Septembre 2017, 1st.

I remember.

I remember the first time I saw her, at the train station.

So young, so naive. So small. So crowded by her own family.

And then, she was looking at us. Clear blue eyes piercing me with a strange intensity even as I was shadowed by Mother. Now still, I'm not sure she was watching me especially.

It didn't endear her to me.

I remember Father talking. "That's the Weasley-Potter clan, son. You stay clear but be sure to be polite whatever happens." I remember my parents that day. I remember their hushed tones and the touches of worry.

I remember sitting in the drawing-room at home and listening to them forewarning me of school. How I should expect people to be hostile towards me. What they expected of me.

I remember how I felt. Scared. Alone. Too proud to let anything show. I remember sitting in the train. Not alone, but not included either. They all just left me be. I remember the wonder of the school. How grand and lit and shining. How utterly peaceful and grey and stark. How loud.

I remember the Sorting. The wait. The girls wringing their hands. The family members staying close to each others. The friends talking in barely audible tones.

I remember Slytherin hushing when I was sorted before the timid and polite reception. I remember sitting before a plate that seemed dull and cold. I remember the harshness of the bench and the distance to the others. I remember their eyes boring into me. I remember lifting my chin, tightening my jaw and blocking the rest of the school. I remember Rose Weasley sitting at Gryffindor next to a beaming Albus. I remember the shouts and cries and applauds at their table each time a first year was sorted to them.

I remember. I've never forgotten.