A/N:

Yeah, so I take ridiculously long breaks in between chapters. Oops. Apologies.

Anyways, enjoy :]

Chapter 4: The Day Begins

The Great Hall was nearly deserted when Dami arrived, but the four long house tables were already laden with a variety of dishes. The hall looked different than the night before, without the candles hanging in midair, chattering students and head table full of teachers. She noticed the blond boy from the night before—what was his name? Something with a D, she remembered that—Damien? Dragomere?—sitting alone at the far end of the Slytherin table.

"Morning," Dami said, cheerily enough, as she sat next to him. He looked up in surprise and irritation. His face changed slightly when he saw her, into an expression that was a little more forgiving.

"Oh. Hello. Good morning." He looked back at the piece of toast on his plate, a half-hearted bite missing, but otherwise untouched. Dami served herself some porridge before reaching for some toast and an apple.

"So," she said, her mouth full, "How does this work, then? How do I know what classes to go to and such?" The boy—what was his name?—looked up again, slightly surprised she was still talking to him.

"We get our schedules in a bit. Snape—he's head of house—will help you with your schedule, but I guess it will be a bit funny for you, since you didn't take your O.W.L.s. Or did you?"

"Yeah, I did, actually," Dami told him, taking a noisy bite from her apple, "They're universal; they were a big deal at every school I've been to, but I didn't really think they were too bad, did you?"

He slowly picked up his toast, as though he was unsure of whether or not he wanted it.

"I suppose not," he replied, "How many schools have you been to, anyway?"

"Oh quite a lot," Dami told him, pouring herself a cup of tea and stirring cream and sugar into it, "I started out in Greece, but we went to Italy partway through my second year. Then we moved to Bulgaria, then Finland, then Turkey. Then, near the end of my fourth year we moved to the States, and we stayed there until just a couple weeks ago. So I guess this is my seventh school."

"Well," he said, but didn't seem to have anything to say after that.

The Great Hall was slowly filling up, growing louder and louder as students filtered in and began to catch up after their summer holidays. Dami glanced up at the head table, and saw Dumbledore, along with an array of other teachers.

"Dami! Hi!" A breathless voice came from behind her. Dami turned and saw Hermione, the Gryffindor prefect, standing awkwardly between the tables. The Slytherins around them glared and hissed in disapproval.

"Oh, hi!" Dami greeted her cheerily, "Morning! How are you?"

"I'm not bad, thanks," Hermione smiled, still looking nervous and awkward, "I was just thinking, um, that once you've got your course schedule and everything, we could compare and see when we have free periods together. Then, you know, we could give you a tour or something."

"Great, thanks!" said Dami, "That sounds great, really nice of you."

"No problem," Hermione replied, smiling, "I'll just be…" she gestured self-consciously to the Gryffindor table. Dami nodded, and she left. Immediately, the blond boy began to speak.

"Really, Hermione Granger? Honestly, Damina, you could do much better than that. She's a moodblood, she's filth. Don't hang around with sorts like her." His voice was scathing, cold, and his face was twisted into a look of haughty disgust.

The anger that had visited her the night before in the dormitory enveloped Dami once again. Why did the Slytherins seem so obsessed about blood status? In New York, witches had judged each other by the hairstyle and shoe choice, and wizards scorned the scrawny. No one cared if you were pure or muggle or mixed; most, in fact, were mixed. Why did blood matter so much to the Slytherins? And why was Dami a Slytherin?

"Damina Dietrich," a slow drawl caught her attention. She looked up. Standing above her was a rather unpleasant man with stringy black hair wavering around his pallid cheeks. Small, beady black eyes studied her from over a long hooked nose. Dami sat a little straighter in her seat, not to be intimidated by this sinister looking professor.

"I am Professor Snape, head of Slytherin and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." His voice was deliberate and slow, yet clipped. He rarely blinked.

Dami stuck out her hand, "Dami Dietrich, pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir," She smiled winningly, continually attempting to apply her theory of general kindness and respect.

