The private family parlor is a large room, divided into several individual areas by arrangements of couches and chairs in smaller clusters. Most are ornately constructed in an older, almost medieval style, although a few have a more modern feel. The decorations are bizarre and eccentric, from the stuffed yearling dragon suspended near the ceiling among the floating will-o-the-wisps for light, to the improbably deep bookshelves that adorn the walls of this room just like every other room in the manor. Everything gives the appearance of great age and is very rich and ornate, but also a bit worn. The small bar with weird twisting angles set against the north wall is only for appearances, and is not stocked; drinks appear when asked for.

Oddly enough Gerald is not present tonight and neither is that “layabout” younger brother of his, Uncle Cedric. It would seem the menfolk are busying themselves elsewhere for Astra is actually present in the estate and further has settled comfortably onto one of the couches with her nose in a book. She rarely visits the home of her childhood, but as she so seldom gets to see her children now that they have left Hogwarts there is no avoiding the place all Rathe call home to some extent or another. Unlike her very businesslike self at the school, here the woman takes certain liberties and she’s dressed in a long silk dressing gown of crimson and gold. Left open, it hangs loosely over her garish clothing that consists of a bright purple shirt with long sleeves that cuff at the wrist and billowing green trousers that cinch close around her ankles. On her feet she wears a pair of highly ornamented Arabian slippers.

Having apparently inherited her mother’s flair for garish clothing combinations, Satinka arrives dressed in a combination of bold green (reminiscent of grass) and pale, silvery blue styled in a pantsuit with a hint of sailor style to it. As she walks in, the young woman carefully removes her hat – appropriately in a matching shade of green – and shakes off a bit of rain as she removes her coat. “Mother!” she calls loudly as she hangs up her things and makes her way into the parlor. “Oh, there you are,” she says blandly as she peeks into the room. “I should have known.” With that, she comes in and takes a seat in a chair facing Astra.

It isn’t the approach that draws her attention so much as the greeting. Forcing herself to glance idly up from whatever has her utmost attention, Astra‘s assessment was originally going to be the lazy and apparently half-attentive glimpse she generally gives everyone. Except that’s not what happens. The arched brow and idle eye that’s about to dip back to the pages of the book freeze and catch. While no words leave her mouth until the younger woman sits down that doesn’t mean she’s not giving Satinka her fullest regard. Lowering the book and openly staring at her daughter’s face, or more precisely the now short blonde hair, the darkling woman’s lips turn into a slight frown. “Satinka.” The name is spoken in an even tone and there’s forced neutrality in the greeting. “How…are you…doing?” Those emerald eyes do not skip to look at her daughter, but rather their gaze remains upon the hair.

“Oh, fine, fine,” Satinka answers dismissively as she leans back into the chair, pretending not to notice her mother’s apparent shock. “Are you alright, Mother?” the young woman asks casually as she crosses one leg over another, motioning for a drink from the bar and sipping it casually. She brings her hand up to pat her hair gently, as if completely oblivious to her mother’s reaction. She peers at the book her mother is reading and rolls her eyes a bit. “Haven’t you read that one before?” she asks, not really knowing whether that’s true or not, but trying not to gloat too much over the successfully elicited reaction.

“I couldn’t be better.” Still staring at the hair it takes Astra a moment longer to finally disengage herself from openly gawking. “I see that you’ve become quite the modern young lady. I remember a muggle-born friend of mine bobbing her hair shortly before we were to graduate, I suppose it was quite the rage.” Gripping the book and then gently shutting it gives her enough time to pause and catch her thoughts. “Is it the latest fashion then in Paris to crop your hair in that way or is it just some way of declaring your independence from your family then?” A very small smirk edges at the corners of her lips but dies before it reaches fruition. This small change is as scandalous to the woman as some major acts of deviancy would be to other, more normal, parents. “Why on earth did you go and chop off all your hair? I can’t see the reason in it at all.” Outing her real feelings on the issue the scowl is directed at the offense rather than directly at Satinka.

Satinka smirks openly at her mother. “Why not cut my hair? It’s just hair,” she states with an air of confidence as she pats her hair once again. “I thought the look would suit me, and you know, there are so many needy people who just can’t grow hair the way that I can. I thought I could help the needy by giving my hair to someone who needs it.” The one disadvantage to her now-bobbed hair is that the toss of her head has much less impact than it had when her hair was long. “I have no need for the trends of fashion, anyway,” she states. “I make my own.”

“It will grow back, granted, but now it will not be as it was.” Oh the horror of it it all! Astra scowls openly and then shakes her head, “I will never understand this desire of some people to wear their hair short.” “I hope your brother doesn’t get it into his head to go chopping off his hair too.” There really isn’t a good and logical reason to her disapproval and she is all too aware of this fact. Instead of focusing on the absolute inanity of her own condemnation against the offending hairstyle she chooses to chase Satinka’s argument. “And just what poor souls couldn’t just use magic to grow out their hair or change the color? Why be so…archaically muggle about the whole thing? Did you sell it to some magical stylist then?”

“Of course I didn’t. Don’t you know how severely over-priced they are? They pay beans, too. It’s hardly worth the time waiting for them to draw up the payment.” She takes a sip from her drink, letting her silence draw a long pause. “I went to Arcane Artifacts. As I’m sure you know, Mr. Darian wears only wigs, and some of them are of just shameful quality. We can’t have an esteemed shop owner in Diagon Alley looking like a slob. Thus, he was needy!” She glances up over her glass as she takes another drink, mischeif playing in her eyes. “You are so dramatic, mother. My hair will be just as it was before, should I let it grow long again. Perhaps I won’t!”

Everything after the mention of “Darian” may as well be white noise to Astra. While the prior reaction was probably delightfully rich to anyone’s perspective other than her own this next bit of news leaves the woman robbed of speech. Probably half a minute goes by where the older woman does nothing, frozen in body as well as mind although she’s gone positively ashen. When at last she does manage to speak her voice is dry and crumbling like leaves in a gutter, her old fears returning. “You. Went. To. Darian’s. Shop.” Each word is clipped, sharp, and more unforgiving than the attitude toward the hair. One slender hand arches over her book in a protective fashion but she grips it until her knuckles are white. “Darian.” Drawing in a sharp breath, green eyes narrow at the corners. “Do not play me a fool girl. Darian is neither a slob nor in need. Mind yourself.” “I’ll not have my children associating with his ilk even if you are adults. Choose wisely the company you seek for it reflects on you. If you have any further dealings with him,” “do not darken this or any door I enter. Do I make myself clear?” There aren’t many times that Astra makes a stand against something, but her utter hatred of Daniel and his name is stripped bare. If there was any question about her fear or dislike of that family before there certainly shouldn’t be now.

“Mother, you are so closed-minded. What is it to you where I sell my hair?” Satinka replies, setting her glass down nearby with a loud “THUNK.” “You tell me to live as I will but only if it fits what you want!” She raises her voice just slightly as she says this and sits forward in her chair. “If you won’t let me do what you say I should do, and hold onto antiquated ideas of beauty and womanhood -” she continues to raise her voice and practically spits the last word to her mother, “- then perhaps I shouldn’t, as you say, ‘darken your door!’” The young woman stands up with a huff and stalks to the entryway, her cheeks red with her anger and disdain. Once in the entryway, she begins to put her coat on and in her haste manages to drop both coat and hat onto the floor. “AUGH!” she shouts as she picks them both up, attempting to shake invisible dirt off of them both before putting them on.

Standing up silently, Astra watches the young woman stalk away with the familiar attitudes that so vex her own parents about her own self. Opening her mouth to say something she instead sits back down and tosses the book aside carelessly, an act she would normally never engage in. “This is not about your hair any longer this is about your associating with that scum-sucking, bottom-dwelling, piece of work known as Daniel Darian. Cut your hair to flout me. Wear it short and mock me, but do not think for one moment that I will tolerate you playing me a fool or an idiot.” But then the anger turns aside and the rage turns to anxious vexation. For years she tried to protect her children against the evils in the world and now her brain seizes with fear on the worst outcome. Standing up, she doesn’t seek to chase down her daughter. Instead she paces, her arms wrapped around her body as she scrambles to put aside her fear. “Darian is filth and though I have no solid proof, I know what he is. I know he is like that father of his. I know he will harm you if he can. There is no love lost between our families after what happened. Do what you want in your life then, but do not associate with an enemy of your family.”

“I’m not sleeping with him, mother,” she tells the woman. “I sold him my hair. You’re making a mountain out of a flobberworm hole. You want me not to treat you as a fool, then stop treating me as if I’m a stupid child.” Satinka has managed to pull her coat on and affix her hat rather sloppily on her head, and after this statement, she crosses her arms across her chest. “I’m not as stupid as you seem to think I am, and I certainly know what I’m getting myself into. Just because I choose to sell my own hair doesn’t mean I’m making some crazy dark wizard friends.” She scoffs and stares hard at Astra for a moment.

Staring openly again, Astra‘s anger is on the edge but she quells it as she observes her daughter’s reaction. “Going near him is danger enough. You never know what he might do or what he might try to slip you. He’s a scoundrel and I would prefer you do not have any more contact with him.” “You do not know his family half as well as you think you do and if you did you wouldn’t be so quick to cast aspersions.” Straightening herself she stands as tall as she can and tilts her head as she thinks. Then, finally, there is that smile however faint. “I have never thought you were stupid. Headstrong, yes, but aren’t all of the Rathe? Stupid is not a word I’d use to describe you.” Brow furrowing, she pulls her arms away from herself and shoves them into the pockets of the dressing gown. “I’m proud of the both of you – probably more than I’ve ever said. I’m not good with “I love yous” like your father, but I do. I worry sick about you too because you’re as proud as I am. I worry about you both because father says I didn’t do a good enough job teaching you.” Years of pent up fears come out and while she tries to stop the flow she cannot. “And now…I can’t protect you anymore. You’ve grown, but that doesn’t mean I don’t worry every single day. You’re my children. How could I not worry and fret and get scared when I hear you’re near my second worst enemy in the world?”

Satinka‘s anger seems to quell ever so slightly at Astra’s admission of a fault. She scoffs and rolls her eyes, her stance not changing. “I just wish you would give me a little credit that I know what I’m doing. Just because I walk into a shop and sell my hair to someone doesn’t mean I’m angling to get myself killed or involved with the wrong kind of wizard.” She sighs dramatically. “I’m not going to get myself killed. We had good enough defense teachers, and I don’t exactly have any more hair to sell, so I don’t expect I’ll be visiting the shop again any time soon.” She waves her hand as she says this, then brings it down to rest on her hip, heaving another dramatic sigh.

“That isn’t what grandfather means. It’s another of my many failures and I wonder if he wasn’t right.” Of course she does, but Astra is always afraid of never living up to either of her parents’ rather large demands. Pulling at the robe and sitting herself back down she continues to watch the younger woman with an expression that rests somewhere between anxious, proud, and frustrated. “It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s him. Just, next time you decide to do business dealings please seek someone else out.” Furrowing her brow and then shaking her hands out of her pockets she raises her fingers to her forehead and massages her temples. “Darian. Ugh.” Shaking her head clear of that thought she glances at her daughter’s hair again with a sigh. “I do like long hair, but it isn’t because of traditionally womanly beauty. I just like it better on everyone.” “After all, your grandfather has long hair and so does Arnauld and Cedric. It isn’t because you’re a woman it’s because well” shrugging, “personal taste.” It isn’t the best of excuses, but now she isn’t trying to make them. “And no, you don’t have to keep it long to please anyone but you should know that doesn’t mean it’ll go without comment. I’m sure grandfather will say something and Arnauld will probably hold a funeral for your hair or something equally ridiculous.” Her good humor has returned, mostly, but she looks drained.

“Has it occurred to you that just because everyone you know has it doesn’t mean it’s the only way?” Satinka states. “I don’t want to look like everyone else. I’m special, and now people can can see it right off.” Satinka smirks at this. “I’m sure grandfather will adore my hair.” Satinka‘s italics don’t decrease as her anger does. “I’m shocked that you’re making such a big deal of this, mother. I thought you were modern.”

Throwing her head back in that familiar laughter that she inherited from Arnauld and her father, Astra‘s mirth doesn’t overflow too long. “No dear, I’m afraid in many ways I’m as traditional as your grandparents. I try, I do try, but there are some things I can’t quite shake. Besides, if you didn’t have something to flout at me however would you manage to rebel?” That flicker of deviance lights in her eyes and the smile she rarely dons in public finally worms its way onto her face. “I don’t approve. I don’t have to approve of everything you do. That doesn’t mean I’m not proud of you and that certainly doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re special. You’re special because you are a Rathe. Rathe are always a cut above,” vaguely gesturing at Satinka’s hair, “and we always have to stand out one way or another.” “Blair will fuss more than I am, but I’m sure you’ll tell him where to get off.” “And then he’ll run to me crying about it as if it were an international wizarding disaster.”

Snickering a bit, Satinka waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll handle Blair.” She smirks. “I’ll just tell him that it’s an emerging fashion and that I wanted to be right on top of it.” A pause. “Or something like that.” Now that she’s quite calm, Satinka takes a moment to set her hat jauntily and neatly atop her head. “Now that you’re past your shock, can’t you admire what a stunning look this is? It is truly chic!” Satinka strikes a model-esque pose, though her attempt at the blank model face is marred by her self-satisfied smirk.

“You were always better at handling him than I was, well, yes, now.” The vague hints of what the man was like prior to the birth of children do crop up from time to time but Astra rarely speaks of her childhood and teen years even now. Raising both brows and then giving a sigh “I’m going to have to take some time to get used to it on you, but that’s because it looks strange to my eyes.” “Regardless of my personal feelings you do pull it off well. Then again you’ve the confidence to put any look in a good way.” Rubbing her thumb alongside her chin a devious smirk tugs at her lips. “You really ought to come visit me at Hogwarts sometime. Let old Quint see you like that and I’m sure he’ll have plenty to say – maybe not to you directly but it’ll be funny all the same.”

