Potter's Twin Sister || Draco Malfoy

58

The sun beat down relentlessly, making it feel like the hottest day of the summer. The temperature had soared into the mid-30s, and while I generally tolerated the heat well, my black hair posed a bit of a challenge.

Thankfully, my choice of a mini jeans skirt and a cropped white shirt helped me stay cool.

Sitting in the swing nearby, Harry was engrossed in the Daily Prophet, which was filled with unpleasant articles about him, Dumbledore, and even a few about me.

He had opted for a baggy t-shirt and a pair of relaxed jeans paired with black Converse sneakers.

I had hoped that spending the summer away from Hogwarts would provide some respite after the tragic events, but truth be told, I wasn't feeling it. Neither was my brother, Harry. Several reasons weighed on his mind.

First, he hadn't heard from Ron and Hermione since the summer began, except for a brief message on his birthday.

Second, Dumbledore had imposed strict restrictions on his movements, keeping him confined to the house.

And lastly, the spectres of Voldemort's resurrection and Cedric's death haunted him, causing overwhelming guilt and sadness.

He suffered from terrible nightmares, some of which I unfortunately shared due to the mysterious connection between Harry's mind and mine.

However, there was a silver lining to this connection. Harry and I had been working on honing our abilities, experimenting late at night when we were in our respective rooms. Sometimes, it required immense effort, while other times, it flowed as effortlessly as breathing.

Nevertheless, we managed to hold brief conversations with each other through our minds.

Harry?

My brother glanced up from the Daily Prophet, and our eyes locked from our spots on the worn, old wooden bench in the neighbourhood playground.

He broke into a smile, squinting against the sun, Yes, Amelia?

Oh, nothing, I replied casually, a challenging smirk forming on my lips.

Sure, Harry's attention returned to the newspaper.

It was a relief that we were on speaking terms again, but that didn't mean he wholeheartedly approved of Malfoy and me. I mean, who did? Ultimately, nobody did, really.

The only person who seemed remotely supportive of us being together was my best friend, Lyra, who happened to be Malfoy's cousin.

She had her doubts about Malfoy's intentions with me, though. And honestly, I couldn't blame her. I had my fair share of questions about Malfoy's true intentions.

One of those questions nagged at me: Why had he stopped insulting me daily for not being a Pure-blood? That was something he had been quite dedicated to back in our third year.

My train of thought abruptly derailed when, all at once, Dudley and his gang entered my field of vision on my right, and Malcolm, a member of that squad, took a seat next to me on the bench, coming from behind.

I despised Malcolm. He was arrogant, but not in the same smug way Malfoy was; he was more insufferable than anything else. To top it off, he was a Muggle, the most aggravating beings in existence.

"Freaking around again, Amelia?" He inquired, his arm casually draping behind me on the bench's backrest.

I despised the way he pronounced my name even more than I hated Malcolm himself.

For one, I couldn't perform any magic when I was in Little Whinging. However, sometimes, it was the latent witch in me that caused odd things to happen, like leaves spontaneously transforming into butterflies or other bizarre occurrences.