-1Disclaimer: I do not own in any way, shape or form, the Harry Potter characters or universe. I am not writing this fic for profit. It is for entertainment purposes only.

A/N: This fic is from the Point of View that the events of the sixth and seventh book never took place.

Irish Eyes

Chapter Three: Sorting, Classes and Other Random Frustrations

Professor McGonagall nodded towards a ragged old wizard's hat sitting atop a shelf. "Do you suppose it's too soon to sort her?" She asked.

"Actually, I was going to ask you the same." Dumbledore smiled. "Whatever the outcome of this whole ordeal, we would love to have you here at Hogwarts." He finished off the last of the tea, then said, "As I remember, your parents were in Ravenclaw, but we will have to see how it goes. Minerva, would you do the honors?"

"Certainly, Albus." Professor McGonagall reached for the hat and set it on Bridgette's head. It fell down around her eyes, and completely shut out the light of the room. She was startled when it began to speak inside her head.

"Your parents were Ravenclaw, eh?"

"Yes. But I can't remember anything else about them." She thought back.

"I see that. I can read your mind, and I'm drawing blanks at every corner. What shall we do with you? Hmm, this is tricky. You have courage, but you also have the intelligence, and compassion to boot."

"What is Ravenclaw?" She asked, feeling stupid.

"It is one of four houses in Hogwarts. The other three houses are Slytherin, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff."

"Well, Slytherin doesn't sound very nice." She said.

"Let me try a little harder. Maybe I can come up with something." The hat began to probe deeper into her mind. He caught her memory of the flash of green light, the screams, and the ditch.

"My, my, you poor thing." He sighed. "The Dark Lord must have done something awful for you to lose all of your memory. I think for now you would do well in Gryffindor. It seems to have a mixture of your virtues." He took a deep breath, and exclaimed, "Gryffindor!" aloud.

"Wonderful! That's my house." Professor McGonagall exclaimed. "I'm the head of Gryffindor house, and I also teach Transfiguration. Er, I suppose we will have to find a wand for you, so that you may attend class."

"Wonderful idea, Professor. Should I call Olivander?" Albus asked.

"Perhaps that would be the best idea. We can probably assume that her original wand was destroyed or lost in the attack."

Professor Dumbledore sprinkled a sort of powder into his fireplace, and the fire became a vibrant green. He stuck his head into the flames, and began a conversation with someone whom Bridgette assumed was on the other side. Dumbledore reached his arm into the fire, and brought back a long, thin box. "Try this one." He said, handing it to Bridgette.

Bridgette took the box and opened it. Inside lay what looked like a long, shiny twig.

"Go ahead, give it a wave. It won't bite, unless you are on the opposite end of it." He chuckled. Bridgette felt foolish, but waved the wand anyway. Small sparks flew from the end, but nothing beyond that.

"Nope, not the right one. We'll have to try another, I'm afraid." Dumbledore handed the first one back through the fire, and gave Bridgette another. "Now, see if this one does it." Bridgette removed this one from it's box and gave it a swish. The wand practically waved itself, and brilliant violet sparks shot from the end, knocking an astrolabe from the wall.

"I'm so sorry about that, Professor!" Bridgette exclaimed.

"No harm done. I do believe that is the quickest I've ever seen a wand choose." Dumbledore said, watching Bridgette thoughtfully. "I'll Owl Order the rest of her school supplies, and she can begin classes on Monday with the rest of the Gryffindor Sixth Years."

"Perfect. I'll show her to the Gryffindor Tower, and to the Dormitory. Then, maybe we can catch the finale of the Quidditch match?" McGonagall smiled. "Madam Pomfrey informed me of a memory potion that Professor Snape was working on. Maybe he could produce some for Bridgette?"

"I don't see why not. I'll speak to him about it tonight at dinner."

McGonagall led Bridgette to the Sixth year girls' Dormitory. She pointed out random classes along the way, and narrowly avoided a run-in with the school poltergeist, Peeves. She explained how the staircases worked, and they made their way down to the Front Hall. "You'll be needing something a bit warmer, I'm afraid." She said, and whipped out her wand. An incantation later, and Bridgette was wearing a heavy wool overcoat, gloves, a red and gold scarf, and a scarlet cap emblazoned with the Gryffindor Lion. "There. That's much better."

Bridgette followed McGonagall into the stands, where she turned her gaze upwards, to where the match was being held on broomsticks. Something felt oddly familiar about it, and she cheered along with the rest of her house when the Quaffle was passed through the Slytherin goal post.

Her shouts of "I remember, I remember!" drew curious glances from the others. The trouble was, the only thing she remembered right now was Quidditch. She had a lot more to remember about her past yet. She followed the ruddy cheeked spectators out of the stands, and to the Great Hall for supper. Supper appeared, and Bridgette dug in with a voracious appetite. The others looked at her as if she was a Martian.

"Um, hello." Finally, someone drew up the nerve to say hi.

"Hello." She said between bites of stew.

"My name's Hermione. Are you new here?" She looked confused. "I never heard of Hogwarts accepting transfer students before."

"Oh, that's okay, I'm not a transfer. I'm only temporary until I regain my memory. My name's Bridgette Shannon, we think. Well, that's what the Daily…. Daily… ugh, the Daily Something or other said."

Bridgette watched as dinner disappeared and dessert arrived.

"That name sounds familiar. You were on the back page, weren't you?" A red-haired boy next to Hermione asked.

"Yes. They said this Dark Lord person murdered my family. Given the circumstances, I was offered a place here until they can contact any of my relatives. The last thing I remember about them is their death, apparently."

"You're not the only one with that problem." A dark haired boy with glasses who sat next to her replied. "My name's Harry. I am "the boy who lived." Bridgette glanced over at him. He had nice green eyes, tousled hair, and a frown.

"So this Dark Lord guy thinks he's a pretty big deal, that he can just go around and kill whoever he wants?"

"Well, mostly his minions, the Death Eaters, go around and do it for him." Harry replied. "But, yeah, I know how you feel. He got my parents and my godfather."

"Oh, I wish I remembered more! This is driving me insane!" Bridgette moaned. "I did begin to remember Quidditch though."

"Oh, yeah? Harry's the Seeker for Gryffindor." The red-haired boy said. "My name's Ron, by the way."

"I thought you looked familiar." Bridgette said, getting up from the table as the dessert dishes cleared themselves. She caught the gaze of a blond haired boy from the Slytherin table. He was watching her intently, trying to figure out if she belonged or not. Bridgette tapped the arm of the red-haired boy on the way up the stairs to Gryffindor tower. "Who was that blond boy at the Slytherin table?"

"Blond? Oh, that had to be Draco. Draco Malfoy. His father is a Death Eater. I can't stand the git,"

"A Death Eater, huh?"

"Well, it hasn't been confirmed yet, except by Harry." Ron stretched out on a sofa in the commons. "Hermione, d'you remember how long McGonagall's essay had to be?"

"Three feet." Hermione was at a table nearby, already working on it.

Bridgette began to feel dizzy. She began to sit down, but instead fell, then lost consciousness completely.

"Bridgette!" They all three cried at once.