MR76: Cycle Zero: The Sorting Hat

[Archer he/him]

Cycle Zero: The Sorting Hat

MR76 has begun! I'm your Headmaster, @Archer. Our Caretaker is IM @A Jo in the Bush.

This cycle ends at 20:00 EST (GMT -4) on Friday, March 27th, or when all house selections have been made. 

This is a non-voting roleplay round. You must declare your House assignment in your GM PM, lest you be assigned to the smallest House. 

Rollover Zero

House PMs are created. These are the only PMs in the game.  

Alignments are assigned. See Rules for more information.
 

Signups 

Quote

Students:

1. @Through the Living Mist as Trance, secretly a squib.  

2. @Amanuensis as Amara Penwell, a ghost solving their own murder.

3. @Through The Living Grass as Orpheus ‘Ory’ Grey the 5th year. Terrible liar, loyal to a fault. 

4. @coco.pudding as Vera Coran, the daughter of Someone Important in the Ministry of Magic. 

5. @Through the Living Hopper as Jarry Motter, a high-achieving, even higher-dueling 6th year.

6. @Araris Valerian as Tom Bombadil Donuts, or TBD for short, who has a mysterious lineage.

7. @Through the living Wahr as Leokadius Seydlitz, a cape-wearing German Pureblood whose family got him accepted at Hogwarts.

8. @TwinStorm as Raese Thean, a musically-inclined, slightly oblivious half-blood who has always dreamed of Hogwarts and Quidditch.

9. @Through the Living Ink as Forest Randane, an overenthusiatic 5th year with curly brown hair. 

10. @Doc12 as Azalea, who has the grace and smile of someone who bad things have never happened to ever. 

11. @mippo as Sox.

12. @Qianweilian as Leonidas, a sixth year enamored with wizard history and the art of combat.

13. @|TJ| as Ceadach O'Neall, the fourth year Quidditch Keeper. 

14. @Miss Fallen as Jane Norie, a bored 7th year with a green thumb. 

15. @Emperor Comatose as Garick Sashtri, excited to be here!!!

16. @The Unknown Medallion as Siannain O'hAodhes (Shannon O'Hughes), a seventh year star Quidditch beater who has yet to learn a single spell. 

17. @Frozen Mint as Pali, a 6th year who loves a good duel and is too impulsive for her own good.

Specters:

1. @Through The Living KSauce as  Renzik, an alien from cytoverse. 

2. @Slay the Living Hoid

3. @Divergent

Willing to Drink Polyjuice Potion:

1. @Aeternum

2. @Aeoryi as Jimmy the Destroyer, one-fifth kandra. 

September 2, 1991. 

The clock tower bell tolled eleven times. 

“Exactly five hours late,” announced Professor McGonagall. “Five demerits to each of you. Let's find out which houses you've let down.” 

She ushered the students into the now-empty Great Hall, which was littered with confetti and melted candles. At the front, a battered brown hat was trying to convince the house elves to feed it a rat. 

“Albus only gives me Werther's Originals. C’mon now… Professor! It’s not what it looks like!”

She grabbed it by the tip, holding it face to face. “Sing your song or I’ll tell the Headmaster what really happened to his whiskey.”

It’s hard to gulp without having a throat, but somehow the hat managed it. 

“Late children! I did my annual chore,
Sang many quips and retorts. 
Now you all demand an encore?
Good thing I’m never out of sorts!

I’ll foretell how you will progress
In ten seconds flat. Conveniently 
It’s a very rigorous process
That always distributes evenly. 

I assigned to Hufflepuff once
Every J-name that could be found. 
And I gave the snakes every dunce, 
Just to slow their scheming down. 

Trying to change houses is for naught. 
Age eleven, your traits are forever fixed.
We teach spells, not critical thought,
At Hogwarts School of Wizard and Witch. 

I’ll sort my favourites into Gryffindor,
To our Trophy Room, many have entered.  
Driven and bold, like a lion’s roar.  
Slytherin’s all that, but more self-centered. 

Listen closely to my words, 
As I round out my lists. 
Ravenclaw gets the nerds, 
And… Hufflepuff also exists.  

Before you head to dorms, 
Know we’re in for a jolt.
It’s the calm before the storm.
Waiting for a lightning bolt. 

Some of you hold ill intentions, 
And have joined a cult of myth. 
But that’s barely worth a mention, 
Let’s get this over with!”

“I’m sure it’s just joking. Line up please, first years. Once you’re sorted, the older students will guide you to your chambers.” 

It’s time for the first-years to be sorted!

Edited March 25 by Archer

[Verdance he/him]

Orry trips over his robe and falls flat on his face in the back of the Great Hall as he rushes in late with the others. Luckily, everyone else is paying attention to the Sorting Hat. Unluckily, when he wakes up, he has sustained a mild concussion and seems to think he is a first year. “Guys? Guys? Where is everyone,” he says to the floor. “What house did I get?”

[Myst He/Him]

“And Hufflepuff exists”

Truer words have never been spoken.

It seems like Slytherin is the party PM, but who wants to join me in red?

