There was an uneasy murmuring among the first year students as Professor Sands led them into the school's Great Hall. He was a considerably new teacher, having been hired to teach Muggle Studies some nine or ten years ago. He was new enough to have retained his youthful charisma in his teaching, but old enough to rise to the rank of Deputy Headmaster shortly after McGonagall's retirement. He had cropped brown hair, light brown eyes, and a facial expression that always said exactly what mood he was in. He was also rather tall and hung above the students in a way that could only be described as "knowledgeable". From his friendly but firm face to the callused hands he held folded behind his back, it was clear he knew what he was doing.

Abby had heard enough stories about the Great Hall to last a lifetime, but she couldn't help shivering at the marvel of finally seeing it for herself. She wasn't the only one. The steps of everyone in the group slowed significantly as they gazed around in awe. The ceiling, bewitched to look like the sky outside, was a pleasant blue with scattered, stretched cotton balls of clouds. All around them were rows and rows of lit candles that hovered high above their heads. Four tables – one for each House, she had learned – led up to the grand teacher's table across the front. Right away she knew which table was Slytherin, because to her left she could hear Hugh Turner (who had become a Slytherin the year before) chanting,

"Abigail Potter

What a monster

When Daddy's here she has nothing to fear

Potter, Potter

What a bother

When Daddy's away she has nothing to say."

Deeply hurt but struggling not to show it, she held her head up high and tried to ignore the group that had joined him in his song. He had been taunting her for years, but it never ceased to hurt her. It's that stupid scar, she thought. She had pulled her hair back on the train because it was getting in her eyes. Now she reached back and tugged the elastic from her hair. Jet-black and stick straight, it spilt past her shoulders and down her back. It also hid a large portion of her forehead, including just above her eyes.

The group of first years, still murmuring among themselves, stopped and faced the teacher's table. Dumbledore, Headmaster and family friend to Abby, sat in the direct center in the grandest seat of all the staff. Their eyes met, and she could have sworn she saw him wink at her from beneath his half-moon-shaped spectacles. She smiled back. With him in charge, she felt thoroughly safe and protected.

Everyone craned to catch a glimpse of Professor Sands, who was now bringing a stool to the front of the table. Perched atop the stool was a visibly aged, worn, and dusty wizard's hat. Next to it was a rolled-up bit of parchment. As the students bumped and thumped into each other, Abby found herself shoved a bit by one particular student next to her.

"A hat? How's that supposed to sort us out?" the student questioned, apparently to Abby. She turned to deliver an answer, but found herself unable to speak once she did. The student was a young boy, not much older than her but a few inches taller. He had ear-length black hair of the same shade as hers, and the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen. He had a lanky figure but came off very casual and sure of himself. His attractiveness made her freeze and caught her words in her throat. He flashed her a warm smile.

"I guess some of us need more than a hat to be sorted out. I'm sorry; I'm Elijah Young," he said, giving her a proper introduction. "And you would be…caught off-guard?"

She laughed quietly to herself at her inability to speak. "A little, yes. My name's Abigail Potter, but my friends just call me Abby." He nodded in acknowledgment, and she braced herself for some sort of comment on her last name. Any time she introduced herself, the reply was almost always the same: "Oh, so you're the Potter girl" or "Ah, another Potter, eh? You've got a lot to live up to, you know." But right from the start Elijah was different.

"Abby, huh?" he said, still smiling. "Beautiful name. It matches your eyes." Beautiful? That was certainly a new one. She'd been called nice before…and attractive…and her parents always said that she was pretty. But beautiful? To hear such a good-looking person call her beautiful lit up her eyes and swelled her heart to bursting. She couldn't help even turning a light red hue at the compliment. And all this without regarding her background…it made her feel genuinely good about herself, and that was more that anyone had done in a very long time.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I like your name, too. Reminds me of home." She couldn't put her finger on it exactly, but there was something intriguingly mysterious about this character. At the same time he also seemed oddly familiar. As Professor Sands unraveled the scroll to call students up to be sorted, the two began to strike up a lively conversation. Elijah seemed intent on talking with Abby, and she couldn't say she minded the attention. Although she was usually quiet by nature, he helped her warm up to him by asking questions that couldn't be answered shortly.

"Cassandra Gayle," Professor Sands called. A sandy-haired young girl headed up to the stool. Abby tried to keep an eye on the sorting while she talked, but Elijah was too interesting for her to turn away from. Vaguely in the background she heard the hat declare Cassandra a Hufflepuff.

"So tell me about your family," asked Elijah casually. "Are your parents Muggles, or are you a pure-blood, or are you half-and-half?" She turned to him, again too startled for words. Did he really not know, or was he just pretending so as to treat her like any other person? She swallowed hard. Either way it was a kind gesture, and she didn't want to spoil it. She almost wanted to lie to him, but she knew she couldn't. After all, he already knew she was a Potter. How many other Potters were there with black hair, green eyes, and the mark of the Phoenix on their forehead? Quickly she brushed her hair over her scar.

"I-I'm a pure-blood," she admitted. The tone of her voice proved that she didn't want to say what she was saying and would have rathered crawl into an empty pit and die. "My parents are both wizards. Went to this school, actually…my-my father is Harry Potter." She had done well up until that last phrase. It wasn't particularly necessary, and now it sounded like she was bragging, which was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. Immediately she wanted to take back her words. She bit her lips anxiously.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Harry Potter? Sure, I've heard of him…helps lead the Order, doesn't he? Well, no matter. I'm not interested in your father. I'm interested in you." With that he smoothly slipped his hand into hers and gave it a quick squeeze before letting go again.

