VIII. HEADS & TAILS
Grabbing a hold of the back of Harry's robes almost immediately after McGonagall's order-he looked like he needed help, I dragged him over to the lining up students, shoving him behind a sandy-haired boy while Ron hopped into line behind me.
After everyone was settled, McGonagall led us across the entrance, through the set of double doors, and into the Great Hall.
It was even more amazing than Bathilda Bagshot described it.
Lit by hundreds of thousands of floating candles and flanked by four tables lined with gold plates and goblets, one for each house, and a table at the top of the hall for the professors the Great Hall was très Magnifique. The ghosts from the chamber dotted the hall, glowing like the sparkling stars above. It was like there wasn't a roof at all-like the ceiling just opened up to the night sky.
It's enchanted, apparently-but damn if it didn't look bloody wicked.
I did my best not to focus on the hundreds of faces watching as we walked by, speculating on which of us would join their house, but couldn't help but notice Fred and George mouthing 'Gryffindor' at me.
Biting back a grin, I shot them a thumbs up.
They high-fived, looking incredibly proud of themselves, and I covered my mouth to muffle a quiet snort of laughter.
McGonagall brought us to a stop in front of the High Table.
Facing the house tables, it was harder to ignore all of the students staring up at us.
I had to stare down at my red "Dorothy" ballet flats, as I call 'em(fun fact, the ruby slippers were silver in the books-which I did not handle gracefully-"Dakota, the ruby slippers are a lie!"), just to avoid how hazy and overwhelmed I felt surrounded by so many people. The charged atmosphere only made it 10xworse. Not to mention how anxious those stares made me, my stomach twisting with nerves.
Behind my back, I continuously snapped the rubber bands on my wrists.
"It's bewitched to look like the night sky," I heard Hermione whisper, obviously talking about the enchanted ceiling. "I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."
I didn't look up until I saw McGonagall place a four-legged stool in front of us from the corner of my eye-and, on top of that?
A pointed witch's hat.
Well, whatever the hell this is, at least I got the hat part right. I'm just jinxing stuff into existence left and right, aren't I?
McGonagall gives out ice cream during tests.
-yep, that feels on point.
I feel good about this prediction.
...I wonder what kind of toppings we'll have?
Ooh! Rainbow sprinkles!
Rainbow sprinkles are love.
I waited for McGonagall to do or say something but, to my confusion, she just stood back with her gaze levelled on the hat as if it were about-
Hang the bloody hell on.
The hat began to twitch and rip and, to my astonishment, a mouth of sorts opened in the brim as grooves above it dented and shifted like eyes.
And then?
It began to sing.
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands(though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"
Everyone applauded and the tip of the hat tilted in a bow to each of the four house tables.
"I bet this'll hurt loads," I commented dryly to Ron, unable to help myself.
"Fred!" Ron grumbled under his breath. "I'll kill him. We've just got to try on a hat! He was going on about wrestling a troll."
Harry smiled weakly.
"And you believed him?" I snorted.
Ron's ears went red.
"Shut up, Jewel," he muttered.
I covered my mouth, muffling my sniggers.
"When I call your name," McGonagall began as she stepped forwards with a long roll of parchment I swear she wasn't holding a moment ago, "you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted. Abbott, Hannah!"
So, she's going alphabetically by our surnames.
Peachy.
Hannah Abbott, a girl with blonde pigtails and a pink face, stumbled over to the stool and sat down, the brim of the Sorting Hat falling over her eyes.
A stretching silence, a pause, then-
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
The middle table to the right cheered as Hannah joined them and I bit back an amused smile seeing the Friar ghost from earlier waving at her merrily.
You know, I wouldn't mind being Sorted into Hufflepuff, if only to stick it to Malfoy.
"Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
The other middle table, second from the left, applauded this time.
Hermione said she wouldn't mind being a Ravenclaw, I remembered. I wouldn't mind it either but, from what I've read and the Sorting Hat said about "those of wit and learning", I think I'll pass. I'm not an idiot, and I love to read, but it'd be way too intimidating being in the 'smart people house'.
"Brocklehurst, Mandy!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Brown, Lavender!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The table to the far left, on the other side of Ravenclaw table, burst into boisterous applause.
The twins were even catcalling.
Now that's a house I wouldn't mind belonging to, and I could tell Harry felt the same way-and Ron. Apparently, his entire family has been in Gryffindor.
Yikes, no pressure there.
"Bulstrode, Millicent!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
The Slytherin table-which I had a feeling was well on the opposite end of the hall from the Gryffindors by design-burst into cheers.
