“Rachel! Get down here right this instant!”




Rachel Lestrange flinched at the sound of her uncle’s voice. It seemed that he always sounded angry when he spoke to her. Rachel could never figure out what she had done to make him hate her so much.




“Coming!” she shouted back. She quickly stuffed away the book she had been reading, grabbed her wand, and stuffed it in her pocket. She then hurried down the stairs.




“What is it, Uncle?” Rachel asked as she drew closer to him. His eyebrows were drawn together in anger and annoyance.




“We need to get going. I have some business to take care of at the Ministry, and I need you to come with me,” Lucius Malfoy snapped.




“What business do you need to take care of?”




“Must you always ask so many questions? It’s really none of your business. Now, take some Floo powder and get going,” he said angrily.




Rachel sighed as she grabbed a handful of the glittering green powder and tossed it into the fireplace. She then stepped forward and said as clearly as she could, “Ministry of Magic!” The next thing she knew, the world had become a swirling mess of color, as she was transported from fireplace to fireplace, until at last she arrived at the Ministry, where she stepped out into the gleaming Atrium.




Rachel sighed once again as she stood waiting for her uncle to come behind her. If it was her choice, the Malfoys were the last family on Earth that she would choose to live with, but she had nowhere else to go. Her parents had been locked up in Azkaban prison for much of her life because they had tortured two well-known and beloved wizards into insanity. Rachel sometimes ached deep inside thinking of her parents. She couldn’t remember anything about them. She wasn’t even sure that she wanted to know them, if they were so willing to hurt other people.




Lucius stepped out of the fireplace and pushed Rachel forward with his cane in one motion. “Walk quickly and look smart, now,” he said coolly. “No time for dilly-dallying.”




Rachel fumed quietly as she struggled to keep up with Lucius’ long strides. Truth be told, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was controlling and apathetic, and he hated Muggles and Muggle-borns. Rachel would never tell a living soul this, but she didn’t really see how someone’s bloodline made them worthless-or powerful. From what she had seen at school, the Muggle-borns were just as powerful as the purebloods-sometimes even more so. Why, Hermione Granger, whose parents just happened to be Muggles, could take Rachel’s cousin Draco in a duel any day.




“Stop thinking and look lively,” Lucius broke in suddenly. “The Minister’s coming.”




Rachel paused and stood still. Indeed, Cornelius Fudge himself was walking towards them, looking his familiar combination of a caring grandfather and a foolish man.




The Minister extended his hand to Lucius, and they shook. “Good to see you, Lucius,” Fudge said pleasantly. “How are you?”




“Quite good,” Lucius replied in a velvety voice. “So good, in fact, that I happen to have brought some-ah-spare change with me.” He gave the black silk bag he had tied around his wrist a gentle rattle.




Fudge’s eyes widened. “You plan to make another donation to the Ministry?”




Lucius smiled. “To St. Mungo’s, in fact. They have so many patients that need more care than they’re currently receiving. I do what I can to help.”




Fudge swallowed and nodded. “Of course, of course.”




Lucius gently laid his fingers on Rachel’s arm. “I don’t believe you’ve met my niece Rachel, Minister.”




Fudge turned his gaze to Rachel. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said politely as they shook hands.




“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Minister,” Rachel replied.




Fudge smiled at Lucius. “Such a nice young lady, Lucius. If this is your doing, I applaud you.”




“Well, I suppose I may have had something to do with how she was raised,” Lucius replied. Rachel desperately wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. So that’s he had wanted her to come! So that he could show her off to the Minister of Magic like a grand showpiece! Rachel’s fists curled in anger.




“Say, isn’t that young Harry Potter coming toward us?” Lucius remarked.




Fudge turned and made a face. “Yes, it appears so,” he said grumpily. “We just tried him for using a spell illegally outside of school. He got off. All Dumbledore’s doing, of course.”




“That Dumbledore,” Lucius said cattily. “Always poking his nose into places where it doesn’t belong.”




Fudge sighed. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Lucius. That boy got off by the skin of his teeth and if it had been my decision-well-his wand would be snapped in half and he would never return to Hogwarts again.”




Harry Potter drew close to them then, along with a frowning red-haired man. “Hello, Minister,” the man said nervously. The red hair made Rachel think him to be a Weasley.




“Hello, Arthur,” Fudge replied somewhat harshly.




Lucius smiled at Arthur. “Hello, Arthur,” he, too, said.




Arthur swallowed. It appeared that he would like nothing better than to strangle Lucius. “Hello, Lucius,” he said with force.




Rachel’s eyes shifted to Harry. She could see that his eyes were on her as well. “Hello, Harry,” she said, trying to sound civil.




