Chapter Two - Peggy

We clamber off the train, luggage in tow, and there's a familiar pounding of excitement in my chest. I'm getting my last two years of education done at the best wizarding school in the country, I've already made four friends, and from the looks of things there's no shortage of cute guys. Hogwarts is already great, and I just got here!

I'm being sorted in my sixth year, because I was homeschooled up until now, when I turned sixteen. My family moved to England from America when I was twelve, and my parents educated me at home whenever they had the spare time, which wasn't often. The majority of my time was spent outside in our backyard, perched in an apple tree and reading my mother's old romance novels. I know a great deal about medieval courtship rituals from this process, and how to sit in an apple tree in full skirts, but not much else.

Socialization was how I learned more practical things, such as the hierarchy of importance in the park (I was a bottom-feeder,  not because I wasn't popular, but because I was American) and how to swing until you actually went over the top bar and kept swinging.

I find Saoirse headed to the first-year's boats, and quicken my pace to join her. She's really sweet, if a bit reticent, and I like talking to her out of instinct. She has a certain air of shy confidence, and she seems like she's always been a bit of an outcast- like me. She's Irish and not American, but I can tell she feels the same as I do.

"Hey," I say, speeding up to match her footfalls.

"Hullo, Peggy," she replies distractedly.

"Are you ready for the Sorting? Are you nervous? What house do you hope you'll be in? My parents want me to be a Slytherin, but I'm not so sure about that-"

"Peggy." Saoirse turns suddenly and places her hands on my shoulders and grips tight, speaking as if she’s calming herself as well. "Breathe. You don't need to explode over this. It's just a sorting. What could possibly go wrong?"

I run through a list of exactly what could go wrong with the sorting in my head. I could get sent home for being 'too American'. I could be sorted into a house that doesn't exist. Everyone could laugh at me-

A cold, hard slap crosses the left side of my face. Someone's shaking me by the arms.

"Margaret, snap out of it!"

It's Kate, her dark eyes flashing. She seemed a bit strange, but I'm grateful to her for pulling me out of my panic. I have these episodes sometimes, when everything I'm worried about combines, all at once, into a giant fiery supernova in my head. I go kind of stiff and start to drown in my own thoughts. It's a problem, but I'm getting better- mostly.

"Thanks, Kate," I say, pushing my hair out of my eyes and smiling wanly. "I'm just nervous."

When we get into the Great Hall, Saoirse is a few people in front of me, and I wave to her softly as the line advances. She sits down on the stool, and the hat is clamped down over her ears. There's a moment of hushed silence, and then-

“Gryffindor!”

The red table applauds, and I clap too, happy to see my friend get into the house of everyone’s desire. She walks forward, head glancing down at her feet as she takes measured steps that make no sound.

"Glenn, Margaret," says the professor leading the sorting. I walk forward, the skirts of my vintage dress (yellow-gold, made of light fabric and with a twirling full skirt) swishing against my boots. I perch carefully on the edge of the stool, crossing my legs at the ankle, and adjust my curls under the hat. A snide voice whispers in my ear.

'You, my dear, are very interesting. You feel yourself an outcast, shunted between the American and the British, fitting in with neither. You are intelligent, perhaps, but not enough for Ravenclaw. Bravery escapes you. You would never consider ambition as one of your traits- there is but one place for you.'

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

I leap to my feet, sending the hat drifting to the floor. I walk less carefully than Saoirse did before me, walking with my head held high, though there are some people snickering - mostly Slytherins, who would snicker at any Hufflepuff, I’m told. But their comments on my nationality get me even more and my cheeks flush as their words echo in my ears.

"Hufflepuff- the ones who can't make it anywhere else."

"Fits that she's in it, then."

"Isn’t clever enough for anywhere else

"She’s American - I mean, what else could you expect?"

I blink a few times, forming a dam to keep back my tears. I sit with a thump at the Hufflepuff table, smiling softly at the people around me. A young-looking girl with long golden tresses and a girl my age with piercing grey eyes and light hair both smile at me.

"I'm Lauretta, - though most people call me Laura" says the older girl, extending a hand.

"And I'm Zinia Yvette Michelle Hayes, but you can call me Zinia," the younger girl pipes up, smiling. "Who are you?"

"I'm Margaret Glenn," I say, pleased to have someone in my house to talk to. "You can call me Peggy, everyone does. It's nice to meet you guys."

We talk and laugh for a bit and soon I feel myself relax. Maybe it wasn’t so bad being in Hufflepuff - they were all so kind and welcoming. For once, I feel like I really fit in.

*  *  *  *

In the Potions dungeon, the steam is making my hair frizz and my face sweat. I lift my blue bottle of Bowtruckle Tears and add sixteen drops.

Instantly, my potion turns deep, muddy green and starts to hiss. I scream as my cauldron explodes, drenching me and my dress (my entire wardrobe, practically, is made up of vintage dresses in varying shades of yellow- today's is a drop-waisted flapper dress with black and crystal beads, salvaged from a charity auction for sixteen quid) in stinging acid goo. It starts to make steaming holes in the fabric, and I yelp as a droplet lands on my arm, making a nasty burn.

