Author: Lucinda
Rated: T for teen, comparable to the books & movies.
Main character: Minerva
I still have no legal ownership rights to the Harry Potter series, except for having purchased some physical copies of books & movies. JKR, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, and a bunch of other people who aren't me own them. There are a wide assortment of original characters, as this is NOT set during the time of the Harry Potter, son of James and Lily, attending Hogwarts.
..HP…PS…HP…PS..
"MacIntyre, Minerva!" The slender grey man called, his accent making it clear he was thoroughly English.
Minerva sat on the stool, a small smile on her face as the hat was placed on her head. She'd never left the Highlands before coming to this school, this Hogwarts. She was nervous verging on terrified, but her father had always told her not to let anyone she didn't trust see her vulnerable, not to let them see fear or regret or shame or guilt. He'd also suggested she carry a few good blades in case they proved themselves enemies and dangerous.
Most of the other students, most of them older and bigger, had accents marking them as English. To her initial confusion, they didn't all have the same accent, but after a while she'd decided that made sense too. Not everyone in the Highlands sounded exactly the same, she could tell where they were from listening to them talk, it likely worked the same for the Lowlanders and the English as well. She just didn't know enough to match accents to places.
'What have we here?' the words, a papery textured voice, with the strangest accent Minerva had ever heard, appeared in her mind. It was almost like someone had spoke to her, but bypassed her ears altogether.
She tried to focus her thoughts. 'Minerva MacIntyre. My friends and only my friends can call me Minnie. You're… the hat?'
'I am indeed the hat. You've been watching as I Sorted the other first years, haven't you? What… Minerva MacIntyre, you are entirely too small to properly wield a claymore! Even if you have been taking lessons in how to use one.'
'From what I saw, they sit down, a great big hat is dropped over their heads, and one of the school houses is named. There's been nowt of hearing a conversation first!' Minerva insisted to the hat. '… and I'll grow. Sooner or later, I'll be big enough for the claymore.'
'There's only one place for you, young miss Minerva.' The hat felt amused and the next word was loud enough for the whole hall to hear, and echoed in her ears instead of just slipping into her skull - "Gryffindor!"
So Minerva MacIntyre took her place at the table with the red runner down the center, the red napkins folded beside the gleaming plates – surely those couldn't be real gold? – and the red banner with the lion over head. Only after she'd found a place and settled onto the bench, hands folded on her lap, coincidentally well positioned to either elbow some lout or pull the knife from her sleeve as needed, did she begin looking around with more curiosity.
There was a cluster of boys further down the table, near a dozen of them at least, ranging from a bit bigger than herself to nearly grown, and she had noted another with the same bright reddish mop waiting to be sorted. Clearly a large family, mayhaps even a small clan. Two spots to the left and across the table from her was a boy with hair the color of good earth, one eye a dark brown and the other almost a cat's green. A bit towards the teachers' table was a girl she couldn't see very well, at least a year ahead of her, with a braid of near-white hair that had to reach the back of her knees, with a gold ribbon threaded through and used to tie it off at the end.
Somehow, the stripes around the sleeves and lower hem of her robe had gone from grey to red, with a thin edging of gold. The proper billowing grey scarf she'd wrapped around her throat had also changed to red, shot through with thin gold tracings which suggested they'd form a picture if the scarf was unfolded. Likely a lion to match the overhead banner.
"The color changed to reflect the sorting?" she hadn't quite intended the words to be out loud.
"Of course," offered an older girl across the table. She had her hair in a shockingly frivolous style, with ringlets the shade of ripe wheat, the top portion pulled away and pinned into a knot with the rest spilling down her back, except for a single curl falling over her shoulder and almost to her elbow. Her school robe fell open to show a pale yellow dress, edged with white lace at the throat and closed with a golden broach. "How else to tell at a glance where each of us belong?"
Minerva gave a small nod to show she was listening even as a part of her mind boggled at how casual the girl seemed. Her appearance suggested she wasn't so much concerned with being respectable and taking life seriously and was more interested in being pretty, perhaps even attracting suitors. Between the comment and the girl's appearance, Minerva began to wonder just how many things were done differently here, and how many of them she'd need to guess at or stumble into in order to learn.
