I could almost feel the glare burning into the side of my face. It turns out that when Moth said he didn’t like magical beasts, he really meant it. But in my defence, he did let me walk around with my dancing unicorn bra on show – so really, it’s karma. Not that I’m in charge of karma or anything… because, if I was, then Rose and Roxanne would have put on at least five pounds after they stole my birthday cake. But no – skinny cousins eat whole cake and they stay skinny. Molly eats ONE SLICE before evil cake-eaters steal it… and I go up a dress size. Pshh. For the record, we’ll ignore the six chocolate bars and three bags of crisps eaten previously. It was my birthday. Don’t judge.
Maybe karma will be my new superpower? Perhaps Gran is putting me through so much bad luck… so I can understand what my victims will feel once the power kicks in. OH MY GOSH – I’d be in control of ALL LUCK!
I’ll just yonder up (hear the Shakespeare? Feel the intelligence) to some random person on the street and be like, “yo, dude,” (for some reason I’ll imitate a parent trying to ‘relate’) “you spent your entire life building houses in Africa, teaching the deaf to sign AND gave away your life savings to preserve British land – only to return home and find your wife has moved in with the gardener?” *Gasp* “Then here my fellow companion – have a puppy!” Let’s face it, everyone loves puppies. Then they’ll beg their gratefulness and I’ll be like, “please – don’t thank me. Thank Captain Karma!” And then I’ll fly off into the sunset (I’ll check the forecast previously to make sure it won’t rain) with my additional superpower of flying. (Please note: I will now be calling myself Captain Karma – it’s so much catchier then ‘Molly’.)
“What?” A voice interrupted my inner realisation of my new (possible) superpower. Moth was watching me in concern. One dark eyebrow lifted whilst his lips pressed into a thin line at his reluctance to speak to me. “What did you say?” he repeated when I failed to reply.
“I…er..uphm..we…” Damn. I looked out the side of the carriage for inspiration and saw a glimpse of flickering light in front of us. The pounding rain covered all other sound and the trails of raindrops down my face ran into my eyes, making everything appear slightly blurred. “I said… we’re nearly there.”
Moth looked at me shrewdly. “No you didn’t.” His brows furrowed into a frown. “You said Captain Piranha.”
“Captain Piranha?” I repeated slowly, my brain working at double-speed. “No… I said… capthatllama.”
“Pardon?” Moth asked, his icy blue eyes darting between me and the distance from the school.
“I said… Cap. That. Llama.” I replied slowly. Cap that llama? There isn't even a llama nearby! Well done Molly - he now thinks you want to clothe a llama.
“What?” Moth asked, slowly scratching the side of his nose.
“What? Llama's get cold too! Sometimes they want a wooley hat... and when it's hot... they might get sunstroke. Llama's like caps.” I wonder if I sellotaped my moth shut, the blurt would just pop out my ears. Then I'd be a ear-talking ginger. Which would be pretty awesome. It would count as a power. I'd prefer being captain of karma though.
The silence seemed to slowly tick by. One agonising second at a time. “Rightt.” Moth nodded, slowly sliding out of the carriage which had now stopped by a hand-made sign.
I winced as a loud squelch echoed as Moth jumped onto the dirt-covered ground. He was a lot wetter than me – Grewner had grudgingly handed us each a waterproof blanket to keep our bodies dry… but as I said… it was karma. Moth totally deserved it.
I was angry at Moth, you see, as he had let me wander around with my bra on show. We’d walked up to the carriage and Moth showed a hint of chivalry by lifting my trunk into the carriage, when I noticed our horses were tied a little away whilst being covered in a horse ‘rain-coat’ (I’m sorry – but I very much doubt wild horses refuse to step outside in the rain because they didn’t have a rain coat). Revenge was there. Staring me in the face. You see, all I did was ‘pretend’ to speak to some thestrals.
Moth immediately started acting jumpy, his eyes fixed on the air that I was ‘patting’. “Who’s a good girl?” I cooed, desperately attempting to stifle my grin. Moth’s eyes were wide. “Oh look,” I turned around and pointed at the space behind Moth, “you’ve brought some friends.”
A whimper escaped his lips and Moth spun round to face the air behind him, before turning back to face me and the ‘thestrals’. Indecision and fright etched into the lines around his eyes. I was just starting to feel bad and yet satisfied that my revenge had gone so well, when Moth let out a cry and… fell back into the large puddle behind him. That’s when I started to feel guilty. Not helped when Grewner then handed us each a waterproof blanket – meaning I stayed nice and dry… whilst Moth just got wetter.
“Well, are you coming?” Timothy stood on the ground, our trunks at his feet.
I nodded, coming back to the present. “Sure.”
He nodded, grabbed his trunk and started to climb the sharp incline of the steep hill. I jumped down, grabbed my trunk and attempted to catch-up with the tall, black-haired boy who was dragging his trunk up the muddy hill.
