Purple, red, green, blue - the young girl's hair was turning all sorts of different colours as she watched the rest of her cohort go up towards the hat and have their future decided. The girls seemed reluctant to go anywhere near the hat, and hung towards the back of the group. There was no reason to look at her funnily, the way I did, but nonetheless, the young metamorphagus intrigued me. They were quite rare - a product that only was formed through an interbred magical family's genetic suddenly slamming with that of a muggle-borns. I couldn't, for the life of me, think who the girl's parents could be (of course, I later placed her as the daughter of Andromeda, having gone to school with her mother and finding the metamorphagus' desire to be distanced from her first-name not unlike Andromeda's desire to be distanced from her last).
I usually didn't take any notice of the Sortings - I, Septima Vector, didn't teach First Years, after all. If they decided to do Arthimancy, I would take interest in them. If not - well, I would hope they'd do something good with their lives. But a metamorphagus - that was downright strange.
Soon, "Tonks, Nymphadora!" was called out, and she pushed her way through the crowd, both face and hair going scarlet. She seemed to know she was the centre of attention, and I almost felt sorry for the girl. She swallowed and scrunched up her face, some-what self-conciously, and morphed herself into a girl who looked like a veela - silvery hair, bright blue eyes, high cheekbones and a thin but not skeletal frame. Everyone gasped - one of the other girls in her year (who had already been sorted) fainted, and Madam Pomfrey rushed to her aid. A redheaded boy - the second-eldest Weasley boy - just grinned. She continued up the stairs, flushing still, grinning a little at everyone's reactions, and of course, tripped on the way up the stairs. She didn't seem to be hurt, though did hurry a little quicker up the stairs.
She sat down on the stool, quickly morphing back into herself, and her legs swung, not quite reaching the ground. The hat was placed on her hand, and frowned - it seemed to be sorting through her entire brain. It finally came to a decision ("HUFFLEPUFF!") and she looked relieved, her hair turning a bright bubblegum pink. She sprinted over to the Hufflepuff table, where she was met by a sea of kind faces, and began watching her classmates. Pomona, who was next to me, seemed quite excited - it was her first year as the Head of House. Of course, everyone wanted the metamorphagus in their House, myself including. Not that I was a Head - but Ravenclaw would do well with such a magical anomaly. Quite clever, naturally, metamorphaguses are. Quite powerful.
I always took an interest in her, from her sorting, onwards. She seemed a little wary of me - she never took Arthimancy, silly girl, and always seemed to find me just as odd and perplexing as I found her. Extremely friendly, yes, but a slight shake to her voice.
And now her son, Teddy Lupin, sits in front of my desk, twiddling his thumbs nervously, as if attempting to come up with a reason of why his very first piece of Arthimancy homework is late, and I've told him to sit still and wait for a second. His mother, charming - went and got herself killed in the war.
"I am thinking." I lean forward, just slightly, "That you are a metamorphagus, as was your mother, and you are probably very talented, like your mother. Hufflepuff, like your mother." He chews his lip, looking slightly afraid. "Your mother was afraid of me - I fear she never took Arthimancy because of me, which is a shame, she would've been quite good at it. Your father, of course, was brilliant at it... I'm thinking you should've been Gryffindor, like your father.
Teddy swallows. "Why?"
"You're brave enough to come and talk to me. Your mother would be proud.
"I'm glad you think so."
