It’s a cool afternoon, and while the sun peeks out from behind the clouds beyond the windows of the Witch Weekly office, a light shower of rain spatters against the windows. In the office itself, people seem to be running the full spectrum from happy as a clam and perfectly relaxed to anxious and very possibly about to explode under the stress. Kelly Wexler, moving quickly through the office, seems to be somewhere between the two – almost perfectly so, one might think, until they notice the set of her jaw and the colour in her cheeks, betraying her feelings rather more. As she nears one desk, she clears her throat pointedly and calls out imperiously, “You can’t ignore your messages forever, you need to go down front and pick up your delivery. There’s currently a pile of – of whatever it is you write about, sitting in the foyer.” Presumably, whoever she is addressing knows who they are, for she doesn’t bother to give them a name or even more details. She stands for a moment, her arms folded, waiting for whoever it is to show some sign that they’ve understood her instruction.

“No, no, Chrissy, don’t play with that. Those are mummy’s important papers.” Olivia Geroff seems to be attempting to juggle more than any witch or wizard should attempt, particularly on a vaguely sunny day when all small children yearn to be acquiring grass stains. As Kelly bustles through, Olivia is briefly startled. “Hullo to you as well,” she greets the young woman calmly, though the pseudo-tirade is not at all directed toward her. Liv’s foot steadily rocks a small crib at the side of her desk and she adds a bit of a flourish to the end of a sentence. “Would you mind staying for a moment? I need an opinion about something. It’s just not coming right.”

For a moment, Kelly pays Olivia no mind, just staring down whomever it is that belongs to the so-called ‘whatever’ in the foyer. A moment later, it seems to register that someone is speaking to her, but she turns and nods slightly to Olivia with a vague attempt at a smile. “I have a moment, but -” a paper swan glides through the air, stopping next to her shoulder as she talks, but she pays it no mind, “in ten minutes, Miriam’s got a meeting with the advertisers, and she may need me to pick up any important messages for her.” Yes, in the four years she’s spent with the magazine, she’s stepped up from generic grunt work to very specific grunt work – someone’s personal assistant.

“Oh, alright,” Olivia almost stammers. “Well, it’s just this. I’m trying to write about the Ministry attack, something counter to the derogatory and sensationalist blather that’s always in the Daily Prophet about it. There’s just something missing from this one line here.” She clears her throat and is about to speak when Jason seems to take it into his head that she is a climbing gym. “Not now, sweetums. Why don’t you play pat-a-cake with Chris?” Jason is distracted, at least momentarily, and Olivia re-clears her throat. “‘As for the sensational claims of various unnamed newspapers, one has to wonder about the caliber of the the writers and reporters there, if all that can come of their so-called meticulous research is a list of trumped-up ways in which the Ministry is directly responsible for the attack on its own building.’” Olivia‘s passion about the subject at hand is clear as she finishes this one sentence from the already quite long article. She pauses. “It’s just not coming out right. I just can’t think how to change it for improvement.”

“For a start,” Kelly replies carefully, her brow creasing in consideration, “you should – well, I’ll be honest,” she sighs heavily like this is taking altogether too much effort, and continues, “there’s one major problem. It’s going to be completely obvious to everyone who reads it that you’re talking about The Daily Prophet, which opens up all the writers there who have spoken about the incident to claims of libel against you… or at the very least, they’re going to be very unhappy with you, which means that any future collaborations between Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet are going to be more tense.” She takes a deep breath before she adds, “Plus, you can’t just say that they’re wrong without refuting them in some way. Can you refute them? Besides, people like learning about conspiracies. Otherwise it’s just boring.” The paper swan begins to tap her on the shoulder, as though to remind her that it is there, but she pays it no mind.

“Well, of course I’ll provide evidence. I’m not going to just make an unsubstantiated claim and expect the Witch Weekly readers to trust me.” She pauses a moment. “Besides, it hasn’t only been the Daily Prophet. Other publications have done the same – or worse. How are the writers at the Prophet to know I’m not talking about the other publications more than the Prophet?” Olivia taps her quill against a blotter for a moment in further consideration. “I suppose you’re right, though. It is boring. That’s what the problem is.” Olivia‘s mind seems to be working on overload to the point that she only barely notices that Chris is tugging on the sleeve of her robe. The little boy murmurs something that sounds like “Cwakkss,” and she nods briefly. “There’s a bin of crackers in your bag. Share them with Jason.” She turns her attention to Kelly again, totally missing the fact that the young woman is not a reporter but, in fact, a specialized messenger. “Perhaps if I reworked this as a spotlight on one of the higher-ups in the Ministry. I couldn’t showcase Sylv– er, the Minister, of course, but perhaps another higher-up…” Olivia trails off as she allows this thought to germinate a bit more.

“Is anyone having a sordid affair?” Kelly replies with interest, tapping her finger against her chin thoughtfully as she considers this. “That could be interesting. Oh, you know what would be especially exciting?” She smiles brightly at this point, “What if one of the high-ups in the Ministry was actually not at work that day, but – no, he was on his lunch break and at his mistress’s house, and when the explosion occurred – now that’s a story for you!” She nods her head firmly as if to confirm that her idea is actually quite wonderful, and it’s only now that she finally grabs the swan out of the air. She doesn’t open it or try to determine the purpose, though, just shoves it in her pocket.

Staring blankly at Kelly for a moment, Olivia slowly shakes her head. “The people who read my column probably wouldn’t want something like that. It sounds like something that belongs on the back page amidst the adverts. After all, we’re not trying to run a trash magazine.” Olivia bites her lip a bit. “I’ll talk to my mother-in-law. Perhaps she’ll have some ideas for someone that I can interview for a story. I think I’ll call it something to do with the ‘Mess’ at the Ministry. Clever integration into my column. My editor won’t be able to refuse at least.” Olivia‘s mind seems eased a bit as she dumps the parchment on which she has been attempting to scribble out the not-very-good article into the dustbin. “Er, don’t you think you should check to see what that was for?” she asks carefully, gesturing vaguely toward the pocket which houses the insistent swan.

“If it’s true, it’s not trashy,” Kelly objects, shrugging her shoulders. “The readers may not want the full details of his sordid affair, but they want something a little more interesting than ‘I think the not-the-Daily Prophet-I-swear is too sensationalist’.” She pauses for a moment, “And speaking of adverts, it’s probably just about the meeting today that Miriam – is that her name? I think it begins with an ‘M’ anyway – has with the advertisers. It can wait.”

Olivia says, “Oh, alright. As long as it isn’t pressing,” Olivia concedes. “I think a personal spotlight would be plenty interesting for the readers. Even without the scandal revealed from someone’s personal tragedy, I feel confident that readers will respond positively to it. Besides, I doubt it would be as simple as someone being out of the office at the wrong time that caused this to happen.” She pauses and shakes her had, running her hand over Jason’s head, who does not even acknowledge her, so distracted is he playing Cracker Quidditch with Chris. “You’re right that a spotlight of some kind is better than something purely politically motivated, no matter how well-meant.”"

“Oh, alright. As long as it isn’t pressing,” Olivia concedes. “I think a personal spotlight would be plenty interesting for the readers. Even without the scandal revealed from someone’s personal tragedy, I feel confident that readers will respond positively to it. Besides, I doubt it would be as simple as someone being out of the office at the wrong time that caused this to happen.” She pauses and shakes her had, running her hand over Jason’s head, who does not even acknowledge her, so distracted is he playing Cracker Quidditch with Chris. “You’re right that a spotlight of some kind is better than something purely politically motivated, no matter how well-meant.”

“Thank you.” And it’s true – Kelly practically glows as her idea is complimented. “And it may not have caused anything but – human interest, that’s the one, eh?” Almost without thinking, she reaches into her pocket and unfolds the crumpled paper swan, reading it critically before observing, “Oh, tomorrow’s photoshoot has been postponed until eleven. I’ll need to pass that on. Do you have a quill?”

Olivia stretches her left hand out, with which she has been absentmindedly tapping her quill on the aforementioned blotter, offering it to Kelly. “So, is this your function here? Do you generally… manage things? Messages and such?” Olivia seems genuinely curious, and her demeanor toward Kelly seems to point toward the two never having had an altercation in their past, or even having really met.

Kelly‘s awkward hand skitters across the remnants of the paper swan as she writes herself a note not to forget to pass the message on. She’s silent in response to Olivia’s question as she does this, but she looks up with a faint smile, sticking the swan back in her pocket and the quill behind her ear. “In a manner of speaking,” she replies carefully. Then, a moment passes, and she shrugs her shoulders. Apparently, she’s resigned to not being a very good liar. “Well, mostly one person’s messages. But they’re important messages.”

“Well, that’s important. Somebody has to do it. Goodness knows that I’d never get any messages if someone didn’t get them to me. There’s no way I could leave these two alone for a second or they’d find someone’s wand and cause trouble.” Olivia purses her lips a bit as she glances down at the now sleepy-looking boys and then to the sleeping infant whose crib she is still gently rocking. “We all have to start somewhere, too, don’t we?” Olivia attempts a casual smile, but is still a bit awkward at social interaction, though the young woman is markedly better at it than she was while in school.

“At least I don’t have to go and get everyone lunch anymore,” Kelly observes quietly, and though her tone is quite nonchalant, her skin flushes faintly pink. This fades after a moment, though, and her snappy and imperious manner returns. “In any case… human interest, I’m fairly sure that’s the key, here.” She kicks at the ground with one foot before continuing, “Everywhere else is covering the politics, Witch Weekly readers are more about the domestics and the gossip and the stories of the boy born with three arms who can cast spells with any of them… well, the true ones, anyway.”

“I can understand that it would be a marked job improvement,” Olivia agrees with a nod. “Human interest is the key – it is. Though… I must have missed the feature on the three-armed boy.” It is at this moment that Chris lets out a rather loud shriek, and Olivia, her face turning a rather dark red, reaches down to pick him up. “I think it must be nearing n-a-p time,” she tells Kelly quietly. “The boys are getting cranky.” At this, she stands and begins to gather her things together, using her wand to do most of the difficult work (not an easy task when one is holding a sleepy four-year-old). “Thank you for your help. I do really appreciate it. I think the article will be quite good if I approach it the right way.” She smiles to Kelly slowly, setting Chris down in her own chair as she starts to pack the infant into a backpack like carrier before slinging a bag over her shoulder. Once she has retrieved her two small boys, Olivia looks rather more like a hiker than a woman.

“We all have things to be getting on with,” Kelly confirms in her most business-like manner, and as if to confirm this fact, she pulls another piece of parchment from her pocket, on which she has scrawled a To-Do list of sorts. Most of it is fairly menial things, but at least she has things to do. “Feel free to ask me for any more advice on that article – oh, and this is your quill,” she pulls the quill out from behind her ear and lays it down on the desk again. “As for the three-armed boy, well, I think some trash-sheet actually covered that one, but if there had been some proof… we would have been on it.” She winks, then turns to leave and go about her business.

Taking the opportunity to leave before her coworkers get more angry at her for the uncommon noise disturbance, Olivia sneaks away from her desk. “I’ll be sure to do that,” she tells Kelly quietly before turning and heading out of the office, destined for her own home where she will attend to the all-important task of nap time.

Fairly late in the evening towards the end of term, those left in the Hufflepuff common room are almost exclusively engaged in studying; this close to exams, sleep and study are on most peoples’ minds, regardless of house. Antlia Ackerman, however, is surrounded by a small group who don’t appear to be too focused on study, all giggling madly about something or other. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?” The darker girl asks with a raucous laugh, well and truly audible in the moderately quiet common room. “Oh, that is just priceless.”

Olivia‘s arms are laden with a fair stack of papers as she comes down the stairs into the commonroom. The Head Girl is out of uniform, though her silver ‘Head Girl’ badge is pinned prominently on her left breast. She finds an open seat, relatively toward the center of the room – for some reason, the chairs where she usually likes to sit are all taken this afternoon – and sets the stack of papers down on the table next to her. With a sigh, she pulls them out and begins looking through them. They appear to be something she is studying very hard, though anyone who spends a fair amount of time around Olivia would know about her small NEWT classload.

Haha! Antlia cries out, slamming one hand down on the desk in front of her, as though that proved a point in some way. Now, having attracted quite a few dirty looks from around the room, she lapses into an awkward, embarassed silence for a moment, peering about apologetically, before taking up the same or similar conversation again in hoarse stage-whispers. If nothing else, from her circle, the words, “Head Girl — and the Head Boy. …see in her? Nooooo idea.” may be heard around the common room.

These kinds of whispers are not new to Olivia, but perhaps in the stress that she appears to be under, she looks up with a bit of a pained expression in her blue eyes. “If you’re going to gossip about someone, it’s best if you either do it when said person is out of the room, or at least do it quietly,” she states plainly, looking directly at the group in question before attempting to look back at her paper. It is clear that the statement, or the half-statement, has unsettled the young woman as she seems to be staring at the same thing on the page for quite a few moments.

There is a group “Oooooooh,” from the ‘study’ group at this, mostly teasing more than actively malicious (though it is a little difficult to tell at times, certainly). After a moment, Antlia herself adds, “Sorry, Baxtor.” Then, a thoughtful pause. “Is it not true, then? Does he really not want you very much?” It’s asked in an entirely friendly, even sympathetic way, though her words are, at worst, badly chosen. “It’s alright – I understand. Boys are scum, aren’t they?”

