𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆.
chapter five; The Unimportance Of Blood
" For, sometimes, the purest people may have the most Muggle blood, and the real family, may not be related to us at all. "

  IOLANTHE KNEW DOUBLE Potions with Gryffindors would be a trying class for her. There were too many factors as she was re-tightening an emerald green tie around her neck; the strange rivalry between the two houses, her uncertainty in her standing with Harry, Ron, and Hermione since the sorting, and the teacher's clear distaste for a member of his own house.

  "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape informed dully after finishing roll-call. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring senses. . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death─ if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

  Theodore whispered something along the lines of, "I sure feel like a dunderhead right about now," which made Iolanthe snicker quietly─ and, perhaps, if not for Harry's presence, Snape would've attacked her on the spot.

  "Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

  "You'd be brewing Draught of Living Death, sir."

  "Thank you, Black," Snape sneered at Iolanthe, who'd answered the question boredly, "For simplicity's sake, of course."

  "Of course. . ." She mumbled, shifting in her seat.

  "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

  "I don't know, sir."

  "Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

  Harry didn't seem to be baited into anger.

  "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

  Iolanthe had become unknowingly rooting for Harry to answer a single question correctly, partially because Snape needed his big fat nose rubbed in it, but also because Hermione Granger was going to pop if someone didn't release an answer soon.

  "I don't know. I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

  Snickers cascaded around the classroom, though Snape wasn't so easily amused.

  "Sit down," The man snapped at Hermione, "For your information, Potter, a bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well, why aren't you all copying that down?"

  Iolanthe thanked Theodore as he passed her a quill, attempting to bury the temper growing inside her. It was as if Snape wanted to show off that he knew more than Harry─ who was eleven and had never heard of magic months prior. 

  "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

  Theodore could've been credited with keeping Slytherin from losing any points alongside Gryffindor. Iolanthe had nearly forgotten every unspoken rule and shouted right then, but the boy eased her anger and allowed her to take the lead in their first potion-making session.

  And Iolanthe was good.

  She figured she may be horrible since Atlas had a streak of destroying cauldrons, but Iolanthe's wrist moved naturally while stirring the slow-heating mixture. 

  Of course, since Iolanthe wouldn't be the reincarnate of Atlas, there had to be one student that would, and the poor unfortunate soul happened to be Neville Longbottom─ the boy who'd lost his toad on the train. 

  Snape, somehow, managed to pin this mistake on Harry as a Gryffindor named Seamus ushered Neville to the Hospital Wing.

  Iolanthe's mouth remained shut, but Severus Snape was not blind to the glass of porcupine needles that shattered as she left the classroom last.

⥊

  "I don't understand what you have against her, that's all."

  "She's a blood traitor, that's what."

  "Did you get that from your father?" Daphne huffed, "Sounds like something Lucius would say."

  "He doesn't have to say it for me to know--"

  "I don't even see what that stuff matters; she's really rather fun if you get to know her," Daphne mumbled, lifting her nose. "Maybe you should ignore your father's rantings for once."

  "I am. My father wanted me to be friends with her-- he wants to meet her, suppose he thinks she's special."

  "She is, Malfoy, could you honestly be any more daft?"

  Draco looked briefly offended as Daphne took a seat on the common room couch.

  "Aside from Iolanthe being a good friend," Daphne explained, "She died, remember? On Halloween when the Dark Lord killed Potter's parents─ Iolanthe was killed."

  "But she's. . ."

  "That's the whole point, Draco," Daphne spoke irritably now, "She doesn't have a scar, the Dark Lord didn't kill her─ someone else must've. But, the point is, she was killed with magic, I assume, and she's alive. Yet, she isn't The Girl Who Lived."

  "But. . ."

  "And her mother's kept her away from nearly everyone," Daphne said, "The Prophet, our families. . . my mother rants about it, too, wonders how it's possible- she thinks Madeline Potter muddled in dark magic to save her daughter's life. . ."