—————

Trance hadn’t wanted to be late. He’d been so prepared. He got onto the train on time, and he made sure to do everything right.

Until the boats….

He’d fallen out, and ended up splashing in the water for a while. The black made it hard for people to find him, and he’d been too occupied trying not to drown to call out. The robe kept dragging him down, and he’d had to ditch it, but even then, the shoes were a nightmare to swim in.

Eventually they found him and dragged him out, shoeless, missing a black robe, and in a soggy white shirt and dress pants.

After changing into a new pair of clothes, he could finally get sorted. He just hoped the sorting hat wasn’t too mad at him for being late…

[TwinStorm He/Him]

Raese shifted nervously in line, trying to remember the four houses. His mother had taught it to him, but all he could remember was Gryffindor and Slytherin.

This determines my life. he realized suddenly. That's . . . wow.

[___ He/Him]

Sox watched the sorting with amusement, content with his house of 5 years. He was used to this now, and just watched the confusion of the first-years. Hopefully his house would have some new students.

[Archer he/him]

Rules updates:

1. Elim wincon is parity. 

2. If an elim is removed from the game during Cycle One or Cycle Two, one remaining elim who does not currently know a spell gets to learn a vote manipulation spell for use as soon as the following Cycle. 

3. Once during the game, one elim who does not currently know a spell may learn a non-Obliviate spell for use as soon as the Cycle they learn it in. 

4. The largest house will elect two prefects. In the original series, this would be the Head Boy and Girl, but our interpretation is less concerned about matters of gender. 

 

 

Edited March 26 by Archer

[Mint11 she/her]

Pali looked over the first years, poor things. Some of them were nervous as anything, she'd bet, and they didn't even know how bad the exams would get. Probably for the best that sorting was the only thing their little brains could focus on right now. She remembered how exciting her own sorting was. She had done an admirable job hiding her nerves.

1 hour ago, Through The Living Grass said:

Orry trips over his robe and falls flat on his face in the back of the Great Hall as he rushes in late with the others. Luckily, everyone else is paying attention to the Sorting Hat. Unluckily, when he wakes up, he has sustained a mild concussion and seems to think he is a first year. “Guys? Guys? Where is everyone,” he says to the floor. “What house did I get?”

A boy that was definitely too big for a first year was throwing his lot in with them. She got up from her seat and walked over to him.

"Hello?" Pali waved her hand in front of his face. "You alright there?"

[coco.pudding she/they]

1 hour ago, Through The Living Grass said:

Orry trips over his robe and falls flat on his face in the back of the Great Hall as he rushes in late with the others. Luckily, everyone else is paying attention to the Sorting Hat. Unluckily, when he wakes up, he has sustained a mild concussion and seems to think he is a first year. “Guys? Guys? Where is everyone,” he says to the floor. “What house did I get?”

Vera looks on with amusement as Orry falls on his face. “He appears to have gone mad,” she remarks to Azalea, in a tone and volume that makes it clear she wants everyone to hear. “Thinks he’s a first year again? How ridiculous.”

[Through the Living Hopper He/Him]

2 hours ago, Archer said:

“Late children! I did my annual chore,
Sang many quips and retorts. 
Now you all demand an encore?
Good thing I’m never out of sorts!

I’ll foretell how you will progress
In ten seconds flat. Conveniently 
It’s a very rigorous process
That always distributes evenly. 

I assigned to Hufflepuff once
Every J-name that could be found. 
And I gave the snakes every dunce, 
Just to slow their scheming down. 

Trying to change houses is for naught. 
Age eleven, your traits are forever fixed.
We teach spells, not critical thought,
At Hogwarts School of Wizard and Witch. 

I’ll sort my favourites into Gryffindor,
To our Trophy Room, many have entered.  
Driven and bold, like a lion’s roar.  
Slytherin’s all that, but more self-centered. 

Listen closely to my words, 
As I round out my lists. 
Ravenclaw gets the nerds, 
And… Hufflepuff also exists.  

Before you head to dorms, 
Know we’re in for a jolt.
It’s the calm before the storm.
Waiting for a lightning bolt. 

Some of you hold ill intentions, 
And have joined a cult of myth. 
But that’s barely worth a mention, 
Let’s get this over with!”

This is amazing.

Jarry gulped. What would the Hat reveal? Would it tell them...that?

No, it couldn't.

He walked trembling up to the Hat and placed it on his head.

[Doc12]

16 minutes ago, coco.pudding said:

Vera looks on with amusement as Orry falls on his face. “He appears to have gone mad,” she remarks to Azalea, in a tone and volume that makes it clear she wants everyone to hear. “Thinks he’s a first year again? How ridiculous.”

Azalea giggles. "He's not the only one," she says, pointing at Jarry the sixth year.

8 minutes ago, Through the Living Hopper said:

This is amazing.

Jarry gulped. What would the Hat reveal? Would it tell them...that?

No, it couldn't.

He walked trembling up to the Hat and placed it on his head.

She leans against Vera. "Obviously, not everyone can pull off arriving fashionably late in style and with all their...faculties intact, huh?" 

