Disclaimer:  Same as front.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this.  I really really appreciate it!  Thomas Riddle and Heatherella you are extremely generous in your lengthy compliments/critiques and I thank you greatly!  (PS, Heatherella, this chapter's even longer. Lol.)

And now…

Chapter 3:  Dinner and Other Fiascos.

"When she woke in the morning,

She knew that her life had passed her by.

And she called out a warning,

'Don't ever let life pass you by.'"

-Incubus

            The colorful banners of the four school houses adorned the Great Hall, the illuminated sky-ceiling above vast and dark.  Ron rushed to the table decorated with red and gold ahead of Hermione and Harry, tightly gripping two pieces of parchment and a quill.

            Hermione shook her head.  "Honestly," she lamented.  "How could he forget?"

            They approached they table and Hermione immediately sunk down in the empty seat next to Ron.  "I'm going to help him finish his assignment," she told Harry.  "Sit there."  Her outstretched forefinger pointed to the seat across from them.

            She practically ran for that seat, thought Harry as Hermione leaned over Ron's furiously writing hand.  No matter.  He strolled to the front of the hall and rounded the table to get to the other side, eyes fixing on the teacher's table before him.

            The usual suspects greeted him:  diminutive Charms professor Flitwick chatted happily with Herbology professor Sprout.  Divination professor Trelawny was predictably absent.  (Oh darn, thought Harry.)  Hagrid and Professor McGonagall's seats were empty as they were attending to the first years.  Meanwhile, in the center of the table, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, sat alone in silent thought.  His eyes were squinted behind his half-moon spectacles as he stared straight ahead of him at virtually nothing at all.  Harry always wondered what thoughts swirled around the old man's head under the cascade of white snow that flowed down his back.  But Dumbledore was not easy to figure out.  Perhaps someday…

            A giant black something swooped behind Dumbledore, catching Harry's eye.  It was much to his dismay to discover it to be Severus Snape, Potions Master, and Harry's most despised teacher.  The sour sneer that crossed his face looked as though it hadn't let all summer.  He sat in his chair two down from Dumbledore, black beady eyes scanning the room from underneath his mess of greasy black hair.  It wasn't so much that Snape gave his students stupid busywork in class, or took points away from Gryffindor for ridiculous reasons.  No, Harry hated him because he had made it personal.  Snape didn't want Harry dead, but it would be wrong to say that he would be hurt to see him suffer.  Miserable git, Harry said to himself, and tried to push him from his mind.

            This proved rather easy because of the scene that occurred behind Snape's back.  Two ladies, both young, stood talking heatedly about something.  One had brown wavy hair tied back in a ponytail and her eyes were sad beneath her black-rimmed glasses.  She wore a Hogwarts robe with the school seal on the breast and a plain tie like a first year pre-sorting, though she clearly was not.  The other girl was obviously older, her long honey-colored hair hanging straight down, except for two little clips that held it back at her ears.  Her hands were on the shoulders of the younger one, patting her every now and then, and eventually grabbing her in a big hug.  The younger one tried not the cry as she clutched the other's sapphire blue dress with matching cloak. 

            Mother and daughter?  The older one didn't look that old.  Sisters, perhaps, thought Harry.  But what are they doing up there?  Was she the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?  No way.  The girl appeared to be in about her early twenties, far too inexperienced to be a professor.  Then it occurred to him:  who was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?  Harry scanned the table looking for an unfamiliar face, and almost missed the most obvious candidate, whose familiar face was not in the right setting.  Sitting two down from Snape, looking extremely nervous with his long red hair brushed neatly into a ponytail, was none other than Bill Weasley.  Harry just stared for a moment, shocked.  "No way," he breathed, as his senses recovered and he rushed around the table.

            "Ron!" He called as he collapsed in his seat.  "You have to look!"

            Hermione glared up at Harry as Ron's hand kept flying across the page.  "Can't you see this is important?" she snapped.

            "So's this," Harry cried.  "Look!"

            Ron put down his quill and gazed at the teacher's table.  "What?" he said with a shrug.  "I don't see anything so…"  Ron stopped suddenly and his face went white.  "No!"  His head turned sharply to Harry.  "What is he doing here?" he cried in a panic.

            "New Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I guess," Harry replied.

            Ron's face was the color of sour milk and its expression seemed as though he had drank some.  "How come mum didn't say anything?" he squeaked.

