On Hogwarts Express. 3:42 pm.

I hate trains.

Hate, I understand, is a very powerful word. There are many things I strongly dislike - grapefruits, the name 'Prudence', singing, my hair... and then, there are a few things that I dislike so very strongly that they cease to fall under the category of 'strong dislike' and into the category of 'hate'. Several such of these things are my sister, the song 'Puff the Magic Dragon', frogs...
Potter.

Trains fall under the latter.

There are many reasons why I hate trains.

The first of these reasons is the fact that they are very noisy. They rattle along the tracks, they puff out steam, and they contain people, who like to do loud things like laugh, talk and hex each other.
The second reason is that there is nothing to do on a train, other than read, which is made difficult by reason number one. The third reason is that I am a prefect, and therefore must sit in a specially designed Prefect Compartment.
In my opinion, there is absolutely no point in having a compartment solely for prefects. There are only eight of us and we'd all much rather be somewhere else.
Like I would much rather be ooh-ing and ah-ing over Nina's new pet Kneazle, or talking about what an utter, utter bastard James Potter is. But I am stuck here, with the rest of the study-freaks deemed worthy of wearing the shiny badge of goody-goodness.

I think I am depressed. I have the chronic signs of a suicidal teenager. For instance, I am:

A. Attempting to study transfiguration when really I should be out in the train hallway chatting mindlessly about so-and-so's haircut, or making out in the train toilets. This shows major signs of introverted-ness, which can, in later life, lead to suicide.
B. In prefect compartment. This shows major signs of geekiness, which can, in later life, lead to suicide.
C. Currently single. This shows major signs of not-getting-any, which can, in later life, lead to suicide.
I rest my case.

On Hogwarts Express. 5:52 pm.

The people in the corridor are making so much noise. God, what are they doing out there? Can't they just shut up so I can study in peace?

On Hogwarts Express. 5:54 pm.

I just re-read that and am appalled by my statement. I should be out there making the noise, not sitting in here trying to study. I must make conversation. Quickly, before I sink into an even deeper pit of depression and anti-socialism.

On Hogwarts Express. 5:56 pm.

No-one to make conversation with. Hufflepuff prefects talking to each other, probably about knitting patterns, Ravenclaw prefects looking haughty and reading doorstop textbooks, Slytherins just looking haughty, and the other Gryffindor prefect hasn't arrived yet. I wonder who he is.

On Hogwarts Express. 5:59 pm.

The noise outside was the utter, utter bastard and his cronies. Alas, I should have known.
The door opened, and in popped his hideous visage (He's not that bad looking, I guess. But his inner utter bastard-ness distorts my perception of his physical appearance).
For a horrible second there I thought that he was going to be the Gryffindor prefect. But no, it was Remus Lupin, thank god, that walked in. His 'friends' were escorting him. I don't know why he hangs out with those freaks. Then again, I don't know where he goes every month. He is a man of mystery, our Remus Lupin.

On Hogwarts Express. 6:08 pm.

Had conversation with Remus. Am feeling like less of a loser. So we talked about Arithmancy, but still. I was interacting with another human being.
The train is slowing. Either a bunch of maniacal chickens are assaulting the driver, or we are at Hogwarts.
I am allowed to now leave the Prefect Compartment of Doom to go and change.

In Bed, Gryffindor Yr6 Female Dorms. 8:35

I will describe my night from the arrival at Hogwarts onwards.
"Lily Evans! Oh My God! I was so hoping I would run into you!"
The feeling was not mutual.
"Hi Anna." I groaned inwardly. Anna Zeller was most probably the most annoying individual on the planet. With the exception of James Potter. And Sirius & Narcissa Black. And that blonde Ravenclaw girl in my Ancient Runes class with the gigantic breasts and the 'O' on her end of year test last term.

Okay, so Anna Zeller was one of the many most annoying people on the planet. But a definite 50-something in the top 100.

