Serpent Lady

The door swung open immediately, revealing a regal-looking witch with dark hair and lustrous emerald robes towering in the doorway. Her sharp, pointy hat hung just so over to the side, and her glasses perched carefully on her nose as she regarded the first years with a stern look. Ophelia thought instantly that this must be Professor McGonagall; she had heard many stories of her from her brother and she knew this professor was clever, strict, and not one to cross. Not that I would ever think of crossing a professor, she thought in amusement.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid informed her unnecessarily, confirming Ophelia's thoughts.

"Thank you, Hagrid," she replied, her voice cool and even, offering him the barest hint of a smile before starting to turn. When Hagrid made to follow her, she stopped him. "I will take them from here." He nodded and disappeared surreptitiously as she swung the doors wide open, revealing a hugely grand entrance hall of marble and wood paneling, dozens of torches flickering over the walls and sparkling off the gigantic staircase that led to the upper floors. Ophelia smiled as she entered the hall, the grandness being nothing new to her, but still extremely exciting as she was finally inside Hogwarts! Looking around, she noticed that most of the other students were completely enthralled, staring up at the high ceiling or down at the stone floors. Both Draco and the black-haired girl he'd been talking to earlier, she noticed, looked entirely bored. She rolled her eyes and continued to follow Professor McGonagall, who led them past a large set of doors from behind which was coming a drone of voices - the rest of the school, Ophelia thought, her heart leaping into her throat - and into a small room. She looked at the professor attentively, awaiting their next instructions.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall started as soon as the final first year had squished his way into the already crowded room. "The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses."

Ophelia looked at Seamus and Dean, who were standing close together, and they both grinned at her. Someone nudged her gently from behind, and she inclined her head to see Blaise smiling at her as well.

Professor McGonagall continued. "The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin," she informed everyone. A murmur broke out from many of the students as she added, "Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points."

She took a moment to gaze at them all sternly before finishing her speech. "At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

Ophelia felt a glow of pride suffusing her body, and she curled her lip into a determined smile, knowing that she was going to help her house win the House Cup.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school."

These words fell like bricks on Ophelia's shoulders, and her eyes flew to the professor's stern face, hoping that she was only joking. In front of the whole school? she thought miserably, her hands twisting nervously in front of her. She didn't want to have to face so many people on her first day! Looking around, she saw that many of the other students were looking similarly nervous, although some were grinning excitedly. Some of the others were fidgeting, attempting to straighten themselves up, and she gathered that Professor McGonagall must have instructed them to make themselves more presentable.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," Professor McGonagall said. "Please wait quietly." And with that, she was gone, closing the door behind her and leaving the first years to their own devices.

Instantly, a chorus of hushed whispers rose up into the rafters, mixed with hisses and other orders to be silent. Ophelia looked around, studying all her fellow first years carefully. She noticed Hermione looking around, affronted, and attempting to silence Neville, who was taking in great gasping breaths as if he were hyperventilating.

Following his gaze, she could see why he was so frightened. About twenty ghosts had streamed in through the back wall and were floating through the crowd, apparently trying to strike up conversation with terrified first years. Ophelia, who had often seen ghosts wandering around various parts of their home, wasn't in the least bit startled; all old buildings were bound to have at least some ghosts. In fact, with the size and history of Hogwarts, she was surprised it wasn't more.

She smiled charmingly at the ghost hovering in front of her and staring at her with blank eyes. "Ophelia Ravenscroft," she said, curtseying low. Blaise stared.

"Did you just curtsey?" he asked, incredulous. When she nodded, he made to ask her why, but the word stuck on his lips as the ghost began to speak.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lady Ravenscroft," he said in a hoarse, painful sort of whisper. "My name is Baron Athemar William Freyne Norward Tarleton, but you may call me Baron Athemar." He bowed, the long curls of his wig falling forward over his shoulders and dipping into the silvery blood that coated the front of his robes.

"It is my pleasure as well, Baron Athemar," she replied formally, a polite smile on her face. Blaise continued to stare, and probably would have gone on doing so if Professor McGonagall hadn't opened the door just then.

"Move along now," she said briskly, shooing them out through the door. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Ophelia turned back to the Baron, curtseying again. "Hopefully we shall meet again soon, Baron Athemar," she offered courteously, inclining her head as she turned to leave, pushing a stunned Blaise ahead of her.

