Chapter Thirteen:
Eleanora stared intently out of the window notched high up the castle walls. Her lofty vantage point afforded her an excellent view over the lake which was by now shrouded in darkness as the evening drew in. She had been keenly perched on the cushioned window sill for almost ten minutes eagerly await the first sight of the new students as they traversed the lake, the last leg of their journey back to school. She shifted impatiently never breaking her vigil, checking the imposing grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the room.
"Two minutes after the last time you looked, lassie. Remember, patience is a virtue." it intoned in an avuncular manner, its hands shuddering slightly as it spoke.
Eleanora sighed and thought wryly to herself, "patience may be a virtue, but it sure as hell isn't my virtue."
To be perfectly honest with herself, she had little to feel virtuous about these last few days. Ever since her first meeting with the mordant potions master, she had struggled vainly to rid him from her thoughts. She thought him rude and unsociable yet could not shake the urge she had to somehow probe beyond that stony exterior. Of course, in is presence she had exhibited a marked dislike to the man, disclosing none of these irrational feelings, yet in the dark privacy of the cocoon created by her thick bed hangings she revelled in her thoughts of the austere man, torn between feelings of objection and some strange unfounded attraction that she was at an utter loss to explain.
Their somewhat unfortunate conference in the corridor the day before had left Eleanora with a bloody nose and a mutinous tangle of thoughts to entertain. She had taken the professors advice and gone to the Hospital Wing. Poppy Pomfrey, the motherly medi-witch had clucked over her for the best part of an hour, seemingly absorbed more in convivial conversation than in treatment of her swollen nose. With an enchanted ice pack clamped firmly over her face, Eleanora had replied to the genial questioning as best she could, her words muffled behind the cold compress. When asked how she had obtained the injury, she had managed to choke out something about running into Snape. Hot prickles of embarrassment coursed though her every limb and her cheeks wore a bright blazon of colour as she recalled the wholly indifferent expression on his harsh face.
Poppy had merely tut-tutted and muttered something incoherent as she gently lifted the ice pack off Eleanora's face. In response to Eleanora's quizzical expression she had elaborated,
"Professor Snape is a brilliant teacher, no doubt about it and an absolute expert in his filed, but he's a funny one alright. Never could quite make him out."
Eleanora merely nodded, not quite sure how to reply. At least, she thought, she wasn't the only one who had a hard time deciphering the enigmatic potions master.
Suddenly, a host of tiny lights slowly winding their way across the lake drew Eleanora out of her reverie. She jumped up, an uncharacteristic flash of anxiousness gripping her insides. She frowned down at her self as if her apprehension were material then regarded herself in the full length mirror that adorned one side of the wall next to the bed. Her school robes were of ebony black, as was the rule, falling to just below her knees, covering her grey pleated skirt and a white neatly buttoned shirt. As a fifth year student she was allowed to forgo the grey knee-high socks and instead had decided upon a pair of sheer tights, the evening chill in the air warning her against the folly of bare legs. As she had not yet been assigned a house she did not wear the school jumper and the stark white of her stiffly pressed shirt collar shone against the deeply tanned planes of her face, now etched with anticipation and excitement.
As the lights wound their way nearer the shore, she grabbed her wand from it's place on her bedside table and skipped out of the room, leaving herself plenty of time in which to arrive for the Sorting Ceremony.
Minutes later, she arrived in the imposing entrance hall, now crowded with throngs of students, all chattering at the tops of their voices. She paused unsure of where to go and cast her eyes around the hall, surveying the many faces of her fellow students. Timid first years stood nervously in a far corner, staring studiously at the familiar face of Professor McGonagall. Eleanora's face relaxed in relief, and she wound her way though the pulsing crowd to her side.
"Now, first years," she heard McGonagall say in her lilting accent, "You will file into the Great Hall where you will line up along the far wall. You will be called in alphabetical order to be sorted then you will go and join your allotted house's table. You all understand?"
