I. Existence Is Both a Blessing and a Curse (but Mostly a Curse)
"What are you wearing?" Draco eyed my casual outfit with disgust.
"What are you wearing?" I retorted, gesturing to his dress robes. "We're going school shopping in Diagon Alley, not visiting the Minister of Magic."
He brushed my insult aside. "Why'd it take you an hour to get ready?"
"I had to make sure I wasn't wearing two different shades of black."
"I hope you are," he muttered as he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, stepped into the fireplace, and said "Diagon Alley" in his frustratingly posh voice. I flipped him off as he threw down the powder and disappeared into the flames, and then enjoyed the chance to stand in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor alone. Even though the place was wretched, I would rather be by myself than with Draco, so I chose to take my sweet time admiring the decor. The walls were painted a pristine off-white, and a glossy marble tile lay beneath my feet. Behind me was an elegant set of French doors that opened to the main hall, which held the magnificent ivory staircase leading to the upper floors. Straight ahead was the front door, painted the same cream color as the walls and decorated by floral patterns. Flames danced around the fireplace, and the glistening glass chandelier dangling from the ceiling added a golden glow to the room. But although the Manor's appearance was stunning, it was an illusion to hide what was going on behind those French doors, what you would see if you climbed that ivory staircase. None of the people living here had shown me an ounce of the Manor's charm. There was no beauty, no love, in this so-called family.
Even the paintings of past Malfoys lining the walls would mutter about how much of a disgrace I was: a Silverwood in a Malfoy house. I had learned from their many conversations that the Malfoys and the Silverwoods were rival families, and the Malfoys resented me for it.
Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were, unfortunately enough, my godparents. As far as I knew, my mother had handed me over to them after the downfall of the terrible dark wizard Lord Voldemort and the end of the Wizarding War. But ten years ago, a Killing Curse backfired on him when he attempted to kill the now world-renowned baby Harry Potter, and he remained defeated ever since. Most of Voldemort's army, whom he called the Death Eaters, were rounded up by the Ministry and sent to Azkaban, a dreadful prison for only the most evil of wizards. Lucius and Narcissa used to be two of Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters, but avoided prison by claiming they were under the Imperius Curse, a cruel form of mind control—and I'm sure they bribed the Minister of Magic, just to flaunt their richness. My mother, on the other hand, knew she had no chance of escape since she was loyal enough to Voldemort to have a child with him.
Did I mention I was Voldemort's daughter? I hope that doesn't change your opinion of me. I'm nothing like him—or the Malfoys. I despise them just as much as they despise me, if not more. They always tended to neglect and ignore me, but when they did pay me some attention, it wasn't friendly. The only reason they let me stay with them is because it's a "service to the Dark Lord" or some rubbish.
The Malfoys considered me a discredit to their name, but once I accepted their opinion would never change, I learned to embrace it. I've always strived to be the opposite of a Malfoy, which is, in essence, what a Silverwood is supposed to be. The Malfoys hated Muggle-borns, so I refused to. Their newspaper of choice was the Daily Prophet, utter government propaganda, so I read the Quibbler. They were white, so I wasn't. So on and so forth.
Draco, however, is the ideal son the Malfoys had always hoped for, and I've spent most of my life living in his shadow. There was a time when the two of us were somewhat close, but now we were constantly at each other's throats. Sometimes I wished were still friends, but then I remembered just how much he was like his father, and I went right back to wanting to drive a knife through his chest.
A Slytherin house crest hung from the wall. It depicted a silver serpent on a green background, framed by a silver embellishment. In no less than twenty-three days, I would be attending the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There, I would be sorted into a school house, and Slytherin was the last house I wanted. My parents and every Malfoy in the history of the wizarding world had been a Slytherin. Houses were based on personality traits, so if I were to be a Slytherin, I would be somewhat like them. The sheer thought sickened me.
