The owl landed right in front of me during breakfast, stepping on dishes and almost causing my apple juice to spill all over my robes. It was enormous, the largest bird I'd ever seen —at least that close and in person— in both my lives. All talons, menacing sharp beak and imposing golden feathers. It carried a small letter tied to one of its feet.

"You couldn't just drop it from above, like all the other owls?" I asked it once I'd recovered from the initial commotion.

The owl looked at the nearby bacon plate, then at me.

"Right, stupid question." I untied the letter under the combined gaze of all the Slytherin first years. Then I took a piece of bacon and offered it to the owl. Its beak closed with a terrifyingly loud snap right next to my fingers, and the animal took off again; leaving behind a cloud of dust and feathers that got into my hair.

"Arsehole of a bird," I muttered under my breath as I examined the letter. It had the stylized 'M' logo of the Ministry of Magic. It was also, technically speaking, the first letter I'd ever received by magical post, since the acceptance letter had been handed directly to me by the Headmaster.

I broke the seal with some trepidation and started reading, even though I already had a fair idea of what its contents would be.

Ministry of Magic

Department of Magical Records

Subject: Inquiry regarding family history.

Dear Miss Sarramond,

We are writing in response to your inquiry into the existence of ancestral records tied to your family name. After a comprehensive examination of the various parchments and archives within possession of the Ministry, we regret to inform you that the surname 'Sarramond' does not appear in any of our records for extant families in wizarding Britain during the last fifty years.

As for your question regarding your birth date: no, we do not have any records of an infant born to a magical family on that specific date. But we encourage you to get in contact with St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, as their own records might differ from ours, due to the confusion and uncertainty prevalent during the Wizarding War.

Should you have any further questions, please do not hesitate to get in touch again with our department.

Yours sincerely,

Fenella Lancet

Junior Archivist

Well, it was worth a try.

I folded the letter into my pocket, muttering a quick "later" to Tracey who had been trying to read it over my shoulder. We had grown somewhat closer since we started sitting together, but I didn't want to air my failure in front of the whole table. I went back to my breakfast, and soon enough the conversations resumed around me, the novelty of me receiving a letter quickly forgotten.

I had owled the Ministry a couple days ago, as Prefect Farley had suggested. I had also made some attempts at finding something in the Library. That was challenging, though: there were just too many volumes about heraldry and old family lines and searching through all of them was like looking for the metaphorical needle in the haystack.

You would have thought my surname was weird enough that it should be easy to find, or remember hearing. It was also a name that... sounded magical, to my ears at least. Maybe because it was so odd and uncommon. Mine was the kind of name a witch would have, so I had fooled myself into being hopeful. Maybe I was a lost child, after all. Maybe, just maybe I belonged to a magical family.

But no dice.

I figured the better option would be to ask the Muggle authorities. I was in the Muggle foster system, after all, so someone must have written down my name into some form at some point in the past. It was just a matter of finding out where that name had came from. The problem being that I couldn't exactly do that while at Hogwarts, could I? An owl wasn't an option, and I didn't know if the Muggle post reached us all the way here. I'd need to ask one of the professors, maybe.

But the St. Mungo angle was promising. I would go to the owlery and send them a letter after Herbology today; it didn't hurt to try. And maybe I should also owl the French Ministry of Magic at that. After all, I—

"Miss Sarramond!" said an icy voice behind me. I turned to look.

"Oh, good morning Professor McGonagall?"

She looked thunderous and livid, barely constraining her anger.

"Miss Sarramond," she said, chewing each word. "I distinctly remember telling you to return those spectacles when we were at Diagon Alley," she said, referring to my superbly stylish sunglasses. The very same sunglasses that I was wearing right now, in the Great Hall.

What can I say. If you've got the looks, you've got to flaunt it.

I'd already worn them the day before at lunch, in fact. They had garnered me a lot of stares, as expected, and some envious scoffs from my housemates; but no comments from any of the Professors; so I figured McGonagall had already forgotten about the whole thing. Evidently not. Or maybe she just hadn't been present at lunch yesterday, I wasn't sure.

"Uh... you won't believe it Professor, but these aren't the same ones you saw," I replied, trying to project confidence. "These ones actually belong to... Greengrass! Daphne is allowing me to wear them because I loved them so much."