"What was that?" he asked her suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. "Where did you learn all that?"

"My father," she told him simply as a sharp look from Professor McGonagall silenced them.

"Now, form a line and follow me," she instructed, directing the first years into a semi-straight line as the ghosts all floated out of the chamber and into the Great Hall. They did just that, although some of them were so scared their knees were knocking against each other. Ophelia felt her stomach in her throat; ghosts she could handle, but being up there in front of all those people was another matter entirely. She wished her brother were there with her.

Her dread mounted as Professor McGonagall led them out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through another large set of double doors, but fled from her mind as she found herself inside the grandest, most magical room she had ever seen. The walls were covered in elegant, well-made tapestries that hung from about fifteen feet up all the way to the floor. Above the tapestries, huge marble buttresses arced up over their heads and into nothingness where the ceiling appeared to disappear, revealing the night sky overhead. Ophelia knew from her reading that the Great Hall's ceiling was enchanted, but seeing it was something altogether different.

She finally managed to tear her eyes away from the beautiful architecture to examine the four long tables covered in golden dishes and lit by thousands of tasteful, drip-free candles that hovered about eight feet in the air. At the very front of the hall sat the High Table, where all the professors sat, and Ophelia immediately recognized the smiling, ancient face of Headmaster Dumbledore.

She stared at him in awe as Professor McGonagall led the whole crowd up to the front and lined them up with their backs to the teachers, staring out at the students. Looking back at all the faces, wide-eyed and attentive, glowing fiendishly in the candlelight, Ophelia felt like she was about to be violently sick. She counted to three, and then to ten, and then to twenty-five, and then in German, and then backwards in French...anything to take her mind off the horrible sense of anxiety she was feeling.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a four-legged stool and a ragged, patched hat that Ophelia instantly recognized as the Sorting Hat. Her mouth fell open, and she only had eyes for it, her nervousness subsiding, as it began to move, and then, to sing.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

As the Hat finished singing, the whole room burst into applause, the sound echoing up into the night sky above. Ophelia clapped along, having heard stories of the marvelous songs the Hat would sing every year and thoroughly impressed by the cleverness of the lyrics.

Of course, a little voice said in her head, it does have all year to think up a new song...

She banished the thought from her mind as she watched Professor McGonagall step up to the first years, a long scroll of parchment open in her hands.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted," she informed them, before consulting the list and snapping, "Abbott, Hannah!"

The first student to be Sorted, a pink-faced girl with severe blonde plaits, moved forward, collapsing on the stool, and put on the hat. After a moment or so, the Hat opened its rip of a mouth and shouted, "Hufflepuff!" The table on the far right exploded with cheers as a significantly happier Hannah jumped off the stool and went to join Hufflepuff House, a big grin plastered across her face.

"Bones, Susan" joined Hannah at the Hufflepuff table, but the third student, "Boot, Terry," went to Ravenclaw, the table second from the left. He was quickly joined by "Brocklehurst, Mandy," a girl with coloring similar to Ophelia's. The next girl, a giggly blonde named "Brown, Lavender," became the first Gryffindor, and the table on the far left erupted with applause and catcalls. "Bulstrode, Millicent," a thickset, pig-eyed brunette with bad skin, became the first Slytherin of the evening amid tepid approval. She flounced over to the Slytherin table second from the right and was greeted by one of the prefects, a dark-haired boy with huge teeth.

Her blood was pounding in her ears, and she could barely hear the Hat anymore, watching with a dull sort of resignation on her face as Seamus and Hermione were both sent to Gryffindor, followed soon after by Neville. Another boy, this one with honey blond hair and golden skin, was Sorted into Ravenclaw, and then it was Malfoy's turn. Nobody seemed surprised when the Hat placed him in Slytherin almost before it had touched his head; she watched him saunter over to the Slytherin table and sit down between Crabbe and Goyle, a large smirk on his face.

She felt herself becoming more and more uneasy as the middle of the alphabet flew past and into the N's, the P's, and...

"Potter, Harry."

