chapter 5: start of term

Eleanor's pity party did not stop throughout the feast. Neither the excited murmur of her fellow students, nor the perfectly spiced apple pie, nor the beauty of the enchanted night sky, were able to penetrate the gloom that had formed like a bubble around her, isolating her from the warmth.

Instead, she wondered what the Hogwarts policy was for dropping out of school. Maybe saying goodbye to the whole rotten thing was the only truly noble act left. She could abandon the wizarding world and live an ordinary muggle life just like her father. She could become a mechanic, go back to muggle school, and grow up in the same flat she lived in now. The excited girl who had sprinted through Diagon Alley only a short week ago, so desperate for a wand of her own felt like a different entity entirely.

When the Slytherin prefects announced that the dorm was in the dungeon, Eleanor thought it all must have been one huge cruel prank. Was this a form of wizard justice? Punish the wrongdoings of the people who fought on the wrong side of the war by marking their kids separate from the school at large, and force them to live in the dungeons, far away from all of the good little boys and girls, whose parents had always been perfect and faultless.

Things only started to look up once they reached the common room, and Eleanor was met with the magnificent windows, massive and daunting, looking directly into the lake she had crossed on only an hour or so earlier. She could see distant movement through the cool green light, and the quiet hum of the water beyond made Eleanor feel an immeasurable calm.

Slytherins were also granted a unique amount of privacy within the dorms, Eleanor came to find out. Despite sharing the room itself with the other first year girls, each bed was tucked into large cave like openings in the wall, joined by a wardrobe and small desk for each of them. She noticed that Pansy had managed to hang velvet emerald curtains across the opening to hers, offering a surprising amount of privacy. Eleanor thought she ought to ask her how she did it at some point as she crawled into bed. She pulled the hangings around her bed closed, which did wonders for keeping out the wet cold that seemed to afflict the entire dungeon.

The arrival of the morning sun brought an unpleasant surprise that she hadn't noticed the night prior. A window that looked suspiciously porthole-like, allowed a beam of morning sun to land directly on Eleanor's face, awakening her while her roommates continued to slumber.

Groggily, but irreparably awake, Eleanor pulled out the robes from the night prior, which had been folded gingerly, not by Eleanor, and were now emblazoned with the Slytherin Emblem. She wondered how the cloak managed to fold itself, and if whatever magic had been behind it would somehow follow her forever and she'd never have to fold laundry again. If so, then it was a small mercy that could make her placement in the Slytherin house only slightly more manageable. Maybe.

Truthfully, she had become so committed to her dour mood, that any silver lining that presented itself felt like nothing but another annoyance.

She wrangled her too long hair into something presentable, at least out of her face, before she tip-toed to the common room in search of ink, a quill, and parchment. The room was thankfully empty, and she curled into a small space by the windows, nearly hidden between two daunting stone pillars.

Dad,

Guess what? I was right. It's awful. Just like I knew would happen, I was sorted into the evil house: Slytherin. I'm writing to you right now from the dungeons, because apparently, that's where they put doomed-to-be-evil losers like me.

I made a friend on the train who I'm pretty sure hates me now. She ended up in one of the good houses. Susan Bones. She told me she had family in the war. (I didn't tell her my last name at first, so she didn't know who I was but they announced it during the sorting, because of course they would and that's when she started to hate me I think) Do you know if mum killed any Bones's? That might explain it.

The only people I could possibly befriend now are the other kids in the evil house. One of them is called Draco Malfoy and he's already the most annoying person I've ever met. And of course he knows exactly who mum was. You wouldn't like him either! He kind of reminds me of your boss's kid, but if that kid mixed with an evil ferret, like the one from Miss Ruby's class. Remember? The one that bit me when I tried to pet it?

Anyways… I look forward to hearing from you, but I have no idea how to even mail this letter. So, if you're reading this, I guess it means that I figured it out. Maybe I can ask someone if they're not too busy hating me.

Love you,

Nellie

P.S. In case it wasn't clear: I TOLD YOU SO

P.P.S Harry Potter is here, too. He's in Gryffindor, of course.

Eleanor folded the letter up and shoved it into an envelope when she noticed that she was being watched.

"Let me guess… writing to your muggle father, Capulet?" sneered Malfoy. "Best be careful. Don't want his location getting into the wrong hands now, do you?"

Eleanor felt her temper shoot up more quickly than usual.

"For god's sake! What is your problem, Malfoy?" Eleanor snapped, and cringed at the hint of whining that had crept into her voice.

