Despite her disdain for Hogwarts and its history, Diana couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity regarding the placement of the Slytherin common room. Was it simply the product of Salazar's twisted mind, or was it placed there as a final 'fuck you' from the other three founders after their falling out?
Nevertheless, it proved appropriate. If Hogwarts was a gilded prison, it was only fitting for Diana to sleep in the dungeons.
The other first-years gaped in awe as they made their way past the stone corridors and tutting portraits leading to the Slytherin common room. Upon entering, Pansy and Tracey gave a sharp intake a breath; Diana found the action needlessly dramatic, but couldn't deny the ornate furniture combined with the greenish tint of the lamps and lake outside the windows created a distinct ambiance. Grand and regal, but cold. "You're here for now, but don't get comfortable" is what the stone walls seemed to say.
Don't worry, I won't.
Harry decided to state the obvious. "We're underneath a lake!" he whispered, eyes brimming with excitement as the infamous giant squid whizzed past.
"Maybe the glass will break and we'll drown." If only I could be so lucky …
Draco shot her a glare, but Gemma chuckled. "Don't worry, these enchantments are meant to last," she assured, strolling over and giving the window a few hard knocks. "Now, I know you're all eager to unpack, but before the boys and girls split, Professor Snape has a few words."
Diana's head whipped around in confusion, along with several other first-years. Silent as carbon monoxide, Professor Snape somehow managed to slip into the common room unnoticed and was now storming towards them, robes flapping about like Dracula. Despite Gemma's proclamation, Snape looked like he would rather kiss a snail than give a speech. Any shock from earlier evaporated, leaving behind a scowling, haughty man whose disdain was palpable as he glared daggers at poor Harry.
"Who among you," he drawled, folding his arms and tapping the insides of his elbows with bony fingers, "feels you are deserving of Slytherin?"
Everyone's hand raised tentatively, except for Diana, who didn't think the House was good enough to 'deserve,' Goyle, who was distracted by the squid and missed Snape's question, and Harry, whose hand vacillated between raised and lowered.
"Such a response is predictable, albeit disappointing." Snape's eyes locked back onto Harry. "Though the show of false humility is new."
Harry blinked, and Diana's eyes narrowed.
"Not a single one of you deserves to be here," Snape continued bluntly, scanning the rest of the first years. Once his gaze rested on her, she looked down at her shoes. "We come into this life—regardless of lineage, wealth, or lack thereof—deserving nothing. Everything is earned through ambition. An ambition which must be continuously fostered, lest it wither on the vine. Your sorting is the first, not final, step towards greatness. By the end of the seventh year, we shall see which among us truly deserved to be placed in Slytherin."
Diana dared to look up; Harry's face flushed and it was his turn to stare at his shoes while Snape glowered at him. "This is the house of ambition and cunning, not unwarranted arrogance. It is expected that you uphold the dignity and pride of our House, which I already see will be unachievable for some of you. And let me be perfectly clear: If I so much as suspect idiocy or recklessness, there will be harsh consequences."
Diana waited for more, but apparently that was it. Snape spun around and stalked away with the haughtiness of a bat.
"Thank you, Professor!" Gemma smiled and clapped her hands together. "Girls, follow me. Boys, follow Felix to the left."
Before they separated, Diana leaned in towards Harry and whispered, "Was he the one who came to your uncle's house to tell you about magic?"
"No," replied Harry, the wind clearly knocked out of his sails. "I never met him before today."
If there wasn't a personal vendetta, then it had to relate to Snape's past as a Death Eater. Glancing around the room, her heart grew heavy with dread; Slytherin was the worst possible house for Harry to be sorted. Not only did he need to contend with his Head of House holding a grudge over his master's demise, but his classmates might want to see him dead too.
Before she could open her mouth to say something, Gemma's light tone cut through her thoughts: "Diana, come on! We're waiting on you."
She hesitated, but Harry already scampered off to join the rest of the boys. Diana tried to catch Draco's eye, but he didn't bother to say goodbye. Instead, he whispered something to Harry, which drew forth a smile from the messy-haired boy.
Grudgingly, she turned towards Gemma and the rest of the girls, who—aside from the prefect—all gazed at her coolly and appraisingly.
She stifled a sigh and followed them to the girl's dorm. She really hoped this wouldn't be the last time she saw Harry alive.
"Here we are!" Gemma announced with a flourish, gesturing towards the green and silver beds. "Your new home away from home."
Somehow, the girls' belongings were already in the dorm, and Diana heard a faint, familiar mewl that made her heart flutter. She quickly rushed over and opened the cat carrier, allowing her white kitten to rub up against her leg. To her surprise, she heard another meow, though this one sounded cranky. Milicent approached the second carrier and opened it, allowing a disgruntled black cat the opportunity to stretch.
"Hardly." Pansy plopped on a bed and yawned and as the rest of the girls began unpacking. "These house-elves should be sacked—I don't see a single fresh fruit anywhere! And the company"—her lips curled upward—"is a bit more diluted than I'm used to."
Diana hoped she would be able to go at least 24 hours before drama started, but apparently that wasn't meant to be. In her worry, however, he forgot she wasn't the only half-blood: Tracey blushed and focused on unpacking her robes while Millicent's eyes narrowed. The stocky girl took a few steps toward Pansy. "There something you want to say, Parkinson?"
Daphne perched daintily on the edge of the bed, eyes gleaming with amusement. Gemma gave a weary sigh.
Pansy put a hand to her chest in an illusion of offense. "Of course not, Millicent. I simply—"
"Pansy, enough of this rubbish," snapped Gemma, traces of good-humor vanished. "Starting a row with your fellow Slytherins on your first day? Really?"
