Hazel had always been different, and even at Ilvermorny she had been an outcast. Born from no-maj, she had been clueless about her magic until the school had contacted her parents. They had seemed relieved that there was an explanation for her abilities and her odd appearance, that she wasn't actually possessed like they had previously believed. At first glance she seemed normal enough, with pale skin and dark curls, but then people saw her eyes; one crystal blue and the other grey, they were drastically different colors. Her parents had shipped her off to the school, and made it clear that they didn't want her back. She had been so excited, surrounded by people like herself. It was so scary, being around so many people, feeling so much magic weigh against her own, but she had been hopeful. But when she had stepped on the crests to sort her into a house, nothing happened. There were no lights, the statues didn't move; even the Headmaster was stumped. The whispers started up immediately, and she was just frozen in place, praying that something, anything would happen. Hazel could hear people laughing at her, whispering how none of the houses wanted her. She tried her best not to cry, knowing what happened when she lost control of her emotions, but she couldn't help it. She closed her eyes and screamed. She didn't stop screaming until she had nothing left, falling to her knees.
"It's okay, you're okay now," a male voice soothed, and she opened her eyes to find the Headmaster himself kneeling in front of her. Her eyes widened when she noticed the bubble around her, which had apparently protected her classmates from her magic lashing out. The concrete floor around her was charred and cracked, the magical crest that had been so pretty now scarred and broken. The bubble fell away, and it was so quiet. The children who had previously been mocking her were now staring at her as if she was a monster. And to her surprise, all four statues were now turned towards her, claiming her for their house. She didn't understand, but the Headmaster seemed to. He was a kind man who quickly whisked her away, just as the whispers started up again. He didn't chide her on how she couldn't control herself, he wasn't angry that she had destroyed the crest. He was careful, but unlike her parents, it wasn't like he was afraid of her. Instead, it was more like she was fragile, and he didn't want to upset her.
It wasn't surprising that when it came time for a wand to select her, none had. The Headmaster had just seemed resigned, and she didn't know what any of this meant. That was when he revealed his plan for her education: she had to be kept separate from the other students, as she needed to be taught how to control her magic first. They taught her theories about magic and where it came from, how wizards and witches normally tapped into it and controlled it, but her magic didn't work that way. They gave her a generic wand and tried to teach her how to use it to focus her magic, but it always resulted in the wand exploding. Eventually they gave up on trying to teach her how to control her magic and focused on teaching her how to control herself instead. How to keep calm, how to focus on her schoolwork, how to keep herself busy. They taught her everything they taught the normal students, but they couldn't expect her to be able to replicate the things they did. When summer came, she remained at the school with the Headmaster. He didn't have the heart to tell her that her parents were afraid of her, that she wasn't welcome to come home, but she knew. She could feel it.
That summer was the best she had ever had up to that point. The Headmaster had insisted that she try new things. She had tried gobstones, wizarding chess, flying on a broom, and even got to see a Quidditch match. And she even showed some aptitude to these activities and games, much to the Headmaster's amusement. But what appealed to her the most was archery and knife throwing. While she couldn't control her magic normally, in these activities she found herself able to use her magic to guide her arrow or knife exactly where she wanted it. Of course, it took plenty of practice, but she found it calming, found it to be a helpful exercise in using her magic.
But then school started up again for another year, and she felt even more isolated. She found herself growing wary of being around other people, simply because it was too much input. She could hear them talking, could feel their magic in the air, could feel their emotions. The Headmaster was busy running the school, though he tried to make time for her. She wondered if he found it annoying, how needy she was. And then there was the incident later that year. She had been studying in the library when suddenly she was attacked. It was a simple jinx, only meant to torment her. It wasn't the first time this had happened, but this was the first time the aggressor had actually meant her harm.
"What are you, a no-maj? Why are you even here, it's not like you can use magic," the girl taunted, and Hazel recognized her from when she first came here. She had been one of the people who had laughed at her when none of the statues had moved, who had been afraid of her after she lost control. There were so many rumors about her, everything from her being the Headmaster's bastard child to her being an Obscurus, and this girl was behind many of them.
"Why are you doing this? I never did anything to you," she asked, but the girl only scoffed. And even now, Hazel could still feel her fear and anger, her envy and disgust. It made her sick to her stomach, the overwhelming emotions the girl oozed.
