A/N: Hey fellow guys and gals! Did you like the cliffhanger I left in the last one? Mwahahaha! I hope you liked it and the plot twist wasn't *too* obvious (at least until the last part). Anyways it's like 2 am and I should be getting sleep but I just HAD to upload this first cos darnnnn this is the longest chapter I've EVER posted plus Monday's sorta suck (regardless of whether you're on school break or not). Disclaimer: I own none of the canon characters or the Harry Potter world. Or the periodic table song (sounds weird, huh?). Anyways I feel I should pre-warn you that this chapter is HEAVY on the drama. Think of jeremy-kyle-show type drama, uh-huh, that DRAMATIC. Also I feel I should say: KittyKofficial haha ikr :P. Thanks for reading and stuff (now I'm rambling, ugh) enjoy!
A silence descends over the Great Hall like a thick cloak. The tension is so thick you could practically slice into it with a knife. My eyes, which have flown open in shock, flicker from person to person. The confidence in me; the mantra which held my head straight and proud and kept me from crumbling is now deteriorating. For the first time in my whole life I feel completely and utterly lost. No, no, no- this is wrong! I'm a Granger and a Weasley for Merlin's sake, there is no way in hell I'm a Slyth- I feel a hand on my shoulder. My eyes spin past the blur of open-mouthed strangers to meet the gaze of my new Headmistress. Professor McGonagall peers down at me and under her firm exterior, I recognise the flash of pity which is in her eyes. Soundlessly, I stand from the stool, still firmly staring at McGonagall to avoid the judgement eeking off of the student body. Oh-so-quietly she tells me to "Go find yourself a seat, dear." and with blurry eyes I do as I'm told.
As I stagger from the stool and that damning hat, I can't help but wonder what past sins I've committed to earn me such cruel punishment. Instinct tells me to look up from the polished floor and to observe how my family have reacted. The first people my eyes land on are James and Fred. James' complexion is pale, as if all the colour has been sucked out of him and Fred looks rather green under his African-American pallor. Victoire, my flawless cousin, has her nose in the air and her lips are curled into a smug grin. A rush of anger and bitterness causes my fists to clench and fantasies of breaking her nose to dance tantalising before me. It is Albus' look that stops me, however. His reaction hurts me much more than my other cousins'. I meet his gaze for half-a-second conveying with my eyes what I cannot verbalise: this is a mistake. I am not a Slytherin, I am your cousin and closest friend, Al. Please understand I am just as stunned and disgusted as you! But those Emerald eyes shift from mine and the small movement of him averting his gaze shows me that he clearly does not understand and that from now on his perception of me has changed. It feels like I've just been stabbed repeatedly in the gut and the white-hot agony of public condemnment burns me.
I'm almost at the Slytherin table now when I hear it. The sole clapping of one student. I whirl around, looking for the culprit, with my heart thumping wildly with apprehension and gratefulness. A girl at the Ravenclaw table has stood up and is applauding me. As i look closer, I realise it is Kat- the girl I befriended on the journey to Hogwarts, the one who'd shared her sweets and extended her friendship. A rush of love for the girl fills me and I smile gratefully at her for her bravery and empathy. She would've made a great Gryffindor, I muse as I turn back to complete my walk of shame. Sheepishly following Kaitlyn Brook's example the teachers clap. Some of the less-prejudiced Slytherins join in- including the first Slytherin first-year sorted (Kieran Black), Adelaide Jordan and surprisingly even Scorpius Malfoy. Adelaide shuffles over for me and I almost collapse onto the bench. The curly-haired brunette gives me a meek smile before continuing her discussion on the Holyhead Harpies' latest match against Puddlemere United with an older bored-looking Slytherin. I feel quite numb, if I'm being honest with myself, and despite the continuation of the Sorting ceremony and the mindless Quidditch babble beside me, I feel the weight of many eyes on me. My fists are clenched under the cover of the table and I stare down at the glittering cutler laid out on the table in front of me to try distract myself from my current predicament.
I only half-notice as the 'Wood' children are sorted and the 'Zabini's are placed. I'm currently reciting the Periodic table in my head in a desperate effort to hold at bay my anxiety and tumultuous thoughts. Hmm, now there are: Hydrogen and Helium, Then Lithium, Beryllium- how am I a Slytherin- Boron, Carbon everywhere, Nitrogen all through the air-
"I can't believe A Weasley has been sorted into Slytherin!"
