ROSEMARY FOR PROTECTION
(a/n: I started this in December, I think... I'm sorry for you all who decided to read this, and
I apologize for any inconsistencies or plot holes, I guess you could call it... artistic license?)
I stood last in line, shivering with nerves. Hardly an inch, if not less, taller
than most of the terrified eleven-year-olds in front of me, I couldn't see what was going
on any better than they could. No matter that I was four years older than them, it made
no difference. Most of thie line was in view of the student body of Hogwarts, but I was
hidden behind a heavy black curtain.
The only noise was the constant murmur (more like dull roar) of the other
students, all sitting at their respective house tables. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw,
and Slytherin.
A man I recognized (from Chocolate Frogs, but oh well) to be Albus Dumbledore
stood, and with surprising ease glided to the center of the dais the teachers ate on. Professor
Dumbledore had sweeping purple robes on, contrasting his waist-length silver hair and beard.
"Good evening," He spoke with the quiet confidence of one whose very life has been
tested, and has survived the experience. "I would like to welcome all of you back to Hogwarts,
and to make a particularly odd announcement.
Over the thousand years that it has been open, Hogwarts has only had six transfer
students: two Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs, and two Slytherins. Every one of those students
had started here in their first or second year. We have *never* in the past accepted students
older than the age of twelve. Indeed, we have never found anyone with enough aptitude to
warrant accepting them later in their education.
However, this year we will have a new *fifth* year student."
The blanket of silence that had fallen over the hall was finally resting, and there was
so little sound coming from the students that I struggled to shove aside the curtain. I managed
just in time to see boy with LONG black hair say loudly,
"Can we sort them already? I'm really hungry."
The blanket was thrown off, and everyone laughed or chuckled. Professor Dumbledore
in particular was highly amused. "Certainly, Mr. Black."
He turned to an elbow-high wizard on his left. "Professor Flitwick?"
The tiny man nodded, and produced a chair and ragged hat out of nowhere.
That hat's been through the mill, I told myself. It's disgusting.
It was. Ragged, stained, patched, I couldn't even imagine how old it was.
The little Professor sat the hat on the stool, and a rip opened near the brim. It began to
sing!
I stared at it, mouth hanging open, as it rabbled on about the Founders and their
prize qualities in students.
When it had finished, the applause became deafening, and when it finally subsided,
a rather stern-looking witch with a deep red belt over her robes came forward.
"When I call off your name, you will come forward, take the Hat from the person
in front of you, and sit on the stool to be Sorted." She told us. "Is that clear?"
Everyone in the line nodded, and she began to read off names.
(a/n: I started this in December, I think... I'm sorry for you all who decided to read this, and
I apologize for any inconsistencies or plot holes, I guess you could call it... artistic license?)
I stood last in line, shivering with nerves. Hardly an inch, if not less, taller
than most of the terrified eleven-year-olds in front of me, I couldn't see what was going
on any better than they could. No matter that I was four years older than them, it made
no difference. Most of thie line was in view of the student body of Hogwarts, but I was
hidden behind a heavy black curtain.
The only noise was the constant murmur (more like dull roar) of the other
students, all sitting at their respective house tables. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw,
and Slytherin.
A man I recognized (from Chocolate Frogs, but oh well) to be Albus Dumbledore
stood, and with surprising ease glided to the center of the dais the teachers ate on. Professor
Dumbledore had sweeping purple robes on, contrasting his waist-length silver hair and beard.
"Good evening," He spoke with the quiet confidence of one whose very life has been
tested, and has survived the experience. "I would like to welcome all of you back to Hogwarts,
and to make a particularly odd announcement.
Over the thousand years that it has been open, Hogwarts has only had six transfer
students: two Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs, and two Slytherins. Every one of those students
had started here in their first or second year. We have *never* in the past accepted students
older than the age of twelve. Indeed, we have never found anyone with enough aptitude to
warrant accepting them later in their education.
However, this year we will have a new *fifth* year student."
The blanket of silence that had fallen over the hall was finally resting, and there was
so little sound coming from the students that I struggled to shove aside the curtain. I managed
just in time to see boy with LONG black hair say loudly,
"Can we sort them already? I'm really hungry."
The blanket was thrown off, and everyone laughed or chuckled. Professor Dumbledore
in particular was highly amused. "Certainly, Mr. Black."
He turned to an elbow-high wizard on his left. "Professor Flitwick?"
The tiny man nodded, and produced a chair and ragged hat out of nowhere.
That hat's been through the mill, I told myself. It's disgusting.
It was. Ragged, stained, patched, I couldn't even imagine how old it was.
The little Professor sat the hat on the stool, and a rip opened near the brim. It began to
sing!
I stared at it, mouth hanging open, as it rabbled on about the Founders and their
prize qualities in students.
When it had finished, the applause became deafening, and when it finally subsided,
a rather stern-looking witch with a deep red belt over her robes came forward.
"When I call off your name, you will come forward, take the Hat from the person
in front of you, and sit on the stool to be Sorted." She told us. "Is that clear?"
Everyone in the line nodded, and she began to read off names.