"Laying it down for mudbloods now, Selwyn?"

"You didn't notice?" asked Ellis, quietly. She was lying near the fire, arm thrown over her eyes she listened to the echoing ripple of the water lapping against the windows. The Black Lake was always more alive during a storm and if she focused, she could feel the magic pulsing around them as the mermaids and Giant Squid responded to the weather. "He's rich. Very rich. His father is part of the muggle parliament in the House of Lords."

"As if that matters."

She shifted, rising slightly to look at Alecto Carrow with a disgruntled expression. "You do realize that the Minister of Magic interacts with the muggle Prime Minister all the time, yes? And that there's a whole department dedicated to doing such things? One day, perhaps, you'll be needing that department to make something go away and wouldn't it be helpful to have someone with the right connections?"

"We won't be needing to hide when the Dark Lord—"

"What family is Lord Voldemort from?" The name earned a gasp from Alecto. "A French one, maybe? That's almost worse than the time we all followed the Germans to war."

"You dare—"

"Oh, shut up and leave me alone, you bint," snapped Ellis, returning to her sullen napping. "You can't even think for yourself."

The Bloody Baron was a fantastical spectral and handsome in the right light. He was gaunt with sharp features and thick head of hair. Great iron chains clanged with every movement he made. The front of his frock was covered in a thick coat of silverly blood, but Ellis imagined that he looked a great deal like one of those vampires she'd read about. "In my time," said the ghost, floating toward her. "She would not turn away with the breath still in her."

"I'd like to avoid Azkaban if I can."

The Bloody Baron was not the friendliest of ghosts, but Ellis found him to be delightful, particularly when she wished to avoid speaking to people. He would turn up with a terrifyingly murderous expression and scare them away. Ellis had a few ghosts living in her house, many of them relatives with a grudge.

"How was your summer, Baron? I trust Sir Nicholas kept you entertained."

"If by entertained, you mean that he cried and blundered every time I approached then, yes."

"And the Grey Lady?"

The Baron's expression twisted with grief, and he rattled his chains, drawing closer to the fire. "I wronged her enough in life. I shan't harm her in death."

Ellis made a sympathetic sound.

"And you?" asked the Baron, out of curtesy. "Did your summer go well, Lady Selwyn?"

"I went to France—"

"How dreadful."

"—and Italy with my family. One of my cousins got married. It was lovely. Quiet."

"Far better than this lonely isle then? What's become of that boy? Is he still stirring trouble?"

"Voldemort?"

A stormy look passed over the Baron, clouded with rage and Ellis feared that he might begin to shout, but a moment passed before he nodded. "Yes, if that's what he calls himself now."

She had asked once who Voldemort was, but the Baron refused to speak to her for weeks afterwards and then crept back into her life with the pitiful excuse that the Dark Lord was one of many and would pass just as the rest did, so it was not a matter to concern herself with. "There've been more attacks. Worse ones."

"And that boy that was sorted..."

"Muggleborn."

"How troublesome."

Ellis agreed. She wished that he had been placed somewhere else. Ravenclaw, perhaps. The burden of responsibility was not one she wanted, but Ellis felt a strange kind of shame when she was around the other Slytherins, as if she had to compensate for their insanity by being somewhat decent. As if she had to tell the other houses: it's not all of us.It's not me.

Yet, there were times when she did not want to be troubled by such things. It would be easier if Slytherin was kept pure. It would be easier if she didn't have to think about the muggle world and muggleborns. Easier, perhaps, but what Slytherin chased after ease?

Before she went to bed, Ellis warded the first-years dorms. It was hard to try and alter the wards already placed on the dormitories, so her magic sat atop what was already there, slowly intertwining, so long as the wards remain unbroken. With time, and perhaps, a bit of luck, the ancient magic lingering there might learn to tolerate her own.

The next morning, she woke up earlier than usual, taking extra care to give the first years as much advice as she could before they were thrust into the world without so much as a map. The second-years, who had heard much the same speech from Ellis last year, greeted her as they passed.

She walked them to the Great Hall and then released them into the wild plains of Hogwarts. She planned on getting her timetable and leaving, but her brother had a different idea.

Ned stood from the Gryffindor table, along with his friends, and like little puppies eager for a bone, they amassed at the Slytherin table. They shoved some of the fourth years further down the bench and began plating up some breakfast. Ned went the extra mile and spread the jam on her toast, corner to corner, with the exact precision Ellis preferred.

She was ushered—escorted like a prisoner going to Azkaban—to the seat Ned prepared for her.

Ned's friends were all stupid. Rupert Finne would likely fail all his O.W.L.S. The boy was more muggle than wizard and had once asked her why there weren't flying cars. Ellis expected him to one day end up in Azkaban for a serious breach of the Statue of Limitations. Carlisle Langhorne was as close to a pureblood as one might find in Gryffindor but was girl-crazy and one of the frequent occupants of the second-floor broom closet. Timonius "Tim" Spandorf was an unfortunate boy with an equally unfortunate name. He tripped over his robes all the time and had a wand more prone to misfiring that casting spells. Felix Wulforst was somewhat decent, but she'd once caught him dunking her housemate's head in a toilet, so she didn't quiet trust his innocent appearance.

