After the Potions lesson was History of Magic, which was somehow even more boring than it had been the day before. Then was the class everyone had really been looking forward to — Defence Against the Dark Arts, taught by Professor Quirrell, a pale wizard with a stutter, who wore a large purple turban on his head.

But Quirrell's lesson turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told us, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but I wasn't sure if I believed that.

For one thing, when Seamus asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather. For another, I had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and two of Ron's older brothers — twins called Fred and George — insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went. And for a third reason, I had one of my strange feelings about him, telling me that something wasn't quite right — and this one was bothering me far more than the faint one I still had about Harry. But was that just my family's prejudices against people who looked different kicking in? If so, I needed to stop that immediately. I eventually resolved to keep a close eye on Quirrell, but to keep an open mind at the same time. I would not fall into the same traps of thinking that Draco had.

After that was lunch, which still didn't bring anything from Father, and then the last lesson — Transfiguration. All the way through it, Professor McGonagall kept looking towards where I was working, and as I packed up my things and started to leave at the end of the lesson, she called me back.

"Miss Malfoy, I want a word."

I stopped, then turned around and walked back over to Professor McGonagall's desk, a million possibilities about why she wanted to see me running through my mind.

"Your father has come to see you," she said, getting straight to the point.

"My father?" I repeated, hoping my voice didn't shake at all.

"Yes. The headmaster has asked me to bring you up to his office."

So this was why I hadn't been sent a letter — Father had come to see me himself. My heart started pounding as I followed Professor McGonagall to Dumbledore's office, so loud that I was sure everyone in the castle could hear it. My hands were shaking, and I quickly clasped them together behind me.

Eventually, we stopped at a large stone statue of a gargoyle.

"Pepper imps," Professor McGonagall said.

This was evidently a password, because the gargoyle suddenly sprang to life, and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two, revealing a spiral staircase, which was moving smoothly upwards. As Professor McGonagall and I stepped onto it, I heard the wall thud closed behind us. We rose upwards in circles, higher and higher, before finally stepping off. I went deathly pale as Professor McGonagall opened the oak door with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin, and we walked into the office.

"Ah, Miss Malfoy," Dumbledore said. "You have a visitor."

I looked towards the other person in the room, and my heart sank. It was Father, his expression one that I immediately knew meant that I was in big trouble, his hand holding the cane that concealed his wand.

"Father," I said softly, barely stopping myself from curtseying.

"Pandora," he replied, his voice cold. Then, he looked towards Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, and said, "Leave us."

"You are kicking me out of my own office, Lucius?" Dumbledore asked, amusement in his voice.

At the same time, Professor McGonagall said, "You know, I think it would be best if we stayed here."

"I'd prefer for my private matters to stay private," Father sneered. "Besides, I only need to talk to Pandora for a minute."

I froze, terror taking hold. Struggling to keep my breathing normal, I fixed my eyes on the cane in Father's hand.

Dumbledore seemed to consider for a moment.

"Very well."

They left, Professor McGonagall a little more reluctantly than Dumbledore, closing the heavy oak door behind them. I would have to face Father's anger alone.

I flinched badly as Father took out his wand, but he merely placed some charms on the room — I assumed ones that would prevent Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall from listening — then put it back into the top of the cane and rounded on me.

"So."

I looked up at him, fear etched on my face.

"Explain. Now."

"E-explain what, Father?" I asked quietly, my voice trembling almost as much as my hands.

"Explain how my daughter, who is from one of the oldest Pureblood families in Britain — a family that's been in Slytherin for as many generations as it's existed — was sorted into Gryffindor," he hissed, taking a step towards me.

"I-I don't know," I said, cowering backwards. "I tried to — to go to Slytherin, but — but the Sorting Hat still yelled Gr-Gryffindor—"

I stopped suddenly as he took another step towards me.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice barely a whisper now.

"Sorry isn't good enough, girl."

And then he struck me across the face.

The force of the impact knocked me to the floor; I quickly scrambled back to my feet, having to make a conscious effort not to back away from him. My face felt like it was burning, and I could tell there was an angry red mark already forming on my cheek.

"I told you there would be consequences," he hissed, throwing me to the floor again.

I couldn't help but let out a quiet, pained whimper, and curled up into a ball to try and protect myself as much as I could from the inevitable punishment.

"You are a pathetic — stupid — worthless — disobedient — filthy — blood-traitor," he spat, punctuating each word with a painful kick to my arms, to my legs, to my side.

"Father, please..." I whispered, my voice shaking.

He grabbed me by my hair and pulled me to my feet again, before slamming me into the wall, his face twisted with rage.

"How dare you get sorted into Gryffindor? HOW — DARE — YOU?"

The last three words were accompanied by heavy blows, and I cried out in pain, forcing back the tears that were threatening to spill onto my face.

"F-Father, please, I-I'm sorry, I tried not to—" I choked out. But he just ignored me.

It took almost five more pain-filled minutes for him to decide I'd been punished enough — for now, at least. During most of that time, I just stayed silent and took the punishment, because, deep down, I knew that I deserved it. I couldn't remember when I'd fallen to the floor again, but I must've done, because I was certainly there now, my hands over my head and tears running down my face.

"Get up," Father spat.

I quickly did so, my whole body screaming in protest, because everything hurt and I shouldn't be moving until someone healed me... but my mind won over, reminding me that it would only hurt more if I refused Father's orders.

"If anyone asks, tell them we had a long talk, and that I'm disappointed with you, but still love you," he said, practically spitting out the words 'disappointed' and 'love'. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Father," I said softly.

"Good."

He removed the charms from the room, threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, and stepped into the glittering flames. There was a loud whooshing noise, and I let out a small sigh of relief. I was safe again.

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A/N: tysm for 4k reads!! 😊🖤

Word count: 1336