A Soul to Keep

CHAPTER ONE

From the Son of a Mudblood

The castle rose slowly and rather dramatically over the crest of the hill, gloomy and imposing in the early evening fog, as they walked the last mile between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. The clouds that evening were an angry charcoal grey, churning overhead as if waiting to for the perfect moment to let loose the torrent of rain that it held as its threat against her hair.

Matilda had, as usual, missed her ride.

She was to find out later that she had been spotted by a few third year Hufflepuffs that were occupying the last of the Hogwarts carriages, standing alone on the platform, watching the train slowly begin to crawl away.

"This way firs' years," a shocking colossal and incomprehensibly hairy man had called out, and Matilda had become puzzled as to whether or not she was considered a first year. If she was, then it made sense for her to follow the Sasquatch, but feeling out of place standing even near the diminutive eleven-year-olds, let alone with them, she hesitated to follow and consequently lost track of where she was supposed to be headed. And why did Hogwarts employ a Yeti, anyway?

This was to be her first year at Hogwarts, and the soft rain that began to fall as she realised that she was stranded did not bode well for the upcoming ten months. So there it was: homesickness. It had been crawling up her throat and threatening to choke her all afternoon, and here it was, tightening her lungs and twisting her stomach into tight and wholly unwelcome knots.

She was probably coming down with something.

Her black robes, bleak and plain and complementing the grey environment perfectly, were soon soaked through. The crimson, fur-lined robes, the ones that she had been forced to abandon for family pride and safety, would have withstood this weather and she would have been able to remain standing out on the platform and to retain some level of dignity. Instead, she valiantly forced herself not to shiver as she moved to the overhang of the now closed Hogsmeade Station. She rightfully scowled down at the Hogwarts crest and its ridiculous symbols glowing benevolently up at her from her chest and she suddenly wished for something very bad to happen to Lucius, something much worse than Azkaban. Had he not been a fool, she would have never been instructed to return to England. She would have never been forced to leave everyone she knew and the place that had slowly become her home, her world. She had spent the first six years of her academic career attending Durmstrang, but upon the arrest of Lucius Malfoy, her idiot uncle, and his subsequent escape during her sixth year, it was generally agreed by her immediate family that she should begin attending a school closer to home - and generally further away from suspicion.

***

Lucius Malfoy escaped from Azkaban prison on the third of January, during Pansy Parkinson's sixth year at Hogwarts. It had been during dinner on her seventeenth birthday, which she had been celebrating quietly with her mother before leaving for the party at the Malfoy Manor that Draco was hosting in her honour.

Pamela, Pansy's mother, sat silently staring at her plate of rapidly cooling food as she swirled her third glass of wine around in her pale hands. Her eyes, lately a dull blue, were bloodshot with tears and drifted anywhere but to the vacant chair to her left. It was a cavity in their living space, a void that had been left by her husband when he had been taken to Azkaban, and it was currently sucking the life from the woman as effectively as any Dementor's Kiss.

Pansy would have liked a distraction, a change, something to revive her mother and enliven those tired eyes. She would have liked anything, but Lucius Malfoy.

As it happened, that very man apparated in the doorway of the dining room, filthy, emaciated, exhausted, and imposing as ever. He collapsed into her father's chair and jerked Pamela's plate over to him, helping himself to her untouched meal. The women stared at him for what had to have been five minutes as he gulped down every scrap of food on the table as if he hadn't eaten in days - which was a definite possibility. He finally stood, white-blond hair tumbling soiled and tatty over his shoulders, and opened his dirty arms.

Pamela burst from her chair and precipitated her tiny frame into the larger man's chest and sobbed, "And Patrick?"

Lucius shook his filthy head sombrely and stroked her blond hair as another man, pale with fiercely red eyes, entered the room and sat down next to Pansy.

She was terrified.

***

Soon a dark figure glided around the corner, his black robes billowing spectacularly in the wind, and she stifled a snort of laughter as he pulled them tightly around him and crossed his arms in a delightful attempt at elegance and superiority.

