning the regulations she had to meet weren’t as strict. Still breakfast was only offered for so long and the clock on her nightstand reminded her time was limited.
Grabbing the woolen scarf from the foot of her bed, because she wasn’t as easy to go out in a top, like her friend, already leaning next to the doorframe, waiting and smiling mockingly, was.
Daenyra held up her hand when she had finally grabbed her wand, hurrying past Mirabel.
‘Just don’t say anything please.’
The girl made a show off mimicking to lock her mouth shut and throwing the key away, but the amused sparkle in her eyes said more than a thousand words.
They sprinted up the staircase, leaving the dungeons behind and only slowing when the great hall came into view.
Brutally all the worry she had apparently run from came back, although she would be no Slytherin if she didn’t hold her head up high through what surely would be a textbook case of humiliation.
Stepping through the grand doors was like entering a bubble.
It held both the heat and the joyful chatter from the outside.
Daenyra didn’t dare search for neither the nasty Durmstrang boy nor his little friend of a Gryffindor in the crowd and was relieved when they neared the table of their house.
At the far front, right beneath the watchful eyes of the teachers sat the little brats from first year, spreading their breakfast over the whole table. Following towards the entrance were the second and third years, the sharp lines between the years starting to blur with rising age. She spotted a few of her friends among the rows of pleasurably talking students, they sat quite in the center right next to.. .
Her thoughts went silent, before they took off galloping.
Moments ago, almost shivering from the cold that lurked in the niches and scratches of the ancient castle, a liquidy warmth was now blooming in her body, blood rushing through her veins, making her cheeks redden even without the use of blush.
Enzo hadn’t noticed her yet. Why would he when he hadn’t over the span of three years? It was how many mornings had been, her laying eyes upon the handsome heir of the Berkshire dynasty, chatting and laughing with his friends, she would gawk at him for a moment like a fucking school girl, lost in the affection and hopelessness that were nourishment to the hundreds of butterflies in her stomach, before Mirabel would pull her back to reality.
Her dear friend had often called her foolish, a dreamer. What had been amused encouragement in the beginning when her little crush had been exciting for all of them, because really who hadn’t had a crush on one of the royals at some point, had soon turned into worry, back when her mindless admiration had threatened to overtake her, with no foreseeable end.
Now she had moved past that.
Not the wild beating heart or the nervosity, she couldn’t even resist stealing glances at the older boy every chance she got, but she was grounded in her beliefs and dreams, she knew nothing would ever come off her childish fantasies.
Only, maybe, it just might.
She refused to interpret too much into what had happened.
Enzo had simply helped her out of an uncomfortable situation, like every gentleman should and all of her friends, she was certain would do. But then on the other side, he didn't have to escort her back to the castle and even though, yes, that could’ve been just coincidence, the way his fingers had caressed her skin through her jumper certainly wasn’t.
Spending the night tossing and turning she had have enough time to scratch her courage together and with the final declaration that for the possibility that she had in fact misinterpreted every single interaction of the last day, it was his graduation year and she could simply hide for the remaining half if she had to, until he was gone either way.
Her fingers locked with Mirabels, attracting her friends' attention. And no matter how brief the touch was, she bathed in the familiarity it provided.
‘Just trust me with that one.’ was her last warning, before she pulled her friend along, walking straight past the first quarter of the stuffed table, her direction soon becoming clear to the other Slytherin girl.
‘Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.’ Daenyra almost cracked a grin at her friends chanting, hadn’t it been for her heart beating so loud and all her concentration trained on setting one foot before the other.
Falling was not an option, it would end whatever this was before it had the chance to start and she’d rather face Salazar himself than let that happen.
Her knees were slightly weak as she lowered herself onto the wooden bench.
Uncomfortable as hell, the stingy headmaster refusing to acquire new ones for years.