  The blondes remained in a cloud of thought for a prolonged time, until the sound of the door creaking open popped this. Iolanthe was entering silently, holding two books beneath her arm and not seeming to care that a stray piece of hair made a line down the center of her face.

  "Laney," Daphne called, making the girl look up, "You're late, we have much research to do if we've any hope of beating Theo."

  Iolanthe smiled, nodding in agreement before glaring at Draco.

  "Would you care to join us, Malfoy?" Daphne questioned as she gathered her things.

  "Not particularly."

  "Are you two going to fight for seven years?" Daphne sighed, dropping her arms, "You'd think you'd be getting along, considering you're cousins."

  "I'm not the one who started the fighting," Iolanthe mumbled, crossing her arms. "And we're only second cousins."

  Draco thought for a long moment, not exactly wanting to extend an olive branch, but contemplating Daphne's words moments prior, and his own father's spiel before summer's end.

  "Fine, I'll come," Draco sighed, grabbing his own bag, "My father wanted to invite you for Christmas, so I might as well get used to tolerating you."

  "Don't worry, I'm not interested in spending the holidays with anyone other than my mother," Iolanthe all but laughed.

  "Right," Draco shifted in uncertainty now, "But. . . just a day, perhaps? My. . . my father really wants to meet you, Iolanthe. A--and my mother, too."

  Iolanthe inspected him for a long moment, unsure of what to make of this. Being invited over for Christmas wasn't exactly how you start a friendship, especially considering it wasn't Draco who was inviting her.

  It was Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

  "I'll think about it," Iolanthe said unsurely.

  "A wonderful friendship is beginning," Daphne sang, "Now, come on, seriously, Theo is going to have this figured out before we get to the library."

  "Alright," Iolanthe sighed, "Let me put my books away-"

  "Laney!"

  "One second!" She called, already starting toward her room, "I'll catch up, you two go ahead."

  Daphne sighed in defeat but started toward the exit with Draco in tow.

  "I cannot believe you invited her to your family Christmas," Daphne whispered, "That was weird, Draco."

  "What do you mean?!"

  Ioalanthe threw her books on her bed, grabbing a fresh roll of parchment before stampeding back downstairs. She was turning the corner for the door when an unfamiliar voice spoke up.

  "I would be careful."

  The girl's eyes blew wide, cautiously scanning the Common Room for any signs of life. No students milled about, all busy with their free time. Portraits snoozed or stared at her blankly, but none seemed to be calling out to her.

  Until she saw the boy with silver eyes staring right at her.

  "Careful?" Iolanthe questioned, eagerly approaching the portrait, "Wh─ about what?"

  "Do not find yourself fooled by blood," He spoke without much emotion, "The purity of it, and your relatives. It is all but a facade, Iolanthe. For, sometimes, the purest people may have the most Muggle blood, and the real family, may not be related to us at all."

  "You think I shouldn't go visit the Malfoy's?"

  "There is a certain advantage to knowing your enemies," His silver eyes darkened, with sadness and terror, "But do not get too close, Little Star. You must always have a way out."

  "Who are you?"

  The boy seemed to realize that this simple nickname had slipped from his lips without care, and even though he may have been nothing more than enchanted paint on a canvas, his heart seemed to sink and Iolanthe could see it all through the window panes of his starlight irises.

  "No one you should know."

  "But, you know me," Iolanthe spoke with growing anger, "You know me─ you called me─"

  "Little Star," He confirmed quieter, "A fickle name my poor brother called you. You haven't even got a star's name─ the first Black in our ancestry who's broken that tradition. Not even your brother has."

  "Your brother?"

  He pursed his lips and nodded slowly, figuring the time for hiding was over.

  "It's nice to finally meet you, Iolanthe. My name is Regulus Black. And, well. . . I suppose I'm your uncle."

( AUTHOR'S NOTE. )
I think a couple people called
it, but hi. I didn't want to
make a sequel without including
Reggie in some way.