Opening Feast (1961-1962) - Gryffindor Table

- Lionel Bryant Lefevre's Posts

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So this was the Great Hall... Lionel thought to himself as he walked through the hall's impressive entrance. He was almost like a tourist in the middle of the Hogwarts crowd, and to some regard, perhaps he was. This was after all, his first exposure to anywhere outside of the continent. His eyes traced every dip, peak and curvature of the hall's architecture as he strolled into the gradually increasing crowd. Lionel had never seen anything quite like the great hall: the sky-like ceilings, candles hanging in mid air in a kind of orderly randomness - everything.

Now where was it he was suppose to head off to again? Lionel paused for a moment to recall his house. Ah yes... Gryffindor... He scouted around for the symbol of the house of red and gold, and spotted the banner just to his left. He smiled when his eyes caught sight of its mascot; the lion, the very creature which had inspired the creation of his name. Lionel was glad he had at least been sorted into uncle Ryuu's old house rather than any of the others, that way, he knew the kind of characters he would be confronted with - at least on the general level. He had been relatively nervous about the whole moment with the strange sorting hat quite suddenly when it had been his turn; he had been so afraid he would be launched into any less friendly an environment. It had appeared strange to Lionel that he needed to be sorted at al:; Beauxbatons had been quite different, divisions were formed over time depending on the classes one took and the friends made along the way - Quidditch athletes had some social advantage of course - all in all not like the house system that divided the student body in Hogwarts.

Quite suddenly, something collided against his leg. Lionel winced and sat down on the nearest bench, reaching to soothe the part of his leg that would soon develop a faint bruise. He had unknowingly walked right into the edge of the Gryffindor table in consequence of his distracted attention. With that dealt with, Lionel looked up and noticed that only two others were present at the table so far. Observing that they seemed to be in the midst of their own private conversation, he decided against interrupting them and diverted his attention instead to the strange food that was laid out before him. Quite gingerly, he lifted a goblet of pumpkin juice and stared into its orange-yellow depths, wondering what in the world it could be - definitely not something he had ever consumed. Equally carefully, Lionel replaced the goblet back on the table and moved on to inspect the other dishes just in front of him as he waited for more people to arrive.

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This is interesting... tres interesting... Lionel sheepishly picked up an odd looking morsel between his index finger and his thumb, putting in on his plate while deliberating if he should consume it then and there. He had been musing with so much concentration that he was startled when a voice unexpectedly addressed him:

"You have any idea what this is?"
Lionel looked up with a jerk, he hadn't even noticed when the girl had arrived, neither had he realised when she had seated herself beside him. He had been too engrossed in the strange array of appetisers that he had forgotten to take heed of his surroundings. Had her last question been directed at him? His face breifly bore an expression of confusion before realisation dawned on him. From her posture and her body language he realised the young lady had actually been talking to him for a while. For a moment, he wondered what was the girl questioning him about, then, his eye caught sight of the strange goblet of yellow-orange liquid she had cupped in her hand.

"Non..." Lionel began, his eyes looking up to note his new companion. "Er... I mean, no." The lion quickly corrected himself. The girl did not look like she was from England, and she definitely did not look like she would speak French. He wasn't sure where exactly was she from as he had never really known many people with features like hers. In any case, he would have to remember that he had to communicate in English now - this was Hogwarts, not Beauxbatans.

"I have never seen something quite like it actually." he continued "I guess you're new to Hogwarts as well eh? I'm Lionel." he beamed with a smile.

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"I'm Amaya Kayama, pleased to meet you Lionel,"
She had smiled. That was a good sign. Privately in his thoughts Lionel gave a sign of relief, her smile had told him he hadn't said anything too awkward, and neither had he been too forthcoming in his introduction. He hadn't been sure if jumping straight to the point with his name was the right way to go around here even though Ryuu had said it was - Armadeo had never quite approved of it. English culture sure was strange; in France, it was always better to call someone one didn't know by his or her last name or risk being deemed as rude. Addressing someone on a first name basis was something one did to those below you, and friends one was intimate with. Peer-wise, first names were alright in schools, but there had ever been the occasional arrogant individual who thought his family too great to be considered as equals to the rest of the school. At least - Amaya, was it? - didn't appear to be that kind of arrogant snob; the undesired kind of characteristics appeared to be found more at the green table - or so it seemed, as Lionel's eye glanced over what appeared to be a rather tense commotion unfolding barely two metres away.

"And yes, I'm new here as well. And also new to England as you can probably hear,"
His smiled broadened to a grin at her friendly demenour, his guarded manners slowly falling away as his earlier nervousness faded. Lionel was glad he wasn't alone in this advanture on this strange island.

"Are you a fifth year as well?" he asked, after realising that he wasn't too certain about the young lady's age.

Their conversation was momentarily interupted by one of the two older students Lionel had seen conversing earlier when he had first arrived. Lionel's question appeared to have gone unnoticed, but the young lion didn't mind.