"You are correct, I do not believe it. Now, hand them over at once."

I shot a desperate gaze towards Daphne next to me. She met my eyes for a moment, then let out a soft sigh.

"She is not lying," she said, her voice neutral and almost bored. "They are a gift from my aunt Antigone, for my being sorted into Slytherin. She has a horrid sense of taste, of course; I would never wear such a thing myself."

"Ouch," I muttered to her.

I turned my gaze back at McGonagall, who looked like she wanted to murder the both of us. But I suspected if she opted to pursue this particular thread, Greengrass' family would have her back to hell and beyond, even more so against the famous Head of the Gryffindor House. I saw the Professor arrive to that realisation herself.

Checkmate.

I must have looked too pleased with myself, though, because she changed tacks: "Regardless, those are outdoor wear, and this is the Great Hall. You are not allowed to wear them in here."

I pointed at the bright sun visible through the enchanted ceiling and deadpanned: "Doesn't that count as 'outdoors'?"

McGonagall's lips went so thin that they disappeared from sight. Next to me there was a sharp intake of breath from Tracey, her eyes comically wide.

And I braced myself, because I knew adults, and I knew what came next. I had first-hand experience on this. This, this was me crossing the line. Purposefully. This was when she exploded at me, raged at me, gave me detention. This was Mrs. Coverdale sending me off to my room.

But I never got to witness it, because suddenly Snape was there, almost like he'd just popped into existence out of nowhere, like a greasy-haired Batman or something. He said: "Minerva. I believe disciplining the students in my house for... transgressions against the dress code falls within my purview, not yours."

She turned to face him and replied in a lower volume, saying something I couldn't hear well enough but that sounded a lot like 'bald-faced liars'. Snape, though, he just gazed over his shoulder at the ruckus coming from the Gryffindor table and said: "I'll see to that. But perhaps you should put order in your own house, before someone gets injured. Not that it would be a loss."

They locked eyes for a moment, then McGonagall rushed to the other side of the Great Hall, barking "Fred! George! Stop that right now!" as she went. I guessed the Weasley twins were about to pay dearly for my cheek.

I turned to look at Snape.

Snape looked down at me, unimpressed.

I wiggled my eyebrows, causing the sunglasses to move up and down.

He snarled: "Take that silly thing off your face, you foolish girl!"

I didn't take the sunglasses off, but perched them to the top of my head instead. He shot me an annoyed glare, then turned and walked away.

Compromise, the keystone of a healthy relationship.

"Thanks," I said to Greengrass once he got out of hearing range. "I owe you one."

"Yes you do."

"Come to the library later," I said, gathering my stuff to leave. "I have the Transfiguration homework done already, so you can copy it if you need to."

Zabini across the table chose that moment to interrupt: "Oh? Because she's not smart enough to do it on her own, you mean?"

You trolling prat.

"No! Sorry, nothing of the sort!" I rushed to say to Daphne, ignoring Zabini's amused grin. "Just that maybe... you have other things that you'd rather... be doing, no?" I finished lamely before leaving. But I noticed the heiress had an almost imperceptible smile on her face, so I hoped I hadn't offended her.

Tracey Davis was not as content with me when we walked together towards Herbology. "Merlin! Why did you have to needle Professor McGonagall like that? Do you want to get detention? Over wearing those stupid glasses?"

"I..." I sighed. I wasn't sure how to explain it to her. Or if I could.

Because it wasn't even about the stupid —but oh so snazzy— sunglasses anymore, not really. It was something else, a deeper need within me. It was stepping over the line just to prove to myself that I could; that McGonagall would not cow me like I was a child. No matter the punishment, or whatever retaliations she had prepared for me.

It was that burning desire to be... me. To make my own decisions and follow them through. And the fear that the alternative... if I allowed adults to rule my life, decide on how I was to dress or when I was to go to bed, my old identity would simply... fade away. Vanish into the depths of my memories, like a half remembered dream. That I would then become just one more child. Just Sylvia Sarramond, age eleven, with no traces of Sophie, of who I had once been.

So no. I was not having that. Not when I was with my foster parents, not now, not ever. I would fight whoever it was just to keep my hand firmly on the wheel of my own life.

But I didn't know how to explain all that to Tracey, so I simply shrugged and said: "It's in my nature, I guess."

