Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, I don't own the Labyrinth. If there's
stuff here that's unfamiliar to you, it's mine. I own the plot and the
idea, but I'm not making any money, so I'd be really grateful if nobody
sued me.
Author's Note: This is a Harry Potter/Labyrinth crossover of sorts. I've had to bend time a little bit, but I claim artistic license. I'd love to know what you as the reader think of the story: good, bad or mediocre.
Author's Note: I'm posting here as 'Apollonia', the name I used in the Buffy fandom, but HP fandomers are more likely to know me as 'Apolla'. Just thought I should let you know.
*
Thus far during this academic year there had been no upsets at Hogwarts. However, this statistic was made less impressive by the fact that the Sorting Hat had only just started sorting the new first years into Houses.
A small group of Sixth year students were huddled at one end of the Gryffindor table talking excitedly. Harry, Ron and Hermione had not seen each other almost at all during the summer and had much to catch up on.
They barely noticed the Sorting Ceremony, but retained enough concentration on it to clap and whoop loudly when a new student was selected for Gryffindor. When the ceremony was over they finally turned to see Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Wizardry & Witchcraft, stand to make several announcements.
"I have several notices. Firstly, I would like to remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is still, in fact, forbidden to all students," he paused to clear his throat slightly.
"Secondly, we are also welcoming a new student into the Sixth Year today. I believe she is arriving any moment now. Ah yes," he said as he saw a girl enter the room with Professor McGonagall.
***
The girl walked down the centre aisle of the dining room, between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. If she was nervous as the eyes of every student and teacher were upon her, she didn't show it. She walked calmly, if rather slowly, to the front of the room, where her new teachers awaited her.
Not short, not tall, the girl at first glance was perfectly normal. Yet only a slightly closer look would reveal a bone structure so delicate and so refined that it could not possibly be human.
She was certainly striking and her eyes (one green, one blue) glittered with untold thoughts. Her fingers were long and graceful, the sort which came in particularly useful for playing complex classical music on the piano. She also had what could only really be described as a thatch of red hair that had been tied into a plait at some point but which was now coming undone, leaving strands to fall in her eyes.
She was so delicate that she looked as if she didn't really exist, that she must be some rather pleasant looking figment of the imagination. This girl was one of the mysterious fae. Her lips were the only things she inherited entirely from her mother. Where her father's lips were thin, often a hard unyielding sneer, her mother's lips were full and red. Thus, so were hers.
***
"Orla Mac Nessa?" Professor McGonagall was now stood by the Sorting Hat and asked for the girl's name although she already knew exactly who she was. The girl nodded and sat on the stool, where the Professor then placed the Sorting Hat onto the girl's head.
"Hmmm," the hat said as it sprung to life. "Haven't had anyone this interesting in a while. Clever, yes, yes. Hmm. Cunning too, you'd make a fine Slytherin. You could be a great Slytherin yes. Lots of possibilities here. Oooh, you've got lots of your father in you, dear girl. Now... Hmmm. Clever and cunning. Oh, but what's this? Very brave and determined too, that's your mother, isn't it? Loyalty too. Oooh yes, you could be tremendous. Hmm. I know where to put you!"
The Sorting Hat shouted its answer: "Gryffindor!"
The house in question cheered as the girl took a seat. Dumbledore stood and said the magic words:
"Let the feast begin!"
***
The girl sat surrounded by first years. She ate only a little, still feeling rather uneasy. As the eleven-year-olds around her chattered, stuffing cakes into their mouths, she sat picking at her food. She could also hear others talking. More specifically, she could hear them talking about her.
"I wonder who she is?"
"You don't get many new students coming after First year. She's a Sixth year, after all."
"She looks nice enough."
This last comment came from one of the students at the other end of the table. She turned to look at the other Sixth year students. One of them, a young man with a shock of red hair, approached her.
"You want to come and sit with the rest of us Sixth years?"
"Is there space?" she asked rather uncertainly.
"There soon will be. Come on," he said. Then he turned and she followed.
The boy made everyone on her side of the table move down a space so she could sit between a girl with unruly brown curls and a boy whose accent immediately told her that he hailed from Manchester. They all nodded hellos of varying sorts. The brown haired girl turned to her.
