It was an exquisitely crafted brooch, gold, in the form of a lioness -- my Patronus -- with a garnet eye. I ran an appreciative finger over it before I handed it over to Hooch for perusal (she was itching to grab it out of my hands).
I was looking forward to the return of the students. There had been a few more Death Eater attacks, usually quite severe (two fatalities, in fact, though not students). The students would be safer here, even though I now recognised that even the Hogwarts wards could be breached.
I took my place at the Head Table for the Sorting Feast. I'd moved up, as there was now a new junior faculty member below me (I hadn't met him yet), and watched the students file in. All the faces were familiar now, but I confess I looked for my favourites and the infamous first.
No Draco Malfoy, thank God. I'd been looking forward to that ever since Snape told me he'd transferred to Durmstrang. Goyle was seated at the end of the Slytherin table, looking lost and broody.
There was Neville Longbottom -- my God, he'd grown even more over summer: he was at least six feet tall, and was all arms and legs. He'd nearly be able to look Snape in the eye, and I wondered how the Potions Master would react to that. (It probably wouldn't faze him in the least.)
Ron Weasley, looking much the same -- I'd occasionally seen him over the summer, of course, at Heart's Solace -- more muscular, now, and starting to look as though he might give his brother Bill a run for the money in the attractiveness department. Potter was with him, still smaller, but Molly's cooking had filled him out. I wondered if he'd remain a Seeker or move up to Captain: smaller and more agile was the general rule for Seekers, but Potter's skill with his broom might outweigh that consideration. Seamus was chatting with both of them, still scrawny, but with a suspiciously downy upper lip.
Good Lord.... The big surprise was Granger. I would have to eat my words of 1994-1995: over the summer she'd come out of her cocoon -- in a big way. The baby fat was gone, her hair was tamed into something resembling an actual style, she was tanned and slim, and... well, she was curvaceous, even under the concealing student robes. (Not that she hadn't been developing breasts before, but she'd obviously discovered the joy of just the right brassiere -- just as the entire Gryffindor male contingent was, staring at her. Except Potter and Weasley -- they didn't seem to have noticed.) The rest of the boys weren't sure where to look at the moment -- Brown and Patil were looking good as well, but they were flashier and more obvious. Granger had class. Even half the Slytherin boys were checking her out, ill-advisedly standing to crane their necks in her direction (very bad form -- Slytherins were supposed to be cool and guileful). It was a shame Snape was preoccupied with the First Years, out in the Entrance Hall -- his disgust with their obvious interest would have been very amusing.
Gryffindor House was going to be a lot of fun this year, and I was betting that a lot of the boys would be in sudden and dire need of tutoring from Hermione Granger.
Hagrid lumbered in through the Anteroom door and took his place at the table: the Hall doors parted and Snape swept through, leading a straggling procession of Firsts. (They looked absolutely terrified. I'd have to ask Hagrid later what Snape had said to them.)
He stopped abruptly just below the dais and turned in a swirl of robes: the Firsts at the head of the line stumbled to a stop, and for a moment it looked like the lot would tumble over like dominoes. The more uncharitable (Hooch) and easily amused (Vector and me) among us at the High Table sniggered.
"The Sorting Hat will present its... song," Snape began sourly (I could practically hear him mentally add 'If you can call it that'), "and when -- What is your name?" he interrupted himself to glare at a small, nervous boy.
"D-- Daniel Rathbone, sir," the child stuttered.
"Stop fidgeting, Rathbone," he ordered sternly.
"Y-- yes, sir."
"I don't know what's funnier," Hooch whispered in my ear. "How terrified they are of Snape, or how much he hates having to do this."
I thought the latter. He'd pitched a fit when Minerva told him last week that the Sorting Ceremony was the responsibility of the Deputy Head, and she wasn't going to change one thousand years of tradition just because of him. (She'd done it during a staff meeting, too, so we'd all had a chance to enjoy it.)
