With Stitches.

The school is wondrous.

The monstrous towers are structurally castle-like; the gates leading into the great courtyard are metal and hold two of each a stone eagle, badger, snake, and lion, all seeming noble and proud to protect their school. The castle's large, oak doors open silently and slowly, with the warmth of fire and the glorious smell of a feast promising that you will be taken care of.

“Ready?” Harry whispers softly in my ear, smile apparent in his voice. I only give him an absent grin, moving with the first years as we enter two other identical doors down the hallway a ways. A gasp slips through my lips as the room comes into full view, and I hear Harry laugh behind me. The room is colossal, so much so that it seems bigger than the Malfoy house, even though I know that’s only because I was cooped up in my room for most of the summer.

Candles are lit and floating around the walls. The ceiling is barely visible through the majestic night sky, but I can determine the height to be great. The first years, along with myself, are pushed forward, up against a sort of stage. Placed steadily upon it is a stool (complete with a tall, brown, worn-out wizarding hat) and an old, somber woman with a long piece of paper hanging down to the floor from her hands.

“Everyone quiet down, now. It’s time to sort the first years,” Professor McGonagall (the teacher for Transfigurations, I was told) announces, and the chatter fades instantaneously.

All summer, all 92 days of vacation, I’ve been prepared for this very moment.

Professor McGonagall will call my name- “but first… Parker, Dawson?”- sit me down on the stool- as I walk up the steps, the students filling the four tables murmur ferociously. McGonagall takes me gently by the shoulder and sits me down- place the Sorting Hat on top of my curls- As the hat is placed upon my head, I spot Draco’s face and, for the first time… ever, he looks worried.

“You’re a very strange girl, aren’t you?” The low, raspy voice seems to come straight from my own head, but I quickly realize that the hat is talking.

“Mmmm… Very interesting. I suppose I know just where to place you…”-and I will be sorted into Slytherin with Draco-

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The table furthest to my right, full of smiling faces and a group of gingers, immediately erupt into wild applause as I make my way toward them.

“Welcome to the family!” Harry gives me a hard, yet friendly, pat on the back and sits me down between himself and Hermione, who welcomes me, as well. I manage a weak smile as my heart leaps higher into my throat. I search through the uninterested faces of Slytherin for Draco, but find him nowhere around the table. A flash of white glints in the corner of my eye and they snap to the smaller doors on the opposite wall to me. Draco escapes briskly, without a soul noticing but me. Every inch of my brain screams to follow him, but I stay planted in my seat, staring at the sorting of the first years; clapping as some are placed into Ravenclaw or Slytherin or Hufflepuff, but applauding louder as the new comers were put into my own house: Gryffindor.

As the last of the lot steps up to the Professor, I spot a familiar smudge of black at the front of the Great Hall. Severus Snape sits somberly, staring strongly at the students being sorted. My eyes grow wide as I tug on Harry’s sleeve.

“Harry,” I whisper. “Why is Severus sitting up there?” Harry glances to the long table of adults, eyes suddenly hard as he leans into my ear.

“That’s the Professor’s table, Dawson. Snape, though I’m not entirely sure why, is a teacher here,” Harry explains as my stomach flutters.

“S-Severus… Works here? Permanently? As a Professor?” I stutter, keeping my eyes on my dark savior.

“Yes… Dawson… Why do you call him Severus?” I bite my lip, dropping my eyes as I play with my hands.

“Old family friend,” Harry looks astonished, but says nothing else as he turns his attention back to the sorting. Though I try my hardest not to, my gaze slips to Severus once again. His cold stare sets me on edge as our eyes connect. I cannot pull my eyes away until an older man with a long, white beard begins to speak.

My emotions seem to be pulled down into my stomach as the fluttering becomes more intense, and I am barely able to wait until Headmaster Dumbledore is finished talking and the table is filled with an astonishing amount of food before I run down the aisle and burst out of the small door, vomiting into a near by trash can.