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Chapter Fifteen:
Eleanora began to generously heap her plate with a vast and ill-matched assortment of food, and couldn't help laughing as Harry liberally sprinkled a brightly coloured assortment of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans over his own stacked plate. He grinned widely as Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust. Eleanora thought that she wouldn't be at all surprised if the girl chastised Harry for playing with his food. Much to her displeasure, into her mind flashed a hazy recollection of her own mother saying exactly that as an eight year Eleanora enthusiastically enchanted her peas to zoom at high speed into her gaping mouth.
Pushing the somewhat poignant memory firmly out of her mindscape, she tuned in to the lively conversation just as Harry was defending his eccentric eating habits, insisting that strawberry cheesecake flavour candy complemented his steak and kidney pie perfectly. Eleanora hurriedly waved a hand of polite refusal over her own plate as he offered to "complement" her food in the same fashion.
"Anyway," Hermione began, gesticulating somewhat dangerously near Ron's face with her fork. "What happened up there with the Sorting Hat?"
Eleanora paused, her loaded fork halfway to her mouth. Pausing, she laid the fork to rest, her dark brows knitting together in perplexity.
"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure," she replied, her eyes reflecting the puzzled looks of her friends.
Ron face had taken on a strangely absorbed look, his mouth gaping open revealing the half chewed contents. Eleanora waved a hand in front of his face to the amusement of the others, awakening him from his reverie.
"Penny for them?" she asked the red-head, now hurriedly chewing again.
"Penny for what?" he asked blankly.
"What were you day-dreaming about?" she asked again.
"Right, get this," he began, leaning inwards in a gesture of covert secrecy, motioning for the others to do the same.
"Last year, some nutter tampered with the Goblet to get it to proclaim Harry champion of some non-existent school," he stated, his voice hushed.
Eleanora remembered reading the article written by Rita Skeeter following the announcement and Fudge's angry tirades about the state of the "goings-on in that school."
"So," Ron continued, "what if someone's done the same to the Sorting Hat to get it put you in some imaginary house?"
Eleanora wrinkled her brow, almost instantly dismissing the feeling of slight concern that surfaced as she wondered whether they somehow knew about her and the reasons why someone might resort to such clandestine deeds.
"Why would they bother?" she replied shrugging her shoulders with feigned unconcern, "unless their goal was to prevent me from winning the House Cup?"
She grinned impishly. "Might be a bit of a job all on my lonesome! Could always give it a go though."
They giggled at the thought of her amassing enough house points to win the cup all alone.
"I doubt that even 'Mione could swing that one!" Harry said.
Seeing Eleanora's quizzical expression, Ron elaborated,
"Hermione here is Hogwart's resident genius," he explained, as Eleanora smiled widely at a now blushing Herminone.
"There isn't a spell that we've been taught that 'Mione can't do," added Harry thickly, through a mouthful of mashed potato and conspicuously purple Every Flavour Beans.
"I'll know who to ask when I need some help with homework then!" Eleanora said cheekily, popping a chocolate biscuit into her mouth.
Seeing that Hermione was about to launch into an in-depth discussion of school work, Ron began hastily,
"But seriously, you have to find out what happened up there. Go and ask Dumbledore and he'll tell you."
"That is if he knows himself," added Harry darkly from behind a spoonful of apple crumble.
Eleanora replied lightly, "Oh come on. It's probably no big deal. I'll go and have a word with him but I bet the old thing just got confused. It is over a thousand years old after all."
Hermione ventured eagerly, "I could go and consult Hogwarts: A history if you like. I've never read anything about Arrowsbane in there before, but it's worth a try."
Ron snickered into his hand, evoking an annoyed stare from the girl opposite.
"'Mione's philosophy: If in doubt, consult a book!"
Eleanora flicked her gaze from the laughing red-head to the irritated girl to her side. "Not a bad plan of action actually," she conceded, earning an approving glance from Hermione. "But I'll go and talk to Godfather – I mean Dumbledore as well."
Harry's emerald eyes widened to the size of his now empty dinner plate.
"Dumbledore is your godfather?" he asked incredulously.
Eleanora mentally smacked herself over the head with her palm for her slip-up. Her godfather had never actually told her to keep their relationship a secret, but she assumed that it would be easier that way, lest he be accused of favouritism or the like.
