Keelan Walsh is standing on the platform, covered in robes that seem impervious to the rain that falls thickly from the sky. “First year students, please, this way!” She swings about a lantern, held high over her already considerably tall head, to emphasize her location. “Everyone else, the carriages are–over there!” Indeed, the carriages are lit rather warmly, as though they’ve been fitted with heating for the particularly blustery weather this Sorting day. “Come on, first years! We’ve got a lovely trip planned for you.” If being drowned from above while floating across an icy lake in the dark could possibly be considered fun.

Kara Raine hopes off the train, turning back to wave towards Rhyne. “Good luck! See you at the feast.” Glancing around, the second year tries to stay up with her fellow Ravenclaws, trying to see where they need to go next. No boat for her this year.

Alden Wexler hardly seems to notice the rain as Keelan calls out for the first years — quite despite the fact that in a little under a few moments, the poor boy in new school robes is throughly soaked, head to foot. Without a word, he does as instructed, following Keelan along the way.

Ugh, rain. Olivia sighs and pulls her hood up carefully, tucking her hair back into the hood as best she can, though the water has not done nice things to it. “I’m glad we’re finally here,” she comments to Evan, making her way to the carriage and stepping into one several down.

Exiting the train, Evan pauses after a few steps to hear Keelan’s familiar voice and watch the first years begin to separate. He looks in particular for one first year boy; upon spotting the child confidently walking off toward Keelan with a few others, he hurries to follow Olivia into the carriage.

Riley Markham throws a somewhat cold look up at the Faculty table as he enters the Great Hall — wine red hair soaking wet despite his brief exposure to the rain. His expression is nothing short of rageful as it falls upon the Headmistress, before he flops down at the Ravenclaw table with a dark, dark hiss.

(Ravenclaw) Interested in every single student, that enters the hall, Kassandra sits down at the Ravenclaw table, greeting her housemates she has not met in the train and waving here and there to her entering acquaintances.

(Ravenclaw) “Hello everyone!” Bubbling with excitement, Kara Raine dances in and takes a seat at her house table, calling out greetings to various friends. She sits down amid a group of second years, immersing herself in tales of trips taken on holidays and the differences between being a first and second year.

(Ravenclaw) With a remarkably sour look on his face, Riley flops down across from Noémie and next to Saphia, immediately pouring himself a pumpkin juice with enough force that cracks his goblet. His waist-length hair clings to his face and cloak, and his wrinkled robes drip with almost casual disdain. Naturally, drying himself would be a simple feat, but he seems to cling to the cold water, almost as if making a point to the Headmistress sitting at the faculty table, who is waggling her fingers at Riley with an amused grin.

(Ravenclaw) Rhian Brecon took care of how wet she was as soon as she entered the school, really quickly. She sits down with the other Ravenclaws and smiles. This is it… her last year here… Last sorting she’ll get to see, among the last feasts she’ll go to, and the start of the last nine months to hang out with her fellow Ravenclaws… Unfortunately, two of her best friends are no longer here, graduated at the start of the summer, among them, her boyfriend. This is going to be a long year.

Entering later than the other faculty, Astra wipes her hands nervously on her robes. Hurrying up to the table, she doesn’t greet anyone or even Arriving at the faculty table; she walks around behind it and takes her seat.

Keelan Walsh leads the firt years out of the Waiting Room, most of them still soaking wet, Keelan herself strangely dry as she removes a ridiculously large cloak. Up she goes toward the head of the room, darting a glance at the other faculty with a ‘And why do I have to do this?’ look on her face. Then there’s a brief smile as she disappears off to the side. Returning, she carries with her the age-old stool (although it’s sturdy) with an ages-older rumbled bit of hat. This is set down in front of the Faculty table and she steps aside, clasping her hands silently in front of herself.

