AIANES (Theodore Nott) H.P AU

Chapter Seven

"SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP!" Reads the Daily Prophet's headline.

Olympia skims through the article with disinterest, having lived through the events herself. The Malfoys, Blaise and her sit in the dining room, breakfast served before them but no one minds the food. Instead, they all focus on their own paper, catching sight of a moving Dark Mark in black and white that can be spotted over the treetops.

"'Lax security and national disgrace.'" Lucius quotes the article. "Well, that is definitely going to cost Cornelius extra hours at the Ministry." He folds the paper before turning to his breakfast.

Narcissa nods, she too folds the paper carefully when she finishes reading. Her face twists, eyeing her husband but she says nothing as she turns to her tea.

Olympia ignores her aunt's behavior, instead, she keeps reading the article. Frowning at the nonsense written in its ink and silently wondering just who would write such a tasteless column. She gets her answer soon and by the bottom of the page. Rita Skeeter, although acclaimed by many, is one of the most insipid people Olympia has ever had the misfortune to read from.

"Merlin, this woman does like to throw up a fuss over nothing." Draco says from his place, paper long forgotten.

Narcissa smiles at him, sipping on her cup. "You know how journalists are darling. They need good stories, otherwise, they would go bankrupt. Still," She adds, toying with the pearls on her neck. "That Skeeter woman. I must say I am not a fan of her writing. Cheap and tasteless if you ask me."

"My mother thinks the same," Blaise dabs a napkin around his mouth. "She has a particular opinion regarding boundaries and the clear lack of them when it comes to Skeeter."

Olympia tunes out of their conversation. Rather focusing on her breakfast, while she sips on the black bitter coffee, she eyes the eggs and oatmeal with a grimace before turning to settle on some toast. She glances at her watch which reads Nine O'clock. From the corner of her eye, she sees her uncle do the same. "It's time, the train leaves at eleven sharp." Lucius stands up from his seat, the rest ready to follow his lead.

September 1st had finally arrived and with it came the start of Hogwarts Term. All three teens had spent the previous night packing their robes, books and necessities, ensuring everything they might need for the next three months before Christmas break arrived, wasn't left behind. This year, Hogwarts was asking its students to pack dress robes, but the reason for it wasn't specified on its letters. Narcissa, however, took care of said detail, letting them know a tailor would be expecting them to design and sew their gowns come their first Hogesmeade trip. Olympia didn't know how to feel about that, while she was thankful for her aunt's kindness, she had never worn a gown that wasn't designed by Aveline herself. Her grandmother had been a talented and acclaimed designer in the Wizarding World, dressing hundreds of witches and wizards in the most exquisite silks ever known to mankind. She remembers the once Rosier witch would spend hours inside her atelier, drawing patterns and sewing them onto mannequins, coming up with ideas to no end. Olympia thinks that her grandmother's love for clothes is the only thing she is grateful to have inherited from her. Both Sarantos women would spend afternoons together, while Aveline worked, Olympia learned. She wanted to become a designer just as successful as her kin had been, the younger girl carried a diary anywhere she went, coming up with designs of her own that she would later try to recreate.

Maybe she could do it again.

A sharp kick to the shin makes Olympia hiss under her breath, eyes narrowing before finding the culprit.

Draco stares back at her, his smirk turning into a grimace after she kicks him back just as hard. Olympia sneers at him, silently asking what was the need for the use of brute force when he could have just nudged her side for attention; but the blonde tilts his head to the side, not understanding her silence.