This chapter was a one shot written in a very different style, but of what would turn out to be pretty much the same story. I've decided to put it in, but it remains nothing more than a Bonus Chapter.
BlueberryQuill
You would have thought that the Ravenclaw house would have been the least prone to idle gossip. After all, when you put us up against the melodramatic Gryffindors and those conniving Slytherins, how interested could we really be in the rest of the schools' shenanigans?
But, oh the contrary.
The only thing we loved more than decaffeinated tea and a nice pop-quiz was a good, old-fashioned ego-boost.
So, naturally, when little Sarah Crosby spotted Kora 'I'm-not-a-tomboy' Tomboy Maver's shoes strung from the inner-workings of the clock tower she couldn't wait to announce that we were about to be privy to dinner - or rather breakfast - and a show. And when that same Kora marched in; hair dishevelled, face furious and—you guessed it—barefoot, Sarah could do nothing but take a victory sip of pumpkin juice and let us marvel how she could have possibly deduced that from a pair of astray converse.
"But how did you know they were hers?" asked an awed Todd Lightfoot, one of only five new first years. It seemed that less and less made the cut each year. Of course, mid-war, more and more people were sending their children abroad or evacuating the country altogether.
"Her name was written on the soles…duh!" Sarah, with a flick of her hair, got up and marched down to the end to join the rest of the third years.
"The third years, they really think they're all that. Don't they?" Lysandra picked through her magazine, Brews unBottled; decoding confusing cordials, circling various items with a fat marker pen. Her demolished breakfast lay in front of her; only the first years were still eating. They hadn't yet shaken off their 'everything-is-so-new-so-I've-got-to-take-it-in-as -quickly-as-possible-itis'. Todd, who looked positively ill, was still trying to work his way through the entire range of food. I gave him one more waffle until he actually threw up.
"Just because they can go to Hogsmeade now, they think they're the bees' knees. Speaking of which," I said pointing to one of the items on her catalogue page, "Bees' knees are a potion ingredient? What?"
"Yeah," she said, drawing a thick line round the black and yellow bottle. "How they actually collect them I don't know. Bees do have very small legs," she noted. I couldn't help but agree. "They're used in confidence potions."
"Confidence potions, aren't they a bit redundant? Surely three shots of firewhisky would do the same job?"
"No hangover." Lysandra pointed out.
"Fair enough."
"Shut it, you lot! I've got an announcement." Mr No-Crap Carden growled in his Scottish burr from the head of the table, interrupting the buzz of conversation, loud enough that even the third-years quietened. Even Todd paused, his spoon midway to his already full mouth. Carden flicked his wand, distributing timetables out to the various students.
Mr Carden was, by far, my favourite teacher. He was also the last person you'd expect to be heading Ravenclaw house. Instead of the studious, quiet book-worm most expected, he was an obnoxious, fat man with an abnormal amount of different coloured tartan bow-ties. If you got a question right in class he threw you a Liquorice Snap, but, then again, he did the same if you answered wrong. I suppose it depended on your catching skills whether that was a reward or punishment.
In the kerfuffle to grap our timetables before they landed in the milk bowls, nobody noticed Maver creep out.