Fern Featherstone follows after Keelan. Her upper teeth press gently against her thin lower lip as she attempts to control her nerves, while looking over the room from beneath the curtain of her sparse lashes. She then tilts her narrow chin and looks up toward the ceiling. A gasp is heard, but Fern stubbornly and with much pride tries to control her vocal and trembling reaction. When the hat begins to sing, she looks upon it with a nervous kind of suspicion. She then looks toward the other first years, waiting to see what how they respond before stepping into a line.

Alden Wexler widens his eyes at that last line — no matter how composed a young boy appears about the process of Sorting — the notion of possibly being bitten by a old, dirty hat raises a hint of alarm as regards the patched bit of leather on the stool from the end of the line of first years. Still, he remains quiet, hands clasped in front of him, regaining his composure with a small shake of his head that sends droplets raining in a meager arch around him.

Keelan Walsh unclasps her hands and produces from a pocket a thick role of parchment. Unfurling it a bit, she repeats the instructions, “When I call your name, step up and place the hat upon your head, please. Peering through her spectacles at the first name, her voice comes, a bit unsteady, truth be told. “Castle, Rhyne!”

“I’m going to be in Slytherin, I know it,” Satinka tells Seker in a quiet whisper as she crosses her arms. Her voice is stronger and more certain than the look on her face would have one believe, but the girl appears rather focussed on the old-looking hat that sits nearby and then glances to Keelan. “Oh, I wonder where he’ll be sorted,” she comments and watches with interest as the first name is called.

Rhyne Castle makes his way to the Sorting Hat and settles it firmly on his head, doing his best to project more confidence than he actually feels. He waits in silent anticipation for the hat’s verdict.

(Ravenclaw) Kara Raine waves as Dolly joins the table, turning back quickly to listen to the sorting hat. She cheers loudly as the song finishes, quieting quickly as she waits for the sorting, trying to watch for the first year who shared a train compartment with her earlier.

Rhyne Castle blinks, owlishly, as he removes the hat, looking just a little bit bewildered. Although the bemused expression doesn’t fade entirely, it is joined by something at least resembles pleasure, and he puts on a more-or-less convincing smile as he goes to join his new housemates.

Falling into line behind Satinka, Seker only nods and watches nervously as Rhyne is sorted. “I met him in Hogsmeade,” comments Seker after a moment, clapping as the boy is declared a Ravenclaw. “Well, it looks easy,” Seker notes, sighing.

Fern Featherstone shifts her slight weight from one narrow foot to another as she stands in the line. She watches as Rhyne is sorted, seemingly slightly less nervous now. Her thin lips curve into the ghost of a smile. She then glances between Satinka and Seeker, clearly listening to their words.

“It didn’t hurt him, it looks like. Looks kind of easy. All you have to do is wear it. I wonder what it does. Do you suppose it just randomly picks, or if it really does decide based on, well, how you are?” Satinka whispers back, watching for the next name to be called while Rhyne makes his way to Ravenclaw table.

Keelan Walsh calls out, “Cowper, Jason,” who takes approximately four seconds before the hat calls, “Gryffindor!” and then Keelan calls another Ravenclaw, then a Slytherin and “Featherstone, Fern!”

Alden Wexler applaudes politely as Rhyne Castle is sorted in to Ravenclaw, squinting a little as the newly sorted student removes the hat as if he might actually be able to see if the leathery bit of rag actually had teeth or not to carry out the threatened biting.

Fern Featherstone approaches the hat with tentative steps, suggesting that the slender girl is rather shy. Still she throws back her narrow shoulders and lifts her dainty chin, as if trying to display a bit of pride. She reaches for the hat, while frowning with distaste in response to its ragged appearance. She then places it upon her head, leaving her lank ragged dark locks to cascade against her shoulders. Her breath quivers in the hollow of her pale slender throat, as she awaits the sorting and her small form is tense, as she sits still, silent and statue like.

(Ravenclaw) Dolly Faeden gives out a heavily-accented cheer as not one but two Ravenclaws are Sorted early on. “Good job!” calls the redhead down the table at Rhyne and the other new student, just as her stomach gives a bit of a gurgle. Ahem. “Hush,” she tells it, blushing a bit. At least she’s not still throwing her underpants about and accusing people of being transgendered.