"You're a freak. You're worthless," the girl began, and while she continued, Hazel couldn't hear it anymore. She could feel her magic reaching out, could feel it trying to protect her in the only way it could, and she was trying her best to control it. Magic was supposed to be a part of her, was supposed to be something natural. But her magic slipped from her grasp as if it had a will of it's own, as if it was a sentient being.
"Please stop," she begged, only to be hexed again. It took her breath away, and in that moment, her magic exploded out from her. She watched in slow motion as it spread out from her in a wave, throwing the girl back into a bookshelf as easily as it threw a book. When the girl landed, her eyes were closed and she wasn't moving. Hazel was frozen, nails digging into her palms until blood was dripping on the floor. The librarian was suddenly there, kneeling over the girl. But her eyes were on Hazel, and her wand was pointing at her.
"Stay back," she ordered, trying to sound authoritative despite the wobble in her voice. She was afraid of her, an adult was afraid of her.
"What did you do?" It hurt her to hear the Headmaster, someone she had come to think of as a real father figure, sound like that. It was an accusation, it was agonized, it was horrified. And she didn't know what to say, didn't know how to explain this situation, explain herself. It wasn't her fault, she couldn't control her magic, he knew that. Why wasn't he telling her that it was okay, that it was an accident? But they never told her about what happened with the girl after she ran away to her room, but she could feel the moment the life left her broken body. And Hazel had to live with the fact that she had just killed a classmate. It was hard to sleep that night and every night since then, nightmares of the girl and of her hurting people plaguing her dreams.
After that, the Headmaster invited a renowned professor from Hogwarts to see her, a man who called himself Albus Dumbledore. He was an older man, unassuming at first but with sharp blue eyes hidden behind his glasses. He offered her lemon drops and seemed content to just talk to her, even though she knew he had been told about the incident. She slowly warmed to the man, though she was still on edge given that she could feel his own wariness.
"So, can you tell me what happened in the library?" he finally asked, causing her to flinch. She couldn't meet his eyes as he sat there, waiting for her to explain, waiting for her to justify killing someone.
"I didn't mean to," she whispered, head down. And she really hadn't meant to. It hadn't been her, it had been her magic. The girl had been a bully, but she hadn't deserved her fate. Hazel didn't even know her name, didn't know if she had friends or a family who would miss her. The thought made her physically ill.
"The Headmaster tells me that you are rather good at archery. Can you show me?" he asked next when it was clear that she wouldn't be talking anymore. And while she was nervous about letting someone new watch her, it was highly preferable to sitting here in silence. She nodded slowly, leading Dumbledore out to her private archery range; a single faded target where no other students ventured. It took her a moment to calm down and focus, missing the first few times. But then she took a deep breath, really felt the tension in the string under her fingers, felt her magic seep into the bow. She envisioned the arrow hitting the bullseye, and then she let it happen. After awhile that grew too boring, so she purposely aimed away from the target. She smiled as her next arrow curved gracefully, guided by her magic into the bullseye yet again. The professor clapped from behind her, startling her as she had momentarily forgotten his presence.
"Hazel, it would seem that you are very strong. Most wizard's magic comes from within them, allowing them to control how much they use at a given time. They use their wand to focus that magic to perform spells. But your magic resides outside of yourself and seems to have a mind of it's own. You're afraid of it, so you can't control it," he explained gently, and while it seemed like he was leaving some things out, it made sense to her. However, he had no solutions for how to let go of her fear, how to gain control. He excused himself to talk to the Headmaster, and she didn't see him again. She was anxious when the Headmaster summoned her to his office. He had never formally summoned her like this, and she didn't know what this meant. Was she in trouble? Was she being sent to jail?
"I'm sorry Hazel, but as long as you can't control your magic, you're a danger to the other students here," he began, and she could feel her heart sink, "But I have been in communication with some wizards who think they may be able to help you." She didn't get a choice, she didn't get the chance to argue his decision, when another man walked into the office. Just like that, she was handed off. Scholars tried to learn about how her magic worked, doctors tried to analyze her, and eventually it felt like she didn't even exist. She didn't belong anywhere, she didn't have any belongings. Some of the people were nice, some of the people were mean, but all of them gave up, just like everyone else in her life. She began to lash out after a year of this treatment, but they still couldn't restrain her magic any better. Some of them thought she was just becoming a teenager, some of them thought she was finally letting out whatever monster resided in her. She injured many of them, sometimes on accident, sometimes on purpose, but she managed to not kill anyone again.