They had a tradition of coming over during the first week of the summer filling the estate with all manners of noise and trouble.

"It's only been one day."

"We were talking, Ells," said Carlisle, with a tone that was entirely too familiar. "And old Ned here's going to make the team this year." A loud series of whooping and bird-like calls sounded from the other boys. "And when he does, well, he'll need a new broom. Preferably the Nimbus 1700."

"My broom, you mean?"

"The same one, yes, but owned by Ned."

"And Ned can't speak for himself?"

"The wretched boy is beside himself," answered Carlisle, having been chosen as the spokesperson for the group. "He dares not ask for more than he's—"

"That's laying it on pretty thick, mate," muttered Felix, noting that Ellis' expression had shifted from mild amusement to mild annoyance. "Pureblood, not Shakespeare."

Ellis frown grew, "How about neither?"

"…um…what he means…what we all mean…" As soon as everyone's gaze fell on Tim, his mouth clamped shut, a furious shade of red rising in his cheeks. Bravely, he plundered forth, "Ned already got a new broom when we went to Diagon Alley together, so he was hoping that you'd ask and make the case for him to get the newest Nimbus."

"As opposed to the Nimbus 1500?"

"It's faster! And the ironwork was produced by a gobli—"

"Yes, but, didn't father tell you to wait to get one at the end of summer and you insisted that you couldn't possibly go to France without it?"

"But, Black has a 1700," exploded Ned, throwing a wild arm in Regulus' direction. "And James has been talking about getting one too and the Seeker can't have a slower broom than aChaser. I'll never live that down."

"You're not even on the team," Ellis reminded him. Ned's shoulders sloped down. Ever since his second-year, he had tried out for Gryffindor's Quidditch team, failing abysmally each time. Last year, Professor McGonagall banned him from going within ten feet of a broomstick. "But, if you make it, I'll give you mine."

"Really?"

Ellis nodded, "I don't play anyway, and it'll be a miracle if you make it."

Ned, rather than take offense, embraced her tightly, flattening her head against his chest. After a moment, his friends seized on the chance to do the same. Ellis struggled and wrenched herself free of the group, cheeks splotched with pink. She didn't mind their theatrics, but she wasn't someone who was affectionate and had to be coaxed into letting go of her composure. Ned was the opposite. He'd always been like that. When she was a child, she hated it when his grubby fingers, sticky with sweets, would grab onto her. Even when she whined and cried, he never let go.

She was glad for it now that she was older. Witnessing the fallout of the Black brothers, Ellis lived in fear that Ned would grow to hate her.

"Let's pack this up," said Rupert, clapping a hand on Ned's shoulder to drag him back to the Gryffindors. Carlisle opened his mouth, no doubt to utter a pick-up line so depraved it'd turn a dragon into stone, but several hands slapped over his mouth. Ellis sighed as they departed and looked down at the plate they'd prepared for her.

A fond smile crossed her face as she realized they'd arranged everything exactly the way she liked it, down to the splash of cream in her tea. Idiots, but stupidly kind idiots.

Her timetable for the year afforded her a stunning amount of free time. Compared to last year, where she had ten O.W.L.s, Ellis dropped Ancient Ruins, Divination, and Arithmancy in favor of taking Alchemy. She failed her Muggle Studies O.W.L., having received a Dreadful in the class.

Monday

Alchemy (9am-10:30am)

Potions (11am-1:30pm)

Defense Against the Dark Arts (3pm-5pm)

Tuesday

Herbology (9am-12:30pm)

Dueling Club (5pm-7pm)

Wednesday

Defense Against the Dark Arts (9am-11am)

Charms (2pm-5pm)

Thursday

Advanced Charms (9am-10:30am)

Care of Magical Creatures (2pm-4pm)

Dueling Club (5-7pm)

Friday

Alchemy (9am-10:30am)

Transfiguration (2:30pm-5pm)

Breakfast at Hogwarts started early, typically around six in the morning, and ended fifteen minutes before the first classes began. Lunch was served from noon to three in the afternoon, while supper was available from six to nine in the evening. Only during feasts were all students required to gather in the Great Hall to eat together as a school.

From first year to third year, students had classes every day, nearly every hour, to solidify the basics of magic. By their O.W.L. year, the schedule shifted to longer blocks of classes, held twice a week, along with electives and free periods reserved for revision. Now in her N.E.W.T. year, Ellis enjoyed more freedom to focus on specialized studies aimed at securing a career. The most sought-after paths were Auror and Healer, both respectful careers.

