Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter

Dear Harry,

I'm really sorry I won't be able to see you before you head off to Hogwarts. I'll miss you all so much. You'll have to tell me everything and send an owl whenever you need help. And be good! Please keep safe and out of trouble; I know how hard that can be for you sometimes. My parents will be homeschooling me until things become safer. They said I may be able to visit over the winter holiday, though.

Send my love,

Hermione

The letter was short, she knew, but Clara thought it would suffice. Harry wasn't very big on long text. She watched Hedwig soar through the window after attaching the envelope to his leg. Harry would get it before nightfall.

Clara sighed and turned to the papers and textbooks sitting next to her on her plush pink sofa. Her Hogwarts letter was laid out, a most peculiar one of sorts. It greeted her benignly, making sure to fill her in on the basic layout of Hogwarts and its "goal of creating better witches and wizards for the betterment of the future magical world." The strangest part, however, came in the second part of her letter.

The letter told her that she was automatically placed in Slytherin, no magical hat needed. This was only odd because she was arriving, for the second time in her life, as a new student. Why would the school automatically place her in the one house almost the entire school despised? Clara sensed some outside-source meddling had taken place – from her parents she was pretty sure of – but couldn't understand why the school would go along with it, and why. Frustrated about her wicked new housemates and the mysterious coincidence of her placement with them, Clara looked up at her ceiling with a huff.

Clara had been in her room for three weeks. Since the night of her marking – as she was calling it – communication with her parents had ceased. She had commanded Duffy to magically lock her bedroom door to the outside world, and under no circumstance letting her caretakers enter. They felt horribly guilty. That evening, Clara had sobbed and sobbed, as they pounded on the door, demanding they let her in, throwing spell after spell on the door, but to no avail. She wasn't coming out for anything.

Even if Voldemort demanded her presence.

So there poor Clara stayed, turning a sickly pale and becoming even thinner than she had ever been, due to her eating habits. Duffy was told to only prepare two meals a day, to be brought to her room, once at eleven o'clock and then again at five. Clara normally fell asleep before eight o'clock in the evening. She was on the verge of becoming alarmingly depressed in her state, an issue her parents were well aware of, but could do nothing about. Clara sighed petulantly and went to fetch a book from the tall shelf in her room.

Knock, knock, knock. Silence.

"Hermione?" Her mother sounded. Clara was still. Why had her mother used her other name? Was it to coerce her into conversation? In the end there was no answer. Mary Claret's clicking heels could be heard down the hall. Clara returned to her search and grabbed a random cover. It was heavy enough that she knew it could distract her for a good while.

Her mother coming to the door was not new. She had done this everyday for three weeks, at the beginning standing at the door for ten minutes before walking away. Gradually, the effort had dwindled, till it had become not so much as a tap on the frame.

This was mostly how Clara's days were spent: Studying her books, waiting for familiar owls, and nibbling on her small meals. Once a day, she would venture out onto the balcony for a few minutes, soaking up sunlight. She never closed the blinds either; the vast gardens and lands outside were still too beautiful for Clara to shut away. That much, she had to herself. It was almost a mild form of torture: Clara so desperately wanted to enjoy the grounds, but her anger at her parents kept her back. It was silly pride, but one she was fostering heartedly.

Meanwhile, the books she found were keeping good company. There was a particularly glossy spine with gold printed words that she had noticed on the shelf just three days before. Purebloods: A Guide was the name of the text. It was amazing. It covered all the basics of the society she lived in – and the outside people who made it happen. For instance, most famous clothing designers in the muggle world are ten times as famous in the wizarding world (that's how they made their fame – through magic). Still, though, the people who actually buy the clothes exist mainly in Pureblood culture – most namely, the Cabaret's, the Windsor's, the Zabini's, the Longborough's, and finally her own family. They were all named, right there in the book. In return for these family's unparalleled purchasing, designers maintained close relationships with all of the families, some more than others, and often sent them free pieces to wear at their leisure. One company – Dior, it was called – was especially commended in practicing this. Clara knew she owned a couple of dresses by them, but she had had no idea they came from the people themselves. In truth, it didn't really matter to Clara, though, because she was never one to care much about fashion, much the less where her clothes came from.

The train for Hogwarts would leave in a week. A great part of her wasn't excited to see the Hogwarts Express this year. She wouldn't be sitting with her friends, she wouldn't be sharing a dormitory with people she liked, and she wouldn't be there to scold Ron when he didn't do his work properly. Most importantly though, she wouldn't be able to be Hermione Granger, defender of elfin rights, or defender of everyone not Pureblood; and all because she was one of them. She dug deeper into the contents of her book, forgetting the sad truth of her existence.

Three hours later, another knock sounded on the door.

Knock, knock. The beats were hard and fast, unlike either of her parents. Maybe they were trying new tactics.

