Anya Crestwood stared out the window of the Hogwarts express, lost in thought. She watched the scenery as the trees and green hills flew by, almost in a blur. So much had happened in the past few weeks, she could hardly believe it.

She'd always known that she was different, and in more ways than one. There was, of course, the obvious. She was shy, painfully awkward, and never seemed to know what to say in social situations. She just couldn't read people properly, couldn't understand them. She never could.

Her mother had always told her how pretty she was, with her chocolate brown waves and big brown eyes. She always said that if Anya just put a little more effort into her appearance, she had the potential to truly stand out. But Anya didn't want to stand out; she wanted to blend in. She just wanted to be like everyone else. She didn't want people looking at her, judging her, talking about her.

But then there were the things that, up until a few weeks ago, she'd never told a soul. Not even her parents. The things she could do…she was afraid she'd be committed if anyone knew. When Anya experienced any sort of intense emotion, well, things happened, things that she couldn't explain…things that weren't normal.

No, there was nothing normal about Anya Crestwood. She knew that now. She was a witch, her mother was a witch, and her father was what the magical community referred to as a muggle: someone who couldn't do magic.

Anya didn't understand why her parents had kept such vital information from her all these years. They claimed that they wanted her to grow up like a normal girl, so she could appreciate her magical abilities once the time was right. Anya was inclined to believe them. After all, she could only ever go on people's words. But something told her that there was more to the story than that, that there was something her parents weren't telling her.

But never mind that, she thought. She was on her way to a new school, full of new people, people like her, who could do magic. She could hardly believe that this was real, that she wasn't dreaming.

She pinched herself rather hard to make sure, and yelped when it was confirmed that, sure enough, this was reality.

"Well that was odd," came a voice from the door of the, previously closed, compartment.

"Never seen anyone do that before, have you Georgie?"

"Can't say I have, Fred."

Anya just looked at the two boys, who had chosen that inopportune moment to enter the compartment that, up until now, she had been alone in.

They were identical, down to the last freckle, with flaming red hair and chocolate brown eyes that glistened with mirth.

"Are you going to say anything?" one of them asked. "Or have we gotten stuck in a compartment with a mute?"

"I'm Anya," she managed to get out. "Anya Crestwood. Who are you two?"

"Well," said one.

"I'm Fred," said the other. "And this is George."

"He's lying. I'm Fred, and he's George."

Anya could only look back and forth between the two of them in total confusion.

"How is anyone supposed to tell the two of you apart?" she asked.

"Well, aside from the fact that I'm clearly the more attractive one," said one, "our mum does knit us sweaters every Christmas with our initials on them."

"We reckon it's so she can tell us apart," said the other.

"I'm confused," said Anya. "Whose who, then?"

"Alright, I'm really Fred," said the boy who had now sat down directly across from her.

"How do I know you're not lying?" She raised an eyebrow.

"The game gets old after a few minutes," said the other twin, now known to Anya as George.

She studied them for a few moments, trying to find a way to tell them apart.

"You," she said, pointing at Fred, and seeming to startle him after a minute or two of awkward silence, "have more freckles on the right side of your face. And you have more on your left."

The twins just gawked at her.

"You're weird," said George.

Anya blanched. Leave it to her to say exactly the wrong thing to the first people she met at this school.

"I like that," he added, with a smile.

"As do I," Fred added.

At that, Anya broke into a huge grin.

"So," Fred asked. "First year?"

Anya nodded.

"I just found out I was a witch when I got my letter," she said. "That's why I was pinching myself when you walked in. I was making sure this wasn't a dream."

"Muggle born?" George guessed.

"My mum's a witch," said Anya, uncertainly. "My dad is, I guess, what you'd call a muggle? Sorry, this is all new to me."

"Ah, you're a half blood, then." Fred nodded. "And you've got nothing to be sorry for, by the way."

"Force of habit," Anya mumbled.

"What, apologizing?"

She nodded.

"George and I will break you of that, don't you worry."

"Yeah, hang around us long enough and we're bound to rub off on you."

The three of them chatted for the rest of the train ride. Anya learned that the twins were second years, one year ahead of her, and that they had five other siblings. They'd grown up around magic their whole lives, and were in Gryffindor - "the only respectable house to be in," Fred had said with a smirk- and so were their three older brothers.

When it was finally time to change into their robes, Anya had a whole lot of new information.

I'll probably be in Hufflepuff, she thought glumly, as she waited for the hat to sort her.

She looked at the ground, purposefully avoiding eye contact with the chatting students that surrounded her.

"Slytherin is the worst house," she remembered Fred telling her. "But you won't wind up there."

Hufflepuff, according to the twins, was the house that got the least recognition. Anya thought that, unremarkable as she was, it was only fitting that that was where she would end up.

"Crestwood, Anya," a stern voice called out.

She gulped, and managed to walk forward, pretending not to notice that all eyes in the great hall were on her.

Ah, a voice in her head spoke, causing Anya's eyes to widen. Another Crestwood. I did wonder when I'd be seeing you, Anya. I see a great deal of your mother in you, you know. Kind, loyal, just…

Great, Anya thought, bitterly. All the traits of a Hufflepuff.

But there is also bravery, the hat added. and a great deal of intelligence.

What bravery? Anya thought. What intelligence?

She had never really cared for school, and she was about as cowardly as they came.

Bravery isn't just about making yourself known, the hat spoke up. There are all kinds of bravery. There's the kind that confronts people head on, yes, but that's not you. No, you have more of a silent bravery. The kind that keeps you going, never giving up hope, even when all seems lost. Sometimes, Anya, courage is simply about having the strength to keep going, even when it seems like you have every reason in the world to give up. There's more strength in you than you know, but I will warn you not to be taken in by appearances. Not everyone is what they seem.

So what house am I going to be in? Anya wondered. Where will I go?

The answer to your question is, the hat said,

"GRYFFINDOR!" it bellowed.

Anya was stunned, but managed to get up from the stool nonetheless, and make her way over to the table full of applauding students. In the sea of faces, she managed to spot two heads of flaming red hair, both beaming wildly as they clapped and cheered.