MERRY CHOTTER AND THE DRUM MAJOR'S STONE
By Kate
Chapter Ten
Rating: PG
Summary: This time I'm NOT kidding; they really do get Sorted!
A/N: You should've all received an e-mail about Merry hitting the 10- chapter mark. my little baby is growing up so fast! Anyway, after this chapter, I think I might condense the plot a bit and make the chapters longer so this story doesn't drag ON and ON and ON (for those of you who read *Treasure* Island, you know EXACTLY what I mean!). If you don't want any more e-mails, just reply to mine and tell me so, but note the new address . . . stupid Angelfire shut down my last one so I had to move.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Half of the time, I can't even say his name right. (Yay for Parry Hotter!) I sure don't own marching band, either; if I did, the horns would NOT be in the woodwind block. Yuck. Middle-schoolers, indeed.
CHAPTER TEN
*from the last chapter, a nice little lead-in* "Students, please, be quiet," said a noble voice. Merry and Rynn sighed with relief; Aldridge would have to shut up now. "The Sorting Ceremony will begin in just a moment." *end quote*
Merry looked expectantly towards the front of the Commons, waiting for some sort of huge ceremony to begin. Having lived 10 years of a poor, sheltered life, the only ceremonies Merry had seen were those in which Adley received a trophy, Adley received an award, or Adley won Most Beautiful and Generally Wonderful Student Of PMS History. So, naturally, that was what she was picturing in her mind.
Instead, McGoneforgold stepped forward and placed an old, ratty, flat- topped white hat on a stool at the front of the room. It had a dirty, flopping white feather with a few random strands of tinsel left in it hanging tiredly out of a slit in the top. Hanging from its front brim were various thin pieces of wood, oddly-shaped pieces of metal, and something Merry recognized as a drumstick from one of the stores in Try-Again Alley.
"Uh, Rynn, what's that?" Merry asked in a whisper.
"That's the Sorting Shako. Haven't you ever seen a shako before?"
"I don't think so . . . wait! Is that what was in that big plastic box Haggis-face picked up for me that he said not to open so it wouldn't get moldy?"
"Exactly. You're going to be wearing one of those a bunch while you're at Smog-Hurts."
"Great . . ." the idea sounded like anything but to poor Buggle-raised Merry.
"Aw, come on! You'll grow to love it, especially the chicken!" Rynn's eyes were glistening with excitement at the thought of finally being able to march with Smog-Hurts' best.
"Chicken?" Merry asked just as Stumblemore called the group to attention again.
Rynn stood up like a string had been pulled up through her body and tightened. Out of the corner of her mouth, she managed to hiss "The feather!" without being caught.
"Let the Sorting begin!" Stumblemore announced. Cheers erupted from the Commons, but all of the students suddenly remembered that they were at attention and shut up.
Merry waited for someone to say something, but, instead, they all turned to look at the Sorting Shako. After a moment, a mouth-like gap opened between the visor and the main hat part and the shako began to sing.
~Oh, sure, my chicken's dying
But I will never stop
If you can count much louder,
I'll dip myself in slop.
You can keep your shoes all polished
And your scrubs as white as snow
But I'm the Smog-Hurts Sorting Shako
And I beat them all, you know.
There's no intention that you have
That I won't know for long
So strap me on - and show no hair
And we'll see where you belong
Trombones belong in Brasschoir
With baritones and horns
Add tubas and some trumpets
Brasschoir's not one to scorn
They're brave to just set foot in
Your average master class
And, when they are challenged,
They'll surely kick your (whoops, this story is PG!)
Flag-spinners go in Guardo
Rifles and sabres, too
It's quite a lot of tricky stuff
That Guardo House can do.
While they'll knock Brass our silly,
Guardos are lifelong friends
After scoring on Impale Scale
They'll be loyal 'til the end.
If you're a flute, you're Windchoir
Or clarinet, bassoon
The oboes and the saxophones
Keep Windchoir out of tune
And though their tuning's frightful
Windchoir's a wise old lot
They'll help you out with homework
And show you to your dot.
But maybe you're in Drumline?
Cymbal, tenor, bass, or snare
The Pit belongs in Drumline too
For percussiveness they share.
In Drumline you'll get to work
To get your own dear way
The percussionists are cunning
And friendships last for days.
So strap me on, don't worry
But keep the strings tucked in
To doubt the House in which you're placed
Would surely be a sin.
The entire Commons exploded in applause, having been given an "at ease" from Stumblemore himself. McGoneforgold stepped forward to being the ceremony.
"Abboot, Banana-fana (A/N: Yay for the Name Game)!" McGoneforgold read from her list.