The only person in the Manor I could stand was Manuel Álvarez, Lucius's private servant. His parents had divorced when his Muggle father found out his mother was a witch, and he hasn't seen his father since. Manuel and his mother moved from Argentina to Britain so he could attend Hogwarts, where he was sorted into Hufflepuff. When I was seven, I found out that the Silverwoods were Hispanic, and since Manuel was fluent in Spanish, I asked him to teach me. He agreed, and throughout our lessons, we became great friends. Nowadays, we would often have private conversations in Spanish—which mainly consisted of our hatred for the Malfoys. Being from a poor family, he could never afford a higher education, and was forced to become a domestic worker for stuck-up rich people who don't pay him anywhere near enough. Unfortunately for him, he lives here, but at least it gave me someone to talk to and more time to practice my Spanish.
The Malfoys, being lazy, also hired a house-elf, Dobby. They pay him even less than Manuel—in fact, they don't pay Dobby a single Knut. Even after the war, house-elves were still treated like slaves. Dobby did all of the chores of the house, while Manuel managed Lucius's life and public image, hosted his parties, and waited on the privileged imbecile hand and foot. I tried to do my own chores to avoid becoming as entitled as the Malfoys, but I had to admit: sometimes it's nice having everything done for you.
I eventually realized I had been wasting too much time on my internal monologue and that Draco would be getting impatient. I hastily stepped into the flames and threw a handful of Floo Powder down at my feet, saying "Diagon Alley" with the cleanest articulation I could muster. After waiting a few seconds, I scrambled out of the fireplace to see a wonderful sight before me.
As glorious as Malfoy Manor was, it was nothing compared to Diagon Alley. It wasn't as brilliant as the mansion I was used to, but it was a place where I felt welcome, and that made it infinitely better. Shops of all shapes and sizes lined the uneven cobblestone road. Through the windows, I could see books, broomsticks, robes, wands, and children my age marvelling at the products. The street was alive with wizards of every age, all of them full of spirit. Plus, my black My Transfigurated Romance shirt matched my black jeans to perfection, just as I had planned. It was too good to be true.
"Took you long enough," Draco complained, snapping me out of my awe.
As we stepped out onto the cobblestone road, the feeling of welcome soon faded away. Once someone caught sight of us, they diverted their eyes and kept their distance. Some little kids gave frightened stares, and some older wizards scowled at me. I didn't blame them. Everyone from a wizarding family knew who I was, and the oddity of my purple eyes only made me more recognizable.
Most, if not all, wizards considered me to be a mini-Voldemort and thought I should be locked away in Azkaban "just in case". It scared me to think that anyone would want to force a child into captivity, but it's such a widespread belief that the Daily Prophet even wrote an article about why I should be arrested. But since I've never done anything remotely interesting, let alone illegal, no one could come up with any charges against me.
Draco didn't seem bothered by the shun, since it wasn't directed at him, but I was. I put my hands in my pockets, kept my head down, and attempted not to make eye contact with anyone near me. I tried to blend in with the crowd, but my strange eye color gave away my identity. So I continued watching my feet, wishing I hadn't lost my sunglasses last month.
Trying to ignore the wizarding world's universal hatred of me, I followed Draco towards a towering marble building with "Gringotts" spelled out in golden letters above its balcony: the wizarding bank. Two smiling goblins wearing suits and Gringotts badges greeted patrons with a warm welcome by the tall double-doors, but when Draco and I reached the bank, they gave no more than a hesitant "come in".
There were more goblins inside: a few attending to patrons from behind their desks, some counting coins, and others helping Muggle-dominated families transfer their money to Knuts, Sickles, and Galleons—the wizard currency. The spacious building was filled with people bustling to and fro, everyone seeming to be in a hurry. Stacks of golden Galleons lined the walls, looking ready to topple over at any moment. Draco and I made our way over to the vaults, and he let out a dramatic sigh when told we had to wait in line like everyone else.
For some reason, Draco was glaring in my direction. After realizing it wasn't directed at me, I asked him what his problem was.
"They shouldn't be here," he whispered to me, nodding to the family transferring money at the station nearest to us: a man and a woman with their daughter, all three with black hair and deep mahogany skin. The father was sitting in a strange black chair with a footrest and two large wheels attached to the bottom, and I suddenly felt jealous that he got to sit down and I didn't. Next to them was a much older woman wearing typical wizarding robes along with a pointed hat. The end pieces of her spectacles stuck out from her bun of golden grey, and the coat of arms on her robes signified that she was from Hogwarts. She was explaining to the parents how our currency worked: there were twenty-nine Knuts in a Sickle, and seventeen Sickles in a Galleon. This must have meant that the girl was a Muggle-born witch my age, and the other lady was escorting her into the wizarding world for the first time.
