"You never asked, so why should I have told you?" Haven asks him, stepping closer and getting up into his space so that he backs away, uncomfortable with their sudden proximity. "I wasn't aware that my name mattered that much. If you'd known who I was, would you have been less likely to say what you did? Would you have pretended you didn't believe what you so clearly do so that you could call me your friend? I don't like fakes, Malfoy, and neither does anyone else. You should keep that in mind.
Malfoy snorts. "Whatever. I wouldn't want to be friends with you anyways. You're an orphan, and everyone knows that orphans are desperate for attention because they don't get it from their parents."
A girl with hair and eyes like Ron's, but without his freckles, steps forward. "I'm an orphan, too, Malfoy, and I'm not lacking for attention. Aunt Amelia manages to find plenty of time to do her job successfully and take care of me. Are you sure you didn't mean that no one wants to be friends with spoilt brats because they're desperate for attention when their parents are no longer around to give them any?"
"Your aunt's a witch, Bones. Potter's is a Muggle. We all know that Muggles are incapable of providing all the attention a young Wix needs. And I'm not desperate for attention!"
"Careful, Malfoy," Ron says. "Your prejudice is showing. What would Daddy say if he heard?"
Malfoy pales dramatically. "Whatever, Weasley," he splutters. "At least my father can support me, regardless of whether he approves of what I say. My father is a respectable Wix. Where does yours work again?" He looks around, ensuring that everyone is paying attention. "Oh! That's right! The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. What a joke!"
"Well at least Ron's father - unlike yours - doesn't have to bribe people into releasing him after being accused as a Death Eater," Haven says wildly, wanting to defend Ron and not much caring how she manages it.
"Well," Malfoy spits at her, "at least I still have a father."
He shrieks when a boy - dark hair, pale eyes, broad shoulders for eleven, and nearly a head taller than Malfoy is - walks up behind him, taps his shoulder unexpectedly, and looms menacingly as Malfoy turns to face him. "You're not implying that it's her fault she no longer has a father, are you?" he asks, and Malfoy shakes his head. "I didn't think so. It just came across that way. Have a little care with your words. You never know when a spurned orphan is listening." He offers a cold, shark-like smile, all teeth and no joy, and pushes his way back through the crowd of first-years.
After that, Malfoy is silent, though the sneer he sends in Haven's direction is more than indicative of his feelings on the matter.
McGonagall returns to a hallway filled with silent first-years. She frowns at them suspiciously, but - with no explanation forthcoming - turns on her heel, her emerald robes swirling around her, and leads them through the doors with no questions asked.
Haven looks around the Great Hall doubtfully as they pass through the doors; she's read Hogwarts: a History, and it doesn't do the room justice in the slightest. Perhaps it is just that words cannot possibly hold a candle to reality.
The Hall is massive, with four long tables parallel to each other, stretching nearly wall to wall; a fifth, shorter table sits perpendicular to the other tables, and parallel to the wall farthest from the entrance. The floor and walls are made of gray stone, and colorful tapestries with moving figures line them. Above the four parallel tables, colored banners hang down; a red one with a golden lion running rampant marks the table farthest to Haven's right. The table to its left has a yellow banner with a black badger cutting through the air. Next to that table the banner is colored in blue and boasting a bronze eagle with spread wings. The table farthest to the left has a green banner with silver snakes slithering along the borders.
The animals that have been so carefully stitched onto the richly-coloured fabrics, Haven notices, are actually moving, not just rippling across the cloth as a faint draft moves them about through the air.
Arching high above the tables and the banners are hundreds of candles, the silvery fire flickering atop the purplish sticks and warming the room. Above the floating candles, the ceiling sprawls in a regal statement, showcasing an inky blue sky, cloudless, with thousands of stars scattering its surface.
The light from the candles and stars is bright enough that every face is visible, as is every groove in the tables, and the stones in the floor and walls, as well as the four paintings that decorate them. The paintings are beautiful, if unusual - Haven has become used to every image in the magical world moving, even the ones in her textbooks, and these paintings are just as still as any she has seen in the Muggle world. There is a dark-toned one, of a man kneeling before a forest. Beside it is a beautiful eagle that looks quite similar to the one on the blue banner above one of the tables. On the opposite wall is a translucent badger leaping from the chest of a blond girl, and beside that is a shadowy image, the clearest part of it being the eyes - blue, amber, azure, emerald, surrounded by swirling, shadowy reds and chestnuts and golds and ebonies - which have the reflections of lions and eagles and badgers and snakes glittering within the black abyss of the pupils.
McGonagall holds up her hand for them to stop. They do, and she strides forwards between the middle two tables, stopping in front of the shortest table, where one of the people sitting there - a familiar-looking man with long silvery hair, an equally silver beard, half-moon glasses crafted from polished glass and silver wire, an astonishing lack of wrinkles, and plum-coloured robes which are painted with other vibrant hues that remind Haven of the photos she's seen of the Milky Way, all bold blues and brilliantly phosphorescent purples and pale pinks, punctuated by little blinks of white light - leans forward to place a slim roll of creamy parchment in her hand.
McGonagall clears her throat. "In just a moment, when I call your name, you will approach the front of the room, put on the hat," she gestures at the scraggly-looking, patchwork-fabric, leathery-surfaced hat that rests on the stool by her side, "and, when the hat announces your House, you will head over to that table and wait patiently for everyone else to be Sorted."