From what Diana could recall from Narcissa's lessons, Gemma's mother and Pansy's father were siblings. But despite her wealth, Gemma seemed to possess a surprisingly level head. Wonder how that happened…
Pansy's face reddened, but her eyes flashed with defiance. "Oh, I wasn't saying anything about them specifically. I simply meant in general."
Gemma wasn't buying it. "These are the girls–the Slytherins— who will be with you every day for the next seven years while you sleep. So if I were you I'd be mindful of what you say. Not saying something will happen, just speaking 'in general.'"
Pansy's lips pursed, but she remained while Gemma gave the halfbloods a strained smile. "Feel free to let me know if you have any questions. I'll be in the room right at the end of the hall."
After mumbled goodbyes from the first years, the door shut with a thump. There were a few beats of silence, then…
"Well," chimed Daphne, clasping her hands together, all smiles. "Now that that's over with, I think it would be fun to get acquainted with one another. Perhaps we can play a little game."
Millicent rolled her eyes. "I'm sick of you and your games," she spat, petting the black cat with a tenderness at odds with the venom dripping from her voice. "All of you know who I am, and who my mother is, and I'm not going to spend another moment entertaining you fools."
Millicent yanked the curtains around the bed shut, separating her from the rest of the world. Daphne exchanged a raised eyebrow with Pansy, a silent "Can you believe her?" hanging in the air. In unison, their eyes skipped past Tracey and locked onto Diana.
Fuck.
"What about you, Diana?" asked Daphne, smile belying her appraising eyes. "Would you like to play?"
"Um"—helllllll no—"I'm kind of tired, so—"
"I'll play." Daphne and Pansy's heads turned in unison; Tracey's fingers twisted with the top of the blanket, but her eyes flashed with determination. "W-what kind of game is it?"
"Oh, I'm sure you heard of it." Pansy grinned like a shark. "It's called' Truth or Dare.' Even the Muggles play it, I'm told."
Diana relaxed; in the past she always picked truth and lied about it. Tracey's tense posture loosened as well.
"It won't take long, Diana," assured Daphne, rummaging through her trunk to pull out a bottle and glasses. "This will be a marvelous opportunity to know more about you."
"Come on, sit!" giggled Pansy, gesturing towards the green rug.
Diana bit her lip. She wasn't naive enough to believe Pansy and Daphne's intentions were pure, but getting on their bad side early on wouldn't be advantageous either.
After a brief moment of hesitation, Diana fished through her own trunk before finding and casually placing the Brisingamen around her neck. For whatever tricks they had planned, Diana wasn't going to let them forget who they were messing with. The Malfoy name might be tarnished, but she'd been in public enough times to witness the power her surname evoked.
Tracey Davis, Diana realized with a pang, might not be so lucky.
The way the necklace attracted Pansy's eyes like a magnet reinforced her decision. She sat down next to Tracey, watching as her kitten sniffed Millicent's cat. The cat hissed, causing the little thing to scamper towards Diana. Bully…
"What a cute little kitten," cooed Pansy while Diana stroked its head in comfort.
Diana noticed that, unlike Hermione, Pansy didn't bother asking the kitten's name. When Daphne pranced over with the bottle and glasses, her eyes locked onto the Brisingamen as well. She placed the glasses on the carpet and began to pout.
"Is that alcohol?" squeaked Diana. Surely, even in the wizarding world, eleven-year olds weren't allowed to drink. An intoxicated child and magic would be a terrible combination.
"Of course not, silly," smiled Daphne. "It's just pumpkin juice." She raised her glass. "To our first year at Hogwarts! Cheers!"
Daphne, Pansy, Diana, and Tracey clinked their glasses. But while the other girls downed their drink, Diana brought hers to her lips, creating the illusion of drinking without swallowing a drop.
Unfortunately, she wasn't as subtle as she thought. "Diana, you didn't drink anything!" scolded Pansy. "It's bad luck not to drink after making a toast."
"I'm, um, I'm good, thanks…" she muttered.
Daphne tilted her head to the side, curious. "Is it because you don't trust us?"
Diana considered lying, but to do so would be an insult to everyone in the room. "Yes."
Daphne reached over and plucked the glass from Diana's grasp. Daphne took a few sips before returning it, maintaining eye contact all the while.
"Now it's got germs on it though," Diana protested weakly.
Pansy and Daphne blinked. Tracey's hands started to fidget, and her lips twisted into a scowl. "Just drink it, already…"
Daphne and Pansy furrowed their brows, but Tracey's piercing gaze remained locked onto Diana. Searching frantically for another excuse but finding none, Diana brought the drink to her lips and took a few sips. It tasted like regular pumpkin juice—perhaps slightly fizzier? Daphne pushed herself off the ground. "I'm getting another glass. You ladies start without me."
"Get me one too, Daphne!" Pansy called after her. Her eyes then settled on Tracey, smug like the cat who swallowed the canary. "Why don't you go first, um…what did you say your name was?"
It was a superficially innocent question, but Diana picked up on the subtle jab: Tracey—and ehr family—weren't worth remembering. "Tracey Davis," the brown-haired girl mumbled, face flushing again. As Daphne returned with the second round of cups, Tracey's determined eyes drifted towards Diana. Oh no…"Diana, truth or dare?"
"Truth…"
"What makes you think you belong in Slytherin?"
Like Pansy's, the question by itself seemed innocent, but the tone in which it was delivered was certainly not. From the way Pansy and Daphne's eyebrows shot up as they drank their second glass, they noticed it too.
What the hell is this girl's problem? "Because I have a lot of ambition."
"It's your turn, Diana," Pansy said coolly.
She was tempted to use her turn to ask Tracey what her problem was, but more pressing matters at hand. Instead, she turned to Daphne. "Daphne, truth or dare?"
Daphne smiled. "Truth."
"Why do you want to play this game? The real reason, I mean."
Daphne gestured vaguely with her hands. "I want to know what you're like, and this is the best way to get to know someone."