Her head snapped up, everything else forgotten, as the Boy Who Lived made his way up to the stool and sat down. Whispers broke out all around the room as he sat there, the Hat on his head, for several moments. She glanced over at Malfoy and saw him looking positively furious...or was he bored? She couldn't tell.

The moments ticked by, and there was still no sound from the Hat. Harry's face was deep in concentration as he waited for the Hat's decision, and Ophelia realized she was holding her breath. She exhaled and took the time to study him, his nervous posture, the way his teeth chewed on his lip out of nervousness, the way his hands clenched around the edges of the stool. She had just realized that his coloring was very similar to her own when the Hat called out, "Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor table exploded with gales of cheering and laughter, mixed with a chant of "We got Potter!" A swift glance over at Malfoy revealed a murderous expression plastered across his usually neutral visage; apparently, this new development was not to Malfoy's liking.

She turned away, instead watching a tall redhead shaking hands with the famous wizard, and tried not to feel...well...anything.

"Ravenscroft, Ophelia," said Professor McGonagall. In the huge uproar following Harry's Sorting, her name sounded small and insignificant. She gulped, took a deep breath, and glided up to the stool. As she sat down, facing the entire student population, she almost felt completely detached from her body. She looked around wildly, trying desperately to remain calm, and her eye caught those of Blaise Zabini, who was still waiting patiently for his Sorting. He winked at her, and she smiled back, relaxed, as the hat dropped over her eyes.

"Ah, Lady Ravenscroft," the Hat spoke in her ear. She flinched in surprise, but forced herself to hold still and straight as her grandparents had taught her. "Poise, polish, and properness, very admirable. Your grandparents have taught you well."

Thank you, she thought, her lips quirking slightly.

"Goodness, I have not been thanked in some time now. Children these days, their manners, you know..." The Hat trailed off. "But that is no matter. What does concern me is where I should put you. You have a very well honed mind and a penchance for books, this I can see. However, you are also filled with a fierce desire to succeed in life, and it makes me think that your commendable amount of knowledge and experience comes from your constant vigilance and ambition rather than simple book study. Of course, your maturity and self-assurance speak of a strong courage that flows through your veins, but I think you need a place where you will truly fit in. Besides, I do not think you would want to be separated from him."

Before she could voice her uncertainty at to whom "him" referred, the Hat opened the rip in its brim again and howled, "Slytherin!"

Professor McGonagall pulled the Hat off Ophelia's head, and in those few moments before she turned to head toward the Slytherin table, she saw surprise in Seamus's expression (he must have been convinced he had me pegged, she thought to herself), aversion on some of the faces at the Gryffindor table (their loss), and a genuine smile hovering around Blaise's mouth. She smiled back at him before moving over to her House's table, noting the leers on both Crabbe's and Goyle's faces with repugnance, but surprised to see a mellow, almost pleased look in Malfoy's eyes. His face, of course, revealed nothing, but luckily for her, his eyes were large enough so that she could still sort of see into them from halfway across the room.

The crowd of first years had dwindled significantly; she watched as Dean went over to the Gryffindor table and settled himself next to a beaming Seamus, a girl named "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw, and another redheaded boy, "Weasley, Ron," joined the Gryffindors amidst loud cheers from all the other redheads at the table. Large family, she thought to herself as two identical boys got up to give their brother (she assumed) a standing ovation. She noticed two identical red-haired girls there too, but as they were sitting at the end of the table among the first years, and since they had already been sitting there when she had gone up to be Sorted, she assumed they weren't directly related to the rest of the redheads.

Too much red, she thought, turning back to the front, where Blaise was the only first year left. She watched him walk up to the stool, sit down, and wait all of three seconds before the hat proclaimed him a Slytherin. She clapped loudly, beaming at him as he walked over to their table and sat down beside her.

"Congratulations," they said at the same time, and then giggled. A cough from Malfoy's direction told Ophelia that he was not amused, but she ignored him.

The rustling and chattering in the hall halted quickly as the gleaming Headmaster got slowly to his feet and smiled in a fatherly manner at all the students. "Welcome!" he said, his voice rich and powerful, like maple syrup. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" He paused, letting the words sink in, and then finished with a "Thank you!"

