Chapter Four

Unfavorable Arrangements

Professor Severus Snape had done the math subconsciously over the summer, even when he didn't fully accept that he was doing it. What he had forced himself to forget was ever nagging at the back of his mind---bullying, fighting, and rebelling against the barriers he had placed to keep his own torturous knowledge at bay. But tonight it had begun to break through, to crash through the already weakened surface, splashing the ever-familiar sum across his tormented mind.

July of 1980—it had been eleven years. His daughter had been born eleven years ago and was now at the age where she had would be sent to school to train in the arts of magic. At this very moment, she could be discussing her life with newfound friends or curling up in one of the dorm's beds, wanting nothing more than a restful night before a hard day of classes and studying began. His daughter could be at Hogwarts, ready to began his classes, the closest she ever been to him since she was in her mother's womb...and he had absolutely no way to be sure.

He had, like anyone who occasionally ready the Daily Prophet, heard about Ellessa Harden's death and he had felt no concern for the woman—it was a blessed day indeed when that woman had left the world. He had never shown any signs that he might have ever known her, least the ever-observant Dumbledore see something peculiar in his behavior. But he had wondered about what had become of the child. There was no mention of Ellessa having a daughter in the paper, so he could only assume that the child hadn't been with her when she had died. Mordecai had been captured and now rotted in Azkaban, right where he deserved to be, so the girl wasn't with him. Severus knew nothing more than that about Ellessa's extended family, so whether Severus's daughter had gone to one of them or to one of Ellessa's Death Eater friends---though none of them still trusted her, so he doubted it—or to an orphanage, he had absolutely no idea.

It had tortured Severus that, as long as Voldemort lived and Severus was a spy, he could not search for the child. Even after Voldemort's death, the chaos had been so thick that Severus hadn't been free to search then either. He'd known that as long as Ellessa had his daughter in her grasp there was no way, short of murder and a one-way ticket to Azkaban, to get her from Ellessa. But the day that Ellessa died was the day that Severus wanted nothing more than to quit his job as Potions professor at Hogwarts and go searching for the girl. But commonsense had won. There was no way he could leave suddenly without great suspicion being directed towards him, and, at that time, he hadn't known if confessing to others would put the child in more danger, like it would have if Ellessa was alive. But he had searched—all that summer. He'd done it as discretely as possible, searching orphanages as though he was just a man in want for a child. But, though he looked at over a hundred orphanages, he had found nothing that fit the description he had given---a dark-eyed child who'd soon turn three.

He'd returned to school, even more bitter and frustrated than he had been before. It seemed that the child had disappeared from the face of the earth and throughout the year he found himself struggling with the idea that his daughter might no longer be living. It was a heart-stilling thought—one he wasn't sure he could bear. Severus had had enough of death and tragedy to believe that another dose could exist for him. He'd wanted so fiercely to grind it beneath the heel of his mental boot, but it had always been there; steady at the back of his mind. He had to face that fact that even if she was alive, he might never find her. He had tried and he had failed. It was painful knowing about her existence, when he knew that, for one reason or another, he would never be with her. He had grown so frustrated and so angry, he had wanted to forget his daughter ever existed just to spare himself the agony. But, moments before he torn his picture of her to bits, he had had a thought.

There could be one last hope for his daughter, because Severus knew the one man who—if anyone could—could find his daughter. A man who had connections throughout the wizarding world; the man who was his last chance of finding his daughter.

It had been difficult to go to Dumbledore, to tell of the thing he had kept secret for so long. First of his shameful relationship with Ellessa Harden, but Dumbledore, without asking, seemed to comprehend the reason Severus had done it.

Dumbledore knew Severus better than anyone. He had known him since his boyhood days at school and, in his observant way, understood all that had happened in his past. Dumbledore knew of his parents' doomed marriage, of his hate for the Marauders, and of the only woman he'd ever loved. Dumbledore had believed in and trusted Severus when no one else had and because of that Dumbledore was the closest thing to a decent father he'd ever known. At the very least, Dumbledore was a most trusted friend. Nothing proved their friendship better than that day Severus was completely and totally honest and told Dumbledore everything.

When Severus had come to tell of his daughter, he'd nearly felt his throat close up. He'd never strung those words together since that day he had first received the picture and now they were near impossible to admit. He'd begun to pace the width of Dumbledore's office, his hand clasping his wrist at the small of his back. Dumbledore had been patient and understanding, giving Severus the time he needed.

Finally Severus had turned to Dumbledore and said it as simply as he could, “And Ellessa became pregnant.”

Dumbledore's eyes had risen, but not quite in surprise. After confessing to having such an affair, it wasn't quite shocking that a child had come out of it.