There had to be more to it, but Diana wasn't sure what. Daphne turned back towards Tracey, eyes sharpening. "Tracey, truth or dare?"
"Truth," whispered Tracey, shifting under Daphne's hard gaze. Unlike a couple minutes ago, her face was pale and eyes unfocused.
The smile on Daphne's face didn't look so angelic anymore. "What gives you the audacity to pretend you, the product of two common mudbloods, are of higher standing than a Malfoy?"
Diana shifted uncomfortably and was about to speak, but Tracey opened her mouth first. "Because I'm a coward and frightened everyone will make fun of me for having no lineage. I thought it'd make me look stronger, but it only made me look like a fool."
Daphne and Pansy doubled over in a fit of giggles as Tracey's face flushed scarlet. Diana looked at the glass in front of her, heart sinking.
"W-hat did you do to me?" stammered Tracey, eyes misting.
"Should we count this as your turn?" Daphne asked innocently. It might have been Diana's imagination, but she could have sworn one of the wings of the butterfly hairclip fluttered briefly. "Pansy, you haven't gone yet. Why don't you answer the poor dear?"
"Truth, then…" smirked Pansy, tracing the rim of the glass. "Just a little extra spice added to the pumpkin juice, to loosen the lips."
"The truth position? Veritasomething?" blurted Diana, mind racing. It was what her father avoided taking during his trial. "I thought the Ministry controlled how that stuff was used. How did you get it?"
"I'm a Greengrass," Daphne replied with a shrug, as though that explained everything. Probably stole it from her parents…
"I don't understand," whimpered Tracey. "Wh-why am I the only one saying these things?"
"Because we have nothing to hide," giggled Pansy.
"They have an antidote and put it in the second drink," Diana answered, stomach churning. Whyyyy did I agree to this stupid game?
Pansy frowned while Daphne winked. Tracey sniffled. "But that's not fair…"
"We're Slytherins." Daphne raised a single eyebrow in a manner reminiscent of Narcissa. She turned to her friend. "Pansy, you haven't gone yet."
"Ohh, right." Diana didn't like the gleam in the raven-haired girl's eyes. "I'll pick…Diana." Shocker. "Truth or dare?"
Truth or dare, indeed. Now that there was a genuine threat to picking truth, the decision was much harder. Any dares would presumably be as degrading as truth—if not moreso. Was there something else added to the drink that would compel her to perform the dares? The thought was horrifying, but if she picked truth, her darkest, most private secrets could be exposed.
Maybe.
Diana didn't feel any different. But did that mean she wasn't affected?
The third possibility, get up and walk away, would be something that was obvious in retrospect, but in the moment Diana remained rooted to the floor. She'd met her share of bullies in the past, but Claire would always be the one to put them in their place. Being vulnerable and weak like this reminded her of when the Ministry workers came to her house. That thought steeled her resolve and filled her with rage.
How dare they.
Perhaps sensing this, Pansy's eyes flashed with cruel merriment. "What's the most disgusting thing you've ever done?"
The image of Sarah in the kitchen, immobile, flashed in Diana's mind. But she couldn't let Pansy and Daphne know that. She couldn't. "Look at your face."
Pansy's jaw dropped and face grew scarlet, while Daphne sat up straighter, no longer smiling. Diana heard an indistinct noise from somewhere that Diana realized must have been Millicent.
She tried not to let her nervousness show. In truth, she didn't expect to be able to say the words out loud. She drank the pumpkin juice. So why….
Her hands knocked against the silver necklace.
Oh….
The Brisingamen. For once, she was extremely grateful for her lineage.
"How did—" Daphne began.
Diana didn't let her finish. She'd seen enough of Lucius and Narcissa's interactions with others to know that once one has the advantage, it was important to keep pressing forward. "Daphne, truth or dare?"
The Greengrass heir's lips thinned. "Truth."
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, gesturing to the cups. "Gemma said not to start anything earlier. I-it's not right to bully your—"
Daphne rolled her eyes in a manner unbecoming of her lineage. "'Bully?' This is just some harmless hazing. Everyone does it, even Muggles. I thought you'd be used to it."
Diana ignored the jab and tried not to look away as Daphne's hard eyes pierced into her. "Now. It's my turn, Diana, truth or—"
"No," Diana interrupted, sounding much more confident than she felt. She tried to think of what Narcissa would do, and vaguely recalled something the woman said weeks ago. "I refuse to engage with this frivolness any longer. I'm going to bed, and you should do the same."
Keenly aware of three pairs of eyes digging into her, she scooped up the kitten and retreated into the bed, drawing the curtain around her. Five minutes later, she buried herself under the covers in her nightgown, heart thumping. She heard the soft mumble of indecipherable voices and shuffling from the other side. Eventually the rest of the lights turned off.
Still, Diana didn't relax. Her mind raced for about an hour; she wondered what tomorrow would bring and speculated whether or not signed her death warrant. She remembered, to great irritation,that the word was frivolity, not frivolness, and felt like a moron. And just when sleep was about to take her, she heard a murmur that slicked through the silence.
"I really wish one of you girls picked dare," Daphne whispered wistfully. "It would have been much more fun that way."
Nope, not sleeping tonight.
Judging from the bags under Draco's eyes the next morning, her brother got about as much sleep as she did. Harry seemed fine though, locked in discussion about different types of wizarding sports with Blaise Zabini. When their eyes met, Harry's quickly darted away, face growing red.
Probably found out about my parents. Diana tried not to let the thought bother her–she'd be getting that reaction a lot, no doubt—but it was easier said than done. The chattering and laughter echoing through the Great Hall grated on her ears like nails on a chalkboard.
