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"'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss."
-- Pericles, Act I, Scene II -- William Shakespeare
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"Ah," Angeline said, "You're back, finally." She was curled up in one of the over-stuffed leather easy chairs that could be found scattered in the Marlowe family sitting room. It was a piece of furniture straight out of Masterpiece Theatre, right down to the gold buttons in the back. The woman, however, was not respecting the dignity that the chair deserved; her feet hung over the edge and she yawned elegantly while watching her child flop into another seat across from her.
"Yes," Guin said, rubbing her eyes. "We went out for pizza, and then we stayed to see the Alley at night... It's beautiful, Mother. Some of the shop-keepers have fairy-strings in the windows."
"I know," the woman replied, a bit distantly. Her wide, sea green eyes stared past Guin to some point in the past, and the smile that touched her lips was fond. "Your father and I used to walk there, before he went and got himself killed." The irony of the words was evident, though why, Guin could not fathom. Holding her breath, she waited for Angeline to continue, but was disappointed when her mother merely said shortly, "Shouldn't you be going to sleep, dear? It's rather late. You'll be simply exhausted in the morning."
"I'm not really tired, Mother."
"I know. Just go upstairs and lie in bed until you are. You won't regret it the next day, I think."
"But Mother—"
"No arguments. Up, up you go!" she said cheerfully, sliding from the chair and shooing her daughter out of the room and up the stairs. Guin grumbled the whole way, planning to escape once Angeline returned to the sitting room; maybe sneak into the kitchen for a late snack, but Angeline gave her no opportunity. "There. Now sleep."
Guin sighed, flopping onto her bed. Liadan followed closely behind, green-yellow eyes slitting thoughtfully. "Mew," she said, snuggling against Guin's side. The girl hugged the kitten to her, taking comfort from the warmth the animal offered.
"Something's odd, Liadan, and I just can't figure out what it is..."
-----
It was a very strange week that Guin spent at home. Angeline was still unnaturally /happy/, which worried her daughter to no end. All her life, living with the blonde woman was like treading on nails, there was always a vague sense of unease that she would step the wrong way, and bring Angeline's wrath down upon her head. This summer, however, was different. It was as though her mother was a completely different person, one who fell into an easy, chattering repartee and hummed to herself as she worked.
Finally, on the day before leaving for the new school year, Guin confronted her about it. "Mother, is something wrong?"
"Wrong? Why, have I developed dark circles under my eyes?" Said eyes crinkled momentarily, slight dangerous hint to them.
"Noooo.." Guin said, mentally smacking herself. Bad idea, Guin, /bad idea/!
"Guinivere, there is nothing wrong. I'm just ... I'm happy. Is that a crime?"
"No, Mother." She decided that it was a lost cause and excused herself, heading outside. It was cloudy and overcast, a depressing sort of morning that carried a light fog onto the ground, which wisped around the trees with an eerie air of ghostliness. Guin found that the dreariness was inspiring, in an odd sort of way; an idea for a poem formed itself in her head. It was as such, lost in thought, that she was startled by the thump behind her.
Whirling, she reflexively pulled out her wand, ready to repel the intruder by force if necessary. Liadan hissed a warning, and she managed to pocket the length of ebony before the figure noticed. "/Greg/?" she asked, startled. "How – what are you doing here?"
The blond boy grinned mischievously at her. "I climbed over the wall, of course!"
"But /why/ did you do that? You could have broken your neck!"
"I didn't, though."
"Angeline would burst a blood vessel if she found out. Come on, I'll open the gates so you can leave..."
"No, wait, I wanted to apologize."
"Apologize?" Guin asked blankly. "For what?"
"Something I said the other day? I don't know. You ran away; I figured I must have offended you?"
"Nothing of the sort," Guin said, shaking her head.
"Then why did you run?"
"I had to get home. My mother was taking me to London." The magical part of London, but it wasn't a real lie. "Here, come on. We can walk and talk at the same time. Or is that too much for you?" Guin asked dryly.
"You'll be impressed, I know," Greg told her, grinning, "Not only can I walk and talk in tandem, but I can chew gum at the same time."
"Amazing!" Guin said, aping an expression of awe.
"So where /do/ you go to school, anyway?" he asked.
Oh, Gregory, Guin thought to herself, you have the uncanny knack of ruining a conversation! What she said was, "It's a really elite school in Scotland... Mother's an alumnus."