She stops speaking, and the hat beside her puffs up. "Oh?" it says in a scratchy voice. "Is it my turn now?"
McGonagall purses her lips in displeasure. "Unfortunately. Take it away."
To Haven's shock, the hat begins to sing.
Welcome one, welcome all,
Welcome to this humble hall.
Our minds will meet
And your little feet
Will go without ado
To the House that's best for you.
Will you be a Slytherin,
A sly and cunning snake?
Will you disregard the olden days
And keep the friends you make?
Or will you fall to your families' folly
And relentlessly further the break?
Will you be a Gryffindor,
A lion with courage in your veins?
Will you fight for honor and for power,
Or will you succumb to your fate?
Will you rise up high and tower
Above your parents' mistakes?
Will you be a Ravenclaw,
A wise and logical soul?
Will you focus on your future
Or do you have another goal?
Are you willing to mediate
The war that stains our scrolls?
Will you be a Hufflepuff,
A kind and gentle hand?
Will you work so very hard
To stick to every plan?
Do you have it in your bones
To save the world from sticks and stones?
So will you live as a lion or a snake
How will you love: as a badger or an eagle?
Will you be the fist or the lips that build and break,
Will it be your mind or your heart that makes you lethal?
What choices will you choose to make
When you meet me as an equal?
Fear not, little ones,
I swear on my makers' graves
I'll put you where you most belong
Once you hurry your little feet along.
It is silent in the hall for a moment as the last strains of the hat's tuneless song fade into echoes against the stone walls.
McGonagall unrolls the scroll of parchment and reads the first name. "Abbott, Hannah."
Hannah Abbot, a round-faced girl with pin-straight blonde hair and rosy cheeks, stumbles forwards, lifts the Sorting Hat, and sits on the stool with it on her head. Anticipation in the hall sounds like breathless silence for a long moment, until the hat opens its flap and says "Hufflepuff!" Hannah hurries to sit at the table beneath the black and yellow banner, whose occupants clap enthusiastically for her.
"Alderton, Genevive."
Reddish-brown hair settles beneath the hat and stands a moment later to the shout of "Ravenclaw!"
Zariyah Avery finds a home in Slytherin and is greeted by polite clapping. Two names later, and Gemma Baxter is the first person Sorted into Gryffindor, and the applause that greets her is thunderous. In comparison, when Aries Black joins Gryffindor, the cheering is far more hesitant, and Haven notices curious looks being exchanged amongst the older Gryffindors.
More names are announced and Sorted before Haven hears one she recognizes. "Bones, Susan."
"Hufflepuff!"
Haven claps when Millie ends up in Slytherin, and when Gabriel Deverill - one of the boys she'd met in Diagon - follows her. Lionel Edwards turns out to be the boy who'd been the cause of Malfoy's silence before they'd entered the Great Hall, and when the hat calls out "Slytherin!" Haven can't help looking around to see Malfoy's face. She claps when she sees that Malfoy looks rather put-out about this state of affairs.
Violet Evans ends up in Ravenclaw, and when Lucas Flint joins her, Haven wonders if he bears any relation to Marcus. She claps politely when Niamh and Roisin join Gryffindor, and finds herself surprised when Hermione does the same not long after. Daphne goes to Slytherin, and then at least a dozen more people who she doesn't know are Sorted.
She stops paying attention for a bit; she tunes out the names, and her eyes unfocus so that everyone walking up to the hat is a blur of color. She startles when Neville squeezes her shoulder before walking up to the hat.
It is a few minutes before the hat says anything, and when it announces "Gryffindor," the word is more thoughtful than it was for the others.
Malfoy ends up in Slytherin before he can even put the hat on his head. Theo joins him a while later, nodding to the blond boy courteously before sitting beside Daphne and Millie, opposite Lionel.
Haven looks up when she hears the name Ollivander, who ends up beneath a bronze and blue banner. Half-a-dozen more names are called and Sorted, and then it is her turn.
"Potter, Haven."
The murmurs in the hall grow quieter as she steps out from amongst the other un-Sorted first-years and makes her way to the stool. It is a little disconcerting to have so many curious eyes on her, and so she stares straight ahead, blocking out the whispers that run through the hall.
Unlike with Malfoy, the hat remains silent when she reaches out and puts it on her head. She sits down just before it slides over her eyes, leaving her in darkness.
"Another Potter, I see," a voice whispers in her head. It is remarkably like the voice the hat used to sing - scratchy and tuneless. "I would take offense to that, if I weren't a hat. But I suppose I'm used to it. Your family always seems to think something along those lines when I sort them, and the Founders know I've had at least one of you every generation. You all have such interesting minds.
"Excuse me while I just - you don't mind, do you, if I just take a peek? I can't really see the memories, you know. It's just - the feelings associated with them. They tell a great deal about a person, don't you think?" The hat is silent for a moment.
"I see. Hmm. Well, you like learning. That much is obvious. It looks like you looked through all your books before coming here. But not in great detail, it seems. Just enough to learn the basics. Probably not Ravenclaw, then. You're smart. You've got the mind for it, but there are things more important and interesting than learning, aren't there. No, not Ravenclaw."
