Harry Potter and the Sisters Three

         Chapter 3: Talking to Strangers

    Hermione let out a startled gasp.

    "How could the Sorting Hat have disappeared? It's not as if it was something just anyone could walk around with, like a library book. Whatever must have happened must have been serious!" she exclaimed.

    "You don't suppose that someone's stolen it, do you?" Ron's comment stilled the entire table. It appeared that everyone had had about the same idea. The Sorting Hat was absolutely vital to the beginning of the school year. Without it, the first year students couldn't be sorted into their houses. No one had ever thought about what Professor McGonagall would have to do should the Sorting Hat ever be missing? It was more than a little upsetting. The first years, already nervous about beginning their Hogwarts careers, were positively terrified now. They wandered aimlessly about at the front of the Great Hall, murmuring and muttering to one another while casting fearful looks towards the high table, where the entire faculty was huddled together, apparently discussing what was to be done. The entire school watched them nervously, and whispered among themselves. Harry overheard some Hufflepuffs at the next table over.

    "...And my sister was coming in this year! I can't imagine what they'll do to get them sorted!! And you know that they have to tonight, or else the little first years will have nowhere to sleep."

    "That's not even the biggest worry of the teachers, I'll wager. I mean, what would happen if some horrible person who really ought to have been in Slytherin gets landed with Hufflepuff after all this? How terrible!"

    It was certainly an unprecedented event as far as Hogwarts was concerned, and that, considering the school's reputation, was really saying something indeed. Harry searched the worried faces of the faculty as they buzzed like saws amidst the rustle of talk washing towards them like a wave from the four long tables. All at once, Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster, stood up. His bent frame was drawn up straight with authority and his tall pointed hat sat stiffly upon his head as he surveyed the mixed company before him.

    "This is not the first crisis of a sort to reach Hogwarts," he proclaimed. His tone brooked no reply, and the students watched him with rapt attention. "I am assured that the Sorting Hat will reappear when it is good and ready, and I urge all of you not to concern yourselves over its disappearance. There are, of course, other ways of Sorting students into houses; although they are tedious and more painful by far." Most of the first years recoiled.

    "On to the other start of term announcements," he continued, "I am sure that you are all well

aware of the state of current affairs, and will remain both stout of heart and full of good judgment." He

looked pointedly towards the segment of the Gryffindor table where Harry and Ron were fidgeting

nervously. "Last term was certainly a travesty, but with great care I am positive such a catastrophe will not be repeated this year. Needless to say, our new faculty is much more qualified and, shall we say, well-balanced." He was speaking, of course, of the horrendous Dolores Umbridge, the power-hungry Ministry secretary who had, for all intents and purposes, taken over Hogwarts the year before.

    "A shame, that," muttered Ron. "I had rather hoped that we'd get another crazy that would have the good sense to take Malfoy out with them this year." The sharp jab of Hermione's elbow halted his soft curses when Dumbledore made ready to speak again.

    "And, with no further ado, for I am sure that you are all as hungry as I after such a long journey, to feast!" Another wave of disquiet greeted his order, even while the heaping golden platters sprung into plenty on the long tables. Dumbledore cast a haphazard glance at the huddled mass of starvelings before him.

    "The first years, well, just sit at the closest table you can reach, for the time being. We will see to alternative methods of Sorting after we've all broken our appetites." The little ones all scrambled for a seat at the two middle tables, the slowest and the stragglers forced to make their way to the tables at the extremes of the hall. And so the feast began.

    Harry swallowed nervously and tried not to worry, but that was easier said than done. When he tried to let his eyes wander around the magnificence of the Great Hall to distract him from the present problem, his gaze always fell upon the crowd of first years milling anxiously about the end of the Gryffindor table. They were murmuring rather frantically amongst themselves.

    "You don't suppose that Dumbledore was serious, about the other Sorting hurting the first years, do you?" Hermione seemed to be in a state over the little ones swarming around the ankles of their table. Ron rolled his eyes.