"Oh," he said, shaking his head. "Glad I don't have to go anywhere like that... I've got no family reputation to live up to. I'll be a Brussels sprout harvester for Brendan, just like my dad does for Brendan's dad."
"You don't have to," Guin said, as they wandered down the lane.
"Yes, I do," Greg said, sounding quite resigned to his fate. "What else could I do?"
"Anything," Guin replied, "The world is full of possibilities." She unlatched the snake-gates and closed them again when he slipped out behind her. "You know, they were unlocked. You didn't have to climb over the wall."
"But going through the gates takes away the adventure of it all!" he insisted. "Really, though, there are no other opportunities."
"Make them," Guin said. "Nothing's ever forced upon you."
"I bow down to your wisdom, oh-philosophical-guru!" he exclaimed.
"You know, Greg," Guin said to him suddenly, "I'm glad you climbed over the wall this morning."
"Well," he replied with an impish smile, "That's good to know. 'Cos I wouldn't've wanted to fall into those thorn bushes for nothing."
-----
"So you're friends with the L'Argent boy?" Angeline asked, keeping her eyes on the road as the Z3 zipped through an intersection with careless ease. One of the motorists that she'd cut off made a rude gesture at Angeline, and she calmly muttered a curse in his direction. However, unlike normal drivers who swore often on the road, Angeline's particular hex, used without a wand, would later give the man some rather embarrassing complications involving rashes and itching in unmentionable places.
"Not really /friends/, Mother..." Guin said, squirming in the bucket seat, and trying not to giggle at the thought of what would happen to that poor man when he returned home tonight.
"Oh?" Angeline said, eyes narrowing as she sighted along another sharp turn.
"Well... we're not really /friends/... per say," Guin finished lamely.
"If you ever decide where you stand with the poor child," Angeline said, "You should know that the friendship bears my approval."
"Really," Guin replied neutrally.
"Of course," Angeline said. "I knew both of his parents, when I attended Hogwarts. Aviva was a year younger than Jack, but they're good people. Slytherins through and through." Exactly what Angeline meant by that, Guin wasn't sure, but it took her back to a memory of last year, when Jack L'Argent had told her something of the Marlowe family past: both Angeline and the long-dead Edmund had at one point been Death Eaters. Jack L'Argent had some interesting opinions on Angeline's character, as well.
Changing the subject, Guin asked, "So, Mother – how long will that man's affliction last?"
Angeline smiled a Mona Lisa grin. "Indefinitely."
-----
Guin amused herself by watching those who were obviously first-years, and Muggle-born, attempt to figure out the way into the barrier. One dark skinned boy was frowning thoughtfully at the space between 9 and 10, ebon eyes narrowed as he tried to work out the problem logically. Noticing the auburn-haired girl watching him, the child took in the unleashed cat by her side, the small smirk on her face, and put two and two together. He approached her quietly, and smoothed his face into an unconcerned glance. "Excuse me," he asked her politely, "But would you know how to—"
"Get onto 9 ¾?" she finished for him.
"Yes," he said, relief causing the calm facade to break into a smile.
"Watch me," she instructed him. Dragging her suitcase with her, Guin leaned nonchalantly against the barrier, as though taking a rest while watching the rest of the station. Canting backward ever so lightly, Guin found herself falling through the barrier and into Platform 9 ¾, a hive of buzzing students and wizard parents. She waited patiently for the black boy to arrive after her, and, sure enough, a moment later, he stepped through.
"Thank you," he said, with a tiny grin.
"Not a problem," Guin said gallantly, "You catch on faster than most. My friend Rilla bumped into thing three times before she made it through – she got some odd glances for that!"
The boy's smile, larger this time, as a bare quirk of the mouth, but crinkled his eyes until they almost closed. "I'm Loren Crawford," he said, as though expecting her to laugh at the first name.
"Guinivere Marlowe," she said, holding out her hand. They shook, and Guin found herself instinctively liking the boy. He had a calm air about him, as though nothing fazed the collected mind behind enigmatic sable eyes. Glancing over Loren's shoulder, she saw L'Argent and Rilla. "There's my friends – I have to get going." And then, something prompted her to add in an unusually friendly manner, "Hey, if you've got any questions, come to me, okay?"
"I'll do that," he said, gratified, before being assimilated into a crowd of first-years.
"Hey – hope to see you in Slytherin!" Guin added, but she wasn't sure if he heard.
"Who was that?" Rilla asked curiously, as she pulled and heaved at her heavy suitcase.
"New kid," Guin informed her, "Muggle-born, but not a bad sort at all. His name's Loren Crawford."
