Disclaimer: As you all know, I own nothing belonging to the fabulous J.K Rowling, otherwise, I'd be making a lot more money.


"Problems are not stop signs, they are guidelines."- Robert H. Schuller

-o-o-

September 2nd 1992

-o-o-

Emerald eyes open to a canopy of red hangings. Despite being used to this sight from last year, a smile tugs up the chapped lips of Harry Potter who touches the red bedding with a newfound appreciation. He thinks he ought to feel this way, since he had been a hair-width from never seeing this bed again. Sighing, he lingers in his comfortable bed for a few more minutes before getting up so he can get ready for the first day of classes. Classes – another thing Harry finds himself looking forward to more than usual.

By the time breakfast is over, he regrets tempting Fate by waking up in high-spirits.

Mr. Weasley is facing an enquiry at work because of what he and Ron did. To top it off, everyone now knows about it too. Thankfully Herbology doesn't go too badly, except for Lockhart's random (and unneeded) advice on how to handle fame. Transfiguration however, convinces Harry that he lost his memory of last year whilst he had been wacked around by the Whomping Willow.

Harry's just glad it's lunch, to be honest. He spent at least half-an-hour talking with Ron about Quidditch when Colin Creevey comes over to ask for a photo. Although he is slightly unnerved by the boy's excitement of meeting him, Harry did appreciate that the kid had at least asked if he could have a picture instead of just letting the camera go off in his face.

Those sentiments however, quickly evaporated when Malfoy heard. Now Harry is standing face to face with the blonde prat, wanting nothing more than to punch the smug smirk right off his face. "Jealous?" The blonde scoffs at Colin. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar across my forehead, thanks."

"I bet you wouldn't." A new voice calls out from seemingly nowhere. "Your face is already foul enough without it. I personally think it'd be an improvement."

Harry smirked as Malfoy spins around, sneering despite the bright red flush spreading across his cheeks. "Shut up DeMara! This is not your concern."

"Actually, I think it is my business, since you decided that everyone in the courtyard should know what an ass you are." Colin and Ron erupt into snickers as the voice draws closer, a note of amusement clear in it. Harry, who's full out grinning by this point, catches sight of the person behind these remarks. There is the girl from Flourish and Bolts, standing just a few feet away from the group with her arms crossed. "Honestly Draco, didn't you say last night that picking fights in the open was a Gryffindor trait?"

"You don't get to call me that." Malfoy snaps, his face flushed a bright red. "Only my friends do."

"Aw. You wound me." She pouts, putting a hand over her heart. "And here I was, thinking I was doing what true friends would do. Be honest."

Malfoy snarls as Harry, Colin and Ron burst into laughter. Hearing this, Malfoy turns on them: "You think this is funny? I suppose it is hilarious that brave Gryffindors have to be defended by a sorting mistake."

The three boys stop laughing. "What are you saying Malfoy?" Harry demands, green eyes narrowing. The girl, however, just snorts.

"Sorting mistake? That's the best you've got. Honestly, Draco, I just thought I could stop you from making a bigger fool of yourself. It looks bad on the rest of us, you see."

"Us?" Ron echoes, his eyes darting from Malfoy to the girl. His eyes rest on her for a long moment, eyes narrowed in a way that makes Harry frown in concern.

"Ron?"

Without warning Ron's eyes widen; the red-head recoils as if he had been burnt before whipping out his wand. "What kind of game are you two playing at?" He growls, making the girl's smile drop and confusion to settle in the storm of her eyes while Harry steps forward in hopes of preventing a disaster.

"Game?" She repeats, "What game?"

At the same moment, Harry tugs on Ron's arm. "What's wrong with you? She was just – "

"She's a snake Harry!" Ron snapped, trying to shake the green-eyed boy off. "She's a bloody Slytherin!"

"What?" Harry blurts out, dumbfounded. Still gripping Ron's arm, he faces the girl, his eyes traveling down to rest on the crest on her robe. Sure enough, there is a green serpent. He meets her storm eyes then. Too confused, too shocked to say anything except: "What?"

It does not help that the girl looks just as confused as Harry; or that she asks in disbelief: "Yeah, so? What does that matter?"

Malfoy and Ron both open their mouths to argue only to be interrupted by none other than Lockhart. The man seems to have made it his personal duty to make Harry's day just that much more tiresome by forcing him into posing for a picture with him. Lockhart then decides that he should give Harry more 'advice' by calling the green-eyed boy 'bigheaded' before leaving the gaping boy inside the castle. Flushed with embarrassment and feeling a headache coming on, Harry starts to make his way to Defence. However, he turns back for just a moment when he feels a pair of eyes on him. Sure enough, it's the girl. Again Harry feels disbelief well up within him; this time accompanied with an sudden burst of anger mixed with regret. Something of it may have shown on his face, because the girl's eyes seemed to dull and she looked…hurt.

Guilt wells up inside him at the sight, but Harry stubbornly forces it away. 'She's a Slytherin.' He tells himself firmly, clenching his jaw and turning away. He tries in vain to ignore the fact that her accusing stare is digging into his back.

-O-O-

That night in the common room, the golden trio had their first argument.

"Bloody Lockhart!" Ron snaps, throwing himself into one of the comfy chairs by the fire with a scowl etched on his features. "What the hell was Dumbledore thinking? He can't even teach!"

