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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"𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞. 𝐖𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲."
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Ophelia swung her leg back onto the windowsill, where it had fallen off a few minutes ago without notice because of her enthrallment with her new book. She set her foot beside Draco's knees and kicked him gently, shaking him from his depressive-looking pout as he stared into the yellowing pages of an old potions textbook.
"Hey, are you alright?" Ophelia asked, setting her book aside and scooched closer, leaning against the grating of the barricaded window. The two had chosen a semi-secluded spot near the courtyard to study—Ophelia with Transfiguration and Draco with Potions. Surprisingly, Snape graded Draco so harshly for having him as his godson. She guessed that being "family" doesn't change much. Even if Draco had been successful in brewing, the dark-clothed professor always found a way to scrutinise him, and no one was safe. 'You spilt a few drops onto the table, Mr. Malfoy. If you hadn't added the wolfsbane properly, it would have burnt straight through. We wouldn't want that, now would we?' 'You added Ingridroot, not Indridroot. They may have similar attributes, but alas, you weren't paying attention, now were you, Mr Malfoy?' She could go on and on forever.
"I'm fine." Draco said, sticking his nose back into his book.
"Are you sure?" Ophelia prodded again. The boy huffed and placed the book back onto his lap.
"Well, no. Professor will have my arse if I don't get outstanding on this exam." Draco glared off into the distance and then raised an index finger at the young girl.
"And don't even mention my father." He poked her shoulder and fell back against the limestone pillar.
"I'll try not to." Ophelia laughed, turning back to face her forgotten textbook. Where was she again? Oh right, the alphabet. It seemed she always forgot how to write the letter I. Was it swirled in? Out? And what orientation? She grabbed a piece of parchment and began to scribble out the scripture with a drying ink pen disguised as a quill. It was a new invention from overseas that her father had shipped to her from America. It was quite sneaky. Generic pens and pencils were not permitted as writing instruments at school. Ophelia had written a letter back to her father asking for another one for Draco as a gift. When she finally got to I, she stopped, wracking her brain for the answer but instead was interrupted by a pair of loud footsteps, ruining her train of thought.
Poking her head out from behind the column, she watched as Harry, quickly followed by Hermione and Ron, sprinted down the corridor and disappeared around the bend.