"I know right… I bet she was adopted or something,"
"But what about her hair? It's auburn like a cross between Hermione and Ron Weasley's colours."
"She could've dyed it."
With Oxygen so you can breathe, And Fluorine for your pretty teeth-
"I feel soo sorry for her."
"I don't. Her uncle is the reason that the Dark Lord dragged in our parents as recruits for the War."
"My father's half-brother is in Azkaban due to them."
Neon to light up the signs, Sodium for salty times.
"-'bout time the Weasley's got off their high horse." a snide voice adds atop the ever growing whispers. Ah, screw it! I conclude, giving up on the Periodic table song I'd learn a year prior, it's time to put a stop to the gossip-mongers. At least 'til the Feast is over and I can find someplace to cry in private. And with that, I shove aside my self-pity and raise my eyes off the empty plates and dishes and turn to face whoever is bitching about me. I scan the table with a calculative look etched upon my face. To my immediate left the Jordan girl is still nattering on at the girl across from her over Quidditch scores. Next to her Scorpius and Kieran are talking quietly. I doubt it was them as they were two of the few people who applauded my sorting procedure and no matter how many bad traits the Malfoy family held, I'd not once heard of them being whiny little bitches. I stifle a grin at the story my dad had one told me of how mum had punched Scorpius' father right in the nose in her third year. Holding on to my spark of amusement at the funny tale I see that directly across from them some older ugly-looking boys are sniggering to themselves. I can tell from the way they are glancing at me and whispering they are talking crap about me. There are three of them in all and the two to the left look to be at least thirteen with their broad shoulders, cracked voices and faces full of pimples- whereas the third, whom, upon a closer look, is actually the scrawny first-year who'd been proclaimed as "Baxter Higgs" completes the trio by looking needy and slimy on their right. I try to make a mind-memo to avoid these goons in the future and cast my eyes away to find whoever was talking about me aloud. Thankfully, I spot the source of my problems across the table to the right of me.
The source turn out to be the most stereotypical, shallow, self-obsessed person you can ever imagine. I know this by not only her appearance but how between bitching over me being in Slytherin and 'ruining her House name' (who does this girl think she is, the freaking queen!?), she spreads nasty rumours over some girl named 'Tiffany' from her Vacation and how 'the skank' totally tried to steal her boyfriend, Eli at a beach party. Strangely, her tale reminds me of one particular Gossip columnist in 'Witch Weekly': Stephanie Melstrom. I surmise that the girl may have been Stephanie's daughter as they both share the same shade of blonde hair and mean-spirited verbalities. Next to the gossipy girl is a black-haired girl who looks eerily similar to Maisie Parkinson and a shorter girl who nods and smiles at all the convenient parts, playing the catty friend to a T. If this wasn't bad enough, the blonde blabber has boys and girls alike perched on their seats hanging on to every word. Not all the Slytherins are ensnared by her good-looks and plans of vengeance on 'Tiffany' but, unfortunately, most are.
At the precise moment that the Tiffany-hater is about to switch her hate-tirade onto me, Professor McGonagall takes to the eagle-embellished lectern and the Great Hall pays her respectful attention as she speaks:
"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin on the banquet I wish to mention how the Forbidden Forest is of course, out of bounds, and that there is an updated list of Weasley's Wizard Wheeze's items which have been prohibited of use during this new school year- however we shall go through this after you have all eaten. Please enjoy and all the best in the school year ahead of you,. We hope to see great things." I applaud, along with the other students as she exits the podium to rejoin her centre seat at the table. Suddenly the fancy plates and dishes fill with mountains of delicious-looking foods. Chicken wings and chips, smoked haddock and battered cod, roast chicken and saucers of thick gravy, fresh-looking garden peas and fluffy yellow mash, joints of ham and lamb and beef with side-along sauces all appear in front of us. My hunger flares to life and I reach for the closest chicken drumstick, only to be caught out by the smooth voice of Scorpius Malfoy.
