"Tonight," he began, "I have the pleasure of introducing a new student. Her education has, to this point,
been quite different from yours, and I hope that the house she is sorted in will provide her with the utmost
support. Ms. Fields." He gestured to the stool and ragged hat that Hagrid was bringing into the room. Hagrid
winked at her.
"She looks nervous," whispered Hermione, just as Ron chimed in with, "She's a student?" He looked rather
pleased at the idea.
"Maybe she plays Quidditch," said Harry. "We could use. . . ."
"--if," Angelina, who had joined Fred and George, "she's in--"
"GRYFINNDOR!" the hat shouted.
"Well, that answers that," said George, drowned out by the shouts and cheers of the Gryfinndor table. The
woman walked over, smiling somewhat shyly.
"I guess I'm yours," she said, watching their reactions closely.
"Ron," Hermione hissed, "Scoot over!"
Ron sat with his mouth partway open. "Wha--oh. Sorry." Christine slid in between he and Angelina, making
eye contact with those around her. Not knowing what else to say, she introduced herself.
"Christine, but just call me Chris. It's easier."
Fred fielded the introductions. "I'm Fred Weasly--this is George, a man of taste. This is Angelina Johnson,
and Katie Bell, both fantastic Keepers. The maniac further down there is Lee Jordan." Lee gave her a
peace out sign. "Here's Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter. . . ." Harry watched as she looked at his face,
noted the scar and gave no reaction at all. "Neville Longbottom, and the git next to you is my brother, Ron.
Oh, and Ginny's further down that way. George, Lee, Angelina, Katie and I are all 7th years--Ginny's a 3rd year,
and everyone else is in their 5th. They aren't placing you with the 1sts, are they?"
Their dinner--roast beef and stuffed cabbage--appeared before them. Christine's eyes widened slightly before
addressing Fred's question. "I don't know. I have," (her face twitched slightly) "tests tomorrow morning to
decide that kind of thing."
The conversation continued from there, with Christine fielding and dodging a whole host of questions she wasn't
prepared to answer, and a few she was. Where was she from? Scotland, originally. Did she get a letter?
Yes, but it got misplaced. How? Why come back now? What kind of training had she had? And to themselves:
Why does McGonagall look so unhappy?
"And why," interjected Hermione, "do you have leaves in your hair?"
"I told you," George said, "she's. . . ." Angelina kicked him from under the table.
"What's in my hair?" Christine's expression was as confused as their own. She reached up. ". . . oh!", and
pulled a large twig out. She looked suddenly sheepish. "Well, I didn't really know all the rules," (everyone
grinned) ". . .and, well, the forest looked so interesting, and I only walked into the foliage about fifty meters
when I found what looked like hoofprints, so I started to follow them, and. . .I rather forgot that I was to
meet McGonagall for supper, and she sent Hagrid after me, and . . . well, I don't suppose she likes me all that much."
"Did she take away points?" Neville chimed in anxiously.
Ron shot him a dirty look. "She wasn't in a house yet."
"No, but since I had been made aware of the rules--Professor--Snape? made sure of that. . ." (Harry and Ron blanched
slightly) ". . . I did get a detention. Apparently, that rule was actually meant to be kept." Christine relaxed,
as she felt herself slipping into a student role once again--it had been a long time, but she may as well enjoy herself.
"A detention? On day one?"
"That's pretty good, Fred, she could be a candidate. . . ."
"Maybe. She still has to . . . ."
"Candidate for what?:" Harry inquired.
"We figured," George stated, "that with the number of detentions we've all gotten over the last few years, that we
ought to start some sort of group--a sort of mischief-elite, you might say. . . ."
"So who's in this club?" Ron asked.
"It's not a club--" stated Fred.
"--it's an elite group of only the most. . . ."
"Whatever." replied Ron. "It's just you and Fred, isn't it?"
The twins looked at each other. "Well, yes," began Fred. "The requirements are very stringent, you see, but we've
already had our first gathering, and you'll see the results. . . ." He trailed off as the custard suddenly appeared.
Hermione suddenly looked alarmed.
As Fred and George exchanged looks, Christine reached across the table, and began ladling large spoonfuls into a
bowl. Multiple voices suddenly emerged in protest--albeit quietly.
"It's--it's bad. Really bad." muttered Ron lamely.
"But everything else has been . . . ."
"The House Elves just can't make a good custard," squirmed Harry, praying Dobby and Winky weren't able to somehow
overhear him.
George grabbed the bowl and stood up. "Oy! Ginny!" He placed the bowl in front of her. she looked at it suspiciously.