By the time we’d reached the top, I was out of breath. Who the hell would be able to climb up that MOUNTAIN with a TRUNK and not DIE?! Moth, apparently.
His brows quirked as he heard my heavy breathing – he wasn’t even red! I immediately began to take small, quick breaths instead of panting, so it would appear that I was fitter. Moth shook his head, dumped his trunk by all the others and pushed open the grey door with a metal handle, before disappearing inside.
The rain was still heavy, my blanket keeping me dry, but I still couldn’t see further that a couple metres and only flickering lights in the distance. The building in front of me was long and built with crumbling red bricks. High windows were metres apart, thick bars covering each one. Where the hell am I?
Following suit, I dropped my trunk and pushed on the metal door. It swung open and a wave of heat immediately engulfed me. I let the door close, and a smile unconsciously etched across my face.
“Excuse me.” A small voice pulled me out of daydream, I looked down to see a small girl – possibly eleven or twelve – with blonde pigtails framing her heart-shaped face. “We put the blankets over there, ‘cause Danny said that the water started to go through his after a while – and it’s warm enough anyway.” The little girl gestured to a boy with curly brown hair.
I smiled and nodded. “Okay, thanks.”
The girl beamed in response, “and there’s some hot chocolate over there.” She gestured to a table with plastic cups and thick brown liquid in a glass jug. “We asked if there was any food – the food lady gave us these.” The girl held out a plastic wrapper of two biscuits, she looked up at me, her big brown eyes blinked slowly. “I think they’re all gone though. You can have mine.”
I was about to respond when the familiar sound of a shrill whistle filled the long hall. Mr Whestle was standing behind a plastic fold-away desk, a large bag at his feet. The hall grew quiet and we turned to face the balding man, who had managed to find some safety pins to piece his shirt back together, expectantly.
Mr Whestle coughed and edged to the side, revealing a small man that was easily overlooked. He was the height of my chest, his white hair thinning around his red face. His nose was wide and perched upon it was a pair of rounded spectacles. His spine was hunched and he wore a long red robe that trailed on the floor behind him. “Good – you’re all here.” Mr Whestle’s nasally voice filled the room. “If anyone’s not here – say your name.” There was silence. I managed to catch Moth’s eye - was he being serious?. “Good. You’re about to be sorted – this is your headmaster, Professor Getchen.” Mr Whistle gestured to the small man.
Two children – looking to be thirteen – whispered amongst themselves. Mr Whestle’s eyes widened and within seconds his whistle was in his thin-lipped mouth. Three short toots caught the children’s attention – they faced the front with a red tinge around their cheeks.
“I said, you are about to be sorted. When I call your name, step forward and be sorted into the four school houses by the sorting hat.” That got my attention – as it did from the entire hall. Most of us had heard our siblings or parents retell the story of their own sorting’s – I’d always assumed it was an experience I’d never have. But he just said… I was going to be sorted! I briefly wondered how the hat managed to get from Hogwarts to… wherever the hell I am, but immediately came to the conclusion of magic.
I looked around for a hint of the legendry sorting hat. A murmur spread through the hall in confusion as Mr Whestle grandly opened the bag at his feet and pulled out… a bowler hat.
“After consulting the headmasters of Hogwarts and many meetings between the heads of the Ministry – it has been decided that you will be split into the four traditional houses to enable you a similar experience to your family members.” A woman with blonde hair said sharply, her grey eyes roaming over the crowd in front of her as she now stood next to Mr Whestle and Professor Getchen. “Now, Abigail Ainsley.”
The woman’s sharp voice carried through the room. There was a pause and the young girl who had just spoken to me shuffled forwards. Mr Whestle sneezed, grabbed the bowler hat that I’d been studying and then stepped forwards to meet Abigail.
They wouldn’t seriously- Mr Whestle held the dark grey bowler hat in front of him and gestured for Abigail to put her hand in.
They’ve got to be kidding… they wouldn’t really sort us by-
Abigail pulled a shaking hand from the hat, a piece of purple paper was clutched in-between her fingers. Hell no! When they said ‘sorting hat’, they really meant a ‘sorting hat’. The blonde woman stepped forwards and took the piece of paper, before loudly proclaiming, “Slytherin!”
The sweet little girl let out a whimper and was sent to stand under a piece of paper with the letter ‘S’ hastily written on in green ink. Wow. That’s just… evil. Abigail shook silently under her letter, her blonde pigtails moving with every shuddering breath.
“Ethan Arrowsmith.” The woman called off her purple clipboard that I now noticed was placed on the foldable table. A boy who looked to be fifteen and had long red hair stepped forwards cautiously. Yet before he could repeat the process of pulling a name from a hat, a loud screech interrupted the proceedings.
I looked up to see three owls, one brown and two grey, swoop into the long hall via an open window which was missing bars at the back. One of the grey owls held a thick envelope, whilst the other two carried a large leather box between them.
