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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"𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭?"
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Draco's vice-like grip had surely now bruised her bicep, producing the purple sores that would morph into bluish-black splotches upon her skin. The clock tower struck seven, ringing through the stone hallways dimly lit by the jagged lightning, fracturing the indigo sky for a fleeting moment. The candle flames danced athwart in raw drafts, their light flickering against the paling Slytherins, quietly retreating towards the common room. The sable robes fluttering behind Gemma Farley tripped a group of fourth years, causing them to nearly faceplant down a flight of stairs. Her golden hair flung about her shoulder as she shot a menacing scowl at the teenagers, her sage-coloured eyes flaming with fury.
"This way, hurry now!" Farley ordered, a hint of panic hidden amongst the austere tone. She turned another corner and gestured for everyone to follow her faster. Her face was moulded into an incessant frown, the candlelight casting unpleasant shadows upon her curved nose. Ophelia wasn't even sure she ever saw Gemma smile. Quite concerning really.
The group seemed to have been walking every wrong way, rather walking in circles through the same hallways.
Eventually, they crossed paths with the Gryffindors, tossing sneers and taunts as they passed by. An older Gryffindor tried to pitch a blow over Draco's head, but he stooped just in time. He huffed heavily, his nostrils flaring as he glared back at the blonde boy. Flicking her eyes to the left, Ophelia caught something rather peculiar out of the corner of her eyes: a flaming ginger lad and a boy with broken glasses.
She drifted to the back of the group, unlatching herself from Draco's grip as she peered after Harry and Ron. Where were they going? She stepped towards the darkened hallway that the two had disappeared into, but a quiet whine stopped her advances. Ophelia sighed and turned around, meeting eyes with a rather frantic Malfoy. His silver eyes were full of dread, with his cheeks flushed a light pink and lips curled into a frown.
An aspect he'd sooner not reveal to the public, "Caring" Draco was one of her favourite facets of him. He was more entertaining to be around, seeming to only appear when it's them alone. A line he never crossed with Pansy nor Blaise. It made her feel... happy. Special.
He tugged on her sleeve, causing her to stumble a few steps forward into his grasp. She shook her head and wiggled away, evoking another troubled whine from the young boy. Digging her hand into her pocket, she retrieved her sallow wand from the depths of cloak and flicked it lightly.