Green is my absolute favourite colour(which probably makes me sound full of myself or like a total narcissist, because my eyes are green, but-screw it, my eyes are my favourite colour, do with that information what you will), and it actually looks like a pretty cool house, but what Hagrid said about Voldemort being a Slytherin once upon a time(and how every Dark wizard ever came from there, which I highly doubt)-and remembering it's the house Draco Malfoy thinks is the best-skewed my perception and turned me off. Going off his expression, I could tell Harry felt pretty skewed himself; he also looked a bit peaky and, glancing at him, I suddenly felt ill myself. And, for some weird reason, it made me think about gym class and being picked last for everything.
A purple rubber band snapped, hard.
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Finnigan, Seamus!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Granger, Hermione!"
Hermione was so eager that she practically sprinted to shove the Sorting Hat on her head.
"GRYFFINDOR!" it shouted.
Ron groaned.
Seeing how upset he was, I wolf-whistled.
"Congrats, Granger!" I called out, clapping and grinning widely.
Hermione went pink and beamed back at me.
Ron shot me a look.
"What? I kind of like her now," I said impishly, smirking. "Maybe I'll make her my new best friend and we'll hang around you and Harry all the time-"
"Please don't," Ron groaned.
Despite being crazy nervous, Harry covered a laugh.
"Longbottom, Neville!"
Neville fell over on his way to the stool-and, when he was sorted into Gryffindor, he ran off with the Sorting Hat still on his head and had to come back to give it to, "MacDougal, Morag."
I hunched over laughing, hugging my stomach.
Then Malfoy was swaggering up to the hat.
I admit to snorting, I won't admit to the scowling or the mental shoes I chucked at his stupid slicked-back white-blonde head.
"SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouted, barely grazing his head.
"Dammit," I muttered, officially scratching Slytherin off my list of possible houses.
Malfoy joined Crabbe and Goyle at Slytherin table with a pleased smirk I fantasized punching off.
"Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" "Patil" and "Patil"(they were identical twin sisters-one went to Ravenclaw, the other Gryffindor, and Harry looked visibly more anxious when they were separated; he hadn't even considered that we might be placed in different houses and, my stomach twisting, neither had I)and "Perks, Sally-Anne" were soon Sorted into their respective houses. Then, finally-
"Potter, Harry!"
The Great Hall burst into excited whispers.
"Potter, did she say?"
"The Harry Potter?"
Harry glanced at me nervously, every thought swirling about his head painted across his face.
Reaching out, I grabbed his hand and squeezed reassuringly.
"Whatever house we're in, even if it's not the same one," I whispered firmly, "you and me-we're solid. It's just a stupid school house."
Looking slightly better, Harry squeezed my hand back briefly before letting go.
As he sat down, the brim of the Sorting hat falling over his eyes, students craned to get a good look at the 'famous' boy and I shared a sideways look with Ron. After a moment, Harry's hands began to grip the edges of the stool. Worried, I bit my lip and watched him intently, my fingers making two separate trips through my hair-and, as I did, I felt myself lose focus as the rest of the room blurred around me.
Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
At that, all of Gryffindor table just about lost their bloody minds and Harry looked faint with relief.
"We got Potter! We got Potter!" Fred and George were chanting as they jumped about.
I barely felt my nails dig into my folded arms, tense and caught off guard at hearing Harry's voice thinking not Slytherin over and over again in my head. Okay, so that was a little weird, I admitted uneasily. I really need to stop daydreaming weird shit like that-not that I didn't doubt Harry didn't want to be in Slytherin after what Hagrid said. Readjusting my stance, I continuously snapped a yellow rubber band on my left wrist, not caring that Ron noticed and was looking at me weirdly.
Harry made his way over to Gryffindor table, shaking hands left and right.
"Potter, Jewel!"
I stopped snapping my rubber bands and jerked up, refocusing. Just like with Harry, there was a hush of whispers and craning necks. Swallowing thickly, I took a deep breath before forcing myself to look outwardly casual and unbothered as I strolled over to the stool, sitting down and tossing the hat on my head. The last thing I saw before the brim obscured my view was hundreds of gawking teenagers, whispering excitedly amongst themselves, and Harry's hopeful green eyes staring up at me.
"Another Potter, eh?" the hat remarked quietly in my ear.
Startled, I jumped slightly.
"You've had a difficult life, m'dear," it continued sympathetically, jumping right into it without bothering to work up to all the fun emotional trauma, and I stiffened, "but it's made you into a survivor. No matter how far you've fallen, you've always managed to claw your way back up again, and that's not an easy thing to do. You find humour, even in the bleakest of situations, because that's what has helped you the most during the hardest times in your life-and, for someone so young, you've had many."