Ellis's father had pursued a career in Wizarding Law, while her mother became an Unspeakable just three months after graduating. Ellis could choose not to work if she wished, but her father often hinted at her joining his office and perhaps eventually taking his seat on the Wizengamot. As the heir, it was expected that she held a position of prestige. Though Ellis found the idea a bit dull, she would fulfill her duty if necessary.

Still, Ellis wasn't sure what she wanted to do after Hogwarts. She loved magic. She was one of the few people in her year invited by Professor Flitwick to compete in spell-creation tournaments during the school year. At one point, she imagined working at Gringotts as a curse-breaker, unraveling the intricate curses on ancient artifacts and perhaps one day contributing her own to the family wards.

After breakfast, she wandered upstairs to the fourth floor where the alchemy classroom was.

Alchemy was the only class taught by Professor Dumbledore. She was one of six students taking the class, which was an elective known to be incredibly difficult. It was not required for any of the usual wizarding careers and more of a niche area of study. Unsurprisingly, it was Ravenclaws who accounted for three of the remaining spots: Dirk Cresswell, Eldred Worple, and Charity Burbage. Doris Purkiss sat next to Burbage, chatting away about Stubby Broadman's band, the Hobgoblins. Regulus Black was the final member of the class.

It went without saying that Ellis, as a Slytherin, was expected to sit next to him. He stiffened as she settled into the remaining seat. His gaze traced her from head to toe, lingering on the robes Helena had forced on her, the shortened hem of her skirt, and the gold on her fingers. After a moment, Regulus looked away, tapping his fingers against the desk in a sharp, unsteady rhythm.

Two Slytherins with a known repertoire of nasty curses did not make for a friendly climate. It'd be nice to curse him. Just once. He was skillful enough to avoid direct confrontation, but Ellis was aware of how he and his friends provoked Mulciber and his gang. Within the Sacred Twenty-Eight, an unspoken hierarchy placed the House of Black at its peak. Despite their claims of nobility, they were a younger family than her own. The Selwyn name carried a prestige and integrity that was absent from the decaying halls of the Blacks.

Maybe she'd put a taboo on the word mudblood and watch as he choked on the word.

Ellis flinched as Regulus' hand snapped out, catching her bag as it slid off the back of her chair. He leaned down and placed it carefully on the ground and then looked up at her, a dark line of amusement threaded in his gaze, "Nervous?"

"I don't like being near you."

"No?" asked Regulus, an edge to his voice that suggested he was pleased. "Why not?"

"You smell like dust."

He recoiled, face twisting with irritation. He'd think about it for hours. Days. She was surprised he didn't start sniffing himself right there. He did smell a little like dust, but it was the kind of scent that settled on books when they sat on a shelf too long. It wasn't a terrible scent and was threaded through with a soft, spiced cologne. Old money, as the muggles said.

Ellis' smile crinkled the corner of her eyes as she laughed to herself.

"Avery was right. You are a bitch."

Ellis shrugged, stretched her arms out, "Not clever enough to come up with your own insults, Black?"

"Why don't you keep the mudbloods company and leave me in peace?"

She might have done so before he opened his mouth, but the thought of ruining someone's peace by mere proximity was too entertaining. She met Regulus' father a few times. Orion Black was always polite and seemed to enjoy drinking tea with her father on the few occasions Walburga Black loosened his chain enough to let him out of the house. She could easily anger him with that information but preferred to keep it hidden like a knife behind her back, sharpened for stabbing.

"You'd be lonely without me."

He scoffed. "You're severely underestimating how much you're hated."

"I am?" she asked, softly. Hatred was too strong an emotion for Ellis to inspire. At most, she imagined her classmates were annoyed, maybe even mildly displeased with her. Mulciber was the only one with a reason to truly hate her, but it was mutual. "I suppose I'll jump off the Astronomy tower tonight. How am I meant to live without your approval?"

"Go ahead," said Regulus, knuckles bone white as he threaded his fingers together. "One lessbloodtraitor—"

"Careful," warned Ellis, in a low hiss. Why did he always have to take things so far? Why couldn't he let things go? "When Voldemort fails, as every Dark Lord has, you'll need me to say something nice at your trial, Black. I might not be inclined to do so if you're mean to me."

"I'll take my chances in Azkaban."

Before she could reply, the classroom door opened once more and in walked the Headmaster. Professor Albus Dumbledore was exactly the kind of wizard muggles imagined in their fantasies and fairytales. He was tall, thin, and had been old since the time her parents were in school. His fine, silver hair and beard were tucked into the braided golden rope knotted around his midnight blue robes. Golden stars shot across the hem and the fine fabric was embroidered with a perfect map of the night sky, planets and stars moving ever so slightly in orbit. Ellis liked those robes.

Professor Dumbledore wandered over to the front of the classroom, ignoring them as he set some books down on the desk, and took his own set. He unfolded some parchment, pulling a quill with a brilliant red, plume from his sleeve and began to write. His half-moon spectacles slipped down the bridge of his long and crooked nose revealing blue eyes that were as clear and fair as a summer's sky.

