(--CHAPTER THREE------------------------------)

The girl didn't reply. Harry wondered if she wasn't in a trance, or under the Imperius curse, the way she stared fixedly at him through those dark, mysterious eyes as if he was the only person – no, the only thing in a void of nothingness. He felt as if she stared at him much longer, her eyes would bore holes into his face. It was a rather unpleasant feeling.

Suddenly he snapped. "Hey, would you mind not staring at me? If you've got a problem, just say it already!"

The girl said nothing, but broke her gaze and turned instead to stare out the window. The small glass pane fogged and cleared in rhythm with her breath. Harry felt cold; he realized his hand was shaking. There was something about this girl… something dark and unwholesome, that set his hair on end and filled his mind with uncertainty. Someone grasped his hand. Hermione. Without looking at her, he squeezed her hand in thanks. It was nice to know someone was there for him in this cold, hard world…

"Harry, you're hurting me!"

Harry swung his head around to find himself eye-to-eye with Luna. She wore a pained but puzzled expression. Shocked, he snatched his hand away as his face turned beet red. He'd thought it was Hermione. How embarrassing.

After his pulse settled a bit, he directed his gaze out his window. They were almost at the front gate; he could see the lights of the first years' little boats off in the distance. The gentle sound of the lake's waters lapping against the shore wafted to his ears, and happy thoughts of food and laughter began to circulate in his mind. Hogwarts had that effect; no matter what was going on out there in the wizarding world, nearly nothing could penetrate the feeling of safety that seemed to be draped over the school like a warm, cozy blanket. But someone could. Voldemort. Even in amid the pleasant things floating around in Harry's head, Voldemort was always in the back; scratching, clawing at his conscience, seeking to inject fear and anxiety into every happy moment. But so long as he was at Hogwarts, under the care and keeping of Dumbledore, that destructive thought of Voldemort was a least a little more quiescent.

Harry felt the back of his neck prickle. She was staring at him again. He shot her an ugly look as she quickly withdrew and looked away, long wisps of hair swinging to cover the side of her face. Harry wondered what was going on in her black-haired head. He wished at the moment that he had worked harder in Occlumency. But soon that wish was dashed from his mind as the carriage came to a jolting stop. Quietly, almost reverently, the six teens struggled out. No one had spoken throughout the usually short trip, which under the circumstances had seemed to last an age.

"In here, hurry up!" came the brisk voice of Professor Minerva McGonagall. Moving like a mass of disgruntled and crowded ants, the students pushed their way through the majestic front doors and into the giant entrance room of the castle. Shouts and squeals reverberated off the hard stone walls and vaulted ceiling as long-departed friends (and enemies) met up again at last.

At the direction of Professor McGonagall, the returning students left their luggage along the walls and filed their way up the grand staircase. Harry smiled inwardly as he noted Hermione's pursed lips and obvious disapproval. No doubt she was thinking about how the house elves would have to move all the belongings up to the dormitories.

The comforting cheeriness of Hogwarts is present in nearly all of the castle, (except maybe the dungeons) but the true spirit of the wizarding school didn't fully hit Harry until he entered the Great Hall. And when it did, it hit him full blast – in a large, decorated mass of excitement. The four house tables were lavishly dressed; tablecloths of each house's color, rich golden dining ware that glinted in the candlelight, napkins artfully folded in the shape of the house animals, crystal goblets that refracted every bit of light and shot it back in the form of brilliant little rainbows… The high, enchanted ceiling now portrayed a calm, starry sky that seemed to shimmer in the heat from the countless number of floating candles. Peeves the poltergeist was there too, trying to bowl the candles over with one of Professor Trelawney's crystal balls.

Before Harry new it, he was seated at the red and gold-clothed table among his fellow Gryffindors. Everyone around him was chatting happily and clapping each other on the back, but all he could do was stare around and smile, all his troubles being momentarily wiped from his mind. A few people, those at the Gryffindor table and from other houses, shot nervous glances over at him or whispered behind their hands, but generally he was met with respect and admiration. He was no longer Harry the insane, lonely orphan, but Harry the hero; Harry who alerted the wizarding world to Voldemort's return, who all along had been telling the truth. He felt he very much deserved this long-awaited recognition.

