The Great Hall was bustling. People were everywhere and noises from the plates and cutlery rang through the halls. The group of unknown students refused to eat and decided they would sit outside the hall until the Sorting started.
Soon enough, a voice rang through the Great Hall. "Children, children, please." Applause erupted at the voice. "Thank you. Students, as most of you may know, I am Headmistress McGonagall. I am pleased to see you all! I understand how hard this may be for some of you, but you are all strong and pushing through. We shall now begin the sorting!"
Name after name was called; students approached the headmistress.
"Palmer, Jessica."
"Ravenclaw!"
Cheers erupted from each and every table when names were called. Finally, the sorting finished. "Now, this is a slight change, but we do have to do this. Welcome, exchange students from America!" announced McGonagall.
Nothing happened.
No one came forward.
McGonagall looked around, confused. "Students, please come to the front."
Again, nothing. No one.
A cough rang through the hall.
"Yo," a voice from outside said. "I think she means us."
The five Americans approached Headmistress McGonagall, looking around in awe. The candles hung from the ceiling, where the night sky was displayed. Students in robes. (Why would they wear robes? Weren't normal clothes better? They sure were easier to--well. Do anything in, I guess.)
"Welcome, my dears. Let's get you sorted," McGonagall grabbed a piece of parchment from the giant they had met earlier. Hagrid? Yes, they were sure that was it. "Starting off, Chase, Annabeth."
The Americans looked at each other before the girl said, "I think that's me?"
"Come forth, child."
The girl, Annabeth, made her way to the stool. The Sorting Hat was placed upon her head.
Yes, child. I can see great things.
At this, Annabeth jumped.
Wise, cunning, ambitious, brave. All the traits of every house. But where to put you? Daughter of--
At this, the voice cut off.
This cannot be true. It is not possible. Daughter of--
It cut off again.
Child of--
Why would the Sorting Hat not say anything about who her parents are?
Well, I guess we shall place you into--
"Ravenclaw!" The table burst with cheers and applause. Annabeth had start to make her way to the table of blue and silver.
"Congratulations, Ms. Chase. Next, DiAngelo, Nico," said McGonagall.
The boys proceeded to look at each other in confusion. Who was Nico DiAngelo? They ruled out the Hispanic one, they assumed, anyway. McGonagall started getting impatient. "Nico DiAngelo, we will not be having issues at the beginning of the year. Your Headmaster warned me you lot would be trouble."
"Our Headmaster?" the Harry look-alike asked. "Who's that?"
At this, McGonagall had stumbled. How could they forget their "headmaster". Who could forget a centaur like that?
"Sir, what is your name?"
Harry 2.0 looked confused. "I-uh-I don't know, ma'am."
McGonagall looked sullen. "Alright, well, how old are you?"
"Safe to assume I'm roughly 18, Headmistress."
"Hm." She thought for a moment. "A very important question, child: what was the most recent war?"
Harry 2.0 starred at McGonagall. "War? What war?"
The silence that entered the hall was startling. No one made a sound. Cutlery was still, the candles floating above the room did not even flicker. There was no ruffling of clothes, or even a squeak from the seats. No one dared to breathe.
"It seems, child," one of the professors began, "that you lot have lost your memories. Minerva, we should continue the sorting, whether or not the children remember their names."
"You're right, Pomona. One of you, come here." The shortest came forward.
Ah, Nico DiAngelo.
"I'm Nico DiAngelo?" said the boy.
Indeed, you are. Cunning, brave, but lonesome. The girl before you was a Daughter of--, and you are a Son of--. How could you remotely be friends? Oh, anyway, we shall place you in--
"Slytherin!"
The boy, Nico, looked over to the headmistress. "The green table, my dear."
Nico nodded his head and ran off. The other shorter boy came up.
Son of--, Leo Valdez.
"Sick!" said the boy. "My name's Leo! Leo Valdez, bad boy supreme!" McGonagall rolled her eyes at this.
Brave, caring. Always putting others before oneself. Though, seemingly dangerous, not at all harmful. You must be...a light in the lives of others.
"Well, talking hat, I sure do like lighting the way."
Ah, Leo Valdez, a joke you may never understand.You would fit perfectly into--
"Hufflepuff!"
He looked shocked. "What the hell is a Hufflepuff?"
Someone from the yellow table yelled with a giggle, "We're particularly good finders!"
The two remaining boys looked at each other, before Hardy 2.0 nudged the blond to the front.
Ah, this is a change. Jason Grace, Son of--. What a pleasure to meet you.
"Nice to meet you too, Hat."
This has never been such an easy decision, so--
"Hufflepuff!"
Jason looked at Harry 2.0 and whispered something in his ear before making his way to the same table Leo had. Harry 2.0 made his way up.
Oh, child. Son of--. Percy Jackson.
At this, the world stopped. Flashes of war and magic and the head of a leopard on a wall. Nothing made sense. These weren't memories, but more like scenes in a book or television show.
People he didn't recognize flashed before his eyes. Deaths, rooms, people with one eye, and even a horrible place that could only be described as Hell. Winged creatures following him, many chances with death himself. People he assumed must be friends and family.
One face stuck out the most. She was strikingly beautiful. A smile so warm, and sparkling blue eyes that changed color in the light. Long, brown hair with a few grey streaks. Percy wouldn't consider her old. She looked so familiar, but nothing clicked for him. He longed to see a woman he didn't recognize.
Across the hall, Harry had struck up a conversation with Hermione and Ron: "Don't you find it suspicious the mysterious kids from the train, firstly, talk to the thestrals, and secondly, two of them happen to have some sort of mark on their left arm?"
"Harry, don't be ridiculous. In America, they are old enough for tattoos. It could be anything," Hermione answered.
Ron, quite obviously, looked puzzled. "What's a tadoo?"
"Tattoo, Ron. Muggles get tattoos normally as a way to remember the meaningful things in their lives. It could be anything: a quote, a paw print, or even some ridiculous thing as a dinosaur. They get them because they like them." The definition came from Ginny.
"No, it's got to be dark marks. They've got to be Death Eaters. How else do you explain the missing memories and battle scars?"
"We've all been through a war, Harry. We don't know what has happened in other countries due to it," Hermione stated. "For all we know, America could've had an uprise in dark wizards when it was known that Voldemort lived."
Harry grimaced. "No, Hermione. They've got to be Death Eaters. There's no other explanation for it."
Percy, however, was still having an emotional rollercoaster that still made no sense to him.
Remember child, The Sorting Hat spoke in his mind. But until then, we shall put you in--
"Gryffindor!"
