1st of September, 1895 — Hogwarts Great Hall
Before the Sorting

There was majesty in the vaulted ceilings of the Great Hall, and Silas might have been none the wiser for stepping inside a cathedral instead. Tapestries hung against the walls while stained glass imagery loomed above, yet these lacked the pastoral iconography of his childhood stories. For a boy raised to be curious, but faithful, Silas had tried his best to discern a message from the dreamlike quality of these visions. The castle, the stones beneath his feet, the children around him, they all seemed so real and still so otherworldy. He was ready to be a faithful servant, to perform the necessary deeds for his belief, if only he could figure out what those were before he woke up.

Before this dream of his turned into a waking nightmare instead.

'Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say it is well, it is well with my soul...' The erstwhile chorister recited the words of the hymn from memory, clinging to them as a lifeline. Silas didn't want to move his feet, only doing so begrudgingly with the line beginning to bulge behind him and the gap to the children ahead, willingly about to be inducted into this nightmare, began to grow. Portraits whispered from the walls, and no portrait in a church had ever whispered. Candles floated above his head, and no candle had ever floated in church either. Any comparison to a cathedral was much too unfair to the likes of a cathedral governed by men; men ordained by holy power but men nonetheless.

Silas had believed the professor who said his name was written down upon his birth, he had believed in the divinity of the gift being offered to him. And now in the midst of it, what the boy saw could not convince him of its holiness. Children shrouded in black robes and pointed hats, paintings that moved of their own accord, a ceiling bewitched to appear as if it might not be there at all...these were the hallmarks of such a divine gift? Worse yet, those overseeing the whole affair, grown and entrusted with the education of their pupils, whose number they now counted him among, seemed to have not a single problem with any of it. Perhaps this was all simply a test of his faith, as Mama and Papa had told him, but for the once-curious boy, grandson of nobleman and clergy, the only thing left that made any sense to Silas was his faith.

He didn't want it to be tested, he didn't want to be tested at all.

"Don't you see it?" He asked of another child near him, who brushed past him instead to join those in the line ahead. He tried with another, "Things aren't supposed to be like this." And another, "Candles aren't supposed to float, paintings aren't supposed to move..."

This was the nightmare come upon him at last. Promises had been whispered to him, cloaked in the garb of divinity and demonstrated by miracles he'd believed once to be true, and now Silas was caught in their prickly grasp. He turned and turned, looking to someone, anyone, who might help. Anyone who might listen. A tempest within him boiled at his bitten lips, shut tight lest he cry out too loudly and wake whatever it was that kept him asleep. All he wanted to do was wake up, all he wanted to do was scream, and only one of those desires won out.

"THIS IS BLASPHEMY!"

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OOC: Open to any first years, professors, or concerned students at Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables (in the middle of the great hall according to GHRS order).

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   Ashley Allen

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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.

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   Basil Foxwood, Silas Merlion

From above, a hand came down upon his shoulder and Silas could hardly bear to look. He feared it just as a boy should fear the Almighty, or one of His messengers, and feared as well that he might be blinded like Isaac or struck dumb as Zechariah. The hand felt mighty indeed, pressing down with the weight of the Heavens. Silas trembled beneath it, had he angered the one who was all-knowing, all-seeing, by speaking out against that which was of His making after all? He might have thought earlier to pray, so as to enlist an agent of Heaven as an ally instead, but now he could do little else other than face his fate.

The boy's only comfort was that lightning had not yet struck him down where he stood.

He turned his face up to look into a woman's, who did not, as Silas surmised, look very angry at him. He wondered for a moment whether she did know he was standing there, the woman had done little else to regard him. The weight on his shoulder was steadfast, however, and he would have to take the rest on faith alone. Faith, as well, kept Silas on his feet and breathing, a task that did actually seem a bit easier now with the woman nearby him.

"You see it too, don't you ma'am?" he ventured, cautiously in case he was, indeed, speaking to a divine messenger. One sent to guide him safely out of this place, perhaps. Back home again, where the dreams of the Navy still belonged to Silas, untainted by a place of such blasphemy. Faith, too, helped him see that much. It served as another lifeline to the boy, a rope he tied about his waist to keep him from being swept away. "There's something wrong here..."

