Slush battered my dorm room window, half-rain, half-snow, existing somewhere between two states of matter. Siblings of a sort, meshed in disharmony, coating the campus outside in its misery. I watched as the pretty-in-pink girls with their fluffy faux-leather boots and paper thin leggings slipped and struggled their way across the courtyard. Suffering. I loved it.

One of them, a girl in garish Aeropostale garb, caught my eyes, and her face twisted with bitterness. Her minions gathered around her, “are you okay, Brittney? What’s the matter, Brittney?” but she didn’t answer them. A petty impulse gripped me, and I raised a single night-painted nail, baring my teeth in a wicked grin and making sure all of her friends saw the crude gesture. Brittney and her entourage stormed off, and I waved them away with self-satisfaction.

I returned to my vanity, picking out bottles and jars and palettes of Hot Topic-brand makeup. My tastes were simple, but refined. Unlike the baby blue and bubblegum that all the other girls wore, I understood the need for contrast. Where there is heat, you need cold; where there is light, there will be dark. White foundation, black lipstick. And, perhaps, a bit of eyeliner and some red eyeshadow for flare.

Black is an essential part of my wardrobe. It’s how I stand out from the mindless masses, how I tell the world that I’m not like other girls. I find variety through texture—lace for my corset, leather for my miniskirt, stitched canvas for my combat boots. Any colors I use are bright, but they’re carefully placed. Pink for my fishnets, red and purple highlights for my long ebony hair, neon bright like patterns on a poisonous frog.

2006. My seventh and final year at Hogwarts. It was hard to believe I had made it this far—focusing on your studies isn’t easy when you’re always the center of attention. I had men tripping over their heels for me left and right, an intensely annoying phenomenon. I could spell it out for them a million times, that they could never handle me, that I don’t want to talk to preps and normies, and still they simper, my words like olive oil sliding off their brains. The fact that I was a vampire apparently wasn’t enough of a deterrent, nor was the hatred behind my icy blue eyes.

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I walked outside, the cold air like a cooling balm against my pale skin. There was rarely any sun in Hogwarts during the winter months, the ideal environment for me. I was almost sad this was my last year. I took a deep breath, then walked out into the courtyard, with little more than a lacy parasol—black, like always—to shield me from the slush.

Once I reached the middle of the courtyard, I saw him. Draco Malfoy, standing in an adjacent walkway speaking to a few of his friends. Blond hair whipping in the wind, almost blending in with the frost. One of the few men at this school that I could tolerate. I recalled the day I met him, our first day in Potions class. The teacher spoke my full name when calling attendance, “Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way.” A mouthful, but one I owned with pride. He called the name of the boy sitting next to me, “Draco Malfoy.”

He turned to me once we broke off to work in groups. “Your last name is Way?” he said, a glint of curiosity in his captivating hazel eyes. A mischievous grin split his face, and he said, “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Gerard Way, would you?”

That wasn’t the first time I heard the comparison, but it was also how I knew Draco wasn’t like other guys. He was actually cool. “I wish,” I said, "because he's a major fucking hottie."

“You look more like Amy Lee,” he replied.

I was charmed. I couldn’t help it. For the first time that day, I actually smiled. “You can call me Ebony,” I replied. “Like my hair.”

He spotted me in the courtyard, and his hazel eyes lit up. “Hey, Ebony!” he said, waving eagerly.

I felt myself blush as he approached me. “What’s up Draco?”

A small breath escaped his lips, as the sound of my voice seemed to bring something out of him. A short burst of exhilaration, perhaps at hearing his name spoken on my lips. A shade of longing passed over his face, and he was suddenly shy. “Nothing,” he finally said, still staring at me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I paused, noticing my friend Willow behind him waving at me and calling my name. The bell for class rang, an infuriating interruption that made my stomach drop. Reluctantly, Draco and I parted ways.