Reform

Prologue:

I could taste it, rusty and metallic against my tongue, the rest of it pulsing in my ears singing in my ear drums. 

 I'm still alive. 

The thought alone at least was comforting enough, given the current situation.

Drops of scarlet dribbled down my chin hitting the ivory counter top, the smell of it filtrated my nose and I turned on the faucet swishing water in my mouth and spitting it out down the sink, it too an angry red.

I'm still alive.

My fingers danced and my entire body felt alive, tingling with the new and odd sensation that was magic.

My throat burned like I'd swallowed a hot match, my chest constricting with uneven breathing patterns that alternated with the unsteady rhythm of my heart.

But I'm still alive. I kept reminding myself.

No, I was definitely not in control of this new curse cast upon me and I was so pissed off that the ministry believed I could be in such a short amount of time.

Time. There was no such thing anymore, it was so unbalanced there was never enough of it anymore, even if I were to stay up all night lingering about my apartment trying to gain control of my new found possession of magic, I still wouldn't have enough time.

I hated it. I hated the entire being of it. I was a human being for Christ's sake, I wasn't even from this country and yet here I was sitting in a dingy apartment in London with a new renowned and completely shitty realization that this was where I was to stay for the next two years.

I am not a witch, or a wizard, or any of the things that the others were. I was a human being or at least I had been, up until about two months ago when a man broke into home and casted a very real, very uncomfortable spell releasing magic into my blood stream. Turning me into one of them. Forcing me to leave my home in America and retreat to London to comply with the ministry's orders and help out Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Fucking perfect.

And my family? They were not too thrilled to learn that I had to pack up and leave in the middle of the night with some man I barely knew to retreat here and start a new life, but, then again they were never supportive of me even when it was just my deciding to do dance classes at school.

And my best friend Rachel. God I missed her, I missed her words of wisdom and courage and her ability to never let me fall down on my face without gratitude. I missed her quirky ideas and comments, I missed her hugs. I missed her.

I called her when I first moved to London, she of course returned the call but even she was indifferent about my situation. As if I had a choice.

I stared at the girl in the mirror in front of me and although she had my face, she wasn't me, she was a stranger with my face staring back at me with the same blue eyes that once were so full of optimism and hope.

I had lost an measurable amount of weight since the transformation, loosing almost 80 pounds of body weight that I never particularly wanted in the first place but had no intention of losing over night.

My hair had grown twice its usual length in the short amount of time, and my features had become more prominent, more defined on my face than ever before.

A tap at the bathroom door brought me out of my trance of staring at my reflection.

"Are you coming to bed anytime soon?" A male voice asked behind me, I looked at the reflection in the mirror and his smoky eyes were hooded, staring at me.

"I just want to learn this spell and-"

"Just give up for the night. It's not like the ministry or the order expects you to learn every single spell in a few months time. Why do you think we have school for seven years? Just for kicks." He scoffed lightly and I sighed. He was right, but I was determined.

"Besides," He started, jarring my thoughts further, "The bed is cold without you in it."

Even if I wasn't looking at him I could practically hear the smirk in his voice, so cocky and arrogant but undeniably attractive.

I turned around to face him and he was leaned against the door frame clad in a pair of sweat pants that hung low on his hips and a t shirt. His arms were crossed across his chest and he did indeed have a lazy smirk placed on his lips. His ice blonde hair was tousled from where he had fallen asleep on the couch while watching me mess around with spells earlier, and had only woken when I misfired and flew backward into the wall biting down on my tongue, bringing blood. He had made sure I was okay, reassuring him I was fine I had slipped to the bathroom where I currently had been for estimated twenty minutes or so, long enough for him to come looking for me.

His features were so defined, like chiseled marvel, cool and dangerous.

"It's four in the morning." He urged on and I sighed.

"Fine. I'll come to bed."

"Good." He said then and retreated on his heel back out the door toward the bed room.

I flipped off the light and followed him into the bedroom, the lights were off but the curtains were open and the moon let in enough lighting to pool across the bed.

I sat on the bed and watched as he slipped his shirt over his head, the muscles in his back contracting. He was tall, easily six foot two, give or take an inch; and slender but firm. His pale complexion was something I silently adored.

All in all, he was a masculine form of danger, and I knew it, but the alarms inside my head never went off until every morning when I opened my eyes and found him sleeping beside me in bed after nights of unspeakable acts.

He was dark, he was dangerous, he was everything I should have been running from but wasn't.

The heir of the late Lucius and Narcissa, he was Draco Malfoy.