Harry looked back at her blankly. “Sorry, but er-who are you?”




“I’m Rachel. Rachel Lestrange.”




Recognition dawned in Harry’s eyes, and he instantly recoiled. “Wait-are you-are you related to Bellatrix Lestrange?”




Rachel felt a slight twinge as she replied. “Yes. She’s my mother.”




“Oh,” was Harry’s only reply. She could practically feel hatred radiating off him in waves.




Rachel felt her insides flare with anger. How dare he! He hated her, and he didn’t even know her. That made him just like Lucius. She felt familiar hatred rise up within her.




“But you don’t see me asking questions about your mother, now do you?” Rachel snapped. She leaned forward so that her face was as close to Harry’s as she could muster it. “You don’t see me asking you who you’re related to, so that I can automatically assume that you’re just like them.” Rachel took a deep breath. “That makes you prejudiced, Harry Potter. You may think you’re a great hero, but in reality you’re the same judgmental, pathetic scum as the rest of the world.”




Harry stepped back. “What are you talking about? I didn’t say anything.”




Rachel’s eyes alone accused him. “But you were thinking it.”




“I wasn’t-“




“Harry, we really ought to be getting going,” Arthur Weasley broke in suddenly. “Molly’s expecting us at home. Minister, it was good to see you.”




Fudge nodded. “And you, Arthur.”




Mr. Weasley took Harry by the hand and led him over to the fireplaces where witches and wizards were rapidly appearing and disappearing. Harry looked back his shoulder at Rachel. She made a fist at him.




“Well, I suppose we should be going, too,” Lucius Malfoy said suddenly. “It was, as always, a pleasure talking to you, Minister.”




“And you, Lucius,” Fudge replied. “I’ll be certain to get your donation made to St. Mungo’s.”




“Of course. I'll be seeing you around, Minister,” Lucius replied, then took Rachel by the arm and dragged her along to the fireplaces.




“You’d best make this quick,” he hissed in her ear. “That was quite a display you put on with Mr. Potter. Do not ever speak with him in that manner again or you will face the consequences. Is that clear?”




“Yes, Uncle,” Rachel whispered. He handed her some Floo powder and pushed her forward into the fire.




“Malfoy Manor,” Rachel said forlornly.




This was turning out to be a truly horrible day.





The first words Rachel heard as she stepped out of the fireplace were her Aunt Narcissa’s: “Are you packed? Have you packed yet for school, Rachel?”




Rachel brushed the soot off herself and smiled. Even though Narcissa worried a bit too much sometimes, it was at least comforting that she seemed to like Rachel, unlike Lucius.




“That’s just what I’m fixing to go do,” Rachel replied as she started up the stairs. “It shouldn’t take me too long.”




“All right,” Narcissa replied as Lucius stepped out of the fireplace. Rachel heard her say, “Oh, hello, Lucius. Where have you been?” as she stepped into her room.




Rachel took a quick stock of the things she had to pack and was just sitting down to fold her clothes and put them in her trunk when there were loud footsteps behind her.




Rachel turned. Draco Malfoy stood there, a rather nasty grin on his face.




She made a face and turned back to her packing. “Oh. It’s you.”




Draco walked over and settled down on top of the dresser. “Yes. It’s me. Miss me much?”




Rachel rolled her eyes. “Go away, Draco.”




Draco smiled. “Oh, but I’m afraid I don’t want to. You’re so much fun to torture, you see.” He stretched out on the dresser. “Heard from your parents lately?”




Rachel stiffened. He was moving into painful territory. “Go away, Draco,” she said, this time more forcefully.




Draco grinned. He knew he had hit the jackpot. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. They never write you, do they? They don’t care enough to send even one letter? Pity, pity.” He slowly got up and made his way over to Rachel, where he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Pity that their daughter’s too much of a goody-goody to ever make a proper servant for the Dark Lord. Pity that Dumbledore hates her, so she can’t even make a decent spy for the Order of the Phoenix. She’s no good to anyone. Pity, pity.”




Draco made one final smirk and sauntered out of the room. Rachel could feel the tears already pricking her eyes as he left. How did he manage to always make her feel so bad?




Oh, she couldn’t wait to get to Hogwarts.

“Have a good term, dears,” Narcissa Malfoy said as she kissed both Rachel and Draco on the cheek.



Rachel turned away and hoisted her trunk up onto the train. She dragged it down the aisle as quickly as possible, searching for an open compartment. At last, she found one, a good distance away from where Draco was standing and chatting with his two friends Crabbe and Goyle.



This was her chance to escape Draco, if only for a few hours.



