WITH ASSURANCE FROM HER FATHER that he was alright with her hanging around a mudblood, Ophelia no longer felt any sort of stress or tension. Sure she wasn't going to walk up to Creevey's door, beg for forgiveness and then demand him to befriend her, but it was a start.

The explanation for this was that Lucius couldn't bear to see her hurt and unhappy. When he heard that a couple of pureblood Slytherins, who were supposed to be noble and courteous manhandle his daughter, and a mudblood Gryffindor came to her rescue, despite him being insulted by her, he let his logical reasoning cave through and admitted that it would be okay. Just one mudblood. 

Provided his daughter didn't fall in love with him. No, he didn't want that to happen. As a matter of fact, he didn't want his daughter to love anyone. He wanted her to remain protected and his forever. His little girl.

Lucius Malfoy spent the night at Hogwarts, before flooing back home to the Manor, but not before giving Ophelia a kiss and extra allowance to spoil herself on her first ever Hogsmeade trip. 

The blonde was feeling much better after talking it out with her father, but a constant nagging in the back of her mind told her that all of this was far from over; it was just beginning, and she'd have worse days.

She hadn't seen Colin Creevey at all. Frankly, neither did she want to. She was still debating on whether or not to befriend him, and not because he was a mudblood, but because she was afraid to let anyone in.

She was discharged in a day, just in time for the Halloween feast. This year, since Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were accompanying the Hogwarts Students, the feast was rather sort of a special occasion, additionally because the Triwizard champions would be announced today.

Ophelia had spent the past two days in the hospital wing, and even though she had woken up the previous day, Lucius had insisted she stay another day just to make sure she was nursed back to health properly, and now, she was finally glad to be out of there, free of the stench of healing potions and herbs.

Heading up to the Gryffindor dormitory, which was empty, seeing as all of her classmates were in class, she was ultimately thankful for the fact that she no longer had to wear the cheap hospital gown. 

Changing into her uniform, a knee-length grey skirt (she liked hers exactly three inches above her knees, no more, no less), a white button-up blouse, which she made sure hers was silk instead of cheap cotton, a scarlet and gold tie, and long grey socks that stopped an inch below her knees.

 She wore her black robes over her uniform, and made a small addition to her shoes. Instead of having plain, boring black shoes, hers were custom made of pure manticore leather and had a slight heel to them, causing them to be stylish, and enviable. Manticore leather had the specific magical ability to change size and shape as the wearer's feet changed too, and Ophelia remembered the fortune they had cost. 

She was supposed to be in potions right now, and after getting ready, she retrieved her things and headed for the dungeon, entering the potions room.

"Miss Malfoy," Snape's familiar voice rung through the stone walls. "How kind of you to join us. You're late."

"As you are well aware, Professor Snape, I was discharged from the hospital wing an hour ago," she stated, before flipping her book open.

"Very well. Instructions are on the board, and get to work."

Potions was tedious. She completed her potion just in time, right before the class was dismissed. History of Magic was next, and Ophelia would have fallen asleep to Professor Binns' voice, if it weren't contributing the the fact that she had slept for a long time while in the hospital wing. In one way, it was strange, returning to the usual cycle of attending lessons, library, meals, studying, and sleeping, all over again. In another, her life was back to being the routine she could follow even while asleep.

In a way, it was comforting; to have nothing to worry about, to continue doing her things the same way, to continue and carry on. Attending classes, working herself to the bone, being the top of her year, eating, sleeping, and ignoring people, and being ignored.

But it did get tiring. Yet she didn't know anything else. This was how her life was, a constant routine of the same activities, over and over again. 

Hogwarts had changed her. No longer was she compatible to go for all the adventures she craved as a little girl. No longer did she take her life one day at a time to enjoy the moment, for there was no moment to enjoy, since every moment was exactly the same; and every day was exactly the same as the previous one.

She was fine with it. She was here to get an education, and nothing else. As a little girl, she'd always heard stories of how wonderful Hogwarts was, and how her parents fell in love at Hogwarts, and had a perfect fairytale ending.

Would she meet her Prince Charming here? Was she destined to experience the magic of Hogwarts? Where was her fairytale ending? Was she written down for one too?

She didn't know.

She had managed to get caught up in all her classes, and a half an hour before the Halloween feast, she went to her dormitory to get changed. Of course, they were supposed to remain in their uniforms, but she didn't want to.

Taking off her uniform, she replaced it with a black, pleated miniskirt, and a navy blue satin blouse with a knot at the collar. Wearing her manticore leather shoes, and tying her hair up in a high ponytail, she finished her outfit with several delicate chains around her neck, before swaggering down the marble staircase to the Great Hall.

She arrived fashionably late.

The candlelit Great Hall was almost full when she strode through the doors, and the Goblet of Fire was perched right in front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the teachers' table.