"When I call your name," he said in that deadly soft voice which, nevertheless, could carry to the back of the Hall, "you will come forward, sit upon the stool, and place the Sorting Hat upon your head. There will be no fidgeting --" (here he shot a pointed look at Rathbone) "-- or fussing over your House assignment, and when you have been Sorted you will proceed to the appropriate table." He turned, marched up to the Head Table, moved the Sorting Hat from its place before Minvera to the stool, and stood aside after he'd placed it there. It cleared its throat ostentatiously and began.
I've lived 2,000 years and more and in that time I've known High Kings and peasants, knights and slaves, and gradually I've grown Accustomed to the ways of men, both wizards and their kind, And muggle with their warlike ways, and humankind so blind. And all that time I'd watch and wait and scan the souls of those Who seek to know their destinies, prepare for History's blows. And through the years I've ne'er been wrong in noting brain or dunce: In telling where the magic lies -- though, true, I've been stumped once.
I could feel my face redden. The sly reference to myself was unmistakable.
Why, that bloody.... The cheek.
I heard Minerva tsk in exasperation -- she'd caught it too, and Alastor Moody was grinning at me from the other end of the table. He alone knew the truth, of course. I hadn't actually stumped it -- I wasn't magical, after all, and now that was conclusively proven: it had, however, picked up on a faint trace of Druid blood in my distant ancestry. Not enough to make me magical, but there.
I sat back in my chair, disgusted, and ignored the damned thing while it droned on about the virtues of the Houses.
When it was done, Snape -- looking supremely bored -- unrolled the scroll and proceeded with the Sorting (Rathbone went to Hufflepuff). When he was done and had wisked the Hat and stool away, Minerva stood.
"I am Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts. Welcome, First Years, and thank you to our returners for your patience. I shall have a few announcements before we dismiss tonight -- but for now, let's dine." And with a sweep of her wand the tables filled with edibles to the point of groaning.
She'd agonised over how far to go this year, I know. None of us were certain what this year would bring, and she'd been erring on the side of caution -- but I'd told her about Albus' bequest, and so she'd decided to go full-bore on the beginning of term feast.
And everyone took advantage of it.
When all were done and the tables cleared, Minerva stood again.
"I am pleased to announce the appointment of a new Head of Gryffindor House: Professor Olivia Vector."
This was greeted enthusiastically by most of the Gryffindors -- not that they didn't like McGonagall, but Vector was younger and considered more "fun." It was evidently an unusual move -- Head usually were House alumni, and Vector was a Ravenclaw -- but there were no other Gryffindors on staff at present but Hooch, who flatly refused, and Vector had a lot of seniority over her, anyway.
"I'm sure you will make Professor Vector's tenure as your Head a pleasant one. We will also be joined this year by a new teacher of Transfigurations, Professor Valentine Jonson. I will, however, continue to teach the Sevenths and more advanced Sixths. He was unable to attend tonight -- you shall meet him tomorrow at breakfast.
"Now, a few rules and regulations, for the benefit of the First Years. The forest is forbidden unless you are accompanied by a teacher. Hogsmeade is out-of-bounds to all under Fourth Year. Our caretaker, Argus Filch, has assembled a considerable list of objects forbidden within the castle precincts, and he has posted a list outside his office. I suggest you take the first available opportunity to check it -- ignorance is not an excuse. He has asked me to particularly mention that any items from either Zonko's or Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes are expressly forbidden, and shall result in confiscation and a week's detention."
Ron Weasley looked exceptionally disappointed: I assume he was a beta-tester for some of the Twins' inventions.
"First Years, your House Prefect will now escort you to your Common Room and inform you of the password and any regulations pertaining specifically to your House. There are meetings scheduled for all students in your Common Room with your Head of House for nine o'clock: please assemble promptly, so you can all get to bed and be ready for your classes tomorrow. Good luck for the coming year, and good night." And she dismissed them.
We were certainly going to need all the luck we could get, even without Draco Malfoy about to cause his own particular brand of mischief.