She quickly slid the compartment doors open and stepped inside, setting her trunk down on the floor beside the seat. Then, checking that the coast was clear, she slid the compartment doors shut.



Rachel settled down into the seat and sighed. How wonderful this was. She would have a few hours to herself, to study her textbooks for the coming year, to memorize new spells, and, perhaps, to do a little experimenting. She smiled to herself.



Suddenly, the compartment doors slid open once more and a familiar face poked through. Rachel found herself once more face-to-face with Harry Potter.



“Er-excuse me-sorry,” he said awkwardly. His face reddened considerably. He was obviously remembering their previous encounter and how it had turned out.



“What do you want?” Rachel asked sharply. She was still remembering how he had recoiled at her after discovering who she was and who her parents were. It made her insides jump with anger to think of how he hated those who judged others simply based on their family backgrounds, and yet he did exactly the same thing.



“I’m sorry,” Harry said, lowering his gaze. “It’s just that-well-there are no more open compartments, and we were wondering if maybe you would-er-let us sit with you?” He gestured behind him to two of his friends, who Rachel couldn’t quite make out.



Rachel was caught off-guard. She certainly hadn’t been expecting this. Maybe the comeback he had finally thought up for their encounter the day before, or perhaps even an apology for the way he had judged her so thoughtlessly, but never this. “Er-“ She squinted behind Harry, trying to identify the two people standing with him, but they were lost in shadow.



She glanced at Harry again. Maybe he isn’t all that bad, she thought, especially if he was willing to share a compartment with her. Maybe he had thought on it and decided that maybe she wasn’t at all like her parents.



“All right,” she conceded with a sigh. She made space for Harry and his friends to sit.



“Thanks,” Harry said, after a pause, then stepped carefully into the compartment. His two friends followed suit, the second friend pulling the compartment doors shut.



Rachel felt recognition dawn on her as she peered more closely at Harry’s friends. Ginny Weasley, her flaming red hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail, stood at Harry’s right, looking simply furious at the idea of having to share a compartment with a Slytherin. And gawky, slightly pudgy Neville Longbottom stood to Harry’s left, holding his toad carefully in his hands.



Rachel felt a tightening sensation in her chest as she looked at Neville. Their eyes locked-and Neville’s eyes instantly darkened.



Harry, however, paid Neville no mind. He set his trunk down and climbed wearily into the seat opposite Rachel, where he stretched his legs out to make himself more comfortable.



Ginny warily settled down into the seat next to Harry, refusing to meet Rachel’s eyes. Neville, however, didn’t move a muscle. He stood in place as if frozen, staring at Rachel.



Harry glanced at Neville’s angry face, then took a second look as if not quite believing what he saw. “Er-Neville? What’s the matter? Are you all right?”



Rachel’s heart sank. She knew exactly what was wrong.



It had been Rachel’s parents who had tortured Neville’s into insanity, leaving them as good as dead with nowhere to go but St. Mungo’s for the rest of their lives.



Neville took a deep, shuddering breath. “We can’t share a compartment with-with her.”



Harry’s eyebrows knotted together in confusion for a moment, but then smoothed out into a look of understanding. “Neville-come on-it’s all right,” he said gently.



Ginny, however, apparently didn’t know what Rachel’s parents had done to Neville’s. “What’s wrong, Neville?” she asked. “I know she’s a Slytherin, but she seems to be of the nicer variety.”



Rachel immediately tensed up at her words. “Excuse me?” she demanded. “She is sitting right here.”



“Sorry,” Ginny said, not looking sorry at all. “It’s just that-well-no offense or anything-but Slytherins and Gryffindors don’t really mix.”



Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe the only reason they don’t mix is because of the stupid stereotype you Gryffindors put on all of us Slytherins-you automatically assume that we all hate Muggle-borns. Well, how would you like it if I assumed that you were the stereotypical Gryffindor-brave, but perhaps not the smartest. Although, from what I’ve seen, you seem to fit that stereotype quite well.”



Ginny rose up in her seat. “Excuse me?”



Neville suddenly broke in and pointed an accusing finger at Rachel. “That’s beside the point. Do you know what her parents did to my parents?” His voice rose to a shout. “DO YOU?!”



Everyone in the compartment looked very taken aback at Neville’s sudden outburst. “No-what?” Ginny asked, looking utterly confused.



Neville was trembling all over. “They took them, and they put them under the Cruciatus curse. Over and over and over, until it drove them mad. They can’t even talk anymore-they can’t take care of themselves-they have to stay in a bloody hospital for the rest of their lives. And the worst part is-they don’t even know my name,” he finished in a choked whisper.