Which didn't seem to satisfy her, but I guess I had already garnered enough of a reputation as the Slytherin oddball over the last few days that she let it slide.

And that was perhaps why my plan of keeping a low profile had been doomed from the start: because I just couldn't. I hadn't accounted for that need of mine, that almost overbearing necessity of asserting myself, no matter what.

And because I wasn't really an eleven years old kid. Or maybe I was, but I was an uncannily mature one at that, thanks to my fore-memories. So whenever one of my housemates tried to bait or humiliate me on account of my low status, I could simply... let it slide. I didn't get worked up over what at the end of the day were childish insults. My housemates didn't know what to think of me, and I didn't blame them.

And speaking of doomed things, I reached Herbology to discover my puffapod had managed to die over the last two days, its central bulb deflated and starting to decompose already. Professor Sprout handed me some new beans, after giving me some more warnings not to treat the plants so roughly, and taking away two points from Slytherin.

Over the last days —our first two weeks or so at Hogwarts— I had entered into sort of a routine. I went to class together with Tracey —except for Potions, that is— we did our homework at the library —homework which later I also offered to Perks, Goyle, and sometimes Nott and Zabini in exchange of favours, a Galleon here and there, and mostly them not being total arseholes to me— and then Tracey and I had our little tutoring sessions after dinner where we practised spells. We were making good headway there, already ahead of the one Flitwick was currently teaching in class.

But other than that I was on my own: and so I did my best to spend every other minute doing something productive: I'd be either exploring the castle in search of sights I could remember from my fore-memories, taking long walks around the lake while practising my wand movements, reading ahead in the library —I had in fact found those same books that I had been interested in during my visit to Flourish and Blotts— or practising even more spells on my own.

All together I had already mastered the levitation charm and the unlocking charm, the knock-back jinx and the ever so important general counter-spell, that I found in the second year book. I was now working my way through the shield charm: the wand movement was simple enough, but the difficulty with that one —and the reason it wasn't taught to first years, I assumed— was in properly focusing your intention even while you were under attack. And I wouldn't know for sure I was doing it correctly until I used while actually under danger, which was a scary proposition.

All that work was bearing its fruits, though: I shone in Charms —sometimes literally— and Defence, and was already starting to get the beginnings of a budding reputation as someone not to cross wands with. Transfiguration was hard, but most of that came from the underlying theory, which included solving equations to work out which element or shape matched which other. I wasn't used to equations having alchemical symbols or arithmancic runes, but I remembered enough about the fundamentals of solving them that my fore-memories gave me a leg up on the other students my age.

I was competent enough in the other subjects that didn't involve wand-waving: Potions I didn't love, but if you could follow the instructions and be thorough, it wasn't too difficult; plus Hermione was there to ensure I got good grades no matter what. Most of Astronomy so far I already knew from my fore-memories, with the only novelty being the magical effects caused by the planets' movements. History of Magic was soul-crushingly boring, yes, but I'd had other subjects like that in my previous life. So I would simply ignore the teacher and use the time at class to advance my homework. Whatever was required of me to know about History, I could always read from the textbook itself later.

Herbology, though, was the only black mark in my otherwise good record. I hated getting my hands dirty and sticky, the cuts from the thorns, the heat in the greenhouses, the buzzing insects. And the plants, somehow, seemed to return the sentiment: they would puff spores into my face to make me sneeze and get my eyes to tear up, they would dig their roots out rather than stay put, entangle each other's leaves to make it more difficult for me to properly prune them. I wouldn't put it past them to starve themselves to death just to spite me.

But overall, I'd say my main project of getting good at magic was progressing well enough. My other project, that of worming my way into the main storyline events, getting information on what the situation was with Voldemort and Quirrell, and being able to influence Harry Potter and his friends... Well, that was still stuck at zero percent progress.

Hermione should have been the key to unlock that particularly stubborn lock, but she remained determined to give me the cold shoulder. And the only time we spent together was during Potions class, under Snape's ever watchful and unnerving eyes, so I couldn't exactly talk freely to her. She arrived just in time, left just as the class ended —never lingering for even a minute— and generally tried her best to avoid spending with me a second longer than necessary.

So that wasn't working.

