Serpent Lady

"Miss Ravenscroft," came a dangerous voice, "it is nearly two o'clock in the morning. What can you possibly think you're doing...waiting this long to come and see me?" Professor Snape's usually cold and hard face brightened as it was flooded with the closest to a smile he was capable of. She darted forward and buried her face in his chest, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

"It's been far too long," she murmured into his robes, but it came out sounding more like "Mmfrffghlff." He held her back at arm's length, studying her impeccable hair, elegant clothing, and charming smile.

"It has been too long," he agreed, demonstrating his penchant for always knowing what she was trying to say. He snaked his arm awkwardly around her shoulders and led her into his office, closing the door behind him and murmuring a quick charm to lock it. He gestured to a black leather couch situated next to the tempting fire, and she took him up on his offer, sinking gracefully into the soft, comfortable cushions and turning her bright eyes upon his unusually happy visage.

"I kept trying to catch your eye during the Feast," she admitted, "but you were too busy talking to Professor Quirrell. I therefore had to wait until my dorm-mates had all gone to sleep so I could sneak out without the chance of being caught."

"And how long did it take you to find my office?" he questioned, a faint smile of amusement quirking his thin lips. "Or did you discover a way around that too?"

"Dirigereme," she beamed, tapping her head in a knowing fashion. He snorted with pleasure, reaching a hand out to ruffle her curls, and was delighted when her hair fell immediately back into place.

"I see you've learned that charm as well, excellent!" He nodded proudly at his only niece, noting the glow of excitement on her face, the total lack of tiredness in her eyes. "What else has kept you busy this summer?"

As she launched into a long description of the books her parents had gifted her with as a surprise, the memorization of her textbooks, the simple wandless magic she had learned earlier in the summer, he looked at her fondly, remembering his older sister, her mother, on her first Christmas hols, behaving just as excitedly as an eight-year-old Severus listened with longing and anticipation of his first year at Hogwarts.

"...and this book has kept me occupied the longest, I know it's probably a piece of cake to you, Uncle Sev, but it's so thoroughly involving that I haven't been able to think of much else!" He gazed down at Advanced and Archaic Potions as she held it out to him, took it, flipped through it briefly.

"This is a good book, Lia," he told her. "I have no doubt you will easily surpass the rest of the members of your class, not to mention the next two or three years above you. I should talk to Headmaster Dumbledore about possibly allowing you to sit in on my fifth year Potions class."

She shook her head, her curls bouncing about her ears. "Thank you, Uncle Sev, but I think I would rather remain with my classmates, you know, to keep me on equal footing, as it were."

He nodded appreciatively. "Of course, it is always a good idea to be aware of the accomplishments of those around you, to study them so you might gauge your surroundings..."

She laughed inwardly, amused at her uncle's thoroughly analytical way of regarding a situation. The idea that she would feel more comfortable attempting to befriend other first years who were also away from home for the first time and as new to Hogwarts as herself never would have crossed his mind. Truthfully, this wasn't even entirely the reason she did not want to be moved up to a higher class. She also wanted to be able to keep an eye on Malfoy as much as possible, trying her best to befriend him and help him out as much as possible. After all, she was never one to do a thing halfheartedly.

"That's not entirely the reason, Uncle Sev," she informed him. At his inquisitive look, she launched into an explanation of her father's charge to her, the good person hidden underneath Malfoy's horrendous exterior, the awful things she believed about Lucius Malfoy's treatment of his son. She carefully skirted the issue of their meeting with the Malfoys, avoiding altogether the mysterious private conversation of her parents; there was no need to worry him so early on, when she wasn't even sure there was anything to worry about. He listened attentively, his face darkening with every word, until he looked as black as thunder.

