~ Artful Beginnings ~
The light of millions of floating candles flickered, casting shadows around the Great Hall as eighty-nine first year students crowded around the front of the room. The students stood still, whispering quietly to one another as the transfiguration instructor, Professor McGonagall, called their names forth.
One by one, the students mounted the stairs to the raised professor's platform, waiting to be sorted into one of the four Hogwarts' houses. With each name that was called, a tension seemed to build in the room, with eyes flickering toward a small, messy boy with dark hair, green eyes, and a scar on his forehead. It was as if time hung parallel to this boy, as the teachers regarded him with apprehensive stares.
"HARRY POTTER," McGonagall's voice rang out across the crowded room.
All eyes seemed fixed on the messy boy as he ascended the steps and had the Sorting Hat placed upon his head. That was, all eyes except for four, split between two people, of course.
The owners of these two sets of eyes, Hazel Proust and Elinor Dorsey, were currently staring in abject horror as they watched an upper year Hufflepuff dig out a particularly deep wedgie. Their seemingly perverse observations of the student's ministrations most certainly did not stem from an interest in the effects of tiny underwear. Rather, placed at the end of the Ravenclaw table, neither first-year could see much else BUT the rear-ends of the students standing in front of them.
Hazel looked over at Elinor furtively, whispering, "I think his butt is hungrier than I am, even with waiting for this bloody ceremony to be over with!"
This statement was met with a widening of grey eyes as Elinor stifled her laughter with the overly long sleeves of her robe.
Hazel blinked slowly, realizing that her first words of conversation had no semblance of an introduction whatsoever. Then, as a careful afterthought she thrust out her hand toward the other girl, "I'm Hazel by the way, Hazel Proust from Waymouth, on the coast. Who are you?"
Elinor looked over, as if to size up the other girl before accepting the greeting. She had a small round face with brown eyes and tiny rosebud lips. Her hair was plaited back into a large braid, which hung heavy down the middle of her back. For Elinor, none of this was particularly special, she looked like any girl you might pass by on the high street, but what stood out from her inspection was the girl's razor sharp smile and quick wit. Elinor knew that that was often the best way to find some excitement. The best friends are innocuous in appearance, but often hide an artful interior. Looking at Hazel's smile once more, she found that it could even be described as Machiavellian. Was there ever more reason for a friendship? Elinor certainly didn't think so.
She reached out her hand and gripped the other girl's fingers tightly, "Elinor Dorsey from Folkestone, near the North Downs. Lovely to officially meet you."