Our American Cousin

II

A Sorting to Remember

Sara stood at the back of a large collection of eleven-year-olds. Topping out at five foot ten in the morning she felt distinctly conspicuous. She'd spent the trip to Hogwarts castle hearing about the finer points of the House system, the virtues of Gryffindor, and the evils of Slytherin, from Ron and his two friends. She had also been given a sketchy story on the ongoing battle between this anorexic, nerdy-looking guy (Harry, was it?) and a great evil wizard with his own terrorist organization.

Sara's parents had been more than a trifle reluctant to ship her off to England for a year. While wizards in the states weren't living in mortal fear of Voldemort (they had their own problems), they were afraid of getting caught in the crossfire. She had assured her parents that she ran about the same risk as getting blown up at school by a member of the IRA as she did catching a stray spell from a dark wizard. For some reason they didn't find this comforting. Of course, at the time she didn't know that the bad guy's favourite target was her classmate.

'Oh well,' Sara thought to herself. 'At least this psycho wizard doesn't know my name.'

The first sight of Hogwarts had been something. She didn't know what she had been expecting but it certainty wasn't a castle quite like that. It was rather intimidating. The Thestrals that had drawn the carts of the other students had been a bit of a put-off as well. As the group of first years got smaller Sara let her eyes wander over the staff table. She found herself with an almost uncontrollable urge to whistle the theme to The X-Files.

'What a weird looking bunch,' she thought as the Ravenclaws applauded their newest member. Finally the tall straight-backed witch reached the bottom of her list. "And our exchange student from," she paused "San Jone...June." Sara rolled her eyes.

"San Juanquisto."

"Thank you-San Juanquisto, New Mexico, America. Sara Todacheenie." Sara winced as her last name was butchered almost as badly as the listed town. Stepping forward and putting the hat on her head she felt magic brush across her mind. It took less than a heartbeat for her to lock it out.

"Now, Now." A voice spoke on the outskirts of her mind. "How I am suppose to put you in a house if I don't know anything about you. I don't tell secrets- I promise." Sara snarled inwardly and dropped her mental shields. The hat began mumbling to it self. "Cruelty, cunning, malice, ambition, very Slytherin material-Oh, but what's this? Devotion, loyalty, courage of spirit, grief, and definite brilliance."

'Just pick something' Sara thought at the hat. Ron looked expectantly up at the hat desperately hoping that this exotic American would land in Gryffindor.

"I just don't know" the hat finally said. A gasp came from the crowd as the hat continued. "A Slytherin or a Gryffindor- I can't tell." Never in the history of the school had the hat been unable to decide. The hat rarely even spoke except to call out house names and give a little song. Of course-the minds of eleven-year-olds were often far simpler than that of a seventeen-year-old.

"Oh-screw this." Sara pulled a coin from her pocket. "Heads-the weaselly-looking ones, tails-the fashion victims." Sara had learned from her father that one of the keys to being diplomatic was to be equally insulting to everyone. The Slytherins and Gryffindors shuffled uncomfortably while the other two housed smirked. It wasn't everyday that the two most famous Hogwarts houses were blatantly insulted to their collective faces. The coin spun in the air and was quickly caught and held out for the hat and Sara to see. "Fashion victims it is."

"Gryffindor." the hat shouted going along with the coin. Sara pulled the hat off, and with a curt nod handed it to the rather startled looking witch, then found a seat next to the tall redhead from the train.

"Sorry about the fashion victim comment but that shade of red you wore today really clashed with your hair." Ron felt slightly betrayed when both Harry and Hermione snickered into their hands. He was about to point out that his mother had given him the sweater but decided that wouldn't do much for his case. The betrayal was quickly forgotten as Dumbledore voice boomed across the hall announcing that the Forbidden Forest was still forbidden, their new defense teacher was named Mrs. Jones, ("I wonder what's wrong with this one?" Harry mumbled to Ron) and the feast was to begin.

Ron watched as Harry dove into the food, after nearly being starved to death by his uncle's neglect. Hermione picked at her food, mumbling something about her hips. From where Ron stood her hips looked fine, and he felt a need to point out that girls should be a little curvy. From the cold look Hermione gave him, Ron didn't think she took it quite the right way.

Sara blinked as the tables filled up with food in what would have called 'a vulgar waste of magical energy' by her grandfather, a man who still chopped his own wood by hand. She reached for her goblet and took a sip of the orange liquid, and almost immediately she discreetly spat it back out.

"Harry?" The skinny savior of the British wizarding world looked up.

"Yes?" he asked, forcing the words around a turkey leg.

"What is this?" she held up the goblet.

"Pumpkin juice." Sara sniffed at her goblet and took a second sip. Her mother always said that if you don't like something, try it twice. The second sip quickly joined the first. By this point most of those sitting nearby were watching. Sara took out her wand and gave the goblet a quick stir, turning the liquid a pale yellow.

"What's that?"

"Grapefruit juice," she answered as she wiped off her wand.

"Well, McGonagall will like you."

"Who's that?"

"Transfiguration teacher."

"The one who handed you the hat." someone chimed in.

"Our Head of House."

"Ahhh. Good to know." Sara looked over the staff table. "Who's the goth boy?" She gestured with her wand to the end of the table.

"That's the Greasy Git," Ron piped in.

"That's Professor Snape. Potions master and Head of Slytherin," Hermione volunteered with a look to Ron.

"He hates Gryffindors."

"He's saved our lives."

"He was a Death Eater."

"He spied for Dumbledore."

"Doesn't make him a nice guy."

Sara let the conversation wash over her. She could tell this was a common fight and could probably ask to hear it again, verbatim, if she really wanted all the gory details.

Snape could feel someone looking at him. It wasn't one of his own Slytherins, they knew better. He glanced over at the Gryffindor table to find the eyes of the almost Slytherin girl boring into him. Snape glared back, but to his amazement a smile pulled at the edge of the girl's lips as she raised her glass in a small salute.

'This one will need the fear of God put into her,' Snape thought.