Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, only Raven and her family and background. And this story. Yeah.

Summary: This is a girl's quest to find out just why she was placed in a house with people she hates. A witch, raised as a muggle, finds out about her family history. Unexpectedly, she is inducted into Slytherin House, and is doing everything in her power to find out why.

Chapter Notes: This...was an emotional chapter to write. It's actually a little dark in tone. Please give me feedback. I'd really like to know what you all think. I'm actually going to up the rating to PG-13 due to language. There isn't really any bad language, per se...but I'd rather be safe than sorry. Oh, and the proper way to pronounce Raven's mother's maiden name is lee-see (spelled Lyse) It's Danish for 'light.'

So, if you have any questions, comments or ideas, please feel free to tell me. I'll try to accommodate as best I can. (I really like ideas... :)

Please review, I'd really like some constructive criticism! Try not to flame; constructive criticism is by far more helpful in a world of hate. (Ok, that sounded a little cheesy, but I meant it.)


Midnight Discoveries: The Letter


When I heard of Colin Creevey's attack on Monday morning, I wasn't sure what to think. Who could possibly be petrifying everyone? Or what? I didn't like to think of the answer. I stuck close to the other boys in my class: Donnie Kestren, Jack Spinner, Ashley Harmon, and Jesse Jameson. Blaise kept reassuring me that we'd all be fine, since we were in Slytherin, but I really wasn't so sure.

But it all really came down to the second Friday of November, when I found out just how dangerous it was for me to be in Slytherin.

I was having a hard time sleeping, and pacing around my room was getting me nowhere. I finally decided to venture out into the common room with the hope that I could divulge myself in something that had been calling to me all year, but I had been too preoccupied to listen to. The grand piano.

I had learned to play at a young age, but never considered myself any good. I never did like recitals...I could never get myself to play in front of more than a few people. But on the other hand, I could hear almost any contemporary piece and teach myself to play it, just on listening alone. Especially muggle mainstream music with piano as a focal instrument. Older pieces, the classics, were more difficult for me, so I mainly relied on sheet music to play those.

So here I was, at two a.m. in the morning, wearing only my black, short-sleeved, floor length shift, padding silently over to the glowing green presence of the piano in the corner. It seemed to be waiting, just for me. I had always wondered why it was in the common room; I had never seen anyone play it. I just assumed that Salazar Slytherin had liked piano music, so he had one put in his house's common room.

I approached it slowly; almost afraid it might jump away if I got too close. But I finally reached the bench, and sat down timidly. Moving the key-cover up, I placed my fingers on the keys, remembering the feel of the cool ivory under my skin. Settling into the bench, I softly went through a few scales, warming my fingers up and stretching the long-unused muscles. After my fingers felt limber enough, I thought of a song to play, and began.

It wasn't a long piece, but one I knew by heart, and had always reached into my soul. It was a soft, light tune, but had a sad quality in the lower register. My emotions are always high when I play. I can never keep emotion out of any piece I play. Which I think is a good thing, because what is music but an expression of emotion? But my piano teacher told me that I couldn't rely on that alone, that I had to learn the technicalities behind the music, or I would never fully understand it. But I really didn't care. All I wanted to do was play.

As the piece ended, there was rise of silence after the last lingering note. I sighed a little, happy to be back with a familiar friend. But loud, singular clapping broke through my world. Startled, I stood up quickly, and turned my head to the other end of the common room, closer to the door. Draco Malfoy was leaning against the back of a sofa. Shit! How long has he been there?

"Well, well, well. It seems we have a traitor in our midst." He stalked towards me, smiling in a Cheshire way, moving more gracefully than I had ever seen a human body move before.

I stood there, frozen. "What are you talking about, Draco?" I said cautiously.

"Why, Raven...I didn't think I'd have to spell it out for you...tut, tut." He shook his head. "I'm referring to your kinship with muggles, of course. I'm assuming that was a muggle piece?" He was still advancing on me.

What is he getting at? "I still don't know what you're talking about."