"I knew Lucius Malfoy was a good-for-nothing blighter with a horrible streak of vicious sadism," he thundered quietly, a feat only Severus Snape was able to accomplish, "but I never would have thought he could be so thoroughly heartless to his own family. Even when I--" He cut himself off so quickly he almost bit his tongue, his eyes darting to a point about four inches up his left forearm, and was silent. Ophelia rolled her eyes surreptitiously; she was perfectly aware that her uncle had spent all those years as a Death Eater, most of the time acting as a spy for Dumbledore, but he always seemed to behave ashamedly about it whenever he was around her. She had watched him defend his position to others when he thought she wasn't looking, but apparently, there was something different about the way he treated her opinion.

Snape caught her studying him curiously and cursed himself, his own vulnerability. She's almost twelve years old, Severus, he told himself. She has known about your darkest years since she was old enough to understand, and even before then. Why do you continue to trouble yourself with keeping silent on the matter? He knew the answer perfectly well, of course. To him, Ophelia was the only one hundred percent pure person in his entire life. Her presence had come at an extremely dark time in his life, and it was because of her, her innocent gaze, her joyful smile, her unconditional love, that he was able to look at himself (albeit briefly) in the mirror every morning. Even Silvia, his elder sister and best friend, could not compete with the affection, respect, and total gratitude he felt for his niece, although she did come in a close second. He had never wanted to please or impress anybody in his life (except perhaps, when he was very young, his father), but with Ophelia, he wanted her good opinion so much that it hurt. He couldn't bear to disappoint her, and he felt ashamed of those years he hadn't been strong enough to fight his father or the Dark Lord, and even of the time he spent in the guise of a Death Eater (Voldemort's right hand, in fact) while he disseminated information to Dumbledore at great risk to his own life. If the Ministry of Magic had been notified of his loyalty to the Cause, he would have been awarded an Order of Merlin; as it was, he was too proud to allow Dumbledore to notify them. He was only doing it for the good of the wizarding world. And now, everything he did was to make sure Ophelia would have the most wonderful, perfect life possibly imaginable.

He shook his head, rousing himself from his thoughts. "I will, of course, do everything I can to aid you," he told her. "It is a very noble thing you are trying to do, and I strongly hope you will succeed. If Lucius manages to break Draco to his will like--" He paused again as the unspoken "my father did with me" hovered between them - "well, everything we have worked toward for so long may well fall apart."

Ophelia stared at him calmly, although her eyes betrayed a hint of worry. "That will not happen," she said, her voice filled with determination, and he smiled.

"It certainly will not."

This topic broached, the tension was eased, and they sat in his office, chatting animatedly about anything and everything, until the sun was just peeking over the horizon. Neither asked whether the other was tired; it was a well-understood fact that both had acquired the infamous Snape family insomnia, and slept but rarely, if at all. "All the better to get more accomplished" was the motto that accompanied the "illness", and it was an adage that Severus, Silvia, and Ophelia all stuck to with complete assuredness.

The timepiece over the mantle proclaimed the time as quarter to seven before Ophelia finally stood up and stretched, saying that she had to go take a shower and get changed before breakfast. Her uncle winked at her; he showered regularly and lengthily, even though, judging by his appearance, nobody would ever know that. She took a moment to study him before she departed, remarking to herself that he was actually quite handsome when he took the trouble to comb his hair and to smile, but he stubbornly refused to engage in 'unnecessary morning rituals'. As far as he was concerned, he was there to teach, and nobody should care about his appearance. Ophelia, for the most part, tended to agree, even though she did wish he would leave the dungeons once in awhile.

She traced her way back to the common room, memorizing the lefts and rights as she went, and whispered the password, gliding silently into the room as the wall slid shut behind her. She tiptoed up the stairs, into her dorm, and over to the large, green armchair next to her bed, where her school uniform, complete with Slytherin-striped sweater and tie, sat waiting for her. She had always wondered how the school managed to provide uniforms to all their students on such short notice, and gathered that they must have some sort of agreement with Madam Malkin, who would be the only person who would have all the necessary sizing information. She knew that the house elves laundered the uniforms every night as soon as the students were asleep, and she made a mental note to make sure she changed out of her uniform before she went wandering about the castle at night.

