Threads of Power and Control

Severus felt a vicious pleasure when Potter's expression fell at his friend's sorting, but it soon curdled like soured milk when he heard the uproar at the Slytherin table from the latest sorting. With a disdainful curl of his lip, he drew his wand and sent a harsh message to the prefects to remedy the situation. The aftermath of the last war had left Slytherin no room to appear divided. Personally, he couldn't give a rat's arse about what happened in the dormitory—so long as no one ended up dead.

Flitwick, seated nearby, twittered with concern. "Severus?"

"I am aware, Filius," he said curtly.

Severus glowered at the students till they silenced, noting the particular antagonism from Lucius' son. He was reluctantly partial to the boy; though their acquaintance had been minimal, he had seen the child grow during his occasional visits to the Malfoys. Each time, the boy had trailed after his father with the eagerness of a lost crup. And just like his father, he seemed to have the insufferable need to prove his superiority.

Severus moved his gaze to the next sorting, but in that very moment, he felt a tingle of familiar magic—

His head jerked towards the girl.

He knew her.

The child from the bookshop.

The air rippled around her as her magic grew. His thoughts from the bookshop returned: How could a child possibly possess such magic? And she had yet to reach magical maturity. Her magic coalesced into a layer of magic so dense that—

For a fleeting moment, he swore he could see her magic: delicate silver threads, spinning finely like a tapestry around her.

The girl's gaze was fixed solely on Malfoy, who was doing a pathetic job of hiding his quivering. Pity that the boy hadn't inherited Lucius' more commendable quality of antagonizing only those he could handle. He supposed he'd have to pen a note to Lucius before their conflict escalated and tore the House apart.

A hiss from his left made him glance surreptitiously at the stuttering professor. Severus paled and swiftly met the Headmaster's eyes. At the subtle nod he received, his mood darkened further; he was tasked not only with observing two fools but three: the Potter boy, the girl, and…

His gaze slid to the surface of his dining knife which reflected the twisted smile of the stuttering professor.

.....

Unveiling her magic was like stretching her cramping legs. A freedom she hadn't known to miss.

But sudden motion after a period of disuse was never good, and like standing too soon on numbed legs, the strain to control the sudden influx of magic doubled, exhaustion slamming harshly into her as she struggled to exert her command over it.

Clenching her jaw, she bore the drain on her energy and tightened her hold on the silver threads. Beads of sweat formed on her skin, her vision going hazy for a brief second before her body slowly became accustomed to the magic.

Looking ahead, she was pleased to see that the Slytherins were taking her seriously now.

"Cyrna, sit with me," Daphne was smiling now, welcoming her to the seat beside her after telling Theodore to shift down.

Cyrna slid, as elegantly as possible, into the seat. However, Daphne's knitted brows told her that she hadn't been able to hide her exhaustion completely. Daphne cleverly began a conversation with the others, and Cyrna hid her gratitude that she'd only have to participate with brief interjections until the tremors in her hands died down enough for her to pick up her fork and eat. Upon her first bite, it was as if she had been transported back to her first meal in the universe. It took everything in her not to eat like she had been starved before arrival. It didn't help that the dishes at Hogwarts were genuinely worth salivating over.

"The roast chicken, please," said Daphne to Theodore, the weedy-looking boy Cyrna had been on the boat with.

"Isn't the beef or lamb better suited for someone of such noble status?" said Theodore, pointing to the dishes that were directly in front of Daphne.

"—Says the person of similar upbringing who has a plate filled with pork," Daphne said dryly. "Stop being so lazy, Theo, and pass it over."

With slumped shoulders, Theodore reached for the plate of food with a great sigh, looking like every motion drained his already very limited pool of energy. An alliance between the houses of Nott and Greengrass or just personal friends? Definitely allies; perhaps both, Cyrna thought. Nothing between heirs would ever be untouched by business.

The other Slytherins watched their antics, but nobody seemed surprised. A dark-skinned boy seemed distinctly amused, but just as he was about to speak, the girl seated next to him leaned over to meet Cyrna's eyes, brown hair carelessly brushing over the Yorkshire pudding sitting on Daphne's dish. The girl who Malfoy had spoken to. The one who had snickered first. She held herself in a manner similar to Daphne. While her elegance fell somewhat short, her features were strong and defined. She gave off effortless extravagance, yet Cyrna felt that it was cheapened from actions. "You're a Half-blood?"

"I am."

"So you're half filthy," she smirked.

Cyrna paused then said languidly, "Afraid so. And you are?"

The girl leaned back. "Pansy Parkinson, heiress of the Parkinson family, a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. A Pureblood."

"Ah. I've heard of you," Cyrna said innocently, feeling a bit more like herself now that she had eaten.

"Oh?"

"From your association with the Malfoys, of course. Your family name only ever appears" among many others "in the articles about the Malfoys, and so I remember thinking about how incredibly intelligent your family must be to be able to keep up with the coattails of a family as prestigious as the Malfoys."

Her comment seemed to have thrown Pansy off-kilter, and she looked distinctly confused. "Thank you, I suppose."

Cyrna smiled sweetly. "Fantastic achievements."

Pansy preened. "Well, the Parkinsons have made some impressive contributions."

Draco looked away with a grimace while Daphne made a strange choking noise. "Excuse me," Daphne said politely when Pansy lifted a questioning brow. Daphne shared another look with Theodore who rolled his eyes.

"Well aren't your frightfully intelligent," said the boy who continued to appear greatly entertained.

"Thank you, Blaise," said Pansy.

Blaise snorted, helping himself to an eclair, ready to savour it the moment Pansy realized that she'd been insulted. Draco pretended like he wasn't part of this at all.

Dinner ended soon after with the horrid school song and without anything else of note. The Slytherin prefects showed them the entrance to the dormitories, and tapping on the stone right under the shadow of the 20th candle, they said, "Unity."

The wall parted to form an archway into a room that glowed with a pale green light.

"Girls up the stairs on the right and boys on the left."

Finally. Sleep.

Cyrna never learned whether Pansy had discovered anything, having fallen into slumber the instant she touched the mattress.

....

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