"I'm Hermione Granger," she told Orla with a smile.
"I'm Ron," the boy with red hair interjected.
The boy from somewhere in the North West of England was identified as Neville Longbottom, two more were called Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, then Hermione pointed to a boy with messy black hair, green eyes and black spectacles, and a kind smile.
"This is Harry Potter," Hermione told her. If the girl knew the name, she didn't show it.
"Hello," Orla said to him rather quietly.
"You're... Orla?" Hermione asked, anxious to know if she'd got the name right.
"Yes. Orla."
"Where are you from?" Hermione, always curious, wondered.
"Oh... Well, it all depends," Orla looked nervously down at the table. She hadn't expected to deal with all of this before she'd even gone to sleep for the night.
"It's OK. Hermione's just the interrogative sort," said Harry, glaring at Hermione. For her part, Hermione glared back.
"Sorry. I'm just very tired. I had a long journey to get here."
"You weren't on the train?"
"No. I came a different way. There was no point going all the way down to London from Belfast."
"Belfast?" Seamus' interest was immediately piqued. "What were you doing in Belfast?"
"That's where I got the boat from," she said. "And to answer the other question, I've been living in a small town near Limavady for... A while."
A look of sadness flitted over her face, which they all noticed and realised that now was not the time to ask any more.
***
The feast over, Orla was taken by Hermione to their dormitory, a round room at the top of a tower. She found all her belongings had already been placed at the foot of what she assumed to be her new bed: a grand four poster affair with thick red and gold blankets.
"Oh, you're next to me," Hermione noted with a grin. "If you need anything, anything at all, let me know."
"Thank you," Orla smiled slightly before sliding tiredly into her bed.
It was nicer and much more comfortable than the bed she had slept in these past years and yet not as comfortable as her bed at home. Funny that she could still remember how her bed at home felt after all this time. Funny the things one remembers. With this thought in her head, Orla fell asleep.
***
"Wake up!" Hermione's sharp but not unkind voice drifted into the foggy recesses of Orla's mind. She cracked open one eye slightly and saw that sunlight was pouring into the room. Hermione was standing over her, already dressed.
"You'll be late. We have to pick up our schedules at breakfast. But I've got a sneaking suspicion we'll have double Potions first thing," she wrinkled her nose at this distinctly unappealing prospect.
Orla groaned but got out of bed just the same. Hermione waited patiently while she washed and dressed in her unfamiliar new robes and then led her to the Great Hall. They made it just in time for breakfast and found seats with Harry and Ron.
"Morning girls," said Ron. "Sleep well?"
"Wonderfully!" Hermione told him. "I always sleep well here."
"Fine thanks," Orla mumbled, still uneasy around all these unfamiliar people.
As Professor McGonagall handed out schedules, a groan rose from every Sixth year Gryffindor as they each discovered the horrid truth: On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays they had double Potions first thing in the morning with the Slytherins and the always amiable Professor Snape.
"Looking forward to classes?" Hermione asked Orla.
"Hermione, nobody looks forwards to class except you," Ron said. Hermione fixed him with a glare.
"Pay no attention to Ronald," she told Orla with a smirk towards Ron.
"This timetable just stinks," Ron said, reading further down. "Hardly any time for Quidditch practice."
As they had done the night before, they all avoided asking the girl Orla any probing questions, sensing that she would talk to them as and when she wanted to. Breakfast over, they had time to collect their books before heading down into the dungeons.
***
"Where's Orla? She'll be late. I don't want Snape to hate her right from the start," Hermione was beside herself. Professor Snape came in sneering at the Gryffindors as usual. He had barely begun speaking when the door opened and a flustered looking Orla came in.
"I'm terribly sorry, Professor..."
"Quite all right. Sit down quickly," he said in a dismissive tone.
Everyone turned to look at Orla. When had Snape ever let off anyone for being late? The entire class looked shocked. She settled down next to Ron and kept her head down for most of the class. The Slytherins, Draco most particularly, eyed her with interest. What did Snape know that they did not?
"How did you get away with that?" Harry asked after class.
"He never lets anything get by with a 'Quite all right', let alone lateness," Hermione added. The three of them looked to Orla for an answer.