“Oh that’s a laugh,” Satinka comments with a derisive snort. “Professor Helit wouldn’t have any good things to say about me anyway because I’m female, let alone now that I’ve bobbed my hair.” She pauses, then giggles a little. “Maybe he’d like me better because I look more like a boy.” Satinka giggles more, as she seems to find this comment quite amusing, though there is no chance of her ever being mistaken for male. “Thank you, nevertheless, for the begrudging comment,” she tells Astra with an impish smile, pushing her hands into her pockets and spinning in her best ballerina twirl.

“Quint isn’t all bad, he’s just mostly bad and very backward but what do you expect? He was raised very strangely.” Astra‘s desire to have her family get along is strong, but she knows better since even her blood relatives can really go at each other’s throats. “My advice is to take him with a grain of salt and tweak his nose in whatever way you can whenever you can. It’s good for him to see that the Rathe women play hard, fast, mean and deadly.” “He’ll learn to behave eventually.” Sighing, the woman picks her book back up and turns it over in her hands. “You’re welcome oh my dearest and most darling daughter.” Laying it on thick, she flashes a fond grin. “You are so much like your father sometimes. I’m glad you’re living your life the way you want. I envy you that freedom, but I’m glad you have the strength to do so.”

“Oh, don’t make me sick,” Satinka responds, making a face at Astra’s extra-sweet response. “Somebody has to keep the Rathe name alive socially,” she comments off-hand. “You’ve got the academics covered, and I dare say Seker is looking to make a name around Diagon Alley, though I’m not positive of that. I pick up the slack.” She says this so sweetly that one might believe that it’s entirely sincere. “And speaking of that, I’d better get back to Abe – he wants to stop by some thing or another tonight and I have to decide what I’m going to wear.” She pulls the tie closed on her coat and smirks at Astra.

Raising both her hands as if in defeat “Because the rest of us are terribly socially backwards I know. We can’t all be like you dear.” Astra is anything but giving in, but the smile doesn’t fade as quickly as it might if she were really offended. “You are our sole defender on that battlefield so go off and don your armor.” Shaking her head as she drops her hand back into her lap she stands up. “Do come round and see me once in a way. The school is dull without you two running around and getting underfoot or pestering me or trying to make me upset over something or another that you’ve planned out.” She wants to hug her daughter and while she does approach she stops short and pins her hands behind her back, unable to carry through with the desire. “Go on before you’re late and have fun.”

“You really are,” Satinka agrees with a very good deadpan. “I’ll do my best to resurrect the Rathe name socially, but I must warn you – it’s a difficult job. You crazies have really done it up good.” She grins and leans down to kiss her mother on the cheek, apparenly not hampered by the same awkwardness regarding physicality as Astra has. “I’ll come by and visit sometime. I’ll let you know.” She grins and strides away. “Tell Grandfather that I said hello!” she calls and wiggles her fingers before apparating away with a loud CRACK.

On the first day of Hogwarts’ term, Platform 9 3/4 is teeming with black-robed students and their fussing parents. Here a pair of wizard parents bends dotingly over their tiny first-year son, anxiously straightening his robes and checking to make sure his owl is fed. There, a confused-looking Muggle family stands slightly apart from the rest, watching the spectacle with bewildered eyes while their daughter rushes around in excitement to meet her new classmates. Beyond that, a group of older students, tall and assured after years of school, chat eagerly as they catch up on their summer holidays.

Among the odd groupings of adults and children, one is a trio: an old wizard departing from a pair of young girls, both wearing the shiny badges of new Hogwarts Prefects. The taller of the two girls bears a striking resemblance to him; the other, Dara Quincy, looks nothing like either of the others, but seems remarkably at home with both. Dara‘s expression is serious and intent, her vague, shadowed eyes narrowed in resolute focus as she glances around the platform, surveying the younger students with the determined authority of her new position.

Mariska Moore steps onto the platform and promptly dusts herself off, not yet wearing her Hogwarts robes, having deemed that it would look quite hilarious to be doing so when in the midst of the muggles. Following her onto the platform is an annoyingly perfect little blond haired girl, who quickly states how she absoloutly can not wait until she gets to go to Hogwarts. Finally, entering the platform behind the younger girl enter, presumably, the parents, who promptly start to fuss over the second year girl. “Mum, Da’, I’ll be fine, I promise, nothing happened to me last year, after all,” she states with a roll of her eyes before she quickly makes to depart from the precense of her somewhat overbearing parents.

Seraphina Pryor is a year older now, but she doesn’t look much more sure as she steps onto the platform with her obviously-doting father and younger sister, just a year too young to go to Hogwarts as yet. “Dad, why couldn’t you have waited out on the muggle platform?” she asks her father in a slightly testy fashion. “There are too many parents here already.” Despite her protests, Sera allows her father to press a bag of money into her palm and kiss her on the cheek. “I’m going to go get on the train now,” she announces to him with an unexpressive face. “Bye, Ona,” she tells her sister quickly before stepping closer to the train, glancing around only momentarily before she ducks onto the train with a very unsure face.

Chester Blake strolls onto the platform, studiously ignoring his brother – not his twin, if you please – as well as his younger sister, who is peppering the two of them with rapid fire questions about the sorting that she is still too young to attend. “Oh, shut up, Siscily,” he replies testily and turns to his parents. “No, mum, I’m fine… please don’t, oh – ugh, mum!” Chester seems appalled by the primping that his mother has just done to his disheveled hair as well as the wet kiss planted on his cheek. Such displays are unusual for Chester to experience, and he doesn’t seem to appreciate them when they do happen. “Rowan, you sit in a different car. Find your friends or something.” Whatever’s gotten into usually docile Chester this year? “I’m getting onto the train.” He drags his trunk behind him and stalks down the platform toward the door into one of the cars, ignoring his family as much as he did when they all came on to the platform.

Looking a bit flustered but no worse for the wear, Tobias Garner stumbles through the barrier, his owl, luggage, and (predictably) family in tow. Despite having gone through this painful farewell process seven times prior to today – though in those years his brother stood in his place — Tobias‘s mother and father are as tearful as ever. Jerry, on the other hand, seems unaffected by the flood of emotion, and simply tousles his brother’s hair and wishes him good luck. Promising that he will return for Christmas, Tobias edges closer to a group of older students, hoping to be noticed but at the same time remain inconspicuous. Heather hoots her displeasure and shifts uneasily in her cage at all the noise, but her protests are drowned out by the numerous conversations around her.

Even for a Prefect who seems to have to work as hard as Dara does to stay focused on her job, there is plenty to do. “Over here! This way! No, it’s all right, you can let your luggage go – it will arrive at school the same time that you do. Goodness, is that your owl flying off there? Yes, the train will wait until you’ve caught it…” Dara sorts through the disorderly crowd of first-years, directing them towards the various train compartments and giving what reassurance she can, all with the same air of steady resolve. “I’ll see you on the train, Evey!” she calls, smile brightening through her serious determination for a moment as she waves to a girl her own age across the crowd. And then she is back to work, ushering the other students onto the train. “Oh, hullo, Tobias,” Dara says, offering a smile to one of the few new students familiar to her. “Good to see you again.”

Walking up closer to the train and just narrowly avoiding a girl who is strangely walking backwards down the platform, Chester inclines his head briefly toward Dara. He doesn’t know her well, but he’s smart enough to see that the girl is wearing a Prefect badge and to act accordingly. “Congratulations,” he basically mutters before slipping through the door to the train, trunk hauled behind him. Chester spends little time glancing at those around him and manages to duck into the first empty compartment that he spots, quickly settling in next to the window – his favorite spot.

Mariska Moore takes her barn owls cage from atop her luggage, leaving the rest so that it can be loaded onto the train. “G’bye Mum, Da, I’ll see for break and of course I’ll be on my best behavior,” the girl notes, before her parents tell her to make sure she studies and to keep practicing the dance lessons she learned. “Of course, now will you let me go? I don’t want to miss the train,” she notes before kneeling down to give her younger sister a hug. That done she rights herself, dusts her clothes off and heads away from the familial unit and towards the train, though she moves at no sort of a rush.

“Thanks,” Dara replies, offering Chester a friendly, if slightly vague smile – she hasn’t had much of a chance to interact with the younger Hufflepuff boy, but from the quick brightening of her expression on his compliment, any friendly interaction is very welcome.

Following the barrage of students onto the train, Seraphina barely has enough room to move about, let alone choose her compartment for herself. She essentially ends up getting shoved into compartment One, in which there are already people. Seeing that there is room for her, though, she decides to stay rather than fight the crowd in the corridor. “Hi.” she greets those in the compartment before stowing her trunk and sitting in the opposite corner from Chester, sitting as close to the wall as possible.

Partly carried along by the momentum of the waves of students, partly concentrating on her duties, Dara bypasses the prefects’ compartment entirely. She only seems to realize that she has come to rest in another train car a few moments after she arrives, wide gray eyes blinking in brief confusion as she refocuses. Dara glances behind her – no, the tall Hufflepuff prefect with whom she had arrived seems to be gone, to her further confusion. Dara turns back to the compartment, offering another vague, friendly smile to the others as she moves to take a seat. She casts a slightly wistful glance towards the window, but there are too many people between her and it, and Dara settles for a seat near the middle of the car.

Chester Blake glances up as people begin to – seemingly haphazardly – enter the compartment. “Oh, hi, um…” He waves his hand absently in Seraphina’s direction. “Is the Prefects’ compartment full, Dara?” he asks the older girl curiously. “I thought that was where all of the Prefects sat.” Chester seems to have relaxed now that he is out of eye and earshot of his family, particularly his older brother.

Mariska Moore enters the train and squeaks, slightly, as the crowds gets the better of her slight form. In an attempt to get away from the onslaught of students she enters the first doorway she can, which leads to compartment one. “Oh… Hi,” the second year states, glancing quickly about. “Mind if I join?” she enquires in all politeness to the gathered crowd.

Relieved to see a familiar face, Tobias‘s fear dissipates temporarily as he scurries along behind his future classmates. Unsure at first of which compartment to enter, he decides it would be best to follow the older students – they, he assumes, unlike the first years, seem to know what they are doing. At the very least, he had an acquaintance among them. He meekly enters Compartment One and chooses a seat close to the door, so as to have an easy escape route (if necessary) and a clearer view of the corridor. Shooting a wary glance around the cabin, Tobias mutters a quiet and cautious “Hello.”

“Sera,” Seraphina answers without much inflection in her voice. Clutching a squirmy kitten to her chest, she glances around the quickly filling compartment without expression on her face. “Who are you?” she asks to nobody in particular, though she happens to be looking at Tobias as she says this. “Hello, Mariska,” she greets her housemate. At least she knows the girl’s name.

“Oh!” Dara‘s eyes flutter, shifting their vague gaze towards Chester in faint surprise as he calls attention to her mistake. “Er. Yes, usually they do,” she stammers, glancing backwards towards the door. “I – I just thought it would be better to keep an eye on things from here.” Dara offers another smile, slightly weaker this time, but it strengthens as she turns to greet the younger students, back on more secure ground now. “Hello. Yes, do have a seat. There’s…actually still a bit of room.”

“Oh, okay,” is all that Chester says in response to Dara’s reasoning. He seems nonplussed by the addition of a prefect to the compartment. “Hello then, Sera.” He leans back comfortably and glances at the other newcomers. “Hi,” he directs to Tobias – the first boy to actually enter the compartment so far aside from himself. “You look kinda young. Are you a firstie?”

Mariska Moore looks up from wherein she’s found herself a seat as she hears her name. “Oh, hello Seraphina,” the girl gives with a bit of a smile. “I didn’t see you through the crowd,” she notes before turning that same smile to the rest of the Compartment One Crowd.

Tobias opens his mouth to speak, but his words seem to be glued to his tongue for a moment before he blurts out, “I’m Tobias Garner. And yes, I am a-a firstie,” he finishes, wincing a bit at the title for his class. Firstie? How adorable — and slightly humiliating. Under the impression that Chester’s tone did not imply that he was teasing, however, Tobias manages to smile. “What about you all? What years are you in?”

“I am a second year,” Seraphina answers as if this is highly respectable and something to be envied. After all, it was preferable to being a firstie, wasn’t it? “It is a bit of a crowd, but of course, I was here before most of the people ducked in.” She pauses. “Though I would have preferred to secure a compartment farther back on the train, but I was obliged by some of the older students to come into this one.” Well, she was pushed in, but who was she to split hairs?

“Fifth, now,” Dara replies, offering another encouraging smile to nervous little Tobias. Seraphina’s superior tone draws a quick, sidelong glance from Dara, and she clears her throat faintly, but doesn’t otherwise interject. “It’s all right – things can be rather confusing at first,” she continues to Tobias, “but it all gets straightened out soon enough. You’ll see.”

Chester says, “Hi, Tobias, then,” Chester tells him with the first congenial smile of the day. He, too, is a bit taken aback by Seraphina’s tone, but doesn’t even spare her a glance. “I’m a fourth year,” he responds casually. “It gets better after the first year. Don’t worry about that.” A pause. “Just make sure you look out for the squid when you’re crossing the lake.” He manages to say this with a deadly serious face, much in the way it was told to him on his first trip to Hogwarts. It’s fair, right?”

Mariska Moore offers a smile towards Tobias. “Mariska Moore, second year,” she offers to the cute ickle firstie. Her statement is offered with a certain sense of pride offered, as she just barely passed all her first year classes. “I’m sure that you’ll figure everything out in no time,” Mariska gives, with a gap-toothed grin and a firm nod of her head. As for Seraphina’s tone, Mariska makes no big deal out of it, at all. “Oh, yes, the Giant Squid… it’ll eat you if yer not careful…”

It certainly is, Tobias agrees, absent-mindedly wondering why his brother was not kind enough to explain the outline of his first journey to Hogwarts. At the mentioning of the squid, he gives an expected shudder, recalling an incident where Jerry “accidentally” shoved him into a pond several summers ago and he was “attacked” by tangled weeds and irritable ducks. “Are there any accounts of firsties say, drowning, in the er-lake? Or being – well, eaten?” He straightens up and tries to appear unafraid as he says this, but terror is obviously present in his wide hazel eyes.