"I had a great-uncle who had people call him Loren," Rilla said thoughtfully, "It was short for Lawrence, and he always hated that name."
"I can certainly see why!" L'Argent said, also approaching. His baggage was notably smaller than Rilla's, and he pointed this out at once. "You're turning into a clothes horse in your old age," he told her sadly.
"Am not!" Rilla stuck her tongue out at him.
"As much as I enjoy the unique experience of breaking up a fight between /you/ guys, I'm going to have to step in now," Guin said.
"Awww," L'Argent said, sounding like a little child who'd had his lollipop taken away.
"Hm—" Guin said, catching sight of a small, redheaded girl walking behind two older boys with the same fiery shade of hair. "Looks like we've got another Weasley to contend with," she observed.
"As if the school needed another," L'Argent said sadly.
They boarded the train and managed to battle the suitcases long enough to shove the recalcitrant objects into the overhead compartments. After a moment, Ethan and Winston joined them, both of whom were able to squeeze themselves onto a bench, along with L'Argent, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I swear," Ethan said, a touch irritably, "There's about twice the number of firsties than there were last year."
Winston looked as though he would have pushed a pair of spectacles further up the bridge of his nose, if he'd possessed them. "It's not a /bad/ thing," he informed Ethan. "We can always use more wizards in the world. Especially now that it seems You-Know-Who's stirring." That statement caused some stirring of its own in the compartment as the children shifted uncomfortably.
"Speaking of Weasleys," Rilla said suddenly, "I saw Fred, George, Percy, and Ginny, but I didn't see Ron. For that matter, I didn't see Harry, either."
"Potter and Weasley are probably just buying sweets," L'Argent said dismissivley.
Rilla shrugged. "Nothing could have happened—"
Just then, Hermione Granger poked her head into the compartment. Upon finding it filled with Slytherins, except for Rilla and Winston, she addressed her question more generally towards them. It was not that she was prejudiced against them, Guin guessed, but simply that she didn't expect them to know the answer to what she was asking. "Have any of you seen Harry or Ron?"
"No," Winston said.
"Are you sure?" Hermione persisted.
"Of course," Winston responded, sounding a bit miffed. "I'm not usually wrong about those things."
With a sigh, Hermione turned to the rest of them. "Any of you?"
"No," they chorused.
A small orange head appeared behind her, face pale, worried, and voice uncertain. "Did you find them, Hermione?"
"No, I didn't, Ginny. Let's keep moving..."
-----
After disembarking the train, the small group of second-years stuck together as they were herded to horse-less carriages, clambering into them one by one. Guin caught sight of Loren waiting by the side of the milling first years, the only one who did not look the least bit nervous. She waved to him, eliciting one of the eye-smiles, which he was already becoming recognized for.
The ride to the castle was somewhat bumpy, prompting Rilla to remark that she much preferred the boat trip of last year. "Oh, well," she concluded philosophically, "I suppose we have no choice in the matter." The carriage screeched to a stop in front of Hogwarts, and Guin was somewhat chagrined to find that the other coaches did not seem nearly as worn down as theirs. Sighing, she joined her friends in walking through the doors into another school year.
It was a different sort of experience, passing by the white-faced children waiting to be Sorted, and sitting down at the Slytherin table right away. With another sigh, she found that Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson had returned for another year. On the other hand, friendlier familiar faces were present, as well – Jessica, Blaise Zabini, and several of the older Slytherins who looked out for their younger counterparts.
McGonagall was stepping forward to place the Hat on a three-legged stool, she said something that was drowned out in the buzz of noise – which gradually quieted to complete silence as the hat began to sing. Guin leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, listening and watching as the ragged brim opened up to a dark maw, breaking into song and to her amusement, Guin found that this year the Sorting Hat was harmonizing with itself.
"Once upon a time there was
A group of mages bold,
Who rebelled against convention
And the accepted law of old.
They formed a school, a haven safe
Where the future wizards came,
A place where talent needn't chafe
Nor cause a source of Muggle blame.
I was the indirect result of this,
An afterthought of sorts.
They swore no wizard-child t' miss,
But for choosing, lacked a course.
From whence a means of finding
That which lay beneath the skin?
From Godric's head a way of binding
And Hogwarts Houses to begin.
In Slytherin, the ambitious sly
In Gryffindor, the daring fit
In Hufflepuff, the loyal lie,
And Ravenclaw, the bookish sit.