It didn't take too much longer until the sorting was finished, and the red haired boy turned out to be Ector Weasley, the last student sorted into Gryffindor for their year. He was only followed by 'Yaxley, Almondine' to Slytherin and 'Zabini, Antonio' to Ravenclaw. Then Headmaster Dippet spoke a few words about making efforts to study and finding or returning to their homes away from home, where they would make friendships to last lifetimes. And suddenly the tables were covered with an astounding assortment of food, some of which Minerva had never seen before and couldn't quite name beyond fish or vegetables or some sort of red meat.
Minerva would admit she ate far too much. She hadn't taken very much of most things, but she'd taken small portions of everything she didn't recognize within polite distance to try new things. She had no idea what would be the normal meals available here, and thought it best to have an idea if she liked any of the various unfamiliar dishes. It just added up to so much food! She still managed to consume a small wedge of apple pie and a scoop of custard when the wide range of supper disappeared, replaced in moments by a large assortment of deserts.
After all of the students, returning and newly sorted, had feasted to their hearts content and squished in a measure of sweets beyond, Headmaster Dippet stood again. His words started with the importance of their studies, and how these years at Hogwarts would give them the education and connections they would need for the rest of their lives… and then it just… wandered. At one point there was talk of a Ministry and a saint, another seemed to be talking about money and ditches, and she had no idea how hippogryphs came into the matter. Something about caution due to a few seconds being able to cause a lifetime of trouble. She did understand the part about anyone needing assistance seeking help from a prefect, identified by the bronze or silver badges worn just beneath their clavicles on the front of their robes. Minerva knew from her Gran's work as a midwife that 'clavicle' was another name for the collar-bone.
Then they were all told to go to their common rooms, and for prefects to remember to guide the first years to the House dormitories. With that, each group of students stood up from the suddenly empty tables. What might have been an elegant, well-coordinated display was rather ragged as not everyone seemed to have caught whatever subtle signal had prompted most of the older students to stand. She made an effort to stay within ten feet of a girl with inky hair braided into dozens of tiny braids which had then been pinned up in a complex pattern keeping it all very tidy, using gleaming pins which looked quite long enough to be used as weapons in a pinch, and smooth dark skin, the silver prefects badge bright against her Hogwarts robe, and bare hints of a long sleeves and a high collar in a dark golden shade peeking from underneath. The Gryffindors meandered through halls, and up two flights of stairs, off towards the south past eight windows – Minerva counted – and then down a flight of stairs to a section of damp hallway without any sign of windows, before going up six flights of stairs to face a large painting featuring a plump woman in a fancy pink gown.
After one of the prefects spoke to the woman in the painting – and wasn't that a surprise for Minerva! – the painting swung away from the wall, revealing a large room. There were four fireplaces across three of the walls, though she couldn't swear there wasn't one on the same wall as the entry. Hogwarts castle seemed to laugh at common architectural traditions. Couches and chairs and padded stools were scattered around the room, with carpets in red and gold and patterns mixing the two covering much of the stone floor. It took only a little time for all the Gryffindors to enter the room and begin to scatter. It seemed girls and boys were grouped into rooms by year, with the rooms for girls up one staircase and boys a different one.
Minerva walked deeper into the room, pausing on a red carpet with thin yellow stripes. She turned around the room, trying to see everything. This was supposed to be her new home, for ten months out of each of the next seven years!
"I don't know why the Ministry even lets that sort in. Everyone knows the Scots are savages," sniffed a boy in fancy clothing, his robe worn open to show the fancy, starched white shirt and the scarlet cravat pinned with a gleaming golden lion.
"Do you not realize we are in Scotland?" Minerva gasped at the boy, wondering how little sense he might have in his head. Didn't he realize where the school was located? How the Scots still held their warrior traditions while most of the British had tossed their own warrior heritage aside for fancy suits and confusing speeches? Though the boy did look like he had more money than sense…
"Be silent when your betters are talking," he made a dismissive little motion with his hand.
Minerva launched herself at him with a scream, tackling him to the ground. One hand had seized his wand hand, and her nails were digging into his wrist. The other hand had seized his fancy light brown hair, and she was attempting to beat his skull in against the fancy red carpet. The stone would probably be a better choice, but he'd fallen in the middle of a carpet, she she'd just have to bash his head that much harder. Fancy-boy was shrieking and flailing rather uselessly, as if being loud enough would save him.