Keelan Walsh claps a bit awkwardly and briefly and then continues on with two Hufflepuffs, another Gryffindor, “Linwood, Patricia!” who goes to Gryffindor as well, a Ravenclaw followed by a Slytherin and two Gryffindors and then, with a smirk, Keelan announces, “Rathe, Satinka!”

“There’s no way it’s random, are you joking me?” Seker whispers in an incredulous tone to his sister. “Haven’t you heard of the families who all get into one house, no fail?” Seker questions, crossing his arms. “No, it’s got to read your mind or something,” he says with determination, though clapping idly. “We’ll be joining her in a few minutes, hopefully,” Seker says, watching the girl go to sit down. “Go!” Seker says suddenly.

Looking startled, Satinka lets out a gasp as her name is called, and glances back at her brother, walking to the stool with unusual caution. Hesitating a moment, she looks at the hat, and then picks it up, simultaneously plopping it on her head while sitting quickly onto the stool. She bites her lip and closes her eyes up tight, seeming to be in deep conversation, or else in deep pain while she wears the illustrious hat.

With very little pause, Keelan announces, “Rathe, Seker!” as if she really needed to emphasize that he was next in line.

Still taking deep breaths, Seker does smile as his sister is sorted, nodding in her direction. One down! Now the other Rathe needed to be placed rightfully as a son of Slytherin. Hearing his name called, Seker feels like choking and fainting (life is so hard), but instead nods and steps up to the hat, sitting down and putting it on.

“It isn’t random,” Alden assures them, finally, as Satinka’s name is called. Though he chooses not to elaborate on anything else he might have gleaned from his summer reading. He draws a deep breath the closer it gets to his name being called, idly wondering if it were better that his last name was poised at the end of the alphabet, or if it might have been more simple to be at the beginning and get it over with. Indeed, despite all appearances, he is nervous. Though largely, it’s more rooted in the fact that his mother is watching from the faculty table, and seemingly a half dozen relatives are all scattered in the audience, eagerly awaiting another Wexler in their house, and sure to give him guff should he fail to share it.

Stunned, it is a few seconds before Seker comprehends the word emitted from the hat. “What?” he asks, standing up and turning around to look at his mother, his face a mask of surprise and horror. He can’t bring himself to try and look at Satinka, not after she made it and he didn’t. What is this. What it this?? Seker is in a stunned reverie as he stumbles to the Hufflepuff table, not thinking, yet, to look for Rafe or any of the other Hufflepuffs he’s acquainted with. It was probably a prank or something. Well, Seker would play along for now. “Hello!” Seker greets his ‘housemates’ with a put-on genial demeanor. “What are we having?” he asks, pointing to his empty plate with a perked brow.

Keelan Walsh chokes a bit on the next name, though Sheldon, Galen sorts to Slytherin all the same. Three Ravenclaws, a Gryffindor, and yet another Hufflepuff later, she calls, “Wexler, Alden!” who is second to last in the world of Sorting unless someone has been missing from the list or Keelan‘s recitation of names.

Alden Wexler swallow a breath, Alden steps forward, moving toward the stool and the old, patched hat with an even stride. He pauses briefly to glance up at the faculty table toward Sibyl, then to the Gryffindor table toward Briony and Felicity, before exhaling a long sigh and lifting up the Sorting Hat. With a grave expression, he climbs on to the stool and places the hat on his head.

His eyes somewhat wide, caught a little off guard by the insight of the hat, Alden quietly removes the cap after it’s shout and slides off the old, solid stool. “Thank you,” he says, politely, to the ragged bit of leather, before turning toward the cheering table to take his seat. He was certain he could feel Briony gaping at him from behind.

Keelan Walsh calls out, “Wexler, Kyler!” who takes a seat and sits there for so long Keelan is actually startled to hear, “Slytherin!” call forth from the hat. With one last look over the assembled students, she rolls up the parchment, claps briefly, and takes the stool and hat away. When she returns, it is to her seat at the faculty table, where she relaxes, duties done.

