Chapter Text
AUGUST 31st, 1991
It wasn’t until the bludger whacked her in the face that Kit realized how much she hated playing Quidditch with Draco Malfoy.
“You’re a bastard child,” said Kit coldly, rubbing her now bloody nose. She only succeeded in smearing it over her brand new sundress. Of course, perhaps it was her fault for wearing a dress to play Quidditch, but she would never own up to the fact.
“Not my fault you can’t use a bat!” retorted Draco, already rushing over to make sure she was alright. She was, of course, having landed her broom smoothly out of prior experience. He, however, still worried.
“I told you I wanted to play Seeker, arsehole!”
“KATHERINE CORDELIA THOMPSON!”
Kit groaned and turned around, seeing her mother glaring at her furiously from the house. The young girl wasn’t even considering that the scolding would be from her careless use of foul language. Someone like her mother wouldn’t care. She knew what she was in trouble for.
“Yes?” Kit asked in the sweetest voice she could muster. She had no problem being falsely respectful with her mother. The vile woman didn’t deserve the real thing.
“I thought I told you I didn’t want a single stain on that dress!”
“There isn’t a single stain, there are several stains, so I think I followed your rules,” Kit growled without hesitation.
First mistake of the day: being born, even if that was technically eleven years ago. Second: not controlling her tongue. Kit wasn’t expecting her unfortunate birthgiver to retaliate as immediately as she did, but then again, she didn’t really know her mother, did she?
The woman apparated toward her, also without hesitation, and slapped the already bloody girl remorselessly, hard enough to make her cry out in pain. Kit felt as though she’d had hot soup splashed on her face. Even if her nose wasn’t completely broken, it hurt like hell to get hit so near the area.
Her mother stormed back toward Kit’s godmother, Narcissa Malfoy, who looked over soundlessly. Draco didn’t say a single word, he just stared at his best friend, not daring to speak up against his godmother— her mother. Kit had always found it so utterly basic that they’d traded mothers as godmothers. But at any rate, she and Draco respected Narcissa. Neither she or Draco respected Alison Thompson.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately once both women went back inside. “That’s my fault.”
“No, it’s not,” mumbled Kit dejectedly. “Don’t worry.”
The blond boy offered her a handkerchief, and the brunette took advantage of it to clean her nose before sitting down.
“This is probably the worst birthday ever,” Kit noted. “Perhaps worse than my fifth one, when I met you all for the first time and those awful Macnair boys threw me into the cake. I got in trouble for it, of course. I always manage to ruin a dress, and my parents’ mood. I swear, I couldn’t walk the whole next day after the beating father gave me.”
“I’m sorry,” Draco said yet again, a slight wince apparent. “I shouldn’t have brought my Quidditch set. I know you’d said you wanted to go to the pond instead. Your dress wouldn’t have been ruined, then.”
“It’s fine. I do like Quidditch, I just hate being a Beater.”
“We can go to the pond now,” suggested Draco, looking back at the house. “Our mothers probably went back into your drawing room and I think your father is still showing mine the new wing.”
“Okay,” replied Kit, removing her shirt to reveal an unstained undershirt. “Might as well wash this.”
The two eleven year olds walked quickly and carefully down the stony path around the Thompson Manor, into the tall grass that separated the house from the pond that Kit had grown up playing in.
It was a relief to get a full escape from the adults. The Malfoys visited every year for her birthday, as did other families. It was late already, and the others had left, meaning Kit got to spend time with her best friend. She didn’t comprehend why her father insisted on celebrating when he cursed the day she was born so much. Why did parents even have children they didn’t desire?
However, Kit wasn’t about to blame herself entirely for that. On August 31st, 1981, her first birthday had not been the only significant event. That same night, her elder sister had disappeared.
Kit had never been told exactly what had transpired that night. All she had ever known was that it clearly caused her parents, as well as the Malfoys, tremendous panic for a while. But eventually, that had faded, and since then, her parents had only spoken in detail of her sister in hushed tones when they assumed Kit was asleep. She never quite managed to hear what it was about. But their tones were clear: worried, devastated, the entire array of emotions a parent can feel when their child is taken from them.
Not that Alana Thompson had been a child. She was already eighteen, and married, to young Rabastan Lestrange. She had been born just a year after their parents married in 1962. Kit was ashamed to know what came before that.
