I thought my heart might beat right out of my chest as, for the millionth time since I'd gotten on the train and left my parents behind, I straightened my clothes and raked my fingers through my dark curls. Through the large oaken doors in front of me, I could hear thousands of voices, full of excitement and roaring with laughter. I was so excited, but more nervous, so uncertain of what might happen next. What would people think? Professor McGonagall was saying something very important, I was sure, but I couldn't pay attention.
I clenched my fists and set my jaw, summoning the strength to move as we proceeded forward into the Great Hall. Inside, the four houses sat at their respective tables, the prattle and noise continuing as the first years paraded into the hall. As soon as I'd passed through the arched doorway however, I could hear the murmurs and surprised whispers. I'd expected them, of course; it wasn't hard to deduce that I wasn't actually a first year. I'd ask it too if I were them. I was asking myself now, actually.
What am I doing here? A fourth year suddenly showing up, needing to be sorted with the first years? Despicable. They'd wonder what was wrong with me that I'd spent the last three years studying by myself through owl correspondence. No one would believe me being a special case.
At fourteen, I towered over the kids around me to the point where I could see quite well around the entire hall. Every head was turned, staring at me. I tried not to shrink under the gaze of thousands of students, but found it incredibly difficult. I wished that the floor would open up and swallow me. Everyone was still talking, becoming less and less discreet about sharing with their friends how out of place I was.
I could imagine the rumors already. I'd be thought stupid. Or that perhaps I hadn't contracted my magic fully until I was older. Maybe I hadn't been good enough to be accepted before now. So many things were bound to be spread.
After what felt like an eternity, Professor McGonagall proceeded with the sorting. Even after she had cleared her throat and announced herself, it took the hall several moments to quiet down. Even in their silence, I felt them staring. I prefered the whispers.
Alphabetically, we were called to take a seat on the most rickety old stool I had ever seen and be sorted into our respective houses. Only five first years had been sorted before I heard my name.
"Doro, Ruth."
The hall erupted again as I stepped forward and up to the stool. As I sat, there seemed to be no indication that they would quiet down. McGonagall tried to reign the students back in, several times with no luck, before casting a worried look behind her. Afraid to turn around, I watched her firm face as she nodded to whomever she was sharing this nonverbal exchange with.
"Silence, please!" I turned to see Professor Dumbledore standing at a large, golden podium, addressing the hall of young wizards and witches. As silence fell, slowly, I turned my head forward again and stared at the floor, hating that I was stuck in front of all of them. "Now," Dumbledore continued, his rich, baritone voice echoing across the vast room, "it seems that, until I explain some things, we will not be able to move on with our evening." I focused on the stone flooring under my feet and keeping my breathing even as he proceeded. "After having studied via correspondence with our professors for the last three years, Miss Doro has transferred to Hogwarts and must, accordingly, be sorted. You will find this, I am sure, a sufficient explanation and will refrain from pestering her or further postponing this evening's proceedings."
Things stayed silent, but I had becoming even more willing to be swallowed by the floor. I would have gladly invited a troll or a herd of rogue centaur to break down the door and ransack the hall. Anything to take the focus off of me. It was bad enough that everyone had been focusing on me in the first place, but for the headmaster to have had to single me out and explain my situation just to get my peers to settle down was possibly the most embarrassing thing to have ever happened to me. I kept my eyes down as McGonagall place the Sorting Hat on my head. My cheeks were flaming by this point, the skin becoming a pinky red under my freckles.
Still, I sat straight, listening to the hat mumble to itself. I'd heard rumors that the hat would talk. That it often conversed with the students it was sorting. This didn't happen. Instead, after taking its sweet time ignoring me, it shouted to the hall, "GRYFFINDOR!"
There was no applause, as had been the case with the previous sortings. There were one or two uncertain claps from the Gryffindor table, a cough from across the room, and a few more whisperings, but otherwise, nothing. I stood as quickly as possible, then, without making eye contact with anyone, scurried fast to the end of the Gryffindor table, where I sat alone. Once Professor McGonagall continued, I put my head down on the table and tried to ignore everything around me.
Gerald Efferman had been sorted into Slytherin and Alice Englebrect into Hufflepuff before I felt someone sit on either side of me. Barely lifting my head, I noticed bright orange hair to my left. Turning ever so slightly to look to my right, I jumped, seeing the same hair framing a face with bright blue eyes and a wicked smile, sitting on the table, staring at me.
"Oi, look what you did, Fred, you scared the poor girl!" The one on the left chastised his brother. As I sat up straighter, I could see that they were not just brothers but twins, both with the same mischievous grin that made me think that no one should ever trust them with fire.
