Mad North

--"I am but mad north by northwest--when the wind blows southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw"

--William Shakespeare, Hamlet

McGonagall waited for the first years to be brought in by Hagrid. She supposed that they were debarking now, their little faces frozen with worry and soaked from the rain the crashed down. She wasn't worried, no worry wasn't the right word at all.

She was uncomfortable.

Something about this Sorting made her uncomfortable. It shouldn't, it was going to be like any other. Hearing footsteps and voices coming nearer, she adjusted her spectacles on her nose, and cleared her throat. How many times had she stood here and explained to the frightened little things what was about to happen to them? How many times had Dumbledore met with her before the term started?

As the other teachers had left the meeting room in which they all reacquainted themselves after the summer holiday, Dumbledore had caught her gaze. "Minerva, if you would stay a moment, I have something to speak with you about."

She had clasped her hands in front of her, and nodded.

"You remember Eleanor Stands?" he asked.

McGonagall drew her eyebrows together. "Eleanor Stands?" she repeated, "Patrick Stands' sister?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Her children will be attending this year."

"I didn't realize she had any children," McGonagall confessed.

"She has three," he told her, "and Patrick's youngest will be coming this year, also," he added with a smile.

"All are going to be in first year?" her uterus ached dully at the thought of triplets.

"No," Dumbledore gave her a small smile, turned from her and walked toward the teapot. "The youngest will be. The two older children are in their fourth year."

"Twins?" she asked.

Dumbledore nodded again. "But that is not what I wanted to speak to you about." He poured himself a cup of tea, the dark liquid splashed a little on the table, but the Headmaster didn't seem to notice. "They are attending Hogwarts under," he paused a moment, "unusual circumstances." He turned to McGonagall, holding his teacup with both hands. "Patrick has taken them in, last week, I believe."

"Eleanor and her children?" McGonagall shook her head in a confused way.

"No," he looked her in the eye with his piercing blue gaze, his face grave. The bags under his eyes seemed to deepen, and his mouth drooped. "Only the children."

Her mouth made an 'O'. "I see," she said softly. "Do foresee any parental...problems?"

"No," he said again, "but their previous school has been gracious enough to forward their records to us." He took a sip of his tea. "The youngest one seems to be doing fine. He has occasional outbursts, as boys do, and apparently talks too much."

"Talks too much?" she chuckled.

Dumbledore nodded, but didn't smile at her laugh. "The older two..." He took another sip of his tea. "The boy, or so say his former teachers, is 'emotionally vacant'. And the girl," he sighed, "has a tendency to be defiant and at times, violent."

"Emotionally vacant?" She shrugged her shoulders, "what, precisely, does that mean?"

"I'm not sure," Dumbledore turned back toward the table. He placed his teacup down on the polished, mahogany surface. "His records do not elaborate."

"Albus," she tried hard to keep her voice from sounding exasperated. "We don't need any more problem students than we already have. Especially violent ones." She had long since learned not to argue once the Headmaster made a decision, but that didn't mean she couldn't voice her objections. "And since they are coming, shouldn't we tell Filius?"

"Why?" he asked.

"Because," McGonagall held up her hand and began ticking off names with her fingers, "Patrick was in Ravenclaw, Eleanor was in Ravenclaw, Hugh was in Ravenclaw, Caroline was in Ravenclaw, Phillip is in Ravenclaw," she kept her hand up for emphasis. "And if one of them is violent--"

The old wizard held up his hand in a gesture of patience and turned around. "So say their former teachers," he repeated. "I simply wanted to let you know..." his voice trailed off, and his eyes moved to the side, as if he were thinking. "It is imperative you are aware of the parental circumstances."

McGonagall was silent for a moment. "I take it Eleanor is not allowed on school grounds?"

"No," Dumbledore said.

The sound of the new arrivals entering the Hall brought McGonagall back to the present. They clambered in on unsteady feet, crushed together with mutual fear. They were all soaked to the skin from the rain. She shook her head, At least Peeves didn't pelt them with water balloons. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she announced. "I am Professor McGonagall."

As usual, the children said nothing.

"I'll be leading you into the Great Hall for the start of term banquet, but before you sit down, you'll be sorted into your Houses." She went on into her speech, she had it more than memorized, well enough to repeat it in her sleep. As she explained the four Houses, her eyes sought out the two children she'd been uncomfortable with for the past few days. They were easy to spot, considering they were a good two to three heads taller than everyone else in the crowd. Their long brown hair dripped, and separated into strings. The brims on their pointed hats blocked any detailed view of their faces. They stood touching shoulders, and she noticed that they were holding hands. She couldn't tell which one was which, they looked so much alike. They could have been identical. Which was the vacant one? Which was the violent one?

