Dark Heiress

Chapter 4- A New Beginning

I am not dreaming

Of a hope-victory-life.

I am just dreaming

Of a hope-survival-life.

Yesterday my need was world-conquest.

I failed.

Today my need is my own survival.

I am failing.

Tomorrow my need will be a surrendered life.

I shall fail.

Survival poem

-Sri Chinmoy

* * * * * *

Right, so when exactly was this great new journey supposed to begin? If this was the afterlife, there was not much different from the hell she had just left. Odd, if she didn't know any better, she would have guessed that she was in the same position that should have been her last. She ached all over and her bones were throbbing. Inhaling deeply, she instantly wished she hadn't, as the overwhelming scent of filth and decay invaded her senses, causing her to gag. Slowly opening her eyes, she saw the dank alley that she had been assaulted in. The air was frigid and the sky was light. Realising that she had spent the night in the dirty alley, Melantha slowly sat up to lean against the wall; her head threatened to explode and her body protested against the slight movement.

What had happened? she thought groggily. She was supposed to be dead and yet for some reason, here she was, decidedly worse for wear, but none the less very much alive. Staring at her outstretched legs, she watched in disgust as a cockroach scuttled over her legs and past some glass vials.

The potions, she remembered as her mind was suddenly flooded with the events prior to her losing consciousness. There was a voice that told her about the potions which would help her. She ran her tongue tentatively over her lips and could taste the faint traces of the healing draught. Someone had saved her. Someone had given her another go at life, had placed her in their debt and she would never know who. Deciding that it would not do to dwell on such thoughts while in her current state, she reached out for the closest vial and nearly cried out when she felt the agony in her still broken fingers. Silently chastising herself for being so stupid, she reached over with her other hand and brought the vial to her mouth. Using her teeth to uncork it, she emptied the contents down her throat, hoping that it would not only improve her condition, but also remove the cottony feel from her mouth.

She rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes to allow the dizzy feeling in her head to dissipate. A few minutes later, she opened her eyes again more level headed and optimistic about surviving the rest of the day. She hastily downed the second vial containing the healing draught and waited a few minutes for the potion to take effect. She felt her headache disappear while the more insistent stabs of pain in other parts of her body reduced to a manageable level. Looking down at her broken hand, she noticed that her fingers looked decidedly crooked; flexing it, she realised that while her fingers were somewhat stiff, the pain had gone.

Knowing that she would survive relatively pain-free regardless of her less-than-perfect hand, Melantha stood up trying to relieve the lingering stiffness in her limbs. Surmising it was mid-morning, Melantha tried to decide on a course of action. She had limited funds, no accommodation and was now wandless. A night spent in the grimy alley had not helped much either, as its rancid smell clung to her cloak. Running her hand through her hair, she found her fingers entangled in a matted mass of hair, dirt and dried blood. She was in desperate need of a shower and her stomach was demanding attention. Thinking she had spent more than enough time in Knockturn Alley, she made her way into the busier Diagon Alley.

Having never been allowed to frequent the wizarding town, she was amazed to see the number of people bustling about. The street was packed and Melantha realised that her appearance was garnering more than a few stares. Mentally slapping herself for not thinking of it sooner, she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head to cover her bloodstained face. Once she reached a pub that was crowded with people and she knew that this was the right place. Entering the busy pub, she surreptitiously made her way through the noisy crowd and slipped into the lavatory at the back unnoticed. Locking the door, she was grateful that she hadn't needed to wait in line to use the facilities, as her appearance was shocking at best.

"Sweet Merlin! What trod on you, dearie?" Grinding her teeth, Melantha fought the urge to retort at the mirror. She had to concede, she looked ghastly. Therefore, instead of arguing with pieces of the lavatory, she began to make herself somewhat recognisable and fit to appear in public. The small washroom was not equipped with facilities for a full shower, so Melantha settled for a light wash of whatever part of herself she could fit into the porcelain basin.

