I jumped out of the train, deciding to ignore the fact that Harry and Co. had snuck away behind me, and stared around me in wonder. This was Hogsmeade Station. This was another fictional place that I had actually been to. This place was not real! But I was standing here, breathing in the crisp cold air, and seeing people and things around me!
An older woman, perhaps in her forties or fifties, who was wearing her gray-streaked red hair in a tight bun atop her head, was searching the crowds with her eyes. When her eyes rested on me, she smiled.
"There you are! I'm so glad you arrived safely." She had a bit of an accent, Irish or Scottish or something, it was hard to tell. I took a wild guess.
"Professor McGonagall?"
"Oh, so Mr. Skellvale told you that I would be meeting the train? Good, good," she put a hand on my shoulder and guided me over to where a bunch of horse-drawn carriages were waiting for us. "Now, once we reach the school, it'll take a moment for all the other students to get settled. Then the first-years will be sorted, and after that, all the transfer students. When I call your name, just stand up and walk to the front. You'll be sitting at a table with the other American transfer students, and some of the ones from Beauxbatons." She pronounced it 'Boh-BAY-tuns.'
I almost told her not to bother with the sorting; after all, I was going to be in Gryffindor, right? All main characters ended up in Gryffindor, everybody knew that. Unless, of course, they were meant to be evil, and then they were in Slytherin. Or it was one of those specialized fics where they want to glorify Hufflepuff or something. Or they weren't the main character.
THAT thought scared me. What if suddenly all fanfic writers everywhere had been sucked into this world? What if we were to truly be sorted on account of our character? Where would I go?
I started chewing my thumbnail, something I always do when I'm nervous. Actually, to tell the truth, I chew my nails all the time, whether I'm nervous, excited, or just bored. I have short nails. But I consciously decided to chew my nails right then, because I wanted to relieve the tension I was feeling.
I was stuck in a black, uncomfortable carriage with hard wood seats with four other "transfer" students. One of them was French, the other three were American. Wanting to test my theory about authors getting sucked into this world, I asked, "Do any of you know what fanfic is?"
They stared at me like I was crazy. One of them, the French girl some years younger than me with blonde pigtails, shook her head and shrugged, giving me a toothy grin.
The rest of the ride was spent in silence. If I described it to you, you'd be snoring within a few sentences. But I will describe the castle to you.
The first I could see of it was a single tower rising into the night sky like a gray wisp of smoke above the dark trees.
Then, as we rounded a bend in the path, the entire castle was in view. It was huge and dark, like something from a scary movie. I counted seven towers, four at each corner of the castle, two in front on either side of where the gate was, and one in the middle of the back. They were made of gray stone, each block being less than a few feet wide, and their roofs had brown shingles. In the middle of each round roof was a spire, which rose several yards before tapering off into a pointy flagpole. Each of the flags on the four corner towers had a symbol with an animal, which I assumed were the flags of the four houses. The two in front and one in back all had a letter "H" on them, for Hogwarts.
Ignoring everyone else in the carriage as effectively as they ignored me, I brought out my notepad and pencil again and scribbled furiously. I was going to remember every moment of this, even if it killed me.
After all, everybody you read about goes on a magical adventure, right? Somehow something magical happens to them, and they go off on a several-hundred-page adventure, find true love, defeat evil, and live happily ever after. I'd read tons of stories like that. So I was well equipped for this adventure, not that it was truly happening to me, right?
I remembered when I was younger I thought magical stuff could actually happen. I would do all these things to be prepared, just in case I was sucked into a portal, or transport to another planet where they desperately needed my help. I'd pack a bag full of food, water bottles, comic books and drawing paper, just in case I had time to pick it up. I remember begging my mom for fencing (swordfighting) lessons, because after all, what was a good magical adventure without a sword fight? However, after a few years of experience, more than one crying tantrum where all my fairy tale books would end up flying out the window, and several weeks of fencing (I ached in muscles I didn't even know I had!) I had given up all hopes and dreams of being taken on a magical adventure. I was too old for that kind of the dreaming.
