Salazar's Angel

II

"Ha, that's a right funny joke. Now really, who are you?" Draco prods on. "And why do you sound like you just crawled out of some American cotton field?"

Dahlia tears her eyes away from his, and feels the chill wear off. "The expression is crawled out of a corn field. And I don't have to answer your questions." She focuses on studying the landscape flying past the train window.

"And why is that? Who do you think you are to ignore me?" Draco still continues to look at her, an almost amused look flitting behind his stormy eyes. 

"It's none of your business. I am none of your business." She crosses her arms over her chest in an effort to signal the end of this terse conversation, even though she won't respond to any more of his beratement anyways.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere in between a snort and a quiet laugh. "Ooo-hoo you're going to be fun." 

Dahlia sneaks a furtive glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He is smirking lightly, the left corner of his mouth ever so slightly quirked up. She watches covertly as he kicks his feet up on the seat across from him and removes a book from his black briefcase sitting next to him on the seat.

Finally, once his attention has been fully devoted to the book now resting in his lap, Dahlia takes the chance to study Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy who she has heard such terrible and simultaneously great things about. Draco Malfoy who is exuding frigid air in waves, and brought a dark and menacing presence into the compartment the moment he crossed the threshold. Draco Malfoy who she has every reason to be afraid of.

Her head is beginning to pound, and she is burning up in spite of Draco's wintry presence. She needs some air, and to be alone. Though he is no longer speaking to her, Draco's presence is impossible to ignore. Dahlia stands, considers telling Draco what she is doing, thinks better of it, and then steps out of the compartment and into the deserted train hallway.

From the compartments lining either side of the hallway come the sounds of laughter and comfortable conversation. She begins to pace up and down the car, hoping the rhythmic sounds of her heeled boots on the hard floor will drown out all other noise. Her head feels as if it could blow apart at any minute. She rakes her hands into her hair and tugs at the roots, still pacing.

With a thud she collides into someone. She feels the stranger take hold of her shoulders in an effort to steady her. Before thinking she throws her arms up and steps back out of their grip. Finally her eyes raise from the floor where they had previously been fixated.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me." It slips out of her mouth before she can stop it, as she stares into the eyes of the famed boy who lived.