"Erm…Yeah," she admitted quietly. "But keep it to yourself will you? I'm not sure that it's something I want everybody to know about."
Reassured by their nods and sincere promises of discretion, she attacked her pudding with renewed vigour, keeping an ear on the animated conversation that now ensued between Harry and Ron regarding the up-coming Quidditch season. Whilst having no recollection of any of the county teams that they mentioned, she couldn't help giggling as Ron treated her and an extremely bored looking Hermione to a blow-by-blow account of something called a Wronski-Feint that he and Harry had been practicing over the summer.
"You pull down on the front of the broom really hard, pick up speed as you drop altitude, then pull out at the last second, then the other guy goes smack into the ground!" he expounded flailing his arms in the air wildly to illustrate his point. One hand flung out to his side and smacked his neighbour full in the face, drawing a shout of pain and a stream of muffled expletives. Eleanora and Hermione watched in half amusement, half embarrassment as Ron attempted to placate the boy, who, Eleanora noted, also sported a head of vivid red hair.
"Watch it, you clumsy sod!" expostulated the red-head knocking Ron lightly over the head.
"Sorry, Fred," Ron replied sheepishly.
The other boy looked at him reproachfully, his freckled face creased with hurt.
"George?" tried Ron again his eyebrows hitching up his forehead in surprise.
"Nah, only kidding you numbskull," the freckle faced boy replied grinning. "Merlin," he shook his head mournfully, "just my luck to get landed with such a dozy git for a brother."
Right, Eleanora thought, they were brothers. That explained the hair.
"Anyway," Fred changed the subject, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" He greeted Eleanora with a wide smile and extended a hand across the table, knocking over a bowl of fruit in the process.
"Oops," he said, hastily picking up the upset fruit, "I guess clumsiness must run in the family!"
Eleanora immediately warmed to the friendly unaffected boy and shook the proffered hand firmly. Ron grabbed her hand as she withdrew it from Fred's and examined it closely much to her bemusement.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" she asked, an amused smile playing across her features as the boy turned her hand repeatedly over as if searching for something.
"Sorry," he replied, turning a dark pink colour as he noticed her mirth. "I just thought Fred might have used one of his Technicolor Handshakes on you."
Eleanora stole a quizzical glance at Hermione who rolled her eyes and explained, "Fred and George, that's Fred's twin, are monstrous practical jokers. The Technicolor Handshake is one of the new tricks that turns your hand some bright colour for days, when one of them shakes it."
She motioned across the table to a plump brown haired boy who was gripping a toffee apple with a shocking pink hand. "They got Neville on the train earlier. George says it won't wash off for at least five days."
Eleanora's face broke into a grin despite Hermione's reproachful expression as she recounted the tale. That was a stroke of pure genius, she thought gleefully. She leant across to get Fred's attention.
"Fred!" she called. "That was bloody brilliant!" She turned to the brown haired boy down the table. "No offence, Neville," she smiled. "How did you do it?" she asked, turning back to Fred who was now joined in conversation with a mirror image who she supposed to be George.
"I'm guessing you're George?" she asked with a wink.
"The one and only!" he replied," reaching to take her hand.
"No chance!" she exclaimed snatching her hand away, "I've got no desire to end up with a bright blue hand!"
George shrugged reproachfully, "It would have been red actually. You know, house colours."
Eleanora smirked. "But how do you do it? Is it a dying charm?"
The twins nodded and Fred piped up, "We combined a dyeing charm with a simple infection charm."
"Yeah," added George. "The first few tries were disastrous." We turned our little sister completely purple."
"Apart from the hair," interjected Ron, craning his neck to stick his tongue out at a petite strawberry blonde girl who sat at the end of the table. She retaliated by contorting her pretty face into a hideous expression, and then blushed a deep puce colour as Harry grinned at her, hiding her red face behind the collar of her robes.
"Oh, that reminds me!" began Eleanora suddenly. "Where do I get my robes from? I didn't know what house I was going to be in, so I haven't bought them yet."
The four friends started in mild surprise as Professor McGonagall leant over the table at that exact moment, a large parcel in hand.