Sliding the door of the compartment open, the newcomer doesn’t step all the way inside. Seeing the number of students Ali blinks widely and then smiles nervously. “Sorry about that just looking for,” the dusky voice trails off as the fifth year grins in Dara’s direction. “Dara! There you are! Just the person I was looking for.” “You won’t believe what happened! I wanted to tell you but there just wasn’t time and besides, I wanted it to be a surprise.” Apparently for this youth gossip comes before introductions.

Not speaking at the mention of the squid, Seraphina merely looks on at the first year’s reaction. Of course she had not been afraid. “So, Mariska, are you planning to go out for Quidditch this year?” she asks her comrade calmly, only glancing up briefly as a very tall boy – wait, was that actually a girl? – entered the compartment.

“No, nothing like that,” Dara begins, aiming another reassuring smile towards Tobias, and a slightly reproachful look towards the others. But then Ali bursts in, and Dara‘s eyes flutter as her attention, so carefully fixed on the younger students, is disrupted once more. “What?” She turns swiftly towards the door, her gaze wide and vague for a moment, and then slipping back into focus as a brighter smile comes to her face. “Ali! Yes – what is it? Is everything all right? Er – you’re welcome to find a seat if you can, but it’s gotten a bit crowded…”

Ignoring Dara’s disclaiming about the squid, Chester leans forward, grinning a little bit. “Oh, loads of people have… it’s all in the books at Hogwarts. Of course, I shouldn’t tell you this, but just last year, a firstie got careless and the squid ate her. It was a terrible tragedy – the whole school was shocked that she could have been so dumb.” It seems as if he has to stifle a snicker as he tells Tobias the tale. “Of course, if you keep yourself inside the boat and stay away from sitting next to people who don’t like you, you should be alright. The squid doesn’t usually grab people out of the boats. It waits for them to fall in.” Chester leans back, glancing around the now quite crowded compartment. “Oh, hi, Ali,” he greets the girl.

Mariska Moore snickers slightly. “Well, I heard of one when my parents where here. A first year lost his footing, fell into the lake… nobody’s seen him since, my parents say the squid got ‘im,” she notes with a completly serious look on her face before turning her attention to Seraphina. “We were in the same flying class, right?” she questions with a quirked brow. “If so, you’ve seen me try to fly, and fail miserably, I only barely passed that class…” Upon hearing Chester’s comment Mariska blinks. “Right, I remember that, it was terrible, she was on the boat behind me,” the second year shrugs at this.

Watching as students step off the train Phoebe Helit stands ready out on the platform dressed in a warm black fur coat over a navy blue formal dress. Beside her at her feet staring with great yellow eyes is her ever faithful cat with fur matching it’s human’s dress. After all the students are off the train Phoebe takes another quick check over the crowd and places her hands together in front of her, she calls out to address the students. “Hello everyone! Welcome to Hogwarts! First years please stay together and come with me, returning students are to board the carriages,” “Your luggage and pets will be taken to your dormitorys to wait for you.” With that Phoebe takes another quick look over the students as the crowd begins separating. She gives a glance to the blue cat beside her who mews once as if understanding and immediatly sets off into one of the carriages with a couple of seventh years. A smile stretches over her face and she calls again “Right this way first years!” With that the Professor begins leading the way.

Heading off of the train quickly, Seraphina glances around the crowd, trying to latch onto someone familiar with whom to ride in the carriages. Finding nobody close enough to go with her, she instead steps into the closest one that she can find, ending up with three seventh years, all of whom seem quite familiar and friendly with one another.

(Slytherin) Seraphina Pryor walks quickly into the Great Hall with a clump of other students. She spots Mariska, with whom she had shared a compartment on the trip to Hogsmeade, and rather than securing an ideal spot, she instead secures a spot next to somebody she knows. Perhaps this feast will be more than just eating. The girl can hope, after all. She plops down at the table quickly.

(Slytherin) Mariska Moore enters the great hall from the opposite point of view as the last sorting, and promptly settles herself at the Slytherin table. Once Seraphina’s seated herself Mariska turns to her fellow second year and offers a smile. “I wonder who we’ll be Sorted into Slytherin this year,” is noted quietly, though not so quiet as to not be heard.

(Slytherin) “I don’t know,” Seraphina admits readily. “Hopefully some good people. The not as good people can be sorted into Gryffindor or something. We don’t need them here.” A flip of her light auburn hair punctuates this as she shrugs lightly. “Maybe we’ll take the house cup this year. Stupid Ravenclaw got it last time.” She seems oblivious to the irony of her statement.

(Slytherin) Mariska Moore nods. “I sure hope that we get some of the good students this year, though, obviously, we got some of the good ones last year, too,” is noted with a bit of a chuckle. “And hopefully some who can get us some points and play quidditch, because I know I can’t play.”

(Slytherin) “Slytherin only ever gets the best, of course,” Satinka replies to the two younger girls, butting quite suddenly into their conversation. “We would win the cups every year, only want the other houses to think that they have a chance now and then. Otherwise, where would the fun be in winning?” Satinka pushes her blonde curls over her shoulder and sits up neatly, grinning down at the young girls. “They only win because we let them.”

(Slytherin) “They do?” Seraphina replies with shock. “But I thought we did try last year…” Sera looks quite perplexed for a moment as she considers this. Her face then goes blank – after all, she mustn’t show any weaknesses like that to her peers. “I’m not going to play Quidditch. It simply doesn’t interest me,” the girl states plainly. She neglects to remember, apparently, her dismal showing during the flying classes in the previous year. “I plan to be a famous stage actress, after all, and sports would not help me with that.”

(Slytherin) Mariska Moore chuckles slightly. “Well, we have to make it at least look like we’re trying to win, even if we are letting the other houses win, don’t we?” she questions, grinning a little. “So how was everyone’s summer? Good, I hope.”

(Slytherin) “Mine was fine,” Seraphina answers mildly, without much conviction. “We went to the shore for a week. Did you do anything interesting like that, Mariska?” Sera does not address the older girl, though, as she is unsure of how to approach the daughter of the house head. “Daddy promised we’d go again at Easter holiday, too.”

(Slytherin) Mariska Moore shakes her head slightly in response to Seraphina. “My parents got me a tutor, they weren’t pleased with my marks through the year,” she notes, frowning. “And enrolled me in a dance class, apparently they also weren’t happy that I wouldn’t be trying out for the quidditch team this year.”

(Slytherin) “Oh, you had to study all summer? How rotten of them! Dancing is interesting, though. I’ve been asking my daddy to enroll me in some of the dance classes so that I could make a bigger splash onstage. I’m going to take Wizo-Music, too. Professor Dwight has to teach me to sing if that’s what I want, right?” She pauses and yawns a bit. “I’m hungry. When is this supposed to start? Did they lose the firsties for real or something?” Seraphina looks a bit annoyed at the long wait and she leans her elbows on the table, cradling her cheeks in her hands.

(Slytherin) Mariska Moore nods in a slightly sullen fashion. “Mmhmm, all summer, the only break I got was for dance class, but I like my dance classes, they enrolled me in Irish step dance it’s very interesting, I’m supposed to work on that when I get free time, cause I’ll be back in class next summer,” she notes, grinning with this. At Seraphina’s comment about the firsties, Mariska snickers. “I wonder if the squid got them this year… got tired of us goin’ around in it’s lake so much…”

(Slytherin) “Irish step?” Satinka butts in with a sneer on her pretty face. “They might have enrolled you in a more beautiful dance course. Ballet, now, that’s a worthwhile course. I’ve had my own private teacher since I was five years old and living in France. Thankfully, my mother understands the importance of grace and polish, and understood my arguments for having her here. It’s a real shame that your parents haven’t the same considerations for you.

(Slytherin) Mariska Moore shrugs slightly at Satinka slightly. “I like Irish step, it’s beautiful and has some similarities to ballet, and it’s incredibly graceful, especially the soft shoe dances, though I love the hard shoe dances. I’m not very good right now, but I’ve gotten to watch some of the better students, and it’s all in the footwork and the combination of the hard shoe with the music,” she shrugs and stops going on about how much she loves this particular art. “I suppose if my parents really get irritated with me they’ll put me into ballet, or another form of dance.”

(Slytherin) “Well, I’d much rather take tap and ballet – it is so much more useful for the stage, after all. Tap is in such high demand now, after all. Irish step could be very appropriate in certain venues, I’m sure,” Seraphina replies, unsure of what to make of Satinka’s interference in the converstaion. “Maybe the squid just got hungry. After all, it didn’t get anyone last year…” Sera says this perhaps a bit less sarcastically than she ought – she sounds dead serious at the suggestion, in fact.

(Slytherin) Satinka gives a rather haughty shrug. “Suit yourself, of course, but it will never breed in you the grace and poise that a well-to-do representative of Slytherin house is expected to have upon graduation.” Satinka sits up just a bit straighter and slowly crosses her legs under the table in an effort to look glamorous. “I’ve been brought up for it since birth. After all, my family is famous for being respected and showered with accolades.” Perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, but Satinka is figuring on the two girls not knowing any better.

(Slytherin) Mariska Moore shrugs slightly. “Well, it’s something I enjoy,” she offers with a smile before tilting her head slightly in the direction from which the firsties ought be coming. “Perhaps. I mean, I don’t recall it taking anyone last year, though it may only take students every few years,” Mariska gives, sound completley serious as she speaks, as though she actually believes the squid will eat the students. “Yes, Satinka, I’ve heard of your family, specifically the Professor, of course… and I’m sure you’ll do Slytherin proud when you graduate from Hogwarts.”

(Slytherin) “That’s what matters, right? That you enjoy it?” Seraphina is starting, for the first time since she came to Hogwarts, to let down her guard a little. After all, she said so very little to the others in her house over the course of her first year, it’s amazing that any of them even know her name. She leans forward close to Mariska, looking carefully out of the corner of her eye to see that Satinka is distracted. “Are they really so prestigious as all that? My daddy’s never spoken of them to me… indeed, I didn’t hear of them until I came to the school.” She pauses. “She isn’t very nice anyhow. So superior…”

Gerald Rathe stalks into the room, his great fae-silk cloak billowing behind him and almost into the faces of the nearest students. He does not shorten his pace for the shorter-legged children, but keeps his eyes focused on the faculty table ahead, until he reaches it, only then spinning about and clasping his hands behind his back to wait for the students to catch up, watching carefully to prod them into order in front of the Hall.

(Slytherin) Mariska Moore nods. “Oh yes, I think it’s entirely a case of enjoying something, and, as I spent the rest of the summer studying, it was a nice reprieve from the books,” she notes before offering a shrug in Seraphina’s direction before lowering her voice to speak to her fellow second year. “I only know the professor, my parents haven’t told me much of anything about them… but that’s not saying much,” she offers with her gap-toothed grin. “Oh! Look, there’s one of the Professor Rathe’s. Good, I’ve been getting quite anxious to get on with the Sorting.”

Once the students are lined up in front of the Hall in some semblance of order, Professor Gerald Rathe ducks out the back door by the faculty table, returning moments later with a stool in one hand, and an old tattered, wide-brimmed hat in the other. The stool he places in front of the gathered students, and the hat is set deftly on top of the stool. Turning to face the first years, he pulls a scroll from his cloak, and addresses them: “First year students, when I call your name, you will step up to the stool, take the Hat, sit on the stool and place the Hat on your head to be sorted.”

At the Professor’s voice, the Hat shivers, splits at the seam, and a mouth forms and begins to sing!

Unfurling his scroll, Gerald reveals that his right hand is swathed in a thick bandage. He glances at the students, and then to scroll, calling out the first name, “Adenlthwaite, Cloisonne!” The girl mentioned moves carefully up to the stool, taking the hat as told and sitting. There is a moment’s silence, and then the Hat calls out, “Gryffindor!” The girl jumps up from the stool, moving quickly to the mentioned table.

Several more names are called in turn, and soon Gerald calls one out, “Garner, Tobias!”

moves on through the list, calling out names in turn, as the students are sorted into their various Houses. Among them, Luella Grey is sorted into Ravenclaw, and Rory Tam is sorted into Gryffindor. When the last student has been sorted, Gerald quickly and neatly packs up the Hat and stool, carring them out from the room without a backward glance. A moment later, he has returned to the Great Hall, and without fanfare takes his place at the faculty table.

Melvina Prichard rises from the faculty table purposefully, lifting her nimble, long-fingered hands in a suggestive way as she beckons the student audience for silence. “Thank you, Gerald. Excuse me, quiet please — yes, that includes you, Miss Smythe.” Her voice is thick and strong but laced with a hint of amusement. A half-grin touches her lips as Melvina looks over her school.

“Greetings, everyone,” Melvina calls, her voice effortlessly stretching across the Great Hall at a comfortable volume. “Welcome to your term nineteen hundred and thirty two! As I’m sure most you of you are now aware, my name is Melvina Prichard and I am the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Though I hope each of you had a wonderful summer, I equally hope you’re prepared to clear away whatever fluff might have grown between your ears and properly further your magical education. That in mind, I’ll press on so we may all fill our bellies and get to a good nights rest. I’ve some beginning of term announcements to make.” Clearing her throat, the Headmistress pulls a pair of spectacles from the breast pocket of her emerald robe and places them neatly on the brige of her nose. With a cassual motion, the Headmistress draws a long, thin wand from her sleeve and gives it a vague flick, conjuring a tightly-bound scroll in to the air in front of her with a small violet flash.