Olivia‘s eyes widen as she looks directly at Antlia. “I… well, he asked me to marry him, and he says he loves me, so I expect he does. It isn’t as if I’ve forced him into anything,” Olivia states strongly, in a way that can almosty be considered as testy toward the group of girls. “If you’re so certain he doesn’t want me, though, why don’t you ask him. I would be poor at Divination since I’ve never studied it, and I certainly can’t ascertain what goes on in his mind.” The girl’s cheeks are red as she looks hard at Antlia, hurt in her eyes as she tries very hard not to even consider the things that the other girl is suggesting.

Flushed faintly pink (and yet not letting that actually quiet her, because if she let an awkward moment keep her quiet, she just wouldn’t be the same) Antlia bites at her lip and even chuckles a little bit. “I’m sorry – I didn’t know he’d actually proposed.” There’s something about the way she puts the emphasis on ‘actually’ that implies, perhaps, that she’d heard and thought it a baseless rumour. “Well, good for you, really. I mean, he managed to become Head Boy despite it all, and his mother IS the Minister, so I can see the appeal.”

“I – h– it — wh–” Olivia sputters for a moment before falling quite silent. Tears prick her eyes as she sits farther back in her chair and attempts to look busy. Of course he had proposed to her. Wasn’t that what the ring showed? Wasn’t that obvious to the entire world when she walked about, practically on a cloud, thinking about it? Of course, Olivia is now quite upset over this and feeling very doubtful. “Is that what everyone’s saying, then? It’s probably my wretched sisters at it again. If you all MUST know, no, I have not ever employed a love potion, he and I became friends of our own volition, and he proposed to me under no coersion, while we were touring Europe this summer. He did it at a beautiful muggle castle, which I’m sure is something more romantic than any of you would be able to count on if you’re so concerned about where someone has come from or who their parents are.” Olivia practically spits the last at the group of
girls, her cheeks quite crimson as she looks down at her parchment once more.

Trying to force a smile to make the interaction a little less unpleasant, Antlia offers a quiet, “Er. How many times do I have to apologise before you stop stressing out on me?” Alright, so the girl isn’t very good at making pleasant conversation with people. Not about sensitive issues, anyway. “I already said that it’s, you know, a good thing that his mother’s the Minister, didn’t you hear me? She is the Minister, isn’t she? I mean, she didn’t get sacked when I wasn’t paying attention?” She shrugs vaguely. “It sounds really nice in the muggle castle, I guess.” And again, the awkward emphasis on the word ‘muggle’ that betrays her true thoughts.

It isn’t as if Antlia’s thoughts about muggles and those who enjoy them are new to Olivia, so the fact that this part of the conversation is perhaps a little less than savory, she seems to ignore. “I don’t love him because his mum’s the Minister for Magic. I love him because he’s wonderful. That she’s his mum has nothing to do with it.” Olivia sighs and looks away for a moment, attempting to ignore the sniggers and chatter in the background, which she feels very likely are attributed to her previous outburst. “It shouldn’t matter at all, anyway. He’s going to get a job at the Ministry all on his own and be successful outside of his mother’s shadow, just you wait and see. He’s going to make something fantastic of himself.” Olivia may have perhaps missed the point.

“Oh.” Though Antlia seems unconvinced – how on Earth can you possibly have the Minister of Magic for a mother and not have that influence your career? – she nods, not saying anything that openly disagrees. “I’m glad you’ve found love, at least. I mean, I’m glad that this kind of love has gone to someone who needs it.” She nods, smiling, and sits back down at her table. Obviously, that’s a response that should calm the savage Head Girl, right?

Olivia is particularly baffled at this comment, and opens her mouth to speak, but then quickly closes it again. “I suppose…” she starts slowly. “I suppose I can be glad that you’ve now found your way into the last detention of the year,” Olivia states quietly, but a bit fiercely as she stares straight at Antlia. It is, probably, only the second detention that the girl has given in her entire term as Head Girl. The papers seem to be almost forgotten, though they are clutched strongly in her hands as she stares very intently forward. The year is nearly out, however, and even Olivia seems to realize this as she attempts to look away and find something more pleasant to think on.

Opening and closing her mouth a few times, Antlia seems unaware for a minute what just happened. “Did… did she just put me on detention?” Though her voice is the same volume as it was when speaking directly to Olivia, apparently this last is directed to the room at large. After a brief pause she adds, somewhat snidely, “What am I going to do while on detention? Write you some love poetry?” She sneers a little at the older girl, crossing her arms across her chest – though she largely seems disbelieving more than angry.

“No, I think you might be better off scrubbing the tile in the third floor washroom, hmm? The grout could use a good cleaning, I’m sure.” Olivia tosses her hair in a rather awkward way, considering this is not an action that is common for her to successfully pull off. “If you keep it up, I might just find a way to make it detention with the headmistress or the house head, either of whom would probably be glad to have you.” Olivia is reaching now, but for once, there is confidence in her voice as she states this to the younger girl. The young woman crosses her legs slowly as she makes this one last assertion of authority.

Still disbelieving, Antlia looks around to make sure everyone has heard the same thing as her. “But – but YOU don’t give people detentions.” She finally protests. “I mean, I know you can, but you never do! You’re supposed to be a pushover! Wasn’t that the whole point of making you Head Girl?” She’s hardly making it better for herself, but now she’s feeling bitter and angry and has to get it out of her system somehow. And back down into her seat she flops, arms still folded across her chest and pouting.

It is quiet as Olivia stares hard at Antlia, her expression attempting not to change. Olivia is not the most successful at the disguising of her own feelings, and she stands up rather in a huff. “I’m going to go see Professor Helit,” she announces loudly. “I’m sure he’ll find no pushover when he hears how one of his own students has been treating the head girl.” Olivia is not usually one to flout her position, but she seems to be enjoying the ability this time, even if she isn’t sure whether the house head will even hear her out, let alone take her issue seriously. The girl begins to sort and pick up her paper.s

“Like he’d hear you out!” One of Antlia‘s friends calls out to the Head Girl, though the recently punished one says nothing further to Olivia and waves a hand at the other girl to be quiet. “No point in both of us getting in trouble.” She murmurs sulkily, pouting at a spot on the floor in front of her, as if that is likely to help. After a lengthier pause, she adds, to Olivia, “Go see him if you like. See if I care. He’s a useless Head of House anyway, really.”

The day’s activities have started to wear on Olivia as she makes her way toward the Middle Tower slowly, her hand tucked gently inside Evan’s. It’s late, and has been a long day, but her excitement is still apparent on her face, as the two approach the gargoyle. Pulling out the scrap of parchment on which she had written the password, she utters it quietly, and the stone creature turns to reveal a narrow set of stairs. Olivia begins up first, gently letting go of Evan’s hand as she quickly climbs the long stairs knocking as she gets to the top, facing the impressive doors. She glances back to Evan with a bit of a grin. She is excited, if still a bit intimidated over the whole situation.

Evan Geroff follows closely behind Olivia as she climbs, laughing quietly and placing his hand back overtop hers as they come to a stop before the door. He’s not so much excited to be here as he is pleased with Olivia’s excitement, but either way he returns her grin as they wait.

There is no command to enter, no greeting in word but instead the doors open of their own accord after a moment’s pause. The night’s work is not over for the Headmistress and the candles in her office are still burning bright. As for the woman herself, she’s not at the desk but pacing around on the balcony holding a steaming cup of tea. Hanging mid-air from a levitation spell is a rather thick text that turns its pages itself. Muttering a few words, Astra turns in her pacing and heads back to the text to scan the contents of the page. Tired and worn out, the famous temper is drained and leaving only a much frazzled woman in its place. “Ah,” looking over the railing and the entrance she eyes the two young adults. “Well come inside and get yourself some tea. What’s going on? Is the school being attacked, fire broken out, or is there rioting in the halls?” A list of catastrophes, but she lists them in such a way as it’s clear she’s using her dry wit rather than being
remotely serious.

Looking a bit dismayed at this outburst, Olivia glances to Evan, shirking back for just a moment before stepping farther in. “Er, no,” she speaks quietly, clearly missing the humour in the statement. The girl gives Evan’s hand a quick squeeze before stepping forward rather bravely and then sinking into a nearby chair almost nervously. “I don’t know that there’s anything untoward going on, professor,” she tells Astra a little louder now. “We’ve just come to see you about — er, well –” she pauses and looks toward Evan with a blush, as if to ask him to do the querying instead of her.

Not actually laughing again, but with a slight smile, Evan offers a slight bow in greeting. Once Olivia makes her attempt at explaining, Evan directs a look at her that he hopes will be reassuring, and picks up his cue to speak. “The entire student body has turned into six-legged dogs and are out howling at the moon, but we can’t do anything about it until we have our badges to prove our authority.” His voice is light, offering the majority of the words simply in response to Astra.

Seeing the missed humor, the Headmistress lets out a long sigh, but just as she’s about to respond with something she clamps her mouth again. Astra actually manages a grin and then a sharp laugh at Evan’s response. “Excellent Mister Geroff, I see that my cynicism in Slytherin left you well prepared to deal with me now.” Flashing her teeth in a feral sort of grin, Astra sips at the tea and strides away, the book forgotten now that she has real business to attend. Gliding down the steps, she arrives at her desk. Setting the mug down, she retrieves two shiny pins. “Ah these are the spikes of silver that will bring our hounds to rest. Use them carefully,” her eyes take on a mischievous glimmer as she heads over to the two students, “I hear power can corrupt.” The badges are handed over without further ceremony, although whether she meant to give the HB badge to Olivia and the HG badge to Evan or if that was a slip is not something she’d willingly confess.

“Oh…” Olivia states quietly, as she realizes her misinterpretation, and then her cheeks turn a bit more maroon, before she smiles a bit more as Astra continues on. The girl sits a bit more comfortably as Astra approaches her desk and even seems to enjoy being in the office, once she realizes that nothing bad is to come of this visit. They /do/ need their badges, after all! The girl doesn’t even look down at her badge to realize the mistake, instead smiling up at Astra. “Thank you, professor,” she tells the woman and then grins up to Evan cheerfully.

Evan Geroff, on the other hand, isn’t one to take something without looking at it, and examines the badge for just a moment, before looking up to smile at Olivia. “Thank you.” That’s certainly said to Astra, not Olivia, though his next move is to step toward the chair Olivia has selected and kneel in front of her – on both knees – reaching up toward her collar with the pin. “May I?” She can always move it lower later on, if she likes.

Turning sharply away, it is perhaps a small hint toward the intent of the slip. Astra doesn’t cough or make any comment about Evan’s gesture to Olivia, instead retreating to the safety of her desk. Grabbing up the tea, she stands with her back to them as she takes a lingering sip before turning back around. “You’re both quite welcome.” “If there is anything you ever need please feel free to visit. That is, after all, what I’m here for.”

Pausing for a second, Olivia gives permission, looking a bit perplexed before she looks at her own pin and realizes the mixup. Saying nothing, she smiles happily at Evan, waiting until he’s pinned it on before returning the other pin in kind, pinning it gingerly on the breast of his robes. She smooths her tie proudly and seems to beam at Astra. “Thank you so much,” she repeats again and then stands up, looking about awkwardly for a moment, before shrugging. “I suppose we’ll be going then,” she states quietly and turns, walking around the chair toward the door, pausing in the doorway to wait for Evan.

“We will,” Evan replies to Astra’s offer, having stood up once Olivia finished with his badge. Olivia’s move toward the door surprises him for a moment, but he quickly steps over to join her, saying quietly, “Wait another minute?” Louder, turning back to Astra, he has one last inquiry to make before leaving for the night; “Headmistress, has Mother told you our news? Olivia’s agreed to marry me.”

“Congratulations to the good news, I’m afraid I hadn’t heard earlier. I’m sure your parents are both quite happy with the news.” Smiling broadly, Astra walks now to behind her desk and lowers herself into the seat. Still cradling the mug in her hands, she carefully scrutinizes Olivia and then does the same to Evan. “It’s a good match, are you both up for the pressures of the wedding society is going to expect or are you keeping it as quiet as possible?”

Olivia hasn’t expected to tell her this necessarily, and turns back into the room, stepping forward toward Evan to stand next to him. “Well, I — well, I don’t know.” Olivia admits. “I’m working with his mother about it, for I’ve really no idea where to start.” She shrugs a bit and looks to Evan. “What … pressures?”

“I think we’d have a hard time hiding it for long,” is Evan‘s first response, both to Astra and Olivia, before attempting to answer Olivia’s query. “People will expect certain things, for us. You don’t need to worry; we’ll be fine here, together, while we plan, and any questions you have for Mother she’ll be able to answer easily.” He shrugs, then smiles in hopes that he’s managed to sooth any fears. “It will all go well.”

Rubbing her own forehead and stifling a laugh, Astra shakes her head. “Ah the politics of the world, well, we won’t let it come knocking in here too much.” Finishing off her tea, she sets the now empty mug aside. “If that piece of trash paper comes poking its nose around looking for rumors you let me know right away – if I don’t know sooner. I won’t have society come disturbing you two in your final year of freedom from the adult world.”

Nodding fervently, Olivia seems to like this idea very much as she leans a bit on the chair nearby. “I wouldn’t want them asking me all of those questions anyway. What if we were to change our minds? It would be like giving false information.” Stifling a yawn, Olivia smiles up at Evan. “Besides, between my NEWT classes and the planning, I shouldn’t have time to do much else such as that.” She seems appeased at these assertions and smiles toward Astra again, saying nothing of this illustrious adult world, from which she is clearly still sheltered.

Evan Geroff gives another small smile. “We won’t push you into that quite yet.” Of course, there’s no escaping the number of people who will expect to be invited and spoken to then. But that’s later. “I appreciate it, Headmistress.” He pauses, about to say more, but whatever it is turns into a concerned look at Olivia. “Are you tired?”