She picked it up, along with one of her work robes that had been emblazoned with the Slytherin crest, and padded into the bathroom. She noted with some pleasure that the room was rather grand, containing a large black bathtub with clawed feet, a substantial shower with frosted glass doors and multiple jets, a full floor-to-ceiling mirror covering one entire wall, rich emerald tiles lining the other walls, thick black carpet under her feet, antique pewter taps, and, in its own little partition, a rather impressive toilet and bidet. She grinned as her eye fell upon the set of five shelves, each of which already boasted a name placard, a full set of towels, and all the beauty products that each girl had brought from home. She snorted as she saw Millicent Bulstrode's rather hefty box of makeup, and she moved to pick up a bottle of particularly hideous salmon-colored nailpolish...but her hand met resistance and she stepped back, eyes wide. She tried to grab her own bottle of shampoo, and had no problem at all. Person-specific guards, she realized, smiling in satisfaction. As long as she remembered to put all her items back on her own shelf, none of the other girls would be able to touch them.

"Obsera," she commanded, pointing her wand at the door, and heard the satisfying click of the lock snapping shut. She stowed her wand carefully and began to undress.

About twenty-five minutes later, she was showered, dressed, and ready to face the world. Her hair was straightened and sweeping down her back, just reaching the tops of her thighs, and her necklace and earrings were carefully arranged about her face. She took a moment to study herself in the mirror, smiled in satisfaction, and carefully set everything back on her shelf after uttering a drying charm over her towels. She made to unlock the door, but heard a "Resera!" from the other side. She narrowed her eyes in annoyance.

"There's somebody in here," she said crossly, but smiled despite herself when the girl on the other side of the door cursed as it didn't open. She repeated the charm, watched the door swing open, and came face to face with Jessa's angry face.

"You've been in here far too long," she hissed. "I don't see what you need with primping time right before breakfast; as if it could possibly help you gain the popularity that you're obviously craving. Not like anyone would want to be friends with a pale, skinny little nobody like you."

Ophelia took a deep, furious breath, and stared coldly at the other girl. "I have been in here for less than half an hour," she replied evenly, "and besides, it isn't even seven thirty yet. In case you had forgotten, breakfast does not start until eight."

She and Jessa stared at each other angrily for a few moments, the tension between them thick enough to cut, neither wanting to back down. Finally, Jessa looked away, pushing past Ophelia and into the bathroom, her eyes full of murder. As the door clicked shut, Ophelia smiled and said, "By the way, Resera only works if you're the one who locked the door in the first place."

A little bit of a bounce in her step, she returned to her bed, rolling her eyes at the still-sleeping forms of her other roommates, and began to unpack. A picture of her family perched on her nightstand, her large collection of non-school books fit perfectly in the top drawer, and her personal potions store and bag of gems slipped nicely into the bottom drawer. She paused, securely locking the drawers with a small, silver key, and then studied the items left in her trunk. The clothing she hung up next to her other sets of uniforms in her freestanding ebony wardrobe with the carefully carved feet. Her school supplies went into her beautiful writing desk: the papers, ink, and extra quills in the top drawer, the books in the side shelves, the other supplies in the bottom drawer. She thoughtfully slipped one quill into the quill holder atop the desk and poured one bottle of black ink into the antique inkwell, and stood back to admire her handiwork.

There wasn't much left in her trunk now. The only jewelry she owned stayed on her person most of the time, she abhorred makeup and other such personal effects, and her hair clips were already in the bathroom. In fact, the only thing remaining was the Orb of Cruoris that her brother had given her. She stared at it for a moment as it lay peacefully atop her bed before settling it carefully in the bottom drawer of her nightstand, locking it again. She grabbed her book bag and her books for Charms and History of Magic as well as some rolls of parchment, three quills of assorted varieties, and two bottles of black ink, and glided out the door. This time, she had no trouble finding her way out of the dungeons, and from there, the Great Hall was a cinch to find. She stalked in, straight over to the front of the Slytherin table, closest to the High Table, and sat down. She glanced around at the few students who were actually up this early, shrugged, and helped herself to a plateful of fruit.