"Look at you hands, Weasley." he mutters, under his breath, not facing me. I follow the instruction and gasp; the crescent half-moons I'd made with my fingers had bitten deeper than I'd intended and were now leaking blood. I glance around, paranoid that my table companions had heard the remark, but luckily they were all too pre-occupied filling their plates and sipping from goblets of pumpkin juice and the like. I cover my hand back under the table, fretting what to do. You see, I wouldn't want to grab my food and smear my own blood onto it, 'cause that it… I shudder, it's gross. But I really am hungry and I don't want to spend my first night at Hogwarts both miserable AND hungry. Scorpius twirls his own chicken drumstick and I pointedly ignore him, assuming he's rubbing it in. "Weasley." he mutters against his food. I ignore him.
From the corner of my eye I see his silver eyes flash. "Rose." he hisses. The use of my first name surprises me, as does his tone which holds intention within in. This finally persuades me that the Malfoy heir is not trying to torment me after all but sadly, his use of my first name has also garnered the attention of others as well. Kieran Black watches us both, along with Adelaide (who's broken off from her ranting), the three ugly goons and the gossipy girls. Scorpius, betraying no emotion on his face, turns his body to face me over Adelaide's curious gaze and he says, rather cryptically: "Transfiguration is a good subject. I'm looking forward to taking it." I blanche. Not sure what the hell he's getting at.
"What?" I blurt out, oh-so-eloquently. Scorpius points at his chicken leg, lying dejectedly on his plate now that he's neglected it.
"Gee, I sure wish that I could turn this chicken into a stapler." he adds, smiling. The goons are gaping at the strange Malfoy , wondering why he's acting so odd. Not only is Scorpius talking to a Weasley without insulting her, but he is also talking about something as common as transfiguration. It seemed dodgy already. I ignore the whispers surrounding us and run through his words, using my analysis skills to break down what he's just said and to configure the meaning behind it. I run through the conversation from the start, how he'd commented on my bloody palms then leapt to the conversation of transfiguration. He was trying to help me out somehow by- by what exactly? And what has a stapler got to do with chicken… After a few seconds I catchon that he wants me to transfigure something to help with my bloody palms. The twirling of the chicken is another clue of how he's wanting to help me get to eat the chicken. 'Turn this chicken into a stapler'. A stapler? Hmm. With a beaming smile the pieces click and I realise exactly what he wants me to do. I meet Silver eyes and nod, transferring across how I understand what he means and taking the piece of chicken he holds out to me, using my right hand and concealing the blood with my robe as much as possible.
"My cat likes chicken." I tell the people watching before deliberately pocketing the chicken into the pocket which does not hold Tinker but instead hold my robe. The attention draws way as my Housemates are once again consumed by the smells and sights of food. I concentrate hard on performing this spell, modifying it so it can suit my purposes and thanking mum for gifting me with that Transfiguration textbook last summer. With a few muttered words and wand-work I transform the chicken piece into two skin-coloured plasters which I apply to my palms surreptitiously. With a concealment charm layered on top, I finally am able to remove my hands from my robes and dig into the feast. I smirk at Scorpius' back at his clever word-play. The anagram of 'stapler' being 'plaster' was very quick-witted and I respect him for the helpfulness.
As I tuck into my meal, I pick out key differences between our Green and Silver occupants to the other House tables. I haven't fully come to terms with being a Slytherin yet but now that the whispers have been replaced with the sounds of chewing and slurping, I'm able to spend my time thinking on other thoughts. Hence the differences I've picked from the different tables. Next to our house is the Hufflepuff clad people who smile and laugh constantly. I see bright faces and friendly jostling between the students as they each pass along food-stuff and share tales of family day-outs and the latest trends in the Muggle world. Having muggle grandparents and a mother who was muggle-born means I, myself, have explored the muggle realm and I've always been fascinated by their fictional books and TV shows.
