Sorting Day
Title: Sorting Day
Rating: G
Characters: Hermione, Harry, Ginny, Ron
Author's Notes: This is the other idea I had for Challenge #142: Random Elements Challenge # 6. I hope you're not all sick of hearing from me! I'd appreciate feedback about whether this story makes sense. I knew what I wanted to say, but I'm not sure how clear I was in getting it across.
The Great Hall was bustling as every student, from the second years up, awaited the feast that would begin the school year. The commotion died down a little, but didn’t stop altogether when the first of the first years made their appearance and headed towards the sorting hat.
The headmistress stood, beneficent and smiling, gesturing the young boy onwards when he might have hesitated. Apparently he didn’t much like all the attention from the long tables of students, but his reluctant feet dragged him towards the stool where the hat sat.
The sorting hat was silent for a long time, as if this were a particularly hard decision it had to make. Even the head boy and girl at the back of the room fidgeted as time stretched on, longer and longer. The boy’s face was obscured by the hat, but his nervousness was apparent in the way his feet twitched as he sat in front of the entire school.
When the hat finally made its choice, applause broke out amongst the students of his new house. Older students came out to meet him, clapping his back, and budging over to make room for him at the table. Even the headmistress smiled, offering a grin and a thumbs-up to Professor Weasley, whose house was now one member stronger. He grinned back at her winking, and mouthing “later”, a jerk of his head indicating the staff rooms above.
As the rest of the first years filed through the door in turn, Professor Granger, the headmistress, attempted to conceal her smile. She didn’t try very hard. It was, after all, the first day of term, and the school feast was about to commence. Everybody was in a jovial mood, and none of the teachers had the heart to curb their enthusiasm. Professor Potter, now in his fifth year as defence against the dark arts teacher, grinned at her across the room.
“How did you find this, Hermione?” She could hear Harry’s voice, but his words didn’t really register.
“I can’t get her to leave, I’ve tried everything.” Ginny’s voice was hushed, and Hermione ignored it. Ginny was there too, in her official attire as Charms teacher, beaming beatifically at the students, and surreptitiously holding Harry’s hand.
“I don’t understand it, she knows all about this. How can she let herself waste away like this?” The tone in Harry’s voice was desperate. Irrelevant. Hermione blocked it out, and concentrated on the feasting.
“Maybe Professor McGonagall knows what to do,” Ginny whispered. “I - I don’t think I can stand this any more, Harry.”
“I can’t look at it either,” Harry acknowledged, his voice sounding ever so close to Ginny’s now. “Come on, let’s see what the headmistress can do for her.”
The voices behind Hermione made no sense. She was the headmistress. Absently, she fidgeted with the piece of string in her hand, stroking the lock of Ron’s hair that hung in the locket she’d threaded through it. Ron was not dead. She, Harry, Ginny and Ron ran Hogwart’s now.
Once again, she lost herself in the images from the Mirror of Erised.
Rating: G
Characters: Hermione, Harry, Ginny, Ron
Author's Notes: This is the other idea I had for Challenge #142: Random Elements Challenge # 6. I hope you're not all sick of hearing from me! I'd appreciate feedback about whether this story makes sense. I knew what I wanted to say, but I'm not sure how clear I was in getting it across.
The Great Hall was bustling as every student, from the second years up, awaited the feast that would begin the school year. The commotion died down a little, but didn’t stop altogether when the first of the first years made their appearance and headed towards the sorting hat.
The headmistress stood, beneficent and smiling, gesturing the young boy onwards when he might have hesitated. Apparently he didn’t much like all the attention from the long tables of students, but his reluctant feet dragged him towards the stool where the hat sat.
The sorting hat was silent for a long time, as if this were a particularly hard decision it had to make. Even the head boy and girl at the back of the room fidgeted as time stretched on, longer and longer. The boy’s face was obscured by the hat, but his nervousness was apparent in the way his feet twitched as he sat in front of the entire school.
When the hat finally made its choice, applause broke out amongst the students of his new house. Older students came out to meet him, clapping his back, and budging over to make room for him at the table. Even the headmistress smiled, offering a grin and a thumbs-up to Professor Weasley, whose house was now one member stronger. He grinned back at her winking, and mouthing “later”, a jerk of his head indicating the staff rooms above.
As the rest of the first years filed through the door in turn, Professor Granger, the headmistress, attempted to conceal her smile. She didn’t try very hard. It was, after all, the first day of term, and the school feast was about to commence. Everybody was in a jovial mood, and none of the teachers had the heart to curb their enthusiasm. Professor Potter, now in his fifth year as defence against the dark arts teacher, grinned at her across the room.
“How did you find this, Hermione?” She could hear Harry’s voice, but his words didn’t really register.
“I can’t get her to leave, I’ve tried everything.” Ginny’s voice was hushed, and Hermione ignored it. Ginny was there too, in her official attire as Charms teacher, beaming beatifically at the students, and surreptitiously holding Harry’s hand.
“I don’t understand it, she knows all about this. How can she let herself waste away like this?” The tone in Harry’s voice was desperate. Irrelevant. Hermione blocked it out, and concentrated on the feasting.
“Maybe Professor McGonagall knows what to do,” Ginny whispered. “I - I don’t think I can stand this any more, Harry.”
“I can’t look at it either,” Harry acknowledged, his voice sounding ever so close to Ginny’s now. “Come on, let’s see what the headmistress can do for her.”
The voices behind Hermione made no sense. She was the headmistress. Absently, she fidgeted with the piece of string in her hand, stroking the lock of Ron’s hair that hung in the locket she’d threaded through it. Ron was not dead. She, Harry, Ginny and Ron ran Hogwart’s now.
Once again, she lost herself in the images from the Mirror of Erised.