"Matilda Malfoy?" he asked, standing entirely too close and glaring down at her over a greasy, hooked nose.

"Snape." Matilda replied. She recognised him from dinners at the Malfoy Manor when she was a child. Draco had always regarded him as some sort of saint-like father figure. Matilda, on the other hand, regarded him as a weak follower of her uncle who desperately needed a refresher course on the finer points of personal hygiene. She stepped away as he spoke and leaned against the wall.

He sniffed and hissed, "Professor" before turning and curtly gesturing for her to follow. "It is a long walk, Ms. Malfoy, I suggest you pick up your feet," he called over his shoulder.

What was this? Walking?

"Why don't we apparate? I have my license." Matilda called out to Snape's retreating figure. It seemed simply absurd for the two of them to trudge all the way from the station to Hogwarts in such horrible weather when she was of age. She closed the gap between them and fell into step beside him. She was panting somewhat as she had to jog a bit to keep up with his long strides, but she forced herself to breathe as evenly as she could manage. She was a Malfoy; she didn't show weakness.

"Stu-" he caught himself mid-insult and began again. "We cannot apparate within school grounds, Ms. Malfoy. I had assumed that a young woman of your family would be well aware of simple matters of common sense such as that."

She wasn't, but she was not about to tell him so. "Of course. I was simply suggesting that we apparate a mile or so outside of the grounds."

He glanced acidly in her direction and stopped suddenly, gnawing on his chapped lower lip. "That is precisely what I was intending to do," he said and took hold of her sleeve.

As far as Matilda was concerned, this dimwit was obviously not intending anything of the sort and she grimaced openly at the dry, callused hand clutching at her clean robes. One would think that a professor of potions would be able to brew something up that could ease his sorry state. She kept her mouth shut, though. She reasoned that insulting a potential professor and family friend on the first day of school might turn out to be injurious to her in some way. She nodded silently.

Having apparated at the base of a bizarrely steep hill, the final mile was crossed in complete silence. Snape practically flew across the distance to the gates and Matilda resigned herself to following a few yards behind at a more comfortable pace.

Snape's robes were not faded in the slightest from cleaning, Matilda noticed from the growing distance between them, and she began to worry that the tattered hem simply spoke of years of irregular washing.

Good Lord, there was mud on her boots.

This was unacceptable; she was a Malfoy and, as such, demanded to be carried. But not by Snape: she wasn't entirely certain that she wanted to be that close to a man that greasy. She wanted a dais with four burly slaves beneath it, and dancing girls in belly tops twirling around them with multicoloured scarves to loud, nasal sounding instrumental music. Snape could walk; he seemed to be rather proficient at it.

When they finally reached the school grounds after an eternity of plodding through filth, Matilda noted that the gates themselves were open, which appeared to her an incredible breach of security, and Snape continued to virtually sprint up to the castle.

As she sauntered through the doors, she could barely hear the disembodied voice hollering at her over the great chatter coming from the Great Hall. "Matilda Malfoy!" it bellowed from nowhere.

She turned, still slightly stunned, as an elderly looking woman wearing green velvet robes swept up to her and took hold of her arm. "I am Professor McGonagall," the woman told her in a stern, Scottish voice. "The sorting ceremony is nearly over, child! Hurry, now." Matilda was then dragged by the wild-eyed professor at top speed toward two huge wooden doors that Snape was presently disappearing through. She was thrust ahead of McGonagall, who issued occasional and very sharp shoves when Matilda dared to slow down even slightly.

All control over her lungs was lost when she realised where she was - in the centre of the Great Hall and advancing quickly on a short line of particularly nervous looking first years. She caught Draco's gaze and he immediately turned to whisper something to an irritated looking girl to his right. Matilda hated him very much right then as he sat comfortably at his house table, surrounded by familiar faces. His sly little grin and pseudo-relaxed pose gave him an air of supremacy that hung over him like a halo. Sanctimonious little git.

