Trying to get to my dorm room in peace was a sordid affair.
The second the feast ended, I stood up with everyone else, and walked over to the Slytherin table. I found Draco immediately, and reached for his arm. He turned around, disappointment still glinting in his eyes.
"What will we tell father?" I whispered, so only he could hear over the tumult stampede of students.
"I don't know," he whispered back, evidently scared for me. Who knows what father would do when he learned I didn't get into Slytherin? He could send a Howler, send me home, send our house elf Dobby to Apparate me back. Or he could be completely fine with it.
Fat chance.
We held onto each other for as long as we could, before we had to go our separate ways. The Slytherin's down to the dungeons, the Gryffindors up to Gryffindor Tower. I slowly removed my fingernails from Draco's arm, leaving red crescent moon shapes etched into his white skin.
"Tomorrow?" I asked, voice wavering.
"Tomorrow."
I followed the hoard of Gryffindors up several more flights of stairs, until we eventually made it to a portrait of an extremely aged and ginormous woman in a frilly pink dress.
"Password?" She asked shrilly.
"Caput Draconis," a young boy's authoritative voice replied, and she swung open to reveal a room dripping with red. There were red velvet couches, red leather chairs, and red detailing on the walls. My head began to hurt.
"Gather round here," the same boy said. "Welcome to the Gryffindor common room. Boys' dormitories upstairs are there to your left, and girls are to your right. You'll find all your belongings have already been brought up."
The first years shuffled into two groups, the girls going one way and the boys going another. I trudged up the stairs behind a girl with the bushiest hair I had ever seen. Honestly, did her mother ever teach her to fix it up?
I stopped in front of a door with a gold plate that read 'First Years,' and walked inside. I was met with the bushy haired girl, and two others. One had a pinched face and brown hair, and the other had smooth features and long, shiny black hair.
"Oh, Parvati look. We have the Malfoy girl," the pinched-face one whispered to the black-haired one, apparently named Parvati.
The bushy-haired girl walked up to me bravely and held out a hand. "I'm Hermione Granger. Your name is Alexandra, is it not?"
"It is," I assured her, and carefully took her hand. She shook it eagerly, and then brought me over to one of the four beds.
"This one's yours," she said to me. "Or I'm assuming it is, since your truck is already on it."
"Splendid," I sniffed, and began to change into my nightgown.
"Is that lace? On your bed-wear?" Parvati asked me. I could see the jealously plain on her face.
"Yes. Why?" I asked, slightly annoyed.
"No, nothing."
"Good."
And with that I sunk down into my mattress, pulled my comforter up to my neck, and faced my entire body away from all three of them. I hoped that just because we shared a dorm, they didn't expect me to actually talk to them.
"Goodnight, Alexandra," I heard Hermione's voice from the other side of the room. I pretended to be asleep.
The next morning, I slipped quietly out from the warm cocoon of my sheets, and padded over to the window. The sky was tinted pink, and creamy clouds blotted it like someone had painted each one of them.
It contrasted beautifully with the grey-purple color of the castle's many roofs.
I noticed the three other girls were still asleep, and I took it to my advantage. I got dressed quickly, and then sat down with a quill and ink. I planned on writing to my mother, explaining the situation and all of my sorrows. I just couldn't figure out how to put it into words.
After about fifteen minutes, I was left with this.
Dearest Mother,
I was sorted into Gryffindor last night, and I am positively distraught. I cannot be in Gryffindor house, and I feel a disgrace to our family's name to even be sorted into it. I don't know what that old hat thinks he's doing, bu he just has to have made a mistake. Professor McGonagall told me that the hat never makes mistakes, but I beg to differ. Please, find a way to get me into Slytherin, with Draco.
All my love, Alexandra.
I opened the cage my owl, Nora, had been sleeping in all night, her beak tucked into her wing. I nudged the side of her head with my finger, and she hooted sleepily.
"Nora, can you bring this to mother please?" I whispered. She lifted her head, took the letter in her beak, and flew out the window. I watched her beat her wings every few seconds, until she was so far away that she was just a pinprick on the horizon.
I looked over to the three girls to see them beginning to rustle in their beds, and took that as my cue to hurry along. I grabbed my smaller bag where I had moved all my books to, and made my way down to the common room.
More students were sitting here, splayed across couches or chatting in front of the empty fire. I got multiple stares as I walked by, and my steps hurried.
By the time I got to the corridor that ended up at the Great Hall, I was running. I slowed down, caught my breath, smoothed down my hair, and walked in, chin never trembling. Draco saw me coming and waved his hand, signaling me to sit at the Slytherin table with him.
I shook my head jerkily, and continued. I would not be childish, and go sit with my twin brother because I was sad. I would sit where I was placed, and never complain once. Complaining was tremendously unbecoming.
I forced down a few pieces of toast, even though my appetite was nonexistent. It felt like lumps of coal were being sent down my throat instead of food.
I stood up suddenly with everyone else, and made my way to my first class, holding my schedule so tightly that it began to wrinkle. My feet carried me outside, to Herbology. I vaguely remembered mother telling me this was her least favorite class, because she always got her nails dirty.
I sighed in defeat, and pushed open Greenhouse 1's door. Almost the entire class was already there. After a quick scan, I noticed that Harry wasn't. He came only seconds after I had taken my position next to a random boy named Neville.