"Clara? Open the door, will you? Your demented cat looks about ready to pounce." Blaise said from the other side. Clara jetted out of her seat on the sofa, and then stopped herself. She bit her lip. Should she let him in and thus prove that she was talking to the outside world?

Clara decided it would do no harm. Besides, it wasn't Blaise she was angry with.

"Clara…?" He called. She opened the door slightly. Crookshanks skittered in. Blaise looked relieved. He was so relieved, in fact, that he bounded through the door way, dropping himself on her fresh, pink couch. "Thanks, love." He told her. Then he really took a look at her and blanched slightly. "My, you look dreadful. What have you been doing in here?" Clara scowled at his blunt comment. He decided to switch tactics when the humongous book on the table caught his attention. "What the devil are you reading?" He asked.

They looked at the cover, Mortuus, before Clara pushed it aside, away from her thoughts, and directed her full attention to Blaise.

"What are you doing here, Blaise?" Her voice was raspy, because she hadn't spoken in a while, so she cleared her throat and repeated the question.

"They told me you were holed up in here. I thought I might come by and lift you from boredom, but it seems you were having much more fun without me." He smiled, his handsome face lighting up. Hermione sighed.

"Very funny, Blaise. Now tell me, why are you here?"

"I see you're not the Brightest Witch of our Age for nothing." He said sarcastically, leaning back on the fluffy cushions. "Why are you sulking in this dull place when you could be outside in the fresh air?"

"I am not sulking." She defended, though rather impishly.

"Shall we call it withering away, then?" He jived.

"Call it whatever you like." She said, snatching – as best as you can snatch a twenty pound object – Mortuus and getting out of her seat. "I'm going to continue reading in peace." She marched away, in search of a nonexistence Blaise-free haven without leaving her room. That really only left the loo…

"Oh, come off it Clara!" Blaise exclaimed, jetting out of his comfy spot. "Wait – Wait!" He grabbed her arm, swiftly turning her around. "Fine," He began before she could complain, "I'll tell you why I'm here. I know the situation you're in is… uncomfortable, but-" There was a resounding whoosh of air as Clara impressively raised the large book and smacked it against his arm.

"Don't you try and soften me with those sympathetic words, Blaise Zabini." Clara accused. She began her walking again.

"I'm not trying to soften you. I'm trying to reason with you." He said, right on her tail.

"Reason with me?" She asked.

"Yeah, like, you know, maybe this whole marriage deal isn't as bad as it seems." Blaise nearly bumped into Clara as she halted suddenly.

"Are you serious?"

"OK… maybe it could be better, but Draco can be alright when he wants to be." Blaise watched Clara turn her back and continue walking as she scoffed. "You don't understand." Blaise tried again. "You don't understand what's happening behind the scenes. Clara!" He hissed, grabbing her arm again, very serious all of a sudden. "He's been acting out of character for weeks. I think… I think the Dark Lord has branded him. Please, can you just try? He's my best mate Clara."

Hermione was stunned to silence. The deep concern in Blaise's eyes was startling. His light and airy mood was gone, replaced with a strong need to protect his friend of so many years. It reminded Hermione of her friendship with Harry, Ron, and Ginny and how she would do anything for them. She took a breath.

"Well, then you should know that it's already been done." Clara watched as her cousin's face dropped and he nodded seriously. Her heart went out to him, but what could she do? Draco was a very hard creature to persuade. How could she… an idea suddenly formed in Clara's mind.

"I'll make you a deal." She offered. "I try and help Malfoy and you make sure he stays away from the Gryffindors." Blaise looked at her skeptically, almost incredulously, as if an act such as that could not be carried out, and considered her offer for a moment.

"Agreed." He finally stated. Clara clucked her tongue.

"I don't think I'll ever understand you Slytherins. One minute you're laughing in each other's faces, and the next you're concerned for their well-being! It's ridiculous!"

Blaise laughed, quickly reverting to his usual, jovial self.

Platform 9 ¾ was rambling with the hum of chatter between child and parent as students bustled about, preparing for the long journey to Hogwarts. A group of teenagers, no older than fifth years, stood just outside the train's doors, laughing together happily. A pair of small first years watched passerby insecurely as their parents encouraged them to make the first step onto the train.

On the other side of all this good fun, a calm young woman had just appeared from behind the platform wall. She was smartly dressed, her hair exquisite with her lovely physique, and make-up not a tad over done. In her cart were only two items: a small shoulder bag and a mahogany wood box holding her cat, both of which she picked up with the gracefulness of a dancer. Her cart was pushed to the side as she waited patiently.

Not a moment passed before Draco glided through the wall – with a cart much fuller than Clara had had. Clara looked complacent as Draco picked up both of their trunks and carried them to the train. She knew he hated doing anything if there wasn't something in it for him, so this made it all the richer for her. She had also decided to load her luggage with a couple extra dozen twenty pound books, just in case his resentment wasn't enough.