Finally, she was passed over to a shaman. He was a kind but strict Native American, and he could even transform into a coyote. He called her Ghost Eyes, a nickname based on her different eyes. He said that they would allow her to see heaven and earth at the same time, whatever that meant. He spent the most time with her, put in the most effort. She came to respect and trust him, and he in turn was the first person able to make a difference. He taught her how to mediate, how to communicate with her magic. He taught her not to fear it, how to accept it. From there, she was able to learn how to use it her own way. She honed her ability to use her magic to analyze her surroundings, to use it as another sense, as an extension of herself. He let her be a person again; he didn't keep her confined to the house, he let her read all the fictional books she wanted, he let her dream again.
She cried the first time she was able to perform a spell. Wandless magic was supposed to be difficult, but given how her magic behaved, it was easy once she figured it out, especially with the shaman's help. It almost felt like she had a home, like she had a chance at being a great witch. She was upset when it was decided that she needed to return to traditional schooling now that her magic was under her control. She had thought that he had cared for her, that she would stay with him at least until she was an adult. Her heart broke all over again as she could only assume that he just didn't want her here anymore. Imagine her surprise when Dumbledore was the one who came to retrieve her. She had thought that she would be returning to Ilvermorny, but that apparently wasn't the case. Hazel would be attending Hogwarts as a fifth year, and would begin school at the beginning of the term on September 1, 1942.
Hazel didn't know what to expect upon arriving in Diagon Alley, but this definitely wasn't it. Everything was so loud, and there were so many people that it made her head spin. After being isolated in the desert for so long with only one other human being, this was overwhelming. It probably didn't help that they had apparated here rather than use literally any other form of travel. She had to focus on using what she had learned to bring her magic in, to sort through the chaos. She wound it tighter and tighter around herself until it hurt, but it made everything else go away.
"Ms. Walker, is everything okay?" Dumbledore asked, clearly concerned. She couldn't tell if he was concerned for her well-being or for the people around them, but it didn't really matter.
"I'm fine, it's just a lot," she explained, taking another moment to adjust. He didn't push her or try to rush her; he merely stood next to her, a silent guardian.
"We'll pick up your robes and books first," he decided once she nodded, leading her through the crowd tentatively, "If you see anything that catches your eye, please let me know."
"Have you given any thought to what house you would like to be in?" he asked conversationally as they collected her books. It was a lot to carry, but he didn't seem to mind as the books disappeared into his bag.
"Not really. After the last time I was sorted, I really haven't given it much thought." He hummed, indicating that he had heard her. She knew that he had been informed of the incident, but he didn't bring it up further.
"How about what classes you're the most excited for?" he tried next, surprising her. She had thought that he would give up talking to her, given that she clearly wasn't used to being social.
"Well, I'm very excited for Transfiguration," she began earnestly, earning a smile from the professor, "But I think I'm most interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Are you very good at it?" There was no judgement in his voice, he seemed actually curious. But there was a sharpness to his gaze that made her shiver, as if something about her answer may give something away.
"I don't know, I never got to learn it during my time at Ilvermorny, and none of my private teachers specialized in it. But from the books I've read over it, it seems like my wandless magic will be perfect for dueling," she explained proudly, having read about how all the great witches and wizards used wandless magic.
"Speaking of your wandless magic, I would like to get you a wand," he began, continuing when he saw the displeasure in her expression, "And before you say anything, I don't expect you to stop using your wandless. But it may help you fit in better if you would use a wand."
"I can't use a wand, I've tried before," she muttered, doubtful and pessimistic.
"It can't hurt to try again," he mused, eyes twinkling in excitement. And she couldn't bring herself to argue anymore, giving into the old man's whims.
"I guess," she conceded. He had been guiding her towards the wand shop when a window display caught her eye. There, front and center, was a bow and arrow set. It called to her like nothing before, dark blue paint sparkling in the sunlight, with intricate white carvings. It was sturdy but flexible, she just knew it. The bow string was a beautiful ivory, strung tight enough that she could almost feel the tension under her fingers.
"Did you see something?" Dumbledore asked suddenly, breaking her gaze away from the display. She was surprised to find that she had halted upon spotting the set, gaining his attention. She quickly shook her head in denial.
"Ms. Walker, please show me," he urged softly, and the temptation was too much for her to resist.
"I just thought this bow and arrow set was cool," she shyly explained, pointing to the set. Every time she looked at it, she felt the urge to feel it in her hands.
"Do you know what these carvings mean?" and when she shook her head, he explained, "They tell the story of the Greek Goddess, Artemis. She was a huntress, and she is often affiliated with the moon." Hazel was engrossed in listening to the mythology, as excited as any child being told a story. He told her about Artemis and Apollo, about what they stood for, about their symbols and worship.
