Chapter 4:

"Oi! Fred!" George shouted across the table to his twin. The Great Hall was filled with the boisterous chatter of students reliving their summer adventures with the friends they hadn't seen in what seemed like a lifetime. The annual beginning of term feast was well underway and as such, the students hadn't noticed that most of the professors had disappeared for any length of time until they had returned.

"That's odd," Hermione said curiously, playing with the remainder of her pudding more so than eating it as she watched her professors return one by one to their places at the head table, unaware that their absences had been noticed.

"What is?" Ginny asked, turning to look at Hermione. She wondered if perhaps she wasn't the only one who had noticed Fred's aloofness.

"I wonder where the professors are returning from," she whispered, gesturing toward the head table. By now, Professor Dumbledore was returning to his seat.

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe Dumbledore had to meet with them or something."

Hermoine was skeptical. "During the feast?" she asked, her brow furrowed. Little did she know Ron had taken interest in the conversation, not so much because the subject interested him, but rather to make sure Hermione was distracted as his spoon moved in for the kill. Hermione didn't seem to notice. "What could be so important," she continued "What could be so important that Dumbledore would...RON!"

"What?" Ron asked, swallowing the rather large bite of pudding he had just taken out of Hermione's bowl. "I was hungry." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Wait a minute," Harry said, catching onto the strangeness that Hermione was suggesting. "When did Snape and Malfoy leave?" He had turned his head just in time to see Professor Snape escorting Draco Malfoy back to his seat at the Slytherin table. "I wonder what they're up to this time."

"Oh come off it Harry," Ron sighed. "It's the first night back!"

"Still," Harry said, shooting Draco a suspicious look from across the room. "It's strange."

"Speaking of strange," Ginny piped up. "Have any of you noticed Fred's been acting rather odd lately?"

Down at the other end of the table, George was still trying to get his twin's attention. "Oi! Fred!" he yelled more loudly.

Fred shook his head. He really needed to get these daydreams under control. "Oi! George!" he replied, a mischievous grin on his face.

George reached across the table and punched his brother in the arm.

"Ow!" Fred exclaimed. "What was that for?"

George shook his head. "Have you not been listening to a word I said?"

Fred looked at his brother with a shrug. He hadn't heard a word his brother had said since they'd taken inventory of the puking pasties and other various merchandise they had brought with them to peddle at school. He was too busy revisiting that fateful day in Diagon Alley, scanning the room now and again in the hopes that just maybe he would come across her face.

"Fred!" George exclaimed.

"What?" Fred replied, pulling his hand out of his pocket after making sure the delicate silver chain remained where he put it.

George shook his head. "Boy you've really got it bad, don't you?"

Fred gave his twin a puzzled look. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You were thinking about her again, weren't you?" George asked. He wasn't buying the act, not for one minute.

"Who?" Fred asked innocently.

"That girl," George replied. "The one from outside our building. The one from Diagon Alley."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Fred said with a grin. He knew exactly what George was talking about. And he knew that George knew that he knew. There was no hiding it from the one person who knew him better than he knew himself. But almost as soon as the grin had appeared, it was replaced with a grimace as George kicked him in the shin under the table.

"Ow!" Fred hissed. "What was that for?"

"You'd better quit it," George replied in a whisper, leaning over the table "before Ginny sees."

"Quit what?"

"Quit thinking about whatever it is you're thinking about in that pathetic excuse for a brain rattling around in your thick skull."

"Uh huh," Fred said, not really paying attention as he scanned the room for what seemed like the hundreth time that night.

"That too!" George hissed, kicking his other half in the shin again.

"Ow!" Fred exclaimed, rubbing his shin. "Okay! Okay!" he replied under his brother's glare. "I heard you. I'm working on it."

George chuckled, shaking his head. "She's not here, mate. Give it a rest."

Fred grinned at his brother, finishing what was left of his dessert. "She might not be here," he replied. "But I'm gonna find her."

"Sure," George replied. "Maybe. Someday."

"Someday," Fred agreed. "Now, tell me about those oozing pustules."

The rules were simple.

Mercedes was not to have anything to do with Gryfindor House. She was not to live in the dormitory, she was not to partake in any Gryfindor activities, and she most certainly was not to associate with any Gryfindors at any time, for any reason. Therefore, a makeshift room had been set up for her in the storeroom of the hospital wing. What was once a spare broom closet had been bewitched to expand until it was large enough to accommodate a spare bed from the infirmary, a makeshift desk, and a small trunk for her belongings. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

Her sole purpose for attending Hogwarts was to further her magical studies by catching up on elective classes, and to fulfill the terms of her apprenticeship. Therefore, she was to maintain the highest level of invisibility as humanly possible, sitting silently in the back corner of all her classes, participating in no group work within the classroom whatsoever. If that meant it took her double the time to complete her assignments, then so be it.

When she was not attending the few classes she was allowed to take, Mercedes was to report to Madame Pomfrey in the hospital wing. She would assist Madame Pomfrey as much as needed while learning the tricks of the trade, as well as honing her own skills. In the words of her mother, perhaps Madame Pomfrey could set her straight and help teach her to control her abilities.

But perhaps the most important rule of all was this: No one, under any circumstances, was to know Mercedes was a Malfoy. She was to keep her last name a secret at all costs. If anyone were to find out her secret, she would be forced to withdraw from Hogwarts at once, and would be sent home immediately to deal with the highest of all consequences: the wrath of Lucius.

Every ounce of Malfoy was stripped from her until all that was left was non-distinct set of school robes, which, claiming no dormitory, remained standard issue black and white. Her relationship to Draco was not spoken of, which wasn't out of the ordinary because he didn't really claim her as his sister in public in the first place. There were no pictures of her family; no personal possessions of any kind that could possibly be traced back to Draco and his family. In fact, it was if she had no family at all—if asked she was to tell people she was from London; an orphan. It was the easiest explanation for her lack of familial memorabilia and lack of letters. She was to be left alone, a silent face in passing; easily forgettable; anything to make her stay more miserable.

And so, Mercedes Malfoy became Mercedes Yoflam.