"Merlin's beard, did you see Granger?" Hooch chortled. "Who'd have guessed?"
"Oh, Fredrika, don't fuss -- you were a non-starter until Sixth Year, too," Pomfrey grumbled.
"Well, it's a good thing she couldn't fly decently to begin with -- her balance will be wildly off now," Hooch shot back.
"Maybe she'll get some of the lads' minds off Quidditch," I noted with a grin.
"Or onto a different kind of Quidditch," Vector said naughtily, and Snape, isolated across the room in his windowseat, snorted.
"Olivia," Minerva said reprovingly, but her lips twitched upwards.
"Wait -- I'm missing something here --" I said.
"The Gryffindor metaphor for sex -- Quidditch," Vector explained. "I've been doing my research, you see," (she would, the Ravenclaw), "and there's an actual book. A how-to, all in Qudditch terminology."
"Quidditch is the Gryffindor metaphor for everything," I said in disgust. "And I've confiscated more Quidditch magazines from Gryffindor than all other Houses combined. Olivia, do me a favour and warn them off it now. The Elves are sick of disposing of them for me."
"Well, that's the problem. The students have bribed the Elves to return them after you toss them," Minerva informed me. "Give them to Argus, instead."
"Now you tell me," I muttered.
"How would a Muggle describe Granger's, er, metamorphosis, Miranda?" Sprout asked.
"Colloquially? Stacked," I said promptly. "Or even more vulgarly, built like a brick outhouse -- substitute a rather more aromatic description of the building, though."
Alastor got it immediately and chortled, while the others puzzled through it for a moment: Flitwick took longest and then, ears turning bright pink, he muttered an excuse and hastily fled the room. He had stayed, deferring his retirement (though he'd refused to take the Deputy Head position back from Snape), as we'd been in such a state last spring -- but he obviously wasn't up to dealing with our naughtiness.
"Oh, really," Minerva huffed through the other's giggles (except Snape, of course: I'd bet he was rolling his eyes and doing his best to ignore the whole silly conversation).
"She asked and I'm here to teach," I defended myself. "I've always felt that if you're curious and old enough to frame the question, you deserve an honest answer. Don't tell me there's no wizarding metaphors and nicknames, either. The human male's got to be the same in that regard, Wizard or Muggle."
"Yes, but once wizards learn the female in question can hex them in the blink of an eye, they learn to keep them to themselves," Pomfrey said, nodding wisely. "I recall one young Slytherin who got away with only a bad case of boils --"
A growl and glare from Snape's vicinity indicated that the Slytherin in question was present.
"I'm not certain I understand this, Miranda," Sprout said, frowning. "Why in the world should a well-endowed female resemble a brick structure intended for --"
Ah, the enquiring academic mind. It can turn the most scurrilous, asinine phrase into a compelling intellectual discussion.
A hesitant knock at the staff room door interrupted us (thankfully, as I didn't have a good answer for Sprout), and Minerva muttered, "Merlin save us, someone's managed to get themselves hexed already -- Come in."
Neville slipped inside.
"I'm sorry -- I meant to catch Professor Hunter in the Hall, but I'd forgotten to bring this with me," he said sheepishly, and crossed to me.
"It's quite all right, Mr. Longbottom," Minerva assured him. "I trust you've rebounded from last term?"
"Yes, ma'am. I told my grandmother what happened," he said, turning to me, "and she asked that I give you these." He handed me a small, flat box and a sealed letter.
"Oh -- thank you, Neville, I -- should I open it now?" I asked him.
"I wish you would. I helped pick it out," he said shyly.
I removed the ribbon, opened the box, and stared at what lay inside.
"It's a cloak brooch," he volunteered. "I told Grandmother you didn't wear a cloak, but she said you'd find a use for it."
"I will, Neville -- it'll be no less lovely on a coat lapel."
It was an exquisitely crafted brooch, gold, in the form of a lioness -- my Patronus -- with a garnet eye. I ran an appreciative finger over it before I handed it over to Hooch for perusal (she was itching to grab it out of my hands).
