Disclaimer: The author does not have any right to the Harry Potter universe or its fantastic cast of characters. All subsequent made-up characters with relations to any member of the Harry Potter universe are also forfeit. The direct quotes of other authors are hopefully either recognizable or otherwise cited.

A Note to the Readers AKA "Don't Shoot, Firing Squad!":

Everybody who is currently awaiting an update on Welcome To Hogwarts 1949 is about to kill me but... I have new story that I've been working on.

This is some new story turf for me (there is romance) but as always it features Slytherins and a whole labyrinth of political drama. All questions, observations or points of confusion are my delight and I'll be sure to respond to any and all in the comments section. (I live in my comments box and my full time job is clarifying my own rubbish plot holes.)

Hang in there Welcome to Hogwarts readers. You know I love you all the most. That update is coming.

Read, review, and enjoy.

0o0

I listened, for secret inclinations are of abiding interest to a woman. In sometimes being able to determine the secret inclinations of others, woman had her single advantage over man."

-Gregory Maguire

Mirror, Mirror

Chapter One

The Sorting

0o0

Astoria jolted upright into wakefulness, her long brown pony tail swinging to rest limply beneath her chin. Outside, a pale blue crack of alien light was gaining in intensity along the eastern horizon but that was not what had woken her.

Astoria pressed both of her hands flat against the sheets and closed her eyes, willing herself to remember her dream. When her breathing began to level out, Astoria gave up and allowed herself to open her eyes and stare at the darkly paneled eaves that ran above her bed down to her bulging dresser.

The twin wrought iron windows across from her were old and the glass panes were warped, but Astoria could clearly distinguish the dark forest two stories below coming into greater illumination. The woods almost looked scarier that way, Astoria mused idly, her thoughts still disconnected by sleep. The half light caught all the jagged edges of the branches and drew the eye to the places that were still shrouded in darkness. Ominous. That was the word she was searching for... Today, Astoria was going to take her sister Daphne to Diagon Alley for school shopping.

The book lists and acceptance letters had arrived a week before to much excitement on Astoria's part and relief on Daphne's. Poor Daphne had always been the quiet sort and because of that fact she was often the first to be underestimated.

They were both eleven, Astoria and Daphne and they both shared the last name Greengrass but in truth, they had only one parent in common. This was their father George Greengrass, a lawyer who had been married twice. His first wedding had been to Astoria's mother and then, as the war began to escalate he had married Daphne's mother. He was still married to the latter, albeit in misery.

Born a mere ten months apart in the same year, the role of the eldest had always been Astoria's and as such, more was often expected of her. It would be her job to chaperone Daphne today as though she was a strong-willed and practical teenager rather than the eleven year old girl that Astoria truly was. Things had always been that way but it was hard to say exactly why.

Perhaps it was because Astoria was slightly taller and looked older than eleven. Maybe it was because she was clever and had a way of disarming adults, tricking them into forgetting her age and allowing her more authority then she deserved. Either way, it had always suited the sisters just fine. Astoria was content to be cunning and stubborn and Daphne was content to follow. This year however, they would both be going away to school and every patten they had formed as children was likely to change.

It was not lost on Astoria either that, for the first time, their close proximity in age might be questioned. It doesn't matter, Astoria told herself as she swung her feet out of bed and approached the window. Ignore them. Lie.

The glass was cool as she leaned her face against it, her own lovely reflection shrinking to nothing.

She had been dreaming about the inside of a box, Astoria suddenly remembered hazily. She had been trapped in that dream box for hours until she had finally managed to thrash her way back to wakefulness.

The sun was rising now and the dew on the velvety lawn began to glimmer fickly. Astoria closed her eyes again and thought about the inside of the box. The light of day seemed to make her nightmare seem much less frightening, but the mood of a claustrophobic space still lingered on.

0o0

They were underway by nine o'clock after a hasty breakfast of oatmeal and berries. Beatrice, Astoria's vaguely negligent and and occasionally trashy stepmother must have forced their part-time house-elf to go out pick those berries from the bushes that bordered the woods before the sun was even properly risen.

This house elf named Wobbles attended to the Greengrass's on Mondays, Wednesdays and Sundays but Wobbles was really on loan from Astoria's Aunt Belladonna. It was from Belladonna that Wobbles took her true orders and Belladonna that Wobbles considered to be her true, if waspish, owner.

Astoria had long privately suspected that having a borrowed house-elf was somehow a wound to her Beatrice's vanity. The way that Beatrice treated Wobbles only seemed to prove her theory. Astoria ate the berries in guilty silence, trying not to think of the scratches that the elf had most likely sustained from the bushes outside.

Beatrice often loudly complained about the fact that their family didn't have their own house elf, and this morning was no exception. But whether out of cheapness or laziness, (Astoria could never tell which) George had adamantly refused to hire a full time elf for years.

As far as George was concerned, as long as his shirts were ironed and the piles of paperwork in his office beaten back into submission every other day, there was no need for more help. Aunt Belladonna was more than willing to share her elf, as it provided her with a spy in the Greengrass household. The arrangement worked out for everyone but Beatrice. In Beatrice's opinion, everything always did.