The moment she sat all five pairs of eyes were immediately on her, watching her with a mix of mistrust, surprise, amusement and.. . She didn’t dare name what swirled in the depth of his dark orbs, but she supposed the satisfied grin on his lips was a good sign. Luckily Mirabel had shut her mouth, their hands disconnecting as both set to eat.
‘Morning, feeling any better?’
By merlin, hearing his voice in the early hours of the morning really was a treat.
‘Morning, Enzo.’ the sharp lines of his lips moving to something more soft, when his name rolled off her tongue, a smile perhaps.
‘Yes, thank you very much for asking.’
Daenyra watched him nod at her answer not missing how neither of the other boys had returned to their conversations. She thought, maybe Mattheo had actually turned around, straddling the bench to get a better view from where he sat across from Enzo. Distracting herself she scanned the array of food before her. As always the wooden surface was barely visible with silver platters and decorative bowls spread all over it, offering a wide array of really everything one could want. If not for the magic and her friends, she’d forever return for the food into the musty hall.
Deciding without further ado she picked a bowl of porridge, making a sleight of hand of sprawling all sorts of berries and nuts over the top, finally adding chocolate chips, she couldn’t escape the consequences of her own decision.
Merlin, why was speaking to him so hard?
She went for something simple, nervously brushing away a stray strand of hair.
‘Could you pass me a glass of that pumpkin juice, please?’
Why did he seem to not only notice but enjoy her struggles?!
‘Sure, darling.’ He had his shirt rolled up, revealing pale arms, as he reached across the table, presenting her with one of the cups. All while she re-doubted her common sense, or maybe her mom was right and she was simply a masochist, because this surely was torture in its sweetest form.
She didn’t risk replying, not trusting her own tongue.
‘She’s blushing quite often. Are we sure she’s alright?’ Daenyras head snapped to the Slytherin, the son of the Dark Lord leaning towards her, hands slightly extended as if he wanted to touch her face to check on her. Her eyes went wide. It was obviously a joke.
Right?
What was she supposed to reply?
Enzos hand on her knee gave her the perfect escape, his voice, nonetheless of its low tone still more penetrating than any other, reaching her ear.
‘Just ignore him, he’s being his silly self.’
Mattheo, impossibly hearing what Enzo had said grasped for his heart, attracting more than a few glances when he, hurt written on his face, accused Enzo of dishonouring his name.
‘Some of us will never grow up.’
Truth be told, as fascinating as his words were, the hand that covered the whole of her knee, with just one palm, was worrying. Not that she didn’t enjoy it, she wouldn’t trade it for the new Nimbus model, but somehow it made her feel dizzy.
In an attempt to calm herself, abusing the banter that had originated between the two boys but now had the majority of their group discussing, she turned to her left, meeting Mirabel's startled face.
Her rock in the waves.
Although, she thought, her friend didn’t seem as firm and rock-y as she used to.
Yes, maybe Daenyra should’ve told her of her idea beforehand instead of taking her by surprise like that. Therefore she might’ve just deserved the entertained shrug instead of an actual reply to her silently mouthed ‘help’.
She gripped her fork tighter, unsure of what to do with her galloping heart, but certain she’d pass out if it continued like that. Her eyes fluttered shut for the smallest of moments, Enzo’s hand was heavy, real on her knee, the other students chattering away. This was real, she chose to do this, more so, she longed to do it for quite a while and she would not throw away her shot.
Taking a deep breath she managed to calm her racing pulse, angling her body slightly towards the older Slytherin, still involved in his conversation. They seemed to have moved on, now talking about some potion assignment.
‘He wants us to choose any potion and replace the main ingredients to show the class if and what effects substitutes have.’ Blaise explained, Draco moaning next to him.
‘It’s very much definitely a trap. There probably is the right potion to choose, he just wants to make us fail.’ the faire haired boy stated, earning approving mumbles from his friends. She noticed even Theo had his brows furrowed, a minor expression of emotion.
‘I’d use the Skele-Gro.’ It had been the first potion to come to her mind. Fastly she had all their attention with her sudden, seemingly unexpected outspeaking.