Imagine her surprise when he bought the set for her, along with the matching tarot card set and throwing knife set. She hadn't even known about the matching sets, but the man was correct in his assumption that she liked them too. She had never had a tarot card set of her own, though one of her teachers had taught her the basics of ways to use them.
"You didn't have to do that," she stated, feeling guilty that the professor had spent his own money on her, even as she was tracing the carvings over and over again reverently.
"I wanted to. You are quite talented at archery, it would be a shame if you didn't have a good bow," he explained, as if it was the right thing to do and not like he was doing her a favor, to her relief. After that, she was easy to guide into the wand shop, Ollivanders if the sign out front was correct.
"Hello, Albus! What a wonderful surprise, I haven't seen you in years, not since you brought Tom in for his wand," the man behind the counter gushed, before focusing his warm gaze on her, "And who might this be?"
"Hazel Walker, sir," she introduced politely, stiffly, which made him laugh in delight.
"Well hello Ms. Walker, I'm Garrick Ollivander. Pleased to make your acquaintance," he shook her hand, his grip not too tight on her own, "So what kind of wand are you looking for?"
"Ms. Walker's magic is rather unique, so she'll need a wand that can handle it," Dumbledore explained, and the man seemed perplexed as if this was a challenge.
"Here, give this one a spin," he said, offering her a wand. It was simple, about 9 inches of dark wood that fit well in her hand. But even before doing anything, the wand felt almost empty to her, like there wasn't an answering magic to her own. The moment she flicked the wand, it exploded in her hand, showering the three of them in splinters. Hazel was mortified.
"I see what you mean!" Ollivander laughed, as if he didn't mind her destroying something he had made, "I think I have just the thing, it may be a bit of a long shot though." This wand was longer, with carvings that could only be seen up close. It was a warm brown color, and the stain used on the wood made the grain stand out. It was smooth under her fingers and flexible in a way that reminded her of a bow. To her surprise, when she tentatively waved the wand, the store was flooded with a blue light. She could've swore she saw something with wings in the light, but it was gone before she could get a good look.
"13 inches long, hazel wood, and a thestral tail hair core," the wand maker explained, something like awe as he took in how the wand chose her. She found it almost ironic that the wood would be that same as her namesake, but she didn't comment.
"Incredible," Dumbledore agreed, something changing in the way he looked at her. It was more considerate now, less analytical. And Hazel couldn't believe how this wand felt to her, felt with her. It was like the wand and her magic harmonized, resonating perfectly with each other. It took her breath away, how she could feel the wand even once she put it down, just like with her magic. She almost just knew that if she called for it, the wand would come to her.
After they had gathered the rest of the supplies she would be needed, they exited the center of the alley, heading towards some carriages. She couldn't help but marvel the animals that were attached to the carriages.
"What are those creatures?" she asked quietly as they approached, not wanting to spook them.
"They are known as thestrals, their tail hair is the core of your wand," he explained, something like irony behind his voice. The thestral was a magnificent creature, pure black with the body of a horse but with the wings of a bat. It looked skeletal and leathery, but up close she could see it had a layer of peach fuzz.
"Hello there," she cooed, allowing the horse-like animal to sniff her hand. It must've deemed her acceptable, as it nuzzled it's muzzle against her hand, making her giggle. It was almost an instinct to reach out with her magic, which it seemed to sense. She could feel it reach out in return, curious and cautious but without fear. It was incredible, the way it pressed against her magic like it had with her hand.
"You're beautiful," she whispered, and it somehow understood her if the surge of pride and fondness was any indication. It briefly sniffed her pocket, the one where her wand resided, and bowed it's head, allowing her to pet it. Hazel wished that she had a treat for the creature, but alas she was lacking any food.
"You can visit him again when you have some free time, they're stabled at Hogwarts after all," Dumbledore brought up, his subtle way of saying that they needed to get going. Reluctantly she parted from her new friend, joining the good professor in the carriage, but not before making a promise to come and visit the thestral sometime. It was exhilarating, the takeoff and then flying. Watching the thestal fly was something else, the way those wings spread out to their full length.
"Thestrals can only be seen by those who have seen death," he brought up at some point, which dampened her mood significantly as they both knew whose death she had witnessed, had caused.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," he whispered as the castle came into view from the fog, as if it were a dream.
