Or how you'll save her

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𝓞𝓟𝓗𝓔𝓛𝓘𝓐 slipped into her Slytherin Quidditch uniform, adjusting the gloves on her hands as she glanced down at Grim, her loyal and endlessly mischievous Niffler. Grim tugged at the hem of her cloak, his tiny paws clutching at her leg with determination.

"I can't take you with me, you'd get hurt and I can't let that happen," Ophelia cooed, scratching the Niffler's chin as Grim leaned into her touch, letting out a soft purr-like sound. She chuckled, bending down to nuzzle his little head. "Stay here, alright? I'll sneak you back a snack from the Great Hall." Grim gave a half-hearted, sad squeak, watching her with large, pleading eyes as she headed out, but Ophelia knew he'd be safe back in her dorm, nestled among her things.

Walking onto the pitch with her Slytherin teammates, Ophelia felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, the crisp morning air sharp and energizing. As they approached the field, however, they found themselves face-to-face with Oliver Wood and the Gryffindor team. Oliver's voice rang out as he sized up the Slytherins. "Where do you think you're going, Flint?" Oliver demanded, eyes narrowed.

"Quidditch practice," Flint replied, his tone almost daring. The two teams stared each other down, and Ophelia exchanged a sly glance with her teammates as Oliver let out a chuckle of disbelief.

"I booked the pitch for Gryffindor today," Oliver continued, trying to stand his ground. Flint grinned, reaching into his pocket to produce a letter. "Easy, Wood. I've got a note." Oliver grabbed it, his eyebrows lifting as he read.

"I, Professor Severus Snape, do hereby give Slytherin team permission to practice today, owing to the need to train their new Seeker," Oliver read aloud. His eyes snapped back up. "You've got a new... Seeker? Who?"

The Slytherins parted to reveal Draco, who stood there with a smug smirk. Some of the Gryffindors snickered as Harry shook his head in disbelief.

"Malfoy?" Harry scoffed, grinning as if the whole thing were a joke. Draco's smirk widened. "That's right. And that's not all that's new this year." He held up his broom proudly, the polished handle glinting in the light.

"Those are Nimbus 2001s," Ron gasped, his jaw dropping. Both he and Hermes stared at the shiny brooms in disbelief. "How did you get those?" Ron asked, barely able to hide his jealousy.

Flint stepped forward with a smug smile. "A gift from Draco's father."

Ophelia glanced down at her own broom, which she'd saved up for and bought herself. The Nimbus 2001s were undoubtedly an upgrade, but she knew skill mattered more than a shiny new broomstick. But Draco wasn't done yet. "You see, Weasley," Draco sneered, "unlike some, my father can afford the best."

Hermes bristled, stepping up as he shot back, "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent." His voice was cool, but Ophelia caught the smug glint in his eyes. "Oi!" Ophelia exclaimed, nudging Hermes with a playful glare. He looked at her, startled, before mouthing "Except you," with a sheepish grin. She rolled her eyes, smirking, but her amusement was cut short by Draco's next words.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," Draco sneered, his voice low and dripping with contempt. Hermes's expression faltered, and Ophelia caught the sting in his eyes.

She stepped forward, crossing her arms as she glared at Draco. "You know, Draco, if you spent half as much time practicing as you do flapping your big mouth, you might actually be able to keep up on that fancy new broom of yours," she said, her voice dripping with playful disdain. "But judging your obsession with Harry... I wouldn't bet on it." The Slytherin team stifled their snickers, and some Gryffindors even smirked at Ophelia's jab. Hermes looked at her, gratitude shining in his eyes as he bit back a grin.

Draco's face twisted with annoyance, but Ophelia shot him a triumphant look. "Oh, and Draco, try to remember—brooms don't win games. Players do." Hermes leaned over, whispering, "Thanks, Ophelia. I owe you one."

She shrugged, her smirk softening. "Don't go getting soft on me now, Granger." But her grin lingered.

Ron glared at Draco, his face red with anger as he whipped out his wand, which was held together with bits of tape from his earlier run-in with a broken spell. "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy. Eat slugs!" he snarled. He pointed his wand at Draco, but as he cast the spell, it backfired spectacularly, hitting Ron himself and sending him sprawling backward, the wand sparking before dropping to the ground.

Hermes and Harry both rushed over, followed by Ophelia, who knelt beside him, her face a mix of concern and hesitation. "You okay, Ron?" Hermes asked, trying to hide the amusement twitching at the corner of his mouth, while Ophelia cast a wary glance at Ron's green-tinged face. But before he could answer, Ron turned and, to everyone's horror, coughed up a large, slimy slug that plopped to the ground. Ophelia grimaced, her face scrunching up as she took a hasty step back. "Oh, that's... revolting," she muttered, unable to look away despite her queasy expression.

A flash went off, startling them all. Colin Creevey, a small Gryffindor first-year, had appeared out of nowhere with his camera, looking thrilled as he grinned and aimed it directly at them. "Wow! Can you turn him around, Harry?" he asked eagerly, holding his camera up like he was about to capture a prized moment.