Stop, I ordered forcefully, squeezing my eyes shut.
In my lap, my fingers twisted and snapped my rubber bands.
"Outwardly, you seem fine. You joke. You laugh. But there's something...broken, in you, isn't there? Something that will only get worse, and nastier, the longer you bottle it away and pretend it doesn't exist."
I'm fine, I thought harshly, jaw clenching, there's nothing wrong with me. I've been through this a hundred times over. I don't need 'help'. I handled it.
"You're scared," the hat said simply, its voice floating around my ears. "Cunning, bright, and scared. I can see it all, Miss Potter. I can see you."
I shivered, unnerved.
"You have a rare, and potent, developing natural ability," it went on and my eyebrows fell in confusion, "one that you, for one reason or another, are too scared to face-and are yet to fully understand or admit...and talent, oh yes...a thirst for knowledge...and a bit of a fiery personality on top of a humourous inability to not speak your mind-" that's a convoluted way of saying I can't keep my big mouth shut, I thought wryly, "but where to put you? Ravenclaw, perhaps? Or...hm."
Hm? Hm, what? I demanded uneasily. What's 'hm' supposed to mean?
"You have a certain...disregard for the rules, don't you? Resourcefulness...adaptability-not unlike a cat's inbuilt righting reflex that allows them to orient themselves and land on their feet...tenacity...assertiveness...fierce independence born from an absence of being able to rely on anybody but oneself during ones formative years that, for you, seems to have become quite the double-edged sword...and oh, what a mind...
"I can see your apprehension and considering your history, the things you've been told-true or not-and the house I have just placed your brother into and the rivalry and bad blood going back to the founders themselves, it is understandable...but I feel that this particular house is where you need to be-and that, there, you will blossom into a very extraordinary young witch. Good luck, Jewel Potter...
"SLYTHERIN!"
...
Well, shit.
Gasps and whispers broke out across the hall as I tipped up the brim of the Sorting Hat, face probably doing a fantastic impression of the page loading icon, and Slytherin table exploded with cheers to rival the Gryffindors.
Harry looked stunned.
It wasn't hard to put together what the Sorting Hat meant when it brought up Harry's new house, the one it intended to put me in, and that bit about 'rivalry and bad blood going back to the founders themselves'.
I stood up hesitantly, taking off the hat and staring at it for a moment.
Part of me wanted to ask it to take it back, Harry's 'not Slytherin, not Slytherin' ringing in my ears, but I swallowed it back because separated or not, Voldemort's old house-and Malfoy's current house-or not, it's just a school house. What does it matter if it's supposedly 'evil' or not? Still, having the same wand wood and length as Voldemort and now being placed in his old house? It was just...freaky.
I put the Sorting Hat back onto its stool, taking a furtive deep breath, before walking down to my new house table.
As I passed, heads turned.
Catching sight of Malfoy watching me intently from down the table I grimaced and, looking around, slid into the first empty spot my eyes locked onto.
Like Harry, I had several hands immediately flung in my face. People even got up just to introduce themselves-a trollish-looking boy with black hair named Marcus Flint that said he was the Slytherin Quidditch Team Captain(I forced myself to be polite, as off-putting as he was-I mean, if I want on the team at some point in the future I probably shouldn't piss off the captain straight out the gate), a hard-faced girl with brown hair and eyes and a pug-face named Pansy Parkinson who was Sorted not long before me, and several others who's names and faces blurred together. I just sort of sat there awkwardly, numbly shaking hands and trying to keep the queasiness at bay. I felt like a fish out of water-and, worried that this might actually affect the budding relationship Harry and I had been trying so hard to build(if Gryffindor and Slytherin are as big of rivals as I think they are, it could put a strain on us trying to dance around that), my heart sank.
"Thomas, Dean!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Turpin, Lisa!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Weasley, Ron!"
I looked up quickly, grateful for the distraction, and crossed my fingers beneath the table.
Ron looked like he was going to puke.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Not giving a damn about some stupid rivalry or what my new housemates might think, I cheered just as loudly as the Gryffindors were.
Putting my fingers in my mouth, I wolf-whistled.
Ron looked over in surprise but when he saw me shooting him a thumbs up, instead of smiling or even waving back, he just looked away stiffly and sat down by Harry.
Knowing, somehow, that it was because I'm a Slytherin-like that drew some kind of line in the sand between us-stung and my grin died.
A red rubber band snapped.
"What did you expect, Potter? Weasley's a Gryffindor-" the first year girl sitting to my right remarked having taken notice of the interaction between me and Ron, "and, from what I've heard, their whole family is really Gryffindor-which means really not Slytherin-and you're one of us now."