"Think any of those first years are coming to our House? How many came with us, three? That german kid with the cape seems interested. Bet Leonidas will be excited to have someone to compare cape sizes with." 

"Your project, on the other hand," looking at Trance, "Probably a Hufflepuff. Unless he makes enough of a fuss that the Hat gives up and puts them in Gryffindor like all the hard-headed ones."

"And that cloud-haired boy that Jane scared? Heard him muttering 'Gryffindor' and 'Slytherin' like those were the only two choices. I mean. Hat's probably sick of kids who only like those two Houses, huh?"

[Verdance he/him]

Spoiler

Guys, this is the year before the first book, right?

Fred and George exist :3 

 

[Myst He/Him]

43 minutes ago, Archer said:

Rules updates:

2. If an elim is removed from the game during Cycle One or Cycle Two, one remaining elim who does not currently know a spell gets to learn a vote manipulation spell for use as soon as the following Cycle. 

4. The largest house will elect two prefects. In the original series, this would be the Head Boy and Girl, but our interpretation is less concerned about matters of gender. 

Huh… I have thoughts, but I’ll share them tomorrow.

So…. Slytherin then. Or Ravenclaw, but Slytherin seems to have more people.

Speaking of people though, I’d like someone to join me in red. But I’d prefer to keep it small. What’s the point of a PM if it’s just another thread?

Though if no one does, that’s alright, automatic prefect.

—————

Trance watched the other people scramble towards the hat. Looking over the people around, he sighed in relief. Some people were still there, but way less than the amount of people that could’ve fit at the tables.

He breathed out, readying himself. Once it was his turn… that would affect the rest of his time here. He recognized some people across the tables, including Vera and Azalea, they’d been helpful whenever he saw them. 

[coco.pudding she/they]

5 minutes ago, Doc12 said:

Azalea giggles. "He's not the only one," she says, pointing at Jarry the sixth year.

She leans against Vera. "Obviously, not everyone can pull off arriving fashionably late in style and with all their...faculties intact, huh?" 

"Think any of those first years are coming to our House? How many came with us, three? That german kid with the cape seems interested. Bet Leonidas will be excited to have someone to compare cape sizes with." 

"Your project, on the other hand," looking at Trance, "Probably a Hufflepuff. Unless he makes enough of a fuss that the Hat gives up and puts them in Gryffindor like all the hard-headed ones."

"And that cloud-haired boy that Jane scared? Heard him muttering 'Gryffindor' and 'Slytherin' like those were the only two choices. I mean. Hat's probably sick of kids who only like those two Houses, huh?"

“No, they do seem to be having trouble getting their years straight. How odd. Though I suppose it does take a little extra flair to arrive fashionably late like us, rather than just late, like all the rest.

I do hope we get some of them. We could use some new blood. The one with the cape does seem promising. The other one is almost certainly a Hufflepuff though. Or a Gryffindor. I certainly hope not a Gryffindor, he’d probably just become so infuriating like all the rest of them.” She adds an exaggerated shudder at the end of this line.

Seeing Trance looking in their direction, Vera sends a little wave over to him. “Good luck!” She calls.

[Myst He/Him]

18 minutes ago, Doc12 said:

"Your project, on the other hand," looking at Trance, "Probably a Hufflepuff. Unless he makes enough of a fuss that the Hat gives up and puts them in Gryffindor like all the hard-headed ones."

 

6 minutes ago, coco.pudding said:

I do hope we get some of them. We could use some new blood. The one with the cape does seem promising. The other one is almost certainly a Hufflepuff though. Or a Gryffindor. I certainly hope not a Gryffindor, he’d probably just become so infuriating like all the rest of them.” She adds an exaggerated shudder at the end of this line.

Seeing Trance looking in their direction, Vera sends a little wave over to him. “Good luck!” She calls.

I think I can take a hint…

[coco.pudding she/they]

15 minutes ago, Through the Living Mist said:

 

I think I can take a hint…

Hey, the inter House rivalry with Gryffindor and Slytherin needs to stay strong 

[Myst He/Him]

3 minutes ago, coco.pudding said:

Hey, the inter House rivalry with Gryffindor and Slytherin needs to stay strong 

Alright, give me a sec to PM archer

[Amanuensis he/him]

Y'know, I initially picked Slytherin for my character's backstory with the intention of being in a smaller PM group  I guess I wrongfully assumed most people didn't want to be associated with the sussy sneks.

Decently long introductory RP coming soon. As I'm writing one of the scenes now, I'm figuring I'll let the character of Lamar decide where he'll end up. Given the direction I've taken him so far, I could see a few ways that he could throw a wrench into my original conceit. He's effectively the real game character of my group, given Amara is already dead and Rose / Rina mostly exist on the periphery of things. That said, if other people in Ravenclaw want to interact with Rose and Rina in thread, that's fair game. Maybe I can say that if Lamar dies in the game they will be immediately sent home due to their parents demands / to ensure their safety. Think of Amara and Lamar as deuteragonists in their own little mystery that has little to do with the rest of this game's events (it's a family thing), but the plots ultimately end up tangled when the Death Eaters start being active.

