Fleur-de-Lis: Draco Malfoy x OC

10

Clarissa:

The girl who stood in front of me looked nothing like me. She looked at me, gazing into my sparkling green eyes, but only showing me her dim, dark ones back. She looked at my rosy, plump lips, but pressed her lips together in disappointment. Her hair. Her hair, which once had a beautiful mix of jet-black defined waves and curls, now took shape as a fluffy, frizzy mess, like Hermione's in first year. She was not the same as my sleek, straightened hair. 

Her once beautifully tanned skin, which was almost olive, had shimmered. It glowed in the Southern sun of the Mediterranean. But now, it looked back at me, sallow and gray. The vivacious and lively girl I had once known had distorted. She was now a lifeless, stiff being who looked back at me in the mirror when I dared show my face. She had turned cold.

My hands on each side of the sink, I leant forward. I stared into my reflection, shutting out any sort of misery or melancholy, joy or contentment. I was just there. Numb. There was no feeling left. It felt as though this is how I would forever live my life. No smile, no frown. Just there. Rejecting any kind of emotion.

"Er, hello?" A voice hissed. A thin hand waved in front of my face, acting as though I was dead. Angry that my zoning-out had been interrupted, I jerked my head to the body of the hand. There, stood a tall, slender girl who looked like she was in seventh year. She wore a grey blouse and black pants, with a pair of almost square black cat eye sunglasses, putting her hands up in surrender after my rather intimidating movement. 

"Can I help you?" I seethed, gritting my teeth.

"Well, this is good first impression." She grinned, not seeming intimidated at all. She spoke with a heavy accent, and I figured it was Eastern European.

"Sorry, who the fuck are you?"

"Ah, you have accent too! I am Zofia, Zofia Mozorov. I am transfer from Kazan." 

"Kazan?"

"Russia. Ruski. Russie. I am woman of many languages." Her ash brown hair and dark blue eyes matched perfectly together, she looked like a model. By the way she spoke I could tell she was rich, and most definitely entitled too.

"You know French?"

"Yes, if I'm not mistaken, you are from there?"

"Yes?" I said, stepping back from the sink, out of surprise. Who was this girl, and how did she know me?

"Well, nice to meet you. I just got put in this house not long ago, so I am trying to meet everyone."

"Hold on, when did you get sorted?"

"Sorted? If you are referring to how I got put in this house, I didn't get sorted. They just put me here. I see you are getting ready for party, who are you going with?"

"Oh, erm, just some boy."

"Well, there are many boys in this school, which one? I managed to get some 6'1" boy who is very handsome. Don't remember his name though."

"Does his last name happen to be Zabini?" I inquired, eyebrow raised.

"Erm, I think so. All I recall is that he is very handsome" She whispered. I chuckled at the thought of the two together. "Right, well, I better go get ready, see you at party, Cardaillet."

What the fuck? How in Merlin's name did she know me? I had never seen her in my life. I had Russian friends back in France, but they all went to Durmstrang. And she most certainly wasn't one of them.