The American Assistant (Y/N x Severus Snape)

Chapter 2 - Death Eaters and Nasty Concussions

When the attendant at the entrance of the stadium politely smiles and shakes his head subtly back and forth, your pleasant smile falls. Wizard and witches bustle in, flashing their long, shiny tickets to the attendants as they do. You, however, are empty handed and are attempting to persuade the attendant standing in the booth in front of you to let you attend the match.

"Miss, I cannot say you truly had a ticket. It's a full game. I'm sorry." The attendant says.

You grip your hand, thinking for a moment a simple imperio would get you the best seat in the house. You refrain - that is all you need is to be caught and put on trial. You've heard horror stories of the wizard prison in America - they are nothing compared to Azkaban prison, however.

"Is there a problem?"

You turn, seeing a well dressed man with silky blonde hair, then realize his voice matches his attire - rich and snobby. His eyes are an electric blue and he smiles at you curiously. You see the snake headed staff in his right hand while his other is holding tickets to the Quidditch World Cup.

"Mr. Malfoy, go ahead to the ministers box." The attendant politely says.

You wear simple dark jeans, brown wedge boots, a v-neck black shirt with a silver bomber jacket. Your hair is in a half bun with the rest down in waves. You've done your make up naturally with light eyeliner and mascara, now thankful you did it, because even you know what the last name Malfoy means. Pureblood lineage - money and authority.

Lucius Malfoy clicks his tongue, looking at you pathetically.

"What's wrong, dear? Have you lost your ticket?" He asks.

You purse your lips then put on your best seductive smile. You press your hand to his, leaning into him, rubbing his knuckles that cradle the hilt of his walking stick. His blue eyes trail up and down your body.

"I have indeed lost my ticket. Do you have a spare?" You ask, slowly.

He huffs, raising a brow, looking somewhat shocked.

"American... you're a witch, yes?" Lucius inquires.

You nod, raising a brow back.

"Yes. I was born here, but raised in America." You say in an even voice.

The boy he is with, you're assuming it is his son because he looks strongly like the Malfoy head of family, strides in with his hands in his suit. His eyes widen as he sees a group of red heads, a young man with circular glasses, and a girl with pretty, yet untamed hair.

"Father, look who it is - the Weasley's and Potter." The boy spits.

Mr. Malfoy smirks, almost evil like, then looks back down to you. He holds his hand out and you take it, shaking it.

"Lucius Malfoy. What is your family name?" He asks in a short tone.

You slowly pull your hand from his. You eye him up and down, reminding yourself blood purity and supremacy is a thing over here. Such a thing, in fact, that there was an entire war over it just thirteen years ago. America had laws decades ago that wizards and witches couldn't marry No-Maj's, but there was never any fighting about who's blood was better.

"Reynolds." You say proudly.

Lucius Malfoy raises his brows and nods once respectfully.