In the end, it took five of the older students to pry Minerva away from the fancy boy, who'd stopped screaming. His hair was no longer in the neat little ponytail, and more than a few strands were caught in Minerva's fingers. Bloody gouges had been left in his wrist, and his fingers seemed to be curled closed, though hardly in a proper fist.
Fancy-boy was taken to the hospital wing, and didn't return that night. Minerva found herself lectured for almost a half hour before one of the prefects demanded to know why she'd attacked William Stanford, which was apparently Fancy-boy's name, in the first place.
She'd angrily muttered that the boy with more money than sense was complaining about some Ministry permitting Scottish students at a school located in Scotland, had called them all savages, and then told her to be silent when her betters were talking. And he wasn't her better!
The prefect had blinked a few times, said something she didn't understand in the Irish tongue, and then sighed, "You still need to work on your temper. Your first resort shouldn't be trying to bash his near-empty head into the floor. Bad for the carpets anyhow."
"Should I aim him for the stones next time?" Minerva had asked, still seething.
"I'm fairly sure I should be trying to help you find a way to control your temper enough there won't be a next time," the Irish prefect muttered.
The Irish prefect had a brief conference with three other prefects , one of them the dark girl with the elaborate braids. After a bit, they decided Minerva would have to work with some of the Quidditch players to help harness her temper. From these words, Minerva gathered Quidditch was some sort of sport, though it didn't involve arrows or swords. She'd apparently learn a good deal more tomorrow.
Minerva was pleasantly surprised to learn the other five girls she'd be sharing a room with seemed much better mannered. One had straight, shiny black hair, dark skin and a name Minerva hadn't the first idea how to spell, and apparently her parents were from India. There were a pair of slightly rounded blonde girls with soft voices, pale blue eyes and matching British accents, who were cousins named Georgia and Victoria Hathaway, and they asked if anyone would mind them setting up a tapestry loom in the corner, as their Gran thought all well-educated young ladies should know how to make tapestries. There was Edgecombe, a lanky looking girl with chestnut hair and bronze glasses, who was sure her family would be appalled she hadn't wound up in Ravenclaw like the last eight generations of her ancestors. The last was Leto Lupin, a lean girl with dull brown hair, almost golden-hazel eyes, and moved like she'd rather be outside, perhaps even wearing trousers.
Minerva had smiled at Leto, delighted by her name. "My own name is the Roman version of one of the Greek goddesses, so I'll offer my support to another with a name from myth. Do you study archery, perhaps?"
Her time here might not be so bad after all.
In the morning, Prefect O'Mallory introduced her to Caspian Longbottom, the new Gryffindor Quidditch captain, with the words, "This is Minerva MacIntyre, and we think Quidditch could help her control her temper. She also seems to have some good arm strength, so maybe you can train her up as a chaser or a beater."
By the end of the afternoon, Minerva had found a second reason she wanted to grow. Quidditch was amazing, and she thought either chaser or beater would be delightful, though beater might not be too much help with her temper. On Mondays, she would be training in beater techniques with the cousins Franklin and Charles Weasley, as would half a dozen hopefuls who wanted to be chosen for the reserve team once try-outs were officially held. On Tuesdays and Saturdays, she would be training in chaser techniques with Eleanor Cooper and Ian O'Shaunessy, again with a good dozen other people wanting to try to get on the team. She didn't care how many other people wanted to train, she would be getting onto the team next year, once she'd had more time to learn the rules, practice the techniques, and grow a little.
By the end of the first week, Minerva had been in two more fights, one with a rather insulting pale boy in green robes called Abraxus Malfoy, and the other with a first year Hufflepuff called Doug from a family who'd been feuding with the MacIntyres for generations. She'd decided Doug was alright, and she loathed that arrogant Malfoy.
And now all of Gryffindor were either calling her the Scottish Lioness or the Little Lioness. She'd take that over Minnie any day. Yes, she thought she'd enjoy Hogwarts, even if she couldn't bring her claymore this year. There was always hope for next year…
End Pottery Shards 43: Sorting Minerva