“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 takes the floating parchment from the air and begins to unroll it. “Spellwork outside of the classroom, rough play, pranks, hijinxs, dungbombs, Whipple’s Pimple Powder..” Demonstratively, she allows one end of the scroll to slip from her fingers; it clatters to the table, spills over the edge, and rolls across the floor Great Hall between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables until it exhausts itself somewhere near the door of the waiting room across the entrance foyer. Wearing an expression of mock seriousness, Melvina sets her end of the very long list down and vanishes it with a flick of her wand. “As you can see, the list goes on. Be sure to check it.”

After a moment Melvina conjures a smaller sheet of parchment. “Hogwarts tradition demands that I remind each that 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 most certainly by the building pressure of knowledge our fine professors work so hard to fill your heads with over the term.” The elderly woman chuckles as she shares a knowing look with a few select members of the student body. “Know then that detention is the minimum punishment for entering the Forbidden Forest without a member of staff or faculty to escort 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. At this time, I’d like to congratulate our new prefects; for Ravenclaw house, Miss Dara Quincy and Mister Edward Innarsal, for Slytherin house, Miss Odaira Wallace and Mister Augustine Malloy, for Gryffindor house Miss Allison Ardua and Mister Luke Marcus, and for Hufflepuff house, Miss Constance Geroff and Mist… Miss Ali Chamberlain. Remember, prefects are selected by their respective Heads of House,” Melvina places a curiously strong emphisis on those last three words. “For exceptional dedication, scholastic merit, and integrity, as well as exemplifying the values their respective houses treasure. Respect and defer to them, as they chose not to bear the weight of responsibility handed to them, but will most assuredly carry out their new-found duties with aplomb.” The Headmistress pauses, looking over the hall for a moment as if to convey a silent message to the crowd before continuing on. “Leading our prefects will be our new Head Boy and Head Girl, Marten Augustine and Helen McPhereson. Mister Augustine and Miss McPhereson, please stand.” She applauds once the two have risen, leading those who care to join her in a round of congratulations.

“Well done, Head Boy, Head Girl,” the Headmistress says, sincerly. “On to faculty. Sadly, I must inform you that Professor Hathaway of our Transfiguration department has choosen to resign, and will be replaced this term by Professor Edward Marconia. I hope you will all join me in welcoming Professor Marconia in to the Hogwarts family.” Again, Melvina applauds, turning toward the new instructor and inclining her head toward him in a respectful manner.

Following a relieved sigh and Melvina finally sets down the parchment and removes her glasses, tucking them back in to her breast pocket. “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. To those of you returning, my love of tradition should be no surprise; thus, I announce once again to you my personal favorite of our many Hogwarts traditions, the annual Barefoot Social. A celebration of the new term, greeting those whom are just joining us, and welcoming home the rest. 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. Following the precident set by events of year’s past — the ladies will need ask the gentlemen for the honor of an afternoon’s courtship. Naturally, 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 the faculty has planned for 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. Tuck in.” And with small nod and a sly, lingering grin, she slips casually back in to her seat.

The air is still warm, the birds are still at home and singing prettily this early morning and all is right with the world. Young Slytherin Quidditch captain Louis Harper drags a chest of supplys onto the pitch with a chipper look about him. This is his first day as the new captain and it just happens to be tryouts. He’s even set up a little table off to the side with refreshments for those who show up, isn’t that nice of him? Looking out over a gaggle of curious first year spectators Louis grins and calls out “Alright you lot, you are welcome to stay and watch as long as you are quiet and don’t disturb those who actually intend to play.” He turns back to the chest and begins taking out the equipment to be used today.

Striding out to the pitch rather proudly, Satinka holds a worn-looking school broom in her hand while her hair is tied back. She is wearing what looks to be quidditch robes, in shades of pink and purple. “Hello!” she calls to the young team captain with a grin, while she sets the broom down, pulling her bush of blonde hair back out of her face, tying it with a bright pink ribbon, which appears to have little snitch-shaped sparkles attatched to it. “I’m ready to go now,” she informs Louis chipperly.

Tahiri Sol makes her way out on the field with a slightly absent, otherworldly expression, as she gazes up at the dark clouds drifting overhead. Her stride is measured and ladylike, though the end of her broom drags limply behind her as she carries it from the head of the handle. Her obsidion beater bat dangles from her right wrist. If it weren’t for those accutriments, one might suspect that she were simply strolling through, following a cloud.

It’s sometimes hard work to get up early enough to get to tryouts and this holds true for Jasper as well. The redheaded third year lad is ragged at best, hair stiff and to one side from being slept on and uncombed, robes wrinkled from not having been ironed. The boy’s broom looks nice and clean though shining like a brand new silver sickle, which is probably why he had to work so hard to get up. Stepping onto the pitch Jasper looks to Satinka and then to Louis “You’re going to let her try out? In that outfit?” The first years in the bleachers begins snickering at his comment.

A thin girl, Leanne Scold is quite tall for her twelve years. She also doesn’t appear to be very confident, and actually slumps over a bit while she walks out to the pitch, hugging her broom. Barely a glance is given to the first year clad in pink nearby, and in fact, Leanne doesn’t look at anything, staring at the ground. This couldn’t be any harder than football, right? The girl bites her lip, looking around at those who are joining her and her face reddens a bit as she tucks a fallen bit of mousy brown hair back behind her ear. Well, she was here, for better or worse. And at least she knows how to fly, if nothing else.

Tahiri Sol shifts her gaze toward Jasper, lofting a brow. Her gaze, with only the smallest hint of curiousity follows Jasper’s insult to Sakinta, before she looks back to the new teammate. Almost prepared to say something to defend the bright colors, which Tahiri rather likes, but finding it much easier to simply murmur, “Do I know you? Are you certain you’re in the right place. This is the Slytherin try-out pitch.” And insult, based in truth.

Scoffing, Satinka puts her hands on her hips, with a rather intense look at Jasper. “There is nothing wrong with what I’m wearing. I’ll have you know that these are quidditch robes out of France.” Satinka looks rather put out, as well, as Tahiri makes this comment to her. “I’m nearly twelve, and I’m sure I’m just as good as any second year. I should be allowed to be on the team, same as anybody. Besides, you all should know my mother. She’s your house head, after all.” Satinka‘s face shows her annoyance as she picks up her broom and continues to scoff and grumble a bit, though some of her words slip into French, with the occasional word in Italian slipped in.

Turning as he is spoken to Louis nearly trips over the trunk when he sees the pink and purple monstrosity. “What are you wea…” He starts as he looks Satinka over with a slightly appalled look on his face at the ghastliness of it all. He shoots Jasper a look and says “She’s fine, it’s only tryouts.” Watching Tahiri and Leanne come onto the field Louis looks relieved that Tahiri decided to try out despite his being named captain. “Right then, thank you all for coming. We’ve got a lot to do so we need to try and be as quick as we can.” “Today we are going to do some flying exercises, I already know you can fly Tahiri so your job will to be to try and nock us off our brooms.” He smiles to the other new faces “And don’t worry about getting hurt, our nurse is brilliant.” With that Louis turns and points his wand skyward firing several large smoke rings into the air of different colors. Each one moves in a different way at a different speed. “Now the object is to fly through each of these without breaking them. And not to get hit of course.” “So up into the air with you lot!” Louis turns and releases both bludgers for Tahiri.

Startled at first, as she’s told to get in the air, Leanne fumbles a bit to get the broom out, but does manage to do so rather quickly, though it takes her a moment to coax it up. Soon enough, she’s up into the air and flying — rather slowly — through the hoops. As she gets used to it, though, she does manage to fly through several, nearly getting whacked with one bludger, which causes her to shriek and break one of the smoke rings, which fixes itself moments later. Soon enough, Leanne has finished her way through the hoops and has only broken two. She looks a little shocked at it, but her speed is much better now and she almost looks as if she might ask a question to the captain while she looks at him, biting her lip.

Tahiri Sol shifts her gaze slowly from Jasper to Louis as her order is given. An order which brings both of her brows to loft. Tahiri, after all, wasn’t world renown for her skill manuvering at broom. But her accuracy was famous when directing a bludger. She rather thought this was a recepie for disaster. Nevertheless, she mounts her broom and kicks off, floating in to the air with relative ease.

“Oh I’m … I’ve never tried out before.” Gulps Jasper, he’s looking at Tahiri as though she were a demontor for some unknown reason. He becomes silent as he listens to Jasper speak clutching his broom tight in his gloved hands perhaps for fear of it flying away. When Louis creates the smoke rings he looks skyward and smiles “Spiffy trick Harper, you’ll have to teach me that one.” Jasper climbs onto his broom and gets into the air high above the pitch to wait for Tahiri to get in the air and once she does he jets forward toward an angry red smoke ring that is circling around, he manages to pas through it and several others up ahead without breaking any, but passing through a sick green smoke cloud that is doing an odd sort of jig he begins to wobble and nearly slips off his highly polished broom.

Kicking off as quickly as she can manage, it seems that the first year has gotten a rather ornery broom, and it bucks a bit while she hovers just ten feet off of the ground. “UGH!” Satinka hollers and fights with it for several moments, during which several students bypass her and go through the course of hoops around her. Soon enough, she seems to have gotten the broom at least slightly under control and flies up as quickly as she cna make it go, turning rather wide — for the broom seems to refuse to turn sharply — and making her way through the first two hoops, breaking both as the tail of the broom drags lower behind her. Satinka flies across to get through another, while the broom still breaks it. Flying through the course, Satinka does not go through a single hoop of smoke which remains whole, though they do fix themselves after her.

Watching from below on the pitch Louis chuckles at the antics up in the air. “Do keep that broom under control if you please Satinka! I’d hate to be the one to tell your bother you cracked your skull or something equally unpleasant!” “You! Faw, good show! But don’t show off and lose your grip now!” “A bit faster if you please Scold!” Yes, it’s good to be the captain and sit and yell out orders to everyone and Louis seems to really be enjoying it.

Tahiri Sol draws a deep breath, before pressing her broom foward, towarrd the nearest of the two leather wrapped cannon balls zipping around the field. Collecting it up on her broom, she stands with an easy one — softly bunting one toward an earstwhile third year attempting at the time, tapping him on the forehead, and unhorsing him from his broom a mere three feet above the air. Might as well pick off the weak. A repeat of that performce happens another three or four times, hitting bludgers with varied hardness at varied, weak-seeming students, knocking them down or making them so nervous that they land, before she finally gathers up a bludger and gives it a moderately strong thwack — aiming for Jasper, hoping to hit the lad’s hand holding his broom as he passes through a smoke ring, using the obsticle to her advantage. Her strike is announced rather loudly by the bang of her bat against the bludger, however, offering room enough for reaction time.

Regaining control of his grip Jasper flies through several more hoops easily until he comes to an ominous black one that shrinks suddenly as he comes onto it. He doesn’t manage to lean against his broom fast enough and ends up breaking the ring apart getting covered in harsh black soot for a moment that magically fades away as the ring reforms. “Blast it! I knew I shouldn’t have polished this broom so well.” Mutters Jasper to himself as he flies on through another smoke ring and as he does Tahiri’s bludger comes screaming at him from nowhere striking him in the hand. “OW! BLIGHTER!” Yells Jasper bringing his no doubt sore and possible injure hand to his mouth. He does keep flying on though through several more hoops cursing all the way.

Tahiri decides then that she doesn’t have terribly high prospects for the lad Jasper — true, it was faster bludger than she had lobbed at the other new posibilities, but there was plenty of room to react. Pulling up, she collects another bludger, which she had managed to bristle another student’s tailstraw a short moment before in order to force him to land, and much more gently knocks it toward Satinka. Hard enough that it travels with reasonable speed, but soft enough that it will only bruise whatever it is that it connects with. Her aim is directed toward the general chest-area, but she doesn’t focus it as much as she usually would. Perhaps, playing light to the first-year girl in bright clothes which she likes, who happens to be the daughter of her Head of House.

“Can I, er, do it again, then?” she asks, but doesn’t wait long as he tells her to go faster and loops around, pausing while she waits for the course to clear up a bit before taking it a bit faster. She still manages to break several of the rings as she goes through, perhaps not as in control as the broom as she would like to be. “That was better,” she comments, more to herself than to anyone else as she waits with several others at the end of the course, watching as some go through before flying around to the other end of it again, preparing to go again, should she be directed to do. Leanne is still not really looking at anyone, though her concentration as she flies through the course is definitely opposite this.

“Watch those bludgers Mister Faw!” Shouts an exasperated Louis wondering if he was ever so bad at dodging them. “Much better Scold! Keep trying, I bet the more warmed up you get the better you can fly!” He yells out to encourage the second year. “Way to clean up the roster Tahiri! You lot that landed, better luck next year. Off the pitch if you please.” This comment was met with much contempt and groans from those that had landed or had been knocked out of the air. The fourth year stands and takes the extra bat up himself and mounting his broom Louis pushes up into the air to watch from a higher distance…. and possibly to help with picking off some of the weaker prospects. Of course he doesn’t fly through any of the rings but sits on high…. as any captain would…. right?

Satinka can only go as fast as the broom will let her, though she is doing the best she can, given the equipment she’s allowed. “OW!” a shriek comes from the petite first year as the bludger connects with her shoulder, though admittedly the scream is more about drama than about pain. “I’ll never be able to play Quidditch again! It’s going to ruin my pirouettes! Ahhhhhh!” Satinka‘s face is twisted into a look of painful crying while she haphazardly flies through another hoop — breaking it again, and then lands on the ground, putting her feet on the ground soon as sh nurses her shoulder with a rather loud sniffle.

Shaking the pain out of his hand as best he can Jasper is sure to keep on guard for Tahiri and her bludgers of hot death(TM). He weaves in and out through the rings holding onto his broom tightly with one hand and lightly with his sore one. He’s on about his second and a half pass through the rings. As he keeps flying he begins getting a bit smoother in his flying picks up his speed. Jasper grins to himself more confident now as he passes Satinka just before she lands in the blink of an eye.