"I... I don't know," she said in a manner that immediately alerted them to the fact that she did know but wasn't going to tell them.
"Ginny!" Ron called out. A girl from the year below approached and stuck her hand out to Orla.
"You're the new girl, right? Great to have you in Gryffindor. I'm Ginny Weasley, Ron's sister," the girl told Orla.
"Little sister," added Ron. Ginny smirked and stuck her tongue out at him.
"It's nice to meet you," Orla smiled politely, but her voice was still quiet.
***
The rest of the day continued in much the same vein. Orla spoke only a little, which concerned Hermione in particular.
"It isn't right that Orla's so quiet. I mean, she's hardly said a word to anyone all day. She's up in the dorm all on her own instead of down here with everyone. I mean, I'm not a social butterfly, but being on your own all the time like that isn't normal!" she said, pausing only briefly to take a breath.
Hermione, Harry and Ron were in the Gryffindor common room while Orla had already gone upstairs to the dorm. Ginny was sat by them, reading her Intermediate Transfiguration book.
"Maybe she's shy," Harry suggested distractedly, engrossed instead in the game of Wizard's Chess he and Ron were playing.
"Maybe she's hiding something," Ron said, not really meaning it, but moving another pawn.
"Maybe she's finding it hard adjusting to life at Hogwarts," Ginny put in from across the table where she was studying.
"After all, how many new students do you get in the Sixth Year?" added Harry. "Maybe she's worried she won't be good enough or won't fit in. I know I was like that at first, and I was only a first year."
"Thank you, Dr Harry," Ron said dryly, taking one of Harry's pawns with ease.
"I should talk to her," Hermione decided, getting up.
***
Orla sat staring out of the window into the darkness. She thought of home and of her parents. She thought of the safe haven in Ireland that had been her refuge for nearly five years. She also wondered, as Harry had correctly guessed, if she could make the grade here.
Her father was a powerful magician, but it was a markedly different sort of magic to that practiced at Hogwarts. She wondered about all of it. Indeed, Orla had not even owned a wand until very recently: a hand-me-down from her father (nine inches, silver birch, with an owl feather at the core) which had belonged to him as a boy. She had been told that most second hand wands were not as powerful, but it was nice to have something of his.
She worried about what would happen when they found out who she was, if they would even believe her. Would they give her preferential treatment, as Snape had already done that morning, or would they mock her? Orla wasn't sure. She turned away from the window, tiring of the silver moon that taunted her with memories of home.
She flopped onto her bed and pulled out of the nightstand drawer the only thing she had with her that had been her mother's. It was a small, delicately made gold music box with a dancing figure in the centre. The dancer had long brown hair, big brown eyes and cherry red lips. When she turned a key music played, a haunting melody indeed, and the dancer twirled in her pink ball gown. This girl was her mother a long time ago.
The tune played on, beautiful and sad, reminding her of stories told to her as a little girl. Her father had sung to her as the music played, lulling her to sleep. Now all she needed to do was close her eyes and she would hear him:
"I'll paint you mornings of gold, I'll spin you Valentine evenings..."
The light came on and Hermione stood framed in the doorway. Hurriedly, Orla closed the box and put it back into her drawer.
"Are you all right?" Hermione asked with genuine concern.
"Yes."
"I don't believe you," Hermione said gently.
"I just miss my family," Orla admitted.
"They live in Ireland? Are they wizards or Muggles?"
"No they live... Elsewhere. And they aren't wizards. They're.... Neither."
"How do you mean? If you don't want to talk, that's all right, but I was just worried. It isn't good to bottle up feelings. Especially around here, boarding school environment and everything."
"It's not that I don't want to tell you. It's just I'm not sure that I should," Orla said honestly, smiling weakly for Hermione.
"Well, you at least have to come and watch Ron and Harry play chess. It's getting interesting," said Hermione in a tone that left no room for argument.
Orla smiled wryly, got off the bed and followed the other girl down into the din on the common room. Ron and Harry were sat playing chess, each of them wearing looks of utmost concentration. Most of Gryffindor was watching the game.