Her eyes drifted across the Hall, people-watching as she tried to push thoughts of Harry and last night out of her mind. At the Gryffindor table, she spotted Arthur's youngest son, Ron, holding court with other first-year boys and laughing raucously. A couple girls her age were engaged in deep conversation, and off to the side was Herimione, munching on bacon in solitude. After noticing Diana's eyes on her, Hermione beamed and waved, which Diana returned.
She wished she was brave enough to be in Gryffindor. That table looked full of rowdy, regular kids like the ones who carved dicks into the picnic tables at Camp Chrysalis instead of the hoity-toity adult wannabes that populated the Slytheirn table.
Hermione might have been pushy, but she didn't have the same self-importance as Daphne or Pansy.
And speaking of which…
Diana's eyes narrowed as she glanced towards the girls. To her annoyance, Pansy was staring at her, lips curled in distaste, while Daphne and Tracey were engaged in deep conversation.
It was as though the events of last night didn't happen. Diana didn't speak to Pansy and Daphne, or vice versa. The only person she spoke to this morning was Millicent, who accosted her in the bathroom.
"I can't believe you took the drink. I thought you Malfoys were supposed to be smart."
Diana had no idea why Millicent thought that, considering the trouble Lucius was in, but went along with it anyway. "Well, it didn't work on me, so…."
"True," Millicent agreed, shooting her a curious look as she placed her hairbrush on the counter.
She turned around as if to leave, but Diana quickly grabbed the taller girl's arm, to Millicent's obvious displeasure. "There are three of us and two of them. We shouldn't ha–"
One look at Millicent's cloudy expression caused Diana's jaw to snap shut. Millicent yanked her arm away. "This isn't Hufflepuff. There is no 'us.' Look at Davis."
Diana's gaze drifted towards the mirror, which allowed a partial view of the bedrooms. Tracey sat tentatively on the edge of the bed as Daphne braided her hair while Pansy held up a mirror. Does this girl have no dignity?
"I don't get it. How can they act like nothing happened?" whispered Diana, fingers clenching as Pansy said something that caused the other two to laugh.
"Parkinson and Greengrass know it's valuable to have a hanger-on, especially one as easily cowed as Davis. Davis goes along with it because both her parents are Muggleborn and she's smart enough to realize she's not going to survive here without some kind of protection."
Diana wasn't sure if "survive" was literal or hyperbole, but goosebumps crept up her arms all the same. It only took one night in the Slytherin dorm for her to feel like running into the Forbidden Forest. How was she supposed to survive the next seven years?
Millicent's black cat strolled up to its mistress and purred as Millicent bent down to scratch its ears. "What's your cat's name?" asked Diana.
"Nyx." Millicent's brows furrowed. "And I'm not interested in making friends, Malfoy. If that's what this is about."
"T-that's not it. I was just curious. And don't call me that." She wilted under Millicent's stare. "Please."
Millicent's expression was unreadable. "Alright."
As Millicent walked away, Diana looked enviously at her white kitten, which snuggled up on her bedspread. If only she could be that carefree….
"Diana," Pansy chimed, twisting her mouth into a slight smile, "I didn't know you were friends with Mudbloods."
"What's a Mudblood?" asked Harry through mouthfuls of potatoes. Diana noticed the same thing last night, like he was afraid the food would get ripped out of his hands. If there was one thing to be grateful to Hogwarts for, it was that food was in no short supply.
"It's a racial slur for wizards and witches with Muggle parents," responded Diana. His eyes met hers and widened. Oh, now you want to look at me?
"It's not a racial slur!" protested Pansy, offended. "It's a blood slur."
Harry frowned. "I don't understand. Why is it bad for wizards to have Muggle parents?" He took a sip from his glass of milk. "My mum had Muggle parents."
Foot, meet mouth, Diana thought smugly and pink peppered Pansy's cheeks.
Unfortunately, Draco came to her rescue. "Of course it's bad! They bring their Muggle ideas and values, and erode the very integrity of our society. They expect us to accommodate them, not the other way around."
It was an obviously rehearsed speech that parroted what she was sure his parents told him again and again since birth; she doubted Draco even know what the word "eroded" meant.
And based on what she observed, it was also blatantly false. Purebloods no doubt maintained the power, and the "radicals" Lucius and Narcissa complained about merely wanted to give Muggleborns an equal voice.
Luckily, Harry could smell the bullshit. "Oh," he said flatly.
"What Draco's trying to explain—albeit ungracefully—is that Muggleborns sometimes bring ideas that are harmful to wizarding society as a whole." Theodore's voice was smooth and confident, a far cry from the sullen boy she saw in Hyperborea. "Some of them, I'm sure, are good people. But think about what you told us last night, about your aunt, uncle, and cousin. If people like them had magic, do you imagine they'd comply with our laws, or complain loudly about every little thing?"
Both Harry and Diana frowned, albeit for different reasons. Diana didn't know much about Harry's maternal relatives besides Harry calling them "cruel and nasty," but revealing that kind of personal information to strangers in Slytherin was a bad call. The poor kid had no idea he was swimming with sharks.
"And out of all the Muggles you met," continued Theodore, resting his chin in his palm, "all the hundreds upon hundreds, how many did you say helped you, again?"
"No one," Harry mumbled, so quiet Diana almost didn't hear over the commotion in the Hall. Her heart ached and felt a stab of bitterness towards Theodore, who no doubt knew the answer to the question.
Triumph flashed in his eyes. "Now think of all the wizards who helped you. Doesn't that say something about the quality of our world compared to theirs? We look out for our own."
The statement was so ridiculous and audacious, especially after the bullshit last night, that Diana couldn't stay silent. "Wizards do plenty of bad things to each other, too. They torture, kill, bully"—the last one was not in the same league as the others, but at least it got Daphne and Pansy to scowl—"and their society isn't that great, either. It's got most of the same issues as the Muggle world, only worse because of magic."
