Recommended Songs: Better Love by HOZIER ( it was in the Legend Of Tarzan and I love that movie. The visuals are just...amazing)
Dreams by The Cranberries
AN: I don't own anything. Who loves Scottich cursing? It's so fun. I actually looked up some Scottish insults and I just wanna share this gem: Yer maw's git balls n yer da' loves it (Your mom has balls and your dad loves it)
The maroon steam engine reached the station in the dark. Only the lanterns that hung outside the doors and around the station allowed the students to disembark without accidents. The three new friends had all managed to change before they arrived. Hawthorn had even put away his sunglasses, explaining that he had a mild aversion to light as a side effect to a potion he'd taken to correct a case of nearsightedness. The three young friends had spent most of their trip getting to know each other and had already promised they'd be friends no matter where they were sorted. Neville was unsure he could even make any new friends and Hermione silently agreed. She wasn't sure how she'd gotten along so well with the two boys but she knew better than to expect the other students would be the same. She was still uncertain of Neville and Hawthorn. As for Hawthorn...something was tickling the small hairs at the back of his neck. It wasn't fear but more a case of a strange anticipation. What he was anticipating exactly was buried deep in his subconscious and would have to be dug up during his meditation before bed.
The first years were herded together like cows by a mixture of a huge man's bellowing and older student's directions. The walk down to the lakeside was slippery and dark, a terrible idea for a group of anxious eleven year olds. There was more than one fall and at least three sniffling girls with mud on the back of their skirts. Their robes would cover them until they managed to get into their dorms but it wasn't how they envisioned their first night at Hogwarts. It was a blow to their fantasies. The leisurely float across the lake was very enjoyable, and the view as beautiful as they had expected if not better.
The group of nervous first years huddled as closely together as they could without actually touching. The annoying redhead from the train was making his way through every student, asking every boy his name and peering especially closely at any with dark hair or glasses. He managed to get into a minor altercation with a blond boy with two hulking (for eleven year olds, anyway) boys. It was a testament to how annoyed the other boys were with the redhead that no one stood up to the blond and some told Ron to leave the blond and his friends alone since he's the one that had started the altercation.
The appearance of the ghosts was a novel experience for most of the new students. Despite the last war's heavy casualties, the sight of ghosts anywhere other than Hogwarts was a rare one. The Ministry had paid out of their noses to have foreign exorcists exorcise any ghosts that had managed to appear in magically rich places like Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. Despite the many attacks in private homes, the amount of magical energy it took for a ghost to exist was too high. Only in places like the destroyed Potter cottage in Godric's Hollow, where the amount of magical residue was extreme did ghosts manage to exist. Even then, the ghosts of Godric's Hollow were not sentient like those at Hogwarts but echoes of the past. The chilling scream and spectral explosion at midnight and the flickers of red hair at the overgrown garden in the mornings were all that remained of the Potters lives in that village. Sentient ghosts relied on the constant output of magical power of hundreds.
The strict woman that had appeared to lead them to the Great Hall looked at them sadly, her eyes lingering on Hawthorn. Hermione had slipped her hand into Hawthorn's and Neville was sticking to the two like a duckling after it's mother. The first year's eyes darted all over the castle and were drawn to the ceiling by the soft oohing and ahhing of their companions. Hermione longed to let them know what she had read about it but kept her mouth shut. The two boys knew much more about their magical world than what she had read. Their attention was drawn back to the people in the Hall and to the odd, battered hat on a stool just below the Teacher's table. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and disbelief when it opened at the brim and began to sing off key. Despite the rumors they had heard while they waited outside, they only had to try on a stupid hat.
Students started going up in alphabetical order. Hermione's legs were shaking and her grip on Hawthorn's hand was crushing. Because her last name came before the boys', she would be the first to be Sorted. The prospect of going before the entire Hall and being all alone in her new House was daunting. What if the boys didn't get Sorted into the same House as she did? Who would she talk to when the Houses separated to their common rooms? Would she be all alone there? Hermione's name was called and only Neville's encouraging push and the reassuring squeeze Hawthorn had given her hand gave her the strength to walk up to the ancient hat.
Oh, a smart one, aren't you? Hermione tensed at the voice that seemed to surround her. No need to worry. I'm just looking into you to find your place. Very loyal to authority but….what is this disenchantment? Hermione knew the hat meant her feelings about the things the boys had told her on the train. The Noble and Ancient Houses and their power, the history and politics that wasn't even hinted at in the many, many books she had read. A disenchanted feeling toward authority and books that didn't give you all the important facts. Well, maybe not Ravenclaw though you would do very, very well there. I don't think they could handle you. Not Hufflepuff either. You are loyal but you'd chafe there. Slytherin is definitely not the place for you though you have the ambition. How disappointed I am to see it becoming a House of racism instead of cunning. The things they could do with a Muggleborn point of view and support. Shame that. But you are very, very brave. After all, to leave all you know for most of a year and choose to start in a new world takes the bravery of a GRYFFINDOR! Hermione smiled at the clapping table and went to sit next to the dark skinned girl that was waving her towards the seat next to her.