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, Colin, get out of the way," he said, firmly guiding him back as he and Hermes helped Ron to his feet. "Let's take him to Hagrid's." As they hurried to Hagrid's, Ophelia glanced back at the Slytherin team, who were practically doubled over with laughter. She glared at them, her hand itching to reach for her wand, but instead, she let out a frustrated sigh.

"If only I could curse you all with something as charming as slug spewing," she muttered to herself, loud enough that a couple of the Slytherins stopped laughing and exchanged nervous glances. Then, she turned and jogged to catch up with Harry, Hermes, and Ron, hoping Hagrid had a cure for whatever spell-gone-wrong mess this was.

"This calls for specialist equipment," Hagrid said, pulling out a bucket and handing it to Ron. Harry and Hermes sat close on either side of him, while Ophelia stood beside Hermes, her hand resting on his shoulder for comfort. Ron took the bucket with a look of resignation, leaning over it as he was overtaken by another heave, expelling a fresh round of slugs.

Hagrid, settling into his large chair across from them, let out a sympathetic sigh. "Nothing to do but wait till it stops, I'm afraid. Better out than in." He gave Ron an encouraging nod, then looked to Harry. "Who was Ron tryin' to curse, anyway?"

"Malfoy," Harry said with a hint of frustration. "He called Hermes... well, I don't know exactly what it means." Ophelia tightened her hand on Hermes' shoulder, her eyes flashing with anger at the memory, while Hermes shifted uncomfortably.

"He called me a Mudblood," Hermes said quietly. Hagrid's eyes widened in shock. "He did not!" he gasped.

Harry turned to Hagrid, confused. "What's a Mudblood?"

Ophelia spoke up, her voice steady but full of anger. "It means 'dirty blood.' Mudblood's a foul name for someone who's Muggle-born, someone with non-magical parents."

Hermes looked down, his expression a mix of hurt and frustration. "Someone like me," he added. "It's not a term one usually hears in civilized conversation."

Hagrid gave him a look of deep sympathy. "See, the thing is, Harry," he explained, "there are some wizards, like the Malfoy family, who think they're better than everyone else because they're pure-blood." Harry shook his head in disbelief. "That's horrible," he said, looking between Hermes and Ophelia.

A sudden retch from Ron brought their attention back as he doubled over, expelling another slug into the bucket. He looked miserably up at the group, wiping his mouth. "It's disgusting," he muttered, looking slightly green.

Hagrid nodded, shaking his head. "And it's codswallop to boot. Dirty blood," he said firmly. "Why, there isn't a wizard alive today that's not half-blood or less." He gave Hermes a proud look. "More to the point, they're yet to think of a spell that our Hermes can't do." He extended his large hand toward Hermes. "Come here, now."

Hermes hesitated, then walked over to Hagrid, who took his hand in a gentle, reassuring grip. "Don't you think on it, Hermes. Don't you think on it for one minute."

Hermes smiled, his confidence restored and glanced back at Ophelia. She gave him a warm, encouraging smile, pride shining in her eyes.

𓆙

In the quiet of the Undercroft, hidden beneath the school's winding corridors, Ophelia sat cross-legged on the floor, her fingers tracing the worn edges of an old book titled The House of Gaunt: A Legacy of Dark Blood. Dim light cast shadows across the stone walls, illuminating the cryptic family tree she'd been piecing together from the heavy, ancient tome. Her brow furrowed as she read about the Gaunt lineage, each ancestor's name feeling more sinister than the last. Around her, books lay scattered like fallen leaves, open to passages about Parseltongue, bloodlines, and whispered secrets lost to time.

Her Niffler, Grim, scurried across the stones, a silver necklace dangling from his tiny claws. His playful eyes gleamed as he swatted at the chain, sending it clinking across the floor as he darted after it, completely engrossed in his own shiny conquest. Ophelia managed a small smile, her hand absently reaching out to scratch behind his ear.

But her attention wavered as something strange drifted through the silence—a voice, faint and haunting, as though whispered from the cracks in the stones themselves.

"Come..."

Ophelia's head shot up. She scanned the room, heart pounding as her eyes searched the empty shadows. For a moment, she thought it might've been her imagination, some echo of the tales she'd just read. But then, the voice returned, hissing like wind through a hollow tunnel.

"Come to me..."

Her blood ran cold. The words curled around her, thick and insistent, leaving an icy sensation prickling down her spine. Grim, sensing the shift in her demeanour, froze with the necklace in his claws, his nose twitching as he looked up at her.

Ophelia rose slowly to her feet, clutching the book to her chest as if it could shield her. Her mind raced, her heart pounding with the realization she'd tried to avoid. This was more than just a voice—it was a call.

"I need blood..."

A chill settled over the Undercroft as the final phrase hung in the air, chillingly vivid and filled with a dark hunger. She bit her lip, her mind whirling as the truth solidified like stone: the Chamber of Secrets was open.

✩₊˚.⋆☾╶⃝⃤☽⋆⁺₊✧

By: SilverMist707

I want you all to know that you are loved and enough just who you are. <3