The Dragon Hearted

1: Goodbyes

 A tall, wild-haired girl walked along the beach of Lake Ontario, blonde tangles streaming like a banner behind her in the summer breeze.

 The soft grass of the dunes danced in the winds, rustling softly. The lake, here crystal clear, lapped against the sands and at the girl’s feet. Only a few yards beyond were tall, majestic trees, an emerald canopy with the first traces of fall among their branches.

 New York—pale, frosty blues of winter, scarlets and ambers of fall, the fresh, green springs, and the beautiful, season of summer.

 Bay Verite was about to leave it all behind.

* * * * *

 “Why?” she complained.

 “Because your father has been offered a job overseas, Bay. It’s best for the family, best for your father, and probably best for you—that school over there has quite a formidable reputation.”

 “I don’t care about school, mom, all my friends are here. And my hobbies, and my life—surfing, and skiing, and swimming—” Bay’s tanned face was surrounded by a nimbus of hair that flew in her face in half-dried ropes of tawny brightness that had fallen out of her pony-tail holder.

 “Bay, you know perfectly well that you can swim in England just as well as in New York.”

 “Then how come grandma never learned how to swim when she lived there and won’t go out of the shallow end of the pool?”

 Mrs. Verite stopped throwing clothes into the suitcase and grabbed her daughter’s shoulders. “Bay Elizabeth Verite, we are moving to England and there is nothing you can do about it. Now get that look off your face and start packing now. I don’t want to hear another word out of you!”

 Bay bit her lip and dug her fingernails into her fingers, taking her mind off all of the sharp, biting retorts she would have liked to throw in. “Word,” she said under her breath.

 “Out.”

 Muttering a stream of profanities, Bay stopped off to her room.

 Her entire life had to go into one suitcase.

 Of course, the suitcase was enchanted, so there wouldn’t be any problem in stuffing her entire room into it. If she wanted too, she could probably have squeezed the entire house in.

 A year ago her mother had warned her that her father might be taking a new job overseas. Bay hadn’t paid any attention and when final word came that Tam Verite was taking the family to England, Bay had been caught completely by surprise.

 And that was understating it.

 Bay had taken out her wand and blasted half the kitchen to smoldering smithereens, and stopping only when her father knocked her out.

 It was so unfair to uproot her and throw her into a country that was probably smaller than just the state of New York—to take her away from all her hobbies, and her friends, and her school, and send her to some Hogwarts place in the middle of dinky little England where they called soccer football and devoted all their time to Quidditch. And of course they’d all be talking with that peculiar little British accent and think she was crazy because she spoke what she and her friends had dubbed “American”, or English with modern words.

 Bay picked up the phone. 542-9934.

 “Hello?” a breathless voice said after a few rings. “Bay?”

 “We’re going.”

 “Oh Bay I can’t believe you have to go.”

 “I know Mir, it’s so unfair.”

 Miranda (or Mir) emitted a short cough that sounded something like *stupid parents*. “Sorry about that, getting a cough,” she laughed.

 “I’m gonna miss you Mir,” Bay moaned.

 “That’s okay,” Mir said brightly. “You can always call.”

 Bay flopped over on the bed. “No, I can’t. The school over there doesn’t have phones, even enchanted ones. They use owls for everything.”

 “Then promise me one thing.”

 “Anything, Mir,”

 “Promise you’ll tweak a few British noses and tell me how their faces looked.”

 “Promise. I solemnly swear I will annoy all the teachers I can.”

 “Can you come over around seven?”

 “Yes,” Bay said.

 “Good. I’m going to throw you a surprise party.”

 And both of them burst out laughing.

* * * * *

 “PARTY!” Annalise shouted.

 With music blaring, popcorn cooking, pancakes flying in the air, and almost nausiatingly chocolate cupcakes on the table—no one could possible say that this was not an all-American party.

 Every single person in Bay’s grade at the Salem Academy was there, from super-jock Chance Stratus to the funny, eccentric Annalise to shy little Medea Christies.