Silas gazed out over the sea of black robes, crooked hats, and the dark mysteries that made such wrong things possible. Things that might have been miracles, that otherwise could have been divine magic indeed if performed in a cathedral or sanctified ground, but not in such a place as this. Were someone else to shout or join them, he would welcome them into the folds of the true believers, that now numbered just two. "...and no one else realizes."

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'Awwwwww.' Maeve thought at she watched the wee firsties shuffle between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables and towards the Sorting Hat. They looked so tiny in their new robes that they would surely would grow into but at that very moment they looked so large enough to swallow them whole.

'I was never this small.' She thought to herself knowing full well that that was an absolute lie. Her mother had bought her robes especially big so as to last as many growth spurts as they could - so large that even at fifteen and her fifth year at school Maeve had still simply been able to make them fit by unpicking and redo her tailoring stitches and adjusting the hem length to ensure she wouldn't cause any undue disturbances. It had been a good thing that they were black and able to be redyed and she'd known enough repair charms and tricks to keep them presentable enough- otherwise they would've seriously begun to show their wear and tear. Still, the fabric was beginning to fray and become threadbare in some spots and eventually making her patches and stitches just wouldn't work. Next year she'd probably have to get a different set of robes... which made sense as she didn't think she'd have enough hem to work with when it came to dropping the hem to the lengths she'd seen the sixth years wearing.

"They look so cute and tiny." she whispered to the person beside her, grinning at a particularly tiny ickle first year muggleborn that seemed to be freaking out about the magic everywhere. It had seemed that somebody had missed The talk. She'd never had it but she thought that it was particularly thorough.

"I thought Professor Valenduris explained to all the muggleborns about Magic?" She said aloud - too loud apparently. Her voice echoed across the now-silent hall, sounding far harsher than she’d intended.

Mave winced. "Ooops." She offered lamely, turning in her seat to face the little icky first year whom Professor Brierley now seemed to have in hand, literally - the teacher's hand rested on the student's shoulder.

"It's just magic silly," She said with a wide grin. "There's certainly nothing wrong here, no blasphemy or anything like that. I'm sure you've done it yourself before if you are here." She took out her wand and murmured a brief spell and her goblet began to glitter and glow and the metal that it had been made out of warped and soon appeared to be made out of a embossed transparent crystal. She knew she was showing off and had tried her best to think of an intricate enough design to hopefully awe a firstie and for an additional flourish she'd added a touch of house pride and ensuring the crystal faded from yellow at the rim to black at the base. She tried her best to look warm and welcoming. Hopefully she wouldn't be costing her house points this soon after the year began. After the unfortunate demise of their Head that summer being in the negatives just as term began was not the start her House needed.

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   Silas Merlion

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Ancient Studies

Care of Magical Creatures

Ghoul Studies

Charms Club

Art Club

Creatures Club

Gobstones Club

Transfiguration Club

Kitty nodded next to Mauve. They did seem so young. How they been that small when they's first walked in the Great Hall.

"He does. Or at least Professor Darrow did." Kitty assured the older girl, thinking of her own meeting before she had started school.

The boy looked panicked though and Kitty felt her heart go out to him. She too had sat through muggle services, although she had always wanted to believe in magic so the transition hadn't been too terrible.

"Maeve." She lightly scolded, "You'll only distress him more." She stood up and walked to the Professor and the boy, "I realize." She told him gently. "Where are you from?" Maybe if she directed the conversation elsewhere it might calm him down, she reasoned.

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   Silas Merlion

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"I thought Professor Valenduris explained to all the muggleborns about Magic?"

The voice cried out in the wilderness that pervaded the Great Hall now, a jungle of madness as far as the boy's eye could see. It belonged to a student, he could tell that as his muscles tensed when she turned around to get a look at him. Grinningly warm, while whispering sweet words, this had to be temptation before him at last. Would he survive as long if his, too, stretched for forty days and nights?