"Ah, George, you know I didn't mean to," his twin replied. "I really didn't," he said, looking back to me.
"Can I help you?" I asked, annoyed and slightly embarrassed. I knew that my cheeks were still pink.
"She's American!" the one on my right, Fred marveled.
"Bloody hell!" George countered.
"We've never met an American, you see," Fred explained.
They both looked at me, expectantly. "Uh, okay?" I had no idea what to do.
"Listen to her accent, Gred!"
"You're right Forge, it's so exotic!"
Not really being able to tell whether or not they were teasing me good-naturedly, I was becoming rather uncomfortable. First years were still being sorted, I noticed, as the Sorting Hat called out "SLYTHERIN!" again.
"Look guys," I said, "if there's nothing you want, would you mind just leaving me to be miserable?" I put my head back down on the table, hoping they'd take the hint.
"Oh no," one said.
"We can't allow that," the other contributed.
"Miserable people are just so depressing, you see-"
"-And we shouldn't like to become depressed because of your misery."
I let out a long sigh.
"So we'll start over."
"Cheer you up."
"So that no one has to be depressed." I sat up again, to tell them to please, go away, but before I could say a word, Fred had picked up my hand and was shaking it enthusiastically.
"Fred Weasley," he introduced himself. "And this dashing fellow next to you is my brother George."
"Why thank you Fred," George replied. "You're quite the looker yourself."
"So, you are?" Fred asked me.
"Ruth. Doro."
"And from whence do you hail, Ruth Doro?" George asked with an unnecessary flourish.
"Connecticut." I felt so awkward, and still embarrassed. I could notice people from around the hall still turning to look at me.
"Sounds odd."
"And interesting."
"It's not," I told them. "Really. It's incredibly small and very boring. And there are way too many raccoons."
"Ah," George sighed. "We've never had to deal with raccoons."
"No," Fred agreed, "We instead have far too many garden gnomes."
"The little buggers just love to infest mum's flower beds."
"And bite."
"So we play a little game." I wouldn't have believed it possible, but their grins became even more devilish. "In which we collect the gnomes and kick them out of the garden."
"And whoever kicks the farthest wins." I raised an eyebrow quizzically.
"The last time we played," Fred said seriously, "one of them gnawed on our brother's ankle."
"Poor ickle Ronny-kins" George sung. "It started to get kind of infected, so we told him we had something that'd fix it right up."
"Instead," continued Fred, "we gave him some of this trick candy we've been developing. Called Puking Pastilles."
"It was beautifully disgusting, the way his vomit was projected across the kitchen, don't you think, Fred?" George asked with in a reminiscent tone.
"Yes," he agreed. "Most lovely. I do think he received full marks for form, but his expression and enthusiasm was simply lacking."
"That's awful!" I said, but I couldn't help it as my mouth turned up in a smile, laughing at the pain of this brother who I hadn't met.
George guffawed proudly. "She smiled!"
"I knew we'd break you eventually!" Fred exclaimed.
"Shut up," I told them. "I'm still miserable." I tried to keep a straight face, but their smiles had become infectious.
They sat with me for the rest of supper, which appeared on the table in front of us after Dumbledore had said a few words. They wanted to know so much about America. How was the muggle president different from the muggle queen? What was the local quidditch scene like? How did a galleon compare to an American dollar? I told them what I could and they regaled me with jokes. I spent the whole meal laughing and smiling. It was amazing really. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed or been truly happy. It must've been years, I'd been so sick. I wondered if they'd be as friendly if they knew my secret. I tried to ignore my doubts and my anxieties and just enjoy the night. There was no reason for them to know about the curse. It'd been cured anyway, right?
After we'd all eaten our fill, Professor Dumbledore resumed his post at the lectern. He began a speech about new rules to be obeyed by all students at the request of Mr. Filch, and proceeded to announce that the Quidditch cup would not be taking place this year, to which Fred and George both gasped and stared, open mouthed, at the headmaster. Just as he was explaining why this lack of sport was taking place, the doors to the Great Hall opened thunderously and revealed a strange man with a terrifyingly intimidating disposition. As this man, who, upon closer inspection, had one normal eye and had replaced the other with a rather robotic looking blue eye, hobbled forward through the hall, another silence fell, this one full of tension. While I too was a little scared, I was glad with the sudden realization that this was much more distracting than my existence and thus, I was no longer the center of attention.