"Everyone makes mistakes Ronald." Hermione chastises as she and Harry take a seat. The dark haired boy tunes out the conversation as the other two begin to bicker, staring at the fire in deep thought. 'How could she have ended up in Slytherin? She didn't seem to be anything like Malfoy...' Then another thought occurs to Harry, and it makes him feel rather unwell. 'But then, I'm not like Malfoy either and I was nearly sorted there...'

"Even the sorting hat?" Ron challenges, making Harry's eyes snap towards him.

Hermione looks confused for a moment, and then a scowl sets on her features. "The girl was defending you Ron. Never mind the uniform…"

"I will mind anybody who has a bloody snake on their chest!" Ron snapped, face beginning to turn red. "And who's to say she really was defending us? It was probably a trick…"

"What kind of 'trick'," Hermione begins, making air-quotes with her fingers. "Could come from defending someone?"

Ron huffed. "Obviously they wanted to make it look like Gryffindors couldn't defend themselves…"

"No offense, but always telling Malfoy to 'shove off' is hardly a defense." Hermione tells Ron with a raised eyebrow, raising a silencing hand when the irritated red-head opened his mouth to speak. "And, I'll have you know that she sat on the stool for three minutes before she was sorted. Obviously, there's more to her than just a Slytherin; which, by the way, means that she's cunning and ambitious, not evil."

With that thought provoking statement, Hermione picks up her bag and bids goodnight. As soon as she is out of earshot, Ron murmurs quietly: "Same thing isn't it?"

Harry subconsciously clenches his fists; a sudden, unexplainable anger and surety raging through him. 'No. It isn't.'

-o-o-

Earlier that day - Malfoy

-o-o-

Draco Malfoy is miffed. One of his own housemates had the nerve to embarrass him in front of Potty and Weasel. Worse, said housemate was the newest addition and had to be a mistake to boot. After all, why would she defend Gryffindors if she was not? 'Hell,' Draco realized sourly as she answered a question in potions quickly yet perfectly with her accented voice rolling out the s's and r's, 'She's not even British!'

Malfoy keeps fuming silently for the rest of potions; subconsciously shooting glares at DeMara's back every few minutes. However, at one point she catches his gaze and has the nerve to bloody smile at him. Yes, a smile! Not a sarcastic, or rude one either that was typical of traitors. No, a real genuine smile! Draco only realizes he is staring after Vincent pokes his arm, muttering: "Draco, the cauldron's smoking. Is it supposed to be doing that?"

Snapping out of it, Malfoy hurrys to fix the problem by adding a little bit more unicorn hair and stirring clockwise twice. Letting out a breath of relief when the potion turns into its proper colour, a dark starry blue. Barely a second later, Malfoy tenses when he hears something that sounds suspiciously like a restrained laugh. Spinning around in the direction of the sound, Malfoy's cheeks flush when he spots DeMara snickering at her table. As if that is not enough, she catches his eyes again and bloody winks at him!

What in Merlin's breezy robe was that hat thinking?!

-o-o-

That night, Draco unwittingly got a piece of an answer.

The Slytherins are all sitting in the common room after dinner when Draco gets undeniably bored. Seeing DeMara curled up in an armchair a little way from him reading a rather thick looking tome, the blonde quickly decides that she would be a great source of entertainment before bed. Standing from his seat, Malfoy makes his way over quietly and when he's within arms reach, snatches the book from her hands. "What're you reading DeMara?" He inquires haughtily, flipping the book over so that he can read the contents. When she says nothing, storm eyes gazing at him intensely, he raises an eyebrow in challenge. "Are you trying to find out how to get re-sorted?"

Still, the dark haired girl does not respond. Hiding his frustration, Draco casts his gaze down toward the book. His gray eyes widen in disbelief at seeing the familiar old language of Latin. "You understand this?" He whispers, so dumbfounded that he forgets to conceal the awe in his voice. She is muggle-born, right? Why would she learn this language? How would she learn?"

"Yes." DeMara answers shortly, to the point. When Malfoy meets her gaze, she smiles cheekily. "Obviously, I would have to know a language if I intend to read a book written in said language."

At the comment, Malfoy feels his face flush with ignition. His embarrassment causes him to speak without thinking. "I just don't get how a mudblood like you would have the education to know something useful." This time, Malfoy gets what he wanted. The smile melts from DeMara's expression, and her eyes flash while her fists clench at her sides. Draco barely manages to conceal a smile: a reaction, at last.

Suddenly, DeMara stands up, moving forward so that they are nose to nose. She stares at Draco; the harshness of her gaze nearly making him take a step back. After a moment, she speaks slowly. "I don't like that word, Draco. This time, I'll let you off easy because you clearly don't have the brain capacity to figure that out on your own. But, if I hear something that foul come out of your mouth due to your own insecurities towards me or someone else again I will make you regret it."

The book is roughly pulled out of his grasp as Malfoy gapes at her, too stunned to do anything but watch as she begins to step away from him. Then, she turns back: "I had expected better from the house of cunning and ambition; and I'm sure Slytherin himself did too."

Although his eyes harden and his jaw clenches stubbornly, Malfoy cannot bring himself to say how obnoxiously Gryffindor her actions are. He is a Slytherin and - sorting mistake or not - DeMara is an unknown variable. So, while her threat hardly fazed him now that the inital shock had worn off, it would do perhaps to tread carefully.


Quotes from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets Chapter Gilderoy Lockhart: "Jealous? Of what? I don't want a foul scar across my forehead, thanks."

Hoped you all enjoyed this chapter. Feedback in any form is welcome.