There are many things that make Anna Zeller so heinously irritating.
For one, she is incapable of keeping quiet for more than a minute. Otherwise, her head will explode, and her brains will splatter all over the walls.
Unfortunately, she never actually has anything much to say, other than "Did you hear that MRS. SO AND SO is going to make little babies with MR. BLA BLA?"
Another thing is that she is under the impression that she is very attractive. This is fueled by the fact that she always has a boyfriend – the reasons for this being
a) She is very gifted in the mammary glands
and
b) She is a slut
But why any boy would put up with her mad ramblings and promiscuous behavior, just for a pair of 36Ds, is beyond me. Except for the fact that boys like sluts. Especially ones with boobs the size of their heads.
She has a habit of talking so fast that if the topic of her conversation doesn't make you nauseous, her pace certainly will. You know, when you're watching one of those rides at amusement parks, where you get strapped into a seat and spin around and around and around? And just watching the ride, going at such a speed, makes you want to be sick. Its a bit like that.
And finally, she thinks she's French, despite her Irish accent and pale, pale skin. She takes much joy in telling everyone she meets something along the lines of "I am French. Look at me. I am a sexy French whore,"
Me and my friend Sarah like to joke that to save everyone some time, we could make her a badge with that phrase on it. If she wore that, she wouldn't have to talk nearly as much.

"So what have you been like doing this summer? Oh my god, I heard this rumor that you and Sirius Black hooked up. Because that is so adorable! 'Cos he has gray eyes. And gray and green are such a good match. But actually I don't think you... suit each other? Because he would look so adorable with a blonde. Don't you think? He's the fun loving type."
At this she flicked her hair in a shampoo-add type of way, making it obvious she was thinking of a blonde in particular, and emitted a high pitched giggle.
The best thing to do in that situation would have been to laugh in her face, go find my friends and wait to be allowed into the Great Hall. Instead, I responded with the incredibly intelligent and literate:
"Huh?"
She looked at me, her eyebrows (on which she had unleashed the full wrath of her tweezers) raised.
"Did, you, or did you not, go out with Sirius Black?" she said slowly, as though speaking to a small child. I was too surprised by both her question and the hypocrisy of her talking to me as though I was the one with the mental disabilities to answer. So I stood there, gaping like a fish for about twenty seconds or so, before I replied "No"

Anna's almost-non-existent eyebrows disappeared into her fringe, and she pursed her lips and gave me a look that told me she thought I was lying. But it appeared she was at least momentarily satisfied by my reply, because she stalked off to meet her fellow Sexy French Whores, to whom she no doubt boasted about how she hadn't eaten anything since July. I, after standing agape for a moment or two, followed suit, as McGonagall ushered us in.

I sat down at the Gryffindor table between my two friends, Nina and Sarah, both of whom were engaged in a fascinating chat about was it true whether Lily Evans went out with Sirius Black during the summer?

Nina's face was tilted backwards as she leaned on her chair. Her face were scrunched in anger, her nose screwed up, her eyes narrow and her cheeks flushed – she was in her natural element. Yelling at other people.
"No way would she go out with that arrogant git! She has pride!" Nina said heatedly. I was surprised at her passion on the matter. She didn't seem to realize I has arrived.
"I dunno." said Sarah, fiddling with her honey coloured ponytail, also oblivious to my presence.
"He is really, really, really, really, really, really, really hot. I wouldn't blame her. And she's always going on about how he is completely and utterly idiotic. Maybe its some sort of twisted sign of affection?"
I shook my head at Sarah's betrayal and decided to alert them to my presence.

"Ahem." They looked up." To confirm, I have not been seeing anyone, let alone someone with an ego that big. I've been stuck with Petunia and the Muggles of Wonder all summer." I folded my arms.
Sarah tried and failed to hide behind her fork.
"We didn't know you were here." she mumbled.
"Obviously." I snapped.

We sat in silence for a few minutes before the sorting started. Well, not complete silence. Sarah was humming. But she hums so continually, it has become the background noise in my head. Therefore, it does not count.
After an eternity, the sorting began.
Professor McGonagall then carried in the Sorting Hat.

Sorting Hat
n.
1. A hat whose sole purpose in life is to inform the first years the virtues of the various houses.
2. Also serves as entertainment for the older students.
Possibly designed to lull students to sleep, so as to prevent wild post-dinner parties.