The assembled first years nodded and Eleanora found herself nodding along with them. A small boy with a shock of strawberry blond hair smiled shyly at her and she smiled back, wondering if he felt as nervous as she did. The boy flushed deep pink and nudged the boy slouched next to him. McGonagall turned and suddenly noticed the tall girl standing quietly behind her.
"Eleanora, my dear, I expect you heard all that?" To her nod she continued, "If you go over there," she pointed to a small group of three friends stood conspiratorially in a corner, "you meet some of your classmates. In a few minutes we'll be going into the Great Hall. Tag along on the end of the first years and you'll be fine." She gave the young woman a kind smile and busied herself with removing her gaggle of first years from the aim of Peeves who was causing havoc with a muggle water pistol.
Eleanora, never losing sight of the three fifth years in the corner, silently pushed her way through the throngs of excited students. Upon closer inspection she saw that her assigned greeters were two boys and girl. One boy was tall, taller than her, and bore a head of vivid red hair and an open friendly face, blotched with freckles. He was deep in conversation with a shorter boy whose untidy black hair fell over his eyes as he spoke, obscuring his glasses somewhat. The third in their party was a petite brunette, whose long wavy hair was tied back in a neat braid and coiled tightly at the nape of her neck. Eleanora instinctively crept a hand around her own hair flowing loose down her back, which she had forgotten to braid in her earlier anxiety. She reasoned that it would have to do and she swallowed her nerves and walked over to the small group.
"Hey, sorry to interrupt, but Professor McGonagall waved me over here to meet you three. I'm going to be in fifth year." Her tone was bright and friendly, but her voice was tinged with nerves. Their conversation has abruptly tailed off as she spoke up and they regarded her with interest. The girl was the first to speak, glaring at the two boys for their lack of greeting.
"Hello," she intoned in a friendly voice. "I'm Hermione Granger and these two dunderheads are Ron Weasley and Harry Potter." The two boys made their greetings quietly, somewhat overawed by the dominant presence of Hermione.
"Ahh," Eleanora mused. So this diminutive boy was the famous Harry Potter. Her father had talked of the Potter boy though she had never seen him before. No wonder McGonagall had pointed her in his direction she thought shrewdly.
"Hi. I'm Eleanora D'Souza," Her eyes sparked with interest as she looked at Harry. She wondered whether he had any idea of the existence of the Order yet, and mentally resolved to ask her godfather at the earliest possible opportunity.
"Ron, will you stop staring," Hermione snapped, her eyes narrowed at the gangly red head.
"Sorry," he muttered, blinking his blue eyes hard.
Hermione whispered conspiratorially "Face him with a girl and this is what you get. You'd get a more coherent response if you were a bludger probably." The two girls snickered and Eleanora felt an instant liking to the somewhat maternal girl.
"You have a house yet?" Harry ventured, pushing his glasses firmly back up his nose.
"No, I'm going to let the Sorting Hat have a go," Eleanora replied, her smile widening into a slight grimace.
"Better not be Slytherin," she added quietly, at the same time as the exact same words escaped the tall red-heads mouth.
"Jinx!" she laughed , as they all chuckled.
"We're all Gryffindor" informed Hermione showing Eleanora the distinctive read and gold house crest emblazoned upon their jumpers. As she did so, Eleanora noted a large shiny gold badge pinned upon her regulation black robes.
"'Mione showing it off again," Harry grinned, as Ron mouthed "Prefect," and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.
"You're turning out just like Percy, you are!" he taunted.
She good naturedly stuck her tongue out at their gentle teasing and was on the verge of making a retort when Professor McGonagall voice rang out piercingly over the crowd.
"Will all first years and new students make their way into the hall, please?"
Eleanora smiled nervously at her new found compatriots and received reassuring smiles back.
"We'll keep out fingers crossed for Gryffindor" promised Harry, and Ron nodded, adding, "If you sorted into Slytherin we'll come up with an escape plot for you, don't worry!" She smiled back at them as she made her way into the Great Hall, the last student of the snaking line, standing conspicuously tall above the diminutive first years as she made her way to the far end and stood expectantly against the wall, waiting for her turn.