Amelia Phelps had one rule: survive Hogwarts without causing a scene.
Easier said than done when you're a Muggle-born in Slytherin, the walking definition of an identity crisis. She's spent years dodging insults, outwitting rivals, and perfecting th...
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Amelia knew the day would be dreadful the moment she woke up.
The dim morning light filtered through the high, narrow windows of the Slytherin common room, casting long, pale beams over the emerald and silver tapestries. The fire had burned low in the grate, filling the room with a lingering warmth. She shifted slightly in her chair, stiff from having fallen asleep curled up in one of the worn leather armchairs. Across the room, August was still sprawled out on her bed, his arm flung dramatically over his face, snoring softly. It was Sunday, most students were still buried under their duvets, savouring the last few hours of rest before another week of classes resumed.
