Chapter 7: 3-3

The train finally came to a halt before Hogwarts, the greatest seat of learning in the world. Leaving our luggage behind, we followed Hagrid as he shouted for the first-years to gather, and piled into the four-person boats. Our group consisted of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me—Maria. Come to think of it, these boats are only used in the first year; from the second year onwards, we’ll be traveling to the castle in carriages pulled by Thestrals.

While waiting in an empty classroom on the way to the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall explained the House system and the House Cup. Afterward, we spent a rather charming few minutes watching everyone let out cute shrieks at the ghosts' entrance, while Ron—terrified—whispered to Harry about how the "test" to determine our Houses was supposed to be quite painful. (Mind you, I was the only one who found this "charming." If Draco had been there, he likely would have been appalled by the whole scene, myself included.)

When we were finally led into the Great Hall, I watched blankly as the Sorting Hat—which had looked after me so many times in my previous school life—began to sing. Beside me, Harry’s face was growing increasingly pale, so I took his hand as I always did. I felt him let out a small, shaky sigh of relief through the warmth of our joined hands.

Back when I was just "Harry" and had to face that Hat alone, I felt like I was on the verge of throwing up.

That’s why I have to show him he isn’t alone. I know you better than anyone else—after all, I am you.

Starting with Hannah Abbott, the names were called. Hermione was sorted into Gryffindor by the Hat’s roar. Neville, of course, became a Gryffindor as well, nearly running off to the red-and-gold table with the Hat still perched on his clumsy head. And then, his name was called.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Come to think of it, the last time around, the Hat had barely touched his head before shouting his House. This might be the first time that talking Hat has actually been sat properly atop those stiff, blonde locks. I’ll have to ask him how it felt later.

"Draco went to Slytherin..." Harry muttered, looking strangely disappointed.

"Where do you want to go?" I whispered back.

"Anywhere is fine... anywhere that’ll have me."

"Don't be so pessimistic."

"But... Maria, have you already decided?"

"Somewhere with you, Harry. My name comes after yours, anyway."

"Eh...?"

"So, make sure you choose the House you really want to be in. The choice is yours, after all. I’ll be watching."

I gave his messy black hair an encouraging ruffle, and then, finally, Professor McGonagall called Harry’s name. A hush—that same chilling silence I had experienced once before—fell over the Hall.

"Harry."

As expected, Harry was frozen with nerves. I gave him a small nudge. To my surprise, he tried to walk toward the Sorting Hat while still dragging me along. A few ripples of amused laughter broke out from the crowd, much like they had for Neville.

"S-Sorry, Maria! ...Wish me luck."

"Good luck."

I gave his hand one last firm squeeze before letting go.

"GRYFFINDOR!!"

The Hall exploded with sound. I could faintly hear the Weasley twins cheering that they "got Potter," but the roar of the crowd was bouncing everywhere, turning the Hall into a cacophony of celebration.

Driven by curiosity, I glanced over at the Slytherin table. He—Draco Malfoy—was watching the flustered Harry with surprisingly gentle eyes.

He really is nothing like the Malfoy of those days, even if he looks exactly the same.

"Potter, Maria."

Once the excitement had died down, my name was called. Predictably, the Hall began to buzz again.

Potter? Another Potter? Is she related to Harry Potter? Why is she wearing trousers? Isn't she a girl?

The answers were slowly revealed by the Gryffindor table. It seemed Harry’s claim that I was his "younger twin sister" was being passed down the line like a game of telephone. (I’ll have to correct them later; I’m the older sister.)

"Hmm, I see, I see... very similar to the boy from a moment ago."

"You mean Harry?" I thought.

"No, the one before him. He, too, had the talent to thrive in any House. And yet, his mind was made up. You are the same, aren't you?"

"Yes—"

Then, the Hat shouted: "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry’s applause was louder than anyone else's. I nodded toward his sparkling green eyes, then glanced at the boy in Slytherin who supposedly resembled me.

It’s still so unsettling... seeing you look at "me" with such kindness while wearing that face.

So, I gave him a tiny, mocking smirk.

...Ah, I’ve already broken my promise to Professor Snape about not acting unrefined.

After welcoming Ron to the Gryffindor table, Harry and I tucked into the lavish feast that Hogwarts is so proud of. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say I’ve spent the last eleven years enduring a near-empty stomach just for this moment.

While I was lost in the bliss of dessert, Harry suddenly clutched his forehead and groaned.

