NATALIA [Draco Malfoy Fanfiction]

Two | Game of Avoidance

Natalia Blackwell (or a slightly edited Anya Taylor Joy):

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It didn't take long for Blair to find me—who had been dragging Gemma by the arm so that she doesn't loose her to the flow of bodies that weave in and out, trying to find an empty compartment.

"Fuckin there you are," Blair exclaimed, letting go of the shorter blonde in relief, each of them giving me a quick hug before before taking their seats, "you wouldn't believe how many people I had to shove to get here."

"But I can tell you it was more than 5," Gemma cut in, yawning from having to get up before noon. "Think I'm gunna nap for a bit," she added hazily, "just about had to sprint keeping up with long legs over here."

"And you still lagged behind," Blair fired back, making a noise when Gemma tries to defend herself; Blairs way of telling her to save it for someone who actually cares.

I grin, their voices good to hear after going so long without them.

"Well, either way, took you long enough," I say, closing the empty diary I was meant to be writing in, relieved to be around people that dull my thoughts, no longer forced to try and jot them down. It's a horrible double standard of my mind, honestly, as I know I should be trying to work through all the ugly bits—put them down in words—and yet, I had been trying all summer with no luck.

"Is that your Ministry appointed diary from first year?" Blair notes, her tone bordering on mockery towards the people who gave it to me, "what's that doing out?"

I brush her comment off with a laugh, ignoring my reasons for now; "it's a long story that I'm not entirely sure if I want the unwelcoming pair of ears to listen in on," I explain, "later, and with some firewhiskey."

"I'm always down for firewhisky," Gemma says, transforming a pocket square into a blanket before curling up into an awkward ball. "You look good, Nat," she adds, her hair flopping across her face, "did the girls home finally cut you some slack."

I knew that no one had any idea about where I was, after all, I had been ordered to not tell anyone where I was staying, but I still furrow my brow when I realize that they were all under the impression that I had gone back to sister Ann and her chastising latin. It was a reminder that anyone of them could've accidentally let it slip to their parents, and consequently instigating the massacre that was in my name—a reminder that I couldn't let anyone of them off of the hook.

"Didn't go," I explain after the second I take to compose myself, "safe-house instead."

"Safe-house?"

"Yup."

"That must've been nice, you look good," Gemma repeats, "the safe-house did you good this summer."

She was referring to the fact that I usually came back to them looking more gauntly than usual after spending a summer in the girl's home. Instead, my long dark hair was pinned up to sit on the back of my head, and my usually pale complexion was flushed from spending the afternoons sitting in the sun. "They even had McGonagall come by," I tell them.