As a result of an incident in one of the paddocks, Professor Elenora Brierly had been faced with a choice: she could be on time for the annual welcome feast, or she could be clean. It came as no surprise, given the nature of the incident, that she chose the latter.
Fashionably late, though not particularly fashionable in attire (clean black robes over a tidy shirt and trousers; hair tied back but plainly fighting against this effort), Nell made her way from her rooms down to the Great Hall without too much haste. This year's class of first years, she had heard, looked to be a rather large one (owing, perhaps, to the amortentia scandal around about their conception?) which meant a steady parade of sortings before the feast would begin properly. She would not have held her position if she did not like children to a degree, did not wish to see them realize their potential et cetera, but patience had never been one of the witch's greatest strengths. If she missed A through G, well, she would have that less time to wait.
"...BLASPHEMY!"
The shrill declaration punctured the air as Nell entered the Hall just behaind the dais, and immediately, she identified its source: a young blond lad in the Sorting line (which had seemingly scarcely progressed at all—more's the pity). As she was already on her feet, and Professor Valenduris literally had the Sorting Hat in hand, Nell made a beeline for the muggleborn (for he must be; those who grew up with magic did not concern themselves with blasphemies) and set a hand upon his shoulder.
Fashionably late, though not particularly fashionable in attire (clean black robes over a tidy shirt and trousers; hair tied back but plainly fighting against this effort), Nell made her way from her rooms down to the Great Hall without too much haste. This year's class of first years, she had heard, looked to be a rather large one (owing, perhaps, to the amortentia scandal around about their conception?) which meant a steady parade of sortings before the feast would begin properly. She would not have held her position if she did not like children to a degree, did not wish to see them realize their potential et cetera, but patience had never been one of the witch's greatest strengths. If she missed A through G, well, she would have that less time to wait.
"...BLASPHEMY!"
The shrill declaration punctured the air as Nell entered the Hall just behaind the dais, and immediately, she identified its source: a young blond lad in the Sorting line (which had seemingly scarcely progressed at all—more's the pity). As she was already on her feet, and Professor Valenduris literally had the Sorting Hat in hand, Nell made a beeline for the muggleborn (for he must be; those who grew up with magic did not concern themselves with blasphemies) and set a hand upon his shoulder.