She had long blonde hair, dark eyes, and looked bored. To be fair, she was back in the 'G's' so she's been waiting for the Sorting to end for ages. And, honestly? I was sick of it myself almost immediately after I sat down.
"Daphne," she introduced, holding out a hand when I turned to face her with an arched eyebrow at her statement-which did not, in any way, make me feel better and likely wasn't meant to. "Greengrass."
She narrowed her eyes on my face consideringly-picking me apart to see if I'm worthy of her time, I thought bitterly and unfairly.
In my defence, Ron's attitude has put me in a sour mood.
"Jewel Potter," I replied as I shook her hand.
"I know. Everyone knows," Greengrass said dryly. "You're The Girl Who Lived."
"That has to be one of the stupidest things I've ever heard in my life," I snorted derisively, rolling my eyes, "and I'm eleven-I hear a lot of stupid."
Greengrass smirked.
"Welcome," Dumbledore's voice suddenly announced and we looked up in surprise, not having realised that the Sorting Ceremony had ended while we'd been talking. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts!"
He was standing up in front of a large golden chair at the centre of the table, his arms open wide and a big beaming smile on his face.
"Yeah, that's about right," I mumbled wryly at the sight, a hint of amusement breaking through my misery and the pity party I was throwing for myself in my head.
A row of professors, from Dumbledore and McGonagall to a cheerful but tiny little wizard and a sullen-looking man with black hair and a hooked nose, occupied the High Table-and, letting my eyes absentmindedly wander, I silently wondered what each of them taught. Catching sight of Quirrell, I suddenly reeled back.
-and not just because of the ridiculous purple turban he was wearing.
Even across the room, I could tell there was something different about him. It was hard to figure out what from this faraway-all I knew was there was something off, something wrong, and it made my head hurt. Strangely, my scar prickled painfully for a second. Before I could focus too much on the sensation, I spotted Hagrid and became...distracted.
"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin, there's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."
My stomach twisted sharply and I quickly looked away.
And, as I did, the pain in my neck abruptly vanished as quickly as it came.
Unnoticed by me, across the hall, Harry rubbed his forehead, and his own prickling scar, in confusion.
Beneath the table, I continued to snap a pink rubber band against my bruised wrist.
"Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
Dumbledore sat down, and I snorted.
"Bloody wacka-holy shit!"
Seeing the bloomin' warrior's banquet magically appearing on each of the house tables up and down the hall, I blinked rapidly.
"What?" Greengrass looked at me oddly.
"It just-and it wasn't-" I cleared my throat, embarrassed. "Never mind."
Shrugging, she started to dish herself some food.
After staring blankly at the table, I eventually followed her lead.
My stomach was too knotted up for me to eat much, listening to everyone talk around me as I fell deep into my thoughts.
Does Ron hate me now? Why, because his family doesn't have a high opinion of my house? Isn't that kind of prejudiced in and of itself? I mean, how is that fair? And what about Harry-he practically begged to not end up here. What if he thinks I'm bad or something? With Hagrid and Ron going on about all the Dark wizards and witches being from here, about Voldemort being a Slytherin...he already thinks this is where all the evil people end up and, as stupid as that is, what if it drives a wedge between us? We're finally connecting. For the past week, we've been inseparable.
I don't want to lose that.
Especially not over something as stupid as a school house and some rivalry that has nothing to do with us.
Realising I was overthinking this, which was just making me feel worse, I rubbed my aching forehead and frowned down at my plate.
Everything tasted like cardboard, at this point, but I could tell it was absolutely exquisite cardboard.
Pudding and potatoes; chicken and roast beef; vegetables and pork chops; peppermint bloody humbugs-picture it, and they probably had a bowl or a plate of it somewhere here. If I wasn't so in my head, I'd be salivating. More so when dinner was replaced by Jell-O, rice pudding, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs, jam doughnuts, apple pies, and blocks of ice cream of every imaginable flavour.
I'll have to ask who the school cook is and get recipes for Alistair.
Being a 'mad scientist'("You're a high school biology teacher," Dakota often deadpans when Alistair announces as much as he pulls on his lab coat and protective glasses before an often edible, but not always, 'experiment', "not Doc Brown."), he likes to experiment with colourful recipes in his downtime and use me as human guinea pig(he also likes to try out science experiments he finds on the internet with fantastically messy and entertaining results). It's a post with pros and cons-and occasional food poisoning. When we're done, we always leave a huge disaster zone-it drives Dakota mad.
Thinking about my adoptive parents, I couldn't help but feel a pang of homesickness.