Their postures are relaxed while they chat and eat and I see more than three Hufflepuffs talking while chewing their foods. I crinkle my nose in mild distaste of their etiquette then immediately reprimand myself for acting like such a slob. The Ravenclaws are more polite in their eating, and snatches of conversations about books, studying, new spells learnt and cultural debates carry along now and then from their occupants. Kat is in a conversation with Charlotte Delacour but when I linger on her (mentally analysing why she was so kind to have instigated clapping for me earlier) she breaks off her conversation to meet my eyes. I fight a blush at having been caught in the act but am relieved to see a smile graced her cupid bow lips and I mouth the words "Thank you." across to her. She shoots me two thumbs-up and the move reminds me of when Albus performed that same reassurance gesture earlier towards me. I feel sad all of a sudden and Kat frowns at me, mouthing "You okay?". I nod, repeating internally that if I act all weak I'll be eaten for breakfast at the table of the snakes. I remind myself that I'm stronger than this and when I mouth back "I'm fine.", I have already deluded myself into believing it. Funny thing isn't it, are lies? How it is so easy for us to combat others lies (or at least expose them to the truth), yet swallow the ones that we tell ourselves. She nods back but doesn't look like she quite believed me. I turn away before she can read too much into me, busying myself with an extra helping of mash and gravy.
The food is beautifully made but I do feel some guilt at how long it must've took for the House Elves to prepare all this. The mash has a perfect consistency and the strong beefy gravy almost makes me sigh dreamily. I've inherited my dad's love of food and as much as I adore my mother and how much she tries; her home-cooked meals are something to watch out for. I remember this one time, when my school friend Alice came round, my mum spent hours cooking up a curry. Alice and I had been out at the park all day, bird-watching and playing on the swings, and we had been famished when we got home. To my complete despair and Alice's confusion mum had created some absolute monstrosity of a meal. The curry she placed on the dining table was a washed-out grey with suspicious red blobs and the occasional spinach strand poking from it. I smile fondly as I remember the exact words which were exchanged at the dining table…
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We stare down at our plates in varying amounts of alarm and suspiciousness. Dad, having just come back from work, stares in horror at the blobby stew on his plate, at the head of the table. He prods at it with his fork as Hugo, to the left of him fidgets in his chair. Mum unwraps her floral apron with a reserved smile and sits down next to 7-year-old Hugo with a thump. Alice twirls her dark hair contemplatively around one finger.
"Hermione, darling?" Ron begins, nervously. Eyeing the mixture dubiously, he continues.
"Yes. love?" Mum replies sweetly. I cut dad a glance, hoping he know better than to criticize the tea. Ron hold Hermione's hand and rubs circles on the back of it.
"What...What did you make for us?" he queries. Hermione grins, beaming proudly onto her handiwork.
"Well dear, I experimented-" Hugo and I share a look at the forsaken word "-between two curries. It's a cross between chicken tikka masala and some thai fish curry I found on a cooking show." mum finishes. Alice pours herself a tall glass of lemonade, no doubt busying herself with the drink to not be under the pressure of eating the food. I send her an apologetic glance, telling her with my eyes how I'd thought we were ordering take-out when mum suggested 'curry' the other day. I skewer a large solid grey blob and put it near my mouth taking miniscule bites out of the mysterious substance.
"What's in it, mum?" Hugo pipes up, twirling a red blob around the grey goop as though it is a sailboat in a sea. Mum rattles off a list of ingredients to Hugo as Dad sneakily tries to scrape some curry into a handkerchief and feed it to one of our many cats: Clover. Clover is renown for eating nearly anything but even she will not go near the curry. I summon up some courage and bite into the grey thing. Instantly I taste some rubbery fish slime mix with something sickly and sweet and I exit the room in a rush. I sprint to the nearest bathroom and the bile spew out into the toilet bowl. I shudder as the last bit of sick is deposited and mum holds back my hair, stroking it and apologising over and over. I meet her chocolate brown eyes with my hazel ones and tell her: "It's okay mum, I may just be coming down with something"
Huo and Dad hover over her shoulder and Alice joins us all with a glass of water in her hand. I mouthwash and then drink some water and mum goes back to the dining room with dad to clear up all of the plates. Hugo winks and with a goofy smile shouts: "I'll go get the take-away menus" before scampering off.
I assure Alice that I'm fine and I only sicked up the tiny bit of fish goo which I swallowed. The long-suffering look we partake in makes us both giggle in camaraderie. From the dining room I hear mum complain sadly at how she "really thought this one would be better" and that "the brightest witch of her time should be able to cook one bloody meal, for Merlin's sake!" Dad sighs, and his voice holds the tiniest amount of exasperation when he declares her "the most hard-working, caring and determined mother anyone could ask for.