From what Haven's read, Ravenclaw is a prestigious House. She'd been interested in all four of them, of course, but Ravenclaw had really tugged at her. She consoles herself with the fact that the hat thinks she'd be smart enough to be a Ravenclaw.
"I'm a hat, m'dear. I can't really think. But yes, you do have the potential. I suppose we can keep it on the back burner for now, though I'd prefer not to stick you in with the eagles if at all possible. You're not quite right for each other.
"Let's see. Hufflepuff. Mmm. You're certainly loyal. You work hard, but only if you like what you're working on. No, I don't think you're quite right for Hufflepuff, either. You're the type to hold grudges, and I'm afraid that's not a very Hufflepuff trait. I'm sure you'd do fine there, most people can do fine in any of the Houses, you know, but I'm not sure you'd thrive.
"Slytherin, perhaps. Sorry, sorry, I know that's a bit uncomfortable. You've been very patient. I'm sure you're plotting my demise right now. That's a bit Slytherin, but not really enough to get you in. I notice you're not shouting Slytherin at me like Mr Malfoy did, but you also don't really have the same kind of ambition as Miss Greengrass. Interesting… there's a small part of you - very small, really, and almost negligible - that's Slytherin to the core. Self-preservation, ambition, yes, yes. It's there, but it's not the most important part of you. No, I don't think Slytherin is quite right for you, either."
That leaves Gryffindor, Haven realises, which is not such a bad way to go, in the grand scheme of things. In Gryffindor, she'll be less likely to strangle Malfoy; really, it's a good thing she won't be in Slytherin; being that close to Malfoy on a daily basis might bring her to commit murder.
"You're quite bold, aren't you. A bit reckless, even. Recklessness isn't a bad thing in small doses, dear, but I'd keep an eye on that if I were you. You don't want to do something to get yourself expelled. Hmm, let's see. Forgiveness is not your strong suit. That's certainly a Gryffindor trait. Yes, yes. And you've got strong morals, too, that you've learned from your family - forgive me for saying this, but you may have to let go of those a bit. Yes I think Gryffindor will be the best for you; it keeps with your natural traits, but I think you'll learn to overcome your weaknesses there too. Yes. This is definitely the House for you.
"Gryffindor!" the hat shouts, and loud cheering begins as she places the hat back on the stool and makes her way over to the table.
Hermione beams at her, scooting over to make space. Fred and George appear from nowhere and begin shaking her hands. "Congratulations!" they tell her, before disappearing back to their seats.
McGonagall calls the next name, one that Haven doesn't recognize. It goes on like this for a while; McGonagall lists names, and they are Sorted, but there are only a few that she knows. Aileen Scamander joins them in Gryffindor, and Hermione leans over to ask "Are you related to the author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them?"
Aileen nods briskly, before turning her attention back to the Sorting. Later, there is Mafalda Weasley - Slytherin - and Ron Weasley - Gryffindor. Haven cheers for them both. There is Arthur Wood - Gryffindor - who sits beside Ron and bears Oliver's enthusiastic congratulations stoically.
Blaise is the last to be Sorted, and ends up in Slytherin.
McGonagall rolls up the scroll and flicks her wand at it. It disappears, and she moves to sit beside the extravagantly dressed old man, who stands with his arms raised. The Great Hall falls silent.
"To those of you returning, welcome back. To those of you who are new, welcome to Hogwarts. I have been asked to share some new rules with you all, but I think that we can save those for after the feast. Let's eat!" With that, he sits back down and taps his wand against the table. Out of nowhere, glossy gold plates and utensils line themselves up in front of everyone, and in the center of the table, mountains of food appear.
Haven serves herself and begins eating. "Who was that?" she asks, nodding at the old man.
Ron rolls his eyes at her. "That's Dumbledore! You only had two Chocolate Frog cards of him today."
"Oh shut up," she shoots back. "He looks different in person. More… more. You know?"
"That's Dumbledore for you. Always exceeding expectations."
"Dumbledore isn't the only surprising person here," Hermione butts in. "Did you see Malfoy's face when Lionel Edwards ended up in Slytherin? He was furious!"
Haven laughs. "I know! I almost feel bad for Malfoy; Lionel isn't obvious about it, but he's definitely out to get him. D'you think Malfoy knows?"
"Wolfoy mayee Fluvirin, buh hemaw heffs fmarts hefinks," Ron says through a mouthful of food.
Hermione looks at him in disgust. "Chew your food and swallow before speaking, Ronald."
"Malfoy may be Slytherin, but he's not half as smart as he thinks," Ron repeats, the words intelligible this time. "Like you said, when Lionel confronted him, he wasn't super obvious. At least, I don't think so. At least he wasn't obvious like I'm used to. Maybe Malfoy can tell, but it's not like he can do anything about it. I've heard a lot about Hogwarts over the years; the Houses may not get along with each other, but they're supposed to be your family away from home."
Haven looks up and down the Gryffindor table. "Big family."
"Yup."
"So what do you do if you're friends with people who get Sorted into another House? We don't just stop being friends with them, do we?"
"I've read Hogwarts: a History at least three times since we went shopping in Diagon," Hermione says thoughtfully. "As far as I remember, there aren't any rules against friendships between Houses."