A small part of me, the part of me that was stung the most over Ron's rejection, wanted to just go back. I've never been great at clicking with people-or making friends-because I'm so used to being uprooted. None of the friendships I've made have lasted long. I guess I thought, for a second on the train, that me Ron and Harry...but now I'm a Slytherin, and I don't think he's okay with that. I know he's not. And that sucks. I don't even want to think about what this might do to me and Harry. I promised him we were solid, that it wouldn't matter...but he didn't promise me anything.
Noticing my preoccupation, Greengrass moved on to talk to somebody else, and I figured we wouldn't be becoming besties anytime soon. I'll probably just end up like I was back at the Morrissey's-reading alone in the library. The only people I ever really hung out with were on my soccer team, and it's not like we had sleepovers or braided each other's hair or whatever. I learnt early on to not make attachments, and not get too close to anyone, and that can be a hard lesson to shake.
Growing up in the system can do that.
Suddenly, my scar was stinging again, breaking my train of thought. I slapped a hand over the crescent-shaped mark and winced.
What the hell-?
Jerking my head up, I looked around, but I couldn't see what could've caused it.
It was worse than before; a sharp, hot pain shooting through my scar and making my neck flush with heat(the only other time I've felt anything remotely like this was when I tried to remember that green light-).
Once again, it was gone as quickly as it came.
I glanced across the hall on a whim to see Harry staring up at the High Table and, judging by the way his hand fell from his forehead, his scar was hurting him too. We both felt it at the same time...oh my god, did he feel it before, too?
-That's not an alarming realisation or anything.
Following his line of sight, I was surprised to realise he was staring fixedly at the sullen-looking professor sitting next to Quirrell-who, for some reason, I couldn't look straight at without feeling queasy. Even more surprising, like Dumbledore, he was just...blank. But, then again, that might just be because I'm overloaded by the hundreds of other people in the hall-which made it hard to pinpoint just one.
It took me a moment to reflect on how weird this actually was.
What am I trying to pinpoint, exactly? And why is it so hard to think with this many people around? Why can I read someone with a look, but I can't focus in crowds of them? Why would being in a crowd even matter?
I'm pretty sure Sherlock never had problems like this...
Before I could think about it too much, Dumbledore was standing again.
The room immediately fell silent.
Okay, so maybe wackadoodle could run a school-people certainly seem to respect him, and he's got that 'wise old wizard' thing down to a T.
"Ahem-just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Hilariously, I'm fairly sure I saw his eyes flash in Fred and George's direction. "I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials-" despite the fact that I can't try out until next year, and that I might end up not even liking flying(or, just, sucking so bad it's both impressive and legally declared a safety hazard), I perked up, "will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
A few people laughed.
Noticing the serious air around the headmaster, most didn't.
What the hell kind of boarding school have I agreed to come to?
...and is it kind of bad that I want to go take a peak in the third-floor corridor now?
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"
-um, parlez-vous français?
By the looks on some of-let's be honest, all of-the professors' faces, I doubted they were nearly as excited as the cheerful-looking Albus Dumbledore. And there's the bearded wackadoodle I met in my kitchen.
Raising his wand, Dumbledore happily flicked it. From the tip, a long golden ribbon shot into the air and twisted into lyrics.
This is just...wizard madness-no one can convince me otherwise.
"Everyone pick their favourite tune, and off we go!"
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald,
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling
with some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot!"
I sang along, sputtering with laughter.
By the time it was over, I felt a helluva lotbetter.
Even when the rest of the school was done, Dumbledore happily continued to conduct Fred and George who had decided to take the headmaster's suggestion of "everyone pick their favourite tune" to heart-their choice being a very slow funeral march. When they finally finished, everyone applauded.
Nobody clapped as loudly, or enthusiastically, as Dumbledore.
"Ah, music," he sighed happily as he wiped his eyes and I cracked a grin. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
Bloody nutter-and I think that with all the fondness in the world.
Not sure I was ready to face Harry-and what I might see, I didn't look in his direction as the Slytherin prefects led us out of the hall.
I hung to the back of the group as we were taken through a door to the right side of the Entrance Hall and down a set of stone steps, hugging my stomach as my anxiety did a nauseating jig(it didn't help that I had the headache from hell-though, to my relief, the worst of the pressure lifted when I left the Great Hall and separated from the crowd with the rest of the Slytherin first years). I had no idea what I was in for. The fact that the Slytherin common room, as I quickly discovered, is in the castle dungeons didn't help rid me of the image of a creepy dark torture chamber fit for an over the top Disney villain. Lee's tarantula may or may not've made a guest appearance.