            "Wanted to keep it a surprise I guess," Ginny Weasley leaned over Hermione to talk to Ron.

            "You knew?" he asked incredulously.

            She nodded.  "I heard mum and dad talking about it a few nights ago.  He's very happy but really hopes he doesn't screw up."

            Ron banged his head softly against the wooden table.  "And why didn't you say anything?"

            "Well, that look on your face is worth it," said Fred Weasley, two seats down from Harry.

            His twin, George, grinned.  "Think of it this way:  at least it's not Percy."

            Ron gulped.  This was true.

            "Besides," said Harry.  "Bill's the cool one, right?"

            "Yeah," Ron replied, "but that doesn't mean that he can't embarrass me in front of all Gryffindor or tell a personal secret or something."

            "Why would he do that?" asked Fred.  "Has he got something on you, Ronnikins?"

            Ron shook his head vehemently.  "No!  Of course not!  Why would he…?"

            "Enough!" interrupted Hermione, shoving Ron's quill back in his hand.  "Write!"  Ron went reluctantly back to his essay.

            Just then, the doors to the Great Hall flew open and in strode Minerva McGonagall, her tiny round glasses perched on the end of her nose.  Behind her, the first years marched two by two, looking in wide-eyed amazement at the great magical room that surrounded them.  They gathered in a group in front of the teachers, around the stool upon which the sorting hat rested.  Out of the corner of Harry's eye, he noticed the golden-haired girl give the brunette a quick kiss on the cheek, then hurry to the seat between Bill and Snape.  The brunette, meanwhile, joined the group of first years surrounding the sorting hat.

            Professor McGonagall woke the sorting hat with a gentle tap from her wand.  It stirred, then a great rip opened and the hat began its yearly song:

"Well, they call me the sorting hat,

And I'm old as you see.

But I can more than handle,

The task given to me.

So put me on your head,

At the end of this song,

It'll take but a second,

And I'll tell you where you belong.

Will it be Hufflepuff?

Are you hard working and loyal?

Then finding your kind here,

Won't be a toil.

Or perhaps Ravenclaw?

For the clever and those quick of wit.

If you're sharp of mind,

It's here you will fit.

Or are you a Gryffindor?

Brave and just?

A student in which others,

Can put their trust?

Then maybe you're Slytherin,

Cunning and bold.

By any means necessary,

You'll achieve your goal.

It's really quite simple.

Just give me a try,

And you'll like where you land,

Because the Hat does not lie."

            The hat fell silent and became a tattered accessory once more.  Professor McGonagall unrolled the parchment with the list of students to be sorted.  She cleared her throat and looked out at the student body.  "First of all," she said.  "I would like to start out tonight with a special sorting.  We are very pleased to have with us this year a fifth year transfer student from Sean McMurphy's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Ireland, Quinn McAllister.

            Quinn's name rang from the walls of the great hall and beads of sweat dripped down her brow.  She hated large crowds and she especially hated being the center of attention.  If she could have curled up in a ball under the teacher's table, she gladly would have, but this trial seemed inevitable.  A confident smile from Miranda gave her a nudge in the right direction and she crept slowly to the stool and sat on it.  Her breath caught in her throat as she looked out at all the students, thousands there seemed, then all went black as Professor McGonagall placed the sorting hat on her head.  It covered her eyes and left her alone with darkness and the slow thudding of her heart.

            "Oh my…" said a whisper in her ear.  The hat was speaking.  "What you have seen… what you have seen…"

            Quinn's heartbeat raced.  "What are you talking about?"  She asked in a panic.  "What do you mean?"

            "Now, now," the hat replied  "That's not for me to say, but it is my job for me to tell you that you belong in…"

            "RAVENCLAW!"

            The room reappeared at once as the hat was removed.  Breathing a sigh of relief, she hurried over to the blue and silver table where the other Ravenclaws were busy hollering for their new dorm mate.  She sat next to a dark-haired girl with a dark complexion who smiled instantly.  "Hi," she said.  "I'm Padma Patil.  Welcome to Ravenclaw."

            "Nice to meet you," Quinn replied quietly.

            A pretty Asian girl across from her softly clutched Quinn's hand.  "I'm Cho Chang," she said with a tight-lipped smile.  "I'm also Hogwarts' Head Girl."

            "You should be glad you're a Ravenclaw," Padma said with a nod.  "We're the best house in the school."

