Chapter Six:
Eleanora walked down the echoing corridors, carefully noting each of the branching turns, in case she should lose her way. As she passed a large, gilt-frame portrait that hung impressively on the stairwell, a long, piercing wolf-whistle filled the air. She spun round in a mixture of surprise and annoyance, to find that the inhabitant of the large portrait was leaning heavily on the frame, leering at her as she stared at him in irritation.
"What a sight!" he crowed. "There's room in my frame for two, you know!"
Eleanora frowned at him. "Do you mind?" she asked crossly. "Gods, can't a girl even walk to supper without being leered at by overly garrulous portraits?"
She continued her descent down the stairwell, ignoring his cat-calls of "Oh, she's a feisty one for sure!"
It wasn't that she wasn't used to it: Quite the opposite in fact. Her striking good looks and affable manner had made her quite an attraction at Beauxbatons, particularly with the male contingent of the school. She knew it wasn't strictly their fault. Veela-blood had that effect on men, but even with the countering effect of her self-cast glamouring charms, she still occasionally had to fend off over-zealous admirers. She hoped that it would be different at Hogwarts. Her father had owled her the previous day to explain that the potions master was willing to create a glamouring potion, which would have a stronger effect than the limited power of her charms. The vial of blood, she reflected was a small price to pay for being able to walk down a corridor without fear of attracting smirks and gormless stares.
To her surprise, she found that she had reached the large open doors of the great hall. Mentally congratulating herself on her orientation, she needlessly adjusted the high collar of her dress robes, ran a smoothing hand over her hair, took a deep breath and walked inside. The vast hall was illuminated by a myriad of candles, floating mere feet above her head. She stood at an impressive height for a woman, only inches shorter than her godfather. She carried the height well, and walked the distance to the staff table with her head held tall and her back erect. Most of the other staff were already seated at the long table. A dozen conversations faded as she approached, and they turned to regard her with interest and friendly smiles.
"Ah, Eleanora, my dear. We were beginning to wonder whether you had lost your way!" He smiled humorously at her, directed her gaze to the rest of the assembled staff.
"I would like to introduce you all to my god daughter, Eleanora D'Souza. She will be a fifth year student here, and I have no doubt she will do me proud."
Eleanora smiled to herself at his praise and nodded graciously at the teachers, politely acknowledging their words of welcome.
"Does the young lady have a house yet?" piped up the tiny Professor Flitwick, whom Eleanora was aware, was head of Ravenclaw.
"No," she replied. "I've have decided to place myself at the mercy of your Sorting Hat. Though I think the Gryffindor scarf my father sent me this morning might be his subtle way of indicating his preference!"
The staff laughed and she grinned, somewhat self consciously. Though she knew she was welcome here, she still felt the desperate need to make a good impression upon these people. She had been regarded as something of an enigma in Beauxbatons, extraordinarily intelligent yet seemingly unafraid of rule-breaking. Her academic prowess earned her as many points of her rule-breaking took away. Her exploits were looked upon by the pupils as exhilarating and admirable dare-devilry, yet by the staff as high spirits in definite need of curbing. Still, upon announcement of her departure, she had been sorrowfully wished goodbye by all the school, even the most disapproving members of staff sorry to see their best student and the bane of their supervision duties leave.
Having been shown to her seat by her godfather, Eleanora gracefully took her place between Professor Flitwick who was talking excitedly in her ear, and Professor Trelawney, who had deigned to join the conscious world to welcome the new student. Eleanora listened to the tiny, animated professor attentively, as he launched into a detailed description of Ravenclaw's prowess over all the other houses.
His lively tirade was interrupted by a loud snort from Professor Sprout, who countered his words, saying "Put a bunch of Ravenclaws in the middle of a Quidditch field and then see what you get!"
Several of the staff laughed loudly at this outburst.
Professor Flitwick reddened and shot back, "Hufflepuffs may excel at Quidditch, but that does not make up for their rueful inadequacy in…." The angry little man was silenced by a warning look from Dumbledore, and began to study his place setting with great interest.
"Your father was a great addition to our house, dear" said Professor McGonagall from her behind Flitwick. Eleanora turned to face the grey haired witch. "Yes: He's quite adamant that I carry on the family affiliation." McGonagall smiled warmly at her. "Well dear, we'd be very pleased to have you. Will you wait until the Sorting Ceremony or will you find out before?"
"I'll wait until the Ceremony. It'll be nice to spend a few days not having to take sides!"
She grinned at Professor Flitwick who was now deeply engaged in conversation about recent Quidditch cup winners with Professor Sprout.
The meal was delicious and the conversation stimulating and lively. The heads of the houses had tirelessly tried, throughout three courses, to recruit Eleanora to their own house, all apart from Professor Snape. The dour looking man had sat at Dumbledore's side, occasionally engaging in quiet conversation with him, but saying little to the other staff. His mood seemed not to have improved since her meeting with him that afternoon, and he disdainfully regarded those around him, wearing an expression of innate abstraction and disinterest.
Eleanora used the lulls in the vigorous conversation with the staff, to study the man who sat opposite her, with well concealed concentration. He was a study in exquisite monochromes, she thought to herself. His hair, curling delicately around his strong jaw and the nape of his neck, was of the most intense ebony she had ever seen. It fell liquidly over his face as he inclined his head and she was filled an irrepressible urge to reach out and flick it back behind his ear. His skin, at first appearances sallow, was a salient shade of porcelain which called to Eleanora's mind images of romantic Byronic heroes. His black eyes, which had regarded her so coldly in Dumbledore's office, were in fact smouldering with intensity, a barely discernible clue to the fathomless level of thought that went on behind them. His nose, she grudgingly admitted to herself was slightly over large, but did not seem out of place on a facade that seemed to revel in its own austerity. Everything about Severus Snape cried out of severity and authority, yet she found herself at times unable to tear her searching gaze away from his austere countenance.
She was torn from her thoughts by Professor Flitwick, who said loudly across the table, "Severus, you seem to be abstaining from the unofficial competition of recruiting Miss D'Souza to your house! It hardly seems fair that you don't even have a go!"
His words were spoken in jest, but the look with which Snape fixed him was one of pure scorn. He turned his gaze on Eleanora, who cautiously observed him, as if afraid of what the inevitable cutting comment might be. However, none came.
Instead he turned back to Flitwick and countered, "I, unlike the rest of you, see no reason to bicker over tenure of Miss D'Souza when she has already made it clear that the decision will be that of the Sorting Hat."
Fixing Eleanora with a penetrating gaze, he continued, "If Miss D'Souza is placed in my own house, so be it. However, from what I have already seen of her, I have little doubt in my assertion that she is a born Gryffindor."
His words were dripping with sarcasm, and Eleanora privately wondered how on earth he managed to make the word "Gryffindor" sound like such an insult, even to her own ears.
Refusing to break his trenchant stare, she replied lightly, "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure, Professor. I'm full of surprises."
She raised one eyebrow challenging him to make a retort, and let her lips curl into a wry smirk, as she turned away, the faces of the other staff etched with mild astonishment at the sight of the fearsome potions master lost for words.
The rest of the meal had passed without event, though she and Snape conspicuously avoided each others gaze. As the clock announced that it was nine o'clock, Dumbledore bid the staff goodnight, and amongst a scraping of chairs and a smattering of good wishes from the staff, Eleanora made her way, alone, out of the Great Hall through the open doors.
A huge thank-you goes to White Raven for being my first reviewer! Thanks for the lovely comments and the advice about the paragraph breaks – hope they're OK now!
If you haven't already read White Raven's fiction, Tea with the Black Dragon, go do it now! It's my favourite Snape fiction.