Hidden Feelings - A Draco Malfoy Love Story

Chapter One - Third Year

A/N Like my other story, I am starting to rerelease this many years after starting it - I'm not editing or anything so a lot of it is still very cringe and not well written, but I hope you all still enjoy :)

"Elizabeth Medlor."

I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat, my stomach twisting with nerves as I make my way toward the stool. I feel every pair of eyes on me, the thirteen-year-old in a crowd of first years. The hat is placed on my head.

A Beauxbatons girl, huh?

I tense up at the unfamiliar voice in my head, but refrain from grimacing or flinching.

Anxious, are you? Don't be, all transfers get like this. You're smart, that's no doubt, seeing how you've progressed in your school. Shy, though...but sarcastic and demanding when you need to be...

I listen carefully as the hat continues to annotate my mind, my fists clenched slightly. I'm not sure what any of its notes mean; I'm not as familiar with Hogwarts houses.

"Gryffindor!" the hat finally exclaims, and one of the tables bursts into applause and shouts of excitement. I take a deep breath, standing up, the lady behind me pulling the hat from my head, letting me walk down to the table.

I'm not sure where to sit, but I see one boy moving over, his eyes staring intently into mine. The girl on his other side rolls her eyes, but moves with him, making room.

I sit down next to the boy, who has striking red hair and a pale, freckled face. I smile gratefully, about to turn back to the front when I notice the boy sitting across from me.

I take a sharp breath in, immediately regretting it; the dark haired boy bites his lip, looking away from me. I glance over at the red-head, my eyes wide. He smiles awkwardly, leaning forward a little.

"It's alright. You didn't react as badly as most do," he whispers. "So...Elizabeth, right?"

I nod.

"I'm Ron Weasley," he says, holding out his hand. I tentatively take it.

"It's nice to meet you," I respond, and he smiles again, kind of weirdly. I pull my hand away, frowning slightly. "What is it?"

"Oh, it's...it's just that you have a nice accent."

I look away, slightly flustered by the comment. "I'm French. I came here from Beauxbatons."

"Do you speak-"

"Ronald!" the girl beside him finally scolds, leaning back to look at me. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. He's annoying."

I smile a little. "It's alright."

"I'm Hermione." She sighs a little, her eyes flashing over to Ron for a moment. "Expect him to be acting utterly stupid and desperate around you for at least a week."

"Hey!" he whines, but his face heats up slightly. His attempt at flirting would make me uncomfortable if it wasn't for the fact that guys typically responded this way when seeing someone from my school.

"And this is Harry," Hermione introduces, but I'm sure by the sudden softness in her voice that it is apparent that I already know who he is. When Harry looks up, I offer him a polite smile.

"It's nice to meet you all," I say. "What year are you in?"

"Third," Harry responds, speaking for the first time. Thankfully, his voice wasn't cold or unwelcoming; perhaps he had thought I would make a big deal before.

"That's great! Me too." I glance at Ron and Hermione. "Do you think you could maybe show me around tomorrow? We probably have the same classes."

"We would love to do that!" Ron exclaimed.

"If we leave breakfast early we can," Hermione says, not before shooting a look of amusement at Ron.

"Thank you."

Once the rest of the first years are sorted, food appears across the entire table. I can't help but let out a gasp; never have I seen this much food in one place. Of course, we did have feasts at Beauxbatons, but there weren't as many students.

I hesitate, not knowing if it is alright to pile everything on your plate, but Ron has already filled the entire surface of his. I reach out, grabbing a chicken drumstick and piling vegetables and bread onto my plate with it. I can't hold back the grin on my face as I begin to eat, knowing that I was going to take full advantage of having this much food in front of me.

"So...why did you move here?" Harry asks, obviously trying to create some sort of conversation with me. I can't blame him for sounding so awkward; I know that I'm quiet.

"Oh, um...my mom was offered a job at the Ministry," I tell him, setting down my fork. "They don't like having people apparate to any of the entrances."

"My dad works in the Ministry," Ron says, his mouth full with mashed potatoes. I try not to show my disgust as he quickly swallows. "What department is she in?"

"Muggle."

"My dad too!"

"Really? That's amazing," I chuckle. "You said Weasley was your last name?"

He nods.

"I'll ask if she has met your dad when I write her," I tell him. He nods again, his eyes wide.

When I'm about halfway done with my meal, I feel someone tap my shoulder. I turn my head to see the lady from the sorting looking down at me.

"Miss Medlor, I'm Professor McGonagall," she says, her thin lips curved into a motherly smile. "Once you're finished with dinner, just come and get me. I'll show you to your room. You'll be by yourself until we find someone who would like to move. Only if, of course, you want a roommate."

"Thank you, Professor."

"You're welcome, Miss Medlor. I hope you enjoy Hogwarts." She walks back up to the front table and I continue to eat, listening to the conversation around me. Once I finish, I quietly say bye to the three I had met and walked over to the table, slightly self-conscious when I see a few of the other professors looking at me.

"Professor McGonagall," I say softly as I approach the table. She doesn't hear me, but a few next to her are still looking - including, unfortunately, Professor Dumbledore.

I say her name again, louder this time, and she looks up, nodding to me and standing up.

"The Gryffindor common room is behind the painting of the fat lady," she explains as we walk through the corridor. "You must tell her the password, which will change from time to time. Then your room is on the second floor, farthest from the staircase."

After a few minutes of walking, we reach the painting that she told me about. She says a password, which opens the portrait into a large room filled with comfy-looking armchairs and couches scattered around, red and gold everywhere you look. A smile spreads over my face, and I step inside, Professor McGonagall following me.

She shows me my room, which has five beds and dressers. My trunk is already here, sitting by the window on the far side of the room. I choose the bed by the window, picking up my trunk and setting it down on top of the covers. I spend a while unpacking my clothing, putting it in the dresser opposite my bed. I pull out the one picture I have, placing it on the bedside table and smiling at it a moment before grabbing the shorts and tee-shirt I had laid out and changing out of the robe I wore. I glance over at the picture as I pull the covers over me.

"Goodnight Dad," I whisper, a wave of emotion falling over me that urged me to start crying; but I didn't. I closed my eyes and went to sleep.

My mom did get a job here, but my dad stayed behind.