Squeezing out her hair, she let it hang loose in a bid to hide the bruises on her face that had yet to disappear. While she had managed to clean herself as best as possible, she had been unable to remove the stench and filth ingrained in her cloak. Without the means to clean her cloak, she could only carry it on her arm with the hope that the offensive smelling garment would not attract too much attention.

Stepping out of the lavatory, she noticed the disgruntled looks on the faces of witches that had now formed a queue to make use of the facilities. Strolling by nonchalantly, she stopped abruptly when she overheard the harassed voice of the barkeep, "Milly!"

"Yes, Master Tom?" panted a weary-sounding house-elf.

"Milly, where is Jim? This place is utter chaos! The Floo brings more customers by the minute and the kitchen is struggling to keep up. What are the other elves doing?"

"Master Tom, Mister Jim is having to leave; Mister Jim is saying he is having to look after his sick old mam. Other elves are being busy with hungry customers. Milly also servin' customers."

"When I get my hands on that boy..." The old barkeep's usually pleasant demeanour was beginning to falter with frustration.

"How am I supposed to run this joint without my staff? That boy very well knows this be our busiest time of year. What am I--"

Seeing an opportunity, Melantha quickly interrupted as if on cue, "Sir, Mr. Tom, perhaps I could be of assistance."

"Tom, jus' Tom, lass. But right now I'm in a bit of a rush, so if ye'll kindly just take to the queue--"

Jumping to the point, she swiftly stated, "I need a job." The old barkeep looked somewhat taken aback at this. In the mean time, Melantha, deciding that she had nothing to lose, continued before he could respond, "And a place to stay; I'll work hard and I'll do whatever is necessary."

Giving her an appraising glance, he took in her earnest appearance before he replied, "Well, it doesn't look as if as if I have much of a choice, what with the likes of this crowd probably lasting the whole week. Fine, you start now and I'll be payin' ye ten Galleons a week. Any tips are ye own, now let's go--."

Hoping to make the most of her situation, she interjected, "Fifteen Galleons, with meals."

The crowds were growing larger and rowdier, so he quickly amended, "Twelve, with meals twice a day; it's the best I can do lass."

Realising that she did not have infinite prospects, she replied, "Done. Where should I start?"

Sparing her a toothless grin, he said, "Milly, take that cloak to Jim's old room and get the lass an apron. Missy, you can take them orders and serve. Mind you don't use any magic; with this kind of crowd we can't be havin' no accidents."

The elf grimaced for a moment as she took the cloak and disappeared. A second later, she appeared with a crisp, white apron, which she hastily tied around Melantha's waist.

"Yes sir, of course." The barkeep had already skittered off to a group of boys, intent on helping themselves to drinks from behind the counter.

She spent most of the day working her way between the crowds as she carried out orders of food and drink. Her badly repaired hand made serving difficult, but she was careful not to drop anything lest she be fired only a few hours into her new job.

* * * * * *

By ten that evening, the crowd had eventually dwindled and Melantha could finally rest her aching feet. She had never done so much manual labour in her life; her family's elves had always catered to her every whim. No, it would not help to think that way anymore. This was the way her new life was going to be and she had to get used to it, and soon. She did not have a family and as she was now on her own; her survival depended on her working.

Seated at the large, scrubbed table in the pub's kitchen, Melantha began to eat a bowl of stew with fervour. It had been on the day's menu and she was relishing it. Since her last meal had been over twenty-four hours ago (the disastrous lunch at Malfoy Manor), she was ravenous. Serving and watching others eat the whole day had been torture. She was mid-way through her meal, popping a piece of stew-covered bread into her mouth, when the old barkeep strode in to take a seat across from her.

"Busy day, not always like this though. This week just happens to be the last of the holidays before ol' Hogwarts opens on the first. T'is the same every year: last minute shopping for supplies, hordes of students meeting to enjoy the last of the holidays."

"Mm-hmm." Melantha was listening with only half an ear and offered an occasional nod to feign interest. Right now, her only concern was filling the void in her mid-section.

Noticing how fast she had devoured her food and that she was now slowly cleaning up any traces of the stew with a piece of bread, he nodded imperceptibly at Milly who had been clearing up. The elf swiftly refilled the bowl with steaming stew. Melantha gratefully continued to eat after a muffled word of thanks.