Mr Whestle let out a large sigh and murmured something suspiciously like, “that plan’s boring,” as the owls dropped the large box on the foldable table. The envelope dropped into Professor Getchen’s outstretched hand. He nodded slowly to the blonde-haired woman.
“Miss Ainsley – you may step away from the corner, please re-join your fellow squibs.” Oi! We’re not a nation, lady! What’s wrong with ‘classmates’? Honestly! Abigail let out a gasp and scurried back into the crowd, hiding herself amongst the older students – as if fearful that the woman would change her mind and put the little girl back in Slytherin.
“Right, you.” The woman pointed at Moth who stood closest to her. “Name?”
“Bones, Timothy Bones.”
The woman ran a long finger down her list. “Right.” She said sharply. “Well, Mr Bones, you’ll go first.” She gestured for Moth to join her at the front and he shuffled forward apprehensively. The woman turned to face us. “We’ve just received confirmation that the Ministry have decided another method of sorting has been decided. We’re sorry for any inconvenience caused, and please mention to your parents that the owls were delayed.” The woman watched us carefully before nodding sharply. “Right, Mr Bones. I’m going to need some hair.”
“Some hair?” Moth repeated slowly, his eyes darting to me and back to the blonde haired woman who was holding out her hand.
She sighed, “Yes, Mr Bones. Some hair. I wouldn’t have asked, if I didn’t want some. And why do you keep looking over there?” Her sharp gaze followed his, to me. Brilliant. “What? You’re scared she’ll mock you? Well she can go next then, can’t she?” The woman said sweetly, her hand still open for its expectant hair. Cheers for that one.
Moth reached into his dark hair and gave a sharp tug. Mr Whestle handed the woman a thin see-through tube of ‘gloopy-looking’ liquid – polyjuice potion. She held the tube towards Moth and he hesitantly dropped his strand of hair into the tube. The liquid immediately began to bubble.
The liquid deepened into a dark blue, which was soon combined by a swirl of red and a burst of gold. The red deepened into a black and the liquid settled into a dark blue with a black rim. The blonde lady nodded and gestured towards Professor Getchen. He had opened the envelope and appeared to be analysing a… colour chart.
Where. The. Hell. Am. I?
The three teachers muttered amongst themselves before Professor Getchen’s frail voice proclaimed, “Ravenclaw!”
Moth’s brows quirked and he slowly shuffled over to the corner with the letter ‘R’ written on a piece of paper. The blonde woman nodded again before turning back to the crowd. “Right, you.” Her long finger pointed me from the crowd; any children near me shuffled away. “Miss-?”
“Weasley.” I said nervously. “Molly Weasley.”
The woman’s painted eyebrows disappeared into her platinum hair. “Well I guess it’s true – every family has one.” I frowned; what the bloody hell did she mean by that? “Very well, Miss Weasley. Come along – we haven’t got all night.”
I scowled, quickly coming to conclusion that I wasn’t going to like this woman. “Some hair, Miss Weasley.” I lifted my hand to the sensitive spot where the Muggle fan had nearly made me bald. Luckily some of the hair was loose, but hadn’t yet fallen out.
A thin tube was held up and I dropped a strand of vibrant red hair into the potion. The effect was instant; the liquid deepened into a dark red. The staff leant over the colour chart and seemed to be tapping one of the deep reds under the letter ‘G’. Gryffindor, huh. Well at least I’ll fit in with my family.
Yet before I could open my mouth, the liquid started to lighten. It got brighter and brighter until it became a shining gold; the woman glared at the tube and bent back over the chart where the headmaster had moved his finger onto a gold square – still under the letter ‘G’.
Huh. Once again, I barely moved an inch before a shoot of black darted across the tube. Mr Whestle tapped the headmaster on the arm and gestured to the shooting black liquid. Professor Getchen nodded and moved his finger to the right where there was a golden square with black lines; this time under the letter ‘H’. Hufflepuff? Really? Oh god – I can just hear James’ gloating now. Well, this is going to be embarrassing. The squib that joined the house with no special qualities. Woo.
I sighed and opened my mouth to come out with a smart and sophisticated comment – which would be classy and funny at the exact same time – when the thin tube caught my attention again. The gold and black were starting to mingle; the colours entwining to create a new colour.
Oh. Hell. No. Come on Gran – please, just this once. Please. Please. Please.
The rim settled as a blinding silver. The headmasters finger moved further right. Mr Whestle nudged the blonde woman who was watching me carefully. “Professor Skeeter.”
She nodded slowly. “Congratualtions, Miss Weasley. You’ve joined my house.” I looked down at the tube which was now a bright emerald green. “Slytherin.”
I'm so sorry for the long wait for an update - also for those who read my other stories - as I've just finished my final exams, and have all summer to focus on HPFF! Expect quicker updates! xD
What do you think? Unique Sorting? Molly? Swanleys? Moth? Please review!! :)