Yep, Hagrid and Ron have definitely gotten to me.
I was careful to memorise where we were going, determined to not get lost in the morning. I even noted the moving paintings in each corridor-and wove at a few and, surprisingly, got several returning waves and smiles back. As we walked, the prefects pointed out landmarks and talked a bit about our new house. I was half-distracted by that, and half-distracted memorising my route to breakfast-
So distracted, in fact, that I didn't notice a certain blonde pain-in-the-ass coming until he cleared his throat beside me.
I jumped, making him smirk.
"Potter," he greeted conversationally.
While tempted to trip him, or make a run for it, or trip him, I couldn't be bothered.
"Malfoy," I spat.
Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"You know, now that you're a Slytherin, you're going to have to get over whatever problem you've got with me."
I almost stopped walking, staring at him in disbelief.
"My problem? You've insulted me multiple times, went into my compartment and had it out with my brother and my friend-"
"Because you and Weasley looked really friendly after the Sorting," Malfoy said bluntly.
I scowled at him, biting the inside of my cheek against the sudden sting.
Triumph blazed in his pale eyes.
God do I wanna slap that smug smirk right off his stupid smug smirking face-
"Face it, Potter, you're a Slytherin now," he sneered, picking up on my insecurities, dramatising them, and twisting the knife(likely in retaliation to what happened on the train earlier). "Do you think that brother of yours will want anything to do with you? I'll bet Weasley's turning him against you, and the rest of us, as we speak. They're Gryffindors. You're the enemy in his eyes."
"You do hear how stupid that sounds, right? It's not just me?" I scoffed, refusing to admit that what he'd said came right on the coattails of my very real fears. "Mate, it's a school house, not the Sith recruitment centre. And-and I don't have to do, or get over, anything. We've had, what?-three run-ins in the past month?-and I can say, with complete certainty, that you are one of the biggest jerks that I have ever had the displeasure of sharing oxygen with. And if you think I'm gonna stand here and let you manipulate me into turning against Ron and my twin brother just because they're in a rival house, then you're an idiot. Go screw with somebody else, and bugger off."
Malfoy's hardened grey eyes bored into my blazing green.
"Last chance, Potter-" he warned coldly, "and I'm only giving it to you because, unlike your idiot 'twin brother', you're a Slytherin-which means you must have at least some redeeming qualities. Don't make the same mistake as your brother and put your lot in with people like Weasley."
"Sure, I have redeeming qualities-but, sadly, you don't," I retorted bitingly, still upset about the whole Ron thing and being pretty harsh, even for me(there's a chance I might be focusing how I felt on the blonde but I couldn't bring myself to care-and, of all the people to lash out at, Malfoy was my favourite option). "I don't care what power, or money, or influence, or status your family has, Malfoy. Believe it or not, there are some things that are a helluva lot more important. I especially won't let you, or anyone, come between me and Harry. We're solid. So you can take your last chance, and shove it."
Turning on my heel, I hurried to catch up with the others.
Malfoy scowled angrily after me.
I feel like this is the start of a beautiful relationship-
Like the roadrunner and the coyote.
My hands were clenched so tightly that they hurt as I muttered furiously under my breath-and pictured slamming my fist into Malfoy's smug face.
I'm 'the enemy' because I'm a Slytherin?Seriously?
I get there's this big, centuries-old rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor houses, but he's going a bit far, isn't he?
Sighing heavily, I folded my arms across my chest, fists relaxing.
What Malfoy said just...stabbed a little too close to home.
The stress of everything rushing over me, all I could think about was tracking down wherever they're expecting us to sleep for the foreseeable future so I could flop into bed-maybe even scream into my pillow while I'm at it.
That's sure to make a brilliant first impression on my dorm mates, assuming Hogwarts uses a dormitory system.
Beyond my chaotic thoughts, the rest of the semi-tour was uneventful.
On the way, we passed the Potions classroom, which I took note of for later.
Apparently, it's taught by our Head of House, Severus Snape.
The prefects threw out several interesting tidbits like that-like how our house colours are silver and emerald green, our emblem is a snake, our founder's name-which I already knew from Hogwarts: A History-is Salazar Slytherin, and our common room is underneath Black Lake. That, I'll admit, caught my interest.
"The password is meracus," the female prefect said as she stopped in the middle of the corridor beside a bare stretch of stone wall, "don't forget it or you won't be able to get into the common room. When the password resets, which is about every two weeks, it'll be posted on the notice board."
Meracus, meracus, meracus, I repeated several times to submit it to memory.
The last thing I want is the humiliation of being locked out and having to ask someone to let me in-especially if that someone is Malfoy.