"I'm being sorted?" she whispered sharply to the professor as she felt every eye in the room come to rest on her.

"Of course, every student must be sorted," McGonagall replied loudly with a final shove as they reached the end of the line.

"I know that..." Matilda trailed off, frustrated and dissatisfied with the entire situation, as the professor leaped up onto the stage with incredible grace and ease for a woman of her very advanced years.

Matilda had assumed that, due to her age and surname, she would not have to suffer the embarrassment of being sorted in front of the entire school and would simply be placed in Slytherin. Apparently not. Without a word of apology to the two students remaining in line, Professor McGonagall continued reading from a long piece of parchment that trailed down to the floor.

Matilda glanced over at the stool to the professor's left and recognised the Sorting Hat immediately. Her heart stopped. She did not want that ratty cap anywhere near her. Centuries of head lice were probably crawling around in that hideous thing and she made sure to inspect the scalp of the next boy, Timothy Weston as he ran up on stage. The founders of Hogwarts were most surely sadists, forcing this public display of infestation upon each of them.

"Ravenclaw!" the hat announced, and a man who could only be Dumbledore winked at the boy as he jumped down and ran joyfully to join his housemates.

The spectacularly androgynous child that was next in line was presently glancing around anxiously and began to quake with either nervousness or excitement.

Matilda smiled as kindly as she could manage as Professor McGonagall called out "Zabini, Robin" and the androgynous child with the gender non-specific name ran up on stage.

"Slytherin!" the Sorting Hat shouted and the student leaped up and tore across the room to sit beside an equally androgynous individual whom Matilda assumed to be a sibling.

The entire room fell silent and, once again, she got the distinct impression that nearly all eyes were on her. Everyone at both the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables were deep into whispered conversations and chancing quick glances in the direction of the stage, those at the Ravenclaw table sat back and eyed her curiously, while all of the attention at the Slytherin table seemed to be on Draco.

"Malfoy, Matilda," McGonagall called over the noise. The room fell silent as everyone, including the Slytherin table, turned to gape at the young girl standing at the front of the room. This lasted mere seconds until, all at once; the room erupted anew into a chorus of frantic whispers. She decided to ignore this and made her way up to the stool.

"Silence," the professor commanded as she placed the hat on Matilda's head. She was horrified to find that the repulsive thing smelled as vile as it looked.

A final whisper of "She's not even blond!" escaped from a very redheaded Gryffindor boy who promptly blushed when he realised that everyone must have heard him. She was pleased to see that he had said this to none other than Harry Potter, who was currently studying her with a furrowed, and very scarred, brow.

"He's right, you know," the hat said from atop her head, "I've never met a Malfoy with black hair."

"I have my mother's hair," she whispered. "Contrary to popular belief, not all Malfoys are walking clones."

"Yes?" the Sorting Hat said amiably, apparently ignoring her obnoxious tone, "And what was her name?"

"Mona, er, Desdemona Talbot." She failed to see why this mattered at all.

"Talbot... I don't remember a Mona Talbot..." the hat mumbled thoughtfully.

"She went to Durmstrang. Like I did."

The hat seemed to stiffen and crawl up on her head at this news. "In that case," it said, "SLYTHERIN!"

McGonagall swept the hat off of the newest Slytherin, who glanced quickly at Dumbledore's kind smile as she strolled over to the silent house table. She had just perched lightly at the far end of the bench when Draco's inherently bored-sounding voice shattered the silence.

"What are you doing, Matty?" he drawled, "Sit with us!" He gave an imperious wave and the enormous boy to his left shifted two feet away from him. Draco patted the small patch of free bench and flashed a startlingly white grin.

"Since when do you call me Matty, Draco?" Matilda asked, crossing her arms on the table before her. She had no intention of moving.

His smile faltered as a slight flush crept across his cheeks. She was defying him before his loyal subjects. "Matilda," he said through clenched teeth.