"Miss Malfoy!" came Professor McGonagall's stern voice. "What on earth are you wearing?"

The blonde shrugged, before entering further into the hall, causing obvious attention to drift towards her. She could see Draco and his friends out of the corner of her eye, staring at her, and she tossed her hair over her shoulder and came to the Gryffindor table; the students parting to give her space.

She waited a second to hear the gossip, before sitting down.

"Oh. My. God. Ophelia Malfoy is seriously looking for attention!"

"She'll get into trouble."

"I think she looks hot."

"Dude, ew, she's thirteen, way younger than you."

"And too hot for you," Ophelia Malfoy drawled, blowing the Gryffindor who spoke; Cormac McLaggen, a fake kiss.

"Oooo, burn!" hissed the other guy beside McLaggen, before the Gryffindor table burst into roars of humiliation at McLaggen; he got dissed by a girl, and no doubt, rejected, for the first time in his life.

She wasn't too keen on eating too much; going back to her previous eating habits, she was content with having a few slices of fruit and a hot cross bun.

She had usually always worn her hair in an intricate updo, never down. For the first time, it was in a ponytail, and everyone could see that her hair was perfect. And it got her noticed. For the first time, people were noticing her, saying almost nice things about her; and she enjoyed it. There was no doubt about it, a few more years in time, and Ophelia Malfoy would easily be the prettiest girl in Hogwarts. After all, she was halfway there.

The plates cleared magically, and there was a large upswing in the Great Hall; everyone looked at the Goblet of Fire with anticipation, with bated breath, each wondering who would be selected as the Triwizard champions.

Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Madame Maxine and Karkaroff looked ready and tense as everyone else, if not more. Ludo Bagman was winking at everyone, and Mr. Crouch looked no different than he always looked, with his moustache covering the expression on his lips. From his face, Ophelia could tell he looked bored; as if he'd rather be anywhere else but there.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make it's decision," said Dumbledore loudly. "I estimate in needs just one more minute."

The Great Hall went quiet, and soft whispers broke out, each student placing bets on who would get to hold the glory for their school.

"Now, when the champions' names are called, I would like them to stand up, and go through to the next chamber, where they will be given their first instructions," Dumbledore continued.

He took out his wand and waved it, causing the hundreds of thousands of candles in the Great Hall to extinguish and plunge them into darkness, save for the gleaming, wicked smiles of the carved pumpkins.

The goblet of fire radiantly shone in the Great Hall, the bright blue flames the brightest light in the room, almost blinding white.

The flames inside the goblet suddenly turned red. Sparks began to fly out from it, and in another second, the flame hissed, and a ribbon of red sparks threw up a piece of burnt, charred parchment, that fluttered through the air in a twisted, winding motion, until stopped by Dumbledore's hand.

The flames turned back to blueish-white.

"The champion for Durmstrang," Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Is Viktor Krum."

There was a storm of applauses and cheers, and Ophelia was one of those who clapped. 

The clapping and chatting died down as soon as the flames of the goblet turned red again.

A second piece of parchment shot out of the goblet, propelled by the red sparks.

"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour," Dumbledore announced. 

The blonde girl that Ophelia spoke to two days earlier stood up as a second applause echoed through the Great Hall.

Only the Hogwarts champion left. Ophelia had placed her bets on either the Diggory boy, or Montague, the Slytherin. 

The flames turned red again, and a tendril of red sparks pushed forth another piece of parchment. 

"The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory," said Dumbledore with a small smile. And the rest of the Hogwarts students burst out into loud claps and cheers, especially the Hufflepuff table, who had never gotten any glory or attention on an ordinary day. A Hufflepuff champion was something to be proud of. 

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —"

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him. The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out — 

"Harry Potter."  

Ophelia let out a loud scoff and a bout of sarcastic laughter. She was not the only one. Many of the Hogwarts students were pointing fingers at Harry and yelling profanities and obscenities. Of course. Of course, Harry Potter would be chosen, why wasn't she surprised? He was the center of attention. Always.

She spared a glance at the famous boy. He looked positively shocked. Eyebrows so high up they could have been mistaken for his hair, and cheeks flushed slightly pink, jaw dropped; it seemed as a surprise to him too.

Although, Ophelia wouldn't put it past him; he was a fabulous actor, and could no doubt pull it off. Not that she cared anyway. 

If Potter wanted to die, then so be it. More attention for her, right?

Harry kept chanting that he hadn't put his name in, but nobody seemed to believe him. But then again, he was Harry Freaking Potter, wasn't he?

Harry walked through the door to the other chamber.

Dumbledore wasn't smiling. 

He looked positively livid. And shocked.

But then again, so was everyone else.

"Well, there has been some technical difficulty," said Dumbledore at last, clearing his throat. "So I trust you all enough to see yourselves off, back to your dorms. Off to bed!"