Nodding, Leanne Scold licks her lips and takes a deep breath, making her way through the course again. She is flying more adeptly now, and only one ring is broken as she makes her way through the start of it, having come out of a turn a bit too quickly. One ring, then another, though she does fly underneath one to avoid a bludger, which brushes the top of her head precariously. After she finishes going through again, she flies down to the ground, wobbling a bit before she gets off of her broom, standing a bit apart from the others who have made it down to watch the remaining few people go through the course.

Tahiri Sol lofts a brow at Satinka’s antics — her expression pityless as she gazes down at the rather full-of-herself first year. She adores children, she’d do anything to ease the genuine agony of any child, but she hasn’t a great tolerance for those who whigne. Flying up high to collect another bludger, she clobbers it with all her might, sending it hurtling toward the ground at Satinka — aiming it very carefully so that it strikes the ground just to the girl’s left, hopefully close enough that she can feel the air cutting from it. “Get up, get mounted, and keep flying or get off the pitch, but don’t beckon for sympathy that won’t come.” Her tone is stern, even a note intimidating. It was easy sometimes to forget why Tahiri was sorted in to Slytherin, but every so often, it shows. A moment of truth. Either Satinka will rise to the challenge, or flee. Whichever it is, Tahiri could care less. Colorful clothes, Professor Rathe’s daughter or not. Turning quickly on her broom, she snags up another bludger and sends it in Leanne’s direction. Not trying to hit her, but trying to make her have to swerve so that she’ll break a smoke ring.

A shriek is heard as the bludger misses her narrowly, and Satinka glares upward. “FINE!” she calls. “I won’t!” The girl does not bother with the broom she has borrowed from the shed and stomps off of the pitch quickly, her hands balled at her sides. Not another word is heard from the first year, though she does discreetly behind her, almost hoping to see someone following after her to ask her to be on the team and stay. Nobody does, though, and Satinka quickly runs to the school, resolving that she will never, ever play Quidditch again.

“Shake it off Satinka!” Louis yells down at the little girl just in time to see Tahiri’s bludger land not to far from her. He stares at his beater a bit shocked “Bloody hell…” He mutters for a moment thinking of all the trouble that is going to cause. “Alright cool down everyone, I think that’s enough for today anyway.” Louis sighs watching Astra’s daughter storm off the pitch a pink and purple terror. He mutters softly “Well at least I don’t have to tell her she didn’t make it….” Louis floats down to the earth gently and waves the others down. Once they have landed and the bludgers have been safely tucked away he begins to speak. “I want to thank you all for coming out today and I want to thank you lot that gave it your best shot.” He looks around amongst them “You know who you are, and it’ll show come time for this year’s roster.” “Now go get something to eat and good luck to you all!”

Eleonora wanders into the common room, after settling into her room, with eyes wide. She was happy she made it into Slytherin. And boy, was her father going to be proud. She scans every inch of the common room, looking for someone worth talking to. Eleonora, not really finding anyone of interest, plops into a chair and stares into the fire.

Bounding down the stairs, Satinka holds a cat in her arms. “You should stay down here a while, Ophiuchus. Get used to all the people and such. It’s not like you should be afraid of them or anything.” The young siamese does not look pleased as he is plopped into a chair near the fire rather abruptly, though his rumpled spirit seems to be soothed as Satinka joins him in the seat and begins stroking his back slowly and gently. “The fire can’t be that interesting,” she comments to the other girl she’d seen sorted earlier that day. “I’m sure you could get in on a game of exploding snap, if you want. There’s some boys playing it over there.”

Eleonora makes a face at Satinka. “I don’t think so,” she replies, some what snotty. “I don’t like that game. It’s annoying and gets boring real quick.” She glances at the cat and smirks. “I have a cat too, you know. A british short hair. He’s really well behaved.” She sits up a little, and scoots to the end of the chair so her feet touch the floor. “What’s your cat’s name?”

“His name’s Ophiuchus,” she answers quickly and tucks herself into the chair she’s selected, pulling the cat onto her lap, who quickly makes himself comfortable and lays down to have a snooze. “Anyway, exploding snap can be fun if you play it right. Though, those boys do look to be rather bad at it. I’ve got Royalty Roulette with my things, if you’d rather. Though, I’ve had it since I was seven. It’s getting kind of old, and it’s not as exciting as it used to be. My mum lost some of the jewels, too. She wouldn’t even replace them.” Satinka looks visibly annoyed at this. “I’m going to be on the Quidditch team. Are you?” This sudden change of subject doesn’t seem at all out of line to Satinka, though it is rather abrupt.

“I don’t think so. I’m not a huge fan of quidditch myself.” Eleonora sighs. “My father is a big fan though. He reports about matches whenever he can for the Daily Prophet. Besides, aren’t you a little young to be playing quidditch?” she asks, somewhat interested as to why this first year is proclaiming she’s going to play quidditch. Eleonora pulls her feet under her, sitting back in the chair, and focusing on Satinka. This girl was an interesting one indeed.

“Oh, like you’re any older,” Satinka scoffs, staring rather blankly at the girl. “I’m nearly twelve, and that’s not too young at all. Besides, just because we can’t have brooms doesn’t mean we aren’t any good. I’ve lived at Hogwarts for the last three years, after all. My mum is the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” Satinka looks rather sharply at Eleonora, not looking particularly amused. What kind of person didn’t like Quidditch? The girl shrugs a bit and looks around the commonroom, full of folks who are greeting one another and seemign to get re-acquainted after the summer. It is clear that Satinka expected a bit easier going to find a friend right off.

Eleonora stares at Satinka, somewhat shocked. No one, let alone anyone her age, has talked to her like that. She doesn’t know what to say. Instead, she puts her chin up and stares at the fire. How dare she? Who does she think she is anyhow? Just because this girl is the daughter of a professor doesn’t give her any right to talk like that to anyone else. Eleonora opens her mouth, then shuts it again, not knowing quite what to say.

“Well, fine then, be a snob,” Satinka comments, scoffing a bit and untangling herself from under the cat. It is but a moment before she has stood up and cuddled the cat close to her. “Nobody likes a snob, just so you know,” the girl tells her new housemate and flips her curly hair over her shoulder. Well, so far, she hadn’t found a good friend, but only time would tell what would happen over time. After all, that Fern girl looked sort of nice. “Let’s go set up our bed, Ophiuchus,” she tells her cat cheerfully, taking the long way around the commonroom to look at a few students who are gathered around a game of chess and then heads up the stairs to the girls’ dorms again.

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.

As the firsties to be arrive with the Professor, Astra hovers near two other children. Smiling at them both, she doesn’t hug them in front of the others but she does lift a hand to her mouth to stifle something from escaping her lips. When she’s gathered herself together, she clears her throat. “I’ll see you both shortly. Remember what I’ve said. Behave for Professor Walsh and mind your manners.” Then more softly, “I’m proud of both of you.” Barely smiling, she nods to Keelan and only passes one curious and sweeping glance over the new group of firsties. “I’ll be on my way then.” Turning on her heel, she leaves the room the way the unsorted children entered.

Keelan Walsh nods to Astra as the woman leaves her twins–whom Keelan gives a brief smile–, and directs the rest of the first years with, “That was Professor Rathe, Head of Slytherin House and your Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Don’t be mistaken by her size,” given that Astra is, well, short, “She’s a very formiddable teacher, and you’re all lucky to be learning from her. One of the best, I’d say.” Of course, Keelan has no small amount of bias in the matter, since Astra was her first ever Quidditch Captain. Right. “So! This is Hogwarts. I’ll take you in a moment into the Great Hall and you’ll be Sorted. Remember, first impressions are vital so please don’t stand there drooling on yourselfs. Do take a moment to view the cieling, take a gander around, you only get one first glance and all too soon it will just be another room. Anyway, I’ll call your names and when I do step up and you’ll undergo the… trial.” A smirk,” that will determine your House.” She’s unkind. Besides, so many of them have older siblings who probably blabbed about the Hat anyway. She pauses, gives them a moment to let it sink in.

Though calmed by his mother’s departing words, Seker is still quite nervous despite his circumstances. Seker has lived at the castle for two years! Seker knows all the faculty! Really, all that Seker is concerned with is making Slytherin in the ceremony to come. Although his mother says she will be proud of both him and Satinka either way, Seker has always wanted Slytherin anyways. As he looks up to Keelan with a skeptical expression, Seker takes a deep breath and tries not to look at Satinka– she’d be able to see the apprehension in his eyes instantly.

Eying the group that walks in carefully, Satinka turns her attention to Keelan, almost seeming to defer to the woman already, though she does so with a certain familiarity. “Of course she’s good. She’s our mum,” Satinka respons quietly and grins. Though the girl has been confident in waiting so far, as she sees the others and their varying amounts of nervousness, Satinka herself cannot help but feel a little anxious as she looks at the door before her biting her lip carefully, but being careful not to look at Seker. Can’t be letting her brother think she’s nervous, after all!

Fern Featherstone tilts her narrow chin and looks up toward Keelan as she starts to speak. She seems concerned as the woman speaks of the trial, but then Fern has had not heard any stories of Hogwarts being from a muggle family. She tries to conceal her nervous concern, as she lifts her chin and draws back her shoulders. She then looks toward Satinka and Seker, studying them thoughtfully with her dark plum colored eyes, before quickly looking away.

Alden Wexler stands patiently near Keelan, waiting. Having already read deep in to ‘Hogwarts, A History’, and having heard about it from both Briony and Felicity, the ‘trial’ hardly frightens him. In fact, he may be the least nervous out of all of the children standing there, hands clasped before him, looking foward with a quiet expression.

Rhyne Castle takes in the room silently, eyes lighting briefly on Seker as he recognizes the boy from a chance meeting earlier in the year. He offers the boy a lop-sided smirk before turning his attentions back to Professor Walsh and the.. “trial” ahead.

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.

As you place the hat on your head, it snuggles down around your ears. A presence pokes at your brain, stealing through your memories before a dry and dusty voice whispers at the corners of your consciousness. ) ‘Now what have we here.’ ‘Hmm’ ‘Oh my, we are just rattling off old families this year, aren’t we? A Rathe? Now there’s a name I haven’t seen in eighteen years. I didn’t think I’d see any more of you. Well now, let’s get on with this shall we?’ ‘Yes, yes, I see how you are. Quite the certain little thing aren’t you? Bold and fearless, you could mark yourself as a leader in the Gryffindor like Cedric. Would you like that?’ ‘Oh, but there is more to you than that isn’t there?’ ‘Hmm. You do have ambitions and goals, you don’t like to be swayed from where you’re going and you’ll do whatever is in your power to excel. Yet, you don’t have the thirst of a Ravenclaw for knowledge or the hard-working tendencies of the Hufflepuff. That could only mean one other house.’ ‘What do you say on this?’

Satinka thinks, in response to the hat.oO Oh, that’s so peculiar. I don’t like that. Will you stop? I want to be in Slytherin. Not Gryffindor, if you please. Slytherin’s the only house worth being in.

‘Ah there it is – the legendary Rathe arrogance. You are just like the rest of them after all. Not Gryffindor then? Shame really, they could benefit from one such as you, but I do realize you wouldn’t be the best fit. Slytherin you say? Are you quite positive? They aren’t everything you might think they are. Best be careful what you wish for, sometimes you just might get it in ways you don’t expect. Off with you then and join your new family in…’

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

(Slytherin) Beaming happily as she is granted her wish, Satinka hops up from the stool, grinning almost smugly as she puts the hat back down and skips over to Slytherin table, plopping into an open seat cheerfully without much more than a glance to her brother.

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.

(Slytherin) Evan Geroff also gives a quick nod of greeting, along with a smile, in welcome to Fern and the other various first years that show up at their table. He keeps his eyes on Satinka while nodding his agreement to Louis however, then chuckles. “Well, there you go.” “Welcome, Satinka!” is called over across the table.

“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.

(Slytherin) “Bravo Satinka! I knew you’d make it into the best house.” Cheers Louis as he claps loudly now turning his attention to her brother now awaitng the announcment.

(Slytherin) “I told you so!” Satinka tells the familiar boy as she looks around at those with whom she will share her house and colors for the next seven years, give or take. “I knew I would be Slytherin all along. The house said I should be in Gryffindor, but I gave him what-for. Who wants to be a stinking Gryffindor, anyway?”

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.

(Slytherin) “Hufflepuff?!” Shouts Louis in surprise. “Well… I guess that’s not so bad. Hufflepuff is the second best house you know.” He says to Fern and Satinka clapping for Seker. His smile doesn’t fade as he looks over at the Hufflepuff table presumably at Alexandra.

(Slytherin) Fern joins the Slytherin table and she smiles shyly toward Louis and Evan. She then glances toward Satinka, looking her over thoughtfully and then curving her thin pink lips into another smile. She then giggles as Louis speaks to her. “No, I didn’t know that. I only heard that Ravenclaws are arrogant.”

(Slytherin) Gaping, Satinka gasps loudly as her brother is sorted into Hufflepuff. “No!” she calls rather loudly and then claps a hand over her mouth. “How on earth — the hat must be daffy to put him there!” Satinka is obviously flustered and shocked at this and she can’t believe it. Though, Louis’s shock does settle her a little bit. “Oh, no, how could he? He obviously didn’t tell the hat what he wanted like he should have. Oh, I should have told him to be firm with that hat. After all, it’s just a hat.”

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.

(Slytherin) Fern looks toward Satinka and she giggles in response to her words. “Maybe he wanted to go there. I mean maybe he didn’t want to always hang about with his sister or something.”

(Slytherin) “Looks like you’re a better arguer than he is, then,” Evan notes, after a pause, as Seker gets Hufflepuff. Though he’d rather though they might both end up together. A small chuckle to Louis accompanies his next words, “There are some fine people in Hufflepuff. He’ll be fine..” Of course, his attention is captured by Galen’s sorting, as he gives a cheerful wave of welcome to the boy as he walks over.