“Why don’t you two go off, it’s getting late and tomorrow’s going to be a big enough day for everyone.” “If you ever have any questions, my door is open. Even if you only need sanctuary from the possible pressures of the upcoming marriage, feel free to come and hide among the books.” Astra yawns widely, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “As for me, I ought to try to sleep some too.”

Stifling another yawn, Olivia yawns sheepishly. “It /has/ been a long day,” she admits, smiling toward Astra happily again. “I’ll be sure to do that,” she tells the headmistress and then smiles up to Evan. “Thank you again,” she calls toward Astra before turning and walking toward the doorway again, pausing just outside it this time as she waits a moment for Evan to join her before leaving.

With a quick nod, and a shallow bow similar to the one he offered upon entry, Evan acknowledges Astra’s final offer of refuge and offers his goodbyes. “We might do that sometime, if the need arises.” “Have a good night, Headmistress.” Goodbye said, he turns to follow Olivia out the door, joining her as they begin to walk down the steps.

Olivia quickly had exited out of the Great Hall after the sorting had concluded, and before anyone else could stop her and exact her duties on her. Acting almost instinctively, Olivia walks quickly to the library, greeting the librarian, who seems to be getting settled at her desk for the term, then walking to the familiar bookcase toward the back, slipping inside to the little nook, in which many books about happiness seem to have appeared, as well as the familiar two plush chairs, this time in green and yellow insead of the usual red.

A bit slower to leave the Great Hall, having stayed to not only ask but make perfectly certain that all the new students seemed to be take care of, Evan is left to guess where Olivia is headed but from the direction she took that isn’t a difficult task. He gives a silent nod and quick bow to the librarian as he passes, then finds his way back to the nook, offering Olivia a quick smile as soon as he slips in. “Can you believe it? Congratulations!” It’s an interesting greeting, but it makes sense to him. “I’m glad I get to work with you instead of anyone else.”

“I wasn’t expecting it at all,” Olivia admits, her cheeks flushing a bit as she goes toward him to throw her arms around him for a hug. “Well, I mean, I knew you would be Head Boy — that’s just obvious, but I really thought that Laura Hurst would get it. She’s a prefect and all, and… oh!” Olivia is grinning from ear to ear as she looks excitedly up at Evan. “It’s a lot of responsibility, but I hope I’ll do a good job. You’ll help me, right?” she asks carefully, still smiling happily.

Evan Geroff wraps his arms around Olivia as she hugs him, and offers a quick peck on the cheek for good measure; after all, they’ve been apart for the entire feast. “I hoped I would be. But I’m so glad for you! Of course I’ll help – but you probably won’t need it, I’m sure you’ll be wonderful.” “We’ll help each other, though. We’ll be the most united Head Boy and Girl since..” he pauses, unsure of any actual time frame. “It’ll be the best year the school has seen,” he finishes, changing tactics.

Hugging him tightly, Olivia seems a bit exhuberant as she finally lets go. “Did you see? I was so excited that I made the chairs change colors today,” she mentions, directing his attention to the chairs, striped in green and yellow, with white thread embroidery. “I guess the room knew,” she mentions and beams up at him, standing up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “I think we’ll have a good year,” she mentions and puts her head against his shoulder, hugging him tightly again, before finally releasing and tucking arms behind him. “When do you suppose we’ll get our badges?”

“I saw,” Evan answers, glancing at the chairs for a moment and grinning. “Most likely we’ll get the badges tomorrow, from our House Heads, or maybe from Professor Rathe. Hopefully from Professor Rathe; I’d like a chance to talk with her.” As he speaks he leaves his arm around Olivia, holding her.

The chairs are forgotten, as Olivia breathes in deeply, just enjoying standing with Evan again. Certainly, they’ve only been apart for a few hours, but Olivia is in love, and those hours seem like an eternity to the girls after they’ve finally been able to reunite after the summer. She brings her arms out and lets them rest on Evan’s chest, letting her eyes linger on the ring on her finger. “Constance seems really happy about… about us getting married,” she comments quietly, looking up happily at Evan. “She announced it to practically everyone at the table.” Olivia blushes a bit as she states this.

“Did she?” Evan laughs at this news, amused, and not minding in the least if the entire world knows. “I’m glad she’s happy. My family does seem to like you, you know. They all said they were pleased.” A thought occurs to him, and he chuckles again. “Some of the littler ones are hoping it means you’ll stay around more and play with them.”

Olivia can’t help but giggle as Evan mentions this. “Well, I’ll try to be around as much as I can, but I can’t make any promises.” She pauses. “I mean, I will want to spend as much time with their older brother as possible.” It is obvious that Olivia is in a good mood as she boldly winks up at Evan, giving him a little playful squeeze.

“Comes with the prize, Miss Baxtor,” Evan states, grinning at Olivia. “You get to marry me, you’re stuck playing dolls with Rosemarie as well., and changing them all into matching pink, lacy, ruffly outfits.” Which might not seem so bad to Olivia, but all that girly-ness isn’t quite up Evan‘s line of preference.

“Oh, and what if that’s all I’m marrying you for?” Olivia teases gently, her grin up in his face showing that she obviously does not mean this in the least. “Or maybe I don’t want to marry you at all. What will you do then?” she asks him cheerfully, reaching up to push his hair out of his face gently.

“If you’re marrying me for the dolls, you’re welcome to them, but my cousin might complain a bit.” He smiles briefly, then tilts his head slightly, gazing down into her face as he considers this next question. “What will I do?” “I will go find a cave in the woods where no one ever goes, and sit down and cry until a river runs out of it built from my tears. Then I will grow all the most beautiful flowers in the world by the side of that river, and nurture them until they are healthier and larger and more lovely than anything on Earth except yourself, and when they have grown that well.. I will pick them all and carry them one by one to your doorstep until you change your mind.”

Olivia can’t keep on with her teasing as Evan says this, and she even sighs a bit as she listens to him telling her this. “Oh,” she whispers, biting her lip a bit as she looks up at him. “I guess I’ll marry you after all,” she tells him quietly, rising on her tiptoes to press her lips to his sweetly, with a smile crossing her pink lips.

Evan Geroff returns the kiss warmly, not in any hurry, only afterwards saying quietly, “I’m glad to hear it.” He smiles, and for a moment tightens his arm around her. “It’s a lot easier on me this way.”

“I’d rather marry you anyway,” Olivia tells him happily, smiling pleasantly up into his face before resting her head on his shoulder. She’s happy to stand close with him for quite a while. After all, they’ve still a while before curfew, and she would much rather be with him until bedtime than sit in the commonroom. At least, right now.

Evan Geroff grins at Olivia’s words. It seem, right now, that he’ll never get tired of hearing various versions of ‘I want to marry you’ repeated as often as possible. Nor of simply standing still and holding his fiance for as long as possible. Then again, Evan‘s never been known for being quiet. “What do you think of June?”

“June?” Olivia asks in return, pausing for a moment, in thought. It takes her a moment to realize what he’s referring to, and then she smiles. “Maybe late June?” she suggests happily. “It shouldn’t be too hot yet in late June, but then we won’t have to worry about the rain.” She looks up at Evan, then turns to glance at the seats. “Why don’t we sit?” she suggests quietly, though she doesn’t exactly rush to detatch herself to get resituated in a seat.

“Late June should give us enough extra time after school is out, too, in case we need it.” At the mention of sitting, Evan stops to consider this, then – by no means hurriedly – disnetangles himself enough to escort Olivia to a chair. The green one, if she’s willing; he gets odd ideas of symbolism when he gets romantic.

Holding onto Evan for a moment, Olivia waits a moment before glancing to the chair and then back again. She pauses a moment, taking off her long black school robe – after all, they’re okay not to wear them in here – leaving only the sweater and skirt ensemble that she had been wearing before boarding the train. She then turns back to Evan and maneuvers him so that he must sit down before she does, then climbing comfortably onto his lap, swinging her legs up over the arm of the plush green chair. She grins at him and leans against him cozily. “I think late June sounds wonderful, then,” she agrees, thinking about it. “That means there are only nine more months before we get married. Can you believe it?”

It takes a brief moment of confusion, but Evan smiles when he figures out what Olivia is doing, and sits back to try to make both himself and Olivia as comfortable as possible. Once she’s settled, he wraps an arm around her again. “I don’t know whether that seems close or very far away. I’d have it be tomorrow.” But not, going the other way, adding a lot more than nine months.

“Can you imagine?” Olivia breathes, leaning against his shoulder with a happy sigh. “Being married tomorrow? I mean, it couldn’t be as beautiful as a well-planned one might be, but I think it would be just as wonderful.” The girl smiles up at him for a moment before leaning her head back down. She holds out her hand, displaying the sparkling ring against her fair skin and oval fingernails.

Evan Geroff nods his agreement, looking past Olivia’s head to also study the ring on her hand, happy to just see it there instead of in a shop or a case or his pocket. “I would be happy with it.” .. “But there are a lot of people who couldn’t arrange to come tomorrow, so perhaps it’s better this way. We ought to give them at least a week or two warning.”

“Come to think of it,” Olivia adds, “I think our parents would like it if we did it properly anyhow.” She smiles sweetly at him and leans up to kiss his cheek, instead managing to get his jaw. She giggles a bit at this, pushing the sleeves on her sweater up to her elbows and then squirming a bit until she gets more comfortable. “It will be fun to plan and wait, anyhow,” she mentions and giggles a little. “I have no idea where to start, though!”

“Probably they would. I think Mother’d like to see a proper, planned out ceremony, anyway.” When she squirms, he shifts a bit, trying to help her get comfortable. “And there’s a lot to be planned.” He pauses, and chuckles. “You know, I’ve never done this before. We might need someone to tell us what needs planning so we can plan it.”

“Maybe your mum can help,” Olivia suggests hopefully. “She’s gotten married before.” Olivia pauses. “That is, if she isn’t too busy.” She smiles up and squeezes one arm behind him, so that she can loop her arms abut him circularly. “I love you,” she whispers quietly, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I’m willing to go through any of the planning nonsense that we have to do… just so I can be married to you.”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to help,” Evan answers, cheerfully volunteering whatever free hours his mother might or might not have. “She had her wedding, and she’s helped to plan others. Aunt Julie’s at least, and I’m sure she was involved with Paul.. Uncle Paul’s.” .. “I love you, too,” he responds quietly. “And so I won’t mind the planning. But let’s have fun doing it.”

“We’re going to have the most amazing year,” Olivia tells him, looking up, with her head leaning on his shoulder. “I mean, planning our wedding, and being Head Boy and Head Girl… I can’t wait for it to start already.” She giggles a little and sighs happily. “Oh!” She cries, sitting up quickly. “Maybe we should go see Professor Rathe about our badges.” She smiles brilliantly, running her fingers over Evan’s Prefect badge. “I’m sure it will be ten times as beautiful as this one,” she tells him.

Evan Geroff laughs gently, scooting forward on the chair a bit. “Just for you, I’ll go seek her out instead of waiting.” “But unless you wish to be precariously carried up many flights up shifting stairs – which, be sure, I would gladly do for you, fair lady – you’ll need to arise from my lap first.” .. “And we can announce our news if Mother hasn’t told her, and I can question her about quidditch.”

Giggling, Olivia obligingly stands up and takes up her black robe, putting it on and doing up the clasps. “I’ll /walk/, Evan,” she tells him happily as she gets her robes situated, then reaches out for Evan’s hand. “I can’t wait to see you in your new badge, Evan. You’ll be so dashing that no girl will be able to resist you.” She leans up and gives him a peck on the cheek before pushing open the entry to the library nook, on her way to the Headmistress’s office to get their shiny new badges.

Evan Geroff shakes his head and gives Olivia’s hand a quick squeeze, smile never leaving his face as he follows Olivia out to begin the new school year.

It is, at least by Evan Geroff‘s interpretation, what one might call a good day. Summer, warm but not boiling, with the sun out and just enough cloud cover to the sky to provide the occasional patch of shade for relief when desired. Not every day of the trip has been so nice, but so far the rain and higher winds have left this one alone. It’s a good thing, for they have chosen to spend at least part of the day outside, and the sun accents the walls of Neuschwanstein Castle as well as the trees, mountains, and fields surrounding it. The courtyard where they currently stand seems to be a haven for many passing tourists, none requiring a second look at Evan as he stands with Olivia in the walking suit he selected for the day, one of the nicer he brought – but, of course, it fits the area. He in turns takes little notice of whoever may pass, intent on directing Olivia’s attention toward the designs on the wall facing them between the towers. “It’s certainly different from our castle, isn’t it?”

“It is breathtaking,” Olivia breathes, leaning closer to Evan as she surveys the grounds. “It’s so extravagant and beautiful…” Olivia is wearing a deep blue sweater, the sleeves of which only come to the middle of her forearms. Underneath it, a light blue collar peeks out, with gentle lace and embroidery to add a little detail. She wears a white skirt, which comes down to her calves, punctuated by tan stockings and blue heels which match her sweater. Her blue eyes shine, though it is unclear whether the blue sky or her sweater is causing this. “I couldn’t imagine living in a place like this. It wouldn’t feel right. Don’t you think?”

Evan Geroff chuckles quietly as he looks at his surroundings. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not in danger of becoming king.” He’s happy to have Olivia lean closer, and holds his arm around her gently as he speaks and looks about. “I don’t know what I would think, living there; it’s so fancy and grand, yet I can hardly imagine children running around or toys in the halls. It’d be a pretty picture, though.”

A giggle emits as Evan makes this comment, and Olivia grins up at him. “I’m glad you won’t be king. It’s easier to do what we want, that way.” She leans against him and puts her arms around his middle happily, looking through the courtyard. “I find regular homes are much more cozy anyhow. I can’t believe anyone would ever live here, though. It’s wonderful to visit.” She looks up at the castle once more, and then out over the courtyard again. “It’s so lovely today! I’m so glad it isn’t raining. Not that I mind the rain, of course, but I like clear skies better.”