The minutes ticked by at an excruciating pace. The wait for the names beginning with L was an intense experience. The anxiety of being separated from her friends bubbled in her stomach. Finally it was time. Hawthorn was the first to be called. His name sent movement through the houses, especially the Slytherins and Ravenclaws. The teachers had leaned forward when Hawthorn had detached himself from the other first years, taking in his clothing, dark hair, and green eyes with curiosity. His name seemed to be registering a little late, as their eyes widened and they shared indecipherable looks. Hermione stared very hard at her friend of a day and crossed her fingers in her lap.
…..three minutes…..five minutes…..seven minutes…..ten minutes…. And finally…..GRyffindor! The table went wild. Only a total of six Gryffindors knew the boy's last name but it didn't matter. No one had taken that long to be sorted in many, many years. It didn't matter who he was only that the Hat had trouble placing him. It was an omen, of what exactly was unknown and they didn't really care. Until he proved otherwise, they were content to think it was a portent of a great Lion.
The teachers shared a look. If the Gryffindors reacted in such a manner to receiving a mostly unknown student, how would they have reacted to receiving Harry Potter. The twinge, varying in strength, that they felt over the boy's loss made them gaze at the dark haired boy in a sorrowful way. No one other than the jittery Headmaster. He'd arrived just in time to sit on his faux throne before the students walked in and he was already eager to leave. The Lansing boy's name had almost passed him by, so concentrated was he on the boy's similarities with the target of his costly and mostly illegal search.
Dumbledore catalogued the similarities and differences very carefully. The eyes were copies, the hair colour as well. Perhaps if he'd maintained it shorter he could see if it was the same wild mess James Potter had possessed. The cheekbones were as high as James, a trait inherited from the Blacks. The nose was just like Lily's, something Harry hadn't displayed as clearly as this boy did. The height could have been either Potter parents' as they'd both been tall, though he seemed much bigger for the elegant and confident way he carried himself, a very Pureblood trait similar to Sirius Black's at that age. But the skin was lighter, the lips smaller and plumper, the scars a life like Harry Potter's would no doubt engender were nowhere to be seen. Last he'd heard, the last Potter had worn glasses. His eyesight had apparently been inherited from his father and grandmother. Normally, Albus would have gone to see the Lansing boy's parents right after the Feast. He would have carefully looked through their minds while making small talk to discover if they knew anything about the Potter boy. However, Albus did hear Hawthorn's full name. The consequences of attempting to dig through their minds would be dire. Albus Dumbledore hadn't gotten the label of genius for doing stupid things like attacking powerful, ancient families like the Lansings.
The Headmaster wasn't the only one to have noticed Hawthorn's physical similarities to the deceased and missing Potters. Severus had almost choked on the sip of tea he'd been drinking when he heard the young Lansing called up. With glasses, hazel eyes, shorter hair, a different nose, and a strut; he could have been looking at James Potter at age eleven. The eyes were what really caught Severus' attention and almost ripped a curse from his throat. Those eyes were just like the eyes he remembered from his happiest days. Those eyes he'd loved so well. Severus Prince Snape was no idiot but he also had no reason to live at the moment. As Hawthorn sat down, he resolved to pay the Lansings a visit as soon as he had the chance.
Minerva had caught the boy's resemblance to her deceased favorite student as well. She had been sneaking looks at him throughout her welcome speech and the Sorting, trying to decipher the boy's physical likeness to her friend's son. Because of the time she'd spent with Charlus and James Potter, she remembered little traits of theirs and Dorea's. The way the Lansing boy moved was incredibly like Dorea's and the way he'd stuck the smallest hint of tongue out at the corner of his mouth while 'conversing' to the Hat was definitely like hers as well. If only she could ask and be sure of an answer. She needed to know but the Lansings were rumored to be very...impatient with anyone outside of their family. She was worth more trying to find Harry than six feet underground or as part of an inferi army hanging out in the Silfra fissure in Iceland (the Lansing rumor that had been so popular in the seventeen hundreds and made sure Grindelwald and those who came before him avoided the family).
The staff was unusually quiet as the feast began. Dumbledore hadn't even made any inane comments before the food was served. Only the most watchful students (and some of the actually cunning and ambitious Slytherins) even noticed there was unrest among the adults. The tension that had emerged from nowhere among them was still brewing and soon the outside world would begin to seep into the legendary "impenetrable" castle.
AN: I was NOT motivated to write this. Not at all. I went hiking near my house with my family and my mom broke her foot. Yeah, as the eldest I'm the cook, cleaner, and emotional outlet. While I normally do the cleaning (because I'm a clean freak), adding the responsibilities that people expect from my mom (her cooking to everyone's taste) is sooo bad. With your own kids, they kind of grow up being familiar with the food you like and you grow to know what each one likes so going from cooking only my food in my taste to cooking for my siblings and my dad is a wild change. I don't like it because even if I like the seasoning and type of food (dad lives on authentic Mexican so I have to make tortillas from scratch but my brother likes Mediterranean and I like Asian), the others criticize like crazy. It's disheartening because even if I worked hard on it, they only find flaws and are unappreciative of my efforts. Be nice to your parents/caregivers. AND REVIEW PLEASE.