we have always lived in the castle || draco malfoy

chapter seventeen

"You look like crap."

Charlotte ignored Seamus as she sat down in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Slughorn was busy with an unruly mountain of papers, the blush on his cheeks rising as the whispering around him intensified.

"I'm not even blowing your gabber, Charlotte. You look like you've been murdered five times."

'You'll be the one murdered five times if you don't shut your mouth." Charlotte snapped at him, slamming her hand down onto the table. "Don't be such an idiot, Seamus. You know I go out at night-"

"But you don't look like a discriminated homosexual the next day."

"Don't be offensive, or you'll be doing the discriminating."

Charlotte could always count on Seamus to act like an idiot in DADA, but she did understand. She looked horrible, and not even makeup could fix it. It wasn't all her fault, though, because if Draco hadn't been there, she would've been totally fine....

She gasped, and almost fell over in her chair. That was it! Draco was the reason she felt so damn tired. She was on the same schedule for dancing and then waking up and the whole nine, and thinking about that kiss couldn't have been the only thing keeping her up. And even Draco looked like hell this morning, and he actually went to sleep! It was merely the fact that they were too close and absorbing so much energy at the same time, that they overloaded, crashed, and burned. Like a Muggle computer.

It was an epiphany! Eureka!-

"Ms. Potter, do you mind sitting back into your chair and not the floor? I understand there are certain new trends all the young children are trying to follow, but I understand sitting to be the most appropriate." Slughorn was staring at her with his ever-present look of curiosity- mouth slightly open, eyes wide, pink pink cheeks.

Charlotte blushed and immediately got to her feet and scrambled into her chair. Behind her, Blaise Zabini snorted. Seamus turned around and attempted to shoot him an evil glare, but Seamus looked so much like an all-Irish-American boy that it looked more like an evil pout.

"Today," the professor began, "we will be talking about one of the most complex creatures in existence-"

Veela.

It came to her fast, so fast she sucked in a breath. She hadn't heard this voice in a while. This voice that enabled her to predict the future. It never sounded like her, so she knew that it wasn't the smartest thing to trust it or act upon the voice. It sounded younger in a way, scarier, haunted. It warned her of things to come, really, but there was something she couldn't place about it. It was just off, you know? It had a purpose, a purpose she couldn't figure out.

It was immature and slightly childish, but it was almost like a person was in her head, because it could get sarcastic, or annoyed, or even really really peppy. Sometimes it was annoying, because it always reminded Charlotte that she could never truly be alone. (hello?)

The first time she heard was when she was eight, and then ten, and then twelve, and then fifteen. And now, today. But she couldn't help but be curious. What did it mean by Veela?-

"They go by the name of Veela," the professor said-

Oh.

Charlotte had a bad feeling about this now. Since when did they decide to incorporate Veela into the DADA syllabus? Since when was Veela considered to be a dark creature? Why now?

Charlotte wanted to run out, but that would be a little weird. Everyone already knew she was a Veela, and they actually had forgotten about it- until now. Now, everyone was staring at her, eyes trained on the back of her head and at her face. She felt her face go hot. This was pathetic. Being a Veela was cool until that preposterous Rita Freakin' Skeeter decided to make it a big deal, all because Harry had threatened her last year to reveal the fact that she was an animagus. What an idiot.