"My problem," said Draco as he stepped closer to her with a threatening stride, "is that your mother was a coward who ran away when the going got tough. Happened a year before the downfall. And now you're here walking around, as if you deserve to be here."

"I'm a wizard, just like you," Eleanor said, her eyes narrow. Maybe she thought she didn't deserve to be here, but what right did Malfoy have to think it as well?

"You may be a wizard, but that doesn't make up for dear old mum. Good luck finding a single wizard who doesn't have a reason to hate her."

"And what, may I ask, do you have so personally against me? Why do you even care, Malfoy?"

"Because I have to share a common room with you. I have to go to classes with you. You'll do nothing at Hogwarts but disgrace the good name of Salazar Slytherin. I could tell the instant I saw you that you weren't good enough for our house, but here you are anyway. That's my problem."

Eleanor's throat was dangerously close to fully choking out a sob. But she couldn't let Malfoy see her cry. It would be a weakness from which she could never recover.

"Stay away from me, Malfoy," was all she managed before she turned on her heel and stomped out of the common room in the direction of the Great Hall. Her footsteps echoed through the stone hallways as she retraced the path they had made the night before. The portraits that lined the wall grumbled in her wake, and a single thought came to her, clearer with each step. The first bit of hope she had felt in twelve hours.

She needed to rework her goals.

By the end of breakfast, sitting alone and nibbling through toast, she had come up with a new plan.

1. Make a (new) friend, or get used to being alone

2. Stop pretending to be nice (it didn't work, obviously)

3. Make Draco Malfoy eat his words.

4. Don't become evil

By Wednesday, Eleanor regretted not adding 'ace your classes' to her list of goals, when she realized how perilously behind she was compared to everyone around her.

Transfiguration had been dreadful, Charms was draining, and History of Magic made her head spin. The only class that even came close to manageable so far had been Herbology. And this was only because her father liked to grow their own vegetables to save money, so Eleanor had some basic experience with keeping green things alive. Plus, the Herbology professor, Professor Sprout, was extraordinarily kind - unsurprising, Eleanor thought bitterly, as she was head of Hufflepuff house. The only downside to the class was that Slytherin shared it with Ravenclaw, which Nell learned quickly, was a house chock-full of know-it-alls.

It was Professor Sprout who Eleanor finally had the courage to ask about sending mail. This was how she found out about the owlery. Her nerves only took her so far though, and she had been too nervous to ask if sending mail by owl meant revealing a person's location, like Draco had threatened. So her letter remained unsent.

Before dinner she decided to make a trip to the library, if she could ever find it, to do her best to prepare for her upcoming classes. Being utterly useless at all of the subjects that had been introduced to so far was starting to get to her. Though she had managed to come to one dark conclusion, that if she really were destined to be a dark witch, at least she'd be a useless dark witch.

"And where are you scurrying off to, Capulet?" Draco asked when he spotted her in the common room. She had been pretty good at avoiding him until then, but all good things were destined to end, it seemed.

"Mind your own business, Malfoy," said Eleanor.

"With all those books, I'm guessing it's off to the library?" Malfoy asked. "I should hope so, at least, after your dreadful performance in Transfiguration. You must have been the only Slytherin who couldn't get the hang of it. Are you sure you're not a Muggle like dear old dad?"

Eleanor wanted to punch him. But she figured that would probably be frowned upon, and Draco certainly seemed like the type to go running off to a teacher.

"Oh, shove off!" she managed.

"Oh, shove off!" Malfoy mocked in a high voice.

Eleanor stalked off, trying her best to ignore the laughs from Draco and crew from behind her.

After several wrong turns, and an eventual plea to a portrait full of ballerinas, Eleanor eventually found the massive library. The solemn quiet of the cavernous room was a welcome relief to Eleanor's tired mind that wouldn't stop offering her better comebacks she could have used against Draco.

But the library was no good either, afterall, because in it, Eleanor found the bookish Gryffindor Hermione Granger. All week, whenever they crossed paths, Hermione would give her the same rapid fearful glances that she had given her on the train. Her pursed lips and rigid back told Eleanor plenty about whatever comment Hermione was clearly trying her best to keep in. If Draco Malfoy was any indication, it was probably about her mother, or maybe it was to call her a coward.

Maybe it was the anger from Malfoy fresh on her mind or the letter to her father burning a hole through her bag, but Eleanor found herself sitting directly across from Hermione. She wanted the girl to just get on with whatever she wasn't saying, so Eleanor could be done with it and didn't have to deal with the annoying jumpiness Hermione exhibited every time Eleanor was around.

