12For a magical school with magical children, it seemed entirelytoo clicheto refer to the opening dinner at Hogwarts with the adjective magical. But without question, there was that lingering feeling in the air: something was starting, a new school year, and whether you were returning orfirstenteringa place you'd return to, the great, echoing halls seemed to fill you up with the excitement.
Or it should, but as they've prooved on numerous occasions, the Blacks do not fit the stereotype.
On one side of the chattering dining hall, bathed in crimson and gold, sat the Gryffindors. Always noble, always brave, and always... clique-ish? The unmistakeableJames Potter was seated having a rather boring-looking conversation with a mousy-looking chubby boy who'd nod his head eagerly every now and then. Across the table a couple feet down, a red-haired beauty felt vaguely uncomfortable sitting with her dormmates, idly listening to them chitter-chat on the latest fashions whilst squealing and stealing compliments. She looked up unassuradly at the moon's full circle and vaguely wondered about her best friend, a pale boy named Lupin, looking at the same moon from wherever he was this time. A lone outsider, Sirius Black, sat sulking and alone, though his surrounding housemates seemed not only comfortable, yet accustomed to, his actions.
Across the tables of the brilliant-in-blue Ravenclaws and the slower-than-honey Hufflepuffs sat the Slytherins, coated in all their silver-green glory. Engaging conversation seemed to always take place at their table, especially a thick throng of friends. Tonight the only female amongst the men was the pouty-lipped Bellatrix, though usually her two sisters were flanking either of her sides. The elder wasn't attending the school any longer, and at this moment in time was fratrenizing with a boy she'd simply forgotten to inform her family of.
The second sister, however, was in the middle of an office.
A sharp intake of breath left the girl's arms crossed tightly over her chest.
"Bla-ack," the boy seated beside her called, and in response recieved a highly agitated look from the blond, "Say something."
"What!" she hissed, eyes narrowed.
She was a wall of sleek intimidation, and any other sane being would back down before incurring the wrath of Andromeda Black.
Ted Tonks never prided himself on being any other sane being. "Just making sure you hadn't lost your speaking ability after all those harsh glares I've been on the recieving end of."
"Shouldn't those looks have told you something about how much I want to talk to you? Use that quarter inch of common sense you have. And don't end your sentences withprepositions."
About to fire back a comment (in fact, his mouth was even open), Ted was interrupted by the door of the office swinging open to reveal the austere Minevra McGonagall - Transfigurations professor, rule-abiding head of Gryffindor house and the closest thing to Deputy Headmistress anyone had ever seen. It'd been Dumbledore's goal for a couple years to appoint her to the position, but the Hogwarts board (filled with men who hated Dumbledore already enough not to put a half-bred woman into the position, no matter her skill) would hear nothing of it. Nonetheless, McGonagall managed to nearly fill all the jobs despite her lack of title.
"Mr. Tonks, Ms. Black. I hope your trip into school wasn't too tiring: you've got a long night ahead of you. A long year ahead of you, in fact, more than that thick envelope you recieved this summer could ever fully explain. This is just a briefing before the Opening Feast."
As the professor paused, the two simeaotaneously readjusted. As she explained some quick basics, they payed a rapt attention. Ted noticed, though, Andromeda would idly spin her a ring around her finger. He'd never noticed it any years before and wondered how it could mean much of anything now.
author's note: it's two o'clock, I have to wake up early and it's two o'clock. Hiya, folks, I updated this. Miracle of all miracles. At one o'clock on a Saturday night I just missed this story and so. Here I am, or here I was, I feel like I'm whispering to you. Goodness knows when my next update will be. Stick with me, please? And a review wouldn't hurt, you know.