Giving her a chance to finish her meal, the barkeep continued, "You worked very well today, couldn't tell it was your first time. It's a stroke of luck that we got you to replace that Jim at such a busy time. That lazy boy never worked as well as you by half; we're good to be rid of the louse. It's a wonder a fine young lass such as yourself would want to spend all their time working for a codgy, old barkeep. Don't get me wrong, we're mighty glad to have ye."

Melantha swallowed her last mouthful, taking a moment to ponder the question that had been implied, before she replied, "Well, no, I don't suppose I plan on working in a bar forever, but right now I do really need this job, I--"

Seeing the look of worry that flitted across her face, he hastily said, "No Missy, please, I'm not firing ye. Ye have the job for as long as ye be needing it. I jus' thought ye might've had some other plans, perhaps with finishing school somewhere in time."

For the moment, she was relieved that she was not going to be on the streets again. Truth be told, she had no future plans other than to try to survive each day as it came. Everything had happened so fast that she had not given much thought of a contingency.

When no immediate response came from the young girl, he continued, "I'm guessing ye'd be in sixth, maybe seventh year? Judging by the way ye worked today, I'd say ye were a fine Hufflepuff such as meself." There was a touch of pride as he spoke about his former House.

She knew of the legendary Hogwarts and its four houses that were named after each of the school's founders. The only house that was apparently worth being associated with was the noble house of Salazar Slytherin; or so she had been told. Considering it had been her parents and their friends who had thought this, she was rather inclined to believe the contrary.

"Well, the thing is, I was tutored at home, so I don't attend Hogwarts. Right now, I don't think that really is an option."

"Very well, if you're done, then Milly will be showin' ye to ye room. We need to get an early start to deal with tomorrow's rush. It'll probably be even worse than today."

"Milly. Please show... well I don't think you've mentioned..." he trailed off, realising he did not know her name.

"Oh, of course, I should have said before," she replied somewhat embarrassed before continuing, "My name is Me-Morgana." She had suddenly realised that it would not be in her best interests to broadcast her true identity in case of an encore to her previous episode in the alley. For some obscure reason, Morgana had been the first alias to pop into her head. She felt surprisingly comfortable using the name; it seemed unexpectedly to suit her better than Melantha, a name she had always loathed. She did, however, seem to think that there was something more to it; something in the recesses of her memory told her so, but then perhaps a name was just a name...

The barkeep regarded her closely. He noticed her little lapse but chose not to press the issue. Although she had tried to hide it, he had seen the bruising on her face and the way she walked stiffly.

"Yes, well, good-night then, Morgana."

"Good-night, Tom, and thank you."

Melantha rose and an elf swiftly took her empty bowl. She followed Milly out and down the passage past the lavatory that she had made use of earlier; they reached a door at the end of the passage that she had failed to notice earlier. She was then led through the door and into another passage off to the left, taking note of a stairway that was on the right.

Seeing her inquisitive look towards the stairs, the house-elf said, "Stairs lead to guest rooms and roof. Elves look after guests and rooms, but Miss can see roof if she likes; Master Tom likes to rest on roof. Roof has very nice view of the Alley and sometimes even Milly is enjoying seeing everything and being in fresh air. Roof is Milly's favourite place in the Cauldron, maybe sometime Milly will show Miss Morg. "

"Thank you, Milly. Um, my room?"

"Beggin' your pardon, Miss. Master Tom is telling Milly Miss Morg' is to have Mr Jim's room. Mr Jim is being very lazy, Milly is glad Miss Morg' is workin' here. Milly sees how well Miss Morg' works. Milly has cleaned Miss Morg's room for Miss; last door on right. Milly make sure Miss Morg' is up nice and early."

Melantha was amazed to hear the animated nattering of the little house-elf; certainly, no elf in her former household was ever permitted to speak in such a candid fashion. Melantha decided that she liked the elf immensely.

"Thank you Milly."

