XIII.
Professor Flitwick was surprisingly good company as he walked her up to the Ravenclaw tower. Seemingly taking her depression as shyness, he attempted to bring her up to speed on the history of Hogwarts, notable Ravenclaws, and the values of her new house. As the pair approached Dorathea's new home and she began to notice parts of the castle she had never seen before, her mood brightened. Exploring Nott Keep had been terribly exciting, but Harry hadn't deviated far from his normal beeline between classes, dorms, and the Great Hall - unless he was up to some mischief. Dorathea was surprised to realize that she had never once ventured into this wing of the castle, had never once been curious of the other common rooms- with the exception of Slytherin which again was only to cause some mischief.
Dorathea frowned. Harry had gotten into rather a lot of trouble for his efforts- from almost dueling Malfoy to rescuing Hermione to single-handedly taking on the Philosopher's stone. Dorathea remembered the preceding events for each of these clearly, but didn't, for the life of her, understand how her old self had made the leap from hearing that there was a troll in the girl's bathroom to rescuing a fellow Gryffindor. Not that she wasn't glad she had since Hermione was a dear friend, but surely a professor would have been better able to handle the situation.
"And here is the entrance to the common room!" The professor said and his cry broke Dorathea from her reverie. Before them was a rather nondescript wooden door. There was no handle nor keyhole present- nor any friendly portrait to greet. Instead, a large bronze eagle hung in the middle of the door. Dorathea glanced uncertainly down at the professor who nodded to the knocker encouragingly. So, she was supposed to knock? Was there a secret rhythm she had to figure out?
Dorothea reached for the bronze eagle and squeaked as it turned sharp eyes on her. Without removing the ring from its mouth, the eagle said quite clearly:
The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?
Dorathea hesitated, frowning. She had never heard of this riddle before and she'd never been good at them before. The more you take- what was it she took? Breaths? Glances? But she didn't leave any behind-
Dorathea brightened as the answer came to her in a burst, "Footsteps!"
"Well done Miss Nott!" Professor Flitwick squeaked, "I can see that the hat sorted you well after all! Come, see your new home!"
. . . . . . . .
The Ravenclaw's girls dorm was much the same as the Gryffindor's boys, much to Dorathea's disappointment. Yes, the bed hanging colors were different and there were six beds tucked against the wall rather than five, but they were the same four posters, same trunks, same small side tables. Granted, the room was much cleaner than her dorm had ever been- but whether that was because girls were neater or because they had all packed up their things to go home, Dorathea didn't know. She clutched her loom to her chest tighter. If only she could have brought one of the unicorn tapestries from Nott Keep.
"The House Elves tell me that this one is yours," The Professor was saying, pointing out the bed on the far right hand corner. Though, of course, if you would like to trade with one of the other girls, you may! If you'd like to set your loom down here, I will show you your desk in the second year study room."
"Study room?" Dorathea said, unwilling to part with her loom just yet.
"Of course!" Professor Flitwick smiled, "We find that some students find either the common room or the library to be too distracting. Thus every year has their own study room- come! Follow me!"
Dorathea did as she was bidden and soon found herself in a cozy round room not unlike the room above. But unlike the dorm, there were small cubical desks rather than beds. Small bookshelves had been built into the side of each desk and these were filled with a variety of texts and papers.
"Personal texts," Professor Flitwick explained, "Or library loans. Some of our students find it easier to keep all their study materials in one place. Now, Miss Nott, given your unusual upbringing you'll forgive me asking I am sure, but I am assuming that you do, actually, know how to study, correct?"
Before Dorathea could open her mouth to protest that yes, of course, she knew how the study- Hermione had badgered her enough times after all - the cacophony of young voices echoed up the stairs in one indistingushable wave. Dorathea shrank back, but Professor Flitwick brightened.
"Ah, it appears that it is time to meet your classmates. Now, Miss Nott, you must forgive their youthful enthusiasm. Just remember that everyone means well." Then in an entirely uncomforting after thought, added, "Mostly."
. . . . . . . .
By the time Dorathea had been able to escape the common room and retreat back to her own bed chambers, she had learned many interesting things about Ravenclaw.
First, her impression of them as bookish, quiet nerds had been wrong. Dead wrong.
So had her idea that Gryffindor was the rambunctious house. Yes, the lions were lively- especially when Fred and George were trying out a new prank item. But even in the most boisturous of post-quidditch parties, the Gryffindors were just jovial.
The Ravenclaws liked to argue.
A lot.
It was apparently a sacrosanct law that if two people were having a conversation (read argument) in the common room anyone (read every one) was allowed to interject with their own comments and opinions. Ideally, you'd be having at least two conversations at the same time- keeping an ear on each. The more ridiculous the comments or opinions were the better.
This was why Dorathea's appearance had unleashed the most ridiculous series of theories and ideas she had ever heard: she was really a muggle. She was really Theo Nott in disguise. She was a spy from Beauxbatons - why? The International Pegasus Racing Conspiracy. She was a spy from Durmstrang to assess the battle-readiness of the British schools. She was from the moon. She was really just an elaborate mass hallucination. Someone had successfully raised her from the dead.
Dorathea had lost track of theories- each more ridiculous than the last.
If the swirl of conversation wasn't bad enough, there was also another sacred Ravenclaw tradition: the annual post-yule spell symposium (read: who had learned the best spell over the holidays). Dozens of children who had apparently not had the chance to practice any spell work over the holidays, but plenty of time to read ahead in their text books, meant dozens of children who were desperate to out preform each other from the most clever, difficult, or unusual spell.
Magically conjured birds flew over their heads. The tapestries shifted colors and shapes under their feet. Chairs raced about the room as students competed on locomotion spells.
After a stray spell had vanished the left sleeve of her sweater, Dorathea dodged under two arguing upperclass men and retreated back to the relative safety of her bedroom- loom clutched tightly to her chest like a life line.
What had she gotten herself into?
"So, you're the new Ravenclaw?" A harsh voice asked. Dorathea spun around- wand instinctively in her hand as she wondered what she'd have to fend off now.
. . . . . . .
A/N: I am so excited to work wiht the Ravenclaws again! I haven't touched them since 'Lisa Turpin Goes to Hogwarts.' Do you have a prefence for which Ravenclaw she meets first?
As always, your follows, favs and reviews make me happy