CHAPTER 1: CHARM AND CHRONICLES
Despite her thorough knowledge of what awaited her, Daphne couldn't suppress a sense of awe at the sheer grandeur that enveloped Hogwarts's entrance hall. Having grown up in a stately manor accustomed her to displays of wealth and ancient pride, but the magic emanating from every stone and the flickering torchlight lining the walls seemed to permeate her very being. The castle, despite its size and splendor, exuded a welcoming atmosphere, as if eager to embrace new students into its mystical embrace.
The enchanting sight triggered an unexpected poetic sensation within her. It was a peculiar reaction for someone raised with the notion that school was merely an extension of the wizarding society—a place to forge alliances and discreetly undermine potentially troublesome ones. Her family's strategy of remaining in the shadows and her father's policy of neutrality had granted the Greengrass family a comfortable existence. While lacking many political allies, they also steered clear of any real enemies. As Daphne embarked on her magical education, one of the challenges she foresaw was striking a delicate balance between achieving commendable results and avoiding unnecessary attention. Demonstrating prodigious skill might earn favor from teachers but could attract envious eyes, potentially fostering animosity that transcended the confines of the school.
Surveying the assembly of first-years, Daphne recognized many familiar faces, particularly among the purebloods. These were individuals she had encountered at various social 'parties' hosted by her parents. Despite the acquaintances, she couldn't claim any close relationships within this circle.
Among the sea of young faces, there was a notable absence—the elusive Harry Potter, the fabled 'Boy-Who-Lived.' Rumors circulated among pureblood families, suggesting that Potter might be a powerful dark wizard himself, having survived the Killing Curse as a mere baby. Daphne, however, dismissed such speculations. How dark could a baby truly be, she pondered? From her current vantage point, Potter remained hidden within the crowd of first-years, leaving her curious about the kind of person he would reveal himself to be.
As the anticipation and excitement of the Sorting Ceremony loomed, Daphne couldn't help but feel a subtle tension in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the intricate web of relationships and rivalries that would soon unfold within the enchanted halls of Hogwarts.
While Daphne's thoughts meandered, Professor McGonagall ushered the first years into a side room adjacent to the Great Hall. She launched into the customary introductory speech about the four Houses, but Daphne found herself only mildly interested. The certainty of her own House placement lingered in her mind, and, guided by the knowledge ingrained in her through childhood genealogy lessons, she could make educated guesses about where many of the familiar faces would find themselves.
A mop of red hair caught her attention—a clear indicator of a Weasley. She wagered her wand that the boy would join the Gryffindor ranks, following the tradition of his family. Such predictability in the magical world amused her.
On the opposite side, her gaze landed on Draco Malfoy, who seemed destined for Slytherin. However, she couldn't help but note that "cunning" wasn't a quality immediately apparent in him. His sense of entitlement, even among pureblood families, stood out. While acknowledging his powerful lineage, she couldn't fathom why he exuded such arrogance. Comparatively, families like Nott and Parkinson, while not her allies, didn't strike her as pathetic as Malfoy.
Of course, expressing these observations was out of the question. Pureblood families rarely liked each other; they merely exploited connections when convenient. Open criticism invited trouble, and any opposition required subtlety to avoid traceability. Daphne marveled at the intricate dance of double meanings and hidden messages her parents navigated. The complexities seemed like a considerable hassle, but she had been taught one crucial lesson—to disclose only what was absolutely necessary. It suited her just fine.
Professor McGonagall returned, guiding the first years back into the Great Hall. Despite having read about it and heard tales from her parents, the sight still prompted wonder in Daphne. The floating candles, the House tables adorned with plates, goblets, and cutlery, and the vast enchanted ceiling exceeded her expectations. The magical spectacle surpassed even the grandeur of the entrance hall, leaving her wide-eyed in admiration.
In silence, Daphne observed as Professor McGonagall brought forth the Sorting Hat, placing it carefully on its designated stool. Her parents had shared that the Hat commenced each Sorting ceremony with a unique song, an annual tradition she was eager to experience for the first time.
"Oh, judge not by appearances,
For I may not be a sight,
I'd eat myself if you could find
A hat more sharp and bright.
Keep your somber bowlers black,
And your top hats standing tall,
For I'm the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts,
Capable of outshining them all.
Within your mind, no secrets hide,
From me, they're plain to see,
So wear me, and I'll reveal to you
Where your place in Hogwarts should be.
