Her Character was Decided
Odelia hurried across a wide stone bridge, braziers affixed to the low wall lighting the otherwise pitch-black night. Ahead were stairs that twisted round up to an atrium of sorts, pillars enclosing a courtyard. She was following Professor Fig - he had now reached a set of doors and was holding them open for her to enter. Up some more stairs and through some more doors, and they came to a halt in an antechamber with a high, vaulted ceiling. The murmur of many overlapping voices was coming from a room beyond
The Professor leaned against the arched entryway, pressing his ear to the ancient oak beams.
“Oh, good - we haven’t missed the Sorting Ceremony.” He hastened back over to where she was standing and pulled out his wand. “I’m no expert, but this seems more appropriate.”
And with a small flick up and down, Odelia found that her beige coat, ripped along the side from where the force of Ranrok’s blast had sent her flying backwards, had transformed into a full set of grey robes. The Hogwarts uniform, she supposed.
“Now -” a certain urgency had entered his voice and he ushered Odelia towards the doors. “I need to study this locket as soon as I can, but first I must contact the Ministry. They need to know what happened to George - and be warned of Ranrok.”
A pause. A look of concern was sent her way.
“For the moment, I ask that you keep all that’s happened this evening between you and me.”
“Of course, sir.” Who would she tell, even if she wanted to?
“Thank you.” The Professor seemed reassured. “Ready for the Sorting Ceremony?”
No.
Odelia nodded mutely.
He carefully opened the door partway, gestured to someone inside the hall, then stepped back. They waited in silence. The click of polished boots drew towards them, and Phineas Nigellus Black stepped into the foyer.
Odelia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, how could she forget her dearest uncle.
His manner of speech towards Professor Fig was so conceited that Odelia refused to give him the satisfaction of listening to his words. Besides, throughout the whole conversation he didn’t deign to glance her way, not even once. He had already made it clear what he thought of his niece.
What does it matter? He was jealous of your father and always will be. Win Grandmother’s affection, and you’ll be put in a higher position than he will ever achieve.
By the time Odelia bought her attention back to them, the two men had finished talking.
Her uncle - the Headmaster - looked down his nose at her. “If you’re lucky, we might still be able to get you sorted this evening.” Then he turned abruptly on his heel, and stalked off back into the hall. She made as if to follow him in, but Professor Fig reached out an arm, keeping her back for a moment.
“I’ll be in touch.”
She nodded, and walked through the doors.
The brightness of the atmosphere was stunning, especially having just come from a dark and empty passageway. Four long tables were filled with chattering students, a delicious feast spread before them. They did not notice her. The Headmaster frowned over his shoulder, instructing her to walk faster. Odelia did not do as he said. A keen eyed Ravenclaw looked up as she passed, curiosity written all over her face.
“Professor Weasley! We’ve one more to be sorted.”
A witch with red hair twisted neatly behind her head stood at the front, smiling down through square-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. She gestured at Odelia to join her on the dais. An expectant hush passed over the whole school; she had their full attention.
“Ahem - Odelia Black!”
All of a sudden, a movement caught her eye in the sea of still black robes and blurred faces. Someone had stood up from his seat and was making his way hurriedly to the exit, fine blond hair glinting under the candle-light.
Her brows furrowed a fraction as she settled on the stool that the red-headed professor had motioned towards. A tattered old wizard’s hat was placed on her head. But who was that?
And why did he leave?
"Yesss, why indeed?"
Excuse me?
"A curious mind, a quick mind... A Black, aren't you?"
Who are you, and what are you doing inside my head?!
Odelia could feel her thoughts and memories being picked through, like turning the pages of a book. Oh no you don't.
She began to gather ammunition from the corners of her consciousness, pushing back this invading force.
"Now then, I'm only doing my job!"
Odelia did not relent. Whatever this was, it still hadn’t answered her questions. An echoing laugh rang through her head.
“Stubborn, tenacious, powerful. I have everything I need to know. Better be -”
“Slytherin!”
A faint round of applause broke out around the room. Most of the people were glancing at each other, confused.
Professor Weasley carefully lifted the Sorting Hat from her head, nodding graciously. “You may go join your classmates - there,” and pointed at a cluster of students seated towards the centre of the table furthest on the right - the Slytherin table. Two girls had moved sideways to create a space for her between them. Slipping lightly off the stool, she had barely stepped down to the floor when the whispers started.
Head up and shoulders back. You are a Black - they should whisper about you. They should whisper in fear and awe. That is your birthright.
And so with perfect poise, Odelia walked down the aisle and sat down in the space created for her, then arranged her robes fastidiously around her. Without so much as a glance at the students around her, she turned her face back towards the Professors, chin in the air. She was sure that they were all looking at her, but refused to let them catch even a hint of emotion in her eyes. Not when she longed to hide. Why must they all stare so!
You’ve got their attention. Now use it. In time, you could rule this school.
“Hello!” A voice broke through the ringing in her ears. “Odelia, isn’t it?” She turned back to the seat on her left to find someone watching her eagerly from beneath a thick brown fringe. “It’s so nice to have you here! I’m Nerida, by the way. Nerida Roberts.” She sounded rather strained as if rushing to get the words out, but at the same time not wanting to say too much. Odelia blinked, slightly taken aback.