 On the ceiling was a large screen with pictures of the more “memorable” moments from the Salem Academy, from the time Bay had eaten a peanut Shawn, an older student, had sat on top of (she hadn’t known); to the time Salem beat the California Charmers in their American-youth’s Spellmaster championships; even the time they had been to Cuba to visit the merpeople and go surfing.

 Bay stuffed pretzels in her mouth and sat on a couch with Patrick Miller—arch-rival/good pal. Each were taking turns recalling their “fondest” memories of each other—the times they had humiliated the other.

 Then Mir flipped off the lights and the music.

 “Attention!” she shouted as a spotlight focused on her. There was still quite a bit of talking going on, so she shouted “SHUT UP!”

 And everyone did.

 “Right. Today we are about to lose one of our closest friends. Co-schemer, confident, archenemy, teammate, worst nightmare, best bud, all that good stuff. Bay Verite, we’re sad to see you go. But we all chipped in to get you a little good-bye gift.”

 And Annalise pulled a sheet off a Firebolt.

 “But—but—those things cost a fortune!”

 “Not when you have fifty kids paying five Galleons each,” Lillith Brouell said matter-of-factly.

 “OH MY GOD THANK YOU!” Bay screamed.

 “We’ll miss you,” Medea Christies said solemnly. “Remember us.”

 Bay gawked. “When you’ve given me what is unquestionably the best broom in the world it’d be pretty hard to forget you. Not that I would in any case. I’ll miss you.”

 “Well of course you’ll miss us,” Wendy told her.

 And with that the lights went on, the music blared, and they partied.

 Life was ahead, and they were fifteen.

 Tomorrow would come, but today, America was theirs for the taking.

* * * * *

 The Verite family—Tam Verite, Elizabeth Verite, Katrina and Andrew the ten-year-old twins, and a melancholy Bay stood in Newark airport, ready to go to England. Or, as Katrina explained, the nation was “The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland” and should therefore be referred to as “The United Kingdom”. Bay had explained, in turn, to her little sister that if she didn’t buzz off she’d throw a fireball at her hair and that she shouldn’t ever disturb older sisters who had stayed up until five in the morning the night before until they’d had a few pots of coffee with their sugar that morning. Katrina had taken the hint.

 Bay pulled out a battered copy of Ender’s Game. If she were as freakishly brilliant as the Muggle children in that book, she’d have figured the way out of this mess.

 “Can I buy a pack of gum?” she asked her mom, still groggy from the party the night before and her eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep.

 “Sure,” her mom sighed.

 “A Pepsi?”

 “Fine.”

 “An ‘I Love N.Y. shirt?”

 “You have fifty. No.”

 “Ninety nine bottles of pop so I can occupy myself on this nine hour plane ride?”

 “Seven hours. And no. Haven’t you finished that song enough?”

 Bay had finished the song six times before she had started her second-level classes, but still sang it periodically during things like boring concerts.

 “Seven hours and forty-seven minutes. Almost nine hours.”

 “Yes, just like you’re going on nineteen,” her father said sarcastically.

 “Going on seventeen with that logic,” she retorted calmly.

 “You can get ninety nine cans of pop on the plane,” Andrew offered.

 “Go away,” she snapped.

 “You do not talk to your little brother like that!” Elizabeth Verite told Bay sharply.

 Bay shot a quick curse at her little brother without her wand. Just an Itching Jinx, but soon enough, her brother was scratching invisible mosquito bites.

 “Boarding flight 177 to Heathrow Airport, London. Will First Class please take their seats now, as well as any families with children.”

 “And explain why this is better than a Portkey?” Bay hissed to her father.

 “Because it’s more interesting.”

 And from his tone Bay knew there would be no further discussion on the topic of why they were taking a crummy Muggle plane.

