Chapter one

~
I think it's perfectly clear
We're in the wrong band;
Ginger is always sincere
Just not to one man

The infirmary was beginning to feel like Harry's second home. As Madame Pomfrey guided the floating gurney on which he lay toward the familiar cot-lined hall, he had a wry thought that perhaps he should move his books and things permanently to the bedside table of the third cot on the right to save Ron the trouble of fetching them. Ron, by way of making light of his frequent hospitalization, had kidded Harry that he must fancy Madame Pomfrey. Harry shuddered at the prospect, but even if it were the case, the feeling seemed hardly mutual.

"Mr. Potter," she declared, "You have to be one of the most accident prone young men I have ever seen." And considering how often she must see Neville, Harry thought that was saying something.

Depositing him on his usual bed, Pomfrey began her examination.
"Now let's have a look." She said, yanking roughly at Harry's shirt. He winced and forced himself to swallow a yelp of pain.

"In the name of Merlin!"

Beneath Harry's scarlet Quidditch robes his ribs and entire left side were beginning to turn several nasty shades of purple.

"And how exactly did this happen?"

"Bludger," Harry said through gritted teeth. "It got away from Angelina as she was trying to put them away, so I didn't exactly expect it."

She clucked her tongue in disapproval as she moved to gather her wand and, no doubt, several different bottles of foul tasting medicine. "Really," she said shaking her head, "I can't believe they condone, much less encourage, you children to play such a dangerous game. Well, you have a couple of broken ribs, easy enough to mend. But Merlin knows what else has been bruised or ruptured." Then, with no great attempt at gentleness she began administering Harry's treatment.

To distract himself from this discomfort, Harry looked about him at the rest of the infirmary. He hadn't been there since the end of last year...but then, school had only started again about a month ago. As he had expected, nothing much had changed. The same old paintings of nurses and harried doctors hung on the walls. One painting of a very sweet looking old nurse, Harry's favorite, gave him a little wink and a shake of the head as if to say "here already?" Harry grinned...and then winced, as Pomfrey seemed think he had nothing to smile about and had prodded him especially hard. He sighed, a bit irritated, and resumed his diversion. He swept his gaze down the familiar line of neat beds, when he eyes came to rest on something he had failed to notice when he arrived. The last bed across from him on the right was occupied. But all Harry could discern of the patient was a mass of red hair. Not red like Ron's, but darker, like the color of drying blood. Curious...Who was this girl? Even if she was a first year, surely he couldn't have missed such a striking mane at the sorting ceremony, no matter how little attention he now paid to it. Harry's ribcage was momentarily forgotten as he studied the girl, or rather, her hair which lay in thick, immaculate waves like deep crimson snakes arrayed across her pillow. The effect was as unsettling as it was beautiful. Then, slowly, they shifted and he could discern from beneath them two dark but sparkling eyes peering curiously at him. Her gaze was steady, but not malevolent, and so Harry in turn felt bold enough, or rather compelled, to sustain the link...Until.

"Mr. Potter!" Harry was pulled from his reverie by a very exasperated Madame Pomfrey.

"Excuse me?" He said dazedly.

"Are you quite sure that bludger did not also make contact with your head, Mr. Potter?" She gave him a disgruntled look and Harry tried his best to appear apologetic. With an accepting 'Hmph' she repeated herself.

"I said I've done what I can. But in case you are bleeding in places that cannot be seen, I'd like you to remain here for a few hours where I can keep an eye on you." Then she unceremoniously threw a blanket across him and left, muttering something under her breath about bludgers and broomsticks.

Harry looked after her until the click of her boot-heel faded entirely, and then he turned his attention back to his temporary roommate. He found her still staring at him. But when their eyes met again, she coyly turned her head.

Although he was sure his nurse would have a fit if she caught him up and about, Harry's curiosity got the better of him. Not that he didn't mull over the decision for a whole thirty seconds. With a sharp, determined breath he rolled from his bed and made his way slowly and painfully down the hall. And as he took a seat on the next to the last bed he wondered how best to say hello.

The girl looked over her shoulder at him but didn't turn, speaking from the midst of all that bloody hair.