“Nerida!” A girl was glaring furiously from the other side of the table. She had brown hair too, but it was pulled back in a ponytail so severely that the skin on her face almost seemed stretched. Wearing your hair like that didn’t seem particularly comfortable to Odelia.
“Sorry, Imelda.” Nerida looked down at her plate guiltily.
The girl - Imelda - shot her a withering glare and turned to the boy on her left, attempting to engage him in conversation. He didn’t appear to be very interested though, wild brown hair fell over his face as he quickly turned to talk to an older boy sitting on the other side of him.
Opposite Odelia sat a young woman with short black hair, cut in an angular way which framed her face. She shook her head slightly and pursed her lips, a flicker of amusement in her cold eyes.
“That’s Violet,” Nerida whispered in her ear, “and that’s Grace on the other side of you!”
Imelda, who had given up on catching the attention of the boy by now, and caught this exchange. She did not use her words this time - she did not need to. One look from her and Nerida shrunk back into her seat, eyes fixed down on her plate.
Odelia did not look over to see who Grace was. She did not ask for Nerida’s help, and though it had been given regardless it did not mean that she was obliged to accept.
A tense silence hung over the little group.
The boy next to Imelda had turned back to his plate of food as his friend talked on. There was a spray of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, a few shades lighter than the brown of his eyes. He looked up abruptly as though he had sensed her gaze, and winked, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. She stared blankly back, then turned away. She didn’t know him - what had he done to deserve her smile?
Besides, he seems like trouble.
“Oh! Imelda you didn’t tell me someone else was sitting with us!” Apparently Grace had only just noticed her presence, vague eyes widening. “My name is Grace Pinch-Smedley - of the Bath Pinch-Smedleys - ?”
She was clearly expecting an answer to this. Odelia chose to say nothing.
Imelda snorted angrily.
They ate their meal in an uncomfortable silence - a stark contrast to the merry hubbub around them. At least, some of them were uncomfortable. Nerida kept twitching nervously, clattering her knife and fork against the rim of the plate; and Imelda was trembling with barely suppressed rage. But Grace was lost in a world of her own, and Violet mirrored Odelia’s air of haughty boredom back at her from across the table.
At that moment her uncle stepped forward, raising a hand for silence. “Oh, and one more thing-”
Quiet spread as students nudged each other, and looked up from their conversations. Hands folded behind his back, chest puffed out with an insufferable air of superiority, he continued.
“Due to the unfortunate injury on the pitch in last spring’s final, this year’s Quidditch season has been cancelled.”
A ripple of dismay ran through the room as some people began to grumble discontentedly. The boy with the freckles looked extremely put out, brown eyes crinkling with disappointment. As did Imelda, who was infused with a fresh wave of anger, cheeks turning scarlet.
“Enough!” This time both hands were raised, and once again the students settled. “It’s not as though I’ve banned flying altogether. But - don’t tempt me. You are here to focus on your academic futures. I’m sure you all have plenty to do before classes begin tomorrow.”
The room was silent. Expectant faces gaped up at him. Her uncle was annoyed now. “I said - I’m sure you all have plenty to do before classes begin tomorrow!”
Oh, so that’s what he wanted. People began to leave their seats and made their way to the back of the hall.
“You had better come with us,” said a lofty voice. Violet had stood up and now she and Imelda, still red with rage, were waiting for her further along the table. Without turning back, Odelia swung her legs over the bench and went with them.
“Keep up!” snapped Imelda.
Odelia narrowed her eyes - a silent threat. She was beginning to have enough of the attitude. Imelda snorted again, and walked on.
Who does she think she is?
They led her, along with a crowd of other Slytherins, through the castle passageways and down sets of winding stairs. They were in the dungeons.
An archway had appeared in an otherwise blank wall, and everyone filed in. Odelia blinked. Of course! She was in the Slytherin Common Room. Her father had told her many stories of this place. The room glowed with a dim, greenish light, and the marble-tiled floor reminded her of her grandmother’s house in London. In fact, the ornate furnishings were familiar too. Which came first, she wondered, the Black Family Residence, or the Hogwarts decorators?
The three girls turned into a passage off the main room and came to their dorm. Imelda went straight to a bed at the far end of the room and viciously pulled the hangings across, disappearing from view.
Violet curled her lip in disdain. “You have Anne’s old bed - there.” She pointed to the bed immediately on the right, and then walked over to her own.
Odelia had no desire to talk to anyone, let alone what seemed like the two most unpleasant girls in the whole school. So just as Imelda had done, she drew the curtains closed around herself and curled up on top of the bedclothes. For a moment she asked herself where Nerida and Grace had got to, but then pushed the thought away.
What did I do? Why does she hate me so much? She’s going to make them all hate me isn’t she… It’s not even worth trying anymore, they have all made up their minds about me.
Perhaps you should have been more friendly to the others…
Well I didn’t want to be! I didn’t want to talk, or smile, or anything. It would have been better if I just went unnoticed.
Are you going to continue like this for the whole year?
Perhaps. Don’t ask me now, I’m tired and don’t want to think about it tonight. Too much has happened.
Ok.
Goodnight.