He was right in front of me now. His face turned into a look of disdain. "Don't play stupid, Raven. I'm talking about the fact that you were raised like a muggle, that you're only half-blood, which might as well be Mudblood in my opinion." He snarled. Oh my god. His father...he must have found something...Oh, Mum... My voice was caught in my throat. I could barely breathe. And Draco's close proximity was making me dizzy again. "But I guess you don't know what Mudblood means, do you, Raven? Hmph. It means that you're not a proper witch. Your blood isn't pure witch's blood. And the fact that your witch mother was stupid enough to raise you as a muggle...well, that makes you a Mudblood in my opinion. You might as well have been muggle-born, just like that Granger. And Mudbloods don't belong here. You played a pretty good game, though, but I knew there was something wrong with you. And I still can't possibly see how you got into Slytherin. There really is something wrong with this school."

"Your father..." I whispered.

He smirked. "Yes. My father. He has wonderful connections, you know. I'm guessing Blaise told you that I wrote to him, hm? Well, I've been mulling over this information for two weeks, Raven. My father gave me this," he pulled a letter out of his robes, "the day of the Quidditch match against Gryffindor."

"Is that what you were mad about? That I'm not your idea of a proper witch? A proper Slytherin?" I was slowly gaining my voice back.

He narrowed his gaze. "No, I didn't read this until later that night. But what I was mad about is none of your concern. I'd think staying alive for the next six and a half years should be your newest concern, however." There was a mad glint forming in his eye. "Here. Read what my father had to say." He handed me the letter.

"I'm really sorry I ever defended you against Flint, Malfoy," I said, disgusted. He raised an eyebrow.

"And it better not happen again. I hardly need your help, Mudblood." Rolling my eyes and shaking my head, I unfolded the letter.

Draco,

I have found the most interesting information on your inquiry. It seems that young Miss Harrell's father was an old adversary. I had thought the name sounded familiar.

First, I'll tell you of Miss Harrell's childhood. Her mother, Katherine Lyse-Harrell, raised her alone, in a small village outside of London. Her father, Garry Harrell, was killed shortly after she was conceived because of his involvement for a short while in work against our Lord, but he was not a complete member of the organization against him, the Order of the Phoenix. However, he was meddlesome enough for the Lord's taste.

Her mother, now pregnant and a widow, ran away from the wizarding world to raise her daughter as a muggle. I suppose she thought they would be safe, which they were, but they didn't completely cover their tracks.

Mrs. Harrell's parents, the Lyses, had been sending her as much wizarding money as they could without being immediately noticed. They were both wealthy wizards from Denmark, originally, but immigrated to England before their daughter was born. Mr. Lyse was killed as a by-product of our Lord's cause, and Mrs. Lyse died of a heart attack a few months later. This was shortly after Miss Harrell was born. Later, a few renegade wizards of the Lord's cause killed her grandparents on her father's side. The reason for this being that Miss Harrell's father was a Mudblood. His parents were muggles. So, our Miss Harrell is only half-blood. And you say she's in Slytherin? Interesting.

It seems odd that she would be placed in Slytherin, not just because she's half-blood, or raised as a muggle, but because of who killed most of her immediate family: Lucius Malfoy. It was I, Draco, along with a few others, that killed the Harrells and Mr. Lyse.

You may do with this information as you wish. Although I do forbid you from harming Miss Harrell or her mother. It would not do to start raising questions as to your motives behind such acts. And of course, you know what to do with this letter when you are finished reading it. I cannot have any documents lying around that might compromise our family's future.

I will be hearing from you.

Your Father,

Lucius Malfoy

My heart was caught in my throat. This isn't happening. I'm dreaming. I must be. Oh my god. Lucius killed father. Killed Grandpa Lyse. Killed Grandma and Grandpa Harrell. Tears started streaming down my face. I felt like screaming. I clenched my fists around the letter, nearly tearing it in two. Then I lashed out at Draco, shoving him hard in the chest. He stumbled back off of the little raised area we were standing on, a shocked look on his usually smug face. I followed up on my push, landing on top of him and punching him in the chest, the stomach, wherever I could reach in my blurry-eyed haze.

