Greetings! For those of who that read my previous fic, 'Between the Shadow and Soul' under my other pen-name (AvinaNox), this is a very different rewrite - which I fully intend to stick with! I didn't want to pick this back up until I was sure I had the bandwidth to do so. :) I'll probably delete the other version around the time I post Chapter 2 of this one.

Just a couple of notes:

1. This story is pretty AU - Not all of the characters will be playing their canon roles in this story and I've shifted around timelines quite a bit to make everything work. If this gets confusing at all, feel free to PM me and I'll be happy to clarify as best as I can without giving away any spoilers. ;)

2. Please review! Both encouragement and constructive criticism are much-appreciated. If you are a fellow fanfic writer, you know how meaningful and important it is to receive feedback on your work.

3. Anything you recognize belongs to our dear JKR!

Thank you for reading!

"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved: in secret, between the shadow and the soul." - Pablo Neruda

-xx-

"You know, I think I'm really getting the hang of this." Sirius grinned at her like an optimistic, but endearing dog waiting for a bone.

"Yeah, s'great," Halia forced a smile in return while gnawing through the overdone cut of meat, "It might be the best so far." The latter statement wasn't a lie, sadly. The bar for meals in Sirius' home had been set pretty low, beginning several weeks ago with her sixteenth birthday 'cake' that was improvised with the ingredients of his very limited pantry. It turned out that all those years of bachelor living didn't bode well for Sirius' culinary skills, but he was doing his best to make her feel at home all summer…And it was rare to see him in such a good mood these days.

He took a swig from his pint of stout, a bit of foam clinging to the hairs around his mouth. "I know it's going to be hard at first, Halia, but you're going to have a brilliant time at Hogwarts. Just wait until you see Hogsmeade, go to your first Gryffindor Quidditch match–"

"Dad used to take me to matches all the time, you know," Halia flicked a slightly soggy chip in his direction.

He stuck out his tongue at her. "Well it's different when you're actually a student and it's your House."

She shrugged, supposing that was true, but Gryffindor already felt like her House anyway. Her parents and nearly all of their friends had been Gryffindors – there was no doubt she belonged there. Plus, she thought she had always looked nice in red.

"I know you're not one for books, but I think you'll like most of the professors there too. My gods, I'll never forget the time James and I tricked Binns into thinking –"

He dove into the recount with a boyish expression, and normally Halia would have loved to hear it. But her stomach was too full of nerves; at this time tomorrow, she'd likely be settling into her Hogwarts dormitory and life as a sixth year. And the prospect of having to adjust again, when she was just beginning to feel comfortable living in Sirus' flat, filled her with dread. She felt too emotional, which she knew was understandable…But feeling that way around strangers, far from the few she still trusted, would be uncharted territory.

Halia pushed her food around her plate to make it look like she'd eaten more while Sirius finished his story and hurriedly stood to clear her place before he could get a good look at it. "I think I'm gonna go finish packing and then run to the mini-mart for a couple things." Namely, to replenish her stash of Muggle snacks. Though naturally lanky thanks to her father's genes, she had grown even more reedy since moving in with Sirius and recently began supplementing his rather lackluster meals with plenty of crisps and sweets.

Sirius paused the devouring of his steak for a moment. "I might tag along if you don't mind, could use some –"

"Ladies' things," she blurted out. "I need to, uh, pick up some ladies' things."

Unsurprisingly, the excuse worked.

"Oh." Sirius' face turned scarlet beneath his scruffy beard and he quickly averted his eyes from hers.

She was already halfway upstairs when she called back, "See you later, and thanks for dinner!"

It was definitely one of the more relaxed meals the two of them had shared over the past several weeks. Ever since it happened, their usual banter had largely shifted to awkward silences. It became all too clear that they had no idea how to interact with each another within the new circumstances. It had been lonely summer, though often better when Remus, Tonks, or the Weasley's were around to serve as a distraction.