"Hmmm. Castle to D6," said Ron. His castle moved forwards, blowing up Harry's bishop in the process. Harry sighed as Ron crowed, but they both stopped when Hermione and Orla sat down.
"Please, continue gentlemen," Hermione said. Ron won rather quickly after that, leaving Harry slightly disgruntled.
"Ron always wins," Hermione told Orla with a laugh.
"He does not always win," Harry said defensively. Ron cackled.
"Harry won. Once," he told Orla. "But I maintain it was unfair due to me coughing up slugs. It was distracting."
Orla giggled in spite of herself. As she look around the room at smiling, laughing Gryffindors, she realised that, if she tried, these people could be real friends.
***
Defence Against the Dark Arts was the first class they had the next morning, combined once again with the Slytherin Sixth years. Today they were studying the best strategies for fighting manticores and chimaeras. Then, halfway through the class, Professor Lupin was called to Dumbledore's office. Almost as soon as Lupin had gone, someone sidled over to where Orla sat with Hermione.
"Sod off, Malfoy," said Hermione without even looking up from her parchment. Orla looked up to see a Slytherin boy with cold grey eyes, white blond hair and a fairly unpleasant demeanour.
"I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy," he told Maura, extending his hand out to her.
"Orla Mac Nessa," she replied, shaking his hand without any warmth or feeling behind the gesture.
"Where are you from? I take it you're not a Mudblood?" Draco asked, pointedly ignoring Hermione. Hermione growled at the remark, but Orla was puzzled for a moment. However, she could guess at the meaning of the word. It would be so easy to snap back with what she knew was the mother of all answers, but she wasn't meant to tell.
"What concern is it of yours?" she asked flatly.
"None. But if you were a pureblood, I'd hate for you to sully the good name of your family by mixing with her sort," he nodded towards Hermione.
Behind them, Ron and Harry looked as if they were ready to pounce on Malfoy. But Orla stood up, drawing herself up to what seemed much taller than normal. She held herself imperiously and Draco cowered somewhat.
"Dear boy, my lineage is of no concern to you," her voice was loud and firm in contrast to the softly spoken girl Hogwarts had seen so far. "But if you insult my friend again, I'll make sure you become personally introduced to every one of my ancestors."
Without giving away details, Orla's tone made it clear that her ancestors might not be the friendliest of sorts, whoever they were. Her eyes flashed angrily and Draco skulked back to his seat. Orla sat back down to admiring stares for most, and a pleased if slightly embarrassed smile from Hermione.
"That's Draco," Hermione's voice quivered slightly.
"Don't you believe him for a second," Harry said, coming over. He looked at Orla. "Hermione's the best witch in our entire year, probably the whole school. Being a pureblood means nothing except that some people think it makes them superior."
Harry shot a look of pure fire at Malfoy at this point.
"Oh, I know the feeling," Orla said softly. "One day, that boy will question the wrong person," she added in a warning tone.
Harry and Hermione exchanged worried looks but said nothing.
***
Orla settled into the school fairly easily after that. Although sometimes prone to quiet moods, she had begun to open up a little to her housemates. Her background was still a mystery, but the Gryffindors decided that she was a good enough sort and that whatever it was she felt she had to hide was nothing as important as the fact that she was becoming a good friend.
Her classes were a little different, however. She excelled in Transfiguration and Charms, but Arithmancy and several other classes caused her difficulty. Potions varied wildly for her. Sometimes she understood it all before anyone else (with the exception of Hermione) but sometimes she couldn't fathom it at all.
She varied from introversion to extroversion with seeming ease, although she had not been genuinely at ease since arriving. Hermione had awoken several nights to find Orla thrashing wildly in her bed in the throes of clearly terrifying nightmares. If Orla remembered them the next day, she never said. Occasionally a haunted look could be seen on the girl's face and most of the school had noticed that she got even less mail than Harry did.
Then one day, just as the snow had begun to fall and McGonagall had begun asking for names of students staying over Christmas, Orla received a parcel at breakfast. It was a tiny box and had no return address. Indeed, the owl didn't even bother staying to see if she would reply. On seeing the handwriting, she bolted from the Great Hall and fled to the dorm. She was late into Potions, but Snape said nothing, although perhaps her tear- stained face had more to do with it this time that anything he knew about her.