She couldn't help but beam at him; feeling somehow empowered, and moved gracefully over to her cousin. His thin white hair was perfectly groomed as usual and he tapped manicured nails impatiently on the glossy wood of the table.

"I wasn't told you were coming," he whispered accusingly once she had taken her seat.

"Well," she replied in the same tone, "if someone's father hadn't got himself arrested, and then escaped into oblivion like the great prat that he is, I wouldn't have to be here."

"Now, now, Matty," Draco said, noticing the amount of attention that they were drawing. He raised his voice to his usual volume, which was generally somewhat too loud and continued, "Is that any way to speak to your beloved cousin?" He smiled sweetly and put his arm around her shoulder.

"You're beloved today?" she asked, matching his tone once again.

"Of course!" With this, his smile began to morph from one of false kindness to true amusement. This was the Draco from Matilda's childhood, the legendary brat was rearing his arrogant little head, and at that moment she felt completely at ease.

"Am I beloved as well?"

He continued to smile. "You're a Malfoy! So only slightly less so than I."

The girl on his opposite side thrust her hand out toward her, nearly shoving Draco from the bench. "And a Slytherin," she said fairly ridiculously as they shook hands. "Pansy Parkinson." She had long brown hair that was drawn up into a ponytail, dry, tired-looking green eyes, and an expression on her face that made no secret of the fact that she was completely uninterested in Matilda. She was disarmingly beautiful and made eye contact only briefly before speaking again. "You must be Lucius' brother's daughter," she said.

"Um, yeah." Matilda replied awkwardly. How was she supposed to respond to something like that? So how long have you been studying my family tree? Been kidnapped by my uncle lately? Perhaps not. "How did you know?"

***

Pansy had never expected to be in the presence of the Dark Lord before graduating from Hogwarts. Actually, she had privately hoped to never have to bear this honour. His white skin was translucent and she could see blue veins criss-crossing beneath the surface, creating the appearance of scales as he came to sit beside her.

"Happy birthday, Ms. Parkinson," he had said to her in a high, airy voice. "I'm going to have to ask a favour of you and your mother." Then he had smiled. His thin lips pressed together to form a slightly curved line and he had rested a bony hand on her shoulder. It was like ice and she could feel his long nails scrape lightly against the flesh of her neck. His eyes, his horrible, supernatural eyes, remained sober as he took in the shaking figure of the young girl before him.

Pansy could feel him crawling around inside of her mind.

She had agreed to everything that man had asked of her. Lucius was to be staying in her home. She was not permitted to tell anyone, especially not his family. She was to pledge her life to the Dark Lord and swear that she would not divulge Lucius' whereabouts to anyone, least of whom Dumbledore.

She was not to ask any questions.

Pansy had nodded dumbly following each demand, and wished that his smile would reach up to his eyes.

Finally, the list of instructions came to a close and he stood. "Lucius," he said, snapping his fingers.

Lucius removed Pamela, still sobbing and clutching pathetically to his chest, and came to stand beside his master.

"Fetch her gift."

Pansy should have been proud to receive a birthday gift from the Dark Lord, her mother would soon tell her; no one else living could have said the same. A blissfully subservient Lucius Malfoy produced a large, silver band from one of his tattered pockets and looked to the floor as he placed it into his master's awaiting hand.

The pale, menacing man held Pansy's gift up to her face and she saw that it was shaped like a snake, the scale pattern resembling the owner's sickly looking skin. The eyes were the purest of emeralds and in its mouth was its own tail. She had no idea what she was supposed to do with something like that, but managed a smile and filled her mind with pleased thoughts. She could still feel him in there.

Without a word, the darkest wizard of all time pulled out his wand and Pansy thought she was going to go into cardiac arrest. He smiled, obviously sensing her fear, and pointed it at the band. He whispered a few nonsense syllables and it floated slowly up from his palm. It appeared to come alive as the tail pulled itself out of the mouth and the silver snake slithered its way through the air and over to her.