 Settling back in the leather seat, Bay pulled out her book and submersed herself in the fictional world of these odd little children. Her life, she knew, was enough to go in a Muggle fantasy (AN: Or at least a fanfic). It was more interesting than some books she had picked up over the summers. Maybe someday, she reflected, some witch would write about one of the students at one of the magical schools. Maybe that Potter boy, the one who lived in England and was rumored to be the most powerful wizard ever (although she doubted that) would have somebody write about him. The Muggles would all think it was just a story. Maybe.

 Her father leaned over and tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey Bay, I’m sorry about this move—really. I promise you can come visit over the Christmas break.”

 She looked up at him, blue-green eyes looking for any hint of a lie in his face. “Promise?”

 “I promise.”

 “Promise not to tell mom if you get a note home telling you I’ve done something I…shouldn’t have done?” she pleaded, playing on her father’s placid mood.

 “Maybe.”

 “Promise?”

 “Depends what you’ve done, kiddo.”

 “Bah,” Bay snorted.

 Half an hour later, Bay watched the last piece of the United States of America drift away behind her. Somewhere over the horizon was England.

* * * * *

 Bay looked around her new home. It was large, wooden, antique, and old-fashioned in every way imaginable. Almost—at least they had toilets, T.V. and running water.

 The twins had immediately run off exploring the new place. Bay had simply picked out a room with a sunset view and started unpacking.

 “Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg,” Americanism wasn’t something she’d give up lightly. “Batmobile lost a wheel and Joker took ballet.”

 When at last she’d gone over and changed almost every detail (such as painting the cream colored walls dark blue and rimming the room with silver and setting up a planetarium on the ceiling [Annalise had shown her that spell]) and setting up an enormous sound system and TV corner) she deserted her new “Americanized” room, stopping only to paint the door red, white, and blue.

 There was a village several miles below—Ottery St. Catchpole. Who Saint Catchpole was, Bay had no idea—and personally didn’t care at all. The town was exactly like an American town—from a decade or two ago. Bay didn’t have to worry about blending in. Muggle clothes were more comfortable anyway, and Bay’s favorite outfit was her baggy yellow sweatshirt and a pair of denim shorts.

 There was a park in the middle of the town—a long, rolling expanse of green grass dotted with kids. There was a group of red-haired teenagers about her age—two of them that looked exactly the same were a bit older—were running around with a soccer ball. It looked like two-on-two, with the identical twins playing against the younger ones, a gangly boy, and a girl.

 While being miserable would make her feel loyal to her old friends, it would be really boring.

 “Can I play?” she asked.

 “Sure,” said a twin.

 “You can be on Ron and Ginny’s team. They’re losing,” the other twin informed her.

 “Nice accent,” said the first twin, as the younger kids ran over.

 “I could say the same to you, if we were half way across the world,” she replied. Both of them had strong British accents.

 “Who’s this?” the girl asked.

 “I dunno,” said the second twin.

 “My name’s Bay Verite,” she told the girl. “I just moved from America. And you are…? Just so I don’t go around calling you ‘Boy’,’ Girl’, ‘Twin One’, and ‘Twin Two’ forever?”

 “My name is Twin One,” said the second twin.

 “Actually, you were Twin Two.”

 “I’m Ron Weasley,” said the boy who wasn’t a twin.

 “I’m Ginny,” the girl said.

 “I’m Fred,” the first twin informed her.

 “No, I’m Fred,” the second twin protested.

 “Oh yeah,” said the first twin, “I’m George.”

 Bay’s jaw dropped. “Don’t get mad if I don’t remember your names.”

 “Too late, we already get Mad,” George told her. “We’ve been subscribing for years.”

 Bay rolled her eyes, and then cracked up. “Okay,” she gasped, “Now we can start the soccer game.”

 “The what?” Ginny asked.

 “Socc—oh, football.” Bay pulled out a hair tie to hold her hair back out of her face while she played. “Which side are we on?”

 “Far side,” Ron told her, “Let’s go.”

 Fred and George started in the middle with a kickoff. Bay easily intercepted their next pass and slammed it into the two sticks that had been dubbed as goals.