Melvina Prichard rises from the faculty table purposefully once the ritual of Sorting has concluded, lifting her nimble, long-fingered hands in a suggestive way as she beckons the student audience for silence. “Excuse me, quiet please — yes, that includes you, Mister Alcot.” Her voice is thick and strong, but laced with an ever-present hint of amusement. An almost coy half-grin touches her lips, looks over the heart of her school.

“Greetings, everyone,” Melvina calls, her voice dancing across the Great Hall at a comfortable volume. “Welcome to your school year nineteen hundred and twenty seven! I trust that all of you enjoyed your summer vacations! As I’m sure most you of you are now aware, my name is Melvina Prichard and I am the Headmistress of Hogwarts school. Last year, all of you helped give this blustering, frugal old woman a home and a purpose. This year, I hope to reward and repay each of you for that wonderful gift. Now, pressing on, I’ve some beginning of term announcements to make.” Clearing her throat, the Headmistress pulls a pair of spectacles from her emerald robe pocket and resting them on the bridge of her nose, before gathering up a tightly-bound scroll sitting next to her empty plate.

“All the usual suspects, of course. Our caretaker has asked me to remind you check the updated list of prohibited items and punishable offenses that have been thoughtfully posted in each of your common rooms–” Drawing in a deep breath, the Headmistress begins to unroll the wound parchment, “Spellwork outside of the classroom, rough play, pranks, hijinxs, dungbombs, Whimple’s Pimple Powder..” Demonstratively, she allows the end of the scroll to slip from her fingers, clatter to the table, spill over the edge, and roll across the floor Great Hall until it exhausts itself somewhere near the door of the waiting room across the entrance hall. A somewhat playful glint sparkling in her eyes, Melvina sets her end of the very long list down and vanishes it with a flick of a wand which she withdraws from the sleeve of her robes. “As you can see, the list goes on. Be sure to check it.”

After a small bubble of laughter, Melvina takes up a blessedly smaller sheet of parchment. “Hogwarts tradition demands that I remind you the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds for all students. As seems to happen every year since antiquity, some of you will most certainly forget that pesky little rule. It just slips out, squeezed away from the building pressure of knowledge our fine professor work so hard to fill your head with over the year.” A rueful chuckle escapes her as she shares a knowing smile with the hall. “Know then that detention is the minimum punishment for entering the Forbidden Forest without a member of staff or faculty beside you, and that such acts will usually will result in a substantial loss of house points as well.” With a small, meaningful glance around and a pause to clear her throat and savor a sip of pumpkin juice, Melvina continues. “Naturally, we ask that you respect and defer to your Prefects. Also, I’d like to congratulate our new Head Boy and Head Girl, Andrew Larson and Margaret Cresterton. Mister Larson and Miss Cresterton, please stand.” She applauds once the two have risen, leading those who care to join her in a modest round of congratulations, before continuing on.

“Well done, Head Boy, Head Girl,” the Headmistress says, sincerely. “On to faculty. There are many exciting changes in Hogwarts staff this year, so to begin I hope you all with help me in welcoming Professor Phoebe Helit whom will be heading up our Muggle Studies department, and Professor Addison Williamson whom will helm our History of Magic class.” Melvina holds for a pleasant-enough round of applause before plowing on. “Also, though she has been with us a great while, I hope you’ll all help congratulate and welcome Professor Rathe in to her new role as Deputy Headmistress. Naturally, she’ll continue to provide you all with excellent lessons in your Defense Against the Dark Arts courses as well.” Another pause for applause, and quietly surprised murmurs — it was hardly a secret that last year Professor Rathe could hardly stand Professor Prichard. Now she was Deputy Headmistress? “Sadly, I must inform you that Professors Calwern and Ashcroft have chosen to step down. Professor Fallon will properly replace Professor Calwern as Gryffindor head of house.”