"And why is that?" I challenged.
"Because, I'm assuming, they're Muggles," he countered without hesitation, "and Muggles don't belong in the wizarding world. They shouldn't be letting their kind into Hogwarts."
"That's a stupid reason," I muttered for lack of a decent comeback as the family turned around.
The girl's brown eyes were filled with wonder and her smile stretched from ear to ear. She seemed to be taking in every detail of Gringotts in amazement as she approached the exit, her mass of curls bouncing off of her shoulders. I couldn't fathom the pure amazement every Muggle-born experienced upon discovering the wizarding world in Diagon Alley. It must be spectacular, having someone show you that a world you thought was fictional was only hiding in plain sight.
The family exited through the glass double doors right when Draco and I were called to enter our vault. After we gave the goblin at the desk the key, he introduced himself as Griphook and escorted us into a small passageway illuminated by torches. Startling me, a mine cart came zooming towards us, gliding on the railroad tracks along the smooth, stone floor. The cart stopped with an abrupt jerk and opened its side doors. Griphook gestured for Draco and I to enter before him, and of course, I was the only one to thank him. We seated ourselves on the comfortable cushioned bench and buckled our seatbelts. Griphook entered next and closed the doors to the cart, settling on the bench across from us. Once we were secure, the cart jolted forward and bolted down the tracks at lightning speed. The tunnel opened up, revealing a series of convoluted railways. The cart weaved its way through the roller coaster of train tracks until we landed at vault five-hundred and thirty-seven, ending the nauseating ride.
"We're here," Griphook announced.
"I realized that," Draco sneered, simply for the sake of being condescending. I felt a familiar urge to slap him, but it wasn't a good time.
The three of us stepped into the spacious vault, which was overflowing with coins and antiques. Various heirlooms and pieces of artwork were scattered around the vault along with stacks of golden Galleons. For the first time, I became aware of just how much money we had. It was far more than we deserved.
Griphook gathered five hundred Galleons' worth of coins for us. Another cart ride later, we were back at the entrance of Gringotts, and I rushed Draco out of the bank. I couldn't wait to get out of Diagon Alley and escape back to the safety of my room. No one stares or whispers when you're alone.
Draco and I spent a good portion of the trip not fighting with each other, which was unusual for us. Still, wherever we went, everyone recognized me.
The only person that works at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions is Madam Malkin, so when she's fitting you into robes, everyone's watching. When I stepped up to the platform, the room fell silent. Madam Malkin let out a little gasp, but began fitting me, her frail hands shaking. I left the minute she was done with a quiet "thank you" and waited for Draco on the bench outside. The crowd inside unfreezed as I left, and every muscle in Madam Malkin's body relaxed. A part of me wanted to apologize for making them afraid, but the rest of my mind knew that their rash judgement brought their fear upon themselves, and I had done nothing wrong.
I watched through the window as Draco chatted with a boy I had never met. His head was covered in a tangle of thick, messy dark hair, and his skin was a golden shade, a bit darker than mine. His bangs covered his forehead, almost covering his circular, thin-rimmed glasses. The boy said about one word for every thirty of Draco's, and the distaste on his face showed he didn't want to be in that conversation. I could tell from the passionate hand gestures that Draco was spewing some of his blatant racism again. I felt so, so sorry for that boy.
As I watched them more, I noticed how scrawny and underfed the boy looked, and how oversized his old clothes were. Hand-me-downs, perhaps? The thought intruded my mind that he was probably poor, but then I realized that was something a rich elitist like Lucius Malfoy would say, so I pushed it away, hoping he hadn't brainwashed me to think like him.
