Chapter One
'Unorthodox'
Just when the world seems unsettled enough, Dumbledore throws another element into the mire
"…therefore the school will, thankfully, be going ahead with a new year despite suggestions to the contrary.
"First-years should take note that the forest on the edge of the grounds is forbidden to all students; a few of our older witches and wizards have finally taken my advice and remembered this in recent years," Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles at Harry, Ron, and Hermione as he said this, and his smile was returned warmly, albeit rather sheepishly, from the three seventh-years.
"Also, our caretaker Mr.Filch has asked me to tell you that he has added another ten items to the list of objects forbidden in the corridors; this I believe brings the number of forbidden objects to 234.
"On a lighter note, to celebrate Halloween there will be a masquerade ball organised by the Head Boy, Head Girl, and respective House Prefects," At this, Head Students' Hermione and Draco Malfoy threw each other a look of resigned distain, Malfoy adopting his usual curled lip, Hermione raising her eyes to the enchanted ceiling.
Dumbledore now paused briefly and looked straight down the middle of the house tables to the oak doors at the back of the Great Hall, through which the torso of Professor McGonagall could be seen. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows a hairs-width in question; McGonagall replied with a faint inclination of her head. Dumbledore continued in a light, yet grave, tone;
"Finally, we have something which may appear strange and even slightly alarming considering the current times. One thing it is, certainly, is unorthodox – yet still it stands. Mr.Filch, if you please."
Filch proceeded from the side of the hall carrying the Sorting Hat and a three-legged stool, upon which he placed the former in its place at the front of the Great Hall facing the rest of the student body. A murmuring instantly rippled through the hall; the sorting had already taken place – perhaps a student had missed the train and had turned up late? Just in time it seemed – dark storm clouds had formed in the enchanted ceiling.
The whispers were brought to an abrupt halt as the great oaken doors were flung wide to a flash of lightening and almost instantaneous crack of thunder: Professor McGonagall entered the hall and proceeded to the staff table; but they who followed was no late student.
Ten paces behind McGonagall strode a girl of seventeen, head held high, shoulders set back, an unmistakable air of quiet confidence emanated from her person. Witch and wizard alike gaped and stared; her lithe form, well curved in all of the right places, was swathed in that years' Hogwarts uniform of white shirt, grey pleated skirt and v-neck jersey, and black robe. Her own added touch appeared in the form of opaque black hose caressing tantalisingly slim, yet curiously muscular, legs, and pointed kitten-heel black courts, which clicked commandingly with every step. As of yet the braiding of her jersey and robe, and her tie, were grey, these having been charmed to change immediately to the relevant house colours upon the Sorting Hat's judgment. A few of the less inhibited and more blatant boys craned their necks to see her face; yet all that could be seen from their sitting vantage point was the smooth, thick mass of caramel hair that flowed silkily, with the faintest wave, to half-way down her shoulder blades.
The girl reached the stool upon which the Sorting Hat rested, stopped, and could be seen to raise her head to look at Dumbledore, who gave her an encouraging smile and nod of the head. Only then did she turn to face the rest of the school, and give the curious students the sight they had been waiting for: A heart-shaped face framed by the aforementioned silken mane - the front section of her hair where a fringe would have been arched from a widow's peak and fell on either side of her forehead to her ears, framing her face beautifully; her nose; small, perfectly straight but with the merest trace of an upturned end gave her an elfin appearance, and complemented the full-lipped, slightly pouting, cupids-bow red mouth it was situated over. Her complexion was that of peach; flawless, with a hint of rose about her high cheekbones. Her eyes, however, demanded all attention – hazel green, framed by long, jet-black lashes; so large that they commanded the awareness of even the most unwilling. Every student was struck dumb, either by her sure demeanor, her breathtaking beauty, or both. Behind her, McGonagall lifted the Sorting Hat from the stool,
"Dawson, Jessica," Jessica sat down on the stool, and McGonagall placed the Hat on her head.
"Well, well, we meet at last," a small voice spoke into Jessica's ear, "Dumbledore's told me all about you. You and I both know that I could place you in any of the four houses and that you would be at home; yet we also both know that you have a very important task ahead of you, and in order to achieve its end you must be in SLYTHERIN!" With the last word a rip in the brim of the Hat opened wide and announced to all who sat before them the house placement of the newcomer. At the same time, the braiding of her robe and colours of her tie turned to emerald green and silver and the Slytherin crest embellished itself above her left breast.
McGonagall removed the Hat and the girl rose, stepped down from the stool, and made her way towards the sea of silver and green.