Her grandparents on both ends had been some of the first to serve Lord Voldemort when he came to power. Her paternal grandfather, Douglas Thompson, had been the one that suggested to his at the time best friend, her maternal grandfather Vincent Smith, that their children should marry. Thus, the same year that young Tom Riddle began his journey at Hogwarts, Kenneth Thompson was born, and the year Tom Riddle graduated, Alison Smith was born to seal the deal.
That wasn’t the only component, however. Kit and Draco had discovered through eavesdropping that when Douglas and Vincent rose to serve the dark wizard, they had been the first to propose that they begin grooming their own children to continue filling the ranks. The cruel man at the head of the table had liked this, and soon, the original families became legacies that served the corrupt bastard up until his disappearance.
But the war had begun just after Alana’s birth, once Kenneth and Alison had settled in as new Death Eaters. They had held off on having another child. For a time, Alana had been taken to live with her godparents, the Lestranges, and a friendship had blossomed between her and the youngest Lestrange son, Rabastan. Eventually, Alana and Rabastan had gone through Hogwarts as best friends, unknowingly betrothed to one another, and eventually, they had wed.
As Kit and Draco trudged to the pond, the brunette couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow had in store for her. As much as her parents neglected discussing her sister, one thing was blatantly clear: Alana had been the perfect child.
Absolutely radiant, the best possible combination of the Thompson and Smith genes. Brilliant, with top notch grades and a status as Slytherin house prefect, and eventually Head Girl for all of Hogwarts. Narcissa herself had whispered to Kit several stories about her sister, how everyone who met her adored her, how she had been a good example to several young girls growing up.
Kit supposed that to be the truth. It had been instilled in her that a Thompson had to be perfect. A Slytherin. A proper lady. Someone who didn’t complain about what life threw their way, especially not arranged marriages. Her family seemed to like those.
But the truth was a funny thing to Kit. She had been conditioned to believe certain things that didn’t make complete sense. The days she’d snuck out and managed to hitchhike to the nearest Muggle village to see if she could find other children, she had noticed that they weren’t vile as her parents made them out to be.
By that logic, what else were they lying about? Kit wondered it often to herself. As well as she and Draco got along, he would never share an opinion with her.
Once the children arrived at the pond, they sat at the edge and dipped their feet in. Draco let out a sigh of relief and flopped back, while Kit knelt down to rinse her face, before wetting the dress to remove the blood.
“What house do you reckon you’ll get tomorrow?” asked Draco, splashing his feet and causing drops to flicker onto Kit’s face.
“Slytherin for sure,” responded Kit, without hesitation. “Mother says I have to get that or I’ll be disowned.”
“Well you’re a Thompson.”
“And you’re a Malfoy.”
“No one in our families has ever been anything other than Slytherin.”
“Well, Draco, that’s not entirely true. My father said his brother was Ravenclaw.”
“Isn’t that the same brother your grandfather disowned?”
“Oh yeah. I forgot.”
He let out a small chuckle. “I’ll be Slytherin too. I’m glad at least I’ll know you tomorrow.”
“Well you know those awful Crabbe brothers, even though the younger one probably won’t attend Hogwarts until we’re seventh years. But Vince is our age. Oh, and Greg is our age too. And Blaise, though he doesn’t talk to you much.”
“Goyle and Crabbe aren’t as fun as you,” Draco said simply. “And Blaise is moreso your friend, not mine. You— you’re my best friend.”
He reached his hand out, and Kit took it. Their palms smacked together briefly, before connecting their thumbs and hooking them up to flip their hands away, and finally bringing their fists back to collide together.
“Since the womb, literally,” Kit mused. “Even Ollivander mentioned it yesterday when we went to Diagon Alley. Said our wands ended up being next to each other in the shop because our mothers were ‘bump buddies’ and whatnot.”
“Barely. Your mother didn’t even know you were in there until after my mother had her bump. That’s why I’m three months older than you.”
“Oh, shut it,” retorted Kit. “Three months is like a day.”
“You’re just sore that you’re young, you know,” Draco noted.
“Well I’m taller than you.”
“By an inch! Girls hit their growth spurts early. I’ll be taller than you at least by third year.”
“What if you’re defective and you never grow?”
“I’d be willing to do Dark Arts to grow, if it comes to that.”