***
More to come in chapter two. I thank you in advance for your reviews.
Author's Note: This is a Harry Potter/Labyrinth crossover of sorts. I've had to bend time a little bit, but I claim artistic license. I'd love to know what you as the reader think of the story: good, bad or mediocre.
Author's Note: I'm posting here as 'Apollonia', the name I used in the Buffy fandom, but HP fandomers are more likely to know me as 'Apolla'. Just thought I should let you know.
*
Thus far during this academic year there had been no upsets at Hogwarts. However, this statistic was made less impressive by the fact that the Sorting Hat had only just started sorting the new first years into Houses.
A small group of Sixth year students were huddled at one end of the Gryffindor table talking excitedly. Harry, Ron and Hermione had not seen each other almost at all during the summer and had much to catch up on.
They barely noticed the Sorting Ceremony, but retained enough concentration on it to clap and whoop loudly when a new student was selected for Gryffindor. When the ceremony was over they finally turned to see Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Wizardry & Witchcraft, stand to make several announcements.
"I have several notices. Firstly, I would like to remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is still, in fact, forbidden to all students," he paused to clear his throat slightly.
"Secondly, we are also welcoming a new student into the Sixth Year today. I believe she is arriving any moment now. Ah yes," he said as he saw a girl enter the room with Professor McGonagall.
***
The girl walked down the centre aisle of the dining room, between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. If she was nervous as the eyes of every student and teacher were upon her, she didn't show it. She walked calmly, if rather slowly, to the front of the room, where her new teachers awaited her.
Not short, not tall, the girl at first glance was perfectly normal. Yet only a slightly closer look would reveal a bone structure so delicate and so refined that it could not possibly be human.
She was certainly striking and her eyes (one green, one blue) glittered with untold thoughts. Her fingers were long and graceful, the sort which came in particularly useful for playing complex classical music on the piano. She also had what could only really be described as a thatch of red hair that had been tied into a plait at some point but which was now coming undone, leaving strands to fall in her eyes.
She was so delicate that she looked as if she didn't really exist, that she must be some rather pleasant looking figment of the imagination. This girl was one of the mysterious fae. Her lips were the only things she inherited entirely from her mother. Where her father's lips were thin, often a hard unyielding sneer, her mother's lips were full and red. Thus, so were hers.
***
"Orla Mac Nessa?" Professor McGonagall was now stood by the Sorting Hat and asked for the girl's name although she already knew exactly who she was. The girl nodded and sat on the stool, where the Professor then placed the Sorting Hat onto the girl's head.
"Hmmm," the hat said as it sprung to life. "Haven't had anyone this interesting in a while. Clever, yes, yes. Hmm. Cunning too, you'd make a fine Slytherin. You could be a great Slytherin yes. Lots of possibilities here. Oooh, you've got lots of your father in you, dear girl. Now... Hmmm. Clever and cunning. Oh, but what's this? Very brave and determined too, that's your mother, isn't it? Loyalty too. Oooh yes, you could be tremendous. Hmm. I know where to put you!"
The Sorting Hat shouted its answer: "Gryffindor!"
The house in question cheered as the girl took a seat. Dumbledore stood and said the magic words:
"Let the feast begin!"
***
The girl sat surrounded by first years. She ate only a little, still feeling rather uneasy. As the eleven-year-olds around her chattered, stuffing cakes into their mouths, she sat picking at her food. She could also hear others talking. More specifically, she could hear them talking about her.
"I wonder who she is?"
"You don't get many new students coming after First year. She's a Sixth year, after all."
"She looks nice enough."
This last comment came from one of the students at the other end of the table. She turned to look at the other Sixth year students. One of them, a young man with a shock of red hair, approached her.
"You want to come and sit with the rest of us Sixth years?"
"Is there space?" she asked rather uncertainly.
"There soon will be. Come on," he said. Then he turned and she followed.
The boy made everyone on her side of the table move down a space so she could sit between a girl with unruly brown curls and a boy whose accent immediately told her that he hailed from Manchester. They all nodded hellos of varying sorts. The brown haired girl turned to her.
"I'm Hermione Granger," she told Orla with a smile.
