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.