"Make sure they pin Daphne's robes long!" Beatrice insisted as she reached for the snuff box containing floo powder on the mantelpiece. "She's due for a growth spurt any day now."

Daphne was short and a little stocky, with all the appearance, even at the age of eleven, of staying that way forever but Astoria nodded obediently. It was much too early for a fight and Beatrice was wearing a bathrobe of such a shocking acid-green hue that it very nearly mesmerized Astoria into submission.

"Mum, what if I don't grow and I wind up tripping all over my robes for a year?" Daphne whined sullenly.

Beatrice reached up to touch the pins in her bottle-died blonde hair distractedly. "Then we will have them tailored at Christmas! You worry too much!"

Astoria tried hard not to look down Beatrice's bathrobe as she cast the powder from her hand into what was left of last night's flame. Instead Astoria shook her head at Daphne who was beginning to look panicked.

"We will get you the right size robes," Astoria assured her sister with her eyes. "Beatrice will never even notice."

"You have the purse, Astoria?" Beatrice asked, stepping back from the hearth.

Astoria made a slight motion of assent.

"Good. Remember, I took out the money myself and I know how much is in there. No treat spending."

This was what Beatrice called fun money; 'treat spending'. As if it was such a treat to buy an ice cream cone.

Astoria stepped toward the hearth, wishing bitterly that she had applied to their father directly for the money. He would have given Astoria whatever was on hand, (much more than what was in the purse she was holding, judging by its weight) and he would never have cared about what they spent it on as long as they came back with everything on their book list and wands that worked.

The flames licked up, magically warm. Astoria reached her hand out for Daphne, who stepped in beside her and took it. It was on the tip of her tongue to dictate a destination when Daphne surprised her by doing it first. Anything to get away from the threat of overlong robes, it seemed.

"Olivander's!"

They landed in the darkened front sitting room of Olivander's wand shop. Astoria had never actually been inside of it before but she had passed its dusty, curtained exterior often enough to know that they had arrived in the right place. Daphne dropped her hand. All along the walls stood rows of boxes, no doubt containing wands. Daphne's expression quickly turned to one of pure awe.

"Welcome!" a feeble voice called out to them from behind one of the creaky looking shelves. An aged wizard with milky eyes and an unfixed expression—presumably Olivander himself—ambled into a shaft of early morning light. "Ah, first timers!" he declared with unsettling relish. "My favorite."

Daphne blushed but Astoria stared back at him unabashedly. She had waited years for a wand and the unswerving gaze of a creepy old wizard was not enough to take the edge off of her anticipation.

"Yes, we're starting at Hogwarts this year. I'm Astoria and this is— " Astoria paused mid-sentence because Olivander had darted toward them with a startling, disconcerting speed.

"Yes," he whispered to himself. "I know who you are. I see it now. Lestrange is it?"

"Greengrass," Astoria corrected instinctually, feeling the color rise in her cheeks.

"I remember your mother, Lucrezia. Blackthorn and Dragon Heartstring. Eleven inches. The ideal wand for a warrior; powerful and loyal. A pity, such a pity when a wand goes to waste. They snapped it, I presume?"

Astoria had not expected this and the ill timing of her mother's name being said on the day that she was supposed to get her own first wand stopped her cold. She nodded mutely, feeling Daphne's eyes trained on her pityingly.

"Perceptive!" Olivander boomed. Astoria jumped and then realized that he had been talking to her sister. "Cedar for you, I think."

He beckoned them both forward. With only the slightest hesitation, they both followed. Daphne went first, trying out three wands before brandishing a fourth that emitted a multitude of pastel bubbles.

"Cedar, containing a unicorn hair core," Olivander muttered to himself happily as he tied up the box. "Twelve inches. Very balanced."

Astoria's choice took longer. At Olivander's insistence, she first went through a row of blackthorn wands of different sizes and cores. When that failed, he switched to apple and then, with a rather leering grin, proceeded to dogwood. When these too had disappointed, he stood for a long moment without moving, inspecting her in the same way that he might contemplate a particularly complicated puzzle.

With a snap of his fingers he disappeared into the labyrinth of shelves, reappearing moments later with a blue box. Olivander opened the package in his hands and offered the wand to Astoria, careful not to touch it himself as he did so.

Astoria bristled but reached into the swathing of tissue paper and took hold of the thin rod of wood it contained. The moment her hand met the polished surface of the handle, she knew that he had picked the right one at last.

Astoria lifted the wand up gently and imitated the motion her father sometimes made when he wished to return book to its proper place on a shelf. A soft rainbow of gradient light arced where the wand had passed through the air. Daphne clapped and Olivander clutched the box happily.

"Hawthorn, with a Phoenix feather core. Eleven inches. Durable. The wand of an illusionist my dear," he chatted away as he punched their purchases into his ledger and drew up a receipt. "Rather rare, Phoenix feathers. Very individual. Hawthorn owners too, in fact. Outwardly, they appear to meet a certain persona, but on the inside..."