In the midst of all the excitement, Harry had temporarily forgotten about the mysterious, black-haired girl. But as Headmaster Dumbledore rose at the head table and the noise died down around him, her piercing gaze returned in his mind. He looked around. Where had she gone? Was she outside in the entrance hall? Could she possibly be a first year, and was waiting with the others to be sorted? No, she couldn't be – she had ridden in the carriage, not in the boats. Where was she?

His thoughts were interrupted as Dumbledore began to speak.

"My dear returning students! I know that you are eager to feast, and the first years outside the hall are eager to be sorted, but let me take this time now to elaborate on a rather, well, unusual occurrence that will be taking place tonight."

Here the headmaster paused for effect, then continued:

"It does not happen often that a transferring occurs between wizarding schools, and has not happened in a long time, but tonight I am pleased to announce that Hogwarts will be gaining a new student! Entering one's 6th year in a different school, I'm sure it will be a odd change, but I trust all of you to make it a comfortable and easy one. We do not want our new student to feel unwelcome."

Dumbledore paused again, this time waiting for the whispering to die out; the whispering that had seeped its way into the hall while he was speaking. The students, noting his impatient silence, shut their mouths and waited for him to go on.

"Well. That's about it! Let the sorting of all the new students begin!" He bowed back into his high-backed chair as the huge doors opened and Professor McGonagall entered, followed by a line of very nervous-looking first years. But right behind the Professor, standing taller than the rest, was the black-haired girl.

So, Harry thought. She was the transfer student. Must be. He had suspected it ever since the carriage ride, remembering what Luna had said, and had been even more convinced by Dumbledore's words, but now his suspicions were confirmed. Though what was it that Malfoy had said? Something about her wanting to meet him. What could he mean? Was she someone important? The questions ricochet around in his head as the Sorting Hat began its song:

"Hello to all, students, teachers, and Friends
I welcome you each to Hogwarts again
Though dark broods the evil outside our fair halls,
Tonight we make merry; A new school year calls!

My songs, I admit, have been dreary of late
As the world seems to have a big mess on its plate
But tonight, my dear Friends, jovial I remain,
For on your golden platters a feast is ordained!

Formerly, each House I'd distinguish
But now I say segregation is anguish!
For this year occurs something unprecedented:
The unity of two Rivals cemented!

Cryptic though my words now may be,
Soon they'll be clear; just wait and you'll see
Make note! Take heed! For out of the dark
Unexpected it comes, Contrasting the lark

But enough now! I see that your eyes are glazed over
You wish I'd shut up and do you a favor
Fine then, new Friends, join the ranks!
An exciting new year for you each now awaits!"

The song was followed by much puzzlement among the students, Harry included. Previously the hat's messages had been pretty clear. Last year it preached unity—a recurring theme, obviously, but what was this nonsense about larks and rivals? Even Dumbledore was hand-to-chin, contemplating.

"Adams, Bridget!" Professor McGonagall's thin voice ruptured Harry's thoughts. He watched a small curly-headed girl approach the Hat as the sorting begain.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" bellowed the ancient headgear shortly after it was placed upon Bridget's head. There was much clapping as the girl scuttled timidly toward the yellow-adorned table.

"Appleby, Adam!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Asberg, Boris!"

"GRYFFINDOR!" (Much cheering from Harry's table)

"Atul, Jazrel!"

"SLYTHERIN!" (Much booing from Harry's table)

And so it continued. The applause kept up a steady enthusiasm until the students, growing bored and impatient, dropped off a bit as McGonagall dove into the L's.

"Lemmings, Rodney!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Feeble clapping.

"Lestrange, Liana!"

Silence.

The loud clatter of golden dishes falling.

"Neville! Stop!" hissed Hermione, struggling to restrain the larger boy who had knocked over his plate in an attempt to break free.

Harry felt his heart grow cold. This girl… no, she couldn't be… Dumbledore wouldn't allow it… He saw Neville's flushed face recede to a pallid color, tears of frustration springing from his eyes. But Harry felt no emotion. He still couldn't grasp it, couldn't grasp the idea that this girl could possibly be a relative—a daughter, even—of his godfather's murderer; the torturer of Neville's parents.

He watched her approach the Sorting Hat. There was no way. No way this girl was the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange.

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