She swung open the door to her temporary bedroom, jumping with a sharp gasp when she saw a figure sitting on the foot of her bed, and calmed only slightly when she recognized him as Regulus.

He had apparently been waiting for her, and had taken the liberty of leisurely paging through a photo album that was on top of her pile of unpacked belongings. He looked up at her with a slightly amused look as she hastily shut the door and cast a silencing charm on it.

"What exactly are you doing here?" she glowered at him as her heart rate slowly began to even back out. "You know Sirius is already bloody pissed that you were at the funeral – do you have any idea how he'd react if he knew you were in his flat?"

"Not at all," Regulus scoffed, "What exactly would he do about it?"

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. Brothers. "You didn't answer me – what are you doing here?" She snatched the photo album out of his hands and tossed it into her trunk.

After all, how dare he look through it given what he put her through?

"Just thought I should check on you before you're off to school in the morning. It'll be the last time we see each other for a while."

"Oh, what a shame," she snapped.

His face remained impassive as he stood calmly. His features echoed many of Sirius', as did his frame. But Regulus lacked the charismatic warmth his older brother always seemed to radiate. His gaze met hers and she noticed that the ever-present dark circles under his eyes seemed a little bit darker. "So. How are you doing, Halia?"

"Fine."

He looked at her with doubt and, without warning, reached up to brush her choppy, improvised jet black bangs to the side of her forehead. "Your head looks a little better at least."

She scowled, swatted his hand away, and re-tousled her bangs over the jagged red mark that now graced her forehead, which she desperately hoped wouldn't be permanent. "It still hurts like hell."

"It'll get better," he sighed. "I'd be happy to snag you a Pain-Relieving Draught from the Department that would help in the meantime..."

Halia shook her head and began packing the few belongings she brought from her parents' home into her trunk. "Trust me, Regulus, I don't want anything from the Department. They've already done more than enough to…help me, right? Isn't that what they called stealing at least half my memories? Is that going to get better too?"

"Your memories weren't stolen, Halia. You know there wasn't any other choice. Your parents knew this was a risk. If it was up to Rookwood alone, you would have been Obliviated completely and sent to live with your Aunt and Uncle Dursley. Can you imagine? Muggles," he added bitterly.

Halia shuddered at the prospect. Thankfully, she had only met them during a few short holiday visits; they were truly awful. Case in point: her Aunt Petunia didn't even bother to show up at her own sister's funeral.

She knew he was right, deep underneath the anger that swirled inside her like a disease. She knew she was lucky that they let her remember anything at all, and that none of this was actually Regulus' or the Department's fault. But she had to channel her rage at something – or someone. It was too much right now for her to try and wrap her head around the reality that there wasn't anyone to blame…There wasn't a real reason at all that her parents died, or that she survived instead of them.

Her eyes felt wet and she briskly rubbed her arm across them. The number of times she had cried since the day it happened could be counted on one hand…mostly out of fear that if she started, she wouldn't be able to stop. So she gritted her teeth until her jaw ached, and only when she knew she was at least temporarily past the danger of falling apart, asked Regulus, "Why did it have to be you who did it?"

The fact that the procedure had taken so much from her, yet didn't block out her memory of that day with Regulus seemed almost intentionally cruel. The clammy air and stark white walls in a tiny room that she assumed was within the Department of Mysteries still felt incredibly vivid, and reminded her of the Muggle horror films her mum sometimes liked to watch. She remembered the searing pain as Regulus performed a type of magic she did not recognize to extract any memories that could leak information the Department deemed as 'classified'. She remembered feeling violated by the magic, and by Regulus who she once trusted implicitly.

She rubbed the mark on her forehead which throbbed more than usual, as though it had been strengthened by her recollection of when she received it.

"It was my idea to try it instead of Obliviating you," Regulus admitted. "So if something went wrong, it would have been on me."