And yet, now I was on that kind of adventure. Would all my preparations, all my hopes and dreams, do me any good now that I was actually trapped in the adventure of a lifetime?
I barely had time to look around as we were rushed through the halls and corridors and up several staircases; apparently, we were behind schedule. I'd hoped to catch a glimpse of some of the wonders that I knew to expect, such as the living suits of armor or the moving portraits. However, we were taken directly to the Great Hall. The other transfer students did not seem impressed by the beautiful sky apparently above us, but I was spellbound by the stars hanging only a few feet above my head. As I stared upwards, the dark silhouette of a owl flew by.
The walls of the Great Hall were painted burgundy, and the floor was polished wood, which gleamed in the starlight raining down. The Hall was like a football field in size. The four House tables were huge, each one capable of seating at least 100 students. They were gleaming mahogany, and each one had a long silk tablecloth in what I assumed were the House colors. I spotted Harry and his friends at the table to the far left side of the Hall, which sported a scarlet cloth. The dream I had seen earlier was at a green-clothed table to the far right side of the Hall. The tables in the middlel had yellow and navy blue cloths.
But I was not studying the décor as much as the students. There were probably 70 or 80 at each table. The Gryffindors where a strong looking bunch, and were laughing and joking with each other as they waited for the feast to start. At the navy blue table, which I assumed was Ravenclaw, most of the students were reading. A few of them conversed quietly, and several were staring at the teachers raised table at the front of the Hall, beside which was the transfer student table with a white tablecloth. The Hufflepuff table was surely the friendliest. They were laughing and giggling merrily. Rosy cheeks and deep dimples were in abundance there. The Slytherins were sulking. Several of them made nasty faces in the general direction of the Gryffindors, including the dream- er, Malfoy.
I tried pound it into my head; Malfoy was not dreamy. Just because he was handsome did not mean that he wasn't evil. He was wicked, evil, and nasty. Just the kind of person I hated. And yet… Looks can be very deceiving.
The Sorting Hat was finally brought out by Prof. McGonagall, and placed on the stool in front of the teachers' table. I stared eagerly at it; would it really talk and sing like in the books? It was very ratty, but it reminded me of nothing more than the hat that Sorcerer Mickey wears in Fantasia. It was scarlet just like the Gryffindor's tablecloth, but it did have tiny stars and moons from its bent tip to its thin brim. And suddenly, just as in the first book, the rip near the brim widened, and it began to sing.
I was startled, to say the least. Here at last was proof positive that this was no dream, no joke, no elaborate hoax. This was real magic.
"In this school there are houses four,
Which will be standing evermore,
Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff,
Slytherin and Gryffindor.
All four houses are as famed,
As they are so rightly named.
Because they were built up from scratch,
In a wild wilderness tamed
By four great founders, long ago,
And each of the four soon did know,
That they each liked a different student,
And so to divide their houses did go.
So, which house will suit you well?
I'm the one who'll surely tell,
For I can see into your heart,
And know where you should dwell.
The Hufflepuff's are gentle and kind,
The Ravenclaws are bright of mind,
The Gryffindors (here a roar came from said table) are brave and strong,
And Slytherins are cunning, you'll find,
So step right up to try me on,
I know where you should be.
'Cause I can see into your mind,
And place you rightfully."
The tune and was a bouncy and light melody, which set my feet tapping. I was also scribbling furiously to try and remember the song, because I knew that it would be difficult to make one up later when I did write the story down.
A crowd of first-years gathered around behind the teachers' table, looking as scared and nerve-wracked as it was possible to be. I began mentally picking out which ones I thought would go into which houses. The boy with the horn rimmed glasses carrying a tote bag full of books would be a Ravenclaw, and the plump smiling girl who was clutching her friends arm would definitely be a Hufflepuff. The boy with sandy-blond hair staring with a confident smile at the hat would be a new Gryffindor. But the two boys in the corner snickering to each other behind their hands would be Slytherins, no doubt.