He did not stop talking even as Astoria was paying him and it was with a sense of relief that they heard the bell tinkle when the door closed behind them.

"Wow," breathed Daphne tensely, searching for a political way of describing what they had just been through, "that was really—"

"Disturbing?" Astoria suggested, relishing the distance between the girls and their parents as an excuse to talk freely.

Daphne, who normally shied away from anything rebellious, nodded in agreement. "Everyone talks about Olivander because he is so talented, but they never mention—"

"—that he's probably a pedophile?" Astoria finished with a wicked smile. This time Daphne did blush so Astoria dropped the line and picked it up somewhere more neutral. "Lucky you. He picked a wand that matched you fast enough."

Daphne nodded, smiling a little. "True. Yours took a long time. I feel like he kept trying to make you pick out a wand like your mum's."

"Well, he was wrong about that, wasn't he?" returned Astoria a little stubbornly, still uncomfortable with her long-absent mother's sudden reemergence in the wand shop. The two girls picked their way down the street, careful not to lose sight of each other in the mass of pre-fall shoppers.

"It's not so bad, though, really. He didn't recognize me at all," Daphne chided without thinking, stepping aside to give what Astoria could only assume was a real giant room to sneak past them. A small brown haired boy trailed in the giant's wake slurping an ice cream cone and Astoria suffered a brief resurgence of annoyance for her stepmother's thrifty budget.

"Yes, well," Astoria murmured quietly as she opened the door of Madam Malkin's robe shop, hoping that there was no one around to overhear them, "your Mum's not in prison, is she?"

The shop enveloped them with the warm smells of upholstery and soft leather. Astoria immediately felt the tenseness in her shoulders soften a little. She reached out a hand to finger a bolt of luxurious red velvet.

The sound of the door closing seemed to have alerted Madam Malkin to their presence, for she looked up and made a sign of vague impatience in their direction. There was already a pale, blonde haired boy on one of the stools in the front. He was watching as Madam Malkin pinned his robes up with an expression of studied distaste.

"You go first," Astoria urged, pushing her sister forward.

The blonde, pointy faced boy looked vaguely unpleasant and Astoria wanted a moment to peruse the fabric in peace. A moment to undo whatever Olivander's mention of her mother had done to her previously upbeat mood. Maybe it was because her mother was almost never mentioned at home? Perhaps that was why the name had unsettled her?

"I don't want to, you go," Daphne insisted, eyeing the boy and the shop keeper nervously. It was a combination of Daphne two least comfortable subjects; boys and professional opinions.

"I want to look at the fabric, go on!" Astoria insisted, literally giving Daphne a small shove. When Daphne continued to resist, Astoria snapped, "Go on then! Beatrice hasn't owled ahead to make sure your robes run long!"

"Don't call her Beatrice," Daphne huffed offhandedly, stumbling toward the stools, "but fine."

Astoria made a quick circuit of the store, her eye occasionally drifting away from the cloth toward her sister protectively.

"Hogwarts as well, is it?" the pale boy drawled disinterestedly while Daphne's hem was pinned roughly into place.

"Mhmm," Daphne's voice responded, muffled by the collar Astoria knew she was probably hiding her face in. Astoria sighed, determined not to feel guilty about browsing fabric before purchasing.

After a moment the boy spoke again, perhaps as much to hear himself talk as to keep up the pretension of any kind of conversation. "There was another boy in here a moment ago—an orphan. And he was being chaperoned around by the school groundskeeper. Can you even imagine?"

A least the boy had a chaperone, Astoria thought snidely.

"Huh," intoned Daphne uncomfortably. "Crazy."

"Well, not crazy so much as pathetic, if you ask me," the boy sneered correctively.

Astoria stopped inspecting a wheel of silk and turned back to look at this rude stranger, feeling vaguely insulted despite herself.

"He said his parents were magical, but I don't know if I believe a word of it." The boy dropped his voice. "I mean, what sort of decent, old family can't even offer up a proper relative to shop with? Isn't that the sort of thing old dowager aunts are supposed to be good for?"

The kind with imprisoned mothers and negligent fathers, Astoria answered the boy tensely in her head, having heard enough to want to put her sister out of her misery.

"What's your surname anyway?" the boy went on, inspecting the pins in his sleeve.

"Greengrass," Daphne answered cautiously, twitching her bangs.

"I'm not sure I've ever heard that before," the boy remarked suspiciously.

"That's because they're mostly French," interrupted Astoria wryly, slipping between the racks of pre-made robes that had been blocking her from view. She leaned against one of the tall windows that looked into the alley, determined to appear at ease.

Madam Malkin jumped and dropped her pin cushion. The blonde boy must have shared a touch of this surprise because Astoria thought she detected a faint pink flush in his cheeks as his pale eyes took her in.

"I suppose you only know the English names, then?" Astoria prodded antagonistically, crossing her arms.

"No," the boy sneered defensively, but it was obvious that Astoria had caught him off-guard and he seemed to be struggling to remain aloof. "What's your full name then?"

"I'm Astoria Greengrass," said Astoria civilly, "and this is my sister Daphne. I don't think I caught your name."