So though I may be ancient, true,
Don't worry, alarm, or even fear
Into a home I shall sort you,
To your new House you will adhere."
Though the tune was catchy, Guin was somewhat disappointed by the rhyming. "I'm a better poet than that Hat is," she told Ethan.
"You know," he told her, "You're always accusing L'Argent of having an ego, but I think that yours is just as large as his is."
As there was no answer to this foolishness, Guin turned her eyes to watch the sorting. Abernathy, James, was approaching the stool, but the Hat did not seem to interest him. He was more concerned with taking in the room around him, and the people in it. In the middle of examining the enchanted ceiling, which sparkled with stars, James Abernathy accidentally tripped over the chair. The Hall rang with laughter as he picked up the Sorting Hat and the chair, sat down, and placed it on his head.
"Either Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff—" L'Argent grinned. A minute later:
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Archer, Rebecca!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Bannon, Conal!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Bertram, Alisa!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Where's Professor Snape?" Malfoy wondered. "I see Potter and Weasley haven't bothered to show their faces yet, either."
"They weren't on the train," Blaise answered, then shrugged. "And if the vanished into some odd alternate universe," she grinned, "What does that matter to us? Maybe we'll have a chance at winning the Quidditch cup this year."
Malfoy's face turned mysterious, and he shared a conspiratorial glance with Flint. "We have more than a chance at winning. It's in the bag."
"Why?" Blaise asked, curious.
"It's a secret now, but you'll see soon enough!" Flint said, with an equally wide grin.
Guin wasn't really paying attention; she was watching the first years as Bjornson, Anja, became a Hufflepuff, and Crabbe, Dempsey, was rapidly Sorted into Slytherin. She rather pitied the younger Crabbe brother, as he looked nowhere near as vapid as his older sibling did.
Loren Crawford had seen something beyond the crowd of first-years, and was telling it to Professor Snape, who had appeared in the group and was looking at once triumphant and vindictive. "Uh-oh," L'Argent said, "Someone's about to lose a limb." The source of the miniature commotion was to be found readily enough, as both Potter and Weasley had appeared at the door. Snape, looking as though he had just received an early birthday present, moved over to confront them.
"Crawford, Lawrence?" was repeated, in a somewhat puzzled tone, and then, "Is he here?"
"I'm here!" Loren said, and moved towards the stool, placid-eyed as always. There were more giggles to be heard throughout the Great Hall, but he ignored them and hid his face in the depths of the hat. It took a while to decide where to place the boy, but eventually yelled, "SLYTHERIN!"
As Loren made his way over, Guin waved to him. "Welcome," she said, grandly, "To the best House in the school."
"I'd like to spend some time here before I make up my mind," Loren said, with an impish grin.
"As you like," L'Argent replied, "But Marlowe's not exaggerating, you know."
Snape returned as Weasley, Virginia, was Sorted into Gryffindor. Potter and Weasley were still absent, and the head of Slytherin House was looking rather sour. Guin supposed that the two of them had somehow managed to squirm out of any serious trouble and, judging from the new empty place at the staff table, McGonagall had something to do with it. Clearing his throat, Dumbledore stood up, a serene statue facing the turmoil with a smile. "Welcome, students, to a new year. I hope sincerely," he continued, "That this one shall be calmer than last." This elicited some chuckles from the crowd, especially the teachers.
He continued, and Guin tuned him out again, until Lockhart was introduced. "Joining us this year," the Headmaster concluded, "In the capacity of Defense Against the Dark Arts, is Gilderoy Lockhart." The man in question sprang to his feet, brilliant aquamarine robes shimmering in the candlelight, as he waved enthusiastically at them. "Yes, Gilderoy, I'm sure they're glad to see you, too. Now, we shall sing the school so—" Lockhart was still waving, and Dumbledore, in a dry tone, gestured for him to be seated. "Enough, Gilderoy."
Guin made a gagging noise, and shook her head sadly. "We have to put up with ... /that/ all year. I can't believe it."
"Do you think he's lying about all the stuff he's done in the books?" Loren asked them, sable eyes widening imperceptibly.
"Of course," Ethan said, shaking his head. "My Da investigated it, and he supposes it's all a fraud."
Perhaps Lockhart felt the combined wrath of their table glaring at him, or perhaps he didn't, but his eyes flickered over them briefly before flushing and sitting down hastily. The rest of the school might have been puzzled as to why the Slytherins had suddenly erupted into derisive laughter, but they knew, and more importantly, so did Lockhart.
It looked, Guin thought, like war.