    "Hermione, you do realize that the statement was coming from a man who warned us that a

bloody corridor that we chanced into numerous times was an off-limits area that we'd be killed for if we

went there? Honestly!"

    "But that was different!! We were trying to save the Sorcerer's Stone and-"

    "So the time we were all dashing like mad to escape Filch counts as a noble attempt to save a piece of rock from You-Know-Who? I don't think so." Ron shoved a large forkful of peas into his mouth with an air of finality. Hermione looked miffed.

    "Fine then, have it your way. And you've been swearing an awful lot lately," she reprimanded,

more out of a desire to get in the last word than having really taken offense at Ron's sour mood. The

disgruntled Weasley halted his hand-over-fist eating to grimace at Hermione, who was meeting his stare arms akimbo, with one eyebrow cocked.

    "You're not my mum." He muttered balefully. Harry shook his head imperceptibly at them both

and took another bite of roast mutton. He turned his head from the picking going on across the table from

him to again survey the state of the confused little first years. They seemed to have grown a little more

comfortable, they were at least eating and talking lightly to one another, although Harry caught a few of

them still throwing furtive glances around the Great Hall, especially in the direction of the Slytherin table.

The first years that had taken up seating there looked to be anything but timid. They were all laughing

boisterously, throwing their food about and hawing as the older students egged them on. Crabbe and

Goyle had predictably joined in the festivities, and Harry noticed that Malfoy too was participating, albeit

reservedly, sporting a smug grin and roughed-up hair, neither of which particularly suited him. His surly

gray gaze moved from the jovial happenings of his own table to the events occurring at the others. And

then his gaze met Harry's.

    Flash.

    A burst of searing pain knifed across Harry's infamous scar. He raised his hand to it, flinching

with the sudden sharpness. It took a moment to realize that Malfoy was smiling at him.

    'Did he mean to do that?' Harry thought. 'But how on earth could he?' Only Voldemort had ever

had such an effect on Harry before. He remembered the first time such a barb had been dealt him, his first

year when his eyes met the back of Professor Quirrell's turban. More recently, he remembered the way his scar had functioned as some sort of masochistic weathervane for the moods and feelings of Voldemort, an unknown "benefit" to the connection forged between the dark wizard and his counterpart. The words of the prophecy echoed through Harry's head: "neither can live while the other survives..."

    Eager to break eye contact with Malfoy, Harry looked toward the front of the Hall, where the faculty

were all eating without the delinquent antics that were being carried on below. Harry scanned the lot for

the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, his eyes resting on any unfamiliar face. The spot reserved

for the unknown teacher was usually next to Snape, but the oily Potions master seemed to be dining alone

for the time being. However, a tallish woman was standing and conversing with Professors Dumbledore

and McGonagall. She had brown hair piled on top of her head, and a formidable, no-nonsense demeanor.

She struck Harry as oddly familiar, but he couldn't place her.

    'Must be a new somebody,' he pondered to himself, 'or maybe I just have a terrible memory.'

    He sighed, and glanced back at Ron and Hermione. The two were now seated in stony silence,

Hermione chewing her food solemnly and sighing in a very long-suffering fashion; Ron bolting down all the

food he could reach and pausing only to cast dark, glowering looks at Hermione. Harry couldn't help

himself. His partially stifled laughter escaped as a loud snort, drawing not only the attention of his two

friends but Dean Thomas and Parvati Patil as well.

    "All right, there Harry?" Dean asked, clapping him solidly on the back.

    "Yeah." Harry tried to cover with a few feeble coughs. "Had a pea stuck in my throat."

    Ron gave a snort himself. He was grinning broadly now, and watched Harry grin back. He rolled

his eyes in the direction of Hermione, as if to say 'what a pain'. He didn't, however, notice that she had

perceived his little gesture and was now staring him into the earth. Harry sighed. At this rate, it was

looking to be a very long year.