"How can you...you evil bastard! How can you just stand there? I hate you! I hate you!" I cried, tears tolling down my cheeks. "How can you just stand there, with the knowledge...that-that your father killed someone? How? How..." I sat back, exhausted, my cheeks burning, my eyes sore. But I was still crying. My fists were buried in Draco's shirt, gripping at the material hard.

Draco took advantage of my halted anger and pushed me off of him, switching our positions. I just lay there, my face turned away, crying into the rug beneath me, speaking in broken sobs. "Your father killed my father, Draco...Don't you understand that? Daddy's dead because of your father. I have no father...no family; just because of who his parents were...do you know what it's like? To have no family, no sense of who you are? Do you know what it's like to live in fear...in fear that the child inside of you has a price on their head...that your husband is suddenly gone? That's what my mother had to live through, Draco. She couldn't even practice magic, something she had known her whole life, just so she could protect me. Could you make that sacrifice? She had to. And all because of your bloody father and his lord's stupid cause," I spat.

Draco was silent. And I couldn't bear to look into his eyes. I didn't want to see the disdain and the disgust I knew would be there, the same icy eyes of the man who killed my father. I didn't want to feel like I was drowning, like I always did when I looked into his eyes for too long. I couldn't do it. I had crumpled up inside. It felt like a part of me was dying. I just laid there, exhausted in all ways possible, my face and eyes expressionless, tears falling onto the floor and into my hair. But I didn't wipe them away. I had no strength to. I was an empty shell. I could almost see myself, as if watching from beyond my body. Draco was holding down my arms, but I had never made a move to struggle. I suddenly didn't care anymore.

Draco finally moved, getting off of me. I vaguely saw out of my peripheral vision as he leaned down to take the letter from my hand, casting a fire spell on it, letting it burst into flames and fall to the floor in ashes next to me.

"This will stay between us, for now." He said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion. Then he was gone.

I just lay there an empty shell, until sleep finally claimed my shattered mind.


Draco quietly strode into the second-year boy's dormitory. He took off his robes and his school uniform, and quickly dressed in his satin pyjamas. He lay down on his bed, closed the hangings, and then crossed his arms behind his head. Closing his eyes, he breathed in and out deeply, trying to calm his frayed nerves. Then he rolled over onto his side, hugging one of his pillows to his body.

"Oh, Merlin, what have I done?" he whispered into the quiet of the early morning.


I woke up the next morning feeling cold, stiff, and confused. Where am I? Someone was shaking me, calling my name.

"Raven! Raven, wake up! Oh, Merlin, what happened to you?" I cracked my swollen eyes open, squinting in the bright light.

"Blaise?" my voice came out as barely a whisper.

Relief spread through his voice. "Yes, Raven, it's me. What's going on? What are you doing sleeping on the common room floor?" The common room floor? Is that why I'm so cold? Slowly, I moved to sit up, Blaise helping me. I looked around and saw Theo, Pansy, Donnie, Jack and Jesse, all looking down at me, confused looks on their faces. Then I saw the piano, and it all came rushing back to me. Everything.

As tears started rolling down my face, I clenched my stomach, doubling over. I felt absolutely sick. Oh my god. Daddy...

"Raven? What's wrong? What happened?" I shook my head. How could he understand? How could any of them? They'd hate me for sure. They'd kill me. I pushed Blaise away, moving to stand.

"She's probably just sick," came a voice from behind the crowd. It was Draco. "She was lying on that cold floor all night."

I started shaking at the sound of his voice. Yes, I'm sick. No thanks to you, Draco, you bloody bastard.

"She does look kinda pale," Pansy said.

Blaise took me by the arm. "Here, I'll take you to the hospital wing." But Draco stepped forward.

"I'll do it Zabini. I'll have either Crabbe or Goyle carry her. She shouldn't be walking around the castle when she's sick." I shook my head. No, not him. No, please, you don't understand! It was his father...

Blaise nodded. "Ok." He cast me a smile, then left to go to breakfast, along with the others. Despair rose up in me, and when Draco inclined his chin in my direction, ordering Goyle to pick me up, I started screaming and beating on him. "NO! No, put me down! Please! It was him! It was him! Let me go!" But Goyle held on tight, cradling me closer to his massive body. "No...no..."