"'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss."
-- Pericles, Act I, Scene II -- William Shakespeare
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"Ah," Angeline said, "You're back, finally." She was curled up in one of the over-stuffed leather easy chairs that could be found scattered in the Marlowe family sitting room. It was a piece of furniture straight out of Masterpiece Theatre, right down to the gold buttons in the back. The woman, however, was not respecting the dignity that the chair deserved; her feet hung over the edge and she yawned elegantly while watching her child flop into another seat across from her.
"Yes," Guin said, rubbing her eyes. "We went out for pizza, and then we stayed to see the Alley at night... It's beautiful, Mother. Some of the shop-keepers have fairy-strings in the windows."
"I know," the woman replied, a bit distantly. Her wide, sea green eyes stared past Guin to some point in the past, and the smile that touched her lips was fond. "Your father and I used to walk there, before he went and got himself killed." The irony of the words was evident, though why, Guin could not fathom. Holding her breath, she waited for Angeline to continue, but was disappointed when her mother merely said shortly, "Shouldn't you be going to sleep, dear? It's rather late. You'll be simply exhausted in the morning."
"I'm not really tired, Mother."
"I know. Just go upstairs and lie in bed until you are. You won't regret it the next day, I think."
"But Mother—"
"No arguments. Up, up you go!" she said cheerfully, sliding from the chair and shooing her daughter out of the room and up the stairs. Guin grumbled the whole way, planning to escape once Angeline returned to the sitting room; maybe sneak into the kitchen for a late snack, but Angeline gave her no opportunity. "There. Now sleep."
Guin sighed, flopping onto her bed. Liadan followed closely behind, green-yellow eyes slitting thoughtfully. "Mew," she said, snuggling against Guin's side. The girl hugged the kitten to her, taking comfort from the warmth the animal offered.
"Something's odd, Liadan, and I just can't figure out what it is..."
-----
It was a very strange week that Guin spent at home. Angeline was still unnaturally /happy/, which worried her daughter to no end. All her life, living with the blonde woman was like treading on nails, there was always a vague sense of unease that she would step the wrong way, and bring Angeline's wrath down upon her head. This summer, however, was different. It was as though her mother was a completely different person, one who fell into an easy, chattering repartee and hummed to herself as she worked.
Finally, on the day before leaving for the new school year, Guin confronted her about it. "Mother, is something wrong?"
"Wrong? Why, have I developed dark circles under my eyes?" Said eyes crinkled momentarily, slight dangerous hint to them.
"Noooo.." Guin said, mentally smacking herself. Bad idea, Guin, /bad idea/!
"Guinivere, there is nothing wrong. I'm just ... I'm happy. Is that a crime?"
"No, Mother." She decided that it was a lost cause and excused herself, heading outside. It was cloudy and overcast, a depressing sort of morning that carried a light fog onto the ground, which wisped around the trees with an eerie air of ghostliness. Guin found that the dreariness was inspiring, in an odd sort of way; an idea for a poem formed itself in her head. It was as such, lost in thought, that she was startled by the thump behind her.
Whirling, she reflexively pulled out her wand, ready to repel the intruder by force if necessary. Liadan hissed a warning, and she managed to pocket the length of ebony before the figure noticed. "/Greg/?" she asked, startled. "How – what are you doing here?"
The blond boy grinned mischievously at her. "I climbed over the wall, of course!"
"But /why/ did you do that? You could have broken your neck!"
"I didn't, though."
"Angeline would burst a blood vessel if she found out. Come on, I'll open the gates so you can leave..."
"No, wait, I wanted to apologize."
"Apologize?" Guin asked blankly. "For what?"
"Something I said the other day? I don't know. You ran away; I figured I must have offended you?"
"Nothing of the sort," Guin said, shaking her head.
"Then why did you run?"
"I had to get home. My mother was taking me to London." The magical part of London, but it wasn't a real lie. "Here, come on. We can walk and talk at the same time. Or is that too much for you?" Guin asked dryly.
"You'll be impressed, I know," Greg told her, grinning, "Not only can I walk and talk in tandem, but I can chew gum at the same time."
"Amazing!" Guin said, aping an expression of awe.
"So where /do/ you go to school, anyway?" he asked.
Oh, Gregory, Guin thought to herself, you have the uncanny knack of ruining a conversation! What she said was, "It's a really elite school in Scotland... Mother's an alumnus."