"Miss Morg' is most welcome. Milly is seeing Miss in the morning." The elf handed her a large brass key before disappearing. Melantha unlocked the door and stepped into the room, muttering a quick Lumos, which sent the wall sconces blazing.

Melantha had always loathed the darkness from an early age, a fear her father had wasted no time in exploiting. Whenever she had been punished, it had been a cold and dark cellar that awaited her. Therefore, as a young girl, she had been quick to learn the spell that would relieve her of the darkness. While most parents would have been proud of such an accomplishment by their young offspring, her parents were not. Her father had been livid that she had managed to best him.

She closed the door and took in her surroundings: The room was small and sparsely furnished. There was a single bed in the opposite corner with a small bedside table. Above the bed was a high-set window where a sliver of moonlight shone through. Gazing out, Melantha could tell that it would be full moon in a few days time.

On the right was a small hearth; Melantha kneeled before it and held her open palm to it. Concentrating, she said, "Incendio." A small flame jumped from the pile of wood and it began to burn. It had been a while since she had attempted wandless magic as she had always relied heavily on her wand; it had always been easier than bothering with wandless. If every day was as busy as today was, then there was no telling when she would be able to get a new wand. She was going to have to rely on her natural ability and sharpen her skills while she was at it.

At the end of the room, to her right, was a closed door; while to her immediate left was a small wardrobe; she pulled open the single door and saw that it was not empty. Her travelling cloak hung, freshly laundered, next to a wizard's robe. The robe, while definitely not new, was in good enough condition to use. Without an unlimited supply of gold, she would have to make do with whatever came her way. Moving aside the two garments, she found a grey wizard's shirt that was more worn than the robe. Well, I suppose it will do, she thought before grabbing it. She closed the door and dumped the shirt on the bed as she headed to what she hoped was a bathroom.

She walked through the door at the end of the room into a small shower-room. Fitted with the basic necessities, she noted that while it was not five-wand accommodation, it was at least clean. Tired and aching after a long day's work, Melantha decided on a hot shower before heading to bed.

Quickly stripping out of her grubby robe, she stepped into the small cubicle and turned on the hot spray, allowing the warmth to soak in and soothe her stiff, sore body.

Things were finally looking up; she had a job and a place to stay, but best of all, she was on her own, free at last. Yes, everything was okay... She was okay.

Maybe if she kept telling herself that comforting little lie, then maybe, just maybe she might actually start believing it. Melantha slid to the floor as she was overcome by gut-wrenching sobs. Nothing was okay, and she was not okay. So much had happened; how the hell was she going to survive? How could things have gotten so bad? And Lucius, that utter pig, how could he have done that to her? Her life had never been normal, had never had warm unconditional love flowing freely around her, but she had never imagined that her own family could harbour such hatred towards her; that her own father would rather see her dead by his own wand than have her living outside of his control.

It would be only too easy to just end it all; no, she could not give them the satisfaction she knew her death would bring. She could not let them win after she had been given a second chance. Someone had wanted her to live and although she may never know who that person was, she was in their debt and it meant something to her; she could not take it lightly by simply ending her life. She would take control of her life.

Her life. She would live, she would make her life her own, and have the small consolation that doing so would spite her father.

With a new sense of resolution, Melantha stood up and began to wash herself with the little bar of soap left by the house-elves. She worked a lather into her hair and grimaced; it would be a while before she could treat herself to luxuries such as a foaming hair potion.

Sighing, she rinsed herself off and wrapped herself in the thin, rough towel that hung behind the door. She hastily stepped into the room that had grown warm and cozy from the fire. She stood before the hearth and began to dry off. She reached for the old shirt that she had left on the bed earlier and looked at it in distaste. She closed her eyes and envisioned a plain nightdress. Feeling the garment grow warm in her hands, she opened her eyes to find a knee-length nightdress that resembled the one she had envisioned. It was no couture, but it would do. She slipped on the garment and sat herself on the now warm floor before the fire as she waited for her damp hair to dry.

Once her hair was sufficiently dry, she climbed into bed, noticing that the contents of her travelling cloak had been deposited on the bedside table; her drawings were in a neat heap while her small pouch of gold sat atop it.