 “Yes!” Ginny shouted.

 “Your kick-off,” Bay said calmly, whamming the ball back to the middle.

 The Weasley twins started to play a little more cautiously. But Bay, calling upon years of fancy footwork training, stole the ball and slammed it up to Ginny, who scored.

 About half an hour later, Ron dropped onto the ground. “I think we have to go,” he panted, sitting up again and signaling for Fred and George to bring it in.

 “Oh, okay,” Bay said. The score was seven to one—in their favor.

 “You’re not too bad,” George said.

 “Not to bad?” Ginny stared, “She’s better than you and Fred put together plus Bill and Percy!”

 “Oh Percy doesn’t count,” Fred objected. “He can’t do anything except boring reports.”

 “Where’d you get the time to do all that?” Ron asked.

 “Oh, my old school ran lots of sports programs. And my old one let us practice a lot. The teachers played a bunch of sports…like that too.”

 “Can you imagine McGonagall playing football on the grounds?” Fred said to George, face lighting up like a Fourth of July firecracker.

 “Or Snape?” George smiled, a dreamy look on his face.

 “Er—are those teachers at your school?” Bay asked curiously. If places around here didn’t have sports groups she’d have to find…other ways to vent some of her energy.

 “Yeah,” Ron said gloomily.

 Bay glanced at her watch, which she had just reset for British time. “Dang it! I have to go!”

 “’Bye,” Ginny said cheerfully.

 “Hey, do you live around here?” Bay asked.

 “Sort of, our dad just came down to do some…shopping,” Fred said.

 “Later,” Bay said to all of them, sprinting toward her house.

 “Later what?” she heard Ron ask.

 Those kids weren’t so bad, for British Muggles.

* * * * *

 Bay sat up abruptly as the alarm clock went off. She still hadn’t fully adjusted to the time change here, but she was working on it.

 Today was September the First, the day she left for her new school. They were taking a train of all things. If not Portkeys, why not take a plane or something? It was a lot faster.

 Bay slumped into a pair of pants, a camoflouge halter-top, and, of course, her yellow sweatshirt.

 Her bags were packed, with the odd black robes she had picked up for school stuffed on top of her other supplies. Bay understood why Muggles had stopped wearing billowing clothing hundreds of years ago. Apparently, British wizards didn’t.

 Today’s Plan: Eat, take the car to King’s Cross Station, say bye to dad as he left for work, and board the train to school. The “Hogwarts Express”.

 Bay slid groggily down the banister. There was a bagel on the table with a glass of milk. She’d eaten a lot of bagels lately—anything from plain to onion to sesame seed ones.

 At seven forty-five she threw her duffel bag in the car and fell asleep again in the back seat of the old Mercedes. According to her father, this had once been on of the fastest cars anywhere. Lexus’ and even Jeep trucks zoomed past them. This old car was just that—old.

 Three hours later, they pulled up at the station. “Remember, Platform nine and three-quarters,” her dad told her as he took her duffel and her owl, Angel, out of the trunk of the car.

 “I know,” she said, rolling her eyes and throwing her sweatshirt over her shoulder. She knew the number; it was just finding it that would be difficult.

 “I love you, sweetie,” her dad said, embracing her.

 “I’ll miss you,” she told him.

 “Okay, bye then.”

 “Bye.”

 And the old silver Mercedes drove away. Vaguely, she wondered where the heck her father had gotten that junky car.

 She wheeled her cart into the station, an old blanket covering Angel’s cage.

 There they were—Platform nine. And next to it—Platform ten.

 Bay stood there, wiping a few loose strands of hair from her face and staring at the wall between the two platforms, clueless and confounded.

 “What are you doing?” drawled a voice behind her.

 “What’s it look like I’m doing?” she asked, exasperated. The speaker was a boy her age, with cute long, bleached blond bangs but rather pale skin.

 “I don’t know. Maybe you’re crazy and looking for a certain Platform Nine and three-quarters,” the blonde boy said, voice sarcastic, and grey eyes dancing.

