To Be a Slytherin Hufflepuff

Chapter two:

As she had thought, Malfoy approached her at the feast. He was, of course, flanked by Crabbe, Goyle, and the stringy boy called Theodore Nott. Amanda tried her best to ignore them, staring at her chicken and mushroom pie. Malfoy, however, had other ideas.

"I hear you have been lucky enough to enjoy Potter's company," he sneered, his face pressing in close to hers.

Amanda rolled her eyes. "I don't think you could say I enjoyed it. However, it was...illuminating," she told him calmly, and forked another mouthful into her mouth.

"What you mean is you're now one of the fully paid Potter Appreciation Society," Malfoy continued.

"No, it does not. It means I realised one thing and one thing only: He is just as much a prat as you." She had not meant to say this so loudly, but unfortunately for her there was a lull in conversation. The Great Hall quietened, spare a few chuckles and whispers. Over at the Gryffindor table Harry looked up and glared at her: Ron and Hermione gave him questioning looks, and the rest of the school stared, before continuing with the feast.

"You'll pay for that remark, Redrow," Malfoy hissed, thumping the table.

"I'm sure I will, but if you don't mind, I'd like to eat this before I lose my appetite," she told him coolly and looked away. She heard Malfoy growl but said nothing. She was not in the mood for talking.

On her way up to the dormitory Amanda heard the whispering of Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode behind her. Turning to face them she glowered,

"What?" she asked rudely. There was no point ignoring them; they liked it that way. They were clearly a little shocked. Never before had Amanda confronted them so forcefully.

"We were just wondering whether it's true," Pansy told her, trying to regain her composure.

"What's true?" Amanda asked, her voice dangerously low.

"That you're not really a Slytherin? You were just put in here because no one else wanted you?" Millicent told her, glaring back. Amanda rolled her eyes and walked away. Behind her Millicent and Pansy shrieked with laughter.

Could they be dumber? Amanda wondered absently. No, probably not. As she thought about them she chuckled, they really were a pair. For five years they had attempted to make her life hell. If that's the best they could do, Amanda wasn't surprised that it kept struggling up instead of down towards the fiery pits.

She walked into the dormitory and changed into her t-shirt and PJ bottoms. They were a little bit of resistance, the only way she could prove that she was no longer ashamed of her family. Pansy hated them. They were buttercup yellow and covered in frolicking badgers. Definitely not the type of pyjamas a Slytherin should be wearing.

As she pulled the bottoms up she glanced at one of the photos on her bedside table. It was a photo of a young man in his mid thirties; he was smiling up at the camera and looked just like her brother Paul. It was a picture of her dad, taken several years ago on their holiday in Wales. There was a girl of about ten standing next to him; she too had inherited his looks, though there was too much of her mother's shrewdness in her gaze for her to be attractive. The man kept patting her head and putting an arm around her. The girl, a much younger Amanda, stared up at him in adoration. It had been a year since any of them had heard from him, and they had given up all hope of him ever making contact with them. He had divorced her mother when Amanda was twelve and had sent them money and presents. He had written constantly and they had visited him on holidays. Until the letters stopped, that is. Amanda never received a reply to the last letter she had sent, and his house had mysteriously emptied, leaving no sign of her dad. The money hadn't stopped, though, not that this was anything to take hope from. The goblins had simply informed them that they were instructed to pay money into the family account for as long as it was possible. It hadn't stopped yet.

Sighing, she tied her back and climbed into bed; she'd leave thoughts on that mystery till morning. Right now all she wanted to do was sleep.

In Amanda's opinion sleep was a dangerous thing. It left you vulnerable to attack, open to dreams and often nightmares. Sleep was not to be trusted. She had a history of severe illnesses linked with dreams: Fainting from too many restless nights, vomiting after nightmares, paranoia. Nightmares were terrible things. Only tonight, the dream was different. She lay there in her bed perfectly still, as if only her body was in the dormitory.

Amanda's 'dream self' hung above a room. The walls were a boring pale colour, something muggles called magnolia. She was looking down on a man with curly brown hair. He was bent low over a piece of parchment, his quill scratching as he hurriedly wrote. He was wearing non-descript black robes, a set anyone could buy. He wasn't comfortable, though; his shoulders were hunched and he sat rigidly, as if he were terrified of something. A noise from outside the room made him jump. As he pulled out his wand and stood up, his chair clattered down behind him. As if it knew what was happening, an owl nearby took the note and flew out of the window into the rain- filled night. He watched for a minute, tension visible in his stance. As it disappeared from sight the door blew open, revealing two robed men, blank masks covering their faces.

"The Dark lord craves a word, Redrow," one sneered. The man looked up at the ceiling as if he could feel her presence, and Amanda's 'dream self' screamed. Staring up at her was a male version of her, a little older; a little worse for wear but definitely related. She continued to scream because she had stared into those eyes before. The man looking up at her was not her brother, or an uncle. It was her father.