    The Feast was nearing its end, everyone was pushing back from the table, with large sighs and

groans of satisfaction. Harry stretched his arms above his head and yawned deeply. He couldn't recall a

time that he had been more ready to head up to warm and cozy Gryffindor Tower to crawl into his big

four-poster bed. He was bringing his arms down with a smile when he finally took real notice of the girl

Hermione had been ranting on earlier. He still couldn't see anything all that extraordinary about her. Her

hair was a reddish-brown color that reminded him of the clay-red dirt in Aunt Petunia's azalea beds, and he

could tell that her eyes were light, probably green or hazel. But there was something very odd about her.

It took Harry a moment to realize what it was that bothered him. While she was sitting amongst a group of

people all talking and chattering animatedly to one another, no one was talking to her. And for that matter,

neither was she talking to any of them. She simply watched, a slight smile playing over her lips as if she

found the whole scene to be quite new and amusing, in a quiet way. Harry's brow furrowed as he tried

hard to attach a name to her face. Sensing his focus, she turned her head slightly and met his eyes. Harry

straightened up suddenly. The jolt that had gone through him when she looked at him was as shocking as

plunging his head into an ice bath. Something wasn't sitting well here. The girl was new, he had never

seen her before in his life.

    So where had she come from? She was too old to be a first year, and he knew that exchanges

between schools of magic were almost nonexistent.

    While Harry was perusing the finer scenarios in his mind, the new girl was regarding him

quizzically, like a person who has received an odd gift whose purpose they aren't too sure of. She, too,

was wondering about him. And she seemed to have made up her mind. Harry watched her face break out

into a grin.

    'She's prettier when she smiles," he noted, as something black, felt, and patched fell headlong into

the jug of pumpkin juice on the table, splashing a good five or six Gryffindors with the sticky orange stuff.

Hermione was gasping and holding her arms away from her body. Ron was blinking rapidly as he licked his

lips. Harry shook his head violently to get rid of the clingy droplets in his hair, and then looked skyward.

Above him was a gleeful figure turning somersaults in midair, the figure who had obviously dropped the

bombshell into the bath.

    "PEEVES!!" Professor McGonagall barked.

    The Sorting Hat had returned.

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    After the last first year (Zabini, Michel!) had been Sorted, all of Hogwarts fell into line behind their

respective prefects and headed docilely for bed. Ron was yawning intermittently, rubbing his eyes with the

heels of his hands. Even Hermione seemed to be flagging a little, both of them hardly aware of the presence of the little flock of new Gryffindors trailing uncertainly behind them. It was far later than any of them were

used to getting to bed after the Great Feast, and sleep was always the first thing on Harry's mind after

stuffing himself in the Great Hall.

    But this evening, he was still a little preoccupied. Having already studied the odd new Gryffindor,

he turned to look at the other two girls Hermione had pointed out earlier. Most of the students were still

walking en masse, as the time hadn't yet come for them to branch off and take their separate routes to

each house's dormitories. His tired eyes picked out the dark-haired girl wearing Ravenclaw blue under her

somber black robes. Her face, like that of the unnamed Gryffindor, was rather plain, but pretty. Her eyes,

however, were also quite light, Harry could tell, rather in contrast with her glossy brown hair. Yet again,

Harry had reason to comment that the only thing that was particularly unusual about her was her utter

unfamiliarity. He wasn't really in the habit of noticing each and every Ravenclaw (in fact, Cho Chang, whom he had nearly dated last year, was the only one who ever held any interest for him), but never in the course of

any of his interactions with the House had he seen that girl. Was he really that thick?

    Harry shook his head to clear it. At least that girl was talking a little to the others around her,

though they were all first years. His brow furrowed. He punched Ron lightly on the shoulder.

    "Ron, d'you think that Ravenclaw there is a first year?" Ron looked her up and down and snorted

sleepily.

    "Only if her parents have been feeding her Stretching Serum. She looks more like a fifth year, if

you ask me," he answered.

    "Do you know who she is?" Now Ron's brow furrowed as he tried to place the strange girl.

    "No, not really. She could be a million people, though. No worries, Harry. Maybe she's just very

quiet or something." Ron shrugged vaguely, then pointed. "There, see? She's talking to Loony Lovegood, which shows she has a tolerant nature, and she's probably like Luna, in Ginny's year and all, but I can't place her. Besides, I'm to tired to try and think of names right now." He stifled a yawn. "Ask Hermione."

