Tracey Davis' Guide to Surviving Slytherin

Author's Notes: This is a thoroughly bizarre idea that was born in my excessively disorganised mind - and has a rather unheard of pairing, of which I do not apologise for. The characterisation of Tracey is not precisely how I normally see her in my perspective of the Potter-verse, but as she is an Other Character with no given canon personality of her own, I feel perfectly justified in changing it for the purpose of this anecdote. Nonetheless, this tale of stepping out into the midsts of non-conformity is dedicated to Ashlee Lane, an old reader of mine from way back in my Mary-Sue years. Whether or not you ever read this, it's for you.

Tracey Davis' Guide to Surviving Slytherin

Chapter One: Nod and Agree

Have you ever met one of those horrendously ignorant people who open their mouth at the wrong time and say the complete wrong thing, causing you to cringe like you'd never believe? Just in case you answered in the negative, well - you have now.

My name is Tracey Davis, and I am such a person.

Oh, gods. It sounds as though I'm at an AA meeting.

Now that we have established that I am horrendously ignorant, have no tact and no sense of timing as well as the (completely untrue, of course) notion that I attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, I can properly introduce you to my pathetic and meagre existence as a fifth year Slytherin with a crush on Blaise Zabini. That gorgeous, perfectly sculptured fellow house mate of mine whom I suspect does not even know that I exist. In fact, I'm surprised that anyone knows that I exist...

I'm quite invisible, you know. Not physically, mind. I'm sort of shy, am entirely ignored by Blaise Zabini, and Draco Malfoy only talks at me when he has to. Never to me. Crabbe and Goyle, I'm sure, don't even know their own names properly yet, so I don't really expect them to know mine. They're sort of akin to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Not that I'd ever admit to reading Muggle literature. Theodore Nott is a rather quiet, reserved sort of person himself. I overheard him telling Blaise once that he detests Pansy Parkinson and her group of insipid sycophants. As I am... friends (though this is a tentative verb) with Pansy, I suppose that he was including me in his statement. Though, I do oppose to his use of 'insipid'. I do have a personality, thank you very much. It just takes some time to get out. You know, being shy and all...

So, clearly none of the guys in Slytherin pay much, let alone any, attention to me. Hence the invisibility.

Of the girls, there is Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode - but they're friends with each other, as Daphne can't stand Pansy, and Pansy detests Millicent's presence. It hadn't always been this way, but to cut a long story short, it is now. This leaves just me and Quinn Rivers. And we are apparently sycophantic. Well, I can be. Trust me; you wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of Pansy, Queen of Bitches this century. But I've never been as sycophantic, or as bitchy, as Quinn. If it wasn't for the fact that I'd be a complete loner without them, I'd have left Quinn and Pansy to it ages ago.

But it's easier to conform. And less lonely too. Though, sometimes, you wonder why, when you become so... invisible. But that's a thought for another day.

All that said - an introduction to my meagre existence as a fifth year Slytherin witch would not be complete if I did not offer to you the delicate opinion regarding my entire life of my head of house.

I swear to you, I must be the only Slytherin in the history of Professor Snape's career to incur his immense dislike.

And it is days like today, when I'm sitting here in Potions, frantically attempting to follow the complex instructions that the Almighty Draco Malfoy, Prince of Potions finds so mundane, that I curse the fact that my mother married a bloody Muggle.

"Miss Davis." I look up to be confronted suddenly and scarily with Professor Snape's trademark sneer. There's a glint in his eyes that I recognise to be the sadistic, repressed mirth of having tormented Longbottom, and probably taken a good twenty-five points from Gryffindor.

"Er... Yes, sir?"

"Would you kindly explain to me why you are attempting to stir beetle eyes into your cauldron?"

I stare down at my hands and to my horror, discover that I am indeed holding a tablespoon of beetle eyes and not the powdered box jellyfish as I was instructed to stir into my cauldron. I feel my cheeks burning as I inarticulately manage to communicate, "Sorry, sir. I didn't... I mean to say, I... Er... I..."

"Draco," he interrupts, holding up his hand.

"Yes, sir?" Snape's Golden Boy's face shines like a perfectly innocent angel. Innocent, my arse.