Clara couldn't help feeling even more so delighted by the looks people were giving them. Many mothers looked at Draco proudly, not for his reputation, but for his gentlemanly way in helping with the heavy luggage, no matter that hers was much bigger and quite inconvenient to handle, especially in its blue, flower printed design – apparently a gift from a "Louis V." Clara knew Draco hated this all the more.

Clara's soft smile only faltered when on the steps to the train Draco showed no struggle in handling the large equipment through the narrow corridors. Mere moments later, Blaise pulled himself out of a compartment. Draco grunted by as his best friend pressed himself against the edge of the door. While he put the luggage up, Blaise and his cousin shared a hug and a fleeting look; their deal was very much still intact.

"How've you been, mate?" Blaise asked Draco. Draco shrugged his shoulders.

"Fine, I suppose." said Draco gruffly. Blaise frowned slightly at his friend's distant response. After this the three sat down, Clara gravitating towards Jem, who was sitting in the corner of the small space, next to the window. The girls chatted away while the boys sat across from them silently, exchanging words only on Blaise's part. Draco's attention was directed into the sky. Soon enough, the door slid open and Nott and Parkinson entered. Pansy's gaze seemed to reproach the other females in the compartment, much to Hermione's defense.

"Pansy." Blaise greeted, inclining his head a little.

Her snide features kept for one more second on Jem and Clara before turning into a pout as she looked at their male companions.

"Oh, Draco!" She exclaimed, disregarding Blaise's formality. Draco seemed to come out of a trance suddenly. Clara quirked an eyebrow.

"Is it true?" The eccentric Pansy inquired. "Did you really…" Her gaze floated back to Clara and narrowed at the neatly folded hands on the other girl's lap. Clara looked down and saw the engagement ring shining in the sunlight streaming through the window. She instinctively tucked her ring finger under the opposite hand, concealing the gorgeous jewel and earning a sneer from Pansy. Clara would have gladly given the ring to her, if it wasn't magically glued to her finger. Indeed, she had come home crying the night of the engagement, desperately tugging at the ring, only to find that it didn't give.

"Oh, you must feel horrible to be with her…" Pansy said, pushing her way between Blaise and Draco. Clara couldn't help but feel a little hurt at the mean girl's comment. It was a feeling she was too accompanied with, a feeling that came with a bookworm such as herself: A feeling that she didn't belong. Jem must have noticed Clara's fallen expression, because she placed a hand on her arm in comfort, reminding her that she wasn't alone. Clara smiled sweetly.

It was going to be a long journey.

On the outskirts of London, an important meeting was taking place.

"John, don't be shy. Take a seat." He did so without question; the Dark Lord should not be kept waiting. "Your daughter is a most peculiar girl." Voldemort started. "You say you taught her magic her whole life?" He asked.

"Yes." answered strongly, though he did not feel it. His thoughts were calm and controlled; only one little part of his mind was protected at the moment…

"She is smart, is she?"

"Absolutely," John said, sitting straighter at the proud feeling in his chest. "She is brilliant. Well versed in every important subject. Excels in all."

"Good, then she may be useful to our cause in due time."

The Dark Lord began discussion on another subject then, the Ministry, and John sighed internally. He very much did not like the sound of his only daughter being involved with anything related to the Dark Arts, but that was his fault, wasn't it? He was still drowning in guilt over her dark mark. He had done nothing to stop it, and not because he was a coward, but because he loved his family too much. It was too risky to banter against any of Voldemort's decisions without being suspicious. He couldn't put his family in a situation like that, no matter the consequences. But now my dear Clara is suffering for it. He thought with a sad heart.

Yet he did manage one positive thought in all his guilt: He was probably one of very few men to have ever successfully lied to Lord Voldemort.

What did you think? I wrote this as quickly as I could, so I hope you like it!

The deal between Clara and Blaise will get Clara to talk to Draco more, otherwise, it would be pretty quiet with the two of them...

For a good part of Hermione/Clara's internal monologue, I'll refer to her as Hermione. Outward appearances and the like will be Clara (most of the time). I just want to show that even though she's "Clara" now, a large part of her still thinks – and sometimes acts – like regular, old Hermione Granger.

Also, in this story, her birthday will be the same day (just another connection between Hermione and Clara), but the year of her birth is 1980, just like everybody else. I know J.K Rowling herself said it was '79, but many others have in the past speculated '80, so I've decided on that one. Besides, if it were 1979, then she and Draco would be getting married a whole lot sooner!

Anyhow, thanks to all who voted in Blaise's romance poll! I won't say who it is here, just in case there are people who didn't see it – as I know there are – but it'll be obvious by the next chapter, which I hope is out very soon.

In the mean time, please review!