"I always thought the best way to say hello was to do just that."

Harry started. Had he spoken? Now she did sit up and turn to him. All at once Harry's confusion was disregarded, for it seemed the bed and floor beneath him had abruptly disappeared and the only thing he had to orient himself were those two large brown eyes. Though he was sure he'd never seen her before, this was no gangly first year. She had to be at least Harry's own age.

"And," Harry thought as he felt his eyes involuntary widen, "She is quite, quite lovely." No. Somehow lovely didn't seem to be the right word...She was, fittingly...bewitching. Just then she blushed, adding the slightest tint to her porcelain cheeks, and broke into a small, sweet smile. Harry officially turned to goo...then realized he must be, unabashedly, staring.

"H-hello." He stuttered.

She smiled more broadly. "Hello." Her voice was clear and silvery. It sent the sweetest shiver running down Harry's spine.

"I'm Harry."

"It's nice to meet you, Harry."

Hmm...She's an American? How curious.

"I'm Saryn."

"Saryn." Harry repeated dreamily. "That's a pretty name."

"Thank you," she said, giggling at his smitten expression. She could have been named Alberta and he would have said the same. "I've always preferred it. But my mother used to call me Sue." She seemed suddenly sad. "I suppose Saryn was too exotic for everyday use."

Harry didn't respond to this, but fixed his gaze on her glittering eyes again. They were large and round, slanted slightly, almost catty; and they seemed to absorb the red of her hair, turning them a dark auburn. Deciding Harry wasn't about to resume the conversation any time soon, she spoke.

"The nurse, Madame Pomfrey is it? She doesn't seem too happy with you."

Harry woke from his trance and shrugged. "I think she thinks I'm a masochist."

"Are you?" She asked, her eyebrows raised. Now it was Harry's turn to blush.

"Oh no, just unfortunate."

She looked down at the hand Harry held clutched at his injured side. Boldly, rather like a curious child, she reached out and lifted his shirt to look; although she did so considerably more delicately than had Madame Pomfrey.

"Gracious!" She said studying the bruise. "That looks very painful. Are you alright?"

"Oh yeah," He said trying to sound stoic. "These things are pretty standard in Quidditch I guess."

She dropped his shirt and gave him a quizzical look. "Quidditch? Oh yes, I've heard about that. It's a kind of sport isn't

"You've never seen Quidditch?" He began to ask, but she cut him short.

"From what my aunt tells me it sounds exciting...but dangerous, what with the budgers..."

"Bludgers." Harry corrected.

"...And those fast broomsticks." She went on without missing a beat. "Do you get hurt often?"

Harry wasn't sure how to answer. How often was often? "Well..."

"You seem to have a rather mean scar on your forehead. Was that from a bludger as well?"

"My scar?" Harry asked giving her a blank look. It took a moment to register in Harry's brain...but this girl really had no idea who he was...or that who he was was of any special significance. That realization somehow made him feel considerably more comfortable with her. That is, until he remembered how he did receive his scar.

"No," He said, not really wanting to explain it all just then. " I didn't get it from a bludger." She eyed him curiously, and then intuitively changed the subject.

"I don't mean to ask so many questions. This is all just so new to me."

As Harry drove from his mind the many unpleasant memories evoked by her innocent question, he realized again how fascinated he was with her.

"So, you don't know anything about the wizarding world?"

She looked away shyly and shook her head, "Not much."

"But surely they have Wizard schools in America."

"Oh yes, no doubt they do. But my parents would never let me attend." Again, her voice dropped at the mention of her parents and Harry sensed the subject was painful for her. Why? he wondered. Could it be, perhaps...that she was orphaned like he was? Almost in answer to that thought she continued.

"After they died, I came to live with my aunt here in England. She's a witch, and of course doesn't begrudge my...abilities. So she thought it would be a good idea that I came here and tried to catch up on my education. "

"How old are you?" Harry asked before he could help himself and hoped it didn't come off as rudely as he thought it had.

She didn't seem to register any offense. "Sixteen," she answered dejectedly. "I'm so dreadfully behind. I've been taking these lessons called...Kwikspell I think it is." Harry gave an inward smile remembering his fortunate discovery in Filch's office his second year.

