Angeline, Angeline

I stare out the window; Jemma talks. She tells me stories I do not want to hear, rarely is there one I do. She talks of her family, her friends, her academic pursuits, and I absorb practically none of it.

"Here, Alex--can I call you Alex? I'm gonna call you Alex--see, when you start up at ol' Hoggy-warts, you gotta ask the Sorting Hat to put you in Hufflepuff, got it? That's my house, and 'o course you gotta be in my house. We'll be best friends. I'm sure everyone'd love to meet ya, anyways. I know 'em all; the girls'll be lining up to be your friend and the boys'll be drooling."

She grins, apparently at a pause in her constant conversation, and I assume she means for me to speak.

"Oh, you can request houses?"

"'Course you can! We're magic here, you can do pretty much anything if ya put your mind to it--least that's what the teachers say, ha-ha. But we go way back, betcha it'd listen to ya. You're nice anyhow. Hufflepuff gets all the nice kids."

I frown. Would this hat refuse to put me in Jemma's house if I was anything but nice, if I was something akin to how I had treated that boy named William earlier today? Maybe it wouldn't be that bad, anyways. Jemma is clearly trying to show me off to her friends, I doubt she's trying to get any closer to me, in the long run. She'll probably move on to somebody else, someone more new and interesting, the moment we become sixth-years.

If I could ask for one house, I suppose I could ask for another. What were the other options... Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor? Ravenclaw and Gryffindor seem hard to get into; I'm in no way exceptionally brave, or smart.

My father was in Slytherin, which would be equal parts good and bad for me. Would a teacher recognize my surname as him and inform me they had him as a student, or even worse, knew him when he was in grade school? It's unlikely, but specifically being in Slytherin barely changes my chances for that scenario, so it shouldn't affect my choice whatsoever.

"Whatcha thinking about, new girl?" I blink, looking up at Jemma, who is surveying my face very intently, her green-eyed gaze almost haunting.

"Just wondering how the hat could accurately judge what house you deserve to be placed in if it takes requests, as well." It is true and it is not true, halfway a lie and yet that was the direction my thoughts were taking anyways.

She shrugs. "Sorry. I don't know anything 'bout how it works. Guess it gets the final say, whether you want it or not."

I nod, because it does make sense, however much I do not want it to. 

***

Time passes, and Jemma moves on.

She gallivants out of my carriage with an apologetic smile and plenty of gossip to share with her real friends, and I smile back, my demeanor just as real as hers.

"See ya later, hopefully!" Jemma says, and the door closes with a soft whoosh behind her. I go back to staring out of my window, watching the hills pass by, bringing me further and further away from Angeline, the one woman in the world I know I can really trust. What would she say right now? She'd tell me that look, she was right, the people here loved me. She wouldn't look past their fake smiles, their probing questions, to the real truth. That is the way of optimism, of course. It is a virtue, in many ways, yet still there are plenty of reasons why happiness is not always beneficial; moments when sometimes a bit of pessimism truly is the answer.

Eventually, the train slows and then stops, and the commotion returns. Footsteps descend the hallway outside my door, all moving fast, a few running, a feat I can't imagine doing while holding onto my trunk. I slide open the door and push into the crowd. They don't move for me, but it is reciprocated as I don't move for anyone else either, pushing smaller boys out of my way with a glare I don't truly mean. My energy is spent. Already I have done plenty of socializing and analyzing, I doubt I'm ready for another full night of the same.

Outside the train there are carriages picking us up, led by terrifying skeletal horses I shy away from.

"Are they dangerous?" I whisper to a girl next to me, who appears to be younger, but not by much.

She blinks up at me. "What?"

"The horses. They're not dangerous, are they?"

The girl, short and brunette with a mature-looking face, glances around, apparently searching. "What horses?"

"The--oh, nevermind. It's fine."

Across from me, a boy, blond with crooked eyes and a hooked nose, gives me a sideways grin. "They're tame, don't worry about it."

I nod silently, wondering if he is making fun of me. Probably he is: it's likely that, for whatever reason, I am alone in this illusion, and perhaps he believes me mad, thinks it would be funny to play a bit with said belief. If I truly am seeing these strange hallucinations, maybe I am mad. Schizophrenic: isn't that the word? I knew someone once, who was. She was my age. She was unwell. I never saw her again.

We arrive at the castle in silence, and I gaze up at it in awe. I have seen pictures before, of course, but for whatever reason wizards seem to be unable of producing any with suitable resolution, and they come nowhere close to the magnificence of real life.

The boy walks by my side, the blond one with the odd face.

"I haven't seen you around before," he says factually, and I shoot him a sideways glare he probably doesn't deserve.

"Yes, I'm new." He looks me up and down, rather uncomfortably.

"You don't look like a first-year."

"I'm a fifth year."

"Really? We--"

I cut him off. "--never get new students? I know, I have had this conversation two times already. You all say the same words; with the same face, too."

He laughs, which I am surprised by; I was half-expecting offense, but he does not take my words as an insult, although I certainly did mean them that way.

"You're fiery. I like that."

"So you are not going to ask me my backstory, why I am here?"

He shrugs. "Well, first I'd ask you your name."

"Alexandra. Not Alex."