And what on Earth had Eleanor done that her children were no longer in her charge?

They had Eleanor's hair; soft, honey brown and stringy. Her build too, lithe and thin, almost willowy. But they were already taller than Eleanor was when she left Hogwarts, from what McGonagall could remember. She had taught Eleanor so long ago...had it already been 25 years?

She led the students through the Great Hall, and set up the three legged stool and Sorting Hat. No use worrying about it now, is there? Her voice in her head was more derisive than usual. Time to get to the Sorting.

The Hat sang its song, and McGonagall unrolled her scroll. "When I call out your name," she said, "you will put on the Hhat and sit on the stool. When the Hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table.

"Ackerly, Stewart!"

She called through the names, the hat announcing each where the student would go.

"Quirke, Orla!"

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat bellowed.

"Stands, Jolie!"

The hat sat on her head for only a moment before announcing, "RAVENCLAW!" The Ravenclaw table cheered as the girl ran and sat next the Seventh Year McGonagall knew as her brother Phillip Stands.

"Stands-Rike, Galahad!"

The First Year came up, his eyes the size of saucers, and sat down on the stool. Must be the one who talks too much, McGonagall thought. What a stupid thing to put in a child's school records. Again, in only a moment, the hat cried, "RAVENCLAW!" and he ran to join his cousins at the table.

"Stands-Rike, Isolte!"

It was one of the twins. She slowly made her way to the stool, her steps were measured and light as if she would slip and fall on the stone floor. She sat upon the stool gingerly, and wiggled a bit, as if trying to make herself comfortable. Her eyes, too, were round with fear, and McGonagall thought she must have felt silly, being years older than the First Years, with the Sorting Hat on her head. Transfer students were not entirely uncommon to Hogwarts, but they always looked out of place in Sorting Ceremony. There wasn't anything remarkable about the girl, McGonagall noticed, save you couldn't tell she was a girl by looking at her.

Unlike the other two, her brother and cousin, the Hat seemed to be taking a little while to decide which house she belonged in. After a few moments of silence, the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Ravenclaw table booed good naturedly, as the girl took the Hat off and placed it back on the stool. She walked toward the table, but stopped before reaching it, looking back as if waiting for something.

"Stands-Rike, Tristan!"

The other one then took the stool. Even up close, they had looked exactly like each other. The hat was only on his head a moment, before crying, "SLYTHERIN!"

Isolte looked as if she could have been knocked down by a feather. Her mouth dropped open, and when Tristan came close to her, she held out her hand imploringly. Unsmiling, he took it for a moment, and then let it go, before going over to the Slytherin table and sitting down. Isolte, still with a look of shock on her face, went and did the same at the Gryffindor table.

McGonagall went through the rest of the names, ending with "Whitby, Kevin!" who was promptly put into Hufflepuff House.

Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome. "I have only two words to say to you," he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."

As usual, the Hall erupted with noise as the students did just that.

Draco stretched his head over his plate, to get a better look at Tristan. The boy was seated only a few places down from him, looking at the food that had appeared with an apathetic look. "Stands is it?" Draco asked him, physically moving the boy next to him backward so he could get a better look.

Tristan turned to him and shook his head. "Stands-Rike," he corrected, his voice neutral

Now that he had an unobstructed view, Draco could see that Tristan's eyes were a muddy green, much like the ocean on a day when the wind has churned the water. His honey colored hair fell in loose waves down to the middle of his back, dripping with water. His skin was an ivory porcelain marred only by the streak of red across his cheeks and nose. His lips were full and pouty, a dark pink pucker on his pretty face. And that is precisely how Draco would have described him: pretty, like a girl.

"Stands-Rike," Draco repeated. "What year are you?"

Tristan blinked, and raised both eyebrows, as if it should be obvious. "Fourth year," he said. Draco couldn't quite place his accent, it sounded almost Australian.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, raising his own platinum eyebrows and tilting his head back slightly.

"I moved," Tristan said. "And this is where my cousins have all gone to school." He shrugged, "So this is where my brother and sister and I are going." He reached over and took his glass of pumpkin juice.

"The girl in Gryffindor?" Draco said, his voice pinched.

Tristan took a sip, and glanced at the boy sitting next to Draco. He was still leaned back so the two of them could talk, and trying to reach over the distance to the food on his plate. "Yes," Tristan said, his voice and face still unemotional. He smiled then, but there was no pleasure in it. It might have been painted on. "What's your name?"

"Malfoy," he said. He wasn't sure what to make of this Stands-Rike boy. The smile on his face almost made his shiver. It reminded him of...he wasn't quite sure. It'll come to me, he consoled. "Draco Malfoy," he said, turning toward Crabbe sitting on his other side, and stopping any further conversation.