"But my aunt thought I should take proper classes, as there's only so much you can learn from a book."

Don't let Hermione hear you say that...

"Did you say something, Harry?" Puzzled, Harry shook his head.

"Oh...well, we were sorting things out in Professor Dumbledore's Office when..." she stopped suddenly and Harry gave her a questioning look.

"...When I was struck by a headache." She finished in a tone that was a little too deliberate.

Harry decided not to ask. "I'm sure you'll love it here," He said. "My friend Hermione is really smart. I'll bet you anything she wouldn't mind tutoring you."

Saryn's face lit up immediately. "Really?"

"Sure. And besides, if she's busy teaching you, maybe she'll lay off Ron and me about doing our homework." he added with a smile. A smile she returned. And once again Harry felt himself being drawn into those dark eyes. There was just something about them, an expression that, for all their naivety, seemed so...knowing.

"Mr. Potter!" Madame Pomfrey's voice echoed sharply off the infirmary walls. Harry must have jumped at least a foot, causing his side to veritably explode with pain. The nurse was making her way briskly and angrily towards her charge.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh boy, here we go," he whispered to Saryn who bit both her lips to repress a giggle.

"Just what do you think you're doing out of bed?" She scolded shrilly. "Don't you want to mend?"

Like a chastised dog, Harry made to rise and return to his own bed.

"No, no. No sense in making it worse by moving you again. Just lie down where you are."

Harry couldn't believe his luck. He was suddenly thrilled at the prospect of being allowed to bed down so close to his new acquaintance, as there were a hundred little curiosities he was dying to voice. However, his elation was short-lived.

"Yes, here will do, for I think Miss Sylvany is looking much better."

Madame Pomfrey's expression softened instantly as she addressed Saryn. "And how are you feeling now, my dear?"

"Oh much better, ma'am. Thank you." Saryn replied oh so politely.

"Then you are quite free to go."

With a small, quick smile of thanks, Saryn slipped from the bed and straightened her clothes. Once again, Harry looked on, spellbound, and remarked on how languid her gestures were. She moved with such an easy grace that Harry had the feeling he could watch her straighten her buttons all day. But Madame Pomfrey, once again ruining things, gestured for Saryn to come along so she might escort her from the infirmary. As they passed she whispered to him.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Harry."

"I'll see you in the common room." Harry almost replied, when he caught himself. He hadn't thought to ask...

"Saryn!" He called after them. She stopped and turned as her escort threw Harry and impatient glance.

"Saryn, have you been sorted? Do you know what house you're in?"

"Oh yes," She replied as though meaning to mention it earlier. "I'm in Slytherin House." And with that she was whisked away, leaving a very shocked and crestfallen Harry Potter in her wake.

Draco Malfoy had his misgivings. "So just how did a mudblood manage to get into Slytherin?" he spat disgustedly.

"Y'know, I've heard all sorts of things. But Snape says she isn't technically a mudblood, though that's all he'll say. Well, besides that we aren't to bother her about it." Pansy Parkinson provided, loving the taste of the fresh gossip that spilled so eagerly from her lips.

"Is she rooming with you?" Draco asked. At this she gave a resentful snort.

"No. Since she started so late there wasn't anywhere to put her really. They had to fix up an old storage dungeon for her, the little one at the end of the hallway past the actual dormitories." She was trying to come up with some hatefully clever remark about Saryn living in a broom closet to use the next time she encountered the new girl...the trouble was Pansy wasn't clever, only very jealous that Saryn had a private room.

Draco mulled over this, making no attempt to hide the fact he was now ignoring Pansy's continued prattle. Slighted, she finally marched off indignantly leaving Draco to himself.

"What's so technical about being a mudblood?" he muttered, pacing the common room. "Either you are or you aren't." Draco wasn't about to let Salazar Slytherin's noble legacy be tainted by the admittance into their ranks of a textbook incarnation of everything the proud wizard despised. "Might as well wrap Granger in a green and silver scarf."