“I’m glad it isn’t raining, also. We have nothing to obscure our views.” He seems lost in thought for a moment before he adds, “If I were king, I’d have to spend all day eating grapes and chasing dragons, and our sons would be forced to spend their entire life rescuing princess after princess.” Nope, Evan hasn’t gotten his hands on any sort of muggle book or fairy tale. Not at all. Can’t you tell? “And I couldn’t be a proper king anyway, having never rescued you from anything but a tree.”

“You did sweep me away to a castle, though,” she tells him with a sweet smile, letting her arm sweep wide as she surveys the courtyard. “I suppose that’s close enough, don’t you think?” She pauses. “Besides, that tree was a bit frightening. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten down if you hadn’t helped me.” Olivia still visibly shudders at the thought of it, and she looks up at him. She steps forward gently, as if to start them walking foward a bit, more toward the center of the courtyard, where less people are gathered.

Evan Geroff moves the arm he has around Olivia enough to allow an easier walking position. “It was my pleasure, good Lady, to free you from that menace, and claim the reward of your presence when I returned to my.. homeland.. of Germany.” It might occur to him that something went wrong in that statement, and what does one really follow it with, anyway? Back to more practical matters, as, stepping alongside Olivia, he scans the courtyard walls for exits. “Should we try the higher levels of the castle, or would you prefer to see some of the grounds first?”

“I suppose we can go up higher,” Olivia states slowly. “It’s safe, isn’t it?” She asks this, but seems to almost reassure herself immediately with a deep breath. Of course it is, if Evan is taking her there. “I’m certain the castle will look gorgeous from higher up.” She smiles at an older couple who passes by, hand in hand, her cheeks flushing pink as she considers the couple. “Have you got a map or anything? I didn’t get one.”

“I have a rough one somewhere.” Using his free hand, Evan reaches for one of his pockets, barely touching it before he pauses and sticks his hand into a different one instead, pulling out a folded bit of… parchment. He’s done this a couple times now, so it shouldn’t be too odd; pulled out information or hand-scribbled drawings he copied before leaving of places they might go. “Here; it looks like there are a couple higher floors, and.. can we get into this tower? And out here in the grounds, maybe a garden, and some footpaths. I read we can get an excellent view of the castle if we follow,” he moves one finger to attempt to indicate a specific path, “this one a ways.”

“It would be nice to see the castle from the outside,” Olivia tells him with a nod, looking at the map and standing up on her tiptoes a bit to see it better. “It isn’t too far a hike is it, do you think?” Olivia isn’t exactly wearing good shoes for hiking, and she fully realizes this as she looks up at him with a bit of a smile. Her cheeks have been pinkened a bit, either by the sun or by her own blushing – it’s hard to tell which. “Shall we go up there, then?”

“It shouldn’t be too far, and we don’t need to walk fast.” Evan grins down at Olivia in return to her smile, and nods once, altering their path a bit toward what will hopefully be the quickest way out onto the grounds. “Let’s go see. I’m interested in a good distance view of this place.” He glances at the map once, leaving it in his hand for now in case they need it to find the particular path they’re looking for. “There’s another castle visible in the distance, too, from somewhere out there.”

“Oh, there are two built out here actually? I thought they had only thought of doing so, and didn’t.” Olivia seems to pause in thought, though continuing to walk with him, her arm still draped around his middle as they make their way out of the courtyard. Olivia is quiet, just taking in the scenery as they make their way up the gently sloped path. “How far up is this?” she asks tentatively, glancing behind her down the path as she bites her lip. Of course she trusts Evan, but it is clear that Olivia is not comfortable with heights even still.

Evan Geroff shakes his head once. “I don’t know the distance.” The most natural move at the moment seems to be to lean over and quickly kiss the top of Olivia’s forehead, which he does, should she allow, only afterward adding, “I’ll take care of you; don’t worry. Don’t look down… look out. Do you like the mountains?”

Olivia obliges and looks out at the mountains. “They’re very pretty, with the sun shining down on them like that,” she comments, taking a deep breath and smiling a bit as he kisses her forehead. “Can you imagine living way up there?” she asks quietly stepping upward, no longer glancing back behind her, though she isn’t entirely at ease. She certainly isn’t quite as leery as she was before, however, looking to Evan to make sure she isn’t too close to any cliffs or edges anywhere along the way. “Oh, look, there’s a bridge. Do you suppose we can see the castles from there?”

Evan Geroff, for his part, is careful to watch the surroundings enough to direct Olivia’s steps as far away from any steep decline as the path allows. “That would be different from living in a castle, wouldn’t it? A cabin in the woods up at the top of that mountain. The kids would probably love it, as somewhere to play.. but I think it’d be too far away from other people. You’d always have such a view, though.” Not that they’re in danger of living on top of a mountain, any more than him becoming king, but either way he has opinions on it. As she directs his attention to the bridge, he looks forward again. “Perhaps that is where this view of the castle is from.” He smiles at her again, trying not to seem as though he’s paying too much attention to what’s up ahead. Is that the view? Will it be good enough? “We’ll know in a minute.”

Olivia pauses as they come to the bridge and stops right in front of it. “It’s… sturdy, right?” she asks him, trying not to look down as much as she surveys the area. It is just a moment before she turns her head and notices the castle itself, then drawing in a deep breath. “Oh my…” she breathes, walking out onto the bridge slowly, of her own volition. “I never imagined something could be so beautiful in my whole life!” she speaks quietly, coming to a stop toward the center of the bridge. “And to think… a Muggle built that!” she looks back toward Evan as she says this and then back out at the view once more, obviously in awe.

The view as the come into the area, of the extreme depths the bridge crosses, seem to Evan quite satisfactory, possibly even a bit much as he begins to answer Olivia’s question. “Yes, it..” but it isn’t needed, and he turns to look at the castle himself once before hurring out onto the bridge after her. He takes just her hand this time, his other by now free of the map and left hanging loose. “Completely without magic,” he says, quietly, low voice hinting that he’s just as impressed. It couldn’t also be low from nerves, could it? He leaves his voice quiet as he ventures, “Perhaps you should try painting this scene when we return.”

“It would be very pretty to paint,” Olivia comments in agreement, letting her fingers wrap around his hand as she looks back up to him just for a moment, her face shining, before she looks back out over the great ravine that leads to the castle. “I don’t think I could do it justice,” she comments quietly, not seeming to mind this fact, though, as she leans in closer to him, her free hand resting on the barrier put in place for the bridge. “No magic… and still he built such a wonderful thing.”

“It’s beautiful. And in such a prominent place; all those people,” for just a second he switches hands, and reaches an arm around her, directing her backwards gently for – it seems – just that much better a view, then takes her hand again as he continues, “anywhere out there, can look up and see it.” He briefly uses his free hand to gesture at everything ‘out there,’ sweeping across the space, then counting on the castle to keep her attention as his hand returns to him. Returns, in fact, to his pocket. “We can build something just as wonderful, though.” As he says so, he swings around to stand in front of her, and as he finishes, drops to one knee. He removes his hand from his pocket again, and this time, it is a ring that he puts forward, heart pounding. “Olivia? Will you marry me?”

Olivia has not been expecting this, and her jaw drops as she looks not at the ring, but at Evan, a smile spreading across her face, framing her straightened teeth. Marriage? Marry Evan? It seems an obvious choice to Olivia, as she nods hastily for a few seconds before finally managing a weak, “Yes, yes –” then repeating herself, in a stronger, more certain voice, “Yes!” Finally she looks down at the ring, gasping once again, and breathes in a voice that’s hardly audible, “Oh, it’s so beautiful…” She finally reaches down to take hold of it, picking it up slowly, and holding it in her fingers for a moment before looking back down to Evan. “Is all of this… real? You really mean it?” the disbelief in her voice is colored by the excitement and happiness that colors it as she focuses her gaze on Evan while she slips the ring slowly onto her finger.

Those few seconds seem like an eternity to Evan, holding his breath as he waits, anxious for that first actual ‘yes.’ When it comes he smiles slowly, his joy at first seeping and a few seconds later rushing onto his face as he stands again. He laughs briefly, quietly, at her happiness, and at his own. “I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything in my life.” The previous laugh does not change the earnestness of his words. “I love you; I want to spend my life with you. I want to make you happy, always, in every way I possibly can.” He could probably go on, but some barely listened to corner of his brain is screaming that he’s about to start babbling.

Olivia echoes with a laugh of her own, of pure joy as she looks from her finger, back up to Evan, standing up on her tiptoes and putting her arms up to hug him and proffer a kiss onto his cheek. The girl appears to still be in shock at everything as she does so. “I love you, too, Evan,” she whispers, her cheeks pink from exhuberance, and her eyes shining.

Evan Geroff wraps his arms around Olivia, gladly returning the hug. After a moment he places a kiss of his own on her cheek, the action seeming far more appropriate than more words. Once they get home he’ll likely race around, spreading the news to everyone he can; but for now, he’s happy to just stand, here, with her.

Olivia receives the kiss on her cheek happily and examines his face more closely as her face is still up near his, and she is still up on her toes, though not at all unhappy about this. It seems to be sinking in a little that he is to be her husband, and that she will be married to him after — well, sometime. In a random moment of exhuberant and shameless affection, she reaches her lips up and presses them to his, lingering for a moment before withdrawing her lips away again with a bit of a smile. He was hers, an he wanted her, despite what the rumors said, that he was just biding his time until he could find someone better than her.

Evan Geroff definitely does want Olivia, no matter what anyone else may think, and he definitely doesn’t pull away from the kiss until she does. He continues to hold her close after, hands strong on her back, eyes examining her face just below his. “I hope our children have your beauty.” ‘You’re beautiful’ might have sufficed, and sounded better; but, our children. They’d mentioned things before, but it was so much more definite now – our children, our house, our life. Our wedding coming up, once they planned it.

“Our children,” Olivia repeats in a whisper, a grin spreading over her lips as she reaches one hand around front to drag her fingers along his cheek. She seems oblivious to the various other couples who happen by, including some older couples who merely tsk and smile, walking along to another bridge down the way and leaving the two of them as they are. “They should look like you,” Olivia decides, laying her head down on his shoulder. “I love you,” She whispers again, wrapping her arm around him as she hugs him tight to her.

“Perhaps the boys,” Evan concedes, though rather more taken with the image of miniature Olivias running around than with himself. But he’s not going to argue the point. Not now, certainly, while still filled with the thrill of her answer. For one usually so observant, he also seems not to notice any other people around them, his attention all caught up in his fiance as he holds her. “I love you, too.”

Olivia doesn’t notice anyone passing, nor anything or anyone else but Evan, as the two of them stand very close to one another, on the bridge facing Neuschwanstein castle. Olivia sighs happily, picking her head up again, bringing her hand up to rest on Evan’s chest. She looks up at him, her eyes still shining with the joy of the new development in their relationship. It seems only fitting to Olivia to lean up and once again press her lips to his, this time more fervently and sweetly than before, as she, this time, does not quickly pull away.

On this particular day, at this particular time, there are any number of students walking through hallways and up and down the stairs moving to and from classes. Evan Geroff has already stopped quite a few of them, trying to make quite sure he has not missed Olivia returning from class or moving off in a different direction. Far too many students are stopped by inquiries of, “Have you seen Olivia Baxtor? No? Hi, have you seen..” He has dressed up somewhat, his school robes changed for somewhat more formal black ones, the collar and sleeves trimmed in silver and green, and occasionally pauses to smooth out an imagined wrinkle inbetween inquiries as he makes his way down the stairs.

Tugging on her robes to keep them from being stepped on — hazards of new robes which are almost always too long, of course — Olivia Baxtor is making her way out from her Muggle Studies class, walking rather slowly. Though hazardous, she seems to be more intent on flipping through the book in her hands than those around her. Pausing at the top of the stairs, she puts her hand on the railing, waiting a moment until someone calls her to continue moving and she does begin her descent down the stairs, though slowly.

A few more inquiries, a number of quick steps down the stairs, and suddenly the figure in front of Evan looks familiar. More than that, it looks like Olivia. He slips quickly between a couple other students, murmuring hurried ‘excuse me’s as he goes, to rush down a couple extra stairs and wind up in front of his target. There may be a less-than-pleasant exclation from some poor hurried seventh year as he up and stops in the middle of the stairs, but if so he ignores the student, turning to face Olivia. “Miss Baxtor,” he speaks, in way of greeting, hoping to cause her to look up from her book. A moment later his words are accompanied by a formal bow.

Gasping in shock as she is not only addressed, but stopped short as she walks down the stairs. “E– Mister Geroff.” Her expression, though temporarily pleasant, quickly fades to a cold one as she stands before him. It is only a moment before she glances over her shoulder, looking for a spot in which to get around him. Olivia can’t even convince herself to look him in the eye, though her cheeks flush and she fumbles a bit, trying to keep the place in her book while also finding room to get down the stairs. She drops her book and it slides down the stairs to land on a stair several up from the bottom.

Evan Geroff isn’t used to such a cold greeting, and though it was somewhat expected, it still stops him short for a moment. As he rises from his bow he simply looks at her, hand moving halfway to smooth another wrinkle from the formal robes before he stops himself. It is the book that provides his opening, when it drops; Evan pushes his way further down the stairs, barely managing not to knock over a couple first year boys, in an effort to reach the book as quickly as possible. Once he has it, he returns to Olivia, holding it out to show her yet not actually intent on handing it over. “Miss Baxtor, I seem to have acquired your book. Perhaps you’ll walk with me a ways?”