Snape did not shake her hand, nor did he smile back; he simply continued to eye her from atop his greasy curling nose.

"Now," he told her at last, "Do you have your O.W.L results with you? I shall need to verify your scores before I can arrange your schedule."

"Oh yeah, one moment," She said hurriedly, bending over to rummage quickly through the mess of her bag, "Here we go," she said, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. She was rather proud of her results: three O's, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Muggle Studies, and Potions, just one A in Arithmency, and the rest E's—not a single failing grade.

Dami thought she saw Snapes eyebrows rise slightly as he poured over her results, but she could have been mistaken.

"Very well," he said curtly, "You cannot take N.E.W.T level Arithmency as that requires an Exceeds Expectations at the very least, but you have the scores to take any other classes you would like." He seemed to say this reluctantly.

"Brilliant!" Dami replied, "Well, Potions, please. My favorite class, I couldn't pass that one by. And Defense Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies as well, and I suppose Transfiguration or else my mum will kill me. And Astronomy, please. Is that enough? How many should I take? I suppose I should take Charms as well, shouldn't I? Is six too many?"

The thought of her studies excited Dami; she couldn't wait to get to classes. Snape stared at her, a slight look of distaste encroaching on his face.

"Six is fine," he said slowly, "Sixth year students typically take five, but a sixth class is often taken by more ambitious students." He waved a black wand over a thick piece of parchment and handed it to her. "I look forward to having you in my class this afternoon," he said, though she greatly doubted his sincerity. He left.

Dami gazed greedily at her course schedule. Her day started with double Charms, and then Potions before lunch. In the afternoon, as Snape had mentioned, she had double Defense Against the Dark Arts. She wasn't too excited about Charms; it always seemed to frivolous that she rarely tried hard or put any effort in, but at least it was rather simple. Potions, however, was her favorite subject. She excelled at it wherever she went, but more importantly, she was passionate about it. Something about the way that mixing perfect combinations of simple, useless ingredients could make an incredibly useful brew fascinated her.

Her breakfast finished, she headed over to the Gryffindor table to compare schedules with Hermione and the others.

"Morning!" She said brightly, scooting into a seat between Hermione and a scandalized Ron, "I've just got my course schedule, have you got yours yet?"

At least a dozen people in the seats surrounding them were staring at Dami. Slightly self-conscious, though in no way ashamed, she whispered loudly to Hermione, "Why are they all staring? Have I got porridge on my face or something?"

Hermione blushed slightly, "No, no, it's just… well I don't think they're used to um… transfer students, you know?" She explained rather clumsily.

"Not used to Slytherins sitting at our table, more like," someone in the vicinity said in a carrying whisper. Dami felt her cheeks turn hot, but refused to let the comment deter her. She was really beginning to despise this whole house system they had at Hogwarts.

"Um, well, anyways," Hermione said quickly, pulling out her course schedule, "I haven't got a free period until after Potions this afternoon, so maybe we could show you around after that? We could just meet back here—"

"Oh, I'm in Potions too," Dami said cheerily, "We can just go straight from there."

"Brilliant," Hermione breathed, "Well, I've got to get to Arithmancy, but I'll see you later!" She left the table, her nose already buried deep in her Arithmancy book.

Dami sat awkwardly for a moment, incredibly self-conscious that her only real ally at the Gryffindor table had just left. The tension around her was palpable. Finally, aware of the time and the fact that she had no idea where the Charms classroom was, she turned to Ron.

"Hey." He looked up, blushing around his freckles and working hard to keep a pleasant expression on his face.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you could show me where the Charms class is? If it's not a problem or anything? I just have no idea where anything is in this place."

"Of course," Ron replied, though he looked less than eager, "Come on, we'd better go then, it's nearly time." They got up from the table, and Harry Potter followed them.

"I'll meet you in the common room, then?" He asked Ron, who nodded his agreement. Dami watched as he ascended the marble staircase in front of them, wondering who this boy—this boy who was the catalyst for so many events in the last fifteen years of magical history—really was.