It's not hard to spot the Slytherin table, draped in green and silver, by far the quietest. The others tables laugh and chat so excitedly that the Headmaster Armando Dippet raises one of his sparse eye brows as he overhears them discussing the exact texture of Professor Slughorn's mustache. A cloud of laughter erupts at the Hufflepuff table as someone spills pumpkin juice over a classmate. Apparently the first years have already been sorted, because the sorting hat is currently being passed around by the teachers, who all put it on their heads while the sorting hat complains loudly about not being taken serious, Professor Dumbledore belongs into GRYFFINDOR.

I avoid the curious glances from all over the hall and try to focus on not tripping as the volume in the room suddenly drops and all you can hear are my shoes clacking down the aisle. I quickly sit down at an empty spot, next to two girls who have just been talking but now have paused their conversation to glower at me.

"Staring is rude," I hiss in their direction and they look away quickly. I desperately hope this moment will be over soon, but to my horror Professor Dippet stands up and raises a hand for attention.

"Students," he says in that whispy manner of his, his weak voice barely withstanding the strain of having to shout through the entire hall. "Please welcome our new student this year, Arin Thorne, a charming young witch of the Thorne family" Of course he has to rub my heritage under everyone's noses. "She will be residing in the Slytherin house, where I expect her to receive a warm welcome. Our prefects will help her find her classes if she needs help. Is that understood, Miss Crabbe and Mr. Riddle?"

"Yes, sir," a haughty blonde down the table replies. I can see Professor Dippet's beady little eyes searching the table for his second prefect, but he says nothing. Other students mutter to each other, "Where's Tom?" I scan the table, but he's nowhere to be found. How odd, I saw him follow the stream of students up to the castle after we got out of the carriage. Why would he skip–oh never mind, this is Tom Riddle. Who knows what he's up to. But just as the headmaster has seated himself in his chair, the doors to the great hall burst open and Riddle comes marching on through. Unlike me, he shines in the attention of this unexpected appearance. Greeting the headmaster with a courteous nod, he heads straight for our table, where his friends have saved him a seat.

"Where were you, Tom?"

"Yeah, you missed the speech"

He laughs, his dark eyes flashing with a strange warmth. "Yes, who wouldn't want to miss that old fool babbling in front of a horde of idiots and children, telling them exactly what rules to break this year" They snicker with him, unaware they themselves are the idiots and children.

"Anyway, what were you doing?"

He sighs, waving off the question. "I was held up by Professor Parkinson, she wanted to know why I wasn't taking Astronomy this year"

"Oh, so now you're fucking teachers," a girl to his right remarks bitterly. She sits rigidly, her long dark hair piled on top of her big round head.

"No need to get jealous, Walburga," someone snickers. She stands up angrily, throwing her silverware back on her plate and storms out of the hall. Tom wrinkles his forehead in concern.

"Bulstrode, don't talk to her like that"

"She's fucking psycho, that one," Bulstrode growls.

"I know," Tom's straight face begins to crumble. "That's why you shouldn't make her angry like that" He catches me staring at him, and smiles his winning smile I didn't even know existed. He was so different on the train. So serious and unreachable. Since when is he such an asshole?

I'm surprised by how cheated I feel. It's probably the most stupid, naïve thing I've ever thought, but somehow it felt like we were alike. Both outcasts, both indifferent to the world around us. Now suddenly he's popular with friends crowding around him and girls getting upset over him.

And I hate it.

I really do.

The first week flies by in an overwhelming rush of voices and faces, staring, twisting their neck to get a better look at me. I feel constantly watched, during classes, at lunch time, passing through corridors as I slowly learn my way around Hogwarts. I figure out which turning stair case goes where at what specific hour, and which step to avoid at all costs. Also, that the password to the Slytherin common room changes almost every day and which teachers will take names over brains and which won't. Not that it matters much that I'm a pureblood, people hate me anyways. There's a very good reason why Thorne's are taught at home.

A loud crash in the common room tears me out of my studies. On the other side of the fire place Trevon Bulstrode and some of his friends are doubled over laughing. They're carrying a bulky metallic case, no, an armor through the entrance. Crash, crash. A pitiful yelp comes from the inside.

"Lemmiout," someone wails. "Lemmiout" Sobs vibrate up through the helmet.

"God, she's annoying," Lucretia Black, a tiny fifth-year with long brown braids says, rolling her eyes. "Shut up, Myrtle!" The sobs only grow louder, and Myrtle hammers against the inside of the armor.

"Who can make it dance?" Trevon Bulstrode asks gleefully, his eyes quickly flickering to me. "Hey, Thorne girl, you any good at magic?"

"Shhh, don't talk to her," Walburga fake-whispers. "Or she'll turn you to stone with her icy glare" She giggles loudly, even though she's the only one. Trevon looks rather annoyed.

"Make her dance," he demands.

I fold my book carefully, making sure the bookmark is in it. They watch me silently as I get up. Drawing my wand I step up to the wailing armor. "Dance?"

"Yeah," he grunts, his dark eyes gleaming maliciously.

I breathe deeply, lifting my wand. Through the crack between neck piece and helmet I can see a pair of watery eyes staring at me. Myrtle stifles another sob, just as I let the wand fly through the air in one fluid motion. All at once the armor makes a jiggling motion and its feet come alive, tapping up and down, flipping here and there. Myrtles legs hit the inside of the armor in her maniac dance, creating a rather rhythmic. She screams, loudly and hilariously screechy, causing everyone in the room to crack up. Bulstrode's face is deep red with laughter by the time I aim my wand at him.

"Tarantallegra," I mutter and with a loud yell his feet start jumping around uncontrollably, as he joins Myrtle in her horrible little dance.

"Stop it!" he screams, fumbling for his wand that's lying on the floor beside him. "Stop it!"

"I thought you liked to dance," I say innocently. "And Myrtle shouldn't dance without a partner"

He lets out a roar of rage and lunges for me, only to trip over his jerking feet and smash his nose on the carpet. "Thorne," he mumbles through a blood-filled mouth. "You…regret…I'll…make…you…pay…for…" His feet kick around uselessly, making it impossible for him to reach the wand only a few feet out of his reach.

"You're in trouble," Arsenius Yaxley says through tears of laughter. "He's going to kill you. And I'm serious, you better get out of here before the curse wears off"

"I'm not afraid of the little git," I tell him, although now I can't help but wonder if I've just made myself an absolutely unforgiving enemy. Trevon Bulstrode does not strike me as the type to easily forget this sort of thing, especially with his friends here to remind him all the time.

"You should be," Arsenius says. "Actually, I would run" I don't like the sound of his voice at all, which is why for the first time in my life, I give in to fear and run. Flying over the steps to the entrance in the wall, I push myself through quickly and sprint up the stairs, out of the dungeons. There's no doubt the curse has worn out by now, and Bulstrode could be right behind me. I'm sure I could take him out easily, but even though his friends laughed quite hard at his embarrassment, I'm sure they'd stand behind him in a fight. Thundering footsteps echo behind me, and I run even harder. The long corridors are only dimly lit now after dinner and barely any students are to be seen. The few that I do encounter quickly step aside to avoid being run over by me.

Cursing myself for bringing this upon me–and after all, who wouldn't have expected Bulstrode to react to it like that–I pass an empty great hall.

Suddenly I'm outside, sprinting over the damp grass, toward the Forbidden Forest. He won't follow me in there.

Not even Trevon Bulstrode could have been so stupid.