Me and Alice rejoin them in the kitchen. I offer to wash up and Alice claims the dryer position. Ron exits the kitchen saying something about "nipping to the shops for some more napkins" while Hermione smiles down at us both, popping a fudge in each of our mouths in gratitude for our helpfulness. Her eyes flick to the door when she hears Ron leave but the frown on her face disappears as soon as she meets our 9-year-old gazes.
"Now how did I ever find such wonderful children as you?" she muses, as she thanks Hugo for the curry house menu. Hugo skips around the kitchen with his toy truck as I fill the kitchen sink with soapy water.
"Certainly not in the same place you found your curry recipes." I quip, tossing a light-hearted grin at my mother. She mock-frowns, placing her hands on her hips.
"Now, now missy. That tongue will get you in trouble someday." she chastises. I stick my tongue at her cheekily, feeling a glow of pride when Hugo and Alice both laugh. I reclaim my tongue, keeping it safe from harm from any nargles or other invisible creatures.
"You love me really though?" I check, searching my mother's eyes for the fondness I always see there. She wraps me into a hug, ushering Alice and Hugo to join us. The jumble of limbs and warmth makes me feel happy. But not as happy as when my mother kisses the top of my curly head and says: "I'll always love you."
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The memory fades as I'm tapped lightly on the arm. I turn to face the person who's garnering for my attention, shaking off the nostalgia which clings to me like cobwebs.
"Can I help you?" I question. My eyes meet the eyes of a boy I do not know. He is a first year like me, though, because he doesn't wear the personalised green and silver tie as the rest of the table does. He smiles kindly at me.
"I'm sorry to intrude but I was ever so curious as to what you are smiling at." he explains, curiosity glinting in the chocolate eyes so alike to my mother's. I touch my lips and am surprised to find them twisted into a wide grin. I laugh for the first time since I've sat down here and it's nice to know I can still keep some of my optimism whilst in such an unexpected predicament.
"I didn't realise I was smiling." I begin, still smiling like a loon, "But I was just remembering the time my mother cooked me, my friend and my younger brother a curry."
"Oh?" he prompts, urging me to continue. I look down at my plate, which has emptied of the savoury stuff and is now awaiting the desserts splayed across the table. I recount the amusing story, emphasising the grossness of the curry and cutting off the sappy 'love you always' stuff at the end (I wasn't naive enough to think just because one guy was acting decent towards me, that instantly snakes would drop their sneakiness. I didn't want any private moments manipulated against me.). I talk between bites of tarte tatin (a french-originated apple tart). He listens to me carefully and asks questions or chuckles as though he truly cares. By the end of the story I have warmed up to the brown-eyed boy, despite me not even knowing his name.
I decide to ask him. "I hope I don't come across as too blunt." I begin, hesitantly. The boy glances up from his ice cream sundae and raises a brow. "You needn't worry, I don't mind" he tells me.
"What's you name?" I finish, taking the last bite of mouth-watering apple tart into my mouth and chewing languidly. The boy chuckles, raking a hand through his chestnut brown hair self-consciously.
"Sorry, that's my fault." he snickers, "I often forget about sensibilities and jump straight into conversations with people… I'm Nick Wood, it's a pleasure to meet you." He offers me a hand and I shake it, taken aback by how quickly this boy can jump from casual to formal.
"Charmed." I reply, releasing his warm hand from mine.
The attention of the hall turns back to the front and Professor McGonagall concludes the banquet with encouraging words and then orders for prefects to lead the first years to their respective dorms. Prefects stand and usher us away, Nice stays close to me and once we line up I find I'm behind him and in front of Adelaide, Scorpius and Kieran. I try to memorise the route we take to the Slytherin common room, which is located down in the dungeons and hope upon Salazar's grave that our common room is not the slimy, dank room which I imagine. I stay close to my peers, not wanting to risk getting lost on my first night here at Hogwarts. Nick turns around when we pass a gaggle of Ravenclaw first-years who are all pointing at certain portraits asking this and that. "Are you nervous?" he questions. I shrug, feigning nonchalance. "I'm alright." I reply, lowering my tone so that the prissy prefect in front of us doesn't try snap our heads off. Nick shrugs whispering back "I'm nervous too." I smile at this, finding it off how honest he is with me.