            "You could be a little biased though," laughed Quinn.

            "Not at all," answered Cho, swinging her long black hair behind her shoulder.  "You heard the hat:  we're clever and sharp-witted."

            "Yeah," echoed Padma.  "Gryffindor is the only house that comes close.  Slytherin's the breeding ground for deatheaters, and Hufflepuffs are just plain stupid."

            Cho suddenly cleared her throat rather loudly and glared at Padma.  "Not all Hufflepuffs," she growled icily.

            Padma cringed.  "Oh… um… yeah.  Sorry Cho."

            Quinn shifted uncomfortably in her seat at the terse silence.  Apparently she had missed something.

            "Sorry."  Cho broke the silence, turning her almond eyes on Quinn.  "Perhaps you've heard:  last year during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, there was a boy named Cedric Diggory…"

*

            Across the room, Harry stared at Cho as she talked to Quinn.  He found it scary how the way her heart-shaped lips moved sent shivers up and down his spine.  She was out of his league.  And still belonged to a dead man.  He wrenched his gaze away from that table and back to his own.  The sorting was more than halfway through and Gryffindor had acquired three boys and two girls so far.  Ron, meanwhile, was still plugging away.

            "Ug!" he said in exasperation.  "Why are there so many uses for dragon's blood?"

            The rest of the table let out a whooping cry as the last girl joined Gryffindor.

            "Six!" cried Dean, "That's one more than Slytherin!"

            "Hey, cool.  We got the most this year," Seamus declared with a grin.

            The room grew very noisy as older students happily welcomed the first years, then fell silent as Dumbledore stood to make his annual speech.  He smiled.  "Welcome students, to another year at Hogwarts School.  We hope you will enjoy the time you spend here learning and making friends."  He paused and adjusted his glasses.  "There are a few people I'd like to introduce to you.  Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Bill Weasley."

            Bill's face turned the color of his hair as he gave the clapping crowd of students a wave.  Ginny beamed at her brother, but Ron simply rolled his eyes and went back to his work.

            What's he got against Bill? Harry wondered, but Dumbledore quickly interrupted his thoughts.

            "I'd also like to introduce Ms. Miranda McAllister," he said, gesturing to the lady in blue, who stood.  "She is here as a student teacher under Professor Snape, and I expect that you will give her the same respect you would any other teacher."

            Miranda nodded her head and smiled at the polite applause that greeted her.  Harry noticed that she was quite tall and thin, and that her satin dress fit her nicely.  Apparently, so had Seamus.

            "Check her out!" exclaimed Seamus, clapping enthusiastically.  "Potions is actually going to be fun this year!"

            "If she's able to stand Snape," said George.  "I'll bet he makes a move on her and she's gone in a week."

            "Ew, gross!" cried Fred, wrinkling his nose.  "I don't think Snape even knows what a woman is anyway."

            Snape was staring at Miranda, but not in the way George had suggested.  He glared up at her, a disgusted sneer twisting across his face.  This was not unusual for Snape, but Harry thought this wasn't one of his run-of-the-mill sneers.  It seemed to have a sense of frustration in it, an sense of annoyance.

            "Hm.  Must be her sister."  Hermione pointed to the Ravenclaw table. 

            Harry shrugged as Dumbledore cleared his throat.  "Lastly," he said.  "I'm sure that all of you have heard the news out of Ireland."  The room grew eerily silent.  "Due to the circumstances, this school is on high alert and all security has been heightened.  I can assure you that the Ministry is taking this matter extremely seriously, and we will do our part to ensure the safety of our students.  Trips to Hogsmeade will be greatly monitored, if they exist at all."

            A general groan filled the room but Dumbledore silenced them with a wave of his hand.  "Not to worry," he said.  "The Ministry is working on it."  But Harry noticed the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes.  "So for now, enjoy the feast."  And with a clap of his hands, food materialized on the tables.

            With a sniffle, Ron pushed a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes off his parchment while the other kids dug in.

            "Mmmm," said Dean, licking the potatoes from his spoon and leaning over towards Ron.  "These potatoes are so good."

            "Shut-up, Dean."  Ron didn't even look up from his paper.

            "I don't think I've ever seen Ron work so diligently on anything before," Ginny commented.

            "I don't need to give Snape a reason to lower my grade before the year even starts."

