--I own Desiree McDaniels. That's it. Everyone else is the product of that wonderful woman J.K. Rowling. I'm really sorry for how short this chapter is, but I couldn't find a better way to continue. The following chapters will be longer, I promise. Scout's honor.--
"This year will prove to be a most interesting year, I believe."
Dumbledore looked over the students briefly. His eyes were normally merry and twinkling at all the festivities of the Great Hall, but the feast to begin the term was quite a bit more solemn than usual. Dumbledore was rather quiet as well, but that was to be expected. Everyone was on red-alert this year, and for good reason.
"As most of you may remember, at the end of last year's term, we suffered a staggering loss." The Great Hall was suddenly very, very still -- even the Slytherins had fallen silent. "Though the time has come for caution," Dumbledore went on, "the time has not come for panic. Caution and panic are entirely different things." He paused thoughtfully. "As are apricots and brussel sprouts." There was a short silence in which the students of Hogwarts would've normally laughed or tittered amongst themselves. A few smiled briefly, but the gravity of the situation was still hanging thickly in the air. Dumbledore seemed to acknowledge this with a slight grimace. "Nevertheless, we must stand strong in this time of somber silence. And so, we will continue with the festivities as usual." He clapped his hands twice, and the food appeared as it always did. The first years marveled over this miracle; the rest of the students merely picked up their forks and proceeded to eat. Dumbledore looked slowly up at the enchanted ceiling, leaving his food untouched. The dome displayed a dark sky, thick and heavy with black clouds. "Oh, yes," he murmured quietly. "This year will be a most interesting year indeed."
Ron helped himself to a generous portion of boiled potatoes.
"Dumbledore sure sounded different this year," he said thoughtfully, and shoveled a forkful of the vegetables into his mouth.
"He has every right to." Hermione was taking delicate bites of steak, eyes flicking about the Great Hall in slight interest as she inspected the first-years. "He and the Ministry of Magic have been working overtime to safe-proof Hogwarts." Harry was silent as he poked around in a pile of steaming carrots. Hermione noticed; she set aside her fork and gave his arm a slight nudge. "You all right, Harry?"
"You haven't said a word since the Sorting," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of potatoes. Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"Honestly, Ron," she said disgustedly. "Don't speak with your mouth full." He stuck his tongue out, making her cringe at the bits of food clinging to it.
"Who are you, my mother?"
"God help me if I were," Hermione muttered, and glanced back at Harry. "What's wrong, really?"
"Nothing," he said softly. Harry paused, then set his fork neatly beside his plate. "I'm just kind of tired."
"Rough summer?" Seamus asked from a few seats down.
"You should see the Muggles he lives with!" Ron exclaimed, finally swallowing the large lump of potatoes in his mouth. "Every summer is a rough summer!"
"No, it's not that." Harry took a sip from his goblet and tried to ignore the plaintive stare Hermione had fixed him with.
"Harry, is it about last year?" she asked quietly.
"No." He knew he'd been too quick to answer; Harry's eyes drifted down to Cho at the Ravenclaw table. She was just as pretty as ever, though she looked considerably worse for wear -- pale and thin, like she hadn't eaten in days. Cho certainly wasn't touching the feast before her, and Harry hoped wildly that she wasn't starving herself in an effort to compensate for... for what she'd lost.
"It wasn't your fault," Hermione said gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. Harry nodded slowly, but his eyes never left Cho.
"Right," he murmured. "Right."
Filch opened the doors to the Great Hall quite suddenly.
"Headmaster!" he screeched, voice piercing, and several students covered their ears in surprise. Harry and Ron whirled in their seats to see what was going on.
"Yes, Argus?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly. The caretaker was at the door of the Great Hall, livid and nearly foaming at the mouth. A lantern was clutched in one wrinkled hand -- Harry frowned. Were Filch's hands shaking?
"Headmaster, there is something --" He paused, sputtering for words. "-- something lurking around the school grounds!"
"Argus, this is most irregular," Dumbledore said evenly.
"Yes, Headmaster, I know, but-- " Filch shook the lantern for emphasis. "-- something --" Professor Dumbledore nodded slightly, never losing his steady air of calm.
"All right. All right, Argus. Rubeus." He looked to Hagrid, who was sitting at the end of the table as usual, bushy caterpillar eyebrows raised. "Can you take a quick walk around Hogwarts' grounds and look for anything suspicious?"
"Yes, Professor," Hagrid rumbled, and got slowly to his feet.
"No need, sir," murmured a quiet voice from the door. The majority of the students who hadn't lost interest swiveled their heads to see who had spoken.
It was a girl.