 “Actually I am,” she said brightly. “Are you?”

 “I know what I’m doing,” the boy said. His voice was an aristocratic, solidly British one.

 “Ummm, would you tell me then?” she asked sheepishly, nudging her wand out of the jacket pocket to let the blond boy know she was a witch and not a Muggle.

 The boy sighed. “Just walk through.”

 “Oh,” she said, as the boy vanished through the seemingly solid brick wall between the two platforms. This was very confusing.

 She walked through and found herself on a platform with a scarlet train and a sign that read “Platform Nine and ¾”

 All of the people her age were walking onto the train now, although some were giving parents one last goodbye kiss and hug for the year.

 Bay jumped up onto the train, and found an empty room. Tossing Angel’s cage above the seat, she stuffed her duffel below and pulled out a book—this time Dragonflight by Anne McCaffrey. She had Redwall and The Count of Monte Cristo stuck under her collection of quills and an old Sneakoscope as back-ups in case she finished her first book before the ride to school was over.

 Pulling out a pillow and stretching across four of the seats, Bay made herself comfortable and pulled out an enchanted sports bottle full of Hawaiian Punch, a bag of potato chips, and a bag of Snickers miniatures and candy corn. Books and junk food were good combinations on long trips.

 Halfway into Dragonflight (which had dragons completely unlike any real dragons, but a riveting plotline and great romance,) the compartment opened and in came two people—who looked exactly the same.

 “Hey look Fred, it’s the football girl!”

 “You’re a witch?” Fred asked.

 She nodded.

 “Then how come we never saw you here before?” George frowned.

 “Two words—transfer student.”

 “Oh right. Well, Fred and I are selling a few things.”

 “Like what?” she questioned cautiously, looking at their grinning faces and remembering their antics on the soccer field a few weeks before.

 “Our inventions,” Fred announced.

 “Our brain children,” George added.

 “Hot pops—warm your heart, soul, and everything else.”

 “Or Ice Cream Ink—tastes like the featured flavor and compatible with Honeyduke’s Sugar Quills.”

 “What flavors?” Bay asked, eyes lighting up.

 “Raspberry, blueberry, bubble gum—”

 “Chocolate, Muggle Oreo, Orange, Lemon—”

 “No George, stupid, you couldn’t ever see the lemon so we dropped it.”

 “Oh right. And lime,” George finished, looking slightly winded from his long recitation of flavors.

 Bay’s eyes widened. “When do you do this all?” she asked.

 “When we should be working on homework,” Fred said.

 “And other things. We have some leftover Canary Creams as well, but they’re a bit out of style now. Got old last year when people molted too much and a few kids took an allergic reaction to all the feather left around. It was a pity though, they were fun to watch.”

 “I’ll take a bubble gum inkpot, thanks,” Bay said. “Er—how much?”

 “Two sickles,” both the twins chimed together.

 Bay paid and stared at the twins as they walked out before going back to her reading.

 The shadows outside lengthened. The lanterns in the compartment bobbed back and forth with the motion of the Hogwarts Express.

 Around five thirty by Bay’s watch, the pale, blond boy who had shown her the way onto the Platform came in, accompanied by two huge boys and a girl with a pug face.

 “Hello,” she said, without looking up like she did to everyone else who passed her compartment.

 “Uh, hi,” said one of the big thugs.

 Bay rolled her eyes at the blond boy and the girl, who hopefully had a higher level of intelligence than their two companions.

 “So you’re a new girl,” the pale boy said.

 “That’s right,” she said slowly.

 “You talk funny,” the girl, scrunching up her nose. Bay was sorry to have thought she looked like a pug before. That was insulting the dogs. “Your accent is weird.”

 “I talk strangely,” Bay retorted. “Not funny. And I wonder why I talk like this. Could it perhaps be because I’m a transfer student from U.S.?”

 “The what?” the girl asked.