Severus had collapsed back into his chair and sighed. “Albus, I have a daughter.”

Dumbledore had been silent for a long moment, his wise old eyes careful and calculative. He seemed to be weighing what the fact meant and how to respond to it. There had been silence for quite a long moment, the only sound being the rustle of wings as Fawkes shifted into a more comfortable position on his perch. Finally, Dumbledore's filled with determination and he'd reached across the desk to clasp Severus's elbow in an encouraging, fatherly way.

“I'll help you find her,” Dumbledore had promised. And, as every promise Dumbledore made, he kept it.

They'd searched all that next summer, though it had been kept quiet. No one they spoke to would know anything more than that Dumbledore was looking for a young witch who may or may not have been adopted around the age of two or three. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, no one questioned him. After all, it seemed like something that Dumbledore would do.

The first place Dumbledore had looked was at the list that Professor McGonagall's magical quill had spelled out, the list of magical children. This was something that Dumbledore always did on occasion, perusing the new students, so McGonagall didn't so much as raise in eyebrow. Dumbledore and Severus had looked it over nearly three times before accepting that there was no child with the last name of either Harden or Snape. It led them to believe that, wherever she was, his daughter had been legally adopted and her last name changed. This conclusion had led them onto the next place to search.

Dumbledore had gotten access to the adoption records at the Ministry and Severus and he had spent two tedious weeks sorting through the documents only to discover absolutely nothing. They'd come to one reasonable conclusion; the paper had somehow gotten lost. Severus had begun to lose hope, but he was a Slytherin, determined and ambitious, and neither he nor Dumbledore were about to give up. At that point, it might have become a hopeless battle, but they would fight it nonetheless.

Dumbledore had asked anyone he thought would have any idea, but there was hardly anyone to ask and though he had not given the same answer: They honestly had no clue. They had one last and desperate option, one that Dumbledore had tried at the end of the summer. He went to Azkaban in search of Mordecai. Severus had wanted to be the one to go---oh, how he would have loved to get his hands on him. But Dumbledore had thought it unwise and explained with the comment of, “If it came to using Legilimency and we stumbled on a memory of maltreatment of your daughter, I am much more likely be able to restrain myself. I would hate for you to murder the man in front of all the Dementors in Azkaban.”

So Severus had grudgingly stayed behind and Dumbledore had been the one to search Mordecai's mind, a task that wasn't easy. Dumbledore had found Mordecai, half-crazed and laughing like a madman. His mind had been fragmented, falling to pieces, so that putting the pieces together was as difficult as solving a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle. In the end, Dumbledore had found nothing helpful. Mordecai had absolutely no memory or knowledge of where Ellessa had taken the girl to.

It had been their final chance and it had come to nothing. As the new school year began, Severus had resigned himself to the fact that he would never meet his daughter; never so much as know her name. Dumbledore told him not to give up hope, but it wasn't possible. Dumbledore was a believer; Severus was realistic. He was left only one option to him; to forget. So, as he had done with so many things, he had locked the memories and knowledge into a volt on the back of his mind where it could not possibly torment him.

But there were moments like this summer that Severus felt the facts fight their way back into his mind. Especially this July, when his daughter had come of the age to go to a Wizarding school. But the fact was that, even if Severus had some idea where his daughter had gone, he had no inkling if she had been sent to Hogwarts. If Ellessa had had her way, she wouldn't have allowed her daughter anywhere near a place where she could catch a whiff of his scent, let alone let her into the same classroom where he was teaching. Even though Ellessa had no authority over the child now, she could have left instructions that whoever was guarding the child never send her to Hogwarts. She could have been sent to Beaubatons or---even worse---to Durmstrang. The thought of his daughter at the hand of the idiot, Karkaroff, sent Severus's stomach lurching with unpleasant anger.

Dumbledore had even suggested looking at the other school's this summer, but they both knew it would do no good. With no name to go by, it was hopeless. Even if she was in this very castle he might never find her. After all, how many dark-eyed first year girls could possibly be there?

But, despite the odds, in the Great Hall earlier that even, Severus hadn't been able to help but study each of the first years with interest. At the moment he had been doing it, he was unsure what exactly he had been looking for and it had taken a long moment for his calculative mind to comprehend. As each girl stepped forward to take their place upon the stool and half-disappeared beneath the Sorting Hat, he had been completely alert, unable to tear his eyes away and he'd begun to understand his interest and what exactly he had been expecting. He was searching for something that he knew he wouldn't quite find at his perch at the Head Table.

A girl with his eyes.