The mark burned hotter and sharper as she tried to take in his words. "And you're sure nothing went wrong?" she clenched her eyes shut and gritted her teeth again.

"No." The word was said just above a whisper, but it rung through her ears. He brushed his fingertips on the tip of her shoulder and hesitated. "Good luck at school, Halia. And be sure to write." Then, with a sharp crack, she was alone once more.

-xx-

There was once a time that being seated under such close scrutiny of Albus Dumbledore would make his insides writhe – a time before he mastered Occlumency. But that seemed so distantly behind him as they lounged across each other in the Gaunt family manor's spacious, candlelit sitting room that had been restored to its historical grandeur.

"Did you have an enjoyable summer, Tom?" The Headmaster asked lightly before taking a sip of tea that contained at least three sugar cubes.

"Quite," in unison, Tom sipped his own tea, black and bitter. "Though nothing particularly notable. I've done a fair bit of reading on some of the more obscure magic in ancient Greece..."

It was all part of their usual game: Albus pushed, and he deflected. Sometimes, he would even pretend to show a piece of himself to the old fool. But of course, all of it was a façade – steps of a delicate dance that allowed Tom to maximize his autonomy in his Hogwarts teaching position. Though to his displeasure, the Headmaster had an incredible knack for deduction that was nearly impossible to evade entirely.

"Nothing in the way of travel, then? That's unusual for you, Tom," Dumbledore's blue eyes sparkled over the top of his glasses.

"It was a quiet summer," he responded lightly, "I did attend a few dueling competitions with Bella, two of which were in France."

He wasn't about to mention the real reason he largely stayed confined to the Gaunt manor during the break from Hogwarts – a feeling that had caused him a great deal of dwelling, but still remained indescribable in its entirety. It was a sort of paranoia, a foreboding feeling almost as though something in the world had shifted. Normally he'd brush it away as a mere side effect that came with dabbling in less than legal forms of magic: a wise paranoia that kept him cautious and hidden.

But even Nagini had been feeling strange, too.

Thankfully, for once, Dumbledore didn't press for further details of his reclusiveness. "Ah, yes – and how did the lovely Miss Black fare?"

"She was the champion in her class in all but one, due to a slight technicality," Tom smirked proudly, remembering the 'technicality' that left her competitor hospitalized in St. Mungo's for a week's time. Bella was bold and had no semblance of restraint – she was never afraid to show too much, unlike him. Restraint was probably one of the greatest skills he learned from his reckless years at Hogwarts. But Bella learned from a young age that repercussions for Purebloods were practically nonexistent – and he often couldn't decide if he admired or detested her for it more.

Dumbledore smiled, apparently genuine. "Bella has always been a talented witch – though I am well aware that you've taught her a great deal." The Headmaster's eyes flickered to the top of Tom's bookcases which were lined with dueling trophies and medals from his brief years as a professional duelist. "Do you see yourself competing again in the future?"

"Likely not," Tom shrugged and waved his hand to wandlessly refill Dumbledore's teacup. "As you know, I prefer to teach."

It was only a fraction of the truth. Tom loved dueling, and his winning streak at every championship he'd entered had provided him an amount of wealth that had been unfathomable in his destitute youth. It turned him into somewhat of a minor celebrity, paving at least part of his way into the ranks of Purebloods who no longer had a choice to ignore him. And when the Daily Prophet 'leaked' his intentions to apply for the vacant Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had no choice but to hire him – the fit was too perfect, and the wealthy donors of the school would have been outraged if the Headmaster had botched the chance for their children to train with the legendary Tom Riddle.

"Then I suppose you are looking forward to returning to Hogwarts, as am I. That brings me to the topic of my visit – I trust you've heard the news of the Potter's?"

"Of course." Tom may have been reclusive that summer, but ignorance on the subject of the Potter's was nearly impossible despite the Ministry's very apparent attempts to release as little information about the deaths as they could. Every day that passed brought at least one new conspiracy theory, usually published in The Quibbler. Not that Tom wasted his time reading such trash, of course, but Bella often informed him of the latest gossip.

