A/N: Thanks again for the reviews, I really appreciate it.

~oOo~

"Greengrass, Eva."

"RAVENCLAW!" Hermione couldn't help but notice that this girl got a far warmer welcome to the table than she herself had done. Eva wore a smug expression and went to sit next to the girl called Cassandra; they both conspicuously avoided looking in her direction despite being seated directly opposite.

"Lestrange, Einar." Having been inside the family vault, she was not surprised that the Lestrange boy was perhaps the most ostentatiously dressed of them all. His boots were almost knee high – the leather embossed and inlaid with silver – and he wore a huge belt buckle in the shape of a snake's head with emeralds for eyes.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Longbottom, Julius." The boy, tall for his age, bore no resemblance to Neville at all. Like Neville, though, the hat took a while to sort him.

"GRYFFINDOR!" Julius looked happy with the decision.

"Lupin, Lyall." Remus' father. Please, be like your son, then perhaps we can be friends.

"RAVENCLAW!" Lyall chose to sit next to Eva, rather than next to her, and she couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed.

"Macmillan, Edwina."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Malfoy, Abraxas."

"SLYTHERIN!" The green table was clapping enthusiastically as their latest recruit swaggered over. Abraxas Malfoy was, in many ways, the double of his son and grandson – Hermione wondered how long the odds were of genetic history repeating itself so perfectly.

"Moody, Herbert." Somehow, she expected a false leg and magical eye, but this Moody was a perfectly average child.

"RAVENCLAW!"Herbert took the free space next to her, and she smiled politely.

"Nott, Odelia." The girl was wearing the most over the top jewellery Hermione had ever seen – hundreds of emeralds set in silver shone around her neck and at her wrists.

"SLYTHERIN!" That's fortunate, or you'd have been sporting an embarrassing amount of the wrong colour.

"Parkinson, Athena." Athena's dark hair and squashed features reminded her sickeningly of Pansy.

"RAVENCLAW!" As Athena was welcomed noisily to their table, Hermione began to realise with trepidation that every first year around her was very much pureblood.

"Prewett, Ignatius."

"GRYFFINDOR!" Some relation of Molly's, I presume.

"Puddifoot, Martha."

"HUFFLEPUFF!" Martha scurried off to the yellow table, and there was a small pause. Hermione looked at Dumbledore, and saw that his gaze was fixed on Tom, his expression unreadable. The moment was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

"Riddle, Tom." The future Voldemort walked confidently to the stool. He picked up the ragged hat with a hint of disgust and brought it to his head.

"SLYTHERIN!" It was so quick that Tom hadn't even had a chance to sit down. Hermione smirked despite herself and saw her expression mirrored on Tom's face as he took the seat next to Malfoy's.

"Rosier, Druella." - another girl with ridiculous jewellery.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Rowle, Ingrid." There was a long pause, which Hermione found surprising, given the surname.

"GRYFFINDOR!" She smiled. It was comforting to know that not everyone could be so easily stereotyped.

"Scrimgeour, Brutus."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Selwyn, Brandt."

"RAVENCLAW!" Oh Merlin, another ancient pureblood. I should have asked for Gryffindor – why didn't I ask for Gryffindor?

"Shacklebolt, Evelyn."

"GRYFFINDOR!" Everyone going to the Gryffindor table looked so normal and approachable compared to the bunch she found herself in the middle of.

"Shafiq, Aisha."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Smith, Helen." The poor girl was positively trembling as she stepped forward, and with a name like that, Hermione couldn't blame her. She caught sight of one of the older Slytherins spitting onto the ground, and felt anger and hatred welling up inside her.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" Helen sat down next to Aisha, who put an arm around her.

"Sprout, Flora."

"HUFFLEPUFF!" It could only be a relative – sister, she supposed – of her future Herbology teacher. Flora sat the other side of Helen and also put an arm around her. Hermione was pleased for Helen, but also somewhat jealous; once again, there was nobody to comfort her. It occurred to her that the smart thing to have done would have been to pick Hufflepuff. Why didn't I think about all of this beforehand?

"Wainwright, Clara." Another obvious muggleborn – but Clara held herself defiantly. Hermione smiled, and knew just where she was headed.

"GRYFFINDOR!" There were only two students left unsorted now, which was just as well, because those egg sandwiches felt like they were ages ago.