As he brooded he absently fondled Neville's new rememberall (Neville had had to write to his Gran for a new one, being unable to remember where he'd put the old one) which he had deftly lifted during potions that day. But his self-satisfaction in this was overshadowed by his doubts about his house's latest addition. The mysterious object of his vexation had apparently shut herself in her room sometime during the afternoon when Draco had been out spying on Gryffindor's Quidditch practice. Their new captain, Angelina Johnson, apparently hadn't strayed too far from her predecessor's coaching techniques, so the afternoon might have been a horrendous waste of time...had it not been for the subtle charm Draco had cast as Angelina was putting away the equipment which knocked a particularly irritable bludger from her hands and sent it soaring beautifully right into Harry Potter's unsuspecting ribcage. In the bustle that had ensued, Draco lost himself on the far side of the lake to elude discovery, and by the time he had made it back to the common room, the new girl had already bastioned herself in her room. She didn't even emerge for dinner, which Draco had missed hoping to catch her en route. His growling stomach did little to improve his presently rather sour opinion of her.

The night was wearing on and the common room had long since emptied, despite it being a Friday night. Draco decided it would do just a well to fume over his disappointing evening from the comfort of his bed, and turned to descend the dim passage that led to his room. But before he reached it's threshold he heard, echoing off the bare dungeon walls, the distinct sound of rusty hinges, and the swish and clank of a door being closed...and it had come from the direction of the girl's dormitories. He quickly stowed himself behind the dungeon bulletin board to spy.

A shock of intensely red hair, its length rivaling that of Rapunzel's herself, peeked from the passage and turned slowly as its owner carefully surveyed the common room. Draco watched with baited breath as a profile of delicate, graceful features rotated into view, and then two deep set, almost black eyes swept towards his hiding place. There they stayed, if only for an instant, on the shadows in which Draco stooped. Draco did not so much as breathe. Then, seemingly satisfied, the girl stepped from the passage and glided towards the recently abandoned couch where she curled up, not unlike a snake coiling to rest, and opened the book she had brought. Even though the air was chill, as the summer warmth present outside never really infiltrated their subterranean passages (Draco himself wore a formidable sweater), it didn't seem to bother the girl. She was unshod and otherwise clad only in sheer pajama bottoms and a sleeveless top. Her pale, bare skin had an alabaster glow in the dim light of the torches which failed to penetrate the shadowed pitch of her eyes. There was an uncanny stillness about her. It gave her a sinister air that Draco found very alluring. For a long while he stood unmoving, drinking in the sight of her. "Funny Pansy didn't mention how attractive she was, a fact that could hardly have been easily forgotten." Draco thought. "But then, with the way Pansy's always ogling me, constantly vying for my attention, I can see where she might not be so quick to promote any possible competition. "

It may have been a play of the light, but Draco thought he could discern the traces of a smile deepen in the girl's marble smooth complexion.

"Well, I for one don't remember mentioning any intention to compete. Especially for a boy I've never met."

Draco's mouth fell open and all the blood in his body quickly relocated to the vicinity of his ankles. The girl lifted her eyes to meet his through the darkness, a darkness they couldn't possibly penetrate...or could they? Draco shuffled wordlessly from his hiding place.

"I-I.." He stuttered, his lips trying, and failing, to mold themselves into any semblance of a coherent sentence. Her eyes narrowed in amusement. "Nevermind," she said softly, gesturing to the chair opposite her, "Have a seat."

Draco did this, crossing the room without once taking his eyes off her, and so stumbling more than once over the common room's sparse furnishings in the process.

"I didn't mean to startle you," she said, but then recanted. "Well, perhaps I did. But I couldn't resist, you had so much confidence in your powers of stealth," She was unable to suppress a smile. Had his blood not still been clinging tenaciously to his toes, Draco might have blushed. "I pick up on too many things here," she went on. "Something about the air is super-conducive of..." She stopped, unsure if Draco was absorbing a word of what she said. He blinked and finally shook off his shock.

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing"

Draco's icy composure was rapidly reassembling itself and he fixed her with a suspicious look. "Who are you?"