Tom could vaguely remember James and Lily from his first year at Hogwarts, when they had been Head Boy and Girl, though nothing particularly notable about them stood out. James Potter seemed to be a quintessential Gryffindor in every meaning of the word – which is to say that Tom, and the rest of the Slytherins didn't care much for him. The two of them married and went on to become Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries. He assumed they were high-ranking; it was atypical that a married couple would serve in the Department together, and even more unusual that they had a child. More often than not, Unspeakables didn't have families at all due to the secrecy required for the job.

As for their deaths, it seemed fairly reasonable to conclude that some part of their job had gotten them killed, which is precisely why the Ministry refused to release any relevant information, citing instead an ongoing investigation that was 'priority number one' for even the Minister himself.

"A tragedy," Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "James and Lily were two of my finest students – they thrived at Hogwarts. It was truly a second home to them, not unlike it was for yourself."

"Hogwarts was my first home," Tom responded, perhaps a bit too bitterly. "But yes, a tragedy – one can only agree."

"They had been home-teaching their daughter, Halia…However, their wills stated that she should attend Hogwarts were anything to happen to them," Albus continued. "So as you may have assumed, she will be joining the Sixth Year class this term."

Tom nodded. Given that James and Lily Potter had so adored Hogwarts, it seemed rather odd that they elected to home-teach their daughter. But perhaps that had been some part of some agreement with the Department of Mysteries. Perhaps they thought it would be best for her safety.

After all, there were surely those who believed she knew more than she probably did…And while nobody could torture or pry information from an Unspeakable (if that was possible, Tom would have already done it a hundred times over), it would only take one loony conspiracy theorist hellbent on revealing the Ministry's secrets to give it a try. It certainly wouldn't be the first time, and some might see her as far more vulnerable than the typical Unspeakable.

Dumbledore must have been thinking along the same lines because he leaned forward in Tom's dark green velvet armchair and said softly, "You can imagine, Tom, that given the circumstances, the outside world may not be a particularly safe place for someone like Halia Potter." The Headmaster stroked his long, gray beard again. "I was hoping that you might provide her teachings on the subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts in addition to the Sixth Year curriculum so she can more quickly learn to protect herself."

At first Tom wasn't sure how to respond. He learned to think twice when Dumbledore asked for a favor – it was never just a favor. But of course, refusing would also be seen as suspicious.

"If you have too many obligations this term, I could surely ask Severus to assist…" Dumbledore began as Tom hesitated.

"That won't be necessary," he replied casually, "I can train the girl."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in apparent happiness – or was it in triumph? "I do appreciate it, Tom."

-xx-

Her palms grew sweaty as they passed the barrier of the secret platform at King's Cross and, for the first time, she saw the sprawling Hogwarts Express in front of her. Her heart pounded loudly at her chest in fear, but also excitement. This was it – a new beginning. Perhaps more importantly: a distraction.

Though, tempting, the thought of being distracted also frightened her. She didn't want to let go, or stop clinging to the memories of them that remained – what if those were taken away from her too? After Regulus' visit, it seemed entirely possible that the Department would change its mind and completely wipe away her memory after all. It seemed sensible to make an effort to dwell on the moments she still could, but it was making her pretty damn sad and miserable at the same time.

And holy hell, the mark on her forehead hurt lately – almost as though the Department was warning her not to get too close to the past.

The train whistle blew, her signal to find Ron and Ginny's compartment and get settled.

"Have a great term, Halia – we'll see you for the holidays," Remus gave her a hug. "Tonks couldn't make it today, but she wanted me to give you these…"

Halia peered in the velvet bag that boasted the familiar logo of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to find four Skiving Snackboxes and she beamed up at him.

"…You know, in case you're not feeling up for Potions once or twice."