Pansy sneered and leaned forward. "If you think this"—Pansy gestured to the Great Hall—"is so awful, then why don't you leave?"
Diana wasn't sure if that question was out of genuine ignorance of purposeful malice, but either way her temper flared.
She opened her mouth but felt a sharp kick to her shin. Draco sipped his pumpkin juice nonchalantly, but the white knuckles clenched around the glass told a different story. Diana willed herself to reign in the fiery emotions and form an answer that was true to herself but wouldn't embarrass the hell out of him by mentioning Lucius specifically. "I can't. Because of the 'quality' of this world." She turned to Harry, who was looking at her hesitantly. "Harry, there are a lot of wizards—a lot of families—who are powerful and respected because of their bloodline. But that doesn't mean they're good people. A lot of them are awful and do terrible things. But people look the other way because they're rich and strong. Those are the types of families that run this world, so when Theodore and probably everyone else says being pure's better, just remember that."
From Harry's eyes, Diana could tell he understood what she was talking about despite not mentioning her parents and situation by name. "There's also Vold–um, You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters," he acknowledged. "There were a lot of people who followed him."
"Right. And I'm not sure if you know this," added Diana, confidence growing, "but more than half the people at this table have Death Eater parents. So next time someone tries to sell you on blood superiority, just remember that."
Judging by the look of horror on Harry's face, he did not, in fact, know this.
Draco sank into his seat. Theodore's face transformed into a cool, impenetrable mask as his dark eyes met Diana's for the first time. "The Death Eaters were a political movement. The Dark Lord claimed he could protect and strengthen the future of our kind, which is why so many were willing to join him in the first place. Yes, he ended up exploiting and twisting that dedication and it became extreme in the end, but the overall idea behind it was sound. Just because someone happened to be a Death Eater doesn't mean they're necessarily a bad person. So many spoke out against the Dark Lord afterwards for a reason. In fact, if he never came into power, I think the movement would still be around."
"But he started the whole thing!" argued Diana, trying and failing to keep her voice even.
"No," said Theodore, drumming his fingers on the table. "These ideas were around long before him, he just gave them a voice. If it was someone like, say, Professor Sinestra who was in charge, then not only would the Death Eaters still be around, but over half the school would join, I think."
Another kick from Draco, whose face grew paler by the second as Diana's reddened with fury.
The empathetic nods from their classmates added a massive amount of kindling to the flame.
Whether Theodore genuinely believed what he was saying or whether it was a means to placate his classmates and establish his position as Slytherin's new golden boy was irrelevant. Diana couldn't, wouldn't, let that bullshit slide.
Hoping to come across as firm but not unhinged, she forced out a brief, "Well, I disagree. Obviously. I know what that kind of thinking leads to."
She wanted to say more, but her mind was fritzing and she didn't want to say anything that would make her look stupid.
Theodore smiled and folded his arms on the table. "What about you, Draco? Do you agree with your sister?"
Draco looked like a deer in the headlights. His eyes darted to Harry, then Diana, then flickered toward the rest of the table. "I, er, well, blood purity is important, certainly…." He grew stronger. "And there's no denying we're inherently superior to Muggles and should protect our culture from their degenerate influence. But"—his gaze flickered downward and a tinge of pink blossomed on his cheek—"I don't—I don't think dedicating yourself to one person is particularly cunning or ambitious. We're not followers, but were made to act as such and that led to some, um…poor choices. So…no, I would not join the Death Eaters."
Diana gaped at Draco, along with the rest of the table. Despite the clamor of the Hall, she would have heard a pin drop.
She wasn't sure if this was legitimate, or if Draco was playing this angle to look good in front of Harry. Either way, unfamiliar pride and affection bloomed in Diana's heart.
Theodore recovered first, and his voice had a disbelieving edge when he replied, "Interesting. I wonder what your father would say."
"I don't care what he says," snapped Draco, and Diana realized for the first time what initially spurred this rebellion. "And if the rumors are true, you're the last one to talk about wizards helping their own."
Several looks were exchanged between nearby Slytherins, and although Diana didn't know what her brother was referring to, she knew Draco was treading in very dangerous water. Theodore's face darkened. "You don't want to go there."
A thick, heavy silence hung in the air for a few seconds. Draco didn't press the matter, so Theodore smoothed his expression and turned back to Harry, who was watching the exchange wide-eyed. "As I mentioned last night, Harry, Draco's family has fallen on some hard times due to a bout with the Imperius curse. He's angry and lashing out, but his behavior—and his father's—are not representative of Pureblood values and attitudes."
Draco's courage might have evaporated, but Diana was more than willing to pick up the slack. "It's not just my family, it's everyone's family. When I saw you over the summer, your father practically admitted he—he knew my mum. A-and that means, he–it's–"
The last thing she needed right now was tears, so she gulped down some milk while trying to corral her wild emotions. Though Diana knew, objectively, most of the table were wrapped up in their own conversations, it felt as though everyone's eyes were on her.
She tried to distract herself by watching Crabbe and Goyle, who didn't find the conversation compelling and snickered as Crabbe pressed his wand into the bench. Diana wanted to stand up and crane her head to see what they were looking at, but was too drained to do much of anything.
Theodore shook his head. "No he wasn't. I don't recall him saying anything of the sort."
"That's right," nodded Daphne. "There's no evidence of wrongdoing. He never went to trial, unlike some."
Diana knew this was bait, but didn't care. "Both of you are so full of shit."
Tittering broke out across their side of the table, and Pansy held a hand up to her heart. "Oh my goodness, Diana. I can't believe someone of your lineage is so undignified…"
It was another double-edged comment that caused her to grit her teeth, but this time, she chose to remain silent.
Theodore gave Harry a look of sympathy. "I'm sorry all this"–he gestured to Diana and Draco–"had to ruin your first breakfast at Hogwarts. Runs in the blood, I suppose."