"Professor Griffith told me that magic was an expression of divinity," Silas tried to explain, in hopes that the older girl might come to see the light. He cared not for the way she spoke to him, using that word he'd heard tossed about so disdainfully. Muggleborn, used in the same manner that his parents might for Catholics, and it sounded like such an ugly thing. The boy shouldn't like being seen as something ugly or disdainful, yet in this such crowd, would being adored really be so highly prized?

If divinity was being expressed here, it doing an exceptional job at hiding.

The way that the student spoke of it, he couldn't think there had been any such magic performed at his hands. When the goblet began to glow, and the metal reshaped, all Silas could think of was the story of Moses. The pharaoh had his magicians, too, who had cast snakes forth from staves. That was magic meant to deceive, to trick, that couldn't be the kind of magic the professor had spoken of this summer. Otherwise he, and his parents too, had fallen victim to those serpents of deceit. The boy might have taken a step back from the profane transformation, if the woman's hand was not so sturdy upon his shoulder.

A part of Silas wished he could still be small enough to hide behind a woman's skirts at the appearance of something awful. That was a childish desire, and he was not so much a child any longer. A sailor could not hide nor cower, but he was much more resilient with others in his crew. That made the boy smile when another student, a girl at the same table, stood up to join his small, but growing, alliance. He beamed at her, with all the camaraderie meant for others who could share in the burdens of true belief.

"Ipswich, but Grandfather has his estate in Dedham Vale proper. Have you ever been?" Silas found some warmth again in responding to the girl, who didn't talk so far down to him as the others. Perhaps he might find other kindred souls at this school after all. That sung like a hymn carried on his soul, loosening the fear in his body. She was only one more voice, but sometimes one voice was enough to stir the faith of many.

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"Miss Arundell, perhaps you might show our new young friend around the castle after the ceremony is permitted to begin?" And conclude. Her tone was not an unkind one, though her eyes very much suggested to the Hufflepuffs that now was not the time for chatter.

"As for you, lad," she had, by now, removed her hand, the appendage having done its duty and calmed him somewhat, "why don't we step into the corridor? It seems you have questions, but this is not the place at the moment."

She made a mental note that it had been Griffith, not Valenduris, to induct the poor muggleborn into the magical world and he had not done a tremendous job of it. Hopefully, Nell could smooth out the kinks before it was the boy's turn to be sorted—away from the prying eyes and ears of over-eager Hufflepuffs!

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   Silas Merlion

Maeve couldn't help but let out a little giggle at Kitty's scolding and tried to school her features into something more serious. It was really rather funny for the boy to have gotten so far and to have not been informed of the more intricate parts of magic - and she hoped that the first year when looking back would see the bright side of it all as well.

The fact that Professor Griffith seemed to have mistakenly confused the boy was also amusing - it was certainly a crack in the rather mysterious professor that she knew relatively nothing about. He taught Alchemy which was only available to NEWT students but as she didn't take Alchemy and hadn't yet decided if it was an interesting enough subject for her to think about taking next year at which point she'd probably have to look at her Potions marks that was pretty much the sum total of what she really knew about him.

She tried to maintain her expression as Professor Brierly attempted to de-escalate the situation. As opposed to Professor Griffth she actually was taught by the Care of Magical Creatures Professor.

She stood and went to retrieve her housemate.

"Come back to the table Kitty, Professor Brierly will look after... " She trailed off trying to remember if a name had ever been mentioned. It hadn't. "Him." She said, settling on the vague pronoun.

"We will see him after sorting. With any luck you'll be in Hufflepuff - Home of the loyal and hardworking!" She added tugging on Kitty's sleeve to get her to follow the Professors' implied direction.

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   Silas Merlion

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Ancient Studies

Care of Magical Creatures

Ghoul Studies

Charms Club

Art Club

Creatures Club

Gobstones Club

Transfiguration Club

"I've not had the pleasure but my brother has -" Kitty started before her professor cut in. She flushed, but as she had spent much of the summer feeling the odd one out and realized that if the lad's grandfather had an estate she might be uniquely positioned to help, well she said as much.