I quieted as we entered the corridor, trying not to breathe Goyle in. Draco walked next to us, his face unreadable. Crabbe had gone off to breakfast already. Quickly and quietly, we made our way to the hospital. When we arrived, Draco indicated to Goyle to put me in a bed, and then told him to go get Madam Pomfrey. Then he stood next to my bed, watching me. I kept my gaze away, looking at the far wall.

Soon though, Madam Pomfrey arrived, moving Draco aside and started examining me.

"So what's wrong dear?" I didn't move. Madam Pomfrey turned to Draco. "What happened? Why was this child brought to me?"

Draco answered. "We thought she might be sick, ma'am. We found her lying asleep on our common room floor." And guess who put me there and left me... "She looked really pale and was clutching her stomach when she awoke." Madam Pomfrey turned back to me.

"Goodness, child, what were you doing on the floor of the dungeons? Trying to give yourself hypothermia?" She touched my forehead. "No fever...but your skin is like ice. Does your stomach hurt, dear?" I blinked in response. Madam Pomfrey turned back to Draco. "Is she normally this unresponsive?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm not sure what's wrong, Madam Pomfrey." Liar.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, looking down at me. "Well, I suppose I'll let her stay here and warm up; I'll keep an eye on her to make sure that she didn't catch a cold of some sort," She said to Draco and Goyle. "Now, shoo! You're missing your breakfast!"

"I'd like to stay with her a minute, if you don't mind?" Draco asked. NO! Not him...oh gods, please, why can't I just die in peace?

"Well, alright, but only for a few minutes, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." Madam Pomfrey left. "Goyle, go wait outside for me." Goyle left too. Now I was all alone with the only person I can truly say I hated.

Draco approached the side of my bed. Tears welled up in my eyes and I cried silently. He leaned down towards my ear. I was terrified. His presence was so oppressive.

"I'm doing this for your own good, you know. You need to rest away from us," he whispered in my ear. A bit of laughter started in my throat.

"What? Trying to clear your conscious? You think that will make it all better?" I whispered bitterly back, finally turning to face him. I found his eyes weren't affecting me anymore. At least not in the same way. His eyes were completely open, even if his face wasn't. The mercury irises were an abnormally rich blue, and although the pride was there, because I don't think it can ever leave, there were his true feelings showing too. I don't think he realized how well I could read his emotions. And I didn't want to think of what they meant, either.

He shook his head. "No. I don't. And...I don't say this...ever really, but...I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what my father did to your family. You were right. I don't know what it feels like."

I glared at him, at his pity-filled face. It was such an odd expression for him, but all it did was make me mad. "I don't need your apology. Or your pity. Now go away."

"Raven, I'll-" But I sat up.

"NO! I don't care! I said GO AWAY!" I screamed, and Draco stumbled back a bit, as if pushed. Madam Pomfrey was there the next second, pushing Draco away and me back onto the bed.

"What on earth? Mr. Malfoy, your time is up. I cannot have you aggravating my patient. Now go!" And then he was gone. Madam Pomfrey turned to me. "Goodness, child! I'm surprised you didn't wake the dead with that screaming!" She studied my tear-stained face a moment. "What happened dear? Did he hurt you?" She handed me a handkerchief.

"No." I said quietly, looking away. "I just hate him. And his father. And my house." I twisted the handkerchief in my hands as Madam Pomfrey just looked at me quietly.

"Well, you can stay here for a few days, until you feel better. But I expect you to go to class on Monday, understand?" I nodded. "If you need to talk, I'll be here. I can't have any problems plaguing the students into sickness. Is there anything else you need?"

I shook my head. "Well, maybe...something warm to drink? I'm still feeling a bit chilled." She smiled a rare smile.

"Sure dear. I'll bring you some hot cocoa and some soup, how is that?"

"That's fine. Thank you very much Madam Pomfrey."

"It's not a problem, child. Now get some rest."


Thanks everyone for reading! Please review!