She was thin, almost to the point of looking anorexic -- just not quite. Her skin was a sallow, pale color, a light sprinkling of freckles crossing her nose. The girl's hair was a mousy brown that fell in limp curls around her face and hid her downcast eyes. She wore black Hogwarts robes, Harry noticed, that looked nearly as tattered as Ron's. He would never tell Ron that, however.
"I'm -- I'm very sorry, Headmaster --" The girl closed the door with her foot, making a loud slam that caused half the Great Hall to wince. "-- I couldn't get on the platform, and I missed the train, and I couldn't figure out how to get to the Great Hall --" Her gaze remained on the floor, but Harry thought she might be crying. "-- sorry," she mumbled.
"Don't apologize," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "It's easy to accept misunderstandings and mishaps such as this. Take a seat with your house." The girl lingered at the door, face tipped down at the floor.
"...haven't been..." she whispered, voice barely audible.
"Speak up," Dumbledore said; though he hadn't meant it to be cruel, it must've sounded so to the girl's ears. She flushed crimson and dropped one of her books. Half of the Slytherin table broke into muffled laughter. Harry shot them a sharp glance and wasn't surprised to find Malfoy among the snickerers.
"Why don't they leave her alone?" Ron whispered to Harry. "She hasn't done anything wrong." Harry nodded his agreement.
"I..." The girl cleared her throat nervously, then swallowed hard. "I haven't been sorted yet." That did it; the Slytherin table erupted into vicious sniggers. She flushed an even brighter red, and it was apparent to Harry now that she was crying.
"Quiet," Dumbledore ordered firmly. The Slytherins silenced immediately, but Malfoy smirked and whispered to Crabbe and Goyle behind his hand. Harry wanted to knock the smirk right off of that pointed face of his. "Are you a 1st year, my dear?" The girl shook her head hard. "What year are you, then?" Dumbledore laced his hands complacently in his lap and waited for an answer.
"I'm a 5th year," she said very softly.
"Why haven't you been sorted?" the headmaster asked kindly. Suddenly, the girl no longer wanted to be in front of the hundreds of other students. Her cheeks a bright, burning red, she stared at the ground and began to speak very quickly.
"I've been home-schooled by my parents but this year my mother got very sick and she can't teach me anymore so I've been sent here and everything's just gone horribly wrong..." She paused to take a long, shuddering breath. "...I have a letter," she added meekly, waving around a sad and wrinkled piece of paper.
"Let me see, dear," Dumbledore said gently. The girl, head tipped down so far the underside of her chin brushed her chest, shuffled up towards the teacher's seating. As she passed the Slytherin table, Malfoy muttered into his hand,
"Nice entrance."
"Shove it, Malfoy," Harry hissed, but he knew his insult went unheard. It was cruel, the way they were treating her... but then again, that was Malfoy.
"Thank you, dear," Dumbledore murmured, taking the letter and peering at it through his half-moon glasses. There was a pause; most of the students had lost interest and gone back to eating. Hermione was among them, but Ron and Harry continued to watch the miserable girl. So did Malfoy, unfortunately. " 'I, Renee McDaniels,' " Dumbledore read clearly, " 'hereby admit my daughter, Desiree McDaniels, into her 5th year of schooling at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She has received a letter of acceptance prior to her home-schooling, and due to my unscheduled absence, I hope she will be accepted now as well.' "
"I promise it's true, Headmaster," the girl whispered.
"I believe you." Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes looked down at her kindly. "Take a seat on the stool right there, Miss McDaniels." She nodded and hurried to the stool that McGonagall had hurriedly set out again, then sat slowly.
"I'm betting 5 sickles on Hufflepuff," Malfoy snickered to Goyle.
"Shove it, Malfoy!" Harry said again, and he was almost sure that Malfoy could hear him this time. No reaction, however. McGonagall placed the ragged black hat on the head of the girl -- Desiree -- and stepped back, looking slightly aggravated.
"In-ter-esting," the Sorting Hat said loudly. "In-ter-esting indeed." Desiree, who was still burning a bright crimson, shut her eyes tightly. Doing so squeezed out a few fat tears, and Malfoy snickered again. Harry felt a thick sympathy for this plain-faced girl with mousy brown hair; he made a mental reminder to give Malfoy a good, swift kick in the bum later. He had no right to be making her already awful day worse.
"Bloody bugger," Ron muttered under his breath.
"I agree," Harry said quietly, and began stabbing at his peas.
"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the Hat suddenly, startling them both. McGonagall ushered the Sorting Hat away again, and the red-faced Desiree McDaniels hurried to the Ravenclaw table. She wasn't greeted with quite the enthusiasm Gryffindor would've offered, Harry thought, but perhaps he was wrong. Either way, no one said a thing to the poor girl as she sat down. Except for Cho, that is. She smiled kindly at Desiree and began to murmur something, making Harry's heart warm involuntarily. He had a slight feeling that she'd be just fine. The rest of the feast went on as normal, but Harry had another feeling -- one that poor Desiree McDaniels' school year was only going to get worse.
