13 inches.

Birch.

Fairly firm, with a small amount of give.

Core filled with the breath of a dementor, a small line of runic writing circling the center of its length. It was to seal some of my power, prevent it from raging out of control. Maybe if it had been filled with something else, anything else, it wouldn't have been necessary. But a wand chooses its wielder.

One of the runes was faded, its etching shallower than the rest. Even now, I ran her finger over it absently. It sent a small spark through the digit each time, both bringing forward and numbing the pain of that old wound. It was like a scar, being ripped open and mending itself over and over and over.

The Sorting Hat sat on a stool facing us, the first-years. Ugly thing, really. 8 would have tossed it away ages ago, replaced it with something new, something chic, as she would say. I cringed just thinking about it. Then again, 8 wouldn't have owned such a bizarre hat anyways. One that positively oozed the essence of magic. Hell, it had even sung a song.

Then again, there was something comforting about seeing something worn, something used, something obviously well-loved in its day. And not well-loved in the sense that every speck of dirt had to be removed, its location bleached and scrubbed, bleached and scrubbed. No, this was well loved in that it was used, and wear and tear was just a sign of affection.

Professor McGonnagal was reading names off of a roll of parchment. A to Z. That, evidently, didn't change in the wizarding world. It almost seemed like it should be more exciting. But, then again, reading off names rarely was.

Finally, it was my turn. Last name, then first.

"Le…" McGonnagal trailed off, casting me a strange look. I did my best not to sneer back, but obviously didn't quite succeed, because I was given a reprimanding glare before the old witch's eyes returned to her parchment. "Emberley."

A tall, blonde boy next to me muttered to another, thick and hulking. "Just Emberley?" He glanced at me as I strode forward, and I could swear I'd heard a noise of approval from behind me. I suppressed another shudder.

I sat on the stool. I knew I was getting odd looks. I was a special case. I was a year behind. Dumbledore had explained why. Having been so thoroughly (or so he thought) integrated into the muggle world after having such a traumatic past, he thought it best if I was given a year to 'grow up' a bit. Bullshit.

The sorting hat had to be forced down onto my head. My thick black hair – hereditary, apparently, and also fitting my previously mentioned 'look' – made it difficult for it to sit well. I managed, however, after a slight struggle, leaving me with a sliver of vision beneath its brim.

"Well, well." The voice came from all around my head, and, somehow, inside it. It was slightly unnerving, to say the least. "You are quite a puzzle, aren't you? It's really a three-way debate."

Three way? I thought, and obviously it heard me, because it replied, "Yes, three-way. You heard my song, did you not?"

Obviously.

"Ah, yes. That attitude, as well as several other things, are why you would definitely not belong in Hufflepuff. No, no, not at all. That leaves three: Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw. See, you have the darkness and talent for dark magic that would pull you towards Slytherin, but not the ambition. And ambition is what makes a Slyhterin, is it not? You have the bravery, perhaps, for Gryffindor, but the darkness within you would draw you away from your housemates. And surely you have the intelligence needed for Ravenclaw – that, my dear, is a fact – but you do not strike me as one to invest much time in using and strengthening it. And I do not mean that to be in any way insulting."

Please. I just don't want to stand out.

"That, I am afraid, will not be the case, no matter the house. Ah, yes, this really is a toss up. I suppose, then we shall have to do this the… well… unprofessional way."

Unprofessional?

"Yes, unprofessional. Emberley Lestrange, if you would pick a number from one to three…"

A/N

So, this chapter is relatively short. Most of them will be, but I hope to get one out daily. Well, I say that now...