The night air was cold stepping out of the Hogwarts Express. Horseless carriages waited for the students heading up to the castle, the first years were being called by Hagrid the groundskeeper. Her long dark hair billowing about her, Guinevere stepped from the train for the fifth time in her life. She clasped her black shawl close over her shoulders with slender, graceful fingers, cold eyes gazing out from a pale, shapely face. Like every other Slytherin and daughter of a death eater, she had learned to hide her feelings behind a fake indifference.
Alone, she climbed elegantly into a carriage and seated herself near the window, waiting. As if she and the thestral she knew was harnessed outside shared a metaphysical connection, they slowly began to move up the road towards the castle gates, not waiting for and not expecting company. The others thought she was stuck up, she knew, but they were all weak and vulnerable to the manipulations of others; while she, friendless, yes, but having power over herself and her feelings could glide above their trivial school children drama. Over the summer she had been appointed prefect; fantastic, she had thought, now I have to take care of them too.
Her brother, Goyle, was starting this year. A stupid, ugly boy, she thought, just like my father, but thank God not as strong yet. My father, my pitiful, idiot father who does only what Lucius Malfoy tells him to do – and thanks to my greedy mother, who knew that marrying him meant marrying his family wealth, I'm here now. Here in a world I hate, living a life that will only lead to pain and suffering that no one can escape. I don't even know why I have any thoughts at all when my father and brother obviously have none and my mother couldn't care less, indulging herself all day with friends and narcotics. God, how I hate them.
The carriage came suddenly to a halt. Guinevere was shaken out of her reflections and saw other students unloading outside of her window. Collecting herself, she smoothed out her black robes and exited the carriage, stepping onto the ground with as much poise as was manageable. Head held high with eyes focused on the double doors beyond, she walked magisterially past her fellow Slytherins.
"There goes old Guin," they muttered amongst themselves, "Hasn't changed one bit, the haughty bitch. What she needs is a good-" Guinevere didn't hear the rest; she simply stood up straighter and walked right by.
She entered the Great Hall several minutes later, and reluctantly sat herself at an empty spot at the Slytherin table, where she was given a wide berth by the other students. The enchanted ceiling above showed a starry night sky, beautiful and wonderful as the infinite possibilities of love that had been wished upon them. As Guinevere looked up, a star streaked across the dining hall, sending a small jolt through her body. Slightly flustered, she looked around the hall, seeing if anyone else had noticed the rare occurrence; the students were all chatting and gossiping happily to each other, having spent another whole summer away from each other, and looked as if they hadn't noticed a thing.
Guinevere was wondering why she still felt as if her heart was still fluttering, when the hall suddenly quieted down and the first years entered the hall with professor McGonagall. The tight-lipped woman marched steadily down the center aisle with the first years, looking scared and intimidated as ever, in tow. Her brother, Gregory, however, was looking too stupid to be scared. He was walking next to the son of her father's best friend, Crabbe, and behind (lo and behold) Lucius Malfoy's son, who was doing a good job of looking haughty and unperturbed by all the staring faces.
My brother is a perfect copy of my father, how wonderful, Guinevere thought. Let him be another Voldemort puppet, see if I care. She thought vehemently. She watched on as the sorting hat was set on a stool, and listened, bored, as it began to sing. Then the sorting began, and first year after first year was put into their houses. Unsurprised, Guinevere saw her brother and his friend, Crabbe, sorted into her house, or rather, the Slytherin house – she would much rather not belong to any house at all. The blonde-haired, pale-eyed Malfoy boy was sorted into Slytherin as well, smirking as the hat shouted Slytherin after barely touching his head.
Guinevere watched with a slightly higher level of interest as Harry Potter came up to the stand. So that's him, she thought, scanning the skinny boy with round glasses and messy black hair. The hat descended over his green eyes and it was a long time before it cried out, "Gryffindor!" Would have been interesting if he'd ended up here, Guinevere thought, quite, considering his history…
Due to the fact that the only empty spots at the Slytherin table were the ones around Guinevere, she was soon surrounded by first years, and, unfortunately, her brother, who was sitting only one empty seat away from her. Even he doesn't like me, she mused, and he doesn't even have a brain. The Malfoy boy, Draco, she had learned from the sorting, was sitting between her brother and Crabbe; they had saved the seat for him. How immensely disgusting, Guinevere thought. The last name was called out, "Zabini, Blaise", and the tall, olive skinned boy came to sit in the last available Slytherin seat between Guinevere and her brother. He took in Guinevere before sitting down and unfolding a cloth napkin in his lap. He turned to her.
"Hello, I'm Blaise Zabini," he said in a voice that sounded surprisingly mature for his age.
"I gathered as much," Guinevere replied cooly.
"Well, yeah, I suppose you did," he said with a charming smile, unfazed. "You wouldn't happen to have a name too would you?"
Guinevere turned her head and found herself looking into two handsome, dark eyes gazing imploringly into hers. Slightly annoyed at the attempt at conversation, but flattered by the interest she replied.
"It's Guinevere, Guinevere Goyle."
"Nice to meet you, Guinevere," Blaise said, extending a hand cordially. Hesitantly, Guinevere took it, grasping his strong, dark fingers in her long white ones.