"Wood, Amelia," went to Gryffindor and "Yaxley, Adamaris," went to Slytherin.

Once the final claps had died down, Dumbledore cleared away the hat and stool and Headmaster Dippet got to his feet.

"Welcome, everyone, to another year at Hogwarts." Dippet's voice was solemn, but kindly all the same. There was a scattering of polite applause, which he acknowledged with a smile. "Now that everyone has found their House, let the feast begin!"

The tables filled with food, and she felt her stomach rumble. Across from her, the two girls were still avoiding her gaze and Lupin Sr. had already begun filling his plate. She turned to Moody but he had begun a conversation with the Selwyn boy on his other side. Sighing, she served herself some roast potatoes from the platter in front of her.

"Pass them over here, will you?" It was Cassandra, the possibly-famous one, who had spoken. Despite the rather rude tone, Hermione decided to comply. Cassandra had just taken them when the girl who looked like Pansy spoke.

"I wouldn't if I were you – you don't know what diseases it's got." She reached another dish of potatoes and passed it down, across Lupin, who made no reaction.

Hermione's disbelief at the brazenness of the insult was temporarily enough to suspend her rage, and her mouth fell open in shock. Eva was openly chuckling and though Cassandra did not laugh, she accepted the other dish from Athena and served herself from that one instead.

"I mean, sure," Athena continued, "your father's got to pretend to get along with them, but I don't see why you have to."

They were all smirking now, and never had Hermione felt so hurt and angry – not even when Malfoy had been at his worst – not even when Professor Snape had ridiculed her teeth – not even when Ron had taken to snogging Lavender right in front of her. What could she do about it? Nothing! Any kind of retaliation in such a public place would be beyond stupid. Revenge is a dish best served cold.

An argument on the subject would clearly be pointless, since their views had no basis but bigotry. Instead, she resolutely shut her mouth, glared, and served herself some vegetables. The girls began to chat about their families, as if the previous exchange had never happened. It was obvious that Cassandra's father was someone very well-known, but all she could do was resolve to look it up as soon as possible.

The feast seemed to drag on forever, and she could find no real enjoyment in the food, though it was as good as it always had been. Eventually the desserts were cleared, and the Headmaster got to his feet again. It was the usual messages, and Hermione struggled not to roll her eyes as a hundred excited murmurs followed the mention of quidditch tryouts next weekend.

There was no singing of the school song (many tunes or otherwise) which was probably just as well as she wasn't feeling much in the mood. The Headmaster dismissed everyone, informing them that classes would start in the morning and that breakfast began at seven. The older years began to shuffle out.

A tall girl appeared at their end of the table, the head girl badge pinned proudly on her lapel.

"Good evening, first years," she said, "My name is Gertrude Ollivander. Congratulations on being sorted into Ravenclaw, the wisest of the Houses. I'm going to show you the way to our common room; please follow me and do ask any questions you might have."

There was a bit of a commotion as everyone tried to get to their feet at once. Hermione was almost left behind as the others crowded around Gertrude, and she got the feeling that it was the boys, too, who were not keen to speak to her. She tuned out of the inane questions and answers, her feet carrying her to the common room where she had walked with Luna many times. She was curious to know what lay beyond the eagle knocker.

Hermione's legs were getting quite tired by the time they arrived at Ravenclaw tower, and since she was right at the back of the queue going up the spiral stairs, she could barely hear the eagle's question.

"Can portraits think?"

Gertrude was asking everyone for their opinion on the answer – Athena said "obviously not" and Clarence said "they must be able to", while Cassandra said "maybe". Hermione felt a vindictive thrill of satisfaction to think that her new housemates were bound to get stuck outside the common room pretty often. The eagle was clicking its beak in obvious displeasure. She shrank out of sight behind Herbert and Leopold so she would not be asked.

It was clear that Gertrude had been quite looking forward to receiving dull answers. Once no one else had anything to say, she turned to the door and said contemplatively,

"That would depend on what you mean by 'think'. Some would consider that a portrait's ability to hold a conversation, for example, indicated thinking. Some would argue that it is only living beings who are truly capable of thought."

The eagle looked happier now.

"Yes," it said, "I believe you are correct. An ambiguous question demands an ambiguous answer." The door swung open, and Gertrude stepped through proudly. The others followed swiftly, not wanting to risk getting shut out.