The hall broke into applause once again, and Ophelia found herself joining in, amazed at the way this man could rid such a huge room of all tension so quickly and so effectively. Many of the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors were laughing hysterically; the Ravenclaws looked confused, as if they were trying to decide if all those words were actually real words and/or if they had something to do with each other; and many of the Slytherins continued to look bored. Ophelia, however, was greatly amused.

"I wonder if he's always like that," Blaise mused aloud, starting to help himself to the food that had appeared on the tables. Ophelia shrugged, scooping some roast chicken and roast potatoes onto her plate before answering, "So I hear."

"Hear?" asked a raspy voice from nearby. She looked up and recognized the snaggle-toothed boy from before looking at her curiously. "Who'd you hear it from?"

"My elder brother," she replied politely, taking a spoonful of peas before picking up her knife and fork and starting in on the chicken.

"You were...Ravenscroft, yes?" the boy asked. When she nodded, he introduced himself as "Marcus Flint, sixth year Prefect and Quidditch Captain."

"Pleasure to meet you," she said, trying to sound as sincere as possible. It wasn't that she wasn't happy to be meeting new people; she just disliked the leer that seemed to follow the introduction. Flint was no different, and she closed her eyes briefly, trying to maintain her composure.

Luckily, at that moment, Baron Athemar saw fit to glide over and settle himself into the seat between Malfoy and Flint (Crabbe had taken a stroll down to the other end of the table to inspect their platters of food). Malfoy looked up, about to say something aggrieving, when he realized that this new presence was not Crabbe, and he clamped his mouth shut, looking furious. Flint also looked mutinous, and he excused himself, saying that he had to go sit with the prefects.

"Thank you, sir," Ophelia smiled quietly, earning her a slight smile in response.

"Anytime, my lady," he replied in a like volume, adjusting his position so he would be more comfortable (if ghosts could be comfortable, that is) and turning his blank stare on Malfoy and his cronies, bringing a slight grin to Ophelia's face.

She turned to Blaise, leaning forward as if to help herself to the gravy, and murmured, "This is why it pays to be polite." She winked at him, picking up a peppermint humbug instead, and bringing it back to the side of her plate where she settled it in preparation for the end of the meal.

Not long after, the remains of the main course disappeared and were replaced by custards of all sorts - the general term "custard", not the specific term. In other words, huge blocks of many flavors of ice cream, plates of various pies, trays of éclairs and other French pastries, bowls of trifle and rice pudding, and berries of all sorts. Ophelia's eyes lit up and she grabbed the nearest spoon, dishing raspberries and strawberries galore onto her plate.

Blaise shot her an amused look. "Come now, Ophelia, what kind of dessert is that? It's too healthy! You're making the rest of us look bad!"

She scowled at him before delicately snagging a small Napoleon and biting into it. "Mmmm," she replied, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as she grinned impishly at him. He laughed, shaking his head and turning back to his own plate of doughnuts, chocolate tarts, and triple chocolate fudge ice cream.

Now that she was effectively ignoring most of the other people in the hall, she felt much more at ease. There was no longer the feeling of being watched by hundreds of eyes, no more crowd anxiety, no painful shyness constricting her chest. She simply looked around at the other students at her table, watching them casually as they ate the massive amounts of dessert. After a few minutes, she turned her attention to the High Table where Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were engaged in conversation. Her eyes wandered to the right end of the table where a plump professor sat watching the Hufflepuffs amusedly. That must be their head of house, she thought, before looking around to see if she could recognize the others. She knew Hufflepuff's Head of House was Professor Sprout, the Herbology professor, and that Professor McGonagall was Head of Gryffindor House. She quickly located the tiny Professor Flitwick, Charms professor and Head of Ravenclaw House, and then began to observe the table more closely, looking for the Head of Slytherin.

Her eyes moved down the table, brushing over Hagrid and a prettyish teacher with a tight black bun and long, dangling earrings shaped like comets, moving on to a slight professor with a fleecy shawl and a haunted look in her eyes, and settling on a professor with a huge plum-colored turban and his back to the room.

"Excuse me," she asked, turning to an older girl with a somewhat friendly look on her face, "but who is that professor dressed all in purple?"

"Oh, that's Professor Quirrell," she answered offhandedly. "Teaches the Dark Arts, he does."

