|Grace|

"So let me get this straight." Grace looked at Harry blankly, trying to process everything. "This fucking tyrant, Voldemort, wanted to rule the wizarding world because he was a psycho and felt he was better than everyone. So he gathered a bunch of other fucked-up people and called them Death Eaters and branded them like slaves and made them do horrible, horrible things.

"Then, for no fucking reason at all –probably because he was a little bitch –he went after your family and murdered them, but was unable to kill you and instead killed himself." Grace took a breath. Rose muttered a sarcastic "how unfortunate" to her hands, having glued her eyes to them since Harry had started talking almost half an hour ago.

"And now he's back," Grace said quietly.

The compartment was thrown into silence again. Hermione and Ron were looking to Harry nervously, to see how he was after revealing all of this information; Neville looked very frightened at the topic at hand and gripped his plant more securely; Ginny looked calm considering what they were discussing; and Luna had paid them no mind, instead continuing to read her magazine (though she had turned it right side up). Harry stared at the twins in turn, boring his eyes into Grace's then flicking to Rose's hands and back again.

Grace found Rose's eyes for a second before they went back to her hands. She could tell exactly what was going through her sister's head, as it was the same as her own. She reached out to Harry's right hand that was balled into a fist, and squeezed it.

"We are so, very, truly, sorry for what you've had to go through, Harry." Grace locked eyes with his, trying her best to portray how awfully she felt about his situation. Harry nodded stiffly, clearing his throat and looking out the window. Nobody really knew where to go from there. The air was a bit tense; there was room for more discussion but there was also space to move on.

Grace was still trying to wrap her head around everything. She couldn't even imagine how Harry dealt with all that had happened to him over the years. Hell, she was hardly able to deal with what had happened to her –and that was nothing compared to what he'd been through. She shuddered at the thought.

Her memories were very hazy from that night. There were flashes every once and a while, and sometimes she'd even re-experience it in her dreams, but when she woke up screaming, she could never remember exactly what happened; only a lingering feeling of disgust that three showers finally abated.

One memory, however, was crystal clear; one that she wished she could burn.

His face was there, right in front of her, smiling. She recalled, with distinct clarity, how blue his eyes were in the moonlight; how deep they seemed to be, as if she could see into him; how she could have drowned in them, and she would not have minded one bit.

And then she was.

She was drowning and everything was blurry and black and dark and she wished she could go back to blue and she really did mind. The last sharp image she had before everything went fuzzy was the transformation of his smile: from perfect and model-worthy to malicious and sinister.

Then there was only red and pain.

Grace shook herself out of that time. She was normally very good at controlling her thoughts, as was her sister, but once and a while they plunged ahead of her. Her hand was twisting a piece of hair absently –typically a dead giveaway she was overthinking something. Grace quickly ceased, pulling apart the knot she had just created. Thankfully Rose was in her own world; she would guess right away where her thoughts had drifted if she were paying close enough attention and that would not do –Rose was even more affected by that night than Grace. She needed a distraction.

"What kind of name is Voldemort anyway?" Grace took note of Neville's tiny yelp and wondered just how horrible this thing (she could hardly call him a man as what he did was completely inhumane) was if people were terrified of only hearing his name.

"It's French." A small voice said from beside her. Rose had finally joined the conversation. Her voice was choked, probably from lack of use, but also emotion. Rose normally got overwhelmed by emotional things. If one person was crying, she was crying too. She sometimes experienced someone's sentiments more than they themselves. Especially when she cared for them.

"It means, loosely, 'fly from death'. You should know that," Rose nudged Grace's side. "But I guess you never were that good at French," she teased, cracking a smile.

"There are too many verbs and tenses and different ways to say the same thing and it's just too confusing," grumbled Grace, crossing her arms and pouting.

Rose laughed. "That, and you were too busy staring at the back of Kyle's head to pay any attention." Grace slapped her sister's arm, laughing and nodding in agreement.

"When did you learn French? I know a bit, but only because my parents and I vacation in France fairly often," Hermione asked. The others slowly relaxed in their seats, the tense air dissolving around them with the change of subject.