"Ah, that reminds me!" Sirius exclaimed, reaching out to pinch her nose. "You better give 'ol Snivellus hell for us." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Remus casting him a mixed look of disapproval and amusement. "And you better write."

"Of course. Have to give Hedwig a reason to leave the grounds sometimes," Halia grinned and held up the cage that contained the beautiful white owl Sirius and Remus had gotten her as a going-away present.

Remus, then Sirius, each gave her a fierce hug goodbye, and she started toward the train, tossing one last wave over her shoulder before boarding.

Soon after, she settled into the plush red compartment where Ginny was already lounging with a few of her friends from Gryffindor, Ron, and a girl named Hermione who she'd heard about from Ron but hadn't met before that morning. It was odd, to see Ron and Ginny surrounded by friends Halia had never met when she and her parents had visited the Weasley's – especially when she noticed the near-constant banter between Ron and Hermione.

A strange feeling of jealousy tinged her insides, not because she was interested in him (Halia had a crush on him at one time for maybe all of five seconds when she was only eleven or so), but because she felt like such an outsider. It had never occurred to her until then that she didn't really have any close friends her own age…at least not like this. She felt out of place and slightly self-conscious, but the feeling quickly began to dissipate as Ron made some crude comment about the cover-witch on Ginny's copy of Witch Weekly and Hermione and Halia exchanged a look of mutual disapproval.

"Anyways," Hermione cleared her throat in annoyance, "Which NEWT levels will you be taking, Halia?"

"Well, they signed me up for, let's see…" she counted off each course on her fingers. "Potions, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes…"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Aren't those the same NEWTs you're taking, Hermione?"

"They are," the bushy-haired brunette eyed Halia with a similarly surprised, and also slightly curious expression.

"I never took my OWLs," Halia explained, "But those were the courses Headmaster Dumbledore suggested and he said we would rearrange things if they aren't a good fit. I haven't looked at the books for each that much, but I have a pretty strong feeling I'll be dropping Arithmancy and Ancient Runes from what I saw."

"Bloody hell, if only I didn't have to take any OWLs last year…" Ron combed a hand through his bright ginger hair.

"Well," Hermione ignored him with another eye roll and gave Halia a small smile, "Ancient Runes and Arithmancy are both fascinating courses, so I'm happy to help catch you up if you want."

"Sure," Halia grinned, "That'd be great."

Maybe she'd be feeling like less of an outsider sooner than she thought.

They chatted a bit more about courses before Ron changed the subject to Quidditch, and then Ginny began teasing him about a neat, prim-looking girl named Lavender Brown that paused by the compartment to give a flirty hello to Ron. It wasn't much longer before Hermione gasped that she and Ron were supposed to have started their Prefect rounds two minutes prior and dashed out.

"If we don't see you until the Sorting, here's hoping for Gryffindor!" Ron called back to her while following Hermione out of the compartment.

"Here's hoping it's not too mortifying to get sorted alongside all of the first years," Halia muttered to Ginny.

But of course, it was.

She was already a tall for a girl her age. But among the prepubescent first years, she felt especially awkward and lanky. It didn't help that they kept glancing up at her with curious expressions, surely wondering if one of their fellow eleven-year-olds happened to be a half-giant.

Come on, come on…let's get this over with.

She crossed her arms and waited impatiently while the Sorting Hat bellowed a lengthy tune, and then began sorting the students around her in alphabetical order. Halfway across the hall at the Gryffindor table, she spotted Ron and Hermione and he gestured at the empty spot next to him that they had apparently saved for her.

Finally, when it was her turn, she climbed the stairs toward the old tattered hat and Professor McGonagall placed it on her head.

'How many kids have gotten magical lice from you?' she couldn't help but wonder.

'None, Miss Potter, thank you very much.'

It shouldn't have surprised her when the Hat responded, but it did. At least she managed not to jump too noticeably.

