I sat next to my brother on the train, my twin who wouldn't stop his ridiculous bragging about how he would be the strongest Slytherin in the Malfoy line. He was ridiculously naive if he thought that he would get into slytherin purely because of his lineage. He may not have listened to mother's warnings but I did. She had a cousin who was sorted into Gryffindor and a niece who was sorted into Hufflepuff. Though the Malfoy line hadn't seen anything other than Slytherin for fifty generations, we were also Blacks, and the Blacks had a long history of Ravenclaws in their line too. There wasn't much room to support the Malfoy claim to Slytherin, given that in those fifty generations, there had never been more than one Malfoy child. It was far too easy to imagine that we could be placed in any of the four houses. If he thought his Malfoy blood would place him in Slytherin, then the Black blood in him would most likely undermine that, despite the fact that we share our father's white blond hair. We have our mother's eyes, and I her temperament, we are at the mercy of the sorting hat, not our father's hope. He could order us to be sorted into Slytherin and that wouldn't make any difference, we knew as much about where we would be placed as we did about muggle politics. Which was nothing at all.
"Cut it out Drake." I whisper harshly, noting the unimpressed looks on our friends faces. Only Greg and Vince seem impressed by his bragging, Daphne and Pansy however simply looked bored out of their minds.
"I'm just stating fact." Draco shrugs, leaning back on the bench. "Father is certain that we will be Slytherins like he and mother were."
I sigh, pulling my diary from my bag. "If you'd listened to anything mother had said then you'd know that we have an equal chance to be Ravenclaws, if you think that blood has anything to do with it." I continue the sketch of mother and father that I had begun several days ago, my quill scratching on the thick parchment pages. While everyone believed that I was simply documenting my life, only Draco knew that no words had ever graced the pages of my so called diary.
"We have the Malfoy name, therefore we are at the mercy of Malfoy blood Cassie." Draco argues. "Unless you want to be called a blood traitor for breaking Malfoy tradition."
"I wouldn't be the one breaking it." I roll my eyes. "The sorting hat would."
"Are you two done arguing?" Pansy whines, her puggish features not made any prettier by the sneer filling her expression. "I think I prefered it when you two were sickeningly close."
"We still are." Draco grins, throwing an arm around my shoulder. "Even twins can disagree about some things."
I ignore the rest of the conversation, patiently perfecting my mother's soft smile, something that I scarcely saw since I turned seven. Father became much harsher about things like that, complaining that we would go soft if she continued to baby us. Despite that, I can still remember my father's smile, though it is more approving than loving. The last time he smiled at me it was because I managed to beat him at a game of chess, something that I have only done once. I doubt that I'd be able to beat him again.
Draco shook my shoulder, pulling me away from staring at the drawing of our parents. "You need to change, we'll be arriving soon."
I absently walk with Daphne and Pansy out of the carriage and into one of the many bathrooms scattered along the train. Pulling on my robes was a simple affair, as they weren't exactly the hardest things to put on. A skirt, shirt, tie and robe wasn't like a corset, that was a real challenge.
When we finally made it to the station I watched with a frown as my bag disappeared, though I know that it will be awaiting me when I enter my dormitory after the sorting and the feast. I am prepared for the small wooden boats that we are ushered into, Draco once again at my side, but nothing my parents said could adequately capture the beauty of the castle that stood mightily on a cliff across the lake. It somehow glowed in the darkness, welcoming us with a warm affection that should be impossible for something made of wood and stone.
When we finally reached the shore, led by an unnaturally large man in an equally large coat, the climb up to the castle seemed eerily short, perhaps an enchantment placed on the stairs to make the climb easier. We were led up a winding flight of stairs and into a large hall with a looming door ahead of us. Waiting in front of the door was a woman in green robes and a rather ostentatious black hat. Despite being magical nobility, I did not enjoy the so called luxuries that we were surrounded by. I liked simplicity and functionality over excessive jewels and decadent fabrics. The only piece of jewelry was a ring that I had been given on my eleventh birthday that held the Black family crest. Despite being a Malfoy, I was the last remaining eligible heir of the Black house, a title and vast number of accounts were placed into my care that day and a personal vault that contained a ridiculous fortune was mine to access at my discretion, the rest would be moved from the care of the goblins into my hands once I turned seventeen. I would be expected to take the Black name and become Lady of the most ancient and noble house of Black. I'm not looking forward to that day.