Regarding game stuff, I don't have much to comment on besides meta things involving the rules updates, which I'm generally apprehensive to think much about. If I was younger or in the mood to be a try hard (please don't tempt me, I've got two full time jobs), I would probably try to reverse engineer whatever clarifying questions or strategic considerations might have preceded that post, then marked the types of players I believe would have asked them. I wouldn't make it a PoE, but I'd definitely flag them for extra scrutiny going forward.

ED1T:

Keep in mind that Archer could have been wargaming by himself or chit-chatting with Jo, so it's not hard evidence by any means. Just a potential lead, and singularly useful to look at so we can prepare accordingly.

I'll admit that I have not fully grasped the rules yet, and when I finish my RP, will go back to read them. I believe I understand how voting functions completely, but everything regarding spells is a blur, so the updates are more-or-less gibberish to me

Edited March 26 by Amanuensis

[Araris Valerian he/him]

12 minutes ago, Amanuensis said:

I guess I wrongfully assumed most people didn't want to be associated with the sussy sneks.

I'm pretty sure the hat would default to putting all of us in Slytherin, given that we all play SE on the regular.

[Myst He/Him]

4 minutes ago, Araris Valerian said:

I'm pretty sure the hat would default to putting all of us in Slytherin, given that we all play SE on the regular.

That or ravenclaw considering the amount of analysis and reads that happen. 

[Verdance he/him]

2 minutes ago, Araris Valerian said:

I'm pretty sure the hat would default to putting all of us in Slytherin, given that we all play SE on the regular.

Default I should go to Ravenclaw, then Hufflepuff or Slytherin :3

Orry sat up. “Uh, Vera, which house did you make?” Orry’s older sister, a seventh year named Juno, marches up and spits a spell in his face, jolting him with a blue spark, before quite literally digging into his pocket and taking out a Galleon and marching away wordlessly. Orry watches her leave. “Oh. Amnesia again. Isis’ teeth, that’s the third time this month.” 

[The Unknown Medallion he/him]

Siannain tapped his club— sorry wand against his leg absently. He fell into a comfortable familiar beat. He always missed the music back home when he came to Hogwarts. Not much else, especially with all the hoopla last summer. 

On account of bloodying that royalist twat's lip, Siannain had been forced to watch the first years that were sorted into his house. They expected him to lead them back to the dorms. The little idiots were probably going to get sick on the stairs. Hell, Siannain wouldn't put it past them to fall off the things. Maybe he should stop picking fights. That might get him less punishments.

Nah.

~

3 hours ago, Through the Living Mist said:

It seems like Slytherin is the party PM, but who wants to join me in red?

Party PM? I like the sound of that. Who's going to Slytherin?

I'm leaning towards one of the two. There's not much strategy here imo, I think villagers want big Houses and elims want small ones, but we don't know our alignments yet.

[Amanuensis he/him]

Don't expect a lot more of this quality from me, but felt inspired and hit a decent stride. Overall this has been a fun brain worm. Should probably stop neglecting that final write up for LG110 though lol. It's a lot

 

Rosemary, Marina, and Lamar Penwell

Quote

Rain streaked the windows of the Hogwarts Express in long, crooked fingers, blurring the English countryside into a wash of grey and green. Compartment 14C was quieter than any compartment on the train had a right to be. Within, three siblings were seated together with all the warmth of strangers in a public elevator.

Rosemary sat nearest the window, legs crossed at the ankle, her long straight hair draped over one shoulder like a curtain she could hide behind if needed. She hadn't looked up from her copy of Advanced Rune Translation in twenty minutes, though she hadn't turned a page in ten. Across from her, Marina leaned against the wall with her arms folded, watching the rain with the coiled stillness of someone who preferred walking on solid ground with their own two legs and, once able, would depart this steel death trap with great haste. Her glasses caught the grey light every time the train swayed, firmly strapped against the back of her shaven head with a braid of rubber bands.

Between them sat Lamar. Eleven years old, tall for his age, with a military fade and tight cornrows that their father had taken him to get the morning before. His Hogwarts robes were crisp and new and slightly too big in the shoulders — room to grow into, their mother had said. His hands rested on his knees. He had been still for a long time.

"I want to see her."

The words landed softly, but the effect was immediate. Rosemary's eyes stopped pretending to read. Marina's jaw tightened. Neither of them needed to ask who her was.

"Mum and Dad said no," Rosemary said. She did not look up from her book. Her voice carried the clean, rehearsed finality of someone reciting law. "That's final."

Marina frowned, shaking her head once — a small, tight motion — but said nothing. She kept her gaze fixed on the rain.

Rosemary's eyes flicked to Marina anyway. The glare was sharp and immediate, a silent prosecution: Don't you dare. I know you will, but don't you dare.

Marina didn't flinch at her sister's reflected grimace. She didn't have to. They both already knew how this would all go, in the end.

"Sorry," Lamar said. His voice was gentle — so gentle it almost didn't match the words that followed. "That wasn't a question. I am going to see her. You can't stop me, Rose." A pause. "You couldn't if you tried. You never could."

