CHAPTER 1

Harry Potter was just too sensitive for his own good. Empathy was yet another endearing quality of this wonderful boy, though many would call it a curse.

He couldn't stand it when girls cried.

Harry hated it when he thought he had made a girl feel bad. He would do almost anything to stop the tears, anything to relieve his sense of guilt and responsibility.

And the girls knew it.

Harry's reputation as a push-over had spread through Hogwart's female population with alarming rapidity. Nearly every girl in the school knew of Harry's quick-trusting, giving, and guilty nature, and many intended to take advantage of it.

Seraphim Cattily was one of these girls. Though very beautiful on the outside, there was nothing at all angelic about this girl as her name suggested. A more fitting title might have been Lucifera, appropriate for someone as cruel, greedy, and dangerous as Seraphim Cattily.

What made her most dangerous was Seraphim's skill at deception, persuasion, intimidation, and subtlety. She could dictate your every move to her whim without leaving so much as a hint of her involvement. There was no doubt about it: Seraphim Cattily was the master of deceit.

Seraphim stood in the small chamber off the entrance hall, glaring in distaste at the tiny eleven-year-olds packed in with her and twirling a blonde curl around her finger in boredom.

Seraphim was sixteen, and her parents had forced her to transfer from Durmstrang to Hogwarts--a much lesser school in her opinion--for her sixth and seventh years. She had screamed, raged, begged, cried, and even bribed but nothing could dissuade her parents from the transfer.

The nervous first years shied away from her, some looking nervous and some downright frightened of having an upperclassman in the room with them. Seraphim chuckled to herself; nothing at all about her appearance was frightening.

Soft, blonde curls with sun-kissed highlights fell around her face to just past her shoulders. Typical, right? But her eyes were anything but. They were a deep shade of purple, framed by thick, dark lashes that fanned impressively against her porcelain skin. She was perfectly proportioned, toned but soft. Exquisite, she had been called.

'Miss Cattily, you will be sorted last, so just wait in here as the first years are sorted,' instructed a woman with a stern face and a tight, black bun: Professor McGonagall.

'Yes, ma'am,' Seraphim agreed demurely, inclining her head and smiling shyly. She had figured out long ago that if you charmed the adults early, no one would suspect ill about you. She pretended to listen attentively as McGonagall explained the houses, the point system, and the discipline plan to the first years. She had become quite talented, as well, at pretending to look interested. If you look at a spot between people's eyes when they speak to you, it looks like you're really looking them in the eye. Very convincing.

The first years filed out, shuffling their feet and fidgeting with nerves. Seraphim smiled at them, remembering how she had felt on her first day at Durmstrang: bloody terrified. But not of the huge people surrounding her, not of the dark arts they taught, but of being too weak.

At Durmstrang, everyone was tough, just by nature. If you weren't as strong as anyone else, you were picked on, beat up, sometimes tortured, and the teachers turned a blind eye, or even joined in. If you weren't physically tough, like Seraphim, you had to find another way to intimidate and defeat. In her case, it had been found in her acting skills and her intellect. They had saved her neck many a time.

'Miss Cattily! We're ready for you,' came McGonagall's whip-like voice through the door. Seraphim stood and smoothed her robes. She took a few deep breathes, put on her best nervous face, and followed the Professor into the Great Hall. It was filled to bursting with students, all watching her, curious about the new girl in their midst.

'Cattily, Seraphim!' McGonagall called, gesturing for her to sit on a small stool. She did so and the old woman placed a frayed and torn hat on her head. Normally she wouldn't have let that ratty thing near her, but she wanted to look as Hogwarts-like as possible.

'Well, well, lookey here,' said a quiet voice in her head, causing her to jump. Nothing she had read about the Sorting Hat mentioned that it would speak to her. 'So much ambition. Greed, intelligence, audacity, confidence, so many qualities of so many houses. But where to put you…' Seraphim waited with her eyes closed, gripping the edges of the stool in mock anticipation. 'SLYTHERIN!'

The hat shouted this word to the whole hall. The table on the far left erupted in cheers. She could see one boy with sleek platinum blonde hair eyeing her with interest. She smiled flirtatiously at him and ran to snag the seat beside him. A girl with short hair and a pug face glowered at her from across the table.

Seraphim laughed at Dumbledore's opening statement ("Eat, eat, and eat some more! Must have plenty of energy with which to block out the lessons tomorrow!"), and spoke to the boy she was sitting by.

