The Barrows. Another pureblood family from the long lines of Slytherin ancestry. It's 1991, and Elmira and Clyde Barrows' daughter's first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has arrived.
The Wizarding World is not safe to our young O...
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"𝐖𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐫?"
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☽
Well, the summer air had finally drifted away, dissolving quickly into even more bitter air. Yet, still, Ophelia had made the absentminded decision to study in the courtyard. Classes had ended for the day, so a few students were milling throughout the halls, either alone or accompanied by a few friends or two. Everyone was off doing their own respective thing, and Ophelia took the rare moments of peace and quiet to herself.
She had decided to look over her notes from Professor Binns' lecture, hoping to find something useful for her upcoming essay on whatever the professor had said. Still, she found nothing, despite her naive prayers that when she opened the parchment, there would be something substantial written on the page when she opened the parchment. Instead, she seemed to have barely scribbled out a date and some indecipherable name written in drawled ink before she dozed off. Of course, she wasn't usually the one to be so inattentive, but the elderly ghost professor had such a monotone voice it was hard not to get distracted.
Just as she was about to lug her textbook out of her satchel, she caught a glimpse of a red-robed mob, the Gryffindor quidditch team walking across the courtyard. Coincidentally, at the same time as the Slytherin Quidditch team, all dressed in their freshly-pressed green robes and brandishing their newly acquired Nimbus Two-Thousand and Ones, courtesy of Draco's father. This whole encounter that was about to go down was a recipe for disaster, but Ophelia couldn't help herself and didn't want to look away.
Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor captain with a long, frail neck and a round, small-ish head, was sporting a peeved expression, frowning emphatically as they approached the green-clad team. Ophelia couldn't make out what they were saying, trying to inconspicuously watch from the sidelines while also hiding behind her book. She watched as Marcus Flint, the captain of the Slytherin team, talked rather leisurely and uncaringly towards Wood, who was bristling with rage. Finally, Ophelia couldn't take it anymore and stood up, stuffing her textbook into her bag and walking over to the Slytherin team, who exchanged a few confused but passive looks with her.
Subsequently, Hermione and Ron had approached Harry, sharing worried glances between the three of them, before their eyes landed back on Flint, who handed Oliver a note. He read it aloud.
"I, Professor Snape, do hereby give the Slytherin team permission to practice today, owing to the need to train their new seeker."
Oliver's hand dropped to his side, squinching his eyes shut in bewilderment before speaking again.
"Who's your new seeker?" Harry spat out, cutting Oliver off entirely. Ophelia watched as the Slytherin team split down the middle, and out strutted Draco, freshly branded green robes and astutely polished broom, sporting a malicious smirk.
Ophelia watched Harry resist his jaw from dropping wide open, as was the rest of the Gryffindor team.
"That's right. And, that's not all that's new this year." Draco said, sliding a hand down the sable handle before tossing it over his other shoulder in sweet, sweet triumph.
"Those are Nimbus Two-Thousand and Ones?! But how did you get them?" Ron spoke out.
"Courtesy of Draco's father." Marcus Flint said through a growing smile. Ophelia knew that Draco had something going on, but this was quite literally insane, and his obsession with one-upping Potter might have gone too far this time.
"You see, Weasley," Draco turned, his smirk turning into a mocking frown. "Some of us can only afford the best, unlike your mother. She probably had to scrape the floors just enough to get that bloody sister of yours a pair of robes."
Ophelia's jaw was the one to drop this time. That was far, even for Draco.
"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in, they got in on pure talent." Hermione piped up, defending Ron and the rest of the team. Ophelia didn't particularly like the mousy girl's tone, but she couldn't deny Hermione was right. Draco had snaked his way onto the team unfairly.
"No one asked your opinion, you filthy mudblood."
Draco's words set fire to a whirl of insults, hurled across the bristling crowd, growing rowdier by the second. The Weasley twins had to be held back by the Gryffindor team, ready to pounce on Draco, who for a moment had a flash of genuine fear on his smug, pallid face. Ron was burning red, and in an instant, whipped out his broken wand and yelled:
"Eat slugs!"
Ophelia jumped in front of Draco in an instinctive attempt to protect him, but luckily, Ron's spell seemed to have backfired. The ginger boy paused for a moment, everyone staring at him in silence before he fell to the ground, hunched over, and vomited up a fat, slimy slug. Ophelia dropped to her knees and began to rub Ron's back to try and ease the upchuck, but it didn't seem to work. She turned back to Draco, whose eyes were widened, and a seemingly forgotten trace of a smile lingered on his parted lips. Ophelia smiled simply before turning back to Ron, who was now vomiting up two slugs per session. She looked up at Harry, who flanked Ron, mumbling incoherent concerns and worries to his friend. Ophelia exchanged a knowing look with the brunette boy.
"We'd better take him to Hagrid," Hermione suggested, and the three of them agreed, lifting Ron to his feet and beginning to walk towards the exit to the courtyard. Ophelia looked over her shoulder one last time at Draco, whose calm expression had now morphed into a creased brow and twisting frown. Then, turning back to her hexed friend, she saw that he was throwing up way more than three slugs per minute.