"It's incredible. I never could've imagined a school larger than Ilvermorny," she sighed, smiling so hard that it hurt her face. It was nothing like anything she had ever seen before, imposing and grand, ancient and magical. They circled the the grounds a few times as he let her indulge in her sightseeing. Once they landed, it took her knees a second to stop shaking, but she was still beaming. She was told to leave her belongings in the carriage, as it would be handled by the house elves. While she was reluctant to part from her new belongings, she trusted the professor. He lead her through the main doors, guiding her through hallways and staircases until they came to a brilliant golden statue. He whispered a password, and suddenly the statue moved to reveal a staircase. They entered the Headmaster's office, and he was quick to stand up and come to meet them.
"Ms. Walker, may I introduce you to Headmaster Dippet," Dumbledore formally presented her to the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He was a rather bland man compared to the professor, but his smile was warm and there were no ill intentions behind his gaze.
"Hello sir, I'm Hazel Walker, thank you for having me," she introduced herself, offering her hand to the older gentleman for a handshake, which he accepted without hesitation.
"It's my pleasure, Ms. Walker. I look forward to having you as a student at this fine establishment." His words were flowery, but not necessarily in a negative way. He turned to Dumbledore, and she understood that she was being dismissed. She took a seat near the door of the office, waiting patiently for the men to finish their conversation. After that, Dumbledore lead her towards the cafeteria, which he referred to as the Great Hall. He even showed her the secret entrance to the kitchen on the way, though he was careful to mention that the house elves were rather territorial of their space in the castle.
"You'll be sorted after the first years," he ran her through what was going to happen, "Do you have any questions for me currently?"
"What if something happens again?" she asked quietly, nervous and oh so hopeful.
"Everything will be fine," he assured, before he gently pushed her to join the back of the line of first years. She was the only older kid in the line, alone at the very end. As anxious as she was, it was quite a show to watch all the first years be sorted into their respective houses. And the Great Hall took her breath away, an endless night sky for a ceiling, with so many floating candles that there was no need for lights. It was clear that the student body had spotted her, but they were polite enough to not stare, instead focusing on the first years as they should. And then, finally, she was the only person standing at the front of the room.
"Hazel Walker, fifth year transfer student," the professor called from his list, his voice echoing in the silence of the room. She sat on the stool carefully, as if it would bite her. She tried not to cringe as the sorting hat was placed on her head, but it was hard not to.
"Hmm, where to put you, where to put you," it mused aloud, all the students listening to it's words intently.
"Don't be so afraid, my dear girl, you'll fit in just fine here," it soothed, reading her emotions, "I think I know where you'll flourish."
"Slytherin!" it announced, almost deafening her. Then suddenly the weight of the hat was gone, and she couldn't help but beam. She had been sorted! Nothing had happened! She scrambled over to the table of cheering students, eager to no longer be the center of attention. While at first unsure of where to sit, one of the boys managed to get her attention. He looked to be around her age, and, with his platinum blonde hair, he stood out among the others. He caught her eye and waved her over, indicating she should sit next to him. And, eager to not sit with the first years, she did.
"Thank you," she whispered as she took a seat on the bench among strangers, the boy who had waved her over nodding slightly in acknowledgement that he had heard her. She was instantly uncomfortable upon sitting down, though she couldn't quite tell why. Maybe it was because she was surrounded by males, maybe it was the way several girls, from her own house and from others, glared at her, or maybe the general darkness that lingered over this group; in any case, something felt wrong.
"Hazel, right? I'm Abraxas Malfoy," he introduced himself, "And these are my friends; Avery, Lestrange, Nott, Dolohov, and Riddle." He pointed at each of the males as he said their last names, and she struggled to remember their names and faces. They were all very similar appearance wise, with dark hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. The last two, Dolohov and Riddle, seemed off in some way, and she wondered if they were the cause of her feeling so ill at ease.
"It isn't everyday we get a transfer student, especially one as pretty as yourself," Lestrange flirted, which made her blush. She hadn't interacted with anyone her own age in years, let alone a male. He was around her height, and his hair was fluffy with perfect spirals, almost as if had used curlers. A smirk seemed to be permanently glued to his face, with eyes that sparkled mischievously.
"Your eyes are so cool, what charm is that?" Avery asked, "I may have to try it sometime." He seemed genuinely interested, paying attention to her face in a way that told her he wasn't just looking at her eyes.
"It's actually not a charm, my eyes are just different colors," she explained awkwardly, glancing from face to face in search of any displeasure. Instead, most of them looked awed. Abraxas was about to speak when suddenly his mouth snapped shut, and she followed his gaze to the male sitting directly across from her.
