SLITHER IN! → S. MALFOY

ACT I, SCENE I: SEE ME

C H A P T E R O N E
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ROSE GRANGER-WEASLEY HATED TWO THINGS: HOT COCOA WITHOUT A PINCH OF HIMALAYAN SALT AND THE WORLD.
    Fine, the first was an over-exaggeration. But the world, which to her seemed as dull as the sky threatening to wring itself out on top of the roof of Platform nine-and three-quarters, the world in which her best friend could not look her in the eye, the world—
Perhaps it was herself that Rose should have hated.

     ( but the witch didn't know it yet, and don't you dare tell her. )

     The boy (the best friend that could not look her in the eye after the incident) sitting next to her in the cold compartment caught her fleeting gaze and stared out of the fogged-up window.

The autumn this year was unprecedentedly cold. Involuntarily, the witches hands hugged her bony shoulders and stilled, — as though it was an unnecessary gesture, as though she should have waited for any of the two to say something.

The train had been moving for a few seconds before Albus Severus Potter spoke after an exasperated sigh.

"Let's forget I ever kissed you, alright?"

Rose's expression went blank. The only signs giving away her nervousness were her fingers, threading a string of the red and gold scarf wrapped around her neck restlessly.

Albus' gaze landed on her fingers. "—unless you want that."

"I—"

"There you are!"

Instantly, the witches fingers clenched into clashing bundles of nerves and her cheeks flushed an almost imperceptible pink and her eyelashes fluttered up, and she watched, — no, gazed— none other than John Blackburn enter the cabin of the train. Albus' own expression turned to stone, and, before Blackburn was within hearing range, he muttered (more to himself than to the witch opposite him) a barely audible "—oh."

                   The boy then got up energetically, and, a broad smile stretched over his features, pulled John in for a hug. The latter seemed to fit into his arms more awkward than last year, — Blackburn's elongated frame was a novelty for the two.
He threw a faint smile at Rose, who stretched her lips out nervously in return.

Albus stepped away to look at his best friend. "Merlin, what have they done to you in Cannes, huh? You've grown taller like that bean stalk from that Muggle book—"

"Glad to see you too, Albus. Hi, Rose." John sat down opposite the witch, stretching out on the plaid seats of the cabin. Then, turning back to Albus, he replied with a remark Rose was too enthralled by his furrowed brows to hear.

John did look different. After what seemed like a never-ending summer of him and his family spending the holidays in France, he tanned his skin to the point where the highlights on his cheeks were golden, and the brown of his eyes electric.

The train started off, carrying the Trio to their last year at Hogwarts.

John's eyes seemed to be searching for something in her expression every time she looked. Albus' animated voice was muffled by thoughts wheezing through the witches head like swarms of eagles.

( as you can tell, Rosie was not yet corrupted by the colors of silver and green.)

( except for she was. )

One never knows a moment to be truly magnetic until the moment is torn apart, stampeded on and crumpled up.

     One never knows the power a silver-haired boy can have over a moment, tearing it apart and stamping his lacquered shoes on top of it and rolling it up into a cigar and smoking it out like tobacco, until the boy seizes the moment and makes it his.