'Hi,' she said coyly, barely catching his eye. She knew that some boys loved a challenge, innocence, shyness, and this boy looked just the type.

'Hey,' he said back, his voice a low tenor, smooth and mellow. 'I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy,' he said, smirking and holding out a hand for her to shake. She did so gently, blushing convincingly and giggling.

'I've heard of you, your father works in the ministry,' she said truthfully. 'I'm Seraphim, but you can call me Sera.'

'That's a nice name. Fitting,' Draco said, giving her a once-over. Seraphim blushed deeper and giggled again, becoming suddenly interested in her food. She had learned to control her emotional signs--blushing, breathing, crying, laughing, smiling, even heart rate--by the age of seven, and she could convincingly portray any emotion at the drop of a hat. She was a hell of an actress.

She allowed Draco to introduce her to a few of his friends. The pug-faced girl was Pansy, who glared at her and squeezed her hand rather harder than necessary when shaking it. Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and a few others, as well. She was polite to all of them, smiling a lot and shooting furtive glances at Draco that she made sure were noticed by all of them.

Soon, the plates cleared and the talking died out. Seraphim once again pretended to listen as Dumbledore, the headmaster, spoke to the school about announcements, rules, banned items, advise, and the like. In other words, boring stuff no one cared about.

They were dismissed to their dormitories. Draco lead her all the way down to the Slytherin common room, which must have been under the lake or else it wouldn't have that odd green tint to the light. He then reluctantly handed her off to Pansy, who would be her roommate all year. Great.

The room was sparsely furnished, consisting primarily of two beds, two bureaus, a bookshelf, and a desk. All were made of a dark wood and upholstered or accented with green velvet. Seraphim immediately plopped down on what looked to be the comfiest bed, as the other one had a cracked leg that probably squeaked in the night. Pansy slammed--and locked--the door and turn to glare at her.

'I know exactly what you're trying to do, Seraphim,' she hissed, her glare furious enough to incinerate steel. Seraphim gave her a glance before turning back to her trunk.

'Why would you suspect me of something like that? I'm not doing anything,'' Seraphim lied, trying to look hurt and beginning to load her trunk into one of the bureaus.

'Like hell you aren't!' Pansy scoffed. 'You're trying to take Draco away from me, you little harlot.' She poked Seraphim sharply in the chest, her face an inch away. Seraphim took a step back, her amethyst eyes glinting dangerously, raising an eyebrow at the stocky girl threatening her.

'Just in case you didn't notice, it was Draco who was drooling at the sight of me, not the other way around,' she pointed out coldly. 'So get your gaudy little face out of mine.'

Pansy gaped at her. Despite the lightening-fast personality switch from bright and friendly to cold and threatening, she was used to being the alpha-girl. All the other girls had admired her for being allowed to get near Draco, the Slytherin prince; she had never had anyone insult her before, except for the Golden Trio, of course. She mouthed soundlessly for a moment before crying out, 'Gaudy?! What do you mean "gaudy," you…you, uh…'

'Not the brightest candle in the shop, eh?' Seraphim said calmly.

Pansy just stared, open-mouthed and confused.

Seraphim laughed quietly, her expression calculating and sardonic. 'I know why you're confused, really I do. I've seen that deer-in-the-headlights look too many times not to. You didn't expect me to insult your intelligence, did you? Too obvious?'

'Uh…'

'Yeah. But of course, I just follow my motto: do as your enemy expects, as they will not be expecting it.' Blank stare from Pansy. 'Let me explain in Laymen's terms:

'You're enemy always has expectations of you in battle, whether physical or verbal, whatever seems the most obvious or prudent course of action. You expected me to insult your intelligence, as most people would. But you, knowing by instinct that I am much more clever than yourself, knew that I would know what you expected of me. Of course, you would expect me to try and not do what you expected of me by doing something completely different. Therefore, you would be readying yourself for that other something, and, in order to catch you off guard with the best insult, I had to do what you originally expected, just because you weren't expecting it. Of course most of this is all done subconsciously. Understand?'

No response.

Seraphim chuckled again and, turning her back on the stunned girl, went about unpacking her trunk. A moment later she heard the door open, and close again. 'Ah, the rush of a well-executed takedown,' she thought euphorically. 'She'll be a dangerous one, though. Got to watch out for her.'