---
Kassandra followed the red-haired boy, watching him practically vibrate with excitent when Harry Potter appeared.
She smirked.
Honestly? Look at you, grinning like that. He didn't even look at you.
Stupid.
"Darren Potter!"
Professor McGonagall's sharp voice cut through the Great Hall, and Kassandra raised an eyebrow.
So this was the boy's na — Darren Potter.
Potter? She looked at the ssy red hair again and frowned. Since when do the Potters have Weasley genes?
The boy sat under the Sorting Hat longer than anyone else so far. Longer even than Harry Potter himself.
Kassandra tilted her head.
Strange family, the Potters.
Judging from his soft, naive personality, she would've bet every Galleon she had that he'd land in Gryffindor. Or maybe Hufflepuff, if the Hat was feeling sentintal.
Then—
"Slytherin!"
The Hat announced it with actual enthusiasm.
Kassandra blinked, certain she'd misheard.
But the boy just sat there, looking stunned, eyes glistening like he was about to cry.
A few professors leaned forward, clearly worried. McGonagall even gave the Hat a light smack as if it had lost its mind.
Kassandra couldn't bla her.
How in rlin's na does soone that soft get sorted into Slytherin?
Was the Hat cursed?
A voice from the Gryffindor table pulled her out of her thoughts.
"I knew it — only a fool like that would hang around with that Betsy girl!"
Kassandra's smirk disappeared.
Betsy was annoying, yes, but no one insulted a Slytherin in front of her.
That was her House now.
Her eyes flicked back to Darren. The boy looked crushed, glancing hopefully toward his brother, Harry, as if begging for comfort.
Harry looked away.
Typical Gryffindor — prideful and blind.
Kassandra almost laughed.
Maybe now the boy would finally lose his temper. Maybe he'd throw a punch or start a scene. That would at least be entertaining.
But no.
He just lowered his head and shuffled off, silent and defeated.
She rolled her eyes.
Pathetic.
"Kassandra Vorre!"
Her na rang out next, and she rose with her chin high.
Maybe she'd show that idiotic Hat what a real Slytherin looked like.
Before the brim even touched her hair, it shouted—
"Slytherin!"
She gave a small, satisfied snort, tossed the Hat aside, and strode off to her table without looking back.
It wasn't that she cared, of course. She just refused to be sorted by a Hat that had apparently lost its mind.
---
She took a seat on Darren Potter's right. Malfoy sat on his left, glaring daggers at him.
Oh, this should be fun, Kassandra thought.
The blond idiot was clearly itching to start sothing — probably plotting to hex Potter's pumpkin juice.
In front of Dumbledore, no less.
If he actually manages to pull that off, she thought, I'll call him a genius.
When Dumbledore stood to speak, his usual nonsense bood across the hall — strange warnings, random words.
"Crybabies! Idiots! Vicious!" he said cheerfully.
Kassandra rolled her eyes. Mad old fool.
She stabbed a piece of steak with her fork and glanced sideways just in ti to see Malfoy slip a chicken claw onto Darren's plate.
rlin, how childish.
She expected Darren to get angry — to finally snap back. But instead, he just blinked, smiled weakly, and… ate it.
He ate it?!
Was he that oblivious?
She almost groaned aloud.
But when she looked at him again — hunched, quiet, clearly miserable — she thought of sothing else.
If he'd been placed in Gryffindor, surrounded by loud idiots who'd cheer him for his kindness, would he have smiled more?
Probably.
For reasons she didn't want to na, that thought irritated her.
So when Becky dragged him away after dinner, Kassandra frowned.
That was her toy, not Becky's.
What gave that woman the right to take him?
Curious — and, though she'd never admit it, a bit possessive — she followed.
She caught only fragnts of their conversation. Sothing about "strength."
Strength? Please.
She eyed Darren's thin fra and snorted softly. The only thing strong about you is your stupidity.
Then she noticed Malfoy nearby. Perfect.
A few whispered words, a small push, and soon Malfoy was sneering right in Darren's face.
This was going to be good.
Until it wasn't.
Because sohow, Darren — the sa boy who'd looked ready to cry five minutes ago — suddenly punched Malfoy so hard the blond went flying.
Kassandra's eyes widened.
The talisman around Malfoy's neck shattered with a faint crack.
"Oh…" she breathed. "Oh, this is even better than I imagined."
Maybe this Potter wasn't so boring after all.
She watched, delighted, as chaos unfolded — Snape's fury, Malfoy's whining, Darren's teary-eyed guilt act.
It was perfect.
When the prefect trials were announced, she could barely wait. Finally, she'd get to test his strength herself.
But when the ti ca — he conceded.
Just gave up, muttering sothing about not wanting to hurt anyone.
Kassandra stared at him, dumbfounded.
Who does that?
Who wins by losing?
She ended up winning, of course. Not that it felt like a victory.
That night, out of boredom — and maybe a pinch of mischief — she told all the Slytherin first-years to et at 6:30 the next morning.
Except for Darren.
When he stumbled out of his dorm at seven, blinking sleepily, everyone was waiting.
She smiled sweetly and told him they'd just start eting at this ti from now on.
The other students looked ready to riot, and she could barely hold back a laugh.
It was perfect. He'd finally look bad in front of everyone.
But then he opened his mouth — and apologized.
Soft voice, downcast eyes, genuine regret. He even sounded like he might cry.
Kassandra blinked.
Was he… serious?
The guilt hit her like a small, sharp sting. For a second, she didn't know what to do with it.
Maybe that was a bit much, she thought reluctantly.
Still, she told herself, she wasn't worried about him.
No, she was just annoyed that her toy might break too soon.
But when she caught a few of their classmates glancing at her with sothing like disapproval — or was it suspicion? — she felt her stomach twist.
They wouldn't actually write to their parents, would they?
Kassandra straightened her robes and forced a smirk.
I'm not scared. Not at all.
But her heart whispered,
I'm so scared.
---
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