"Draco Malfoy," said the boy lazily, clearly expecting this name to land with an impact.

Draco might not have heard her name before, but Astoria had certainly heard his. His last name at least. The Malfoys were well known for their wealth and connections, but it was their decided, yet unproven, crookedness that won over most conversations.

"Oh," said Astoria, determined to be unimpressed. "I think I've heard that before."

Draco flushed for real this time. "Your parents live in France then, do they?" he demanded. "What are you going to Hogwarts?"

"We live in Tidenham, actually," Astoria smirked, "That's in England, so you know. Only I'm afraid you've never heard of that either. Dad's a lawyer, he emigrated years ago."

Daphne was staring at her with growing horror but Astoria had a teasing, sarcastic streak that always outstripped her better senses.

"Actually, come to think of it," Astoria went on, "I'm pretty sure my dad represented a company your father was invested in a few years ago—the one selling Pepperup potions with trace amounts of poisonous Hemlock?" Astoria tossed herself into a window-seat with a smirk. "Whoops!"

Malfoy stared at her, unsure if Astoria was an inappropriate joker or if he had never been more insulted in his life. Astoria grinned at him. At the last second, sensing she would embarrass him, she bit her lip teasingly. Draco went straight past flushed to a rather hormonal shade of red.

"Astoria!" Daphne pleaded in alarm. "Don't be taunting!"

Astoria chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the thought that she could make almost anyone, including Lucius Malfoy's son, uncomfortable.

"That's you done, my dear," declared Madam Malkin, attempting to usher Malfoy off the stool. But Malfoy was still staring at Astoria as though he had never seen anything quite like her in his life. With a final shrug, he sneered and striped off the now-tailored school robe, forcing Madam Malkin to bend over and fold it for him.

"Off with you," she prompted. "Your mother has been waiting for you at Florish and Blotts for nearly an hour."

Astoria gave Draco's receding form a final sarcastic wave (albeit only once she knew he could not see her do it) and then stepped up onto the stool he had just vacated. Beside her, Daphne sighed and flicked her bangs again.

0o0

The morning of September the first dawned clear and bright. Astoria roused herself early and spent an hour or more checking and rechecking her luggage while sipping coffee.

The fact that Astoria knew her stepmother would not approve of her choice of beverage only contributed to the sense of great satisfaction it gave her. She was more than certain that she had everything she would need in her trunk: books and parchment, a set of quills that her aunt had sent over the night before as a present and a few pairs of very good earrings that she would now finally have a proper chance of showing off.

Astoria continued in the same state of orderly excitement until after breakfast when, staring into the front sitting room, she had the sudden realization that it would be months before she saw it again.

Foisted out the front door by Beatrice with George calling his luck and love behind them, Daphne and Astoria got into the car that the Greengrass family occasionally drove and bumped their way down the lane. Astoria's slim breakfast threatened to come up with every patch of uneven road they drove over in a bubbling mixture or terror and ecstasy. Beside her in the backseat, Daphne had gone the alarming shade of a chalky vanilla milkshake.

They reached the train station by ten thirty. This left them with a comfortable stretch of time in which to reach the platform. They crossed through the barrier without incident, at which point Astoria finally noticed the vivid magenta dress that Beatrice was wearing.

Cringing and hiding from any face she might recognize from a childhood educational course or camp, Astoria managed to board the train with all of her luggage and banish any threat of homesickness in one motion. Daphne trailed behind her, her face remarkably unmarred by embarrassment even when Beatrice hugged her.

When they first felt the train begin to rattle, the engine pushing them slowly out of Kings Cross Station, they smiled together like happy children and the nerves of the morning vanished along with the crowd of waving parents.

They worked their way down the aisles in search of seats, but many of the compartments seemed to have already been filled by older students, wiser in the ways of the Hogwarts express.

"Where are the first years supposed to sit?" Daphne wondered out loud, ever the worrier. "Do you think they have some kind of special compartment?"

"Just keep walking," Astoria assured her dryly. "Wait until we either see someone we know or find people who look especially cool."

A compartment door slid open with a thwack and a gale of muffled laughter trickled out like parlor music. A boy's freckled head popped out at a nearly impossible angle and grinned at them mischievously.

"Excuse me, but could you possibly be looking for us?" The muted laughter in the compartment elevated to a higher octave.

"Sorry?" Astoria asked, somewhat startled but not altogether unwilling to turn down a place to sit.

The boy's grin slipped from mischievous to slightly sheepish and he ran his broad hand though his red hair. He was older then a first year by look and a born deviant if Astoria had ever spotted one. "That's us—" the boy insisted, pointing to his wooly, sweater clad chest, "—the coolest people at Hogwarts."

The laughter raised another pitch at the redheaded boy's daring. Daphne took a step back, clearly put out by the entire scenario.

"Really, is that right?" Astoria raised one eyebrow and tilted her chin up. "Well then, I guess I've been searching the whole train over just for you, haven't I?"

"Bloody hell!" called another voice from inside the compartment, shaking with mirth. "Stop heckling the poor girl, Fred, she's got your number!"