I'd sooner sleep in the corridor.
If that's not an added incentive, I don't know what is.
The male prefect took over.
"It's very important that you never tell anyone where our common room is, how to get into it, or what the password is. It's against school rules-and no outsider has entered the Slytherin common room in, like, centuries so it'd be pretty bad."
The female prefect turned to the bare wall.
"Meracus," she said.
To my taken aback(though, I don't know why I was so surprised after Diagon Alley), the wall moved to reveal the passage into our common room. I made a mental note of where we were-but had a sinking feeling, as I followed the prefects inside, that I'd end up reciting the password to random walls a lot.
At least until I memorise the way here, anyway.
-Hopefully.
I was ready to be horrified, or at least unimpressed, by my first sight of the supposedly 'evil' common room...only, it wasn't what I expected-but, at the same time, somehow exactly what I was expecting.
The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground dungeon draped in green and silver and lit by round greenish hanging lamps connected to silver chains. It was decorated with low-backed black and dark green leather button sofas and armchairs, dark wood cupboards, skulls(for...aesthetics, I guess? They fit right in with the whole Gothic ambience of the place, anyway), and tapestries of medieval Slytherins. There was even a fireplace! And, on either side of the elaborately carved mantlepiece, high ceiling green stained glass windows-that, as the prefects mentioned, looked out into the lake. Because we're partway beneath it, the room had a bit of a green tinge.
It was like living in a grand, cold, underwater shipwreck.
"Oh, crap," I groaned quietly.
"What?" someone behind me asked.
I looked back in surprise to see it was Pansy Parkinson, the girl that got up to introduce herself to me during the Sorting Ceremony.
It took one look at her for me to know she was your stereotypical 'mean girl'.
"I love it," I admitted anyway.
"And that's bad?" Parkinson said slowly, confused.
"It is to my brother-and my friend, Ron," I muttered with a frown, eyebrows scrunching up. "If he even is my friend anymore."
"Um...okay?"
Parkinson looked at me weirdly.
"Boys dormitories are to the left, girls to the right," the male prefect said, pointing to each staircase as he spoke as if we needed help telling our rights from our lefts. "So...that's the end of our tour, or whatever. Don't-do anything stupid, and don't leave the common room past curfew-that's at ten, it'll reflect badly on us."
"Really, don't-" the female prefect added seriously, "the punishments for shirking curfew can be brutal."
The male prefect left, his prefect partner quick on his heels.
I looked around for a moment as the group dispersed before heading for the girl's stairs, half-hoping my dormitory would suck so I could feel like less of a traitor. I even craned my neck to get one last look at the common room and everything. Soon enough, I was standing in a long corridor of dark wood doors, each decorated with a silver plaque etched with the names of the girls who would be rooming there.
To my relief, the dorm I'd been given bythe 'great room assigning gods' was the second door to the left so I didn't have to walk up and down the hall like a weirdo until I mercifully stumbled upon it like I'd expected.
Daphne Greengrass
Millicent Bulstrode
Jewel Potter
Pansy Parkinson
Tracey Davis
I wasn't sure if I was relieved that I'd already met two of my four roommates or not. Still, it's not like I'm not used to sharing a room from previous foster placements(even if this situation felt a lot more 'indefinite' than those had)-some of which didn't exactly treat me with the 'quiet indifference' I'm really hoping for here.
After a moment of hesitation, I pushed open the door.
Parkinson, Greengrass, and a black-haired girl with a heavy, jutting jaw and a large, square build were talking by one of the five beds.
Another girl was rifling through her trunk, likely for her pyjamas.
She was shorter than the other girls, myself included, and had dark hair and brown eyes.
The dormitory was, to my resignation, just as grand and elegant and stupidly gorgeous as downstairs.
There was a four-poster bed for each of us, covered in green silk hangings and eiderdowns. Silver lanterns hung from the ceiling and our house crest decorated the walls. A wooden nightstand stood beside every bed and, at the foot, our trunks. On the headboards, we each had two wooden shelves to hold personal items, and there was a tall beautiful silver mirror against the far wall for us to share and a door leading into the bathroom. Windows looked out into the lake and tinted our room faintly green.
I think I even saw something swim by.
Oh, crap.
"Potter," Greengrass greeted as I shut the door with my hip.
"Hi, Jewel," Parkinson added.
"Hey," I replied with an awkward smile.
The girl on the floor bumped her head against the top of her trunk with a yelp.
"You mean Jewel Potter?" she said quickly, looking at me. "The famous one?"
She had an eloquent Irish lilt to her voice.
Despite the difference in nationalities, it reminded me enough of the Scottish accent tinting Alistair's British one to give me a sudden pang in my chest.