And then he strode through to the chamber, leaving the Great Hall, and its occupants in turmoil.

Prefects led the First Years back, and started their rounds, making sure no student was found out of their common rooms, while Ophelia stood up calmly and sauntered in the direction of the library.

"Of course he hoodwinked the Goblet," a familiar voice drawled from behind her. "I mean, Potter is known for defeating the Dark Lord.."

Her head snapped backward, and she found herself quickly making eye-contact with Draco. Not wanting him to notice her, she began to dart forth to lose herself in the crowd, but that was impossible since she was the only one not dressed in the school uniform. 

Still, she tried not to notice that Draco was behind her, until he did notice. 

Or rather, Blaise Zabini noticed.

"Hey, Malfoy, isn't that your sister?" Zabini asked, and Ophelia tensed, yet masked her expression, walking indifferently as if nothing happened.

"Of course, Zabini," drawled Draco. "Isn't she the only one not wearing her uniform? I'll be right back, Nott, Zabini. I need to speak with her."

A scoff followed those words. "Hell nah, I'm coming with you," came another voice, and Ophelia felt a sudden jolt in her chest. Of pain, of hatred, of sadness, she didn't know, but it was clear the voice belonged to Theodore Nott. "I enjoy watching you bully her."

Before Ophelia could scurry away, she suddenly felt the presence of a cool hand on her upper arm, causing her to turn around in a flash.

Draco pulled her to the side of the corridor, and through another slightly deserted corridor, accompanied by Theodore, his best friend.

Draco and Ophelia, it might seem, had a funny relationship. To some, it seemed as if they got along, since they were so similar, and were brought up together. To others, it seemed as if they hated each other; and this was mostly what Draco's close friends thought.

The truth was, it was neither. Their relationship, to put it bluntly, was simply just... there. It existed. They were related by blood. Once upon a time, Draco was the favorite, until Ophelia was born. Then, she stole Lucius Malfoy's heart. All of it.

And Draco was supposed to love her, and do whatever she wanted him to do.

Ophelia doted on him from the moment she was old enough to notice him, and communicate. Her first word was 'Daddy', and her second was 'Raco', since she couldn't pronounce the D yet. She hero-worshipped him, growing up, and even when he went to Hogwarts, she wrote him a letter everyday, not that he cared to reply.

Draco had always taken her for granted. He had always seen her as just an annoying little baby girl who was spoiled rotten. He didn't love her like she did him. He didn't acknowledge her much at all. He didn't hate her per se, but he didn't love her either.

Despite the number of times she'd given him her sugary treats when he'd finished his, or the time where she'd bring him a sweater whenever he got cold, or whenever he'd ask her for something, she wouldn't fail to comply. And even, when he'd get into trouble, she'd take all the blame for him, just so he wouldn't get into trouble.

When she joined Hogwarts, he completely stopped giving her the time of day, and eventually, Ophelia realized he didn't like her. He didn't see the little things she did. He didn't notice that she existed. It was like now, even the family link ceased to exist.

That is when she noticed that he would never care for the the way she for him, and she gave up all hope. The day she got sorted into Gryffindor, and people made fun of her, teased her and ridiculed her, and he did nothing to stop it; but rather, pretended he didn't know her, that was the day Ophelia Malfoy got her heart broken by the person she loved more than she loved herself. And that was the day that she too, decided that Draco was not her brother in any way, except by blood.

"Ophelia," Draco nodded, letting go of her arm and turning to face her. 

Beside him, Theodore's cold, dark blue eyes glimmered as they looked into hers, and Ophelia noticed this. The eyes she remembered, full of mirth and adventure, was gone, and this confirmed that the Theodore she had known was gone too, replaced by a complete stranger in the husk of who used to be her one and only best friend.

"Draco," Ophelia acknowledged her brother with a single nod of her head, before looking at the floor.

"So," Draco began the conversation with an awkward clearing of his throat. "Potter, a Triwizard champion, who'd have thought..."

"Skip the small talk, Draco," Ophelia said quietly. "We both know you have no real interest in talking to me unless," she continued, pulling out a finger. "Number one, you want to check up on me after daddy asked," she added another finger. "Number two, you want something from me," she raised a third finger to join the two. "And number three, you want to tell me off. Take your pick, what shall it be?" she asked with a sarcastic tone, dark grey eyes looking defiantly into his, her lips puckered into a frown.

"Actually, you forgot the other reason," Theodore added. "To just bother you because it's fun."

"I wasn't talking to you, Nott," Ophelia said coolly. "Learn to keep your mouth shut, and speak only when spoken to."

Theodore's eyes turned a shade darker, and he lunged at her, scowling.

Draco sent his friend a sharp glance. "Hands off, Nott," he hissed. "This is between me and her. I'd like to keep it that way."

