I See You

Six years had passed since that fateful sorting moment. Back then I, just like all the other students before me, had taken my seat at my table. . . but unlike the other students, I hardly listened to McGonagall’s speech, and I didn’t touch the food.

I hated green. I hated the whispers of the students sat near me. I shocked myself by actually wishing for the quiet of my cell, where nobody talked about me, or looked at me, and my head didn’t hurt.

I’d learnt since then the trick of keeping that pressure inside my head away; I avoided mealtimes when I could, and didn’t spent more time around my peers than absolutely necessary. They’d made it abundantly clear that first month and every day afterward that they weren’t interested in being friends.

That first week, whispers had followed me around like the ghosts that roamed the halls, rumours of visions and seeing the future, and being homeless. Professor McGonagall had been particularly angered by the gossip, but she wasn’t there all the time, and I soon got the message.

Harder to avoid had been Scorpius Malfoy, who tried many many times to get my attention over those first years. And he hadn't been nice about it either, at least not until much later.

I’d always ignored him, but it was difficult to be around my fellow Slytherins and not hear about His Highness, The Slytherin Prince. The boy teachers praised in class, and gave extra credit to. The talented quidditch player who became the youngest captain since Harry Potter himself at age 15. The sexy godlike boy the girls all secretly wanted to go out with (that one particularly irritated me). Still, with all this, almost every time I met his eye (which wasn’t often because I’d gotten quite skilled at avoiding him), he tried to speak to me.

And because he was the King of mixed signals, I had no idea what he wanted. One minute he was indifferent, the next antagonistic enough to make me want to cry. . . but sometimes - sometimes - he was nice.

Through the years, we'd had some odd connection, Scorpius and I, though not through any effort on my part. He was just. . . always there. In 5th Year we both made prefect and he hadn't left me alone since, but I'd already withdrawn into myself and I couldn't understand where his interest came from. Still couldn't. Would he befriend me only to set me up for some horrible joke? I wouldn't put it past him. Or did he just feel sorry for me, the poor loner who came to Hogwarts with no surname and no family to back her?

I didn't really care either way. I'd made up my mind early on when we were kids - he'd been such a massive, egotistical prat that I could hardly forget. Although, to his credit, he and his friends stopped playing pranks on me once we grew up a bit.

Mmm, still. . . it's a bit hard to forget that somebody once super-glued you to your chair in class, isn't it?

Though I'd never let him close, I'd sort of been aware of him growing up from afar, especially because we were prefects together. I listened to snippets about him from my dormmates as they gossiped with each other before bed. And last year I'd finally given in to talking to him, though I couldn't see why he'd want me to. I was only ever horrible to him.

But I'd had visions of him. I'd had a lot of visions about him. And they weren't uh, anything I was ready for - or would ever be ready for. So I did what I thought was best and kept him as far away as I possibly could.

But whatever. This year was a new year. I was determined that I wouldn’t be miserable, that I wouldn’t be a self-imposed wallflower anymore. I mean, I didn’t want to speak to anybody, but I wanted to look alright while I was doing it, at least.

Over the summer, I’d spent little time with my foster family, preferring to be outside in the woods nearby where we lived. The trees and plants and animals had kept me company while I read my books and explored. I much preferred their company to people, anyway.

I’d finally had my first decent haircut, and it made me look different, older. Instead of being frayed and straight and limp, my hair poured in toffee-coloured waves down to the middle of my back, tipped lighter on the ends by the sun. Over the summer, most of my baby fat had melted away and my cheekbones stood out a little more against my skin. I’d thought about getting a spell to cover the freckles over my nose, but I knew I’d never keep it up.

Though I wasn't curvy like I secretly wanted to be, I was starting to appreciate what curves I did have (and the curves I didn't).

I got a small allowance from my foster family, and I’d saved it all up over the year just so I could shop in Diagon Alley the last week before term started. I could find nicer muggle clothes there than I could in muggle London.

So it was with greater confidence than usual that I stepped through the barrier onto Platform 9 ¾. I caught the gazes of a few faces I recognised, but couldn’t stop myself from avoiding eye contact. Habit.

I still had a while left before I had to board the train, so I let my cat Leo out of his cage, and pulled out a cigarette. Travelling on the underground had been murder, and I felt a migraine coming on. The smoking didn’t help that, but it helped calm me down. I leaned back against my trolley and blew smoke rings up to the already-clouded dome above. I closed my eyes and soaked up some of the sun filtering down.

After a few minutes a shadow darkened my eyelids. Annoyed, I opened them and found myself staring at the devil himself. Malfoy.

“Mind moving a little to the right? I’m not getting any tanner here.” He was smirking at me. I felt my blood pressure rise and took a deep drag on my cigarette. He didn’t move.

“Mona,” His voice was a lot deeper than I remembered, and it vibrated in places that didn’t usually react to voices. “You look well.”

“Thanks,” I said blandly, moving away from him slightly. He'd gotten taller, and filled out more. He didn’t look so pale anymore - quite tan, actually - and his hair was streaked by the sun. His eyes silently catalogued my movement.

“Did you have a good summer?” He asked, as if he really wanted an answer. It seemed he was on his best behaviour.

“It was great, thank you,” It hadn’t been really, but I made a little more effort to be polite this time, curious.

“Look Mona, I wanted to ask you before somebody else did. There’s a Halloween Ball -”

“That’s a while away.”

“Yes,” He continued patiently, watching me with his deep grey eyes. “But I wanted to ask you before somebody -”

“No.” I took another drag on my cigarette and leaned my head back to look at the ceiling again. Why was he even talking to me? Why did he ever even bother? He could easily try it on with a more willing victim, like Mandy Parkinson. She was dying to go out with him.

“. . .No?” This seemed to aggravate him; his eyes narrowed. “Why not?” He demanded, eyes flashing. Oops. He'd always had a bit of a temper, but it must've been a bad morning for him if he was already getting ready to lose his rag.

“Your parents named you wrong, Malfoy. They should’ve gone with Narcissus.” I turned away from him, and began searching for my cat, conversation over. Or not. I heard his footsteps behind me and glanced over.

He reached for my arm, and I stepped back, putting the trolley between us. To anybody except me, I must have seemed irrational, but I had good reason to be wary. He paused for a second, watching me like I was a wild animal. Then he gave me such a crooked smile that it took my breath away.

“What, scared you’ll feel something if I touch you?” He teased. Yes. “We can do this all day.”

“I’m warning you. Don’t.” I wasn't pint-sized, but I was still no match for a quidditch player, and he reached over with lightning reflexes. His hot hand enclosed my bare upper arm.

And that’s when I had an episode.