Now, an hour later, Severus set his quill on the stack of plans for tomorrow's assignments and wrapped his hand around the handle of the top drawer of his desk. As he tried to open it, the drawer gave a squeak of resentment and protest, and for a moment, refused to give way. Setting his jaw, Severus gave another pull, but it only opened a crack. He jiggled it, jerking it roughly back and forth to loosen it, then gave a third tug. With a screech of enmity the drawer reluctantly gave way and slid open to reveal in its hold a neat stack of papers, an extra quill, a bottle of reflective black ink, and, tucked away at the side where it would be mistaken as nothing more than a scrap of paper, was a small and worn photograph. Gingerly, Severus picked up the photograph and turned it over in his palm. He held it toward the one candle that lit up his desk, casting a dim and eerie glow over his papers and making the fresh ink gleam pleasantly. The light splashed across the photograph, illuminating the baby's innocent face.

He had not looked at it for a while. Through the years he had forced himself to keep it hidden and forgotten, so his daughter wouldn't have any power to haunt him. The concerns and thoughts that came every time he studied the picture were far too intoxicating and slightly—no, more than slightly—painful. So he'd locked the picture away, along with that knowledge of his daughter's existence, imprisoning the picture in the desk and his memories in the deep parts of his mind that he could easily pretend wasn't real.

But there were moments, when truth would escape; moments when he couldn't possibly believe his own lie for another second. Moments like that day Ellessa had died, or the time of July that marked a milestone in his daughter's life, and, especially moments like now, when he imagined that his daughter might just be in the same castle as he was. In these moments he'd drag out the old picture and could do nothing but stare at it, wondering if it held the answers to the many questions that ran through his mind, tormenting him.

The baby's dark eyes blinked sleepily in the picture, and Severus felt an extremely unfamiliar (and equally uncomfortable) warmth spread through his chest. It was something he hadn't felt for a long time; in fact, he'd hardly felt anything but disdain and irritation for along time. The emotion didn't seem to fit within him and, as pleasant as the feeling should have been, he could not help but feel annoyed by his own weak heart. It was only a picture, for Merlin's sake! Locking his jaw, Severus pushed the awkward emotion away.

“This is ridiculous!” Severus growled, feeling angry with himself. He tossed the picture back into the drawer. He had better things to do than reminiscing and wishing for things that might never be. He knew better than to hope, because when the hope was crushed (and it was always crushed) it became clear that it was better to have never hoped at all.

Severus reached over to shove the drawer closed, but it resisted, sticking harder than it had the time before. He tried sidling it back and forth, but it wouldn't budge. He banged his fist against it, wanting the force to send the drawer back into place, but the effort only succeeded in bruising the side of his hand. The drawer was holding firmly open in an adamant fight with the professor, and the drawer was winning.

Growing angrier and even more frustrated, Severus stopped his comical battle and whipped out the wand. With a nonverbal spell, the war with the drawer ended, leaving Severus victorious and the drawer closed.

Severus leaned back in his chair. Besides, Severus mused as he regained his train of thought. He had more to worry about than wondering about his daughter.

Harry Potter had come to Hogwarts.

The moment Severus had seen him he had believed he was looking at an eleven-year-old James Potter. The rumpled, black hair forever in an untidy mess, the round glasses perched aloft on his nose, and the skinny, gangly body was so like James that it was uncanny ... and disconcerting. Severus could only imagine that one so like James in appearance could only be alike in other aspects. Whether or not Harry had been raised by his father, there were some traits that could only be passed on. That precious, heroic, and infamous Boy Who Lived was likely to be as mischievous and arrogant as his father before him. Potter was a miniature of James, readying for rule breaking and looking for ways to make Severus's life miserable. He was already began to succeed on the latter, with being a steady reminder of all that James had done to him. Potter, the spitting image of the man he hated.

But those eyes...those were Lily's eyes.

Yes, Severus could have forgiven Potter for being the son of James, but to be Lily's son...that he couldn't forgive, for those emerald green eyes were the greatest torment of all.

Severus wrestled the line of thought away before he was drowned by the flood of memories and emotions--some wonderful, some painful, and some a bitter mixture of both--that threatened to sweep over him. He buried such unwelcome things back into their cages and let the callousness and numbness spread back over his heart.

Of course, Severus had more reason to hate Potter than the fact that he despised James, something that turned the bitter flavor of dislike into a mouthful of salty enmity that mere pumpkin juice could not wash away. There was that little matter of the debt. Even though it had been placed on him in unfair circumstances—even though James had only saved him in an act of cowardice, more to save his own neck, than as a heroic act—even though Severus was sure that James would have loved to see him torn apart by a werewolf--the debt passed on from father to son. Whether Severus liked it or not, he---if the opportunity ever came (and if Harry was indeed James' son in every aspect and personality, Severus was certain it would)---would have to protect Harry. And maybe then he could go on hating James in peace.