He said it the way someone says I love you too much to lie to you. There was no venom in it. No challenge. Just a boy stating reality.

"Amara is my sister. Our sister." He looked between them — Rosemary with her curtain of hair and her fortress of rules, Marina with her silence and her stubborn, quiet mercy. "I could never, would never, abandon her. Just like I could and would never abandon either of you."

Marina's arms loosened. She turned from the window and looked at him — really looked at him — and something shifted behind her glasses. "When did you get so grown up?" she murmured.

Lamar let out a breath that was too heavy for an eleven-year-old. "Didn't have much of a choice, did I," he said. It wasn't self-pity. It was arithmetic. "You were both at school. And Dad was home. Every waking hour of every day of leave he’s had has been channeled into me and me alone." He rubbed his thumb along the crease of his trousers. "Every. Single. One."

Rosemary turned a page. The sound was very deliberate. "One might think," she said coolly, "that all that time with our father would make you more inclined to follow his orders."

Lamar winced. His eyes went bright and wet, and for a moment the grown-up cracked and the child showed through — raw and bruised and still, somehow, standing.

"Perhaps," he said quietly, "one might be better off considering how the child who spent the most time with Dad actually feels about him."

The compartment went silent. Rain. Wheels on the track. The muffled laughter of someone else, somewhere further down the train.

Rosemary did not reply. She turned another page. This time, her hand was not quite steady.

Lamar blinked the wetness from his eyes and straightened his too-big robes.

"I'm going to see Amara, Rose. And that's final."

Amara Penwell

Quote

The sky above Hogwarts was the colour of a bruise — deep violet bleeding into ochre at the horizon, the last gasp of a September sun that couldn't quite commit to setting. Amara Penwell floated thirty feet above the Astronomy Tower, cross-legged in the air with her hands resting on her knees, her wild crown of hair drifting around her head in a wind she could no longer feel.

She was meditating. Or trying to.

Wolfsbane. Primary ingredients: aconite petals, powdered moonstone, syrup of hellebore. Brewed over a lunar cycle. Stabilises the lycanthropic transformation but does not cure it. Discovered by — by —

Gone.

She pressed her translucent fingers harder into her knees — a gesture that meant nothing now, phantom pressure against phantom limbs — and tried again.

Wolfsbane. Primary ingredients —

She still had those.

Discovered by —

She'd read the name four days ago. She'd found it in a sheaf of annotated notes tucked into the back of Snape's private supply ledger, a document she had spent two hours painstakingly turning the pages of, one agonising spectral fingertip at a time. She'd repeated the name to herself over and over in the dungeon corridor afterwards, walking it back and forth like a prisoner pacing a cell. She could feel the shape of it — two syllables, started with a hard sound like a D, or maybe a B — but the letters had dissolved like sugar in water, and now there was only the ache where the knowing used to be.

This was the cruelty of it. Death she could catalogue and accept — she had never been particularly attached to her body anyway, had always treated it as an inconvenient container for the mind inside it. No need to eat, drink, sleep, use the loo. Fine. She'd barely done those things willingly when she was alive. Rose used to joke that Amara would forget to breathe if it weren't automatic.

Well. Rose used to joke with her about a lot of things.

The cruelty was this: she could still think. She could still hunger for knowledge with the same ferocity that had once driven her to read three books in a single sitting, to earn the highest marks of her year in every subject, to sit across from Severus Snape in his dim office and argue with him about the ethics of memory modification charms until he pinched the bridge of his nose and dismissed her. She could still want to learn. She just couldn't keep it.

Old knowledge stayed. Everything she had known in life — the encyclopaedic catalogue of spells, potions, history, theory — remained crisp and accessible, a vast library frozen in amber. But anything new slipped through her like light through glass. She could read a page, understand it, hold it for hours, sometimes days, and then one moment she’d try to summon it and find it faded. A sentence she had memorised reduced to a fragment, then a rhythm, then nothing.

She had tried everything. She would float into empty classrooms after hours, find a book left open on a desk, and spend the night poring over it, mouthing the words, building the architecture of understanding inside her mind with painstaking care. Then she would retreat to some hidden room — there were many, in a castle this old — and meditate, turning the knowledge over and over like a stone in a tumbler, trying to wear it into permanence.

It never worked.

The information always faded. And she couldn't exactly steal the books to try again. Her hands passed through them more often than not, and on the rare occasions she managed to nudge a page, the effort left her feeling thin and scattered, like fog stretched too wide.

Wolfsbane. Primary ingredients: aconite petals, powdered moonstone, syrup of hellebore. Discovered by —

She let it go. Opened her eyes to the bruised sky and the black silhouette of the Forbidden Forest and the long, empty road where the carriages would come.

They were late.

Snape's office had been her most recent project. She'd spent the better part of August drifting through his quarters when he was away — the man kept odd hours even by her standards — reading what she could, searching for something, anything, that might explain what had happened to her. He was the last face she'd seen before her life ended. Not a comforting face. Not an unkind one, either. Just — present. Standing at the far end of the corridor near the dungeons, his expression unreadable, saying something she could not hear.