"Before we turned eleven, we went to a no-maj school where we were in French immersion. Our parents didn't want us to miss out on our nation's second language," Grace rolled her eyes.

"I thought that's what you said!" Hermione exclaimed. "At the station, you said something that sounded like "no-maj" and I didn't quite know what that was, though I reckoned it was because of your accent. But you said it again there."

"A no-maj is someone who doesn't have magic –no magic, no-maj," explained Grace.

"Isn't it muggle here? Our dad used to call them that until he got used to the North American way of saying things. Our parents still fight over the proper way to say certain words –it's highly entertaining," Rose said with a laugh.

"Yes it is, but it's fascinating to learn about other wizarding countries. Where in North America are you two from? I figured you weren't from Europe because your accents don't quite fit, but I couldn't put my finger on any certain place." Hermione leaned forward toward the twins eagerly, hands clasped together on her legs, bouncing excitedly.

Grace straightened up in her seat and cracked her back. "We're from Canada –Ontario to be specific. Our dad left England because of something or the other when he was twenty-one. Nobody tried to stop him; he didn't get along very well with his parents. He met our mum a year after his move and they fell in love and blah blah blah. It's a very sweet story when you haven't heard it ten million times."

"So what school did you go to? What was it like? What spells did you learn? Is there any difference between the curriculum here and –"

"Hang on a second, I've just thought of something: do you think he left England because of Voldemort?" Grace interrupted. It had just popped into her head. There must have been a reason he left his home –the only home he'd known. She'd always thought it was because there was tension between him and his parents, but perhaps there was more to it.

Harry, who had tuned out during most of their conversation, suddenly looked interested. "I reckon that could be it," he said.

"He never does talk very much about England. And when he does, it's about Hogwarts. Except, you'd think he'd mention something about an evil dickwad of a wizard, wouldn't you?"

"Why would dad want to talk about something like that?" asked Rose. "It was probably absolute hell to go through. Who wants to relive hell by talking about it?" something about the look on Rose's face made Grace know exactly to what she was referring. She tried to take one of her sister's hands in her own, but Rose ripped it away and shrank into herself.

"You'd think there would be some mention of Voldemort in your classes. He couldn't have just affected Europe," said Harry.

"There was," Rose whispered, suddenly sitting up in her seat and looking straight at Harry. "There was. It was very small, but it was mentioned. We did a unit in our history class on wars and we briefly touched on this one that involved someone called 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.' We were only in our second year then, and history class was so boring we would mostly just rate the boys in our class, but from what I remember, it fits. The timing, the place, the name. I think I saw that name on the newspaper a couple weeks ago." Rose looked nervous. "Was that him?"

The compartment nodded as a unit.

"So glad we paid attention in that class," remarked Grace sarcastically.

"What I don't understand," started Hermione hesitantly, "is why you moved back here. If your dad tried so hard to run away, why would he come back just when things are starting up again?"

Grace glanced nervously at Rose, who had abruptly gone eerily still. A shadow passed over her face and she seemed to be in a mix of pain, anger and sorrow. Her hands were clenched and shaking. The compartment seemed to have been sucked of air. They had crossed some invisible line, but no one could tell why.

Grace cleared her throat. "W-well, our dad got a job offer here from the Ministry in the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. After talking it over with our mum, he took it and we moved here over the summer." She smiled in hopes of deterring them from her shaky voice. She didn't think it worked.

"That's head of my dad's office! Guess our dads work together then huh?" Ron was oblivious to everyone else's apprehensive stares. She saw a look being shared between Harry and Hermione, and tried to quickly think of something else to say so as to not be interrogated.

She was saved by the whistle.

The high-pitched sound made Rose jump in her seat, shaking her head out of wherever it had been –though Grace could very well guess.

"That was the warning whistle," Hermione said slowly, looking warily at the twins. "You best be changing into your robes."

"Right, well it was great meeting you guys," Grace nodded to the boys, pulling Rose by her sleeve. "I hope to be seeing you around!" she added, scurrying out of the compartment and fast-walking to their own.