"This year will prove to be a most interesting year, I believe."
Dumbledore looked over the students briefly. His eyes were normally merry and twinkling at all the festivities of the Great Hall, but the feast to begin the term was quite a bit more solemn than usual. Dumbledore was rather quiet as well, but that was to be expected. Everyone was on red-alert this year, and for good reason.
"As most of you may remember, at the end of last year's term, we suffered a staggering loss." The Great Hall was suddenly very, very still -- even the Slytherins had fallen silent. "Though the time has come for caution," Dumbledore went on, "the time has not come for panic. Caution and panic are entirely different things." He paused thoughtfully. "As are apricots and brussel sprouts." There was a short silence in which the students of Hogwarts would've normally laughed or tittered amongst themselves. A few smiled briefly, but the gravity of the situation was still hanging thickly in the air. Dumbledore seemed to acknowledge this with a slight grimace. "Nevertheless, we must stand strong in this time of somber silence. And so, we will continue with the festivities as usual." He clapped his hands twice, and the food appeared as it always did. The first years marveled over this miracle; the rest of the students merely picked up their forks and proceeded to eat. Dumbledore looked slowly up at the enchanted ceiling, leaving his food untouched. The dome displayed a dark sky, thick and heavy with black clouds. "Oh, yes," he murmured quietly. "This year will be a most interesting year indeed."
Ron helped himself to a generous portion of boiled potatoes.
"Dumbledore sure sounded different this year," he said thoughtfully, and shoveled a forkful of the vegetables into his mouth.
"He has every right to." Hermione was taking delicate bites of steak, eyes flicking about the Great Hall in slight interest as she inspected the first-years. "He and the Ministry of Magic have been working overtime to safe-proof Hogwarts." Harry was silent as he poked around in a pile of steaming carrots. Hermione noticed; she set aside her fork and gave his arm a slight nudge. "You all right, Harry?"
"You haven't said a word since the Sorting," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of potatoes. Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"Honestly, Ron," she said disgustedly. "Don't speak with your mouth full." He stuck his tongue out, making her cringe at the bits of food clinging to it.
"Who are you, my mother?"
"God help me if I were," Hermione muttered, and glanced back at Harry. "What's wrong, really?"
"Nothing," he said softly. Harry paused, then set his fork neatly beside his plate. "I'm just kind of tired."
"Rough summer?" Seamus asked from a few seats down.
"You should see the Muggles he lives with!" Ron exclaimed, finally swallowing the large lump of potatoes in his mouth. "Every summer is a rough summer!"
"No, it's not that." Harry took a sip from his goblet and tried to ignore the plaintive stare Hermione had fixed him with.
"Harry, is it about last year?" she asked quietly.
"No." He knew he'd been too quick to answer; Harry's eyes drifted down to Cho at the Ravenclaw table. She was just as pretty as ever, though she looked considerably worse for wear -- pale and thin, like she hadn't eaten in days. Cho certainly wasn't touching the feast before her, and Harry hoped wildly that she wasn't starving herself in an effort to compensate for... for what she'd lost.
"It wasn't your fault," Hermione said gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. Harry nodded slowly, but his eyes never left Cho.
"Right," he murmured. "Right."
Filch opened the doors to the Great Hall quite suddenly.
"Headmaster!" he screeched, voice piercing, and several students covered their ears in surprise. Harry and Ron whirled in their seats to see what was going on.
"Yes, Argus?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly. The caretaker was at the door of the Great Hall, livid and nearly foaming at the mouth. A lantern was clutched in one wrinkled hand -- Harry frowned. Were Filch's hands shaking?
"Headmaster, there is something --" He paused, sputtering for words. "-- something lurking around the school grounds!"
"Argus, this is most irregular," Dumbledore said evenly.
"Yes, Headmaster, I know, but-- " Filch shook the lantern for emphasis. "-- something --" Professor Dumbledore nodded slightly, never losing his steady air of calm.
"All right. All right, Argus. Rubeus." He looked to Hagrid, who was sitting at the end of the table as usual, bushy caterpillar eyebrows raised. "Can you take a quick walk around Hogwarts' grounds and look for anything suspicious?"
"Yes, Professor," Hagrid rumbled, and got slowly to his feet.
"No need, sir," murmured a quiet voice from the door. The majority of the students who hadn't lost interest swiveled their heads to see who had spoken.
It was a girl.
She was thin, almost to the point of looking anorexic -- just not quite. Her skin was a sallow, pale color, a light sprinkling of freckles crossing her nose. The girl's hair was a mousy brown that fell in limp curls around her face and hid her downcast eyes. She wore black Hogwarts robes, Harry noticed, that looked nearly as tattered as Ron's. He would never tell Ron that, however.