"I'm Ron," the boy with red hair interjected.
The boy from somewhere in the North West of England was identified as Neville Longbottom, two more were called Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, then Hermione pointed to a boy with messy black hair, green eyes and black spectacles, and a kind smile.
"This is Harry Potter," Hermione told her. If the girl knew the name, she didn't show it.
"Hello," Orla said to him rather quietly.
"You're... Orla?" Hermione asked, anxious to know if she'd got the name right.
"Yes. Orla."
"Where are you from?" Hermione, always curious, wondered.
"Oh... Well, it all depends," Orla looked nervously down at the table. She hadn't expected to deal with all of this before she'd even gone to sleep for the night.
"It's OK. Hermione's just the interrogative sort," said Harry, glaring at Hermione. For her part, Hermione glared back.
"Sorry. I'm just very tired. I had a long journey to get here."
"You weren't on the train?"
"No. I came a different way. There was no point going all the way down to London from Belfast."
"Belfast?" Seamus' interest was immediately piqued. "What were you doing in Belfast?"
"That's where I got the boat from," she said. "And to answer the other question, I've been living in a small town near Limavady for... A while."
A look of sadness flitted over her face, which they all noticed and realised that now was not the time to ask any more.
***
The feast over, Orla was taken by Hermione to their dormitory, a round room at the top of a tower. She found all her belongings had already been placed at the foot of what she assumed to be her new bed: a grand four poster affair with thick red and gold blankets.
"Oh, you're next to me," Hermione noted with a grin. "If you need anything, anything at all, let me know."
"Thank you," Orla smiled slightly before sliding tiredly into her bed.
It was nicer and much more comfortable than the bed she had slept in these past years and yet not as comfortable as her bed at home. Funny that she could still remember how her bed at home felt after all this time. Funny the things one remembers. With this thought in her head, Orla fell asleep.
***
"Wake up!" Hermione's sharp but not unkind voice drifted into the foggy recesses of Orla's mind. She cracked open one eye slightly and saw that sunlight was pouring into the room. Hermione was standing over her, already dressed.
"You'll be late. We have to pick up our schedules at breakfast. But I've got a sneaking suspicion we'll have double Potions first thing," she wrinkled her nose at this distinctly unappealing prospect.
Orla groaned but got out of bed just the same. Hermione waited patiently while she washed and dressed in her unfamiliar new robes and then led her to the Great Hall. They made it just in time for breakfast and found seats with Harry and Ron.
"Morning girls," said Ron. "Sleep well?"
"Wonderfully!" Hermione told him. "I always sleep well here."
"Fine thanks," Orla mumbled, still uneasy around all these unfamiliar people.
As Professor McGonagall handed out schedules, a groan rose from every Sixth year Gryffindor as they each discovered the horrid truth: On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays they had double Potions first thing in the morning with the Slytherins and the always amiable Professor Snape.
"Looking forward to classes?" Hermione asked Orla.
"Hermione, nobody looks forwards to class except you," Ron said. Hermione fixed him with a glare.
"Pay no attention to Ronald," she told Orla with a smirk towards Ron.
"This timetable just stinks," Ron said, reading further down. "Hardly any time for Quidditch practice."
As they had done the night before, they all avoided asking the girl Orla any probing questions, sensing that she would talk to them as and when she wanted to. Breakfast over, they had time to collect their books before heading down into the dungeons.
***
"Where's Orla? She'll be late. I don't want Snape to hate her right from the start," Hermione was beside herself. Professor Snape came in sneering at the Gryffindors as usual. He had barely begun speaking when the door opened and a flustered looking Orla came in.
"I'm terribly sorry, Professor..."
"Quite all right. Sit down quickly," he said in a dismissive tone.
Everyone turned to look at Orla. When had Snape ever let off anyone for being late? The entire class looked shocked. She settled down next to Ron and kept her head down for most of the class. The Slytherins, Draco most particularly, eyed her with interest. What did Snape know that they did not?
"How did you get away with that?" Harry asked after class.
"He never lets anything get by with a 'Quite all right', let alone lateness," Hermione added. The three of them looked to Orla for an answer.
"I... I don't know," she said in a manner that immediately alerted them to the fact that she did know but wasn't going to tell them.