'Now let's get to work, shall we?' it whispered in her ear. 'Yes, I remember your parents well, so full of brilliance and courage. You are so like them…'

'Gryffindor already feels like home to me.'

'…but so different as well. You have something they didn't - a bit of darkness, yes. But do not be afraid Halia Potter, not all darkness is evil. You would learn the difference in a house like Slytherin.'

'Slytherin?! What are you on about? There's no way…I'm a Gryffindor, I know it!'

'Ah, and if you continue to believe that, you may never discover who you truly are.'

'I already know who I am,' Halia thought back angrily, 'I know where I belong – and trust me, you ratty old hat, it's not Slytherin.'

'I'm simply not convinced, Miss Potter. I have decided'

'Fuck off. Seriously? Is this because of the lice thing?'

'My, my. A mouthy little serpent girl, aren't you?'

Before Halia could think of any further obscenities to think back, the Hat's voice erupted in the Great Hall, "SLYTHERIN!"

She was frozen in shock, as the rest of the hall seemed to be. She glanced at Ginny and Ron and saw their expressions turn from confused to horrified when McGonagall raised the hat from her head and they realized it hadn't been a mistake – a reaction that did little for her confidence.

What would her parents have said? They were so proud of the fact that they were Gryffindors. What would Sirius think?

"You're a shoe-in for Gryffindor," Sirius told her that morning over the last coffee and burnt toast breakfast she would 'enjoy' in his kitchen for a while. "But you'll be fine anywhere so long as it's not Slytherin." It was clear when he stuck out his tongue that he meant it in his typical, light-hearted way…but still.

This is such absolute shit.

"Miss Potter," McGonagall gently touched her shoulder, bringing her back to reality. Halia swore she saw a flicker of pity in the woman's stern face. "You may join your housemates now."

She nodded, feeling strangely outside herself as she stiffly raised from the stool and drifted over to the Slytherin table. A sparse applause followed from the rest of the hall who were clueless as to the great tragedy that had just unfolded on her.

When she reached the Slytherin table, which feels like an eternity later, she decided to sit as far from the only face she recognized, the insufferable Draco Malfoy. But she could feel his pompous, icy blue eyes on her during the rest of the ceremony and could picture the satisfied expression he must have – as though he had fixed her sorting himself. She expected it grew all the more smug when Dumbledore introduced her officially as a new sixth year student during his welcome speech to the school and she was forced to stand and give an awkward little wave to hundreds of curious eyes.

'It's just the first day', she took a deep breath. 'It'll get better'.

But not before getting worse, apparently, because as soon as the introductions and ceremony were finished and the feast began, Draco and his posse approached her. With an outstretched hand and smirk on his lips, he said, "Welcome to Hogwarts, Halia. Slytherin is honored to have you."

"Wish I could return the sentiment," she replied crisply and ignored his pale hand.

He scoffed in amusement and gestured to the small crowd around him. "This is Pansy." A girl with a stylish brown bob and a sour expression, who had been very audibly smacking bubblegum, blew a bubble popped it with a loud snap. "See Pans? Told you that you'd still be the hottest witch at Hogwarts."

"You were right, Dray-baby," She kissed him on the cheek, her smirk mirroring Draco's, and narrowed her eyes at Halia.

Oh my gods…'Dray-baby?' What is this fucking nightmare?

"I told you not to call me that," he hissed at the girl quietly, but not quiet enough for Halia not to catch and then cleared his throat. "This is Crabbe and Goyle." Draco waved his hands dismissively toward two rather pudgy boys on the other side of him. They both responded with a small nod in her direction without quite meeting her eyes.

"And this is Tracey and Milly," Pansy jerked a thumb at two makeup-caked girls behind her. "So tell me, Potter – who did your hair, a toddler?"

"Must have been the same toddler who did your makeup," Halia snapped.