"Welcome to Hogwarts." The woman announces, pulling me from my thoughts. "Behind these doors is the great hall, but before you can take your seats you must be sorted into your houses." She doesn't say much else and walks through the doors, telling us to wait until we are asked to enter.
"Well well." I hear my brother smirk. I immediately sigh knowing that it won't end well. "Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts."
No. I think. This definitely won't end well.
"You should know that some wizarding families are better than others Potter." He sneers at a ginger boy stood next to the object of Draco's interest. "Red hair and a hand me down robe, you must be a Weasley."
And now I'm sure, he's just made a fool of himself in front of our entire year. But that doesn't stop himself from digging himself even deeper into his hole.
"You wouldn't want to go making friends with the wrong sorts. I can help you with that."
"That's enough brother." I announce, moving to stand in front of Potter, my back to him. "Friendships aren't made by insulting people." After our inseparable years, I know that Draco isn't simply angry at me for interrupting him. I have just embarrassed him in front of our peers. Though he should be glad that I didn't do it in front of the entire Hogwarts population.
"I'm older than you Cassie, you don't get a say in what I do." Draco sneers. I can't help but feel that eleven years at each other's' side has just been shattered by this one move.
"Eleven minutes may make you heir to the Malfoy name, but it doesn't mean that I can't protect our family from embarrassment." I retort, not taking my eyes from my brother as he stalks away into the crowd.
"Sorry about that." I smile to Potter and his friend, noting their wary and confused expressions. "It's nice to meet you." I leave the two of them alone after that. If they want to be friends with a Malfoy, I can't thrust myself upon them like my idiot twin did. They have to decide that I'm worthy of their time.
Finally, the stern woman in green returns and leads us through the great hall. I'm not in awe of the ceiling like everyone else is. Mother put the same charm on my room as a child. I was afraid of the dark after reading a particularly unfriendly book detailing Dementors, Lethifolds and Boggarts. She told me that the stars would protect me, that I was named after them because they were strong and constant, that they wouldn't let anything bad happen to me because I shared their name. It had helped far more than she realised.
I let the many names of students wash over me, ignoring their houses as I worried about my own. Father had told us to make friends with Potter and I could tell as the sorting went on that I wouldn't be able to do that in Slytherin. I wasn't so sure that I wanted to be friends with him anyway, so far he had shown no admirable qualities and his choice in friends so far was slightly questionable. The Weasleys have never been friendly with my family, far from it with the decades of hostility that hovered between the families. His new friend would surely steer Potter away from us with an unrivalled determination. I would simply have to apologise to father and promise that my grades would make up for my failure in capturing Potter and endure what would probably be a series of elaborate punishments veiled in politely worded letters.
"Draco Malfoy." The woman in green announced. I watch nervously as my brother makes his way up to the woman and sits on the stool before him. His smug expression suddenly fades when he hears the words I know that father will punish him for hearing escape the sorting hat's lips, if it had any.
"Gryffindor."
A polite applause fills the hall as he walks to the table filled with people clad in red. He looks far too pale and his shaking hands expose his fear. Father may be upset with me for not being a Slytherin but he would be furious at Draco.
"Cassiopeia Malfoy." I dutifully make my way to the stool and await my fate patiently as the sorting hat is lowered onto my head.
'Very interesting.' A voice echoes in my mind. 'So very different from your brother and yet you both fit perfectly in Gryffindor.'
'Then why don't you announce it?' I ask back, not bothering to ask how it could read my mind. There wouldn't be much point in the sorting hat if it randomly assigned people to houses that they didn't fit.
'Because, my dear, you could join any house you wish and make a home and a family there.' It answers. 'I do have a difficult decision. Perhaps I should simply let you choose.'
'Let me choose.' I repeat, a sudden wave of fear filling me. How could such a powerful artifact expect me to make the right choice.
'No choice is right or wrong, though the consequences may be good or bad. A choice is simply that, a choice.' It informs me, I can tell that it is rather impressed with itself for coming up with such an intelligent response.