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.

(Slytherin) “Well, that’s got to be a load of nonsense. Hasn’t he been talking about being in Slytherin ever since we got here? The hat must have sorted him wrong. I’m going to see if I can get it overturned. Bollocks.” Satinka looks decidedly bristled and she shoots a glare in Fern’s direction, though it comes out as more of a pout than a glare. “Just so wrong, so wrong.” “Supposed to be Slytherin.” “Rathe family way.” “Some brother.” Clearly her shock has now morphed.

(Slytherin) A grin comes over Louis‘ face. “No the Hat will always put you where you ask it to go I think. It told me I belonged in Hufflepuff.” He chuckles a little and moves his hair from his eyes. “But I told it Slytherin and here I am.”

(Slytherin) “Always? I’m sure there are some people that simply belong in a different house, whatever they say..” Evan trails off, giving Satinka another glance. “Try it if you like. Galen here managed to join his sisters’ house.” Galen, however, seems reluctant to say anything to that and chance the other first year’s wrath.

(Slytherin) Fern looks toward Satinka and sticks out her small pink tongue in response to her words. She then looks toward Louis and giggles. “See, he said he wanted to be in a different house and you were sorted first, so…”

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.

(Slytherin) “Well … as far as I know always.” Louis looks over to Evan and shrugs, he quickly becomes quiet to focus his attention on the Head Mistress signaling for a few Slytherin Second and First years to be quiet.

(Slytherin) Fern falls silent upon noticing Louis’ signal and now she looks toward Melvina.

“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.

(Slytherin) When the Head Mistress sits and the food appears Louis sighs a breath of relief “Finally, I though she’d never stop talking.” Either a sign of disrespect for the Head Mistress or a sign of absolute hunger Louis begins spooning up potatoes and grabbing large pieces of chicken. Divvying them up on his plate.

(Slytherin) Looking quite gleeful as the headmistress stops talking, Satinka sighs happily. “I’m starved,” she comments, more for effect than anything else. After all, she’d had a late lunch in preparation. She’d heard the stories and seen the looks on everyone’s faces. Nevertheless, she starts to pull some things onto her plate, some sweet potatoes, some chicken, a bit of ham, and various other fruits and things, looking quite calm and not the least bit surprised at the spread.

(Slytherin) Fern listens carefully to the Head Mistress’ words, but when Louis speaks she looks in his direction. “Yeah, she talked a whole bunch. I couldn’t pay attention to it all. I hope I didn’t miss anything important.” She says and then reaches for a drumstick. As Satinka reaches for some fruit, Fern copies her, taking some of the same sweet food.

(Slytherin) Listening quietly to the long list of announcements, Professor Rathe’s appointment as Deputy Headmistress earns a bit of applause. The next announcement to draw any notable reaction from Evan comes at the end; this year, instead of surprise, the announcement of the ball is accompanied by a glance and smile toward the Hufflepuff table. As the food appears, though, he brings himself to look back at his own table. “You’re in a hurry. Roll?” he offers, holding a dish to Louis and then others around him.

(Slytherin) “Oh nothing too important, Just don’t go into the woods and watch out for the Reeks.” The last part is obviously a joke that Louis directs to Fern. He turns to look at Evan, “So Evan… coming to tryouts? I erm… I probably forgot to mention that I was made captain this year.” It came out very awkward, and why wouldn’t it? Louis had been made captain over Evan who is older. Bound to make any meal awkward.

(Slytherin) Fern looks toward Louis and blinks in response to his words. “What is a reek?” She questions softly. Seh then pauses and takes a bite of her chicken.

(Slytherin) “Did you hear that?” Satinka comments cheerfully, butting into whatever conversations might be being held. “MY mum is Deputy Headmistress. MY mum us.” Satinka seems puffed up with pride and she pauses only a moment with a wide grin before looking to her plate. “I want to join the team,” she informs Louis frankly. “I think I’d be a brilliant seeker, though perhaps I could play chaser as well. Mum won’t get me a broom, though, so I’ll have to use a school broom for it.” She grins as she says this and begins eating some more of what’s on her plate.

(Slytherin) “Mister Harper,” Tahiri says, finally, her voice lifting from the silence as she looks up from her plate to Louis. A statuesque beauty, chisled from olive-hued marble. “Do you expect that Miss Leong will ask you to the Social?”

(Slytherin) Evan Geroff shakes his head at Louis, a slight smile given in appreciation of his joke, and the boy says nothing to correct it right away. He begins to nod in response to Louis’ question, but stops as he hears what else Louis has to say, and his smile falters. “She’ll be great,” Evan pointedly comments to Satinka about her mother, only after – when he’s had all of those few seconds to think about it – turning back to Louis. “No, I.. I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it,” he says stiffly, carefully taking a bite from his plate without bothering to look at what he’s got.

(Slytherin) Fern looks toward Satinka as she speaks. “Um, I don’t know about riding on brooms, sounds kind of..” She then trails off leaving something unsaid.

(Slytherin) “Well you’ll learn about Reeks in your second year Fern till then just watch out for them.” Louis chuckles a bit more at his further joke between bites, no he doesn’t intend to tell her what a Reek is. He nods to Satinka “Oh well you should try out next year when you are allowed to have a broo….” He pauses and turns to Tahiri “Maybe she will… maybe… um…” And then Evan speaks up giving him an excuse to talk about something else. “What? Why not? Don’t you want to take the cup back from Ravenclaw?” Louis looks absolutely shocked at Evan’s announcement.

(Slytherin) “Oh, it’s ever so exciting!” The girl tells the other first year. “You go so fast, and it’s perfectly safe.” This is perhaps an exaggeration. “Anyway, I wouldn’t be afraid of the forest. I’ve heard it’s just a bunch of nonsense that the teachers drum up to keep students from playing in there. There are unicorns in there, after all! What’s so bad about a unicorn? It’s only really bad, then, if you get caught doing it. And, of course, if you’re smart, you just won’t bother getting caught.” The girl says this like it’s the simplest thing in the world to avoid being caught. “No, not next year. I’m going to be on the team this year. I’m sure I can get some help with one of the school brooms in the meantime. Or maybe mum would buy me a broom then, if I make the team. I’ll show you what I’ve got at tryouts, after all.” Satinka grins as she says this and polishes off her pumpkin juice completely before working on a bit of chicken.

(Slytherin) “That had indeed been my plan,” Evan notes to Louis, voice still stiff, sounding rather.. extremely controlled. “But clearly I’m not needed.” Satinka gives him a bit of needed relief, as he motions to her, “Let her be chaser; I’m sure she’ll make a fit replacement.”

(Slytherin) “If it does, do you imagine it will effect your performance on the pitch? The offer I made last you stands.” Tahiri murmurs, flatly. Her tone simple and precise. Of course, refering to the time that she assured Louis that if he couldn’t floor Leong with a bludger, that she would.

(Slytherin) Fern looks toward Louis, seemingly overwhelmed by curiousity over what a Reek is. “Um, okay.” She murmers in response to his words. She then reaches for a roll and takes a quick bite of such.

(Slytherin) Completely dumbstruck by Satinka telling him to put her on the team and Evan’s apparent disapproval of his being made captain Louis sits quietly staring between the two. “Im sorry Satinka, first years aren’t allowed to play. Those are just the rules.” He tries to phrase it as gently as possible and then turns to Evan with a bit of an insulted look on his face. “Well I do need you, what are you on about anyway? Don’t like that I was made captain and not you Mister Prefect?” It was said much sharper than it needed to be that’s for sure. He looks at Tahiri for a moment and has no idea what to say other than “No, don’t kill Leong with a bludger… she’s my friend.”

(Slytherin) Evan Geroff bristles at Louis’ sharper tone, sitting up, if possible, straighter than he already was, and completely disregarding his food. “I’d speak to me with more respect if I were you.” “If a fourth year was made captain, clearly the skills of anyone older are completely worthless. So no, Mister Harper, you obviously don’t need me. I’m sure Miss Rathe would be preferable to my apparently worthless talent.”

(Slytherin) Tahiri Sol lofts a brow, looking to Evan with a curious look, though she says nothing.

(Slytherin) Fern looks toward Evan, seemingly concerned and she gasps softly.

(Slytherin) “Oh, come now, you guys should just get over it. You don’t see me fussing over the sorting hat being wrong about my brother’s house, after all. Anyway, that’s not true. You can be on the team as a first year, you just can’t have a broom. I’m good enough, you’ll see.” She grins broadly and watches as Evan and Louis continue to interact. Clearly one or the other or both are rather upset by something, though Satinka can’t see any reason why this would be. It’s a feast! A happy day! Ah, to be eleven.

(Slytherin) Disregarding his food as well… albeit with a disappointed look on his face (Louis really wanted that food you know) Louis shakes his head. “So that’s it then? Two years playing together and your just going to quit over something trivial? You don’t see Miss Sol handing in her beater’s bat do you?” He asks the Prefect aware that his tone is still slightly sharp. Louis looks to Tahiri pleadingly now half expecting her to literally hand in her bat. Louis turns again to Satinka and he looks all ready to get a bit mean with her before remembering that she is A, a first year and B, Astra’s own daughter. “Fine fine…. show up for tryouts if you can get a broom lent to you. Just know that it’s very unlikely… unless you show a great deal of maturity.” He turns to Evan though still speaking to Satinka “Unlike certain others.”

(Slytherin) Fern takes another bite of her chicken. She then looks toward Satinka with a thoughtful expression. “Um, can I watch you try out?” She questions. Next Fern looks toward Louis, seemingly rather confused.

(Slytherin) “I haven’t it with me,” Tahiri reassure Louis in a placid voice as he looks almost pleadingly at her. Not exactly the greatest words of confidence ever, though obviously Tahiri finds them satisfactory, as she turns back to her plate. The further arguement losing her interest.

(Slytherin) “Watch it, Louis.” Evan‘s voice has, for this warning, taken on an equally sharper tone. “Before I give you detention for that disrespect.” Though still upset, the warning level of his tone now fades again somewhat, to his stiffly-matter-of-fact previous manner of speaking. “It’s hardly trivial. You know Captainship goes to whoever would be best, and also oldest, as a large part of that is experience. If I have been passed up, that means that both Martin and Professor Rathe believe I am useless to the team. It has nothing to do with you nor do I have anything against you.” Nothing. Even as he nearly spits the word ‘you.’

(Slytherin) Turning bright red in the face at Tahiri’s usual unreadable attitude and Evan’s spitefull sound denouncement of spite Louis bites his lower lip. “I have no idea why you were skipped over Ev…” But Louis pauses and instead says “Mister Prefect. But not to worry, I’ll find you a replacement and we will win the Quidditch cup this year and it’ll be no thanks to you.” Okay that was pretty much the idea had in mind Louis. With that he pushes both his food and drink away and crosses his arms over his chest well put off.

(Slytherin) Evan Geroff gives a brief nod. “See that you do. I still intend to take both cups this year.” Glancing down the table, not necessarily calmed, but also not really mad at Louis, he only adds one final comment. “Because I can give the whole team detention for not trying hard enough, you know.” Whether he actually would is a different issue, and subsiding, he turns his attention to his food, not exactly hungry yet stubbornly taking bite after bite.

(Slytherin) Finally giving up on his dinner, Evan has had a chance to calm down and make sure he’s taking nothing out on the first years. He glances around once to make sure the feast seems to be ending, then calls down the table, “First years..” Once he thinks he has their attention he adds, “I’ll show you to the common room now. Come with me.” And stands.

(Slytherin) Upon hearing Evan’s words, Fern rises to her feet and takes a step toward the perfect, seemingly ready to follow after him. “Oh, okay, thanks.” She murmers softly.

(Slytherin) “Alright! I can’t wait to see it. I heard it flooded once. That is, before the school rearranged. My mum wouldn’t let me see it. She told me I had to wait until I was sorted, but I knew I would be sorted into Slytherin. Though, the hat got Seker wrong, obviously, so I suppose it could have gotten me wrong, too.” It is but a brief moment that Satinka pauses while she hops up cheerfully from the table. “But that’s alright, I knew it all along that I’d be Slytherin. Oh, Ophiuchus should be in the commonroom waiting for me, right?” Satinka does not bother explaining just who Ophiuchus might be.

“I’m glad it didn’t,” Evan comments to Satinka, not bothering to argue about whether it was really ‘wrong.’ As they and the other first years assemble, Galen walking up toward his side where a few of the firsties seem afraid to go at the moment, he waves a hand toward one of the doorways and starts walking. “This way…”

Clavicle Gravely comes down the passage and whispers the password. The secret entrance is opened and then a knock comes. “Professor?” comes the voice, a bit apprehensively. “Professor are you home?”

Lessons are finished for the day and with it, Astra‘s work. Having taken shelter in her suite of rooms, the face the professor wears at home is different then the one she displays publicly. Her boots are kicked off and her feet are covered in warm fuzzy socks, her clothes while still her typical garb are not so neatly tucked in and a masculine dressing gown of Chinese silk hangs loose and open over it all. Ensconced in one of the chairs, she’s quite curled up into it and nursing a cup of tea over a book. Hearing Clavicle’s voice, she turns her head in his direction and arches both brows. “Ah, Mister Gravely it’s good to see you. Please, make yourself at home. I’ve made up a pot of tea if you’d like some and there’s food to be had if you want.” “What can I do for you?”

Clavicle Gravely comes in and looks at his feet. He has not the first idea how to start this conversation. But he manages to as he raises his chin and sits. “I think I am having an issue…with um, women.” he nods. “And I don’t know whom to talk to about it, I know it is far off our normal talks, but I was hoping, you could advise me, maybe off the record as I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.” he chews his lip, “But I am at an impasse.”

