I'm Going to Kill You, Darling
I'm going to kill you, darling. (five.)
She stood; slid open the door, Charmed her trunk to fly before her, and walked straight through the crowded train.
Draco glanced after her, laughing silently to himself as people dashed out the beautiful girl’s way.
Who’s she? When did she get here?
She new?
Oh my God. She’s gorgeous.
Why is Pete eyeing her up!?
Bloody Hell! I hope she’s in Ravenclaw...
Oh man. Look at her!
Emmeline smirked as she heard jealous, admiring thoughts, and stepped gracefully off the train.
Taking a carriage to herself, she sat in the middle of the seat, spread her arms across the back of it and crossed her ankles and waited for the Thestrals to be attached. She had never liked the Thestrals, but it was a necessary fact of life. She would not walk all the way there.
The door knocked and opened.
Draco stood there, tired, red in the face from dragging his trunk, and smiled.
“Hey, can I ride with you?”
“If you really must.”
Emmeline allowed him in, moving her ankles out of the way of his weighty trunk.
She closed her eyes; it was now harder to focus on thoughts other than Draco’s meaningless ones.
She wanted to get into the minds of the teachers, key players, she needed to find out what they thought of her; where she would go; who she would mix with.
Draco did nothing to help. He was concentrating intently on his classes, on his unfinished holiday work, on a girl called Pansy Parkinson, how he would escape her.
“Kill her,” Emmeline snarled, irritated with Draco’s thoughts, which may as well have been screamed in her ear for all the good trying to block them out was doing.
Draco tried to control his worried thoughts, but they were the loudest of all. Emmeline was gratefully relieved as he opened the door for her and a wash of mind activity welcomed her. The smell of the lake sickened her, and she hurried up the stairs, her trunk following.
“Oh, miss? I will take that to your room, miss!” A House Elf squeaked, and Emmeline silently removed her Charm and gave it to the House Elf.
“Thank you, miss!” The House Elf took it as though Emmeline had bestowed a great honour upon her, and Emmeline smirked. It was a great honour to handle her things, to touch the same things as Emmeline Mallory had touched, the feared young killer, raised by Death Eaters, who did not care for such things as mercy and life.
Population control, in her eyes.
She passed down the line of first years waiting anxiously for their name to be called by Professor McGonagall and stood, in plain view, warning them she was ready to be Sorted, and she should not be kept hanging about for a minute longer. Again, the same thoughts about her cropped up, who was she? Where did she come from? Was she free Friday?
Emmeline cast a glance at Draco to clock who he was sitting with. The girl identifiable as Pansy Parkinson from Draco’s memories was sitting opposite him, trying in vain to get her attention.
Gorgeous!
Is she part Veela?
She smirked as she sauntered to the stool, seating herself on it, she allowed the old Professor McGonagall to perch the ragged, jaded hat on her head.
Hmm, oh my, what a mind!
Emmeline smirked.
Well, I see no other place for you other than-
“Slytherin!” The hat shouted, but Emmeline was already walking down to the green decorated table, sitting next to Draco, the only face she knew, but not the only mind she recognised. She recognised the food-centred thoughts of both Crabbe and Goyle, and the crude thoughts of some other boys.
Draco glanced after her, laughing silently to himself as people dashed out the beautiful girl’s way.
Who’s she? When did she get here?
She new?
Oh my God. She’s gorgeous.
Why is Pete eyeing her up!?
Bloody Hell! I hope she’s in Ravenclaw...
Oh man. Look at her!
Emmeline smirked as she heard jealous, admiring thoughts, and stepped gracefully off the train.
Taking a carriage to herself, she sat in the middle of the seat, spread her arms across the back of it and crossed her ankles and waited for the Thestrals to be attached. She had never liked the Thestrals, but it was a necessary fact of life. She would not walk all the way there.
The door knocked and opened.
Draco stood there, tired, red in the face from dragging his trunk, and smiled.
“Hey, can I ride with you?”
“If you really must.”
Emmeline allowed him in, moving her ankles out of the way of his weighty trunk.
She closed her eyes; it was now harder to focus on thoughts other than Draco’s meaningless ones.
She wanted to get into the minds of the teachers, key players, she needed to find out what they thought of her; where she would go; who she would mix with.
Draco did nothing to help. He was concentrating intently on his classes, on his unfinished holiday work, on a girl called Pansy Parkinson, how he would escape her.
“Kill her,” Emmeline snarled, irritated with Draco’s thoughts, which may as well have been screamed in her ear for all the good trying to block them out was doing.
Draco tried to control his worried thoughts, but they were the loudest of all. Emmeline was gratefully relieved as he opened the door for her and a wash of mind activity welcomed her. The smell of the lake sickened her, and she hurried up the stairs, her trunk following.
“Oh, miss? I will take that to your room, miss!” A House Elf squeaked, and Emmeline silently removed her Charm and gave it to the House Elf.
“Thank you, miss!” The House Elf took it as though Emmeline had bestowed a great honour upon her, and Emmeline smirked. It was a great honour to handle her things, to touch the same things as Emmeline Mallory had touched, the feared young killer, raised by Death Eaters, who did not care for such things as mercy and life.
Population control, in her eyes.
She passed down the line of first years waiting anxiously for their name to be called by Professor McGonagall and stood, in plain view, warning them she was ready to be Sorted, and she should not be kept hanging about for a minute longer. Again, the same thoughts about her cropped up, who was she? Where did she come from? Was she free Friday?
Emmeline cast a glance at Draco to clock who he was sitting with. The girl identifiable as Pansy Parkinson from Draco’s memories was sitting opposite him, trying in vain to get her attention.
Gorgeous!
Is she part Veela?
She smirked as she sauntered to the stool, seating herself on it, she allowed the old Professor McGonagall to perch the ragged, jaded hat on her head.
Hmm, oh my, what a mind!
Emmeline smirked.
Well, I see no other place for you other than-
“Slytherin!” The hat shouted, but Emmeline was already walking down to the green decorated table, sitting next to Draco, the only face she knew, but not the only mind she recognised. She recognised the food-centred thoughts of both Crabbe and Goyle, and the crude thoughts of some other boys.