"Nox." The torches went out and the room was basked in an orange glow from the fire, while flecks of silver danced across her face, courtesy of the waxing moon.

It would never compare to the comfort of her old room, but it was better than camping out in a putrid alley. She was warm and safe, and for now, that was all that mattered.

Melantha, no, Morgana, closed her eyes and hoped she was not lying when she told herself everything was now going to be okay.

* * * * * *

Hmm, tutored, she says? Well there's not many that choose to besides a few of them aristocratic pureblood families. Whether Hogwarts is an option or not, I suppose we'll jus' have to see about that, thought the old barman as he sat eating his own late dinner.

"Pippin, get me a quill and parchment; and get Gertrude in for me, she's got a bit of flight. The fresh Highland air should do her some good."

"Right away Master Tom," replied the house-elf.

* * * * * *

Groaning, Melantha pulled the covers over her head hoping the insistent nudging to her shoulder would go away.

"Too early Flora, I'll do my lessons later," she whined.

"Flora? Lessons? Is Milly, Miss Morg'. You is wakin' up now if Miss Morg' is wantin' breakfast. Milly is cleanin' Miss' clothes, so Miss is dressin' and comin' to eat; we is starting early in The Cauldron," squeaked the house-elf in her too-high-pitched-for-the-morning voice.

The Leaky Cauldron, she remembered. Yes, she was no longer at home; or rather, this was her new home now. In retrospect, she never really had a home to begin with; she had always been nothing more than a prisoner in a fancy cage.

"Morning Milly; I'm up, I'm up, you can stop poking me now." Pulling down the covers, she rolled out of bed, hissing as her bare feet hit the cold floor. She hastily slipped on the black loafers that she was wearing when she left home. She made her way to the bathroom and sluggishly performed her morning ablutions. She made a mental note to get an oral-cleansing potion; she knew there was a mouth-cleansing charm, but any charm falling remotely into the domestic category was beyond her. A well bred witch of noble bloodline need never raise her wand to perform any menial tasks. What were house-elves for?

When she returned to the room, Milly had already left and her now clean robes were on the bed. She picked them up and regarded them for a moment before making her way to the wardrobe. Without an endless variety of garments, such as she'd had before, her only robe would see some serious wear-and-tear if she were to wear it every single day. She reached for the robe that Jim had left and pulled it on; it hung loosely on her frame and the sleeves fell past her fingertips.

Closing her eyes and scrunching up her face in concentration, she gripped the robe tightly as she pictured it closer to her size. Her hands grew warm and she looked down to see she had successfully... well almost successfully, resized the robe; the hem was a tad too short. Well, she was no seamstress; sighing in resignation, Melantha ran her fingers through her hair in a bid to ease out the tangles before tying it at the back of her head.

She knew that due to circumstances her appearance was less than stellar. What really frustrated her to no end was being wandless. If her previous day's schedule was anything to go by, then she would have no time to remedy the matter. How was she supposed to survive without a wand? Her hair looked a mess, her clothes were shabby and her breath was certainly no bed of roses. It really made her wonder and appreciate just how hard life must be for Muggles; life without a wand was simply unfathomable.

Upon hearing the unflattering growl from her stomach, Melantha was forced to forgo her present crisis of being wandless. She left the room and made her way to the kitchen where a number of pointed ears could be seen dashing between tables. Seeing the newest member of staff arrive, Milly gave the order for her to be given breakfast. Melantha almost gasped as a pair of small hands behind her knees steered her towards a seat at the table.

A second later, a steaming bowl of porridge was set before her, along with some buttered toast and a green apple. There was also a large goblet filled with a red juice. She made short work of the meal and took a sip of the juice; it was not berry as she had earlier surmised, but she found it pleasant all the same. She had just drained the last of it when Milly approached. "Miss is likin' the rhubarb juice? Milly is makin' herself."

"Rhubarb? Well, I suppose there's a first time--"

"Milly is sorry but no time for chit chat. Lots to do and stomachs to fill. Milly is showin Miss Morg' what she is to be doin'."