Unfortunately this lesson I have a Slytherin as my desk partner - a partner who will be blamed if my potion goes wrong in the slightest because Professor Slughorn, the potions Professor, thought I needed assistance with my potions due to various factors he wouldn’t enlighten me on. And Severus Snape was the worst person to choose as my ‘helper’ - not only does he seem to care about potions as if they are children and believe if one fails at a potion they are a failure to mankind, he also has a mean temper - as I discover when he turns to me and, with iciness and a look of disgust, sneers:  "Miss Arrogant and Useless Hufflepuff, I thought that, even though you were American, you might somehow be able to finish making a Draught of Awareness. But clearly, you are even more incompetent than I thought. How is it that you made your potion explode, yet you're still here in my classroom?"

Something inside of my chest that I've been containing for hours bursts. It's not anger that's inside of me, though. When I open my mouth, only a sad and disappointed sob. Tears stream down my face, and I run from the classroom, sending the door banging against the wall as I tear off down the hall, finally crashing into someone and sliding to the marble floor.

It's a boy. He has long, dark hair, obviously well-cared for. His skin is tanned, and his eyes are large and chocolate brown. There's a Gryffindor scarf draped round his shoulders, and he's at least a foot taller than me, though most likely not any older.

"What's the matter with the little badger?" He says, voice dripping with condescension. "Sad because you're not in Gryffindor with me? I'm Sirius Black, ladies' man and awesome person."

I look up, tipping my head back to gaze him right in the eyes, and glare.

"You know nothing, Sirius Black." My voice is icy. "Nothing." I shove him and turn away, still crying, the tip of my nose red.

He looks genuinely contrite. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize-"

"Didn't realize I was upset. You're not sorry for insulting me, just sorry that you did it when I was already upset." The hard tone I'm taking surprises even me. I can't help it, though. There are tears in my eyes and on my cheeks and running down and dripping off my chin and the end of my nose. I look pathetic, and he sees it as well. I can tell from his expression. "Just- just leave me alone."

I sink to the floor and press my back against the wall, not willing to let myself really cry until I hear his footsteps retreating around a corner. Just as I think I can let go, someone else approaches. The steps make barely any sound, like the pads of animal feet, and I see Saoirse through the tears that coat my lashes. She sits down next to me and puts an arm on my shoulder.

"Hi," she says softly, drying my eyes for me with the sleeve of her dress. "What's upsetting you?"

I stop for a second and look at her, my dark eyes meeting her sparkling blue ones. "What do you mean?"

"Snape’s like that to everyone, people say. Or at least Remus Lupin, one of the few sensible people in Gryffindor house, tells me.” She pauses, then looks at me. “But that's not what's making you sad, is it?" There's nothing but sincerity in her face.

I blow my nose on a scrap of fabric from my rapidly dissolving skirt. How can I explain it to her?

"Well, there's a few things."

"I can handle it." She turns her head face me straight on, face straight but eyes smiling and hold a comforting sparkle. It’s then I realise that for once she’s letting down the guard that constantly surrounds her and acting naturally. "We've got half an hour until our next class."

I breathe in deeply. Here goes nothing - and everything.

"Well, for one thing, I feel really lonely here. Everywhere I go here in England, people look down on me because I'm American. I don't fit in with the British people because I'm American, even though I've lived here since I was twelve. I don't fit in with the Americans who visit here because I've got a bit of a British accent and some British mannerisms. I'm kind of a hybrid, and I always feel awkward and lonely.

"For another, I got a Howler this morning. My parents found out about my being sorted into Hufflepuff, and they're mad as hornets. I had a row with them before I left, too. Called them all kinds of nasty names. They disowned me. I'm out on my own now."

The thought of having no one to go home to sends me into fresh fits of sobs, and I shake as Saoirse holds onto me.

“Don’t worry, Peg.” She says, the lilt in her voice soft and comforting. “You’re not on your own. I’m not going to abandon you and neither will Lena - or anyone. There are ways around this - we can ask the headmaster - and the ministry won’t just let you be abandoned. We’ll work something out.”

I hug her tightly.

"You're amazing, Saoirse," I say, my face buried in her shoulder. "What did I do to deserve a friend like you?"

"You did the same thing that I suppose I did, to meet someone like you." She pauses, then says honestly. “I’d take you home with me, but…” She stops, as if she knows she shouldn’t have started that sentence. I’m curious, momentarily distracted, but realise I can’t chase something she doesn’t want to share. But, after a moment of silence, she speaks up again.

"You know, I understand what you mean about feeling an outcast."

I look up. "You do?"

She laughs derisively. "I'm Irish, and that gets me shoved to the outskirts a lot."

Now that I know that, I can hear her accent coming through thicker than ever before. It's pretty, makes her words into a song, and it seems right for her.

I smile gently, feeling better already.

"We can be each other's outcasts."

We hug again, and then I head off to my dormitory to change into a dress that isn't dissolving at a touch.