She wanted to scream, she wanted to run, she wanted to bat it away and crush it with her foot as it began to wrap itself around her neck. It was as cold as his hand had been on her shoulder and she felt paralysed as his presence inside her mind caused her entire body to go numb as if with cold. She felt the lithe body of the snake go rigid around her neck, the tail slipping easily back into the mouth and cutting off her oxygen for a moment.

"A little, snug. I know, Pansy," The Dark Lord had said, and, with a loud snap, he was gone.

She could still feel him inside of her.

Her hands flew up to her throat of their own volition and tore at the icy silver crushing her air passage. She scratched at the flesh of her neck and she broke the skin. There was no clasp; there was no way to remove the snake. She looked plaintively to her mother for help, but she was slumped against the wall, hiccuping with tears still streaming down her face.

In desperation, Pansy turned to Lucius. He simply shook his head. "There are high collared robes in the living room for you. You won't want Dumbledore to see that." He turned to follow the path of a frightened house elf to the kitchen when he stopped and added, "You're still too young for the Mark."

***

"You have Draco's eyes."

"Oh," Matilda said flatly and withdrew her hand. This must be one of his fan-girls.

"She has Draco's everything," said the older androgen that was seated directly across from them. "Except for the hair, of course. Blaise Zabini."

Matilda shook Blaise's hand uncomfortably as Draco whispered "Male" in her ear. Apparently this was a common question, but, seated closer to him now, his height alone was evidence enough to make an educated guess. Blaise was an awfully pretty boy with short, wet-looking hair and a silky voice. And she could swear that he was wearing eyeliner. He graced her with a cheerful smile and motioned to the first year beside him who had continued to fidget frenetically after leaving the stage. This was his sibling and, judging from the haircut and the way this individual was seated, it had to be a boy as well.

"And this is my sister, Robin," Blaise added. Of course it was his sister.

"Hiya!" Robin said and shook Matilda's hand firmly.

Any plans that she may have devised prior to entering the Great Hall, most of them concerning being aloof and craftily avoiding the divulgence any personal details, were quickly dashed against the rocks of the Zabinis' genuinely friendly nature. Blaise chatted amiably to her all throughout dinner and soon everyone in the vicinity was given the impression that she was actually interesting. However, she did manage to become an enigma in her own right when Draco, ever the master of subtlety, announced to the entire table that no one was permitted to inquire as to the reasons for her transfer to Hogwarts. His minions, Crabbe and Goyle, were really the only ones who seemed to accept his command while everyone else appeared to begin constructing complex plots to force the newest mystery girl to divulge this juicy secret. Everyone of course, except Pansy - her silent hatred was palpable from the moment Matilda sat down at the table. It wasn't until dessert that she remembered that Pansy was still seated the table at all when Draco leaned back to stretch and she caught sight of the girl, sitting in silence, stonily staring at a plate full of food and tightly clutching a coffee mug.

"So, where are you from originally, Matilda?" Blaise asked, having fully exhausted all other topics of conversation by now.

"London," she answered through a mouthful of chocolate cake. It was at the dinner table only that she abandoned all facets of the legendary Malfoy poise and dignity, much to Draco's chagrin. He frowned at the smear of icing across her lip and handed over a napkin. She waved it away and wiped at the chocolate with her finger.

"London?" Robin asked thoughtfully. "I didn't know the Manor was in London."

"I don't live in the Manor, actually," Matilda explained. "It's inherited by the eldest son. My father's the baby, so it belongs to Lucius. We live kind of near London... kind of. It's unplottable like Malfoy Manor, so it's hard to say. My father built his own Manor there. It'll be mine one day."

The last part she added simply to annoy Draco. He hated Malfoy Manor and resented the fact that his cousin was the heir to his favourite place. He had spent most of his summers at her home when they were very young and Matilda knew, even then, that he was trying desperately to keep away from Lucius. She knew that the man was attempting to mould Draco into a perfect little Death Eater. She knew that it had been too much for the fragile young boy, but she also knew that Draco wanted nothing more than to please his father. But he had been far from Lucius' idealised apt pupil; he was delicate and very much his mother's son, yet Lucius had been determined to remedy this as early as possible.