Gryffindor might be your destiny,
For those with courage and heart,
Daring, nerve, and chivalry set them apart;
Hufflepuff, if just and loyal you stand,
For patience and hard work, hand in hand;
Ravenclaw, a choice if wit you wield,
Where minds are quick, and knowledge is sealed;
Or venture into Slytherin, if your aims are keen,
Where cunning is a virtue, and the means are unseen.
Fear not! Place me upon your head,
No need to fret or flap,
In my non-existent hands (though none I lack),
For I'm more than a hat; I'm a Thinking Cap!"
A lingering hollowness settled in Daphne's stomach after the Sorting Hat's song, particularly its less-than-flattering depiction of Slytherins. In pureblood society, being a ruthless pragmatist was practically a prerequisite. The idea that this trait might define her core personality, as implied by the prospect of being sorted into Slytherin, left a sour taste in her mouth.
As Professor McGonagall began calling out the first years' names, Daphne observed closely. "Abbott, Hannah!" A blonde, pig-tailed girl emerged and donned the Hat, which promptly announced, "HUFFLEPUFF!" The warm welcome from her new housemates contrasted sharply with the apprehension building within Daphne.
Anticipation gripped her as the first Slytherin, "Bulstrode, Millicent," was called. The applause was lukewarm, the smiles condescending—Millicent wasn't a pureblood, earning her only the basic courtesy deemed necessary in the political world. She wouldn't be a significant asset just yet.
Following "Granger, Hermione," it was finally Daphne's turn. All eyes in the Hall seemed fixed on her as she walked with a dignified posture, feigning indifference to the attention befitting her station as a pureblood.
As she picked up the Sorting Hat and placed it on her head with a sense of trepidation, it sagged over her eyes. A subtle voice echoed within her mind, "A Greengrass, huh?"
"Yes, so?" Daphne replied mentally.
"An old family, of course, though I sense more in you than just Slytherin ambition. Yes, a certain courage…"
Daphne's response was flat and resolute, "You can't put me in Gryffindor. The hassle it would give my parents…and I really don't want the attention." The unspoken weight of her family's expectations loomed over her, adding a layer of complexity to her Sorting, a choice that would inevitably influence her path at Hogwarts.
"Are you certain? I can delve into your heart, you know, and your uncertainties are apparent. Perhaps in Gryffindor, you could—" The Sorting Hat's voice resonated in Daphne's mind.
"Thank you, but I can't. I don't want to jeopardize my parents," Daphne thought resolutely.
"Very... noble of you," the Hat remarked slyly. "But if you're certain, then SLYTHERIN it is!
Removing the Hat, Daphne gracefully made her way to the Slytherin table. The applause she received seemed more authentic than Bulstrode's, and the smiles from her housemates appeared more calculated than merely courteous. As she settled into her place, the intricate dance of politics seemed to have commenced already.
Her mind swirled with contemplation, weighing the potential trouble she had skillfully sidestepped. A part of her regretted not embracing the Hat's suggestion, but it was too late now. The notion of a respected pureblood being sorted into Gryffindor would have incurred the ire of many old families, needlessly burdening her parents. Yes, this way was more prudent.
Her ruminations halted as Professor McGonagall called out, "Potter, Harry!" Daphne looked up, astonished to see a slight, thin boy approaching the Sorting Hat. The hushed whispers seemed to make him shrink. This wasn't the expected demeanor of the Boy-Who-Lived. Shouldn't he stand tall after his accomplishments? Wasn't it natural to exude confidence, at least a bit? He had more reason to than some she knew. Yet, as he sat on the stool and pulled the Hat over his head, it almost seemed like he wished he could disappear.
After a brief consideration, the Hat proclaimed, "GRYFFINDOR!" The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers, as if celebrating a Quidditch World Cup victory. Daphne observed Potter unsteadily joining his jubilant housemates, relief evident even from a distance. What had he anticipated? Did he fear rejection from the Hat? The idea of Harry Potter, the conqueror of the Dark Lord, being sorted into Slytherin brought a smile to her lips. That would have spawned some intriguing tales, indeed.
Finally, "Zabini, Blaise" found a place in Slytherin, marking the conclusion of the Sorting ceremony. Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat and addressed the students, "Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
Daphne blinked in confusion as Dumbledore settled back into his seat. "Don't worry about it," the girl next to her reassured. "Dumbledore is... strange. Don't let his mannerisms fool you, though. The old man is sly."