‘Why that one?’
Daenyra eyed the Slytherin prince, collecting herself, because Merlin, his presence was unsettling. Sure, it didn’t make her as nervous as the youngest Berkshire next to her, but it certainly didn’t help with it either.
‘Well, its a basic potion, right?’
‘Yeah.’ The Slytherin agreed, apparently not following her train of thought.
‘What I mean is, it works in its simplest form. The assignment is about substituting the ingredients to change the effect, controlled. Since it’s a basic potion many ingredients can be exchanged to make specific changes to its outcome. Also it's easy to demonstrate, not like with Amortentia for example where its effects vary from recipient to recipient.’
Her breakfast had been abandoned halfway through her explanation, cutlery left on the table in favor of using her hands to mimic. Now they hoovered useless in the air, her gaze switching from one Slytherin to the next, praying they got what she meant.
Unexpectedly Enzo entered the conversation actively, backing her up.
‘She’s right. It would be a good choice. Everybody knows it, so it’ll be much more efficient when presenting, since everyone can join.’
Her eyes caught Blaise nodding along.
‘We should consider that, mate.’ But Draco was still deep in thoughts, barely nodding to his friend and apparent project partner.
After that the conversations split up again and she took the chance to ask the question that had been burning on her tongue ever since …well let's say a while. It was another factor that had kept her awake last night.
To be honest, she didn’t know a good way to start, so she could steer the conversation subtlely where she wanted it to go. So she just went for the dive.
‘You speak Russian?’ the sound of her voice immediately snatched Enzo’s attention. He nodded, explaining ‘Actually I speak fourteen languages, but yes, Russian is one of them.’
The smile on his lips was soft, no trace of bravado.
Evidently her expression gave away her utter astonishment, since a small chuckle left his lips and he evaluated.
‘My family has roots all over europe and some in asia and america, although I know of no ancestors in Australia just yet. My mother thought it necessary for me to learn the different cultures and languages of my family from early days on.’ But even after that explanation, she could simply nod dumbfounded.
‘So, you understood everything..’ Daenyra didn’t even need to finish her sentence, from the way Enzo’s smile vanished in a matter of moments was indication he knew exactly what she was talking about.
He gritted his teeth, forcing out a low ‘Yes, every single word.’
For some reason that truth made her duck her head in embarassment. It wasn’t like she had any clue what the Durmstrang students had said. Nonetheless her understanding was good enough to imagine and she didn’t want Enzo to hear any of it.
‘It wasn’t your fault.’ his thumb started the now familiar circles on her skin.
‘I know it wasn’t, it’s just…’
‘Nothing they said was true.’
‘No, no I know.’ She failed to verbalize whatever was weighing down on her and the older boy sensing her resentment didn’t push.
In its place he picked up her fork, stabbing it through a crimson red berry, before offering it to her.
She chewed for a moment, her gaze lowered while she still felt his, unmoving on her.
Finally she asked what she had intended to, from the beginning.
‘When you came, after they said all that stuff.’ The fork clattered as it met the wooden table. ‘What did you reply?’
It was that moment that the cruel, satisfied smile spread on his lips, she had seen on him so many times. It was so Slytherin through and through, contradictory to the courteous, polite heir he was most of the time.
‘As far as I remember I told them they were not to fuck with you and I’d look after their left-overs once you’re done with them.’
The blood shot into her cheeks, neck heating and by Merlin, had the chatter become quieter around her or was that just her mind playing tricks?
Enzo shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just hit her with a petrificus square in the chest.
‘But I can’t remember too well, I think the heat of the moment got the better of me.’
The dark haired Slytherin simply nodded along.
□□□
The next morning the seat to Enzo was empty again. A full glass of bright orange pumpkin juice to the top right of the empty plate and everyone walked straight past the space as if it wasn’t available at all. It was a small, almost unnoticeable hint, only it was so obvious at the same time and made her moody Monday morning significantly better.