A meek-looking blonde girl stepped forward and mincely placed the shako on her pigtailed head. It fell down near her nose, but she seemed not to care. The hat barely paused, then cried out "Windchoir - Clarinet!"
A cheer came from the Windchoir table as Banana-fana went to join them. Merry could see a ghost called the Chubby Chaplain talking to her. "Bonylegs, Susan" went to Windchoir too, though she was put on Bassoon.
Merry and Rynn watched several other first-years get Sorted. Merry decided that Windchoir looked nice but boring. Drumline looked like a nasty lot - maybe it was just because of everything she'd heard about them, but they seemed to smell something more rotten than the Toronto Garbage Strike. Brasschoir, where Rynn was sure to go, would be a nice house to be Sorted into, if only because Merry would be sure to have a friend. Guardo House, Merry decided, would be a place where she couldn't survive - its members appeared to do hundreds of push-ups and sit-ups every day. Being cramped in a cupboard didn't quite count as exercising those stomach muscles.
Merry turned her attention back to the ceremony right as "Feasibly, Rynn!" was announced. Rynn walked slowly to the stool, pale in the face. Merry crossed her fingers for her newfound friend, but her luck wasn't necessary. Nearly instantly, the hat cried out "Brasschoir, Baritone!" Rynn smiled and went to join her sisters. She took a seat near the end of the table, where she could still talk to Merry.
"Grainger, Aldridge!" was called soon after. The boy Merry and Rynn had met earlier ran up and eagerly jammed the shako on his head.
"Brasschoir - French horn!" the hat shouted.
Rynn sighed. "Great," she muttered, "I'll never see the end of him now."
Merry went back to wondering where she would wind up when an especially icky thought occurred to her. What if she wasn't put in any house? What if the Shako announced to the whole school that she was there by accident and should just go back to live with the Ürsleys? She could never survive that.
Mauvais sauntered assuredly to the stool when her name was called. The strap of the Sorting Shako wasn't even all the way under her chin when a cry of "Drumline - Battery Alternate" filled the Commons.
"That's pretty good for a first-year," Rynn explained to Merry. "She'll probably wind up being Drum Captain by seventh year."
"Oh, joy," Merry whispered back. She didn't understand much about Smog- Hurts or its students yet, but she understood that Mauvais in a position of power was very, very bad. All of a sudden, it occurred to Merry that, if Mauvais just been called, her turn was long-gone.
However, right after calling for "Perks, Dilly-Dally," (she, of course, went to Windchoir) McGoneforgold called out "Potter, Harry - whoops, that should be Chotter, Merry. Just got a little switched there, I guess."
Merry wasn't sure whether to be relieved that she was on the list or ashamed that so much attention was being drawn to her. The whole Commons was abuzz with whispers, most of which Merry could tell contained her name. She walked forward to put on the Sorting Shako with mixed emotions churning in her stomach.
A small voice whispered in her ear. "Ooh, a hard one, for once. Thank you, Ms. Chotter, for challenging me. Let's see - plenty of bravery, but also a good mind. You have arm strength and, yes, a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?"
Merry crossed her fingers once again, thinking, "Not Drumline. Please, not Drumline. Anywhere but Drumline."
"Not Drumline?" the Shako questioned. Merry nodded in a way that was imperceptible to the students in front of her. "You could be great there, you know. Be the one to start off the Smog-Hurts Fight Song by sixth or seventh year. But, if you're sure, I guess I'll put you in" the voice paused to take a deep breath, then shouted, "Brasschoir - Trombone!" (A/N: Surprised?)
Merry sighed with great relief, as if a huge burden had been removed from her shoulders. All of Brasschoir House cheered to have the famous Merry Chotter in their number. Merry was just glad to be with Rynn, who she knew wouldn't attack her on sight, and Aldridge, who she thought just might turn out to be interesting.
A/N: All right! Are you surprised that I put Merry on Trombone? It was hard, but I did it. I really think it fits better. And Aldridge is SUCH a horn player, and Rynn just makes me think of Euphies/Baritones. For anyone who was in Region XX Middle School/Junior High Region Symphonic Band where we played that song about Covington Square or whatever, do you remember "Bari-tuba?" 'Cause I just thought of that . . .
Keep reviewing, it makes me happy! And tell me what you thought of the Sorting Shako's song!
Mellie: Yeah, I'll lend you the second one at band camp tomorrow. Yeah, the Rose Parade. Shut Up and Hustle - that's HILARIOUS! I'm so using that . . . somewhere.
DancingSilhouette: See, Michelle, I do listen to you! Not really, I was already gonna make Aldy a horn and Merry a boner but oh, well. Feel the love anyway.