"I'll... keep it in mind," Daphne replied uncertainly. To feign ignorance for strategic advantage was one thing, but feigning insanity? The potential benefits seemed elusive, and the risks of slander loomed. She decided to push aside the puzzling thought for now. The likelihood of extensive interaction with the Headmaster was low, and the gnawing hunger in her stomach drew her attention to the now-full trays and carafes.
As conversations buzzed around her, Daphne chose not to engage in small talk with her fellow Slytherins. Familiar faces surrounded her, and there seemed little reason to exchange pleasantries. The first week, she believed, was an opportunity for observation, a chance to gather information on behaviors and academic performance. Based on these observations, alliances could be formed. She ruefully contemplated the Sorting Hat's notion of making "true friends" in Slytherin. While she didn't know everyone at the table—Slytherin still had its share of half-bloods—it felt like genuine connections were a rare commodity.
The ambiance of the Great Hall transformed as the feast commenced. Delicious aromas wafted through the air, tempting her senses. Daphne allowed herself to indulge in the sumptuous fare, focusing on the nourishment her body craved while her mind continued to analyze the dynamics unfolding around her. Hogwarts, with its enchanted halls and diverse student body, held a plethora of opportunities, challenges, and secrets waiting to be unraveled.
Glancing over at the Gryffindor table, the loudest in the Hall, Daphne wondered if their exuberance was a constant or a consequence of Potter's Sorting. A small pang of regret at not being Sorted there tugged at her, but she dismissed it.
As dinner concluded, Dumbledore rose again to address the students. His words seemed routine until he declared, "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." Daphne stared at him, searching for any sign of jest, but found none. The Prefect next to her, now identified by her badge, offered a word of caution. "Best to take those kinds of warnings seriously. The general ones he makes every year you can pretty safely ignore, as long as you don't get caught, but the specific ones..."
Daphne nodded slowly, pondering the enigmatic nature of Dumbledore. The Headmaster, seemingly content, flicked his wand to conjure the words of Hogwarts's school song in the air.
The Prefect groaned. "Not this again…" she muttered, glancing at Daphne. "Don't feel pressured to actually sing. Just... pretend. The Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors will make enough noise to cover for us."
The Hall erupted into singing, a cacophony of disjointed tunes. As the Prefect had predicted, the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors dominated the volume, while the Ravenclaws attempted harmonies that, at the very least, didn't sound terrible. At the Slytherin table, a few older students sang, but the majority simply moved their mouths, resembling fish out of water. Daphne followed suit, seeing no reason to make a spectacle of herself on the first day.
After Dumbledore concluded directing a Gryffindor duo — unmistakably Weasleys judging by their hair — in a funeral march-like rendition of the school song, he mercifully granted permission for everyone to retire to their respective dormitories. The allure of sleep beckoned, promising a brief respite before the challenges of a new day at Hogwarts unfolded.
The Prefect, Gemma Farley, rose and called out, "First years, gather around! My name is Gemma Farley, and I'm a Prefect. If you'll all follow me, I'll take you to our common room."
Farley led the group out of the Great Hall, down a long staircase that eventually opened up into a featureless hallway, extending towards the dungeons. She brought them to a halt in front of a bare section of the wall and turned to address the first years. "This is the entrance to our common room. If you're unsure about which stretch of wall it is, it's between the fifth and sixth torches. Look for the stone with three parallel cracks. To enter, simply say the password, which is currently 'Ambition.'"
As she spoke the password, a concealed door slid open. Farley continued, "Now, the password will change every two weeks, and it will be posted ahead of time on the noticeboard in the common room. It's absolutely forbidden to reveal the password to anyone not in our House or to bring anyone from another House into the common room."
"As if we'd want to," Malfoy interjected in his usual arrogant drawl.
Farley shot him an unimpressed look. "Malfoy, you may be used to speaking your mind at home, but here, you're expected to listen to your superiors. I am a Prefect, and I am talking, so you're going to be quiet. Surely you don't want to lose points on your first day?" Her tone was cold and authoritative.
Daphne couldn't help but be impressed. Malfoy's name often granted him a free pass, but Farley, being a half-blood, seemed less entangled in Noble House politics. Perhaps that explained why she held the position of Prefect.