"That would be a stupid rule," Neville says flatly, inserting himself smoothly into the conversation. "We can probably find out for sure if we take a look at the Hogwarts Charter; it was drawn up after the Founders died, around the time the Wizengamot was formed. Or we could ask one of the Professors."
"If it is a rule," Ron declares, "well, I've hung around Fred and George long enough to know that some rules are meant to be at least bent, if not completely broken. Unless it's in Chess. Chess rules don't get messed around with."
Haven rolls her eyes. "Well, that's settled. We'll just keep on being friends with our friends in Slytherin, and if anyone takes issue, they can just suck it up."
"Speaking of taking issue, what's with all the blood prejudice?" Hermione asks.
"Some people," Neville replies, "are of the opinion -"
"Stupid people with stupid opinions," Ron mutters mutinously.
"- that Wixen with Muggle blood are less. For some reason, they like to think that because some Wixen can't trace back back for generations they're weaker. Mind you, there've been studies that show that that's not true. In fact, some of those studies conclude that if you've got decades or centuries of magical blood and no Muggle blood, you're likely to have weaker magic than a Muggle-born or a Half-blood, or even a first or second-generation Pure-blood."
"Most Pure-bloods like to ignore those reports, though," Ron adds helpfully. "There has never been a report by a Pure-blood pointing out those things. All the ones available to the public are by Half-bloods or Muggle-borns, and the Pure-bloods, like the Malfoys, like to claim that their evidence is skewed, or not representative. Of course, some of the oldest Pure-blood families really do have weaker magic; take the Crabbes and Goyles, for example." He nods at the Slytherin table, where Malfoy is sitting beside two boys who bear uncanny resemblances to potatoes. "They're mean and they're ugly, and their magic is weak. It gets weaker every generation; my dad's had some dealings with Crabbe Sr before, and he said that his magic is barely stronger than a Squib's. So he can do some simple spells, and he can make potions, like Squibs can, and he can't do much else. I'd bet that Crabbe Jr has even less magical power than his father. Mum says it's because of the inbreeding."
"Inbreeding doesn't always result in weaker magic, though," Neville tells them. "I don't know if you've heard much about the Black family, but the majority of them are magically powerful. Obviously, they've got a few lines that've Squibbed out, but sometimes the excessive inbreeding manifests as insanity."
"D'you think he's part of the Black family?" Hermione asks, jerking her chin to where Aries Black is sitting near the second-years.
"Dunno," Ron shrugs. "Let's find out. Oi! Black!" he shouts, and Aries' head jerks up at the sound of his voice. "You Pure-blooded?"
"No," Aries replies, his words carrying effortlessly over the conversations at their end of the Gryffindor table. "Mum's a Muggle. We're not sure what my father was. One-night stand, you know? I've never met 'im."
"Huh," Neville says thoughtfully. "Most likely he's a Muggle-born, then. Blacks are all about blood now; Arcturus Black didn't use to be, but he gave his son Orion control of the family when he got sick. It would have gone to Lucretia, his older sister, but apparently the Black family doesn't believe in female Heads of House. So Orion became head of the family, and then he died, and instead of going to Lucretia, because she was a woman, or going back to Arcturus, because once you switch, there's no going back, it went to Cygnus Black, who's a prejudiced bastard."
"Arcturus is still alive," Ron adds, "but he's pretty old, and he never completely recovered from when he got sick. He might pay attention to the family tapestry, but if Aries is on it, Cygnus can probably prevent Arcturus from doing anything about it. If Aries is on it, it's a surprise he hasn't been blasted off of it yet. You're probably right in thinking he's Muggle-born, Nev, unless Cygnus just hasn't bothered to look at the family tree in the past eleven years."
"Well this topic sucks," Haven says. "Imagine your family not liking you because of your blood. Let's talk about something else."
"Sure," Hermione shrugs. "When did you guys first do magic? My parents say that I was around four; they're dentists, and so they wouldn't let me have a piece of candy I wanted, and I guess I summoned it, or something, because one moment it was on one side of the room, and the next, it was in my hand."
"What's a dentist?" Neville asks curiously.
"It's like a… Healer, I think, but for teeth."
"I think I was about that age, too," Ron tells her. "Fred and George turned my teddy bear into a giant spider, and it really freaked me out. Mum says I took one look at it and blew it up. Apparently, even with magic, it was hard to get all the stuffing cleaned up."
Haven frowns. "I don't really know when I started doing magic. If you believe what you read about me, I'm sure people think I started when I was one, when I supposedly defeated Voldemort, but according to Aunt Petunia, the first time she noticed me doing magic was when she was trying to dress me in a brown sweater sometime in November, I think, when I'd just turned four. She admits that it was a hideous sweater, but it was my Mum's, apparently, so she wasn't too happy when it shrank small enough that the only thing that could fit inside it was a finger."
"Now I feel slow," Neville laughs. "I didn't start doing magic until I was around eight or nine, and it was only because my family was getting desperate. My Great-Uncle Archie threw me out a window during my birthday party. I thought for sure that I was gonna smack into the ground and break something, but I bounced. Gran was furious when she found out, and now he's not allowed around me."
"Good!" Hermione says fiercely. "He should never have thrown you out a window! That's no way to treat someone, and especially not a child!"
