A Portrait of The Black Heiress (Harry Potter)

Chapter VI: I Get It, I Am The Best Thing Slytherin Has Ever Produced

Never before had dark eyes enchanted him so. But he was unable to look away. There was something mesmerising and otherworldly about the way she carried herself. Her long dark hair, and petite frame had caught the eye of more than just him. Everyone was looking. Something about her was familiar, he found. He had seen her somewhere before but however much he racked his brain; he couldn't remember where or when. And her face wasn't the type he'd forget. He had only spent a few hours in the wizarding world until now, but as of yet, no one had been so obviously magically affiliated as she was. She seemed to glow with an unknown source of power, and a face like hers was difficult to achieve for an ordinary Muggle.

There was something very romantic about her face. Something distinctly elegant in the shape of her neck. She looked like those old movie stars whose face alone told a thousand stories. Who could convey pain and torture to even the least empathetic of characters. Probably even Uncle Vernon would think of her as a delicate doll to protect. And that for a man so hateful of magic, was quite a feat.

Harry didn't think he'd been able to tear his eyes away from the girl in at least five minutes. He had noticed her before they entered the castle, and now they were waiting in line to be sorted. Where his attention really should be with the ceremony, his nerves caused his mind to continuously go over every face he could recall, trying to find hers among them. It was there, just beyond his reach, on the tip of his tongue. Every time he thought he got it, it slipped away, not wanting to be caught.

Her mouth was pulled into a small smile, as if she knew that Harry was trying to catch her. As if she knew that she was like smoke in his grasp, continuing to escape through his fingertips. She hadn't looked his way once and Harry never felt so much of a craving for her to do so. He wanted her to look at him, show a sign that she was as enamoured as he was.

If Harry thought he was the only one enchanted by her noble bearing, he was mistaken. The eyes of every first-year seemed to be equally divided between her and the stool in front of her. Some would make an attempt at an inconspicuous glance but still be forced to fully turn round to look her over. It seemed that just Hermione Granger, all the way at the front, and staring at the stool with bulging eyes and trembling hands had not noticed her yet.

The Hall, too, was staring. They might not have paid as much attention to a bunch of first-years if he hadn't been among them. No doubt they were locating him, sniffing him out. Seeing if what they heard was true and inevitably being sorely disappointed. Then their eyes would catch a hint of another dark head of hair, vibrant lilac eyes tilted upwards to study the ceiling. It was as if the night sky took a hint of the colour swirling in her eyes and grew an even more threatening hint of purple instead of blue.

Whether the sky was actually responding to her calling or not, everyone was watching. Everyone held their breath. Something was different about the knowing smile still displayed on her lips. Hogwarts was captivated.

"Black, Lyra,"

The Black Heiress.

The girl moved quickly and confidently, perching herself on top of the tiny stool. She was wearing the Hogwarts robes, like they all were, but small alterations had been made to the fit of the material. The uniform looked more flattering on her than it did anyone else. As if it was a fashion statement instead of just school clothes.

The Hat really didn't have to think all that long. He had shouted a "Slytherin" before even twenty seconds had passed and the girl jumped off the stool to the cheering table at the end of the hall.

"Figures, a Black would be thrown into the snake pit," muttered Ron Weasley darkly who until now had not made any comments on the Sorting. He felt the need to voice an opinion on the Black girl though.