H.A.R.R.Y
"Hurry up!" Ron groaned, turning to look back at his friends.
"We're trying, we're trying," Harry wheezed, clutching his side.
"You do realize that if we miss this year's Sorting, it will be the third time in a row for us, and the second time for Ron?" Hermione asked anxiously.
"I know," he replied, attempting to catch up to Ron. After quite a bit of huffing and puffing, they reached the great doors together. Tiptoeing in softly, the heard the Sorting Hat sing the last words to its Song.
"...is true!"
"Whew," the girl breathed, sliding next to her friends. "We didn't miss anything yet."
Professor McGonagall now stepped forward. "Abdul, Zainab." Her voice rang through the Great Hall clearly, and a fidgety, slightly plump girl with frizzy locks perched the Hat on her head. A few moments later:
"Ravenclaw!" The other Ravenclaws applauded, and an older girl immediately started whispering in her ear, pointing out various people and places.
Taking a look at the long line of first-years still waiting to be Sorted, Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Were there that many of us when we first came?" he asked with a frown.
"Dunno," said Ron in a low voice. "But you're right. There's a lot of them, isn't there? I'm not sitting through all those names. I mean, I don't think we know anybody in that line."
The other scanned the crowd of nervous-looking children, and shook his head. "Nope, I don't think so either."
"Exactly. We better keep our voices down if we want to talk, though."
Harry thought this was a good idea, but Hermione gave a disapproving sniff, and kept her eyes focused on the stool. Luckily, she made no attempt to stop her friends from whispering to each other.
Just as he was about to tell Ron about another of Dudley's exploits over the summer, she gave an unusually giggle-like laugh. Both boys whipped their heads around to look where she was looking, but neither laughed.
"What's so funny?" Ron inquired, confused. "You don't usually giggle at funny-looking people. Well, you don't usually giggle at all, but..."
"Her name," Hermione told them between chuckles, "is Cordelianne Andrews." And Harry had to admit that the long-limbed girl striding toward the Sorting Hat looked nothing like a Cordelianne.
She was very brown. Her hair, tied away from her face in a ponytail, was smooth and brown. Her skin, tanned probably from hours and hours outdoors, was brown. Her eyes, darting around the Great Hall curiously, were deep brown. Since he couldn't really bring himself to call her Cordelianne without laughing, he called her the Brown Girl in his thoughts.
The Brown Girl wasn't fat, but more wiry than slender. This combined with the length of her arms, legs, and fingers (and most likely toes too) made her look a bit like a big Brown spider. Black robes seemed very out of place hanging on her body, and Harry imagined that pants and a t-shirt would be more like it.
The Hat had no sooner settled on her brown hair than it called out assuredly, "Gryffindor!"
Putting it back with a smile, she covered the ground between the stool and the Gryffindor table in only a few steps.
"Hello!" she greeted them as soon as she was within earshot. "I'm Ath—I mean, I'm Cordelianne Andrews, but call me Athena if you aren't out to annoy me, please."
Seamus turned his laugh into a cough. Athena looked at him with mild interest.
"It's my middle name. My mother had quite an imagination, and she gave me that name, but my grandmother made me Cordelianne." Now she addressed them all. "So who would you be?" She stared at them each very pointedly. So they really had no choice.
"Seamus Finnigan."
"Lavender Brown"
"Ginny Weasley."
"Dennis Creevey!" Dennis shouted enthusiastically, receiving a chilling glare from Professor McGonagall.
"Ron Weasley."
"Oh. Hi," she replied, then nodded at Harry. "You must be Harry Potter, then. I've heard of you."
He nodded. What else could he do?
"Hi, Harry. Can I sit here?" She indicated the empty chair next to Hermione.
"Of course," she answered, measuring the first-year with her eyes. When Athena had seated herself, Hermione went on. "Did you know that your middle name indicates the same goddess in the Greek/Roman pantheon as Professor McGonagall's first name?"