By the time nine o'clock rolled around, the Great Hall was almost completely full. Chattering students of all ages milled about, some talking loudly, others eating quietly, and all preparing for their first day of the term. Ophelia had been joined by a sleepy-eyed Blaise, who complained that both Crabbe and Goyle had kept him awake with their incessant thunderous snoring, and a second-year by the name of Llyr O'Brien.

"What classes do you have today, Ophelia?" Llyr asked around a mouthful of croissant.

"Charms first, then History of Magic, and Astronomy tonight," she replied, taking a deep draught of orange juice. Llyr laughed.

"Good thing you have Charms first," she intoned amusedly. "Professor Binns - he teaches History of Magic - is the most boring professor in the world. He got up to teach one morning, leaving his body behind him...didn't even notice, that's how boring he was."

Ophelia stifled a giggle, but Blaise looked horrified. "A ghost teaches History of Magic?" he asked incredulously. A small pop! at Ophelia's elbow told her that Baron Athemar had just appeared.

"And what's wrong with that?" he asked coldly. "He was alive during a lot of what he teaches, after all."

Blaise stammered, his face turning an unpleasant shade of pomegranate, but Ophelia answered for him. "He was just a bit surprised, that's all, Baron Athemar." She smiled charmingly, and the Baron relented.

"Oh well, if he is a friend of yours..." he sighed, before disappearing again, probably off to torment someone else.

"How do you do that?" Llyr asked in disbelief. "He's usually a mean-spirited bastard to everyone, especially the first years!"

Ophelia shrugged, a small smile on her face. "Let's just say I played my strengths," she replied mysteriously, turning back to her breakfast.

At nine thirty precisely, the sound of hundreds of owls streaming in through the windows caught everyone's attention. Ophelia looked up, searching for Duvessa, and was delighted when she swooped through the air, package in tow. Another beautiful owl, an eagle owl, soared toward the Slytherin table as well, dropping a large package in front of Malfoy. He smirked, opening it to reveal a large gateau and several smaller packages of sweets. As many of the first years crowded around him, ooh'ing and ahh'ing, Ophelia opened her own package, revealing a large, fragrant Maracoc plant and a letter from her mother.

Dearest Lia,

I know you will not be sleeping much, so I thought it

best to send you something that might help. Put this

plant by your bedside and it will bring you swift,

restful sleep. We all know someone else who could

benefit from this as well, although he'll never admit

to it.

Your father and I miss you very much, but are glad

to hear that you are settling in. Give my love to

Baron Athemar and to the Professor.

Love,

Mum

Ophelia grinned, folding up the letter, and gave the package back to Duvessa to deposit in her room. Blaise looked at her curiously.

"What's that for?" he asked, having never seen a Maracoc plant before.

"Sleep," she told him. "I don't sleep much; Mum is always worrying I'm going to burn myself out. It's not anything I can help though, all--well, everyone in our family suffers from insomnia."

Llyr, who had seen some of the letter over Ophelia's shoulder, was about to ask which Professor her mother was referring to, but a loud chime told everyone that the first class of the day was due to start in ten minutes. She grabbed her books and was about to bid the two first years farewell, when Ophelia's voice stopped her.

"Say, Llyr, how do I get to the Charms classroom?" she asked, gathering her bag and peering at the elder girl inquisitively. Llyr laughed.

"Good for you," she replied. "I was too proud to ask for help my first day. Ended up running all over the school before I finally found my classroom. Professor McGonagall wasn't too happy with me." She explained quickly the fastest way to the classroom, and Ophelia and Blaise thanked her gratefully before darting off.