            Hermione gingerly picked at her roast beef while uttering suggestions to Ron.  "Don't forget to tell how it's extracted… no that isn't right… Ron, the syntax in that sentence is horrible!"

            Harry engrossed himself in a conversation about quidditch with Dean and Seamus.  He was so distracted, in fact, that he did not notice the black figure behind Ron until it was too late.

            "What, may I ask, is that, Weasley?"

            Ron and Hermione turned in horror to the owner of the cold voice.  Snape loomed over Ron, his narrow eyes burning the parchment on the table.

            "Oh… nothing, sir," Ron snatched the paper and tried to hide it under the table, but Snape's hand was quicker.  As his eyes scanned it, another shorter figure came up behind Snape's shoulder and stared at Ron's essay.  It was Miss McAllister, looking like an angel standing next to Snape in all his black.  All at once, Snape let the hand holding the paper fall violently to his side and glared at Ron.  "This was homework, Weasley," he said calmly.  "Homework, to be done at home over the summer."

            "I-I know, sir," Ron replied, voice trembling slightly.  "I just forgot."

            Snape's look turned smug.  "Well," he said curtly.  "For forgetfulness, you get a zero for the assignment, and for cheating- ten points from Gryffindor."

            "But I didn't cheat!" cried Ron.

            "Professor, be reasonable.  The term hasn't even started!" added Seamus.  "You can't take away points yet."

            Snape shot daggers at Seamus.  "I can do whatever I like, Finnegan.  Five points for Finnegan's smart mouth!"

            By now, the entire Gryffindor table was up in arms.  Fred and George were on their feet.  Even Miss McAllister had a shocked look on her face.  Hermione tried pleading with him.  "Please, sir.  It's really not fair…"

            "Save it, Granger," he interrupted.  "Weasley, do you honestly think that I'm going to believe that you didn't have any help with her sitting next to you?  I've heard enough.  Good night."  And he promptly stormed down the aisle to the twin doors at the end, Ron's essay firmly in hand.

            Miranda's eyes flitted back and forth between Snape's retreating form and the table of irate Gryffindors.  "I'm terribly sorry," she said in her slight brogue.  "This is a horrible way to have met all of you… Good night."  She raced after Snape out the door.

            The Gryffindor table suddenly became very silent.  Seamus and Ron looked glumly at the table while the dishes were magically whisked away.

            "Five galleons says Snape makes a move on her," declared George.

            "You're on!" cried Fred.

            Ron's head hit the wooden table with a thunk.

*

            The click of Miranda's heels resounded in the empty hall as she hurried to catch up with Snape.  Her pencil-thin, two-inch stilettos were Muggle torture devices.  Snape was at least ten yards in front of her and going at breakneck speed.  "Will you slow down?" she barked, nearly twisting her ankle as she turned the corner.

            "Walk faster," came his reply.

            "I can't," she shot back.  "Look at these shoes!"

            He didn't.  He didn't even turn around.  Miranda had known Severus Snape for two weeks and they were already out for each other's blood.  Snape turned into the dungeons with Miranda right behind him.  They walked briskly on the cold stone floor.  The only sounds were Miranda's shoes and the swishing of Snape's robes.  Miranda exhaled and her breath formed a white cloud in front of her face.  They were going steadily underground.  She gathered her cloak around her body.

            "Alohamora."  The lock to the door on Snape's right clicked open.  Stepping in, he pushed the door shut behind him.  Miranda caught it and slipped in, closing it.

            "What is your problem?" she quipped, rubbing her hands together in an attempt to warm them.

            Snape pointed his wand at the fireplace.  "Incindio."  Flames shot from the tip of his wand, landed perfectly in the fireplace and set the tinder ablaze.  In a second, Ron's essay joined it.

            "The term hasn't even started yet," she cried.  "He would have finished it by the time he had your class."

            Snape removed his cloak and tossed it onto his desk chair.  "Obviously you have much to learn about disciplining students, professor," he sneered, black eyes burning.

            "I am not a professor," she spat.  "Nor will I ever be."

            "Well I'm sorry if my job is not good enough for you, Miranda."  He was standing in front of her now, his greasy black hair tucked neatly behind his ears.

            "I didn't say that!  You're putting words in my mouth!"

            "I guess big bad Miranda will just have to be one of us little people for a while, won't she?"

            Snape turned his back on her and Miranda was momentarily speechless.  She didn't take shit from anyone, especially not obnoxious overgrown bats.

