AN: MISSING CHAPTER.

Hey guys, I only recently just realised my story on and my Microsoft Word doc didn't tally, and it's because of this missing chapter! I didn't realise it because there are some edits and inserted scenes for future chapters and with all the ANs anyway that I figured nothing was wrong. I'm really, really, super duper sorry about this missing chapter and I realise the story might not have made a lot of sense to some of you, and if not now it probably won't make sense in the later chapters. So here it is, that crafty, sneaky old snippet.

Enjoy!

First Year

Her father, will be murdered one night in his Paris home. Blair will only hear of his murder the next week, when the newspapers bear the headlines of his passing.

Blair only hears of his death the next week.

The term hasn't quite gotten into swing yet and she's still unpacking her fourth luggage when she goes down to the Great Hall for breakfast and the owls descend on her.

She manages to hex enough of them off that they reluctantly back off, watching her intensely as she swings a leg over and reads the newspaper first. She would have skipped it to the society pages as she usually does, but the swarm of owls hopping around the table with beady eyes fixed on her and letters tied to their legs make her stomach turn.

Once she's done untying all the letters, she gathers them up, slips a cranberry low-fat muffin on her plate and she returns to the common room. She's physically incapable of eating under the beady, unrelenting stare and she needs a place to throw up once she's done eating and the urge comes.

A few people are up already, most of them fifth-years or seventh-years feverishly studying for their exams. She's slightly discomfited; she's a first year in their eyes but she's still unused to being ignored; sits herself down at the plushest chair she can find and nibbles her muffin as she sets aside her stack of fan mail, opens the newspaper and scans the headlines as per her usual morning routine.

DEFENSE ATTORNEY FOR MINISTER OF MAGIC MURDERED BY MUGGLEBORN THIEF.

She sees her father's picture and her mind goes numb.

The cranberry muffin falls from her hand and onto the floor, but Blair never really had the intention of eating it anyway.

The other letters are those from her father's associates and family friends expressing their condolences and all the other bullshit the human mind can think of, and a letter from Eleanor, and one from Roman.

She reads the letter from Roman and throws everything else in the common room fire.

She's proud to say she only cries once, and refuses to cry again.

Never again.

Third Year

I. Blair will throw her energy into school, and run Slytherin house by the time she is thirteen.

Blair's gotten to know a few schoolmates from the last pureblood ball, and she's not surprised that she's gained more than several followers since. She's used to being worshipped and followed around as a Waldorf should, but all the same she can't hide the tingle of pleasure that races down her spine when they raise their wands in unison and silently conjure matching headbands.

She doesn't speak, but her thoughts are almost tangible in the thick silence – a mocking, slow drawl that bids them to obey her.

Girls, you know what to do.

She watches as their black Hogwarts robes crinkle as they bend their heads down and the matching headbands glide into their hair, fixing itself between perfectly coiffed strands of hair. She takes in their humility as they lower their eyes, unwilling to meet her gaze, and Blair smiles.

The wand twitches in her hand and she feels the slow yet euphoric rush of power as she gazes at the bent forms.

For the first time, she feels like she can do anything.

II. Older Fourth and Fifth Years will defer to her, and even the Sixth Years, who are preoccupied with preparation for their NEWTS, will admit she is beautiful and intriguing, and they too can't help but listen when she speaks.

Blair narrows her eyes at the beautiful third-year, who stares back at her with innocent, wide eyes. Blair isn't going to let her ruin everything, though. She's worked too hard for her empire (an empire it was; she's ruling the entire Slytherin House under the age of fourteen and a quarter of the fifth years) to fall apart now, especially because of the likes of her.

Serena hesitates and squirms in her robes uncomfortably. She'd thought Blair would've been pleased to see her. "B?"

Blair glares at her. "What are you doing here? Beauxbatons' not good enough for you? Then again, you've always wanted what I had, didn't you?"

"B, what's gotten into you?" Serena asks, tenderly placing a hand on her arm, which Blair violently shrugs away. She doesn't hide the hurt in her eyes as she gazes at the pretty brunette dressed in green and silver. "I thought we were friends."

And Blair looks up and Serena freezes despite herself because every vein in her body seems to have stopped cold.

"That was before I found out you hooked up with Nate after I left."

Serena sucks in a breath and stares at Blair, but her answering stare has been iced and glazed over and so frozen Serena doesn't doubt it'll take more than kind words and an ice pick to chip the ice away. "B, I'm sorry-"

"Just. Leave."

And so Serena does, but only because she knows if she stays she'll only be making things worse.

Blair stares after her ex-best-friend-since-forever, and snaps her gaze back to her posse, as they dutifully lower their eyes and instinctively huddle a little closer the way they always in preparation for a Plot. "Girls, you know what to do." She purrs, and watches they smile in excitement.

Across the room, Blaise Zabini elbows Theodore Nott. The latter glances up dazedly from scrawling out his lengthy Charms essay. "I pity Blondie over there," he whispers with his gaze on the drama unfolding in the midst of the Great Hall. "She is kinda cute."

Theodore snorts. "I'd rather have Waldorf." He watches Blondie walk away back toward the Hufflepuff table, her eyes expressively sad and her blond hair flighty in the afternoon wind, beautiful like a forest nymph, with the sad, dejected airs only a Hufflepuff can project. He glances at Blair Waldorf, her posse huddled around her as usual, her dark eyes glinting with fiery excitement and cold calculation as she watches the girl walk away, light blond hair trailing behind her. Even at thirteen –and he was risking sounding like a pedophile here - she was hot.

"I'm betting ten Galleons on Waldorf."

Blaise sneers. "I'm not stupid enough to go against that," he protests. "What'd you think, Draco? Care to make a friendly little bet?"

Draco Malfoy doesn't once look up from the lengthy parchment he's writing to his father, and instead reaches a hand over to tuck it from the inquisitive gazes of his friends. "Bugger off, Zabini." he snaps irritably.

Blaise smirks and glances at Theodore. "Told you."

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