Draco and I went on to buy the required textbooks from Flourish and Blotts, and retrieved potion ingredients at the Apothecary. He ended up buying a broomstick at Quality Quidditch Supplies, even though Hogwarts first years weren't allowed their own. All three shops were uneventful experiences, but just as unpleasant as Madam Malkin's. I would hear whispers: "Did you hear Sadie Silverwood's going to Hogwarts this year?" "They shouldn't let her!" "I'll bet you ten Sickles she gets expelled before classes even start." "At least detention." But the minute they saw me, they shut their mouths. I decided I would try my hardest to never get in trouble, just to spite them. And with a reputation like mine, messing up wasn't an option, was it?
Once we reached the Magical Menagerie, things got interesting again. The shop mainly consisted of owls, cats, and toads, the tolerated pets at Hogwarts, but there were snakes located at the very back of the shop. They were hard to notice at first, yet I was somehow drawn to them. They were one of my favorite animals—second only to foxes—but I felt like I had some sort of spiritual connection to them, as if we were alike in some way. I just didn't know how.
Draco had abandoned me to choose an owl, so I strolled over to the snake habitat and, to my surprise, found the boy Draco was talking with in Madam Malkin's. He was admiring a boomslang snake the same striking emerald color as his eyes.
I contemplated whether or not to talk to him. We were both standing alone, only an air of awkwardness between us. Before, I was afraid that it would be impossible for me to make friends at Hogwarts due to my status, but maybe if I talked to this stranger, I would make a friend before I even got there. I had never been good at initiating conversation, or ending it, or participating in it, but luckily, he started it for me.
"Hogwarts, too?" he asked.
"Yeah, first year," I replied. "You?"
"Same."
I racked my brain for something to talk about. "New to the wizarding world?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"No," I assured him. "It's just the only conversation starter I could think of." Why did I say that?
He chuckled. "Well, my parents were wizards, I think, but I live with my aunt and uncle, and they're—can't remember the word, but they're not wizards," he explained.
"You mean Muggles?"
"Yeah, that."
"You're lucky," I said. "I have to live with that blond idiot over there." I nodded to Draco, earning a "shut up, will you?"
"Oh, that guy," the boy muttered. "Wait, you two are related?" He took off his thin, round glasses to clean them. I understood his confusion. Draco and I didn't look alike whatsoever. His eyes were a pale, stormy gray and mine were a deep hue of amethyst. His platinum blonde hair was slicked-back in a professional fashion, while my jet black hair was a mess of thick, frizzy waves with the tips faded to purple to match my eyes (Lucius nearly killed me when I dyed it without his permission). His skin was white as ivory, and mine was a rich sand. I always felt so out of place with the Malfoys, like I didn't deserve to stand next to them.
"No, his parents are my godparents. I live with them," I explained. I silently prayed he wouldn't ask what happened to my real parents. What was I supposed to say to that? Oh, my mum's in prison for life and my dad was destroyed by a baby. The usual.
"Oh, your parents must have…" His voice trailed off yet again. "I'm sorry," he finished with haste.
"Don't be. My biological parents weren't that great of people, I've heard… not that my godparents are that great of people either…" I left my thought unfinished, not wanting to dump my entire life onto a stranger when he hasn't even told me his name.
"Neither are my aunt and uncle," he mumbled.
"I'm sorry, too."
"Don't apologize, it's not your fault." He changed the subject. "Oh, and I'm Harry Potter, by the way." He extended his hand.
My jaw must have dropped to the floor. Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? Looking closer, I could see his famed scar hidden beneath his bangs. Just my luck that the one friend I make is destined to be my enemy.
"You're Harry Potter?" I said, a bit in disbelief.
"I guess."
I always imagined Harry Potter to be one of those stuck-up, annoying celebrity types, not some random kid lingering at the back of the Magical Menagerie. Maybe he's hiding from the press, I thought. Typical of celebrities to consider being fawned over by the paparazzi an inconvenience.
Do I sound jealous? Yeah, maybe I was a bit jealous. But I had every right to be, didn't I? He didn't even do anything to become famous, it was just some magical coincidence. He was just a baby, he didn't mean to make that Killing Curse backfire. Meanwhile, I became notorious because of who my parents were. Both of us were famous because of things we couldn't control, but he was celebrated for it while I was despised.
"Um, I'm Sadie Silverwood," I choked out, shaking his hand, "and I have no connection to Voldemort at all." Stop. Talking.