"Thank you," she replied, turning back to the High Table...and then she saw him. Hook-nosed, sallow-skinned, and greasy-haired, the black-clad professor nearly disappeared into the background, especially with the purple bulk of Quirrell's robes almost obscuring him from view. They were deep in conversation, and Ophelia wondered what Professor Snape could possibly be so interested in; his reputation painted him as an aloof, cold person with a nasty cruel streak and a vicious temper.

She did not have much time to wonder about this, however, as the food had begun to vanish, meaning that the feast was nearing its close. She hurriedly finished the last of her berries and then popped the mint into her mouth, savoring the sharp flavor as she turned to look at Headmaster Dumbledore. He was just clambering to his feet, and a hush immediately fell over the whole room.

The Headmaster cleared his throat. "Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you." He paused for dramatic effect. "First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." He smiled amusedly, and Ophelia saw his gaze dart over to the red-haired twin boys at the Gryffindor table, who merely smirked in response.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors." Ophelia frowned for a moment, but then pictured what the school would be like with four hundred armed students milling about the corridors, and found herself agreeing wholeheartedly with Mr. Filch.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madame Hooch." He gestured slightly to a beak-nosed, yellow-eyed woman with short, silver hair sitting at the far left of the Head Table.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Ophelia's eyes widened, and her mind began to race, wondering what could possibly be so bad that they would devote an entire corridor to it, mortified by the scattered laughter that floated up from the left side of the room. This isn't a laughing matter, people, she thought to herself disgustedly.

To break the mood, Headmaster Dumbledore grinned lightly. "And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" He flicked his wand and a long, gold ribbon wound itself out of the tip and into words that scrawled themselves across the air. "Everybody pick their favorite tune, and off we go!"

The first tune that sprung to Ophelia's lips was Der Hölle Rache from Die Zauberflöte, but she decided that would not be appropriate; the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself. Instead, she opted for the very Muggle Bohemian Rhapsody by the British band Queen, enjoying the feel of singing again but doing it very quietly so as not to catch anyone's notice. As she sang, she looked around at the rest of her schoolmates, giggling inwardly at those who were bobbing their heads or tapping their feet, especially amused by one Gryffindor boy who seemed to be playing air guitar. Most of the teachers weren't singing at all, she was interested to see, and for good reason; the conglomeration of all the different melodies sounded terrible. She finished quickly and then covered her ears, not wanting to listen to one more moment of the cacophony.

Once it looked like everyone had finished, she cautiously removed her hands from her ears, only to hear the identical boys singing very slowly along with a funeral march. The Headmaster was conducting them with his wand, and several of the students seemed to be doubled over in hysterics. When they finally finished, the hall exploded one last time with applause, the Headmaster clapping loudest and longest of all.

"Ah, music," he sighed, wiping tears of glee from his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

There was a great sound of motion from the hall as the students all stood up from their tables, stretching and yawning, following their prefects out of the Great Hall. A tall, brown-haired girl with startling blue eyes took up the lead, taking them through the entrance hall, up the large staircase, around a large statue of a gargoyle, and down a long, spiraling flight of steps that led into the castle dungeons. Ophelia took a deep, appreciative breath of the musty air, enjoying the cool breeze and dark surroundings that engulfed her as they entered the bowels of the castle.

The girl led them right up to a long, smooth patch of stone wall, and muttered, "Perpolitus!" A section of the wall slid open, revealing a beautiful, elegant room with green silk draped over the dark stone walls, meticulously carved ebony furniture, and a thick, emerald carpet that covered every inch of the floor from the curving staircases to the edge of the gray marble fireplace.

"Right now," the girl said, "my name is Cassandra Lithgow and I am a seventh-year prefect. This is Frederick Morton, your other seventh-year prefect; we also have fifth and sixth year prefects who will be looking out for you at all times. This is the Slytherin Common room; only yourself and other Slytherins will be able to enter it, as we are the only people who know the password. Right now, the password is Perpolitus; memorize it or you will be stuck outside until someone comes along to rescue you. When the password changes, one of the prefects will inform you. Up that staircase and to the left is the first year boys' dormitory; to the right, the girls' dormitory. Each year has its own dormitory, and you are not permitted to enter dormitories of other years unless by invitation.

