𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟏 - 𝟔

"Hello," I sighed, and sat down.

"This is Draco's twin sister," Pansy clarified for everyone.

"Unfortunately," Draco said, with surprising humor in his voice. It was like our last interaction never happened. I shot him a playful, if not suspicious, glare.

"You're the Gryffindor girl, right?" Blaise asked calmly. I tensed. 

"That's my status now, yes."

"Aren't you friends with Potter?" Theodore asked nosily. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I replied, eyes flashing.

He smiled again, and turned to Draco. "I like your sister, Malfoy."

"Not too much, I hope, Nott," Draco retorted.

"Never."

I found myself reluctantly enjoying the Slytherin's company more than I wanted to. It felt like a betrayal to Potter, Weasley, and Hermione, when they so obviously didn't like my brother. I even felt a little resentful to leave when the train screeched into Kings Cross station.

The crowd bustled us down the hallway and out the door, everyone nearly tripping over each other's trunks.

I instantly spotted mother and father when we stepped onto the crowded platform, and my stomach clenched. I dearly hope Professor Snape kept his word, and didn't tell father about my new friends. I figured that Draco's threat was empty, but I was aware of how close Professor Snape and father were.

"Alexandra," mother said, smiling coldly as she embraced me. Father nodded to me, after giving Draco a much warmer hug, and a pat on the back.

"Let us leave this stuffy Muggle building, shall we?" Mother asked, and we Apparated right in front of Malfoy Manor. Home, no matter how un-homely it was.

Mother walked briskly through the front gates with me, holding my hand tightly. When we got into the cavernous front room, a faked a yawn, shielding it with the back of my hand.

"I'm positively exhausted. I think I'm going to go to bed," I said to everyone.

"Oh, don't leave us so fast," father said, with a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "You've only just gotten back. At least eat something first!"

"Yes, father," I responded obediently, and followed him into the dimly lit dining room. This was one of my favorite rooms in the house, not because of the stiff family diners, but because of the decoration.

Mother had insisted on keeping all the old fashioned silver when she married father, and he obliged. Now there were gorgeously intricate silver candelabrums, and velvet black chairs with real silver outlining designs carved into them.

Everything was neat and elegant, just how I liked it.

"The house elves made your favorite, son," father smiled down at Draco. "Pumpkin soup."

"Oh, lovely," Draco said, folding his napkin over his lap.

Neither of us decide to remind father that pumpkin soup was really my favorite, and Draco actually preferred the French dish Bouillabaisse. It was easier for father to think that he was pleasing his son over his daughter.

And either way, the soup was delicious.

The next few days went on like this, with tense nights in one of the larger sitting rooms, listening to my parents talk lightly about the Ministry. Draco sometimes even butt in with his highly intelligent and eye-opening insight that we certainly asked for.