It nearly overwhelmed her.
The castle, solid black and statuesque against the milky blue backdrop of a sky emblazoned with stars, the windows dotted with thousands of pinpricks of light. A flat, rippling lake stretched before them, the tiny wavelets crested with the light of the stars and from the castle itself. Craggy black cliffs jutted aggressively into the sky, surrounding the castle in a careful, powerful embrace. The castle itself was a majesty – huge, with high stone walls which circled the grounds, and there were windows spilling blocks of light against the darkness. The twisted, gnarled frame of a gigantic tree cut against the moon, which was rising in the sky – a massive silver coin which seemed close enough to touch. The Hogwarts Express drew to a puffing, hissing stop, the wheels screeching against the tracks, and allowed the children to hurry out onto the curb. The noise was glorious, laughing, joking, exchanging opinions, and yes, even a few arguments breaking out here and there. They were already clad in long robes of black, so they resembled small bats floundering towards the castle, land-bound despite the wings of material. There was a deep, gruff voice calling out, "Firs' years, over 'ere! Firs' years!"
"That's us, I think," Harry called to Jean over the hubbub of noise. He was accompanied by a tall, gangly redhead who was looking at the castle with an expression of mingled fear and delight. Ron Weasley was his name – Jean had been relatively quiet throughout the train ride, her heart too full of apprehension and homesickness to really join in on the conversation. But Ron seemed like a nice enough boy, and Jean trailed the pair up the stony path towards the castle. Hagrid had been the one shouting, and she was relieved to see a familiar figure; all of these new people were harping on her homesickness and her desire of solitude. However, she couldn't help gaping in sheer awe at the sight of the castle as they drew closer, the magnificent black structure which seemed sturdy and bulky against the elegant moonlit background. She shied away from the water, the waves rippling at her feet, and she scrambled gracelessly into a boat with Ron and Harry. Harry reached for the oars, but they came to life before his hands touched them, and the little fleet of rowboats pulled smoothly away from the shore, carrying the nervous first years.
Jean gripped the side of the boat in a tense grip; she had never been in a boat before, magical or otherwise, and it was a little eerie, being in the water but not getting wet. The little boat bobbed cheerfully along, and she could see the expressions on people's faces as they drifted by, thanks to the golden lantern hanging from the stern of the boat. Ron was muttering something in Harry's ear, the redhead quite pale, and Harry pushed his glasses further up his nose with an anxious air. He caught Jean's gaze and the two of them looked away hurriedly. It was still surreal, still strange, to think that the two of them were related. That they hadn't been alone all these years, but simply kept in the dark for reasons unknown.
The little boat ground to a crunching halt at the opposite side of the lake, and first years bounded out, including the Potter twins. There were a few whispers, but mostly the little group of eleven year olds' was silent, too nervous about the upcoming trials ahead. Hagrid stumped up the path, a big lantern swinging from his fist. "Firs' years, come on!" He called behind him, and the flock of children followed him, not quite together but not separately either, pairing off into twos and threes. The narrow path leading towards the castle's main gates was steep, and Jean slipped once or twice, tripping on the hem of her new robes. However, she didn't appear to be the only person unprepared to deal with the extra clothing; there were several other children looking just as uncomfortable as she.
Hagrid pulled open the massive, thick oaken door, and a burst of warm air hit them hard, reddening their faces and raising the hair on their arms. The interior was just as lavish and stately as the outside appeared to be; sweeping corridors, gargoyles leering in annexes, and crimson rugs, worn thin beneath the feet of thousands of children. Ahead of them was a wide stone staircase, and they mounted it with growing apprehension. A knot twisted hard in Harry's stomach, and he swallowed. He didn't have any magical expertise – what were they expecting of him? An image blossomed in his mind: himself, foolishly brandishing a wand, trying to make something happen, while the entire school laughed at him. The nausea in his stomach reared, and he fought to keep the contents of his stomach down. What was going to happen?
"First years!" Called a crisp, slightly lilted voice from the head of the stairs. Before them was a tall, stately woman, her black hair drawn sharply back with not a strand out of place. There was a weathering about her face, but there was a stern, sharp look to her eyes as she peered over the rims of her square-framed spectacles. Emerald green robes caught the light and shimmered mutely, and her lined fingers were clasping a scroll, tied neatly with ribbon. "I am Minerva McGonagall. You may call me Ma'am, or Professor McGonagall. You are to wait here, and tidy yourselves up a bit," She said, looking at the grubby faces which reflected back at her. "And then you will accompany me to the opposite room, where you will be Sorted into your appropriate Houses." She left with a swish of her robes.