Neville opens his mouth to reply, but suddenly silence falls over the hall. The plates and food disappear as they all turn to look at Dumbledore, who is standing with his hands raised. Haven can't help but appreciate the fact that he doesn't need to say anything to gather his students' attention.
"Now that we're all comfortably full," Dumbledore begins, "I have just a few words for you before we head off to bed. First, the Forbidden Forest is - as its name suggests - forbidden." He aims a knowing glance at Fred and George. "If you do happen to find your way inside, be safe, and do not get caught." McGonagall clears her throat, and Dumbledore frowns slightly. "Er. But do endeavor to keep out of it, as there are various dangerous creatures within. Second, Mr Filch has requested that I inform you all that the list of banned items has increased once again. For the full compilation, please feel free to peruse the extensive list hanging in its place of honour outside of his office at your leisure.
"Now, before my final point, I would like you all to greet Professor Quirinius Quirrell, who - after teaching Muggle Studies for half a decade - has returned from his sabbatical to take up the Defense Against the Dark Arts post." He gestures conspicuously towards a pale man in plum-coloured robes and a silky lavender turban. He is seated next to an even paler man dressed all in black, with a greasy curtain of hair, dark eyes, and a hooked nose, who is glaring out across the hall, sweeping his cold eyes over all of the students like they've personally offended them.
Professor Quirrell, with his sweeping purple fabrics waterfalling around him, stands and bows slightly at them. "I am delighted to be returning to this esteemed school," he begins, his words deliberate and cultured, "to take up this infamous position. I hope you all will learn a great deal under my tutelage."
Professor Quirrell is someone Uncle Vernon would admire, Haven thinks; her uncle likes to ramble on about charismatic speakers, often mentioning the importance of eye contact with one's audience. Quirrell sweeps his eyes over the Great Hall, meeting the eyes of several students; he speaks clearly, enunciating his words, without making his tone overly harsh.
Quirrell sits back down to the dark-robed man, angling his body slightly in his direction so that his back is to the wall nearest the Gryffindor table. The dark man stares over his shoulder, meeting Haven's eyes, and looking at her with discontent. A sharp pain throbs in her brow at the same moment, and it develops into a headache above her eyes. She reaches up to rub at her forehead.
"Welcome back, Professor Quirrell," Dumbledore says jovially, pausing to allow for polite applause. "Professor Charity Burbage has agreed to accept a more permanent position as the Muggle Studies professor now that Quirinius has decided to take on the Defense post, so let's all give her a welcome back, as well."
The applause she receives is just as polite as Quirrell's, if more sparse.
"And now for my final point. The third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is undergoing renovations this year. It would be greatly appreciated if our more inquisitive students would consider leaving it undisturbed." He looks again at Fred and George, who nod thoughtfully at each other.
"Now that that's all over, it's off to bed with you all. And don't forget that your first day of classes is tomorrow. Get a good night's sleep. Pip, pip!"
All at once, everyone is getting to their feet.
"First-years, stay here. We'll let the upper years file out first," Percy calls over the commotion. He waits patiently beside a pretty blonde girl with a Prefect badge pinned to her chest. Haven thinks she saw her in Percy's train compartment when they'd been looking for Trevor.
Even though there are hundreds of students in the hall, it clears out rather quickly, and once there's enough room to walk comfortably, Percy and the girl lead them out the same door they came in.
Haven and the others follow him down one winding corridor after another, walking at such a brisk clip that she can hardly remember the way they came. "Alright, through this wall right here," Percy tells them, motioning to the nondescript stone, before stepping into it. One by one, they file through after him. Haven finds herself at the bottom of a frankly intimidating staircase that coils up and up and up as far as she can see. The walls are dimly lit by candles, which cast long shadows down the steps, and - when she turns to look back the way they came - behind them, out into the hallway they'd come from. She wonders how they can see it from the inside when the passageway had been invisible from the outside.
The people in front of her move forward, and Haven follows close behind. Suddenly, the entirety of the first-year Gryffindors are running up the spiraling stairs, their footsteps a great, clattering echo following behind them.
They reach the wide balcony at the top of the stairway, where they pause for a second before Percy and the female Prefect lead them through a second wall. It opens into a narrow room whose floor falls out, opening out into a brightly lit space that Haven can't see the whole of.
"Welcome to Gryffindor tower!" the blonde Prefect says. "For those of you who don't know, I'm Amaryllis Brown. That's Percy Weasley. We're the fifth-year Gryffindor Prefects. You'll meet the others soon."
"This is the lesser-used entrance into Gryffindor," Percy picks up. "It's just a fun way to get into the tower, and we like to show it to our firsties each year. If you're up for it, all you've got to do is jump in, and you'll end up inside. It's perfectly safe, don't worry, but for those of you who aren't fond of heights, or jumping into strange places, there is another entrance that we can use."
"Once everyone's inside," Amaryllis says, "we'll start the festivities. It's our traditional 'welcome to the family' party. You'll be exhausted tomorrow, but it's worth it. Promise."
"Your House is like your family," Percy adds. "I don't know if McGonagall mentioned that in her little speech before she brought you all to be Sorted. Some years she does, and some she doesn't. If this is the first you're hearing of it, and you're wondering why we - as your new family - are already encouraging you to make bad decisions, I say: what is family for if not to help you experience life to the fullest? Unfortunately for you, that includes making bad choices sometimes."