 “The—United—States—of—America,” Bay said slowly.

 “Draco, she’s being rude,” the girl whined. “Let’s go.”

 “You can go,” the blond boy, Draco, told her. “I’d like a little chat with the new girl.”

 The pug-girl flounced out of the room with her nose in the air, and shot a venomous glance at Bay as she stalked out of the compartment.

 “Draco?” Bay repeated. “As in Latin for dragon?”

 “Yes,” the blond boy drawled lazily. “Draco Malfoy.”

 “Hi, I’m Bay Verite, from New York.”

 “Verite. Never heard of the family.”

 Bay frowned. “You keep tabs on everyone’s family?”

 “Sort of,” Draco said. “Are your parents magical people?”

 “Yes, both of them,” Bay said proudly. “We can trace the family back fairly far on both sides.”

 “Hmmm. Do you know which House you’ll be in?”

 “What?” Bay said, confused again.

 “Your House. Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor.”

 Bay stuck a smile on her face. “Sorry, no clue what you’re talking about.”

 “Ah. Well, I guess I better make introductions to my friends. Crabbe and Goyle.” Crabbe was the bigger one, but only by an inch topping each of their seven feet.

 She nodded coolly. This Draco Malfoy might help her settle into school, but she doubted his elephantine friends would improve her social status at this place.

 “I suppose we’ll be seeing you later,” Draco said as he walked out the door. “And nice shirt.”

 “Thanks,” she said, and went back to reading.

 It was only two hours later that a large castle came into view. Bay slid into a bathroom and changed into the annoying Hogwarts school uniform. It was smooth silk, but the way wizarding robes in general were cut was simply not practical. Then she proceeded to pack away all of her books, goodies, and the little bottle of “bubble gum” ink.

 Bay went out into the walkway of the train and joined the river of students going onto the station. An enormous man was shouting “Firs’ years, o’er here!” and a flock of little eleven year-olds nervously went over.

 The older students were boarding some sort of horseless carriage, and Bay jumped up into one with an Asian girl and two boys, one African-American and the other with straw-blonde hair.

 As the carriages started off, the girl smiled at Bay and said, “Hi, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. And your tie is messed up.”

 “My name’s Bay Verite—we moved here from America," Bay said, fixing the tie.

 “Cho Chang, nice to meet you, Bay.”

 “Derek Fullerton,” the African boy introduced himself.

 “Aaron Cygnus,” the other boy said. “We’re all sixth years.”

 “I’m in fifth level,” Bay said. She was the baby here as well as the new student.

 “Well, you’ve come to one of the best schools in the world now, Bay,” Cho told her.

 “The very best,” Aaron contradicted.

 “I guess,” Cho grinned.

 “What’s the school like?” Bay asked.

 “Confusing,” Derek said at once.

 “You’ll manage,” Aaron said. “But watch out for the trick stairs and the fake doors. And Filch. And Snape. And Peeves too. Possibly the Weasley twins.”

 Bay blinked. Weasley? The kids she had played soccer with? “And they are…?”

 “Filch is the cleaning person, a Squib. He’s a real monster. Snape teaches Potions, and hates practically everyone except Slytherins. Peeves is a poltergeist, and a real pain.”

 “And the twins…” Aaron sighed.

 “Fred and George are only probably the greatest mischief makers ever to roam the halls of Hogwarts.”

 “I can believe that,” Bay laughed.

 The four of them walked up a huge set of stone steps into an enormous chamber, where a grey-haired witch was standing. “Bay Verite!” she shouted over the crowd of students, “Please come up here now!”

 Bay darted through the crush of kids to the lady.

 “Miss Verite?”

 Bay nodded.

 “You need to be Sorted now.”

 “What?” Bay asked. What was this Sorting thing everyone kept talking about?

 “Sorted—into your House. Your House is your family. You room with them, learn with them, and put up with them for the next year. Just stay in here and follow the first years in.”

