“Charlotte Marquet!” Professor McGonagall calls. I take a deep breath, put my hands at my sides, and walk forward to the stool. Hesitantly I sit down, taking care not to stumble on my robes. Professor McGonagall places the Sorting Hat on my head. I hear a loud voice inside my skull.
“Hmmm…well now, what have we here? I see intelligence…hmm…let’s see, not the most loyal person out there, are you?” I hear a snide voice inside my head. Was it the Hat? “Oh my, that’s quite a lot of ambition to find in a child…no qualms about what you’d have to do to get what you want, eh? SLYTHERIN!” The Hat had whispered the last few words, so I am shocked by the sudden outburst. I can scarcely hear the loud clapping. There is another matter troubling me: Which table is the Slytherin table? I peek at the robes of the students at each table, and decide it to be the one in the corner; the table that also seems to be clapping the most. I sit down at the far end, far away from everyone. I hope no one will sit next to me. My heart finally slows down, and I am calm enough to turn my attention to the Sorting.
“Harry Potter!” The room erupts in whispers and pointing. I wonder why they’re whispering. Just who is this Harry Potter? The Sorting Hat takes a much longer time with Harry Potter than it had with anyone else. Finally, it shouts out, “GRYFFINDOR!”
The clapping is vociferous. Slowly, it subsides and Professor McGonagall calls out another name. I sink into my mind and wonder about tomorrow. I am excited, no doubt about that, but nervous. What if I can’t do anything? But no, the school wouldn’t have sent for me if I wasn’t a real witch. Strangely, though, I come from two non-magical parents and nobody in my family is magical, at least, as far as I know. It was certainly a shock to my mother when my letter came, and she was very reluctant about letting me come to Hogwarts. I had never been away from her before, and boarding school would be a very big change. It took a lot of convincing on my part to get her to let me go. She agreed, although I was to write her every other day, to let her know how I was doing.
Suddenly, I look up to see food on the table! I don’t understand”how did it get there? Oh well”this is a magical world after all! I start to load up my plate, but stop. I am always forgetting to watch my diet. A person with diabetes can’t eat as much as they want to. I take small portions of everything, and even though I want to eat more, I stop. If I want any dessert, I would have to stop. So, while everyone else enjoys the main course, I look at the teachers. I don’t know any of them, of course, except for the witch who had just introduced herself during the Sorting as Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore, who had visited my mother and I in the summer to take us to Diagon Alley. I soon grow bored, and long for a book, but they are all in my trunk (which I assume had been brought up to my bedroom, since I had seen no fellow students carrying luggage), so I keep looking around.
I notice that the Harry Potter boy is sitting between two red-haired people, who are talking animatedly. I sigh. I choose not to have friends, but at times I lament that decision. But friends are nothing but a waste of time, a setback. Besides, I can never gather enough courage to actually speak to anyone.
Dessert appears a little later; I choose one thing and eat half of it. It is torture, but I have no other choice. Once again, I have to wait until everyone finishes. Once they do, the “Prefects” as they are called, lead us to our bedrooms. We are led down to the dungeons. The Prefect speaks the password, “Naga”, and a stone door that had been hidden in the wall slides open. The room is dark and damp, and has not the smallest trace of warmth, except for the fireplace in the center.
“This,” the Prefect says arrogantly. “is the Slytherin common room. The girls’ dormitories are up the stairs on the right, and the boys’ are up the stairs to the left.” I walk around, exploring the room. I will definitely not be spending my time here. I go up to the dormitory the Prefect pointed out, and find three other girls there. None of them are very pretty, except for one with short black hair, and even she isn’t pretty; simply plain.
My trunk is at the foot of the four-poster bed next to the window. I open it and pull out my robes, socks, and shoes and place them on top of the trunk so they could be ready for tomorrow. Then, I pull the curtains around me, take out a book and read until I can no longer keep my eyelids open. I place the book on my nightstand and go to sleep.
Somehow, I wake up right on time, according to my watch. I guess there must be some sort of silent magical alarm or something. I quickly go to the bathroom, while the others in the dorm are stretching, and then get dressed.
I go down to breakfast by myself. Not everyone is there; people are still filing in, however the food is already on the table, awaiting someone to come and hungrily devour it. I do just that, eagerly eating my toast and porridge. As soon as I finish eating, I hear someone say, “Keep eating like that and you’ll soon become a pig.”
I look up into the eyes of a blond boy with pale skin and cold gray eyes.