Following a deep, relieved breath and Melvina finally sets down the parchment and removes her glasses. “That said, I have only one more announcement to mention before we start in on the delicious feast I know you’re all patiently waiting to savor. This is my second year as Headmistress of Hogwarts school — last year was a daring step on to the path of the uncertainty for all of us. A maiden voyage, where bold choices were made, some rising to shimmering brilliance, others not so much. But in this second year, the fright of the unknown fades as well all walk in a comfortable security. Each sure we know, or at suspect, of what to expect It is in this peaceful repetition that we as a family forge traditions. Thus, I announce to you all our first of many traditions, the second annual Barefoot Social.” A sly, almost devillish grin dances over the lips of the Headmistress. “A celebration of the new term, greeting those whom are just joining us, and welcoming home those of us returning for another year. This dance will semi-formal, open to all years, and include an… outdoor feast.” The too-clever look on her face almost seems to gloat, briefly, as she looks out at her young crowd. Obviously, she is terribly proud of herself. “As this is the mother of tradition, we shall follow the precident set by last year’s grandmother event — the ladies will need ask the gentlemen for the honor of an afternoon’s courtship.” She waits, eagerly, for the reaction to that before at last finishing up. “I will be resuming the Student Events Committee, made up of students from all years to help me prepare for the Barefoot Social, Governor’s Ball, and a handful of other special events I have planned through out the school year; if you’d like to be on said Committee, you may contact me through any of the usual means. Exact details regarding date and time of the Barefoot Social shall follow shortly. Let’s eat.” And with small nod and a sly, lingering grin, she slips casually back in to her seat.

(Ravenclaw) “Oh, bloody effin’ ‘ell,” Riley hisses, allowing his head to collide with the table uncerimoniously. “She did it again — that’s what the hell she’s been smirkin’ about all these weeks. Another damned Barefoot Social. Kill me now.”

(Ravenclaw) “Ah, food,” Noémie comments, grinning to the new folks with a bit of a stretch. She grins to a certain other sixth year at her side and then winks, perhaps a bit more playfully than would be her norm otherwise. “Looks like a good little crowd, all of you,” she comments to the new firsties briefly before putting more food into her mouth. It is Riley’s luck that she has done this, too, for she does gift him with a rather stern look while she clears her throat. “Riley, you fuddent say fings ‘ike vat.” Ah, ever the graceful, polite young lady.

(Ravenclaw) Kassandra peers over to Riley. “Be careful, before I ask you out.” she grins and moves nearer to the table to begin loading small portions of various kinds of food onto her plate. She finally sees the variety in front of her and shrugs grinning. “Hm, seems like I can’t decide this year.”

(Ravenclaw) Dolly Faeden is a girl, and last year made a face at dancing with boys. Dangerously, though, she gives a look over the table at the announcement and says to Riley, “It’s not so bad, or are ye afraid ye won’t get asked?” A bit of roast turkey is chewed and swallowed before, “Or are ye afraid ye will?” comes out in her standard arrangement of impossible to understand accents. A giggle is all Noémie affords, as again the boys get eyed before there’s a shrug that seems to say ‘Meh, boys’ and she reapplies herself to the buisness of eating.

(Ravenclaw) Rhian Brecon smiles at Riley. “It wasn’t that bad last year, and it was fun planning it. Just relax Riley, just six more years and you don’t have to deal with her as Headmistress because you will have graduated. Focus on your studies and you’ll totally forget about her.”

(Ravenclaw) “Turf it,” Riley mutters, under his breath. Hopefully soft enough that he isn’t heard, seeing as that he doesn’t genuinely want to irritate Noémie. Still, he meets her stern gaze with one of his own, laced thickly with annoyance that only a summer held hostage with elderly arrogance can inspire. “And you shouldn’t talk with yer mouth full.” Dolly’s trite little questions are answered with a foul expression. “Nice bit o’ double talking there, eh? Right or wrong no matter how I answer.” Rhian’s reassurance is rewarded with the most positive reception — a gruff grunt and nod before he tables his forehead again, not bothering to fill up his plate, which is a white color almost as pasty as his pale skin seems to be at the moment.