    "No, that's one of the girls she pointed out earlier," Harry shook his head. "She doesn't know

either." Ron shrugged, and forged ahead quickly to meet Hermione, who had stopped to wait on Ron to join her as they took the first years up to Gryffindor Tower. He cast his eyes about for the other unknown student Hermione had mentioned. He caught sight of her just as the hall split and the Houses went their separate ways. She was again clinging to the arm of

an especially arrogant-looking Malfoy, whispering something into his ear. Her hair was long and very light,

like Malfoy's. Harry saw only a little of her face, but enough to realize that she was quite pretty, certainly

more so than the other mystery girls. And her eyes were a very light shade of violet. Harry wondered

whether she enchanted them that way. He turned around in time to narrowly miss smashing his face into

the protruding corner of the wall which led around to the staircase. He nearly lost his balance as he

jumped to save his precious nose.

    "A bit distracted there, eh Harry?" Seamus Finnegan was chuckling quietly as he helped him gain

his footing.

    "I guess I was a little more tired than I thought," he replied wryly, adjusting his glasses. After

climbing all the staircases and navigating the twisty-turning hallways, the entire Gryffindor House (minus the prefects and first years) came to a stop at the portrait of the Fat Lady.

    "Password?" she asked, raising her handkerchief to her mouth. She let out a violent sneeze that

caused the row of students nearest her to step back reflexively.

    "Are you alright?" Lavender Brown inquired.

    "Yes, yes. A little cold. Password?"

    "Haberdashery," quoted Lavender. The portrait hole swung open, and the students began to file inside. The laughter and chatter increased in volume as the Gryffindors entered the comfort of their own common room. People began falling melodramatically into the large, squashy armchairs by the fire, proclaiming their fatigue in voices rife with humor.

    Harry yawned. He glanced at Hermione, who had piled into an armchair rather perfunctorily. Ron

had folded onto the floor at her feet, his eyes drooping as though they weighed ten pounds. He looked as

though he was about to start drooling when his spine suddenly stiffened and his eyes went round.

    "I haven't seen that girl before!" he exclaimed, gesturing openly toward the peculiar new girl.

Hermione rolled her eyes and cuffed him on the head.

    "I tried to tell you!! She's got to have come from somewhere. You didn't recognize her, did you,

Harry?" she turned her puzzled frown upon Harry, who had reddened slightly and was pointedly not

looking in her direction.

    "Do you have to be so loud, Ron? And no, I don't recognize her. But she can't be a first year,

so-"

    "My name's Aedain."

    The three friends stopped dead.

    The mystery girl, who had obviously heard Ron's verbal gesticulating, had quietly made her way

over to them. Now that Harry could see her close up, he noticed a few odder things about her. She still

appeared very plain, all but her eyes. They were a bottomless blue, that seemed to flicker and change like

the hottest part of a flame. She was smiling benevolently, but something about her still made the hairs on

his arms rise.

    "It seems you've been wondering, so I thought I'd tell you before your imaginations could get too

out of hand," she continued. She spoke with a lilting accent that Harry couldn't place. It was as unfamiliar

as the rest of her. Hermione was the first to break their collective silence.

    "Aedain," she repeated, "it's nice to meet you." She cast her eyes about at the two boys. "Well, Ron, we'd better get the first years up to bed."

    "First Years, it's time to show you to your rooms!!" she bellowed. Aedain shrugged whimsically.

    "I guess that means new students, too?"

    Hermione's mouth wagged. She snapped it closed with a loud "hmmph!" Aedain smiled and wandered over to the crowd of little first years that had gathered in a corner, their eyes affixed to Ron and Hermione.

    "What's the matter? She seemed nice enough," Ron inquired, stifling another yawn with his eyes

still on Aedain.