There was a sound of unsteady footsteps and then another boy's head wriggled in next to Fred's. This boy had a round, caramel colored face. His expression changed from embarrassed to vaguely delighted when he spotted Astoria. "On second thought, never mind. Come on in! My name is Lee by the way. Lee Jordan. I'm the brains of this little party."

Daphne pulled on Astoria's robe, urging her away from the compartment and its raucous inhabitants.

"It's a good thing I met you, Lee," continued Astoria, faking a look of mock crossness. "Because, frankly, I prefer a brain over a troublemaker any day."

The compartment exploded with laughter and and low whooping sounds.

"Astoria, I am not sitting in there," hissed Daphne firmly.

Astoria shrugged, never truly having intended to stay in the first place. "See you at Hogwarts, Lee the brain!"

They continued to push their luggage along and the last thing they heard before the compartment snapped closed was a low whistle. "I hope that one's a Gryffindor!"

"You shouldn't encourage people like that," scolded Daphne, sounding half amused and half like a mommy.

"Well, why not?" asked Astoria, grinning a little despite herself. "We are going to have to find friends here eventually."

"Yes, but we don't need a pack of leering lunatics who heckle young girls walking down hallways."

Astoria laughed out loud at the thought when they were hailed again, this time by name.

"Daphne! Astoria!"

Astoria's head jerked upward. Ahead of them was a broad, open compartment. Several of the seats closest to them had been piled up with luggage in various shades of black, brown and red although most of it, Astoria noticed, seemed to be in fairly good condition.

Astoria's gaze reached further, over two massive young boys who were leaning against a tabletop, to find the false and rather squashed face of Pansy Parkinson beaming back at her from behind it.

Astoria and Pansy had met a few times, almost entirely through the influence of Astoria's Aunt Belladonna. They had once stayed together along with a group of several other girls during a week long finishing school course that Astoria's aunt had also insisted on and paid for out of pocket, leaving Daphne, the lucky daughter of Beatrice and not Lucrezia Lestrange, at home.

If prompted, Astoria would have described Pansy as shallow and simple at best. At worst, she was mean without the wit or gift of observation needed to make her even a little amusing. They had never gotten on well, had never had anything out of the way to do with each other and, for a moment, Astoria was utterly perplexed as to why Pansy would have shed any attention toward them at all.

Then, slowly, Astoria began to take in the group of people Pansy was hovering awkwardly over and she understood. It didn't matter if Pansy liked them or not because Astoria and her sister were pure-blooded and new to the rest of the compartment. Therefore, it was worth Pansy's while to prove that she knew them.

"Pans," said Astoria somewhat stiffly.

The two massive boys leaning on the table turned to look in their direction oafishly. Between them, the pale face of Draco Malfoy, dwarfed in size but still recognizable, turned to cast them half of a haughty, disinterested look before his gaze snapped back again in recognition.

"I can't believe it, we are finally going!" squealed Pansy breathlessly. "Hogwarts! Aren't you excited? I hear even Harry Potter is coming this year!"

She was looking at Astoria but it was Daphne who responded, shoving her trunk sideways against the already teetering stack.

"Absolutely!"

Daphne's relief to have a found a compartment that was not inhabited by hooligans was nearly palpable and Astoria experienced a brief and unusual rush of scorn for her sister's easy acceptance of such false company.

"Well, it's not over yet," joined Astoria somewhat contrarily, stowing her trunk as Daphne sunk onto an open bench. "There is still the sorting ceremony."

"It's no mystery where I'll be going," declared Pansy, attempting to share a knowing look with Draco. But Draco was so busy frowning distractedly in the Greengrass sister's direction that he did not notice.

"Haven't you already been sorted?" he asked accusingly, looking first at Astoria and then back to Daphne rudely. "I thought you said you were sisters."

It was Pansy's turn to frown. Clearly it took some of the wind out of her sails to know that she and Daphne had already met such a prized friend. This tracked with Astoria's opinion of Pansy— she would worship anybody more important then herself, even if that person happened to be a total jerk.

"So what if they're sisters?" snapped Pansy with an air of unexplained aggression. "What difference does it make?"

Draco scoffed incredulously and turned back to Astoria. "You're not exactly twins."

Astoria had known that this was coming, the inevitable need to explain herself and her family with its confused double wartime marriages. She had a delicate speech already worked out, explaining who exactly her mother was, but the look of haughty amusement on Malfoy's face wiped the slate clean. Identifying her mother now would only serve to make Draco think that they had something in common and Astoria suddenly and firmly felt that she would infinitely prefer the shame of a runaway parent to having to admit to any Death Eater ancestry.

"No, we aren't. We obviously have different mothers. Marrying twice is still legal isn't it?"

"In the same year?" needled Malfoy, his eyes narrowing somewhat. One of the large trollish boys grunted in amusement.

"Well, that's the French for you," said Astoria dismissively, sitting down next to her sister, who was eyeing her somewhat accusingly. "Half the time they're arguing and the other half they're in bed with each other."

