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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"𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭?"
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☽
"I might have found something," Ophelia said, shifting in her chair to slide it closer to Draco's, who was gradually making his way through a towering stack of Magical History and Vernacular. The pair had found a semi-secluded nook in the library where they could conduct their research. Their work was illuminated only by the flickering candles, and their whispers muffled by the stacks of rainfall descending from the viscid clouds hung low in the darkening sky. They had made their way here instinctively after the meeting, where they had left perplexed and seeking for erudition.
"What is it?" Draco asked, shutting Valentine Versio's Vivacious Volume of Vernacular with an exasperated sigh.
"Listen: Parseltongue; pär-s(ə-)liŋ/təNG/; the ability to speak and understand the same dialect of snakes and other serpentine creatures. Example(s) of a Parseltongue: Salazar Salvatore Slytherin, née 984, was born a Parseltongue and is the only known Parseltongue to date." Ophelia read aloud, then pointed to the passage in the book so Draco could read it for himself.
"...the only known to date? Do you think there's more that just haven't revealed themselves?" Draco asked rhetorically, gazing up at the endless majority of books sailing over their heads. Ophelia watched his profile carefully, running her eyes along his jaw and protruding nose.
"Well, I guess so," Ophelia replied, looking back at her book. "It says here it's inherited, so it's quite possible that his children or relatives were also Parseltongues. And now that Harry has revealed himself to be one..."
"That has to be it. Him being a Parseltongue I mean." Draco cut her off, oblivious to what she was about to say. Ophelia shook it off quickly.
"So then what are we supposed to do with this information?" She asked.
"Wait until Potter slips up again and then confront him?" Draco suggested, sitting up quickly in his chair.
"We could, but I wouldn't let you do the confronting. You're way too biased." Ophelia said freshly.
"Biased?! How am I biased?" Draco retorted.
"For getting top marks, Draco, you really are dense."
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☽
Once the two had returned all of their books, it was time to tuck in for the night, and enough rest and relaxation would do the two good; they'd had an eventful evening thus far. Getting into their beds would finally be a haven, away from all the tension and chaos. Ophelia hoped, maybe a bit naively, that everything would blow over. Hoping that, eventually, she could go back to something that was, in some senses, normal. As the two were exiting the farther divisions of the Library, Ophelia glimpsed over her shoulder at Ginny Weasley, the youngest and only Weasley girl, hunched over a desk and writing incessantly in a small, black book that looked like a diary. She wasn't surrounded by mates or anyone in particular, and Ophelia wondered if she had any friends at all.
Then, just as she and Draco were about to approach the main door, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all rush inside, nearly knocking right into the two Slytherins. But, instead, everyone stopped short, sharing awkward glances, and mumbled low, insincere apologies. At the same time, Harry and Draco glared into each other's eyes with intense rage before Draco grabbed Ophelia's arm, eyes still locked with Harry's, yanking her aside and moving past the trio quickly so they could enter unobstructed.
"I bet that Fletchley boy will be staying far away from Potter from now on." Draco jeered rather loudly to no one in particular, peering over his shoulder to see if Potter had heard what he had said. Ophelia decided to humor him.
"I overheard him tell Harry that he was a muggle-born during the meeting. Rather openly too. Harry wouldn't do such a thing, would he?" She said the last part apprehensively.
"Ha!" Draco laughed, "If it weren't so funny, I would be concerned. Potter doesn't have half the brains to even do such a thing."
"But," Ophelia yanked Draco by the robe sleeve, stopping him short in his tracks. "Do you still think he's the heir to Slytherin?"
"I think he's innocent until proven guilty." Draco pursed his lips, looking down at Ophelia.
"Let's hope it's not the latter." Ophelia bit her lip, staring off into space.
"Oh, lets do." Draco smirked, slyly leaning into Ophelia's face.
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☽
Just as the two rounded the bend to the stairwell into the dungeons, they saw a huddle of Hufflepuffs camping in a corner, talking amongst themselves. Ophelia hauled Draco backward, oblivious to the group, and pulled him flush against the wall to listen to the students' words.
"-he seems so nice though. And after all, he did make... You Know Who disappear?" A brunette spoke, rather tensely. You Know Who? Who had said that to her recently?
"That's probably why he wanted to kill him," A boy spoke. "He didn't want to compete with another dark lord."
Now they were speaking gibberish, and Ophelia didn't understand a word they were saying. She knew the story of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived: the infant who vanquished the evil sorcerer who rampaged the wizarding world by some unknown force. But at age twelve? Harry? A dark wizard? It seemed implausible. Turning to Draco for some guidance, she was met with his own grey eyes, staring right back at her with an unmistakable dread and lips parted slightly with almost indecipherable shock.
"Draco..." Ophelia said apprehensively, careful not to alert the Hufflepuffs that someone was nearby. "Is there something you know that I don't?"
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☽
AN: I need to stop writing these at 10:00PM @ night :| I'm gonna hate myself tomorrow.
