On the official first day of school, Draia found herself nervously waiting at the Slytherin table. She couldn't help the feelings of dread creeping up her spine- this was it, her shot at establishing herself at Hogwarts. Although she was a popular girl at Durmstrang, she fully understood that the Slytherins who would be her peers had already spent five years getting to know each other. The feeling that she was infringing couldn't help but surface. Still, she kept her face a stolid mask, hiding her emotions far beneath the surface.

Darting her eyes around the room, Draia took in her surroundings. Her father sat at the head table, conversing excitedly with the other professors. Apparently he knew some of them from his own time as a student, judging by his animated conversation with the Herbology professor, Longtrousers or something like that. Something Draia found particularly annoying was the lone inhabitant of the Gryffindor table- that rotten Harriet Malfoy. She looked as if she were waiting for a crowd of sycophants to come kiss her robes and that shiny prefect badge. Although there are better parts of her to- UGH! Stop that, Draia, you really need to find something else to focus on.

As the arriving students finally began to shuffle in, Draia checked herself one last time: robes in order? Check, and the green and silver tie was certainly working well with her eyes. Hair in order? Lovely fake blonde hair in plaits down her back, check. Face perfect? Hours spent on makeup (including her rather expensive Marili Jordach lip gloss) meant a check, check, check. Knowledge about the school and its traditions, check thanks to a knowledgeable father and a once-through of "Hogwarts, A History". Yes, everything was perfectly in order except for her nerves, which were so scattered that her hands nearly shook.

The older Slytherins made their way to their table, eying the unfamiliar girl sitting there with both interest and suspicion.

"Who are you?" asked a chubby girl with dull eyes and mousey hair, sitting herself across from Draia.

"I'm Draia," she responded, leaving out her last name on purpose. If the reaction she received at Hogwarts was anywhere near what she got at Durmstrang- well, that would be bad. "My father's a new professor. I transferred from Durmstrang."

Instant respect lit the eyes of many of the students around her. Durmstrang was still well known as a dark school, despite the new Headmaster's campaign to popularize it for its other aspects.

"So you're a sixth year then? Since you're sitting with us. And we're sixth years," proclaimed yet another overweight boy. Is there some sort of overly high fat content in Slytherin food? wondered Draia.

"Yes, I'm a sixth year. And you are...?" she said, raising her eyebrow for good effect.

"Oh, I'm a sixth year too."

A wiry girl with bushy red hair elbowed the boy. "She wanted to know your name, dimwit, you already told her you were a sixth year. He's Gregory Goyle, the third, by the way. That girl," she nodded her head towards the chubby one, "is Lindsay Crabbe, and... aren't the rest of you going to introduce yourselves or do I have to do the rest of you idiots as well?"

"I'm Jesalyn Thelps."

"Mitchell Rabion."

"Garon Zabini."

"Thomas Flint."

"Allynis Bustrode."

The redhead cast a glance at Allynis. "Ally there is just a fifth year, but she likes to tag along with us. And I, of course, am Margaret Weasley. Maggie, for short."

"You're a Weasley?" asked Draia, shocked, but before Maggie could answer, Headmistress McGonagall started speaking. After welcomes were made, she started on announcements.

"This year, we are pleased to welcome an old student back to Hogwarts. Perhaps you have heard of our new faculty member, Professor Harry Potter, who will be teaching Defense Against Dark Arts and serving as the Head of Gryffindor House." Excited applause sprang from most of the Great Hall, save for from the Slytherin table. Most of the Slytherins were staring or glaring at Draia, as she did her best to just keep staring at McGonagall. As the Sorting Ceremony started and dragged on, she felt eyes drilling holes into her back. The instant the first years were sorted, everyone began to speak at once.

"Harry Potter? My dad said he changed his name and moved to Australia!"

"My mum said that the Dark Lord left him with a degenerating curse and he's been dying in a cave."

"Does that mean the new girl's a Potter?"

"You're Draia POTTER?"

"A Potter in Slytherin?"

"Is she a spy?"

Draia had no time to get a word in edgewise throughout the onslaught. After the Slytherins finally quieted, Maggie gave her an odd look.

"So you're a Potter?" she asked.

"And you're a Weasley. What of it?" retorted Draia, annoyed.

"Well, why're you in Slytherin, then?" questioned Jesalyn.