“I’m so sorry, Neville,” Ginny whispered, after a very lengthy pause. Ginny and Harry both sat frozen in horror. Their eyes flickered to Rachel, who so often had something to say in her defense, who always had some sort of catty comment to make. But now, Rachel had slid down in her seat, looking as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible.



“I’m sorry, Neville,” Rachel said quietly. “I’m so, so sorry.”



“There is no way that I am going to share a compartment with somebody like her,” Neville finished, rather nastily. He turned around, shoved the compartment doors open, and stalked out of the compartment into the corridor, letting the doors shut behind him with a bang.



Ginny, looking rather shocked, hurried out of the compartment after Neville. Harry jumped to his feet and was about to rush after Neville, too, when he stopped to glance at Rachel. “I’m sorry,” he said, somewhat lamely, then dashed out of the compartment. The doors banged shut once again.



A horrible, empty silence was left behind. Rachel felt the familiar tears threatening to overwhelm her. Why, oh, why did everyone seem to hate her? They all assumed that she was just like her parents. She usually stood up to most of them. But Neville-how in the world could she stand up to Neville? How could she, when his parents had been driven insane at the hands of her own parents? She knew that it must have haunted him all his life. And today, of all days, to run into the daughter of the very people who had made his life so miserable-who wouldn’t have exploded with anger like he did? She didn’t blame him one bit.



She vaguely wondered why they hadn’t had an encounter before, but, of course, it could very well be because she usually sat quietly in the backs of classrooms, keeping to herself and her books, doing well on exams and such but never raising her hand. She always held her own quite valiantly when spoken to, but she never actively sought out a conversation. The truth was that she simply couldn’t stand the hateful looks she got when she told people her name. The entire Wizarding world knew her by her parents, it seemed, and, no matter how much she argued her case, there was nothing she could do to change that.



The tears at last spilled over, running down her cheeks like hot wax.



Today, the day she would finally get to return to Hogwarts, the day she had been looking forward to all summer, had turned into an awful nightmare.

Rachel woke with a start.





She had been having a dream-a nightmare, really. She could still feel the icy chill it had enveloped her in. And yet, the strangest thing was, she couldn’t remember what it had been about. The last thing she could remember was sitting up in bed, her sheets tangled around her, her nightgown soaked with sweat, completely wide awake.





Rachel glanced around, wondering what had woken her. The room’s two other occupants were sound asleep.





Rachel shrugged and lay back down. She knew she was no way she would be able to fall back asleep now. The first fingers of sunlight were poking through the window, and one ray happened to fall directly on Rachel’s face. She closed her eyes to block the glare and contemplated the events of the day before.





The train ride had been a disaster. After leaving her in tears, Harry and his friends seemed to have found some other compartment to barge in on, as they hadn’t returned, thank God. Although Rachel had mostly managed to clean herself up so that she looked less like someone who had just been crying their heart out and more like someone eagerly excited to start a new term at Hogwarts, she had caught Draco’s glance as she disembarked the train, and his smirk was not a pretty one. She was just glad that she had managed to escape his wrath after dinner (which had been uneventful, unless you found the Sorting interesting, which Rachel didn’t.) She had run as quickly as possible up to her dormitory, where she had hurriedly prepared for bed and slipped beneath the covers just before Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode had entered the dormitory. Exactly one nasty comment and two shrill giggles had been aimed her way, which had to be some kind of record; usually the number of snide remarks was somewhere around twenty. At last, though, she had managed to fall asleep, and now she lay there, feeling her usual combination of nerves and excitement for her first day of classes at Hogwarts to begin.





Although…there was something else on Rachel’s mind, something that had been troubling her since the previous day’s train ride. As Harry Potter had been leaving her compartment, he had turned to her and mumbled, “I’m sorry.” Something about the way he had said it-his sincerity, perhaps-had stuck with her. I’m sorry. Could there really be someone else in the world besides Narcissa Malfoy who cared about her? No, of course there couldn’t, she reminded herself. After all, his two friends had made it pretty clear that they hated her, and Harry seemed like a loyal person, the type that would never go against his friends. But, still. I’m sorry.





Suddenly, Millicent Bulstrode let out a low groan. Simultaneously, Pansy Parkinson sat up and stretched her arms to the ceiling, her mouth wide open in a yawn. She turned to Rachel and shot her the dirtiest look she could muster.





Rachel got out of bed, ignoring Pansy. She carefully dressed, yanked a comb through her hair, and curled her eyelashes with the end of her wand before heading off to the bathroom to wash up before breakfast.






Rachel’s first class of the day was Potions. She entered the dungeons warily, since (though she hated to admit it) she was a bit frightened of Professor Snape. Just like the rest of the world, he hated her mother, and therefore he transferred that hatred onto her. He was rather fond of making snide comments whenever possible and giving her dreadfully low marks.





