Dill stifled a gasp. A plethora of candles overwhelmed her eyes, rising in a shimmering cloud towards the high vaulted ceiling as though the stars on the enchanted surface had fallen and come to rest there, blazing upon the hundreds of faces that were turned towards her. The faces, with their ever-present rustling shadows, were seated along four long tables that stretched to meet a slightly raised dais. Upon it sat a shorter table accompanied by several taller, more presiding onlookers. The people around Dill began to move, and she stumbled forward, moving across the flagstones. Reflections of the candles winked at her from every golden plate and goblet. Her stomach writhed. She stared accusingly at the battered hat that was awaiting them on a small stool in front of the dais. She had waited, traveled so long on the train, and crossed a deep lake. Now an intangible, shining something was waiting for her at a distance that her feet would soon close- and yet, the tattered sorting hat blocked her path, looming before her in the unsure light. She remembered the expression of the boy on the train and dropped her eyes.
The severe looking woman who had met them at the door began calling names. Dill briefly forgot her tumultuous thoughts and watched as one by one her fellow first years climbed onto the rickety stool and donned the wide brimmed, loud voiced hat. Its' first ejaculation of "GRYFFINDOR!" startled her, but as everyone continued to stare at the millinery marvel with the polite interest of an orchestra audience, she soon grew familiar and sank back into her brooding thoughts. A dark haired boy beside her, whom she dimly recognized from the little boat, was shifting uncomfortably. The line was getting shorter. In the candlelight, something about her neighbor's features seemed familiar, although Dill attributed this to having recently traveled with him. Still, his dark hair and sallow skin reminded her of…Dill shook her head slightly, as if trying to discourage a doxie. It was surely her nerves – but the boy almost resembled her father. She dismissed this thought hastily, for it made her think of her parents. Would other people's smiles change like the broken broom boy's had- when they heard that small word, Snape?
It was a small, five letter word, yet it took up half of her defining existence. Evans was lighter and commonplace- one time, sick of getting looks when she walked into respectable shops as a Snape, she had told the slightly confused muggle clerk, who recognized the name, that she was an Evans. She didn't tell her father, who seemed to have a half materialized dislike of muggles. From the dim memories she had of his family, she knew that they shunned the name, taking pride in their pure-blooded Prince ancestors- a fact that, strangely, gave Severus a twisted smile. She had asked him about it once, but he only told her that her cousins' father was his uncle, a Snape. Obviously this small definition was satisfactory to him, but she was still confused. Always confused and unsettled at the contradictory reactions her two names brought. Always unsure of how to handle her parents' opposing pasts- and she wondered, why should their pasts have to have such a heavy effect on her future?
Dill blinked upwards, coming back to the Sorting. In her daze, the line had dwindled drastically. Her shifting neighbor was shifting up to the stool, but she had no nervousness left to feel. Blankly she watched his progress as a voice uttered, "Snape, Septimus."
Dill stared. Her mouth opened. A slight buzzing sound filled her ears, but if it was bees or conversation, she didn't know. Had the voice really said Snape? Yes. The boy was walking up to the stool. Snape. Septimus. Her cousin. He sat down. Through her surprise, she recognized him. He was older now, but she remembered the times, years ago, when she had gone over to her cousins' house. Playing with her favorite baby cousin-the twins-
"Snape, Seizeus."
Yes, there he was- the perfect counterpart of his brother. Another dulled jolt of surprise passed as he walked forward similarly, expected this time. Yes, she should have expected this- but she hadn't seen her cousins in years, ever since their mother called Lily a Mudblood, and Snape took them home in a temper.
The hole in the hat opened.
"SLYTHERIN!"
Several heads at the table farthest to the left nodded in approval, even as hisses came from the right. Well, it was to be expected, Dill thought, with a slightly sick feeling in her stomach. That was what everyone thought. Defiance rose up in her, and then sank back a bit, confused. Who could she direct it against?
"…Snape, Wendyl" the voice repeated.
Dill blinked, surprised. She had almost forgotten it was her turn. Slightly dazed, she walked up to the stool and sat down. The hat fell over her head.
The inside of the hat was dark. A surprisingly small voice murmured, "Well, now, we have some conflict in here… but don't you know the good choice? Your mother…" Lily's face flashed across her mind, followed by Snape's. As if sensing her thoughts, the hat said, "Ah, yes, but there is that too. I sense more than a little ambition…and even you know it wouldn't be that surprising to anyone-so why not choose Sssss-" No, no! Dill thought in desperation. She was hardly aware of her own thoughts; they were whirling around frantically, skirling- but the thrilling feeling from the lake had returned, and it seemed to guide them. As she thought of the unwonted glances, the whispers, the stern faces of her aunt and uncle, and her parents, the thoughts and images seemed to crowd around her very eyes, blocking out any trace of light or reason. She was groping in the dark. She didn't want to be predictable- she knew she was different, wanted to be different with such a blinding intensity that the darkest, most cobwebby prejudices would have to be swept away in her wake. The feeling inside of her bubbled blindly up to the surface. It must change, Dill thought fervently. I must see a way through this accursed, ignorant darkness!