    "Hah!! I knew she was a new student. And if she's here for a good reason, I'll-I'll-I'll let you copy

my homework!" She stood with a flourish and flounced off to the girl's tower. "Girls, this way," Hermione instructed. "Boys, over there." Harry followed her with his eyes, letting them rest on the still-unknown Aedain. Was he imagining things, or had her saccharine smile been replaced with a calculating stare, which she now had aimed at Hermione's retreating back? Harry rubbed his arms. The goosebumps her presence had given him had begun to prickle uncomfortably, and

they showed no sign of Disapparating.

    Flash.

    Another searing pain danced across his forehead, cutting his scar in twain with a white-hot line of

agony. He pushed a fist against it, and let his eyes return to Aedain. She was looking at him. The furrowed

brow of concentration was melting into the smile again, but Harry was not fooled.

    Whoever she was, she possessed powerful Dark Magic.

    "Harry?" He turned, startled. Ron had placed a hand on his shoulder, a look of concern

spreading across his amiable freckled face. "You alright?"

    "Yeh." He shook his head to clear it. "Just a bit more tired than I thought." The two Gryffindor

boys trudged slowly up the stairs, and separated like the branching veins in the ivy leaves outside the casements as Ron led the first years to their own room. Harry stepped inside the room that he, Ron, Seamus, Neville Longbottom, and Dean had shared since their first year at Hogwarts. The other boys broke in right behind him, whooping tiredly, happy to return to their haven. Ron entered a moment later, stretching and scratching his ribs.

    The house elves had indeed been busy. A roaring fire blazed in the hearth, and warming pans

and water bottles lay wedged between the sheets, for the night was unseasonably cold. The boys'

respective trunks sat squatting at the feet of their respective beds. Harry sighed and scratched, drawing

his pyjamas from his trunk. He was not alone. The other boys had set about preparing for bed

themselves.

    "To bed, at last!" groaned Ron as he collapsed onto his bedding.

    "Yes," Dean breathed, "good to be back, eh?" Neville nodded frantically. The hapless boy had

somehow managed to lose his pillow in the five minutes they had been upstairs.

    "So who's going out for Quidditch this year?" Seamus asked, looking about the room. "With Fred

and George Weasley gone, there's room for two beaters. And I aim to be one of them," he stated proudly.

    "Mmm," murmured Dean. "I've an eye for a Chaser's position myself. All three of 'em are open,

right Harry?"

    "Right," Harry answered, stifling a yawn.

    "Of course, Dean's only interested in Chaser because Seeker's taken," Seamus teased. "And

everyone knows that the Seekers get all the girls." He snorted at Harry's red face. He had been

remembering Cho Chang.

    "Right," Dean remarked dryly, rolling his eyes.

    "And besides, everybody knows that Keepers are the sensitive ones. Didn't you ever wonder why

Oliver Wood was rolling in female appreciation while he was here? And I'm sure it won't take more than a match or two for all the girls to remember the words to 'Weasley is Our King', right, Ron?" Harry quipped, throwing a pillow at the sheepish Keeper. The boys laughed raucously for a bit, as feathers, pillows, and everything in between flew about

the room. Once they'd subdued their laughter, the talk turned to weightier subjects.

    "Did you see all those guards?" Neville asked, wide-eyed. "There were TWO at EVERY door!!

What do you suppose they're here for?" He shivered violently, obviously remembering the frightening cold brought on by the

dementors that had surrounded the Hogwarts grounds during their third year. Ron's chin stiffened.

    "I still think Fudge put them on," he maintained. "They're Ministry Guards, after all. They're

probably here to guard against You-Know-Who."

    "Do you really think he'd come here, Harry?" All eyes in the room turned to Harry. He shifted

uncomfortably. He was beginning to dislike this apparent authority he unwillingly possessed over the

whereabouts and welfare of Lord Voldemort. What did he really know, anyway?

    "I dunno," he mumbled.

    Ron, like all best friends can, could plainly see that Harry was in no mood to talk about the

vicissitudes of his old nemesis, and so turned the conversation.