"There is to be no rule-breaking or negligence in this house. We have won the House Cup six years running, and we would all like to see that streak continue. Study hard, do well in all your classes, and don't get yourself into trouble, or one of us will punish you. Professor Snape does not often punish members of his own house, but if he does so, you will not be quick to forget it."

Her voice softened a little bit. "If you need help with anything, do not hesitate to ask one of us. We are here to look out for each other. We are all unique, incredible individuals; that is why we have been Sorted into Slytherin. We are the smartest, the most beautiful, the best of the best. Do not forget that."

She finished her little speech with a half-smile, shooing the first years up the stairs. Ophelia shot Blaise a sympathetic smile as he disappeared to the left with Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and a boy named Nott. His expression mirrored hers as she found herself in the company of Millicent Bulstrode, a similarly unpleasant-looking girl named Pansy Parkinson, an icy girl with honey-blonde hair named Jessa Darwin, and the snooty, black-haired girl she had noticed before, Ruth Wiggander.

They entered their room where five beautifully carved canopy beds sat ready and waiting, emerald silk curtains engulfing their green satin sheets and velvet blankets. Ophelia noticed that their trunks had all been brought up, and she immediately flipped hers open, extracting her small bag and pulling out her Potions book again. Duvessa hooted at her mournfully, looking out the window - We have windows in the dungeon? Ophelia thought, shrugging as she reached out a hand to stroke Duvessa's snowy feathers.

"I think it's positively a crime that we don't all get our own rooms." Ruth's grating voice cut through Ophelia's thoughts and she looked up, fixing the girl with a cool stare.

"I believe it is supposed to bring us closer together," she suggested mildly. Jessa looked horrified at the thought, and Ruth sneered unpleasantly.

"My father told me not to go making friends without checking with Draco Malfoy first." She drew out the name as if it were sacred; Ophelia surreptitiously rolled her eyes.

"He is positively sublime, isn't he?" Pansy sighed, and Millicent chortled with schoolgirlish laughter. Even Jessa looked a bit hazy-eyed at the mention of his name. The four girls looked at Ophelia curiously, looking for her reaction. When she gave none, they turned away disgustedly, striking up a conversation about how Malfoy's family had hosted a grand ball over the summer, and how they all hoped they would be invited to go to their Christmas ball.

Ophelia snorted quietly as she settled herself on her stomach and flipped her book open again. She had become thoroughly engrossed in it when another noise interrupted her solitary reverie. This time, it was the sound of Millicent snoring loudly. She looked up, annoyed, and saw that all four of the other girls were fast asleep. Glancing at the timepiece on the wall, she realized that it was just about half past midnight. She quickly padded over to her trunk, pulled out parchment, ink, and quill, and scrawled a quick note to her parents.

Mum and Dad,

Made it here safely, was sorted into Slytherin. The girls seem like

a...erm...pleasant lot. Look forward to classes starting. Met Baron

Athemar just like you said, Mum; he's an awfully decent fellow. Too

bad he's a ghost; I'd invite him round for High Tea otherwise.

Dad, looks like you were right about Draco being a total git; hopefully

everything will work itself out. Don't worry, I won't give up.

Lots of love,

Lia.

She tied the note to Duvessa's leg and sent her gently out the window. Then, in consideration for her roommates, she picked up her book and crept out of the room and down to the common room, where she settled herself onto one of the overstuffed velvet sofas to read in front of the fire.

About an hour went past before the last of the Slytherins vacated the common room, leaving Ophelia alone. As soon as she heard the footsteps die down, she closed her book, stood up quietly, and crept out through the hidden doorway.

Perpolitus, she told herself as the wall swung shut, and then turned to face the maze of underground tunnels. She pulled out her wand, placed it on her open palm, and whispered, "Dirigereme!" The wand spun around a few times before pointing to one of the tunnels, and off she took, pausing every so often to perform the charm again.

Finally, she found herself in front of a large, black door. She replaced her wand in her robe pocket, took a deep breath, and knocked three times, each knock echoing with a painful loudness in the deserted corridors.

After a few seconds, the door languidly swung open, revealing Professor Snape, black robes impeccable, black eyes burning as he regarded the intruder.

The intruder's eyes bored right into his as she took a step forward and breathed, "Good evening, Uncle Severus."