She did not respond right away. She seemed to be appraising him. This made Draco extremely uncomfortable, but he refused to show this outwardly and silently berated himself for allowing himself such indulgence earlier.

"My name is Saryn. Saryn Sylvany," she said at last. "And yours?"

"Draco. Draco Malfoy," he replied, accentuating his last name as if to suggest some measure of importance. Saryn was completely unfazed.

"Mr. Malfoy," She acknowledged, "Might I ask why you were spying on me?" It wasn't an indictment.

"I was simply hoping to have a word with our new member." He said flashing a 'trust me' smile that, for all it's perfection, never failed to appear a bit cruel, and certainly not sincere.

"So?" she asked expectantly, "Which word was that?"

Draco's long-plotted interrogation failed him. She didn't quite reek of mudblood as he had expected. Was she really raised by Muggles? Her accent threw him off a bit, but she didn't really act like a muggle. But then Draco hadn't studied many muggles. His thoughts were momentarily written on his expression and he eyed her distrustfully as they slithered through his mind.

"I only wanted to welcome you to Slytherin," he began, now pouring on his oily charm in undue amounts. "As I understand it you weren't raised in the wizarding world. True, that's seems...odd for a Slytherin, but..." he gave a small shrug. "As such, I'm sure you are unaware of the..."

"Politics here?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth. You see, we Slytherins are very proud of our heritage, something we wouldn't want to...defile by associating with those, well, below us." Draco said giving her a meaningful look. He surprised himself. These words seemed like something his father would say. In fact now that he thought about it his father had said them, if not word for word, several times throughout Draco's childhood. Saryn was looking at him thoughtfully and Draco resolved to hold her gaze...Damn, I thought girls blinked incessantly...He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up.

"So," She said suddenly in a soft voice, startling Draco who had been concentrating very hard on their staring contest. "That carried the tone of a threat, Mr. Malfoy."

"Threat?" he responded as though that was a truly absurd suggestion. " I simply meant that Hogwarts must be a considerable change from the life to you are used to. I thought is might make it easier for you to settle in if you were more...educated...about the way things work here. One less thing for you to worry about. I only had your interests in mind."

"And I suppose you epitomize the ideal Slytherin?" she said after a pause. Something in her tone made him almost afraid to respond, but his pride overrode his caution.

"You might say that. I think for some...say, Potter..." he sneered, loathing thick on his tongue as he spoke the name: "...Malfoy and Slytherin are one and the same."

"I see." she said coolly. "So I shall look to you for...inspiration?"

"I would hope," he said conceitedly. "Not that I'd like another Malfoy would-be dragging my heels." He looked her up and down. "You seem to have the manner down nicely. So long as you don't go fraternizing with mudbloods and muggle-lovers...like Weasley or that know-it-all Granger...you should fit in nicely."

"I'll certainly keep that in mind. And thank you so much for the tutorial." She said, and then dismissively returned her attention to her reading. Draco, however, showed no signs of leaving.

"Listen, Sylvany." She raised her eyebrow but not her head. "I don't want to get off on the wrong foot here. I think I might like you...So. If you have any questions concerning...etiquette...I would be more than happy to take you under my wing."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "We shall see. Now, I do believe you were headed for bed?" She smiled at him in a very ambiguous way. "Don't let me keep you."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way toward the Great Hall together. This occurrence was surprisingly rare, as they usually meandered down intermittently, eventually congregating in the usual spot. But this morning Hermione, worried about Harry's injury, had lingered in the common room until he rose. It seems she thought she and Ron might both be needed to carry him to breakfast.

"Are you sure you're alright?" She asked him for the tenth time.

"Hermione, I am fine. A little sore perhaps, but nothing to worry about." However, since worrying seemed to be one of Hermione's favorite pastimes his assurances had little effect. Still, she nodded and reluctantly changed the subject.

"So, did you hear there's a new student?"

"Yeah," answered Ron, "Seamus overheard McGonagal talking about it. Don't know much else though." Harry was suddenly very interested in the cuffs of his sweater sleeves.

Hermione scrunched her nose thoughtfully. "Seems strange, doesn't it? Starting so late in the term. Where'd they transfer from do you think? We had all those students transfer from Durmstrang after Karkaroff disappeared. Maybe she just arrived late."