"Don't worry about that, dear," she said, smiling warmly at Eleanora. "Your father took the liberty of ordering these for you. They arrived this morning." She handed the package to Eleanora who looked at it with slight distrust, one dark brow arching into an arch of surprise.
The crafty old devil, Eleanora thought, her lips curling into a smirk. Not for the first time, she imagined his irate face if she had been sorted into Slytherin. That would, no doubt be a domestic spat not to be missed.
"Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in his office before breakfast tomorrow morning, by the way," she continued, her voice slightly hushed. Eleanora exchanged meaningful glances with her friends, but merely nodded acquiescently at the older witch, glad that the incessant chatter of her neighbours obscured any prying ears.
McGonagall bent down and said in warm tones, "Congratulations, dear. You know your father would be very proud." Eleanora inwardly groaned, doomed to be forever her father's daughter, but smiled graciously at the house mistress all the same.
As McGonagall walked back towards the staff table, Eleanora began divesting the parcel of its paper. She had to suddenly catch a hold of herself as she absent-mindedly raised her left hand intending to snap the thick cords with a simple wandless incantation. She instead awkwardly turned the stray gesture into an attempt to secure an errant piece of hair behind her ear, looking cautiously around at the others in case they had noticed anything amiss. Seeing nothing awry she continued to rip off the paper revealing a set of beautiful blood red and gold Gryffindor dress robes. Their heavy silk brocade ran fluidly over her fingers as she pulled them free of their brown paper constraints and the gold caught the flickering light of the suspended candles magnificently. Further rummaging around the parcel revealed a set of regulation black robes embroidered with the Gryffindor crest, a thin trim of scarlet and gold running sinuously around the neck, hem and sleeves. Eleanora wrinkled her nose in surprise as she pulled free the final garment, a set of Quidditch robes.
"Oh for Merlin's sakes," she expostulated exasperatedly. "What the hell do I need Quidditch robes for?" She frowned down at the puddle of scarlet material upon the now magically cleared table.
"Hang on," said Ron, reaching down under her chair. "There's a note." He handed the folded parchment to Eleanora who cracked open the seal and unfolded it.
Dear Nora,
Glad to hear that you have settled in well. I received an incensed Howler from Fudge, but have managed to placate him with promises that you will be staying Hogwarts in the mid-term. Don't ever go running off like that again, or I'll have Albus place a tracking charm on you like we did when you were a child. I ordered some robes for you and I hope that the colours are suitable."
Eleanora snorted indelicately, provoking puzzled glances from her friends. "Just something my father said," she said by way of explanation.
"I will endeavour to visit you at mid-term. Until then, behave yourself and please don't get into any trouble. Any complaints will go directly to Fudge and I feel another shock like that will give the poor man a coronary.
Loving regards,
Papa.
P.S The Quidditch robes are mine from when I was in my last year. I thought you might be able to make use of them and get the name of D'Souza onto that cup for the second time.
Eleanora stuffed the note into a pocket of her robes and looked up at her friends who were getting up from their seats. They were almost the last students left in the hall, as the other houses had retreated to their common rooms for the night. She gathered up the cumbersome bundle of robes and manoeuvred her slim form out from the table. As the four turned to leave the Great Hall, she caught the eye of her godfather, still seated at the head of the staff table. He nodded at her, his twinkling eyes bright in the distant shadows.
Her dark eyes unconsciously swept the gloom, seeking out the stern face of the potions master that had plagued her thoughts all through the meal, but he had already, unbeknownst to her, swept imposingly out of the room straight after the meal, evoking terrified glances on either side pausing briefly at the door to shoot a venomous glance at the figure of Eleanora, bent deep in conversation with Harry, Ron and Hermione, a mirthful laugh rising from the table. His jaw had clenched, and his lips had pressed tightly together in a pale slash of poisonous disproval. Though if Eleanora had looked up from her vigorous conversation she would have met the gaze of the austere professor, his obsidian eyes shadowed with what looked inexplicably like disappointment, his face, almost ethereally colourless in the waning glow of the candles that grew low in the starry depths of the enchanted evening sky.
However, she had not looked up, had not raised her eyes to his and had not seen the way in which he looked at her, though if she had, he thought bitterly to himself as he slipped out of the doors into the empty entrance hall, what good would it have done?