"You can't take a snake to Hogwarts, you know," Draco chided in his usual obnoxious tone as he sauntered over to us. He was carrying a cage containing a wise-looking eagle owl, not a single one of its grey feathers ruffled.
"Can't take a broomstick either, but that's not stopping you," I retorted.
"It's a special arrangement."
"That's a funny way to pronounce 'against the rules.'"
Draco sighed and drummed his fingers on the counter. "Can you just hurry up and pick an owl already?"
"Fine," I grumbled through gritted teeth. I turned back to Harry and waved goodbye."See you on the train," I said.
"You too." He waved back.
"Women, am I right?" I heard Draco mutter to Harry as I skimmed the large selection of owls. I looked over my shoulder to see Harry give Draco a judgemental look and walk away.
One tawny owl in particular grabbed my attention. Her eyes were the fiery color of autumn leaves, setting her apart from the others—just like my eyes did. I reached up to pet her head. She let out a soft coo, but with her young, bright face, it sounded just like a baby's laugh. She was the perfect choice.
I paid ten Galleons for the owl, and left with Draco to go to the wand shop, Ollivander's. Ollivander's was on the other side of Diagon Alley, so I used the long walk to give Draco the lecture he deserved.
"You need to shut up, you know." I immediately wished I had said something much wittier.
"Oh, thank you so much for that insightful advice," Draco mocked.
"What you said at Gringotts about Muggle-borns not belonging here—"
"For the millionth time," he interjected, teeth gritted, "As far as I'm concerned, Mudbloods are no different from Muggles themselves."
"I'll willing to bet every Galleon in our vault that Muggle-borns," I emphasized the correct term, "are just as competent of wizards as you are—dare I say even more competent—so they have just as much of a right to be here as we do."
He rolled his eyes. "Don't start with this—"
"You know who was a Muggle-born?"
He sighed and gritted his teeth. "Who?"
"Donaghan Tremlett."
He replied with a baffled look.
"Donaghan Tremlett," I repeated. "The bass player for the Weird Sisters."
"That sounds like the exact job description of an incompetent wizard," Draco retorted. "Can you name one Muggle-born that's actually contributed anything to history?"
"Music is very important to history," I scoffed, offended. "But if you don't think so, then…" I couldn't think of any Muggle-borns Draco would deem "important." The history books I had read never talked much about their impact on the wizarding world, not even the discrimination they face. A few books did have whole chapters on Muggle-borns, but the pages were always ripped out. Lucius had eradicated any mention of Muggle-borns in his good pure-blood library.
"Oh, can't think of anyone, can you?" he teased. "That's what I thought."
"But that's only because gilipollas like you and your parents try to erase them from wizard history!"
He stopped and stared at me. "What did you just call me?"
"A… wonderful person," I lied. I loved to use Spanish as a weapon against English-only speakers. "Come on." I quickened my stride, forcing him to keep up.
"I don't get it," Draco said.
"Get what?"
"You're the daughter of two people who killed Mudbloods for sport," he reminded me. "Aren't you supposed to agree with them?"
"I'll kill you for sport if you don't stop being such a racist prick—"
"Ow!" a voice cried as I, distracted by my scolding of Draco, bumped into them and sent their books flying.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry…" I apologized repeatedly. I caught sight of the person I'd run into and identified her as the girl with the curly hair from Gringotts.
"It's my fault, I wasn't paying attention—" she reassured me, but I cut her off.
"No, I wasn't either. Here, let me help you with tha—"
"No," Draco cut in. "Let the Mudblood do it herself," he mocked, turning a few heads. A short moment of silence ensued.
"Don't call her that," I retorted before bending down to help the girl gather her belongings. Most of the books weren't even from the school supplies list. There were books about the Voldemort and the Wizarding War, about the history of Hogwarts, every topic you could name. I wondered how the girl was ever going to read them all.
I forced a smile as I handed her every last book. "Here you go. Sorry about that."
"It's fine, really," she said, stuffing her things back in her bag. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."
"I'm Sadie…" I trailed off. "You know what, my last name's not important. See you at Hogwarts, I guess?"