The headmaster introduced this stranger as Professor Moody, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I wondered, as I'm sure everyone else was, if Professor Moody would last in the position, unlike nearly every professor to have held the post. It was difficult, learning by owl, when my teachers continued to change. My favorite Defense teacher thus far though had been last year's Professor Lupin. He was very good, but had retired.
Dumbledore, having retrieved focus again after the interruption, continued in his speech and announced that Hogwarts would be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year.
"You're JOKING!" Fred said loudly from my side and nearly the entire hall laughed at him, including myself. Professor Dumbledore went on to explain the tournament, the schools involved, its dangers, and the eternal glory that awaited the witch or wizard who won.
Hearing about the glory and gold involved, Fred announced to us that he was competing, and George agreed. I rolled my eyes at their hopeful and determined faces. This excitement quickly dissipated though, as Dumbledore announced an age restriction forbidding anyone under the age of seventeen from competing in the tournament. So, it was a moody and plotting pair of twins that I followed from the Great Hall that night to the Gryffindor dorms.
They very briefly, however, set aside their anger when they saw my reaction to the common room. Holy Merlin I had never seen anything so amazing. I mean, the entire castle was just beautiful and the most incredible place I had ever been, but the common room was so homey and warm and inviting. I loved every inch of it. The boys laughed at me as we settled into a group of plush armchairs by the roaring fireplace.
"You like it then?" George asked me as I looked up at the soaring ceiling.
"It's wonderful," I breathed. "Oh, mom and dad would love to see this. Their school was nowhere near this awesome."
"Your mum and dad are wizards then?" Fred asked. I nodded.
"Both pureblood, not that it necessarily matters," I told him. "Mom's family is really prominent in Ireland and my Dad's was one of the first to settle on the West Coast. We ended up on the East Coast by some sort of compromise where they were in between the two. Or that's what they tell me. They both went to a wizarding academy in the U.S., but it's not nearly as rich in history and culture. Much newer. More American."
"So why are you here instead of there then?" He persisted. My stomach tightened. I tried to tell myself to calm down. He hadn't asked anything bad, hadn't done anything that I should worry about. All I had to do was say that I'd been accepted to both schools and had chosen Hogwarts, which, though true, was not the full story. Yet my tongue seemed to have suddenly dried in my mouth. No words would come.
Luckily, right at that moment, another red headed boy who looked to be about my age appeared behind Fred's chair. "Oi, Fred, George, you didn't sneak in any firewhiskey did you? The guys wanted to celebrate being back."
"My dear brother," George began, "as you can see, we're in the middle of a conversation."
"Besides, Ronny-kins," Fred added, "we'd never give you our firewhiskey. We brought it for us. Not for you and your fourth year friends." He glanced past who I understood to be Ron, the gnome-bitten-vomiter, to another boy with dark, messy hair and glasses. "No offense, Harry, of course."
"None taken," the dark haired boy replied. He nodded at me and I grinned back.
"Ron, Harry," George said, "This is Ruth. She's from New Jersey and can appreciate a good joke. Ruth, our brother Ronald and his friend Harry."
"Nice to meet you," Harry smiled.
"You too," I replied.
"You're a fourth year, right?" he asked me. Ron was busy trying to negotiate firewhiskey from his brothers.
"Yeah, it'll be interesting to actually be here in the classroom with everyone." Harry nodded again, as if unsure what to say. All of a sudden, a girl, our age with bushy brown hair, came flying towards Harry. She started complaining to him about House Elf rights or something weird like that, not noticing me. When she paused, after what sounded to be two paragraphs, Harry interjected.
"Hermione," he calmly interrupted, "this is Ruth." He gestured to me. I smiled at this girl who seemed to me a bit crazy.
"Harry Potter!" she huffed, "Don't interrupt me! This is important!" She turned to me quickly. "It's nice to meet you, Ruth." I was sitting there, wide-eyed, staring at Harry. Harry Potter. Whoa. I wasn't obsessed with the kid, obviously, but he was insanely famous, even in the U.S.
I sat quietly, still in wonder of the beautiful common room, while the others held their respective arguments. I was thinking about how much fun it might be to play hide-n-seek in the castle when I realized that Fred was talking to me.
"We really should turn in," he said. Ron, Harry, and Hermione were already wandering off. "Big day tomorrow, especially for you."
"Right," I said, standing, my back cracking as I stretched my arms above my head.
"See you in the morning," George said, turning around to leave.
"Goodnight!" I replied. I looked at Fred. "And thank you guys," I said sincerely. "For making me smile."
"It was a pleasure," he drawled, winking. "Goodnight, Ruth."
I smiled to myself as I climbed the stairs to my dorm, where Hermione asked me why I was blushing.