THERE ARE LILACS AT THE EDGE OF THE MALFOY MANOR ESTATE. Flowers with four dainty petals, watercolor purple. The smell is strong, the memories tied to the plants are even stronger. During a particular day, at the start of term, eleven year old Sabrina covers her bedframe with lilacs, sprouting from the wood as if it is a tree. The lake window bares little sunlight, but that's no matter, because Sabrina is magic, ergo the lilacs are magic as well. At first the smell made her yearn for the manor, with its large halls and Narcissa and plenty of little jewelry bits passed down from generation to generation for a little girl to count for eternity. But, as time passes, the smell makes Hogwarts even more of a home.

The first year that Sabrina spends in the school could be deemed as rather eventful, though it has barely begun. Draco Malfoy, her best friend since birth and betrothed since before it, has become a school bully. At home, the girl thinks he takes after Narcissa more than anyone. At Hogwarts, Sabrina sees more and more of Lucius everyday.

My father will hear about this.

Sabrina doesn't have a father—her mother is quite cagey about that subject—but she knows that if Blythe knew she was throwing her name about as a way to get on top, well... well, she might just congratulate her daughter for getting up there to begin with. Narcissa, on the other hand, would be furious.

With every passing day, Sabrina draws farther and farther away from Draco. It's like the boy she knew is still at Malfoy Manor, running through the halls, trying to find her. This boy is a shell of how he used to be, all his goodness scraped out and replaced with shallow selfishness and anger. There is nowhere that he goes where Crabbe and Goyle aren't soon to follow, meaning that she hasn't had a moment alone with her best friend in weeks.

Sabrina tries to stop it from getting to her, instead distracting herself with homework and other friends. Daphne is as sweet as ever, sometimes slipping into her bed in the dead of night, whispering her nightmares to the girl before falling straight to sleep. They mostly involved the lake, the window crashing open and sweeping all the little Slytherins into the dark water. Other times they were obscure—a mirror surrounded by flame, hissing walls, moonlit nights, dragons on the grounds. Sabrina tries her hardest to shush her friend to sleep, and often forsakes her own so the other girl can escape into dreams instead of nightmares.

Daphne and Sabrina walk from the Great Hall to flying class, hand in hand. The latter has played a few games with Draco before, but it is much more his specialty than hers. The last time she sat on a broom, she broke her ankle falling off it. Wise to say she'd rather not go to this class to begin with, but it's mandated for the first year. Best believe she'll be dropping it as soon as possible, though.

The Slytherins merge with the Gryffindors as the eleven year olds continue into the courtyard. Sabrina meets Hermione's eyes and gives her a grin. The other girl is terribly smart, going above and beyond in every class. Sabrina hasn't talked to her since their meeting during their first day at Hogwarts. She hopes to change that in the class with no assigned seating.

Madam Hooch orders the children into parallel lines. Daphne makes sure that Sabrina is standing right beside her, almost positioning her so she is just right. The two blonde girls share smiles before they both turn to their teacher.

"Good afternoon, class," Madam Hooch says, walking in between the lines of children.

"Good afternoon, Madam Hooch," the students echo.

"Good afternoon, good afternoon," Hooch continues before turning to face the lot of them. "Welcome to your first flying lesson. Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone, step up to the left side of their broomstick. Come on now, hurry up. Stick your right hand over the broom and say, "up"."

Sabrina does as she's told. In a chorus of childlike voices, the class, in unison, begins to chant: "Up."

Sabrina hears a whoosh, not coming from her own broom, but from the boy's in front of her. She looks up, hand still outstretched, and watches Harry Potter stare wildly at the broom now in his grasp.

"Wow!" Potter gasps.

Wow, Sabrina thinks. Merlin, first try and everything. She breaks her gaze and gets back to work, repeating, "up," thrice more, each time with more vigor. She still struggles, face screwed up tight in concentration.