Harry's face was an impenetrable mask. "It's fine. I'm not hungry anymore." He stood up and looked toward Diana and Draco. "Are you coming?"
Draco, Diana, and Theodore glanced up in surprise. Theodore's jaw clenched, Diana felt a smug stir of satisfaction. "Yeah."
As they walked down the aisle, Diana finally spotted the cause of Crabbe and Goyle's snickering: Crabbe used the tip of his wand to burn a crude, carved depiction of woman's tits into the bench.
Perhaps some Slytherins weren't so different from Muggle children, after all.
The month of September went as well as expected. Due to her highly-publicized situation, the majority of her classmates acted stilted and awkward around her, though no one started shit or asked any uncomfortable questions. Sometimes she'd get looks of sympathy, other times confusion.
Although the older students no doubt had a better understanding, Diana wasn't sure how many first-years understood the full scope of her situation. By age 11, most kids in Amberton had a basic understanding of how babies were made and understood that engaging in that process against one's will was a crime due to media exposure or conversations with parents and siblings. Diana knew even younger due to her mother's propensity to overshare during her most unstable moments. But she had no idea whether that knowledge was the norm among wizarding children.
The Slytherin students, at least, seemed to understand—or acted like they did. But at least for now, no one used it as ammunition. There were occasionally vague, snide comments about Lucius's fall from grace when Draco was in earshot, but like she witnessed during her trip to Diagon Alley and Truth or Dare, the Malfoy name still commanded a level of respect.
Despite Tracey's faux pas, she acclimatized nicely with Daphne and Pansy and seemed as content to be their lackey as Millicent was to be a loner. Daphne and Pansy would sometimes make subtle jabs, but for the most part, they ignored her, preferring to lick their wounds over and remain cautious over Truth or Dare's unexpected turn.
Diana prayed the girls would stay away, because the Brisingamen—perhaps foolishly— often found itself collecting dust in her trunk instead of around her neck. Despite the protection it offered, she couldn't bring herself to wear it every day for three reasons: 1. It was gaudy and ostentatious, 2. It felt like a mark of ownership by the Malfoys and betrayal of the Whites, and 3. It was extremely uncomfortable to wear. Abraxas warned her about the weight and its connection with her mind, but as the month progressed and she attended classes, it grew heavier with each passing day.
But how could it not? Attending Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, and Potions served as a reminder of Sarah and how the Professors fucked her life beyond repair. With the exception of Snape, they were all kind to her—either out of sympathy or guilt, she wasn't sure—but Diana didn't care. She sat in the back of class, sullen and nonparticipating, every time.
The effect was diminished slightly by the bushy-haired girl practically bursting out of the seat next to her, whose hand shot upward to answer each question without fail. Despite being in different houses, Hermione latched onto Diana and was one of the few people Diana felt she could call a friend, though she purposely kepy their conversations surface-level. They reminisced over Muggle shows, books, and music, gushed over the food in the Great Hall, and complained about fellow students, with Ron Weasley being the main target of her ire.
Arthur's son seemed to be thriving in Gryffindor and could always be seen with a gaggle of boys surrounding him. Although he shared several classes with Diana, he never initiated conversation with her, nor she with him. She would sometimes catch him looking in her direction awkwardly, as if wanting to say something, but despite his house, he never quite worked up the courage.
As an extension of her friendship with Diana, Hermione also became friendly to Harry and Draco, much to the latter's annoyance. But because of Draco's own small pool of allies, he didn't say all the nasty things to her he was no doubt thinking.
That being said, Draco was still Draco. Although he managed to make a favorable impression on Harry, eventually he couldn't help but say something snarky and offensive, and the green-eyed boy was quick to give as good as he got. Diana would sometimes try to mediate—to varying degrees of success—but the two boys would inevitably work through whatever argument ensued and could be found speaking to each other later, playing wizard chess or discussing a homework assignment.
Much to Draco's irritation, Theodore also successfully smoothed things over with Harry. While Harry inexplicably gravitated towards the Malfoys, he wasn't outright antagonistic towards the rest of the Slytherins. Whispers of "Do the Malfoys have Potter under their thumb?" didn't bother him—he was becoming far more adept at handling public scrutiny than she was. She sometimes spotted him skimming blood supremacy pamphlets in the common room curiously, though he never discussed the topic and others were wise enough not to broach it after the debacle during the first breakfast.
Both Narcissa and Lucius eagerly jumped onto her and Draco's newfound friendship with the legendary Harry Potter. Diana privately questioned how Lucius could mentally reconcile having his children eating next to the same child who killed his master, but it shouldn't have come as a surprise—Lucius was nothing if not opportunistic. She also wondered how much he knew about what Draco said about him, or Draco's lack of favor in Slytherin, but Draco didn't offer up the information and Diana didn't pry.
During the first week of classes, she received separate letters from Lucius and Narcsisa congratulating her on her sorting. Lucius's was short, stiff, and formal, whereas Narcissa's was much lengthier and analytical, offering strategies and suggestions for future social interactions with the Slytherin girls.
How Narcissa found it out, Diana had no idea. But she couldn't deny the woman's advice was helpful, and her letters remained folded in the nightstand while she crumpled and tossed Lucius's letters into the rubbish bin. She also suspected Narcissa might have played a role in why the prefects had a "surprise" inspection of the first-year girl's dorm by the end of the first week, and why Daphne and Pansy would be spending every Saturday in detention until the winter holidays.
Although Diana told Narcissa certain things about her life at Hogwarts, there were several aspects that remained private. One was her frequent nightmares about Sarah, Marie, and being a witch. Those nightmares were so disconcerting that in the middle of the night when she jolted from slumber, she would sometimes see a black mist hovering above her bed, which vanished within seconds.