It appeared that they were the only really intelligent ones - they were the first into the classroom, and they took their seats at the front of the class. The rest of the students started to file in four or five minutes later, some out of breath, some looking thoroughly miffed. Malfoy, she noticed, sat off to one side of the classroom flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Pansy, Millicent, and Ruth took their seats on the other side of the room, presumably so they could have the best possible view of Malfoy's face throughout the lecture. Jessa and Theodore Nott arrived last and were forced to sit together in the very back.

Professor Flitwick was so small, he had to stand on a stack of books to see over the top of his desk. He called roll quickly before starting his lecture on the basics of Charms. Ophelia listened attentively, even though all the material he was mentioning was already firmly embedded in her spell repertoire. When he completed his lecture and paired them up to try their first spell, Ophelia found herself paired with Jessa, who was none too pleased with the arrangement. They glared at each other instead of practicing their spell, much to the chagrin of the diminutive professor.

"Miss Ravenscroft, Miss Darwin, there is no need for animosity," he squeaked helplessly as Jessa bared her teeth slightly, her strong dislike of Ophelia entirely evident. Ophelia, torn between her desire to heed her professor and her need to satisfy her pride, faltered for a split second before turning her full contempt back on her partner. Finally, Professor Flitwick found it necessary to separate them, pairing Ophelia with Blaise and Jessa with Ruth Wiggander. Looking over, Ophelia was pleased to see that Jessa looked almost as upset with this new partnership as she had when she was forced to work with Ophelia.

Blaise jabbed at his blue button harshly, trying to make it change colors, and narrowed his eyes when he saw where Ophelia was looking. "She's a horrible little grot," he snarled, his blue eyes flashing. "She's made herself the most unpopular person in the whole school already, and it's only the first day of classes."

Ophelia looked over at him, interested. "Oh? And how did she manage that?"

He growled, narrowing his eyes still further. "She was screaming in her sleep last night about how Hogwarts is a school for ninnies and how her father would not stand for the brainless oafs that were going to be her classmates. She was so loud about it that Cassandra had to go shake her awake because she was disturbing all the other Slytherins. She stood by it too, calling Cassandra a Muggle-loving bint and threatening to get her father to come up to the school and withdraw her."

"I hope she follows up on that," Ophelia hissed, tossing a murderous glance at Jessa's back.

Blaise looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Did you not hear her screaming then?" he asked curiously. Ophelia paled slightly, glad that she had remembered to draw her bedcurtains before she had left the room, and shook her head. "When I do sleep, I'm a heavy sleeper," she lied. Blaise seemed satisfied however, and he turned back to his button, poking at it with the tip of his wand.

"I wish I knew why this isn't working," he said in exasperation, looking around the classroom and noticing that nobody else was having much luck either. Malfoy's button had turned an odd shade of aqua, and he was looking extremely pleased with himself.

Ophelia grabbed Blaise's wrist gently. "You're trying too hard," she informed him. "You're only trying to change the appearance, not the actual composition. That's Transfiguration. All you have to do is picture the button as a different color, in this case green, in your mind, and then speak the charm."

Blaise sighed. "Right then, you do it," he replied, folding his arms and watching her.

She shrugged, pulling out her wand and tapping her own button gently. "Viridis," she said clearly, and watched it turn a brilliant shade of emerald green.

Professor Flitwick was instantly by her side. "Beautifully done, Miss Ravenscroft!" he said excitedly, patting her elbow as he leaned over to admire her button. She smiled modestly, inclining her head in thanks. Blaise looked at her with respect and admiration apparent in his eyes, and even Theodore leaned over his desk to get a better look at the button.

She tossed a glance over to Jessa, and was delighted to see that she was almost crimson with rage and jealousy, her eyes flashing in anger as she narrowed them at Ophelia, who took the opportunity to smile sweetly at her. Jessa sharply tore her malicious gaze away from Ophelia, who didn't mind at all. She noticed that the other girls also looked resentful and jealous, and she shrugged slightly, wondering what they had to be annoyed about. She turned back toward Blaise, and her eyes met Malfoy's gaze head on. He was staring at her with a mixture of respect, jealousy, and something else that she could not peg, although his face remained a carefully cultivated mask of neutrality. He gazed at her unblinkingly for a few moments before lazily turning his attention back to his own button, waving his wand over it with a serpentine grace. Crabbe and Goyle had stopped trying, and were merely staring at her with their oafish mouths hanging partway open.