"Alexa, perhaps?"

I give him a look, confused by this strange boy. "I suppose that would be fine."

"Oh, well if you suppose so, then I'm definitely gonna call you Alexa," he says. The same sideways grin graces his face.

"Must you really make fun of the way I speak?"

"Well, you don't have an accent. Unless 'proper' counts."

"It doesn't."

"It could, though."

"Tell me your name again?"

"Atticus." I grin, but just slightly. "Should I call you Atti, then?"

He scoffs, but it is more similar to a laugh. "If that'd make you happy, then go ahead."

I laugh too, a feeling I'm not used to, especially not when Angeline is nowhere near.

We get to the gates, and I look up, nervous for possibly the first time. His shoulder bumps against mine, and if it's purposeful, which I genuinely can't tell, I assume it's meant to be comforting.

"C'mon, you'll be fine."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Let's hope so."

"I'll tell you a secret," he says, his voice dropping as he leans close to my ear. "I came here late, too, third year. You'll do great, you're more charming than me, even." I hold my breath, his own hot against the side of my face. He leans away.

It would be wrong to say that I have forgotten about him, about his presence, but I have certainly focused much more on the growing line in front of me, which we have now subtly joined, without much effort; very juxtapositionally to the train earlier. What I assume is a metal detector swipes me up and down, then the trunk, and we are inside.

A loud, sharp, female voice directs first-years one way and everyone else the other. Atticus gestures towards her, mouthing something I don't catch, and I walk up to the tall woman. She tells me to follow the first-years, and so I do.

We are told about this school, about its customs and expectations, but I do not listen, focused instead on the imminent sorting. Will I be singled out, just for being older? Would the Sorting Hat accept my request, if I were even to make one?

***

"Alexandra Roberts," calls out a deep voice, and I step forward, sitting down on the stool. With this many eyes on me, I do hope I look pretty. A tall brunette man with a short beard steps in front of me, smiling softly.

"I knew your father, Alexandra. He's a wonderful person." I can feel the shift in my expression, the frown that will give me away, the raised eyebrows that will be my doom.

"He is," I lie, whispering through my teeth. It is a lie in two ways: firstly the meaning, and second, he isn't anything anymore.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," says a voice in my ear, and I jump a little bit, hopefully erasing my previous expression off of my face.

I'm not a liar, I think, and the Hat emits a small life, proving that it can hear my thoughts. Creepy. 

"Ooh, aren't you sounding like a little Slytherin?" it says, and I involuntarily scowl, fixing my face. 

Could I get Hufflepuff? I ask, because having Jemma as a friend would better than no one. Shoot, I should have asked Atticus was house he was in, so maybe I could've requested that one instead.

It is too late now; long irrelevant. I will get what I get, and as the saying goes, I will not throw a fit. 

"Gryffindor, perhaps? You seem to be brave enough."

I frown, looking up as if my range of vision could ever reach what is atop my head. 

I do not want to settle for the house most everyone wants just because I am 'brave enough.' I want to be worth it, I want to be enough--doesn't everyone?

"Oh, alright then," the hat giggles, and then its voice rises, louder and louder until I am sure the entire world will be able to hear.

"Slytherin!" it announces.

I search the crowd. There is Jemma, looking disappointed with her little Hufflepuff friends, whispering to them, probably about how I must be evil, must be wicked. Nothing like the girl she met on the train, she will call me. 

The hat is taken off my head; I am led to my table, head fuzzy already, almost as if I've had too much wine. 

Multiple spots open up, and I choose one at random, gently sitting down, trying to make less of a fuss than I already have. Somebody taps me on the shoulders.

"Hey again, 'Lexa," Atticus says, and I look up, blinking. 

"Oh. Hello."

A girl across the table leans over, flashing me a bright white smile, her long, curly hair bouncing slightly with the movement. "So your name's Lexa?"

"Alexandra, actually."

Beside her sits another girl, straight-haired and blonde, and on the other side, a boy I recognize all too well; the one named William, from the train station. How is it that everyone I have met thus far is here, in the same place? Fate, or simply that like-minded people are often lured towards each other?

She wrinkles her nose. "Oh. Isn't that a boy's name?"

William shoves her shoulder playfully, guffawing. "Tha's what I said!"

Atticus turns to look at him. "You've met already?"

"It's not a boy's name," I say exasperatedly.

"Well, sure. But it's nice to meet you, I'm Amelia."

Amelia. That's a pretty name; prettier than mine if what everyone was saying today is true.

Amelia shoots William a playful glare; everything between them seems to be playful.

"Ignore those two, they're so annoying. Especially William," she says, and there is just enough insult in her voice to even out with the sarcasm, and made it indistinguishable between the two.

"If only I could."

She laughs, actually laughs, and I am proud of myself for making her laugh. I know my worth and I know it is more than the approval of strangers, but I know that it is also more than being friendless and alone. 

She seems just like Jemma though; only willing to be friends with me until I stop being interesting. Maybe it'd be better to befriend Atticus, instead, he seems to be kinder, more truthful. From just first impressions, I believe that I can trust him, a statement that can't be said about anyone else at this table, at least not yet. 

All I need is time, really. All I ever really need is time.