"Please assist Miss Davis, and whilst doing so, inform her that if she does add whole beetle eyes to her cauldron, her potion will boil ferociously and she will most likely be splattered with the substance. A substance that is highly corrosive in nature."

I gasp as my brain processes this information.

"And also, Miss Davis," he turns to face me once more, "Next time, instead of awarding Mr. Malfoy here ten points for his eager assistance -" Draco's lips curved into a smug sentiment. "- I will remove ten points for your inability to follow clear instructions." And with that, he moves away to Millicent and Daphne.

"There'd better not be a next time," Draco whispers angrily into my ear as he scoops out a tablespoon of the right ingredient. "We're going against Ravenclaw on Saturday, and I'd rather retain our points, thank you very much."

I steal a glance at Blaise to see if I could decipher what he thinks about the whole matter. From his nonchalant expression, I gather that he couldn't care less. About me, my demise, or the possibility of Slytherin losing points on my account.

Sometimes I wonder exactly why I exist in the first place.

The tyranny of Snape in the Potions classroom comes to a long awaited end as the much loved bell sounds throughout Hogwarts' walls. Any longer in the insufferable company of an egotistical Malfoy, and I'm sure I would have gone absolutely and completely insane.

I can't see why Pansy likes the git. Personally, I'd rather go out with the Giant Squid. But of course, you don't offer this sort of information to Pansy Parkinson, Princess of Perfection and Lady Superior. She won't take it very well. In fact, I think it was along these reasons that Pansy had a falling out with Millicent in the first place. She and Millicent used to be great friends. Well, more like Pansy was thrilled to have found a willing doormat to stand on who was ugly enough to not be competition for the Popularity Throne. Millicent, I suspect, was rather like me. Just grateful to borrow light from the sweet condescending sun that is Pansy.

Sometimes, I think we all belong in the sky. I could imagine people like Pansy, Draco and Blaise to all be suns, and me, a moon, reflecting their glory - unseen, unless in their presence. Quinn, on the other hand, would be more like a planet... Sort of just revolving around and gathering energy from the sun, but still big enough to have their own glory and respect - even if it's only in the galaxy that they exist in, though, still big enough and important enough to see.

Maybe you think I'm stupid for just accepting all this. Daphne Greengrass hates it all. She calls Pansy 'pug-faced', spends time around Millicent Bulstrode, Terence Higgs and Adrian Pucey. Apparently, she has a strong love for Quidditch. But that's beside the point, isn't it? Well, the point is that Daphne Greengrass is one of those people who can get away with hating the logistics and inevitabilities of a social ladder. She's a pure-blood. She's pretty. She's smart. She has this perfect little record, never loses points, and never gets detentions. Even Draco thinks she's worth his time, despite the fact that her parents are avid Dumbledore supporters. I, on the other hand, can't. My father's a Muggle, and while I personally don't see anything wrong with that, my fellow housemates do. And what about Millicent, you ask? Isn't she a Half-Blood too? Well, yes she is. But it's her grandfather who was the Muggleborn. So her blood, I expect, is meant to be, somehow or the other, more pure than mine. I have a direct lineage of Muggles to my name. It's all so ridiculous, I know. None of this blood business was my fault, anyway - but it's a defining fact in my life.

In order to survive the pecking order and hostility of the Slytherin house, you have to accept it all. When Draco, Blaise and Pansy are nattering on 'importantly' about blood, and purity and all the rest of their prejudices, you have to nod and agree. There's no other way.

All these thoughts continue in my head as I detach myself from the group as they walk towards the Great Hall for lunch.

"I need to visit the Ladies," I whisper to Quinn as I prepare to take my leave.

She nods, glaring at Daphne who has unknowingly captured the attention of Blaise Zabini as she laughs carelessly, holding onto Millicent's arm in that best-friend sort of affection. I'm not sure what she's most jealous of. "I'll keep you a seat."

I daren't hope.

My feet somehow manage to navigate a path towards the second floor bathrooms. Or more specifically, Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I think about Draco's horrible smirk, Snape's immense dislike, Blaise's indifference and Daphne's carefree liberties as I reach the door. A hot salty tear slides down my cheek as I whisper to myself, "What the hell. 'Misery Loves Company, after all." And I enter the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Hogwarts has to offer. Somehow, just stepping into the threshold has helped alleviate my spirits.