George rolled his eyes. "For the love, Ginny, the House Elves made it, not us--it was Christine's, actually, but
now she doesn't want it." Christine, taking her cue, nodded and smiled. As Ginny moved the pudding back and forth
with her spoon, hesitant as if it might grow fur and fangs and leap at her, a small entourage from the Slytherin table
approached.
A boy of medium height led the group--short, silver-blond hair, with elegant features and a nose stuck partly up in the air.
Christine resisted the urge to start giggling. He reminded her of another admiral's wife--a bald woman who insisted on
wearing the most elaborate wigs (Kev always joked that she was compensating for other things), with jewelry to match,
and who only deigned to speak with her small cortege, which followed her around like bodyguards, fawning and simpering.
Indeed, the boys following the boy seemed to serve the same purpose--she thought--big brawny yes-men, by the look of them.
A younger boy was also in the group--sharp green eyes, short brown hair--as were several girls. Hermione pointed
them out under her breath-- "Draco Malfoy, and his gorillas, Crabbe and Goyle. That's Silven--a first year--and
that one's Pansy Parkinson. . . ."
"The one that looks like a pug?" Chris muttered. Hermione grinned.
Malfoy sauntered to the edge of the table. He cast a long look upon Christine--had he been older, she would have
assumed he was checking her out. As it was, he still seemed to be gauging her somehow--*He's checking for weaknesses*, she
suddenly realised. Finally, he met her gaze. "Well." he drawled, "It's somewhat unfortunate, really. . .you haven't even
gotten used to our kind yet, and here you are in the worst house in the. . . ." He stopped as Ron and Harry stood up
forcefully.
"Say it, Malfoy," Ron hissed.
"Ron," Hermione whispered urgently.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he stepped forward just as McGonagall rushed over. "There isn't a problem, is there?" she
asked, frowning.
Malfoy's expression switched from anger to distaste. "No, Professor."
"Good. I suggest you return to your own table."
She gave both Draco and Ron a hard glare, and walked away, looking back to see if the Slytherins were moving. Draco glared
at Christine, and whispered, barely perceptibly, "You still have time to go back." As he sauntered off, his small group
moved with him, Crabbe and Goyle grabbing Neville's and Ginny's custards as they went. Crabbe grinned snidely at Neville,
cuffing him on the head as he left. As Malfoy and Chris continued to evaluate the other, McGonagall spun back around in
rage.
"I suggest," she said tightly, "that you return those." As Crabbe and Goyle begrudingly handed the bowls back, Christine
help up a hand in protest.
"Wait." she said suddenly, still looking at Malfoy. "The kids said they could have them." Ginny shot Neville a glare as
he started to protest.
McGonagall looked confused, as did the Slytherins. "Are you sure?" she asked the two. Ginny nodded. "Well then," she
stated, appearing somewhat confused as well. "Then I suppose you may keep them. However, 10 points from Slytherin. You
know what behavior is expected of you. To your seats, now."
As the Slytherins left, the Gryfinndors exploded into muffled whispers. From Neville: "Why'd you do that?". George and
Fred looked at Christine, shaking their heads and trying not to laugh.
"There was something wrong with it, wasn't there?" whispered Ginny furiously. The twins grinned. Christine, however,
appeared thoughtful, perhaps worried. Predictably, it was Hermione who picked up on some of the more subtle nuances of
the exchange. She leaned towards Christine, who started suddenly.
"What did he mean, 'you still have time to go back'?"
Christine paused. "I imagine," she said smoothly," that he meant to the sorting hat."
It was a weak answer, and both knew it. Any further questioning, however, was postponed as a loud cry of protest arose
from the Slytherin table. The whole hall rose to its feet, and ripples of laughter spread throughout the hall.
There stood Crabbe, his face screwed up inprotest as his face, hands, neck, and hair gradually turned gold and maroon.
A series of small roars came from his neck, as suddenly a large tattoo of a lion stalked around the side of his shoulder.
Everyone at the Gryfinndor table looked at the twins. Sitting down ("As if we didn't all know who did it," muttered Ron),
Fred said softly, "We thought it would be a good way to instill some spirit--for a few days, at least. We figured any
Gryfinndor would be proud to be our mascot--we didn't plan on those lugs taking it. Worked better this way, though."
As Snape rushed to his house to repair the damage, McGonagall once again swept back to the table. "Frankly," she shot
daggers at the twins, "I had thought we were past this ridiculous phase. Since it seems some of you have not, 30 points
from Gryfinndor. Consider yourself lucky."
She walked off and the table groaned. The sight of Crabbe squirming in displeasure, however, tempered the loss of points.