"My dear students," said Professor Dumbledore, after a long, silent pause, looking up from his writing. "I've never seen a group quiet so stiff." He waved his wand, and a small silver tin appeared on his desk. "Would anyone care for a sherbet lemon?"

"Is this a test, Professor?" asked Dirk Cresswell, leaning forward to try and look in the tin.

Dumbledore smiled, opened the tin, and unwrapped one of the candies before eating it. "My tests are far more difficult, Mr. Cresswell."

He looked around the room, taking note of their pairings and each of their faces. Ellis felt as if she were sweating beneath her uniform. Did he know that her and Regulus had been arguing? She felt as if he could see through her and read every rotten thought she'd ever had. Before her heart ran out of her chest, Ellis took a deep breath and then another, clearing her mind of everything until there was nothing but the classroom and the cold stone beneath her feet, and the brush of her robes against Regulus' legs, and the quill in her hand.

Professor Dumbledore's gaze passed over her with nothing but a small smile on his thin mouth. He stood from his desk. Chalk began to fly across the board behind him. "Perhaps, sherbet lemons aren't popular at your age?"

Ellis tentatively raised her hand. "What is a sherbet lemon?"

"It's a kind of candy," answered Burbage, narrowing her eyes at Ellis. Clearly, she was still angry about being hexed last year. "A muggle one. I wouldn't try it, Selwyn. It might dirty your—"

"I'll have one, Professor," said Ellis, standing from her desk and approaching Professor Dumbledore. "Actually, I'll have two."

"As many as you'd like, Ms. Selwyn," said Dumbledore, with a merry smile.

It was wrapped with some sort of white material that crinkled loudly when she unwrapped it. It wasn't wax paper as most wizarding sweets were wrapped in. Ellis flatted it out, so she could inspect it later. The candy was sweet but slightly odd, as if someone had tried to recreate the taste of lemons based solely on a description rather than experience.

Regulus was staring at her as if she were about to explode. A moment later Ellis almost did, letting out a startled noise as the candy melted on her tongue and began to fizz. It felt a lot like a Frothy Fruit Fizzies, but smaller and slower.

The others snickered, having all tried muggle candy before. It was the same reaction that she had when she first saw a muggleborn exclaiming in awe over a chocolate frog. Regulus was the only one not laughing.

"Muggles have their own sort of magic," laughed Dumbledore, reading the question on her face with ease. "Now that everyone's feeling a bit more at ease, shall I share the secret to immortality?" With a merry grin, he added, "I should warn you that a great many of you will fail this class."

Professor Dumbledore went over the basic elements—fire, water, air, and earth—which were foundational to the study of Alchemy. He was a brilliant Professor and left no question unanswered, of which there were hundreds between Cresswell and Burbage. As was the case with most muggleborns, their foundational knowledge of wizarding subjects was non-existent. Ellis wondered why Ministry never established a wizarding preparatory school to ease students into the magical world before thrusting them into Hogwarts. Though, she was sure if someone tried it, the pureblood aristocracy would riot.

"Before our next class, work with your partners and collect each of the basic elements to bring to class. I must insist, however, that if anyone dares to bring me a jar of plain water, I may have no choice but to look deeply disappointed—and that is far more unsettling than it sounds."

Regulus stiffened and looked at her. Ellis ignored him as she picked her bag up and slipped her notes inside. "Meet me at the library before dinner."

"Why do you need me? You'resosmart," he murmured mockingly. "And I've got Quidditch practice."

"Drop the class then."

Regulus' mouth curled, "And lose our precious time together?"

"Precious?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat and called out to her, "Ms. Selwyn, if you could remain here for a moment."

Surprise flooded her. A cold sweat broke along her neck, the color draining from her face. Did he know what she'd done to Mulciber on the train? Or was this about what happened between them last year? For a moment even Regulus seemed concerned, hovering between exiting and staying to find out whatever trouble she was in. But, he recalled his previous anger and fixed a cold expression on his face, leaving her behind.

The door closed ominously.

Ellis sucked in a breath. She had no doubt that Albus Dumbledore was fully aware of the troubles brewing in Hogwarts and the dark wave of resentment that existed within the dungeons. Ellis would happily give up any of her classmates to save her own skin.

Professor Dumbledore adjusted his glasses and folded his hands behind his back, rocking a bit on his heels. "Horace—Professor Slughorn, that is—and I have made a small wager, Ms. Selwyn."

"A wager?" Ellis asked faintly.

"After the feast, we shared a little glass of sherry. My tolerance for such indulgences isn't what it used to be. Slytherins, of course, have stomachs seemingly impervious to all manner of poisons, be they brewed or bottled. Horace is rather smug about it, naturally."

Ellis allowed herself a smile but stayed silent as Dumbledore continued.