I would need to think of some new plan to advance on the Hermione front. Not today, though. Today I had other things on my mind, other plans to enact. More... risky ones, perhaps. But today was one of those very important days, the ones I had pretty much marked in my personal notebook of thoughts about the future, the one I kept buried deep into my trunk —and which I still had to shield in some sort of protective spell.

You see, today was the first day of flying lessons.

So by the time both Gryffindors and Slytherins gathered on the Training Grounds under a clear blue sky I was feeling a mix of apprehension and anxiety at the combined weight of both the plans I had for later in the day, and the fact that I was about to rise in the air sitting on a broomstick what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-these-people?!

I seemed to be the only Slytherin afflicted by the pre-flight shivers, though, which didn't surprise me one bit. I assumed most if not all my housemates would have done some flying with their families already, being of magical heritage; I was probably the only one to which this was a novel experience.

I did see my fear reflected in a pallid Hermione across from me, along with Harry Potter who fidgeted constantly and Neville Longbottom, who looked like he was a hair's breath away from emptying his stomach.

At least I didn't embarrass myself when Madam Hooch instructed us to call for our brooms. I imagined the flimsy-looking thing to be a pet, some exotic breed of dog, and called "Up!" like I would have done when playing with my brother's mutt, back in my fore-memories. The thing leaped up to my hand.

Or well, it leaped almost to my hand. I did have to lean a bit and catch it in the air before it could fall back, but nobody saw that so I still counted it as a win.

We mounted the brooms and Hooch corrected our postures, telling me not to grab the handle so tight, and she was about to give us the go ahead when Longbottom did his thing. He shot up above our heads, slid off the broom, and crashed back into the ground. It had been sort of funny when I saw it in the movie, but hearing the crunchy sound of his bone breaking in real life was a little sickening, actually.

"Shit," I muttered.

"Language!" scolded Hooch, but it was almost an afterthought. She had bigger fish to fry, tending to the boy. They retreated towards the castle, leaving us on our own. Like that was a good idea.

And sure enough...

"Did you see his face...?" started Malfoy.

The argument between Draco and Harry resembled what I could recall, and I let myself relax a bit. I had been bracing for the worst, but it seemed I could simply let it play out: Harry would show off with his newly discovered flying skills and get instantly recruited into the Quidditch team by a shocked McGonagall —who apparently had no qualms bending the rules when it benefited her, the hypocrite.

Not that I was bitter about breakfast.

I relaxed a tad my grip on the broomstick, silently thanking Longbottom for his sacrifice. At least I'd have more time to mentally prepare before having to float in the air myself, precariously keeping my balance lest I wanted to follow his path. But the relief was short-lived, because I noticed that the discussion was ending.

And sure enough, Harry was talking to Weasley about something, and Draco was regaling us —once more— with his own exploits on top a broom; about that time he flown with his family over the channel to visit France.

This was wrong.

We were off-script.

I felt my heart skip a beat, felt that odious sensation of the world tilting on its axis, becoming different. Becoming unpredictable. Uncharted and unchartable. My mouth was suddenly very dry.

What was it? What had changed?

Neville's trinket. That must've been it. He was supposed to drop it, then Draco would pick it up. But he hadn't. Why not? Had Neville not dropped it?

Fuck.

"Sylvia?" whispered Tracey next to me. "You all right? It's okay, you aren't going to fall if you don't panic like that. Just let the broom carry you."

I ignored her words, but something about Tracey was tugging at my attention.

Tracey was next to me.

But she wasn't supposed to be next to me, right? She was only next to me because of our agreement.

And because I was here.

So because I was here, she wasn't standing where she was supposed to be. Which meant Malfoy wasn't standing where he was supposed to stand. None of the Slytherins were.

Which meant...

I took a step forward, my eyes scanning the grass in search of... there! A shiny ball-shaped thing, resting a little to my right. Malfoy hadn't seen it. I walked up to it, picked it up and held it in front of my face, making sure everyone would get a clear view.

And the moment I touched it, the ball turned red.

Uhm. Curious.

"That's Neville's Remembrall," said Harry Potter. "Give it to me."

I turned to look at him, but didn't move to return it. I couldn't just give it back! Not if I wanted everything to happen according to plan. But I also had no experience on top a broomstick, so I couldn't exactly take off and play cat-and-mouse with him myself, not if I wanted to keep my bones in one piece.