"So, brother dearest," Ophelia continued. "Which shall it be? Option one, two or three?" she quipped humorlessly.

"Neither, actually," Draco replied, his upper lip curling in distaste at the way his younger sister spoke to him, when he was actually her senior. 

Ophelia's eyebrows rose up in surprise, opening her mouth to speak, no doubt, to say something catty.

"I actually wanted to apologize," he cut her off before the words left her. "For what happened a couple weeks ago."

Ophelia let out a dry chuckle. "Apologize?" she asked. "That's a first. For what?"

"For you know," he muttered, casting a side glance to Theodore, making sure his best friend wasn't listening. 

Ophelia knew he didn't want to embarrass himself and frankly, she though he needed to be embarrassed. 

"For what?" she played clueless and innocent, jutting out her bottom lip slightly and widening her grey eyes, looking at him the way she used to when she was ten.

"For everything," he said simply.

At this, Ophelia knew he wouldn't do it, and her expression returned to the way it formerly was. Hard and emotionless. 

"You're not sorry," she finally said. "It would be nice if you could leave me alone. That's a damn better apology than this pathetic excuse of one."

Draco narrowed his eyes slightly. "Fine, I'll tell you the real reason I'm here," he spoke dryly. "Sometime in mid-September, you had bruises on your arm," he started. "I have been thinking about it for a long time."

Ophelia tensed; she did not want to talk about this. Least of all, with the person who gave her those bruises listening in.

Speak of the Devil. Theodore let out a loud choke, and disguised it as a cough.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she played clueless, avoiding eye-contact with both, her brother and his companion, until Draco interrupted her again.

"Don't lie. I know those were bruises. Someone had hurt you, and you lied, and said it was an accident," he continued. "Was it the mudblood? Creevey? Are you protecting the mudblood? Did he threaten you?"

Ophelia shook her head. "Neither brother dearest. I told you, it was an accident."

Draco pulled up his shirt sleeves and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not thick like Crabbe and Goyle, Ophelia, stop lying," he demanded testily. 

"Mate, leave it alone," Theodore told him, finally finding his voice and grasping her brother around his shoulders. "She says it was an accident, it must be. She's probably telling the truth."

"Theo," Draco turned to face his friend. "Just because she's a Gryffindor, it doesn't mean I ignore her. You didn't see those bruises. There were four of them, long and thin, they looked like a handprint," he continued, causing Theodore to shift awkwardly and look down at the floor. "Ophelia can be a very good liar. It's obvious, someone is hurting her, and as much as I act like I don't care, this is a serious matter. I need to find whoever is doing this, and teach them a lesson," he said, curling his fists in demonstration.

"You don't need to play the overprotective, loving big brother," Ophelia sneered. "You're doing a terrible job, even when you're acting to care. Besides, you made it clear that nothing I do affects you in any way. In fact, if I made out with Nott right now, you'd probably not ca—"

Theodore had just let out a spluttering sound and clenched his jaw at her, knowing he couldn't react since Draco was there, and Draco looked furious. 

Anything to drive him off the edge and he'd beat the hell out of anyone. He was angry. And the funny thing was that Potter being chosen as a champion had no doubt been the spark.

"Shut up, Ophelia!" Draco turned to face her, cheeks pink on his pale features. "Just shut your damn mouth! I'm your older brother, you better start treating me like one," he growled, advancing his towering frame on her. "And stay away from my friends. Or else."

Tears pricked her eyes. "Or else what?" she said dryly, "You'll only be my older brother when you earn it," she snarled, turning to walk away, her slight heels clacking against the marble floor with the two steps she'd taken, before she was whisked back to her former position, as Draco pulled on her fingers.

"Respect me," Draco narrowed his eyes. "And maybe I'll actually try being nicer to you."

At this, Ophelia snatched her fingers away from his hand. "Respect you?" she scoffed. "You need to earn it. You lost all my respect for you the day you decided that I was nothing more to you than a filthy Gryffindor. So in the future, oh, dear, darling, loving brother," she spat. "Please do not approach me." She then spoke her final words by looking directly into Theodore's eyes. "As for the bruises, you can ask your best friend Mr. Nott," she spoke loudly. "He knows perfectly well who gave them to me."

And then, she turned around, her hair slapping his face, and marched away. Far away from them.

It had barely been twenty four hours since she'd left the hospital wing, and she was already feeling sick.

What she needed, was to write to Lucius.

{ i really enjoyed this chapter aaaaah! it's like writing comes naturally to me. this was written in an hour, and it's almost 4k words. i actually thought i wouldn't be able to update until tomorrow, since i had guests overnight, but if i had known i'd be able to type this fast, i'd have written this sooner. please spam me with comments. love you guys. love, jazzy. }

{FEB 25. 2023}