"But I digress. Both Horace and I were greatly impressed by your composure during the Sorting Ceremony. It takes no small amount of courage to choose what is right over what is easy—or, in this case, over what is comfortable."

"It wasn't courage, Professor," Ellis said firmly, feeling her heart slow as the trouble passed by. Professor Slughorn was a coward when it came to acknowledging the issue of blood purity, even if he found it distasteful. Slytherin had become openly and violently hostile to anything muggle-related. "Anyone placed in Slytherin is a Slytherin. I trust the Sorting Hat's magic, even if my peers don't."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore mused, stroking his beard. "You did spend a bit of time under it when you were sorted. Nearly fifteen minutes, if I recall correctly."

Ellis nodded. "The Sorting Hat mentioned that it hadn't had such trouble since Peter Pettigrew."

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened momentarily, though his expression remained pleasant. "Curious, indeed. Hatstalls are rare, after all. My own sorting was quite uneventful as I was rather a dull child."

"I doubt that, Professor."

"May I ask, then…" Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his curiosity evident.

He wanted to know what other houses the Sorting Hat considered. For a moment, Ellis thought to tell him nothing, but there was no reason to hide it, other than the fact that Ellis didn't really like remembering her sorting. It was embarrassing.

"Gryffindor," Ellis admitted.

"As I suspected," Dumbledore said, leaning back with a satisfied nod.

"Is that what you and Professor Slughorn wagered on?"

"Horace was quite adamant you belonged in Ravenclaw. Minerva shared his view, incidentally. It seems I'm owed an exceptionally old bottle of Ogden's Finest Whisky," Dumbledore said, with the faintest note of regret as if it were a big burden to win.

Things for Ellis didn't improve as the day went on. In the half-hour between Alchemy and her Potions, news that he had lost the wager reached Professor Slughorn who was very cross with her and Dumbledore for conspiring against him. Ellis found herself agreeing to attend a meeting of the Slug Club to lift Slughorn's spirits. Luckily, she didn't have to sit with Regulus again and stuck to Helena like a barnacle, pouting all the while.

By the time lunch rolled around, Ellis had used up any energy she had for conversation. She picked at her food and then disappeared to the second-floor girl's bathroom. Every girl at Hogwarts had been to the bathroom at one point or another. Ellis' first trip occurred in first year, only three weeks after the term started, when she fell violently homesick and spent every meal crying because none of the food tasted like the food at home and her mother wasn't there to put her to bed and she still hadn't made any friends.

Most people avoided the bathroom because by Myrtle Warren, the ghost of a dead student, who everyone called 'Moaning Myrtle.' The large mirror on the wall was cracked and streaked with residue and a bit of mold at the corners. Below it was a long row of chipped sinks. The floor was always wet and damp, but someone, most likely Mr. Filch, kept the candles lit. Most of the doors to the stalls were broken, one hung off its rusted hinges, ready to fall with the slightest touch.

"Someone ought to come up with an ugly nickname for you," said Myrtle, upon catching Ellis crouched by one of the toilets, inspecting it with narrowed eyes. "Eerie Ellis. Evil Ellis."

Ellis stuck her wand through Myrtle's ghostly chest, earning a scandalized gasp from the ghost. "Why don't any repair spells work here?"

"I don't know. Maybe you're not good at magic."

"Was it always like this?"

"Why are you asking that now?" asked Myrtle, shoving her hands through Ellis' head. Each pass sent a shudder down her spine. "Shouldn't you be with your friends? Oh, wait," cackled Myrtle, "You don't have any."

Her magic fizzled out before it could even make the attempt of repairing one of the cracks. Ellis, gingerly, pressed her finger to the porcelain. Nothing. Strange.

"I heard there was a muggleborn sorted into your house."

"And?"

"Is he dead yet?"

"No," said Ellis, aiming a sharp glare at Myrtle. "He won't be either."

"Yes, he will," sang Myrtle, gleefully. Now that she had Ellis' attention, she wouldn't let it go. "If it had happened in my time, he would've been the first one gone. Your father went to school with me, you know? He was always looking at that girl—the one that came—"

"My mother, you mean?"

"I never got to get married," sighed Myrtle. "I was so young when I died."

"Can't you be quiet?" asked Ellis, sharing Myrtle's sullen expression. "I've heard this story a thousand times."

Myrtle grumbled, but after a few minutes of huffing and puffing, she passed through the stone wall and disappeared. Ellis contemplated the case of the irreparable toilet for a while longer, before deciding she would ask Professor Flitwick after her Charms class.

When the time came for her Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Ellis was in no rush. The corridors of the castle, usually bustling with students eager to reach their next lesson, were unusually quiet, save for the occasional echo of distant footsteps.

When she finally pushed open the classroom door, she was met with an empty room. The desks were all perfectly aligned, untouched, and the faint smell of aged parchment hung in the air. The flickering candlelight cast long, wavering shadows across the stone walls.

