𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘬

Artemis: V

The sunlight caressed the snow outside, casting a honey-gold glow across the sparkling winter grounds. It was strange to think that just an hour ago, I'd been halfway across the country, no snow to be seen and only the sharp cold to signal winter's presence. Frost had crept across the edges of the high, arching windows, and my breath clouded the ice-cold glass in brief puffs of fog.

I tapped my fingers nervously against the windowsill. Not even the faint chill that permeated the castle was able to take my mind off my situation. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry did not allow late transfers... or at least not until now. Somehow, Draco had managed to negotiate with the headmistress, and I was to be allowed in. Still, there were "some matters to sort out," as Draco had said, and without any knowledge of what those matters were, I couldn't help worrying.

I glanced at him, taking in the slight furrow of his brow and the exhaustion in his eyes. "Has something happened?"

"Huh?" he startled, his gaze shifting to me. "Sorry?"

"You seem distracted."

"None of us have slept much the last week or so," he admitted. "The Ministry is still at odds with the Augurey, and it's not getting any better. She only talks to taunt us."

"I..." I stopped. "She's... not going to talk if she's not offered anything in return."

"And you know this how?"

"It's how w- it's how they function. An eye for an eye, a heart for a heart. And right now she knows you have nothing to offer her."

Draco sighed, running a hand through his white-blond hair. "That may be true, but there's not much we can do about it."

"I know," I replied, keeping my gaze focused on the horizon. "I would help if I could, but I've had no direct correspondence with her."

"Even if you knew something, we couldn't allow you to do anything."

"Again," I sighed. "I know."

Our conversation was interrupted as the headmistress emerged from her office. Her dark green eyes cut into me, piercing despite her age. I bent my head, a brief show of respect to the witch. "Headmistress," I said.

"Miss Malfoy," was all she said in return. I was acutely aware of her scrutiny, that analytical gaze taking in every inch of me, from my white-blond hair, the winter sun sending a faint halo-like glow around the edges, to the scuff marks on my dark boots. "You look just like your uncle did at your age."

I bit back my usual sarcastic response and just nodded, glancing at Draco to try and gauge his reaction. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary in his stony expression, I silently followed Headmistress McGonagall up the stairs.

Her office, inherited from generations of headmasters and headmistresses past, was elegant and lofty, walls lined with bookshelves. An empty phoenix's cage, beautiful and ornate, lay polished yet abandoned in a corner. The Sorting Hat sat on one of the shelves behind her desk, weathered and bearing the scars of various rips and tears mended by many an inexperienced hand.

"So." Her voice was strong and clear, commanding my attention. My eyes snapped back to her as she settled into her chair. "Sit. Both of you."

"Thank you, Professor," I murmured.

"You're quite welcome." She cast a bemused look at Draco. "Far more polite than you were, eh, Mr. Malfoy?" He said nothing.

The smile faded from her face. "Miss Malfoy, some other parents have expressed... concerns... about you coming to this school. I know some of your history, but I would appreciate it if you would educate me on why some of the best minds of the century are afraid to have you around their children."

"I was unaware that my parents' affiliation with Voldemort was so well-known. Seems the name of Sayre has spread far." I noticed Draco stiffen at the name, but didn't react. "So, if I may ask, how did they come across the information regarding my past?"

"I told them."

"Ah. For... their safety, yes? What about my safety?"

"What are you implying, Miss Malfoy?"

"I'm implying," I said delicately, "That I would prefer not to start my residency here on the wrong foot. My parents may have been the Dark Lord's loyal lackeys, Headmistress, but I can assure you I am not. And I would really rather not have anything unfortunate go down due to any bad blood between the two sides."

"Is that a threat, Miss Malfoy?"

I leaned back in my chair, a smirk on my face. The snake in me reveled in this, in the vague hints and subtle violence. It was always so hard to resist antagonizing people, especially people with power. "Far be it," I said lightly. "I'll do my best to make sure the rest of the year goes on without a hitch."

She narrowed her eyes at me, but I kept my expression soft and innocent. "Very well." She whisked the Sorting Hat off of the shelf. "I suppose I can't judge you too quickly."

As the Sorting Hat touched my head, I became very aware of its weight. It was as if I was hypersensitive to it, everything about it dominating my senses. I could smell the faint scents of generations of students, sweat and leather and apprehension creeping up my nose. I could hear its thoughts, distantly, but couldn't quite make them out.

You're older than what I usually get, Malfoy.

I took a sharp breath before I could catch myself. Can you hear me?
I can hear you. Now, you already know which House you belong in... But it's not so cut and dry.

You could be Slytherin, yes, and you could be powerful- you could be something great past even what you believe. You have the smarts, you have the lust for power, and most importantly the weak moral compass.

You could be Ravenclaw, too, with those smarts- a wise scholar, perhaps, dedicated to learning about the Dark Arts rather than their practice. You have the wits, you have the brain, you have the drive. But you were never meant for a job behind a desk, hmm?

Hufflepuff is off the table. You have none of their gentle, caring heart and none of their weakness in the face of fire. This is the only easy part of my decision with you, Artemis Malfoy.

I remained still, seeing without seeing McGonagall and my uncle's eyes on me.

Perhaps, even, you could be Gryffindor. You are brave, and strong, and you care for your friends. But you are not self-sacrificing, and you are not kind. You are, perhaps, a basilisk at heart, always drawn to the darkness.

So, you see, I cannot simply place you in Slytherin thoughtlessly. Perhaps you should weigh in who you truly are, Miss Malfoy, and tell me where you should be.

Slytherin, I thought without a second to consider. I am Artemis Salazar Malfoy, child of two dark and pureblood lines, scion of Slytherin. I did not choose this. But I cannot simply abandon it, either.

So be it, whispered the Hat, and as its thoughts faded from my mind it spoke three syllables which would seal my fate.

"Slytherin!"