Prologue

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"Arabella Black."

The Great Hall silenced as the young girl sat on the stool, awaiting her fate.

Ah, the final Black heir. Rumbled the Sorting Hat as it touched her head.

Arabella pinched her eyes closed.

So much like your mother. You've inherited her passion and nerve, and her thirst for knowledge that can't be sated. The Sorting Hat hummed. But you have no desire to dedicate yourself to it, you crave a place where your hard work will be acknowledged but not expected. 

Arabella swallowed. Oh no.

Yes, you crave a place of belonging; Hufflepuff is where you'll strive.

No. Not Hufflepuff.

No? The Sorting hat mocked. I suppose you are your fathers daughter after all.

If you won't make me a Ravenclaw, it must be Slytherin.

Slytherin, hm? You're clever, manipulative just like the rest of your ancestors. That's right, you share something with your dear cousin Bellatrix, Arabella Black, that fiery temper isn't a coincidence and neither is that hatred in your heart. It felt like an eternity had passed before the hat spoke to her again. You've made my decision difficult, girl.

It shouldn't be. I've made up my mind.

Yes. It seems you have. With a great shout, the Sorting Hat finally announced, "It shall be..."

Arabella Black, The Daughter Of Padfoot (Redux)Onde histórias criam vida. Descubra agora