"You're early, Ms. Selwyn. Come, come," called the man waiting by the chalkboard. He had a thick accent to his words that was Russian or from some Slavic country out in the east. He was tall and thin with a smarmy smile that failed to reach his cold, blue eyes and hair that was warring between remaining brown and turning grey. There was a little curl to his patchy goatee. His clothes were heavy and thick, lined with silver-white fur. Ellis shivered and realized just how cold the classroom was.

A strangled sound left her throat. Ellis, who normally sat in the back to not be bothered, was forced to walk down the narrow aisle between the desks and take a seat at the very front of the class.

Igor Karkaroff introduced himself and mentioned that he knew her uncle, so he was happy to have her in his class. Ellis' uncle was a Death Eater and part of the Dark Lord's inner circle. She only saw him on Christmas. "We will do things the right way this year," he said, nodding to himself.

"The right way?" she asked, eyes wide.

"You cannot defend against what you don't know. Hogwarts does it backwards. You must learn the Dark Arts and if the moment comes along when you face it…you will know what to do."

It wasn't long until the other students started to trickle in, saving Ellis from Professor Karkaroff's inquisition.

"Selwyn," greeted Amelia Bones as she took the seat next to Ellis. She assembled her books neatly next to her and then said, "You don't look well."

"The Board of Governors seems to have made the decision for the DADA instructor this year," said Ellis, faintly. The Board of Governors were a group of twelve men who oversaw Hogwarts. Normally, the decision to assign professors lay with the Headmaster, but in the last five years, eight of the twelve members either resigned or died and were all replaced by purebloods like the Malfoys and Notts.

Amelia glanced at Professor Karkaroff, a shrewd look in her eyes. "Are you surprised?"

She shouldn't be. People were disappearing every day and the war, not yet a war, was growing ever closer. Her father spent more and more time at the Ministry and her mother hadn't come home for two weeks straight in July. Her father was already moving their money out of the United Kingdom, buying property overseas, and had planned for her and Ned to go to Beauxbatons next year, if things went wrong.

"I didn't think they would be so obvious about it," said Ellis, quietly.

"Lord Voldemort has no reason to hide anymore," said Amelia, leaning close so they could whisper. "Nor do his followers. The Ministry's weak."

"Do you think it will fall?"

"I don't know," admitted Amelia. "But we all ought to know which side we stand on if it does."

Class started with a bang as Barty Crouch Jr. entered the room cursing up a storm at Ludo Bagman for not paying him for a bet that they'd made last year. Bagman would never pay him back. Ellis warned him of that a dozen times. Bagman's word was as good as leprechaun gold, pretty for a while and then gone when you looked away.

DADA was a bigger class than most as it was nearly impossible to fail the O.W.L. The Ministry took into special consideration the fact that they'd never had a stable professor and were far too merciful with the exam. Out of the Gryffindors, eight of the ten members of their year had made it in. Everyone in Slytherin had as well, apart from Maisie Burke who was engaged to some wealthy man and said she'd spend her last two years of freedom, enjoying it rather than having her head buried in a book. Ellis found no fault in that argument. Every Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had passed as well.

"Move the desks. Vanish them if you can," demanded Karkaroff. "Rosier. Selwyn. Come up front."

The way he said their names made her spine crawl with discomfort. Karkaroff was being warm and friendly to them, but his eyes would pass over some of the other students, the muggleborn ones, with an ugly hunger in his gaze. He'd humiliate them.

"You skipped lunch," said Evan, setting his robe on his chair. He moved to fold back his sleeves but stopped himself and glanced away, fixing a blank expression on his face. Ellis could taste his discomfort in the air. She tried hard not to look toward his wrist and lay the accusation bare. Part of her wanted to live in ignorance a while longer.

"I ate a bit."

Evan and her were distant relatives. As children, they spent the summers in France together with their mothers. After his mother's death, Ellis saw less and less of him. She tried to stay in touch, sending letters, but he rarely replied. By their fourth year, he began returning them unopened. She pretended that she didn't know why, but there was not much that could be hidden from her.

They were made to duel.

Professor Karkaroff pulled her to one side of the emptied room and made Evan stand at the other end. "No bowing," he snapped, when Ellis moved to do so. "When you fight, you fight to live. Forget respect."

She bit the inside of her cheek as she watched him fawn over Evan, gaze passing over her classmates who were all suddenly paying attention. How would he know of Evan's talents, unless he had seen it himself? And where would he see both her uncle and Evan?

"Start," commanded Karkaroff after having the sense to put a shield up around the spectators.

Dueling, professional dueling—the kind that Ellis normally did—was more about showmanship and cleverness than survival. People wanted to see clever spells and flair. Ellis rarely won with those kinds of skills. She was quick and often that was what determined who won.

Evan was quick too, and vicious. The volley of spells between them crackled through the air, each one faster and more precise than the last. At first, their voices were sharp and deliberate, but as their focus deepened, the words faded. Non-verbal spells would be taught during this term. Ellis learned from her father and Evan from his.

