Limerence; Draco Malfoy

Chapter Two: Time to dash

"Well? Don't just sit there- tell me, who the hell are you? Or is Dumbledore just letting any old muggle into our school these days?"

Draco's lips curled into a wicked smirk as he gave me a quick one over, and I suddenly felt very raw and exposed, like he was looking through a little window into my mind and rifling through all the secrets stored there.

I grit my jaw, folded my arms, and went back to staring out of the window - ignore him, just ignore him--

"Or should I just call you carrots? Spitfire? Ginger? Weasley?"

I didn't know what a "Weasley" was but I didn't want to find out. As for the other three nicknames, they weren't anything I hadn't had jeered at me before: it's an unfortunate package that comes with being born a red-head.

I grabbed my bag from my seat next to me and pulled it close, ready to stand and storm out.

Normally, I could deal with insults towards my vibrant hair colour pretty well, but this boy was pushing me over the edge. He could talk: his hair colour, white as a cheap barbie doll's, certainly didn't blend into the crowd either.

"Not talking, are we? Are you another one of the Weasleys offspring, is that it?" He gave a cryptic laugh which his friends joined in with: they were listening in again, eagerly watching the torment unfold.

His tone took a turn then, darkening slightly. "That bloody family needs to stop reproducing. The last thing this school needs is more of their lot infesting it."

"My names Violet," my cold glare didn't match up to my voice, which had a faint tremble to it. "I'm a transfer student. I don't have any family here."

"Oh a transfer student?" He went on condescendingly. Eyes glinting, he leaned forwards with his elbows on his knees -- not bothering to hide his scornful smirk.

"Ah, yes, of course, no wonder you talk like you have something shoved up your backside -- you're an American." He suddenly frowned, brows drawing together.

"You do realise our school is for literate people only? You know, people who know how to read? I know you lot are all a little empty up here."

He swiftly took a finger decorated with several dark rings, and tapped the side of his head; a spiteful grin crossed his face, and his friends started laughing again. He had his own personal laugh track behind him, at this point.

I suddenly sprung up from my seat, a lot less calmly than I had intended to.

"Look, I've no clue who you are and honestly, I really couldn't give a flying fuck - but you need to get out. I don't remember ever asking you to come into my compartment. I don't recall ever asking for your opinion either."

I could've have just left it at that, but then I went and muttered "Arrogant prick"

"I'd watch your bloody tongue if I was you." He scowled up at me with clenched fists, leaning forwards slightly in his seat. "First day of school and you're talking as though you fucking own the place? That's awfully bold of you, don't you think, ginger?"

"You clearly think that of yourself. Now please kindly get out of my compartment before I hex you all into next year."

Our argument was petty, but I always had to get the last word in, in any conflict.
Always.

Yet all this Draco prat did was raise his eyebrows. I thought he looked a little impressed. So I raised mine back to... assert dominance. But then his bemused expression suddenly shifted dramatically. I felt the knot in my stomach grow tighter as I watched it darken.

"It's always the ginger freaks who have the worst attitudes." He spoke with a clench to his jaw. "My father was right about that. And you, our little wilting Violet-" My name sounded like a dark curse rolling off his tongue. His lip curled in scorn as he scanned me up and down; the mirth still hot in his eyes.

"-It's a shame they don't have a spell that fixes an ugly appearance, isn't it? Maybe you should take a Polyjuice?"

"What's your problem?" I snapped. I didn't understand why I was flushing so hard, but I knew my cheeks probably matched my hair colour by now. All he did was expel a bitter, dark laugh as my face fell -- fractured.

I tried to slot the broken pieces of my expression back together by forcing a scowl, but all the muscles in my face had become weak; I didn't have the strength in me to keep arguing, anymore, even though the old me, months ago, would have been winning this fight by a mile off by now.

"Oh look see," He taunted, motioning for his friends to join in now. "Now she's getting all worked up. Go ahead and cry about it carrots, go on-"

The slap I gave was hard and unforgiving.

My hand had struck across his cheek so that his whole head snapped to one side. I blinked, stunned at myself. A faint pink tint slowly spread over his pale skin. Yet any satisfaction I felt soon simmered away again when I saw his jaw clench. The air in the compartment seemed to drop a couple of degrees. So did my heart.

A nasty hiss was the next thing to leave his scowling mouth: "You'll pay for that one, you little ginger freak!"

"Ooooh, I'm scared!" I laughed forcefully and rolled my eyes, picking my bag up from the seat.

I was absolutely terrified.

"She slapped you, Malfoy!" One of his friends called from the doorframe, stating the obvious.

I didn't like the threat in Malfoy's eyes. Not one bit. And I was in no mood to see what he'd dish out next. A punch? A hex? Or maybe they'd even open the window and toss me out of the carriage. If they did that, I decided firmly, I'd hold onto their legs and take them with me -- kicking and screaming, if I had to.

Because I, Violet Lockwood, did not just endure a ten-hour plane journey from Los Angeles to London Heathrow, only to be murdered by some smart mouthed, weirdly attractive - no, correction -- some pale, ghostly looking boy and his two freakish friends on the train, on my first day at school, in a brand-new country.

In saying that, I still didn't waste time in throwing myself between the two boys who stood in the doorframe. Better safe than sorry, I decided. Fighting could wait - until I had no choice but to resort to violence. Thankfully, neither of them tried to stop me as I pulled the compartment door open and ran out into the narrow corridor, The echo of the slap still ringing in my ears.

Perhaps they were having a delayed reaction. From the shock? Or maybe I was just really fast. Or maybe I had simply overreacted, and they were just bluffing about making me pay.

Either way, I continued running down the empty corridor, not sure if they were going to follow. Granted, I was anxious to return, because all my stuff was in that compartment.

Personal stuff as well, like my diary, my insomnia medication (sleep was rare these days), my inhaler, my spell books, my chocolate frogs.

I didn't even want to think of what else.

They were probably going to do something with it if they decide to rummage through. I just hoped, if anything, they would leave my poor chocolate frogs alone.

And the diary.

Still, I didn't slow my pace or turn around. I wouldn't. Couldn't.

I didn't slow my pace at all until I'd reached the very end of the train and had found another empty compartment to myself.

Only then, did I finally feel air flood back into my lungs. Only then, was I going to allow the hot tears of rage that'd been building up, to finally fall. But those tears never came. What was the use in crying? The dreary act itself was always such a chore, and I had no time for tears now. I hadn't for some while.

Looking back at all the conflict that'd taken place in the past five minutes, I concluded that a new chapter of my life was only just beginning, therefore I should've been looking forward to my future at Hogwarts. Not dreading it.

Those tears could wait.