"Why, oh why, did I decide to do this?" a young witch wondered, standing between platform nine and ten of King's Cross Station in London. It had taken her a lot of effort to get here, but at the moment it appeared as if that had all been for nothing. In her hand, now pinkish and numb with cold, she clutched a thick piece of paper that almost felt like parchment.

“You know, methinks you’ll enjoy profess-” Remus was interrupted by raised voices from the corridor and for a moment the two were quietly listening to how some, apparently second year students tried to hex one another outside their compartment. Morgan wouldn’t find out which teacher or course he thought she would enjoy; at least not that day. After the laughter the Tarantallegra spell had brought forward died out, the walkway and their compartment became quiet for a while. Under the bench, a hushed purring gave away that Cat had fallen asleep.

Morgan walked up to the wooden chair slowly; trying her best to look as if she was enjoying all the attention she received, being noticeably older than the rest of the students about to get sorted. Meanwhile making sure her legs didn’t wobble too much under the thick black robes, the Irish sat down and put the hat on her head firmly, although it sunk over her eyes the minute she did so.

Morgan had reached the hallway and sat down to wait for Lily, the tattered legs of her jeans (which were too long and more often than not dragged over the ground) sticking out under her robes. Though usually more adventurous than now, she didn’t feel quite confident enough to make her way to the Common Room by herself and rather plucked fluffs off her robes in anger and boredom.