The room they entered was circular, like the Gryffindor common room, but instead decorated in deep blue and bronze tones. Hermione thought it seemed more formal than she was used to – the chairs looked neater and less comfortable – but whether that was the time period or the House differences, she couldn't say. There was a statue of Rowena Ravenclaw complete with the horcrux. Her diadem. Her diadem. Don't ever say the word horcrux out loud!

Gertrude indicated to a door in the wall, adjacent to the one they had entered through.

"This is the way to the dormitories. The first years are one flight up, girls to the left and boys to the right. You'll find your things are already up there, so I hope you all settle in well. Don't forget our first classes begin at nine in the morning – you'll get your timetables at breakfast."

Cassandra, Eva and Athena bid goodnight to Gertrude in a simpering fashion which brought a sneer to Hermione's face. The boys went up next, nodding politely to the head girl and ignoring Hermione. She could not tell if it were by accident or intent.

Gertrude was contemplating her now, since she was the only one who had not gone up to bed. Not wishing to be given another opinion on her parentage, she followed the others.

The Ravenclaw dormitories, apart from the colours of the bed hangings, appeared to be the same as the Gryffindor ones. The other three had chosen their beds, and were now opening their huge trunks. Hermione's was lying in the middle of the floor, covered in scuff marks that had definitely not been there earlier.

As she entered the room the conversation had stopped abruptly, and now Athena started whispering behind her hand. The others giggled, watching as she reached out with her foot and pushed the scuffed trunk viciously, so that Hermione had to move to avoid being hit. Athena rubbed her shoe on the carpet exaggeratedly as if to remove invisible dirt.

Hermione snapped. Grabbing her trunk, she marched back out of the door and slammed it behind her, breathing hard.

Getting out of the tower was the only thing in her mind. Grabbing her wand out of her pocket, she shrank the trunk and cast a feather-light charm. Without a backwards glance she was in and out of the common room, down the spiral staircase and into the corridor. There was only one place she could think of to go, so she ran towards the main staircases. Nobody had even bothered to follow her.

The seventh-floor corridor was as deserted as everywhere else had thankfully been. She paced frantically three times across the familiar space, trying not to think of the last time she had stood in the same spot.

I need a place to sleep that nobody else can find.

A door appeared in the wall, and she darted inside.

~oOo~

If Death had known how fun it was to have a drink with himself, he would have made sure that there was always two of him at home in the evenings. The best part of it was that he could oversleep as much as he wanted in the morning – that was one of the benefits to being able to go back in time.

As with any newly-discovered pleasure, there was a definite tendency to overindulge. The thought of stopping crossed his mind sometime after the decanter of firewhiskey was emptied and a new bottle halfway gone; of course, by then, it was far too late. The part of his brain that responded to common sense was long dead. All he could think was that he hadn't had this much fun in centuries.

Younger Death coughed twice, as if he were about to give a speech. The effect was a bit spoiled when the second one turned into a hiccup, but he soldiered on anyway:

"Ya... yu… you-" – he hiccupped again – "goddanymorea'demFrogs?"

Older Death shook his head exaggeratedly, and immediately regretted it as the whole room kept spinning long after he'd stopped.

"Gone," he said mournfully, slipping out of his chair as he became hypnotised by the rotation of the floor. Younger Death finally got his hiccups under control.

"We gotta go out an' buy some." His voice was a stage whisper, as if sharing a great secret.

"Yess!" Older Death got to his feet, fell against the mantelpiece, and finally steadied himself. He groped in his pockets and felt some coins. "Les'go," he added, grabbing Younger Death's arm, and without another word, disapparated.

Diagon Alley was deserted – it being after midnight – which was extremely lucky. The two Deaths, disorientated from the trip, collapsed onto the pavement outside Sugarplum's Sweet Shop.

Once he had caught his breath, and got over the urge to vomit, Younger Death observed (very astutely, he thought) –

"s'closed."

Older Death's mouth opened and shut several times as he processed this information.

"T'was open earlier." He was struggling to fathom the crazy trading patterns of this store – why it shut now? imma cust'mer wanna buy frogs why not open frog shop? OPEN UP!

"Ah!" said Younger Death – rather loudly, for he had had an epiphany – "we need t'come back early-er."