Daenyra’s mood stayed at a high throughout the draining lesson of Transformation with her fellow Gryffindor alumnis, the boring hour she spent in a muffy classroom listening to Professor Binns and finally even through the dreaded lesson with her own headteacher
Snape making the best of the lousy Monday, bombarding them with intellectual questions, even having the audacity to bring a pop quiz to class, although with him it was called an unannounced expertise of understanding and involvement.
Little bastard.
Looking forward to the end of her day, generously ignoring the amount of work that had piled up over the day, she strode through the room, following the mass of students out the door.
Only to be bumped in by the exact students when she came to a sudden halt. Just like the others had, according to the tense mumble, she immediately noticed the tall boy-..men, she still hadn’t figured, leaning against the wall across from her. He had one leg lazily propped against the stone, arms crossed and looked like a fucking god, standing their and doing nothing in his dark robes, hair mussled, eyes focused on the door.
No, scratch that. They were on her.
The first step she took out of the crowd, he pushed off the wall, stalking tthrough the moving bodies, all while towering over the other students, to right where she stood in the middle of the hallway.
‘Hi.’ he greeted her, smile in place, innocent like he hadn’t just pulled a fucking gentleman move. Still his eyes, the predatory gleam, no, he knew exactly what he was doing.
‘Did you just pick me up from class?’ It was the first and at the same stupid thing she could have replied.
He clearly thought so as well, not missing the opportunity to shake his head from one end of the corridor to the other, brows furrowed playfully.
‘I’d believe so, yes.’
‘Fuck.’ It had been supposed to be under her breath, like a mumbled, short incarnation of ‘what-the-hell-am-I-getting-myself-into-and-how-can-this-be-everything-I-ever-wanted’. However, the way he chuckled and put his arm around her shoulder, told her, she hadn’t been as quiet as aspired.
Before she could recognize the way to the Slytherin common room, he explained: ‘I hoped we might talk.’ And as her lips opened to question him.
‘Not like we did at breakfast. In my dorm perhaps.’
So that was where they went.
She felt slightly out of place, the feeling she was doing something prohibited nagging at her, making her nervously look over her shoulder, while Enzo led her down to the boys dormitories.
He had his fingers firmly intertwined with hers, securely walking the to him familiar path. Just for a second Daenyra wondered, if he knew his ways around the girls dormitories just as well. The sound of steps made her tense.
‘No one is going to tell you off.’ Enzo reassured her, clearly amused by her paranoia.
It wasn’t long that they stopped in front of his dorm, tapping his wand against it two times, the door clicked open. She had expected he shared his room with a few of his friends, two or three in each dorm, just like with the girls. Therefore she was reasonably surprised when they entered the biggest dorm she had ever seen, not like she had been to many. The array of five beds in the circular room still left enough space for nightstands, wardrobes and even desks.
Enzo took her bag, placing it on the ground next to the door with a dull *thud,* turning back around to face her.
‘I think we need to talk about this.’
By Merlin he was standing so close, a sneaky smile sprawled on his lips.
‘This?’ Was her highly intellectual reply and she scolded herself how a single man could turn her brain into mush in a matter of moments.
He took a hold of her hands, they were warm against her cold ones. Nodding he replied: ‘Us.’
That was good right? Talking?
Nevertheless, the lumb building at the back of her throat made it hard to swallow. Observant as he was, he noticed her displeasure.
‘Because that’s what we're lacking in right? Communication.’ The word was accompanied by a wonderfully desperate laugh.
‘Since three years..’
Daenyra felt the blood rushing to her feet. By Merlin, he knew. This was going to be humiliating.
But he simply went on.
‘We’re tip-toeing around each other and I get it..’
‘No, no I don’t think you do.’ She interrupted him, uncertain if this was a love confession or if he was stomping whatever this could be down before it threw roots.
‘I wrote you that letter, back in third grade.’ She reminded him ‘You’re saying we're tip-toeing around each other, but there, in that moment, I was stomping.’ She was out of breath. She hadn’t been shouting, far from it, her voice had barely been a whisper, but it seemed the words had sucked the air out of her lungs.