 The chamber emptied, and then the younger students came in. A few of them whispered and pointed at the girl who was so obviously older than they were. Bay ignored them.

 The grey-haired lady came back in a few moments for the nervous group, and Bay brought up the rear.

 They were on a platform, and in the center was a stool with a ragged, patched hat on it. Everyone was staring at it, expecting something miraculous.

 The Weasley twins and their brother and sister were out in the audience. One of them—Fred or George—gave her a huge exaggerated wink and a thumbs up. With them was a girl with thicker hair than even Bay’s, and a boy with messy hair, glasses, and what looked to be some food smeared on his forehead—she couldn’t quite make it out.

 And while she was studying the Weasleys’ companions, the brim of the hat opened and it burst into song.

“I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,

My job is very clear,

I tell you all where you should go,

Each and every year.

To Gryffindor, home courageous,

Where bravery is great,

Hufflepuffs are loyal, and,

Stand to meet their fate.

Ravenclaw for clever folks,

Those with ready minds,

For Slytherin ambition, is,

The greatest of all finds.

Do try me on and I’ll,

Look over what I see,

I’ll search for every answer,

To where you ought to be!”

 The older students at the tables broke into applause, although Draco’s was rather half-hearted.

 Bravery…well, Bay was ready to face down any rampaging teacher, if that was bravery. Loyalty wasn’t something she was known for. She was clever—all her friends and teachers acknowleged her as a brilliant mind—so would she be in Ravenclaw? Because she was ambitious all right…

 Unrolling a piece of parchment, the grey-haired teacher called out to the crowd, “Axelson, Samantha!”

 A small, mousey haired girl ran across the stage, and put on the hat. After a second or two, it called out to the crowd, “HUFFLEPUFF!”

 One of the tables in the middle erupted in cheers, and little Samantha ran over and sat down on a bench, where she received a round of hand shaking.

 “Berts,” “Cabbot,” “Calia”—all the way to “Zuchiows,” and “Xaphaniate,”.

 And then—“Bay Verite, Fifth year!”

 Bay walked calmly across the stage, to whispering from the students. A new girl?

 “Well, well,” a voice in her head whispered. “An older student. You’ve been thinking about what you are, I can tell. You’ve got impudence, certainly, but not true courage.”

 Oh thanks, she thought.

 “You’re welcome. And not much loyalty either. Sharp as anything, brilliant, but that ambition’s just a driving thing, so I think you’d be best off in…SLYTHERIN!”

 Bay took the Sorting Hat off and smiled at the crowd. The Weasleys were whispering and frowning. She hadn’t done anything wrong, she supposed.

 Draco Malfoy beckoned her over. “Congratulations,” he said.

 “Why thank you.”

 At a table full of adults, a man with a long white beard stood up.

 “I would like to welcome you,” he said over the crowd. “To a new school year. A new year of learning to fill your heads back up with information and then leaking back out again.

 “But as you learn, remember the threat to all of us. Last year we lost an innocent member of this student body. Be sure to remember what has happened.”

 “Umm, what happened?” Bay hissed at Draco.

 “I’ll tell you later,” he whispered back.

 “There is a grave danger to us here,” the bearded man said. “A danger that is ever present in our lives. Lord Voldemort has begun to strike again. Please know that you are safe here. Now let us eat.”

 A large buffet of dishes on golden plates popped up. “Whoa,” Bay said. She grabbed a slice of roast beef, a potato, a glass of milk, and two slices of some steaming bread. “Very good,” she said, biting into the fresh bread.

 “It’s nothing that special,” Draco frowned.

 “Not special compared to what?” she asked.

 “Compared to the food at my house,” he sighed.

 “And I suppose you live in a mansion with hundreds of acres, a score of servants and a full regiment of little house-elves that cook this?”

 “Yes,” he said.

 “Oh.”

 “Draco’s father is the richest wizard in the continent,” the pug-girl said.

 “Only if you count the African runespoor warehouse in the assets and all of the South American plantations, Pansy,” Draco corrected. “And I don’t think you and Bay Verite have been introduced. Bay—Pansy Parkinson. Pansy—Bay Verite.”