Rachel made her way to her usual seat at the back of the classroom. Before sitting down, she carefully set up her cauldron. She then seated herself and patiently waited for class to start.





The noisy throng of Gryffindor and Slytherin fifth-years entering the dungeons would probably drive Professor Snape up a wall, had he been in the room. Rachel spotted Harry and two friends she recognized as Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger making their way to the tables in the front of the room.





“Silence!” At that moment, Professor Snape entered the dungeons with his usual attempt at dramatic flair. He stalked to the front of the room and turned around to face the students. A subdued hush instantly fell over the classroom.





“As I hope many of you already know, this year will be one of the most important years in your magical training,” Professor Snape said, sounding bored. “It is the year when you will take your Ordinary Wizarding Level examination. In order to adequately prepare you for this test, I have designed a project that should keep you busy for the entire first month of term.” He paused, as if expecting groans, but everyone knew better than to make a sound in Snape’s class.





He continued. “Allow me to warn you that the project is quite difficult. The potion you will be making is perhaps one of the most complicated potions known to man. Furthermore, I will not be giving you any instructions to aid you in the creation of this potion. You must find that out for yourselves. The research will be done almost completely outside of class; you will be allowed class time for the actual brewing of the potion. You will be working in pairs, which I have already determined.”





Professor Snape plucked a piece of paper up off his desk and began to read off it in a random order. “Neville Longbottom, you will be working with Pansy Parkinson. Draco Malfoy, Ronald Weasley. Seamus Finnigan, Millicent Bulstrode. Vincent Crabbe, Parvati Patil. Dean Thomas, Lavender Brown. Gregory Goyle, Hermione Granger. And finally, Harry Potter, Rachel Lestrange.” He glanced up. “You may now move so that you are sitting beside your partner.”





Rachel turned her head slightly. She saw that Harry had gathered up his things and was now making his way towards her. “Hello,” he said, somewhat awkwardly, as he slid into the seat beside her.





“Hello,” Rachel replied, somewhat stiffly. Suddenly, Professor Snape broke in. “There will be no time for chit-chat. Get straight to work. Today is the only class time I will be providing for work time on this project.”





Harry turned back to Rachel as soon as Professor Snape finished talking. “Look...I’m really sorry about what happened on the train yesterday.”





Rachel felt whatever good feeling she had had for Harry Potter instantly leave her body. Wasn’t it enough that his friends hated her? Did he really need to bring it up now, when she had already almost forgotten about the incident? Her anger infiltrated her voice so that it sounded tight and constricted. “Oh. Well, I guess it’s not your fault that your friends happen to hate me.”





Harry looked at her sharply. “My friends don’t hate you.”





Rachel nodded her head vigorously. “Oh, yes, they do. Neville has probably hated me ever since he found out what happened to his parents, so I suppose his reaction was understandable. But the redhead? Ginny? I had no idea she harbored such ill feeling towards me.”





Harry looked uncomfortable. “Well…about that…I’m really sorry if you felt like they were a bit-er-nasty…”





Rachel’s voice rose. “A bit nasty?





Harry cringed. “Okay, maybe more than a bit.”





Rachel turned away from him. “Maybe a lot.”





Harry gently, tentatively, reached forward and laid his fingers on Rachel’s arm. She froze. Every cell in her body was aware of his fingers, Harry Potter’s fingers, resting on her elbow.





Harry spoke softly. “I really am sorry.”





Rachel took a deep breath. “It’s all right, I suppose.”





Harry leaned back. “Good.” Rachel felt herself idiotically wishing that he had left his fingers on her arm.





Stupid! she chastised herself. What was wrong with her? Why in the world would she want Harry Potter laying his hands on her?





Rachel suddenly wished desperately for the class to end. She needed to get out of here, before Harry Potter caused her to lose her mind.





“Er…should we get started, then?” Harry asked tentatively.





Rachel startled. “Er…yeah,” she said awkwardly. “I’ll look up ingredients if you look up methods.”





“Sounds good,” he replied cheerfully, and he pulled out his textbook to begin researching.





Rachel’s eyes may have been scanning the textbook, but her mind was elsewhere. She was very aware of Harry’s presence next to her. Every shift, every movement, that he made, was carefully noticed. She didn’t know why she seemed to have this sudden obsession with him, but it was something she couldn’t shake. Her arm still burned where he had touched her.





Suddenly, class ended, and Harry took off. And Rachel found herself sitting there, wondering why in the world she suddenly found herself completely infatuated with Harry Potter.