Melantha followed the little elf while listening intently to her orders for the day; she could tell it was going to be a long one.

* * * * * *

Once again tired and sweaty after a long, tedious day, Melantha ate supper with the image of a hot shower and a warm bed the forefront in her mind. She had just risen from her seat when the door opened. Expecting to see Tom or even one of the many house-elves, it was to her immense surprise see a tall, old, merry-looking wizard. Before her, long, snowy white beard and all, stood none other than Albus Dumbledore.

"Morgana, is it? I'm Professor Dumbledore, it's a pleasure to meet you." The old wizard bowed as he acknowledged her.

Melantha gazed back into a pair of sparkling blue eyes on a wizened old face. Like anyone in the wizarding world, she had heard much about this wizard; one of the most powerful wizards of their time, the great defeater of Grindewald; mad old coot Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had seen his face many times in the Daily Prophet and various historical tomes, but seeing him in person was a completely new experience.

He was wearing a velvet, sky-blue robe with a matching pointed wizard's hat that was scattered with moving asteroids. She lightly shook his outstretched hand before replying slowly, "It is an honour to meet you, sir." What is he doing here? wondered Melantha.

As Headmaster of one of the most prestigious magical schools in the world, Albus Dumbledore had seen many young minds pass through the halls of Hogwarts. Some had aspired to greatness, while others... others had fallen worse than the likes of old Gellert himself. Perhaps it was wisdom garnered from years of experience or maybe he was simply gifted, but he had always had an uncanny ability to read others.

Therefore, it came as nothing less than a surprise when, for the first time in decades, he was completely stumped. Morgana, this girl, was unlike anyone he had ever encountered. Forget that until that very morning in a letter from an old barkeep, he had never heard of her. Her mere presence seemed to unsettle him somewhat. While he could not quite put his finger on it, he could not exactly rule out her strange aura as evil.

He locked gazes with her, his serene smile never once faltering. He had to know more about this girl; he knew each of his pupils and she would be no exception, thought Dumbledore.

Melantha gazed back coolly, her features guarded. An instant later her inner alarm bells were sounding and she hastily slipped up her mental shields with practiced ease; she had realised what the older wizard had been attempting to do. She was loath to admit that some of her tutoring had actually proven to be of some use. She had been forcefully trained in Occlumency, her every thought and memory ruthlessly invaded until she was able to erect the strongest of mental barriers in a bid to protect her mind.

She had felt the gentle probing along the periphery of her mind, and while it was a complete contrast to the mental assaults she had been subjected to, she had immediately sensed an invasion by a Legilimens. Although she knew he had seen nothing, it was an attempted invasion of her mind, her most private sanctuary, and she had experienced too much to allow herself to be taken advantage of in even the slightest of ways.

Retracting his mental advances, Dumbledore took in her now frosty demeanour. Perhaps he had ventured too far; he had sensed her shield her mind, which could only mean that she knew exactly what he had attempted to do. This gave him pause as the teaching of Occlumency and Legilimency were not usually done with someone so young. This only added to the questions he had about this girl. He felt having her at Hogwarts, would be the best way for him to keep an eye on her and discover who she really was.

The older wizard at least had the grace to look somewhat contrite. "My apologies for being so bold. I did not mean to offend you."

Melantha was not swayed by his attempt to apologise.

"Really? Or perhaps you're merely sorry that you were found!" she sneered, rage blazing in her dark eyes.

"Forgive an old man's mistake, I meant you no harm. On the contrary, I merely wished to help."

Not entirely convinced, she gazed at him through narrowed eyes. "My thoughts are my own. And what gave you the idea I even need your help?" she scoffed.

Her reaction seemed somewhat familiar; her strong will reminded him of an encounter a number of years ago. Dumbledore dismissed the idea before it had a chance to settle in his thoughts, shrugging it of as a mere coincidence; the girl was probably just displaying her want for independence.

"If I could have a moment of your time to explain not only myself but also why I am here," he said, gesturing to a chair for her to be seated.