"Ginny!" Ron called out. A girl from the year below approached and stuck her hand out to Orla.
"You're the new girl, right? Great to have you in Gryffindor. I'm Ginny Weasley, Ron's sister," the girl told Orla.
"Little sister," added Ron. Ginny smirked and stuck her tongue out at him.
"It's nice to meet you," Orla smiled politely, but her voice was still quiet.
***
The rest of the day continued in much the same vein. Orla spoke only a little, which concerned Hermione in particular.
"It isn't right that Orla's so quiet. I mean, she's hardly said a word to anyone all day. She's up in the dorm all on her own instead of down here with everyone. I mean, I'm not a social butterfly, but being on your own all the time like that isn't normal!" she said, pausing only briefly to take a breath.
Hermione, Harry and Ron were in the Gryffindor common room while Orla had already gone upstairs to the dorm. Ginny was sat by them, reading her Intermediate Transfiguration book.
"Maybe she's shy," Harry suggested distractedly, engrossed instead in the game of Wizard's Chess he and Ron were playing.
"Maybe she's hiding something," Ron said, not really meaning it, but moving another pawn.
"Maybe she's finding it hard adjusting to life at Hogwarts," Ginny put in from across the table where she was studying.
"After all, how many new students do you get in the Sixth Year?" added Harry. "Maybe she's worried she won't be good enough or won't fit in. I know I was like that at first, and I was only a first year."
"Thank you, Dr Harry," Ron said dryly, taking one of Harry's pawns with ease.
"I should talk to her," Hermione decided, getting up.
***
Orla sat staring out of the window into the darkness. She thought of home and of her parents. She thought of the safe haven in Ireland that had been her refuge for nearly five years. She also wondered, as Harry had correctly guessed, if she could make the grade here.
Her father was a powerful magician, but it was a markedly different sort of magic to that practiced at Hogwarts. She wondered about all of it. Indeed, Orla had not even owned a wand until very recently: a hand-me-down from her father (nine inches, silver birch, with an owl feather at the core) which had belonged to him as a boy. She had been told that most second hand wands were not as powerful, but it was nice to have something of his.
She worried about what would happen when they found out who she was, if they would even believe her. Would they give her preferential treatment, as Snape had already done that morning, or would they mock her? Orla wasn't sure. She turned away from the window, tiring of the silver moon that taunted her with memories of home.
She flopped onto her bed and pulled out of the nightstand drawer the only thing she had with her that had been her mother's. It was a small, delicately made gold music box with a dancing figure in the centre. The dancer had long brown hair, big brown eyes and cherry red lips. When she turned a key music played, a haunting melody indeed, and the dancer twirled in her pink ball gown. This girl was her mother a long time ago.
The tune played on, beautiful and sad, reminding her of stories told to her as a little girl. Her father had sung to her as the music played, lulling her to sleep. Now all she needed to do was close her eyes and she would hear him:
"I'll paint you mornings of gold, I'll spin you Valentine evenings..."
The light came on and Hermione stood framed in the doorway. Hurriedly, Orla closed the box and put it back into her drawer.
"Are you all right?" Hermione asked with genuine concern.
"Yes."
"I don't believe you," Hermione said gently.
"I just miss my family," Orla admitted.
"They live in Ireland? Are they wizards or Muggles?"
"No they live... Elsewhere. And they aren't wizards. They're.... Neither."
"How do you mean? If you don't want to talk, that's all right, but I was just worried. It isn't good to bottle up feelings. Especially around here, boarding school environment and everything."
"It's not that I don't want to tell you. It's just I'm not sure that I should," Orla said honestly, smiling weakly for Hermione.
"Well, you at least have to come and watch Ron and Harry play chess. It's getting interesting," said Hermione in a tone that left no room for argument.
Orla smiled wryly, got off the bed and followed the other girl down into the din on the common room. Ron and Harry were sat playing chess, each of them wearing looks of utmost concentration. Most of Gryffindor was watching the game.
"Hmmm. Castle to D6," said Ron. His castle moved forwards, blowing up Harry's bishop in the process. Harry sighed as Ron crowed, but they both stopped when Hermione and Orla sat down.