There was that little matter of the oath, but that was another thought that Severus wanted nothing to do with.

Severus's upper lip twitched in part unhappiness and part disgust. Surviving Harry Potter, trying to treat him like every other student when so many people bowed before him, all while he was a constant memory of the tortured past, was sure to be difficult, but he would survive. After all he had faced in the past, Potter would probably – or rather, hopefully – be easy.

Though, at the moment, Severus would prefer the agony of the Cruciatus Curse than seven years with James Potter's boy.

Severus picked up his quill and a scratch of ink to paper filled the quiet room, almost loud in the silence. He had best return to his work or he would find himself ill-prepared to face the morrow and that would be a tragic mistake. After all, with the Boy Who Lived following his father's footsteps in Gryffindor, Severus once again failing to receive the Defense Against the Dark Arts class and instead it going to that odious and suspicious Quirrell, and the possibility that a girl with his eyes was preparing for bed in one of the nearby dorms, this was bound to be an interesting year.

Cruel and unusual punishment had suddenly become new and fresh. It had a new smell, some sort of expensive perfume that would have been pleasant if it hadn't particularly drenched the room with its suffocating odor. It had a new taste, bitter and wretched and something like stale vomit. It had a new sound, the sound of three girls screeching laughs and annoying giggles. And it had a new definition: being assigned to seven years of sleeping in the same room as the despicable Annadel Delamb and her equally horrific friend, Pansy.

Shiloh let the green curtains slide back into place, blocking out the sight of Annadel, Pansy, and Millicent sitting on Annadel's bed and making high-pitched sounds that Shiloh could only call laughter, but knew better than to mistake it for any innocent reflection of merriment. Whatever they were laughing at, Shiloh knew it wouldn't be something quite as angelic as what decent girls discussed---like their own embarrassing moments or funny jokes that they had heard---and if it was anything that Annadel (who was about as humorous as a cat tormenting a mouse before the kill) could think funny, Shiloh would rather not comprehend any part of their conversation.

Shiloh leaned back on her bed, tucking her knees to her chest and her feet beneath the corner of her pillow to warm her freezing toes. All the curtains were closed, making the area fit for the solitude she craved. In the temporarily haven of green cloth it was easy to believe that she was the only person in the world. She thought that it was perhaps the only privacy she would have at Hogwarts, but the imitation of the peace she had felt when she was alone in her potions shed or beside her creek. But then Annadel shrieked with her own nasally laughter--the one with more mocking than any real joy--, the sound penetrated past the curtains, and Shiloh felt her upper lip twitched with disgust.

Who was she kidding? How was she ever going to survive in close quarters with Annadel? It was like camping an enemy territory while not knowing if the Nazis were about to sneak up and murder you in your sleep. Only Annadel was no terrorist who would blow your head off and end it quickly. She preferred death by slow and painful torture. It wasn't that Shiloh was afraid of her; she'd proven herself capable of handling Annadel's barbs more times than once. She'd dealt with Annadel since she was four without any ill side effects. It was just that rooming with Annadel and those two other she-devils that Annadel called friends, was a bloody nightmare. And, by Merlin, Shiloh wanted to wake up.

There was more laughter accompanied by an unfavorable snort and Shiloh couldn't help an uncharacteristic groan. She flopped forward, her knees still under her and buried her face in her pillow in case she gave into her desire to scream in agony. Lord, take me now. Only, if Shiloh could survive seven years with Annadel, she could survive anything.

As the laughter faded to whispers, Shiloh rolled onto her side, curled into a comfortable ball, and looked up at the patch of green curtains closest to the ceiling. The green was a steady reminder of the events of the day and, as she blinked at it, taking her thoughts away from Annadel and ignoring the sounds of the girls on the other beds--for anything was better than dwelling on her unfortunate situation--everything went from feeling wistfully surreal too feeling like an amazing reality. She was finally at Hogwarts and...

She paused looking closely at the green.

Slytherin. I'm a Slytherin.

Just like Ellessa.

No, that wasn't right. Shiloh hadn't exactly imagined that she would end up in Slytherin, the same house that You-Know-Who had been in and (more importantly) the house that her mother had been in, but, now that she was, it seemed right. The Hat had been right; she was ambitious and tenacious, just like a Slytherin, and even though she had other traits not so fitting to a Slytherin, the wisdom of the Sorting Hat had come out with the right conclusion in the end. Shiloh didn't care that Ellessa had been here. Just because two paths could hold similarities didn't make them the same path in destination. Even though Ellessa could have been an ambitious, determined Slytherin like Shiloh, where Ellessa had used those traits to serve You-Know-Who, Shiloh would use them for good, and that was in the end what mattered the most: not their character traits, but their choices. Besides, just as the Sorting Hat had said, 'you would do your all for those you love'. She knew that was the greatest difference between her and her mother. Shiloh knew what it was like to love, but Ellessa had been incapable of love. Shiloh's flashbacks and memories were enough to tell her that.

