Severus cast a reluctant eye from his daughter, Potter and Weasley whispering about some unknown topic to the first years McGonagall shepherded into the hall two-by-two. Aside from being much, much larger than the usual class, they seemed unremarkable. Many, as expected, gaped at the stars glinting in the ceiling along with the floating candles, whispering either excitedly or nervously to each other before McGonagall reached the stool and called the mass of eleven-year-olds to order.
The hat broke into its song, unlike in other years where it merely described the qualities highlighted by each house, this time it made the decision to promote unity among the houses. Which Severus found amusing, given how often the students insulated themselves into their tiny bubbles. A structure that reinforced echo-chambers and othering, something Hermione had observed before she herself was sorted three years ago. Though, she seemed to break that bubble, having ties with not only members within her own house, but she managed to have close ties to a peculiar girl in Ravenclaw, two equally peculiar children two years her senior in Hufflepuff, and a self-involved boy from Slytherin. A baby bird when she was four, an injured squirrel when she was five, too many castle-roaming cats to count, Potter, Longbottom Lovegood, Delaney, Sloan, O'Malley...that girl always did have a love for strays.
It's because she identifies with them, Lily's voice taunted in his head.
The first to be sorted was Avasaraala, Amy in Gryffindor. The rest became unremarkable blurs as one came after the other.
"Creevy, Dennis!" McGonagall called yet another name.
Severus's attention returned to see a small boy, completely drenched and looking very much like his older brother. He looked back to a bushy haired girl beside him, who offered an assuring smile and sent him off. Severus hoped this boy would be sorted into a different house. Colin Creevy was a troublesome child when given the motive, and siblings always wound each other up. Though barely a second later, Severus's hopes were dashed.
"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted.
Applause erupted from the table and the soaked boy found his older brother, sitting between him and the Weasley girl. Introducing himself to Hermione, Ginny Weasley and the boys surrounding them. He spent ample time talking to Potter.
More names were called and they once more blended into one another until one name was called.
"Granger, Persephone!"
The bushy haired girl who comforted the younger Creevy boy stepped forward and Severus nearly gasped. She was a bit taller, her face a bit fuller, but she looked just like Hermione at her age. Not quite, where Hermione's skin was olive, Granger's was tawny, her cheeks were not just fuller, but rosy, and where Hermione slinked forward to the stool when her name was called, Granger, oblivious to the eyes on her, nearly skipped to be sorted. Taller, darker, healthier and more confident it seemed, but there was no hiding she was Hermione's biological sister. They had the exact same massive, almond shaped eyes to the precise shade of brown, when she smiled he noted they even had the same overbite—though an attempt to correct hers had been made with colourful braces.
"Severus," Remus whispered into his ear. "Do you think that girl is—"
"Don't be ridiculous!" Severus hissed. "Hermione's far from the only Afro-Asian girl on this planet."
"Yes, of course," Remus sighed, but his eyes didn't leave the girl, and nor did Severus's.
How could he not have seen this coming? Did he just take for granted that those two wouldn't have any more children? They were seventeen, he didn't expect them to be together. Now there was the evidence he had been fighting so hard to hide that Hermione was adopted from muggles. And he was expected to teach her?
His colleagues made similar assumptions to Remus. McGonagall glanced over her shoulder at him, and Flitwick muttered to Sprout while Dumbledore also spared a covert glance in his direction. Damage control with his colleagues would have to come second. He turned to his daughter, who stared blankly at the younger girl, her hands clasped together, presumably digging her nails into the gaps between her fingers again. She blinked a few times and ignored the Weasleys, Potter and Longbottom whispering at her. Longbottom even waved a hand in front of her face, to no avail.
Granger's sorting wasn't yet finished, and she seemed to notice the attention now. Her eyes turned downward before examining the tables. She was looking for the reason she had attracted attention, and the absence of shock told him she hadn't yet found the girl at the Gryffindor table identical to herself. If he was lucky, she wouldn't. From what little he knew of her parents, Ravenclaw was a likely option and she was too young to hang around Lovegood.
Everything will be fine, but for the love of God, please don't sort her into—
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"She looks just like you," Harry whispered. "Did your mother—"
Hermione bit her lip and sank her nails deeper into her hands as Persephone Granger approached the table scanning the table in confusion before sitting dangerously close to them on Dennis Creevy's other side. I can't be the only bushy haired, racially ambiguous girl on the planet...loads of people have lookalikes. Right? She kept her eyes down and ignored Harry, Ron and Neville whispering. Didn't they know Persephone Granger might hear them?