"You really like it?" he asked.
"I certainly do, Neville. Thank you, very much. And please thank your grand-- better yet, let me know when you write her next, and I'll write a note for you to slip in with yours." Patty wasn't a bad owl, but she tended to get lost if I sent her to places she wasn't familiar with.
"Righto." He grinned. "I'd better get back, now. Goodnight," he informed us over his shoulder as he left the room -- and promptly stumbled over the edge of the carpet before he made it out the door.
The women were clustered around Hooch, admiring the piece, and eventually she turned it over to Minerva, who nodded approvingly as Snape sauntered over for a look as well.
"Beatrice always had good taste in jewellery, if not in clothing," she stated. "It's lovely, Miranda -- and quite old, if I'm not mistaken. It may be charmed, as well."
"Probably," Snape murmured, and bent over her shoulder to touch it briefly. "Yes -- Protection and Strength. Quite appropriate. An Italian piece, I think, probably Renaissance."
I don't think any of us had heard him string three unnecessary words together at once, and we certainly hadn't expected him to appreciate a piece of jewellery; he sensed it and straightened abruptly as Minerva closed the case and passed it back to me.
"What does the letter say, Miranda?" Sprout asked me, eyes bright.
"I think I'll read it later," I said gently, and slipped it into my pocket. I'm not accustomed to receiving gifts of that magnitude, and preferred to read Mrs. Longbottom's letter in private. If the brooch was any indication, she was very appreciative.
Snape was headed for the door, having collected his things from a side-table.
"Scare you off, did we, Sev?" Hooch threw out at him. (She'd been a year ahead of him at Hogwarts and so got away with a certain informality -- but he hated 'Sev,' and she knew it.)
He muttered something about needing to talk to the Slytherin Sevenths before the main meeting, and left.
So. Neville's still clumsy, Hooch still irrepressibly nosy and blunt, and Severus Snape still snarky and unsociable. All's right with the world.
It wasn't, really. But it's nice to know there are immutable constants in life.
"He's just upset about giving the first term lecture," Pomfrey said contentedly. "The sex one."
The sex one? They actually did sex education at Hogwarts?
I was learning a lot this year. The others seemed more open: perhaps because I was off probation now or because of the events of last spring -- or possibly because I just didn't particularly care about being proper around them, anymore. It takes me a while to thaw out, but when I do, watch it.
"And it starts, 'There will be no foolish wand-waving in the Common Room...'" Hooch intoned.
"More likely 'no foolish wand-waving in the vicinity of that Gryffindor chit Granger,'" I blurted out before I could stop myself. (The Muggle Relations Department's off-colour tutelage of last spring had evidently taken root in my psyche.)
The assembly, including Alastor, cackled.
Minerva shot me a disapproving look.
"Well, did you see them? Practically stood on the Slytherin benches for a better look."
Hooch continued á la Snape. "'I assume you dunderheads have some vague and totally erronious concept of female anatomy...'" It was a dead-on impersonation, and incredibly funny. "'...and it's time I straightened this out. I'm only going to say this once and then you're on your own.'" She paused and slowly swiveled her head to glare at each of us. "'Why aren't you all copying that down?'"
More laughter from all, including a quickly-repressed snort from Minerva.
"'Unlike the fumbling efforts of Gryffindor idiots --'"
That elicited a grumble from Minerva, and giggles from Vector -- until she remembered where her new loyalties lay and let out an offended "Wait a minute --"
"'-- Slytherin pursuit of the female of the species is not to be regarded in any way as a game of Quidditch. There will be -- in this House -- no bandying about of execrable euphemisms like snitch or, Merlin forbid,'" she rolled her eyes "'bludger bat.'"
Minerva threw me an exasperated 'You started this' look -- totally undeserved. It was pure Hooch.