'I suppose that I should go to Gryffindor and keep my brother out of trouble.' I sigh, awaiting for the hat to announce my choice. But it doesn't yet.
'If that is what you wish.' It concedes after a long silence.
"Gryffindor." I hear echo throughout the hall and I receive the same polite applause that my brother did, though Potter seems to be smiling a little. It makes me curious, for someone who grew up without magic he seems to know that Gryffindor was supposed to be dominated by those society branded as good. Had the Dark Lord won the war then he wouldn't be smiling, he would be doing the opposite, if he were alive.
I sit next to my brother and place my had on his, trying to reassure him. "It's going to be okay." I reassure him, well aware that I must be wearing my mother's comforting smile.
"Father's going to kill us." He whispers, still shaking. "He'll disown us for sure."
"No he won't." I disagree. "He might be upset but he won't go as far as to disown us, especially you. He needs an heir to carry on the Malfoy name. Besides, it wouldn't do for him to disown his children because they were sorted into Gryffindor, he's far too political to do something like that. The press wouldn't be in his favour."
Draco seems to have calmed down a little now and we watch the rest of the students get sorted. As I expected, no purebloods sit near us, only the students who aren't aware of our father's animosity do that. It surprises me however, that Potter and his Weasley friend sit across from us, a bushy haired Gryffindor sat at my left discussing Hogwarts: A History with the prefect next to her. She was very obviously a muggle born, though I know Draco would throw mudblood at her at his first chance. Mother taught me etiquette and father taught Draco, Mother was very careful about what words I should use in public over what many purebloods wouldn't hesitate to use. Manners were of utmost importance, and even muggleborns deserved some manners, if only to show them how further advanced we are in the literary arts. Father was not as careful with Draco, instilling in him hate rather than caution. They both have their methods and I prefered mother's.
"I can't believe we'll spend the next seven years surrounded by mudbloods." Draco whispers to me, luckily quiet enough that no one around us heard his use of language. Mudblood would get you a detention, or simply take away points if you were lucky. It wasn't the smartest idea to throw the words around in a lion's den, especially when we would be considered snakes until we could prove otherwise, and I was determined to do so.
"Try not to use that word in public." I warn him, keeping my voice down. "I don't think our housemates will share the same views." I avoid pointing out that I don't share his views either. I may have been brought up in a pureblood home but I could see past father's insistence of the so called 'filthy muggles and their mudblood offspring'.
Muggles had managed just fine without magic and their children couldn't steal magic any more than I could make mine disappear. I don't know why magical children can be born to non magical parents but all I know is that they can and they clearly aren't as devolved as father would have us believe. Mother on the other hand found a real reason to dislike them, in that she lost a sister to them. She also doesn't like how our celebrations of Samhain and other celebrations are pushed aside for the muggle christmas and halloween. She told me once that muggleborns should try to learn our ways and appreciate them instead of blindly walking through our world with no sense of where their magic came from and why. She was logical about things like that, though she warned that most purebloods, including father, didn't share her opinion and it was best to only discuss such things with people who wouldn't spit the words blood traitor in my face the second I brought up the topic.
Perhaps I could educate this clearly intelligent muggleborn and help her understand why some pureblood families may not like her company. It would certainly help her to avoid the accusations of being a 'filthy mudblood' and the outrageous claims that she 'stole her magic'. Yes, I think mother would approve of that, though I'm not sure that father would see the good in it. He would probably suggest that I hex her and feed her to the giant squid he would tell us stories about.
I turn to the bushy haired girl and wait for an appropriate pause in her conversation so as not to be rude.
"The founders are the most interesting part of the book and yet there are barely any chapters about them." She complains, probably awaiting a reason for the now quiet prefect who was trying to think of an appropriate response.
I knew the answer of course and was glad to be able to add to their conversation. "Many people believe that the documents about them were burned when Slytherin left the school." I inform her, noticing the inquisitive gleam in her eyes. "But a lot of the information was simply lost to time when the statute of secrecy was implemented, most of the books being found and burned by muggles as they burned witches at the stake." She seemed rather upset that I had simply stated the part about muggles, I suppose it was only natural given that until recently she didn't know that she wasn't a muggle. "It was a very different time, where they were scared of what we could do. Not a child could fall ill without a witch being blamed, though it was slightly sexist to think that only women could possess such dark magic. That's why we separated ourselves from the muggle world, so that they wouldn't have to fear us and so we wouldn't have to fear them."
