Ironwood (HP Next Generation FanFiction)

Chapter 1

Everyday I'm reminded that the sorting hat was 100% wrong. Absolutely and, unfortunately for me, irrevocably wrong.

Me, Aiko Ironwood, a Hufflepuff. I'd broken the long tradition of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors in my family. I knew of course that I wasn't exactly Slytherin either and even though my family has been in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw for as far back as we can trace I didn't fit in to their snug ideals but never in my entire life had I considered being a Hufflepuff. The studious, ill tempered, barricaded Hufflepuff....it just doesn't sound right.

"It's not bad. Hufflepuff is a wonderful house love." My mother had tried to console me when I returned home for the summer after my first year. I had shouted back at her that no on took me seriously as a Hufflepuff and she dropped the matter knowing full well she did the same thing in her years at Hogwarts. And to this day the sentiment is somewhat true. No one really takes me seriously. Being a Hufflepuff meant that people assumed you were warm and gentle and helpful. Sure I am all those things but not to everyone and certainly not all the bloody time.

Five years later and I'm still floundering in a school induced identity crisis along with a smallish group of friends, most of which have surpassed their crisis and are doing quite well including my best friends Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy. Of course Potter and Malfoy are big names all on their own with their own identities and they both tried and failed epically in fourth year to be heroes like Albus' dad but fortunately we're passed that.

"Have you thought about your N.E.W.T courses?" My mum asks me for the one hundred and twenty-second time this summer. Luckily it's the final time before I get dropped off at the train station later today.

"Nope." I say shortly. She groans and sets a glass of cold almond milk beside my plate of toast.

"Your O.W.Ls were nearly perfect Aiko. You could do anything." She sits across from me at the table and stares at me intently.

"That may be why it's so difficult." I shrug and she rolls her head in exasperation. 

"So you have no idea what you want to do after Hogwarts?" Her eyes try to pierce my outer dismissiveness but at 16 years-old I'm essentially immune and tune out the dangerous sharpness of her gaze.

"No, I have plenty of ideas on what to do just don't know how I'm supposed to choose. The whole thing just feels very shackling when you think about it." Both of her eyebrows disappear into her fringe and she breathes a heavy forced sigh as she gets up to stop the kettle.

"You sound an awful lot like your father when you say things like that." She shakes her head.

"Where is dad anyway?"

"Late case at the ministry. He should be on his way home now."

I nod, finish my toast and milk, and go to my room where I'm still organizing my things into my trunk. My love for organization was one of the very few things I had inherited from my mum. Everything sharp about her had been rounded out by my dad's Scandinavian genes. My eyes are slanted and almond shaped but they're wide and rounded like a fat almond. My lips are plump and soft but set in a resting pout instead of poised like my mother's. My body had gotten the same treatment though it hadn't really shown until this last summer as my body developed curves and plumpness of their own without my consent. My shapely form were unlike anything my mum and her family had ever been related to.

I'm tragically fair with a healthy sprinkling of freckles across my face and shoulders.

"Strong shoulders." My Obaachan would say politely, silently lamenting that they weren't slender shoulders or dainty shoulders. She would make the same comment about my hips and thighs. In fact the whole time I was being fitted for my robes she kept making comments about trying to slim me down in areas to make me look smaller.