"Um, she didn't transfer from anywhere." Harry offered in a small voice. Hermione slowed in her tracks. "She?"

"Yeah, her name's Saryn," he elaborated, suddenly very shy, "She's moved here from the States. I don't think she's ever been to Wizarding school."

"How do you know all this?" she asked.

"I saw her in the infirmary yesterday."

"Yesterday? You talked to her?" asked Ron, torn between curiosity and a mild sense of betrayal, "Well, why didn't you mention it earlier?"

"It was just a quick word," Harry said in his defense and pulled a shrug. "I didn't feel much like talking when I came up, recently shattered ribs and all. Besides, that's really all there is to tell, I promise."

Ron shrugged as well, seemed to accept this, and proceeded earnestly towards breakfast with Harry and Hermione in tow. Hermione, however, did not seem to easily satisfied. This was one of those rare moments when Harry almost resented Hermione's keen intuition. He could feel her look on the back of his neck, but ignored it. He had other things to think about. The mention of Saryn added to his turmoil about how exactly he should feel about the girl, but also reminded him how nonetheless eager he was to see her again. As they entered the Great Hall he automatically scanned the Slytherin table for her red waves, but there was nary a sign of the crimson cascade.

"Is she here?" Ron asked as they settled down with their plates. For show Harry scanned the room again, the whole room, and then shook his head.
"Hey, I wonder what house she'll be in," Ron mused aloud. Harry's stomach turned. He feigned ignorance and speared absently at his sausages.

"Is she pretty?" Hermione asked rather spontaneously, but the expression she wore looked as if she didn't really want to know.

"As pretty as the next girl," Harry responded, concentrating too hard on sounding nonchalant to find the question odd. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this up. He hated the feeling that he was lying to his best friends, the two people in all the world to whom he felt he could tell almost anything. But somehow he also had the feeling that if they knew he had a raging crush on a member of Slytherin house they'd never let him live it down. He stared at his scrambled eggs as though they might yield some oracle like Trelawny and her tea leaves, but the lumpy composition offered no advice. They had, however, injured Harry's appetite. He'd never noticed just how unpalatable they really appeared.

"This is ridiculous!" he told himself. "It was only a brief encounter. She's in Slytherin, for goodness' sake, how worthwhile can she be?" He shook his head to drive away any further thoughts of the red-head and started chatting enthusiastically with Ron about the upcoming Quidditch game. Per usual when this particular subject is broached, Harry hardly got a word in edgewise. But as Ron began to rant with rising indignation about Slytherin's foul behavior during the last Gryffindor/Slytherin match ("bumphing, haversacking, blagging, sons of-"..."Ron!") Harry found his eyes drift expectantly and involuntarily to the doors of the Great Hall.

Saryn never showed up for breakfast, or lunch. Draco, now completely over the shock of the previous night assumed this absence had something to do with her strange comment about 'picking up on too many things', though what exactly that meant eluded him. "I should have had the presence of mind to ask," he chided himself and wondered if Saryn was in her room just then. Since it was such a pleasant Saturday afternoon, the common room was likely to be nearly empty, and so it seemed the perfect time to make another attempt at his cross-examination.

Saryn was where he had expected to find her, and her door was ajar. Taking this as a standing invitation, Draco let himself in without bothering to knock. The room was small and cluttered with large, mismatched furniture. In the far corner, in a massive leather armchair, sat Saryn. Or rather, lounged Saryn, as she was draped easily and elegantly over it's contours, legs hanging over the armrest. Her eyes were closed, but when Draco came in she smiled, not an inviting smile, or a 'pleasure to see you smile', just a cold, acknowledging smile. But then she ignored him, humming to the faint sound of music coming from what appeared to Draco as a pair of small plastic earmuffs connected by a string to a small, flat plastic box with buttons. As he studied the strange contraption, Saryn's eyelids slid open, gaze automatically fixed on her guest.

"What is that?" Draco asked her, unsure if she could hear him.

"Tori Amos," She replied.