Draco had witnessed too much, been privy to too many plots, been taught to hate too deeply, and it wasn't until he entered Hogwarts that these 'lessons' took hold of him. It wasn't until he met Harry Potter that he began to plot on his own and to hate, to truly loathe, of his own volition.

Draco hadn't been to her house for six years.

He turned to her now and held her gaze in a way that was wholly Lucius. She had been raised beside this boy, and yet when he looked at her like that she had to fight the urge to get up from the table and run for her life. His eyes, her eyes, bored into her and she could not look away. Had she not been a Malfoy herself, she may have cowered. She had seen Lucius look at many people like that before - Muggle-borns, any one of the Weasleys - but she never imagined that this weapon could be turned against her. This was not a glare to be idly thrown about, yet Draco appeared to have incorporated it into his personal stock of menacing looks. Matilda watched helplessly as her cousin melted away.

"Draco, sweetie," Blaise said quietly, "look who it is."

Her cousin returned for a brief, shining moment, a smug happiness sweeping through his eyes as they broke away from Matilda's. Harry Potter, accompanied by the Weasley boy who had found her hair to be so unbelievable and a girl that she did not recognise, was passing by on his way out of the Great Hall. Lucius returned with full force as Draco's eyes met Harry's. Their gazes locked and Matilda could feel her cousin tense beside her, as if ready to pounce. Even when Harry had passed by and was nearing the doors, Draco watched him like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to kill.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" Blaise asked as Draco relaxed and returned to his meal.

"Fuck off, Zabini," he replied quietly.

***

Lucius had eagerly sent Pansy to her birthday party at his own home, and Pamela up to bed following a stiff drink. He remained in the kitchen, eating everything in sight.

Pansy was forced to wear one of her new, high-collared robes to the party and felt distinctly uncomfortable with every compliment she received. She spent the first ten minutes there searching for Draco and telling everyone that she was pale and shaky because she was coming down with something. Everyone eyed her like a leper and took a step away, fearful of catching even a cold: getting over any sort of illness in the dank dungeons was next to impossible and a case of the sniffles was not considered deserving of a trip to the infirmary.

Blaise patted her shoulder from a distance and handed her a vodka and orange juice. "Good for the immune system," he told her and backed further away.

Pansy nodded and continued her search.

She had seen Draco wave to her as she entered to Manor, fifteen minutes late for her own birthday party, and she had watched him disappear into the crowd of Slytherins filling the ballroom.

By now, she was getting desperate. She needed to find her best friend. She was panicking. She needed to tell him where his father was and she needed him to find a spell in one of his family's books that would remove the band. With every thought of this nature, the snake seemed to drop ten degrees and tighten around her neck. In a few minutes she was in actual pain. She knew that this meant that the Dark Lord was still crawling around somewhere in the back of her mind, but she wasn't thinking straight; she was terrified. She ignored him and kept looking for her friend.

Soon, she gave up on the first floor and moved on to the second. She headed for Draco's bedroom. Chances were that, if he was in there at all, he was alone and hiding from the advances of some love-struck fourth or fifth year that was drunk for the first time. She had been surprised to see groups as young as third year mingling at her own party. She recognised less than half of them, but Draco had done the inviting.

The hallways on the second floor were winding and thin, not usually visited by guests, yet still as impeccably decorated as the rooms used for entertaining. Pansy had always envied the Malfoys for their immense collection of heirlooms packed tightly into dozens of rooms all around the house, but this time she failed to notice even the most striking of objects. She turned right twice and then left, right again, and slowed her pace. She had no idea why, but she felt the need to employ a certain measure of stealth in Draco's hallway. If he was in his room at all, she reasoned that if he heard someone coming he would disappear into a secret passageway and turn up on the other side of the Manor. She couldn't have that; she needed him now.

