𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟐 - 𝟏

Malfoy Manor was cold. Dark. Dreary. But never drab, with it's extravagant art from the Middle Age's painted delicately on the walls, and over-the-top chandeliers bearing thousands of Galleons worth of real diamond. 

None of it amazed me anymore. I used to walk into a room and still be glorified by my surroundings. But by now, nothing. 

After Hogwarts, my home seemed like a haunted house. Compared to a castle filled with life and light and laughter, the manor looked like an abandoned mansion. It felt like it too.

Today, though, we were leaving, if only for a couple hours. We needed to go to Diagon Ally for Draco and I to buy our necessary school supplies. I secretly hoped that we would run into Hermione or Potter while we were there.

"Come," my mother's voice rang out. I didn't need to ask if she was talking to me or my brother. That tone of voice was never used on him.

I reached into the silver bowl, drawing out a small handful of Floo powder. Stepping into the grate, I said tonelessly, "Diagon Ally."

Green flames engulfed my senses. I tucked my elbows in tight and closed my eyes, hating the feeling of being whisked past people's living rooms like a piece of ash on the wind. I tripped over myself only a little as I stepped out into a small shop with an array of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling.

It smelled like spice and sun-dried tomatoes. 

Draco came after me, then mother, then father. We walked as one out the door, into the bright street. Diagon Ally was the sort of place that made you wish you had more than two eyes. It was frustrating knowing how much there was that you couldn't just see all at once.

Mother dragged me to Madame Malkin's Robes for all Occasions, insisting that my school robes were higher than my ankles now. 

We got new parchment and ink, a shiny cauldron, and some wand polish. Our last stop was Flourish and Blotts, for my required books. It seemed we had a female Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year, because half of our list was Gilderoy Lockhart's works. 

When we opened the tinkling door, we were met with a crowd of people, mostly middle aged witches, fixing their hair and all looking at the platform in the front of the shop. There, Gilderoy Lockhart himself was standing, giving a short speech on how handsome he was.

Pathetic.

Mother grumbled something inaudible under her breath and turned to Draco and I. 

"You two go wait somewhere. Your father and I will find your books."

"Yes, mother," the both of us said in unison, and squeezed through all the old woman to get to a thin staircase, which led up to a second-floor balcony. We waited there in silence, looking down at the scene.

Lockhart was smiling for the camera when his look dropped in shock.

"It can't be," he said. "Harry Potter?"

Draco and I shared a glance before leaned over the railing, our heads craning next to each other, attempting to spot Potter.

"Harry Potter!" The photographer said in excitement, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him up next to Lockhart. 

How perfect. The two most famous people in the entire room, put on show together.

"Nice big smile, Harry. Together, you and I might just make the front page," Lockhart said quickly, pulling Potter in. I knew he must be hating this. Still with a clueless look on his face, the picture was taken. But Potter was still not let off the platform.