Enemies Over Espresso

364 Days Until He Leaves

-★★★-

I hurry out the door the next morning, and with not enough time to walk to my class, I take the risk and apparate into the alley behind my lecture hall. I appear beside a dumpster and shriek as a large, unidentified rodent runs out from beneath it.

Things could be worse.

I adjust my clothes and bag as I round the corner onto the main street, where hundreds of students shuffle past me in a similar rush to class. I bound up the steps and into the hall where my class resides. Lent term has just started, making the room fuller than I know it will be by the end of term in March. The usual space I would occupy (one of the front three rows) is full to the brim, so I settle for an open space towards the end of the fifth row, slinging my bag onto my lap to pull out everything I need to take my notes.

I've just written a header atop my page with the name of the course when a shoulder nudges against mine, my pen trailing ink down the page as I'm jostled.

I give a quiet grunt, turning to face my assailant to assess them before I decide how annoyed I will be.

I'm greeted by a blonde-haired boy sitting beside me, sporting a wide grin.

"Can you believe it?" Draco says with mock excitement. "We're in the same class!"

I consider taking my pen and stabbing it between his enticing blue eyes.

He smirks, ignoring the horrified look on my face and settling in his seat. He pulls out a piece of paper— a distinctly non-Muggle piece of paper— with a confidence many could only dream of achieving. I stifle a giggle.

"You know, you ought to get a notebook," I say simply, jabbing my finger at the one I have sitting on the thin ledge before us.

His eyes quickly flit between my notebook and the others filling the room. The brief moment of panic is punctuated with a shrug. "No need."

As if to prove his point, he pulls a quill from his bag.

I can't hold in my laugh this time and have to slap my hand over my mouth when a girl in front of us glares back at me. I smile apologetically, clearing my throat as the professor makes his way to the front of the hall.

"Put that away," I whisper under my breath, "or sit somewhere else. Everyone's going to think you're crazy."

He plops an inkwell between us, and I pointedly avoid making any sort of contact with him, lest people think we're friends.

A pair laughs behind us, and my shoulders tense at the sound. Between narrowed eyes, I watch Malfoy dip the tip of his quill into the ink and date the top of the parchment.

I let out a labored breath. As much as I would love for Draco Malfoy to become the laughingstock of our lecture, something inside me begs to offer him this small mercy—if only to spare myself the possibility of being associated with the "Quill-Guy."

From my bag, I pull out a bright red notebook I was going to use for my Physiology course this afternoon and slap it on top of his parchment.

"Notebook," I bite, "and pen." I drop the latter item on the former. "For God's sake."

The girl in front of me glares at us again with a sharp "Shh!" I wince, mouthing an apology in return.

Draco has picked up the pen and is turning it over between his fingers with a frown. In his moment of distraction, I cap the inkwell and shove it down to the bottom of my bag, along with the quill.

"Muggles don't use quills anymore, Malfoy."

He snorts. "I know that."

"Then act like it." I reach over and flip open the notebook to the first page, the cover making a resounding slap against the table.