We reach a door which is grand and mahogany and leads down into the Prefect mentions that the Portrait next to the door (a tapestry of a Marie Antoinette-type royalist in a courtyard) controls the entry and how the password is 'Dragon's blood'. When we pass by the door I find it is deceitfully easy to hold, as it appears to weigh as much as one of my paperback books would. "It's a charm." Nick tells me as we pass through the door "For any non-slytherins the door would feel as heavy as it looks. Apparently there are tons of charms like that down here." I absorb this in silence, too weary to think up all the ways this could become useful to me. The portion of delicious food in my stomach makes me feel light-headed with sleepiness and I know biologically that it's because my blood has rushed from my head to my digestive system but I secretly conclude I'm tired because the sorting hat sucked the life and soul out of me by changing my fate and making me a slytherin. Down, down, down we travel… I feel similar to Alice in Wonderland, especially when we reach the bottom and an open stone archway displays the Slytherin Common Room for all to see.
Chandeliers weep crystals above the elegant arches above our heads, the floor is a sleek checkerboard black-and-white marble and black leather couches adorn the room. Plush velvet love-seats are splashed next to glass coffee-tables and metal lampstands. A bright blue fire burns in the large hearth and the neon colour casts an ethereal glow onto the rest of the -looking forest-green blankets layer the forms of some Slytherin older year kids who are lounging about or playing Wizard's chess. Dark green curtains look black and shadows appear to dance in the sheer decadence surrounding us. A black cat winds around the Prefect's legs and she stiffens at it.
"Loosen up, Esmerelda." a sugary sweet voice drawls from one of the jet-black divans. A girl with raven-black hair and silvery-grey eyes gets to her feet, reaching down to retrieve her cat from our Prefect- Esmerelda-'s feet. As the cat-owner straightens up she strikes me as familiar although I cannot quite place why. I'm sure that I would've remembered a girl wearing such high, black strappy heels or her red-lipsticked smile which shows off her pearly white teeth. The smile is as sharp as glass and something about- I notice the badge on her robes- the Head Girl which unnerves me. Two prefects from the back of our group lead away the boys telling Esmerelda and her not-friend of how they were going to show the boys to their dormitories. Esmeralda nods to them both, keeping her gaze locked onto the raven-haired girl in doing so. I whisper good-bye to Nick and wave at Kieran and Scorpius as well as they are separated from me. I turn my attention back to the feuding older girls in front of me. The Head Girl doesn't look as uniform as I'd expect one to be. Her hair was loose and curled, not a hair out of place. Her skirt pleated and inches above the knee. Her shirt looked crisp and designer and her heels completed the upper-class, socialite look, of course not forgetting about her emerald and silver tie and diamond earrings. Despite the grandeur, she practically oozed self-righteousness and this irritated me slightly.
Esmeralda, through clenched teeth, introduces us to her: "Girls, this is-"
"Your Head Girl, Marissa." Marissa interrupts, scanning us all with her inquisitive eyes. She pauses on me and a devious smirk curls at her crimson lips. She stalks towards me, slowly and gracefully like a panther. "Ahh, yes." she remarks, "You must be the Black sheep Weasley. What a surprise it was to us all to have one of the famous Weasley children gifted at our threshold. What an honour it is…" she mocks. Her manicured nails reach out to stroke my face but I slap it away with a slitted glare. I control my fiery temper into something more Slytherin-like. I mask my fear and rage with an indifferent look. Instead of shouting or spitting at the Head Girl I channel my tone into something eerily smooth and sweet- like poisoned honey:
"I would prefer it for you to keep your hands off of me. I may be in your house but that doesn't make me your possession." Marissa's smirk drops and I catch a glimpse of Esmerelda looking proud in the background. Her eyes turn steely before the hard glit disappears and she laughs, a husky seductive sound which echoes off of the dark stone and marble walls.
"Interesting." she murmurs, "I'm sure gonna be having fun with you." The words are too low for anyone but me to hear and as my jaw threatens to drop, she spins like a ballerina and flounces away , skirt swaying against her legs as she sashays out of the room. We can all hear the clicking of heels long after she's gone from sight. I'm more perturbed on her parting words. If she'd stuck around longer I'd've asked her what I was wondering now: is that a threat or a promise?
