It was a dark and stormy night. The dank dungeon walls glistened with condensation caused by the sleeping forms within the Slytherin dorm rooms. In the common room, a dying fire crackled in the hearth. Tara woke slowly, blinking sleepily at the warm amber light.

"…wha…?" she mumbled, sliding out of the comfy chair and looking at her surroundings. Her fingernails were expertly manicured in a shade of glittery green, and her clothes were the typical Slytherin robes. Her hair was chestnut brown; it remained un-dyed, as was required by the dress code. Mauvais, her familiar, looked up at her with disinterest. "Stupid cat," she growled, stomping up to the dorm room where she slept.

…

Tara had been a student at Hogwarts for about three days, and she liked it less the longer she was there. First of all, she disliked her friends…they were all caught up in liking stupid goth bands and they thought that it was weird to be straight. Tara wasn't a homophobe, but she wasn't bi, and she wished that the other Slytherins would just shut up about it already.

Tara certainly didn't fit in when it came to the house she'd been sorted into. Personally, she considered herself to be Hufflepuff material.

"I guess you're awake," the girl in the bunk bed above her growled. "I thought you weren't coming in. What did you do all night; sneak into the boys' dormitory?" Then the girl laughed, knowing that of all people Tara was the least likely to do such a thing.

"Shut up," Tara growled.

"Or what? You'll spray me with your Hollister perfume?" The girl cackled, truly acting witchy. Grumbling to herself, Tara walked back into the common room, halfheartedly attempting to straighten out her crumpled robes. A fifth year stepped out of the boys' dormitory; he had blonde hair, a permanent Billy Idol sneer, and an air of superiority. Tara had learned long ago to avoid such types at all cost…on the first day, she'd been turned into a newt by that selfsame individual.

...

Dear Diary, Tara wrote. I hate it here. I'm obviously inept as a witch, I'm not a proper Slytherin, and that Malfoy kid keeps casting spells on me whenever I have any spare time—though that isn't often, what with the crushing amount of homework. Tara sighed, looking at three cheerful Gryffindors walking to a potions class. …and did I mention that it's not even a good idea to be a Slytherin anyway? You get glared at by Ravenclaws, ignored by Hufflepuffs, and flat-out scoffed at by Gryffindors. Life is tough. A familiar hand…a fourth year she knew…snatched the parchment from in front of her.

"What's this?" she asked, frowning. "'That Malfoy kid'? Such disrespect!" She glared. "And I see you've no House pride whatsoever. Did I ever tell you you'd make an excellent pig? You've got half the looks already," and before she knew it, Tara was a porcine resident of Hogwarts, snuffling around corners and waiting for the day when Professor Snape would notice her and transform her back into her proper shape.

As he ignored her, day in and day out, Tara formulated a plan for revenge. While in my pig form, I will find a way to avenge myself, she thought. I will write a tale so vile, so despicably evil, that no one will question my Slytherinity ever again. The pig grinned.

…And so, My Immortal came to be.