Seeing Snape moving to confront McGonagall, Hermione gestured to her housemates, who crept out of the hall as
inobtrusively as possible.
been quite different from yours, and I hope that the house she is sorted in will provide her with the utmost
support. Ms. Fields." He gestured to the stool and ragged hat that Hagrid was bringing into the room. Hagrid
winked at her.
"She looks nervous," whispered Hermione, just as Ron chimed in with, "She's a student?" He looked rather
pleased at the idea.
"Maybe she plays Quidditch," said Harry. "We could use. . . ."
"--if," Angelina, who had joined Fred and George, "she's in--"
"GRYFINNDOR!" the hat shouted.
"Well, that answers that," said George, drowned out by the shouts and cheers of the Gryfinndor table. The
woman walked over, smiling somewhat shyly.
"I guess I'm yours," she said, watching their reactions closely.
"Ron," Hermione hissed, "Scoot over!"
Ron sat with his mouth partway open. "Wha--oh. Sorry." Christine slid in between he and Angelina, making
eye contact with those around her. Not knowing what else to say, she introduced herself.
"Christine, but just call me Chris. It's easier."
Fred fielded the introductions. "I'm Fred Weasly--this is George, a man of taste. This is Angelina Johnson,
and Katie Bell, both fantastic Keepers. The maniac further down there is Lee Jordan." Lee gave her a
peace out sign. "Here's Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter. . . ." Harry watched as she looked at his face,
noted the scar and gave no reaction at all. "Neville Longbottom, and the git next to you is my brother, Ron.
Oh, and Ginny's further down that way. George, Lee, Angelina, Katie and I are all 7th years--Ginny's a 3rd year,
and everyone else is in their 5th. They aren't placing you with the 1sts, are they?"
Their dinner--roast beef and stuffed cabbage--appeared before them. Christine's eyes widened slightly before
addressing Fred's question. "I don't know. I have," (her face twitched slightly) "tests tomorrow morning to
decide that kind of thing."
The conversation continued from there, with Christine fielding and dodging a whole host of questions she wasn't
prepared to answer, and a few she was. Where was she from? Scotland, originally. Did she get a letter?
Yes, but it got misplaced. How? Why come back now? What kind of training had she had? And to themselves:
Why does McGonagall look so unhappy?
"And why," interjected Hermione, "do you have leaves in your hair?"
"I told you," George said, "she's. . . ." Angelina kicked him from under the table.
"What's in my hair?" Christine's expression was as confused as their own. She reached up. ". . . oh!", and
pulled a large twig out. She looked suddenly sheepish. "Well, I didn't really know all the rules," (everyone
grinned) ". . .and, well, the forest looked so interesting, and I only walked into the foliage about fifty meters
when I found what looked like hoofprints, so I started to follow them, and. . .I rather forgot that I was to
meet McGonagall for supper, and she sent Hagrid after me, and . . . well, I don't suppose she likes me all that much."
"Did she take away points?" Neville chimed in anxiously.
Ron shot him a dirty look. "She wasn't in a house yet."
"No, but since I had been made aware of the rules--Professor--Snape? made sure of that. . ." (Harry and Ron blanched
slightly) ". . . I did get a detention. Apparently, that rule was actually meant to be kept." Christine relaxed,
as she felt herself slipping into a student role once again--it had been a long time, but she may as well enjoy herself.
"A detention? On day one?"
"That's pretty good, Fred, she could be a candidate. . . ."
"Maybe. She still has to . . . ."
"Candidate for what?:" Harry inquired.
"We figured," George stated, "that with the number of detentions we've all gotten over the last few years, that we
ought to start some sort of group--a sort of mischief-elite, you might say. . . ."
"So who's in this club?" Ron asked.
"It's not a club--" stated Fred.
"--it's an elite group of only the most. . . ."
"Whatever." replied Ron. "It's just you and Fred, isn't it?"
The twins looked at each other. "Well, yes," began Fred. "The requirements are very stringent, you see, but we've
already had our first gathering, and you'll see the results. . . ." He trailed off as the custard suddenly appeared.
Hermione suddenly looked alarmed.
As Fred and George exchanged looks, Christine reached across the table, and began ladling large spoonfuls into a
bowl. Multiple voices suddenly emerged in protest--albeit quietly.
"It's--it's bad. Really bad." muttered Ron lamely.
"But everything else has been . . . ."
"The House Elves just can't make a good custard," squirmed Harry, praying Dobby and Winky weren't able to somehow
overhear him.
George grabbed the bowl and stood up. "Oy! Ginny!" He placed the bowl in front of her. she looked at it suspiciously.
