(May 20, 2002)

They used to burn women like me; down on the village greens where kids play tag and ducks go quack-a-quack in the pond.  Don't believe that rubbish they tell you about witches enjoying it and not really dying.  That was only in the Middle Ages.  By King James' time the good men of the Church had got wise to that.  They started to condemn you in twos.  One to die, one to betray.

The prettier one did the betraying.  She would take her friend's wand to remove the protective charm, and get fucked by the Church Fathers for her pains.  When her prettiness ran out, so would her luck.  She'd get betrayed in her turn.

I'd have been the first to go.

When they stopped burning witches, they hanged them.  I have a greater horror of hanging than of burning.  I can't bear the idea of being killed by your own weight:  I'm a heavy, solid young woman.

The last witch hangings took place in Lancashire, well into the nineteenth century.

I knew it was a mistake not to take the train.

We just did what was practical.  Gran lives on the edge of Thurlow.  That's nearer to Hogwarts' than King's Cross.  We thought of going to Diagon Alley by Floo the day before to get my things, but Gran couldn't afford a night over in London.  Or Diagon Alley prices.  The Floo networks between here and the capital operate on limited hours, and getting a Portkey set up in these parts is a joke.  Gran flew me to Aberdeen by broom instead, and we bought everything in Twilight Crescent.  The wand shop isn't as good as Ollivanders'.   They measure you and give you this questionnaire to fill in, then select the nearest match from two cores (no phoenix feathers, too rare) and five types of wood.  I got dragon heartstring with yew.  We found a good second-hand robe shop, and reckoned we could get away with my mum's old textbooks except for the Potions and DADA stuff.  Those subjects seem to move more quickly.   We bought the cauldrons and the scales new.

My cat's a stray, so that saved a bit.  It doesn't look good to arrive without a familiar.

Anyway, they arranged for me to arrive at Rosmerta's by Floo late afternoon.   The school caretaker met me and drove me to the castle.  He was a miserable sod.  I bet Hagrid would have given me a special ride in a boat by myself, but Filch said the "Keeper of the Keys" was Otherwise Engaged, and he didn't like boats himself.

So I never got to see the castle from the lake, and I didn't get a chance to pal up with people on the train.

I was already in the entrance hall when everyone arrived.  Professor McGonagall told me to sit and wait, but I hate sitting, so I asked if I could look at the portraits up the staircase.  Maybe it was just the grand frames or the way they were placed high up the walls, but I got the impression they were looking down their noses at me.  Then this stupid Poltegeist appears out of nowhere and decides it would be fun to chuck an ink bottle at me.  It spills all over the marble steps rather than me, but it would have been better if it had spilt on me.  I wipe it up at once, because I know ink's acidic, and it could damage the marble, magic or no magic.

That's what I was doing when the other students arrived.

I went down to join them, and this girl with a teeny nose and teenier ringlets offloads her cape onto me saying -

"Hold this will you, please, while I straighten up.  Could you tell me where the cloakroom is?"

She thought I was a servant.

All in all, I was in foul mood by the time I went under the Hat.

He told me I could go anywhere:  that I was brainy enough for Ravenclaw, brave enough for Gryffindor, conscientious enough for Hufflepuff and go-getting enough for Slytherin.

"Where will I be happy?"

Hufflepuff, he admitted, because people there were kinder than the girl with the silk cape and ringlets.

And I said, "The real world isn't all made of Hufflepuffs, though, is it?"

The Hat was impressed.  "You're a very shrewd young lady."  That made me like him, because no-one had ever called me a young lady.  Then he asked me if I wanted to go where I would be happy, or where I would learn to survive.

I made the sensible choice.

I can't say I was overjoyed to find I was sharing a room with Teeny Ringlets.  The three other beds were empty, because there weren't many girls sorted to Slytherin in our year - the Hufflepuffs seemed to have got most of them.  Gran told me to look out for someone called Bones:  she knew her grandparents.   From what I'd heard though, the only other House Slytherin got on with was Ravenclaw, and Susan was in Hufflepuff.

I supposed it couldn't hurt to break a rule like that.  Well, not much.

Anyway, Teeny Ringlets took full advantage of the extra space.  You never saw so many ribbons and lace and things you couldn't play dirty in.

She didn't apologise for her mistake in the Entrance hall until I said -

"Do you always speak to servants like that?".

She went pinker than her robes and stammered she hadn't meant it.

There was this flicker of fear in her eyes, but she covered it up by starting to chatter away non-stop, asking me all sorts of questions.  Who were my parents, where was I born, where did I live, why wasn't I on the train.

I don't think she cared much for my answers, but I could see her thinking she was going to have to share the room with me at least a year, so she'd better make an effort to get on.

"It's brilliant to be here, isn't it?" she said. "I've been in agony waiting."

I looked at her.  To tell the truth, I was sad to leave my Gran all on her own, and, having been taught at home, I was worried about being among so many kids.

But I looked at Pansy Parkinson, and saw that she felt free.

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