At the mention of anybody in bed, Pansy, who had been watching the animosity of the conversation with obvious happiness, interrupted tensely. "So, where do you think you'll be sorted? Daphne, you must be so nervous! What if they put you in Hufflepuff?"

By the look on Daphne's face, this frightening idea had clearly never even occurred to her.

"Daph will be a Ravenclaw, no doubt about it," said Astoria firmly. "That's where they send the smart ones."

"It's usually a question of where your parents were sorted," said a tall, stringy boy, who up until this point had been sitting quietly with a book without drawing any notice. "They say it often runs in the family."

Malfoy smirked and leaned back in his seat, his eyes flicking back in their direction slightly. "I'll be in Slytherin, of course. It's honestly the only house worth being sorted into, don't you think?"

The stringy boy shrugged noncommittally. "Ravenclaw's not a terrible second option."

"Well, dad went to Beauxbatons so no help there," said Astoria, looking directly at Daphne as she spoke.

The tall boy put down his book. "Do they sort there?"

"Yes, but they do it with a cloak instead of a hat and there are only three houses, I think," answered Astoria conversationally, taking in the sallow color of the boy's skin, which was already pocked by acne. "I think he was in the house with the moon as a symbol but I'll be damned if I can remember the name of it."

"House of lunes?" the boy suggested, smiling somewhat slyly.

Astoria decided to overlook the fact that the joke was either a bad French pun or a potential insult and laughed. "Well, I'll probably be in Slytherin as well," the boy admitted. "Most of my family has been."

"Astoria," interrupted Pansy, "that's Theodore Nott. Maybe you've already met as well but if not, Theo, that's Astoria Greengrass and her sister Daphne."

"Greengrass..." repeated Theodore slowly. "Is your dad George Greengrass, then?"

"Yeah," said Astoria with a smirk, resisting the urge to glance in Draco's direction.

"I met your stepmother at a ministry thing—a Magical Creatures benefit, once," said Theodore. A touch of a goading grin transformed his face, as though the vision of Beatrice was still memorable to him.

"Let me guess, she was pink from head to toe and trying to wear niffler as a hat?"

"Astoria!" Daphne complained, blushing slightly but Nott laughed appreciatively and Astoria decided on the spot that she liked him, even if he was ugly and slightly over-prone prone to cynicism.

"Why is that funny?" Malfoy demanded, left out and annoyed by it.

"Because she dresses like a trollop," said Theodore.

Astoria laughed again and Daphne buried her face in mortification.

"She really does, doesn't she?" Astoria went on, amused. "Like a magpie for anything shiny or bright. I don't think she ever met a theme she didn't just love."

Malfoy scoffed somewhat appreciatively but it was clear that he was not used to abusing his own relatives and the idea of wanting to do so was slightly foreign to him.

"What house was she in?" Theodore asked Daphne, perhaps because she was beginning to look distressed.

"Slytherin," Daphne answered promptly, "both of our mothers were in Slytherin."

Draco raised an appreciative eyebrow, as though two Slytherin mothers partially made up for the inconvenience of a French father, even if he was a pureblood. "Well that bodes well for you, I suppose."

"Draco, has your father told you any secrets about the common room yet?" asked Pansy brightly, pulling the conversation away from the Greengrass's again.

"It's under the lake obviously," Malfoy drawled, sounding very nearly bored, "but listen to this— he says there is a portal under there somewhere. Apparently there is a lot of unexplained traffic in the water."

"Ohh!" whispered Pansy, her flat, simple face going round with fear. "Spooky!"

"It's too bad I won't get to see it," interrupted Astoria a little snidely. "That does almost sound interesting."

"Going for Ravenclaw then?" Nott prompted, looking almost disappointed.

"Oh, no," Astoria shook her head, "I'm gunning for Gryffindor."

She had meant this as a joke, but the second the idea left her lips as a formed thought, she was surprised to find that the idea excited her. Wouldn't that be the ultimate joke? The daughter of Lucrezia Lestrange in Gryffindor? Her aunt would go ballistic...

Pansy made a choking sound of disgust. "As if, Astoria! You just called your stepmother a trollop, what, like five minutes ago? They'd never have you."

"Why would you want them to?" remarked Draco in sneering surprise.

Astoria was spared the effort of having to disguise her ill motive when the compartment door slid open again and two new girls entered. One was willowy with pale skin, freckles and a severe hair cut. The other was as wide as she was tall and reminded Astoria of pictures she had occasionally seen of baby mountain trolls.

"Tracey! Millicent!" squealed Pansy, leaping up to meet them. Astoria had to avert her eyes to avoid smirking.

Draco sprawled into the space Pansy had been filling and cocked his head back; a smarmy little gesture, Astoria decided.

"Do you suppose it's true then?" he asked. "Do you think Harry Potter really is coming to Hogwarts?"

Astoria listened with interest now.

"He's our age, isn't he?" reasoned Theodore. "I suppose he's probably on the train right now."

"Father will want to hear about him, of course," murmured Draco pompously. "Someone really ought to go find him."

"You do it, I'm not hunting him down," scoffed Theodore. "What do I care about Harry Potter? Old news, if you ask me."