 “Hello,” Bay said cheerfully, starting to cut up the roast.

 Pansy-Pug-face said nothing, but sneered.

 “It appears you have good taste after all,” Draco said.

 “Huh?”

 “You were wearing Muggle clothes on the train,” Draco explained. “And yet you obviously have the Slytherin spirit.”

 “Hey, the job description didn’t say anything about hating Muggle stuff—I fit the ambitious bill. And besides, you can do so much more in Muggle clothes.”

 “Like what?” Pansy-Pug snapped.

 “Like run down the hall and trip you, that’s what,” Bay said peevishly.

 Pansy sniffed.

 “And these robes leave so much to the imagination, don’t you agree?”

 Pug-Face’s eyes widened.

 Bay saw Draco wink at her.

* * * * *

 The other five Slytherin girls were Zabini Blaise, Alena Vespai, Viviane Renart, Gwen Schaffer, and, last and certainly least, Pansy Pug-Face.  The boys were Adrian Nott, Charles Ticker, the two big goons Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, and last but certainly not least—Draco Malfoy.

 They were sitting in a cluster of rather uncomfortable chairs—Bay kept squirming in hers—as the other students in her year told her a little bit about the school.

 “Watch out for McGonagall—she gives to much homework.”

 “You’re taking Arithmancy? Count your blessings for not having too much homework now.”

 “Never, ever, kick Mrs. Norris.”

 “Look forward to Potions, that’s always a riot with the Gryffindors,” Adrian Nott snickered.

 “Why?” Bay asked.

 “Because Snape hates Gryffindors as much as the rest of us,” Gwen Schaffer told her.

 “Why?”

 “Because they’re Gryffindors, for heaven’s sake. Goody-two shoes who win the House Cup every year because that speccy git Potter either wins the Quidditch Cup or goes off and does something heroic—” Draco Malfoy said.

 “Wait a sec,” Bay interupted, “Harry Potter? The Harry Potter?”

 “Yes, The Potter,” said Viviane Renart.

 “Then why do you hate him? Didn’t he save you Brits from some evil wizard?”

 “No,” Draco said dryly, “He did not save us Brits from anything and the Dark Lord is back anyway.”

 Bay paled. “You’re kidding, right?” she whispered.

 “No, I’m not kidding,” Draco said—Bay frowned slightly, was he glad about this?—“The Dark Lord came back last year and killed a Hufflepuff by the name of Cedric Diggory.”

 “Is that what the Headmaster was talking about?”

 Ten heads bobbed silently.

 Bay took a deep breath. “Let me get this straight. I just moved to a country where and evil maniac came back to life and there’s a high chance I’m gonna be killed?”

 “Well, there is a Dark Wizard,” Viviane said.

 “But he won’t kill you. The Dark Lord goes mostly after Mudbloods and nosy Gryffindors who get in his way.”

 “Oh wow, that makes me feel so much better,” she said sarcastically.

 “Don’t worry,” Gwen smiled. “You’re a Slytherin. Nothing bad ever happens to us, you know.”

 Bay would just have to take this girl’s word for it.

* * * * *

 “I don’t get it,” Ron Weasley said for the seven-hundredth time. “She seemed so nice. A little touchy, but not all evil like the rest of the Slytherin gits.”

 Hermione Granger sighed. Ron seemed to be in a state of shock that the new girl had been transferred into Slytherin. “Ron, maybe the Sorting Hat thought it was best for her.”

 “But—she just didn’t seem like one. And she was wearing Muggle clothes!”

 “Ron, I haven’t said this to you many times before,” Harry Potter told his friend, “But just shut up.”

 “But—but—”

* * * * *

 Bay Verite sunk into the thick four-poster bed, fingers feeling the heavy emerald velvet of the bed-curtains. This place might not be America, and it might be infested with evil wizards, but for now, she’d have to call it home.