"What gave you that idea? Her name on the plaque," Parkinson retorted bitchily, "or when she answered to 'Potter' and 'hi, Jewel'?"
While the larger girl sniggered, the girl on the floor's face went pink.
"Er-right," she coughed, getting up and offering me a hand. "I'm Tracey Davis."
"Jewel Potter, as everyone knows," I joked wryly as I shook her hand, glancing at Greengrass who snorted. "And...Millicent Bulstrode, right?" I added.
I smiled awkwardly at the last girl.
She just grunted at me.
-Well, okay.
"Do you really have a scar on your neck shaped like a crescent moon?" Davis asked. "Because my dad always said that that was probably exaggerated-"
Wanting to shut her up, and get it over with, I pulled back my hair and turned so the entire dorm could get a good look at my stupid famous scar.
Davis's mouth dropped open.
"Wow. Does it ever hurt?"
"It's ten years old, why would it hurt?" Parkinson pointed out snidely.
"I don't know-it's cursed, isn't it?" she figured looking a bit embarrassed.
"Sometimes," I said bluntly.
Davis looked relieved.
"Weird," Greengrass snorted.
"I think it looks really cool," Parkinson told me flatteringly, clearly trying to get in with me and not even bothering to be subtle about it.
"Thanks, Pansy," I said dryly.
Greengrass smirked at me.
"So, are any of you Muggleborns?" I wondered.
"Mudbloods?In Slytherin?" Parkinson scoffed in disbelief.
Well, I guess I know roughly what a 'Mudblood' is now-some sort of disgusting insult for Muggleborns, of which Malfoy had assumed I was because he's an idiot.
"If there are any, they're rare-" Greengrass added, "and smart enough not to advertise it. If I was a Mudblood in Slytherin, I'd probably lie about my blood status, personally. Not that I am. I'm from one of those old Pureblood families. The Sacred Twenty-Eight or whatever mum's always harping on about. So are Pansy and Millicent, if I'm remembering correctly. They're not very supportive of...you know, blood traitor ideals and such. They can get pretty annoying about it, but they're not as-full-on as some of the other old bloodlines. Doesn't mean they'd be happy if I started canoodling with Mudbloods or something-but I don't think they'd disown me for it. Probably."
"Right," I said awkwardly.
"Why do you ask?" Davis questioned.
"I was raised by Muggles," I explained. "I was sort of hoping I wasn't the only one in here as bloody clueless about all this magic stuff as them."
"Wait-so you and your brother were really raised by Muggles?" Parkinson said, her nose wrinkling.
"We were dropped off with our aunt and uncle, who are Muggles, yeah," I agreed vaguely, shrugging.
"What are they like?" Greengrass asked, looking kind of curious.
"Assholes," I said before really thinking about it.
They looked taken aback.
"My aunt and uncle-and kind of my cousin, I mean," I quickly cleared up, "not all Muggles everywhere. Most of 'em are cool. They're just-I don't know. I'd rather not generalise millions of people. It'd be like saying all wizards are stuck-up jerks just because I met a wizard that rubs me the wrong way."
"And which wizard would that be?" Greengrass inferred smartly.
I would've been more impressed she caught that if I was being at all subtle.
"Draco Malfoy," I grumbled.
"Draco Malfoy?" Parkinson repeated, her eyes going alarmingly dreamy.
"Oh, god, that's-don't-no, bad Pansy-" I shook a finger at her.
"What?" she said a bit defensively.
"He's a prick and, we may've just met, but you can do better," I stated. "He's-he's such a-shit, I wanna punch him."
"Uh, maybe don't," Greengrass warned. "You said Malfoy, right? His father would be here in a flash to get you expelled."
"Let him try," I snorted.
"He's on the school board."
I ran a hand through my hair and pursed my lips thoughtfully.
"Are you still seriously thinking about attacking him?" Davis said in disbelief.
"I mean, well-"
"When you get expelled, I call your bed," Greengrass remarked casually. "It's over there, by the way-" she pointed, "you got the good one in the corner. Figures."
I made my way over to my bed, shrugging off my robes and throwing my tie so haphazardly that I couldn't even see where it landed.
"Well, I still think he's hot," Parkinson sighed, flopping back onto her bed.
I snorted a laugh.
"And I still think you should set your standards way, way higher," I quipped.
"Higher than someone rich and attractive from a powerful, influential family?" she retorted.
I mimed a rocket shooting into space.
"There is no sum of money in the world," I stated, "that could make me put up with that."
"The Malfoy's are billionaires."
"Oh, of course, they bloody are!"