As the names were called, the plump girl did get into Hufflepuff, as well as, surprisingly, the boy with the books. But I got the rest of them correct; the confident boy was a new Gryffindor, and the snickering fellows were Slytherins. The new Gryffindor was Gerald Rachette, and he gave a high-five to several of the other Gryffindors before he sat down.
Finally, Dumbledore, who was exactly as I had pictured him, an older man with thin, wise face and mad-scientist hair, got up and said something about transfer students being sorted. I didn't recorded exactly what he said because I was too nervous. What if I didn't get into Gryffindor? What if I ended up in Slytherin? I could never write about that, never! All fanfic authors assume that anyone in Slytherin is bad news. If I ended up there who want to read my story? They would assume that I was evil!
"Barker, Matthew." McGonagall said loudly. One of the boys next to me stood and walked over to the hat. He jammed it on, and a few moments later…
"Ravenclaw!" The table let up a restrained cheer.
"Cleau, Jeannette." The girl with the pigtails who had smiled at me in the carriage stood and nearly skipped over to the stool.
Hufflepuff, obviously, is what I was thinking before the hat shouted "Gryffindor!" There was a loud cheer.
Suddenly, I heard my name called. Heart pounding so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it, I stood up.
My god, what was I doing? I hated being in front of people! I was wearing long black robes, about to try on a singing hat, in front of hundreds of people! My last thought before the brim of the hat descended around me was, 'What do you think you're doing? How are you going to get into Gryffindor if you have stage fright?'
I heard a voice, whispering in my ear, and thought for a moment that Prof. McGonagall had leaned over to tell me that I wasn't going to be sorted after all. But then I realized it was the hat, speaking to me.
"Well well," it said, "you're a nervous one! But don't worry, I don't judge people on what they feel. I judge what is in your heart. You're very brave to face this world on your own. I'm sure you'll find the story and the adventure you're looking for in GRYFFINDOR!" I heard the hat yell that last part. My ears ringing, I removed the hat, and stared down at the Gryffindor table. I had done it. I had accomplished what most people only accomplished through their keyboards. I had made it into Gryffindor.
But then with her ever any doubt?
An older woman, perhaps in her forties or fifties, who was wearing her gray-streaked red hair in a tight bun atop her head, was searching the crowds with her eyes. When her eyes rested on me, she smiled.
"There you are! I'm so glad you arrived safely." She had a bit of an accent, Irish or Scottish or something, it was hard to tell. I took a wild guess.
"Professor McGonagall?"
"Oh, so Mr. Skellvale told you that I would be meeting the train? Good, good," she put a hand on my shoulder and guided me over to where a bunch of horse-drawn carriages were waiting for us. "Now, once we reach the school, it'll take a moment for all the other students to get settled. Then the first-years will be sorted, and after that, all the transfer students. When I call your name, just stand up and walk to the front. You'll be sitting at a table with the other American transfer students, and some of the ones from Beauxbatons." She pronounced it 'Boh-BAY-tuns.'
I almost told her not to bother with the sorting; after all, I was going to be in Gryffindor, right? All main characters ended up in Gryffindor, everybody knew that. Unless, of course, they were meant to be evil, and then they were in Slytherin. Or it was one of those specialized fics where they want to glorify Hufflepuff or something. Or they weren't the main character.
THAT thought scared me. What if suddenly all fanfic writers everywhere had been sucked into this world? What if we were to truly be sorted on account of our character? Where would I go?
I started chewing my thumbnail, something I always do when I'm nervous. Actually, to tell the truth, I chew my nails all the time, whether I'm nervous, excited, or just bored. I have short nails. But I consciously decided to chew my nails right then, because I wanted to relieve the tension I was feeling.
I was stuck in a black, uncomfortable carriage with hard wood seats with four other "transfer" students. One of them was French, the other three were American. Wanting to test my theory about authors getting sucked into this world, I asked, "Do any of you know what fanfic is?"