Behind them, Pansy shrieked with what Astoria could only assume was laughter and bent closer to Millicent and Tracy eagerly.

"I'll look around for him with you," Astoria offered, driven by her desire to be out of Pansy's compartment. Malfoy's eyes flicked back to her, and though he looked somewhat surprised, he did not seem to be unwilling. "We should bring one of those two with us, though," added Astoria thoughtfully, motioning toward the two thick-set boys. "In case Potter tries to vanquish one of us in the hallway."

Malfoy laughed appraisingly and then seemed to remember himself. "That's Crabbe by the way," he made a quick and uninterested motion toward the boy with gorilla arms, "and the other one's Goyle."

Death Eater families all, thought Astoria morosely. Leave it to Daphne to find the worst crew imaginable. Remembering her sister, Astoria looked over at her just in time to catch her staring longingly after Pansy's defected crew of future Slytherin girls. Merlin, thought Astoria in disgust.

Astoria stood up and brushed her skirt back down past her thighs, feeling Draco's gaze following her hand as she did so. "Well, are we going or not? Theo's chicken."

"I'm not chicken," Theodore explained defensively. "I literally just don't care."

Astoria grinned and switched her attention back to her sister. "Daphne, are you coming?"

Draco, who was halfway to the door and had forgotten about Daphne entirely, looked back with a touch of impatience. Daphne stared at Malfoy's resentful face and then glanced back at Theo, who had propped his feet up on the vacated table and begun to pick his nails, looking rather like a villain in a muggle western movie.

"No, I want to stay here. Wait, where are you going?" Daphne panicked slightly. "Don't leave me!"

"In or out?" called Malfoy irritably, clearly resenting the hang up.

"The food trolley is coming soon," insisted Daphne hopefully. "Stay and eat with me."

Astoria sighed and waved Malfoy on. Malfoy gave up with an annoyed shrug and pushed thick-armed Crabbe out of the door and into the hall.

0o0

By the time the the train began to slow down and they had all shrugged into their new school robes by the fading sunlight, Astoria had spent nearly three hours staring out of the windows. She watched as the forests turned into highlands and the highlands occasionally hiccuped and became lochs. Pansy had commandeered the table when the boys left and when, hours later they still had not returned, Pansy had not stopped her constant stream of conversation for a single breath.

The Hogsmeade platform was a bustling swirl of excited students as they stepped off the train, bodies jostling up the hill toward a fleet of carriages. It was on Astoria's mind to follow them when Daphne pulled hard on the arm of her robes and pointed toward a giant man wearing a moleskin overcoat. "He says first years are supposed to go that way!" Daphne whispered in open mouthed terror.

They were conveyed down a short lane, fumbling and bumping against each other in an attempt to see where they were going in the gathering dusk.

The dirt road beneath their feet gently gave way to granite and then, abruptly, they were standing on an ancient, water-worn dock against which two dozen small wooden boats were bobbing innocently. It was clear that they were meant to climb into them, so climb Astoria did, the strange liquid movement of the water beneath the boat tugging and pulling at them dishearteningly. The giant bearded man tapped the bow of his own vessel with his wand.

"Fucking hell!" hissed Theodore Nott as he flailed, having literally just slipped in next to Astoria and Daphne when the boats lurched forward.

As they made their way across the surface of the lake, the wind began to pick up. Near the center of the body of water they were crossing, the waves ceased to lap soothingly at the hull of their boats. Choppy sprays kicked up into their hair and misted the seats but Astoria only had eyes for the castle that now loomed over them like a crouching beast. All of the windows in the spindly turrets and round towers were lit up like a string of christmas lights. A black lawn sprawled as far away as Astoria's eyes could manage and a great forest rose its many limbs in the distance.

The entrance hall hit Astoria like a southerly wind when at last they had made their way up the front steps. Gleaming torches filled the room with a warm, amber colored light and Astoria had to resist the urge to wipe her cold nose on her sleeve.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall!" announced the giant man who had led them across the lake.

Swiveling, Astoria spotted the woman he was clearly addressing; a tall, rather mince faced witch with a pointed hat and an expression that left no doubt as to how she felt about nonsense.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here," Professor McGonagall responded curtly before rounding on the students and leveling them all with a look of vague suspicion.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting and I will return when we are ready for you."

Her eyes lingered on a round-faced, sad looking boy with an incorrectly fastened cloak before she swept out of the room through a set of impressively tall, wooden double doors.

Whispers broke out all over the hall.

"How do they sort?" muttered a boy with a mop of dark, untidy hair several feet away. "What happens if you don't fit in any of the houses? Do they just send you home?"

Someone behind Astoria scoffed disdainfully. "Wish they would."

It was Malfoy, standing with his friends Crabbe and Goyle, who looked, if anything, even more immense now that they were standing among so many people of average size. Astoria followed Malfoy's eyes, narrowed with dramatic distaste, to the dark haired boy who had just spoken.

"The great Harry Potter," Draco sneered. "Can you even believe it? At least he has the sense to know that he doesn't belong here."