“Women.” Her tone is flat and Astra narrows her eyes just a little, she says nothing more as she sips at her tea and then closes her book, setting it off to a table beside the chair. “I think you mean teenage girls and not women, the two are not the same creature.” Contemplatively, she adds, “I suppose though that the former does think itself as the latter.” Shaking her head, she gestures to the couch. “Sit down.” “Now then, you like someone and don’t want to wind up in trouble then? That’s what I’m gathering.” “What’s going on?”

Clavicle Gravely ahs, “I meant no disrespect Professor of course. ” he blanches a bit. “But I am confounded. Completely. The trouble is probably not whom one would expect. It is with…Kelly Pantall.” he looks at Astra to see her reaction to that. “And I thought I was a friend to her and her to me, nothing more, but suddenly she’s vitriolic, hateful, physically abusive, and well… a spoiled brat. I don’t know what I did. She’s made her disinterest in me plain so I never pursued her, As I am still interested in Miss Bona, However, It’s .. Well I don’t know what I did, and we were friends…” he says this with more passion showing. “And I don’t know what I did to make it not so. It’s not as if there’s a lot of people…as strange as I am, and she is one, but now suddenly I am her nemesis. And I don’t know if it’s because I was supposed to pursue her and didn’t, Or if she thought I was, or if even she was interested in me and somhow…mad that I somehow threatened her sworn love of Martin.”

“First of all, I don’t care what men have said over the years. I don’t care what lies people say about females ‘wanting a man to chase her’. The simple fact is if a female says no, she means it. Do not provoke that and do not push it.” Leaving that lecture off, Astra sighs heavily and wipes at her eyes, “Love for Martin? That’s rather sad and misplaced given the fact that Martin is to be engaged.” “As for you, did you at any point try to form a relationship with Miss Pantall? Did you let her know of any feelings on your part aside from those of friendship?”

“I told her she was a friend and one of the few I had. She kepot going off on me. Hit me once or twice and at first I just.. allowed it.” he shrugs. “I don’t really have a lot of friends my age. She kicked one of my dancing skeletons and I yelled at her,” Clavicle‘s dancing skeletons are some of his uncle’s enchanted to seem alive toys, he’s given a few and sold a few but in typical Clavicle fashion, he sees them as more alive then not, ” but she apologized. But after that sudenly every conversation was ‘You know I am in a relationship’. And I would say yes, but she broke up with someone and I was interested in her well being, and she seemed to take it as an attack.” he looks at Astra, “Can’t she just be a boggart and I riddikulus her?”

“I cannot make a proper judgment regarding this as I do not know what was said between the two of you. You will have as much personal bias in this as she will, I’m afraid.” Sipping at her tea, Astra casts a scrutinizing look at Clavicle before letting her eyes wander around the room. “As for Miss Pantall, I would simply keep away from her and allow her time to cool off. Do not pursue her, do not show any interest in her aside from that of friendship. If I remember correctly she doesn’t have many friends either except perhaps that Hufflepuff boy, Rafe DeWitt.”

“It’s just a better name, Satinka, hands down. Poe-inspired, you can’t go wrong. And don’t try to convince me otherwise,” Seker says, raising a hand and placing it carefully in his sister’s face, just short of touching her, as he walks out of their room. Entering the common area of their residence, though, Seker‘s pace slows to a halt and he withdraws his hand. “Oh, company,” he notes, smiling a little. “Hi Clavicle,” he says, only to be distracted for a moment. He looks to his mother, asking, “Mum, tell Satinka that names should mean something. And, when are we getting our pets?” he adds, perhaps bringing some insight into what he’s talking about.

“Oh, honestly,” Satinka responds with a scoff, crossing her arms over her chest. “Mister Wicked is a perfectly respectable name. It’s gads better than yours at any rate.” She rolls her eyes and comes to stand near her mother and then pauses. “Who are you?” she asks, giving the boy a peculiar look before Seker asks this question of their mother. “Yes, mum, I’m dying for a kneazle! Can’t we go to the store now and get them? You said we might have pets.”

Clavicle Gravely clams up as the twins enter and looks to the professor, “Er, Yes that is actually mmuch better advice then how I handled it so far.” he hmmms. “I er… told her she wouldn’t have an opprotunity to handle me poorly again.” he frowns and then stands and bows to the two children, and using sleight of hand he ‘magically’ makes a poof of flowers appear, which he offers to Satinka.

Trying to digest the sudden intrusion and conversation on the part of her children, Astra sighs heavily. “Seker and Satinka, I’m trying to have a conversation with Mister Gravely.” Still, she is a mother and can’t really ignore the pair very easily. It isn’t as if the two of them in a room makes them easy targets to *be* ignored. “I’ve told you before Seker, you will get an owl from grandfather and Satinka have I not said you must choose a cat, a toad or an owl? Grandfather would like you to have an owl of course, but if you’d rather have a cat that’s fine.” Dealing with family business, she takes another mouthful of tea before continuing. “Yes, names are very important but be careful what you choose. Look at what happened to the both of you.” Grinning mischievously, she’s clearly teasing the twins as a parent will. “Satinka, this is Mister Clavicle Gravely he’s one of my proteges.”

“That’s Clavicle,” Seker supplies helpfully to Satinka after Astra introduces him. “And you aren’t getting a kneazle! It’s like mum said,” Seker says, sighing. “Kneazles aren’t cute anyways, Satinka,” Seker discloses. “Their noses are all pressed in. You’d be far better off getting some kind of tabby. Actually, I see you with a Persian. Maybe a kneazle would be suiting,” Seker says, tilting his head. Looking to Astra, Seker asks, “When are we going to see grandfather? Can’t we go tomorrow? You don’t have to come, Satinka and I can use floo on our own,” Seker says confidently.

“Oh, I can use Seker’s owl, I don’t want one. I want a kneazle. It’s almost a cat, mum. It should count.” She crosses her arms, only to uncross them as Clavicle presents her with flowers. “Er, thanks,” she says, quirking an eyebrow and looking at the flowers as if they’re some peculiar being before setting them down on the table. As Seker pipes up, her face lights up. “Yes, we could just go while you’re at classes, and get them with Grampa!” Satinka grins and steps closer. “/Please/, mum? We want them ever so much. And I’m sure it would be useful for them to get used to Hogwarts now, that way they don’t get frightened by a new place with so many people in it.”

Clavicle Gravely chuckles a bit as the flowers just evoke an ‘er…’ He bows with a flourish. “Of course Madame. You would always be welcome at the Shadow Emporium.”

“Ah that’s the Rathe in her; at least she’s better behaved than I was. I would have scowled at you and said something mean before throwing the flowers on the floor and stamping on them. Of course, then my father would have hit me, but the point remains. She’s as much my daughter as her father’s, for better or for worse.” Sighing, Astra reaches up to rub her forehead. “Children, you will not be going anywhere without me. I’ve arranged for you to see Grandfather after school lets out and we’ll get your pets then. They can stay here for the summer and get acclimated.”

“That’s a long time, still,” Seker notes, crossing his arms and glancing at Satinka shortly, a bit of a glare in response to her treatment of Clavicle’s flowers. “Aren’t you going to put them in water?” he asks with a bit of an edge before looking to Clavicle and shrugging. “She’s quite girly, but not much of a lady,” says Seker, “so, don’t mind her.”

“You can do it if you want,” Satinka tells her brother, thrusting the flowers toward him with a shrug at the flowers in her hand as she looks back to her mother. “It’s ever so long,” she agrees and sighs a bit. “Can’t we go a little earlier? Next Hogsmeade weekend or something? I really think it would be better if I got my kneazle before all the kids leave so that he can get used to being around so many people.” She glances to Clavicle then, her eyebrows raising. “Welcome at… what?” She tries hard not to make this sound as if she thinks it the oddest name she’s heard all day, but being only eleven-going-on-twelve, finds this difficult, and the look on her face says what she is trying not to let into her inflection anyway.

Clavicle Gravely chuckles “The flowers are silk, It is a muggle magic trick after all.” he smiles. “But I would expect nothing less from a lady of refined tastes.” He bows again to Satinka. Polite to a fault, the showman in him doesn’t allow him to rise to stings and barbs that Seker implies, rather, he answers her, “You would be welcome at the Gravely Shadow Emporium and Autumnal Carnival.” he says pronouncing each capital with pride. “I’ve arranged already for you and Seker to have free admittance.” he grins. “We recently acquired a Bogart in a special cage which doesn’t allow it to escape, regardless of the form it takes, I am told by my uncle Ulnus it is quite thrilling.” he smiles. “But I believe the two of you were talking about Poe? May I ask what about? It is a favorite subject of mine after all.”

“The carnival Satinka, the one I took you and Seker to a couple years ago?” Trying to jog her daughter’s memory without being too rude, Astra finishes off her tea and uncurls from her chair. Standing up, she crosses the short distance to the kitchen area. Smiling for Clavicle’s response, she does not interfere except with a small sigh. “I do not think that they will be going this year. School and all, they get Sorted this year.” Not so subtle is her hint of motherly pride as she searches the back of a cupboard for a certain bottle. Taking it off the shelf, she then reaches inside the dressing gown pocket for the ever-present flask and fills it up. “There will be *no* kneazle Satinka, you know that.” Trying very hard not to sound flustered, “And I’m very sorry that you both have to wait, but you still have lessons and I still have work. We’ll go at the end of term and no sooner.”

Upon hearing that the flowers won’t be requiring any water after all, Seker merely comments, “Oh,” and sets them down, back where they were. Reinforcing his sister, though, he looks to Astra pleadingly before adding, “Yes, they have to get used to large crowds or else the summer months of student vacancy will lull them into a false sense of security,” he reasons. “Our pets, I mean,” he says, looking to Clavicle. “Not trying to change the subject,” he says quickly. “It was a brilliant fair,” Seker asserts with a nod.

“Oh, right,” Satinka answers. “I forgot the name.” This is said simply and she shrugs as she listens while Astra continues to speak. “But, mum, it’s practically a cat. They’re nearly the same thing! It should count!” Trying not to look too upset or sullen, she crosses and then quickly uncrosses her arms. “It’s such a long wait, mum, and completely unfair. First we had to wait to be sorted, and we didn’t put up too much fuss about it, but this is much smaller and easier to rectify. Can’t we just get them on the next Hogsmeade weekend? I’m sure Grampa would be willing to take us!” She frowns, and it is clear that she has to work not to push her bottom lip out as was her habit as a smaller child.

Clavicle Gravely grins and nods to Seker. “And you…I didn’t forget. I got a temporary tattoo for you. It will only last 1 week, But it is guaranteed to seem real.” he pulls out a small wrapped package, it is marked ‘Temporary Tattoo, Skeletal Falcon’. “It uses a henna base in the anchantment, and a printing block instead of a needled block. If it is alright with your mother I shall give it to you, but as we are doing mresearch on whether it will be popular enough to sell at the carnival, I would need you to tell me how you liked it.” He grins at the kneazle discussion and drops in, “You know there are half kneazles, and if the mother was a cat, they count.” he nods sagely.

“Yes, yes he can have it. He’ll have permanent ones someday if he takes up the Rathe tradition.” Speaking before her son can even beg her for it, Astra caves on that issue without any prodding. Glancing sharply at the three kids, she makes a huffing noise. “Cat or owl, I don’t suppose Satinka *wants* a toad. There will be no kneazle or half-kneazle running around. The last thing I need is everyone saying my children get special treatment because of their mother. No, they’ll be treated like everyone else.” “I’m sure your pets will get used to big crowds. I’m going to be here a lot this summer and I’m going to have Grandpa take you both to London to see Peter and Grandmother, then it’s off to Paris with Arnauld and Blair. You’ll have plenty of time to get your pets used to others.”

Too excited about the temporary tattoo to mind much, now, about the absence of his will-be owl, Seker takes the thing with a grin. “Thanks, too right I’ll let you know how I like it,” says the boy, a bit of rare colour flashing into his cheeks. “Where should I put it?” he asks Satinka. “I’m doing it right now,” he states, stepping towards the twins’ room slightly.

“Fiiiine. But can I get one later?” Satinka asks. “You know, just to… keep in here for summers?” She still wants the kneazle after all. “How long are we going to be in France this summer? Uncle Arnauld promised to teach me Italian if we’re there long enough.” She grins as she says this, as if it is the one thing she’s waited for quite a while. “Ugh, tattoos,” she responds to Seker. “Put it somewhere that I can’t see it.” She tells him and waves him off. “By the way, mum, if I’m going to learn Italian, I’m going to need some books. I want to get a head start.” A wide smile spreads over her face as she states this.

“Yes Seker, the directions are simple, Just place the Block against bare skin and it will magically transfer. Though if the block wiggles in a lifelike way for a moment, that is merely how it applies itself.” he nods. “We’ve a whole line of permanent self applying products.” The infamous tattoo block that Clavicle used in the great hall once that made a few people lose their lunch in his first year may be a story still floating around. But the block apparently came to life to insert the needles. “After it is upon you it will come to life, the tattoo. and you can train it, But don’t abuse it, or they get mad.” he nods. “My father accidently insulted one of his tattoos once, It stayed upon his nose holding a sign that said ‘rude git’ for several days till he placated it with a tattoo’d hat.”He smiles and looks to Satinka, ” Would reducto… upon a tiger count as a cat?” he wonders aloud. “Probably not. ” He shrugs, “But I wouldn’t worry Madam Satinka, if the creature was raised to be the pet of a Enchantress or Witch, The creature seems to possess a greater intelligence. I think they’ve special breeds that the muggles don’t get. To be honest, I never really asked. But your cat, or owl, I am sure will be delightfully intelligent.” The boy grins, “Italian, Such wonderful catacombs there.”

