Pandora Malfoy and the Philosopher's Stone

Chapter Twenty-Three: Everything's Going to Change Now

Not long after Father left, Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall re-entered the room, the latter looking really worried. I didn't know why, since they couldn't see anything that might tell them what had just happened — I'd made sure to use my hair to hide where Father had struck me, and he'd been careful to keep the rest of my punishment to where any marks would be hidden by my uniform.

Once I'd quietly answered their questions in a way I knew Father would find acceptable, I left the office, trying not to wince from the pain my injuries were causing me. Lost in thought, I went to the edge of the Black Lake and sat down, staring out over the calm waters without really seeing anything.

"Dora?"

My brother's voice shook me from my musings, and I quickly looked around, forcing a smile and a casual, "Hey, Dray." I could tell he wasn't fooled.

"Father had one of his talks with you?" he asked, worry in his voice.

I nodded, moving my hair to reveal the angry red mark on my cheek.

"For my sorting," I said softly.

Draco silently sat down next to me, and I leaned into him, trying to ignore the wave of pain the action caused.

"Everything's going to change now," I said eventually, my voice shaking slightly. "Father will be less forgiving, and you won't be able to protect me anymore, and — and — Dray, what if I get disowned?"

"I won't let that happen!" He hugged me, making sure not to put too much pressure on any part of me that he thought Father might've hurt. "And I'll still protect you as much as I can, Dora, just like I always have. Your sorting doesn't stop us being twins, does it?"

I slowly shook my head.

"No, but—"

"And if we're still twins, nothing has really changed at all," he said, cutting me off.

I shook my head again at this statement.

"That's not true, Dray! You know Father's plan for me — go to Hogwarts, get sorted into Slytherin, make friends only with Slytherin Purebloods, get high marks in all my O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, get married to a 'proper Pureblood husband' as soon as I've graduated Hogwarts, and spend the rest of my life like Mother." I reeled off the list without even having to think about it, so used to hearing these things that they'd become ingrained in my memory.

"And?" Draco asked. "You've only missed one of those things, Dora!"

"But now that I'm in Gr—" I swallowed anxiously as I started to say my house name, remembering what doing so had just caused in Dumbledore's office. "Now that I've been sorted where I am," I amended softly, "the people Father wants me to be friends with are going to hate me, and no 'proper Pureblood' is going to want to marry a Gryffindor blood-traitor... at least, not without using the Allure..."

The Allure was just one of the joys of having a Veela as an ancestor — Calixta Malfoy, my great-great-grandmother. Technically, all of the Veela powers should have died out after so many generations, leaving only the unnaturally good looks of a Veela descendant, but Mother had explained to me when I was younger that somehow — nobody really knew how or why — they had awoken in me, as strong as they would be if I were a quarter Veela, or perhaps even half.