"Begging your pardon Professor Brierley but perhaps I might be of assistance and go with you both?" She after all knew what it was like to be a muggleborn attending Hogwarts and her family was quite well respected. After a summer of being treated as such perhaps Kitty had rather forgotten it was not precisely the same at Hogwarts.

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   Maeve Halloran, Silas Merlion

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"Mr. Merlion does not lack knowledge," said an even voice behind Prof. Brierly. Professor Griffith stood behind her, looking in his austere dark robes like a column of the castle. The Alchemy professor had appeared at the place of the commotion so suddenly and quietly as if summoned by a spell.

Griffith looked coldly down unto the Hufflepuff girls and the boy, whose pale and stubborn little face had grown familiar to him since the summer. Mr. Merlion was in his estimation not unimaginative enough to be stumped by floating candles. Silas Merlion was protesting his fate. "He merely presents an unbecoming lack of composure," the Professor thus said.

Griffith stepped around Prof. Brierly to address the boy directly. "Mr. Merlion, you would be well advised to settle down with the others and follow the tradition of the sorting ceremony. You ought to know better than to interrupt procedure. Such manners would not serve you well in Dartmouth, either."

Professor Griffith had always been a proponent of nipping troublesome attitudes in the bud.

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   Barnabas Skeeter, Silas Merlion

When a dark figure made his sudden appearance, Silas was struck with a sturdier sense of calm than his resolve under the woman's —Professor Brierly— hand. Professor Griffith, his stern words come from that place miles above him, carried a resonance of the power he felt within this place. At the side of the pond, the man stood out like a withered oak, but here in the Great Hall he belonged. His words struck like a voice of judgement, far from the wilderness, and they rang as clear as a church bell in the boy's head. Silas stiffened in response, his chin leveled and his shoulders squared again.

He was a chorister ready to sing, or a chosen boy ready to meet divine fate.

"I never meant to dispense with ceremony, sir," he said in his defense, and immediately frowned in its inadequacy. Papa would never have accepted that explanation, though at times Mama might have. As his eyes wandered over to the women circling him, Silas found nothing of familial resemblance in their faces. He was far from home, even far from Dartmouth. None of it was fair, nor did any of it even made sense! Yet little of that changed the manner of thinking which Professor Griffith's words set upon him. "I spoke out of order, it will not happen again."

Silas wasn't entirely sure how much he meant that. He wanted to believe it could be true, his faith in Griffith had been won by trust. That faith could only carry him so far, and the boy wanted to trust it hadn't carried him straight into the lion's den. Surrounded by witches and wizards might as well be surrounded by lions instead. He wanted to believe that he could muster the same courage as Daniel had, to stare unflinchingly right into the gaping, hungry mouth of the lion. A shaky breath moved through his body, and the boy could have sworn he felt teeth on the back of his neck.

Quietly, Silas allowed himself one small whisper of prayer, finding courage from song and the one girl whose resolve appeared stronger than his own. 'And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight.'

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   Samuel Griffith

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The Alchemy professor let him speak, but his defensive attempt did not seem to impress. "Whatever you intended to accomplish, I won't question; however, you are holding up the ceremony, Mr. Merlion," Professor Griffith replied.

He saw that his prior words had their impact, it was evident. The boy straightened up like he was pulled on a string. Professor Griffith knew the world that was his place of Genesis. Silas Merlion was frightened, but it was not kindness that would take his fear away.

"Go and stand in file with your peers. Watch what they do and do just the same. Thousands before you went through the sorting ceremony, and you will accomplish it as well," he instructed, each word narrowing the corridor of what was left to do or to say. "We will have a word when the feast is over." Finally, he released Mr. Merlion from his attention and he briefly glanced towards Professor Brierley.
"Now go, all of you," the Professor added, including the Hufflepuff girls in the gesture of his hand.

Only when the children scattered and the two Professors moved towards the faculty table did he address his colleague.
"Forgive my interference, Professor. If you wish, we can discuss the matter of Silas Merlion at the table." Then, until he reached his seat, Griffith remained silent and his eyes remained fixed on the chair, where Valenduris just lowered the hat unto the first students head.

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   Silas Merlion