"Sorted?" Jean whispered to Harry, who was the nearest person to her and the one she most trusted. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," Harry muttered back, looking awfully pale and very scared. "Ron says there's some sort of test."
Jean hardly had time to become sick at the thought, because at that very moment there was a sneering, disdainful voice from beside them. "So, you're the famous Potter twins," Snapped a cold voice, and everyone turned to see a thin, blonde boy scowling at the dark-haired twins. It was the same boy who had sneered at them in Madame Malkins, and Jean felt distinctly cowed by both the situation and his domineering presence. "I didn't recognize you in the shop," He said carelessly. "Otherwise I'm sure we would have been friends." His artic blue eyes turned to Ron, who was still rubbing at the spot of dirt on his nose. "I see you've made do with the Weasley brood, though," The boy sneered. He held out a hand aggressively, smirking at Harry. "I'm Draco Malfoy. You don't have to stay with him," He added, curling his lip at Ron, who flushed a dark, blotchy red.
"Ron and I are just fine, thanks," Harry said firmly, not accepting Draco's hand. He didn't want to glance at Jean – what was she going to say?
"What about you?" Draco said, turning to Jean. There was an icy chill in his eyes now, an iron-hard determination.
"I don't need friends," Jean said, very quietly, "And I certainly don't need you as one."
It would have been a profound statement if she hadn't stuttered halfway through, and she never met his eyes; but he got the message. Draco opened his mouth, perhaps to say something nasty, perhaps to snarl at them, but the doors flew open and Professor McGonagall stood there again, scroll in hand. "First years," She said tartly, eyeing Draco, "Please follow me."
The first years followed the sharp outline of the Professor through the doors, and up a small flight of wooden steps. There was a small antechamber, and the gathering of children barely squeezed inside. McGonagall gestured towards the door. "When I call your name," She began, "You will walk through the doors and take a seat on the stool. There, the Sorting Hat shall Sort you into your proper House, and then you shall join that House at the appropriate table. Am I clear?" She asked. There was a quiet murmur of tense acquiescence. "Very well," She said.
"Abbott, Hannah!" Professor McGonagall called, and a chubby girl with thick blonde ponytails followed her timidly. The rest of the group strained to see what would happen, and Hannah took a trembling seat on the stool. A tattered, dusty old hat was placed reverently on her head, and there was a long moment of silence. Then the rip on the seam opened, and shouted out,
"Hufflepuff!"
"Wear the hat?" Ron sputtered incredulously. "That's all? My brother's were going on about wrestling trolls and brewing poisons..."
Harry smiled faintly, still unsure – what if the Hat took one look inside his head and decided he didn't think he was the Wizarding sort at all? He wished desperately he could have tried on the hat without all of those people watching. From this distance, they were a blank, faceless crowd, but he was certain he would be able to pick out details when he came closer.
They waited. And waited. And waited. The crowd in the small antechamber thinned, and Jean felt as though she was able to breathe.
"Finnegan, Seamus!" McGonagall called, and a curly-haired boy stumbled forward, accepting the hat. There was an unendurably long silence, during which the tips of Seamus's ears turned bright pink. After a lengthy pause, the Hat conceded Seamus to be a Gryffindor.
"Granger, Hermione!" A bushy-haired girl with abnormally large front teeth bounded forward, accepting the hat and shutting her eyes tightly.
"Gryffindor!"
"Malfoy, Draco!"
Barely a second after the hat touched his head, the hat proclaimed, "Slytherin!"
There were less and less people, now, only a handful left. The Patil twins, someone named Parkinson, and then -
"Potter, Harry!"
Whispers struck through the hall. "Potter? The Potter?" The chattering swelled when Harry stepped onto the wooden stage, his his stomach knotted and hung, twisted, in his middle. He sat down on the chair, nails digging into the wooden boards, and he couldn't bear to look at the sea of admiring faces. The hat dropped over his eyes, and he only saw blackness. There was a peculiar scent, too – something like sandalwood, and dusty old books.
Mm, The hat whispered in his mind, Tricky one, aren't you? There's a lot of courage in you, boy, oh, yes. A nice thirst for ambition...a desire to please...But where to put you?
Not Slytherin, Harry through frantically, remembering Hagrid's words. He wasn't going to be Sorted into a House where all evil wizards came from. Anything but that.
Not Slytherin, eh? The hat inquired. You would be great, you know – it's all here, right inside your little head. But, very well – better be -
"Gryffindor!"