Kit squirmed uncomfortably. The Dark Arts weren’t a subject she liked to delve into. She had heard such terrible things about them when Draco and her spied on their parents’ gatherings. Spells that tore people apart. They all seemed to enjoy it, and Draco was indifferent.
But not Kit. A shudder passed through her as she set the dress to dry. It just didn’t sit well. All the fantasy books she snuck in had made anything dark be villainous. It made sense. Why then, did her parents relish in it?
She had much to learn.
Kit chose to change the subject. “My wand is better than yours”
“No way!” retorted Draco, always up for a challenge. “Mine’s the best. Father says hawthorn and elm are the best wand woods. I have hawthorn! And I have a unicorn hair core. Ollivander said it’s reasonably springy too. I heard that’s better for spells!”
“Well mine’s black walnut wood and my father says it’s good!” Kit argued. “It’s like my sister’s wand! But mine has a dragon heartstring core and unyielding flexibility. That’s admirable!”
“Shut up,” said Draco with a small grin. “Mine’s better and you know it.”
Kit just scowled playfully and flopped back, laying beside him and staring up at the sky as they kept splashing their feet in the pond.
“See that cloud?” Draco inquired. “Looks like a snake. Slytherin.” He poked Kit’s side, making her smack him.
“I’ll bite you next time, like the snake would,” she hissed, before pointing at another cloud. “That one looks like a bird!”
“You’re a bird.”
“Yes, I’m a girl, have you just noticed?”
They both got a good laugh out of that one.
_
SEPTEMBER 1st, 1991
Kit was exhausted and it was barely half past eleven.
“Draco,” said Kit in exasperation as she shuffled behind him through the hall. “Why in the bloody hell are we walking all over the train?”
Behind her, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were shoving each other, making Kit press herself against Draco and hold his arm. She wasn’t smaller than any of the boys, but they could likely still trample her if she didn’t watch out. Kit gazed back and scowled when she noticed Greg picking his nose.
“And why do you let those sloths follow us? We see enough of them at the Christmas parties.”
“Well I heard Harry Potter’s in a compartment down the way,” huffed Draco as he yanked Kit forward. “And stop dragging your feet, you’ll make me run into someone.”
“What do you need from Harry Potter? We had a whole compartment of people before. We left Blaise alone with Pansy! She hasn’t liked me since I accidentally cut off her hair when playing with my mother’s wand.”
“She has a right to dislike you then, hasn’t she?” teased Draco. “And by the way— I want to try and become his friend, see? Keep him from getting entangled with the wrong crowd.”
“He’s not going to be fraternizing with psychopaths if that’s what you’re implying,” Kit mumbled.
“Just hush up and let’s find him. Maybe he’ll come sit with us, and then you and Pansy can bicker for our entertainment.”
“You’re a rotten boy, Draco.”
Kit was relieved when they finally reached the compartment Draco had been searching for. The blond slid open the door and peered inside.
“Is it true?” He announced, looking inside as Kit, Vince, and Greg crowded around the door. “They’re saying all down the train that Harry Potter’s in this compartment. So it’s you, is it?”
Kit resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He must have learned that from her godfather. Lucius loved making grand entrances.
The raven haired, green eyed boy with glasses assented. “Yes,” responded he, looking at Kit first, then the boys behind her, and finally fixating his glance on Draco.
“Oh, that’s Crabbe and Goyle,” Draco said carelessly. “This is Katherine, but only I can call her Kit.”
Kit offered the boy a smile.
“My name’s Malfoy,” the blond continued. “Draco Malfoy.”
The red haired boy across from Harry Potter gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Kit nearly felt compelled to laugh, but the feeling stopped when Draco snapped.
“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father’s told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”
“Draco!” Kit cried, looking appalled.
“You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter,” said Draco smugly to Harry. “You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. Kit and I can help you there.”
He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it.
“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he said coolly.
Kit covered her mouth to hold back a snort, before narrowing her eyes scoldingly at Draco. The Malfoy growled and squeezed Kit’s arm, making the brunette yelp.
“I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” Draco said slowly to Harry. “Unless you’re a bit politer, you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it’ll rub off on you.”
The two boys in the compartment shot up, but Kit yanked Draco away.
“Say it again!” Harry challenged, clearly ready to defend Ron.
Draco shoved Kit out of the way and went back to the doorway of the compartment. “Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?”
“Unless you get out now,” sneered Harry.
