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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"𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞?"
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She ran her hands down her sides, palms slowly dragging over her hips as she admired the velvety fabric, it's pleats falling heavy to her calves and swayed as she turned back to her room. She needed to quit staring into the mirror, or else she'd have second thoughts and swap everything. They were already late as it was.
"Ophelia Barrows, if you do not get down here this instant we are leaving without you!" Her father called, a hint of revelry in his voice. Ophelia scanned her room, eyeing her winter cloak that had been cast haphazardly upon her silk beddings, their amaranthine fabric creasing as she rolled across the bed to grab the dark coat. Perching on the end of the bed with her feet propped up onto her ottoman, she fastened the cloak around her neck hastily; the dark ribbons bound taut around her collar before exiting her bedroom. The candles had been snuffed out, making the hallway even dimmer than before, with portraits on the walls inert and stoic, something rather queer as they were usually filled with life and happy smiles during the holiday season. The familiar picture of her grandparents tarried lifelessly, their radiant casts still as a rock. Letting out a sigh of defeat, she continued down the hall, her dress swaying against her knees as she walked. Her parents stood at the door. Her father dressed dapperly in a pressed sable suit. His thick cloak was draped around his shoulders with two brass buttons to secure it in place.
Her mother looked elegant as well, donning a custom-tailored indigo evening gown, with a low-cut back and draped fabrics to accentuate her bowed waist, though it was covered by her large mink coat. She wore the raw pearls around her neck, the ivory beads refined and stark abreast her bronze skin. Ophelia was still at the top of the stairs by the time they acknowledged her.
"Oh, darling, you look beautiful," Her father complimented her as she descended the stairs quickly. Her mother gazed proudly, as most of it was her handiwork. Ophelia smiled and spun slowly, pulling her cloak aside to show off the velvet fabric.
"I'm so glad we purchased that dress," Her mother commented, holding an outstretched palm towards the young girl, who graciously accepted it. Ophelia took in a big breath, watching as the rest of the house swirled away into the abyss.
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The three apparated onto some shale driveway, staring as a looming manor emerged from the darkness, it's pointed windows offering the only source of light in the blackened winter's evening. Taking a breath in as they stood firm on solid ground, her throat became sore, the exhaled air becoming visible in the frigid breeze. Her mother tugged her along, hands still intertwined as they trailed down the long road. Lining the path stood tall hedges, and inside them, Ophelia could make out the gentle trickling of fountains under the rustling of leaves and heavy gusts of wind. As they approached the Manor, they could hear the party was already in full swing. Cheers of laughter and clinking glasses resonated through the walls and into the gardens and only grew louder as they opened the front door. Immediately, a wrinkly, pallid house-elf scurried up to the family, arms out, and beckoning for their cloaks and bags. Following suit, Ophelia undid the bow she had fastened and laid the dark fabric into the elf's arms, and muttered a small thanks. She hadn't known the Malfoy's had house-elves, though it was a given when she saw the mansion's vast size. Her parents saw past the need for house-elves, though it might be nice not to have to hang the wash herself or clean her bedroom.