Adulaith: I hope you're as amused with this chapter as the last one!
By Kate
Chapter Ten
Rating: PG
Summary: This time I'm NOT kidding; they really do get Sorted!
A/N: You should've all received an e-mail about Merry hitting the 10- chapter mark. my little baby is growing up so fast! Anyway, after this chapter, I think I might condense the plot a bit and make the chapters longer so this story doesn't drag ON and ON and ON (for those of you who read *Treasure* Island, you know EXACTLY what I mean!). If you don't want any more e-mails, just reply to mine and tell me so, but note the new address . . . stupid Angelfire shut down my last one so I had to move.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Half of the time, I can't even say his name right. (Yay for Parry Hotter!) I sure don't own marching band, either; if I did, the horns would NOT be in the woodwind block. Yuck. Middle-schoolers, indeed.
CHAPTER TEN
*from the last chapter, a nice little lead-in* "Students, please, be quiet," said a noble voice. Merry and Rynn sighed with relief; Aldridge would have to shut up now. "The Sorting Ceremony will begin in just a moment." *end quote*
Merry looked expectantly towards the front of the Commons, waiting for some sort of huge ceremony to begin. Having lived 10 years of a poor, sheltered life, the only ceremonies Merry had seen were those in which Adley received a trophy, Adley received an award, or Adley won Most Beautiful and Generally Wonderful Student Of PMS History. So, naturally, that was what she was picturing in her mind.
Instead, McGoneforgold stepped forward and placed an old, ratty, flat- topped white hat on a stool at the front of the room. It had a dirty, flopping white feather with a few random strands of tinsel left in it hanging tiredly out of a slit in the top. Hanging from its front brim were various thin pieces of wood, oddly-shaped pieces of metal, and something Merry recognized as a drumstick from one of the stores in Try-Again Alley.
"Uh, Rynn, what's that?" Merry asked in a whisper.
"That's the Sorting Shako. Haven't you ever seen a shako before?"
"I don't think so . . . wait! Is that what was in that big plastic box Haggis-face picked up for me that he said not to open so it wouldn't get moldy?"
"Exactly. You're going to be wearing one of those a bunch while you're at Smog-Hurts."
"Great . . ." the idea sounded like anything but to poor Buggle-raised Merry.
"Aw, come on! You'll grow to love it, especially the chicken!" Rynn's eyes were glistening with excitement at the thought of finally being able to march with Smog-Hurts' best.
"Chicken?" Merry asked just as Stumblemore called the group to attention again.
Rynn stood up like a string had been pulled up through her body and tightened. Out of the corner of her mouth, she managed to hiss "The feather!" without being caught.
"Let the Sorting begin!" Stumblemore announced. Cheers erupted from the Commons, but all of the students suddenly remembered that they were at attention and shut up.
Merry waited for someone to say something, but, instead, they all turned to look at the Sorting Shako. After a moment, a mouth-like gap opened between the visor and the main hat part and the shako began to sing.
~Oh, sure, my chicken's dying
But I will never stop
If you can count much louder,
I'll dip myself in slop.
You can keep your shoes all polished
And your scrubs as white as snow
But I'm the Smog-Hurts Sorting Shako
And I beat them all, you know.
There's no intention that you have
That I won't know for long
So strap me on - and show no hair
And we'll see where you belong
Trombones belong in Brasschoir
With baritones and horns
Add tubas and some trumpets
Brasschoir's not one to scorn
They're brave to just set foot in
Your average master class
And, when they are challenged,
They'll surely kick your (whoops, this story is PG!)
Flag-spinners go in Guardo
Rifles and sabres, too
It's quite a lot of tricky stuff
That Guardo House can do.
While they'll knock Brass our silly,
Guardos are lifelong friends
After scoring on Impale Scale
They'll be loyal 'til the end.
If you're a flute, you're Windchoir
Or clarinet, bassoon
The oboes and the saxophones
Keep Windchoir out of tune
And though their tuning's frightful
Windchoir's a wise old lot
They'll help you out with homework
And show you to your dot.
But maybe you're in Drumline?
Cymbal, tenor, bass, or snare
The Pit belongs in Drumline too
For percussiveness they share.
In Drumline you'll get to work
To get your own dear way
The percussionists are cunning
And friendships last for days.
So strap me on, don't worry
But keep the strings tucked in
To doubt the House in which you're placed
Would surely be a sin.
The entire Commons exploded in applause, having been given an "at ease" from Stumblemore himself. McGoneforgold stepped forward to being the ceremony.
"Abboot, Banana-fana (A/N: Yay for the Name Game)!" McGoneforgold read from her list.