"Heterochromia is the term," the tallest male explained, "I'm Tom Marvolo Riddle, the fifth year male prefect." For some reason he felt the need to introduce himself again, this time with his full time. She could tell he was arrogant, and the look in his eyes was so calculating that it made her want to run.
"What's a prefect?" Her question came out dumbly, but they didn't seem to mind. Other than Riddle of course, he seemed to take it personally.
"Ah, did they not have prefects at your previous school?" he asked, though his question had disdain carefully hidden behind goodwill, "Prefects are leaders of sorts, students with extra responsibilities that include patrolling the hallways and keeping other students in line."
"So a hall monitor?" This time all the boys couldn't help a chuckle or smirk at their friend's expense, who definitely took it as an insult. The glee on their faces instantly disappeared as they took in the pinched expression on Riddle's face, but Hazel was still satisfied with getting a rise out of him for some reason.
"Not quite. There are only two prefects per year, one being male and the other being female. It's an honor only given to the most respected students."
"So, your last name is Walker?," Nott asked, clearly trying to change the conversation, "I've never heard it before." And Hazel didn't really understand why they were so focused on last names here, but she figured it must be a cultural thing.
"I'm from the United States, so that would make sense," she explained, though they were all aware given her accent.
"Oh, did you go to Ilvermorny?" While the question was asked in good faith, she didn't really feel comfortable telling them about how she hadn't been a student there for years.
"Yes," she confirmed but didn't elaborate, which she was sure they picked up on.
"Isn't that the one that was co-founded by a muggle?" Dolohov asked, the first time he had spoken this evening. His voice was low and quiet, with something like disgust behind his question.
"A muggle?" she asked tentatively, another term that she was unfamiliar with.
"Someone born without magic," Riddle explained, something like a smile on his face, as if he reveled in her ignorance.
"Ah, we call them no-maj," she explained, "And yes, that's the one."
"You must be glad to be going to Hogwarts now then, and to have been placed in Slytherin no less," Dolohov asserted, something zealous in his eyes that scared her to dare contradict him.
"Of course," she agreed meekly.
"Here, you haven't eaten yet," Abraxas realized, as they had been interrogating her since she sat down, "This is my favorite, lamb chops with a demi-glace and roasted potatoes with sweet peas." He took it upon himself to load up her plate with the aforementioned food, way more than she could possibly eat, but she appreciated it. She hadn't really known what to start with given the spread in front of her, much less what meats paired best with what sides.
"I'm sure Ms. Walker can fill her plate herself, Malfoy," Riddle chided, and she was disliking him more and more as the feast continued.
"No, I don't mind at all," she disagreed, earning a sharp look in return, "Thank you, Abraxas, this looks delicious." As she ate, the boys talked among themselves. Abraxas, Lestrange, Nott, and Avery seemed the closest, with Dolohov pleased with listening rather than talking. And then there was Riddle, who was in some way separate from the rest of them.
"Come on, we'll guide you to the dungeons," Riddle decided for them all as the meal came to an end and people began to disperse. They walked in an odd formation, with Riddle alone in front of them and the others walking in small group behind him, as if this was follow the leader.
"The dungeons?" she whispered to Abraxas, not wanting to give the prefect the pleasure of explaining anything else to her tonight.
"It's where the Slytherin common room and dorms are located. You really don't know anything about Hogwarts, do you?" He was clearly amused, but he didn't make fun of her.
"Not really," she confirmed, embarrassed. But it wasn't like she had any warning before being brought here, any chance to look into the school.
"I can try and give you a run down, if you'd like," he offered, a bit awkward as if he was asking her on a date, but she was sure it was just because his friends had perked up, clearly listening to their conversation now.
"That'd be great, thank you so much," she made sure to gush, going as far as to smile sincerely at the now blushing blonde.
"Wow, getting a new girlfriend so soon, Abraxas?" Lestrange taunted, wrapping an arm around his friend's shoulders. The others joined in with their teasing, though Riddle merely raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at their behavior.
"Ms. Walker, I'm glad I could catch you before you retired," Dumbledore said, suddenly appearing from a hallway she hadn't noticed, startling them all, "Could I have a word?"
"Of course, Professor Dumbledore," she agreed lightly, as she had been expecting him to check in on her again, "Abraxas, do you mind waiting up for me?"
