Edited: 3/17/17

Bailey had decided that the library was her favorite room in the house. Not only did it house an enormous number of books, but it was also quite lacking in Gryffindors. All the books were very interesting, offering Bailey insight into the upper-class world of wizards as well as magicks of the oldest sort. Granger, goody-goody she was, refused to touch any of them, as many pertained to blood purity and magic of the Darkest variety. Bailey preferred not to be blind to her potential enemies.

During most Order meetings, she could be found settled with a cup of tea, a few biscuits, and a book. The day Dumbledore was set to ruin everything, she was reading about a nasty piece of work called a "Horcrux". The author of the book was demented, and the entire idea and ritual was rather horrifying, but she couldn't help but read more. It was like a train wreck; she knew she should look away, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. She knew that she was missing something, about why someone would choose to pay the price for immortality with their humanity, especially when it wasn't even foolproof. Bailey decided that the creator of a horcrux would have to be insane.

Halfway through the description of the grisly ritual to make one such object, the door open and Bailey quickly replaced the Dark text with an old copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

"Go away, Weasel," she drawled. "I was here—oh, hullo, Da'."

Her father took the armchair across from hers. "You and I both know that you weren't reading fairy tales when I walked in," he said, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged.

"Yeah, well, it wouldn' do for the Gryffindors to catch me reading somethin' else and come with some half-baked idea as to why," she replied.

"And, why, exactly, were you reading," he picked up the book she had stuffed beside her and pulled a face, "The Darkest Art?"

"Knowledge is power."

"Uh-huh," he grumbled. "I don't like you spending so much time in here, Minnie. Merlin only knows what kind of books my mother kept."

"Oh, honestly, Da', it's not as if I'd use any of this stuff," she huffed, rolling her eyes. "Well, perhaps a few of the glamours… and some o' those hexes could be twea—" she broke off when she noticed the worried glare her father was giving her. "Look, Da, I just don' like the other Slytherins thinking me a stupid Mudblood country bumpkin when I don't know the spell they just used."

Her father looked doubtful at the thought of Bailey's schoolmates being able to use anything out of The Darkest Art, which was probably a fair assumption, but seemed to decide to fight that battle a different day.

"Speaking of which, I wanted to ask a favor," her father said. "About your House."

"Da', I'm a fifth year Prefect, I am not re-Sorting," she sighed, flipping through the pages of the storybook in a bored fashion.

"No, no, not that," he said, "however much I may wish…"

"Da-aa," she warned bristling. They had had this argument many a time; even Uncle Rem had been wary about her House.

"Ms. O'Bailey, I would like you to stay after a moment," the new professor said.

"O' course Uncle—Professor," she said with a grin, waiting for the other students to file out before she rushed up to give her godfather a hug. The shabby-looking man clutched her closely before pushing her away, studying her closely.

"Are you quite alright, Bailey?" he said.

"Yes, why wouldn' I be?" she replied, confused.

"Back in my day, you House had somewhat of a… reputation, as did many of the parents of your compatriots," he said cautiously. "Do you—do you belong there?"

"The Hat briefly considered puttin' me in Ravenclaw and then Hufflepuff, but it didn' take too terribly long teh settle on Slytherin," she rambled. "I was no hatstall."

"That's not quite what I meant," he said frowning. "The Slytherins in my day were of a rather prejudiced sort, and did not take kindly to—"

"There are plenty o' muggleborns in the House, none o' 'em are mistreated," she said defiantly, before lowering her voice. "Besi's tha', I am no muggleborn neither, am I?"

The anger that had been boiling just below the surface bubbled up then and took over her as she marched out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, patently ignoring her godfather's pleas for her to come back.

"Alright, alright," her father said. "As you may recall, many Death Eaters are Slytherin Alumn."

"And a Gryffindor Alumn jus' brought 'im back. Yer point?" she said, eyeing him warily.

"Yeah, yeah," he waved her off. "The Order knows that Voldemort is recruiting heavily. What we don't know is if he is doing it within the school. We are flying blind on how much influence he has over the Hogwarts population, Slytherin House in particular. We need someone trustworthy on the inside to keep us aware. We need—"

"Are yeh asking me to spy?" she asked, shocked.

"Well… maybe something along those lines, sweetheart," he said, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

"Bloo—Wh—NO!" she exclaimed, horrified that he would ask such a thing of her. "They're me mates, they're like family to me! Besides, wha' happened to 'keeping me out o' this war'?"

"Firstly, I don't sound like that, and secondly, Minnie, you've got to see that this is all bigger than that."

"What, for the 'greater good'?" Bailey snarled. "What good 'as tha' done fer you? 'ave all yer friends killed? Get yerself thrown into prison?"

"Minerva, my friends laid down their lives willingly, and I went into Azkaban by my own fault—"

"I don' care!" Bailey shouted, unbearable heat gathering behind her eyes. "Are yeh havin' 'arry spy on the Gryffs? Because I seem to remember Pettigrew coming from there, an' Weasel bears an awful strong resemblance—"

"Bailey, you know that there is a greater chance—"

"O' course yeh aren'!" she shouted. "Perfect Potter an' 'is friends can do no wrong! Bu' I can' even go to a bloody concert without me friends bein' called criminals!"

"I never called your friends criminals," her father said, fighting to remain calm.

"Yeh're askin' me to spy on 'em!"

"That is not the same thing!"

"The 'ell it's no'! There are plenty of Death Eaters who came from the other Houses. Slytherin does not have the monopoly on Dark wizards!"

"No, but they tend to be some of the worst," her father replied, obviously trying very hard to keep an even-tone. She realized that she hadn't inherited her temper solely from her mother.

"Oh, of course," she began in a mocking voice. "Slytherins are all jus' a bunch of Dark wizards, who would turn on each other at the slightest provocation, aren' we?"

"I've seen very little proof to the cont—"

"You're ridiculous!" she half-shouted, standing up. "We take care o' each other. We don't get each other killed or tossed into Azkaban. Unlike you Gryffindors."

"Oh, and just what is that supposed to mean?" her father said, crossing his arms.

"Have you seen old Wormtail lately?"

"I don't want to hear you bring up that man again!"

"An' I don' wan' teh hear you callin' me and mine Death Eaters again!"

"That is not what I said, Minnie—"

"Yeh may as well 'ave! Jus' admit it—yeh'd prefer tha' I'd never come 'ere so tha' yeh could jus' be the great 'arry Potter's Da'!"

He opened and shut his mouth a few times. Then, he finally pointed at the door. "Upstairs. Your room. Now, Minerva."

"Make me!" she shot back.

"I am your father, so I will!" he shouted angrily.

"My father?" she spat. "I didn't even know your bloody name until I was thirteen years old! Because you didn't want me to!"

Her father began to say something, but Bailey interrupted him with a blow that she knew she would regret later. In the moment, though, she was so hurt and confused by his behavior that she could not even bring herself to care that her comment may just destroy everything.

"Remember what I said when I first met you? Uncle Rem is still far more me father than you can ever hope to be!"

And then she fled.