When Hermione looked up and saw her, she flushed several shades of red before ducking her head out of sight below the book that was propped up in front of her. Eleanor found herself almost wanting to laugh. How could this girl be so terrified of Eleanor? Would she still find her so scary if she knew Eleanor once forced her father to hold a funeral for the squirrel that had gotten run over in front of their house? Would Hermione still look so perpetually perturbed if she knew how much the Slytherins hated Eleanor as well?

Eleanor knew who her mother had been and she knew quite well who she herself might become, but, here in this giant library streaked in sunlight, she couldn't imagine any danger she could pose to this bushy haired bookworm if she tried.

Instead, she felt a growing tickle of mischief. Hermione Granger might have hated Eleanor the moment she met her, but at least she could have some fun with it.

As quietly as Eleanor could manage, she arranged the books she had brought with her in a perfect mirror image of Hermione's complicated layout.

If Hermione ever noticed, Eleanor did not realize, because the Gryffindor did not look up once during the entire process. Eleanor was therefore forced to actually dive into her textbook while she waited for the moment of realization. She started with transfiguration, Draco's words still on her mind, looking for whatever she wasn't understanding about turning matches into needles.

She became so absorbed in the magical theory of it all, that she hardly noticed Hermione stood up herself, shoving her heavy tomes into a bag Eleanor was shocked had not yet burst.

Eleanor looked up and found Hermione staring directly at her.

Hermione Granger gave Eleanor one stiff stilted nod, before saying, "I believe they're serving dinner," and walking off so quickly, that Eleanor hadn't had time to respond.

The whole thing made her realize that, accidentally, she may have made progress in her relationship with Hermione Granger.

On Friday, Potions class turned out to be just another one of the many subjects that left Eleanor desperately lost. The only thing she got from it was that, though she still thought Slytherin couldn't be right for her, she was quite positive in thinking there was no way she could have ever ended up in Ravenclaw.

She sat toward the back, a good tactic for avoiding the scary Professor Snape, with his long sweeping robes and piercing black eyes. Unfortunately, this put her right behind the slimy blonde head of Draco Malfoy. It was distracting being behind the head she so desperately wanted to punch. With effort, she turned her attention to the drawling rhythmic voice at the front of the class.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Eleanor gulped, thinking if anyone here was a dunderhead, it surely had to be her. Across the room, Hermione Granger was poised eagerly on the edge of her seat, which caught the attention of Malfoy. He sniggered quietly and elbowed the brute next to him, who was either Crabbe or Goyle - Eleanor could never remember.

'Potter!' barked Snape suddenly, causing Eleanor's head to whip to him. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Eleanor felt herself shrink in her seat, and began praying that she wouldn't be Snape's next target, because she certainly had never even heard of wormwood or asphodel. She probably couldn't even spell it.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

Snape sneered in a way that wasn't unlike the way Draco often regarded Eleanor.

"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything."

He ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Would Snape put all of them through this? Hermione certainly looked ready for a quiz, her hand stretched so high it looked painful. Judging from the way Draco was laughing, he clearly seemed to get it. Maybe it was all rudimentary knowledge.

"I don't know, sir," Harry said in that same quiet voice.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Would it count if Eleanor had opened a book, but had to give up because trying to read it was like trying to read a foreign language?

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione stood up now, and was bouncing on her feet to answer. Draco and crew erupted into new laughter.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

A few people laughed, but Eleanor balked. Maybe she could talk like that to her peers, or to her dad, but the idea of speaking to a professor that way made her want to shrivel up and die. Snape, unsurprisingly, was not pleased.

"Sit down," Snape snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

Nearly knocking over the cauldron in front of her, Eleanor reached for her quill to try to transcribe what Snape had said. In the back of her head, she found it quite futile though, as the memory of his long speech had already begun to fade. The only real lesson she took from it was that even the wizarding world had bastard teachers.

Snape eventually set them all to pairs, and Eleanor ended up with one of her dormmates, Daphne Greengrass. Earlier in the week, she and Daphne had briefly made introductions, and Eleanor was hoping this would make up for how bad of a partner she was about to be.

"You're really good at this," Eleanor couldn't help but say, as she watched Daphne expertly measure out ingredients with an enviably steady hand. They were working on a cure for boils, which was apparently supposed to be quite simple.

"My mother has let me watch her make potions throughout my whole life," Daphne said with polished poise. "Most of them are usually cosmetic based, though - but I suppose that's in our favor here, because I've seen her do this one in particular about a hundred times."