His spells were raw and reckless, fueled by emotion rather than strategy, and while they were powerful, they lacked precision. It was the kind of magic that could shatter bones or leave scars that never faded, but it was also the kind that burned out quickly—like a fire fed too much too fast.

He seemed surprised by how evenly matched they were. His brow furrowed in frustration when she blocked another vicious strike, her counterspell crackling against his shield. But Ellis wasn't pushing herself—not yet. She moved with a careful restraint, holding back the full force of her abilities. Evan didn't deserve her best; he hadn't earned it.

Like most of the boys she knew, Evan had no discipline. He was all passion and violence, throwing power at her like a battering ram, hoping to break through by sheer force alone. It was effective in theory, but she had seen it before—knew how to dismantle it. With every failed attack, his anger grew, his movements more erratic. He was unraveling, and she was more than willing to let him.

Every spell he chose was dangerous, the kind that could send her to St. Mungo's for weeks if it hit its mark. Some were borderline illegal. And something about that—his willingness to hurt her so carelessly—made her all the angrier. No matter how distant they'd become, no matter how much he had changed, they shared some blood between them.

Her anger simmered beneath the surface, sharpening her movements and steadying her aim. He didn't care that they were family. He was fighting as though she were a stranger, or worse—an enemy. And if that was how he wanted to play it, then so be it.

Ellis adjusted her stance. If Evan wanted to learn the hard way, she'd teach him.

He raised his wand, and a bright, fiery whip lashed out toward her. Ellis deflected the spell with a calculated twist of her wrist, sending it harmlessly into the barrier that separated them from the spectators. Her classmates gasped, but she didn't even look their way. All her attention was on him.

Ellis waited for the right moment. It came when Evan's footing slipped, just slightly, as he overreached with a particularly strong curse. She seized the opportunity, her wand moving in a swift, fluid motion. A streak of silver light shot toward him, too fast for him to counter. It struck him square in the chest, not hard enough to hurt him but with enough force to send him stumbling backward. And then another spell sent his wand flying out of his hand.

She caught it in her grip.I should snap it.

The room fell silent, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. Evan stared up at her, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with disbelief as Ellis tossed his wand back to him.

Ellis turned to look at Professor Karkaroff and very deliberately bowed.

"Very good!" the man clapped. "Very good. Yes, yes," he clambered towards them, hands falling on her shoulders. His mouth dipped into a low whisper by her ear, "You are joining, soon, Selwyn? You must."

"Get off me, you oaf," she snarled, slapping his hands away.

"That was impressive," said Helena, a while later as Ellis changed out of her uniform and started gathering her books to head to the library. Helena was already in her Quidditch uniform, lounging on her bed. "But, stupid. Karkaroff might take it personally."

Helena was a Chaser on the team and enjoyed the sport only because it kept her fit. She often sneered at Alecto at the dinner table when the girl filled her plate to the brim, but it was a sneer borne of envy. Helena was constantly hungry as a result. Ellis, on the other hand, was known to her dormmates to be a bit of a nutcase and annoyed them whenever she took over the radio to listen to a game.

"I'll apologize," said Ellis, frowning to herself. "He shouldn't be so blatantly biased."

"No, he shouldn't," said Helena. "But, who's going to stop him?"

Ellis grumbled but knew that Helena was wiser than she was about these matters. She'd need to give Karkaroff a proper apology or risk being singled out by the man for the rest of the semester. He fell short of calling the muggleborns in the class 'mudbloods' but the way he shoved and pushed them into dueling with a violent disregard. Setting Barty against Burbage was akin to murder. The poor girl left the class for the hospital wing, limping next to Cresswell.

"And it's to our benefit," said Helena, stopping Ellis before she could leave. She tapped her wand against Ellis' face, no doubt clearing some blemish on her face. "Chin up, Ellie. It'll be a long year."

Ellis sighed and nodded. Being Ellis and beingEllis Selwynwere two different things. She spent her first year crying in ever hovel around Hogwarts because she didn't understand the difference. She had Ned to think about too. If people saw any weakness in her, they'd take advantage of it as Evan had tried to.

Helena and her weren't close enough to hug one another, so they did an awkward little dance with their faces and went about their business.

"Trails are on Saturday," Helena called after her. "You've put on a few stone over the sum—"

"No, I haven't!"

FIVE YEARS AGO

The hat barely skimmed the top of Ned's head before a bellow of "GRYFFINDOR," sounded through the hall. A spattering of polite claps sounded, though none of them seemed particularly enthusiastic. Ellis, though disappointed, was not very surprised. Her brother was more stupid then brave, but most Gryffindors were. Ned ripped the sorting hat from his head, glaring heatedly at the old, wrinkled leather.

He tossed it down, ignoring McGonagall's gasp of fury.

