Acquaintance - Oliver Wood/OC

Chapter 2: Try-Outs

"Penderghast, Willow!"

It was the second time she'd called me when I finally understood that it was my name she'd said. After a clearing of my throat and a high pitched "yes!" for reply, I began the long journey toward the stool. Quite desperately I argued with reality that no one was looking at me. When I sat down and turned to face the crowd I could no longer argue. Reality had won and all eyes were on me.

I remember feeling like everyone cared so much. Cared who I was and if I was going to be a Gryffindor like my brothers were or a Slytherin like... no one I knew really, but I hadn't missed the stereotypes people perpetuated. Later in life I would realise they weren't just stereotypes, but misconceptions as well, I would also come to find out that, contrary to my 11 year old self's belief, no one cared. No one cared who that little kid up there was, and they didn't give a damn if I was a Gryffindor like my brothers were, nor would my brothers themselves. The only thing they cared about was how many kids were left until they could get some well-deserved food after a long train journey through England. I was only a number to them.

When the hat called out, "Hufflepuff!" and everyone clapped on demand, the Hufflepuff table cheering, I felt sort of numb. My whole world had just tumbled over and the only thing I could do was try not to think of what this would mean. The house I was sorted into did after all decipher who was going to be my family for the next seven years, who I was going to go to classes with and spend most of my time with; who I was going to play Quidditch with, and against. Saying it's a big deal was fair indeed.

It's not that I didn't like Hufflepuff. I had just never considered the possibility that I would be one. When I think back to it, it seems kind of silly. I had thought of the possibility of me being in every house, every house — except for Hufflepuff house. How had I not considered that a possibility? How had I not even thought the thought?

Graham broke me from my daydream with a poke in my side. My mind flew back to the current place I was in, the potions classroom. The rain was coming down with force on the window beside me. "He's been eyeing you for a while now. Better stay alert, it's only a matter of time before he makes a scene." He whispered, keeping his eyes pointed forwards to be discrete.

"Thanks." I whispered back. Snape, whom he was talking about, would gladly take any arising opportunity to make a scene, and one better not be the one who gives it to him.

Keeping my head mostly faced forward I glanced at Graham next to me. My thoughts returned to where they'd previously been. Another thing I had come to realise later in life was that I had been wrong about one other thing, one's house doesn't decipher whom one spends their time with, I had made sure to not let it. When I, seven years later, think of my friends, they're not all strictly Hufflepuff, not nearly. My conclusion is that my eleven-year-old self was close-minded, and that I like my 17-year-old self much better. Smiling, I focused back on what Snape was saying in the front of the class. Our eyes met and he probably wondered why I looked so happy in the middle of his boring speech.

***

"Alright, give me a word!" Said Bianca. She put some food into her mouth and clapped her hands together, leaning back a bit so that we could study her. She watched us with expectant eyes.

"Hmm." I uttered while I tried to concentrate, it was hard, being as on edge as I currently was. Although the game helped, which was probably why Bianca had suggested it. She usually suggested mini-games while we had lunch, but today I could sense that no one was really feeling it. Bianca had pushed on though and I guessed it was for my sake, to take my mind off the try-outs.

"Frabjous." Came PJ with.

I raised my eyebrows. "Frabjous? Really?" I sputtered at her. She had a pleased gleam in her eyes. "That's the PJ vocabulary for you." I turned to Bianca, who looked unhappy with the word having been handed to her. PJ's vocabulary took us all of guard sometimes. Her short name had been handed to her in juxtaposition to her personality. It was the initials of her name: Polly Jansson. The thing about PJ was that she was intelligent, just not pretentious, she never flaunted it on purpose and she would never just assume someone didn't know something. Having said that, she was wearing a big smirk at the moment.