George rolled his eyes. "For the love, Ginny, the House Elves made it, not us--it was Christine's, actually, but
now she doesn't want it." Christine, taking her cue, nodded and smiled. As Ginny moved the pudding back and forth
with her spoon, hesitant as if it might grow fur and fangs and leap at her, a small entourage from the Slytherin table
approached.
A boy of medium height led the group--short, silver-blond hair, with elegant features and a nose stuck partly up in the air.
Christine resisted the urge to start giggling. He reminded her of another admiral's wife--a bald woman who insisted on
wearing the most elaborate wigs (Kev always joked that she was compensating for other things), with jewelry to match,
and who only deigned to speak with her small cortege, which followed her around like bodyguards, fawning and simpering.
Indeed, the boys following the boy seemed to serve the same purpose--she thought--big brawny yes-men, by the look of them.
A younger boy was also in the group--sharp green eyes, short brown hair--as were several girls. Hermione pointed
them out under her breath-- "Draco Malfoy, and his gorillas, Crabbe and Goyle. That's Silven--a first year--and
that one's Pansy Parkinson. . . ."
"The one that looks like a pug?" Chris muttered. Hermione grinned.
Malfoy sauntered to the edge of the table. He cast a long look upon Christine--had he been older, she would have
assumed he was checking her out. As it was, he still seemed to be gauging her somehow--*He's checking for weaknesses*, she
suddenly realised. Finally, he met her gaze. "Well." he drawled, "It's somewhat unfortunate, really. . .you haven't even
gotten used to our kind yet, and here you are in the worst house in the. . . ." He stopped as Ron and Harry stood up
forcefully.
"Say it, Malfoy," Ron hissed.
"Ron," Hermione whispered urgently.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he stepped forward just as McGonagall rushed over. "There isn't a problem, is there?" she
asked, frowning.
Malfoy's expression switched from anger to distaste. "No, Professor."
"Good. I suggest you return to your own table."
She gave both Draco and Ron a hard glare, and walked away, looking back to see if the Slytherins were moving. Draco glared
at Christine, and whispered, barely perceptibly, "You still have time to go back." As he sauntered off, his small group
moved with him, Crabbe and Goyle grabbing Neville's and Ginny's custards as they went. Crabbe grinned snidely at Neville,
cuffing him on the head as he left. As Malfoy and Chris continued to evaluate the other, McGonagall spun back around in
rage.
"I suggest," she said tightly, "that you return those." As Crabbe and Goyle begrudingly handed the bowls back, Christine
help up a hand in protest.
"Wait." she said suddenly, still looking at Malfoy. "The kids said they could have them." Ginny shot Neville a glare as
he started to protest.
McGonagall looked confused, as did the Slytherins. "Are you sure?" she asked the two. Ginny nodded. "Well then," she
stated, appearing somewhat confused as well. "Then I suppose you may keep them. However, 10 points from Slytherin. You
know what behavior is expected of you. To your seats, now."
As the Slytherins left, the Gryfinndors exploded into muffled whispers. From Neville: "Why'd you do that?". George and
Fred looked at Christine, shaking their heads and trying not to laugh.
"There was something wrong with it, wasn't there?" whispered Ginny furiously. The twins grinned. Christine, however,
appeared thoughtful, perhaps worried. Predictably, it was Hermione who picked up on some of the more subtle nuances of
the exchange. She leaned towards Christine, who started suddenly.
"What did he mean, 'you still have time to go back'?"
Christine paused. "I imagine," she said smoothly," that he meant to the sorting hat."
It was a weak answer, and both knew it. Any further questioning, however, was postponed as a loud cry of protest arose
from the Slytherin table. The whole hall rose to its feet, and ripples of laughter spread throughout the hall.
There stood Crabbe, his face screwed up inprotest as his face, hands, neck, and hair gradually turned gold and maroon.
A series of small roars came from his neck, as suddenly a large tattoo of a lion stalked around the side of his shoulder.
Everyone at the Gryfinndor table looked at the twins. Sitting down ("As if we didn't all know who did it," muttered Ron),
Fred said softly, "We thought it would be a good way to instill some spirit--for a few days, at least. We figured any
Gryfinndor would be proud to be our mascot--we didn't plan on those lugs taking it. Worked better this way, though."
As Snape rushed to his house to repair the damage, McGonagall once again swept back to the table. "Frankly," she shot
daggers at the twins, "I had thought we were past this ridiculous phase. Since it seems some of you have not, 30 points
from Gryfinndor. Consider yourself lucky."
She walked off and the table groaned. The sight of Crabbe squirming in displeasure, however, tempered the loss of points.
Seeing Snape moving to confront McGonagall, Hermione gestured to her housemates, who crept out of the hall as
inobtrusively as possible.