Öq0;HTML1DocumentEncodingwindows-1252GeneratorMicrosoft Works 4.0Chapter One: Sorting Pictures
Oh, you may not think I'm pretty
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart
Their daring nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindor apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind,
Where those of with and learning,
Will always find there kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make you real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means,
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!
"Slytherin, that's where you belong! Full of ambition and the desire for power..." The Sorting Hat's words seethed with shrillity into Annie's mind.
She had never be sorted before, at Mirasta they didn't have enough students to have houses, much less four. She now sat in Professor McGonagall's room with a large dusty, dirty hat on her head, telling her where to be. She had just come from London with the Headmaster, a kindly but sharp old wizard by the name of Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall sat in her chair looking over her closely. She had just given Annie all her book requirements for her sixth year. Professor McGonagall had told her that they were only temporary, that before next year she would have to get her own things. Annie hadn't met any of her other teachers yet, but she had read her class schedule over and over. She had Potions(one of her favorite classes), Transfiguration, Defense of the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination and History of Magic. She had dearly hoped she had a good teacher in Potions, the rest she could just ditch. Thank god I don't have charms, I hate charms.
The Sorting Hat spoke to her again after a long contemplation, "Potions, I see, definitely a Slytherin." Annie had to smile, she had prided her self with the 120% she had received the year before.
"But...there is something more." The Sorting Hat seemed to be thinking to itself.
Then it spoke out loud to announce to Professor McGonagall, "Slyth--Gryffindor!"
Professor McGonagall looked a little miffed at the confused confession of the Sorting Hat but took it off Annie's head and put it back in its place.
"Well, my dear. My own house, I'll show you the way."
Annie picked up her books, wrapped her black cape a little closer to her body and followed Professor McGonagall out the door and down the hallway.
"I am sorry you had to miss the feast Miss Whiting, but that was expected since you are so new, and not a first year. If you will follow me, I will take you to the Gryffindor Common Room, where you'll be introduced to the rest of the Gryffindors."
She followed Professor McGonagall through the dark twisting hallways and up the moving staircases. Annie had never seen a place like it. She loved it, it was enormous, much more than Mirasta and it looked great for dark hiding places. Although she had no Toni to frequent them with. She had sent him four letter since arriving in London. Each one telling him she missed him dearly. and promising she'd visit him next summer. Soon they had reached the portal with a painting of a Fat Lady.
"Good evening Professor McGonagall."
"Thank you. Patronus."
The picture opened and Annie was gestured to follow.
She walked into the Gryffindor Common Room, attempting to look as dark as possible. Her eyes and lips were done in the same treatment she had given when she had last seen Toni. Totally dark and gothic.
The whole of the Gryffindor Common Room froze as they saw Professor McGonagall come through the portal.
"Professor!" Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Prefect exclaimed and went forward to talk to her.
Annie slipped in behind Professor McGonagall and intently listened to her talking.
"This is our new student, Miss Granger. She's to be your roommate, so make her feel as much at home as possible." Then Professor McGonagall nodded to Annie, who had made a home in the shadows, and left. Hermione was looking around trying to see Annie, shaking her head when she didn't.
Annie shifted her books and came out of the shadows. The Common Room erupted into quiet whisperings as soon as Professor McGonagall left. Hermione Granger was the studious type, with brown eyes and long brown hair. Annie just nodded as the prefect motion for her to follow her. Annie felt everyone's eyes on her as she passed , whispering to themselves. Newbies always got that, and she was used to it. She made the best display that she could, walking right behind the quiet Hermione Granger with her head held high, hips swishing and eyes stormy with a purpose. So this was Hogwarts. She missed Toni, but she had vowed to see him soon. Maybe the next holiday she'd sneak out.
"This is the girl's dormitory."
"What? Oh thanks." Annie shot back a look, she did not want the prefect to start asking questions.
"That's our room." Annie looked to where the open door was at the end of the hall.