"In keeping with that, let us help you make your first decision. Let's jump!" Amaryllis tells them, grinning.
And with that, she shoves Percy off the edge and into the common room below. His surprised shriek lingers longer than he does. Some of the first-years near the front of the group exchange glances and shrug at each other before jumping after him.
The group moves forward quickly after that, clumps of people jumping at once. Being in the middle of the crowd, Haven gets a moment to take in the room below them, and she is pleasantly surprised by what she sees.
The room itself is decorated in muted reds and golds, and it is not as tasteless as Haven would have expected. At each end of the room itself are large fires in stone hearths with overstuffed couches and chairs placed around them, blankets and pillows strewn across their surfaces in piles that spill onto the ground, and sitting on top of a red rug with a gold border. All around the room, tables and chairs are placed in a nonsensical and random pattern that somehow reminds Haven of the lion on the massive banner that is pinned to the wall.
The walls are made of dark, polished wood, with intricately made golden sconces mounted every few feet, and they reach up hundreds of feet, so that the dark curving line of the walls meets the paler stones that line the ledge Haven is standing on. There are small little rooms - furnished with tables and chairs, or couches and bookshelves, or bean-bag chairs and fuzzy blankets and fireplaces - carved into the walls at varying heights, with sturdy-looking ladders leading up to them. There are thick beams criss-crossing through the open air; they look wide enough to hold several people, and have small stacks of books, and half-melted candles, and couch cushions tossed haphazardly along their surfaces.
As she steps closer to the edge, Haven notices a board with papers pinned onto it on one wall, and on the wall across from it are bookshelves filled past reasonable capacity. There are so many books that some of the floor space around the bookshelves seems to have been dedicated to towering stacks of books.
She doesn't have time to admire the chaos of the common room, because suddenly Hermione and Ron and Neville are linking their hands with hers, and they're jumping.
The fall is exhilarating, and Haven shrieks with laughter the whole way down, until the wind created from their fall whips her hair into her mouth; then she is so preoccupied with spitting it out that she almost doesn't notice the rather abrupt stop they come to a few feet from the ground. And then they're falling again, a shorter fall with none of the fun of the jump, but they're greeted with enthusiastic cheering, and there are bodies crowding around them, offering hugs and congratulations. They are shoved out of the way just before more first-years land, and they receive the same treatment.
Once everyone is safely on the ground, one of the older boys raises his hands. "Alright, everyone, quiet down," he says, laughing. "We'll celebrate in a few minutes, alright?"
He looks around, his grin bringing out his dimples. He runs a hand through his dark hair as he waits for everyone to settle down.
"He's cute," Haven whispers to Hermione, who nods in wide-eyed agreement.
"Okay. I'm Roman Walker. I've been made Head Boy. I'm Muggle-born," he pauses and grins again at the chorus of whoops that sound through the common room. "It's an unusual combination, I'll admit. I'm also the king of Gryffindor, because someone along the way decided that we lions need a king to keep us in line. I was chosen by Charlie Weasley at the end of last year, and I'm essentially just here to listen to any problems you may have. Of course, I can also reinforce the rules of Gryffindor House, and dole out punishments to any of you breaking them."
Haven exchanges a glance with Hermione, who shrugs at her. "Hogwarts: a History doesn't say anything about the king of Gryffindor, but it does mention that all four of the Houses have secrets that they don't disclose. This might be one of them," she mutters under her breath.
"I swear I'll be a fair and just king," Roman is saying, and several of the upper years relax slightly. "Anyways, that's enough about me. Why don't we all go around and introduce ourselves? Say your name, and something interesting about yourself. You can add your blood status if you want, but it's not really a concern here. We're family now!"
What follows is a flurry of names and information that Haven can't follow. She manages to pick out a few names here and there, but she hopes there won't be a quiz on her Housemates because she can't remember half their names.
"Welcome and welcome back to Gryffindor," Roman tells them, sitting down. "Now I'll hand the stage over to Percy, who has the debatable honor of explaining the rules."
Percy stands up. "There really aren't that many rules. Obviously, do as the professors say, stay out of the Forbidden Forest, stay away from the third-floor corridor until further notice, don't go around challenging other students to duels. Common sense, really.
House rules wise, I'll go a bit more in depth. Keeping in mind that there are about forty new Gryffindors this year - and your year is the smallest because of the war - the dorms tend to have four people in them. Each dorm has a bathroom. You are expected to keep both the dorms and the bathrooms neat - a clean living space will make everyone happier. For every four first-years we will assign one upper year to help you get around the school and answer any questions you may have. If they cannot answer your questions, you may ask a Prefect, and you may ask Roman as a last resort because he's got a lot on his plate.
"Once a week, we hold tutoring sessions that are mandatory for first years. Whether you continue to attend or not after this year is up to you. The other Houses - Slytherin and Ravenclaw especially - look down on us and think that because we're in the House of the brave, we're all stupid. We are not, and so as a House, it is mandatory that you receive good marks. A Prefect will check in with you every now and then to see how you're doing; if you need help, ask. If you do poorly on an exam, study harder, or one of the Prefects will take points. We are here to be your family, and that means building you up so that you can be the best you possible." Percy pauses to look around at everyone meaningfully.