Sorting ended with Zhao Zachariah in Hufflepuff, prompting the tables to burst into conversation. Hermione ignored Harry and Ron in favour of listening in on the eleven-year-old girl.
"I suppose Persephone is an odd name," she conceded to Dennis. "But it gets worse, I have the longest full name on the planet(Ha! Try me!)! Persephone Hanako Jang-Mi Vea Granger."
You win, kid, Hermione conceded her title of longest damn name, and wondered if she could blame Persephone's mother for it.
"And suddenly, I forgive my parents for naming me Maude," sighed a chubby Scottish Black girl with round glasses and bushy black hair in dumplings.
"Wow, why so long?" Dennis asked.
"They're my grandmothers' names," Persephone explained. "My Dad's mum is Hana, and 'ko' is a Japanese suffix or prefix to mean small. My Mum's mum is Rose, which is Jang-Mi in Korean. My very Jamaican gran was thrilled. So they tagged on a Jamaican middle name as well."
"At least it's exotic (Hermione recognised the exasperated look and subsequent waving-it-off at the word "exotic")," Dennis shrugged. "I'll take it over Dennis Oliver Creevy. So are you from Japan, Korea or Jamaica?"
"Heavens no!" she rolled her eyes. "I grew up right in London. You?"
"Sussex, born and raised."
London, was I born in London?...Why don't I even know where I was born? The girl that looks like me is Korean, Japanese, and Jamaican..I think that makes sense. It's a piece of the puzzle. Are you a half-blood? What's your mum's name?
She listened in for more, dodging curious glances from her friends.
"So, what-erm-are you?" the girl with plaited twintails asked the group.
"Well-erm- I already said some," Persephone mused. "Japanese, Korean, Afro-Caribbean, Briton and Corn–-"
"Oh, no!" she clapped a hand over her forehead. "I'm a half-blood. Mum's a witch, Dad's a squib...so maybe a three-quarter blood?"
"Oh," Persephone's tawny skin turned pink. "I'm used to people meaning the other thing."
"Mercy!" the chubby Black Scottish girl groaned.
"Erm, sorry."
"My parents are muggles," Persephone shrugged. "Mum's a neurosurgeon and Dad's a heart surgeon."
Muggles? Was my mum a muggle? Hermione always imagined her mother was a witch, she had trouble imagining her father with a muggle. Though it was possible. Now the only question was: Why did she stay for you and not me?
The pale girl that sat beside Maude Murray with long black plaited twin tails and green eyes (You're not accusing her of being Harry's sister, so Persephone can look like me without being mine! Little Idiot!) was named Mercy Rosenburg and the two girls were heavily recommending the Son of Hermes books to Dennis and Persephone. When Persephone spoke, it was about classes she looked forward to, excitement at practising magic. She was keen on charms, DADA, transfiguration, and potions. Harry, who had also been listening to the excited first-years, cast a knowing glance to Hermione, as if to say Aren't those the subjects you most excel at?
Hermione looked to see if her father's expression gave anything away, but he was in whispered conversation with Remus and Flitwick, he seemed flustered, but her father was often frustrated. Both her father and Remus seemed to be in damage-control mode. Probably putting to rest the idea of Hermione's mother having another child. Though, it was possible, wasn't it?
She scanned the Ravenclaw table to see if she could find Luna. Luckily, the girl was easy to spot with her giant radish earrings. She locked eyes with her, and Luna gave her a bright smile, lifting her hands to form a heart under her chin.
Warmth filled Hermione's chest. Luna didn't regard her with pity, nor looked ready to interrogate her, but instead lent her some much needed happiness and affectionate gestures. Though Hermione did feel guilty for abandoning her best friend, even if it was out of her control. She couldn't wait to reconnect with her in the morning.
"If I could have your attention, please?" Dumbledore stood and called over the crowd.
Silence took over the tables as they gave the headmaster their undivided attention. Dumbledore always made his announcements before the feasts, this was an oddity that even the first years picked up on, from their captivated upperclassmen.
"Now that we've all eaten, I have some announcements to make," he stroked his waist-length white beard. "We will not be holding the House Cup competition this year, and all quidditch matches are cancelled."
An eruption of voices came on as quickly as the silence preceding it. Many shouts of disapproval were pointed at the head table, while others whispered among themselves. Sandwiched between Ginny and Neville with Harry and Ron opposite her, and the twins with Angelina close by, Hermione had a front seat to the rage.
"What in the bloody hell?!" Ron exclaimed.
"Do you think he's serious?" Neville asked.
"He certainly looks serious," Harry said, narrowing his eyes in concentration. "But why would he cancel them?"