"No problem. And don't forget the password to the common room is Salazar," he reminded her sternly despite his smile, as if he could tell that she had already forgotten. With that, the group continued down the hallway towards the dungeon, Riddle turning and giving them a lingering stare before he disappeared into the darkness. They stood there in silence for a moment, waiting until the echoes of voices disappeared before beginning their conversation.
"How are you settling in so far?" he asked as they moseyed down the hallway in the same direction the other Slytherins had gone.
"I mean, I managed to make some friends, I think," she began optimistically, before her tone became uneasy, "But I'm not sure about sleeping in the dorm." And he knew what she really meant; she was afraid of trusting other people around her while she slept, she was afraid of hurting anyone with her magic should she have a nightmare.
"If there's any problems, I can certainly arrange for you to have a room to yourself," he offered, though it was clear he wanted her to at least try to adjust to the dorms first.
"I'll keep that in mind, thank you." And she would. But Hazel wanted to try to be normal first, wanted to try and live like everyone else. If she had a single room, everyone would think her privileged in some way, just like they had before.
"I'll bid you goodnight then," he said with a warm smile, guiding her to the section of stone that would open to reveal the common room, "And Ms. Walker? I would highly suggest that you be more careful about who you become friends with." And with that, he was gone before she could ask him what he meant. She took a moment to steal herself before giving the password, the wall disappearing in front of her to reveal the common room.
She was stunned upon walking into the room. Green and silver adorned every surface. There were plush couches and chairs, a huge fireplace, and stained glass windows that looked out onto a lake. It was opulent and luxurious, but it still managed to feel cozy despite being located in a dungeon. She found Abraxas waiting for her in an alcove on a loveseat, and she didn't hesitate to take the seat next to him.
"This place is incredible," she mused, wondering just how many times her breath would be taken away today.
"I'm glad you like it," he chuckled, as if this was normal for him. And to be fair, it probably was.
"Okay, so let me give you an idea of how Hogwarts works-" From there, he explained everything. The Founders, the hierarchy of the Head Boy and Girl and the prefects, what each house stood for, what they learned in each class and some details about the professors, the ghosts that haunted this school, and even how the staircases worked. By the end, she found herself drooping against him, intent on listening to every word but fading fast. It had been a long day, a long week, a long year. She didn't know why she was so comfortable here, leaning against a boy that had been a stranger mere hours ago, surrounded by green and silver velvet.
"Am I boring you, Princess?" he asked after he was done, pretending to be offended.
"I'm no princess," she sassed in return, sitting up a bit, "And no, I'm listening."
"Are you sure? Because you-"
"Malfoy," a voice suddenly interrupted, making both of them jump apart and give attention to the person who had disturbed their little corner of the common room, "It's almost curfew." Of course it was Riddle, staring down at them judgmentally with his emotionless black eyes.
"Shit, I was supposed to-" Abraxas began, eye widening in panic.
"It's okay, go," she offered, to which he accepted, running up the stairs to the boy's dorm as fast as he could. She waited for Riddle to follow him, but he seemed content to stand there, blocking her from leaving the alcove with his body.
"Has Hogwarts been to your liking so far, Ms. Walker?" he asked casually, as if he didn't have any ulterior motives and as if she didn't know this.
"Yes, it's incredible. I can't wait to explore a bit tomorrow after classes. Abraxas told me-"
"I trust that Malfoy has been helpful in educating you more about this school," he cut her off, clearly only interested in getting to what he actually wants to talk about.
"Definitely," she grit out, wearing her fakest smile like a shield.
"If you don't mind my asking, what did Professor Dumbledore want to talk to you about?" And there it was, his actual question. He leaned over ever so slightly, looming over her. It was intimidating, just as he had intended. But he still didn't give himself away, didn't act in any way that could be deemed improper or threatening. He was damn good at this.
"I actually do mind, it's personal," she chided, and watched in wonder as his pleasant demeanor disappeared when he didn't get what he wanted. They had a short staring contest, each of them challenging the other. But he seemed ready to cut his losses for now, though she knew that he would come back when she least expected it.
"Very well. You should get going to bed, Ms. Walker." It sounded like a dismissal, like an order, and she couldn't help but wind him up just a little more.
"I think I'll sit out here a bit longer, if that isn't a problem of course." Those eyes widened ever so slightly at her insolence, nostrils flaring in turn as he stood there like a statue. Needless to say, she was terrified when he was suddenly calm, a devious look in his eyes.
