Spread before them in unforgettable splendor was the Great Hall of Hogwart's School – greeting the new students and welcoming the returning scholars home. The Professors, save for McGonagall – who was then leading in the wide-eyed 1st years – were seated at the Head Table, to the right or left hand of Albus Dumbledore, the Head Master. His wizened, kind face was as smiling and jovial as it usually was.
The Great Hall was loud with chatter for a moment, until of course McGonagall made her way to the front of the Hall, to stand before her fellow Professors and the Headmaster. When she'd reached this place, the 1st years following her there, she stepped aside from her standing place to reveal an old stool that had an even older hat sitting upon it. This hat was tattered and torn, patched as well. It seemed nothing special. The 1st years, looking at it, were heard to sigh with some relief. In the rows of already seated students, some gentle laughter wafted up – they were most likely remembering the false horror stories of the Sorting that they themselves had been told.
And here it was, just a hat. However, not a moment later, the Hat opened it's mouth – yes, it had a mouth – and began to sing. Would wonders never cease?
At her place along the Slytherin table, Bella rolled her eyes. What I wouldn't give for a pair of headphones to go along with my music doll, she thought to herself. Apparently, the wonder of the singing Sorting Hat had lost it's edge for her after so many years. It didn't matter if the song changed each time. Around her, the majority of her house mates seemed as disenchanted with it all as she was. Some even turned to whisper conversations with whoever was beside them – others let their eyes drift along the charmingly enchanted ceiling. Above their heads, the night sky was black velvet studded with stars and crowned by a smiling moon. Her eyes only stayed there for a moment though, there were things of interest elsewhere for her, and she knew everyone would take it for interest in the present Sorting. Fools.
"Kettle, Elvira!" McGonagall called out, looking up from the list to see a tiny, cherub faced girl with honey colored eyes and midnight black hair make her way to the Hat and the stool. Bella seemed to be watching Miss Kettle as well, but she barely registered the sound when the Hat called out "Ravenclaw!" as it was set on the little child's head. Bella's eyes were locked on someone much different. Beyond the Sorting, sitting at the Head Table, at the left hand of Dumbledore, was Professor Severus Snape – looking out at the students with a half interest that spoke of his own wish to look up at the ceiling – or even better, to just leave.
*
Severus, uncomfortable as always at such functions, was hoping that Dumbledore wouldn't say anything about his lack of attention later on that evening, when the teachers met for one last time to discuss the upcoming year before going to bed. Of course, the Headmaster would disguise the reprimand with a light hearted teasing, as usual – and the other Professors would nod and laugh about his infamous disregard for anything merry. Severus scoffed under his breath at the thought of all of this. And then, out of the blue, he decided not to give them a bloody chance for that usual scenario. His attention then went to his own House table, to make sure his students were behaving. Being the Head of Slytherin House was a bit of a challenge from time to time, (when he choose to really put his heart into it, or when it really called for him to; to keep the little dunderheads from killing themselves or someone else) even at the Sorting Ceremony.
His obsidian like eyes focused on one certain person right away after an initial scan for trouble. Not that she was trouble maker of course, but because she concerned him greatly. She reminded him of himself at her age. Alone, sad and looking for acceptance wherever it reared it's head – even if she pretended to care less. Looking not the least bit put out at the moment, not even from boredom - Bella Cinder leaned her chin on her crossed arms which were propped up on the table. Her long, curling, dark brunette hair made a silky cloud and veil around her round, pretty face – almost lending her a bit of an angel's look to her slightly catty features. Pale, azure blue eyes were wreathed in almost tangible dreams – obviously romantic. And those pretty, dreamy orbs were staring right back at him – he could tell, even in all this crowd. She saw no one else but him! And then, her milky skin turned rose petal pink. She noticed he was looking back! Adverting her eyes to the ceiling that would be the night sky, she continued to blush.
Intriguing, he thought. Very intriguing. Flattering too, she is such a lovely young . . . And then, a sudden discomfort and deep guilt took him. This can't be good, of course . . . and cannot be encouraged! So, how should I go about this?
Questions, Questions . . . but had he an answer?
No, not yet.
*
When the Sorting Ceremony was over, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor announced (Bella hadn't caught the name) and the feast had been called up for the hungry students, the resident ghosts came to give their welcome as well. Some of the 1st years were again looking a bit uneasy, since more than a few were Muggle born and had only heard tales of ghosts before. No one at the Slytherin table was bothered by the presence of the specters, but they were calling grief on some of the nearby Ravenclaw newbies.
Bella wasn't one of the antagonist though. Not that this struck anyone as odd, of course, she rarely ever was. The time found her not even hearing the cruelties, as her thoughts were centered on the little scare she'd had earlier that evening.
He knows! Her mind cried over and over. He knows! This is disaster!
Or is it? Another voice question seductively in her head.