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Play the Game
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Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from JK Rowling's world.
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AN: WAAAYYYY more dialogue and less lengthy paragraphs next chapter. This is just to set the scene, so you can get a picture of how Kate starts out at Hogwarts.
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1. First Impressions
The dying autumn sun and falling leaves, fading oranges and reds on the black cobblestone floor, brought with them the same things each year; chariots drawn by invisible horses and silent boats cascading over black, still waters, lit only by the twinkling candles that were always threatening to wink out. In the rising moonlight, First-Years with frightened expressions and ashen faces could be seen piling out of a bright red-and-black train that poured out black smoke and, upon arrival, begged for rest. This year was no exception. In fact, the only difference between this year and the others was what the professors would call a "late bloomer," (a Sixth-Year that had just received her letter) who seemed, at this time, to be missing from the Great Hall.
I, however, preferred to refer to my "late bloomer" situation as... well... no - actually, I preferred not to refer to my situation at all. I preferred to remain unacknowledged altogether. I, Kate Elizabeth Marsh, am a mostly normal girl, albeit sometimes a vain one. Like any other girl I fiddled constantly with my sunlit syrup-brown hair (a habit which I have finally overcome) which bounced weightlessly as I walked alongside the lake. I'd managed to get it to stay down before I boarded the Hogwarts Express - it always got kind of frizzy when it was moist outside, you know, with random wisps flying everywhere- and now, I was forced to battle the stupid weather to keep it down. It wouldn't cooperate, so I just gave it up. Who cares how I looked, anyway?
Alright, fine, I did. I cared too much - but, hey, who isn't at least a bit superficial? Besides the nuns of course, they're insane.
I wasn't wearing my school uniform, the sole reason for that being that I'd fallen asleep aboard the Hogwarts Express and missed both the boats and the Sorting ceremony. In fact, it was ten o' clock in the morning, and I should've been halfway through my first History of Magic class.
I trudged along the muddy banks of the lake, stopping only take a rock out of my black Manolos, the first ones I'd ever bought out of a small store in Old Church Street this summer ('77) when I was visiting my now-dead great-grandparents. I wore nothing on my long, average-sized legs because it was still essentially summer in London and I wasn't quite expecting it to storm during my first night on the Hogwarts grounds. My white polka-dotted dress billowed violently in the wind, threatening to fly up at any moment. At least, I thought, I'm wearing dark blue. Maybe I'll blend in more easily with the black uniforms... I had no coat on that I could pull closer to my body to keep me warm, and my arms were bare - the soft curves of my shoulders covered by nothing but soft strips of blue polka-dotted fabric.
Since I knew that there was nothing I could do about my attire, I focused on looking poised and graceful while entering my new home. There would inevitably be people looking at me - there always were, it seemed - and I wanted to make an impression. As fate had it, make an impression I would.
Head up, shoulders back. Confidence is the most attractive thing there is. And you have to, have to, have to look attractive. I walked in what I hoped was a graceful manner towards the building in front of me, acting like I had not a care in the world, forcing myself not to look at my feet but straight ahead. Looking at my feet would make me seem self-conscious and entirely un-mysterious, and I couldn't afford for people to figure me out the first day that I was there. That would just make me seem boring. Being mysterious and unreadable was something that I'd always prided myself in... but whether other people felt that I was mysterious or not was another story altogether.
"OUCH!" I screamed, as something took a swat at my ankles and tripped me. Something was whistling through the sky, and it wasn't just the wind that had been tearing at my dress a few moments ago. Something large and... wooden. I glanced up and a moving treebranch caught my eye. I dashed aside only to find that where my head once was there was now a giant gash in the ground. And my luggage was split in half, the contents spewed across what I presumed was my school's front lawn. Uniforms, dresses, skirts, blouses, ties, underwear strewn all over. I certainly couldn't leave my underwear there so I salvaged what I could from the wreckage and crawled at breakneck speed to the nearest door, fearing that the tree would strike again - or worse, try to follow me. There was no telling with these wizards.
I pushed open the door from where I sat on all fours, crawled into the room, shut the door behind me, set down the four pairs of underwear and two bras that hadn't been shredded by that blasted tree, and began tending to the two dresses that I'd managed to save from destruction. "Don't worry, everything's fine... shhhhh..." I whispered to my poor little dresses, "Please don't cry..."
You see, unlike most other girls, I believe that my clothing talks to me. My clothes always choose themselves out for me while I sleep and they wake me up in the morning by scratching their little coathangers on the inside of the closet door. They're restless and, moreover, when my dresses are happy, I'm happy. After all, the last thing I need is for one of my dresses to start riding up on me because it's upset that I haven't paid enough attention to it.
All of my dresses constantly feel the need for attention, which leads me to occasionally have vivid two-way conversations with my closet. Although it broke my heart to do so, I only brought three of my dresses to school with me - Anouk, Jackie (Named after Jackie Jackson, of the Jackson Five, since I obviously needed a name for a dress and couldn't find anything significant and girly-sounding... I mean, who care's if Jackie Jackson's a boy, right?) and Lola - I was wearing Lola at that moment. I'd loaned the rest to my thankful little sister, Eve, who I felt was "Just about ready to stop wearing those ridiculous, rancid high-top Chuck Taylor All-Stars and torn baggy jeans and start dressing like a real girl," as I had said to my family at the breakfast table right before I told them that I'd emptied my sister's old clothes into the incinerator and replaced them with my dresses - some new, some old - and a few lovely pairs of my old Manolos and SUSANBENNISWARRENEDWARDS' (that my father had, God bless that man, sent me from New York after my parents had divorced) Then, I'd dashed out the door with my sister screaming bloody murder and throwing waffles behind me, and headed for the Hogwarts Express. Too bad I couldn't manage to replace all of her Star Wars footie pajamas with nightgowns, seeing as she was wearing a pair when I raided her room the night before.
Anyways, when I opened the door, I didn't notice the classroom behind me. I, for once, failed to notice everyone staring at me and continued to talk to and stroke my dresses until what seemed like a freezing cold shower went right through me. I knew from experience that the cold shower was, in fact, a ghost. I whipped my head around and froze, staring at the class behind me and finally locating the being that had just passed through me.
"Would you, by any chance, be miss Katherine Marsh?"
Oh bugger, the cold shower was talking to me.
I nodded my head slowly. "Kate. Just Kate."
"Well, Miss Kate Marsh, welcome to History of Magic. My name is Professor Binns...."
The rest seemed just a jumble of words as I clutched Anouk and Madonna, covered up my underwear by sitting on it while staring at all the faces staring at me, and for the first time in my life, I sincerely wished that the ground would just swallow me. I mustered up what I wanted to come across as a coy smile that I directed towards a group of four boys in the back of the class, and inwardly prayed to God (Okay, I know I'm an Atheist, but I really need help. Right now. Come on. Can't we just forget about that incident at chapel? I DIDN'T MEAN TO LIGHT THAT PEW ON FIRE, THE CANDLE JUST SLIPPED! Ugh. Fine, be that way.) that my horror at the situation did not read in my expression.
R&R, Please!