"Now," he continues, "just because we're seen as bold and brash and hot-headed by the other Houses and the Professors doesn't mean that we are. We appreciate cunning; we expect you to sneak around the castle at night time, we expect you to wake up late, or to not do a homework assignment. We expect you to play pranks on each other, on other Houses, and on the Professors. We expect you to have fun, and to learn a lot while you're here, and we expect you to do it without getting caught."
He looks up at the ceiling, thinking. "I think that's pretty much everything. Obviously, don't tell the other Houses how to get into the tower, and don't tell anyone the passwords, either. If you have a question about whether you're allowed to tell someone from another House something, just ask."
Hermione raises her hand. "I've heard that the Houses don't get along well. Is there a rule against inter-House friendships?"
"Definitely not! At least, we have nothing against it. The more friends you can make in other Houses, the better. It's about time that the damage You-Know-Who caused to inter-House unity gets fixed. Anything else?" he asks, looking around at everyone.
"I think you got everything, Perce," Roman says when no more questions are forthcoming. "On that note, let's break for a minute. Prefects, I'm gonna have you guys show the firsties where their dorms are. We'll set up out here, so everything'll be ready when you get back."
Amaryllis and Percy gesture for them to follow them to where four older students are standing. "Avalon Lingley and Oscar White are the sixth year Prefects," Percy says, pointing to the blonde girl and brunet boy. "Emily Essux and Bohai Zhou are the seventh year ones."
The Prefects nod in greeting.
"The girls' dorms are on this side of the tower," Emily says. "If you just walk through this doorway, you'll see the staircase to get up there. Your rooms are on the first level, which is where they'll remain for the entirety of your time here. After ten o'clock, boys can't enter, and it's the same for girls going into the boys' dorms, which are over on that side."
"You guys are actually on the second level," Oscar tells the boys. "Your trunks and stuff are already in the rooms. You can negotiate the bed situation at some other time. We're just looking around right now, so that you know where everything is."
Bohai nods. "I think you'll like what we've got planned for tonight. It's like bonding time, I guess. Roman's got a variety of Muggle and magical games picked out. I think he even plans on telling the story tonight."
"He seems like he'll be a good king. Charlie chose well, Perce," Oscar says in a congratulatory tone.
"Yes, well, anyone is good after Alexander Sykes," Percy mutters. The Prefects shudder slightly.
"We should just be glad that whoever came up with the concept of the 'Lion King' had enough foresight to allow so-called subordinates to challenge the king if they thought he was unjust," Avalon says pragmatically.
"And that Charlie was powerful enough to do it, even though he was two years younger than Sykes."
"Who even chose Sykes in the first place?" Bohai demands.
"Carmen Salvaggio. I think she was dating him when she was king, and she either didn't realise that he was a sadistic bastard, or she was too afraid of him to say no," Emily tells him. "Hopefully it was the former. Carmen was a sweet girl. I'd like to think that she didn't know what she was sentencing us to, because I'd hate to think that she suffered while they were dating."
"I don't think Roman will be an issue, but do we have a back-up plan if he is?" Percy asks. "I've known him since I got here, and he's always seemed fair, but Charlie was friends with Sykes for almost five years before anyone realised how f-" he pauses, and looks around at the first-years, who are listening raptly to the conversation, " -screwed up he was. I won't risk anything like that happening again. Especially while my brothers are here. And I know I wouldn't be able to take Roman on if I needed to."
"Don't worry about it, Perce," Emily reassures him. "We've got someone, just in case. But I don't think we'll have to worry about it."
He takes a deep breath. "Okay. Okay. And, let's keep this to ourselves, yeah? We don't need to blow things out of proportion."
"If you see anything, though," Emily tells them.
"Let us know, okay?" Amaryllis says softly. "Just because you're in Gryffindor doesn't mean that there aren't bad people here. Don't let anyone tell you that no one bad ever comes out of Gryffindor, because it's not true. There's at least one in every generation, and we've all seen it."
By this time, they have made it up the first flight of steps. Haven thinks that if nothing else, all the staircases in the castle will ensure that she gets enough exercise every day. The boys wait at the steps while she and the other girls move forward to inspect their new living quarters.
There are five doors lining the hallway, each of them with little golden plaques adorning the dark wood. On the door furthest to the left, Haven finds her name etched into the metal, along with Hermione's, Aileen Scamander's, and Veronica Fleamont's. The four of them file into the dimly lit room. It is rather plain after the chaos of the common room. There are four dark wood, four-poster beds with subtle golden-hued sheets and crimson comforters, each with a pillow and throw blanket that match the sheets. They are each set in front of pane-less windows, which have frothy crimson curtains, embroidered with golden thread, pulled to the sides to allow the moonlight to spill into the room. To the left of each bed is a table with a candle-holder on it, and at the foot are their trunks.
There is a doorway between the middle two beds. Aileen opens it, revealing a bathroom that has all the commodities Haven' is used to: a toilet, a sink, a shower. There is a cupboard in the corner that holds flannels and bath towels and robes, all in muted shades of red and gold. There is even soap, and Haven - after thinking about it for a moment - doesn't know why she's so surprised by this.