“Going to Italy would better improve your chances of learning than from a book, but we’ll pick some up. Old greybeard tried to teach me the language, bah, simply had no time for it. It’s a pretty country though.” Stopping off the flask, Astra returns it to the pocket of her dressing gown and refills her cup with tea. “Shrinking a tiger would not count as a cat, no. Please let’s not even go there.” “As for the rest, yes, wizard animals are not the same as their muggle counterparts. For one, they tend to be larger. They are also longer lived and more intelligent. Not that I know much about magical creatures, just a few things I gleaned from my father and his breeding of them.”

Glaring once more at Satinka, Seker threatens, “I’ll put it on my forehead,” as a joke as he turns on his heel. “Thanks again, Clavicle. If I see you tomorrow, I’ll show it to you and you can see how it turned out,” says the boy on his way out of the room. “Satinka, don’t you at least want to see me put it on?” He taunts as he disappears from the doorway.

“I wouldn’t want an icky tiger anyway. I want a kneazle.” Satinka sighs as she says this for what hopes to be the final time this confrontation. “At any rate, I’ll learn Italian this summer, mum, and then I can work on Welsh next summer.” She pauses. “I wouldn’t complain over going to Italy if you wanted to send us, though.” This is said almost too eagerly for the nonchalant expression that the girl seems to be trying to adopt. She crosses her arms again and then uncrosses them, reaching down to pick at her skirt. The girl looks over her shoulder and then sighs. “Well, alright, but only if you promise not to put it on your forehead or your wrist or something stupid like that. At least put it in a respectable place.” She shakes her head and starts following Seker into their quarters, only pausing to wave to her mother and the company as she disappears nto the room and closes the door.

Clavicle Gravely smiles as the two kids leave and he looks down. “Thank you for your advice Professor.” he shrugs. “I don’t even know why I feel it’s so important, except I miss her as a friend.” And maybe he was attracted as well, but who can tell, He’s been in competition for a girl’s affection whom hasn’t noticed yet that boys were quarreling over her. So perhaps he is as well, focusing so much elsewhere that he doesn’t know what he’s feeling truthfully. “My parents as well send their regards to you. As well as my Uncle who’s asked after your health quite often.” The infamous Uncle Ulnus.

Sighing as the children leave the room, Astra again sinks into her chair. “They don’t even know their native tongue. It’s sad. It’s terrible! I can’t believe their father didn’t see fit to teach them.” “Well it isn’t much advice really. I was never one to have romantic encounters in school and when I fought, I fought bitterly. Better to keep away than aggravate the situation.” “I’m sorry that you’ve lost a friend, but you never know there may be another waiting around the corner.” “Give your family my best, including your uncle.” Smiling a little she takes another sip of tea.

Clavicle Gravely nods a bit and grins at her, “Oh, I’ve a great uncle near the Collisseum in Rome, If you tell the keeper near the catacomb entrance ‘A grave concern the gravely makes, when it seeks a grave awakes.” he will show you the first wizarding Necropolis. He’s an elder chap, Brachio Majorus Gravely the 4th I think is his name. Or is it 3rd? I always forget.” he shrugs. “I doubt Satinka would like it, But Seker might.” He bows with a flourish and rattles off something in Irish Gaelic, probably a comment to her conundrum.

“I’m afraid I know not your tongue my lad, similar though it is.” Smiling a little, Astra heaves a sigh, “Someday they’ll learn it, I hope.” “I’ll keep in mind what you say about Rome, but I doubt I’ll ever go. I’ve given up the dream of traveling with the many responsibilities I have.” “Speaking of which, I ought to get some more work done.”

Clavicle Gravely bows with a flourish and backs towards the door. “Goodnight Professor Rathe.”

Astra Rathe raises up her cup in a fake sort of salute. “You too Mister Gravely.”

Down at the Quidditch Pitch, it seemed momentarily tempting for Joseph to lift Noémie off her feet and carry her back into the castle – the broom still in hand and his sheer lack of coordination and only limited strength ended that temptation fairly quickly, and instead he opts for taking her by the hand, winking at a few of his housemates, and leading her back somewhere ‘more private’. As the case may be, this seems to be the Hall of the Stars, the sparkling lights overhead providing a nice romantic atmosphere – and coincidentally, no one else seems to be in this part of the castle at this time, right after a Quidditch game. “Sorry for stealing you away.” He offers to her conversationally, smiling at her, head tilted slightly to one side. “But I thought that you could use a sort of private congratulations before the party started.”

“Private congratulations sound like just the right thing to start the match celebrations,” Noémie comments with a grin, dropping her broom to the ground with a rather loud and uncaring clatter. The girl’s grin only widens as she ignores the fact that she is still in her Quidditch duds and probably a bit gross from the match. This is just what the doctor ordered. She leans up toward him and slips her arms up around his neck leaning in to kiss him. Noémie is not going to beat around the bush today. She’s too thrilled to do anything like that.

Kissing the prefect firmly, one arm snaking around her waist and pulling her close, hand rested on the small of her back, while the fingers of his other hand curl around tendrils of her hair, Joseph does not seem to have even remote issues with this idea. After a moment, he moves back a little bit, just for long enough to whisper, “Congratulations.” Then, he leans forward again, recapturing her lips with a passion more akin to ferocity, a certain eagerness to his movements. After all, it’s been a few hours since he’s kissed her. Hours.

“Thanks,” Noémie barely manages before his lips close over hers. She giggles a little bit at his ferocity, but doesn’t seem to mind at all as she leans in to hug him tighter to her as she wastes no time in letting her tongue roam ever so slightly. Keep it slow, Noémie. (Riiiight.) The girl brings one arm down to wrap around his back and she rises onto her tiptoes to bring her head back and separate the kiss momentarily. “Did you get taller?” she asks in a whisper, grinning a bit at him, and then leans back in to continue her ‘ministrations’.

It takes a long time for Joseph to reply. Maybe he’s thinking very carefully about his response. More likely, it’s just very hard for him to formulate a sensible response while his tongue is busy in this way. The fingers buried in her hair are unwound and instead, his hand falls to rest gently on her side, somewhere in the realm of her ribcage – and, though he comes close, nothing else. Then, after a moment, he leans back again, breaking the kiss for just long enough to shake his head and whisper, “Last time I argued with a first year, I turned his bones into high-heeled boots.”

The prefect can’t help herself as he says this. She lets out a snort of a laugh and giggles a bit into Joseph’s shoulder before looking back up at him. “Only you…” is all she comments and then presses her lips back to his again. She has to pause a moment, letting out another fit of giggles into his chest before she stops again. One would think that the girl is perhaps a bit giddy at the moment, whether from the previous quidditch match or her current company, it becomes difficult to tell. Noémie squeezes him a bit and presses her lips back to his again, finally managing to stifle her giggles.

Offering a small smile in response, Joseph kisses her in response fiercely, apparently rather more eager to enjoy her… company… than giddy as she is. His hand inches up a little more, closer, it seems, to her breast, though he more or less keeps his hands to himself and contents himself with merely resting his hand on her ribcage, stroking her back gently with his other hand. On the whole, he seems rather more preoccupied with the kiss, his lips pressed against hers with an eager passion, and a somewhat unglamourous overproduction of saliva. Well, he’s not the world’s most romantic.

The sloppiness of the kiss, though perhaps a bit less unpleasant a kiss than the kind that Noémie perfers, does not seem to particularly bother the prefect at this juncture while she rubs his back gently. Silence and calmness seems to have fallen over here, and not a footstep is heard in the corridor, causing Noémie to step up a bit and lean into the kiss a bit more boldly, almost daring him to be more bold as well. After all, he’s only been ghosting to do it for a week now, and Noémie is in the perfect mood to encourage him at it.

Looking over the list that Seker has given her to rummage out of the storage closet, Satinka looks up and gasps loudly. “Well, I never!” she comments and puts her hands on her hips, stomping the floor hard, causing an echo through the Hall of the Stars. She tsks a bit as she stands with her fists balled on her hips and shaking her head at the two older students before her. While she may not have seen them before, she feels it her duty to break up the ‘party’. After all, Satinka is her mother’s daughter.

Instinctively, as he hears the small girl’s stomping, Joseph jumps back in surprise, unentangling himself from Noémie carefully. They were just, uh, talking, right? Right. Talking. You have to go someplace nice and private for a good conversation like this one. Eying Satinka, slightly breathless both from his activities and the sudden shock of having been walked in on, the Ravenclaw boy flushes bright pink and folds his arms across his chest, endeavouring to look menacing. It doesn’t really work. He’s not really designed to be menacing. “You never what, kid?” He asks her, raising one hand to quickly wipe the excess saliva from his face, before folding his arms again. Menacing boys do not have slobber on their chins.

Gasping as she hears that they have company, Noémie puts her hands up and steps back away from Joseph, looking very startled and perhaps a bit rumpled, though much of it could be blamed on the Quidditch match she has recently come from. Right, quidditch. She instinctively wipes her own face and then crosses her arms across her chest, momentarily letting Joseph handle the girl who looks to be about first year.

“I’ve never seen such a flagrant disregard for the rules and regulations set by this fine establishment of education!” Satinka retorts quickly, her hands still on her hips as she looks from one to the other of them with a pointed expression. “You two ought to know better than to do that in a public place where you could get caught. And — do I see — you’re a prefect, too? I should tell my mum and have her get your badge confiscated. This is not suitable prefectly behavior. I could do your job better than you.” Satinka hmphs as she says this and crosses her arms across her chest, tapping her foot. “Well, what have you two to say for yourselves?”

“Shut up and go away.” Joseph replies, arms still crossed tightly across his chest. Yes, indeed, this is all he has to say for himself. Glaring at the younger girl for a long moment, he eventually adds, scoffing, “And who are you when you’re at home, and what right do you have to order us around?” Then, almost as an afterthought, a pink blush climbing his cheeks, he adds, “And we were just talking.” Yes. Talking. Really. It was just very personal, so they were very close. And intertwined. And… okay, so they weren’t just talking.

Scoffing a bit as Satinka says this. “Like you’d know. You’re, what, a first year? Go work on levitating those feathers some more honey,” Noémie tells her, being perhaps a bit more catty about it than is normal for her. She glances to Joseph with a bit of a small grin on her face after she says this, elbowing him in the side a little. She almost wants to lean over and say, ‘be nice, she’s just a kid’, but part of her can’t bring up the will to do it, so she instead falls silent.

“My name is Satinka Murielle Rathe, if you must know,” the girl replies, employing her usual tone when she informs people of this. “And I’ll have you know that my mother is Professor Rathe, the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher, as you must already know.” She turns her nose up as she says this. As Joseph tells her that the two were just talking she scoffs. “You must think I’m dumb. That wasn’t just talking. And you shouldn’t be doing it in public. Especially if you’re a prefect. You should know better.”

“We were so talking,” Joseph replies, his tone bordering on sulky as he glowers at the girl. After a moment, though, certain pieces of information catch up and stick together in his mind, and he flushes more brightly pink than ever. “Professor Rathe? You’re – you’re just joshing, right?” Turning his gaze briefly on Noémie, he is wide-eyed for a moment, unsure of how to deal with this. “And we couldn’t actually get in trouble, even if we weren’t just talking, could we? I mean, there was no one around…”

“Oh, honestly,” Noémie comments. “Just let us off this time,” she wheedles, “And we won’t do it next time anywhere that someone can just walk in on us.” She shakes her head a bit as she says this, looking away from Satinka. Yes, the stars in the ceiling are very interesting indeed. “Anyway, give us a warning and leave your mum out of it this time.” Noémie still does not look at the girl as she says this,.

“She’s my mother, yes. I wouldn’t pretend at something like that. Honestly.” She tuts as she says this, then looks at Noémie as she speaks up. “Well, I’ll let you off this time, but only because I’m feeling nice. You just won the cup and all. But don’t do it again!” She points her finger out and waggles it. Turning with a toss of her hair, she strides over to the storage closet, rummaging through it until she has an unusual assortment of items. “Remember what I said.” Satinka tells them and tosses her hair once more before striding out of the corridor, her footsteps falling silent as she disappears down the stairs.

Blink. Blink. Stare. Blink. Joseph seems entirely dumbfounded by Satinka’s words and exit, his eyes following her as she departs, mouth hanging open. “Who does she think she is?” He hisses to Noémie, turning back to face her with a somewhat stunned expression. “She just – I did not just get told off by a ten year old… we did not just get lectured by a ten year old.” None of this stops him from reaching out for her hand, perhaps as a subtle way of indicating that he would like to go back to their ‘conversation’, Satinka Rathe and her warning notwithstanding. “I think my pride needs kissing better, weeping willow tree.”

“That sounds fine by me,” Noémie responds. “Let’s take it somewhere else,” she comments and laces her fingers through his, hugging his arm comfortably. “How about…” She seems to ponder as she says this. “Perhaps … out near the lake? I hear it’s nice and … private.” Noémie‘s voice seems to have a rather amused lilt to it, as well as perhaps being a bit coaxing. After all, what is she there for if not to soothe his ego in situations such as this?

Shrugging his shoulders vaguely, looking around as if to indicate that he sees nothing wrong with where they are now, Joseph is silent for a moment, thoughtful. Then, after a moment, he sighs heavily, and gestures in the vague direction of the Ravenclaw commons, wherever that might be. “I shouldn’t deprive our fellow Ravenclaws of the chance to ogle and congratulate you.” A pause, and he slips one arm around her shoulders, letting her hand fall from his. “But can I smack them down if they do the former too much, please?” Smiling to himself, he begins to slow, leisurely walk back to the commons.

“Certainly,” Noémie answers, the glow of winning shining back into her face as he reminds her of the win they’ve just earned. “And then after the party dies down, we can go soothe your ego some, hmm?” Noémie grins as she says this, walking slowly with him toward the commons and sighing a bit as the noise of the boisterous jubilation echoes through the hall. “Into the lion’s den,” she comments with a bit of a chuckle. “Just don’t hurt anyone too hard, alright?” This is more a statement than a request, and she winks at him, before chiming the password and slipping into the commonroom to join the celebration.