There was a storm of applause, and Harry shakily descended the steps. The Gryffindor table was the rowdiest – large crimson-and-gold hangings decorated the air above them, and there was a crimson runner stretching along the length of their long table. People were whooping and cheering, slapping him hard on the back, and he smiled, relieved. Was that it? He hadn't been humiliated, he hadn't been Sorted into Slytherin. Perhaps he was Wizarding stock after all! He sat down numbly, staring at a spot on the table, unable to believe his good fortune. Someone was shouting congratulations in his ear, but he jerked out of his reverie when he heard:
"Potter, Jean!"
Jean was terrified. She wished she could have crawled away, gotten back on the train, and leapt straight back into the comfort and safety of the Orphanage. But every eye was on her, and the blood sounded hard and unnatural in her ears. Should she run? Should she continue? Her shaking legs propelled her to the stool, and she sat, staring at the floor, quivering like a rabbit. Like her brother, there was utter darkness when the hat dropped onto her head, and the scent of sandalwood swung across her nose. A tiny voice in her ear made her flinch.
Not as brave as your brother, are you? The hat noted, But you've got a head on your shoulders, that's for certain. Mm. Hard worker, too, eh?
Don't make a mistake, Jean pleaded silently.
Oh, there's no mistake about it, the hat said firmly.
"Hufflepuff!" The hat roared.
Jean didn't know how she wound up by the Hufflepuff table, because her legs appeared to have a mind of their own. Her head was whirling, and a giddy sense of relief was soaring through her veins. She thought she might laugh, or cry, or possibly just lay there for the rest of her life. It was over! She had done it! Someone was ruffling her hair, and she finally focused on what was in front of her. Black and yellow hangings were swooped artistically over her head, and a buttercup yellow runner raced across their long table.
There were several more young people ready to receive the hat, but Jean stared stupidly at the floor the entire time. The whole thing seemed so surreal – getting her letter, coming here, and now, Sorted into a House! A family. More than just a place to stay, it was a place to live.
Someone poked her, and she found herself looking into the blue eyes of a blonde girl who was giving her a warning look. "Professor Dumbledore," The girl whispered, and Jane turned her head to see a tall, white-bearded old man standing up. His beard hung to his waist in a shining silver wave, and he wore robes of lush, subtle purple. Half-moon glasses, rimmed with gold, couldn't hide a pair of sparkling blue eyes.
"Welcome!" he cried. "Welcome to a wonderful new year at Hogwarts. But before we begin our marvelous feast, I wish to say a few words. Nitwit! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak!" He sat down with great aplomb, and Jane blinked twice.
"What...?" She asked, and the blonde girl at her elbow answered.
"That's Professor Dumbledore," She said, in a high, chirruping voice which reminded Jean of small canaries. "He's a bit strange, but nobody can argue against his teaching methods. He's been here for years, and he's won all sorts of awards. Are you going to eat, Jean, or are you going to sit there with your mouth open?"
Jean blinked, and her jaw dropped a little more.
Spread before her was a dazzling array of food – turkey, chicken, steak, crisps, roasted tomatoes, buttered mashed potatoes, huge baskets of garlic bread, wide servers of pasta. The dishes, plates, forks and cups were all gold or crystal, and amazingly heavy; pitchers of drink were being passed around courteously, and there was a babble of cheerful talk exploding over the Great Hall. Fried chicken passed by Jean's astonished nose, followed quickly by sizzling teriyaki skewers. She didn't quite know where to begin, but she hesitantly scooped a swath of fluffy mashed potatoes onto her plate and took a bite. They were delicious, and she closed her eyes briefly.
"It's a lot to take in," The blonde girl continued. "By the way, I'm Sophie Morrison, your Prefect. I'll be showing you where everything else is later, so stay close to me, all right?"
Jean wasn't entirely sure if she nodded; she was still trying to comprehend how so much food had appeared so suddenly. Her practical side began trying to analyze it, and then her hunger washed over her. Shut up and eat, she told herself, and began piling vegetables on top of her potatoes.
She wasn't sure how long they had been sitting there, but she felt incredibly tired and in desperate need of a bed. When Professor Dumbledore dismissed them, there was a lazy movement by all of the stuffed students as they got to their feet. Sophie was joined by a tall, angular, sandy-haired boy, and the two of them led the entire group of Hufflepuffs towards the stairs. While the other Houses began heading upwards, Sophie led the students downstairs, past huge paintings and across long hallways. Jean tried to remember where she was and how to get there, but the food and relief had made her quite sleepy, and she wanted to get to bed. However, she noticed several things – one, that the lower they went, the quieter it got, and also that Sophie appeared to be conversing quite easily with the tall sandy-haired boy.