"All the dorms look like this," says Emily's voice, drawing their attention to the open door of the dorm. She moves from where she's leaning against the doorway to sit on one of the beds. "At least, they do before we start decorating them. You guys can put whatever you want on the walls. If you want different bedding, that's fine, too. Just make sure to respect each other's space, and I'm sure you'll get along fine."
"We're heading over to the boys' dorms, now, so that they can figure out where they'll be sleeping," Bohai says, sticking his head into the room. "Don't keep the girls up here too long. Roman's got plans for tonight, remember."
Emily nods and waves him off. "Why don't you four go wait by the stairs while Amaryllis and Avalon and I finish checking in on the others. We'll head back to the common rooms in a couple minutes."
A few minutes later, they are tromping back down the steps and into the common room, which has all the tables and sofas and chairs pushed towards the walls. The floor is lined with sleeping bags, and the mounds of blankets and pillows that had originally been piled onto the furniture.
"Alright, everyone, find a spot," Roman calls, and they all scramble to do as he says. He pulls out various board games, and several decks of cards, from one of the shelves that Haven had originally thought was completely full of books.
They spend several hours playing games, breaking off into smaller groups, and rotating from one activity to the next. Every now and then, a player up and leaves, joining another game, and so they adapt to the absences.
At some point, Fred and George disappear. When they come back, they are levitating several trays in front of them, all of which are heavily laden with steaming mugs of cocoa. Haven takes one gratefully, sipping at the sweet liquid. It settles heavy and warm in her body, and she finds herself struggling to keep her eyes open.
"I think it's almost time for bed. Can some of you upper years teach the firsties Mouth-Freshening Charms? They're almost as good as brushing your teeth, so long as you don't use them all the time." Roman waits until they've all crawled beneath the piles of blankets to speak again. Haven doesn't think she's ever felt this warm before.
"I thought I'd tell the story of the Three Brothers tonight," Roman begins, his voice decreasing in volume so that it flows warmly over them, the quality of it thick and soothing. She can't help but relax into the sound of his voice, and the steady rhythm of the quiet breathing all around her, and the warmth of her Housemates, wrapped in sleeping bags and blankets and darkness.
"Many centuries ago, there were three brothers walking along a dusty road at midnight. They lived in secret because they had magic flowing through their veins, and though they were trained in its use, the common folk hated them for it.
"These three brothers came to a river that split the road in two. It was a wild, rushing thing, with strong currents that often yanked even the strongest men under the rapids and held them there until they drowned. But not only did the brothers have magic, they were also very intelligent; they used their magic to build a bridge across the river, and they made their way across it. They were the first to have escaped Death.
"And so Death came to them in anger, feeling cheated of his prize, and offered the brothers a reward, for they had escaped his grasp. He promised to give them anything they asked for. The eldest brother was rash and lusted for glory. He asked Death for a wand that would never lose a duel. And so Death fashioned the eldest a wand from the wood of the elder tree that marked the bank of the river and a hair from the tail of his steed - a thestral. He gave the brother his wand and turned to grant the request of the second brother.
"The second brother wished to make a mockery of Death, and he asked the phantom for something with the power to resurrect the dead. And so Death took a black stone from the river bank and gave it to the second brother, claiming that it would raise the dead with only three turns across the hand.
"Then, Death turned to the third brother, who asked for a piece of Death's own Cloak of Invisibility. And so Death begrudgingly tore a corner from his cloak and gifted it to the third brother. Then, the phantom disappeared, and the brothers went on their ways.
"The eldest brother went to the nearest town and ate and drank until his tongue was loose. He boasted about his unbeatable wand, and when he was challenged to a duel, he did defeat his opponent. Then, the eldest brother retired to his rooms where he fell into a drunken sleep. But in the middle of the night, a thief entered his sleeping quarters and slit the eldest brother's throat, taking the unbeatable wand for himself.
"And so the eldest brother entered Death's realm. Death asked him 'Did you find your heart's desire, you foolish child?' And the brother answered that he had not, and Death welcomed him with open arms, for he had seen his folly.
"The second brother returned to his home where he used Death's stone to call his dead lover back to him. But she was pale and unhappy, and begged him to allow her to return. And so in his sorrow, the second brother allowed her to return. He soon found that he could not live without her, and followed her into Death's realm, where he was greeted much the same as his brother. He too replied that he had not found his heart's desire.
"The third brother also returned home, where he married and carried on his family line. He used the cloak to hide from Death, who could not find him no matter how hard he searched. The third brother became old and frail, and on that day, he removed the cloak and passed it on to his eldest son, and he joined Death as an old friend.
"And so, in the end, Death claimed all three brothers as his own, because neither the bravest, nor the cleverest, nor the most cunning of us can cheat Death forever."
Haven drifts off with Roman's words echoing in her mind, and dreams of lavender silk falling away from pale skin. The sight of it makes her cold with fear, and even the next morning she has trouble putting her finger on why.
A/N: The Gryffindor dynamic is inspired by Fruitality's Lion Unity, and petroltogo's Better be Gryffindor. I highly recommend both. I also apologize for how OOC my characters have become, as well as the Sorting Hat's song. But that's what fan-fiction is for, right?