Hermione just left her there. Annie was glad she left, she wasn't in the mood to talk or be stared at. She knew she looked a sight with her dark makeup and equally dark clothes. Annie found that her trunk had been brought up and her owl's cage. Puck, her black owl was out somewhere, probably having some fun. I wish I could fly like him. Annie pulled out her bookbag crammed a couple notepads of parchment, her quill and ink, and her books in it. A flopped on her back onto her four poster bed, reading Toni last letter to her.
*~*
-Ron's POV-
I sat there on my bed, carefully pulling out my colors and brushes. I didn't want to go down to the common room, it was too crowded. It would be pointless, everyone was probably doing just fine without me. I had no idea was I was going to paint but this would be better than any other alternative. It was quiet up here, quiet and peaceful. That's how I liked it. I no longer had to listen to anyone but myself. I pulled my easel closer dipped one of my brushes in the paint and started. I often use watercolors over sticky acrylics or pastels. The translucent colors glide across the thick, absorbent, parchment, creating puddles of water, shifting at the slightest quake. Yes, watercolor is dangerous, difficult to control. It is a chore to lead in the correct direction, to manipulate its natural flow. Yet, it is a thrill to dab the brush into the bowl, filled with murky dyes, and then watch the parchment change into sheer shining sheets of rainbow. Painting has always been a passion, a release from the 'blah' chatter of everyday life. Not that my life has really been much 'blah', with Harry around but still. It's a break, something I can do on my own, that no one else knows of. That I do just for 'me'. I have been painting and drawing for years. I have tried to keep it a secret, something I have kept solely for myself. It's something to treasure, for it is something I am truly good at. Everyone I know considers me to be a side kick to Harry, someone who is fairly good at chess, yet not so clever or brilliant as Hermione. I guess I am the odd one out. I am not the star of the family. My brothers Fred and George are the Quidditch superstars, the infamous troublemakers whom everyone flocks to be around. I can not compete with them, hell, I don't even want to. Sure, Quidditch is my favorite sport, but I won't fool myself, I am not all that talented on a broomstick. I am also not Prefect material like Percy. He really did a number on my teacher's expectations for me. It is a little maddening to witness the exact moment when one of your professors realize that the apple fell further from the tree than expected. The thing is, it is hard for me to concentrate on things I dislike. For example, homework. So I end up looking fidgety and wavering, like I have the attention span of a 9 year old. But I love to paint, to draw. It is something of my choice, that I like to think I am good at. Also, I can hardly expect to be working in Romania at a dragon colony any time soon, like my brother Charlie. Now he has some guts; something I have always looked up to him for. He is the apple of my parent's eyes, and my role model. So, what about me? Here I am ladies and gentlemen, fidgety Ron, foiled to the extreme by my famous best friend Harry, my genius counterpart Hermione, and my popular, achievement snatching brothers. Sometimes I would like to snatch my paint brush and blotch them all out; for a moment. Perhaps it would relieve this pressure from my chest, this ache. s, I suppose that is why I disclose my artistic inclinations. I feel that if I did make my art public there would only be someone else to show me up. I would rather keep it to myself, to be naive in the thought that I have a singular and unique talent. Though I must admit, because I do have quite the handle on my medium, that my art is not the work of an amateur. I can paint nearly anything, and dozens of my pieces lay hidden under my bed. I know I am being foolish, but this art of mine is all I have to keep me from the others. One day I hope that due to this quality of mine, my name will no longer be connected just for being Harry's bumbling sidekick or Hermione's friend of lesser brain capacity.
Suddenly the Common Room becomes silent, but I am too much in this silent reverie of art, than to care. And soon enough the sound has been turned back on in the Common Room, as if I had willed it off mute. Finally when my work is down I look back at it. I have painted Nobert, the baby dragon of Hagrid, that Charlie took, during our first year. It's not exceptionally good, so I dismiss it, half dried and shove it under my bed. I am finding it harder to use art as a release. I suppose either I am getting worse or it's getting old, or this jealousy, yes jealousy that I have has completely taken over. Harry is soon upstairs talking fervently with Dean and Seamus. I have no want or need to talk, so I slip my curtains shut and pretend to be asleep, all the while sorting pictures in my mind.