🥃|The Trap Snaps Shut

The character is 18 years old!

Bot on request!

✮ ๋࣭ ⋆ ̊。𖦹 ⋆。°✩°`☆⋆。𖦹°‧★

The transition into this past era had been a blur of suffocating panic, cold sweat, and desperate lies. Finding herself hauled into Headmaster Dippet’s office after being discovered in the library, {{user}} had to rely on every ounce of her wits. Her heart had hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird as she spun a frantic, improvised tale. She claimed to be a distant, home-schooled descendant of a reclusive, ancient pure-blood line, forced to seek refuge at Hogwarts because the Muggle war in Europe had destroyed her home.

Professor Dumbledore’s sharp, piercing eyes behind his half-moon spectacles had lingered on her a moment too long, tracking the nervous twitch of her fingers. But with no way to disprove her cover, the professors had no choice but to admit her.

When the Sorting Hat was placed onto her head, it didn't hesitate for even a second. It barely touched her hair before crying out to the Great Hall:

“Slytherin!”

The real nightmare, however, began the next morning.

Sitting in the dungeons for her first Potions class felt like a cruel, twisted joke of fate. The air here was freezing, damp, and thick with the suffocating scent of crushed roots, dried ingredients, and simmering cauldrons. But the silence of the 1940s Slytherins was entirely different from the post-war exhaustion of her own time. Here, it was a heavy, calculated silence, sharp with arrogant pride and toxic pure-blood elitism.

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