Here's the second chapter of the double update! Tanoshinde, goran kudasai!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything you see/read in this story.
Final Word Count: 1,665
Chapter 9
Jasper Potter shifted uncomfortably as he followed the extremely violent group out of the train, towards the carriages. Here, the black haired boy who looked to be about the same age as his brother Charlus split off and followed Hagrid to the boats, leaving his cat (who Jasper suspected was a kneazel—those eyes were just a little too intelligent to be a normal cat) with the effeminately dressed man with a green Mohawk.
"Hey! Jasper!" Jasper turned as the voice of one of his only true friends in Hogwarts rang out. "Hey, Padma," he greeted her as the violent group continued moving off, claiming an entire carriage for themselves. The Indian girl smiled at him, tucking some of her black hair behind her ear. "How are you, Jasper?" she asked, dark eyes shining. "Good, you?"
"Great, thanks." They continued chatting as they clambered into a carriage with some of the other Ravenclaws, discussing the events of the summer. "Say," Padma said carefully, looking at Jasper. "About what happened in the third task last year," Jasper looked at her, his face tightening. "There's been a lot of stuff in the Prophet saying that your brother's a liar. I'll be frank with you. I honestly don't believe it, but a lot of people do—oh don't you dare look at me like that!" she snapped at the other Ravenclaws in the carriage. "—so, do you know exactly what happened? I mean, I think that it would be beneficial for those who actually look at things logically and don't listen to the propaganda the Prophet says to know, because a complete account would show proof of what happened, therefore disproving the Ministry and their refusal to acknowledge it!"
Jasper frowned thoughtfully. "No, I don't, actually. Mum and Dad told us not to ask, something about Charlus experiencing trauma. I might be able to ask him and explain what you said, though. It really just might help," Padma rolled her eyes. "Of course it'll help, I thought it up," she said pompously, and Jasper laughed. Padma smirked at him, her goal of getting the normally reclusive boy to laugh publically again reached.
"You're ridiculous," Jasper remarked, a tiny smile playing about his lips. The other Ravenclaws had turned away from them, talking among themselves and generally ignoring the two loners. "I am not, Jasper Potter!" Padma said mock-seriously, trying to keep from smirking as they continued their banter and mock-argument. "Yes you are! Just take a look at your assigned essay on the uses of the Glacius Charm in my first year!" Padma shrugged. "Professor Flitwick wanted ways to use the Charm—he never said that they had to be practical or useful in everyday life."
Jasper rolled his eyes, shaking his head exasperatedly. "And what you just said is proof that you are ridiculous." He stated, before reflexively leaning away as Padma attempted to smack him on the back of the head. "Hmph. Smartarse," she grumbled, pouting. Jasper smiled at her, his hazel eyes gleaming triumphantly.
Once they arrived at the castle and had settled into the Great Hall, Jasper noticed that the violent group he had sat with on the train ride due to the fact that Padma's compartment had been full with other Prefects sat at the Head Table. Padma nudged him, hissing into his ear. "Look," Jasper followed her gaze and spotted the other new addition to the Head Table. A toad-like woman in a pink cardigan sat in the DADA Professor's spot, smiling with a sickening and obviously fake sweetness.
"She's from the Ministry," Jasper muttered. "I've seen her there when I've gone with Dad to his work at the Auror Office. She's the Head Undersecretary to Fudge," Padma shot him a glance, her dark eyes glittering as they both came to the same conclusion even as McGonagall lead the firsties into the Great Hall to be Sorted.
The Ministry was interfering at Hogwarts.
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Harry waited impatiently in the Entrance Hall, fingering one of his many knives. The Scottish woman called McGonagall had said that he would be called in to be Sorted after the new students were Sorted into their Houses; Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Harry paced slowly, moving with the unconscious grace of a truly gifted fighter.
After an hour (that seemed to last forever), McGonagall returned to the Entrance Hall. "The first years have been Sorted; you will now be Sorted. Please follow me," her voice was clipped and curt, and Harry smirked, barely refraining from snickering as he followed the Scotswoman.
When he entered the Great Hall, his eyes drifted to his Family sitting at the table at the back of the hall. Bel and Sharky-chan were fighting, Luss-okaa-chan was cuddling Hotaru, Xanxus was looking intensely grumpy, and Levi was glowering. It looked like Xanxus had been deprived of his daily tequila so far. Harry grinned widely, thinking of the chaos that would be wrought by Xanxus not having his tequila as often as he liked it.