"'The former is insulting to the lady -- and I use the term ironically, because none of you pathetic beggars can possibly hope to win one -- and the latter --'" (she arched one brow) "'-- is, I have no doubt, wildly inaccurate to the point of absurdity. Above all, be honest with yourselves regarding your assets -- or lack thereof.'"
Minerva pinked up, and the rest of us lost it completely.
"You're wrong about Severus, Poppy," Alastor observed decisively after he'd calmed down and helped himself to another glass of sherry. "He knew all of you were going to twit him about the Sorting. Got out while the getting's good."
"I did offer to teach him the standard speech," Minerva said in exasperation. "But no, he would insist on doing it his own way."
"Of course. Got to hold up his end of things, speaking from the male point of view, and make the job his own," Alastor retorted. "Told me the other day we had to stand our ground against 'the monstrous regiment of women.'"
"He never," Sprout said indignantly, and Alastor nodded.
"Well, we do outnumber them considerably," I reasoned. "At least until the new man gets here."
"Technically he already is, but our preparations weren't ready," Minerva said cryptically.
"What's he like, Headmistress?" Vector asked.
"I'm not saying a word. Not even Severus knows yet -- and I dearly wish I didn't have to be in the Hall when he finds out."
Tomorrow was going to be very interesting.
"Back to Granger," Hooch said briskly. "Any wagers on how many she'll go through this year? I say three."
"Oh, Fredrika --" Minerva tried to cut it off, but it was too tempting.
"Three Galleons on two -- Potter and Weasley, specifically," Alastor promptly added.
"Ewwwwwwww." I glared at him. "They're practically siblings, Alastor. Besides, all those two have on the brain is Quidditch -- the proper sort."
"Not for long, they won't," he retorted.
Alastor was quite as bad as the rest of us when it came to naughty gossip.
"But the question is, when will the primal male brain kick in?" Pomfrey mused.
"I'm not sure you mean the brain, Poppy," Vector said shrewdly. "And by the way, is it true that there's only enough blood in the human body to --"
"That is quite enough, Olivia," Minerva said repressively, and pointedly waved the sherry decanter to the other side of the room.
The next five minutes were wasted in more wagers and speculations, and I tuned them out until Hooch elbowed me in the ribs. (I wished she wouldn't: I had a permanent bruise from that habit of hers.)
"You're up. How many, and double your money if you name them right."
"Nil. No, really," I protested when Hooch tried to argue that wasn't fair. "She's got a good head on her shoulders, and she's a serious scholar. I think she'll already be preparing for her NEWTs this year."
"I quite agree, Miranda. It's no contest," Minerva noted. "Now, if you've all sufficiently slandered the Gryffindor Prefect, it's about time for the House meetings. I shall see all of you in the morning."
We were incorrigible, every last one of us but Flitwick and Snape -- and it wasn't particularly fair of us: adolescents heady with the first flush of hormones are easy targets. But as a wise man once told me, one takes one's pleasures where one may. Especially now.
Back to BNW Index
Footnotes:
'I've lived 2,000 years and more': yes, I know, it's been a hat 1,000 years -- but in the Hunterverse it's been around a lot longer as a sentient magical entity. See Book 2 Chapter 21, toward the end: Alastor Moody tells her it's far older than its current manifestation.
I have a heck of a lot more respect for the Hat than I did before I had to write these two measly verses.
The idea of "sexual Quidditch" is not mine -- I owe credit to TextualSphinx re: Why Slytherins are Sexier (I think the title cited therein is Quidditch in Bed: Angel of the North is actually writing the, er, treatise in question, and it can be found on her website. I hope that TextualSphinx will be flattered rather than offended that I seem inclined to rip off -- er, reference -- several of her works with some regularity in Book 3. And she's absolutely right, of course. Slytherins are sexier. Lots.
'monstrous regiment of women': not a reference to Laurie King's book of that title, but to the originator of the phrase -- John Knox, Scots cleric, misogynist and bete noir of female rulers Mary, Queen of Scots and Elizabeth I.