She reluctantly concluded hallucinations probably were just as bad to have in the wizarding world as they were in the Muggle world.
Another aspect left out—one that Narcissa found out about anyway—was the fact that she simply sucked at magic.
Transfiguration, Charms, and any subject involving wand usage often resulted in pitiful sparks emitting from the end of the wand. On the off chance she did manage to successfully cast a spell, it either lasted temporarily or was leagues below the quality of other students' spells. For classes that weren't heavy with wand usage, such as Herbology and Potions, she performed somewhat decently, though her erratic homework submissions and overall apathy resulted in poor marks.
The only classes she put effort into were History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and she was the only student in the grade—perhaps even the school–who looked forward to the former. Professor Binns' delivery of material admittedly wasn't the most engaging, but the content was fascinating. Also, it was taught by a ghost, which opened up a theological can of worms. The few times she lingered afterwards, the ghost glided through the walls before she could muster the courage to ask questions about the afterlife.
Considering her persistent paranoia, Diana got the most use out of Defense Against the Dark Arts. She bristled at the way some of her classmates mocked Professor Quirrel's stutter and skittish mannerisms when out of earshot. It couldn't be easy talking in front of a crowd every day; he reminded her of how she sometimes had difficulty speaking up in front of people.
Although it was only the end of September, apparently Diana's marks were poor enough to get flagged, resulting in a conversation with Professor Snape. The man's office was drabby and dingy, with a faint, foul odor of plant mixtures lingering on the bubbling vials, preserved fingers and animal bones, and other ingredients encased in glass. The Potions master leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers.
"Your marks are utterly abysmal, even for a first year," he said by way of greeting. "Professor Dumbledore insisted I speak with you about them."
He peered at Diana from the other end of the desk, who felt like a specimen under a microscope. "I d-don't know why my wand doesn't work right."
"The headmaster believes you—not the wand—are the reason for this ineptitude. A wand is in tune with its master. If your mind resists, the wand will resist."
"I think I have good reason to," Diana replied, slight edge creeping into her voice.
Snape raised a single eyebrow. "Do you? What, pray tell, is 'reason' enough to sabotage your own education?"
He knew full well the reason. Diana's lips thinned as she tried to focus on the jarred Lacewing flies on the desk instead of his sour face. "I don't like magic."
"And yet, you're a witch," he sighed. "Regardless of your…unfortunate circumstances, that remains true. No amount of struggling or protesting will change your birthright."
It was just her luck that the only spell she really wanted—one that could remove magic— didn't exist. "I can't just…stop feeling this way," she mumbled.
"If you have even the slightest modicum of concern for your future, it's necessary you find a way. Dwelling on the past won't lead you to anywhere worthwhile." Diana was sorely tempted to ask him if he got over his own past, considering the smoldering looks he gave Harry, but thought better of it. His dark eyes narrowed all the same. "Nevertheless, your marks are the result of an overwhelming lack of effort, not simply poor spellcraft. Your most recent essay wasn't worth kindling. Neville Longbottom received a higher mark than you."
"I don't care if I fail," she muttered, looking at her black shoes.
"Neither do I, but as your Head of House I'm required to have this conversation with you."
Why did a man who so clearly hated children ever become a teacher? As Diana stood waiting to be dismissed, she felt his cold eyes pierce into her.
"Something else on your mind, Miss Malfoy?" he drawled.
Yes. First, don't call me that. Second, stop acting superior to me, because you're an evil Death Eater so nothing you say has any value.
In reality, her face heated up and she shrugged, mumbling, "Nothing that hasn't been mentioned before…"
After another moment of feeling like a Lacewing fly trapped in a jar, he made a vague hand gesture and dismissed her. She couldn't dart out fast enough.
One thought weighing heavily on her was Snape's Death Eater status. She tried to push aside the question of whether or not he "knew" her mother and instead focus on something more tangible: was Harry in danger?
The rest of the staff seemed convinced he wasn't, but that doesn't mean it was true. And if the staff weren't willing to take action, then Harry would need to defend himself.
But what if the staff were right? Harry knew Snape disliked him, but knowing Snape was a Death Eater (either currently or formerly) would add a heaping of stress.
Would telling him be worth it if she was wrong? Would not telling him be worth it if he found out later and got mad she didn't tell him?
Perhaps I should contact Mr. Weasley?
A cloud of gloom descended upon her. She thought of his brood of redhaired boys, none of whom had spoken to her. Contacting him now made her feel awkward, different from regular kids.
But there was one other option.
This evening, the Slytherin common room was sparsely populated aside from a gaggle of sixth-year girls gossiping in a corner and a fifth-year boy sleeping on the couch. Draco sat in an emerald chair next to the fireplace, scribbling furiously on a foot of parchment. Diana looked down at her own Potions "essay," which consisted of four sentences so far. She plopped herself down on the chair next to him, and he grunted in greeting.
Might as well be blunt. "Draco, did you know Professor Snape's a Death Eater?"
Draco's eyes remained glued to the parchment, tapping it with his quill in contemplation. "Of course I did. How did you know that?"
Her heart sank; despite all evidence to the contrary, she hoped he would say 'what are you talking about? He's not a Death Eater! He was one of Dumbledore's agents who pretended to be one.' "D-doesn't matter. How did you know?"
"Father." Draco peeled his eyes from his parchment, and sighed after seeing Diana's scowl. "They knew each other at Hogwarts, and he considers Professor Snape a friend."
Any friend of Lucius was an enemy of hers. "Do you think Harry's in danger? Professor Snape doesn't seem to like him that much."
Draco scoffed, "If Professor Dumbledore thought there was the slightest chance their golden boy was in any danger, Snape would be thrown into Azkaban quicker than the Chudley Cannons lost the World Cup in '84."
"Then why do they keep him around?" Diana asked anxiously.