He had, after all, been influenced by Mammon, one of the Arcobaleno.
His emerald eyes glitter from behind the concealing bangs of his hair as his name, simply "Harry," was stated by the Scotswoman and he sat on the rickety three-legged stool that she stood beside as she placed a ratty and patched pointed hat onto his head. "Ah…what have we here?" Harry's eyes narrowed and his fingers flicked towards one of his many concealed knives. "Oh, don't worry about me; I'm only here to see where you'd best fit," Harry didn't relax at all. He was severely tempted to cast an illusion upon the hat like Mammon had taught him, but before he could, the hat spoke up inside of his head.
"So, you're a Flame user? My, my, we haven't had one of those in years…now, where should I put you, Mafioso?" Harry gritted his teeth, his nearly automatic smirk in place upon his face. "Ah…I see. So, better be…!"
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Cyrille Delacroix, a French Mafioso who worked with the Vongola Famiglia, trembled as Reborn—the Reborn, the legendary hitman—stood before him. Despite the Arcobaleno's size, Cyrille still trembled. He knew that this man could kill him in a second, even if he wouldn't due to the fact that they were Family. That is, unless Cyrille was a traitor (which he was not, he had served the Vongola Famiglia loyally for twelve years and had been rewarded multiple times above what he had felt he deserved at the time); then Reborn would gladly eviscerate him, leaving nothing but a few bloodstains to show that he had ever lived.
There was one more thing about Cyrille…while he didn't have access to a Flame, he did, however, have…
"Have you been able to find out more about what's going on in Britain?" Reborn asked in fluid Italian. Cyrille shook his head, rubbing his thumb over the handle of his mahogany wand. "No sir. All I've been able to find out is that Wizarding Britain is practically in a three-way civil war with Death Eaters on one side, Dumbledore on another and the Ministry on the final side. They're being rather secretive about it all, attempting to keep the news that Britain's 'Boy-Who-Lived' says that Voldemort is back to themselves. Of course, the other magical communities already know pretty much what's going on in Britain."
Reborn's youthfully deceiving face frowned, his coal black eyes inscrutable. "I see…"
Cyrille spoke up, licking his thin lip nervously as his tawny hair blew in the breeze. "There is one more thing, sir," he was pierced by those inscrutable eyes. "Oh?" Cyrille gulped, his mouth suddenly dry. "We believe, based on reports from the south coast of Britain, that at the very least, one of these sides knows about Flames, sir." Reborn's green lizard scurried around his fedora, obviously agitated as Reborn's eyes narrowed coldly.
"I see…very well." Reborn passed him a few Euros, rewarding him for telling him so much, so freely. "Thank you, sir," Cyrille said, chewing his lip as he counted the Euros. Reborn, inscrutable and mysterious person that he was, had vanished (seemingly into thin air) when Cyrille looked back up.
Cyrille shook his head and headed back towards the Vongola Base he was stationed at, in the city of Paris. Arcobaleno deserved to be called aberrant, Cyrille grumbled to himself as he took up his post up on the second level of the building as a faux security guard. They truly were insane and abnormal and everything else that went along with it!
/End.\
Alright, both of these chapters were short, but I wanted to give you guys the chance to suggest (in your reviews, I don't know if there's any way to run two polls at the same time and keep them open) which House Harry should be in. whether it should be Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin.
Translations:
Cyrille—French form of 'Cyril'. Pronounced 'see-REEL'
Delacroix—means 'of the cross' in French. Used to denote one who lived near a cross symbol, or near a crossroads.
Aberrant—an adjective in French meaning 'insane' when translated from English, can also be used with the meaning of 'irrational', 'aberrant', 'abnormal', or 'absurd'.
And there you have one of the infamous informants that I'll bet most of you have completely forgotten about.
By the way, I have found a new site called .la (it's a translator/dictionary site) that I will now use as best I can to translate stuff into other languages. I'll specify where I get the translations though. Does that work for you guys? If you have a better translation site ('cause only translates one word at a time for most things) let me know s'il vous plait!
Ja ne, Minna-san!
Nöjd Campare27
(Now it's [hopefully correct] Swedish!)