Letters I Can't Send

Y/n's POV

By the time we get to Hogwarts, it's pouring rain. Lightning hammers against the sky and thunder rings in our ears. Our back-to-school robes are soaked through as we walk into the great hall, waiting for the sorting to begin.

Quinn and I find a spot at the Slytherin table, both of us still flustered, pissed, excited and confused from the train ride with Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Excited for the upcoming year and pissed at some of the actions of the trio we shared a compartment with, and flustered with Draco—I'm not even sure why.

With the thought of him in mind, I spot him across the Slytherin table, looking at me. But as soon as I catch him, he diverts his attention to Blaise, sitting next to him. Weird.

..........

The sorting is quite uneventful, just the scrawny first years getting placed in their rightful house by a musty talking hat.

Dumbledore stands before us and clears his throat. But, as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, thunder claps above us, people scream and I roll my eyes. From a corner in the Great Hall, someone yells and settles the storm above us in the enchanted ceiling that is the Great Hall.

The man who casted the spell is... a sight. His hair is soaking wet and matted down from the rain, he clutches a walking stick to help him maneuver with a prosthetic leg. Oh, and his eye. One of his eyes is merely tied to his face by a strap that wraps around his head. It swivels around, pointing in all directions, making it hard to focus on anything else.

I look at Quinn with wild eyes. She leans in to whisper, "Mad Eye Moody—he was an auror for the Ministry, but retired."

The "Mad Eye" thing is definitely correct.

Dumbledore greets the man as an old friend and we all watch warily.

I'm only half listening when Dumbledore announces that this Mad-Eye-Moody-guy is our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

I rest my chin lazily in my hand and twirl the ends of my hair in my fingers. But then, something catches my attention.

Dumbledore says, "This castle will not only be your home this year, but home to some very special guests as well. You see, Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event—the Triwizard Tournament." I take my chin out of my hand sit up straighter, intrigued. Whispers erupt throughout the Hall, everyone suddenly giddy. "Now for those who do not know, the Triwizard Tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. For each school a single student is selected to compete. Let me be clear, if chosen, you stand alone. And trust me when I say these tasks are not for the faint-hearted." he finishes in a low voice, warning us.

As soon as we think he is done speaking, he says, "For now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and their headmistress Madame Maxine!"

We all turn to see the doors to the Great Hall open and girls dressed in all blue stream through. Blue hats placed daintily atop their heads, blue silk dresses with blue silk shawls draped over their shoulders. Each one of them looks like the came out of the cover of a muggle magazine.

We watch as they emanate butterflies and sparkles and practically prance down the isle of the Great Hall. All the boys watch in awe, jaws sunk to the floor. I roll my eyes.

The girls look like dreams, like floating masterpieces and I feel the jealously rising through me—as much as I wish it wasn't. I grind my back teeth together as they smile in a way that makes me think they know exactly what they're doing.

Most of the boys at the Slytherin table are gawking (much like the rest of the Great Hall), but my gaze drifts to Draco who is barely paying any attention to the "lovely ladies of Beauxbatons" as they skip through the hall. He stares into space, his chin resting in his hand, unphased by the entrance of the seemingly-enticing girls.

I must be watching him for a while, because I catch his eyes shift back to reality and he notices me looking at him. I don't look away. He sits up straighter and takes his head out of his hand, making eye contact with me.

There is no heat in his gaze. And none in mine. Just looking at each other—not admiring, or communication in between our eyes—just looking.

I wonder what he's thinking about in this moment.

I think I get lost. In his eyes, even though he's across the table, I can still get lost in his eyes. Icy and blue—could be pools of stars if I stared long enough. 

I wonder what he's thinking about right now.

I'm the first to change my facial expression.

I furrow my brows in a playful way, and tilts his head to the side like a puppy. I crack a small smile and he smirks.

I love the way we can go from bickering and arguing to smiling and (sometimes) laughing.

I wonder what is going through his head right now.

He looks proud of himself for making me smile. And from the proud look on his face, I can't seem to stop smiling. His hair is almost fully dry from the rain, but looks so pretty sitting there, arms folded on the table in his Slytherin robes, looking at me. I bite my tongue.

I wonder if he thinks I'm pretty too.

a/n: love that for them<3

this one was short, sorrrrry, but i swooned a bit, so haha