“And that would be such a shame for someone as pretty as you.” I want to just ignore him, really I do, but for some reason a voice inside me screams, “Fight back!” So I do. Well, it isn’t much of a fight, or even a comeback. I have never been good at those. I take things logically.
“Did you just insult me and compliment me at the same time?” I ask.
“Looks like it,” he shrugs, “I’m Draco Malfoy, by the way. You are…?”
I hesitate for a second, thinking about his strange name, and finally deciding that all wizards must have strange names, since I’d heard quite a few yesterday at the Sorting, I say, “I’m Charlotte Marquet.”
“Mm. Your parents?” he questions in a bored tone.
“What about them?” I ask.
“Their names?” he clarifies somewhat impatiently. I narrow my eyes.
“Since when does someone get to know another by asking their parents’ names? What are you up to?” I reply suspiciously.
“Straightforward, aren’t you?” he smirks. “So, who are your parents, Marquet?”
“Clarisse and Thomas Marquet,” I answer, still a bit confused. He frowns slightly, pondering something, it looks like.
“I’ve never heard of them. What do they do?” Draco inquired.
“Well, my father’s is dead, and my mother is a housewife.” The questions are really beginning to get on my nerves, but I answer him once more, only to be followed with another question.
“How do you live without money?”
“We live on Social Security.” Honestly, doesn’t the boy know anything?
“Social what?” he asks, as if he heard wrong.
“Social Security. It’s sort of similar to life insurance, you know?” His look remains blank as ever. I am lost. Don’t wizards have Social Security? “The point is, we have enough to get by.”
“I take it that ‘Social Security’ means your parents are Muggles?” he asks distastefully. I grimace. Muggles?
“What are Muggles?” I inquire.
“Yep, that says it all,” he snorts. “Muggles are non-magical people. You know, they’re not witches or wizards.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m the first witch in my family,” I inform him. Just as he’s about say something back, a loud flapping noise interrupts him and causes him to look up. I do so as well. My interrogation ends as hundreds of brown and black owls swoosh down, with letters in their beaks or tied to their legs. Draco Malfoy’s large owl drops a large package in his hands, which turns out to be cake. I myself had wanted an owl, for I love birds of all kinds, but my mother refused to ‘waste money on something so ugly and dispensable.’
A little while after the owl chaos, I receive my schedule. Today, Monday, I have double Transfiguration, then Herbology, then lunch. After that I have double Charms and History of Magic.
Professor McGonagall is very strict. I like her already; how she controls her class with a glance or a gesture. It is a basic introduction today, explaining she plans to do with us in class, and then she makes us take notes. Herbology is alright, but I was never much interested in flowers. After lunch, it’s Charms. Professor Flitwick is very funny, and I like him right away as well. Even though his class doesn’t have the strict, controlled atmosphere of Professor McGonagall’s, it’s fun. History of Magic is taught by a ghost, which makes me laugh at simplicity of it. His voice is really boring, though, and the atmosphere of his class only encourages sleep.
Throughout the rest of the week I experience the rest of my subjects. I really like Astronomy, for I have always been fascinated with the Solar System, only here we are taught things about the planets and their moons in more detail that I had ever taken. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell, stutters more than he speaks. The students all make fun of him and I dislike him for his lack of control. And last of all, I have the professor and class that interest me the most: Potions with Professor Snape.
Professor Snape keeps the class as controlled as Professor McGonagall, but where McGonagall inspires respect, Snape inspires fear. He goes around biting at everyone, except at those in his own House (I had learned quickly from Draco Malfoy who the Heads of the Houses were), and is completely unfair. He seems not to worry about falling into trouble because of his unjust treatment to the students and does things his own way.
I have been extremely careful and precise in my potion, wanting to receive a compliment from the stern Snape. I get what I want and, in my opinion, deserve.
“Excellent work, Miss Marquet,” drawls Professor Snape as he passes by. “Ten points to Slytherin.” I can see the jealous yet gleeful faces of my fellow Slytherins and the furious faces of the Gryffindors. I feel a certain pride overtake me, and I allow a small smile to grace my face.
Later at dinner, I think about my achievement in Potions and pick at the amounts of food my illness will allow me to eat, and chew slowly, savoring each bite, wondering about tomorrow. I’ve already gotten to like Hogwarts more than I had expected. The school has a certain aura about it, an atmosphere of coziness. The air seems to be saturated with magic, and that alone seems to be enough to cheer a person up.