The Cursed Ones

Chapter Two: Consequences

It's Defense Against the Dark Arts, and once again, I'm doing my best to piss off Professor Umbridge.

She looks ridiculously sour for being clad in all pink, with floral stitchings and all sorts of sickly sweet additions. Draco is snickering behind me, his school book propped up high enough to hide his gleeful face from sight. It would be a pity and a catastrophe to get in trouble on the first day of his mother's teaching career. He's worried he'll get an earful if he puts even a toe out of line.

This is the only class in which Harry Potter and I are working together, in a sort of way. We both have the same end goal, anyway: drive the bitch into madness. So he's a few desks away from me to my right, and he's throwing me amused glances. I wink back. We're definitely together on this.

Umbridge is pink-faced, and I think it goes with her outfit perfectly. I tell her so, and that's when she loses her shit on me.

I lean against the back of my chair in satisfaction as she gets ready to pounce. I hear her next squawks before she even spits them out, eyes burning with fury.

"Detention!"

"I'll put it on my schedule," I promise sweetly. "Do make it quick this time, though. I had to down a whole bottle of ibuprofen last time because your perfume is like rat poisoning." I tap my quill against the desk top thoughtfully. "Massive migraine. Plus I think I actually felt my lungs deteriorating at some point there."

Umbridge's face finally tops out at a nice deep maroon. "You'll regret this," she tweets out, managing to lace the malice in her voice with a solid coating of faux sweetness.

"I'll do my best," I sigh.

She smiles. I'm dead now, and I know it. I smile back.

***

Potions is the polar opposite to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Narcissa is pleasant and remains collected throughout. Nearly every boy in class is entranced, and I've never seen the class so attentive. Draco is mortified at every flirtation our classmates throw at Narcissa. I can't blame him. I even feel secondhand embarrassment for the cringeworthy display. But Narcissa seems not to even notice. I can't imagine she's oblivious enough not to, though, so I think she's taking it all in perfect stride. When someone smiles a little too much, or someone makes extra eye content, or a suggestive remark, or makes sure to touch her hand a hell of a lot longer than they need to as she passes around uncut sage for us to mince, she just smiles, a smile so innocent, any attempt is shot down low and the perpetrators are left thinking they did a piss poor job of giving her a hint.

I roll my eyes when I catch Ron Weasley checking her out when he thinks no one is looking. Really, Ron? You too? I'm a bit disappointed in him. But then again, he is just a seventeen, almost eighteen year old boy, and I myself was charmed by her. The difference, though, is I don't check her out like a wolf. It's creepy.

Draco leaves the classroom seething, and I follow close behind. I catch up to him, and he shoots me a glare of frustration. "That was disgusting back there," he spits. "Can you believe it?"

I shake my head. "A bunch of pigs," I respond in a low voice.

"Blasted dirty pigs," agrees Draco.

We're exiting the dungeons when some Gryffindor I don't even know the name of animatedly claps his friend on the back. "She's the one teacher here that is so fiiine. Didn't know a Malfoy could be so hot. Them being inbreds and all. If I'd have known -"

"Oi!" Draco thunders. The Gryffindor spins around and looks shocked that Draco is nearby. "That's my mum you're talking about! I'll fucking kill you!" He begins to charge, and the Gryffindor prepares to bolt. I grab the back of Draco's shirt and pull him back.