"Oh," he said, shaking his head. "Glad I don't have to go anywhere like that... I've got no family reputation to live up to. I'll be a Brussels sprout harvester for Brendan, just like my dad does for Brendan's dad."
"You don't have to," Guin said, as they wandered down the lane.
"Yes, I do," Greg said, sounding quite resigned to his fate. "What else could I do?"
"Anything," Guin replied, "The world is full of possibilities." She unlatched the snake-gates and closed them again when he slipped out behind her. "You know, they were unlocked. You didn't have to climb over the wall."
"But going through the gates takes away the adventure of it all!" he insisted. "Really, though, there are no other opportunities."
"Make them," Guin said. "Nothing's ever forced upon you."
"I bow down to your wisdom, oh-philosophical-guru!" he exclaimed.
"You know, Greg," Guin said to him suddenly, "I'm glad you climbed over the wall this morning."
"Well," he replied with an impish smile, "That's good to know. 'Cos I wouldn't've wanted to fall into those thorn bushes for nothing."
-----
"So you're friends with the L'Argent boy?" Angeline asked, keeping her eyes on the road as the Z3 zipped through an intersection with careless ease. One of the motorists that she'd cut off made a rude gesture at Angeline, and she calmly muttered a curse in his direction. However, unlike normal drivers who swore often on the road, Angeline's particular hex, used without a wand, would later give the man some rather embarrassing complications involving rashes and itching in unmentionable places.
"Not really /friends/, Mother..." Guin said, squirming in the bucket seat, and trying not to giggle at the thought of what would happen to that poor man when he returned home tonight.
"Oh?" Angeline said, eyes narrowing as she sighted along another sharp turn.
"Well... we're not really /friends/... per say," Guin finished lamely.
"If you ever decide where you stand with the poor child," Angeline said, "You should know that the friendship bears my approval."
"Really," Guin replied neutrally.
"Of course," Angeline said. "I knew both of his parents, when I attended Hogwarts. Aviva was a year younger than Jack, but they're good people. Slytherins through and through." Exactly what Angeline meant by that, Guin wasn't sure, but it took her back to a memory of last year, when Jack L'Argent had told her something of the Marlowe family past: both Angeline and the long-dead Edmund had at one point been Death Eaters. Jack L'Argent had some interesting opinions on Angeline's character, as well.
Changing the subject, Guin asked, "So, Mother – how long will that man's affliction last?"
Angeline smiled a Mona Lisa grin. "Indefinitely."
-----
Guin amused herself by watching those who were obviously first-years, and Muggle-born, attempt to figure out the way into the barrier. One dark skinned boy was frowning thoughtfully at the space between 9 and 10, ebon eyes narrowed as he tried to work out the problem logically. Noticing the auburn-haired girl watching him, the child took in the unleashed cat by her side, the small smirk on her face, and put two and two together. He approached her quietly, and smoothed his face into an unconcerned glance. "Excuse me," he asked her politely, "But would you know how to—"
"Get onto 9 ¾?" she finished for him.
"Yes," he said, relief causing the calm facade to break into a smile.
"Watch me," she instructed him. Dragging her suitcase with her, Guin leaned nonchalantly against the barrier, as though taking a rest while watching the rest of the station. Canting backward ever so lightly, Guin found herself falling through the barrier and into Platform 9 ¾, a hive of buzzing students and wizard parents. She waited patiently for the black boy to arrive after her, and, sure enough, a moment later, he stepped through.
"Thank you," he said, with a tiny grin.
"Not a problem," Guin said gallantly, "You catch on faster than most. My friend Rilla bumped into thing three times before she made it through – she got some odd glances for that!"
The boy's smile, larger this time, as a bare quirk of the mouth, but crinkled his eyes until they almost closed. "I'm Loren Crawford," he said, as though expecting her to laugh at the first name.
"Guinivere Marlowe," she said, holding out her hand. They shook, and Guin found herself instinctively liking the boy. He had a calm air about him, as though nothing fazed the collected mind behind enigmatic sable eyes. Glancing over Loren's shoulder, she saw L'Argent and Rilla. "There's my friends – I have to get going." And then, something prompted her to add in an unusually friendly manner, "Hey, if you've got any questions, come to me, okay?"
"I'll do that," he said, gratified, before being assimilated into a crowd of first-years.
"Hey – hope to see you in Slytherin!" Guin added, but she wasn't sure if he heard.
"Who was that?" Rilla asked curiously, as she pulled and heaved at her heavy suitcase.
"New kid," Guin informed her, "Muggle-born, but not a bad sort at all. His name's Loren Crawford."
