“Yeri Kim.”

“Hufflepuff.”

“Joy Park.”

“Gryffindor.” 

“Son Chaeyoung.”

“Hufflepuff.”

“Jeon Somi.”

“Ravenclaw.”

“Kim Dahyun.”

“Hufflepuff.”

“Kim Doyeon.”

“Slytherin.” 

Watching the Sorting ceremony made Wendy, Irene, Seulgi and half of the students emotional. Five years had already passed since Professor Minerva McGonagall put the ancient Sorting Hat over their heads, but it felt like it was only yesterday. 

They still remember the excitement.

They still remember the anxiety, and the nervousness. 

They still remember how happy they were, being sorted in the right house. Well, everyone except Wendy. 

She was only being emotional because she reminisced how disappointed she was that day. 

She already accepted the fact that she’s a Slytherin, but she still felt bitter at how the Hat didn’t listen to her when she begged to be sorted in either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff.

Back in Harry Potter’s own ceremony when he begged not to be put in Slytherin, the Hat granted Harry’s choice, and put him in Gryffindor like he wished for. 

They said it was okay to choose if you’re unsure, but why it didn’t do the same to Wendy? She asked very politely, but the Hat was stubborn. 

Until this day, she still kept wondering why it didn’t grant her choice.

Could it be because she really belongs to the House of Slytherin?

“Frowning doesn’t suit you.” Lisa whispered to the Half-blood Slytherin. 

“Mind your own business.” Wendy replied plainly without sparing a look at the blonde girl.

“I’m being serious.” Lisa blew the fringe that fell over her left eye. “Stop frowning. It’s ruining your face.”

“Why do you even care, huh?” Wendy slammed a hand on the table. 

The bang caused their fellows to jump out from their seats. The Metamorphmagus never once showed her anger to them, so it was a shock seeing her getting angry. 

Wendy was a patient person, but her patience has somehow reached its limit today. 

“Trust me, I don’t care.” Lisa snorted. “I’m just wondering why you look so miserable. You’re not your usual self.”

Miserable, my ɑss. “You can’t expect me to be my cheerful self all the time, idiot.” The Metamorphmagus snarled in annoyance. 

“I’m not an idiot, you jerk.” The blonde witch snarled back. 

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