Come on Malfoy, what are you waiting for? It's time to be a twat.

But I had to do something. Harry was advancing towards me, hand extended. So I took a couple of steps back and towards the other Slytherins, pretending to examine the trinket. He shot me a look of utter indignation, a look that was also mirrored on Hermione and Ron's faces.

Yeah. This... this shit wasn't going to help me much with that "influence the Golden Trio" project of mine, was it? Hell, this was my first actual interaction with Potter. And now he would only think of me as yet another prick in cahoots with Malfoy.

At least Draco's attention seemed to have returned from wherever it had gone off, because he plucked the Remembrall out of my hand. He said: "Nice find, Sarramond! Here, let's put it somewhere for him to find... How about the top of that tree?"

With that, he climbed atop his broom and shot into the air, followed by Harry despite Hermione's protests. She turned to give me a furious look. I shrugged at her, as if saying 'boys, right? What can you do?' but she wasn't having it.

I sighed. Oh well. At least I got to see Harry fly. It was... something. Malfoy wasn't bad either, having been flying since before he had use of reason probably, but the Boy Who Broomed was clearly a level above that. At times it even looked as if gravity didn't have any hold on him at all, and I wondered if there was more magic than the broomstick's own enchantments involved in that. If he wasn't subconsciously altering physics somehow.

To be completely honest, I couldn't really fault McGonagall for bending the rules to accommodate that. It would be a crime to let it go to waste.

For the rest of us, however, things weren't that exciting. Once both boys had landed and Harry was escorted out, Hooch resumed the class. She had us hover at a short distance above the ground as we flew eight-shaped loops. The first seconds had been alarming, I almost panicking as my feet abandoned the safety of the ground; but soon enough I got used to the feeling of being suspended in mid-air by my crotch.

It even got to be a little boring by the end. Though maybe that was because we weren't doing any tight turns, nor were we so high that I could feel any real sense of vertigo —only about the height of the second floor; so it felt sort of like riding an oddly-shaped bike. But I wasn't looking forward to when Hooch would decide we were ready to be thrown into the deep end, and so I welcomed it when the class finally ended and we were allowed to return to the castle. To its solid flagstone floors, walls, and its ceilings.

I had my chance to make up to Potter and his friends –or friend, since Hermione wasn't part of his little group yet— later that same day, at dinner.

I was finishing my desert pudding when Malfoy returned along with his two minions from his habitual pestering of the Gryffindor table. This time though, he was preening.

"You are preening," I commented.

He pretended he hadn't heard me, talking to Parkinson and Zabini instead: "I just challenged Potter and Weasley to a duel, today at night."

"Oh, Draco!" said Pansy, looking up at him with false adoration. "You simply must let me watch! He doesn't stand a chance."

Zabini, though, seemed more sceptical: "At night? Won't someone hear you? Where will this be?"

Malfoy waved his hand, smirking: "I don't plan to attend; please, I have better things to do. But they have this stupid Gryffindor sense of honour, don't they? So they will be there. I will simply tell that squib Filch and let him go and deal with them himself."

"Consider me impressed, Malfoy," commented Zabini. "That is actually cunning, for once."

"I know! But of course, that is our house strength, after all." Draco leaned back, self-satisfied, not even noticing the barb hidden beneath the taller boy's praise.

I looked at Zabini and gave him a subtle nod; he had an amused glint in his eyes.

I rushed to finish up my pudding after that, making a fairly good impression of Crabbe and Goyle. With a last sip of tea to push it all down, I stood up and moved towards the Great Hall's entrance.

"Wait!" said Tracey, still at the table. "I'm not done yet!"

"Need to go to the loo!" I replied. "I'll see you later!"

I exited the Great Hall, passing by the four hourglasses that tracked house points and leaving its ever-present noise behind for the quiet calm of the Hogwart's corridors. But instead of going ahead and towards the bathroom, I went left and towards the Grand Staircase. I took refuge behind one of the columns right under the ornate stone arch that connected to the corridor, and sat down to wait.

There were a handful of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students moving about, but it was otherwise empty —and sort of eerie, at night, the staircases projecting long shadows as they rotated on their own under the light of the unnatural braziers, the soft sound of scraping stone filling my thoughts. At some point, one of the ghosts —the Fat Friar— floated upwards and disappeared in the looming darkness up above.