Eleanor hummed a response, wondering if maybe she'd be a better witch if her mother hadn't died, or if her father weren't just a muggle.

Guilt washed over her the second she thought it. In fact, as the week had worn on, she found herself missing her father quite terribly, more so with each passing day. She had yet to locate the owlery, or receive any sort of confirmation that he would be safe if she sent him a letter. This resulted in her having to continue on without her father's advice, which remained locked up in his head miles and miles away.

An hour later, after class, Eleanor found herself stirring through her bowl of peas with halfhearted enthusiasm alone at her table in the Great Hall.

But because peace appeared to be a fleeting concept for Eleanor, she soon heard the unwelcome voice of Draco Malfoy and his gang of goons.

"Theo!" he shouted in greeting. "Have you heard the latest about Gringott's?"

Eleanor dared a look up.

Theodore Nott, who had been sitting a few feet away, smiled and said, "Oh yes. My father was so perturbed. You know, he's been hounding the ministry for years about diversifying fund storage. Can't leave everything up to Goblins, you see."

Eleanor was distinctly reminded of boring work dinners her dad dragged her to, where all the men in their silly suits talked on and on using words that sounded complicated on purpose. A tiny little play just for their own enjoyment.

"So does he believe that whatever was in the vault had already been claimed?" Draco asked.

"Of course not! What Goblin rubbish to say the vault was emptied the very day it was broken into."

"I'm sure he has his own theory, then?"

"He believes that the goblins decided to pay off the vault owner. Much less likely to get people worked up if they believe the break-in yielded nothing."

"So he does believe there was a break-in?"

"Certainly."

Draco laughed haughtily and Eleanor wondered if either of them had come up with a single original thought on the matter, or if it was all truly parroted replications of their fathers' opinions, as she now suspected.

"Well," Eleanor started, turning to Draco, "What do you think happened?" The edge in her voice felt refreshing. She hadn't had it all week.

Draco looked so affronted, it was almost funny enough to make her laugh. "Well the prophet is claiming it was the work of dark wizards," he said. "I'm surprised you don't know that… Can you not read?"

"No, Draco," Eleanor said, "I asked what you thought happened. I'm surprised you haven't got a theory of your own. Can you not think?"

Draco's cheeks burned red and his eyes looked fierce. But, for just a moment, she thought she saw something else flash across them. Something like glee.

Theodore had also turned to her, but his eyes shone with hunger, like a lion spotting an injured gazelle.

"Eleanor, is it? Capulet?" Theodore asked, reaching out his hand.

Eleanor shook it, and thought it felt cold.

"Yes," she said.

"I don't believe I've had a chance to formally introduce myself, and, you must forgive me for asking, but I don't believe I've heard the surname Capulet," Theodore continued. "It's certainly not one of the 28. Perhaps something on your mother's side?"

"Ottilie Hemlock," Eleanor responded, having lost any energy for hiding at this point. Better off being out with it at once.

Something flashed across Nott's eyes. He smiled. "Well, that name is quite familiar."

Eleanor nodded stiffly, reminding herself of the movement she had seen Hermione do, just the other day.

"Could be worse, couldn't it, Draco?" Theodore asked but Draco looked wary.

"It depends on who you ask," Draco countered, but his gaze stayed fixed on Eleanor. "Coward spawn, or mudblood?"

Eleanor felt her eyes widen. She might not have known much, but she knew that word had history. Dark history.

But Theodore laughed. "You know, Draco, I don't think you answered Eleanor's question," he said, reaching across to hand the newspaper to her.

She took it with surprise.

Draco rolled his eyes. "It was probably just some scheme. Some tosser claiming his vault was broken into so that the goblins are forced to cover the loss."

"You truly believe someone would try that?" Theodore asked. "Sounds foolish."

"The article said the vault had already been emptied. Maybe that's the true part," Draco said. "The dumb bloke probably just had a spat of buyer's remorse."

Eleanor, who at that point had finished the short article, looked up. "They don't exactly mention any evidence." She couldn't believe she was agreeing with Draco Malfoy.

Draco's eyebrows shot up, clearly in the same stunned disbelief.

"That doesn't explain why the goblins would allow the Prophet to go around claiming a break-in, though, does it?" Theodore asked.

"Maybe they don't mind the fear it stirs up," Eleanor said, handing the paper back to him.

"Do you?" Theodore asked. "Mind the fear?"

"Who said I had anything to fear?" Eleanor responded.

When Theodore grinned, a pit formed in her stomach.