I barged into the Slytherin common room. The downpour outside seemed to have transferred its dismal mood to the dungeons that house the Slytherin dormitories. The green light emanating from the lamps along the wall offered little comfort or warmth. The low ceiling always made me feel like I was six feet under, suffocating from the tons pressing down on me from the lake above.

It was more than asphyxiation that sent me into extreme bouts of irritation, however. The people that surrounded me at all times created a very adept noose. I’d just whirled out of the library. It was difficult enough to master certain Transfiguration techniques without the incessant twittering of the fourth years sitting at the very next table. My nose had been studiously pressed close to the book. The chapter focused on how to make buttons from beetles, but that was all the information I managed to read, over and over again.

“- And did you see that twit practically squeal?�

“Ug. It really is disgusting, you know. You’d think she gets off on giving the right answer!� one snickered.

“No, she gets off on the attention. She’s just like all those other Gryffindor prats.�

The giggling ensued, followed by a lovely, off – key performance of “Weasley is Our King. �

“How in bloody hell am I supposed to accomplish anything while listening to little girls whose lives are so boring, they can only talk about everyone else?� I’d shouted rather cruelly. Their pathetic ramblings had gone on for far too long without complaint.

I fumed for a bit in a large, overstuffed chair. Most days, I thought the green was a lovely colour. That day, I thought it added a putrid sheen to those faces that held the pallor of a vampire’s glossy skin. As I thought of blood–sucking parasites, I spotted the haughty, pompous gait of Mr. Draco Malfoy.

I always recognized the boy by the way he strolled. Strolling was putting it politely. He had more of a swagger that invited vomit into my throat. He’d barely noticed me over the years I’d been coming to Hogwarts. That, of course, was no loss to me. I could do without being on speaking terms with him and his goons.

“McKee, that’s my chair. Go somewhere.�

I looked up with a cocky grin. “No,� I answered simply.

“Just who do you think you are, half – blood? Surely you’re aware that I’m a prefect. I won’t tolerate insubordination,� he snootily said. He’d obviously thought he had something to hold over me, because he crossed his arms in a thoroughly satisfied manner.

“You may be a prefect, but you are not my master. Therefore, you really have no grounds to charge me with insubordination. I’ll not move. Go find another place to perch your bony behind.�

He was surprised at my audacity, but said nothing in return. He glared at me for a moment until he realized I would not return the gesture. He flung his cloak in what he surely thought was a dramatic fashion and stalked away. Delightfully, I swung my legs over the arm of the chair, and reclined. Most would be shocked with my attitude regarding the aristocratic prefect. No one knew the real pull I had over him. The fact was, we were related.

Back when his beloved Draco was only one, Lucius Malfoy thought it would be a good time to have an affair. You–Know–Who had just fallen to his inhuman, powerless form and all eyes were glued to the Malfoys’ activities. At the risk of insulting his sour–faced wife (as if he cared), he began to court Ardra McKee. She was known for her trustworthiness and kindness. She worked in a type of adoption agency for wizards and witches. When any magical children were abandoned or orphaned, she would help place them in reliable homes. Ardra was known by reputation, and Lucius saw her as a prime candidate to help ease the suspicion from his shoulders.

It was only several years later that he found out there was a child born of their long-ended tryst. It was also then that the elder Malfoy discovered that the name that helped drag his out of the mud was also born of Muggles. He found me, and forbid me to tell anyone of my parentage. For one, he didn't appreciate such close associations being brought into the spotlight once more. The purity of wizard blood had always been important to him, and new publicity on an old matter would not have helped him. Second, he didn't want to risk my being able to siphon his son's inheritance.

I kindly agreed, so long as he supported me by whatever financial means necessary while I was in school. Now that he was dead, it was up to his acrid wife to fulfill the obligations of her former husband. I thought it was rather ironic that she should be paying for the silence of her husband’s bastard child.

They say I gained Lucius’ attitude, but not his good looks. I, personally, always thought he looked a bit too girlish. If he thought long, platinum blond hair was equated with virility, he was sorely mistaken. I’ve the look of my mother. She had a very round, cheerful face and that is what I acquired, despite my usually sour mood. My hair was neither hers nor his. The wavy brown hair merely rested atop my head as if it had nothing better to do any day. Most of the time, I tossed it up into a wretchedly messy bun.

As I rested in my newly claimed, velvety green armchair, I took down my hair. I’d been so careless putting it up, that I had to tear out a few good hairs in order to remove the circular band. I swung it around my finger, wondering if I would ever go bald for lack of follicle care, when yet another clique of Slytherins thought it was high–time for more Gryffindor/Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff bashing. I rolled my eyes contemptuously. They rarely ever discussed more important matters than gossip. The only other subjects so thoroughly dissected were the Ministry of Magic and the rise of You–Know–Who.

It was never outwardly spoken who was with the Dark Lord, but everyone knew anyway. Many member of Slytherin House had family members involved with the Dark Side. Most hoped to follow in the footsteps of the blood that marched before them. Those who didn’t see an advantage of joining You–Know–Who’s ranks kept very quiet. The price of standing up for any other cause was grounds for a beating, in the least. Many had learned this early on during discussions that took place the year before, when the Ministry had yet to open its eyes to events unfolding.

They blabbered on in their useless droning voices. “Do you remember Percy Weasley, the old Gryffindor Head Boy?�

They murmured assent and encouraged her to divulge. I, tired of the same tirade, threw my lanky legs down, and stood on my clunking boots. I went to throw the hair band in the bin. About halfway across the room, I heard the continuation of the girls’ conversation. “He died the other day.�

The revelation caught me mid–step and I nearly tripped. I spun around to listen more intently, not caring who saw me eavesdropping.

“You–Know–Who killed him personally.�

Gasps resounded in high–pitched voices. Why would he put so much effort into a recently graduated Hogwarts student? I wondered as I continued on my path. Images of a super–powerful Percy flooded my mind and were immediately dismissed as ludicrous. The last time I’d heard, Percy was too far into the faulty Ministry to even remember his family. I doubted he had any pull over the Dark Lord, as he was called in the common room.

When I went to throw out the band encircling knots of my ratty hair, I saw what looked like a note in the garbage. My insatiable curiosity got the best of me. I fished it out quickly and moved to a less visible area of the room. Smoothing the crumpled paper, I realized it was a notice torn down from the boards; so few remained at the end of the day. Slytherin House was so intrinsically set against other houses, they couldn’t bear to have news of them on the notice board. Pathetic, thought I as I read.
Let the Houses Unite!

Ask your Head of House to put you in the D.A. class this year! You’ll be learning charms, hexes, and defensive spells to aide you in these dark times.

Remember, we can only be as strong as we are united!

For more information, please contact Hermione Granger or any instructor.


It was an interesting idea. Hermione Granger wanted to invite Slytherins? I turned to stare at the common room full of power–hungry, moronic hypocrites. Draco caught my eye in a corner and sneered at me. I shot a strikingly similar look back toward him as a plan took hold. He visibly gulped and diverted his gaze as if I was an illusion.

If I dislike these poor excuses of students, why should I not associate with others? My brown eyes twinkled mirthfully as I decided that it was time I made a first friend. It would be the most satisfying way to dig at the gossipers, and thought my benefactors could appreciate the irony.

I will join the D.A., and make the contemptible lot woe their meaningless efforts.

I shot a gleeful grin over to the prestigious, prodigal son and strode off to fulfill my duty.