Letters I Can't Send

Draco's POV

The train ride was quite odd, it stopped mid-way to Hogwarts and, well, I can't explain it, but everything was...cold. Bleak. Sad. And the new girl, Y/n. She has something I can't quite explain either. A vibe. A feeling. Fire.

I didn't talk on the train ride there, as not to draw attention to myself. But she has this accent. She's from Massachusetts. That's just pathetic. Small state. American. She must think she's so great and different—all the way from Massachusetts.

And she was talking some nonsense when we got on the carriages, asking what the things were that pulled the carriages. Blaise told her that they pull themselves, but she gawked at the empty space for about thirty seconds before we (meaning Blaise) told her to get out of the rain. How nice. I wouldn't admit to myself the way she look drenched with rain. Her hair stuck to her face and clothes stuck to her figure.

As soon as we got inside the castle, Professor McGonagall led her to the crowd of first years waiting to be sorted into their houses.

Now, we're all sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. Then I notice the famous Harry Potter walk in and take his seat at the Gryffindor table. I smirk. Harry Potter has always been my favorite victim so I lean back in my chair and say in a low hiss, "Potter! Potter!"

He looks back at Crabbe and Goyle and I. "is it true you fainted—I mean you actually fainted?" I snicker as Goyle mocks Harry's fainting.

"Oh, shove off, Malfoy," Ron says and before I can protest, Dumbledore announces that the sorting is about to begin.

Of course, Y/n is first. I watch curiously as she sits on on the stool nervously and the sorting hat is placed atop her head. Her fingers are playing with each other and her brows are slightly furrowed.

"hmm." The hat muses. That old thing always creeped me out. Luckily, I barely had it touching my head before it yelled my obvious and true house, Slytherin. "You haven't got a bad mind...very observant, I see. Thoughtful and empathetic... I see...past things you won't share...things that have shaped in a way nothing else can. I see... you're cunning...yes, very. I see pride and ambition. But where shall I place you?" the Great Hall is almost completely silent while the sorting hat thinks her over. A few people whisper to each other and comment about how old she looks. I glare at them, though I'm not exactly sure why.

Suddenly, the hat gasps and yells, "Slytherin!" our entire table erupts into cheers as she sheepishly makes her way to a seat at the end of the table, far from me.

The rest of the sorting is pretty boring, just a bunch of first years I'll probably never talk to, if I never tease them, of course.

And bloody hell, Potter keeps steeling glances at the new girl. I strain my ears and hear him say, "Who exactly is that? The new girl, I mean. She looks older than the other first years."

"Dunno," Ron says. "But she's in Slytherin—that never means anything good." Bastard.

..........

The common room is quite active with everyone back together again. I notice the Ellis girl walking down the steps from her dorm in a sweatshirt that says Massachusetts and a pair of leggings. Quinn Carson is following behind her.

"Hey, new girl!" I call after her with a smirk. She turns around to face and me crosses her arms over her chest.

"I told you my name on the train, so use it," she says and I'm pleasantly alarmed at her unexpected comment.

I chuckle at it anyways, not wanting to let her or anyone else in this common room know that I was caught off guard. "So, you're from Massachusetts," she nods, her eyes narrowing like she knows something bad is coming.

"Why...?" she asks skeptically.

"Do people dress like that there? You're not in the states any more, new girl." I tilt my head and let my eyes run over her outfit and then back up to her confused eyes.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't know sweatshirts went out of style." Y/n says smartly. Quinn tugs on her arm, but she doesn't budge.

"C'mon, Malfoy. She's new. Leave her be." Quinn says. She sneers and tugs on Y/n's arm again.

I put my hands in the air mock defensively and continue to smirk. "I'm just saying. If she's gonna be her with us, she's gotta be like us."

"And wearing sweatshirts isn't like you?" Y/n says and shakes her head in disbelief.

"He's just giving you a hard time," Quinn says. "Let's go." This time, Y/n gives into Quinn's arm tugging and let herself get pulled along—but not without a withering glare in my direction.

I wonder where they're going. I don't ask.