For all the trouble it caused, especially with that awful Head Girl, she thought the boat ride would be much grander.

They were, obviously, the only two older people in a sea of first years. When the woman calling for all first years saw them, she questioned their presence, but as soon as the word 'transfers' was uttered, she ushered them along.

They shared a boat with two smaller, trembling boys, though they let them go in front. The night was bright with stars and a waning moon, reflecting off the still lake like a perfect postcard. Grace could make out, far to the right, the rest of the school going in and out of carriages that seemed to pull themselves. She wondered how long they would have to wait for the boats to start moving, when they suddenly moved by themselves.

The older witch was in a boat by herself, leading the procession. Most of the first years gasped with the sudden jerk of the vessel, but Grace and Rose were used to magic and didn't even blink.

A castle –Hogwarts presumably –loomed in the distance, lights coming from within that blocked out some of the stars. The moment was breathtaking: picture perfect. But that was it. The other first years, and even Rose, were still in awe of the impressive fortress, and were whispering excitedly to one another. To Grace however, it seemed like a copy of their old school, and didn't think it all that spectacular.

Of course, it was beautiful, but the beauty seemed to get old rather quickly.

Or maybe that was just her hunger talking. She was positively famished and only thought of food. Everything else was lost on her.

They finally made their way through the lake (a huge tentacle waved at them from the distance. "That's the giant squid," Rose whispered to Grace. She was the one to read Hogwarts: A History), up the stairs and through a giant door into a huge corridor where a stern witch in emerald robes was waiting for them.

"Thank you, Professor Grubbly-Plank," said the witch, regarding them with a calculating look. The other first years gawked at the expansive hall they were in, but stilled with one glance from her.

She introduced herself as Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall. The rest of her speech didn't register as Grace was much too hungry to focus and wondered if they had any ice cream.

Rose pulled her to the back of the group after Professor McGonagall had left, saying she'd be back in a couple of minutes.

"What if we get separated?" whispered Rose urgently. She looked very perturbed at the thought. Grace had not thought about it, though she didn't seem nearly as bothered by the idea as her sister. She loved her sister very much, so much in fact, that she thought separating might be good for her. Rose relied heavily on her, and though Grace relied on Rose, she was much more independent. Rose needed more friends, and more people to lean on as Grace couldn't always be there for her. It wasn't healthy.

But then again, what would she do without her sister? They'd been together through everything; they always had each other's backs; to put it simply: they were best friends. That could all change.

She didn't know what to think.

"We'll cross that bridge if we come to it," Grace quoted their mother's no-maj saying and patted Rose's arm comfortingly.

"But what if that bridge is really close and basically demolished and there's no safe way across?"

"Then we build one, silly. We're witches: we can do anything."

"Ahem." Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. All eyes – nervous, frantic, calm and scared, made their way to her. "We're ready for you now."

Grace could feel the anxiety emitting from her sister as they walked through the huge double oak doors of the Great Hall, though she herself had no nerves. What was the point of being nervous? Whatever happens, happens.

She linked their pinkies –something they did when they went out and about when they were younger and didn't want to lose each other –feeling the rest of the schools stares on them and knowing that they would get to her sister more so than herself. She didn't mind the attention, and took the opportunity to look fearlessly at some of the boys in the rows of tables. There were a lot of cute boys here. Smirking and winking away, this was already better than their old school.

Grace saw Fred and George along with all of the other people from the compartment at a table closest to the wall. She waved at them. They smiled and waved back, but gave Rose a sour look when she glanced over (and sheepishly looked away). The Hall was pretty much silent apart from all of their footsteps, so it wasn't that hard to hear one of the Weasley twins saying something about how her sister seems to be "the Slytherin sort". Whatever that meant. Though it did make Harry, Ron and Hermione look at them more attentively.

She felt Rose stiffen, her head tilted to the left. When Grace looked over to see what it was, she caught sight of very pale blond hair. She squeezed her pinky just a little to get her attention off of Malfoy. Then they stopped.