And on top of that, no matter if Slytherin had housed You-Know-Who, Ellessa, and, now, Annadel, it was Shiloh's house, the home for the cunning, and she was proud.

But would her parents be?

Shiloh breath an uncertain breath from her nose, tucked her cheek close to her pillow, and ran her fingertips down the downy fabric of the pillowcase. Her parents knew that she often got into trouble, whether she intended too or not, and when they got the owl Shiloh had sent informing them that she was Sorted into Slytherin, her parents wouldn't be able to help but think of all the trouble Slytherins were when her parents were in school. They'd think that perhaps, if Shiloh could end up in Slytherin, it wasn't just a childhood faze she was going through and perhaps she was headed down the same road as her birth mother---just like Aunt Flora thought. The idea was unpleasant, and Shiloh felt her heart groan sadly. She was actually happy to be placed in Slytherin, but she knew her parents wouldn't be so thrilled. And, after all they'd done for her, she didn't want them to worry. She wanted to make them proud.

And she would, Shiloh told herself. After all, she was a very ambitious Slytherin.

Annadel's words once again cut in through into Shiloh's world of thought, the words raised enough so that Shiloh could hear--probably doing it purposely. Annadel had been shocked when Shiloh had been placed in Slytherin. The open jaw and stunned expression as Shiloh trotted down to the seats where she had been greeted for the first time by her house had been priceless. But Shiloh knew that Annadel wouldn't let Shiloh get away with being put into the 'House of the Purebloods' without making her life miserable at every possible moment. Shiloh just didn't expect it to began so soon.

“Oh, Shiloh Sanders,” Annadel was clearly answering one of the girls' questions and her voice rose in a mock interest as though they were discussing something that she enjoyed and was immensely skilled in. Shiloh could almost see her patting her heart and looking quite conceited, as though rewarding herself for knowing something more than her companions. “She's a--” She stopped, as though deciding what words to use. Shiloh knew it wasn't going to be 'a sweet, pleasant girl', especially when Annadel let out a fake little giggle. “Well, actually I'm not sure what she is. Her parents are both wizards. Her mum's a pureblood, perfectly respectable woman until she hadn't married that filthy mudblood.”

As the words 'filthy mudblood' always did when applied to her father, Shiloh felt the taunt make her blood boil and, as her hot anger often did, the fury took over her mind, blocking out her commonsense and contorting her face into a glare and sneer. She was on her knees and yanking back the curtain before she could understand what she doing. The words sprang past her lips, uninvited but welcome all the same. “Shut up, Delamb!”

Annadel had the audacity to look surprised. As Pansy and Millicent twisted to peer over their shoulders at Shiloh, Annadel leaned back as though flinching. Her hand that was, predictably pressed to her chest, tightened around her nightgown in surprise, before anger touched her lips. “I beg your pardon,” she chirped in faked tolerance. “But I don't believe you were included in this conversation.”

Shiloh, her face unreadable, stepped from the bed, the cold floor sending waves of cool through her bare toes. When she spoke again, her voice was low, making it clear that her threat would be carried through with incredible willingness. “I made your nose bleed once for calling my father a mudblood, Annadel. Don't make me do it again.”

Annadel's eyes flashed in rage; so did Pansy's and Mallicent's. Three against one---unfair odds, but Shiloh didn't flinch or feel a flicker of fear. Annadel gave them a discrete hand gesture that reminded Shiloh of cuing attack dogs to stay, before daintily unfolding her slender legs and sliding off the bed. Turning to face Shiloh, she gave a flick of her long hair, sending it flying off her shoulder and spraying behind her in what could have been an intimidating gesture but was only annoying to Shiloh. “Do you mean to threaten me, Sanders?”

“Oh, that's not a threat,” Shiloh corrected dangerously. “It's a promise.”

Annadel's eyes flickered again, but she said nothing. Pansy and Mallicent's eyes danced from one girl to the other, wide-eyed with anticipation, as though eagerly awaiting the moment that Annadel would turn Shiloh into a frog.

It was going to be a long seven years if events like this happened every night. They needed to draw out battle lines, to lay down the rules so that, maybe, they might manage to be near each other without the desire to tear out one another's throats. And there was no better time than to do it than right now.

