Hogwarts: In the Great Hall
1991: First Night, First Year
The Sorting Hat folded itself into a frown. The little girl sitting under its brim was entirely too difficult to place. The Hat had half-a-mind to put her into Hufflepuff to save himself the trouble of deciding. After all, it had already been a long night. But the mere thought of not doing due diligence pinched at its conscience - which was considerably large for a mere hat.
It saw the witch's qualities as clear as day:
Resourceful
Determined
Ambitious
A certain disregard, but not disdain, for the rules.
... and there was some cunning in this child as well.
But the hat chose not to speak of these things, choosing only to highlight her witty intelligence and her daring bravery.
"It's between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, then," the Sorting Hat mumbled to itself. The hat stirred as it felt her unusual spurt of courage at its words. Unusual for a young one still under the curious gaze of all the eyes in the Great Room, the Hat thought. This intrepidity finally convinced The Sorting Hat that Gryffindor would be the best house for the plucky little witch.
Already sorted into Slytherin, the boy with platinum blond hair scowled at the wholly unattractive girl as she skipped off the front dias to join the scar-faced boy who just rejected his handshake. Beside Potter, the red-headed Weasel clapped wildly. Together they joyfully slapped at the bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl, welcoming her to their bench.
Draco Malfoy sent a look of pure disdain over to the Gryffindor table.
Mudblood.
His vile epithet, yet unspoken, was aimed directly at the Muggle-borne witch.
Flashback: 1926
To Plant a Seed
Long awaited freedom after three years in Azkaban hurried Morfin Gaunt along in his travels. He was eager to return to his childhood home, eager to claim ownership of his rickety, impoverished shack, and eager to finally gain the upper hand over his abusive father, Marvolo Gaunt.
While incarcerated, boredom and an unfamiliar spark of curiosity gave way to learning and Morfin, who'd been deprived of formal learning in his youth, at last, discovered the importance of his family history, one he'd only previously had a small inkling of through his father's crazed rants.
To Morfin's great interest, he found he was a direct descendant of the pure-blood wizard, Salazar Slytherin, one of the greatest wizards of all time.
Now using the proper medication to keep his mental faculties clear, Morfin, at last, realized how low his father had sunk in the wizarding world, especially considering the elevated status his predecessors had. In prison, Mofin was given plenty of time to develop into a right sociopath, spinning fantasies of reclaiming the great Slytherin legacy.
The confinement from his deranged father allowed Morfin space to develop his own ideas, making him even more dangerous than before when he'd been no more than a filthy animal living in his father's ramshackle home. The new knowledge of his ancestry inspired Morfin, who finally learned to speak wizarding English, ending his constant use of Parseltongue. He discovered his Slytherin determination which had him learning, without potions, how to magically make up for his mental incapacities and harness his violent tendencies - just enough to successfully co-exist with other dangerous wizards in the prison facility. He learned from his peers there, the very worst of villains.
Two months before his release, Morfin had finally caught a glimpse of his frightening visage in a looking glass, the first he'd ever seen in his life, and swore to himself that he would no longer be the dirty creature that he was when he'd entered Azkaban.
With a promise to hand over a couple of the Gaunt family heirlooms made to an easily influenced warden, Morfin purchased a visit to the infirmary and prison barber. This allowed him to get cleaned up, be given magical aid to fix his Strabismus, and re-grow his long-ago missing teeth. Upon his release, he wore suitable dark wizard's robes, sported a sleek new haircut, new eye-teeth and a decent pair of shoes. He looked downright dark and mysterious.
Morfin felt more of a man than he'd ever been under his father's neglectful care. He'd even been able to claim his wand, having convinced the prison warden and site counselors of his negligible sanity.
Wizard's Inn
Halfway home, Morfin's grumbling stomach hindered his journey. He stopped at Wizard's Inn to have a meal and get some necessary sleep. Upon entering, he was greeted with merry and bright sounds in the dining room. The cheer and welcome immediately enveloped him. It was unlike any place he'd ever been in his 30 years of life. Never had women looked at him the way they were doing so now. They were interested. Clearly, the intriguing looks of the Slytherin family hadn't escaped him. Those dark physical characteristics finally emerged in Morfin now that he was without the crazed eyes, the layers of grime, and the empty spaces in his mouth where there should have been gleaming ivory.
"Well, hello, handsome, what'll you have?" asked one of the barmaids whose mode of dress left very little to the imagination. Morfin barely contained a leer as he gazed at the swell of her buxom chest. Never had he been this close to a delectable, willing female.
"I'll have whatever your special is tonight," he said with a low growl and a bow, bringing him closer to her ample breasts without appearing a true lecher. She giggled and nodded, "And a drink too, then?"
"No, just water," he said, wanting to retain his acuity of mind. He kept his dark gaze trained on her throughout his meal.
Earlier this barmaid, Miranda Sengue, noticed the dangerous looking man at the door and immediately claimed him as her customer. There was something powerful and sinister about him. She was never one to pick the good boys. She was always ready for a ride with the bad. This one looked quite ready for a good, hard ride.
Yes, she could pick them alright.
The stranger's nearly black eyes raked her body every time he seemed to think she wasn't paying attention. It made her wet just thinking about dragging his long lean body up the stairs to her room tonight. Too bad he wasn't into drinking liquor. Hopefully, he'd prove even better without the artificial courage. He wore no ring to indicate he had a wife, which was usually a good thing.
Miranda was a fallen witch, a discredit to the Sengue family name, a hussy who had taken off with the worst sort of Muggle, one who'd used her and discarded her as soon as he was done. She was no longer welcome as family by her pure-blood, aristocratic parents and now was left to make her own way in the world. Raised only to trap a wealthy pure-blood husband, Miranda's use of magic was infantile at best. So, she waited tables at the Wizard's Inn, making her meager Sickels, while keeping a roof over her head, and enjoying the occasional galleon as she propositioned customers who struck her fancy.
Well, since she'd already fallen, why not enjoy it? That was Miranda's motto.
When she returned to the swarthy, dangerous-looking stranger, she purposely brushed herself up against him. She heated as his dark eyes glazed with desire. When she, at last, made her sultry invitation, it was almost too easy. She knew she was going to be in for a very satisfying eve with the man who'd earlier swept into the inn, eyes ablaze.
The next morning...
Miranda awoke to a cold, empty bed. Pity. She still ached for the stranger who'd proved his stamina into and through to the early morning. Insatiable, she'd hoped for a quick morning romp as well. Each of their couplings had been so violently erotic, so penetrating that even now, in the bright sunshine, she was still sore and not of her right mind. She'd have to figure out how to manage a glamour charm to wipe away the bruising evidence from the Inn's patrons.
As she drifted off into sleep again, the contraceptive spell that she had been trying to place on herself before the stranger pulled her against him in the most possessive of manners was long forgotten.
You'd think he'd never had a woman before, was the last thought on her mind as she succumbed to her drowsiness.