I heaved my trunk along through the cramped corridor. Since I boarded at the last minute, I doubted there would be an empty compartment left. That left the option of sitting with Draco and some of the other Slytherins, something I desperately wanted to avoid. That's when I spotted Zabini talking with an older looking student who was still in their muggle clothes. I quickly sidestepped out of his view and then all but dived into the nearest compartment. Had he seen me? I doubted it. Straightening up, I turned around and prepared myself to give a plausible explanation to whoever else was there about why I had burst into their compartment without so much as knocking. Luckily, the only other person there was a boy in Hufflepuff robes who was snoring loudly, his breath misting the glass of the small window. I carefully stepped around him and shoved my rucksack between the window and the seat. Finally, I sank into the opposite seat, closing my eyes and letting out a long sigh.

I know that my aversion to other Slytherins is more than a little hypocritical considering I'm a seventh generation Slytherin myself but for whatever it's worth, it's not for the reason most people would think. Most people who didn't know me would say that I was distancing myself from others who might be associated with the Dark Lord or even that I was ashamed to belong to a house that produced so many dark wizards. Sadly, this was not the case. The real reason why I avoided them as much as I could without bringing attention to myself was much less honorable than that. The sad truth was that I was already in a class above most of them. While a decent lot of them had brought up what it might be like joining the Death Eaters and some had even flirted with the idea of getting branded, none of them had the access and connections that I did. None of them (with the exception of Draco) had spent their Friday nights in the long dark dining room of Malfoy Manor playing maid to some of the most evil twisted people on earth. And none of them had been okay with it. I pushed my palms into my eyes, already feeling the start of a migraine coming on.

I knew what would have happened if Zabini had seen me. He would have come over and started a conversation, probably about something innocuous and mundane like a new school book or Slytherin's chances at the quidditch cup. But there would have been that curiosity in his eyes that could only have been about what had happened at the meetings that his parents went to once a week. He would never have been bold enough to actually ask about them but he, like all the rest of the Slytherins, would have known that me and Draco were privy to at least some part of them. This combined with what my dear parents had done at the end of the last war had elevated me to something of an unwelcome celebrity status among most Slytherins. Sometimes hearing them talk about things like the last wizarding war and dark marks was almost like being a hardened criminal surrounded by inexperienced harmless first time offenders. After an hour or two of just sitting quietly, the sky that was framed by the small window started to darken to a velvety dusk. Another half-hour later, I felt my eyelids start to grow heavy. I blinked once. Then again. Then again…

I was rudely awakened to the sound of a door slamming. Frantically trying to blink the sleep out of my eyes, I whipped out my wand at the outline of the intruder standing in the doorway of the compartment.

"Who is it," I snarled, still blinded by the lights that had now turned on in the compartment.

"It's just me," said a bewildered sounding voice.

"Me, who?" I demanded, still not lowering my wand.

"Colin. Colin Creevy. Would you…would you point that somewhere else?" sputtered the same voice. I realized that my wand was pointed directly between his eyes and was probably less than an inch from his forehead. For a second I was irresistibly reminded of Draco's reaction when I first confronted him this morning.

"Sorry," I muttered. I stuffed my wand back into my pocket. I figured now that I had lowered my wand, whoever Colin Creevy was would want to get as far away from me as he could. But he didn't.

"Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full," he asked cheerfully.

"Sure," I said without enthusiasm, hoping he would pick up on the note of annoyance in my voice. But clearly, Colin Creevy was not good at reading between the lines because he dragged his rucksack loudly into the apartment and heaved it up onto the seat where the Hufflepuff boy was still snoring away before sitting down himself. I closed my eyes, figuring I might be able to drift off for another hour or so before I had to change into my school robes. I sat there with my eyes shut for about fifteen minutes and was just about to drift off when I heard a loud clanking noise. Then it stopped. Then another five minutes of silence and I was just starting to feel the warmth of sleep creeping over me when I heard it again, only louder. I opened my eyes. Colin had taken what looked like a modified muggle camera out of his rucksack and was fiddling with something on the side of it.

"Oh, sorry. Was I bothering you?" he asked, seeing that I was awake.

"Why would you be bothering me," I asked sarcastically, but my sarcasm was completely lost on Colin who continued to fiddle with whatever it was on the camera that was making so much noise.

"Just a tiny adjustment," he muttered, turning a dial. "And…there," he said in triumph as his camera emitted a puff of smoke. Finally done with the stupid camera, he turned his attention to me.

"I didn't catch your name," he said.

"I didn't mention it," I muttered, now becoming seriously annoyed. But he just looked at me expectantly, clearly waiting for an answer. I sighed. Clearly, another hour of sleep was out of the question now.

"My name is Antigone but everyone calls me Anna," I said.

"Oh. Well like I mentioned, I'm Colin," he said and grinned. I scrutinized him. It was awfully hard to be annoyed with someone so oblivious to your irritation. An awkward silence stretched on for a minute. I figured it wouldn't be long until he said something else. I was right.

"So what year are you?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

"Fifth year," I replied.

"Me too," he said. "I wonder why I don't remember seeing you before." He had a point. Three years at Hogwarts and he didn't look the least bit familiar to me.

"So what house are you in?" I asked to be polite.

"Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart," he said in such a ridiculous way that when he grinned this time I couldn't help smile a little too. He wasn't as dense as he first seemed. "So what about you?" he asked. "You look a bit like a Ravenclaw," he said.

"Something like that," I said, deciding it was probably not the best moment to bring up the fact that our houses were rivals to the death. Hoping to change the subject, I added, "I like your camera."

"Thanks," he said and patted the lenses. "Did you hear about who's taking over for defense against the dark arts?" he asked in a much more serious tone. I shook my head. Between everything that had happened between June and now, it had completely slipped my mind that we would have a new defense teacher.

"Professor Snape," he said, with the air of someone reporting something impressive.

"What?" I snapped. Everyone knew that Snape was after the job but I never seriously entertained the thought that he might actually get it. If Dumbledore trusted Snape with something like that, maybe he was finally losing his touch.

"I know!" he replied, with a knowing nod. "You don't like him either?" he asked. My opinions of the potions master were mixed at best. I mean, I knew he was a Death Eater. I had seen him at the meetings. I shook my head.

"He seems a bit…" I said, unsure how to describe him without bringing up the subject of Death Eaters.

"Unbalanced? Pure evil? The bane of the existence of students everywhere?"

At this I laughed a bit. After that, the tension eased a bit and we talked for a half hour more, before he left to go change. As I changed into my Slytherin robes, I reflected on how nice it had been to have an interaction with someone who was not either admiring or horrified of my notorious status as the daughter of one of the most infamous dark sorcerers of all time. It had been simple, easy. It had been years since I'd been able to talk without analyzing what I was going to say before I said it. But if he knew who I was or even just what house I belonged to, none of that ever could have happened. If I ever saw Colin Creevy again, I doubted he would want much to do with me. My last thought as I departed the train was that it was probably better this way.