Despite Malfoy's annoyance at the rebuke, he kept silent. "Good. Now then, follow me," Farley commanded. She turned and stepped into the open door. Daphne observed Malfoy muttering mutinously to Crabbe and Goyle, likely plotting how to report the audacity of being told to be quiet. His reliance on others, even for the simplest tasks, left her pondering how he would lead his family once Lucius was gone. Malfoy's refusal to do anything himself could prove detrimental in the long run, a trait not uncommon among pureblood families but particularly pronounced in him. The prospect of seven years in the same class as Draco Malfoy elicited a sigh from Daphne.
She idly wondered if it was possible to request a transfer to Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat. Despite their reputation for being noisy troublemakers, they seemed less full of themselves, or at least in a very different and more direct way.
Entering the common room located in the dungeons, its rough-hewn appearance gave it a distinctly crude feel. Greenish lamps hung from the ceiling, casting an eerie vibe that was somewhat offset by the roaring fire beneath the exquisite mantelpiece.
Gemma Farley continued with instructions, "The two corridors on either end lead to the dorms. The first-year dorms are at the end of the respective hallways. Boys go left, girls go right. And a word of warning: do not attempt to go into any other dorm than your own. Boys, girls, it doesn't matter. Only enter your own dorm. Failure to do so will necessitate a trip to the infirmary and will result in points being docked. Am I clear?" Her gaze lingered on Malfoy, and Daphne had to stifle a small smile at his angry glare.
Although Malfoy remained silent, Farley nodded and added, "Good. Your belongings have already been brought in. Get plenty of rest because tomorrow, your education will begin. I don't need to remind you that what you do here will be of great importance to your later life. Don't waste your time by messing around. If you have any questions, you can always turn to me, the other Prefect Isaac Moore — who is currently in the infirmary but will be back soon — or our Head of House, Professor Snape. That's it, good night!"
As Farley left, Daphne pondered how Moore had ended up in the infirmary before the school year even began. She figured she'd hear that story later. The first-year girls made their way to the dorm, where five magnificent four-poster beds awaited them. Spotting her trunk at the foot of one of the beds, Daphne was relieved she wouldn't have to engage in a discussion over bed allocation. Too tired to care, she avoided any potential conflict and settled in, mindful of the challenges awaiting on the morrow.
As Daphne continued unpacking her belongings, the air in the dormitory remained charged with a subtle tension. Pansy Parkinson, nearby, seemed engrossed in organizing her things with practiced efficiency. Annabel Runcorn, engrossed in a book about magical creatures, offered a polite smile, signaling a potential willingness to engage in conversation.
On the other side of the room, Millicent Bulstrode's attempts to project strength were evident, yet Daphne could sense an underlying vulnerability. Bulstrode's eyes darted around the room, as if assessing the dynamics at play.
Tracey Davis, maintaining an air of indifference, had drifted towards the window, perhaps lost in thoughts or surveying the surroundings. Daphne couldn't help but wonder about the stories and experiences that had shaped each of these girls.
Realizing that the first night in the dormitory could set the tone for the entire school year, Daphne decided to break the ice. "So, what brings each of you to Slytherin?" she asked, looking around with genuine curiosity.
Pansy, always eager to share her thoughts, chimed in first. "Well, naturally, Slytherin is where the best witches and wizards end up. It's about ambition, you see, and the drive to succeed. My family has always valued those qualities."
Runcorn, without looking up from her book, added, "My father says it's important to understand the power dynamics in the magical world. Slytherin seemed the best fit for someone who aims to navigate those intricacies."
Bulstrode grunted in agreement, and Davis, finally breaking her silence, shrugged. "Figured I'd be surrounded by people who knew what they wanted and how to get it. It's easier to achieve your goals when you're not surrounded by indecision."
As the conversation unfolded, Daphne realized that, despite the differences in their backgrounds and personalities, they all shared a common thread — a desire for success, recognition, and the ability to navigate the complex tapestry of wizarding society.
The ice broken, the girls continued to chat, gradually revealing more about themselves. The tension in the dormitory lifted, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and shared purpose. Daphne couldn't help but feel a newfound connection with her dormmates, recognizing that the journey through Hogwarts would be one they navigated together. Casting a brief look at her dormmates, Daphne unclasped her trunk and commenced extracting her belongings. A considerable workload lay ahead, and she was eager to delve into the tasks that awaited her.
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