She shuddered and turned her eyes back to Blaise. He, too, was staring at her. "How did you manage that on the first try?" he asked incredulously.

She lowered her voice, leaning a bit closer. "Can you keep a secret?" she asked, sotto voce. He nodded, eyes fixed on her face.

She looked around the room for a moment, making sure nobody else was paying attention, and then winked slightly. "I had nothing better to do all summer, so I learned all of my textbooks by heart. I've always been rather afraid that others would judge me on what I could and couldn't do...so I wanted to make sure I was as well-prepared as possible."

He stared at her for a moment before beginning to laugh. "Well, I don't feel so bad anymore!" he said, relaxing and looking at his own button with a more determined look on his face.

She smiled quietly at him, eyes glinting. Everything she had told him was true, and she realized the implication was that her natural magical ability wasn't extraordinary. In this case, however, instead of becoming defensive as she had been tempted to do when confronted by Hermione, she was simply glad that she had been able to bolster her friend's confidence somewhat. While her perfectionist streak would never allow her to be satisfied with her magical skills, she knew they were excellent, and that was all she needed.

She shook her head slightly to rid it of idle thoughts and turned her attention back to him. "Would you care to try it now?" she asked encouragingly. He nodded, and the remainder of the period was spent trying to turn Blaise's button to the desired shade of green. By the end of the class, Malfoy had the only other successfully green button in his possession, and he tossed Ophelia a sly smirk, although it was still evident that he was hurt he had not been the first exultant student.

It turned out that Llyr had been completely right about History of Magic - it was extremely boring. Ophelia had always been more of a practical, hands-on person, and she found history incredibly difficult to burn into her mind. The fact that Professor Binns's drone made her feel like bashing her head against the wall didn't help at all, and she tried desperately to stay awake by taking copious notes. By the time the hour was up, she had never felt so relieved to leave a room in her entire life, except perhaps when she had been cooped up in the train compartment with Malfoy and his two bodyguards.

Lunch was, of course, a delectable delight, yielding more fresh fruits and veggies than she had ever seen in her entire life, along with delicious pasta salads, cold meats, platters of seafood, and several other enticing treats. She scanned the room again as she dished a spoonful of cherry tomatoes onto her plate, content to watch many of the others interact with each other. She quite enjoyed Blaise's company, his wide-eyed admiration of everything around them, his determination to succeed at everything he attempted, his intelligent comments and sarcastic wit, but she did often feel like he was treating her more like a superior rather than an equal, and that made her uncomfortable. Having had little experience with friends, she couldn't be sure, but she had the sneaking suspicion that the tone that entered his voice whenever he commented on something she had done or said was bordering on worshipful rather than merely impressed.

She sighed, turning back to her plate and spearing an ear of baby corn onto her fork, wishing that Darcy was around to chat with. All of a sudden, she sat bolt upright. Of course, she thought excitedly, Darcy! She wolfed the rest of her food, much to the horror of both Blaise and Llyr, and quickly glided out of the Great Hall. She found her way to the common room with no difficulty at all, immediately darting inside and up to her room. She extracted the Orb of Cruoris from her bottom drawer, sat cross-legged on her bed, and drew the curtains around her. For best possible effect, she murmured a locking charm and a silencing charm on the curtains, ensuring that she would not be disturbed, and hesitantly laid her fingers on the orb's impossibly smooth surface.

Darcy, she thought, can you hear me?

A few moments passed, during which time Ophelia held her breath, and then came the familiar voice, floating into her head. Hey, kid, what's up?

