Rules of The Game: Hogwarts Years

Chapter 6: Letters from Home

Margaret hated waiting.

The remainder of the day passed slowly, and she hadn't been able to find the words to write a letter to her mother. Long after the sun had gone down, Margaret finished her letter containing much the same details as the letter to her father.

The second night passed as horrid as the first. Not a wink of sleep. As soon as the sun broke the horizon, Margaret made her way to the aviary before class to give Olimpia the letter. The owl set off happily, knowing she would be receiving plenty treats from Catalina.

The third night was just the same with little sleep and an ache on the left half of her face, which spread to her head when she laid down. Though Roni and the other two girls who never cared to introduce themselves to Margaret appeared to adjust just perfectly.

Margaret was too anxious for her letters; she couldn't bear it. She could imagine her mother opening up the letter with her slender fingers, reading it through twice, because her mother always read through letters twice in case she missed something the first time before forming her response. She could imagine her mother's quill moving delicately over the fresh parchment. Not a drop of ink was ever out of place. The careful ink strokes would describe her enormous disappointment in Margaret and her sorting. She would say that her father would be angry to hear of his only child being sorted into Hufflepuff. Catalina was the kind of woman who would so eloquently write what a disgrace Margaret was and she would be disowned from the family.

The anxiety of the wait was gnawing away at her as she attempted to imagine every possible response she could receive from her mother, from her father, and from the Malfoys. Even should a house change be possible, the damage had already been delt. The moment the Sorting Hat called out Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin or Ravenclaw, she was an outcast.

On the fifth night, Madam Pomfrey gave her a closed lipped look of worry. Her brow furrowed as Margaret lay down for her nightly potions.

"How have you been sleeping, Miss Ravens?" Madam Pomfrey asked, but it was a simple pleasantry. Madam Pomfrey knew Margaret had been having dreadful nights, it was simply more polite than simply outright saying one looked affright with exhaustion.

Since this was simply a cordial question, Margaret opted for the truth in response, "Not very well."

"You're a growing witch, you need your rest, is there something bothering you?" Margaret turned her head to look at Madam Pomfrey as she clasped her hands together in front of her.

"Simply homesick," Margaret lied, and Madam Pomfrey nodded sympathetically, leaving room for her to open up more. Margaret surveyed the healer and her kind face, not entirely sure if a kind face meant the person was trustworthy.

"It's quite alright to be homesick," Madam Pomfrey said with a gentle smile. "It's alright to have some worries. Should you ever need to talk, you may find that I can be a rather good listener." Margaret watched the healer as she pulled out the healing supplies.

"I'm afraid I was placed in the wrong house," Margaret said, and Madam Pomfrey nodded without judgement as she held the bottle of dittany in her hands to warm up the liquid.

"Why do you feel like that?" she asked.

"I'm fear that I may... frighten my housemates," Margaret said. "Not simply because of my face, but because of my family history. I don't want them to be afraid."

"They simply don't know you yet," Madam Pomfrey said with a gentle smile.

"Even if they did enjoy my company, my parents... I want them to be proud of me," Margaret said. "They may be angry with my house placement. That, perhaps, it will affect my relationship with them." Madam Pomfrey remained silent for a few moments before taking in a deep breath.