She did not know what Severus Snape was. She knew what he seemed — a difficult, brilliant man who had spent her seven years at Hogwarts testing her, needling her, dangling passages about the Dark Arts in front of her like bait on a hook to see if she'd bite. She had bitten, of course. She bit at everything. Knowledge was knowledge, and Amara had never met a locked door she didn't want to open. He'd seemed almost disappointed when she opened them and found the contents distasteful. Or perhaps he'd been relieved. With Snape, it was impossible to tell.

She didn't have enough to accuse him of anything. She didn't have enough to clear him, either. And the professors — all of them — had closed ranks around the official ruling. Suicide. Consistent with the physical evidence, historical data, and post-graduate circumstances. A horrible tragedy. But not one to dwell on.

She uncrossed her legs and let herself drift lower, descending toward the clocktower in a slow spiral. The grounds were immaculate and empty. Hagrid's hut trailed a thin ribbon of smoke. Somewhere inside the castle, the ghosts of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were no doubt preparing for their usual start-of-term theatrics — the Bloody Baron skulking, Nearly Headless Nick rehearsing his entrance. Amara had little interest in the social politics of the dead. She had been a poor socialiser in life and saw no reason to improve in death.

But she was a good sister. Or she had tried to be.

She thought of the letter. Ghostly parchment, ghostly ink — a peculiar magic that the dead could share among themselves, and occasionally slip to the living, if their connection was sufficiently potent.

I'm okay. Don't worry. I love you, Lam.

She, of course, was not okay. She was worried enough for both of them. But she did love him — fiercely, enormously, in the clumsy and consuming way she loved anything she gave her full attention to. She had held him as a baby, rocked him when he cried, read to him from her textbooks because she didn't own any proper children's stories and couldn't be bothered to find some. He'd fallen asleep to her reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood. He'd grabbed her finger and held on, and she'd thought, Oh. So this is what people mean.

Then she'd gone to Hogwarts. Then the Hat and her decision. Then — silence. Seven years of it, broken only by Rina's secret visits and the occasional letter she smuggled to Lam.

She'd gone home once, after she died. Floated through the walls of the house in Leavesden on a rainy Tuesday in June, invisible and terrified, just to see. Just to know.

Rina had been in her old bedroom, sitting on the floor, holding one of Amara's old jumpers and crying without making a sound. Lam had been in the garden, alone, throwing a tennis ball against the wall and catching it, over and over, his face blank in the way that children's faces go blank when they are trying very hard not to feel something. And Rose — Rose, who had not spoken Amara's name in seven years, who had followed their parents' decree with the fervour of a convert — Rose had been in the bathroom with the door locked and the tap running, and Amara had heard her sobbing through the wood.

Their parents had been in the kitchen. Lutheran was reading the Prophet. Amaryllis was writing a letter. The house was clean, and dinner was on the stove, and neither of them looked like anything had ended.

Amara had left before dawn and had not gone back.

Now she watched the empty road, and the darkening sky, and she tried to hold onto the things she knew: the ingredients of Wolfsbane, the twelve uses of dragon's blood, the sound of her brother's laugh from when he was very small and the world was simple enough to hold in two hands.

The students were late. Lam was coming. Lam, whom she hadn't spoken with in over seven years — not in person, not as herself, not as anything more than a letter, material or ethereal.

She wanted to see him so badly it frightened her.

She was frightened because she wanted it, and she was frightened because he was eleven years old and walking into a castle where someone had murdered his sister, and the adults had called it a suicide, and no one — not one professor, not one ghost, not one painted portrait on these ancient walls — was willing to ask why.

Amara closed her eyes. The wind moved through her and she felt nothing.

Wolfsbane. Primary ingredients: aconite petals, powdered moonstone, syrup of hellebore. Discovered by —

She would try again tomorrow. She would always try. Again and again.

Possibly for an eternity.

Lamar Penwell

Quote

The Black Lake was exactly as dark as its name promised.

Lamar had been watching it from the prow of the little wooden boat, marvelling at how the water swallowed the lantern-light whole, when the boy two boats over went sideways with a yelp and a splash that sent ripples racing across the surface. For a heartbeat, everyone just stared — first years clutching their boats, Hagrid turning with a shout — and then the dark water closed over the boy's head and there was nothing but bubbles and the thrashing of sodden robes.

Lamar was in the water before he made the decision to jump.

It was cold — shockingly, bone-deep cold — and black in a way that had nothing to do with night. His robes dragged at him immediately. He kicked hard, pulling himself forward with strokes his father had drilled into him at five in the morning in the municipal pool in Leavesden, every Saturday, rain or shine, because an Auror who can't swim is an Auror who drowns, boy. He could hear Marina hit the water behind him — a clean, practiced dive, barely a splash — and knew she'd be faster, she was always faster, she'd been swimming competitively since her first year —

But he got there first.