Pansy looked at her dumbly for a few moments. Clearly, she wasn't used to being talked-back to. "Ugh, come on Dray. She's fucking weird. Let's go," she said eventually.

The table around her was silent as Halia turned and began dishing food on her plate, not that she was particularly hungry for any of it. But she would eat, if out of spite and to pretend she was unfazed more than anything else.

"I can't believe you just ignored them like that," a girl whispered on Halia's left.

Halia shrugged, feeling self-righteous. "Draco's just a spoiled twat – what's he going to do about it?"

"Well, he and Pansy are Prefects…"

"So I'll lose some House points? Wow, poor Slytherin," Halia scoffed and in between bites of mashed potatoes asked, "Why are you so worried, what'd they do to you?"

She was met with silence in return from the girl, which didn't bode well given this was the first apparently bearable person she'd met in Slytherin. Halia glanced at her out of the corner of her eye an saw that she was quite pretty, with long straightened blonde hair and flawless skin – the sort of girl that Pansy would probably target out of jealousy alone.

"Sorry," Halia turned to her fully and gave her a small smile. "It's been…an interesting day. You are?"

"Daphne," the girl looked relieved that the question Halia originally posed was no longer hanging in the air. "Daphne Greengrass."

The name sounded familiar – partially because it was Pureblood, but for another reason that she couldn't quite place…But Halia didn't even bother trying to remember things like this anymore. They were always there in her mind, just out of reach. Taunting her. It was better not to even try.

They continued talking during the multi-course feast, and Halia learned that Daphne was a fellow sixth year, who then introduced her to Astoria, Daphne's younger sister, and a couple of boys sitting a few feet down on the benches – the grim-faced Theodore Nott and a long-lashed boy named Blaise Zabini, also sixth years.

On the other side of Zabini and Nott, she could hear Draco speaking boastfully, "You wouldn't believe some of the things he brings up in meetings with my father – did I mention before that my father's the Chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Directors? Anyway, in my opinion, the old man is completely unfit to be Headmaster."

Halia smirked, doubting very much that Draco's opinion was actually his and not just his father's. She glanced up at the center of the staff table where Dumbledore was seated and feeding a brilliant red phoenix pieces of mince pie from his hand. Perhaps she was biased because of her own parents' opinions of Dumbledore, but she couldn't disagree with Malfoy more. The Headmaster seemed to be both the wisest old man she'd ever met, and spiritedly youthful – she certainly liked him, though she hadn't spoken to him much. He was kind to her at her parents' funeral, and told her that her mum had been one of his dearest students.

Halia scanned the table near Dumbledore and realized she knew very little of the Hogwarts staff besides him. There was McGonagall, the no-nonsense witch she met briefly before the Sorting, but everyone else was only vaguely familiar from visits with her parents to Hogwarts during Quidditch matches and the like. Halia nudged Daphne with her elbow, and asked her to describe the other staff members.

"Well," she gestured to the far end near the Gryffindor table to a witch who looked like she'd smoked far too much Gillyweed, "there's Trelawney, Professor of Divination –"

No surprise there.

"- Sinistra, who teaches Astronomy, and Flitwick…he's Head of Ravenclaw and teaches Charms –" Halia saw a regal looking witch with high cheekbones (a stark contrast to the aforementioned Trelawney) followed by a bearded goblin. Then a pair of witches with cheery, round faces, Burbage and Sprout.

"You know Dumbledore and McGonagall obviously –"

Halia's gaze passed the center of the table and moved closer to the side of the Hall they were seated on.

"Then there's Snape, our Head of House –"

Ah yes, the infamous Severus Snape that Sirius had told her so much about. He certainly looked the part of the villain he seemed to play in all her godfather's stories, though she couldn't remember her mother or father mentioning him much…as if that meant anything given that half of her memories were gone. He had long, thin black hair that fell flat around his sharp features, the most prominent of which was his long hooked nose.

