To say she was entirely furious would be an understatement. Nessa had intended to go the entire rest of her life without running into Dylan, but here he was as this school she was now forced to go to. She didn’t know of anywhere else that she could find the things she needed to go through with her plan. She didn’t care that she hadn’t eaten since she’d arrived at the Hayes’ school, or that she had to see him when classes started up again that afternoon. Sure, she probably could get away with skipping, but on her first day there? Probably wasn’t a wise decision. Someone would come looking for her and ask what she was doing.
Thankfully, the classes that morning had included Potions (though she found the class rather dull, herself, considering she already knew how to make the draught they wanted), so Nessa had been ‘so kindly shown’ where the room was by some blonde she’d never seen before. The woman had clearly known one of the people they had teaching, though, because she clung to him like a leaf to a tree in fall. Rolling her eyes mentally, Nessa had wondered after what the blonde could possibly see as appealing in being so dependent on someone else. The Slytherin wanted nothing more than to be independent. If this potion didn’t get it for her, then she would just have to leave.
Honestly, though, the last thing she needed was for Dylan to be living in the same house as her. Maybe she would be lucky and he would actually live with his slave driver, Moira, and not be around come evening. Frankly, though, she didn’t expect him to talk to her after last time. Her hands floated over the ingredients she had laid out before her, chopping and organizing as she thought back to the second reason why she was so furious with him.
Leaving the forest that night had taken little effort, especially once Dylan had mock-saluted her and ambled away like what had just happened was nothing. Meant nothing. Though, Nessa mused, it shouldn’t have meant something. She didn’t even know him. Frankly, she just had no idea what had come over her in the moment. Upon returning to her room, though, Nessa made to get ready for bed, only to find out why her shoulder had been hurting for the past hour.
One ignored letter, two weeks of research, and many furious outbursts in her room later, Nessarose found herself leaving Hogwarts (the law apparently did apply to those forced into turning) to search for Moira. Her ‘alpha’ or whatever the woman was. Disgusting. As far as Nessa knew, they were staying under Knockturn Alley in secret; finding it had been slightly difficult at the start, but now that she had arrived, she was determined to see what could be done about it and how to handle it.
It didn’t help, though, that upon entering, as she tucked her hair behind one ear, she caught sight of the last person she wanted to see. His hair was what first caught her attention across the room, but soon her anger bubbled over, the desire to throttle him returning full force. It hadn’t quite subsided, but not only had she received her letter that morning regarding the Marriage Law, Nessa was quite unsure how to deal with her new situation and feeling rather anxious.
After she managed to catch his eye, Nessa shot him the darkest glare she could muster (which, frankly, was said to be rather terrifying. Especially to the first years that got in her way). “Dylan.” She snapped, marching over to him and setting her hands on her hips as she watched him. Lucky, she mused, that she had chosen heels to add to her already rather-tall stature. At least he couldn’t look down at her now. “You are the most foul, awful git that I’ve ever met. D’you know that? You are. How dare you?”
He had to know what she was referring to, she decided. There was no getting around the fact that he had actually bit her, while they were… well. Regardless, he was the most awful person she’d ever met, Nessa reminded herself. It didn’t matter how he made her feel when he got too close. And it certainly didn’t help that she felt a burning sense of betrayal in her gut as she scowled at him. She knew full well that she didn’t have a right to think he would respect her wishes. He hadn’t exactly respected any other part of her, if she decided to look at it crudely. But that didn’t mean that he was somehow allowed to get away with what he had done. No matter how often she had to remind herself: no, she didn’t want him around. No, she didn’t want him to touch her. Yes, she did hate him.