Melantha ignored the proffered the seat and pointedly sat herself at the furthest end of the table. Dumbledore watched in amusement before seating himself. A moment of silence passed in which a staring contest ensued before Morgana ventured sardonically, "I take it you're not here for the soup of the day then?"

Chuckling lightly, he replied, "While I'm sure the soup must be delightful, I confess my visit this lovely evening does bear more weight than the delectable cuisine served here. Syrup lemon?" He pulled out a small transparent sachet from within his robes that held what appeared to be lemon peels drenched in a pinkish syrup.

"Er, no, thank you," she replied somewhat perplexed. Where was he going with all this? Maybe they weren't lying when they said he was crazy...

"Ah well, perhaps another day then; more for me I suppose. Muggles truly are geniuses when it comes to the finer confectionery. Simply marvellous; who would have imagined, syrup lemons? Well obviously someone, but I fear I digress," he said before plucking one of the peels and beginning to suck on it.

After a moment he continued, "Do you know that Tom is a very good friend of mine? It was with great interest that I was informed of a certain young lady that had recently come into his employ with nothing but the clothes on her back, looking as though she came out on the wrong side of a duel. I see he wasn't exaggerating in that regard."

Melantha averted her gaze; she had noticed just this morning that her bruises were as garish as ever. It was foolish to believe that it would go unnoticed, but she had hoped her luck would pull through. Obviously, there would be no such luck. She had been told by an adamant elf that Master Tom expected all the staff to be presentable at all times and as such, no loose hair was permitted. Since this was not a Knockturn Alley establishment, she did not have the luxury of hiding beneath a hood.

She felt Exposed, even without being subjected to Legilimency, and the feeling was disconcerting.

Melantha met his gaze defiantly. "I do not see how any of this is pertinent--"

"Tom mentioned that you had no plans of completing your studies. I am sure you understand the importance of qualifying as a full-fledged witch. There are troubled times ahead, Morgana, and every witch and wizard needs as much magical education and control over their powers as possible. Hogwarts can offer you this."

Melantha haughtily countered, "I have told Tom already, and I will tell you the same, Hogwarts is not an option for me right now. Besides, what makes you think I don't already know all I need to? My tutoring was quite intensive and I do have a plan--"

"I sense that you have great potential; it would be such a shame to never see where it may lead. Hogwarts can also offer you protection. Many have seen it as a sanctuary and it still stands as such. As for your plan, I know Hogwarts might inconvenience it, but all I am asking is that you at least consider my proposal."

Melantha was out of excuses, his offer did sound very tempting and they would never find her there. However, there was the little concern of finance. She did not have enough funds to pay her way through Hogwarts for the next two years.

Dumbledore had been watching her reactions very closely and for a moment he was sure he had seen something akin to hope on her guarded features, but an instant later she was once again impassive.

It was no use dwelling on novel ideas involving warm, fuzzy feelings of safety where she was concerned. As long as she was still alive, there would always be the hovering threat that they would find her. Dismissing the idea before the seed of hope that his offer had planted could bloom, she plainly stated with a hint of frustration, "I cannot afford the fees, therefore the topic of Hogwarts is altogether moot."

While she knew her current state of poverty could not be helped, it still hurt her pride having to admit it aloud.

Smiling lightly, the Headmaster replied, "My girl, you need not worry. Hogwarts has a fund for students in unfortunate circumstance such as your own. I would not have broached the subject if there were any obstacles that would impede your coming to Hogwarts."

Deeply affronted at the suggestion, she ignored the well-meaning words. What utter tosh! She needed no one's donations! Without a second thought she pompously replied, "I will not be anyone's charity case. Save your precious fund for one in desperate need of it."

Melantha would not be in anyone's debt; her pride would not allow her, even if it meant asylum and a means to a better life. It was bad enough owing a life-debt to some unknown saviour; she did not need incur any more debt.

Opting for an alternate approach, he ventured, "Tom tells me that while you are being paid to work here, food and accommodation are a part of the deal?"

"Yes, but what--"

"Well, what I propose is this: you come to Hogwarts where we offer you the same, perhaps with the circumstances tweaked somewhat, if you will."