The hat was silent for an instant. Then it said, "Keep using your head that way, and you'll do fine in RAVENCLAW!"
Dill lifted the hat off her head slowly, blinking in the sudden light. The sound had come back- she hadn't noticed its' absence. Shaking slightly, she got off the stool and walked towards the table beneath the silver and blue banner that was cheering her. She smiled suddenly. Cheering their new Ravenclaw.
Dill sat down next to a pretty girl with shiny black hair. As the cheers died down, she felt joy and relief flood through her being, leaving her exhilarated and a bit tired. Looking back at the Sorting Hat, Dill suddenly realized that she had blanked out during her cousin's sorting. What house was Septimus in? The hat, instead of answering her silent question, proceeded to the next person. Dill looked at the Ravenclaws around her. Most of them appeared older than her, and a couple caught her eye and smiled at her welcomingly before returning their attention to the omniscient hat. Turning to her left, she was surprised to see a dark figure sitting at a distance, staring at his plate. Septimus had been sorted into Ravenclaw as well. Before Dill could speak to him, however, the girl next to her touched her arm. She turned. "Hi!" the pretty girl said, smiling. "I'm Cho Chang. I'm a second year. You can feel free to ask me anything, ok?" Dill nodded, and hurriedly said "Thanks." The enchanted ceiling grew darker. Dill noticed the hat bounce off of a light peach-head, shouting "Hufflepuff!", and saw Pam yelling her way good naturedly to the cheering table across from theirs, to a small flurry of one armed hugs and pats on the back. The Sorting soon finished, and food appeared on the golden platters. Remembering her sandwich-half, Dill grinned ironically and heaped her plate with food.
The talk at their table eventually turned to lessons, and Dill realized that she hadn't been thinking about the next day at all- so much of her energy had been focused on the feast. She listened to a couple of fifth years discussing their advanced transfiguration class, and wondered resignedly if she would survive the lessons to come. Cho helpfully refilled her empty chalice, and Dill, remembering her offer of ready answers, asked about the floating candles. "Oh, they're permanently bewitched to float there" Cho told her. "I think there's a book in the library that talks about that type of stuff, you should check it out." Dill grinned, always glad of a book recommendation.
She did not speak to Septimus at all during the meal, and he didn't seem to notice her. The shock of seeing him again after years had worn off, and was replaced by a mixture of shyness and wariness- their families had not been on very good terms since she had seen them last, and they disapproved of her father's marriage. The only memory she had that was connected to them, since then, wasn't very reassuring either. One rainy night, her uncle had appeared at their door, dripping and laughing harshly. She had watched sleepily, hidden in the hall, as her mother hurriedly made a cup of tea, and her father stood stiffly before the kitchen table his cousin was slumped at, questioning him tersely. Darius Snape Jr. had gotten into some trouble with stolen goods- Dill had heard the name Mundungus Fletcher mentioned- and was, as he said, "lyin' low" while his house was being watched by the Ministry. After that incident, vague apprehensions had plagued Dill for days, spawning half formed visions of angry Ministry officials and dark, cackling figures. She didn't know their situation anymore, but remembering her father's words at the station, Dill realized that he might have been speaking of the other Snapes. However, would even Severus have foreseen two people of that very family sorted into Ravenclaw? Dill sighed, and decided that a full stomach was enough to weigh one down. She would write her parents in the morning. And there was time, to clarify the Snape situation.
The Ravenclaw first years followed their prefects out of the Great Hall and up several staircases- some sweeping, some zigzagging, and a couple carpeted. On the way they passed a few suits of armor that saluted them, and one particularly interesting painting of a congregation of fat monks, who collectively glared at Dill for studying the shapes of their noses too intently. On they went, climbing steadily through the castle. Dill and the others began to yawn. Finally they reached a spiral staircase and began to climb, circling higher and higher like a raven searching for its' nest. "Just a bit more, now" one of the prefects said encouragingly. At the landing they reached a door with an eagle shaped knocker upon it. The prefect who had encouraged them stepped forward and knocked three times with it. The bird's beak opened, and it said; " Can a specific difference be drawn between Apparating and Disapparating?" " Movement is always movement " the prefect replied. She looked back at them and said, "That's something you'll learn in your sixth year. Whenever you want to get into the common room, you'll have to answer a question- and you won't be let in until you get it right, or someone else comes along and does. That way you learn, see." She grinned. "Might want to travel in pairs until you get the hang of it." The bird clacked its' beak approvingly, and the door swung open. They walked into a round, lofty room, which Dill realized must be in one of the towers she had seen from the lake. She yawned, and had just enough time to conceive a confused impression of books, silken hangings, and a star-studded ceiling before she was shepherded with the other girls to the door of their dormitory. Inside was another, smaller spiral staircase that lead to a crescent shaped room, with a four-poster bed in front of each of the five windows. Dill loved spiral staircases, but the sleepy, circling climbing had left her exhausted. Seeing her trunk in front of the bed to the left of the doorway, she undressed and crawled under the covers, too tired to move. She closed her eyes and thought of the starry ceiling below her, and the one above; and she fell fast asleep.