"With feeling!" Hooch offers, causing Sabrina to purse her lips in anger. Isn't it obvious that she's trying? With feeling? She bites the inside of her cheek, looking over at Daphne, who always lacked an affinity for Quidditch. And yet, the other girl has the broom clutched in her grip.

"You're kidding," Sabrina mutters as Daphne waves her broom around triumphantly.

The thought of being the last in the class to get it right is enough incentive for Sabrina to stretch her hand as wide as it could go, and just about yell, "UP!" The broom flies into her palm with such ferocity that it makes her sting. Her mouth splits into a grin, a relieved sigh escaping from her lips. Finally.

After the rest of the class has their brooms firmly in their grip, Madam Hooch begins to explain."Now, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it. And grip it tight, you don't want to be sliding off the end."

The students do as instructed. Sabrina gets her robes caught at the bristly end of the broom. She huffs with frustration, picking the fabric from the straw.

"When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, hover for a moment, then lean forward slightly and touch back down. On my whistle. 3, 2..."

A Gryffindor boy begins to float, obviously shaky on the broom. Sabrina looks over, eyebrows knit together at the sight of the boy. Hooch tries to call him down, ordering him to stop, ("Mr. Longbottom!") though it is painfully clear that the student has no clue how to stop or what he's even doing to begin with. He tumbles through the air, darting left and right uncontrollably. The children clump to watch the scene, some in horror, some in delight.

"Oh, Merlin!" A redheaded girl a couple students away from Sabrina exclaims. "He's gonna bloody fall!"

"Isn't there a spell to protect him?" Hermione asks no one in particular.

"There must be—" Sabrina begins, but is cut off by Longbottom flying straight towards the huddle. Her eyes widen as she jumps out of the way, colliding with Hermione. She looks behind her, checking on the bushy-haired girl.

The eleven year olds watch in half horror, half awe as Longbottom's cloak gets caught on a statue's spear. Draco hides a snicker in the noise. Sabrina is only allowed to feel a hot flash of anger before she hears the terrifying rip of Longbottom's uniform. He lands on the pitch in a large thud. Madam Hooch and a large percentage of the students rush over to the child.

The teacher examines Longbottom's arm, tutting. "Broken wrist. Come on, dear. Up you get."

The children part the way for the woman, Longbottom in her arms, whimpering in pain. "Everyone's to keep their feet on the ground while I take Mr. Longbottom to the Hospital Wing. Understand? If I see a single broom in the air, the one riding it will find themselves out of Hogwarts before they can say 'Quidditch.'"

Sabrina folds her arms around herself, broom tucked in the crook of her elbow. She looks over at Daphne, who looks dreadfully pale. She reaches a hand out, fingers glancing on the other girl's arm, drawing her attention.

A cackle draws Sabrina from her concern. She knows that laugh. She turns to Draco, who holds a Remembrall in his hand.

"Did you see his face?" Draco asks. "Perhaps if the great lump had given this a squeeze, he would've remembered to fall on his fat arse." A chorus of guffaws are drawn from the Slytherins, Daphne and Sabrina seemingly the only ones silent.

Harry Potter storms from the Gryffindors, glaring at the back of Draco's head. "Give it here, Malfoy."

Draco turns around, obviously angry. "No, I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find." He begins to fly off, holding the Remembrall for Potter to see. "How about on the roof?"

Draco fully kicks off into the air, going up and up before turning. "What's the matter, Potter? Bit beyond your reach?"

"You cannot be serious," Sabrina whispers as Hermione stomps over to Potter.

"Harry, no way! You heard what Madam Hooch said. Besides, you don't even know how to fly—" the boy flies off, ignoring her completely. She lets out a soft exhale from her nose. "What an idiot."

Now the boys are far too high up for them to hear, and, frankly, Sabrina would rather ignore this entire situation. She just wanted to get through this flying class. Merlin, she would rather be doing a four scroll long essay than be here, watching two eleven year olds argue over a tiny ball that turns red.