Puzzled, Melantha queried, "Tweaked circumstances?"

"Well, as you are adamant about not being a charity case, as you so put it, how would you feel about earning your place at Hogwarts? I am sure I could arrange something with our caretaker or perhaps our librarian. I know our groundskeeper would also be delighted to have your assistance. This way, you can attend Hogwarts through your own means. How does that sound to you?"

Melantha had been listening intently and was now thinking that perhaps she should have graciously accepted the initial offer, instead of allowing her damn pride to interfere. Working in a pub below the radar, so to speak, was one thing; working in a large school where her potential peers would be present, would be downright embarrassing.

Demeaning work aside, by attending Hogwarts, her opportunities were endless.... No, this was the only way, pride be damned! While her life had not been filled with hugs and kisses, everything she had been given had been the best money could buy. Her parents had a standard of life that had to be adhered to and that had extended to her. However, all the money and material things around her meant nothing, as she had grown to realise that she had been counted as one of her parents' many possessions. She had been owned and adorned as though she were a part of the estate, nothing more than a pretty trinket. It made her sick thinking about it.

Hogwarts was her way out, her way of finally breaking free from everything in her past. It was her new beginning. Now she had a chance to be her own person and make it on her own without depending or being indebted to anyone. The feeling was liberating and if doing so meant having to get her hands dirty, then so be it. She had endured worse and though she was sure working at Hogwarts would prove to be a humbling experience, since it was choosing the lesser evil where her pride was concerned.

Resolved, she replied, "I think that suits me just fine."

"Very well then. I think you will be a fine addition to our school. Down to business then, shall we? Let see, all students are expected to arrive via the Hogwarts Express, which departs from Platform nine and three quarters at King's Cross at precisely eleven on the morning of September first. The train will arrive at Hogsmeade station, not far from Hogwarts, where students then make their way towards the school. I understand from my earlier discussion with Tom that you will be doing your sixth year, however, I must ask that you proceed with the rest of the first years. Are you following so far?"

Melantha had been listening closely but what bothered her the most was the fact that she was expected to board a train with a number of other students for a few hours. As a new sixth year student, there was bound to be questions directed her way and she was not sure if she was ready to divulge anything from her past.

With that thought on her mind, she blurted, "Do I have to take the train? If Hogsmeade is not too far from Hogwarts, I could easily A--" she quickly broke off, realising that she would have admitted to Apparating without a licence.

With a knowing look he prompted her, saying, "You could easily what?"

"Uh, I'm sure it would be no problem boarding the train," she said in a rush. With no alternative, she knew that she would just have to bear it out somehow and take each moment as it came.

"Ah yes, that's what I thought. If you need any help getting to the station I am sure Tom would be happy to help you. Here you go." He handed her a train ticket that had 'Hogwarts Express, Platform nine and three quarters' printed in gold lettering.

"Thank you. Do you have a list of books and supplies I will need?"

"Yes, yes of course. I almost forgot." He then handed her a thick roll of parchment.

"You'll find a list of everything you will require as well as a set of rules and expectations of the school. I daresay you could find everything you need right here in Diagon Alley."

There was a moment of silence as Melantha gazed in disbelief at the rolls of parchment in her hands. She was going to Hogwarts.

Dumbledore got to his feet and a second later Melantha did the same. "Well, I do believe we are done, unless of course you have any queries?"

"No, no I'm fine, thank you."

The change in her tone was noticeable and the Headmaster was glad that she had become somewhat congenial.

"Very well, I should be on my way then. Time waits for no man and the week before school begins is always chaos. I wish you well, Morgana, and trust that I will see you at Hogwarts on the first. Good night, my dear." The old wizard smiled kindly at her before he made for the door.

Seeing that he was about to leave, Morgana quickly spoke, "Headmaster Dumbledore." The old wizard turned around to face his newest student as she continued, "I just-that is-thank you," she finished bashfully.

Smiling, the old wizard replied, "You are most welcome, my dear." Before striding out of the warm kitchen.

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