A meek-looking blonde girl stepped forward and mincely placed the shako on her pigtailed head. It fell down near her nose, but she seemed not to care. The hat barely paused, then cried out "Windchoir - Clarinet!"
A cheer came from the Windchoir table as Banana-fana went to join them. Merry could see a ghost called the Chubby Chaplain talking to her. "Bonylegs, Susan" went to Windchoir too, though she was put on Bassoon.
Merry and Rynn watched several other first-years get Sorted. Merry decided that Windchoir looked nice but boring. Drumline looked like a nasty lot - maybe it was just because of everything she'd heard about them, but they seemed to smell something more rotten than the Toronto Garbage Strike. Brasschoir, where Rynn was sure to go, would be a nice house to be Sorted into, if only because Merry would be sure to have a friend. Guardo House, Merry decided, would be a place where she couldn't survive - its members appeared to do hundreds of push-ups and sit-ups every day. Being cramped in a cupboard didn't quite count as exercising those stomach muscles.
Merry turned her attention back to the ceremony right as "Feasibly, Rynn!" was announced. Rynn walked slowly to the stool, pale in the face. Merry crossed her fingers for her newfound friend, but her luck wasn't necessary. Nearly instantly, the hat cried out "Brasschoir, Baritone!" Rynn smiled and went to join her sisters. She took a seat near the end of the table, where she could still talk to Merry.
"Grainger, Aldridge!" was called soon after. The boy Merry and Rynn had met earlier ran up and eagerly jammed the shako on his head.
"Brasschoir - French horn!" the hat shouted.
Rynn sighed. "Great," she muttered, "I'll never see the end of him now."
Merry went back to wondering where she would wind up when an especially icky thought occurred to her. What if she wasn't put in any house? What if the Shako announced to the whole school that she was there by accident and should just go back to live with the Ürsleys? She could never survive that.
Mauvais sauntered assuredly to the stool when her name was called. The strap of the Sorting Shako wasn't even all the way under her chin when a cry of "Drumline - Battery Alternate" filled the Commons.
"That's pretty good for a first-year," Rynn explained to Merry. "She'll probably wind up being Drum Captain by seventh year."
"Oh, joy," Merry whispered back. She didn't understand much about Smog- Hurts or its students yet, but she understood that Mauvais in a position of power was very, very bad. All of a sudden, it occurred to Merry that, if Mauvais just been called, her turn was long-gone.
However, right after calling for "Perks, Dilly-Dally," (she, of course, went to Windchoir) McGoneforgold called out "Potter, Harry - whoops, that should be Chotter, Merry. Just got a little switched there, I guess."
Merry wasn't sure whether to be relieved that she was on the list or ashamed that so much attention was being drawn to her. The whole Commons was abuzz with whispers, most of which Merry could tell contained her name. She walked forward to put on the Sorting Shako with mixed emotions churning in her stomach.
A small voice whispered in her ear. "Ooh, a hard one, for once. Thank you, Ms. Chotter, for challenging me. Let's see - plenty of bravery, but also a good mind. You have arm strength and, yes, a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?"
Merry crossed her fingers once again, thinking, "Not Drumline. Please, not Drumline. Anywhere but Drumline."
"Not Drumline?" the Shako questioned. Merry nodded in a way that was imperceptible to the students in front of her. "You could be great there, you know. Be the one to start off the Smog-Hurts Fight Song by sixth or seventh year. But, if you're sure, I guess I'll put you in" the voice paused to take a deep breath, then shouted, "Brasschoir - Trombone!" (A/N: Surprised?)
Merry sighed with great relief, as if a huge burden had been removed from her shoulders. All of Brasschoir House cheered to have the famous Merry Chotter in their number. Merry was just glad to be with Rynn, who she knew wouldn't attack her on sight, and Aldridge, who she thought just might turn out to be interesting.
A/N: All right! Are you surprised that I put Merry on Trombone? It was hard, but I did it. I really think it fits better. And Aldridge is SUCH a horn player, and Rynn just makes me think of Euphies/Baritones. For anyone who was in Region XX Middle School/Junior High Region Symphonic Band where we played that song about Covington Square or whatever, do you remember "Bari-tuba?" 'Cause I just thought of that . . .
Keep reviewing, it makes me happy! And tell me what you thought of the Sorting Shako's song!
Mellie: Yeah, I'll lend you the second one at band camp tomorrow. Yeah, the Rose Parade. Shut Up and Hustle - that's HILARIOUS! I'm so using that . . . somewhere.
DancingSilhouette: See, Michelle, I do listen to you! Not really, I was already gonna make Aldy a horn and Merry a boner but oh, well. Feel the love anyway.
Adulaith: I hope you're as amused with this chapter as the last one!