“Give it here,” Olivia comments quietly, looking down rather than at her comrade. “I don’t know why you’d want to walk with my anyhow. You commented so poorly to me the other day.” The familiarity with which Olivia speaks to him cannot be hidden, even while she won’t look at him and steps down to the step below. “Will you just give me my book back? Unless you’re going to be nice, I really have nothing to say.” A frown tugs at the corners of her mouth while she makes her way around him carefully, turning around and walking down backwards, still holding her robes up a bit.

Evan Geroff follows Olivia downs the steps, his own extremely formal way of speaking dropped as he answers her, not begging – not yet – but quite serious about his desire. “I know I did, Olivia. Please.. will you come with me?” Still, he does hold the book further out from himself, offering it to her.

As she reaches the landing, Olivia stumbles a little, but manages to catch her balance well enough and then reaches out for her book. The girl finally looks him in the face for a moment, her frown lingering and she shrugs. “I suppose so,” she agrees, though not entirely cheerfully. “I don’t know what it is you would have to show to me, though.” She pauses and hugs the book to her chest, waiting for him to take the initiative to lead her whereever it is that he has planned.

Evan Geroff begins to offer his arm, but only begins, before pulling back. Perhaps at this particular moment she would not be so agreeable to the action. Instead, he offers Olivia a tentative smile. “Thank you. Please, this way..” Other than those words, he remains mainly quiet, simply leading the way to the outside and around the castle.

The walk from the school is long, and quite silent, as Olivia has nothing to say to her companion. They wander into the Northwest clearing and keep walking, and Olivia finds herself curious as to where Evan is leading her. As they start on toward a secluded path, she pauses a moment, and then continues on, though more slowly. “Where are we going?” she asks, having never thought to look for the path in the area that Evan has lead her to.

Having pushed aside a few bushes which rather effectively shield the path, and holding them aside for Olivia as well, Evan gives only a half-response as they walk down the path. “You’ll see.” It’s not nearly so straightforward as things they’ve found before, but eventually they come upon the Valley and within it a sudden vision of spring. Down toward the stream a ways, a blanket, much more fancy and girly-looking than anything Evan might choose for himself, has been set up. In the center is a small picnic basket, roses sticking up out of the top as well as a couple scattered across the blanket, and to the side is a single violin. Evan gestures toward the instrument with his wand, and it begins to play, this first song somewhat of the classical style, repentant sounding yet more hopeful than sorrowful. As he sticks his wand back in a pocket he turns, gaze searching Olivia’s face, looking for her reaction.

As they finally come into the valley, Olivia lets out an audible gasp. Well, if any anger were still lingering against her friend, it has now almost completely melted away. Her jaw drops open and her arms drop to her side while she steps forward, looking out into the beautiful valley, and then trying to take in the spectacle of things that he has put together all at once. “Oh, my…” It is several moments before she even looks at Evan. “Did you… do this for me?”

Evan Geroff nods in response, eyes still on his friend. “I hoped it would impress you. I..” it takes him a second, but though he won’t let go of his pride for quidditch, he will for Olivia. “I spoke harshly, Olivia, I was not upset at you and I..” “I’m sorry.” He hesitates again, and finally glances back toward the blanket. “Would you like to sit? I’ve brought a couple small sandwiches, and other treats.. The flowers are of course for you..”

“Sure, let’s sit,” the girl responds and smiles a bit. Anger? What anger? She walks hesitantly toward the blanket and bites her lip as she carefully steps, trying not to trip. She sets down her bag and book carefully and then looks to Evan. “I can’t believe you did this for me. Did you — did you learn how to do music like that?” Her jaw drops again and she glances toward it. Olivia pauses. “Is the basked cooled?” The girl giggles a bit as she asks this question. Given their history of conversation, she still seems to have an afinity for seeing things such as that.

A real, genuine smile is the result of Olivia’s questions, as Evan walks with her to the blanket. “Professor Dwight taught me the charm last night.. I wish I could tell you I played the song myself, but I only charmed it while he played.” And, while they sit, there is a total of three songs the violin will play – the second similar to the first, and the final song less regretful, more of a love song. He was hopeful. “And the basket is cooled, you should find everything quite nicely preserved despite the sun.” Looking around at the stream and the trees, he smiles a second time. “Isn’t it nice here?”

“I can’t wait to see what you brought,” she tells him and lowers herself to sit on the blanket, biting her lip as she looks at him. It is clear that Olivia is no longer annoyed at Evan and she scoots toward him a bit, getting comfortable as she leans over to peek into the basket. “How did you find this place? I’m sure I never would have even thought to look for it! Did you read about it in a book like the other place?” She looks around as she says this, taking in the scenery around her in complete awe.

Evan Geroff motions to the basket. “Go ahead and look. There should be a vase for the flowers, as well..” Along with a couple small sandwiches, there are scones and tarts, and even a little bit of butterbeer. “As far as I know, this isn’t mentioned in a book at all. Mother told me about it, said she came here once. I had to look a bit, it wasn’t quite where she said it was..”

“Wow, your mum did? It can’t be a bad place to be, then. I mean, since your mum is…” she pauses and shrugs. It is clear that Olivia doesn’t really need to say anything more about that. “It’s almost more beautiful than the clearing with the shack,” she comments quietly while she leans over and pulls a sandwich out of the basket, offering it to Evan while she reaches in with her other hand to get one for herself. The music provides a calming ambience, and it’s almost as if she’s never been angry at Evan at all. Looking down at her Sandwich, she does breach the one question which has been plaguing her. “So, why weren’t you at the Quidditch tryouts?”

Accepting the sandwich from Olivia, Evan adds, “She suggested I only tell a couple friends, to keep the place mainly secret.. but if there’s anyone you really wish to bring, feel free. I don’t know whether it was passed down to anyone else now, or lost until I found it.” It wasn’t really asked for; either that needed to be said, he’s stalling on answering her next question, or bother. At least he keeps his temper this time. “They don’t need me this year,” he remarks, quietly, a bit stiffly, but nowhere near approaching the way he spoke it to Olivia before. He learned that lesson. “They chose Louis as captain..” “I wish him luck with his new team. I suppose they’ll all see what sort of players they can get now, if the old ones weren’t good enough.”

“Oh, well, it can be another place for us. I don’t think anyone else has found the other, but it’s nice to have one, just in case, right?” Olivia smiles as she says this, and then waiting until Evan comments about Quidditch, she takes a dainty bite of her sandwich. She swallows hard as he tells her the news about Slytherin Quidditch. “Oh, no, really? Why would they do that? He’s younger, isn’t he? And you’ve been on longer, right?” The girl frowns as she makes this statement and then reaches out to put her arms around him, a comforting motion which almost comes as an automatic reaction.

Evan Geroff nods. “He’s a year below me, and I’ve been on since my second.” He isn’t expecting her to try to comfort him, at least, not by holding him, and doesn’t immediately respond, though after that pause he reaches over to put one arm around her as well. “I’ve been playing since before school too, at least, practicing with other children, and my parents taught me a lot. Mother was captain of her team here.” Unsure what to either say or do at this point, he uses the arm that isn’t around Olivia to take a bite of his sandwich.

The awkwardness of this positioning does not escape Olivia, either, and she leans back, releasing him from her grasp. She takes another bite of her sandwich and smiles a bit. “Well, I’m sure they’ll regret doing that.” Another pause. “And I s’pose it means we’ll have more time to spend working on the history of that shack, right? And, well… studying for the OWL exams.” She visibly shudders as she mentions the prestigious and difficult exams. With little to no pause, she looks at him after this rather pointedly. “You’ll go with me to the Social, won’t you? I really don’t like the girl-ask-boy functions. I get so nervous.” She puts a hand to her reddened cheek and smiles a bit, seeming quite relieved at having asked so easily.

“Yeah. They’ll see.” That’s all Evan wants to add on the subject, though, if nothing else than because it isn’t safe. Instead, he laughs quietly; it seems forced at first but by doing so he’s able to relax. “What are you worried about? We’ll study together, of course, and I know you’ll do brilliantly. Just tell me what you..” “Of course I’ll go with you!” The answer seems so obvious to him, and his relief at winning her back so great, that he does the only natural thing at this point – that is, leaning over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Blushing as Evan does this, Olivia does look quite pleased. “I’m sure you’ll do better on the O.W.L. exams than me at any rate. I’m a complete dunce at most of the subjects.” She shakes her head and sighs, pausing to take a bite of her sandwich before continuing on in a different vein of thought. “I wonder how this year’s Social is going to be. Last year’s was fun, but I hope this one is inside. My feet were so muddy after the last one. It was quite unpleasant.” She shakes her head a bit as she says this but then shrugs again. “What do you think it will be like this year? Do you think we’ll have so many sweets again?”

Evan Geroff chuckles quietly at this. “You didn’t seem to mind much at the time. Perhaps it will be inside, though; they could put down rugs or find some other means of making the floor soft. I’d hate to dance on it in bare feet otherwise.” He nibbles at the sandwich a bit, nearly finishing it – it’s small, after all – before speaking again. “I don’t think we wouldn’t, at any sort of event. Not with suppliers available. I’m curious to see how this one is decorated, though. They always have such brilliant ideas..” “Did you known how much work Professor Dwight put into the music for last year’s social? I never realized until recently that he had to play all those songs, on every instrument!”

“He has to play every one? Really? So, then, how does he do impromptu music then? Can he just decide he wants to play something new and do it?” She pauses. “That’s a lot of instruments to play.” Olivia pauses silently in thought over this as she finishes off her own sandwich slowly, turning her head briefly as the music changes over to another similar song and then she looks back to Evan. “I’ll be sure to thank him at the next event so that he knows we appreciate what he does. That sounds like a lot of work!” The girl shakes her head in a bit of shock while she finishes off the sandwich completely. “Mum keeps commenting that I’m getting larger because of all the sweets that are around in our commons all the time. I mentioned it on accident once, and now she won’t leave it be. I don’t think I’ll be getting much spending money at all this year for it.”

The first comment Olivia makes leaves Evan with a puzzled frown. “I don’t know. Perhaps.. Perhaps he has been working with each of those instruments for a long time, so that even that many songs that he didn’t use are in its memory, and can be played if necessary. It isn’t something that can be done spur of the moment,” he glances over at the violin, confident at least about this, “not with what he told me, at least.” As he finishes this, though, his voice becomes noticably colder with his next exclamation. “Is she? Ignore her. She shouldn’t..” “You’re beautiful.”

“I suppose he’s had a lot of practice doing this music, so he wouldn’t need to worry about it. You’re probably right. I don’t know how he does it. I certainly wouldn’t be able to do so many instruments by themselves, let alone keep track of them all.” She pauses and looks down, listening as Evan makes his next statement, her cheeks pink, but a smile crossing her lips. “You’re so sweet, Evan,” she tells him in a whisper, looking up only when she feels like the blush has dissolved from her cheek a bit. In return to the one he had gifted her earlier, Olivia leans forward to kiss Evan’s cheek, smiling quite happily, as if his saying that just banished the thought of being too large from her head.

It’s Evan‘s turn now for, if not a blush, than at the least a rather pleased and happy grin. It’s a handful of seconds or so before he gets over his cheerful giddiness and back to the conversation. “It involves spells on the instruments, one while it’s playing so that it remembers it, and one later on to make it replay the song.” Something Evan keeps, now and then, checking on to make sure his spell holds or worry about the next song – after all, he only just learned this overnight. “He wouldn’t have to play all the instruments at once then.. It has to take a lot of talent to make the songs all fit together, though. The timing has to match perfectly even while playing each instrument by itself.”

“I can’t even imagine,” the girl admits, shaking her head as she looks back again at the violin. “He must be really talented. I imagine the class is very hard, too,” she tells her friend. “I’m glad I took Muggle Studies instead. I don’t think I would have suited in music class. But it would have been nice to learn how to play an instrument at least. My sisters both are taking it, so now they’re both playing instruments. It’s a bit odd not to be playing one, since all my siblings do.” Olivia shrugs at this. “I know more about Muggles than they do, though.”

Evan Geroff nods in brief agreement. Definitely difficult. “I half wish I had taken it; I can’t play anything worth hearing now.” “Knowing about muggles may be far more useful anyway, unless you plan to play professionally. What do they both intend to do with it?” At the end of his query, he dives into the basket for another treat, then leans back against the blanket to face the clowds rather than the water – though, of course, still turned to see Olivia as well.

Readjusting her legs a bit and leaning down on her elbow, Olivia shrugs. “I don’t know. I think they want to marry successful men and just go to parties and things. They don’t seem terribly interested in having jobs.” The girl shrugs. “I suppose that might be nice. I don’t know what I want to be yet, though. I’m not very good at much, except for reading. Maybe writing essays. I don’t know. My marks on them are alright.” She shrugs. “What do you want to do. Are you going to be a prof– Oh, right. What do you expect you’ll want to do as a job?” She corrects herself quickly and blushes at already having forgotten not to mention this sore subject.

“A professor?” Sore subject, yes, but not one that Evan apparently picks up on too quickly at the first syllable. “I suppose it’s possible, but I don’t think I really would want to do it for long.” Nibble, nibble, think. “I still want to be a curse breaker, I think – only I don’t want to sit around all day with objects people bring in. I want to go out and, well, help catch criminals. Break traps and such they set up, assist in duels with the curses thrown there, that sort of thing.”

“Would being a curse breaker mean that you have to go other places? Like… Egypt and, and… Africa and places like that? Dangerous places?” Olivia bites her lip as she mentions this, tilting her head and apparently becoming quite pleased that Evan didn’t pick up on her slip of the tongue. “I don’t think I could do anything like that myself. It just sounds frightening to me. I would probably just get fired. Maybe I could help people with their homework or something for a job. Teach young children, or something.”