I was nervous. I knew the Slytherins had been told to leave me be —at least, in public, and at least until winter break— and I also knew the homework I traded with Goyle and Perks ended up working its way up the ladder to Malfoy and Greengrass respectively, so they were invested in my not-dying, at least out of pure self-interest. But they were also Slytherins. So I never liked being in a position where a housemate might find me alone and defenceless. Still, while this staircase did indeed connect to the dungeons, it wasn't the fastest route there was to the our common room, and so I hoped if any of my housemates had seen me leave early and decided to hunt me down, they would assume I'd left the usual way.

I bid my time in restless patience, though, and about fifteen minutes later I was rewarded when the first Gryffindors deigned to appear. Still, I waited in the shadows, examining each passing face, until... there!

I stepped out and said: "Oi, Potter!"

It was funny, how both he and Ron did a little jump at my voice. And also heart-warming how Ron shielded Harry with his own body, interposing himself between the both of us wand in hand.

Of course, it wasn't that heart-warming, on account of his bloody wand being aimed at my face.

"You!" said Ron. "What do you want? Come to protect your little boyfriend?"

"My... what?"

"Malfoy, who else? You can turn away now. Tell him we're not calling the duel off, right Harry?"

I felt myself going cross-eyed.

"Malfoy is not my boyfriend... you couldn't be more..." I shook my head, deciding instead to address Potter directly: "I just wanted to apologize for before, on the Training Grounds."

"You should apologize to Neville, not us," said Harry.

"Well, yeah, you can pass it on." I rested my shoulder casually against the wall. At some point in my other life I had watched a nature documentary where they explained how lions react to aggression with more aggression, so if you found yourself in front of a lion —as one does— you should try to act relaxed, and even lie down so as to not provoke them. With no Internet nor Wikipedias, I didn't know if that was true or a mere myth, but it seemed to do the trick with this particular breed of lions, because Ron at least lowered his wand somewhat.

I continued: "I also come bearing gifts, you know, as a... way to make amends? So, I wanted to give you a warning about that duel—"

"So this is all about the duel!" said Ron, "I knew it!"

Very perceptive, Ron. I decided to go for the kill: "The duel is a trap. Malfoy doesn't even plan to attend; he was boasting about how you two would get caught and into trouble if you went."

"He doesn't plan to go?" asked Harry. I almost could see the plain relief in his face.

"That's rubbish, Harry! She's lying. She wants us to miss the duel so that we end up looking like cowards. I mean, just look at her robes! You don't know Slytherins like my family does, but my father says they are all liars and self-ser—, serv—"

I smirked. "Big word, no, Weasley?"

"You slimy git!" he said... aaand his wand was back on me.

Okay, okay... Harry was half-convinced, but I hadn't counted on the younger Weasley and his hate of all things snakish. I'd need to give them something more if I wanted Potter to ever think I could be trustworthy, not to second-guess all I said now and forever. A piece of the honest truth, so to speak.

"You're not wrong, though," I said with a shrug. "I am self-serving. It just so happens that warning you also serves me. It's Malfoy I'm backstabbing here, not you."

"You're betraying... Malfoy?" said Harry, frowning at me as if the mere idea of acting against a housemate was inconceivable. "Why?"

"I have plans, Potter. You see, someday I want to be the Queen of the Snakes; the Black Mamba, if you will, and taking Malfoy down a peg or two would help me loads with that. And I also don't care for this vendetta between the two of you. Don't like it when it affects me, like it did today."

"So you just expect us to believe you, and don't go to the duel?!" asked Ron.

No. I expected them to ignore me and go to the duel anyway. And when they discovered Malfoy wasn't there, they'd see I was telling them the truth all along. So next time I suggested them a course of action they'd be more likely to listen to me. I was playing the long game here.

I shrugged. "That's up to you, no? You've got your warning, so now we're even again. Good luck tonight!"

That seemed to leave the both of them confused, so I seized the chance to step off the wall and walk up to a downward staircase that had just rotated into place. As I started descending towards the dungeons I heard Ron mutter behind me: "I tell you, these Slytherins are all bloody mental."