I always thought it must have been horribly monotonous being the Sorting Hat, and that if I were that poor thing, I would have long since gone mad. It appeared that the hat had finally crossed the sanity line, and this year, when it opened up the rip near its brim to sing, this was what came out:

You'll know if you're not retarded
Hats are meant to go on your head
But I could shield your eyelid
And I'm not all that stylish
So I'll sort you into a house instead

Now hats generally don't have great minds
Like Shakespeare or that mad Einstein
And I'm no exception
And it's really perplexin'
Why I ever got hired

But old Gryffindor was a nutter
Who tended to slur and to splutter
He drank and he drank
And, to be frank
He ended up dead in a gutter

Let that be a lesson to all of you
Don't drink unless you really need to
Because you will all die
And your mother will cry
And Myrtle will stick her head down the loo

And this monotony is too much to bear
Making up songs every damn year
Because I am a hat
And nothing rhymes with that
So I think that I'll leave it there.

The hat, it appeared, had finally cracked.
The hall burst into applause, apparently highly entertained by the hats new poetic style. Professor McGonagall rushed offstage, hat in hand, looking very cross. I pitied the hat.
When she returned, (after no doubt administering some very strong shock charms) the hat began to sort all the teensy looking first years, whom all looked absolutely terrified at the prospect of putting on a talking hat that would determine their social group for the next seven years. At least I assume that's what was on their minds. It's what I thought in my first year.
Or maybe they thought it was going to eat them. That was also a thought that crossed my mind during my first Sorting.

Anyway. Once the sorting was complete, dinner was served. We broke the silence by expressing our joy at the appearance of food. Nina ate about four times her body weight in pie, muttered darkly about the 'lack of alcohol served at this institution', and fell asleep. So for the remaining twenty minutes I was cruelly subjected to Sarah's chatter about every single thing she did during her holidays. To Sarah, this qualifies as actual conversation, despite the fact it was entirely one-sided. She did not notice as I drifted off into a dreamland.

Finally Dumbledore got up off his chair, cutting Sarah's recital short, and made his little speech reminding us not to go into the Forbidden Forest, don't hex fellow students, study hard, eat your vegetables... and so on and so fourth.
But when we all got up to leave to our dorms where we could reside on our beds and sleep, I was cornered by the Most Excruciatingly Annoying Person On Planet Earth, Egghead of the Twentieth Century, The Bane of My Existence, Winner of the Utter Bastard of the Year award, or, as his mother probably calls him, James Potter.

"Hello, Potter. Done anything life threatening or homicidal this summer?" I said.
Please piss off.
"Nothing worth mentioning. Still a frigid, socially inept bitch I see?"
Not without embarrassing you in front of a thousand strong audience.
"Only around you Potter. Don't you have something to go off and vandalize?"
Tell me what you want and then piss off.
"That can wait."
I would rather stay here and annoy the hell out of you.
"I'm afraid I can't. So if you would kindly stop blocking the exit I could leave you to go and make out with a mirror."
I think you are a conceited shit. Now get out of my way before I kick you in the groin.
"Is it true you're going out with Sirius?" he blurted out.
That, I admit, was unexpected.
"Why don't you ask him?" I frowned.
"He's... indisposed." said the Hindrance of My Being. Was it just me, or was he blushing?
However, his indifferent comment aroused my curiosity.
"What do you mean, indisposed?" I narrowed my eyes. Potter, to my delight, seemed quite intimidated.
"He's, um, sort of... busy." He seemed very flustered when he said this. Very out of character. Usually he would be all macho and flexing his muscles and crap, but he seemed...
Awkward.
"Anyway." He said, clearing his throat. "That's not the point. Are you or are you not dating my mate?"
De ja vu. Honestly.
"You really think I would stoop that low? Go and burn something."
I swear he looked relieved.
This annoyed me.
"Why do you care anyway?" I asked, narrowing my eyes still further.
He immediately resumed his air of vanity and remembered to look at me like I was Hippogriff crap.
"Because, Evans, I needed to know whether I was going to have to check him in to St Mungo's or not." he smirked at me and swaggered off.
He is the definition of justifiable homicide. I swear whoever is responsible for the creation of a git so conceited and prickish, let them dissolve in a vat of acid.
Slowly.

I have a horrible, violent imagination.