Evan Geroff shakes his head, using the motion to sneak a quick glance toward the violin as well. He should have picked more than three songs.. but no, that would have taken far too much of Professor Dwight’s time. With a slight shrug, he glances back at Olivia, propping himself up on one elbow. “No, it can be done right in the area..” “Perhaps, if I become really good, they’ll call for my help from other countries though. Wouldn’t that be amazing? To see how different it is all the way over there.. even Mother has only been to the mainland..” Trialing off, he gives another moment of consideration to Olivia’s words. “Tutoring, you mean? I think we might have had one, if Aunt Julie hadn’t been around. You could do really well.. get hired by all the rich families, so there’s a lot of money, and children seem to like you so well.”

“Tutoring, sure,” Olivia agrees. “I’ve heard that other people had tutors before coming to Hogwarts. Do you think those students are able to do better? I’ve often wondered that. I had to catch up a bit when I got here because Mum got distracted with our new neighbors at the time, she was trying to make friends so they could help her get into some of the fashionable parties and things.” Olivia shrugs at this. “Though I suppose if your aunt taught you, it wouldn’t make much difference, would it?” Olivia smiles at this and blushes a bit at his compliment. “As long as you don’t go anywhere too dangerous, it shouldn’t be a problem, right? You won’t have to worry about… dying… or anything.”

“No, I won’t die!” Starled at the idea, Evan breaks into a laugh, still chuckling somewhat as he calms enough to speak again. “You only die if you aren’t good at it, and don’t properly disarm the curses. It just means I have to continue with Defense, and Charms, and those classes.” Inbetween words, he finishes off the last bit of the tart he’d taken, brushing his fingers gently against his robes after. Nothing sticky after all, just crumbs, so they’ll fall to the ground and it’s all safe. “It didn’t in my family, not with Aunt Julie, and my parents, and John was around for a while.. and of course we all help out the younger kids now. I only can when I’m at home of course.”

“Well, as long as you don’t die,” Olivia tells him and looks down at her lap with only the end crust of her sandwich left. This will not be eaten — it’s the part with the most crumbs, after all! — and then smiles at Evan. “It just sounds terribly frightening. I couldn’t imagine doing it. Besides… there would be cobwebs and lots of dirt and things.” A visible shudder is emitted as she ponders over this for a moment and closes her eyes. After this moment seemingly passes, Olivia leans over, almost casually and rests her head on Evan’s shoulder for a moment before looking up at him happily. “Let’s never be mad at each other again,” she tells him with the hopeful optimism of youth. It is with this that she leans up ever so slightly, perhaps a bit nervously — she’s still not an expert at this, after all — her lips seemingly bound for his.

Evan Geroff grins at Olivia, searching out an appropriate response to her concerns about cobwebs and dirt. Finally he tells her, off-hand as though it doesn’t – and, truly, it doesn’t – bother him at all, “I’ll make sure to wash carefully after every dangerous mission.” Presumably he’ll be more serious about it when actually on the job. As she leans against him he slips an arm around her, ignoring the violin as it finally fades off from another rendition of one of the songs and letting it just sit silent, as he now is. A brief mumbling “Mmhmm” sort of sound is all the agreement she gets before he leans his head down, just slightly, glad to meet her kiss.

On a pleasant afternoon such as this, one might expect an experienced chaser to be out chatting with teammates after try-outs, perhaps getting in a first practice, or hanging out in the common room discussing their chances for the year. Students generally don’t spend their time hanging around in bushes, chaser or not. Still, that is where the afternoon finds Evan; having just carefully checked his surroundings and then emerged from the bushes at the side of the clearing, he moves quickly to the center of the clearing lest someone should catch him and find his hiding place. Once free of that possibility he stops, standing still to wipe a stray leaf or two off his robes. Despite trials earlier, he is absent any broom, instead carrying no more than a single if thick book, and frowing slightly at the sun and shadows around him.

Looking behind her as she wanders out into the clearing, Olivia seems rather perplexed. She has seen her friend disappearing out in this direction several times over the last couple of weeks, but each time she’s wandered out she hasn’t seen him. “Evan!” she calls loudly, hearing her voice echo. “Evan, where are you?” Enough is enough. A worried look is on the girl’s face as she stands in the middle of the clearing, her arms crossed over her chest.

Hearing his name, Evan drifts off toward the side of the clearing quickly – not the side where his secret is, of course – but off to a side, pausing in the shadow of some nearby trees. It doesn’t take long to realize the caller is Olivia, though, especially as she soon after walks into the clearing herself. He hesitates another moment before offering, “Here, Olivia,” and stepping back toward the center, toward her, the book clutched tight against him in one hand. His lopsided grin seems to be missing something, and may even seem a bit forced now that she’s so used to being around him, as he follows up with, “Hi!”

The worried look doesn’t leave the girl’s face as her friend comes into view and she walks to greet him, stepping carefully around some mud on the ground and standing on a flat stone nearby. “Where’ve you been?” she asks quietly as they are closer together. “I’ve been worried about you. You’ve hardly said two words to me since the first day of school.” Quirking her head a bit and reaching up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. “Where have you been hiding away?” Olivia‘s usual worriedness seems to have taken over her whole being as even her posture seems to reflect a worried unsettledness.

“Sure I have,” is the immediate and heartfelt protest from Evan. “I’ve had prefect duties, of course, and..” and, hmm, what? He trails off, frown deeping. Of course he’s seen her.. but he’s been busy, in a manner of speaking, and if she hasn’t.. has he been neglecting her? Still, all she gets as he stands and considers is an added, “You don’t need to worry. You can tell me if something’s wrong. I’ve just been..” pause. And where would she have looked for him, their hut, Slytherin’s tryouts? “..occupied, all these beginning of the year things, you know.”

“But… you weren’t at Slytherin tryouts, and you’ve been so quiet during classes, and hardly said anything to me, and you haven’t even come to the shack, and… I’ve been worried.” Olivia finishes this rambling statement, looking at him for just a moment longer before looking away. “If you don’t want to hang around me anymore, you just have to say so…” she trails off as she says this and her cheeks turn a bit pink. “But it’s just not like you to miss anything with Quidditch.” Olivia‘s voice as she says this.

“I’ve better things to do,” Evan starts sharply, though realizing his danger he adds quickly, “Not than spending time with you! Don’t even say that, Olivia. I’ve just had my mind on other things than constantly speaking out in classes. And,” he scowls faintly, “Quidditch. If they want to make fools of themselves they’re quite welcome to – I’ve got other things to do this year.” Though he looks at her as he speaks about the two of them, afterward his eyes drift a bit.

Olivia‘s jaw drops open as Evan makes such a statement to her, but she closes it as he continues. “But, er, well, I thought you loved Quidditch. You go on about it and things… what’s happened? Did they kick you off the team, Evan? I can’t think that being a prefect would be that much work… if it is, I’m very glad I’m not a prefect, then.” The girl bites her lip and tightens her arms around her, looking down at her shoes and kicking a clump of dirt off of the stone upon which she stands.

Evan Geroff blinks at Olivia, and his pride swelling up in his chest is almost visible. “Do you think they’d dare kick me off the team? I’m a fifth year and still one of their oldest players, and the most experienced chaser they’ve got! If they don’t want to recognize their lose it’s hardly any fault of mine, but they wouldn’t think of kicking me off.” Sometime, of course, he does have to stop for breath, and in doing so brings his rant to a pause and calms his voice somewhat again. “No, I..” “Being a Prefect is a large responsibility.”

“Well, don’t snap at me , I only asked. But if you’re not going to tell me, well, I’m not going to keep on guessing. I’ve just been worried about you.” Olivia‘s voice sounds strained as she tells him this, a frown deepening on her face. “It doesn’t make any sense why you would just not go to the tryouts anyway, and I’m still worried and a little bit confused but obviously you don’t want to tell me so I’ll just let you go do whatever you’ve been doing and I won’t bother you anymore.” There are pricks of tears in Olivia‘s eyes as she turns and begins to trot away carefully, making all efforts to avoid puddles and mud.

Evan Geroff does not immediately move as Olivia leaves. At her words, and when she turns, his pride-filled and arrogant expression slowly fades, replaced by one more stunned and worried as he stares at her back, eyes never leaving as she moves away. His grip on the book loosens, dangling before him now instead of pressed by a hand tight against his robes, mouth working once or twice soundlessly as he can’t quite figure out what to say. She asked after all!

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.

Walking in from the cool London air and onto the train, Saphia waves to Olivia as she finds a carriage. “Good morning, Ms. Baxtor,” she whispers happily as she finds her seat, setting down Mina’s cage on the floor next to her and heaving her many bags (no doubt full of books) onto the roof racks above.

Getting herself settled into her seat, Olivia glances at Saphia with a faint smile. “How was your summer?” she asks the girl with whom she has spent all summer corresponding and trading books. As redundant as this question may be, it seems the most relevant to the Hufflepuff while she gets her own owl situated on the seat next to her, keeping her a small distance from the window, though it is clear that she has claimed this seat. “This is Gaia,” she tells Saphia. “I got her for my birthday. I couldn’t send her because she’s not big enough to carry the books, though.”

Looking inside, a woman far too old to be a student at Hogwarts is joined by a boy far too young to be a student. The two look to be a mother and son. Phoebe smiles looking around in the compartment. “Do you dears mind if Edward and I have a seat in here with you?” She asks with a friendly smile. Behind her on the floor sits several trunks presumably filled with there possessions.

Fern Featherstone steps inside the compartment and looks over the area from beneath the curtain of her dark lashes. She seems rather shy and her cheeks flush with a pinkish hue.

Riley Markham throws open the hatch to the cabin with a dark sounding of hiss — finding, to his great discomfort, that he actually has to duck somewhat under the edge upper lip of the door in order to step inside. Already donned in his wrinkled, half-open Hogwarts robes, as tossed and uncared for as they often seem to be, Riley uncerimoniously steps beside Phoebe Helit almost as if he’d not seen her, tosses his case up in to the racks carelessly, and flops down beside Saphia with his arms crossed over his now surprisingly broad chest. Almost as if in after thought to his momentary anger (which seems to flare as he looks out the window and sees his Gran waving at him from the platform), he looks to Saphia, nods in greeting, then looks to the woman — presumably a professor, since he would guess her to old to be a studen — and mutters a meager, “‘cuse me, eh?”

Saphia Bona smiles as Riley sits down next to her, running her hand over his (good) shoulder and arm as he does so, smiling and replying to Olivia, “Oh, my summer was alright, I suppose. My mother forced me out into the sun now and then, which I suppose was proper, but there was ever so much reading to do!” She remarks, looking distinctly crestfallen about such things. As the professor enters, Saphia smiles shyly and whispers, “We’d be honored to have you, Professor.”

Dolly Faeden is a nice shade of brown that clashes horribly with her red hair and tells of a lot of outdoors time in the summer. Nevermind that she lives in a forest. With her accent thicker than ever from being around similarly-worded people for three months, Dee asks, “Is it alrigh’ if I sit here?” No, really, it’s thick like mollasses. With a twisty smile, she sort of stumps in no matter the answer and gives her trunk a push toward one of the chairs. It’s heavy! Or, as she sits in front of it, opens it, and starts to dig something out, she’s just in need of something. She looks up at some noise, still digging through her trunk, and realizes there are people she knows in the compartment after all. “Riley-sir! Saphia!” Her habit of calling the Ravenclaw Quidditchers ‘sir’ seems not to have died, though at least in Riley’s case it’s vaguely appropriate. “Have a good summer, then? Did ye get bigger some how? Not that I didn’t get a little taller myself but aren’t boys supposed to grow more when they’re–oh but you are thirteen, aren’t you? I noticed with some of the muggle boys in the village where me mum’s parents live, that’s really when they start to get taller although nobody’ll explain why except that they do and really it’s the girls who start to grow a lot first but I’m only a year from that so I’ve been researching charms to make robes a bit longer ’cause Da’ won’t be able to pay for new ones in the middle of the year just because I’ve taken to getting taller too fast, you know?” She doesn’t say any of this particularly fast, although her rural Scottish accent muddles it up rather nicely.

Staring a bit mutely at the littler girl blathers on in an accent that Olivia can only partially understand, the Hufflepuff scoots her owl’s cage over a bit farther and makes plenty of room on the bench next to her. After all, she wouldn’t want to take up too much room and keep others out. “I’ve enjoyed most of the books so far. Some of the muggle history books were a little odd, but I liked reading them anyway.” She smiles a bit and looks down at her lap, seeming ponderous. It is but a moment before she reaches down into her bag and pulls out a book. “Here, this is the last one you sent. I got some new books this year to read. Dad agreed to buy me a couple while we were out shopping.” Olivia seems oddly comfortable for one who prefers solitude to strangers.

Fern Featherstone takes a few more tentative steps into the compartment and she carefully sits down upon a leather seat, perching upon its edge and pressing her small feet against the ground. She rests her slender hands against the soft fabric of her wool skirt, even as she lifts the curtain of her wispy dark lashes and looks upon those gathered her with a pensive and sheepish kind of interest.

Smiling down upon Saphia, Phoebe pats her son upon the shoulder “Go take a seat dear,” She instructs him kindly as she takes her luggage and begins stowing it in the overhead. She turns again before taking a seat by her son. “Oh! Im sorry.” She says suddenly remembering. “I’ve forgotten to introduce us, I am Professor Helit and this is my son Edward.” She looks down at the boy who is trying to hid behind her arm. “Say Hi Eddy.” she tells him gently and the boy waves silently. “He’s just a little shy.” Phoebe pats her boy on the head and gets comfterble.

