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──────────────────────────────────────────────── 8th january, monday, early morning, slytherin table

A pale, dark-haired girl sat rigidly at a corner of the Slytherin table, sipping peppermint tea as she thumbed through a copy of The Daily Prophet. Chartreuse-green eyes skimmed across headlines, scanning for a particular name. It had become a habit now to pore through the news, fishing for clues to questions she dared not ask aloud.

Sage forced herself to stop, a sigh leaving her lips. She didn't know why she was torturing herself like this. That morning she had woken up feeling antsy; a strange unease had settled deep into her bones. It felt like desperation skittering down her veins, like she couldn't crawl out of her skin fast enough to escape the bleakness seeping into her being.

The past year had been harrowing to say the least. Without going into specifics, the events that followed the Fall Ball had affected her more than she would care to admit. She had moped like her life depended on it and flunked enough classes resulting in her eventual deferment.

Enough was enough.

Brooding over things beyond her control was pointless and stupid and not like Sage at all. If she was to change, she had to breach the comforts of her own depressing bubble - push herself far off kilter and somehow gain equilibrium in the process. Perhaps that was why she was sat in the unlikeliest of places for her to be, smack dab in the middle of Slytherin territory. Now, she didn't have anything against them but she had reservations about the sort of people that belonged to that particular House. If she was to change, she had to go against everything she thought she knew about herself.

Lips pressed together, Sage's gaze grew steely with resolve. She craned to look at the student closest to her and scooched over to begin a conversation with them. She didn't really care if she was being rude, she liked quiet mornings herself but she had to be proactive at socializing now. She no longer had a chatterbox friend to drag her into random social interactions after all.

"Morning," the girl started, quirking her lips in a polite smile. "Weren't you in Fresnel's class last year? Think I remember the Professor praising your wandwork. I could never get the movements as sharp and effortless as you do yours." Sage grinned deprecatingly at her own clumsy tendencies.

Then, as if having just remembered, the second-year stuck out her hand, careful not to topple the cups and condiments dotting the table in front of them. The first breakfast spread of the year never failed to impress in terms of variety and deliciousness; the house-elves must've been up at the crack of dawn, prepping hastily in the kitchens below.

"Oh, right-! I'm Sage, by the way."