Esmeralda regaining some of her control now that the mysterious Head Girl had disappeared leads us to an archway where there is another hallway leading to yet another door where (yep, you guessed it!) yet another tapestry is hung. This time it is a pinched-faced woman with a Russian accent who demands for the password (remembralls). Once through Esmeralda gestures to the spiral staircase saying how the older the year you are in the deeper you live in the dungeons. She also tells us how (due to spacial requirements and Prefect petitions), fourth-years and above live in separate quarters under the lake. I have many questions surrounding this new change buzzing in my head but my foggy mind bitches at me that it needs sleep so I keep quiet and follow our Prefect as she allotts four to five girls per room. I am one of the last to get allotted but thankfully the longer we travel the less bothered I am by...Well, everything, really.
Finally I'm in my room where my stuff is and I actually sigh in relief when I locate my trunk at the foot of one of the beds. Despite my crippling fatigue, I still take the time to assess my surroundings properly and my new dorm-mates. Esmeralda closes the door behind us after wishing us a good night and reminding us that she and some other prefects will help us make our way to the Great hall before breakfast tomorrow morning. The room is fairly large and spacious. From the doorway, directly in front of me, I can spot two large double beds (with soft grey and green sheets) evenly spaced on the wall and there is a large deep, brown wooden chest of drawers between them which call us memories of the dining table at the Burrow. Shaking off the old memories I see that the floor is a cream carpet and that there is a door in the far left corner. On the left side of the room are two more double beds with the same bedding and colour scheme but smaller light-grey bedside tables beside them instead of a massive chest of drawers. Each bed has light grey flowy draw-across curtains for privacy although they appear more translucent than opaque. On the left side of the room there is a medium-sized white closet (most probably for the two beds with bedside tables), a beautiful long French Vanity with tucked underneath and besides that a large bookcase. Out of all the decor it is the sight of the shelves which excite me the most as I can't wait to get right into reading all the Hogwarts library books!
Now that I've surveilled the room furniture, I turn my attention to my three bed-mates, whom I will be housing with for the rest of the year. My trunk is placed by the farthest bed against the left wall. The girl sat on the bed next to mine has a mocha skin-tone, long gangly legs and dark brown hair which ends just above her shoulders and falls pin-straight.
"I might as well say this before I turn to a total Zombie-" I start, addressing all three of the girls in the room. Three pairs of eyes pin onto me. "-but I'm Rose Weasley. Yes I am biological daughter to Hermione and Ron, no I am not expecting you to grace me with special treatment-" I sneer slightly in disgust at this, continuing on and reinforcing my defiant attitude by placing my hands on my hips (as I've seen mum do countless times before), "-and yes I was somehow sorted into Slytherin...Any questions?"
"Are you always this blunt?" a small blonde girl inquires.
"I'm tired." I respond with a vague shrug.
"As many questions as I do have about you and your family, I'm shattered myself, so I think names will be fine for now." the third girl proclaims. This one has ice-blue eyes and frizzy light brown hair, her skin tone is olive and her voice slightly-accented.
"I agree." says the first girl I noticed- the one with the coffee-coloured skin- she holds out her hand for a handshake and I shake it gratefully. I swear that I've shook more hands today than I have in years. I wonder if it's a Slytherin thing or just human politeness. "I'm Diamond Zabini." the girl says once we've shook hands. Her hand was small and cold in mine.
The blue-eyed girl with olive skin stands and walks towards me, gifting me with a curtsy instead or the custom hand-shake. "I'm Olivia Amello, I'm Italian by birth but I know English as my mother has a fondness for your countrysides."
"It's a pleasure." I reply formally. The last girl does not stand or curtsy or shake my hand. She offers me a small smile as she tell us her name. "My name is Bethany Greengrass, my mother is Daphne and Astoria cousin. She is a fine woman under the name of Kimberly Greengrass." After this, Bethany draws her curtains to get changed in relative privacy and I pen up my trunk to follow example. Once I'm out of my robes and into my pyjamas, I go through the motions of brushing my teeth, washing my face and brushing through my mane of hair before crawling into my new bed and under the covers. By the time my head hit the pillow, I'm already fast asleep.