“Let's get things straight,” Shiloh began determinedly. “I don't know what I ever did to you—”

Annadel drew herself taller, putting her nose in the air in an elegant yet haughty and despicable way. “Nothing, Sanders,” she replied in calloused smoothness. “You didn't do anything. It's more of the fact that you...” She once again paused on her quest to find the perfect description of such a foul creature. In the end she, found one she believed fit wonderfully. “...are alive.”

Shiloh's emotions were unmoved. She cared nothing for insults, at least when they were directed at her, and she showed no evidence that she had heard, except for the small statement of, “Excuse me for living.”

But it was no apology, only a cool-as-a-frostbitten-rose retort that showed she was completely apathetic to Annadel's problem with her. Shiloh continued back onto the original topic of conversation. “If we're both going to manage to survive the closeness of one room, than we better lay down some rules.”

“Rules?” Annadel barked in a cruel, humorless guffaw, before wrapping her arms over her chest. “Since when did I take orders from the likes of me?”

Shiloh felt her jaw tighten, but the rage vanished to smug musings. If only Annadel knew what the likes of Shiloh really were. What respect would Annadel give her if she found out that Shiloh was the daughter of a noble pureblooded Death Eater? Shiloh had a suspicion that Annadel might think it was amazing. Someone who hated Muggleborns so much could only have favored one whose soul purpose was to rid the wizarding world of everyone not a pureblood. It might be a note of worth on one who was so very tainted. And that was precisely why Annadel would never find out, because Shiloh wanted nothing to do with Annadel's admiration. The day she gained Annadel's appreciation was the day life would no longer be worth living, because she would have failed at her greatest dream. So let Annadel think she was the daughter of a mudblood; that was better than what Shiloh really was.

Shiloh took a few, calculative steps forward, the movement slow but menacing. Shiloh thought she saw a bit of fear gallop through Annadel's eyes, even though Annadel neither flinched nor moved. As Shiloh brought herself toe-to-toe with Annadel, the girl wrinkled up her nose as though Shiloh smelled of something awful, like rotten eggs or a pail of three-day-old garbage.

“Since my existence bothers you,” Shiloh continued lowly, “let's do ourselves both a favor and pretend we don't know one another. You leave me alone and I'd sooner be in a Devil's Snare than spend a moment near you. We may share the same room, but I think it would be best if we act as though we don't share the same planet.”

Silently daring her to say no to the proposition, Shiloh locked gazes with Annadel, eyes narrow and unblinking in a piercing glare. For the next moments of silence so thick a sword tip could not have penetrated it, Shiloh and Annadel both refused to look away as though they were fighting battles just with their eyes and the one who broke contact or the powerful silence would lose the war. But Shiloh could have waited decades if it meant a victory over Annadel.

But Annadel's hot gaze was no where near as strong as Shiloh's and, when Annadel could no longer bear it, she looked away and surrendered, giving a begrudging and heated, “Fine!” The clipped word wasn't promising, nor was that she, with a flick of her hair, turned her back as though unable to stand the sight of Shiloh. Annadel returned to her bed and began a conversation as though nothing had happened. Pansy and Millicent, sending Shiloh triumphant smiles as though the victory was theirs and perhaps it was, because Shiloh had nothing to guarantee that Annadel would keep her word. In fact, Shiloh doubted it, since Annadel wasn't known as a particularly honest person.

Shiloh watched the trio skeptically, not wanting to turn her back to the enemy in case there was still some fight left in Annadel or the two other girls wanted a go at her. After a long moment, when the girls didn't so much as glance in her direction, Shiloh forced her hand to stop twitching with the urge to slip her fist into her pocket, wrap her fingers around her wand, and hex Annadel. Perhaps then she would have been able to sleep peacefully without the threat of being murdered in her slumber. Only sheer willpower and the threat of being expelled kept her urge at bay.

Shiloh forced herself to return to her bed, every muscle tight in preparation for whatever tricks the girls might pull, but they did nothing. Once she was in the safety of her own bed, she pulled the curtain closed again and felt every muscle of her body ease slightly. She felt suddenly exhausted as though a vampire had been sucking her life's blood and energy from her, and in a way one had; a vampire named Annadel Delamb. Now all Shiloh wanted was go to sleep, temporarily forgetting that someone like Annadel existed, and wake up to her first day at Hogwarts.