Athena widened her eyes and looked past the older girl, who turned around but saw nothing. "Her name's Minerva, then," she stated.
"Yes," Hermione replied. "It is. Interesting coincidence, isn't it?" The Brown Girl nodded politely, but it was clear that she wasn't really interested. Then they both returned to watching the Sorting. A bit later, she remarked, "Goodness! How unusual."
Harry and Ron twisted around from their muttered conversation. Athena pointed; Hermione was too polite to. "That's John Miller," she told them. "He looks very normal, doesn't he?"
Although he wouldn't have used 'normal' to describe the boy sitting on the stool, Harry had to agree with her. John Miller was so ordinary—as a person and as a name—that he was quite a rarity. He turned out to be a Hufflepuff.
"Why do they have to take so long with the Sorting?" Ron complained, his stomach rumbling.
"No idea." His friend shrugged. "It's probably a tradition or something."
"So anyway, how does that tell a vision thingy work again?" Harry grinned and explained in a whisper.
"You take a remote control, and—"
"What's a remote control again?"
"A flat thing you hold that controls the television."
"Oh, like a wand?"
Harry fought not to laugh. "Yeah, sort of."
"Oh."
"Right. So you press the 'Power' button, and the television turns on."
"Where's the 'Power' button?"
"On the remote control."
"Oh."
"And see, if you don't like the program they're showing, you can just change channels by—"
"Wait, wait. Channel? What does a channel have to do with tell a visions?"
"Umm...a channel is a sort of, umm, umm..." Luckily, he was spared the ordeal of answering his friend's question by Hermione nudging him in the ribs. "Ow!" he gasped, just managing to keep his voice down. "What was that for?"
"Look up," she hissed, barely moving her lips. He did. Dumbledore was looking straight at him, a warning in those clear blue eyes. Harry gulped, poked Ron, and started actually paying attention to the Sorting. It was hard to concentrate on a crowd of random little kids doing the same thing over and over.
"Georges, Walter." A boy who reminded Harry of Dudley waddled forward, a sneer etched on his pimply face. He looked like a younger, darker-haired, morbidly obese version of Draco Malfoy. Just as he thought, Walter Georges was Sorted into Slytherin.
"Gong, Yu-Ling!" A Chinese girl seated herself on the stool, half-hiding her nervousness. Just a few moments ago, she had looked more absentminded than nervous. After almost a minute, the Hat cried:
"Gryffindor!" Yu-Ling relaxed, lapsing back into her former dreamy mode, as she found a chair for herself.
Sneaking a peek at Dumbledore, Ron punched Harry's arm in a comradely manner. "Psst! Dumbledore's not looking." The other was reluctant to disobey Hogwart's headmaster for many reasons, but it was just a Sorting. He only paid attention when Hermione giggled again. Twice in one evening! Harry thought, amazed, as he looked at the stool again.
A very large boy who could be classified as "plump," although nowhere near Dudley or Walter Georges' girth, had slipped the Sorting Hat on his head. And nearly as soon as he had it properly settled, the Hat announced, "Hufflepuff!"
Professor McGonagall laid her scroll aside and picked up another. "Nakamura, Mizuki!"
Everybody craned their necks so they could actually see the small, frail-looking wisp of a Japanese girl make her way to the Sorting Hat. When she put it on, it fell to her shoulders. Then they waited, and waited, and waited. People began to talk quietly amongst themselves, looking at watches and tapping their feet softly. When more than six minutes had passed and even Professor McGonagall was letting her impatience show, the Hat decided.
"Slytherin!" it called. There was a surprised murmuring.
"Well, you never do know, do you," Ron remarked.
"Slytherins aren't necessarily evil," Hermione reminded them fairly. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, and Harry looked unsure.
"But—" the boys began together.
"But nothing," she said briskly. "Put in very broad terms: All Death Eaters are Slytherins, but not all Slytherins are Death Eaters." Ron merely groaned and rolled his eyes. What seemed like a million names later, a spectacular feast appeared on their plates.