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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤?"
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Dear Ophelia,
What a break it has been! Harry and Ron have been keeping me updated, and I'm still quite puzzled as to why they haven't written directly to you. But, I'll fill you in: Harry received an Invisibility Cloak from an anonymous individual this Christmas, and he and Ron have been using it to sneak around the castle after hours. I think it's utterly atrocious, but of course, they haven't listened to me per usual. Maybe when we get back, you can talk some sense into them. Anyway, they've found this peculiar door which led to an even more peculiar thing, a dog! But not just any dog, one that has three heads! I'd wish to take a closer look at it, but I don't want my head bitten off. But there's more. Supposedly, the dog is guarding something, a stone of some sort. I got that much from Ron's illegible handwriting. I could make out "sorceror." I swore I'd read a piece about a sorcerer and a stone from the library, but I may just be thinking of King Arthur. Sorry, muggle thing.
I've been trying to do some reading and help them any way I can. I hope you can join our adventures soon.
My regards,
Hermione.
Ophelia frowned at the letter. It was not what she was expecting, yet somehow, it summed up everything that she could have possibly imagined. Hermione was right; it was dangerous. Even so, Ophelia was curious. Adventures like these would make her life just a little bit brighter. Draco hadn't written to her in a week, which was rather disheartening, considering he was her best friend. The last she had heard from him, he was packing his trunk early, almost as excited as she was to return to Hogwarts. By tomorrow evening, she'd sit upon the stiff wooden stalls, a plethora of a feast, a spectrum of food filling the table to the brim. Her stomach rumbled just thinking of it.
Turning to her window, she could make out her reflection amongst the frosty panes, finger smudges visible from past admiration of the outside world. She was always a morning person, her parents told her, Cawing like a baby bird as an infant during the early hours of the morning. Her father would swoop in and bring her into his arms, rocking a tiny Ophelia back to sleep, who would reach up and grab his patchy moustache with her pudgy fingers. Now she was barely a proper girl; there was no time to spare for etiquette classes between her studies with Amelié, even if her mother demurred. It resulted in lessons during dinner, which wasn't fun for her father nor herself.