Wait, why? Is Voldemort—oh, right. Quirrell.

I immediately looked toward the High Table. The man was chatting with Professor Snape, his head turned toward him. Because of their positions, the back of his head—where Voldemort resided—was facing Harry.

How charming.

I stared with all the hostility I could muster at the entity hidden behind that turban—the one smelling of artificial garlic—the shadow that would undoubtedly continue to torment my brother.

After Dumbledore’s warnings and a rendition of the school song (where no two people finished together, except the Weasley twins who were singing a funeral march), we began to follow Percy, the Prefect, toward the familiar Gryffindor Tower. It was then that I felt a gaze from the Slytherin side.

"Draco."

Draco had quietly detached himself from the sea of green robes and pulled up beside me.

"I’ll contact you through that tonight. Read it before you go to sleep."

"So soon? Forgive me if I'm too tired and fall asleep first."

"Then what’s the point of the communica—"

"Maria, what are you doing! Percy’s leaving!"

Despite our attempt at a clandestine meeting away from the other Gryffindors, the sharp-eyed Hermione had spotted us. Perhaps because she had exposed so many of our misdeeds in the future, I felt a sudden pang of guilt, as if I’d been caught doing something wrong.

"Oh, pardon me. Er..."

"Draco Malfoy. And you are...?"

"Oh... I-I’m Hermione Granger. Mr. Malfoy."

What?

My skin crawled as I watched Hermione blush like a shy schoolgirl while Draco offered his hand for a polite greeting. I have nothing against a feminine Hermione, but the sight of Hermione Granger acting bashful and self-conscious around Draco Malfoy was so unbelievable that my brain simply stalled.

Draco seemed to feel the same. He froze, forgetting to withdraw his hand, and instinctively looked at Ron. Well, even as adults, those two always struggled with their boundaries. While Hermione eventually made peace with befriending Draco, Ron was... well, you can imagine. We had it drilled into us: being friendly with Hermione automatically earned you a glare from Ron. Draco had clearly internalized this.

"It’s okay, Draco. He's not there yet."

"I have decided," Draco muttered hollowly, "that I will never acknowledge the products of WWW."

"They don't exist yet. Neither the shop nor the twins' inventions."

His grey eyes looked vacant, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity. He must have suffered quite a bit at the hands of Ron’s older brothers... Scorpius seemed like the type who would actually enjoy their pranks, though.

"Draco!"

Another voice joined the fray, promising even more complications. It was Harry. He stepped in, shielding both me and Hermione behind his back, and looked up at Draco as if searching for the right words.

"Draco, look, I understand, okay? I know you don't mean anything by it. But, well, not everyone knows you’re a gentleman. I really think you shouldn't."

"What are you talking about?"

Seriously, what was he talking about?

"Well, I mean..."

After a moment's hesitation, Harry leaned in and whispered into Draco’s ear, shielding his mouth with his hand.

Wow. I thought I was getting used to this, but seeing "me" and Malfoy—who used to trade insults the moment our eyes met—whispering like best friends was still bizarre. And besides, Harry’s "whispering" was entirely useless in the quiet corridor.

"You can't just kiss Hermione or other people right away. Just stick to me and Maria for now. Some people might not realize your 'skinship' is just skinship... okay?"

"............"

"............"

"............"

Draco’s eyes bored into mine, screaming: He’s your brother, do something about him immediately. Meanwhile, Hermione was looking at Draco as if he were some kind of pervert. You’re getting closer to your "future eyes," Hermione.

I remained silent and managed to disband the chaotic scene. By the time I caught up with Percy and the other students, he was giving the password to the Fat Lady. I’m glad I didn’t miss it; I wasn't keen on testing the comfort of the corridor floor on my first night.

As expected, I could feel a very pointed, questioning gaze from Hermione. My dear friend, please, leave the interrogation for tomorrow, I pleaded internally, avoiding her eyes.

I was exhausted. Even though this was my first time in the girls' dormitory (including my previous life), I had no energy to inspect the room. Fortunately, Hedwig was with Harry, so I didn't have much to unpack. I quickly pulled out my pajamas and hung my robes over the bedpost.

I tossed a crumpled piece of parchment from my pocket onto the bedside table and finally sank my weary, small body into the soft bed—a world away from the cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive.

Sorry, Draco. I just can't do it... Goodnight.

Once Maria’s consciousness had completely faded, letters began to shimmer onto the blank parchment.

—Goodnight, Maria Potter.