She soon reached his door and found that it was open a crack. She peered through and saw the last thing she had expected: Harry Potter. He was wearing muggle clothes and looked like he was covered in floo powder and soot. Draco had him pressed up against the wall and the Gryffindor had his arms wrapped tightly around the other boy's waist. Draco had one arm stretched up above his head, and he leaned heavily against it as he smiled down at Harry. With his other hand, he languidly drew a line with his index finger up and along the smaller boy's jaw and cheek. He pulled Harry's glasses off with great care and leaned in to kiss him gently. Harry looked the picture of contentment as he sighed and pulled Draco closer.

This was where Draco was on her birthday, during the party that he had thrown for her; he was in his room with Harry Potter in his arms. She knew him to be selfish and uncaring to everyone, even family, but never to her. She had expected him to be there for her, reading a book or fastidiously tidying his hair, she did not expect him to have abandoned her so completely, not tonight. The fact that it was Harry Potter spoke to her of secrets untold, of distrust of his closest friend.

She was close to crying and collapsed to the floor. With the icy band still wrapped too tightly around her neck, her gasps for air as she fought tears were coming quickly and failing to reach her lungs. She was going to suffocate in the hallway outside of Draco's bedroom and she wanted to kill him when she heard him whisper, "I love you, Harry." She had never known a Malfoy to love.

In the seconds following Draco's confession, she could feel the snake warm and loosen its grip around her neck, the tail sliding ever so slightly from the mouth. She could feel the Dark Lord's pleasure at hearing the boy's words through Pansy. He laid out plans for her and whispered to her of rewards. She was fully prepared to accept all of them.

***

Thirty minutes later, nearly the entire hall had emptied out save for most of the Slytherin table. The first years, including Robin, had vacated to be shown to their rooms, but Matilda had been allowed to remain, as she was to be staying in a seventh year dormitory in an entirely different part of the dungeons. Snape had come by and had handed a sheet of parchment to every seventh year, giving instructions as to the password and the room in which they were to stay along with who their roommate was to be.

As it happened, seventh years were given double rooms and absolutely unfairly and much to her dismay, Matilda found that her roommate was to be none other than Pansy Parkinson, who was currently scowling at her over and untouched slice of carrot cake. It was like fate itself had decided to take this special time to make her life as awkward and unpleasant as possible. Her hair was frizzy from the rain, she was sleepy from the feast, and she was beginning to develop a sugar headache: she was not in the mood to be shoved into a dormitory room in the dungeons of a strange, haunted castle with an ornery stranger. She was plagued with visions of waking up in the middle of the night and finding herself bloodied, bruised and chained to the wall.

Matilda had long since finished her meal and began to study her housemates, making sure to avoid eye contact with the generally irate Pansy. Nearly everyone had already finished their meals as well, although no one above third year had vacated their seats. In fact, some of the younger looking students had fallen asleep at the table. She was about to ask why they were lingering when Draco stood up.

"I'm finished," he pleasantly told no one in particular and grabbed his cousin's arm before leading her toward the doors. Blaise was soon at their side, and Crabbe and Goyle quickly flanked the three of them. Matilda pushed her self-respect aside for a moment looked back to find Pansy, hoping that she would lead the way to their room. She was shocked to find that everyone that had remained seated after finishing his or her meal was now following Draco out.

She turned to comment on this, only to find her cousin smiling broadly at her. "What else would you expect?" he asked conversationally. "I mean, look at me." He moved the arm that was not attached to her away from his body as if to allow closer inspection and nodded gleefully.

She laughed. This was very familiar. "You look like a Malfoy," she said.

"A blond Malfoy," he corrected her as they turned a corner and began to make their way down a steep flight of stairs. As they descended, the temperature dropped sharply and the sound of dripping water echoed loudly from various locations.