"Who? No, that thing, what is it?" he asked, pointing.

"Do you like Tori Amos?" she asked, totally ignoring his question.

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "I've never met her." She smiled.

"Of course not." She sat up now, drawing one knee to her chest and pulling the other beneath her. Draco mused that it appeared as though things like chairs were totally alien to her, though effortlessly adapted to. He found this particular mannerism, as many others, very seductive. The eerie music coming from the earmuffs faded to silence, and Saryn then fixed him with a gaze which, though not impatient, enticed him to speak.

"Is that...a muggle contraption?" He asked, slightly disgusted.

"Ah yes," she answered, slightly disappointed, and slipped the thing off her head, "the obvious Slytherin abhorrence of anything muggle related. I fear I have slipped in my serpentine duties, but do have patience with me, I'm still learning."

Draco seemed to interpret this as a genuine apology and gave a casual, forgiving wave of his hand before making himself at home on Saryn's bed, reclining on one elbow. "So it's true, you were actually raised by muggles?"

"'Fraid so."

Draco was unsure how exactly to feel about this girl. True, she seemed to have more brains than the typical dungeon resident, and Slytherin house's collective lack of intelligence had been a recurring frustration to Draco. She certainly wasn't hard on the eyes, either. But somehow Draco felt he should be slightly repulsed by the fact that she was practically a muggle.

Perhaps I should just feel sorry for her.

But pity was something Draco found he had precious little of, and he usually reserved his small stores for himself. "I didn't see you in the Great Hall," he finally said.

"I thought I should wait until I'm more accustomed to the environment."

"I see," he replied, totally clueless but determined not to show it. Besides, he intended to make himself her saviour. "Well, diner's over, but we can arrange something. I happen to know the secret entrance to the kitchens. I'll show you. Those ridiculous house elves will bury you in goodies."

"I know," she said. "In fact I've eaten, they sent a large amount back with me when I left last night."

"You went to the kitchen's last night?" Draco sat up on the bed.

"Yes, not long after you retired."

"You know, you can get into a fair amount of trouble for wandering the halls at night." he said, more out of crestfallen agitation than concern.

"I figured as much."

Hmm. Ballsy little bitch. "Wait a minute! Just how did you know how to get into the kitchens?"

"Crabbe and Goyle."

"You've spoken to Crabbe and Goyle?" He'd have to have a word with those two, he couldn't believe they didn't mention anything to him.

"Oh no, I've not spoken to anyone besides you really. You should feel special I suppose." She said with a sly smile.

"B-but then how...?"

"Alright, Draco," she interrupted, obviously feeling their parley was getting tedious. "If you have not already surmised, I am fairly...psychic."

"Psychic?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes, psychic, clairvoyant, hyper-intuitive, whichever you'd like to call it. And since I was introduced to the wizarding world it has gradually intensified. Here at Hogwarts, for some reason, I seem to be particularly sensitive, hence my seclusion. It's actually a bloody pain in the arse, to use the native terminology. But, it is occasionally useful...like when two gluttonous half-ogres come trudging into the common room with their arms full of pastries, still chuckling to themselves about the way the pear squirms under their finger when they tickle it...So now perhaps you won't feel quite so sorry for this ballsy little bitch."

Draco was suddenly very uncomfortable. "I'd say it was a bit rude not to mention this a little earlier." His voice held more venom than he had intended.

"I had hoped I wouldn't have to mention it at all. It will be taken care of by Monday. It's much too distracting and Prof. Snape is concocting something to tame it. It's almost a shame," she said grinning mischievously. "It would make taking tests so much easier."

This news allowed Draco to relax a bit, though he was still considerably flustered. "I see. Then in that case perhaps it would be better if I did not pester you before then." He rose to leave.

"Oh, Draco."

He paused at the door.

"I really will be lost on Monday. It's amazing how different things can look by the light of day. If your offer still stands, I would appreciate a faithful guide."

She makes it sound like I'm a seeing eye dog.

"Very well. I shall see you on Monday morning then. If you wait for me in the common room, we can go up to breakfast together...Until then." He bowed in a farewell a little too curt to be considered gentlemanly and left.