(Ravenclaw) “I guess it’ll be nice to have some detention, don’t you think, Riley? I’ll let your grandmother know you’ll be coming Friday night for your first detention of the year.” Noémie doesn’t grin or wink or even blink as she tells him this, her face stony and plain before she turns her face to the boy next to her with a sly look and then beginning to eat. Her elbow darts out into the boy’s side briefly, but she doesn’t say anything further while she continues to work on the mound of food she’s put onto her plate — no small feat for a girl of her build!

(Ravenclaw) Riley Markham lifts his gaze, slowly. His expression — somewhere beteen incredulous and dangerous. “You can’t be serious.” His tone is tenative, however — on the edge of potential laughter he didn’t feel if it proved to be a joke, and torrential rage if it proved not to be. His hands remain at his sides, and his chin brushes against the plate as he stares up at the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain and Prefect. “Noémie..”

(Ravenclaw) “Well, you’re the one who said those things. I’m completely serious.” She shrugs at him. “You know how things go, and that was pretty foul language, and in front of the new students, no less.” Noémie shakes her head and shrugs. “You’ll know better next time, won’t you? I’m sure your grandmother won’t mind, anyway. She likes seeing you.” The girl takes another bite of food, looking rather nonplussed about Riley’s apparent near-emotional-explosion that is on the brink of being set off.

(Ravenclaw) It takes almost every ounce of reserve that Riley has not to do something physically rash. Such as taking one of his suddenly balled fists and shattering the plate his chin had just touched a moment before, or drawing his wand. Sitting up, slowly, his teeth grate together as he struggles to keep from saying anything at all — which proves largely to be a losing battle. “Take it. Back. Now.” His left fist, wrinkled with hideous scars as if his whole had had been soaked in acid, actually trembles. “I had a summer with her. A whole. Damn. Summer. Isn’t that enough?” His voice is only just barely contained in hisses. “Here, her flat, doing her chores. The whole summer. One effin’ afternoon I had away from her.. one. Don’t you dare do this to me. If it were you, you’d be muffed too — besides, isn’t all that snogging and whatever else you did last term punishable — don’t you deserve a detention or two for all the disgusting load you did with that git last year.. or whatever it is you did over the summer?” There’s a moment, after the words fall from Riley, that he realizes he has gone to far. Way to far. And it shows in his eyes. The immediate regret for the stupidness his anger summoned. But being a his grandmother’s grandson, his stubborness holds his fast to his words. And with force of will he didn’t know he had, he stands by them.

(Ravenclaw) Dolly Faeden blinks slowly and calmly with the air of someone observing as if completely unaffected. “Riley-sir, do ye hate your grandma? I love both of mine, and one of them is a muggle, so if ye could explain why ye don’t seem to like her–it is because she’s old? Grandmothers are supposed to be old. An’ they’re supposed to have you help around the house, too.” Her tone is very weird and curious, the exact way someone might ask a question and provide a hypothesis in class. She’s apprently not too observant that she might get smacked for her behavior, though.

(Ravenclaw) Peering at Riley, Noémie looks as if she has not taken this quite as calmly as his previous transgression. “Two detentions then, Riley. And don’t you ever talk to me that way again. Family or no, I’m still older than you and a prefect besides. You can be sure I’ll tell Melvina about that, and whatever your summer was like, that’s not my fault, so don’t you dare take it out on me, Riley Everett Markham. That is not my fault.” Standing and tossing her napkin onto the table before her, Noémie gets out from the table. “Now, first years, feel free to follow me, I’ll take you to the commonroom. The girl does not look at Riley again, though her annoyance is etched into her face. “I’ll see you up at the commonroom, Joseph,” she tells her comrade and waits to see if any of the first years come to follow her.

Other Interesting Logs:

• Sorting Day: Olivia’s Perspective
• Sorting Day: Briony’s Perspective
• Sorting Day: Satinka’s Perspective
• Sorting Day: Olivia’s Perspective
• Sorting Day: Briony’s Perspective