They stood in front of a stool with an old, black, typical no-maj witch's hat on it. Behind the stool was a huge table with what must be all of the teachers. They looked at the hat intently, so Grace did the same.

Suddenly, the hat came to life and started singing. It was rather alarming; so much so that the twins took a step back as the hat kept singing about danger and house unity. It was a rather long song, so Grace –with her short attention span –took the time to look around. The Great Hall was, in fact, great. It was huge, with four tables all presumably for each house. There were doors that lead to who knows where along the walls, and, looking up, the ceiling was breathtaking.

"It's magicked to show the sky outside," whispered Rose when she saw her sister staring up at the ceiling like an idiot. There was a vast amount of candles that covered the circumference of the room, though Grace saw that only one was not lit. She thought she remembered reading somewhere (probably Hogwarts: A History when she first decided she was going to read it, then stopped about four pages in) that each candle represented a student at the school. Could that unlit candle mean –?

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool. As we have transfers this year, we will start with them," Professor McGonagall said.

The twins looked at each other. This was it. The moment of truth.

"Taylor, Gracelyn." Grace cringed at the use of her full name. She squeezed Rose's hand one last time, then walked to the stool. She felt like she was walking to her death. The nerves weren't there before, but as she put the hat over her head, the material covering her ears so all she could hear was the sound of her own breathing, and falling over her eyes so the last thing she saw before dark was her sisters nervous face, she could feel them clawing at her stomach. It was not a good feeling.

And then there wasn't just her breaths. There was a voice. In her ear. "Hmm, a good mind, very good. Adventurous but level-headed. Know what you want. Clever, yes, but unbothered by grades. Not Ravenclaw then." Grace was disappointed for a second, as she did kind of want to show up that Head Girl, but was ultimately happy with not having to deal with her.

"Brave, very brave, especially as of late. Strong-minded, reliable, fearless. Hufflepuff is not the right spot for you, you would not go far." That made her happy. What kind of name was Hufflepuff? She definitely did not want to be there.

"Very ambitious, a thirst for the best. I know where you'll go. Welcome to the proud house of SLYTHERIN!"

The hat shouted out the last word and the table at the other end of the room exploded into applause. Grace took off the hat and looked to her sister who was clapping. She was a little sad to not be in the same house as the Weasley's and co, but they could all still be friends, right? Looking at them, she was surprised to see a look of disgust being directed at her. She was a little confused. What was so wrong with Slytherin? Turning to the table beckoning her, it was her turn to be disgusted. It was the table that that Malfoy boy was at.

Oh no, she thought, slowly making her way over, what kind of house has the likes of him in it? I'm doomed.

She took a seat next to a boy with green hair, who smiled and welcomed her. She smiled back but anxiously looked up as her sister's name was called out.

"Taylor, Roslyn."

Rose took an obvious breath and marched up to the stool, locking eyes with Grace before being swallowed up by the hat. Grace noticed that they both fiddled nervously with the ends of their robes. She glanced around the room, not really knowing what to do with the time she had whilst awaiting their fate.

Dean, as Rose had told her, was sitting beside that Irish guy at the Gryffindor table. He must have felt her gaze because after a couple of seconds he made eye contact with her. Though there were two tables between them and perhaps hundreds of students in the way, for one moment she could imagine just him. Grace smiled, bright and happy at him, and in return received a weak, half-assed (in her opinion at least) grimace at best before he looked away, whispering to his friend who in turn looked her over.

She frowned, a little put out by that. Grace just did not understand. Was she not nice to him? And the Weasley's? She had been sorted, but what does that even mean anyway? Were they really only going to be friends with their own house? That didn't seem right. The sorting hat's song echoed in her head (at least the bits and pieces that she heard.) Was house unity not a thing that anyone else wanted?

Grace noticed Harry looking at her, so she waved at him. He looked rather confused, and waved back hesitantly. She wondered why they were suddenly treating her like that. She didn't think she'd done anything wrong.

A few moments later, the hat finally made its decision. One that made her heart sink.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Well fuck.