From the moment I was born, I knew I was going to be a Slytherin.

It wasn't something in my character that gave it away however; I had always been an onlooker, a people watcher. In my childhood, it was rare for me to get involved in another's predicaments or even put myself in a position where I was liable to be drug into one.

It was my parents that instead began to force this path onto me. For years, any mention of schooling would embark my father on a thousand-hour lecture on the exceptionality of the Slytherin house and its subjects. He was descended from a line of Slytherins, dating all the way back to the early 1000s, and he made it his mission to never let me forget that, as well as making sure that I knew what would happen if I was not to be in Slytherin. As if I was able to choose my house with free will.

My Mother was also a Slytherin, however, it was not too long ago that she had told me she was, in fact, the first generation Slytherin in a line of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. She was quiet about her Slytherin status, but she still dressed me in greens, painted my room a dark silver, and paid for my first pet, a silver colubrid snake. These days I wonder if my mother actually did those things on her own accord, without the influence of my father.

There was a book I once read in the Library during my fifth year. I had been required to find a reference book in the Russian literature section for my History of Magic class and, whilst trying to understand squabbled Russian on the spines of each book, I came across a novel translated into English: Crime and Punishment. Astonished that I had managed to find a book I could actually read, I decided to sit down and glance through it in order to sort of do a study into how Russian vernacular and structure differed from the English that I know. You know, like an average 15-year-old would do. Before I knew it, I had read a hundred pages and the Librarian was kicking me out for the night. But, I digress. In the story of Crime and Punishment, the main character deals with the repercussions of having the equivalent of three distinct mindsets: A vengeful side, fueled by anger, hate, and revenge and is often the cause of the crimes committed by the character, a childlike side, fueled by anguish, guilt, and a lack of reason and is the cause of crimes committed accidentally, and The Onlooker, a mindset that has a lack of emotion or reason to be involved and gives the character a lack of motivation to be afraid or to commit more crimes.

It was a book I connected to deeply, for many reasons that I still, to this day, do not understand. I knew my childhood exhibited that of The Onlooker, but there were many other significances in the book I knew connected to me in other ways as well, most of which I know now had not presented themselves to me yet in a way in which I could understand.

--

Gus and I had no problem finding a seat on the train. We sat in the back, along with many of the other older Slytherins. I wouldn't go as far as to say they were my friends, as it was rare for anyone in our house to really be friendly, but they respected me. They respected my bloodline, mainly, but I liked to fantasize that they respected my character too, or maybe even my party trick.

I sat in my usual spot against the back wall of the train, squished between Gus and Daphne Greengrass, a girl who I had only just met at the end of last year. Directly across from us sat Teddy Nott and Blaise Zabini, both of whom were friends of Gus's.

The train had just begun to pull out of the station and Blaise had started up a conversation with Gus about something relating to Defense Against the Dark Arts when I noticed Draco Malfoy enter the carriage later than normal with Pansy Parkinson on his heels. He was oddly dressed up today as well, what with a pressed black suit over the top of a simple black dress shirt. His hair was combed back with almost too much gel, which was a significant change from his usual shaggy look. What was most peculiar were the dark circles under his eyes and the almost white complexion he had developed.

He sat on the far side of the carriage next to Pansy and across from Crabbe and Goyle. I could tell something was bothering him, as he kept glancing out the window or looking back over his shoulder, all the while his leg bouncing anxiously.

Following one of his notorious look-backs, Malfoy managed to make eye contact with me, to which I gave a small smile and lifted up my fingertips from the table in a sort of semi-wave. The boy nodded slightly, not looking entirely interested or focused on my acknowledgment. Then he turned back around in his seat and I was forgotten again.

Draco Malfoy and I had a complicated history that dated back to when my dad was still around. I remember that when I was eight or so, he began bringing over the Malfoys for dinner about once a month. He had mentioned to my mother that it was purely work business and he was simply "sucking up to the boss", as he put it. Yet, there was something odd about my Father's relationship with Lucius Malfoy especially, simply in the way that they communicated and interacted with one another whilst the family was over. A hushed whisper here, a glance at the other from across the dinner table. My father even began cracking a few smiles when the Malfoys were over, which was odd, seeing as I rarely ever saw him smile.

For the first year of these dinner parties, I did not know Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had a child, or that they were even the type of people to want children in the first place. They were both very cold and demanding, as well as having very pungent opinions about society and it's classes. Rarely did they ever speak of children or even show any sign of acknowledging me, even when I'd next to my mother at the dining table. Their conversations would range in topics a child could not understand or have no business hearing.

