Salazar's Angel

IV

Somehow Dahlia made it from the Hogwarts Express to the Start of Term feast, though she has no idea how. She has been in a daze ever since she (literally) ran into Harry Potter himself. The way she jinxed Draco without a word only drove her deeper into her own head to think. She has no recollection from the moment she stepped off the train until now, where she presently stands in front of the closed doors to the Great Hall.

She can hear the roar of chatter, the sound of plates and goblets knocking around; yet, she has no desire to hurry in. She knows Dumbledore will call for her when the sorting ceremony begins, and then it will be unavoidable. But for now she stays pressed against the cold stone wall, still thinking.

"This is just like any other new school," Dahlia mumbles to herself. "You have to get it together. Act like you belong."

"Talking to yourself, now are you? I knew you were crazy from the moment you tried to tell me you were an heir to Salazar..." Draco spits out as he strides by her, flanked on either side by two guys she has yet to meet. 

"And what the bloody hell is she wearing?" One of the two mumbles as they pass by.

Draco flings open the doors to the Great Hall as they all three saunter in, and she is once again alone in the hallway. She looks down at her outfit and realizes Draco's cohort was right. Dahlia reaches for the wand tucked in the waistband of her pants.

She holds it up in front of her face and whispers, "Come on, work with me. Please." She closes her eyes and pictures the outfit she wants in her head. She twirls and flicks her wand around her body, having exactly no idea what to do.

Dahlia opens her eyes and finds herself confronted with the same pair of blue jeans she was wearing when she boarded the train. It didn't work, shocking. It figures that yet another thing would not go in her favor.

"Damnit, damnit, damnit!" Dahlia cries and stomps her foot, then goes to tuck her useless stick of wood back into her pocket...only to find that it isn't there anymore. Where there was once a pair of pants is now a black pleather skirt, and her plain black long sleeve top has been replaced by a V-neck one with lace accents.

She glances to her feet and sees that her heeled black knee high boots have hung around. "Great, now everyone is going to think Draco and I coordinated with all this black," Dahlia mutters.

Her mysteriously magical outfit switch has occurred just in time. Over the clamor in the Great Hall Dahlia hears Dumbledore start in on his introductory speech. She knows she will be forced to have a special introduction and precede the first years in sitting under the sorting hat, though from what she has gathered that will be pointless. She knows where she's going. 

She hears Dumbledore ramble on until he finally reaches her cue. With one last fluff of her hair, Dahlia whips open the huge wooden doors and enters the Great Hall with a flourish.

Immediately there's a plethora of eyes that affix themselves to her. It is completely silent. Everyone has stopped eating, stopped drinking, stopped talking to stare at her. Dahlia does not allow this to give her pause. She squares her shoulders and struts down the center aisle, her heeled boots clicking rhythmically. She forces one side of her mouth to quirk up.

"Holy shit, how long is this room?" She thinks to herself, making sure her face does not slip in the process.

Blessedly, she finally reaches the short set of stone steps at the front of the room. Dumbledore extends his hand to her and she grasps it, allowing him to help her up the stairs. She spins on her heel to stare out at the crowd. Dahlia can easily spot Draco in the mass of people seated at the Slytherin table...or rather, all over it. They sprawl out comfortably, some sitting on the table itself and some relaxing on the benches. They look casual, like they all know exactly where they belong.

"Students, I would like to introduce you to Dahlia Slytherin." Dumbledore raises their joined hands. "I trust you all will-"

He is cut off by the roar of conversation that immediately picks back up after her last name is announced. She can already hear the gossip. Nobody looks more surprised than Draco himself, who Dahlia kept a watchful eye on as Dumbledore introduced her. His face has gone an even paler shade of white. He potentially looks even more surprised than Harry Potter, who Dahlia can see shoot up out of his seat as though the surprise of who his previous run in encounter was with physically propels him upwards with shock.

"Off to a good start, then," Dahlia thinks, and this time the smirk flirting at her lips is 100% authentic.