"I had a great-uncle who had people call him Loren," Rilla said thoughtfully, "It was short for Lawrence, and he always hated that name."
"I can certainly see why!" L'Argent said, also approaching. His baggage was notably smaller than Rilla's, and he pointed this out at once. "You're turning into a clothes horse in your old age," he told her sadly.
"Am not!" Rilla stuck her tongue out at him.
"As much as I enjoy the unique experience of breaking up a fight between /you/ guys, I'm going to have to step in now," Guin said.
"Awww," L'Argent said, sounding like a little child who'd had his lollipop taken away.
"Hm—" Guin said, catching sight of a small, redheaded girl walking behind two older boys with the same fiery shade of hair. "Looks like we've got another Weasley to contend with," she observed.
"As if the school needed another," L'Argent said sadly.
They boarded the train and managed to battle the suitcases long enough to shove the recalcitrant objects into the overhead compartments. After a moment, Ethan and Winston joined them, both of whom were able to squeeze themselves onto a bench, along with L'Argent, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I swear," Ethan said, a touch irritably, "There's about twice the number of firsties than there were last year."
Winston looked as though he would have pushed a pair of spectacles further up the bridge of his nose, if he'd possessed them. "It's not a /bad/ thing," he informed Ethan. "We can always use more wizards in the world. Especially now that it seems You-Know-Who's stirring." That statement caused some stirring of its own in the compartment as the children shifted uncomfortably.
"Speaking of Weasleys," Rilla said suddenly, "I saw Fred, George, Percy, and Ginny, but I didn't see Ron. For that matter, I didn't see Harry, either."
"Potter and Weasley are probably just buying sweets," L'Argent said dismissivley.
Rilla shrugged. "Nothing could have happened—"
Just then, Hermione Granger poked her head into the compartment. Upon finding it filled with Slytherins, except for Rilla and Winston, she addressed her question more generally towards them. It was not that she was prejudiced against them, Guin guessed, but simply that she didn't expect them to know the answer to what she was asking. "Have any of you seen Harry or Ron?"
"No," Winston said.
"Are you sure?" Hermione persisted.
"Of course," Winston responded, sounding a bit miffed. "I'm not usually wrong about those things."
With a sigh, Hermione turned to the rest of them. "Any of you?"
"No," they chorused.
A small orange head appeared behind her, face pale, worried, and voice uncertain. "Did you find them, Hermione?"
"No, I didn't, Ginny. Let's keep moving..."
-----
After disembarking the train, the small group of second-years stuck together as they were herded to horse-less carriages, clambering into them one by one. Guin caught sight of Loren waiting by the side of the milling first years, the only one who did not look the least bit nervous. She waved to him, eliciting one of the eye-smiles, which he was already becoming recognized for.
The ride to the castle was somewhat bumpy, prompting Rilla to remark that she much preferred the boat trip of last year. "Oh, well," she concluded philosophically, "I suppose we have no choice in the matter." The carriage screeched to a stop in front of Hogwarts, and Guin was somewhat chagrined to find that the other coaches did not seem nearly as worn down as theirs. Sighing, she joined her friends in walking through the doors into another school year.
It was a different sort of experience, passing by the white-faced children waiting to be Sorted, and sitting down at the Slytherin table right away. With another sigh, she found that Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson had returned for another year. On the other hand, friendlier familiar faces were present, as well – Jessica, Blaise Zabini, and several of the older Slytherins who looked out for their younger counterparts.
McGonagall was stepping forward to place the Hat on a three-legged stool, she said something that was drowned out in the buzz of noise – which gradually quieted to complete silence as the hat began to sing. Guin leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, listening and watching as the ragged brim opened up to a dark maw, breaking into song and to her amusement, Guin found that this year the Sorting Hat was harmonizing with itself.
"Once upon a time there was
A group of mages bold,
Who rebelled against convention
And the accepted law of old.
They formed a school, a haven safe
Where the future wizards came,
A place where talent needn't chafe
Nor cause a source of Muggle blame.
I was the indirect result of this,
An afterthought of sorts.
They swore no wizard-child t' miss,
But for choosing, lacked a course.
From whence a means of finding
That which lay beneath the skin?
From Godric's head a way of binding
And Hogwarts Houses to begin.
In Slytherin, the ambitious sly
In Gryffindor, the daring fit
In Hufflepuff, the loyal lie,
And Ravenclaw, the bookish sit.