He didn't fully understand it. One moment the boy was an arm's length too far, pale hands scrabbling at nothing, and the next Lamar's fingers had closed around his wrist and he was hauling him up, kicking for the surface with a strength that didn't feel entirely his own. They broke into the air gasping, and Lamar got an arm around the boy's chest and side-stroked toward the nearest bank of muddy shore, and Marina was suddenly beside him, eyes wide behind her water-streaked glasses, helping him drag the boy onto solid ground.

The boy lay on his back, coughing and shivering. He'd lost his robe, his shoes — just a skinny kid in a soaked white shirt, blinking up at the stars.

"You alright?" Lamar asked, crouching beside him.

The boy nodded, still coughing.

"Lamar Penwell," he said, and offered his hand. The boy took it — cold, trembling fingers — and Lamar pulled him to sitting just as Hagrid came thundering down the bank, enormous coat already half-off to wrap around the shivering first year.

"Right, right, come on then, let's get yeh sorted out —" Hagrid scooped the boy up like he weighed nothing and carried him off toward the castle, muttering about spare robes and the giant squid's temper.

Lamar stood, dripping, and wrung out the front of his robes. Marina appeared at his side, still catching her breath. Water ran from her close-shaven head in thin rivulets.

"How," she said flatly.

"How what?"

"How did you get to him before me?"

He shrugged, shaking water from his cornrows. "Dunno. Dad’s training, I guess."

Rosemary was waiting on the path above, dry and immaculate, arms folded. She looked him up and down with an expression caught between disapproval and something she would never admit was pride.

"You're soaking wet."

"Astute observation, sis."

"You were fast," Marina said, still frowning at him like he was a maths problem she couldn't solve. "That wasn't — I've been swimming for three years, Lamar. Competitively. You're not even an official First Year yet."

"And I'm also freezing." He started up the path toward the castle, shoes squelching. "Can we get inside? I'd rather not be sorted looking like a drowned rat."

Marina exchanged a look with Rosemary. For once, they were in silent agreement: something about that wasn't normal. But Lamar was already ahead of them, and there were bigger things waiting inside.

The Great Hall was a graveyard of celebration. Confetti clung to the flagstones in soggy clumps. Candle stubs wept wax onto the long house tables, now empty and pushed to the sides. The enchanted ceiling showed a sky full of stars that the real sky outside hadn't bothered to deliver.

Professor McGonagall's expression suggested that five hours of waiting had not improved her disposition.

Lamar stood in the cluster of late first years, freshly dried by a charm Marina had whispered over him in the corridor, and watched the Sorting Hat deliver what was either a song or a threat. It was difficult to tell. The Hat had opinions — about Hufflepuff, about Slytherin, about its own diet — and shared them with the enthusiasm of someone who had been alone with its thoughts for five hours too long and intended to make everyone suffer for it.

When it finished, McGonagall set it on the stool with more force than was strictly necessary.

"Line up, please. First years."

The names were called. One by one, the stragglers sat on the stool and disappeared under the brim, and one by one the Hat sent them off — Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff — to find their houses in the empty hall and make their own way to the dormitories. It was efficient and unceremonious, stripped of the pageantry the on-time students had received. McGonagall was not in the business of rewarding tardiness.

"Penwell, Lamar."

His legs carried him forward. The stool was old and hard and still warm from the last student. McGonagall lowered the Hat onto his head, and the brim dropped past his eyes, and the Great Hall vanished.

Oh, said a voice. It wasn't in his ears. It was behind his thoughts, beside them, woven into them like a thread pulled through fabric. Oh, my. Another Penwell.

Lamar said nothing. He gripped the edges of the stool.

Relax, boy. I don't bite. I did try to bite a house elf earlier, but that was a dietary matter. A pause. Now. Let's see what we're working with.

He felt it — a strange, rummaging sensation, like someone flipping through a card catalogue with very precise fingers. Not painful. Not comfortable, either.

Fascinating. You are — and I don't say this lightly — remarkably difficult.

Why? Lamar thought.

Because you belong everywhere. The Hat sounded almost annoyed. Do you know how inconvenient that is? I have four boxes, Mr. Penwell. Four. And you insist on not fitting neatly into any of them.

The Hat shifted on his head, settling deeper.

Let's take inventory, shall we? Courage — you jumped into a freezing lake tonight without hesitation to save a boy whose name you didn't know. Didn't think about it. Didn't weigh the risks. Just went. A flicker of something warm. Gryffindor would be proud to have you. Godric himself would have clapped you on the back and bought you a drink — you're eleven, so perhaps a butterbeer — but the impulse is there. Thoughtless, selfless bravery. The real kind, not the strutting kind.

Lamar felt his chest tighten.

But then there's the kindness. The way you spoke to your sisters on the train — that wasn't just bravery, that was grace. You told Rosemary the truth and you did it without cruelty. You held space for her pain while standing firm in your own. That is Hufflepuff at its finest. Boundless, stubborn, load-bearing kindness. The sort that holds families together when everything else has failed.

Lamar's hands were shaking. He pressed them harder into the stool.

And the mind — oh, the mind. The Hat's voice dropped, almost reverent. Your father trains you like a soldier, but you think like a scholar. You retain everything. You see patterns before anyone tells you they're there. Your family has produced Ravenclaws for four generations, and you would honour that legacy beautifully. Your mother was Head Girl. Your father was Prefect. Rosemary and Marina sit at that table now. The path is well-worn and waiting for you.