"It's not a problem at all. In fact, I think I'll join you." He didn't hesitate to take the seat directly next to her. And while she was too prideful to get up and leave, she couldn't help but scoot over until she was pressed into the arm of the loveseat. He seemed to relish her awkward position, pulling a book from his robe pocket and beginning to read as if he wasn't the spawn of satan. She hated to admit it, but he had won this round. She sat there for awhile, glaring into the fire as he sat next to her, relaxed as one could be. He was even manspreading, his long legs causing his knees to intrude into her personal space. Hazel decided that if she was stuck here, she may as well be doing something productive. She began to move, sliding off her shoes and bringing her legs up under her, sitting crisscross now. This position caused her knee to come in contact with his, but both of them were too stubborn to shift away. The moment she had moved, Riddle had paused in his reading, watching her every movement with sharp eyes. She took a deep breath and rested her hands on her knees, closing her eyes next and focusing on her magic. Well, until she was interrupted that was.
"What are you doing?" She opened her eyes and took him in. His eyes were even a little squinty, as if he honestly couldn't tell what she was doing.
"Meditating?" she offered, raising an eyebrow in a parody of how he had earlier.
"Why?" Riddle really didn't understand what she was doing, and she reveled in that. But a confused Riddle was annoying, questioning everything until he had the full picture.
"It helps me," she grit out, closing her eyes again.
"Helps you what?" He was definitely just acting like a child now.
"I'm sorry, but it's hard to focus when you keep talking," she said icely, making it clear that she was going to ignore him from here on.
"Excuse my intrusion then," he replied in kind.
While it helped that he was silent, Hazel was all too aware of the presence next to her on the loveseat. Even as she could hear the pages of his book turning, she could swear that he was watching her, but she dared not open her eyes to check. It took longer than normal to center herself, but she managed to do so eventually. Her nerves were frayed from the stress of the day and from Riddle's presence grating on her, but she soothed herself. It was a relief to allow her magic to spread out after being restrained all day, like stretching a sore muscle. She was careful to only expand it into her personal space, but even that was apparently enough to include Riddle. Hazel was hit with the full force of his magical signature. It was like a miasma, thick and dark and smothering. As intelligent as the boy was, he didn't seem to feel her magic gently intertwining with his own, feeling it out. He was no doubt very strong, given how overwhelming his magic was. And then she caught onto his emotions. He was more complex than he appeared. Curiosity and amusement were the first emotions she encountered, clearly directed at herself. And she didn't know why, but she felt the urge to dig just a little deeper. What she found left her gasping for air and scrambling to the corner of the loveseat, almost falling off it. Deep inside, where he had his most honest self hidden and buried, she had felt an all consuming combination of fear, envy, and hatred.
"Ms. Walker?" he asked, wary and careful as he watched her intently. But she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She quickly slipped on her shoes and moved to get up.
"I'm fine, I'm think I need to head to bed now." It came out in a rush, and it only fed his curiosity more, she could feel it. She was too off balance to pull her magic back in and thus could still feel him. She didn't make it very far before suddenly there was a hand grabbing her. His skin was searing against her own, and his hand was large enough to wrap around her forearm with ease. The contact brought her to a complete stop, though she didn't dare turn around to face him. All she could feel was him, his hand on her arm, his magic reaching out to subconsciously wrap around her.
"What happened? What did you see?" His excitement and eagerness almost felt foreign coming from him, knowing what kind of feelings lingered beneath it all.
"Nothing. Goodnight," she asserted, ripping her arm out of his hold before scrambling up the stairs to the girl's dorm. He stood at the bottom, watching her until she shut the door behind her. All the girls in her room were still awake, talking about the first day of classes the next day. They turned, startled when she entered the room, but they quickly returned to their gossip after realizing it was just the new girl. She shakily walked to the only unoccupied bed, which had her name engraved on a plaque in an elegant cursive. The bed was a large wooden four poster with thick silver and green curtains on all sides. There was a chest at the foot of the bed that unlocked when she touched it, and it was a relief that no one else could touch her belongings. Hazel changed into her sleeping clothes, climbing into the plush bed and closing the curtains around it, blocking out the light and sound of the dorm. The curtains must've been spelled with a silencing charm, something she appreciated. She was still frazzled and could even feel the residue of Riddle's touch on her arm.
It was difficult for her to fall asleep that night, but it was easy for her to decide on a course of action regarding the prefect. She would dedicate her time to avoiding Riddle, no matter the cost. If she saw him coming, she would run in the opposite direction. She didn't want to think about what would happen if he caught her alone again.