Abby could have died. She knew she was now beet-red, and her heart was thudding loudly in its cavity. It had swelled so much, it felt as though it had jumped into her throat. Suddenly she started to wonder if this was real, if she was really here. Was it possible that a boy as wonderful as this could truly be interested in her? Her, and not her background? It seemed this term was going to be a thousand times better than she'd ever dreamed.

Before she got the chance to ask about his family, Professor Sands called out, "Abigail Potter!" She looked at Elijah and gave him a weak smile. She wasn't terribly nervous about the Sorting Hat itself. She knew Sands would just drop it on her head and it would declare-for all the Great Hall to hear-in which house she belonged. It was simple, and she didn't have to do a thing. She was absolutely terrified of what the Hat would say. Both her parents and her grandparents (on her father's side; she'd never known them but knew this about them) had been in Gryffindor House. It was one of the noblest histories a wizard could have, and besides, her father would be sorely disappointed if that wasn't her house. All summer he'd been talking about it as though she already was a Gryffindor. What if the Hat proclaimed her a Hufflepuff, or worse, a Slytherin? She didn't even want to think about the look that would play across his face.

Elijah gave her an encouraging nudge toward the Professor, and she proceeded up the couple of steps to the stool. Meanwhile, she noticed the entire school had noted the similarities between her and her father. Students were murmuring to each other and staring at her, pointing up at her like she couldn't see them. Their eyes grew wide, their jaws had dropped, and they didn't bother to disguise their voices.

"Potter? Did he say Potter?"

"Must be. Look, she's got a scar just like Harry's."

"Wow, the daughter of Harry Potter, here at Hogwarts."

"Oh, she'll never be half the wizard her old man was." This last comment was, of course, from Hugh. Abby felt a sudden, profound thirst to prove herself among the students that marveled at her. They all know my name, she thought, but only three know me. Nonetheless, her entire body trembled as she sat slowly down on the aged stool. Now she was facing the blunt stares and open criticism. Why did they keep talking about her scar? Had it darkened that much once again? She looked down at the floor and then up again, hoping her hair hid more of her forehead. She was ordinarily very shy and hated to be the center of attention. This only made things worse. She waited nervously for Professor Sands to drop the Hat on her head. Her nerves felt like a thick ball in the pit of her stomach. If she wasn't sorted soon, she was going to be sick.

Soon enough Sands had placed the enchanted hat over her thick head of hair and everyone in the Great Hall had disappeared. A familiar-sounding voice filled her ears, no doubt from the Hat itself. She closed her eyes and awaited the verdict.

"Ah, another Potter, eh? Oh, you're all always so difficult…my my, I've never seen such a hunger to prove yourself. Tired of living in your father's shadow? Yes, well, you've got quite a bit to live up to, you know…but you've got an excellent head on your shoulders, perfect for Ravenclaw…and so faithful to your friends…you'd make a splendid Hufflepuff. And greatness, oh my goodness yes, you long to be great in your own right…ideal for Slytherin. Oh you Potters, always so multi-talented…so difficult…let's see…oh all right, I suppose that's truly the House for you, then…looks like another GRYFFINDOR!"

The word was music to Abby's ears. She tore the Hat off, flung it on the stool, and eagerly raced toward the Gryffindor table. The whole House had erupted into cheers and applause s she sat in the seat Paul Finnigan, also a new House member, had saved for her. All around her the other Gryffindors were boasting about getting yet another Potter for the third generation running, but Abby was too overcome with relief to pay attention. She no longer had to worry about letting everyone-especially her dad-down. She hated to live under his shadow, but she desperately wanted to live up to his expectations. Above the heads of her new classmates she saw Dumbledore grin, lift up his goblet, nod at her, and take a drink. She smiled broadly. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, after all.

Sands read off several more names before getting to the one Abby had been waiting to hear: "Elijah Young!" Excitedly she placed a hand on the empty seat beside her, staking claim to it as his. They had, after all, had a very interesting conversation, and she couldn't wait to hear more about him. He approached the stool calmly, but she noticed his face seemed a bit flushed. He gripped the sides of the stool and tapped them impatiently as the Hat was dropped on his head. His gaze met hers, and he smiled. For that moment his anxious fingers had stopped tapping. She could see the Hat forming some sort of words, and Elijah seemed a little alarmed by them. Probably just mentioning the other Houses as it did with me, Abby thought. The Hat finally made up its mind:

"SLYTHERIN!" Abby stared, unblinking, while Professor Sands removed the Hat. She thought she heard wrong at first. But no, Elijah was reacting the same way, and behind her the Slytherin table was clapping politely. The other Houses were quiet. Elijah sat frozen to the stool for a few seconds from shock, then found his mobility and walked slowly to the table. Not sure what else to do, Abby turned in a panic toward Paul.

"Paul, there's been a mistake, there's got to have been! I met Elijah. He's a good kid, he really is. He's nothing like those other Slytherins. He belongs here with us, I just know it!" He just looked at her and shrugged it off.

"Well, if the Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin, it must have had good reason. Besides, there's no going back now. You can't change tradition." She narrowed her eyes at his off-handed way of dealing with the situation. How dare he shrug it off with as simple a comment as that! A sweet young boy was about to become a cold, cruel-hearted wizard, and all Paul could say was "oh well". Couldn't he even make an effort to make amends? Giving a disgusted sigh of exasperation, she turned around in her seat to face the Slytherin table. Across the way Hugh sneered at her, but she ignored him. Right now she had eyes only for the boy now sitting right in front of her. It was lucky their tables at least sat right next to each other. All they had to do was turn around and they would face each other.

"You'd better turn around and join your House," he said sadly. With a defiant flip of her hair she replied,

"Never. I'll never turn my back on you."