Enzo hadn’t interrupted her, just tilting his head ever so slightly, listening affirmative.
‘You were so young.’
Daenyra did not have his blessing of patience, nor his reception for other people's emotions, because immediately he stirred back, even though unwillingly by the way his jaw tensed.
‘And I was..-’ she believed to hear him mutter an array of swears, sending the most dishonorable prayers to Merlin she had ever heard. Then his gaze met hers and their fingers tangled. She wasn’t angry at him, she was past that, she knew their past wasn’t all fairytales and dust, but that made it real right, it made it precious, whatever it was.
‘I was a complete moron. An idiot.’
It was the physical pain he seemed to bear with the words that finally made her crack a smile at him.
The younger Slytherin stood on her toes, as she grabbed ahold of his head, burrowing her fingers in the soft hair at his neck and ultimately sealing her lips against his. For just a moment he was unmoving, uncertainty weighing down heavy on her.
Had she got it wrong?
But then his arms closed around her, lifting her ever so slightly and steadying her where she had struggled to reach his height.
When they eventually broke apart, forced to take deep breaths, he chuckled against her skin.
‘So the trick is to degrade myself?’
Her brain was still rushed by adrenaline, thoughts tumbling around like pieces of a puzzle.
‘So you kiss me.’ he clarified.
Ah. That made sense.
Still halfway in oblivion she nodded, panicking when he broke away. Her eyes blinked open, but he had only taken a step back, eyebrows furrowed in playful accusation. She didn’t fight the urge to smother them out, running the tip of her thumb between his eyes.
‘So how did you imagine it?’
‘What?’ Daenyra countered, still lost in the hills and dips of his face, tracing the line of his cheekbone, his jaw, the way dimples formed when he smiled at her dreamy self.
‘Our first encounter.’ That did get her attention.
‘You mean the first time we met?’
‘That’s what one generally understands by ‘first encounter’, yes.’
Her hands stopped moving, for a few seconds deep in thought.
‘Obviously I knew who you were from the first time I entered these halls, I think everybody knew. But it wasn’t until third year that we actually met.’ she blushed at the memory. ‘I don’t believe you even remember, but I was talking to Simon..-’ winking off his sudden interest she continued. ‘I turned and bumped into you. All my books fell to the ground and immediately I dove to grab them. Do you know you look really appealing from the ground?’ Daenyra couldn't help but laugh at her own joke. ‘Anyway, you just stared at me and went your way. After that I had the biggest crush on you. Maybe Mirabel is right, that sounds pretty masochistic to me.’
Enzo didn’t comment on her dry assessment, instead poking further.
‘So how would you have wanted it to be?’
Well, she couldn’t embarrass herself anymore, so why not offer every bloody detail?
‘I had this little fantasy back then. That you would’ve squatted down as well, helped me pick up my books and asked me what class I had next.’
A loud *thud* made her stop. Her gaze found a small, red velvet book on the floor, Enzos gaze piercing through her.
She lowered herself to the ground, skirt riding up to her thighs, but she wasn’t fast enough, because even though he didn’t squat, the older Slytherin boy bent towards the ground, his long fingers sneaking around the book.
Daenyra looked up at him, uncertainty bubbling in her blood, her heart beating with excitement.
‘What’s your next class?’ He offered her the book and slowly her fingers closed around the cover. She dug the tips into the soft material, grounding herself.
She couldn’t answer, the lump in her throat too big. Luckily she didn’t need to. Before she could even attempt standing up, the older Slytherin boy was pushing forward, forcing her body flat on the ground.
‘Not one of many words hmm?’ He smiled down at her, eyes almost black and by Merlin hadn’t she felt so secure, she would’ve made a run for it upon seeing his predatory gaze fixed on her.
