Smaller Victories
Introduction
I began writing this as a sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing, so I only have a vague idea of where the story will go. In a way it's a response to the Mary Sues rampant in HP fanfiction and the concept that an OC can't be interesting if they don't have OmgKEWL powers that can save the world thrice over. I also thought it would be interesting to see how a muggle-born would react in their first year at Hogwarts. I know Harry was essentially in that same position, but I'm talking about your everyday, run-of-the-mill muggle-born. So, tell me what you think and if I should continue. I know it's not very much to go on, but I would really appreciate any comments.
A/N: This takes place in Harry's first year, though Beatrice will have nothing to do with the Trio and the plot involving them. If I finish this thing, it'll probably just go to the end of Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone. Oh, and Harry Potter and anything to do with it belongs to J. K. Rowling, etc etc.
Beatrice Leighton stood in the milling crowd of first-year Hogwarts students in a room off the entrance hall. Professor McGonagall had just left after informing them the sorting ceremony would start momentarily.
She wandered the fringes, trying to inconspicuously wipe her red, puffy eyes with her robe sleeves, head throbbing with the previous effort of trying to hold back the tears on the train. On the whole she was in a pretty miserable state.
She chanced a glance upwards at her peers. Some were excited, others anxious. Still others had looks of absolute terror on their faces. I'm not the only one, dammit, she thought viciously, trying to crush her self-pity. I'm not alone. However, one glance at the expansive, noisy Great Hall across the way brought self-pity rushing back full-force.
Beatrice was so engrossed in feeling wretched that she jolted and gasped audibly as the Hogwarts ghosts burst through the walls and drifted overhead into the Hall, talking amongst themselves. Some took notice of the students, calling greetings. Beatrice gulped. She would have to get used to all this, she knew, but she guessed ghosts would be the least of it.
Professor McGonagall swept into the room again and ordered the first-years out into the hall. The formed a line and filed out through the entrance hall and into the Great Hall, lining up in front of the house tables. A hush fell across the student body.
Beatrice willed her gaze to get up off her toes but only managed to raise it as high as the legs of the long tables instead. She knew she stood out in the crowd and not in a good way. For an eleven-year-old she was exceptionally tall and her growth spurt didn't seem to be stopping any time soon. Self-consciously she wondered if her robes, bought two weeks ago, still fit. Her mouse-brown hair was cropped to her ears and heavily layered (she hated spending more than five minutes a day on it) and her eyes were hazel, though she considered their greenish-yellow hue puke-colored and longed for the day when her parents would let her get colored contacts. However, since the day the Hogwarts letter informed her she was a witch, that (along with the rest of her life she had planned) was thrown out the proverbial window.
She had been contemplating this on the train as she sat in a compartment with other first years. From their talk she guessed they were from wizarding families. They sounded nervous but excited as they talked about the school. A small part of Beatrice longed to ask them all sorts of questions, but intimidation won out. She spent the greater part of the ride with her forehead on the window, watching the scenery go by.
If there was one feeling she hated, it was being lost. She had a knack for it too, always zoning out at the exact moment the teacher told the class to pay attention. Now that she was thrust into a whole world she knew nothing of, that sick feeling she always got when she was lost came worse than ever. Over the summer she had scrambled frantically to get her hands on anything that would help her. She did fairly well, purchasing a dozen books from a wizard shop she hadn't even known existed in her town. She learned all about the wizarding world in general. She would have felt a lot better if it wasn't for one nagging feeling that had pervaded nearly every book she read: the dismissal of nonmagic people as hopeless ignoramuses. Whenever she came across an explicit passage on the subject she always felt righteous anger stirring within her. We're not stupid children! she thought passionately. Pausing, she realized she was no longer part of that 'we.' And thus the cycle of angst would continue.
However, standing in the Great Hall for all to see, she felt she was still part of the nonmagic world. The coward in her betrayed the righteous crusader and started to desperately want to prove that she was indeed worthy of being a witch.
In front of them, Professor McGonagall had placed a small stool on the floor with a forlorn-looking, tattered wizard hat sitting on it. Vaguely wondering how this had anything to do with sorting, she jumped when it suddenly burst into song. It described the four Houses of Hogwarts the first years would be sorted into. To Beatrice's horror, it seemed that students would sit alone and exposed on the stool, put the Sorting Hat on, and be told what House they belonged in. Almost immediately she could feel her heart rate shoot through the roof.
Beatrice had always thought Time had a sick sense of humor, as demonstrated by the fact that it seemed she had barely digested the Sorting Hat's song before LEIGHTON, BEATRICE was called.
And now, of course, Time slowed down to a gut-wrenchingly deliberate pace as Beatrice made her way to the stool. She could feel every last eyeball in the Hall watching her. After an eternity she reached it, clambered up, and shoved the hat on, which mercifully blocked her view of the Hall.
"Well well," said a small voice in her ear. Beatrice guessed it was the Hat. "An interesting one. Meek and a bit scatterbrained, yes, but underneath as hard as nails." Beatrice wondered where it got that from. "Don't deny it, you do have an unerring sense of justice, my girl, and loyalty when you're put to it. Gryffindor could suit you, though you aren't the hardheaded type, so it's HUFFLEPUFF!"
It took a second for her to realize it was over. She quickly plucked of the hat and dropped it on the stool. She looked around like a deer in headlights for a few seconds before spotting some students cheering and waving her over. Hurriedly she walked to the table and slid into an open spot. "It wasn't that bad, now was it?" said a boy to her left, grinning. She offered him a small, relieved smile, partly because she was heartily glad to be part of a crowd again, but also because, in a small way, the sight of the whole Hufflepuff table cheering for her had made her happy to be there.
Yes, the normal chapters will be substantially longer if I go on. So, if you liked it, please review. If this was crap, please review. Thanks.