Here, Esther played a small trick. She gave Draco only her first name and deliberately left out her surname, but she made sure to mention Ernie by name.
The Macmillans were one of the twenty-eight Sacred Pure-Blood Families, after all. Esther figured Draco's attitude toward pure-bloods was very different from how he treated half-bloods or Muggle-borns.
Although, who knew? The Weasleys and Neville Longbottom were pure-bloods too, and Draco treated them terribly.
But Esther wasn't a Gryffindor, so surely he wouldn't treat her with the same level of hostility… right?
"Macmillan?"
Draco released her hand and inspected her from head to toe, as though checking a suspicious package. After a long moment, he said, half convinced and half doubtful, "Remember what you said."
Was he actually letting her go?
Esther quietly exhaled in relief and said quickly, "Of course I will."
She bent to scoop her scattered books off the floor and prepared to bolt.
Just when she was about to run, Draco grabbed her again.
"What now?"
Esther stared at him warily. Was he going to change his mind? With his personality, it would be perfectly in character.
"I can let you off for now," Draco said with distaste, glancing at the stains on his robes, "but you have to compensate me for my clothes."
Ah. So he wanted money.
Even though the collision was technically her fault, his awful attitude quickly erased any lingering guilt she'd felt.
Honestly, if he had the ability to wipe his face, surely he could wipe his clothes too?
It was just cake, not acid. A bit of cleaning and it would be fine. Was the robe going to dissolve? Of course not.
And what, the great Malfoy heir didn't know a basic cleaning charm?
Had the Malfoys fallen so low they couldn't afford a single school robe?
Internally, Esther ranted for a full twenty seconds, but outwardly she maintained her pitiful expression.
She blinked up at him, eyes and nose still pink from the collision. Combined with her naturally lovely features, she looked both pretty and heartbreakingly pitiful.
Normally, human beings—being predictable creatures who favored cute things—would soften their attitude instinctively in front of someone like her.
But Draco Malfoy wasn't "human beings" in the general sense.
"I don't have money right now," she said softly, letting her naturally sweet voice grow even softer, "but if you give me some time, I can get the money from my brother and pay you later… is that okay?"
This was her secret weapon. With her sweet face and sweeter voice, even adults often melted when she acted vulnerable. Children stood no chance.
But Draco merely snorted. "If I let you go now, what if you deny everything later? I'm not that stupid. Since you can't compensate me right now…"
His eyes narrowed. Then he snatched the book out of her hands and arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Bring money tonight and buy your book back. Otherwise, you'll regret it."
As he threatened her, he flipped the book over and looked at the cover. A malicious grin spread across his face. "Potions? Well, you're doomed. You're almost late."
Nobody asked you!!
She instinctively tried to grab her book back, but Draco tossed it to Goyle, who caught it clumsily. Draco smirked, "Still want to snatch it?"
Pansy sneered, "We were going to let you go, but instead you fight back? How ungrateful. Maybe we should draw something on her face so she learns her place."
She stared at Esther with sharp jealousy, wand twitching eagerly. Clearly, Esther's pretty face was a personal offense to her.
They had numbers, and Esther had none. She cursed them silently. She wanted desperately to pull out her wand and battle them for three hundred rounds—but she had just started school. She definitely didn't know as many spells as they did.
And she wasn't eager to test whether they knew any nasty curses.
So she covered her face and surrendered. "I'm not grabbing anything."
As she spoke, she was quietly observing the surroundings. The hallway turned in several directions—one corner behind her, another a few steps away. Corners meant escape potential.
Before coming to Hogwarts, she'd run short-distance track in primary school. She wasn't slow. Maybe… maybe she should just run for it.
The moment the idea appeared, her body moved faster than her brain. She hadn't even decided yet—her legs had already chosen violence.
She shot off like a cannonball.
Her sudden burst of speed stunned Draco and his entire entourage.
"She ran! Should we chase her?!" Pansy shrieked.
Draco clenched Esther's book, irritated. "No rush. She can't get far."
Blaise, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke coolly: "I only know that if we don't leave right now, we'll be late too."
Reality hit them at once, and the group begrudgingly headed off to class.
Meanwhile, Esther only stopped running once she was sure they weren't chasing her. Gasping, she leaned against a wall.
She had only one question now: What happens when you show up to Potions on the first day without your textbook… and with a late slip?
Oh, right—she didn't have a late slip either.
Snape would definitely remember her. And he would probably hold a grudge for her entire academic life.
Just thinking about the way Snape spoke in the books, the films, and every piece of fanfiction ever written—sharp-tongued, brooding, terrifying—made Esther shiver.
Why was she this unlucky?!
What now?
Merlin help her.
Yes, she hadn't been watching where she was going, but Draco and his crew had crossed far too many lines. They insulted her, threatened her, and stole her Potions book. She had been willing to endure it at first. She knew Draco's rotten personality would eventually cause his own downfall. Someone else would handle him—she didn't have to.
But taking her Potions book was a different story.
Even a clay doll had temper. And Esther had lived her whole life comfortably—she had limits.
A spark of defiance lit in her eyes. If she was going to be in trouble in Potions anyway… she might as well cause a big scene.
If Draco wanted to play schoolyard bully, then he couldn't blame her for bullying back.
Esther ruffled her clothes, messed up her hair, and made herself look like she had narrowly escaped disaster.
Then she found a portrait, eyes shimmering with tears, and pitifully asked for directions—accidentally mentioning that someone had robbed her and extorted money.
Touched by her sorrow, the portrait kindly guided her to the Potions classroom.
The portrait even suggested she should tell her Head of House about being bullied, but Esther thanked it and continued on her way.
Predictably, she was late.
Standing in front of the pitch-black classroom door, she took a deep breath and pinched herself hard. Tears welled at once.
Perfect.
She knocked on the door.
"Professor, I'm sorry... I'm late."
Her voice trembled, laced with panic and shame.
Inside the room, Professor Snape turned around in his billowing black robes, his sharp eyes slicing through her like icy blades.
He said coolly, "Late on the very first day, Miss Esther Mayne. Remarkable. Three points from your House."
Honestly? The fact that it was only three points almost felt merciful.
Truly, attracting heavy point deductions from Snape was a trait that belonged to Gryffindors.
Or rather, the main character squad.
***
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