"Hello, welcome to Gryffindor. I'm Hayden Battersea, but call me Ty. This is Irene O'Connors, one of your prefects. Anything we can do to help, just ask. We may be Lions but we don't bite. Oh, and get ready to hear :"How was your summer ?" , ten thousand times."
Lionel stifled a chuckle. "We may be lions but we don't bite" - what an amusing idea. So his name was Ty, and the belle he had been intimate with was Irene. Their earlier behaviour suggested that they were a couple, how sweet. Prefects were they? Or was it just Irene who was? Lionel wondered who they other prefects were - something to find out tomorrow perhaps, if they didn't all turn up for the feast. Ryuu had mentioned something about the feast skipping tradition some of the students seemed to have adopted. Lionel frowned slightly as the thought came to mind. It seemed all too impolite not to attend the official opening feast of a school. Then again, many of the students appeared to be engaging in some form of tomfoolery or creating a scene in their respective circles at this 'opening feast'. English behaviour... Lionel thought to himself, again, more things to grow accustomed to.

Amaya had shifted her attention from him for a while after Ty had gave his introductory speech - an opportunity for him to try out that strange yellow-orange substance sitting in his goblet. Lionel took a sip, almost gagging for a moment when the thick mixture slipped down his oesophogus a little too quickly than he had anticipated. He covered his mouth as he fought to control the cough - not the most flattering or manly of behaviour to display on his first day here.

Thankfully, Amaya had not noticed it; her attention seemed diverted towards the group of younger ones chattering amongst themselves, watching a sick-looking boy that appeared to have attracted Ty's attention as well. The poor child looked most uncomfortable, and had just decided to crawl under the table when Lionel's attention was summoned back by Amaya's voice. "So you are new here as well, where do you come from?" Lionel wasn't certain if she had been asking about his country or his school, and decided to propose both instead - he wasn't the kind that wasn't willing to offer information about himself after all.

"From Beauxbatans, in France." he replied "and you?"

Again their conversation was halted by what appeared to be a decision by the ill-looking first year's stomach to give up its orange-yellow contents on a nearby professor's shoe. The latter individual didn't appear too pleased about the incident and had drawn the eleven year old out from under the table rather violently with his wand, without any consideration for the bump on the head he had inflicted on the poor unfortunate soul. He would have intervened, but Irene had intercepted first - good for the boy. His eyes strayed to the mess the boy had made on the floor, causing his own stomach to feel a tad queasy as the unsightly liquid mixed with the child's stomach juices continued to spread it's puddled boundaries across the stone floor. Lionel pushed his goblet away, after seeing all that spewed on the floor, he wasn't too certain he wanted to consume any more of the strange drink - it was a little too much to see the beverage in his cup being reltched onto the ground.

Then, the commotion at the green table had picked up to a rather undesirable level.
Lionel’s brow furrowed as his face betrayed his private disapproval of what looked like a public brawl ensuing. Did that older boy just shove his challenger into the lap of an innocent bystander? And a younger girl at that! And what was it he was doing now? Forcefully grabbing onto a lady’s wrist?! Lionel could feel his blood just beginning to boil. This was certainly not the way to conduct oneself in the public arena.

He had been about to stand to his feet to confront the offender, when the young girl on whose lap the other student in green had fallen on had stepped up to stand between the conflicting parties. Lionel clenched his fist and settled into his seat again, careful to keep an eye out for the business at the Slytherin table to interfere if necessary. For now, things appeared to be under control as another Slytherin student stepped in to mediate.

And then, it happened.

Lionel winced as the larger, and obviously older male collapsed into a heap on the floor, clutching on to the point of injury that was now ailing him. Much as he had been offended by the said individual’s earlier behaviour, Lionel could not help but empathise with the man on the pain he was obviously feeling right now. His disapproval now shifted to the lady who had inflicted the wound; much as he was glad that she had managed to stand up for herself, such a course of action in his opinion was highly unwarranted for.

A thought flickered in his mind as his eyes settled onto the young lady in question, and then onto the young man who stood beside her examining her wrist – the pair looked oddly familiar. Lionel was sure he had seen them before somewhere. The latter individual’s voice drifted over as Lionel pondered on the recollection for a moment, permeating into his range of hearing.

"Mon cher, that was... Perfect for this man. How is your arm? But it was vulgar for you to be seen doing that."
A trigger was set off in Lionel’s memory. Of course! These were his juniors from Beauxbatans! It was no wonder they had seemed so familiar. Now what was it about that pair that had floated around in the old school? The young lion couldn’t quite remember. It was not particularly easy to learn about someone else’s business in France – it was considered rude and intrusive, and people generally went about minding their own business. Family matters, financial status, almost everything was considered a matter of private business and personal preference. All the same, Lionel bowed his head in shame as he recalled the scene that had just unfolded – what an embarrassment and an insult to the Beauxbatan name… and more so to the French name. The French were renown for their manners and good social conduct; they were after all, a people of class and culture. This would certainly not do if any of the professors from Beauxbatans were to find out. Why did it have to happen at the opening feast? It was sure to leave a mark of negativity against the French name – they really did not need to have more Englishmen hating them than there already was. Lionel sighed, if he winded up with any of Martel siblings for any of his classes, it proposed to be a long and trying year ahead. Why couldn’t they have chosen to be better behaved – none of the other tables appeared to have had any of this bad behaviour save for a few ‘typical English school accidents’ as it appeared.

