House of The Rising Sun

Chapter Two

Then

Draco hated not being one step ahead.

His fourth year was going to be even more spoiled than he anticipated. A rally of Death Eaters at the World Cup was one thing, then Potter being paraded around as the second champion.

Bullocks, he thought. All of it.

"Stop scowling," Pansy huffed. "You're throwing off my steps."

He supposed he should've kept his head a little more in the moment. He probably hadn't even looked at Pansy for the better part of the waltz, eyes clouded over with his own self-pity. Apparently, she couldn't even appreciate the opportunity to comfort him then. The other pairs on the ballroom floor were spinning around them or on the outskirts and just enjoying the atmosphere.

Once she finally wanted off of the dancefloor, he took the chance to get a spiked drink from Blaise and Theo, crowding with them against one wall as they made fun of anyone they laid their eyes on.

Draco didn't realize he was searching for someone in particular til he found them. Or, well he noticed the shock of red hair standing almost a foot above her. The mildly embarrassing moment involving his favorite dessert was better forgotten in his book, but it puzzled him because he hadn't seen her anywhere since.

Granted, he wasn't the most observant. Seeing her dancing with one of the Weasels - and actually seeming to enjoy it nearly set him off.

Who are you to make her laugh?

Now

Draco's mind whipped through a hundred different scenarios, rendering him speechless for once as Macaria transfigured their clothes into muggle evening wear. She then placed glamour charms on herself, making her hair short and a natural red. Then, her eyes blue.

She turned her wand on him again as he leaned further into the brick wall of the alleyway, the stench of seafood and saltwater permeating his nostrils. He flinched as she applied more charms to him, though what he looked like, he hadn't the faintest idea.

The saxophone continued on, growing louder as she grasped his hand and pulled him out to the street. From what he'd seen in books, it appeared to be the French Quarter - and not the wizarding sector - if there was one. He didn't know.

Draco's eyes widened at the sight of a two man band sitting outside of a bar, flush with patrons. There were people everywhere, muggles he assumed, getting drunk at what must've been late afternoon. The atmosphere was overwhelming, the singing, the drinking, the lively nature of the small crowds she was pulling them through. Her grip on him was near bruising, but he was too focused on the old French architecture, the rain puddles reflecting a reddening and clear sky.

Macaria let out a frustrated huff when he didn't immediately follow her into a gothic-looking shop squished between a few others in a building at the end of the block. He whipped his head around, looking at the skulls and cauldrons in the windows. His brow furrowed at the sign hanging above the door, A Witch's World.

"Is this a muggle shop?" His lips twisted into a frown.

"Oh, come on!" She berated him and he pretended it didn't feel like getting scolded by his mother. He let her drag him into the place, gawking over all the witchcraft objects clearly peddled for tourists. It felt insulting to his very core and he pursed his mouth as Macaria pulled him to the very back of the shop, clearing away a thick black curtain to what looked like an entirely different store.