"Yeah. Nice meeting you!"
"You too!" I gave her a friendly smile and a wave.
Draco and I began to walk away, but the girl's father, still in the strange chair, didn't let us off that easy.
"What was that you called my daughter?" His dark brown eyes were fixed on Draco, filled with anger. "'Mudblood'?" He seemed to have figured out that "Mudblood" was a slur of some kind.
Draco smirked, supremacy dancing in his eyes. "It's what she is."
"Do you ever shut up?" I snapped, my face on fire.
The woman who looked to be from Hogwarts stepped forward, and I knew Draco was in trouble now. "I assume you know that derogatory terminology such as that will not be tolerated at Hogwarts," she scolded, fury showing through her thick Scottish accent. "I'll be sure to teach you how to control your magic as well as your tongue," she snapped, then led the family away without another word. As soon as she was out of earshot, I burst out laughing.
"This is why you should listen to me," I said to Draco, making him smack me on the arm with a grimace. I reveled at the fact he was in trouble before school even started.
I turned to offer the girl an apologetic smile, but she was long gone. I couldn't help but regret the encounter. Soon enough, she would find out what the word "Mudblood" meant, and would understand that in this world she was so fascinated by, she was considered inferior. And she would be devastated.
I shook the thought away when we reached a quaint little shop and run by an elderly man with smiling blue eyes and a kind face. His heap of cloud-white hair stuck out in a disheveled, but confined manner, and he wore a messy suit with a crooked tie. I recognized him as Garrick Ollivander, the best wandmaker in all of Europe, and of course, whom the store was named after.
The shop was seemed tiny upon first glance, but if you looked behind Ollivander's desk, you would see dozens of shelves of beautiful wands, each one more remarkable than the last. I admired Ollivander for having the patience and ability to handcraft them all. Bookshelves filled with writings on wandlore lined the walls on either side of me. Even though I had never been interested in the making of wands, the peaceful atmosphere of the shop made me want to read every book on the shelf.
Ollivander rose from his seat to welcome us, but once he saw me, his friendly face was replaced by astonishment. His eyes widened in surprise and his hands started to tremble.
"How might I help you two today?" he asked with a faint quiver in his voice.
"We want wands, obviously, or we wouldn't be here," snapped Draco, who was in a particularly snarky mood today.
Draco walked up to his desk with confidence, and after three or four failures, Ollivander found a wand that worked for him. Ollivander described it as ten inches with hawthorn wood and unicorn hair. I knew that the shorter your wand was, the more you were lacking in character. This meant, to my amusement, that Draco had a way to go.
It was my turn to find a wand next. Ollivander had me test out each wand by giving it a small flick in the direction of a pillow behind the desk. Whenever I did so, sparks would be released from the tip, sometimes having disastrous results. I caused quite a few small explosions before finding a match, but Ollivander assured me that he had seen worse.
I had about twice as many failures as Draco, but it was worth it for the wand that chose me. Ollivander informed me it was thirteen and a half inches (I was very proud of myself for that) and made from holly wood and unicorn hair. A clear, crystal-like substance coiled around the caramel brown wood, adding to its beauty.
"Holly is rare for wand wood," Ollivander babbled. "It tends to make very protective wands, and so does unicorn hair. This particular wand will form a strong bond with you, I believe, for the wand chooses the wizard, of course. Unicorn hair also makes for powerful wands. They're superb at all kinds of magic, well, not so good for the dark arts… strange it chose you then…" His eyebrows shot up in alarm as he realized what he said. I didn't want to glare and make him even more uncomfortable, so I slammed seven Galleons on his desk with much more anger than I had intended, and hurried out the door.
"I hate being your brother sometimes," Draco muttered once we were outside.
"And I hate being your sister all the time," I said with fake enthusiasm.
"Everyone's so scared of you," he continued. "You're ruining my reputation. How am I supposed to survive Hogwarts with you as a sister?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I contemplated how I was supposed to survive Hogwarts with me as a self. How am I going to make friends, or be on good terms with teachers, or at least get people to not tremble in fear every time they saw me? How will I fit in at all?
How am I supposed to prove that I'm not the monster everyone makes me out to be?