Change of Heart

Fateful Sorting

I was expecting the ground would suddenly envelop me, but I was out of luck. The hat exclaimed, "Gryffindor!" I watched as the burgundy bled across my grey tie, which was covered in wide bands of gold. My robe's breast pocket revealed a ferocious lion. A faint, scarlet line appeared around the hem of my jumper and along the V-edges. neck's as fellow pupils' eyes fell upon me, their whispers filled my ears, everything felt a little tighter, as if the tie was strangling me, and my robe grew twenty-times heavier. My eyes darted across to my siblings in the hopes of receiving some sort of consolation—a hug, a smile, or even just a simple gesture of acknowledgment—but all I saw was their shocker to eyes and slack jaws. Rosalind's eyes were filled with anxiety and horror, and it instantly dawned on me what a precarious situation I was in.

"Well, go to your table, dear," McGonagall nodded, placing a hand on my shoulder and nudging me upwards. I was unsure how I would fair walking towards the Gryffindor table, tightening my fingers around the body of the stool. I inhaled deeply as I turned my head to face the ground, praying no one would see the tears that were brimming from the sides of my eyes and threatening to pierce and fall. I took a tentative step in the direction of the House table before carefully removing my fingers, levelling myself, and standing up. There was a deafening silence throughout the hall, no roars, whistles, or claps coming from it. I made the executive decision to take a seat at the far end of the dining table while my fist trembled in despair and shame.

"What is she doing here? A Warwick in Gryffindor? She doesn't belong here," Ronald whispered to Harry without realising I could hear every single word. I still sat tall, letting his words of spite drip down my back as for a rare moment, I had agreed with a Weasley; I did not belong here. Just like my father and mother before me, and the many generations before them, we were always placed in Slytherin house. It was our home away from home, our birth right and our place of origins. It was where a Warwick would begin their story with many triumphs. Granger glared at Ronald, rolling her eyes before turning to look at me.

"Hey are you-"

"Don't talk to me," I interrupted, turning my attention to the front of the hall. I watched as the remaining names were sorted into their houses.

"See, I told you she doesn't belong here," Ronald continuing with Potter nodding in agreement.

"Weasley, don't think I can't hear you," I muttered to him. His eyes went wide, turning his attention to the sorting ceremony quickly. Feeling a slight victory from making Weasley nervous, I couldn't help but fall into the deep thoughts and worries plaguing my mind and wondering what was going to happen next.

A sudden screech filled the halls from a chair being pushed back, and Dumbledore slowly rose to his feet. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" The hall sat in total shock as the strange array of words fell from lips before an eruption of giggles and laughter filled the hall once more. At the sound of delight and a soft clap from the headmaster, the tables were filled with food from crispy, golden roast chicken to oily, flavoursome pork, beef-dripping roast potatoes to steamed carrots and apple crumble to chocolate cake.

The man, as my mother correctly put it, seemed totally bonkers. The bizarre words he left the room with puzzled us all, wondering if they had some secret meaning; however, all it did was leave a small smile across my face at the ridiculousness of it. However, to give him created, he delivered on the promise of a banquet. Various foods crowded the table: dessert at one end with a tall, fluffy Victoria sponge cake and the savoury foods at the other while the sides formed a wall around the main dishes. The sausages were perfectly fried, leaving a crispy skin but a meaty, soft middle. The roast potatoes held an inviting aroma of a rosemary and beef, and in large silver jugs were some juices.

Outstretched arms flooded the table, fighting each other to grab as much food as possible. I hadn't had the chance to think where to begin before half the food had disappeared before my eyes; however, without a second to spare another full plate of hot sausages appeared. I grabbed more than I could eat: three slices of roast chicken and pork, five sausages, ten roast potatoes and some vegetables. I grabbed two large slices of Victoria Sponge with a side of vanilla ice cream. I was most likely going to be sick trying to eat this all, but it gave me something to focus upon other than the peering gaze of the Muggle sitting a few seats away from me and the daunting letter I would have to write to mother.

I found myself getting sick of the main dinner, struggling to lift another forkful of sausages and mash-potatoes, and turned to my desert. The sponge was delicate, melting upon my tongue the moment it entered my mouth. The soft cream left a sweet, sugary aftertaste which mixed well with the strawberry jam. Slowly, I began to take more and more bites before the two slices turned to one, then none at all. The food resolved some of the anxiety burying within my stomach, leaving it feeling warm and full. I felt at peace for the first time today, all over a bit of cake and a roast dinner.