Lamar closed his eyes. Behind them, he saw his father's study. The framed certificates. The House crest on the wall.

And then, the Hat said quietly, there is the cunning.

A different silence. Heavier.

You told your sister that seeing Amara wasn't a question. You told her she couldn't stop you, and you said it with a smile. That's not just determination, Mr. Penwell. That's strategy. You knew exactly what you were doing — you chose the words that would end the argument, and you delivered them in a way that made resistance impossible. You're eleven years old and you already understand that the gentlest voice in the room is often the most dangerous. A low, thoughtful hum. Slytherin would sharpen you. Slytherin would teach you to use what you already have.

Lamar sat very still.

Your family expects Ravenclaw, the Hat continued. You know this. You know what it would mean if you chose otherwise. You've seen what it cost your sister.

I know, Lamar thought.

So. Where shall I put you?

And there it was — the question, hanging in the dark behind his eyes. Four doors. Four versions of himself. The brave one, the kind one, the brilliant one, the cunning one. His father's voice in one ear. Amara's letter in the other. I'm okay. Don't worry. Love you, Lam.

I appreciate the analysis, Lamar thought carefully. But I need you to understand something.

By all means.

You're not going to decide this for me. I'm going to tell you where I belong, and you're going to put me there. As he said it, Lamar imagined he was speaking with his father.

The Hat was quiet for a long moment. When it spoke again, there was something in its voice that might have been respect.

Your sister said almost the exact same thing.

Lamar opened his eyes. The brim of the Hat still covered them, but he didn't need to see. Somewhere in the hall — he couldn't have said where, couldn't have explained how he knew — he felt something cold and familiar, watching. Waiting. A presence that had known him before he could walk, that had read him textbooks as lullabies, that had held his finger and never really let go.

He opened his mouth.

ED1T:

Fixed thought italics that were lost in pasting.

Have not yet decided which House that Lamar will pick, if that cliffhanger wasn't clear. Neither him nor I like being predictable.

Edited March 26 by Amanuensis

[Through the living Wahr He/Him]

When Leokadius finally arrived at Hogwarts, he was not in a good mood, they had managed to be five hours late. Professor McGonnagal had some very Stern words for all of them and then some more Stern words for him.

After the Penwell boy got Sorted Prof. McGonnagal called out his Name: Seydlitz, Leokadius and he made his way to the Front, where he sat down on the stool and put the sorting hat on his head. "Interesting, Interesting," murmured the hat in his head "a German, we dont See your Kind here often, there is no long house Tradition in your family, well lets See, you want to use this chance you got, wanting to learn as much as you can, so maybe Ravenclaw? But you also have Ambition, you want to make friends, but not just any friends, you want friendships that will be benificial in the future, so maybe Slytherin?" The hat continued his Analysis in Leokadius head before calling out:

"SLYTHERIN"

Leokadius removed the hat and walked back to the others.

 

[Myst He/Him]

Oh yeah, I can roleplay the sorting.

I think I’m bashing Trance more than any of yall have yet. 

- - - - - - - -

Trance sat down on the stool, hands shaking. He really hoped it went well. His hands tightened, as the Hat spoke.

”Hmm… Interesting… Trance Vigon… Your quite interesting. 

You had potential for Gryffindor, you could fit in there, but you lack the spine, the determination. Perhaps you’ll gain it soon enough, but Gryffindor is for those who have courage, not for those who need to find it.

As for Hufflepuff… how do I put this nicely…. You won’t outshine any of your classmates, so there’s a safe bet.

A rather sharp mind, Ravenclaw would fit you….” The Sorting Hat laughed dismissively, “If you stopped overthinking things, that is. Yes, you could be brilliant, but you overthink the simplest things. How would advance wizard-kind if you can’t even get past a conversation?

Slytherin… good old Slytherin. Quite a few people here have that potential, the scheming alone would qualify them. But that’s them, not you. I doubt you could pull off a cape either. If you could… none of the other houses would appreciate it… but you could never, so that’s that.”

Trance shivered, if he didn’t fit any of them….

”Now now, don’t get nervous, we’ve got places for people like you.” The Hat said before shouting out, “Hufflepuff”

Trance sighed in relief 

The sorting hat whispered one more thing before McGonnagal took it off his head. 

“Oh, and remember, my underachieving friend: don’t let the Slytherins bully you too much”

[Qianweilian He/him]

Leonidas watched the sorting. Most of them like children, he watched with a detached disinterest. Although, the mention of "Ill intentions" from the sorting hat gave him pause. He had never heard of the Sorting Hat spouting off anything like that. Perhaps... Dumbledore had given it a new routine? Regardless, it likely didn't matter. He watched as some of the last first years came up. "SLYTHERIN!" Interesting, a Leo of Slytherin. Leonidas nudged the student next to him, "and look, he even has a cape too. I had no idea I was so famous."

(I left who he was talking to open, so anyone could join in.)