"Because the Sorting Hat put me here. Just because I'm a Potter doesn't mean I'm a Gryffindor. That whole thing about apples not falling far from trees is crap."

"If you're really a Potter... then who's your mum?" asked Crabbe (around a mouthful of beef, naturally.)

"Virginia Weasley," replied Draia, with not a hint of shame. Her father had warned her that Slytherins might not be accepting of Weasleys, but they seemed to like Maggie well enough, so she figured it was fine.

Maggie couldn't help but gasp. "Then we're cousins."

"How so?"

"My dad was your mum's brother. Ron Weasley."

"You're one of his children? I was named after him!"

"Draia is a far cry from Ron..."

"My middle name. Rona."

"Wow."

"Wow indeed," concurred Draia. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm starving. If anyone would like to attack my family's honor or my status as a Slytherin, feel free to do so after I have a decent meal. I'm much better at throwing hexes when I'm full."

With that, the Slytherins left off and began to eat and converse. Draia was left alone on the subject of her family for the duration of the meal, and found herself in deep conversation with Ally and Garon about the benefits of Durmstrang versus the benefits of Hogwarts. Inwardly, she found herself smiling. Yes, she'd do quite well in Slytherin.

******

Across the Great Hall, at the Gryffindor table, the conversation was nearly the same as it was with the Slytherins:

"Harry Potter is alive?"

"What's his daughter doing at the Slytherin table? That is his daughter, right?"

"Where'd they come from?"

"Is he going to stop the Second Incursion?"

"Harriet, what's your dad have to say about this?"

Harriet Malfoy couldn't help but snort in muffled laughter at the question. "Papa says that Harry Potter is the seventh great mystery of the wizarding world, but that he'll serve as a fantastic DADA professor. And your mum said that he was the greatest, bravest wizard who ever lived, or something like that, and considering how restricted Mrs. Weasley usually is with her gushing, that's a lot for her to say. Plus, he did stop Voldemort and all that."

Albus Jonathon Weasley, known to anyone who didn't want to get punched as Jack, winced. "You know I hate it when you say that name, Harriet."

"Oh, get over it, he's been dead for almost as long as you've been alive," snapped Harriet, as she helped herself to a piece of bread.

"But with the Second Incursion, it's still not a good idea to say it," said Andrew Weasley, grabbing the bread out of Harriet's hand.

"He's right, you know," added Rob Jordon, as he ripped a piece of the bread out of Andrew's hand for good measure.

"Honestly, there's a bowl of bread in the middle of the table. A replenishing bowl of bread, I might add. Why do you always need to act like barbarians?" asked Harriet, as she reached for another slice.

Megan Weasley grinned as she casually bit the leg off of a struggling chocolate frog. "Because we're Weasleys, obviously." At this, Rob exclaimed, "I'm not a Weasley!"

"Then you have no justification," said Emily Finnigan. With a worried glance at the Slytherin table, she asked, "Have you met the Potter girl yet, Harriet?"

Harriet nodded, "It's really a shame that Harry Potter had a daughter like that. She's just a rotten apple, I guess."

The Gryffindors around her nodded in agreement, and they continued on with their meal.

******

Elsewhere in the Great Hall, Harry was finishing a chicken leg very happily. Sixteen years of his own less than proficient home cooked meals made him long for the mastery of the Hogwarts house elf cuisine. As he put the bone on his plate, Minerva approached him from behind and tapped him on the shoulder. He couldn't help but flinch; war reflexes, he ascribed it to. "Yes?" he asked, struggling to get the last bite of chicken down his throat so he wouldn't sound like an idiot.

"We're having a meeting of the Order in fifteen minutes. In the Room of Requirement."

Harry blinked, "The Order still exists?"

Minerva nodded her head gravely. "Oh, Mr. Potter, you have been away from us for too long. You'll hear about everything at the meeting." With that, she walked off, presumably to tell other faculty members of the Order about the impending meeting.

Harry sighed. His first two days at Hogwarts were not going well- his daughter being sorted into Slytherin (although she seemed to be doing well at the table), the disastrous meeting with Draco in which he clumsily excused himself when he discovered he could no longer think of anything to say, being torn away from his scrumptious meal, and the bothersome revelation that he was probably about to be called upon to save the world again.

No, not a good time for Harry Potter at all.