They turned sharply left, and found themselves in a little nook. The sandy-haired boy pointed out several gigantic oaken barrels which stood sentry in the corner. "This is the entrance to the Common Room," He said, and his voice was warm and smooth as a bolt of silk. It made Jean even sleepier. "To get inside, just tap the slats here, here, and here, to the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff', and you'll get in. If you don't –" He broke off and chuckled a little. "Well, hopefully none of you are allergic to vinegar."
He tapped the slats on the barrel, and a door swung open from the wall, pushing the barrels aside. Sophie led them still downwards, and Jean saw that the walls were made of smooth, hard clay. When they reached the main Common Room, there were assorted gasps from the first years, and nostalgic sighs from the older teenagers. Jean had never seen a cozier place in her life – the ceiling was quite low, and the room was circular, crowned at either end with a blazing hearth. There was burnished copper everywhere; on doorknobs, on edges, on tea trays. There were lounges and armchairs, along with one big, sloppy couch which was covered with handmade quilts. Round windows gave them an excellent view of a meadow, full of daisies and dandelions, and there appeared to be potted plants everywhere. However, the potted plants were all moving restlessly, waving leaves in greeting and bristling spiny, exotic flowers. The room had the general feeling of the comfortable burrow of some giant animal, and Jean liked it right away. Over the main hearth, there was a large, moving portrait of a badger about to get honey out of a hive. The badger dropped on all fours and winked at the approaching first years, offering a cheery, "Good evening," in a deep Irish grumble.
The doors were circular, and Sophie opened one to lead the girls off to the right. "John will show the boys where their dormitories are," She said, and bid John a quick good night. Jean followed the slender blonde girl, along with three other young Hufflepuffs, until they reached their destination. Sophie smiled when she saw the appreciation on the girl's faces, and showed them into their room. Again, it was a circular, slightly stooped room, and there were four large beds inside taking up most of the space. Beneath each bed was their trunks, and the bedspreads were warm yellow quilts which seemed slightly faded but lovingly used. A red braided rug accented the floor, and there were stacks of comforters at the foot of each bed. There were no hangings or drapes – just large, comfy looking beds and a nightstand by each mattress. Jean recognized her trunk and went over to her bed, sitting down and pulling her glasses off. She was amazingly tired.
"The bathroom is down there," Sophie said, pointing down the hall. "You can't miss it. Good night, girls, and make sure you get a good night's rest." She shut the circular door softly behind her. Jean carefully unclipped her barrettes and laid them next to her glasses on the bedstead. A timid squeak caught her attention, and she saw Remmington's wicker cage next to her bed. Hurriedly, she opened it and spilled the frightened rat onto her bed.
A small squeal of alarm made Jean look up, and she saw Hannah Abbott cringing away from Remmington. "A rat!" She cried. "Ew, put it away! There shouldn't be rats here!"
"He's all right," Jean said in a small voice, picking up her plump black rat and cradling him, slightly defensively. Remmington sniffed her shirt interestedly, and then nibbled her finger. "I got him at the pet shop."
"I have a cat," A black-haired girl said uncertainly. "Marshmallow. Will they get along, do you think?"
Jean looked at the fluffy white cat which was purring loudly on the girl's bed. So far, the two animals hadn't appeared to notice one another. "I don't know," Jean said. "Aren't all cats supposed to hate rats?"
"Mallow doesn't hate much of anything," The black haired girl sighed. "He doesn't do much of anything either, except eat and sleep." She looked at Remmington. "They ought to be okay. By the way, my name's Amy Sanders." She gave a little smile. "And I know your name – you're Jean Potter."
"What's it like, being a Potter?" Spoke up a blonde girl who was standing with her toothbrush in her hand. She cocked her head curiously at Jean. "I mean, is it hard? People must stop you everywhere!"
"I wouldn't know," Jean said, looking away. "I didn't know I was famous until a few months ago. I didn't know I had a brother, either."
Amy's mouth fell open. "But – you're the Potter twins!" She cried. "How could you not know?"
"I just didn't," Jean said tiredly. "I'm going to go wash up before bed," She sighed, and put Remmington down on her pillow. The girls burst into whispers the second Jean was out the door, but she was too tired to worry about it.
When she came back in twenty minutes later, Marshmallow and Remmington were both curled up next to one another, snug and safe on top of the braided rug. She paused to scoop up her pet rodent and put him safely at the foot of her bed, and she heard him snuffling and squeaking, finding a comfortable place between her ankles.
We're off to a good start, she thought tiredly, before her head hit the feather pillow and she fell asleep.
A/N: Do I have an excuse for being so behind in my stories? Yes. But it's kind of personal, so suffice to say that my family has been in total disarray. This is the first chance I've had at a computer, so I wrote a nice big chapter for you guys! I would love it if you reviewed and told me what you thought – that would truly make my day. Thanks so much for reading this!