"Yeah, but you can't hold that against him; he's managed quite a following anyway," Blaise chimed in, nudging Matilda's elbow.

"Oh, tush, Blaise. You're jealous," Draco said defensively with a smile. "Not everyone is so equally blessed with good looks, an amazing wit, and this ass."

"Yes, well, I am rather blessed in other departments," Blaise said, winking at him. "You're welcome to check for yourself any time."

Draco laughed loudly and stopped before a blank, stone, wall. "Serpentine," he said dramatically. The wall slid open to reveal the Slytherin common room. A single black couch that appeared to be the focal point of the space was placed in the centre of a large, ancient looking green rug and several matching black chairs were scattered everywhere. Every stitch of fabric was green, silver, or black and as such reminded Matilda tremendously of her father's study. She felt oddly at home as she allowed a slight shiver to course through her.

"I'll have to speak to Snape again," Draco grumbled as the younger students set off in opposite directions toward their respective dormitories. "This is not the Antarctic and, as much as I hate to admit it, we are not cold-blooded creatures. I refuse to freeze to death in my final year at Hogwarts. Pansy! Show Matty where you two are going to be living."

Pansy was standing by the fire, rubbing her thin hands together and shivering slightly. From a distance, Matilda could see that she was tall, not abnormally so, but she was sure that the difference in their sizes would make difficult work out of any intimidation tactic that she may have used as defence against this caustic young woman.

"Have fun, Matty," Blaise whispered carefully, "This could be a long year for the two of you."

Pansy glared at them as she swept past, and Matilda had no choice but to follow the girl as she stormed down a long, thin hallway. There were several doors on either side, but Pansy bypassed them all and stomped up a short flight of stairs. At the top was a set of double doors, above which was set a silver plaque reading:

Medea Malfoy

1565-1609

"Seventh year Malfoys always get these rooms. Draco's in the boy's version. They're twice the size of the other seventh year rooms and have their own washroom," Pansy said to the doors in one strained breath. "So it won't be too hard for you to keep out of my way," she added before bursting through them.

Pansy took well over an hour in the bathroom and, once finished, threw herself down on her bed, violently drawing the curtains shut around her.

Matilda had never come across anyone who had detested her so virulently upon introduction, and she felt strangely hurt. In the past, had anyone expressed a genuine dislike for her it was because she had in truth done something terrible to that person and was wholly deserving of his or her wrath, as weak as it invariably turned out to be. This was entirely new and she found herself searching for something to do to this girl to make herself deserving of this treatment - and coming up with nothing.

She must have been losing her touch.

No, she must have been tired. She was not out of her element; she was not floundering. She did not feel alone and isolated from anything remotely familiar. She did not have an excruciating urge to floo herself home to Durmstrang and visit her old friends. She was content here.

Really.

Whatever.

Blaise had been right, she thought as she crept across the room, this was definitely going to be a long year.

"Pansy," Matilda said loudly and tore the bed curtains back.

"What," came the annoyed reply. Pansy rolled over and propped herself up on an elbow, pulling her own hair, which hung down loosely over her shoulder, little golden lights sparkling softly in the chestnut. Matilda could see her green eyes darken in the firelight as she glowered up at her.

"I see that you hate me, Pansy," she said, wishing that she had something far more profound to say.

"Yes, you're very astute," Pansy replied, rolling her eyes. "Goodnight." She didn't move. She simply glared at the other girl, daring her to stay.

"Why did you shake my hand, then?"

Pansy grinned sourly and shook her head. "You're a Malfoy. It's in my best interest to make myself known." She grabbed the curtain from Matilda's hand and issued a final "Goodnight" before sliding them shut tightly around her bed.

So this was politics. That was fine, Matilda was used to it. Draco may have had a following here, but at Durmstrang she had possessed an army. There, the name Malfoy commanded such a respect as her cousin could not imagine, and the politics of association were nothing new to her.

All things considered though, she had never encountered such an unpleasantness from anyone.

She needed to file her nails.