❝ It simply isn't an
adventure worth telling
if there aren't any dragons ❞
j.r.r. tolkien
Madge Findley had the pleasure of being dragged into the Weasley twin's escapades for most of her Hogwarts life. But, even after all of these years of knowi...
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𝕿orrential rain greeted the four sixth year girls, as their carriage reached the bottom of the Hogwarts steps. They quickly created the umbrella's once more, shrieking and laughing as they sprinted up the steps, holding up the bottom of their robes.
Once inside, on the slippery stone floor, the girls cast quick drying spells on each other, smoothing and fixing their hair. They all continued to laugh, hooking their arms through each others.
"Madge, come on!" Lena grabbed the taller girl's arm, both of them skidding into the Great Hall, laughing hysterically to each other. Their chuckles joined the chorus of chatter coming from the other students sitting at the four tables, though the girls ignored three of them to skid over to the yellow and black covered table of Hufflepuff.
They were some of the last to arrive, having been procrastinating getting off the train into the rain, most students already sitting in their seats and complaining about the lack of food and the slowness of the Sorting Ceremony.
"No new teachers this year." Lean pointed out, as Madge and her both did a headcount. Sure enough, there was no one new at the head table. Professor Flitwick was sporting a new moustache, Professor Sprout's hair was just as wild as normal, though it did look like there was a plant growing through her hat, Snape just looked like a git and Dumbledore was watching the students with a half-grin. The other teachers all seemed relatively the same since the events of last year, with an empty chair being left for Professor McGonagall, the intimidating head of Gryffindor.
"Odd. I thought they'd fired Lupin." Madge's face was lit up by a sudden fork of lighting shooting across the enchanted ceiling. The pair both looked up, before the doors opened once more and McGonagall appeared with a long line of first years. Madge smiled at any that caught eyes with her, hoping that it would reassure them, for they all looked like they wished for the ground to swallow them whole. "Poor things. They look scared to death."
"Shut up. The hat's singing." Lena pinched her leg, as Madge struggled not to yelp in pain. Sure enough, the hat had opened it's mouth, launching into a song about the houses. Madge rolled her eyes, not bothering to truly pay attention. The hat sang about basically the same thing each year, though in a new rhyme that he'd made up over the course of the school year and holiday.
For some reason, Lena adored them. Madge did not share her sentiment.
Nor did she particularly enjoy sorting ceremonies for once you had seen one of them, then you had seen all of them. Plus, after a long train ride, the last thing Madge particularly wanted to do was to watch eleven year olds be sorted. She just, truly, wanted to eat some food and then go to bed.