"And Professor Riddle," Daphne's voice turned into a near-sigh when she mentions the man on Snape's right, and it was easy to see why. Riddle looked surprisingly young compared to the rest of the staff and provided a substantial contrast to Professor Snape, with whom he was engaged in some sort of discussion. Where Snape's face had sharp edges in all the wrong places, Riddle's had them in all the right ones. Then again, she supposed anyone who sat next to Snape would seem incredibly attractive.

Her gaze lingered on him. He seemed familiar, though she could not place where she had met him before. "What does he teach?" she asked casually as the dark-haired professor smirked at something Snape apparently said and raised a silver goblet to his lips.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts. He was a professional duelist before."

She nodded – perhaps she just knew him from the papers her father would read.

"He's a strict grader but also a Slytherin alumni, so we usually end up with decent marks at the end of the term," Daphne was gazing up at him too through her long, dark lashes. "Try not to worry too much if you get a 'Troll' on your first paper."

"Don't tempt me," Halia grinned impishly, "I wouldn't mind a detention or two with him."

He must have felt their staring, because the moment she said it, his eyes seemed to catch hers and she immediately averted her gaze to her plate, heat spreading across her pale cheeks.

"You're absolutely mad," Daphne gasped in disbelief and then began giggling uncontrollably. "I've heard people say he can read minds, you know."

"Well you could have mentioned that," Halia was suddenly very focused on her slice of meat pie, but couldn't help but crack a smile and laugh along with Daphne.

After dinner, they migrated to the dreary, wet dungeons that would be her new home and entered the Slytherin common room. To her relief, the common room itself was far cozier than the outer halls and boasted two huge white marble fireplaces, tasteful green accent rugs, and an array of stylish, yet comfortable looking furniture.

Then again, what else did she expect when around three-fourths of the school's donations came from Slytherin parents?

There was a painting of Salazar Slytherin above the main fireplace, and Halia paused before it while Daphne wandered up to the dormitory they'd share (regrettably) with Tracey, Milly, and Pansy. Slytherin slowly noticed her with his dark intimidating eyes and wordlessly nodded toward her in a strange gesture of amusement and recognition – as though he knew how upset she was to be there.

"Go to hell," she muttered under her breath and followed Daphne upstairs. When she arrived, the other girls were already absorbed in the tabloids they were flipping through on Pansy's bed, taking turns caking their faces with WonderWitch overnight masks. All but Daphne, of course.

Halia felt bad for a moment, wondering if by bonding with Daphne at dinner, she would damn the girl to be a Slytherin outcast like Halia would surely be. But Daphne seemed to brighten when she saw Halia, and after casting a hesitant look in Pansy's direction, she strode over to Halia's bed and sat on the edge as she began to unpack.

"I just wanted to say…" Daphne started, her voice just above a whisper, "I'm sure you don't want to talk about it, but I'm sorry about your parents. My father saw them around the Ministry sometimes…she said they seemed nice."

Halia froze. It was the first time anyone mentioned her parents all day, and though she should have been prepared to discuss them, she quickly realized she wasn't. "Thanks," she muttered, unsure how to respond.

"I won't bring it up again," Daphne put a hand on her arm and looked at her solemnly. "I'm sure there are too many people already who want you to talk about it."

The sincerity and understanding in the words startled Halia and her vision suddenly grew blurry and wet. "I think I need to get some sleep," she turned away, but managed a smile in Daphne's general direction.

"Okay," the Slytherin girl sounded uneasy, but didn't press her further.

Halia stripped to her underwear and wrapped the warm blankets around herself and closed her eyes. Everything felt surreal – she was at Hogwarts, in Slytherin, no less. She could so clearly picture the disappointed look on her dad's face if she could tell him. But her mum…her mum would see the best of things. She would have some wise thing to say, something that would have given her hope.

The mark on her forehead ached as she mulled over what her mother's words might be, and it was the first night she dreamt in weeks.

-xx-