"I'm -- I'm very sorry, Headmaster --" The girl closed the door with her foot, making a loud slam that caused half the Great Hall to wince. "-- I couldn't get on the platform, and I missed the train, and I couldn't figure out how to get to the Great Hall --" Her gaze remained on the floor, but Harry thought she might be crying. "-- sorry," she mumbled.
"Don't apologize," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "It's easy to accept misunderstandings and mishaps such as this. Take a seat with your house." The girl lingered at the door, face tipped down at the floor.
"...haven't been..." she whispered, voice barely audible.
"Speak up," Dumbledore said; though he hadn't meant it to be cruel, it must've sounded so to the girl's ears. She flushed crimson and dropped one of her books. Half of the Slytherin table broke into muffled laughter. Harry shot them a sharp glance and wasn't surprised to find Malfoy among the snickerers.
"Why don't they leave her alone?" Ron whispered to Harry. "She hasn't done anything wrong." Harry nodded his agreement.
"I..." The girl cleared her throat nervously, then swallowed hard. "I haven't been sorted yet." That did it; the Slytherin table erupted into vicious sniggers. She flushed an even brighter red, and it was apparent to Harry now that she was crying.
"Quiet," Dumbledore ordered firmly. The Slytherins silenced immediately, but Malfoy smirked and whispered to Crabbe and Goyle behind his hand. Harry wanted to knock the smirk right off of that pointed face of his. "Are you a 1st year, my dear?" The girl shook her head hard. "What year are you, then?" Dumbledore laced his hands complacently in his lap and waited for an answer.
"I'm a 5th year," she said very softly.
"Why haven't you been sorted?" the headmaster asked kindly. Suddenly, the girl no longer wanted to be in front of the hundreds of other students. Her cheeks a bright, burning red, she stared at the ground and began to speak very quickly.
"I've been home-schooled by my parents but this year my mother got very sick and she can't teach me anymore so I've been sent here and everything's just gone horribly wrong..." She paused to take a long, shuddering breath. "...I have a letter," she added meekly, waving around a sad and wrinkled piece of paper.
"Let me see, dear," Dumbledore said gently. The girl, head tipped down so far the underside of her chin brushed her chest, shuffled up towards the teacher's seating. As she passed the Slytherin table, Malfoy muttered into his hand,
"Nice entrance."
"Shove it, Malfoy," Harry hissed, but he knew his insult went unheard. It was cruel, the way they were treating her... but then again, that was Malfoy.
"Thank you, dear," Dumbledore murmured, taking the letter and peering at it through his half-moon glasses. There was a pause; most of the students had lost interest and gone back to eating. Hermione was among them, but Ron and Harry continued to watch the miserable girl. So did Malfoy, unfortunately. " 'I, Renee McDaniels,' " Dumbledore read clearly, " 'hereby admit my daughter, Desiree McDaniels, into her 5th year of schooling at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She has received a letter of acceptance prior to her home-schooling, and due to my unscheduled absence, I hope she will be accepted now as well.' "
"I promise it's true, Headmaster," the girl whispered.
"I believe you." Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes looked down at her kindly. "Take a seat on the stool right there, Miss McDaniels." She nodded and hurried to the stool that McGonagall had hurriedly set out again, then sat slowly.
"I'm betting 5 sickles on Hufflepuff," Malfoy snickered to Goyle.
"Shove it, Malfoy!" Harry said again, and he was almost sure that Malfoy could hear him this time. No reaction, however. McGonagall placed the ragged black hat on the head of the girl -- Desiree -- and stepped back, looking slightly aggravated.
"In-ter-esting," the Sorting Hat said loudly. "In-ter-esting indeed." Desiree, who was still burning a bright crimson, shut her eyes tightly. Doing so squeezed out a few fat tears, and Malfoy snickered again. Harry felt a thick sympathy for this plain-faced girl with mousy brown hair; he made a mental reminder to give Malfoy a good, swift kick in the bum later. He had no right to be making her already awful day worse.
"Bloody bugger," Ron muttered under his breath.
"I agree," Harry said quietly, and began stabbing at his peas.
"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the Hat suddenly, startling them both. McGonagall ushered the Sorting Hat away again, and the red-faced Desiree McDaniels hurried to the Ravenclaw table. She wasn't greeted with quite the enthusiasm Gryffindor would've offered, Harry thought, but perhaps he was wrong. Either way, no one said a thing to the poor girl as she sat down. Except for Cho, that is. She smiled kindly at Desiree and began to murmur something, making Harry's heart warm involuntarily. He had a slight feeling that she'd be just fine. The rest of the feast went on as normal, but Harry had another feeling -- one that poor Desiree McDaniels' school year was only going to get worse.