“I’m sorry you had to see that” Lionel murmured “I blush for my fellow countrymen.”
Had the last sentence been necessary? Lionel had cut himself short only too late. Now Amaya would know where the unruly pair had come from, and if she had been observant, she may even have noticed that fleeting but undisguised look of recognition he had bore on his face when he remembered how he had come to know of the Martel pair.
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It has been almost nerve wrecking during the brief few second of silence that hung between his last lamentation and Amaya's eventual response.

"I wouldn't have thought that. They seem nothing like you."

Lionel's tensed body relaxed when Amaya's uncondemning verdict was pronounced. He was glad she had not reacted the way he had thought most people would: with disgust and possibly dissappointment - at least not outrightly. Her words were enough for him to know she did not condone the conduct of the conduct herself, but she was far too intelligent to make as superficial a deduction from an isolated incident of name-shaming behaviour. His smile had almost returned to his face now - the lion had to learn not to take things too seriously; he worried too much about the opinion of others.

"I suppose there really are bad seeds on every field... Do you know them?"

To Lionel, it wasn't really a question of whether he knew them - afterall, he had never been acquainted with the Martel siblings on the intimate level. It was just somewhat embarrassing (according to the code of conduct he had been strictly disciplined to follow from childhood) to have remembered such individuals at all. Recollection meant some kind of acquaintance; that his person had at one point of time or another resided in a close enough proximity with the Martels for them to have left a kind of impression in his memory. That left a taint on the name of wherever it was that he had noticed the pair, and also on the people to whom the location was familiar to. It was as if to say that such persons could be found in such-and-such a place in Europe.

Lionel's opinion in that sense of greatly narrow-minded; a consequence of Armadeo's strict disapproval of unbecoming behaviour.

In any case, there were only a few places Lionel could have known the Martel twins even faintly; they had to be the places in which he spent the most of his life in, and there weren't many. There was no way it could have been at Wischard Manor or the Nefis palazzo as neither Armadeo nor Ryuu would have tolerated the dissatisfactory behaviour under their family roofs. That left then, only the likelihood of Beauxbatons having been the place for the occasion of contact. In the end, there wasn't really much information Lionel could offer, and he answered as honestly as he could with the response of "Not really..."

He had paused for a moment before he continued with "I won't say I know them exactly, they just seem a little familiar. Perhaps I have met them before in passing once of twice on fleeting occasions - maybe more. But all in all insufficient to leave anything more than a faint impression on me."

That was true to the last letter; after all, he had never been formally introduced to the pair, and it had really been their accent that gave them away and triggered his memory. Perhaps they kept a kind of low profile in Beaxbatons, or Lionel had simply never crossed their paths as anyone more than a passerby in the institution's corridors. They may not even have been in the same classes before due to the difference in age. Lionel made a note to find out a little more about the Martels later that week - if he was inquisitive enough. For now, he did not think it necessary to inquire after them, and he was in no hurry to know them anyway.

His mind wandered for a moment as he cast his eyes towards the professor's table. The headmaster had still yet to arrive. Lionel wondered how long more would all of them have to wait before the speech would be made and the feast could begin. After watching one of the young ones heaping her plate with what looked like potatoes, Lionel's stomach couldn't help but growl a little. He had refrained from consuming any food before they were officially allowed to do so out of courtesy. Despite being unfamiliar to the dishes, he was becoming hungry enough to give them all a shot.

"Who is that square?" a younger voice unexpectedly quirped.

Lionel turned his head in the direction of the student who had commented, following the direction of latter's gaze until it settled on the stern-looking professor from the pumpkin juice incident. Lionel hadn't really taken notice of him before, and realised on his looking now that he had remembered seeing the same face (only younger) in Ryuu's old year book.

"Oh. That's Ser... I mean, Professor Sergei Vasilijev." Lionel had replied, directing his comment to no one in particular.

How he knew the professor's name had been a result of his briefing session with Ryuu a week before he had left for England. Ryuu had used his old year books to provide images for Lionel's benefit as he explained things like the rules and what he could expect to find in Hogwarts. In the midst of it all, Ryuu had let on a little about his student life upon Lionel's request, revealing some information about his then fellow schoolmates as well. Through those moments, Lionel had learnt that Sergei had been a member of the green house and a prefect during at least two years of the three Ryuu had been on the prefectoral board, and that he had been good friends with another Slytherin and fellow prefect - the very woman who had just walked into the hall and who had made a beeline for the professor's table. What was her name? Nellevie Lashae? He knew those things and a little more, but had left it impolite to disclose what seemed to be rather personal information to the other students.

"I think he's our house head." Lionel finished.