Her senses were heightened to a maximum, still there was nothing but him. The smell of his after-shave, flooding through her system with every breath, the featherlight touch on her hips, barely noticeable through her uniform and , oh, his taste on her lips, she had to chase as he withdrew it from her.
Suddenly too heavy on her body she squirmed against her clothing, but it stuck to her like a second skin. It bothered her.
‘Page seventy-one.’
‘What?’ Enzo looked up from where he had pushed up her shirt, kissing a wet trail against her tummy.
He nodded towards the book, she had completely forgotten, laying astray just inches from her.
Irritated and desperate she lifted it up, ripping it open with impatience.
What she didn't expect were the pages upon pages of handwritten lines. The letters curved in that familiar way, she had seen him write so many times.
Her mind took longer to catch up. A diary.
Well, that was truly unexpected.
Having sparked curiosity she scrambled through the pages, aching to find the number seventy-one and bit by bit she went back in time. Until she reached the fifth february of 1996.
Her third year at the school for wizardry and witching.
But her vision went blurry when Enzo pushed her shirt further, revealing the whole of her stomach, before she felt the cooler air hit her decolleté. Immediately his wet lips devoured her, his demand a caress against her skin and still making her very bones vibrate with each syllable.
‘Read it to me.’
And while he kept kissing, biting and sucking at her pale skin, Daenyra forced herself to concentrate on the words, his words.
‘She sent a letter. A love letter. ‘ she red aloud.
By Merlin this was about her. On the other hand, of course it was, luck simply wasn’t on her side.
‘Keep going.’ his voice was low, rumbling, a stark contrast to his soft caress.
‘It was signed with-..’ she stocked, uncertain if because of Enzo's long fingers locking on the hem of her skirt or the fact that her name was in his very private diary.
‘Daenyra.’ She drew a slithering breath through her teeth.
‘It’s ridiculous.’ He ended in her stead, apparently knowing the lines by heart and even though the words should’ve hurt her, the way his tongue devoured them made them almost seem… sweet, even if bitterly so.
‘Page 76.’ The boy had freed her of the warm cotton of her thighs, her breath hitching as his fingers snuck up the inside of her legs. Nonetheless she obeyed, turning the few pages.
There it was again.
‘Her name is Daenyra Montarga, she’s in third grade.’ she skipped through the lines to where her birth name was circled, the ink almost ripping a whole into the expensive paper.
‘Hmm.’ He mumbled against her thigh, painting a masterpiece of red and blue on her skin. ‘Daenyra Montarga.’
It was thrilling to see she had a similar effect on the Slytherin royale.
‘Turn the page.’ And she attempted to, she really did, but the second his fingertip grazed the wet material of her slip, it was only crumbled paper in her palm. By Merlin.
‘I’m sorry.’ The excuse was breathless, just as weak as she felt under his body, limbs heavy, unmoving, only her chest rising and falling in thrilling excitement.
He didn’t seem to care, just urging her to keep goiing.
There was her name again. A note about her appearance at breakfast. It was from the time her mother had demanded she’d wear her hair up everyday.
His fingers mapped their way up her body.
Another entry, another day, her name. He had noticed her talking to one of the older girls. Daphne, from what he wrote. She couldn’t even remember that conversation, it had to have been brief.
His fingers hooked around the shoulder straps of her bra, pulling it down ever so slightly, while placing a leg between hers for more balance, although his satisfied grin made her consider other reasons.
𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘺.
He pulled the strings down her shoulders, bra pooling around her tummy.
She flicked another few pages, already past half the book.
𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘸.
Enzo cupped her breasts in both hands, making a shiver run down her spine like liquid gold.
At some point their bodies had started moving against each other, bathing in every ever so little delightful touch and friction. A last time she forced herself to turn the pages, skipping right to the last side.
𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘧𝘰𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘶𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯.
And then at the very bottom, squeezed into what little space was left between the bottom line and the end of the page, chaotically scrobbler out again.
𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴.
‘I’m not letting my chance slip this time.’
So he did know it all by heart.