The entire school sat in shocked silence for a few moments. Then, slowly but surely, like an incoming wave, the noise level rose to the level of hundreds of voices all competing to be heard. The only ones not talking were Harry, Ron and Hermione. Snatches of conversation could be heard from the tables around them.
"...Potter, did she say?..."
"...think she's related to Harry, do..."
"...and a scar, just like..."
Dumbledore once again cut off the noise by tapping his glass with his knife. The clear sound reverberated through the hall as he patiently waited for silence to fall once more.
The girl was standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the head table and the sorting hat, looking around at them all. She hadn't a clue what was going on. Willow had said she would be welcome here, but that whispering had seemed very hostile to her. Like a hoard of angry bees. That's what they'd sounded like. All the Professor had said was her name. What's in a name? She smirked to herself as her extensive Willow-stylee education came back to her. Why, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. She cleared her head quickly, returning with a bump to her surroundings. Did her name really matter? She knew she was older than the others being sorted, and she'd obviously expected some whispering because of it. That had been bad enough. But the response when the Professor had said her name was just...her thoughts paused, as she sought the right words. Well, she just didn't understand it.
Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"Miss Potter," he said, gesturing to the stool before him. "Miss Potter, if you please."
Swallowing down her fear, the girl walked to the stool and shakily sat down. All eyes were upon her. She felt as if she was in a freak show. Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head. The brim fell over her eyes, and her world went black.
Harry stared at her. She was so...small. The hat seemed even bigger on her than it had on Colin and Dennis Creevy, and that was saying something. And although Harry now knew her name, he was still at a loss as to who this girl was. Harry knew that he had no siblings, but she looked so like him...and she had the unruly black hair...and the scar. But those eyes...
Harry had never seen eyes like that before. So deep that they seemed to pierce into your very soul...
Where'd she come from? And what the fuck is she doing here? And, most importantly, who the HELL is she?
Draco Malfoy's brain was on fire. She couldn't be related to him. Scarhead had no siblings. No younger ones. His parents had died too soon. But she looks so like him...his brain supplied unhelpfully. But not like him at the same time. There was...something...there. Behind those stunning violet eyes. Draco mused to himself as he watched the small girl at the top of the hall.
The Sorting hat covered half her face. It was sorta cute. Very, if he was honest about it. Draco shook his head clear violently. He couldn't think like that...She could be related to Potter. That was just plain nasty. No, he had to find out for sure first. For definite. Draco's scheming mind set to work.
Ron gaped at the tiny thing under the sorting hat. Harry didn't have a sister. He couldn't have a sister. It was impossible...but she looked so much like him that it was creepy. Aware that he was staring, (and, unlike most in the hall, Ron didn't want to be,) he tore his eyes away from the girl, and onto the first thing he saw. It was Hermione. Her mouth was hanging slightly open, and confusion crossed her brow.
Feeling Ron's eyes upon her, Hermione turned to look at him. The looks they exchanged were pointless. Neither had any explanation for the other. Ron could see Hermione's tongue. Gently, he cupped her jaw in his hand, and closed it. Before he could remove it, Hermione rested her small hand on his wrist. For security, then turned back to the girl. Ron, almost frozen, lowered his arm, resting his hands in his lap. Hermione's hand did not move. He swallowed hard, and looked back up to the girl under the Sorting Hat. The girl called Amy.
"Hmm..." the hat said for what seemed like the millionth time.
- What? – thought Amy angrily. – What? What do you want? –
"Hmm..." the hat repeated. Amy bristled.
"I was just wondering," said the hat, so slowly that Amy wondered if it would ever finish, "which one you are..."
"Which one I am what?" Amy snapped out loud. She was sick of all it's umming and ahhing. She could feel the hundreds of pairs of eyes on her. She wished it would hurry up and get this over with.
The students, as one body, jumped when she spoke. She was American. All but Harry hadn't known that. Even he hadn't been sure. That explained where she had come from, at least.
"What do you mean?" she continued.
It's odd...thought Harry pensively...Hearing just one side of a conversation.
"Look, I don't care, ok? Everyone's staring at me. Just sort me already!"
Most of the students looked away, embarrassed. Harry didn't. He didn't care if he was staring at her. He felt he had the right to. She had the same name as him, and looked so much like him that Harry felt she was almost stealing him. He would stare all he wanted.
"Hmm..." said the hat, coming finally to it's conclusion. "Ok, then. I'll just go with the strongest one."
It paused, drawing breath. (Odd thing to do, Amy mused. Not like it had lungs...)
"SLYTHERIN!"
The muttering started again as Amy made her way to the Slytherin House table. No one was looking at her now, as far as she could tell, but she could still feel eyes on her, front and back. She didn't feel welcome in the slightest. It was as if they wanted her out. Amy resolved to owl Willow and tell her she wanted to leave. She didn't appreciate these wizard's attitudes.
There was no round of applause for Amy as she joined her House Table. A few first years clapped once or twice nervously, but mainly, there were just whispers. She took a seat at the end of the table, and as she did so her eyes met those of a boy seated a few feet away. She held his gaze, and gently reached out with her mind, brushing his. She found his mind, like his eyes, hard, and steely. But that was not all. He was hiding something. So deep that she could not reach it to find out what it was, but it was still there – warm, and pure, and filled with truth. Amy smiled to herself. There was more to this boy that he was letting on.
Draco shuddered, and looked away hurriedly. He felt violated by those eyes. That girl had more magic in her than any sixth years. She could have graduated Hogwarts a long time ago. He could feel her cool gaze still upon him. Draco blushed, in spite of himself.
Amy smiled to herself. Yes. There was definitely some humanity there. All she had to do was bring it out. She studied the rest of his face carefully.
Draco's hair was not slicked back, as it had been in previous years. It now fell over his forehead into his eyes. Blaise was constantly telling him he looked better like that, and when it came to appearances, Draco found that Blaise should be listened to. He always looked immaculate. He knew his stuff.
Draco felt that girl, that -Amy's- eyes creep down his face. As she took in his features, Amy made a mental note of his sculpted cheekbones, and chiselled jaw line, and smirked. Yummy.
She turned back to the top of the hall, where the sorting continued.
Across the Hall, at the Gryffindor table, another set of eyes watched her. Harry's glare bored into her back, as he struggled with himself, trying to work out who, or what, she was. But Harry found that the girl's back contained no answers, and resolutely turned to watch the end of the sorting with the rest of the school.
This year was going to be interesting, to say the least.
End Part
