Glowers, followed by hushed whispers and unkind laughter.

Her steps were even, walking past the tables hemmed with students. She was taught from a young age that rumors did not hold a place in one's life. Perhaps, it was the way she carried herself; head held high, her sharp tongue, the firm resolution. Or perhaps, it could be her ill-favoured fate to be born into the Yvette family in a belied manner.

Disgrace, a stain on the family name. It was how her grandmother had acknowledged her during her arrival.

The words reformed themselves, to be more noxious. She was impervious to the poison now. She was a Yvette, after all, no matter how they wished to revert it.

The Great Hall was just another memento; you do not belong. Among the crowd of well-bred students, she was an anomaly, born as the result of some twisted affair between the prestigious pureblood heir and a muggle woman. If they would listen, she'd tell them how capable her mother was. She could almost hear her voice, honeyed with love, asking her to have compassion.

She took her seat at the table, the one closest to the door, across a solemn-looking boy. He was halfway through his breakfast, offering her a weary look.

Caesar Yvette; her step-brother. 

 "It wasn't true, then?" He inquired, looking up. 

 "What is?" She questioned. Her voice was still touched with a hint of lethargy, having not slept well that night.

 "I heard that you had an escapade to the Forbidden Forest with a boy from Ravenclaw?" He raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from his cup of coffee. He savored the taste, she knew. She knew all about him. 

An arid laugh died in her throat. She recollected the hours of last night, spent writhing in her bed, touched with the remnants of a recurring nightmare. She saw her mother, in a chaste white dress, framed against the stark obscurity of the orphanage building that she once used to address as her home. She would reach out to her daughter, a smile touched with grace. Aylin would reach her hand, it felt like home. And just as she came, her mother would disappear. The fiends from her childish fears would return. She would wake up, drenched in sweat.

She looked up, mindful that her silence would give a false idea.

 "It's just a rumor." She answered.

Her father's words returned to her in a whisper. She was fourteen, telling her father that she longer wanted to attend Hogwarts, her cheeks stained with the traces of tears. Alexander Yvette always countered her distresses with his rationality. You cannot stop people from talking, Aylin, but know this: their words hold no place in your life. He had said, giving his daughter a comforting smile. They talked about her, behind his back, his wife, his children, his mother. They could not bring themselves to accept her. 

Her brother seemed unconvinced, returning to his food with a careless shrug.

 "You know, you're right. I would've been surprised if it was true," He remarked.

His expression neared a sneer. "Your kind cannot keep anything secret," He continued.

She no longer felt the prick of hurt. It dimmed with the passage of time, reduced to a mere wince across her features.

The disunion between the three Yvette children was not hidden. 

Cassandra Yvette, the eldest of all, did a finer work of masking it with her mellifluous words and her winsome smile. When she wounded one with sharp words, her smile would conceal her spite. Through the eyes of another, she is simply talking. Her flair in falsifying affection and interest made her popular within the school. Grandmother spoke highly of her, despite the scarlet and gold colours that she wore with pride.

Caesar was never kindly. He did little to mask his emotions. Impulsive and conceited, he carried his family name as if it were invaluable. He shared the timeworn thinking of his ancestors; that magic should remain with the truest of them all. Father often confided in Aylin, telling her that he was worried for her brother.

 She had learned to live with them all.

 "Don't spite our name, Aylin, I really do mean it," He continued, his tone grave.

 "I have no interest in doing so," She answered. She pulled a plate of fried tomatoes towards herself. Her fork impaled them, a silent outlet for her frustration.

Her silence was her fortress. She bit back the sharp-edged words and remained silent. Each and every mishap in her words had consequences. There was an extent to which her father could shield her from her stepmother.

Regardless of being two years younger in age, Caesar had much more command than her in the family. He was pure of blood, after all.

Aylin unintentionally caught her sister's eye from across the room. She was watching them, regarding them as though they were characters from a book that she enjoyed. Despite being quiet, Cassandra held greater resentment for her. She had been jealous of her; of how their father always seemed to favour Aylin over either of his children.

Cassandra was quick to look away, focusing her attention back to her friends.

Caesar got up to his feet then, having finished his meal. He left the table, making his way to the end of the hall.

Once again, she was alone. Aylin turned back to her plate, finally feeling at ease. There was no one watching her now, taking note of each one of her actions, waiting for her to misstep. They simply needed a reason to tell father that she did not belong.

But she was wrong. He had been watching her, ever since the days they spent together in the orphanage. He never wanted her to misstep, he wanted her to rise.