He looked around the room just as I had, but his gaze caught on me. I narrowed my eyes at him in warning, and yet he still decided to come stand next to me. I was surrounded by Gryffindor boys. I might throw up.
"Potter," I sighed.
"Alexandra," he replied calmly. How strange.
"I'm surprised you remembered my name," I challenged.
"No one gave me a reason to forget it."
"No one gave you permission to call me by anything other than 'Malfoy', either," I scoffed.
"Not until just now."
I crossed my arms over my chest and looked back over to the Herbology teacher, Professor Sprout. She was a dumpy woman, short and a little chubby, with hair crazy enough to challenge Hermione's, and soil all over her cloths.
How utterly disgusting. Was she not taught to be a proper lady?
Professor Sprout began showing us different types of fungi, and what types you could put in what potions to solve whatever type of infliction you had obtained. It was hogwash, all of it. When was I going to need to know how to perfectly pluck orange moss?
I felt my posture slipping, and immediately scolded myself with a pinch on my palm. My etiquette teacher would sometimes slap my hand with her wand if I slacked, and the pain always whipped me back into shape. I used the same strategy on myself when I needed to regain some self control.
The class finally ended, and thank Merlin, because the angle of the sun had been sending uncomfortable sweat trickling down my back. I moved on with my group to the next class. I ended up having Transfiguration and lunch before I had one that was shared with the Slytherins.
I walked into Potions, and instantly got a whiff of something brewing in the corner, making me lightheaded. I stumbled a little, and I felt a hand grab my arm, steadying me. I turned around to thank them, until I saw that it was Potter.
I ripped my arm out of his grasp and frowned. "I can walk by myself, thank you very much."
Stalking off to my seat, I caught a snippet of him and the Weasley boy's conversation.
"She's a right piece of work, that one is," the redhead said. I scoffed and kept my head to the front of the class. I refused to give them the attention that they so obviously were begging for. As more and more students continued to file in, I heard Draco's familiar laugh.
He was talking to Pansy Parkinson, the girl from the train. I felt a pain in my chest. That should be me with them, laughing about what ever it is they're laughing about, complaining of Professor Sprout's sheer unladylike appearance, and enjoying myself.
Instead I was on the opposite side of the classroom, friendless, and I couldn't even give famous Harry Potter the liberty of a single 'thank you'.
I was enjoying my time sitting alone when one of the girls from my dorm room rudely decided to sit down next to me. I believe it was that Hermione Granger again.
"You looked lonely," she said, providing an unwanted explanation as to why she sat next to me, uninvited.
"I didn't mind."
"Well I minded. Quite frankly, I felt bad," she continued.
"Don't," I sniffed, just as Professor Snape whisked into the room. He was a Professor that I knew extremely well. He was friends with father, and I had seen him invited over to dinner many times as a child.
"There will be no foolish wand waving, or silly incantations in this class," he said immediately. I noted how quiet he was speaking, and yet the students still didn't dare talk over him.
"As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion making." I sat up a little straighter in my seat, as did Hermione. It seemed we both wanted to prove that we could fully understand this subtle science.
"However, for those select few who posses the predisposition..." he trialed off, gaze flicking between Draco and I. I swallowed thickly. If mother hadn't gotten my letter yet, father certainly would find out once this class was over.
Then, even quieter than before, Professor Snape said, "I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper on death."
He paused for a moment, and his gaze trailed to behind me. I turned in my seat ever so slightly to see who he was looking at, and, of course, it was Potter. He was scratching something down furiously with his quill, not paying attention to Professor Snape's intriguing speech.
"Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough..." I furrowed my eyebrows, "...to not pay attention," Professor Snape finished, raising his voice.
Ron nudged Harry in the side, and his head shot up.
"Mr. Potter," he drawled. "Our new celebrity."
Potter's face turned into something of annoyance. The nerve of him, to not be ashamed.
"Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" I turned my head back to Snape. I knew the answer to that, but I wasn't going to be so impolite as Hermione and raise my hand in the air, when the question was so obviously not meant for the class.
Potter just shook his head. "You don't know?" Professor Snape asked, stating the evident. But he didn't stop there.
"Well, let's try again. Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"
Hermione raised her hand again, almost jumping out of her seat. I sighed. What a complete waste of valuable class time.
"I don't know sir," Harry mumbled. I felt bad for him for only a second, and then squashed the feeling.
"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" I tried to appreciate Professor Snape for picking at a student who hadn't been paying attention. It was harder than I expected.
"I don't know sir," Harry said again, just as Hermione let out an "Oh!" and stretched her hand up higher.
"Pity," Professor Snape spat. "Clearly, fame isn't everything. Is it, Mr. Potter?"
Potter stayed quiet. Professor Snape spun around on his heel, and thankfully began the lesson. I pulled out my cauldron and began weighing my rats tails, trying my very hardest not to let my mind drift to the way Harry's face had looked as Professor Snape had called him "our new celebrity."
Sympathy was something I was not accustomed to feeling for others, and I didn't want to start.
The rest of the day pursued the same, except no other teachers poked at him. Although, Professor Flitwick did fall off his stack of books when he read Potter's name from the attendance list.
Even if I got to watch Potter's embarrassment front row all day, it would have been funnier if I was on the Slytherin side of the classroom.