“Oh, thank you, Olivia. I’ve been reading as much as I can, but wi– Wait,” Saphia double-takes, “Professor, I know Professor Helit. I’ve… well, I’ve not had class with him, but I’ve conversed. And I always thought he was distinctly more tall, male, and green booted then you were.”

Riley Markham glances briefly to the hand that Saphia places on his (good) shoulder, before looking toward the door with a hint of mild embaressment. Ultimately, his gaze falls on the young boy with the new Professor — whom he had rather curtly stepped around before. And quite despite his annoyance with the whole thing, he can’t help but offer the little lad a smile. “Makin’ ‘em smaller and smaller all the time, aren’t they?” He mutters, to no one other than himself, before being somewhat distracted by Dolly. A faintly rueful expression touching his lips. “Hey,” he mutters. Being called ‘sir’ made his teeth ache. “God, I wish this bucket of junk would get us there already.”

Dolly Faeden looks sideways at the professor. “But Professor Helit, weren’t you a man last term?” Her eyes are wide, standing up and rather rudely tilting her head and squinching her eyes and finally shaking her head, “No, you were certainly a man. I know, people said Professor Rathe caught you aflame!” She looks at Edward, and says, “Your mother used to a man.” as if this were a fact and not hideously rude of her. At least her accent might obscure some of the nonsese. She flumps back into her seat, now, and sort of peers at Fern, her shoes, and her open trunk. “Oh!” She resumes digging.

“Oh yes.” Phoebe grins and chuckles just a bit before jokingly saying to Saphia “Well Im afraid I’ve been through a lot of changes over the summer you know.” She chuckles softly and doesn’t bother yet to give them a correct statement instead she turns her attention on Riley “Oh, Eddy will not be attending the sorting, He’s my personal assistant.” She says with a smile to her son who smiles back proudly at the title. Both Phoebe and Edward have a chuckle ad Dolly’s statement but neither move to correct her yet.

Olivia watches as the other students ask the man about possibly being the illustrious Professor Helit about whom she has heard so much. It seems clear, though, that if this is the same person, she is now considerably nicer than the one who was there the year previous. Running her fingers over the cage that her owl is sleeping peacefully in, Olivia only nods briefly at Saphia before the girl’s attention is distracted. Turning her own gaze out the window, it seems her mind is beginning to wander, though the thoughts travelling through her head can’t be too poor, given the half smile on her face.

Fern Featherstone studies Phoebe suspiciously from beneath the curtain of her wispy dark lashes, clearly finding it rather strange that she once was a man. Her naturally pale cheeks are still colored with a faint blush as she continues to sit on the leather seat.

Saphia Bona looks confused, before finally whispering, “Wait, are you ANOTHER Professor Helit?” She grins wide, stunned. “How many of there are you? Oh my. What will you be teaching?” She asks, excited. “Do you use many books?”

It’s hard work being a prefect! So Evan would tell you, anyway, after having spent the first part of the train ride patrolling the corridors instead of relaxing in a compartment with his friends. That part of his duty seems to be over now, though, as he seems in no hurry to move on his way, pausing to glance into each compartment he passes. This one wins a bit more attention, and Evan sticks his head in the door, smiling as he spots Olivia, giving a cheerful nod to the others present.

“Oh yes, I was only joking.” Phoebe chuckles softly at the very idea of being Quintus. “Your other Professor Helit is my Uncle actually.” She says this as if wishing that it weren’t true. “I am your new Muggle Studies Professor, and if you have taken my class you should have already bought the books for your year.” She comments to Saphia. She looks around the compartment and spies Evan peaking in and notices his smile to Olivia. A grin plays on her own face but she says nothing of it.

Dolly Faeden is satisfied that Professor Helit has just undergone some changes over the summer and so momentarily pauses in her (apparently aimless) digging through stuff when Saphia has another conclusion. “What? Y’mean there’s ta be two?” She looks at Phoebe again and murmurs, “Well am I sorry! I thought you’d just gone by way of a bad potion, someone slipping poorly made Polyjuice inta your drink or something.” She gives Edward another glance, her cheeks bright red, and then ducks her head back into her trunk, scattering things like a change of robes and a pair of underpants in her haste to both find whatever it is she wants and not look at the others, given she made a wrong conclusion. Unthinkable. Or at least really embarassing.

Turning her head as the compartment opens yet again, Olivia appears to glance around to see whether there is, indeed any spot for another person in the area. “Oh, Evan!” she greets her friend cheerfully, beaming with pride at the badge on his chest. She doesn’t say anything more, but does smile rather cheerfully at him. Could Olivia‘s demeanor be perhaps a little brighter, and even prouder, or is it just the fact that she hasn’t said or done much of anything as yet?

Fern Featherstone continues to sit silently upon the leather seat. She glances toward Evan as he arrive and smiles faintly in his direction. She then looks toward Phoebe, seemingly relieved by something she says. She then smiles shyly, while starting to restlessly toy with the wool of her pleated gray skirt.

Looking to Fern Phoebe smiles and gently asks “Is this your first year dear?” In a kind voice of understanding. Her son leans over as well to smile at Fern and offers her a quiet wave. “It’s a little exciting isn’t it? Not to worry, it’s Eddy’s and my first year at Hogwarts too.” A Professor that never attended Hogwarts? What’s going on?

“Hello, Olivia,” Evan replies warmly. Pulling the door farther, he offers a shallow bow to the.. adult and giving a curious yet friendly look to the child with her, pausing to speak again in an effort not to interrupt conversation. Finally, “Have we got room for one more in here?”

Fern Featherstone looks toward Phoebe and nods in response to her words. A few lank locks brush up against her narrow shoulders. She then glances toward Edward and smiles warmly toward the child. “Yes, its a little exciting. Oh, you never seen the school before?”

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.

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.

(Hufflepuff) Looking somewhat bored, Orion shifts his gaze across the hall — briefly allowing it to linger on the Gryffindor table, and two girls who sit there, and also one boy who piqued his curiousity today, before allowing his eyes to settle on the Slytherin table and the statuesque Tahiri Sol. His expression somewhat coy, much like a cat staring down a mouse.

(Hufflepuff) Albert Bryce shivers quietly in his chair, hair only damp now, rather than dripping wet. Aside from his cloak, which is now bundled in a sloppy mess under the table, the rest of him seemed to miss the rain. “Maybe it rained so hard, the boats capsized,” he muses darkly, eyes focused on the table where, we can hope, all sorts of warm food and drink will soon appear.

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.

(Hufflepuff) Albert Bryce sits up a bit more as the first years file in. He even goes so far as to half stand from his chair before spotting one of the straggly-haired blondes. “That’s my sister,” he murmurs to the boy beside him before taking a seat again. At least he’s not staring at the table anymore.

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.

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.

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.

(Hufflepuff) At least Seker isn’t alone in this misery. “Still think it’s not random?” Seker asks, having dropped his false cheeriness as reality has sunk in. His mother would have chimed in by now if this really was a joke. How could this have happened? “I can’t believe this,” Seker mutters, looking down at his lap and sighing. “How could she make it but not me?”

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.

(Hufflepuff) At least Seker isn’t alone in this misery. “Still think it’s not random?” Seker asks, having dropped his false cheeriness as reality has sunk in. His mother would have chimed in by now if this really was a joke. How could this have happened? “I can’t believe this,” Seker mutters, looking down at his lap and sighing. “How could she make it but not me?”

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.

(Hufflepuff) Charlie Linwood inexplicably turns about ten shades of red and decides that yes, his hands are fascinating.

(Hufflepuff) Puffing up as his new house might suggest (what kind of name was Hufflepuff anyway?) Seker looks to his housemates, pausing on Alden and Charlie to note, “Did you hear that? My mum’s the Deputy Headmistress! What a title, don’t you think?” Seker is a flurry of emotion– part of him proud for his mother, part of him still wanting to die. Hufflepuff? Seriously.

(Hufflepuff) A glance is gifted to Olivia from the direction of the Slytherin table, and the girl seems to blush rather hard as she looks down at the spread in front of her, ladelling herself a rather full bowl of some hearty looking stew, then pausing to take a sip of her pumpkin juice. “That’s really great,” Olivia tells the boy, smiling, though her cheeks are still a bit pink. “Don’t worry, you’ll like it here,” she assures him, and not another thought is given to whatever uncertainness or disappointment the first years might feel as she begins eating and perhaps glancing a bit long at the Slytherin table.

(Hufflepuff) Charlie Linwood immediately makes sure his mouth is full at all times, finally eating like a real boy and getting all the food slopped together on the place and shoved into his mouth at far too quick a rate of exchange. As opposed to his normal behavior, which is to arrange everything neatly and segregated and eat slowly and with a semblance of manners. His cheecks are still a brilliant shade of pink, though Seker gets a bit of a nod and a muffled, “Congrdlatins” which is, thankfully, not accompanied by a spray from his stuffed mouth.

(Hufflepuff) Alden Wexler blinks, almost startled — a lady-ask-bloke social? How.. “Disturbing.” His voice only emits in a sort whisper, which she squelches by shaking his head somewhat. If Professor Walsh appeared down to earth, Headmistress Prichard seemed at least mildly insane. But it were tradition. Exhaling a soft sight, and taking a turkey leg with a serious expression, Alden ponders.

(Hufflepuff) “Yeah, thanks,” Seker says to Olivia before looking to Charlie. “You’re looking a bit warm,” Seker notices. “Do you have a fever or something?” he asks, starting to dig into his piled-up plate. “Yeah, disturbing,” Seker echoes Alden, though not knowing just what the boy thought was disturbing. “How can a hat be so wrong?”

(Hufflepuff) Charlie Linwood swallows and protests much too loudly, looking wildly about the table for Rafe, “I’m just fine! My sister went to Gryffindor, that’s all. I was hoping she’d um… be a Hufflepuff. So I could keep an eye on here. If she asks any of you to the thing, tell her you’ve got the pox. And then get the pox. I can’t have you going or making her feel bad.” He can’t have her going because she’ll report to their mother. “Anyway, the hat wasn’t wrong, you just don’t–”and the rest is obscured as he catches a glimpse of something cross the room and stuffs his mouth again.

(Hufflepuff) “Just don’t what?” Seker demands, voracious for any information, any explanation of why he was placed here. “What’s your name? Or, more importantly, what’s your sister’s name?” Seker crosses his arms after taking a drink of juice. “I’ll be sure to inform her that I’d love to go with her, should she want to,” Seker says, though joking. He might ask Morgana, though, depending on when this social was. Morgana was really one of the only girls he knew here so far.

(Hufflepuff) Charlie Linwood is forced into coherency again, oh no. “It’s just you don’t know how good a fit you’ll be, obviously.” A swig of–well, whatever liquid substance is in his goblet later, and there’s a, “Honestly? You don’t…” an expression mixed between crestfallen and relieved crosses Charlie‘s face. “I’m Charlie Linwood.” Pause. “You know, Beater for the Hufflepuff team?” Another pause, “Captain, actually.” See? See the shiny pin on his robes? Okay, maybe it’s not that shiny. “And uh… you can’t go with my sister because she’s… allergic to black hair. She’d be sneezing all over you.” He fails to mention her name, howevever. Not that his sister isn’t the spitting image of him (to his woe, not hers), though.

(Hufflepuff) Seker lets this alleged ‘black hair allergy’ slide, but not without a roll of his eyes. “Right, right, Charlie,” Seker says, noting the pin on the young man’s robe. “Well, good luck in Quidditch this year,” Seker says with half-hearted intensity. “I’ll be cheering in the stands,” he says, a little sarcastically as he goes back to his dinner.

Amidst the hustle and bustle of children of assorted ages and uniform colours, Gabriel Goden shoves his way through the masses in the Express’ corridor, Briony in tow. “Mooove,” Gabriel mutters under his breath, eventually spotting an empty section. “In here, Bri,” Gabe advises, turning his neck to make eye contact as he points. He opens the door with no intention of closing it himself and slumps onto a seat. The summer, against his will, had gone so fast, and now it was back to school. How could anyone be cheerful? “Well, another year,” Gabe says to Briony with a sigh.

With a bit of a flourish, the door opens again and Carrie Mary Jane Whittier enters the door. She’s carrying a smell pet carrier in which a siamese cat lays sleeping, a suitcase of clothes, and a small golden harp. But that’s not what draws attention from anyone who knew her before. When she left Hogwarts last year, Carrie had beautiful long red hair that used to fly behind her during quidditch matches. Now, it’s cut off into a jet black, bob-style haircut. Her face is powdered, and her lips painted into a petite blood red circle. “Terribly sorry to intrude,” She grins as she enters, “But all the other carriages are full.”

“Isn’t it exciting, Gabe-y?” Briony answers cheerfully, bounding in with a rather harried looking cat in her arms. “It’s okay, Whimsy. We’re going soon. Come on, Alden! Don’t straggle!” Briony sounds like quite the all-knowing older sister as she plops down as close to the window as she can, on the seat facing Gabriel. “I can’t wait for Quidditch this year, can you? I’m sure we’ll do better. I’ve been practicing all summer, of course. I want us to get the cup this year! And we’re going to do good with the Good Deed Club. Alden, you can be with us if you’re sorted into Gryffindor. Well, of course you’ll be Gryffindor. You should be, anyway. I’ll be terribly disappointed if you’re not. And, and, oh, I get to start the electives this year! I’m so excited to see the Divination teacher. Nearly everybody likes her!”