Astoria looked back with interest. Harry Potter, clad in his new school robes was wearing a pair of rather unstylish, round glasses and an expression of near nausea but his face had a kind and unpretentious look to it even as he eyed the double doors with dread.

"Found him, did you?" Astoria asked lightly, not wishing to sound over eager or interested.

"Yeah," Malfoy replied eagerly, his voice dripping scorn. "I found him in a rat infested compartment eating a dirty sandwich. Of course, he was with Ron Weasley—" Draco pronounced the name 'Weasley' the same way a person might normally say 'garbage bin', "— so really, what else can you expect?"

"Who is Ron Weasley?" Astoria wondered aloud, feeling as though she had missed more than one crucial detail somewhere.

"Another one of Arthur Weasley's sons. You must know about him—that lunatic muggle supporter who draws up those odd trinket laws at the ministry?" Astoria did not know, but Draco had barely paused for breath and it did not seem to really matter. "He's got to have about eight children by now. Father says you can spot them by their red hair and hand-me-down robes, but it turns out that he forgot to mention that they've all got identical starving expressions. Of course, maybe that's just in the summer— they're poorer than house elves on strike."

Astoria stared at Draco, hardly able to believe that a person could be so rude and manage not to look at least slightly ashamed about it. Perhaps Draco could read some of her thoughts in the look on her face because when he scoffed again, it was almost halfhearted.

"Move along now," came the sharp voice of Professor McGonagall, reentering the hall by stealth. "The sorting ceremony is about to begin."

Professor McGonagall swiftly ordered them all into a line alphabetically and when she was satisfied, the doors to the Great Hall opened to admit Hogwarts newest students.

There were the four long house tables Astoria had heard so much about, the four house colors all winking down at her decoratively.

Astoria found the Slytherin table and studied it as the rest of the students filed into the hall behind her. Silver and green did nothing to disguise the ugliness of many of the students sitting there, from the lanky teenage form of Marcus Flint, (who Astoria only barely recognize from a childhood archery team they had both been members of), to a girl who looked as though her face had been shut in a heavy door repeatedly. They literally looked like thugs, Astoria thought to herself in surprise, trying to picture herself sitting amongst them and rejecting the idea almost immediately. She was starting to sweat.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," called Professor McGonagall over the noise of the watching students. She began calling names. "Brocklehurst, Mandy," quickly became a Ravenclaw before their very eyes.

Astoria was starting panic, something she had not expected, suddenly powerfully aware of all of the watching eyes that were trained on them.

"Brown, Lavender!"

Astoria had started the morning with the calm feeling that whatever would be, would be. Now that she was standing in front of the sorting hat however, she was less sure of herself.

Astoria had always suspected that she probably would become a Slytherin when the time came, a fate that she had accepted from far away in the same way that she accepted all eventualities, like future change and death.

"Crabbe, Vincent!"

Now that she could actually see the Slytherin table however, filled with unkind, somber faces, a true fear began to settle in her chest and her future rapidly began to unfurl in front of her as a direct parallel of her mothers. A life where blood-pride and violence, greed and cruelty were all just stepping stones in the pursuit of greatness.

"Greengrass, Astoria!"

Astoria blinked stupidly and then realized, with an electrical jolt that shot through her limbs, that it was finally her turn to step up to the stool. Putting one foot in front of the other, Astoria slowly crossed the hall. With a sense of great resignation, she allowed the hat to be lowered over her eyes.

"Interesting," purred a niggling little voice in her ear, "I sense resistance... and fear. I don't bite, you know."

"Anything but Slytherin," thought Astoria desperately. "Even Hufflepuff will do. I'll change— I'll act the part. I'm adaptable like that, just please don't put me in Slytherin."

"Not Slytherin?" the hat chuckled. "How disappointing! Clever, ambitious and a little bit manipulative? Not to mention a powerfully guarded desire for dominance over others and you ask me to go against instinct? Why not go where you might naturally thrive?"

"I can't go to Slytherin," thought Astoria by way of an answer, trying make her thoughts sound final, even in her head. "I'll hate it. Don't I have any say? You said yourself that I'm clever. Put me in Ravenclaw."

"A bit bossy too," murmured the hat, obviously amused, "but you've no love of knowledge purely for knowledge's sake. You do not invent to learn, you invent for progress. You do not solve a riddle for the joy of pondering, but for the love of winning a game. Ravenclaw would not suit you any better than Hufflepuff."

A hard ball of self-disgust was beginning to form in her stomach. Unbidden, angry tears sprang up in the corners of her eyes. Those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends...

"I'm brave," Astoria thought back, almost surprised to realize there was some truth in this. "I'm daring and I've got nerve."

"That you do," the hat conceded slowly. "Gryffindor would be a fair match for you... but I'd prefer to stand by my first choice."

"Please," Astoria begged at last, unsure why she felt so desperate, unable to put the idea into exact words, "not Slytherin."

The hat tisked in her ear.

"Very well," the sorting hat murmured, "we make of ourselves what we eventually become."

"Gryffindor!"

The sonorous bellow was enough to jump her back to her senses. Professor McGonagall removed the hat from her head to a roar of sound.

0o0