"Please, continue gentlemen," Hermione said. Ron won rather quickly after that, leaving Harry slightly disgruntled.
"Ron always wins," Hermione told Orla with a laugh.
"He does not always win," Harry said defensively. Ron cackled.
"Harry won. Once," he told Orla. "But I maintain it was unfair due to me coughing up slugs. It was distracting."
Orla giggled in spite of herself. As she look around the room at smiling, laughing Gryffindors, she realised that, if she tried, these people could be real friends.
***
Defence Against the Dark Arts was the first class they had the next morning, combined once again with the Slytherin Sixth years. Today they were studying the best strategies for fighting manticores and chimaeras. Then, halfway through the class, Professor Lupin was called to Dumbledore's office. Almost as soon as Lupin had gone, someone sidled over to where Orla sat with Hermione.
"Sod off, Malfoy," said Hermione without even looking up from her parchment. Orla looked up to see a Slytherin boy with cold grey eyes, white blond hair and a fairly unpleasant demeanour.
"I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy," he told Maura, extending his hand out to her.
"Orla Mac Nessa," she replied, shaking his hand without any warmth or feeling behind the gesture.
"Where are you from? I take it you're not a Mudblood?" Draco asked, pointedly ignoring Hermione. Hermione growled at the remark, but Orla was puzzled for a moment. However, she could guess at the meaning of the word. It would be so easy to snap back with what she knew was the mother of all answers, but she wasn't meant to tell.
"What concern is it of yours?" she asked flatly.
"None. But if you were a pureblood, I'd hate for you to sully the good name of your family by mixing with her sort," he nodded towards Hermione.
Behind them, Ron and Harry looked as if they were ready to pounce on Malfoy. But Orla stood up, drawing herself up to what seemed much taller than normal. She held herself imperiously and Draco cowered somewhat.
"Dear boy, my lineage is of no concern to you," her voice was loud and firm in contrast to the softly spoken girl Hogwarts had seen so far. "But if you insult my friend again, I'll make sure you become personally introduced to every one of my ancestors."
Without giving away details, Orla's tone made it clear that her ancestors might not be the friendliest of sorts, whoever they were. Her eyes flashed angrily and Draco skulked back to his seat. Orla sat back down to admiring stares for most, and a pleased if slightly embarrassed smile from Hermione.
"That's Draco," Hermione's voice quivered slightly.
"Don't you believe him for a second," Harry said, coming over. He looked at Orla. "Hermione's the best witch in our entire year, probably the whole school. Being a pureblood means nothing except that some people think it makes them superior."
Harry shot a look of pure fire at Malfoy at this point.
"Oh, I know the feeling," Orla said softly. "One day, that boy will question the wrong person," she added in a warning tone.
Harry and Hermione exchanged worried looks but said nothing.
***
Orla settled into the school fairly easily after that. Although sometimes prone to quiet moods, she had begun to open up a little to her housemates. Her background was still a mystery, but the Gryffindors decided that she was a good enough sort and that whatever it was she felt she had to hide was nothing as important as the fact that she was becoming a good friend.
Her classes were a little different, however. She excelled in Transfiguration and Charms, but Arithmancy and several other classes caused her difficulty. Potions varied wildly for her. Sometimes she understood it all before anyone else (with the exception of Hermione) but sometimes she couldn't fathom it at all.
She varied from introversion to extroversion with seeming ease, although she had not been genuinely at ease since arriving. Hermione had awoken several nights to find Orla thrashing wildly in her bed in the throes of clearly terrifying nightmares. If Orla remembered them the next day, she never said. Occasionally a haunted look could be seen on the girl's face and most of the school had noticed that she got even less mail than Harry did.
Then one day, just as the snow had begun to fall and McGonagall had begun asking for names of students staying over Christmas, Orla received a parcel at breakfast. It was a tiny box and had no return address. Indeed, the owl didn't even bother staying to see if she would reply. On seeing the handwriting, she bolted from the Great Hall and fled to the dorm. She was late into Potions, but Snape said nothing, although perhaps her tear- stained face had more to do with it this time that anything he knew about her.
***
More to come in chapter two. I thank you in advance for your reviews.