She beamed with pleasure, her grip on the Orb becoming more sure, and, remembering to control the speed and volume, so to speak, of her thoughts, replied. I'm a bit confused here, Darce. You see, none of the girls seem to like me at all; they're always casting these evil glares at me. One girl in particular, Jessa Darwin, seems to be continually trying to rile me up, and I hate to admit it, but she's succeeding awfully well. She insults me for no reason, and I can't understand why she could possibly hate me so much!

There was a slight pause, and then the unmistakable sensation of amusement. Did you say Darwin? Darcy's voice laughed. Dad never told you this story, but he went to school with a kid named Gregor Darwin, up at Durmstrang. This kid apparently considered himself far above and beyond every other child in the whole school. He would go around, calling everyone horrible names and trying to get the stupider ones into trouble so they'd be kicked out, effectively raising the average intelligence at the school. He graduated second from the top of his class and went on to work in a faction of the Ministry of Magic which specializes in tracking pureblood lines all over the world.

Ophelia snickered, knowing the answer to her next question before she asked it. Who was top of the class?

Why, our own dear Dad, of course, came the response, and she felt her shoulders shaking as the laughter threatened to overcome her.

So let me guess; like father, like daughter, right? Ophelia said, struggling to calm herself down. She thinks she's far better than everyone here because dear Daddy says so, but she feels a special need to be especially horrible to me so she can avenge her father's tarnished honor?

Something like that, Darcy chuckled. Anyhow, I wouldn't worry too much about it. Girls your age can be pretty vicious. I'd recommend trying to make friends with some boys; they're easier to talk to by far.

Ophelia sighed, remembering her concerns about Blaise. Well, I sort of have, but the boy I've been spending time with doesn't really treat me like an equal. He keeps giving me this odd look, like he thinks I'm the next best thing to sliced bread or something.

Darcy laughed, but the pride on his end was apparent. You are, Eel, he replied, and I'm glad someone's intelligent enough to see that.

She beamed, tears springing to her eyes, but she fought them back, struggling to control the wave of gratitude and pride she felt at Darcy's comment. I don't want someone to worship me though, she replied. I want a friend! You know, someone who I can ask for help if I need it without seeming weak and shattering the perfect image they've created for me. Someone I can argue with about the smallest thing, even if it is completely ridiculous. Someone who will understand me instead of always having to ask.

Darcy was silent for a moment, apparently allowing everything she had told him to sink in. When he replied, it was with some reserve and a hint of coldness. What about Uncle Severus?

She sighed. He's wonderful to talk to, that's for sure. Without him here I might well go insane. But I need someone my own age, you know?

Darcy again fell silent, but the emotions swirling around inside his mind spoke of understanding and empathy. I do know, he replied softly. You will find someone, Eel, I promise. And when you do, they will become your other half, a part of your spirit, and you will feel completely empty whenever you're apart. He spoke with such passion, such tenderness, that Ophelia opened her eyes in shock, wondering if Darcy, the infamous Casanova of the German dragon herders, was actually talking about soulmates.

Silence passed between them for several moments before Darcy finally spoke again. Listen, kid, I'm really sorry, but I have to go. One of the guys just got a nasty burn and we have to go help him to the med unit. Will you be okay?

Ophelia nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see her. I'll be fine, she replied. Thanks for...for everything.

Hey, anytime, he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. Remember not to hesitate if you need someone to talk to. The first few weeks are hard, I won't deny that. But at least you have Uncle Severus. His tone became suddenly bitter, and she silently completed that thought: I wasn't so lucky.

Speaking of Uncle Sev, she replied, I think I'm going to leave the Orb in his safekeeping.

Good idea, he said, his voice becoming distracted. You do that. Okay, sorry, Eel, I really do have to dash. Talk to you soon, I promise. She felt a dull click in her brain as he severed their link, and she lay back on her pillows, the Orb clutched to her chest, thinking about everything he had said.

Soulmates, she thought incredulously. My brother, talking about soulmates. What has the world come to?

She closed her eyes and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.