I had been at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry for all of fifteen minutes and I could have sworn I already have a sworn enemy. Let's start before the beginning, somewhere in Kensington where I lived, and where my parents thought it was funny to spring on me that I'm a witch! And, what's more, they were both magical too and were sending me off to a magical school where I can learn all this magical stuff. What. The. Hell.
I wasn't excited at all. I gave up on magic years ago, I was fifteen now. Apparently though, my parents had given up too. When I was younger, they told me I showed no magical skill at all, not like their friend's daughters, so they assumed I was a squib. I did't like the word at all. I was told it means non-magical being born of magical parents. Personally, I would prefer the somewhat more affectionate term 'muggle', but a rose by any other word would smell as sweet, and no matter what I had no powers, so, in hope of sparing my feelings, they rose me as a muggle so that I may fit in with normal life. That was, until three days before I got my letter, I set my house on fire.
I was cooking, and suffice to say that I don't often cook and for very good reason. That meant, that when I added too much salt into the soup and got angry (what does a 'pinch' mean anyway?) I turned into none other than the hulk, went on a rampage and suddenly flames erupted around me. Not your ordinary cooking accident. It didn't take long for the 'Ministry of Magic' -or the wizarding government- to catch on to what was going on in my house, who then told the headmaster at Hogwarts that I needed to be educated, and so here I was, sitting at the Slytherin table, and I had decided that I hated this kid.
When I arrived, I was quickly ushered in to a room on the side, a hat slapped on my head which, after little deliberation, declared me to be in Slytherin, and so I was sent off to the table at the end, along with hundreds of other students, some sour faced and nasty looking but most generally chatty and excited, all catching up after a long holiday away. I entered the great hall tough without envy of them, I was too entranced by the ceiling of the place. Somewhere between wooden beams in the roof and the floor below hung a semi-translucent sky, stars twinkling from above.
"Amazing, isn't it?" asked a boy beside me, who was watching me crane my neck to stare at the enchanted ceiling. "Wait until you see the first years come in here, it's funny to watch their reactions, especially those of the muggle borns..."
"Oh, will you just call them mudbloods Blaise?" interrupted a pale, sickly looking boy. "It's what they are really, filthy creatures. Only thing worse than them are squibs. But you seem to have no problem talking to squib-girl," my head snapped up as the table around him sniggered at me, "Look at that, she answers to it too!" This revelation brought on a new round of laughs as I felt my blood boiling in my gut. How dare he?
"Shut up Draco." Said Blaise, his hand going to the waistband of his trousers where I saw a wand protruding.
"Oh calm down Blaise, it's not like the squib-girl feels anything..." just then, he reached out for his glass of pumpkin juice, and dropped it immediately, clutching his hand which had gone red, and it seemed to be painful.
"Flagranate Charm, makes anyone who touches that goblet feel like their hand is burning," whispered Blaise in my ear. I smiled slightly, though I was still furious at him, in fact, I hated Draco Malfoy.