So it was considerably surprising come to find out that the Malfoy's had a son my age, despite the fact that it was obvious to me he was born simply to become an heir. The first time Draco Malfoy came to my house, he was dressed in almost the same get up he was wearing in the train car today, but his blinding white hair was pressed flat against his head and seemed to have been combed back dozens of times. The corners of his mouth were curved up into a smirk and his eyebrows were raised high, much like his father's. He was no more than one or two inches taller than me, yet stood as if he were fifty feet tall and could crush anything he wished under the tips of his toes. He had shaken my hand delicately as if he had no business touching me at all, and he spoke to me as if I were years younger than he was, regardless of the fact that I was nearly two months older. At age 9, Draco Malfoy was cruel, stuck up, and an all-around pain in the ass.

Naturally, we became best friends.

For a year.

When I was ten, my Father stopped inviting the Malfoys over for dinner and I slowly began to lose contact with Draco Malfoy. It was bittersweet, in a way; the circumstances meant that whatever 'work' my father had with Mr. Malfoy had more or less fallen through and I could stop feeling as if our family was getting involved with something it shouldn't be. On the other hand, I had lost what I now know to be the last friend I'd have whilst living in Ireland; someone more like me than anyone I'd ever know.

That was until fourth year when I started school at Hogwarts and saw Draco Malfoy again after four years of no contact. He was almost exactly how I remembered him, just with a more hormones and a lot less gel in his hair. I had tried to make contact with him; I acknowledged him in the hallways, I sat relatively close to him in the Dining Hall, and I was even in the same study group as him. But Draco rarely said a word to me. His only form of communication with me thus far has been a simple head nod to acknowledge my attempts. It had worried me fourth year; I wondered if I had inadvertently done something wrong or if his family had banned him from talking to me. Now I don't worry so much about it; I simply try to be as nice to him as I can so that maybe, one day, he'll see that I have and will always be there for him.

An elbow in my side jolted me back to the present as Gus turned to me and asked, "So, what do you think, Nance?"

I tore my eyes away from the back of Draco Malfoy's head and looked between Gus, who was waiting patiently for my answer, and Blaise, who looked quite bored with the fact that I was being dragged into his conversation.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying again?"

Gus sighed. "I had mentioned to Blaise that the Potions teacher they hired this year is a complete buffoon and I'd rather have someone teaching that I could actually learn from, but Blaise said he'd rather have a professor that slacks off so he doesn't have to do any work. I was asking you which side you would take?"

The tip of my tongue traced over the corner of my mouth as I thought. "Well, I think I'd much rather learn in class to be prepared for the real world-" Gus silently punched the air at the remark. "-but I'd much rather do that the easiest way possible. Is there a third option?"

"You have to pick a side, Nancy, that's how the game works."

"I didn't realize we were playing a game, I thought this was just logic."

"No, the game is that I'm always right and Blaise is al-"

At that moment, I noticed out of the corner of my eye the carriage door slip open slightly, seemingly with no one behind it. I was just leaning over to interrupt Gus in his rant on Blaise's insignificance when the room was suddenly enveloped in a cloud of darkness.

I felt Gus's hand clutch my arm as I attempt to stand, and he pulled me down next to him and whispered loudly, "Nancy, stand up and die."

I rolled my eyes in the pitch black darkness. I could hear the people that were seated around me yelling, coughing, and I'm pretty sure someone was crying. "Gus, no one's gonna die, I was just going to try to go into the hall to see who threw that stupid Weasley powder in here. I'll be back in a second." I managed to pull my arm out of Gus's grasp, much to his dismay. I made a motion to climb over Daphne, but when my hand slipped on the seat cushion, I found no one there, which was odd, as I hadn't heard her get up. I pushed myself down the aisle, hands outstretched as to not fall over, only bumping into a few people on my way. My hands soon grazed over the face of the compartment door, and with a little fumbling, I managed to find the handle and pull.

I had only gotten it a part of the way open, the light from the hallway just beginning to stream in when something seemed to push me in the chest and I fell backward. The momentum of this act had me push the door in the opposite direction, shutting it again.

An empty seat met my back when I fell, a quick breath leaving my lungs. I was startled for a second, as I had not seen anyone come in the carriage or leave it, but it was fairly dark in the compartment, so I must have done so without knowing.

I looked around and I could begin to make out a few muddy shapes through the cloud, so I stood again, brushed myself off, and opened the door again, this time staying on my feet.

The smoke began to dissipate at a faster rate into the hall, and when I turned back around, I was left staring into the eyes of none other than Draco Malfoy, who was standing quite defensively in the center of the aisle. There were a few other Slytherins still mulling about, muttering about the immature acts of first years, so we were not the only people still standing, yet Malfoy maintained eye contact with me for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed. Then he turned around and walked back to his seat as if nothing had happened.

Once I was sat back in my seat, everything seemed to have gone back to normal. Gus was finishing up his conversation with Blaise, Pansy Parkinson was shouting something unintelligible at Goyle, and Teddy Nott was loudly scratching something down in his notebook.

And Draco was back to glancing worryingly about as always, however this time, he kept making eyes at the luggage net above his head, as if something were hiding inside of it.