So though I may be ancient, true,
Don't worry, alarm, or even fear
Into a home I shall sort you,
To your new House you will adhere."
Though the tune was catchy, Guin was somewhat disappointed by the rhyming. "I'm a better poet than that Hat is," she told Ethan.
"You know," he told her, "You're always accusing L'Argent of having an ego, but I think that yours is just as large as his is."
As there was no answer to this foolishness, Guin turned her eyes to watch the sorting. Abernathy, James, was approaching the stool, but the Hat did not seem to interest him. He was more concerned with taking in the room around him, and the people in it. In the middle of examining the enchanted ceiling, which sparkled with stars, James Abernathy accidentally tripped over the chair. The Hall rang with laughter as he picked up the Sorting Hat and the chair, sat down, and placed it on his head.
"Either Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff—" L'Argent grinned. A minute later:
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Archer, Rebecca!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Bannon, Conal!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Bertram, Alisa!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Where's Professor Snape?" Malfoy wondered. "I see Potter and Weasley haven't bothered to show their faces yet, either."
"They weren't on the train," Blaise answered, then shrugged. "And if the vanished into some odd alternate universe," she grinned, "What does that matter to us? Maybe we'll have a chance at winning the Quidditch cup this year."
Malfoy's face turned mysterious, and he shared a conspiratorial glance with Flint. "We have more than a chance at winning. It's in the bag."
"Why?" Blaise asked, curious.
"It's a secret now, but you'll see soon enough!" Flint said, with an equally wide grin.
Guin wasn't really paying attention; she was watching the first years as Bjornson, Anja, became a Hufflepuff, and Crabbe, Dempsey, was rapidly Sorted into Slytherin. She rather pitied the younger Crabbe brother, as he looked nowhere near as vapid as his older sibling did.
Loren Crawford had seen something beyond the crowd of first-years, and was telling it to Professor Snape, who had appeared in the group and was looking at once triumphant and vindictive. "Uh-oh," L'Argent said, "Someone's about to lose a limb." The source of the miniature commotion was to be found readily enough, as both Potter and Weasley had appeared at the door. Snape, looking as though he had just received an early birthday present, moved over to confront them.
"Crawford, Lawrence?" was repeated, in a somewhat puzzled tone, and then, "Is he here?"
"I'm here!" Loren said, and moved towards the stool, placid-eyed as always. There were more giggles to be heard throughout the Great Hall, but he ignored them and hid his face in the depths of the hat. It took a while to decide where to place the boy, but eventually yelled, "SLYTHERIN!"
As Loren made his way over, Guin waved to him. "Welcome," she said, grandly, "To the best House in the school."
"I'd like to spend some time here before I make up my mind," Loren said, with an impish grin.
"As you like," L'Argent replied, "But Marlowe's not exaggerating, you know."
Snape returned as Weasley, Virginia, was Sorted into Gryffindor. Potter and Weasley were still absent, and the head of Slytherin House was looking rather sour. Guin supposed that the two of them had somehow managed to squirm out of any serious trouble and, judging from the new empty place at the staff table, McGonagall had something to do with it. Clearing his throat, Dumbledore stood up, a serene statue facing the turmoil with a smile. "Welcome, students, to a new year. I hope sincerely," he continued, "That this one shall be calmer than last." This elicited some chuckles from the crowd, especially the teachers.
He continued, and Guin tuned him out again, until Lockhart was introduced. "Joining us this year," the Headmaster concluded, "In the capacity of Defense Against the Dark Arts, is Gilderoy Lockhart." The man in question sprang to his feet, brilliant aquamarine robes shimmering in the candlelight, as he waved enthusiastically at them. "Yes, Gilderoy, I'm sure they're glad to see you, too. Now, we shall sing the school so—" Lockhart was still waving, and Dumbledore, in a dry tone, gestured for him to be seated. "Enough, Gilderoy."
Guin made a gagging noise, and shook her head sadly. "We have to put up with ... /that/ all year. I can't believe it."
"Do you think he's lying about all the stuff he's done in the books?" Loren asked them, sable eyes widening imperceptibly.
"Of course," Ethan said, shaking his head. "My Da investigated it, and he supposes it's all a fraud."
Perhaps Lockhart felt the combined wrath of their table glaring at him, or perhaps he didn't, but his eyes flickered over them briefly before flushing and sitting down hastily. The rest of the school might have been puzzled as to why the Slytherins had suddenly erupted into derisive laughter, but they knew, and more importantly, so did Lockhart.
It looked, Guin thought, like war.