I

The Astor Manor loomed over Nerissa, but it suddenly felt small compared to the grand mass that was Hogwarts. Her two homes differenced in so many ways, from the people there to the ideas they bore. And unlike Hogwarts, the manor was empty. Well, if you weren't to count her governess who met her at the door, and the staff that followed behind Nerissa, lugging her bags, but other than that, she was alone. How strange it is, she thought with a heavy sigh, to be alone. At Hogwarts, she hadn't been alone. No, far from it.

Nerissa spent the day wandering the country side, but she didn't bother to unpack. She found comfort in the flowers, the animals, the tiny figures of the villagers who lived down below. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that she was back at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, her time astray did not last long, and when it was half-past noon, her governess called her in. There was to be a storm, and she wasn't having Nerissa getting a cold on her first day back. So Nerissa spent the rest of the day in solitude, more alone than ever.

That night, the old matron tucked Nerissa in, whispering, “Don’t let the mudbloods bite." It was a familiar refrain in the Astor Household, but for some reason, it made Nerissa wiggle with discomfort. There was no harm in a childish saying, was there?

II

By the morning, the rain still hadn't gone away. It streaked down the windows, pressing up against the glass and trapping Nerissa inside her prison of a home. It's droplets, full and soft like tears, echoed in her mournful expression. Why was nature trapping her inside? It frustrated Nerissa endlessly, as she glared at the water-smeared windows. Her governess, on the other hand, was delighted.

"Today, we shall do beading," the thin-lipped woman announced, brandishing a small chest, and they set to work. Nerissa's governess had taught her to bead ages ago, and while she wasn't particularly fond of the task, it provided busy hands to satisfy her ever turning mind. Today, her mind was focused back on Hogwarts, and a friend she'd made there. Nora De Carie, a Slytherin witch in her year. She was a great friend, the best, but she had one draw back-- her mother was a muggle.

“I made a friend at Hogwarts,” Nerissa told her governess, who barely looked up from her beadwork.

“Oh, that’s very nice,” she responded, “Your father will be glad that you are making alliances with other purebloods.” But Nerissa didn’t have the strength to correct her.

III

That night, she noticed a painting that she must have walked by a thousand times. It was of her great Grandmother, a publicly known blood purist. Her ideas had ranged from taxing non-pureblood, to burning all the others. She looked nothing like Nerissa-- slicked back black hair, a crooked jaw, and sallow cheeks-- but it made the young girl ashamed to think that they were related. On the other hand, Nerissa hadn't shown many signs of being much different.

What had become of her? Where was that strong blood purist witch, unafraid of her own opinions? Proud of them, even? Where was she, and what was this disease that had infected her mind? Was it even a disease? Or was it a cure, one she'd been waiting for all her life? Only time would tell.

IV

Nerissa was undecided. She wished she could go off back to camp, be with her friend, and get away from this hellhole, but she couldn't. Staying here might not be a very good option, but it was her only one. She was stuck here, and with each passing day, time seemed to go by slower. She didn't know if she could bear it much longer, the pretending. The agreeable smiles and obedient nods. Thinking of it all, Nerissa frowned slightly. This used to be normal.

But it wasn't, not anymore. And she wasn't sure if it ever would be.