1993~
Eleanor read a thick volume silently, curled up near the window of her compartment of the Hogwarts Express. She and the other three passengers, second year Hufflepuff girls, exchanged glances as the train's brakes began to screech. The wrappers of pumpkin pasties and sugar quills piled high between the girls shifted and fluttered onto the floor. Eleanor's Chocolate Cauldron box tumbled away as they came to an abrupt halt.
"What's going on?" asked one of the girls with frizzy brown hair, "why are we stopping?"
Eleanor held onto the latch of the window as the train lurched and the lights went out. She heard the rain beating against the window and the frightened murmur of the other students in their compartments.
"We're not at Hogwarts, why have we stopped?" cried another Hufflepuff girl, hysteria creeping into her voice.
"It's so cold," said the third, watching their breath rise in little clouds.
"Stay calm, everything will be fine," Eleanor tried to reassure them as she walked over to the compartment door.
The sound of the rain disappeared, looking over Eleanor discovered the window had frozen over completely. The train lurched again violently, sending the Hufflepuffs into a fit of screams while Eleanor struggled to stay on her feet. Something was moving on the other side of the compartment door. A ghost clothed in black.
"Bloody hell," she whispered, feeling all of her courage draining right out of her. "Don't move, girls."
They all held their breath as the creature paused at their door, a moment that dragged on painfully long until, at last, it glided away. Eleanor raised her wand to the door, her hand quivering while dozens of spells sparked in her head that she could and probably should use. But nothing happened. Her wand was uselessly resting against the glass of the door. They heard a latch click, and Eleanor could see the ghost disappearing into the compartment next to theirs. The Hufflepuffs sighed in relief. Suddenly, a bright bluish light burst from the other compartment, and the shadow fled, scraping its long, hideous fingers across their door as it went. The girls sat silently, clutching one another with wide eyes as the lights came back on and the train began to move again.
Before picking up her book again, Eleanor saw a young man - too old to be a student, like herself - walking by in a tattered set of robes. The Hufflepuff girls had dissolved into a flurry of hushed chatter until they had reached Hogwarts' station.
The event on the train had left a lasting chill on Eleanor's skin as she followed the line of students inside. How strange it was to see the first years gathering, eyes wide with excitement, while their older counterparts passed by rejoining old friends and teasing the newbies as they disappeared into the Great Hall. Eleanor wasn't entirely sure what she was supposed to do. She wore a set of Hogwarts robes, which bore only the crest of the school itself. It was odd not to see her blue and bronze necktie, or the little eagle that usually emblazoned the side of her robes. Overall it made her feel like an overgrown eleven-year-old. She peeked into the hall and saw a large gathering of students already seated at their tables, while the staff had taken their own seats at the high table.
McGonagall, shepherding the first years into the hall, touched her lightly on the shoulder, "Come with me, my dear."
The elder witch led her to the high table, and seated her on one of the sides next to Professor Sinistra and Professor Sprout. The two women tried their best welcome her, recalling her schooling some twelve years prior. But for Eleanor, it was like being on her best behavior once again, trying her best to remember her manners and posture and every school rule so she wouldn't get a detention or a scolding. It was more awkward than she had anticipated.
"My, how you've grown! Such a lovely young woman you are," said Professor Sprout. Her cheeks flushed pink as she stifled a giggle. Her fingernails were still dark with dirt and her hair still curled wildly out from under her hat. Professor Sprout hadn't changed dramatically - just the color of her hair and the number of wrinkles pinched at the edges of her cheeks had multiplied. There was a comfort in that.
"Thank you, Professor," Eleanor replied.
"Please, you're old enough to call me Pomona," she insisted.
"I've heard you've been off playing Quidditch," said Professor Sinistra, dangling her goblet in two delicate fingers. She appeared, remarkably, unchanged.
"Yes ma'am, for the Welsh National team and the Harpies," she nodded.
The woman nodded and turned to her drink, visibly unimpressed. It stung a little, leaving Eleanor to find refuge in studying the folds of her perfectly placed napkin resting beside her golden plate.
"You always were quite talented," said Pomona, "but I am glad you've returned to study. Such a fine student you were. I'm glad it'll be you snipping leaves and bits instead of Severus. He has absolutely no delicacy about him; treats my Fanged Geraniums so roughly, they wilted for a fortnight!"
Eleanor thanked her as the sorting ceremony started. Everything was just as it was years ago, the worn wooden tables and the benches that made you sit a little too close to your neighbor at times, the hourglasses waiting to be filled, thousands of candles gently drifting overhead that never seemed to drip on anyone. It was comforting, yet memories of not-so-wonderful dinners wandered into her thoughts as she fixed her plate. Especially the one that severed her once-fun friendship with Romilda and Kathleen when Romilda had dropped a nasty handful of comments about Eleanor's mother and blood status. She hadn't expected such treatment from another Ravenclaw, let alone her friend. The start of the end, she supposed.
Eleanor's eyes wandered around the table, noticing the man she had seen on the train. Professor R. J. Lupin, he had been introduced as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and looked as though he hadn't slept in days. The name Lupin sounded like one she had heard during her schooling, but it was reluctant to come to mind. He wore a serene smile and waved timidly to Flitwick - who had been frantically trying to get his attention for several minutes - before sliding into his seat. Next to him was a familiar face, one that made Eleanor nearly choke on her pumpkin juice.
"You alright, dearie?" asked Pomona, who had polished off a leg of chicken in nothing flat.
Eleanor met Snape's gaze, and he looked shocked for an instant before turning away, bearing his usual calm façade as Dumbledore began his start of term speech.
"Y-yes ma'am," she said quietly, sinking in her chair. It seemed her old teacher hadn't lost his scowl, and she wondered how much he had changed. Snape looked uncomfortable next to the new professor, shifting ever so slightly away from him as Dumbledore warned everyone about the dementors outside the castle grounds. That familiar flutter in the pit of her stomach returned and she desperately tried to drown it in pumpkin juice.