"So all wizards and witches are scared of muggles?" She asks, clearly not having understood my explanation.
"No, a lot has changed over the centuries." I shake my head, glad that she is still enthralled in my story. "Witches and wizards aren't afraid of muggles anymore, in fact that fear has turned to hatred in some eyes." I frown. "Some are still driven by the hatred of muggles burning our kind alive, drowning them in lakes, snapping their wands. Others think that muggle borns have stolen their magic and other ridiculous notions like that."
"But not you Malfoy?" The prefect asks accusingly. At closer glance I can tell that he too is a Weasley, though clearly not a very intelligent one given that he looked like I was about to breathe fire.
"No." I speak back, trying not to glare. "Though I can't say the same for my father."
"Or your brother." Draco announces, glaring hurtfully at me. "Clearly our parents' lessons didn't sink into that empty skull of yours." He spits. I've definitely now ruined my relationship with my brother, all because of a stupid prejudice that never made sense. "I can't believe that my sister is a blood traitor. My own blood."
"I'm not the only person in the world who doesn't enjoy hating people as much as you do." I reply. "And I'm not the only blood traitor you're related to. What about our cousins, our aunt. If you hadn't noticed, not everybody is as easily brainwashed by father."
"If he doesn't disown you, I will." Draco growls, turning his back to me.
I've rather successfully cut myself off from my family all in one night. As much as mother might argue with father about it, I will be burned off the tapestry by the end of the week. Eleven years old with no family, that would be a first. He wouldn't have any power over the Black name however, I would be named the head of the Black family the second he muttered incendio, no matter how old I am. The idea of burning my crazy aunt Bella off of that tapestry would make me very happy, and I could easily reinstate Aunt Andromeda to the family while I did so.
Before I could delve any further into my musings, the headmaster stood from his chair and sent us all to bed, which luckily for me meant not having to endure my brother's mutterings about blood purity and how I've brought dishonor to the Malfoy name. I won't bother to send father a letter in the morning, he would read Draco's before mine and burn it the second he read about my being a blood traitor.
I made sure to pay attention to the directions our prefects were giving us about how to get to the common room, though it wasn't too hard. Simply walk up the stairs to the seventh floor and give the fat lady the password. Though it wasn't that simple given that the staircases had a tendency to move while you were still on them. Walking up the many flights would be a chore to complete twice each day, though most likely more. 'Caput Draconus' would be our password for the next week until it was changed. Some of the students around me grumbled about it but it made sense, even if the boy stood on the step next to me was muttering about forgetting it. We'd simply have to make sure that someone was with him to let him into the common room if he forgot the password.
It was rather easy to find my bed in the girl's dormitory. There were five of us, and mine was the only bed with a white haired cat dozing on it, the white fur the same shade as my long straight hair. Father was rather upset when he had found a loophole that allowed non aggressive animals into the school, like the rat that I saw scurrying to Potter's ginger friend as we entered the common room. I knew that Asta wouldn't bother chasing after the rat, having given up such behaviour several years ago back when she was a kitten. She was still young, not full grown yet. My familiar would not die until I died, unless someone murdered my beautiful little ball of fur.
"He's adorable." One small blonde girl cooed at Asta, her eyes practically saucers in their sockets.
"Her name's Asta." I inform the girl politely, picking up Asta, allowing her to cuddle into my chest as the girl carefully stroked her fur. "She's a little shy still but give her some time and I'm sure she'll be dozing anywhere she likes. Father gets rather upset when he finds her sleeping on his chair in his study."
"She's great." The girl grins at me, her eyes softening.
"I'm Cassiopeia Malfoy." I introduce myself, waiting expectantly for her to tell me hers.
"I'm Lavender Brown." She smiles, though her eyes don't leave the cat in my arms.
