Disclaimer - Wish I owned it. Wish I were in it. Alas, neither is true.
Fed, Watered, and Put to Bed
Professor Snape was right. Ninety-eight percent of the student population is completely oblivious. Neville Longbottom looked over the students, chattering away, and unaware. This makes me want to scream CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Maybe I will; Professor McGonagall is going to need to get their attention soon anyhow. The young professor gave the room one more good look. Suddenly Neville realized just why his potions master had a soft spot for the Weasley twins. Kennedy, living embodiment of Fred and George, despite the fact that the latter was still very much alive, was actively keeping the attention of every student within twenty feet of himself directed away from the staff table. Everyone's accept his own. His own children definitely took after their mother's side of the family, it looks like no one is home, but they know more of what goes on than anyone else. Anthony Vale was reclining in the far left corner of the Hall; his vigil was probably more effective than all of the teachers combined. He'll make an excellent head boy. Rose Weasley was standing with her cousin Fred. The other girl yet to be sorted sat on the edge of the dias, chin in her hand, eyes closed.
CRACK!
An outstanding explosion rocked the Hall into silence. Neville spotted Ophelia Pierce's wand disappearing below the Ravenclaw table. Impeccable timing, as usual. An unexpected pick for head girl, Ophelia was working out beautifully. Hagrid had suggested the girl against Victorie Weasley; Ximora Hooch was out of the question, spending most of her extracurricular time evenly divided between quiddich and detention. The formerly unremarkable young woman had a sixth sense when it came to what people needed and, as far as the young teacher could tell, believed convention to be highly over-rated.
Taking advantage of the silence, Minerva McGonagall addressed the room. "The Sorting Hat has kindly agreed to sort the remaining students out of order. Please direct your attention to Professor Flitwick."
"Weasley, Rose!" the diminutive professor squeaked. After a pause, Fred gave her a gentle push toward the head table. Chewing on her thumb, Rose walked slowly to the stool. The rip that served as the Sorting Hat's mouth turned up, as though it was laughing. "GRYFFINDOR!" it boomed, and partially enthused clapping broke out in the hall.
"Zaggzey, Margaret." The blonde girl snorted like a piglet and scrambled gracelessly onto the three legged stool. It seemed obvious that she had fallen asleep. The Hat's smile got even wider.
"SLYTHERIN!" was a surprise to everyone. Well almost everyone. Neville was sure that Zaiaas Reed was shaking his curly little head at their stupidity.
--
Zaiaas shook his head softly. For veterans, the teachers at this school sure aren't very observant. The voice of the professor on his left pierced his thoughts. "Do you think us unobservant, Mister Reed?"
A flashing purple neon sign appeared in mid air, just barely off center, before, and above the staff table. 'Eat At Joe's' it winked.
"Yes." He did not avert his eyes to the person addressing him. Sureness in such a young boy was unusual. Neville Longbottom, however, had a theory. Small people have a charisma to make up for their lack of size, and even for a first year Zaiaas was tiny. There was certainly nothing stuck up about the boy, even though his words could often be mistaken for curt, the friendly, contented aura the boy was shrouded in quickly dissuaded any delusions of haughtiness.
"I will admit that I was surprised when Miss Zaggzey snorted. I can assure you, as Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, from this angle I neither assumed her to be awake nor asleep." Neville smirked at the child. Little pink lips quirked back at him, mirroring the friendly expression. "Just like I don't presume to know anything about what goes on in that head of yours." Zaiaas mirrored his new professor's grin. The man was far smarter than others seemed to think. But that's how it is with mad geniuses, isn't it?
Responding to a yet unasked question, the black eyed boy spoke. "I prefer to do my communicating with as few words as possible."
"You are an open book for those who know how to read," a new voice cut in. It was a plump witch to the right of the headmistress. Zaiaas looked steadily into her eyes and between them hung a communication; this was not something to be advertised lightly. "You should eat. Our house elves are just as efficient as our head girl." Knowing that he had been understood, Zaiaas Reed gave the woman one of his patented smiles and turned to the food on the table.
--
"The Forest at the edge of the ground is forbidden. Anyone entering the Forest unauthorized will be severely punished. A list of banned products can be found on Mr. Filch's office door. Any further questions can be directed to upperclassmen. First years please follow your prefects to your common rooms." Professor McGonagall's speech concluded the welcome feast as the plates magically cleared themselves. A rumble of footsteps filled the hall. The teachers turned their attention to Zaiaas Reed, the unsorted boy.
"It would seem that Mr. Reed is lacking a place to call his own." The man stating the obvious was nigh seven feet tall and broad shouldered.
"He doesn't want to be labeled as one thing or another by the hat, who can't seem to place him anyway," Harry addressed the man. Looking a little exasperated, Harry blew the hair out of his eyes.
"You know what Professor Snape would say?"
"No, Goyle, I don't." Zaiaas noticed that Harry Potter seemed to become annoyed at the mention of this Professor Snape. Goyle gave the green-eyed man a sarcastic look, then continued as if he had not been interrupted.
"Do it Founders style!" The large man spread his hands and grinned to the group. His enthusiasm was echoed in many of the surrounding faces. Zaiaas wondered just exactly what 'founders style' was, but decided that since he would surely be subjected to it there was no need to ask.
"And what does that entail, Gregory?" The headmistress looked expectantly at her former student. Tada. A dark head tilted back a little further, as if ensuring the surrounding faculty that he was indeed listening.
"Each of the heads of house explains what characteristics they enjoy dealing with and which ones they are not particularly adept at dealing with. If he cannot choose based on the short comings of his potential loco parentis then we watch him for a week and decide amongst ourselves who can best aid his time here. I'll go first if you like." Here he turned his attention to Zaiaas.
"Yes, sir. That should work well." He smiled his smile up at the four heads, three who stood behind him, and Goyle who stood in front. The teachers smiled back to him and after a moment's silence the man before Zaiaas began to speak.
"I am the Head of Slytherin and Potions Professor. I have a fondness for musical children and generally the happier the better. I do not fare well with those who talk fast and have short comings when it comes to domestic problems." The curly head bobbed in acknowledgement and turned to the plump witch.
She blinked for a moment. He stared back. "My name is Pomona Sprout. I am Head of Hufflepuff and Professor of Herbology. I have a good sense of humor and am poor with melancholy students, comforting is no problem, it's with the unending blues that I fail. I have a short temper with anyone who acts as if they are better than someone else."
The tiny child tipped his head back to view the kind faced man directly behind him. They grinned at each other. "You already know me. I am Head of Gryffindor and I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. I view my students as part of my family but do not treat them like children. I do better with the independent type. I personally can be very forgetful and clash with students who regularly expect me to remember things outside my routine."
The last teacher to go was on Zaiaas' left and was eye level with him. "As I'm sure you have surmised I am Head of Ravenclaw. My students are sharp minded and I prefer them that way. I do not give long explanations and use magic to aid me far more often than most others."
Stillness rained for several minutes as the teachers waited to see who this mysterious little boy would choose and why; or if he would choose at all.
With finality he claimed, "Hufflepuff." In short order it was clear that he was not going to offer any explanation. Thoroughly disappointed, but relieved that the child had a home for his seven years, the group began to disperse.
Suddenly Mr. Filch appeared. "There is still the matter of his belongings. Or lack thereof."
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Author's Note: A cookie to anyone who can find the references to other famous things I've snuk into the story.