Penelope absent-mindedly twisted her father's stopwatch around between her fingers. "You don't even work, do you?" she whispered to it, so low that no one else on the train could hear her. A little paranoid, she still opened the door and made sure no one was staring at her compartment. To her relief, no one even glance her way. 
"It really is too bad I can't do magic yet," she continued to the stopwatch. "I wish I was raised in a real wizarding family. That way, I'd put a spell on you to make sure that if I'm not put in Hufflepuff, you can keep reversing time until they HAVE to put me in it." She sighed. "My research shows that Hufflepuff is the least-liked house," she presented the carefully written notes to the stopwatch, as if it could see them, "but maybe that's because someone like me, a girl talking to a clock, would want to be sorted into it. Something about it intrigues me, it really does. Now, I'll shut up, I don't want anyone booting me off the train and into an asylum."

Penelope placed the stopwatch back in her pocket, closed her eyes, and leaned back in her compartment, considering the past few hectic weeks. Receiving her letter, being ignored by her brother, lying to her mother, and dragging her father around Hogsmeade until she had collected all the school supplies written elegantly in green ink on the parchment letter. Despite all that was occurring, only one thought from these weeks seemed important now: "I must be in Hufflepuff."
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