"Perhaps father was right and Dumbledore's mind is addled," Draco smirked.
"So he could do something to harm Harry, then?" she pressed, fingers twisting into the plush cushion.
Draco shook his head. "That would be stupid, especially since the Dark Lord's gone and everyone worships the ground Potter walks on. It would attract too much attention, and I can't imagine he's stupid enough to want the Demetor's Kiss."
"Is that why none of the other Slytherins are doing anything bad to him? They're afraid of negative attention?"
Many students in Slytherin lost family due to Voldemort's fall and Harry's triumph, so seeing frequent attempts to befriend the boy filled her with confusion.
"For some. Others understand it's socially advantageous to get on the wizarding messiah's good side. And there are those who want to make a favorable impression because they think"—Draco smiled bitterly—"Potter might be the next great dark lord. That's why he was able to defeat You-Know-Who. It was the Fates at work."
The possibility seemed ridiculous, but a chill creepy down her spine all the same. "Do you—do you think that could be true? Could Harry be, um, could he do that?"
Draco's eyes clouded and drifted to the fireplace. "Could be. He doesn't show it that much, but he has a lot of…"—he searched for the right word—"problems. A lot of anger and bitterness. Maybe even more than you. Those Muggles did a number on him."
'Maybe even more than you' was quite the high bar. Diana was dying to know more, but Harry hadn't brought up anything about his past to her, nor had he asked about hers, and it didn't seem right to inquire. "But Harry's not—he's not evil. He couldn't be a dark lord."
"'Evil.'" Draco rolled his eyes. "There's no such thing, but"—they debated on the existence of evil before and he could tell from Diana's expression this would start another argument—"I agree Potter doesn't seem the sort. He's too self-righteous and moral. Plus, he hates attention and wouldn't be able to stand the fawning sycophants." Draco's lips twisted into a scowl.
"I think you should still watch out for him. You're in the same dorm and there might be—"
Draco rolled his eyes and stood up, stretching. "Potter he can watch over himself. You need to watch out for yourself. Greengrass and Parkinson, but also your marks."
"Ugh, not you too," she grumbled, slumping down in the chair.
"Every letter I get from Father is the same: Your sister's marks are atrocious, make sure she doesn't shame the family, tell her she needs to wear the Brisingamen, blah blah blah. It's quite dull, really."
Aside from the terse letter of congratulations regarding her sorting, she didn't receive a single letter from Lucius. "He brought shame to the family, not me."
"I know." His blue eyes met hers. "I'm heading back to the dorms. Finish your essay, and try to make it more than two paragraphs this time."
For about five minutes after Draco left, Diana stared blankly into the fireplace, mind swirling with various thoughts. After another five minutes of staring at the parchment, she retreated to the girl's essay remained unwritten.
The nightmares intensified over the next several days, and with it, the floating black mist. The mist now seemed to linger longer than it used to, though it was difficult to tell in the blackness of the room. It also appeared to shift and churn, and remained even after she pinched herself.
This particular night, the mist lasted longer than it ever did before, and because of this, Diana noticed something previously overlooked: the mist appeared to be tethered to her chest by stringy, smokey shadows. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, there was no denying the mass in front of her was darker than her surroundings.
Diana hoped it was a hallucination, because if it wasn't, then what could it be?
Part of her felt compelled to reach out and touch it, but fear gripped her throat and she remained under the covers, immobile, staring deeply into the void.
It reminded her of a quote from the muggle world, something she heard in a movie or TV show or a book. Something about gazing into the abyss, and the abyss gazing back.
She shivered and snapped her eyes shut, digging deeper underneath the blankets. After about a minute, she dared to open her eyes.
No black mist, only the canopy and curtains of her bed. She steadied her breath, yet despite this, her heart hammered all the same. Gently pushing the curtains aside, she peered at the clock illuminated by the blue-green tint of the lake: 4:00 AM.
No use going to sleep if I have to wake up in a couple hours.
Sighing, she reached over and grabbed for her wand from the nightstand. "Lumos," she whispered, and light emanated from the tip. Granted, it was a dim, shoddy light, but it would serve her purposes and have the added bonus of not waking up the other girls.
She tiptoed out of bed and fumbled through her knapsack to grab her mother's black book, hoping to peruse through it to find clues about the other assailants, and whether or not their children were her classmates. But after snuggling under the covers and flipping it open, she groaned. It wasn't her mother's blac notebook at all; instead, she grabbed T. M. Riddle's diary by mistake.
It would have been simple to get out of bed and exchange the books, but she was too lazy and thought of another idea instead: drawing.
Although her mother was an artist, Diana's artistic ability was…lacking. Yet despite this, the impulse to draw was strong. Perhaps it was irrational, but Diana felt that drawing would show that she hadn't abandoned her maternal lineage, that she was Sarah White's daughter more than she was Lucius Malfoy's.
So she snatched a quill from the nightstand and began to draw. She sketched herself on the bed, black cloud hovering around her, attached to her body with a black strand. It wasn't a particularly good drawing and her eyes in the picture looked soulless, but at least she could tell it was supposed to be a girl laying in a bed. I guess that's progress?
Or it would have been, if the drawing didn't disappear a few seconds after she lifted her quill off the page.
Diana blinked, but before she could whisper "What the fuck?", new, unfamiliar words in cursive much neater than her own bled into the page.
That's a lovely drawing. Am I right in assuming it's meant to depict an Obscurus?
Diana stared at the page trying to process what was happening. When she saw more words beginning to form, her throat constricted.
Nope. Nopenopenopenopenope.
Her sweaty hands slammed the diary shut and quickly tossed it next to her knapsack. She stared at the top of the canopy with wide eyes for the rest of the night.
The next day, she'd muster the courage to open the diary again. But for the rest of this particular night, she remained blissfully unaware of the soul scraping at the edges of his prison.