Much to Lavender's dismay, I place Asta back on my bed and open my trunk to look for her things. A small sand tray that cleans itself, two bowls and a very large bag of cat food. Mother always overpacks for things like this. We once had a picnic in the rose garden and had the elves bring enough food to feed ten people. I place the tray under a window and place the bowls on the sil above it, filling one with food and another with water from a bottle I had in my bag. I'm glad that the food never spoils, so that Asta no longer feels the need to eat a full day's food in one sitting.
I glance around the room to see a brown skinned girl talking with a black haired girl, glancing over at our bushy haired roommate who just so happened to be staring at a book as she practised several spells from the beginning chapters.
I don't gawk like the other girls do and change into a pair of pyjamas, rather muggle like clothes as my mother had called them as she helped me pick them out. I own a great many pairs of shorts, in various colours and patterns and many t-shirts we kept hidden from father. My favourite shirt was very large, almost long enough to be a dress, that read 'Duran Duran' with a rather colourful pattern of star signs around something I've never been able to identify. Mother helped me hide my love of muggle music well, casting a notice me not charm on a walkman that she had found on one of our ventures into the muggle world. I'd brought it with me, after mother had placed a large number of charms on it so that it would work while in the castle. It no longer needed batteries and would simply play through the headphones thanks to another handy charm she had applied. Despite her distaste for muggles, she allowed me to indulge, simply glad for me to have something I enjoyed doing, even if it was listening to muggle music.
I ignore the strange look the bushy haired muggleborn was giving me and pulled out my walkman from my bag, selecting one of my favourite tapes, Rio by the same band whose shirt I was wearing. As I listen to the words I consider writing a letter to mother, she would understand if I told her not to fight for me to stay in the family. She would understand that I wasn't abandoning her, wouldn't she. I scratch Asta behind the ears and wonder what I might write. Would I tell her of my musings about the black tapestry, would I share with her my conversation with the bushy haired girl I had yet to know?
My thoughts are but off by a tapping on my shoulder. I politely remove my headphones and place them next to me, turning to see the same girl I was thinking about biting her lip, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She looked rather sheepish.
"I was wondering…" She started, glancing down at the floor. "Would you tell me more? About the wizarding world."
"On one condition." I start, struggling to keep an amused look off of my face. "You must tell me your name."
She smiles, though she still looks sheepish. "I'm Hermione Granger." She says, the bouncing of her feet coming to an end.
"Cassiopeia Malloy." I supply her. "Take a seat." I smile, motioning to the end of my bed. She sits, crossing her legs in what must be an attempt to curb her enthusiasm. "What would you like to hear first? There is a lot of information held in wizarding culture and history. It will take more than one night to tell."
"Perhaps you could start with an overview." She smiles, looking suddenly overwhelmed.
I simply smile and I quickly wonder where to begin, deciding the start of the wizarding population. "Thousands of years ago, people began to discover that they were different, that they had some level of control over the world around them, using different plants and minerals to execute feats of magic. They didn't have wands then, but they used rituals to perform magic, using different celebrations to thank the world around them for giving them magic.
"Wand making was rather simplistic for a time, with wand makers simply taking lengths of branches to encase their minerals in, before they knew that magical creatures could supply better cores." I note the gleam in the Hermione's eyes as I speak, noting that the other girls on the room seem rather interested in what I'm saying. "As decades passed, wizards and witches discovered that they could use spells to perform magic, instead of simply using their wands to perform complex rituals. The wand movements we use and the incantations were designed from what we understood of rituals, given that drawing symbols with their wand would strengthen the rather limited rituals they had been performing. The spells they created weren't as permanent as the rituals, but they could be performed over and over, with less of a limitation on time and resources.
"Wandmakers evolved too as we discovered the magic a feather or tail hair contained. As did the way they shaped the wands, refining the technique to yield stronger results, and through such, stronger spells were produced. It was during the rise of muggle religion that they began to fear magic, something they couldn't produce. It was a rather ridiculous belief in some eyes, but the muggles did have a legitimate reason to fear magic, it was something they couldn't control or understand, especially with the power that comes from magic. I don't blame them for believing magic to be the work of something evil and dangerous, and they took the fear that came with it and turned on the wizarding community, eradicating the people they believed would destroy their world. This was around the same time Hogwarts was founded. After years of persecution, the statute of secrecy was created and we turned away from the muggle community, focusing inward to rebuild what we had lost during the years muggles had hunted us. Salazar Slytherin was known to hate muggles and believed that muggleborns didn't have a place in our world, given that they were raised to fear us and most likely cheered along as a witch or wizard was burned or drowned. I don't blame him for that either, though I don't like that he wanted to keep magic in the hands of those who were born in magical families."