“But we don’t feel like leaving, do we, everyone?” Draco growled, causing Vince and Greg to nod. “We’ve eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.”
“We have not eaten all our food!” said Kit desperately as she smacked Draco and tried to pull him away. “Let’s just leave them alone!”
But it was too late. Greg reached towards one of the Chocolate Frogs next to the young Weasley boy. The boy leapt forward, but before he’d so much as touched Greg, Greg let out a horrible yell.
A rat was hanging off his finger, its sharp little teeth sunk deep into Greg’s knuckle. Kit shrieked and yanked the rat off the instant Draco left her a clear space, before quickly handing it to the red headed boy. She then looked apologetically at the pair, followed by her shoving the others away and closing the compartment door.
“You idiots!” hissed Kit. “You say you want to get acquainted and that’s your first impression?”
“He made a wrong choice,” huffed Draco as Greg and Vince headed quickly back to their compartment on the other side of the train. “Besides, why are you defending that Weasley scum?”
“I’ll defend anyone you treat in such a foul manner! You’d think at this point you’d have learned not to act like that in front of me!” Kit snapped, looking distressed beyond what would be considered normal in such a situation.
For a second, Draco looked guilty. “Fine. Let’s just go back to our compartment.”
He offered Kit his arm, but she didn’t take it, and instead crossed her own before walking ahead of him.
When the train finally came to a stop, Kit followed Blaise, who was the first to stand, out the doors and to where a large man was waving for the first years to gather around him.
“You look cross,” he noticed.
“I am cross! Draco can be such an arsehole sometimes.”
The children were led down a bend to a series of small boats, and were piled into them like sardines, at least that was what Kit perceived it to be. Kit and Blaise didn’t wait for the others, and were placed in a boat with a boy named Terry Boot and a girl called Hannah Abbott, who Kit seemed to like. Blaise, quiet as ever, said nothing to them, but looked back towards the castle they’d soon begin to approach.
Once everyone had been loaded, the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Blaise gaped at the castle as they approached from the distance, the building towering over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.
“It’s magnificent,” he whispered. “Just like my mum and sister said it would be.”
“Heads down!” The large man (who Kit thought was named Hagrid) yelled up ahead as the first boats reached the cliff. The children all bent our heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy, which hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking the congregation right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto the rocks and pebbles.
Kit gripped Blaise’s arm as they exited the boats, before following him up a passageway behind Hagrid and his lamp. They came out at last on a smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.
When the door opened, a tall black haired witch in emerald green robes stood before the first years. She had a very stern face that reminded Kit of her mother, which initially made for a bad impression until the young girl learned that the professor’s persona was not at all like her mother.
“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.
“Thank you, Hagrid,” she said cordially. “I will take them from here.”
She pulled the door wide open. The Entrance Hall was probably big enough to fit two of the Thompson Manor’s master bedrooms inside, thought Kit. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones in the dungeons of their manor— a place that Kit had only been allowed to step foot in once. The ceiling was too high to make out, but it glittered slightly, and a magnificent marble staircase facing the children led to the upper floors.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall said as she led them across the flagged stone floor. “The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.
“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards.
“While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.
“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.”
Kit shifted awkwardly beside Blaise, a million thoughts coursing through her little brain. However, she didn’t get much time to mull over her emotions before a hoard of about twenty ghosts streamed through the back wall.
Pearly white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to each other and hardly glancing at the gathered first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance—“
“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s really not even a ghost— I say, what are you all doing here?”
A ghost wearing ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the children.
“New students!” The Friar exclaimed, smiling around. “About to be sorted, I suppose? Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know.”
“Move along now,” said a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.”
Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.
“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall said, “and follow me.”
Kit was too nervous to pay much attention to the Great Hall as they entered it, grandiose as it was with all the thousands of floating candles and the masses of lanterns and students and ghosts along the four enormous tables within.
She began to panic. Memories of smacks and cruel words rang in her head. Every little thing she had done wrong as a child had resulted in painful punishment. Punishment that could escalate to being excused from meals or being unable to exit her room. Everything her parents had drilled into her head about the Thompson name and her image made her wonder: what would happen if she didn’t make them proud? What would occur if she didn’t make Slytherin?
Professor McGonagall silently placed a four legged stool in front of them, laying a pointed wizard’s hat on top of it. The hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty.
Yuck, thought Kit
For a few seconds there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and it began to sing.