They stared at me like I was crazy. One of them, the French girl some years younger than me with blonde pigtails, shook her head and shrugged, giving me a toothy grin.
The rest of the ride was spent in silence. If I described it to you, you'd be snoring within a few sentences. But I will describe the castle to you.
The first I could see of it was a single tower rising into the night sky like a gray wisp of smoke above the dark trees.
Then, as we rounded a bend in the path, the entire castle was in view. It was huge and dark, like something from a scary movie. I counted seven towers, four at each corner of the castle, two in front on either side of where the gate was, and one in the middle of the back. They were made of gray stone, each block being less than a few feet wide, and their roofs had brown shingles. In the middle of each round roof was a spire, which rose several yards before tapering off into a pointy flagpole. Each of the flags on the four corner towers had a symbol with an animal, which I assumed were the flags of the four houses. The two in front and one in back all had a letter "H" on them, for Hogwarts.
Ignoring everyone else in the carriage as effectively as they ignored me, I brought out my notepad and pencil again and scribbled furiously. I was going to remember every moment of this, even if it killed me.
After all, everybody you read about goes on a magical adventure, right? Somehow something magical happens to them, and they go off on a several-hundred-page adventure, find true love, defeat evil, and live happily ever after. I'd read tons of stories like that. So I was well equipped for this adventure, not that it was truly happening to me, right?
I remembered when I was younger I thought magical stuff could actually happen. I would do all these things to be prepared, just in case I was sucked into a portal, or transport to another planet where they desperately needed my help. I'd pack a bag full of food, water bottles, comic books and drawing paper, just in case I had time to pick it up. I remember begging my mom for fencing (swordfighting) lessons, because after all, what was a good magical adventure without a sword fight? However, after a few years of experience, more than one crying tantrum where all my fairy tale books would end up flying out the window, and several weeks of fencing (I ached in muscles I didn't even know I had!) I had given up all hopes and dreams of being taken on a magical adventure. I was too old for that kind of the dreaming.
And yet, now I was on that kind of adventure. Would all my preparations, all my hopes and dreams, do me any good now that I was actually trapped in the adventure of a lifetime?
I barely had time to look around as we were rushed through the halls and corridors and up several staircases; apparently, we were behind schedule. I'd hoped to catch a glimpse of some of the wonders that I knew to expect, such as the living suits of armor or the moving portraits. However, we were taken directly to the Great Hall. The other transfer students did not seem impressed by the beautiful sky apparently above us, but I was spellbound by the stars hanging only a few feet above my head. As I stared upwards, the dark silhouette of a owl flew by.
The walls of the Great Hall were painted burgundy, and the floor was polished wood, which gleamed in the starlight raining down. The Hall was like a football field in size. The four House tables were huge, each one capable of seating at least 100 students. They were gleaming mahogany, and each one had a long silk tablecloth in what I assumed were the House colors. I spotted Harry and his friends at the table to the far left side of the Hall, which sported a scarlet cloth. The dream I had seen earlier was at a green-clothed table to the far right side of the Hall. The tables in the middlel had yellow and navy blue cloths.
But I was not studying the décor as much as the students. There were probably 70 or 80 at each table. The Gryffindors where a strong looking bunch, and were laughing and joking with each other as they waited for the feast to start. At the navy blue table, which I assumed was Ravenclaw, most of the students were reading. A few of them conversed quietly, and several were staring at the teachers raised table at the front of the Hall, beside which was the transfer student table with a white tablecloth. The Hufflepuff table was surely the friendliest. They were laughing and giggling merrily. Rosy cheeks and deep dimples were in abundance there. The Slytherins were sulking. Several of them made nasty faces in the general direction of the Gryffindors, including the dream- er, Malfoy.
I tried pound it into my head; Malfoy was not dreamy. Just because he was handsome did not mean that he wasn't evil. He was wicked, evil, and nasty. Just the kind of person I hated. And yet… Looks can be very deceiving.