In the privacy of the curtains, Shiloh changed into a large, but light shirt that, nearly fell to her knees and a pair of flannel trousers. She had never been able to stand nightgowns, especially the frilly lacy ones that her mum tried to stick her in. Shiloh always found them uncomfortable, and they somehow always ended up wrapped at her waist by morning, so she'd taken to stealing some of her father's old shirts and finding loose fitting pants. Shiloh took her wand from her robe pocket and tucked it beneath her pillow, in reach of hand in case she needed it in a hurry. Once this was done, she laid her head on her pillow, tucking the blankets over her shoulders. She had already placed her music box on the corner of her pillow, careful to keeping the rich treasure away from Annadel's prying eyes in case she began to ask annoying questions about how she had gotten it. She picked it up and with slow, practiced fingers she wound it up and propped it open. The pure melody poured forth having the splendid power to soothe away the rest of the world and cause her eyelids to be twice as heavy. Shiloh closed her eyes, feeling the pull of darkness and Shiloh was going willingly. After all, it had been a long day.

Shiloh sensed rather than felt the curtain being drawn back and cold air breezed onto the back of her neck, shoving the alluring promise of slumber away. Irritation made her creamy while cheek turn an uncharacteristic rosy pink, the only sign that she was rapidly getting lost in fury. She forced her eyes open; anger shaking off the hold darkness had had on her. If Annadel couldn't keep their agreement for more than a few minutes, then Shiloh was going to to lose all self-control and---whether she was expelled or not--was going to jinx her. At least then she could get some sleep.

Shiloh flipped onto her other side and pushed herself onto her elbow, her face so angry that it seethed with pure hatred. “I told you, Annadel,” she growled, reaching beneath her pillow to wrap a fist tightly around her wand, barely moments away from pulling it out. “Leave me...er...”

The last part escaped her as she felt hot embarrassment and shame replace her rage, burning her cheeks with more heat than any amount of fury ever could. She felt the very tips of her eyes burn with discomfort and she moved her lips soundlessly, a thousand apologies trying to escape all at once and getting tangled up in the throat causing a painful lump to appear there. She, who hardly ever felt shame, had never been so embarrassed---not even when Fred Weasley had dangled her panties in front of a crowd of strangers.

Finally, Shiloh managed out a genuine apology. “I am so sorry!”

Because, peeking a head between a small parting in the curtains, was not Delamb, but a rather stunned and annoyed, brown-skinned girl.

“I would say so,” said the girl, blowing a long piece of dark hair out of her face. Despite the fact that, by the exasperated sound of the puff, it was clear she had been offended and didn't think a simply apology would suffice, there was a slight twitch in her lips that led Shiloh to believe that she knew this was some sort of misunderstanding and found it a bit amusing. But then again, if Shiloh was as red as she felt, it didn't take much imagination to figure out what might possibly appear funny.

Shiloh swallowed hard and pulled on her self-control. Soon her face and voice returned to its usual calm self. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Well, obviously,” she muttered sarcastically. “May I have a seat?” she asked gesturing to the end of Shiloh's bed.

Shiloh wasn't exactly in the mood for company, especially with the girl who she had snapped at by mistake, but she found it rude to refuse. It was the least she could do. Shiloh sat up, folding her legs beneath her, and nodded, knowing that she wasn't dressed for introductions, but not really minding because there was absolutely no way that Shiloh could make a worse first impression then she already had.

The girl lowered herself onto the bed, folding her legs beneath her with feline grace. With the innocence of meeting someone for the first time, Shiloh studied the stranger and the first word she found to describe her was 'pretty'. Shiloh had never been much judge of looks, thinking that people placed too much on how others appeared. She knew that Annadel was supposedly pretty, but with her cruel personality, Shiloh only saw her as ugly. Shiloh knew that people considered her cute, expecting her to grow into a beautiful woman, but she had never felt particularly lovely or good-looking, for when she looked in the mirror all she saw was herself--nothing more. But however a poor judge of appearances Shiloh might have been, she knew that with long, dark hair that was thick and wild, smooth carmel-colored skin, and gorgeous honey-colored eyes, the girl was as pretty as an eleven-year-old girl could be. The girl had long legs and arms, though it didn't quite look gangly, a slender body, and high, regal cheekbones, looking quite like a young princess.

“I guess introductions are in order.” The girl had a wide smile on her face, clearly all the offense forgotten. She had a confident air about her that didn't come from arrogance but rather a self-assurance that was very out of place in one so young. With an easy demeanor, she stuck out her hand. “I'm Symone Zell.”

Shiloh slipped her hand into the girl's long fingers and forced a small twitch of her lips in an effort to be friendly. “Shiloh Sanders. But...” Shiloh frowned her, blinking in controlled confusion, wondering what this girl was doing in her room, looking as though she belonged. “What are you doing here?”

“On your bed?” the girl asked in a slight teasing in her voice. “You invited me to sit.” Shiloh was about to tell the girl that wasn't what she had meant, but the girl gave the real answer before Shiloh could. “I'm your last roommate.”