Kit didn’t even have the heart to pay attention. Something about the four houses. Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor. All Kit could hope was that she ended up in the one that her parents wanted her to be in. Otherwise… who knew what’d happen. She knew she shouldn’t be so terrified, but it was all she could consider at the moment. Disappointing her parents was practically a mortal sin that’d only result in misery for the following seven years.
Can wizards switch houses? Kit wondered.
The hat abruptly ceased its song, and Kit rubbed her arms in anticipation. Professor McGonagall unscrolled a long sheet of parchment.
“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” Professor McGonagall instructed. “Abbott, Hannah.”
The blonde girl from Kit’s boat went up, and sat, the hall falling down over her eyes. A moment’s pause—
“HUFFLEPUFF!”
The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table.
“Bones, Susan!”
“HUFFLEPUFF!”
“Boot, Terry!”
“RAVENCLAW!”
The table second from the left clapped this time, and Terry joined them happily. Kit clapped as well. She had an awful vision, now that there was one Ravenclaw and one Hufflepuff from her boat. What if Blaise was Slytherin and Kit was Gryffindor? Kit quickly shook the nerve wracking thought out of her head.
Kit could hardly pay attention to the Sorting. ‘Brocklehurst, Mandy’ went to Ravenclaw, ‘Brown, Lavender’ became the first New Gryffindor, ‘Bulstrode, Millicent’ the first Slytherin...
“Crabbe, Vincent!”
“SLYTHERIN!”
“Granger, Hermione!”
Kit wrung her hands together as a brief pause took place— the hat muttering to the girl about its choices. But at long last, she was placed in Gryffindor.
“Goyle, Gregory!”
“SLYTHERIN!”
“Malfoy, Draco!”
The hat hardly touched his head before he was made Slytherin. Kit gulped as the blond stared at her, offered her a thumbs up, then went to sit beside his other mates.
“Potter, Harry!”
As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like hissing fires all over the hall. Kit squeezed her eyes shut. After ‘P’ came ‘Q,’ then ‘R,’ then ‘S,’ then finally ‘T,’ which is what she dreaded most. She could distinctly hear whispers behind her:
“Potter, did she say?”
“The Harry Potter?”
But she didn’t internalize what was truly occuring. To her, Harry Potter was just another name. She was too preoccupied running through scenarios of what her parents would do if she wasn’t Slytherin. Would her father beat her? Would she be locked in their dungeons for a week? Would they put her up for adoption?
The hat’s booming voice yelling “GRYFFINDOR!” made Kit nearly leap out of her skin. She clapped politely as she heard someone say: “We got Potter! We got Potter!” over and over again.
“Thompson, Katherine!”
Kit nearly fainted and cursed out loud at the same time. She balled her fists up so tight, her knuckles began to turn white. She walked forward meekly, and with shaky legs, sat into the stool, shutting her eyes tight as the Sorting Hat was placed over her head.
“Difficult,” it purred, making the brunette flinch. “You are not like the other Thompsons I have sorted.”
Kit didn’t even want to answer, but she did. “I-Is that bad?”
“Bad? Of course not!” said the Hat unknowingly. “You are Slytherin material, but not as much as your other family members. Hmm... I think... yes, perhaps this will be the best thing...”
“Just get it over with,” Kit whimpered, feeling like she was about to cry. She could practically feel the smack coming to her face. She could practically hear the Howler.
Not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor please, please, if the word meant anything—
“RAVENCLAW!”
The Ravenclaw table erupted into cheers and Kit numbly removed the hat, walking slowly to the Ravenclaw table, where she sat beside Terry, who was the only face she recognized.
“Good job!” One dark haired girl offered. “Su Li, by the way.”
“Hi,” said Kit, her voice a small squeak.
“I’m Morag Macdougal,” the brunette beside her offered. “But I prefer to be called Mimi.”
“S-Sure,” Kit choked, her eyes welling up with tears. “I’m... Katherine.”
“You okay?” Terry asked worriedly. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“Because I am,” whispered Kit.
She watched at long last as Blaise was sorted into Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.
Albus Dumbledore then got to his feet. He was beaming at the first years, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.
“Welcome!” He said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”
He sat back down, and on the students clapped, the plates magically filled with food.
Kit couldn’t bring herself to eat a single bite. All she could think about was that in twenty four hour’s time, she would be disowned, or worse.