    "It's later than we usually conk, boys. And I've got Divination first thing. I have to be a little awake

when I go in, or that intolerable heat will put me right back to sleep." He pulled the covers over his head

with an air of finality. The other boys followed suit, blowing out candles and burrowing under their

blankets.

    Harry lay awake for quite awhile under his sheets. His mind was running with thoughts of

Voldemort and his return. The blood, the flash, the death. There was no doubt in his mind that Voldemort

had returned. The death of his godfather, the frantic preparations of the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix, they all spoke to him of a battle that would come to end just as the prophecy had promised. He winced. The stabbing pain in his scar had dulled to a throbbing ache. He raised his fingers to run lightly along it.

    That was to say, unless the someone within that circle of guards who was biding their time, waiting for the evil wizard's command, didn't kill Harry first.

    In fact, maybe even three someones.

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    The scene in Slytherin's common room couldn't have been more different from that of Gryffindor.

    Everyone trudged mechanically off to bed with nary a sound, save the throat-clearing of the

Slytherin prefects as they twitched their fingers at the first years to show them to their rooms. The torches

smoked and guttered in the damp of the Slytherin dungeon, and their oily glow threw no heat into the cold,

it soaked deep into the flesh of everyone unlucky enough to be there.

    Fortunately, most of the Slytherins were cold enough already not to notice.

    Draco Malfoy lingered in the darkness of the common room, slouching sullenly on one of the huge

leather sofas, its slick surface almost as cold as the rough stone walls. The strange girl lingered with him,

pacing a little at the foot of his sofa, in between him and the feeble warmth given off by the fire rising on

the huge hearth. Her eyes squeezed shut as she yawned.

    "It's freezing in here," she whined, in a bell-like voice that lilted with a curious accent. She rubbed

her slender hands over her arms. Yawning again, she turned to Draco, and the yawn melted into a

coquettish smile. If Draco noticed her attention, he showed no sign of it. He was staring pensively into the

fire, his arms crossed over his chest and his face hardened into an inexpressive mask.

    "Aren't you going to bed?" the girl asked him. He continued his gaze, the firelight dancing in his

flat gray eyes giving them the only light and warmth they had ever known.

    "Not yet," he answered with finality, not looking at her. His tone was as uncommunicative as the

walls, and the girl knew better than to try and say anything else to him. The smile having transformed into

a sour frown, she flounced off to bed. Still Draco remained on the sofa, staring into the flames. Gradually,

a small smile began to spread over his features. His eyebrows slanted downward as his lips curled upward,

and as fluidly as a cat he slid from the sofa to rest on his knees directly before the fire, his face replete with

bad intentions. He raised his arms above his head, the sleeves of his robe pooling about his elbows to

reveal the Dark Mark staining his wrist. The fire sputtered and shrank, changing from a cold yellow to an

eerie, poisonous green. The reduced light was caught by something at the back of the hearth, and it

sparkled from the depths like the teeth in the back of a lion's mouth.

    It was a mirror.

    Wordlessly Draco brought his arms down, mumbling faintly into the darkness. With his right hand,

he slashed at his left forearm, which began to drip blood the color of ink. It fell into the sputtering fire.

With a searing flash, the flames turned blue and began to leap higher and higher. Draco rose and stepped

into the enormous hearth, standing amidst the tongues of flame until he was face to face with the mirror.

    It rose high into the chimney, its ornate frame twisting at peaking almost out of sight. Barely

visible between the height and the carefully camouflaging filigree was a single word: Ecnarrohba.

    Draco reached out a hand at his eye level and wiped the soot from the mirror's face. Inscribed

into the very glass were more words: Dae rdylur tuoyg Nihte noeht Wohsi.

    He stared into the mist of the mirror, watching the world end and begin again under a new power,

the power of evil. He watched himself as he grew in this power the way his father had told him he would.

Unconsciously, he began to caress the Dark Mark at his wrist, and his smile grew. He watched as the

inhabitants of Hogwarts were sacrificed to the power, one by one. His eyes narrowed menacingly, and he

whispered something near-unintelligibly into the mirror's image.

    "You first, Potter."

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