Shiloh nodded in acknowledgment but inside she felt a bit of relief. She had wondered briefly on who was her fifth and final roommate, but had feared the worst--yet another person like Annadel. But Symone seemed kind enough. At least she wouldn't be completely alone in the sea of conceited girls.

Symone continued on her line of explanation. “I would have come up sooner, but I was down in the common room with my older brother. I thought I'd come and introduce myself, but--” She wrinkled up her nose as though catching a whiff of something putrid. “Some people aren't really welcoming--at least not to half-bloods.”

To accent what she was talking about, there was another screeching cackle that Shiloh recognized as Annadel's. Shiloh understood perfectly what Symone meant. But, honestly, did Annadel know the pedigree of every single student at Hogwarts? If Symone's mother had indeed married a Muggle or Muggleborn, Shiloh could only imagine the disgusted look on Annadel's face and the cruel remarks that would have come out upon the girl's introduction. Shiloh was glad she had been too unconscious to hear or she might have had to go on a killing-spree again.

Symone frowned and looked behind her shoulder in the direction the laughter had come from before turning back to Shiloh. Shiloh thought she caught something vague flash through Symone's eyes, something deep and unfathomable, but utterly fleeting. Perhaps it was sadness, but Shiloh couldn't be sure because it disappeared before she could place it, and Symone's usual smile was back on her face, though this time it didn't quite reach her eyes and the cheer in her voice seemed odd, almost forced. “If she was the girl you thought I was, I don't blame you for snapping.”

There was silence for a long moment and as Symone sat there, she tucked her head slightly, that emotion crawling back into her gaze. Whatever it was, it caused her sparkling eyes to darken. Shiloh understood that silences could do that; cause unpleasant thoughts to swim into the mind and whatever Symone was considering it was indeed unpleasant. Shiloh felt uncomfortable watching her and having no idea what Symone was thinking or feeling. But Symone perked up relatively quickly and changed the subject onto somewhat safer ground.

“Did you expect that you'd be a Slytherin?”

It occurred to Shiloh that Symone was trying to be friendly in an attempt to start a genuine friendship, but no matter how much Shiloh had thought she had wanted friends, the prospect now made her uncomfortable. For what she understood of friendship, it was one of the simplest and most complicated relationship--short of romantic love, of course. It was where they could simply be themselves, but to a girl like Shiloh being completely open was complicated, because she couldn't imagine being friends with anyone unless she could be honest with them. But how could she, when honesty would only ruin someone's opinion of her? Truth was, after all, incredibly painful. Now that friendship might actually be possible, Shiloh had the urge to run or to tell Symone to leave. Because she was suddenly unprepared to string those words together---ones that had the power to break her---but she couldn't have a friendship unless they were said. But no one decent would want to be friends with Ellessa Harden's daughter.

Shiloh fought the feelings of panic away. Symone was only trying to carry on a conversation. Shiloh shook her head in reply to the question. “Not really...” She shook her head again. “No.”

“Me neither,” Symone admitted but didn't stop with that. Shiloh had to consider the fact that this girl might be a little talkative. But at least she wasn't like Shiloh's mum's friends, who were talkative but spoke only of things that were beyond the range of Shiloh's interests. “I mean, my brother's a Slytherin, but he's a total prat.” There was a flicker of un-sisterly distaste in her eyes that made Shiloh think that maybe she wanted to stay as far away from Symone's brother as humanly possible while living in the same room as his sister. “My mum's a Gryffindor, along with my other sister and brother, so I thought I'd be there. The Sorting Hat considered it, but--” She stopped, her eyes moving around uneasily, as though she thought she had said too much. She was clearly hiding something that the Sorting Hat had said and Shiloh understood so fully that she didn't think of pressing. Shiloh knew extraordinary well that what the Sorting Hat said was very...well, personal.

“But here I am,” Symone finished, but the light in her eyes seemed to flicker a bit, before she drew on her strength as though forcing herself to be happy about something she wasn't sure she could accept. “It feels good to be where I'm supposed to be.”

Whether Symone was earnest or not, Shiloh couldn't agree more. The Sorting Hat had looked deep into her being and seen, with its awesome wisdom, where she should be placed. And she did belong here in ambitious, stubborn, and sly Slytherin. It was why Ravenclaw had seemed awful and Gryffindor just not right. It was why being here filled in a piece of her she hadn't thought was missing. She was finally at Hogwarts, finally in her House, finally feeling like she might actually belong. After so many years of waiting with baited breath, Shiloh was somewhere she had always desired to go:

Right where she was supposed.

Shiloh and Symone bid each other goodnight and Symone left. Soon they were both in separate beds, snuggled under the covers as the giggling slowly faded and the last of the candles were blown out.