            "It's not my fault I'm here," she retorted.

            "So says Albus," Snape muttered in reply.  "Then whose fault is it that you're here?"

            Damn.  Miranda's eyes drifted to her feet, but she was too proud for that.  "My business is my own," she snapped.

            Snape was busy piling extra Potions textbooks onto the first table.  "Fine then," he replied shortly.  "You're my colleague, and I didn't choose you."  The last Potions textbook hit the stack with a fwap.  "You will meet me tomorrow.  7 A.M.  This room.  We will discuss the day's lessons.  Questions?"

            "Just one," Miranda replied.  "Why was I placed with you?"

            Snape's eyes met hers.  "What did Albus tell you?"

            "A whole lot of nothing."

            He couldn't help but smirk.  "Good.  That's all you need to know.  A whole lot of nothing.  Things are going on at this school that are above your head."

            A dull ache had settled over Miranda's chest and head and she felt extremely exhausted all at once.  "Wow," came her weary retort.  "What an fascinating life a teacher must lead."

            Something flashed through Snape's eyes, but Miranda could not read the emotion.  "Until you can talk beyond your twenty-three years, keep your caustic tongue behind your teeth."  He picked up his cloak from the chair.  "Good night, Miss McAllister."  With a flash of black, he vanished through his office door.

            Miranda left the Potions classroom and was instantly hit by the frigid cold of the hallway.  Her quarters were directly across from the classroom, complete with her own spare room for junk and small office for planning lessons.  Not like she ever would.  They would never make a teacher out of her.  Her room had a pleasant hearth and fireplace, but for the moment, she just felt like staring at the door to it, her back against the smooth wood of the classroom door, her breath an icy mist that floated in front of her eyes.  Working with that man was going to be absolute torture, but she wouldn't complain.  Dumbledore could have sent her packing instead.  "Thank you, mama," she muttered, but thinking of her parents was too painful.  Thinking about anything was too painful.  She didn't know how long she stood staring at her door, glancing at the stone walls that surrounded it, noting how they seemed to come closer, to box her in…

            She would be free soon.  She would be back at uni by next term.  Catch up wouldn't be too difficult.  Hogwarts was a rut on the road of her life.  Reaching out with numbing fingers, she gripped the cold metal doorknob of her room and entered, letting the door close softly after.

*

            Quinn sat alone on the window seat enjoying the silence.  The rest of her dorm was asleep.  She was happy to have been put in the same dorm as Padma and the other fifth year girls, all of who had been extremely nice to her.  Still, she felt out of place when they would lapse into one of their inside jokes, and even more awkward when the attempted to explain them.  She preferred the silence, the darkness.  Time to contemplate things.

            The Ravenclaw dormitories were high in a tower and a pain to climb to, but the view once there was beautiful.  The window in front of Quinn looked out on the lake, smooth and clear, link a giant mirror, reflecting the trees of the forest behind it and the stars in the sky.  The moonlight played on the treetops, shading everything a serene blue-white.  The world outside was at peace, just drifting…

            Quinn's eyelids drooped but she quickly snapped them open.  Getting no sleep before her first day of school was not the best of ideas, but she couldn't sleep.  She mustn't.  Otherwise she'd just wake everybody up in about an hour. They'd all hate her before morning.  It just wasn't worth it.

            She stared at the lake and its creepy stillness, until it seemed that she could see her own reflection in it- a lost girl sitting in a tower window.

            Her eyes closed again, but this time she did nothing to stop them, the lids were too heavy.  Just for a second, she thought, but was soon dozing with her forehead pressed against the windowpane.

*

            Here she was again.  Lying on the ground, staring up at something or someone.  The shape and face were blurry.  The only clear image was the wand the person held and the way their hand went all the way back before casting a spell.  The wand came forward again, issuing a blinding white light.  It smacked straight into her forehead, rocking her brain and sending an electric charge down her spine.  A white-hot pain consumed her body.  Her eyes fluttered open, and she howled so loudly that even Miranda in the dungeons turned over in her sleep. 

*~*~*~

Yay?  Nay?  Let me know. 

BTW:  The song I used in Chapter 2 is from the "Carmina Burana" by Carl Orff.  If you haven't heard that song, I strongly suggest you download it.  It's awesome!  Type in either "O Fortuna" or "Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi" and the movement should come up.  ;)