"But why?!" Ginny cried, forgetting her selective mutism within proximity of Harry. "I was going to try out for the team!"
"Oh, come on!" Fred shouted. "This is unfair!"
"Inhumane even!" George agreed.
"There goes my scholarship to the Magical Law Academy," Angelina groaned.
"I've practised all summer!" Katie Bell shouted.
"L-let's–erm–hear wh-what he has to say, yeah?" Hermione offered, but no one responded to her.
Hermione turned to face the head table, and saw her father say something to Remus and take to his feet. "SILENCE!" he roared.
That shut the lot of them up, but the whole school (save for the first years) stared at him in disdain. Hermione buried her face on the table, hoping their indignation wouldn't turn to her.
"Headmaster," he said, gesturing to the hall. "The floor is yours."
"Yes, well, thank you, Severus." Dumbledore returned to address the students. "We are cancelling the quidditch matches because we were chosen to host a very prestigious event, the Triwizard tournament. We will be competing with Durmstrang and Beaux Batons. This event is meant to foster solidarity between the three major European schools. We graciously accepted the role of host for this event. It's a great honour. Students who are seventeen years of age may compete. But I warn you, it will be dangerous, and potentially lethal. Consider it carefully."
Angelina threw her hands up in the air and groaned. "He couldn't have opened with that?!"
"Yeah!" George shouted. "Why didn't you, professor?!"
"Would have saved us a lot of trouble," Fred nodded.
Dumbledore smiled, but McGonagall now rose and shouted: "Fred and George Weasley, Angelina Johnson, control yourselves. That'll be ten points each!"
"Erm, actually, Minerva," Remus awkwardly smiled. "We cancelled the House Cup, you can't use points."
"Argh!" McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. "You three, my office tomorrow morning after breakfast!"
"Yes, Professor McGonagall," they all said.
"Well, that went well," McGonagall groaned.
"It could have been worse, Minerva," Dumbledore said.
"At least there's no more announcements to make?" Flitwick offered, raising his goblet.
Severus turned to the empty chair at Remus's side and shook his head. "Well, there is one. Where the hell is Moody?"
"You don't think he fell asleep on the train, do you?" Remus pondered.
"Har, har," Severus rolled his eyes. "That man never sleeps."
Dumbledore shrugged and sighed, peering at Severus over his half-moon glasses. "That was seventeen years ago, Severus. You'd be amazed what age does."
Remus laughed at this. "Albus, we're thirty-four, not twenty. You make us sound like boys."
"Thirty-four?" Vector laughed, rolling her eyes. "You might as well be. It's all downhill once you hit forty."
Flitwick laughed heartily at this and adjusted his glasses. "Anyone under fifty is simply not allowed to call themselves old. I remember teaching you three and Tran."
Tran waved his hands in front of himself, eyes turned up in laughter, he was a year older than Severus and Remus, but looked to be in his late twenties. "Hey, I didn't say anything!"
McGonagall was the next to burst out in uncharacteristic laughter. "And I remember teaching all of you!"
Dumbledore smirked and peered at all of them over his half-moon glasses. "And I seem to remember being your transfiguration teacher, Minerva."
McGonagall's usually beady eyes widened in shock before composing herself and mockingly bowed her head. "The most senior among us has spoken."
"Careful, I'm cranky past my bedtime." Dumbledore chuckled.
The table erupted into raucous laughter at this, a wave of contagious joy swept over them, and Severus allowed himself to laugh, but covered his mouth. Though the joy and laughter came to a quick stop when the doors swung open, punctuated by a peel of thunder that shook the hall and the large double doors swinging open. A bulky, broad shouldered figure listing to the right stood silhouetted. The drenched man stepped forward and a pit formed in his stomach and students gasped at the sight of the pale scarred face, with a mystical frost-blue eye scanning the hall. The prosthetic seemed to be crudely shoved into its socket, and his natural brown eye stared blankly ahead as if trying to gauge the distance. His peg leg dragged behind him as he limped up the aisle.
This was not the Alastor Moody that he shadowed seventeen years ago, but he kept the grim suspicion that he regarded the world with and a scowl as unpleasant as the gruff, scratched voice that called out.
"Sorry I'm late, professors," he threw back a gulp from a flask on his hip. "The blasted carriage never came."
Shocked whispers filled the hall as Moody progressed to the vacant chair, scowling at the whispering students.
"Everyone," Dumbledore took to his feet and gestured to the one-legged man. "I would like to introduce you to famed Auror Alastor Moody, and your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Severus joined in the lukewarm applause to greet him, and hoped—perhaps foolishly—that there would be no more unpleasant surprises this year.