Rather than walk straight to the Gryffindor table, Ned descended straight toward her. Ellis' face grew hot as disbelief flooded through her, but she was frozen stiff by all the stares aimed at them. He shoved away Regulus Black and squeezed onto the bench next to her. "Can you believe this?" asked Ned, shaking his head. "That stupid hat is broken."

Silence roiled through the entire school.

"W—what are you doing?" choked out Ellis.

"When's supper start? All I had was chocolate on the train and—"

From the corner of her eye, Ellis saw Professor McGonagall hurry down the aisle, face twisted with fury. She seemed unable to find her voice to shout until she reached their side. Ellis pressed her fingers against her temple, trying to sooth the headache that started. Evan had his knuckles pressed to his mouth, but his shaking shoulders gave away his laughter.

"MR. SELWYN! NEVER IN MY YEARS HAVE I—"

"Merlin, you're loud!"

If Ellis could die, she might have in that moment. She was certain she could see her soul floating away in front of her.

"Look, I'll be a Gryffindor if I have to," said Ned, unintimidated by Professor McGonagall's fierce glare. "I just want to sit with my sister."

"Hogwarts' sorting ceremony is a centuries long tradition. I will not have you hold it up with your antics.Twenty points from Gryffindor."

That roused her entire table, laughter echoing through them all as the red hourglass at the end of the hall which tallied house points suddenly rattled. The laughter caught on and soon enough the entire Great Hall was laughing. Professor Dumbledore stood from his seat at the center of the long table of teachers and clapped his hands.

Professor McGonagall shook her head, softening her gaze as she turned to Ellis, "Ms. Selwyn, please escort your brother to his proper table." She marched off, still shaking her head in disbelief.

Ellis picked her brother up and began the slow march of shame to lead him to the Gryffindor table. He resisted the whole way there, chattering in her ear that he'd been ready to fight a troll, and this wasn't exciting at all and that he was sure that lady was a cat earlier. He wanted to be an Animagus too. When would he learn? Why—"Sit down and shut up," hissed Ellis, pressing her hands onto his shoulders.

One of the boys who had been sorted earlier leaned across the table and grabbed Ned's hand, shaking it enthusiastically, "Mate, are you mad?"

"Think I might be. I didn't even get a chance to wear the bloody thing."

Ned's first few months at Hogwarts were filled with questions and because he asked and usually got an answer, Ned's friends thought that they could do the same. Ellis was pestered at every hour, not only by Ned and his friends, but the Slytherins in their year too. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws soon joined in. As she tried to get to class, she would be accosted by some lost, sniveling child, crying about the staircase moving or the fact that they didn't know where their wand was. Ellis, therefore, was forced to learn summoning charms and how to draw maps and charm the candles on the staircases to flicker before they'd move and several other insane solutions to solve their stupid little problems.

The muggleborns were the worst of the bunch. They talked about pens and typewriters and telephones—all nonsense that Ellis' had no time to uncover. It reached a point where she very furiously stormed into a Prefects meeting and told them all off, which was how she earned a month's worth of detention from the Head Boy.

"Detention?" asked Helena, voice rising. A few heads turned toward them, notably Evan and his dormmates. "What'd you do?"

"I told our dear Head Boy that I'd turn his mother inside out if another first-year spoke to me." Ellis hadn't known that his mother was a muggle. Given the state of the world, it wasn't a light threat from a Slytherin. "He told Professor Slughorn, who wrote my father who said that he was very delighted to hear from someone other than Professor McGonagall."

Her father sent her a package of sweets as celebration for getting her first detention. Ellis wrote back a scathing letter and was half tempted to follow it up with a Howler.

Helena started to laugh, so Ellis did the mature thing and kicked her as hard as she could. She jumped, rattling the table.

"You could tell them no," said Helena, rubbing out the pain in his shin. "Or just jinx them."

"Why would I do that? Imagine how grateful they'll be to me in the future. You never know when you need to call in a favor."

It helped, of course, that Ned's increasing popularity and charm painted her in a much better light than her two lone years at Hogwarts. People said hello to her in passing nowadays. Some even smiled. Ellis usually managed a grimace in return, but she didn't mind the pleasantries. Her own House was an entirely different story. The students in the years above her found it disgraceful that she maintained contact with her brother, seeing his sorting into Gryffindor as an unforgivable sin. They eyed her with mistrust and her obvious discomfort with their talk of muggles and muggleborns only solidified the accusation in their minds:bloodtraitor.

"Still," said Helena, and that strain of worry mixed with repulsion passed through her, "Some of them aren't the right sort of people."

They talked of Quidditch after that and the new shops that opened on Diagon Alley and the topic was not brought up again, but Ellis could hear the echo of it all around her. It weaved through the table, knotting a string around each of their hearts, and Ellis couldn't tell what the difference between the right sort and wrong sort was, but they could. And they would.

In her fifth year, one of the boys returned with the Dark Mark and soon, the others began to follow.

The string that tied them all together revealed itself to be a noose.