Suddenly, Draco hurls the Remembrall into the air. The thing spins on and on away from the child. In an instant, Potter is off, speeding off after it, getting closer and closer to one of Hogwarts' towers. Sabrina sucks in a breath through her nose, eyes widening. Somehow, he doesn't crash, instead swerving, the object in his hand.

Sabrina's jaw goes slack as Potter begins his descent down, shaking the Remembrall above himself in triumph. The Gryffindors—and even some Slytherins—exclaim in his triumph and run to meet him halfway, surrounding him as he touches ground. Daphne reaches over and pushes a finger up on Sabrina's chin, clicking the girl's teeth together. The action makes her laugh, looking over, eyes still incredulous.

"That was—"

"Utterly ridiculous," Draco finishes, having dismounted next to his goonies. Daphne scoffs, shaking her head.

"Jealous, much?" the eleven year old asks.

"Harry Potter!"

Sabrina watches in slight horror as Professor McGonagall marches across the field to the Chosen One, who seems rather disappointed at the fact that he had been found out.

"Follow me," the professor says. Draco snickers at the sight. Sabrina keeps her eyes trained on Potter as he makes his sulking way back into the castle. She folds her arms, screwing her mouth up tight. Shouldn't Draco also be punished? He was the one who started the whole spat, after all. Right?

"When do you think Madam Hooch will be back?" Sabrina asks instead, looking over to Daphne, who furrows her brow.

"I have no idea," the other girl responds.

Eventually, Madam Hooch returned, finishing up the lesson quickly before sending the children off to their other classes. Potions goes off without a hitch—though a Gryffindor boy's concoction blew up in his face both figuratively and literally. Sabrina wouldn't say that it's her favorite class. Though the act of making potions is exciting to her, Professor Snape's personality makes her instantly sour. He's so incredibly cruel, docking points due to the silliest mistakes and giving Slytherin points for simply existing. Draco thinks he's lovely, of course, since he's already the class pet with his own teasing and potion making.

Sabrina spends her night in the library, doing her homework as the sun sets, the candle floating above her her only source of light. When Draco and Potter were fighting up in the sky, and she had thought that she would rather write a four scroll long essay than watch another second of it... she wasn't expecting such a thing to become the truth. Maybe she prophesied it. Oh joy.

When Sabrina sneaks back into her dorm—way past curfew, actually—Daphne is already in her bed, floating her own essay up and down with her wand.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" Sabrina asks tentatively.

"All I could see was burning," Daphne says, not meeting her eyes.

Sabrina plucks Daphne's essay from the air, setting down on her nightstand. "It's okay, Daph. Nothing is burning for now. Give me a second, I just need to get changed."

Sabrina pulls on her pajamas with frightening speed. Daphne has always had these thoughts. The visions of sorts started around the time when Iris Greengrass fell pregnant with the second child. Daphne only called the unborn child her sister, angering Aspen Greengrass to the point in which she was sent to live with the Malfoys. Iris had always whispered such things as Seer and the Sight to Narcissa. The woman, then in turn, had always told Sabrina to take great care of Daphne, to trust her instinct but also comfort her if such instinct gave her pain.

Sabrina slides into bed, offering her arm for Daphne to curl into, as she always does. In her hands lay a lilac stem, clumps of flowers wafting its familiar scent into her nose.

"Did you just pluck that?" Sabrina asks.

"They remind me of you. Lilacs give me comfort."

"I can teach you the spell, so you can make them grow from your own bed," Sabrina offers.

Daphne shakes her head. "No, no, I won't need to do that for a long while."

Sabrina furrows her brow. She'd rather not think of that sentence, actually. She instead picks up the lilac bunch from Daphne's now sleeping hand, counting every little flower as her vision dims. She dreams of burning petals and green eyes.

author's note!

ANOTHER CHAPTER OF DECODE!!!

this one is dedicated to maggie smith, rest in peace /*

and thank you SO much for ten followers. it seems like such a small number, but it means the absolute world to me <33

i hope y'all liked it! vote if you can <3