Hermione looks enraptured in my tale, hanging on to each word I say. "Centuries have gone by since then and there are people who still believe that, though there are people who don't. We don't know why muggleborns have magic, given that for centuries magic was simply passed through blood. Maybe magic is trying to cultivate itself after years of magical families intermarrying. After all we know magic isn't simply part of our blood, it's something that lives and breathes, something that shared itself with the first wizards and witches and will most likely continue to choose people to share itself with."
"That's a little ridiculous isn't it?" One girl asks, the one with the black hair. "Magic is inside of us, not some creature living in the mountains."
"And it was once thought ridiculous that the world revolved around the sun and we know that's true." I shrug. "We once thought that magic could only be accessed through rituals and that isn't true. Maybe one day you'll be the one to discover where magic comes from and will be celebrated for it."
She simply turns her nose up at me and draws the curtains around her bed.
"What more did wizards learn?" Hermione asks, leaning her arms on her knees. "How did we do it?"
"Perhaps that can wait for another day." I smile politely. "I might be able to write to my mother in the morning to send me some books, depending on what happens at home."
Hermione knits her eyebrows at me, a question forming in her eyes. She won't ask me though, no matter how much she wants to.
"My father believes that muggles and muggleborns are scum, he doesn't particularly like half bloods either. Mother isn't as bad, given that she has real reasons for her distaste of muggles. They might disown me when my brother writes to them. Mother has been covering for me for years, keeping father from hearing about my beliefs but I don't know if she will any more. Or if she can." I explain.
"But they're your parents." She asks, looking even more confused.
"Things are different in my family, they're a lot like other pureblood families." I sigh. "There are a lot of rules that come with being in what they call the sacred twenty eight. You have to be strong and eloquent. There is a very particular set of rules you have to follow, titles to call people, ways to walk and sit, and a very strict belief system. If you step outside of those bounds you dishonour and disgrace your family. Appearance is the most important thing to uphold and no matter how much your family may love you, disgracing the family name is a very serious offence and requires punishment. If you slouch, you spend the next day walking with a very uncomfortable spell that keeps your back straight. If you don't use the proper titles then you must spend hour reciting them, attributing people's names into the right categories until your parents are satisfied that you won't slip again. And if you are caught calling muggleborns anything other than mudbloods you are names a blood traitor and are usually disowned, though they prefer not to do that. It's far too embarrassing to disown your daughter or sister, though keeping a blood traitor in the family could turn out worse."
"So they'd disown you?" Hermione asks, she looks as if she wants to cry, which is of course ridiculous. I'm not too upset by the idea. I've know the day my face will be removed from the Malloy lineage would one day come. Maybe not so soon, but it was never a question in my mind.
"Most likely yes." I nod, shrugging. "I'm not too upset by it. I'll just inherit the house of black when they do so it won't make a difference."
"Maybe you can tell me more about these rules tomorrow." Hermione says, getting a strange hard look in her eyes.
"Sure." I smile. Mentally preparing myself for the outcome of tomorrow morning's breakfast. Father wouldn't send a howler, that much she was certain of, she just wasn't sure if he would be able to rave the bad press if he disowned her, though he most likely wouldn't care. She knew about the crimes he'd managed to wriggle out of after the end of the first war, he would rather keep his favour with the former death eaters he associated with than with the press. It would all blow over and the world would forget his disowning a daughter like they had his accusations of murder. Crazy aunt Bella, despite being in Azkaban, would remember his harbouring a blood traitor for the rest of her days, as would all of his associates.
I settle restlessly into bed, allowing quiet tears to roll from my face into my pillow as I fret over mother. She would certainly be punished for not teaching me well enough. Father might crucio her, something she had experienced first hand, though only once, and it would not be pleasant. I'll just have to pray to any god that might be out there that she won't be hurt because of me.