Alden Wexler follows Briony in to the cabin with a small sigh, his expression grave. “Don’t shout, Briony. It’s unbecoming, especially when I’m just behind you.” He lingers in the doorway for a moment, waiting for his older sister to find her seat and clear the way, before placing his suitcase neatly up in the rack and taking a seat near the door and opposite from Briony. His arms folding over his chest in a thoughtful way. He had vague feeling that this would be a long trip — much longer than the floo power ride still dusted his cheeks annoyingly with soot that delivered him to Diagon Alley.

Gabriel truly doesn’t recognize Carrie as he replies to her with, “Yeah, it’s no problem,” and turns to glare somewhat at Briony. “Exciting?” he echoes before he remains silent for a few seconds, not hearing much of what Briony says (though, this lack of attention can partly be defended by the notion that Gabe thinks she is mainly talking to Alden anyways. Though, it was hard to tell for Gabe sometimes). Despite the figurative cloud looming over him, he almost can’t help getting caught up in Briony’s excitement somewhat. Maybe this year would be better. Shrugging to Alden, Gabriel Goden sighs as he looks back to Briony. “This year will be great,” he says with the naive, hopeful tone so common of him in his younger years.

“I didn’t shout,” Briony comments, taking this in stride as she continues on. “Hi! You’re on Hufflepuff team, aren’t you?” she tells Carrie, but doesn’t linger. “Anyway, buck up, Gabe. We’re going back to Hogwarts! Your mum is still our House Head isn’t she? I like her being our House Head. Professor Calwern scared me a little bit. She had all those rules and I was afraid I was going to break some.” Briony shakes her head a bit and then shrugs, grinning cheerfully at her brother and her friend. “Why are you so glum? You’ve been this way all summer. It’s no fun. We didn’t even get to go on any adventures because of it.” A pout crosses Briony‘s face as she says this, but it doesn’t last long. “Maybe we can find some while we’re running through the Good Deed Club and solve them! We didn’t find many last year. It was really sad. I wish we had.”

Felicity Wexler lingers for as long as she is allowed on Platform 9 3/4 — standing beside next to a short, silver-haired woman in her early seventies, who leans heavily on a cane. With one arm linked with the elderly woman, helping support her, Felicity talks in near tears to her until the whistle blows it’s last warning and the ushers begin making final shouts. And it’s with deep, obvious reluctance that Felicity parts with her (not for the least of the matter that the lack of support almost causes the old woman to fall over, until two men on the platform come to help), make it on to the train. Tears in her eyes that she fights to hold back, Felicity makes her way quickly to the nearest cabin with a window looking out on her Grandmother Larsen — and without worrying about it being Briony who she has to press close to in order to look out the window and wave, she abandons her suitcase at the door and cuts straight to her objective, watching sadly as the two men help the old muggle woman toward a hearthstone so she can return home.

Sitting down to the lukewarm reaction from Gabe, Carrie actually bursts out in a tiny laugh, “You really don’t recognise me, do you? I’m offended, Mr. Gabriel Goden. I stole the quaffle enough times from you last year to think you’d have noticed me.” She winks, and plucks at her harp, noting, “Briony here has a sharper mindski, I see.” She also smiles to Felicity as she comes in, and quips, “Oh, my! I’ve boarded the Wexler compartment, I see!” Her smile doesn’t dip, though, and she even begins to play a quiet tune on the harp.

“What?” questions Gabriel, confused at Carrie and showing it with a perked eyebrow and ignoring Briony for the time being. “Oh,” he says, realization dawning on him finally. “Right, I guess I recognize you, K… C… uhh…” he stutters with her name, though he probably did know it at one point. “Yeah, I recognize you,” he says quickly and looks away, a little flushed. As luck would have it, he turns immediately to the teary Felicity. Even worse! Girls and their emotions…! In a last effort, he turns to Briony, safe and always cheerful Briony. “Yeah, I… I…” he starts before crossing his arms and smiling, maybe a little falsely. “I’ll tell you later… this summer was kind of… a failed mission.” He shrugs. “But yeah, my mum’s the head of Gryffindor again this year.”

Alden Wexler arches a brow as Felicity comes bolting in to the compartment, leaving her suitcase at what is, essentially, his feet. Exhaling a long sigh as the Felicity leans over Briony to get to the window, knowing at least in part the nature of the girl’s apprehension and tears, Alden (much like Gabe) looks away. Though his motion is bore more out of modesty than any embaressement. Without a word, he rises, takes Felicity’s trunk, and stretches himself once more to place it in to the racks.

As Felicity continues to cry, Carrie finally breaks her carefully constructed image to shuffle next to her and ask, “Hey, hey. You alright, Jane?” She rubs a hand over Felicity’s shoulder. “It’s alright… shush. It’s alright. I’ll play you a song, OK? Make everyone happy here?”

“Hey, I was here first,” Briony comments and frowns a bit. Felicity isn’t her favorite cousin, after all. Does Briony have a favorite cousin. “Get your own window seat if you want one.” Briony doesn’t say this with as much sourness as usual, because having seen Felicity’s grandmother, even Briony can’t help but feel a little bit sad for the girl. “Oh, a failed mission?” Briony responds to GAbriel, looking almost concerned at it. “Why did it fail? You should have let me help! We would have succeeded together. After all, I’m thirteen now. I’m every bit as good at stuff as you.” So Briony thinks anyway. The train has begun moving, and Briony shoots a beaming look of pride to Alden. “Look, isn’t it nifty? The train ride is so fun.”

Wiping a few tears from her cheeks that manage to escape despite her best efforts, Felicity looks briefly to Carrie — smiling a little, in a brave sort of way, before rising and pulling away somewhat from Briony and the window. “No, thank you, I’m alright –” Briony’s words, strangely, are somewhat comforting to her. The mild harshness in her tone is familiar, and so it’s in the nature of that solid rock that she pushes Briony on the arm (though decidedly more gentle than she would most other times, matching Briony’s understated kindness with some of her own) before flopping down next to her Gryffindor cousin. She passes a small smile of thanks back to Alden, for his putting her suitcase away, and decidedly keeps her gaze from the window as the trainstation fades well from view. Otherwise, she remains quiet.

“I said I’ll tell you later,” Gabriel re-states with much emphasis, eyeing the others in the compartment furtively. Really, it wasn’t the type of ‘mission’ one discussed openly while among others. “And…” though it pains Gabriel to say it, “I… don’t know if you’ll be able to help. Or anyone.” He blinks quickly a couple times before forcing a smile again and trying to change the subject. “It’s okay, Felicity, it’ll be summer again soon. Just think about how fast last year went,” he lies, trying to make her feel better about leaving.

Felicity Wexler nodding slightly to Gabe, in response to his comforting words — words she knows to be false, but words that are comforting never the less, she puts on her best smile, in an attempt to convince herself that she might believe them. Her hands fold in her lap, and she finally turns her gaze to Alden — somewhat curious what it is that Gabe is whispering about, but feeling a little to down to pry. “Are you excited?”

Alden Wexler shifts his gaze back to Felicity once she has regained control of herself, his expression mute — excitement, it would seem, wasn’t a part of his typical profile. “About Sorting, you mean?” Alden murmurs, thoughtfully. His voice mildly high pitched, and somewhat effeminate despite the clarity and certainty he pours in to his words. It only adds to the general air of “delicacy” that radiates from the child. “Not especially, no.”

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.

(Gryffindor) Being seemingly confused due to the events in the train compartment, Andy sits down at the Gryffindor table, keeping an eye on Orion. As Felicity comes in, he wishes he could be invisible or vanish in the ground. Still unsure how to handle the experience he looks down to the table, glancing up only from time to time, checking Orion and the Faculty table.

(Gryffindor) Forcing himself into something resembling a cheerful mood, Gabe glances up to the faculty table, too, as he seats himself at Gryffindor’s table. After he is unable to catch his mother’s eye (she seems busy talking to a child at the table, go figure), Gabriel shrugs, acting like he didn’t try to make eye contact in the first place. “These feasts are always the same, have you noticed?” he asks Briony with a perked brow. “Not that it’s a bad thing,” he adds, catching himself in what could be interpreted as a negative comment.

(Gryffindor) “Well, I suppose so,” Briony answer quickly, shrugging a bit. “I like watching people get sorted. And my brother’s going to be sorted, so I’ve got to pay attention. I do hope he’s in Gryffindor like me and mum and dad. I’ll be so disappointed if he isn’t.” She pauses. “Though, I’ll still like him no matter what house he’s in.” She sounds very rehearsed as she states this and then leans down with her chin in her palm. “I dunno if I’d like him to be in Slytherin, though. I don’t know many Slytherins that I like. I think they’re too mean.” Clearly, the girl hasn’t had many run-ins with Slytherins.

(Gryffindor) Felicity Wexler sinks down in to a seat next to Andy, looking preoccupied and tired. Her gaze lowers toward her empty plate, and almost idly, she reaches up and takes a curly lock of hair between her fingers before absently moving it toward her lips.

(Gryffindor) “Like my sister you mean?” Gabe asks with a grin. “If she’s a model Slytherin, I’m glad that we don’t have much to do with them,” he says. “If my mum would have had another kid, I bet it would have been in Ravenclaw. Then mum would have a full set,” muses Gabriel , idly scratching an eyebrow. “It’s strange how we all ended up in different houses I think,” he continues with, picking up a fork and standing it on its tines, though not letting go. “Don’t you think?” he asks Briony, looking down afterwards.

(Gryffindor) “I guess it kind of is,” she answers cheerfully. “But my dad was in Gryffindor, and then Uncle Logan was in Slytherin — dad still doesn’t like that; I think he wishes Uncle Logan had been Gryffindor, too — and then Uncle Jared was a Ravenclaw and Uncle Gilbert was Hufflepuff, and then Uncle Freddie was Gryffindor, too, and Auntie Eva was Ravenclaw. So I guess they have all the houses, too. Maybe it’s not that uncommon. I wonder if any families have only people who go to one house. That would be neat, don’t you think?” Briony giggles as she says this, thinking more about it. “Imagine, a whole family of Ravenclaws. I bet they’d all own libraries!”

(Gryffindor) “No, no,” Gabriel says, being caught up in his excitement of times past. “One, a sister, would own a library. The parents would own a dusty museum and the brother would be the manager of Flourish and Blotts,” he says, ticking the entities off on his fingers. “The youngest sister would be an editor for the romance novels of the oldest sister, and the oldest brother would be a guide on the tours of his parents’ museum,” he says, grinning as he pictures the family, all with inch-thick glasses and disheveled hair.

(Gryffindor) “My mum was in Slytherin,” Felicity says, quietly, turning her gaze toward Gabriel and Briony. Her tone is somewhat shy, almost as if she isn’t certain she should be joining thier conversation. But all told, she needs to talk, to get the image of the receeding train station out her mind. “Dad, too, I think. I’ve never asked him. Not sure about my sisters, either, though I’d bet Maura was in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff.” Felicity didn’t have much oppertunity to speak to her family often, socially, considering how busy they all were.

(Gryffindor) Sensing the pathetic tone in Felicity’s voice, without really understanding what she, Briony and Gabriel were talking about, Andy is torn between staying quiet and involve in the conversation and maybe find out what was her cause of concern. He finally lifts his gaze and turns to his housemates. “Hey, I…ahm…unfortunately didn’t find you in the train.” he attempts with a tiny voice.

(Gryffindor) “You don’t even know what houses they were in? How could you not know?” Gabe asks Felicity, obviously surprised at learning these things. Just how someone could never have heard what houses their family members were in is completely lost on Gabriel. The boy shrugs as he lets the subject drop, sensing somewhat that Felicity is still a bit depressed about leaving that woman he saw her waving to.

(Gryffindor) Felicity Wexler cringes a little with subtle voracity of Gabriel’s question. Any other time, and she might have bristled, lashed back with a stressed few words of her own which, likely, would met and exceeded anything Gabe’s slightly exasperated question might have delivered with a hint of sack full of righteous anger. However, the simple fact that she has had a lingering, mild crush on Gabe ever since they were first years, combined with the nature of her current, delicate state, instead only lowers her voice and makes her retreat a little. “I.. mum and dad.. are just busy, I don’t see them.. much, and Maura and Ariena are so much older than me.. and they’re gone, living on their own.. and really, it’s just me and Grandmother Larsen.. and she’s a muggle..” Her voice sort of drifts away, accepting Gabe’s willingness to shrug and let it go, before turning to look to Andy. “What cabin were you in? Who did you sit with?”

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.

(Gryffindor) Andy shudders a bit at Felicity’s question, but answers right away. “Uhm…It was the…third, yes. And there was this Hufflepuff with me. Orion. I suppose you know him?” Andy tries to look into her eyes for the first time this evening. He can’t hide a hint of reproach in his glance.

(Gryffindor) Felicity Wexler blinks, twice, before looking at Andy wide-eyed. “You sat with Orion Kari?” A small, quiet hint of excitement fills her voice as she turns in her seat and reaches out to take both of Andy’s hands in both of her own. “What was he like? What happened? Did he say anything?”

(Gryffindor) Another world collapsing for Andy, every crumb of hope has just been blown away. Shutting his eyes for a split second, Andy gathers some power to be able to speak again. “He has been drawing, just sitting around, not talking much or let’s say hardly anything. Just not my type of person to be with, I think.” he replies, rolling his eyes a bit.

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.

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.

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.

(Gryffindor) Gasping, Briony‘s face falls ever so slightly as her brother is sorted into Hufflepuff. Brothers apparently are to go to different places than their sisters this year, and it is clear that Briony was hoping rather hard for him to come to Gryffindor. “He would have made such a dandy Gryffindor,” she comments. “It’s sad, now he’s a Hufflepuff.”

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.