This sounded like a great idea, but just before Older Death could whisk them away again, Younger Death added,

"In…n'visibly… you." He jabbed Older Death in the chest, which surprisingly did turn him invisible – then jabbed him in the chest a few more times, just to check he was still there.

"Gerroff!"

He was grabbed by an unseen arm and yanked away. When he opened his eyes again the light was nearly blinding and he staggered – a woman exiting the shop darted out of his way and began muttering about him.

"Heresh d'money," slurred Older Death loudly, and Younger Death felt coins pressing into his hand. He added them to the pile already in his own pocket.

"Sshhhhh!" In the grand tradition of 'shushes' the world over, this one was louder that the thing he was 'shushing'. He giggled and reached for the shop's door.

The woman behind the till was eyeing him suspiciously, which he felt was entirely undeserved. Drawing himself up to his full height – which was not all that tall – he put on his best imperious look and strode up to the counter. Yes, the counter was good to lean on. She'd never be able to tell he'd been drinking.

After a few moments had passed in which the odd customer had not spoken, the shop assistant cleared her throat. This reminded Younger Death why he was there. He dug in his pocket, fishing out what was now a small mountain of change. He dumped it all onto the counter unceremoniously.

With a huge mental effort, he said:

"Frogs."

The woman's eyebrows had disappeared under her heavy fringe.

"How many would you like?" she asked, in an attempt to retain a professional air.

Death swallowed, and thought about it. He nudged the coins further across the counter.

"Frogs," he said again.

The woman let out an exasperated sigh and began to stack the knuts into piles of 29, returning a piece of string and a small key that had got mixed up in the pile. He re-pocketed them.

"That's eight sickles and twelve knuts all together," she commented, scribbling a calculation onto a pad of paper. "48 frogs and four knuts in change. Is that alright?" Nobody had ever asked for quite that many before, but this customer nodded enthusiastically. She shook her head in disbelief and began to grab box after box – it was enough to fill two of her largest paper bags. She handed them over to the strange man and he staggered out, leaving the four knuts behind on the counter. Nowt stranger than folk, indeed, she thought.

Outside, Younger Death brandished his purchases proudly to the empty air. There was a disembodied giggling sound, and then he was grasped by the arm once more.

The sitting room was much as they had left it, except for the evening sunlight streaming through the arched window and the full decanter of firewhiskey. The Older Death looked at Younger Death, then at the amber liquid, then back, but the effect was lost since he was still invisible.

As if on cue, a distant voice was saying "Are you staying for dinner?"

Slowly, the penny dropped.

"Sshudn't be here yet," hissed Younger Death, gesticulating wildly around the room with his hands still holding the bags full of frogs. Instead of trying to reply, Older Death took the liberty of apparating them into the woodland behind the house. Once he had steadied himself on his feet, he cancelled the disillusionment charm; it was awfully disconcerting not to be able to see your legs at the best of times, and this did not feel like the best of times.

If the thestrals were surprised by the sudden appearance of their master – twice – they did not show it. It was barely five seconds before they went back to what they were doing, which appeared to be kicking a quaffle about. In their inebriated states, this did not strike either Death as odd at all.

"Gah," said Younger Death eventually, "less 'av a frog then." He tossed one at Older Death, which missed him by several feet, forcing him to sink to the ground where he gladly remained. Younger Death sat down next to him and opened his own packet.

The frogs, who were not drunk, evaded both Deaths with comical ease. They were eventually enjoyed by a pair of thestral foals.

Older Death sighed melodramatically and drew out his card.

"Is'some quidditch player I dun'even know, how dull. 'E mussn've 'ad the decency t'die yet."

"How rude," concurred Younger Death, searching for his own card. "Ah! Is'ol'Hengist."

"Lemme see!"

Hengist of Woodcroft was a medieval English wizard who founded Hogsmeade village in the eleventh century, after attending Hogwarts. Little is known about his life or death.

"Ha!" snorted Older Death. "Founded." Younger Death collapsed into giggles.

"If y'can call the d'sire t'make money sellin' mead t'children, founded!" They lapsed into a comfortable silence, lost in memories, until Younger Death spoke again.

"Shame they dun'remember 'ow 'e died, innit? All those–" He stopped abruptly, for he had glanced across at his lookalike and found him slumped on the ground, snoring.

Some peoples just can' hold their firewhiskey.

~oOo~