The Sorting Hat was finally brought out by Prof. McGonagall, and placed on the stool in front of the teachers' table. I stared eagerly at it; would it really talk and sing like in the books? It was very ratty, but it reminded me of nothing more than the hat that Sorcerer Mickey wears in Fantasia. It was scarlet just like the Gryffindor's tablecloth, but it did have tiny stars and moons from its bent tip to its thin brim. And suddenly, just as in the first book, the rip near the brim widened, and it began to sing.
I was startled, to say the least. Here at last was proof positive that this was no dream, no joke, no elaborate hoax. This was real magic.
"In this school there are houses four,
Which will be standing evermore,
Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff,
Slytherin and Gryffindor.
All four houses are as famed,
As they are so rightly named.
Because they were built up from scratch,
In a wild wilderness tamed
By four great founders, long ago,
And each of the four soon did know,
That they each liked a different student,
And so to divide their houses did go.
So, which house will suit you well?
I'm the one who'll surely tell,
For I can see into your heart,
And know where you should dwell.
The Hufflepuff's are gentle and kind,
The Ravenclaws are bright of mind,
The Gryffindors (here a roar came from said table) are brave and strong,
And Slytherins are cunning, you'll find,
So step right up to try me on,
I know where you should be.
'Cause I can see into your mind,
And place you rightfully."
The tune and was a bouncy and light melody, which set my feet tapping. I was also scribbling furiously to try and remember the song, because I knew that it would be difficult to make one up later when I did write the story down.
A crowd of first-years gathered around behind the teachers' table, looking as scared and nerve-wracked as it was possible to be. I began mentally picking out which ones I thought would go into which houses. The boy with the horn rimmed glasses carrying a tote bag full of books would be a Ravenclaw, and the plump smiling girl who was clutching her friends arm would definitely be a Hufflepuff. The boy with sandy-blond hair staring with a confident smile at the hat would be a new Gryffindor. But the two boys in the corner snickering to each other behind their hands would be Slytherins, no doubt.
As the names were called, the plump girl did get into Hufflepuff, as well as, surprisingly, the boy with the books. But I got the rest of them correct; the confident boy was a new Gryffindor, and the snickering fellows were Slytherins. The new Gryffindor was Gerald Rachette, and he gave a high-five to several of the other Gryffindors before he sat down.
Finally, Dumbledore, who was exactly as I had pictured him, an older man with thin, wise face and mad-scientist hair, got up and said something about transfer students being sorted. I didn't recorded exactly what he said because I was too nervous. What if I didn't get into Gryffindor? What if I ended up in Slytherin? I could never write about that, never! All fanfic authors assume that anyone in Slytherin is bad news. If I ended up there who want to read my story? They would assume that I was evil!
"Barker, Matthew." McGonagall said loudly. One of the boys next to me stood and walked over to the hat. He jammed it on, and a few moments later…
"Ravenclaw!" The table let up a restrained cheer.
"Cleau, Jeannette." The girl with the pigtails who had smiled at me in the carriage stood and nearly skipped over to the stool.
Hufflepuff, obviously, is what I was thinking before the hat shouted "Gryffindor!" There was a loud cheer.
Suddenly, I heard my name called. Heart pounding so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it, I stood up.
My god, what was I doing? I hated being in front of people! I was wearing long black robes, about to try on a singing hat, in front of hundreds of people! My last thought before the brim of the hat descended around me was, 'What do you think you're doing? How are you going to get into Gryffindor if you have stage fright?'
I heard a voice, whispering in my ear, and thought for a moment that Prof. McGonagall had leaned over to tell me that I wasn't going to be sorted after all. But then I realized it was the hat, speaking to me.
"Well well," it said, "you're a nervous one! But don't worry, I don't judge people on what they feel. I judge what is in your heart. You're very brave to face this world on your own. I'm sure you'll find the story and the adventure you're looking for in GRYFFINDOR!" I heard the hat yell that last part. My ears ringing, I removed the hat, and stared down at the Gryffindor table. I had done it. I had accomplished what most people only accomplished through their keyboards. I had made it into Gryffindor.
But then with her ever any doubt?