Immediately a voice sounded in the dimness of his mind. ~So, okay, should be interesting... right, on top, there's a good dose of bravery... a lot of rashness... desire to perform and prove honour and strength... complete disregard for authority, the next few years are going to be rather enjoyable... so, seems a fairly cut closed case...~

Icy darkness pulled itself around Raphael. His skin was burning, ice-cold fire that danced across it in patterns, scorching and pulsing. He could feel the wind fire as it made him glow... wind fire that burned through him... wet darkness and crashing thunder... sea-spray that whipped past him, lashing him apart, ripping and tearing his skin... memories of pain and loathing, memories set in a dark place, where the wood boles seemed to crowd in and taunt him. A shadow swung loose from an oaken branch. A dark shape lay on the floor. A dark shape lay on the floor, hair spread across the forest leaves.

With that, illusions were stripped from him, and Raphael was left, his mind ripped of any protective illusion. "I'm cold," he whispered, as the icy sea winds and burning air touched his soul.

~What's this? ~ inquired the hat. ~There's something else here... something quite different... cracks... this is completely different... desire to wield magic... learn and perform... duty and lots of application to form... ability, oh, almost instinctive magical ability... well, this one is clear cut too... how interesting... but... Raphael Lathander, who has broken your mind?~

Raphael felt the warm clammy touch of the hat, probing and touching his mind, his soul. Torn sections of him, memories in hiding, places he could never see, a black form... ~there's something else here, Raphael...these cracks... dark there, blackness, quite interesting, a little disturbing... and it's fighting to get free, whatever bit of you it is... a lot of pure power... a desire to rule...~ continued the hat, obviously fascinated. It started to probe deeper.

He could remember the rain and thunder lashing at him, no protection in the storm, out in the wilderness, unprotected by the trees around him who sneered at his predicament. She was too heavy... far too heavy to move... he couldn't move... waiting out the storm. There was a shriek: inhuman, a snarl of hatred, a blackened scream of pain and anguish, and anger. So Much anger. Killing anger, Raphael knew, he remembered, he was there... a blackened hand... a nightmare real... coming for him... a blackened mirror image... coming from him... black soul... coming for him...

Raphael shrieked himself, stood and tore the hat from his head, flinging it away from himself so violently he almost fell, staggering, balance gone, staggering, slipping. Pain tore down his face, following the scorching path of tears. Then: the entire hall looking at him, the entire hall peering down at him, the entire hall staring, tears that burnt his cheeks; he screamed at the hat in fury: "You aren't meant to go there! You aren't meant to go there!"

"Raphael..." said the hat, from where it had landed on the teachers table.

"You aren't meant to take me there," said Raphael, now softly again, staggering back towards the chair, wiping tears off his cheeks, hyperventilating, crumbling, starting to lose the power to stand, slipping, eyes darting wildly around the room.... "...you aren't meant to take me back there..."

"Raphael," repeated the hat, "you are meant to put me back on - you are meant to be at this school. Put me back on. I will not take you back there, but you must put me back on. Put me back on."

********

Whispers erupted around the hall. First, it wasn't even the person who got the letter...and now the boy was crying, shouting at the hat.

"What in the world...?" Niki whispered to herself. She was quite sympathetic, however, remembering her own Sorting.

The school watched in mute horror, Nathaniel numbered amongst them. Nathaniel was glad that Sarah had let go of his hand because he found his hands had tightened into fists so hard that his knuckles were white and his fingernails were biting small crescent shaped marks into his palms.

He shouldn't say anything. He shouldn't do anything. The kitten on his knee was restless. "I've been here and done this." he whispered softly to himself, unaware if any were listening. "And been bound to be his enemy before."

The kitten leapt onto the table and mewled angrily at Nathaniel. "Damn it." Nathaniel told the kitten. "I'll not do it again."

The kitten looked smug and relocated to Sarah's lap, as if pinning her down, indicating that she shouldn't interfere. And then Nathaniel was on his feet and moving to Raphael's side, putting a steadying arm round the boy's shoulder.

"Hey, kid." he said softly. "Take deeper breaths than that, you're starving yourself of oxygen breathing like that. Let's get this over and done with, no? Let the Hat sort you and then we'll go get some fresh air, alright, kid?"

For the third time in this evening, Professor Dumbledore got up from his place at the Teacher's table. He picked up the Sorting Hat and went to stand before Raphael Lathander acknowledging Nathaniel's presence with a slow nod.

Then he looked into Raphael's eyes. His own gentle eyes were full of compassion at what this young wizard was undergoing. "I also think you should put the Hat on again. However, Raphael it has to be your choice, your will. It has given you its promise not to probe too deeply. I also give you my promise not to probe too deeply into your pain. . Yet let us provide the safe haven that you need to begin your healing."

With that he held out the hat to Raphael and waited. You could hear a pin drop the Hall became so quiet.

The hat. In his vision. In his path. Waiting. Dumbledore and Nathaniel stood, waiting, watching, as his heart stilled and calmed, as the firewind fled from his mind, leaving him in peace. Nathaniel had told him: place the hat on your head, and then we leave, fresh air, Hogwarts air. Hogwarts air.

"Old man," whispered Raphael to Nathaniel, "yes," he murmured, emerald fire in his eyes, staring at Nathaniel, gripping his hand, staring as the hat descended onto his head, staring, his right hand an anchor to Nathaniel and reality.

And as the hat slipped once more over his head and Raphael slipped into an inky darkness, with a thousand tiny points of light punching through the material of the hat. "My heart beats," he whispered, "my pulse... I live, I breathe... I love... I hurt... please don't hurt me... please don't take me... not alone... not alone..."

~No,~ replied the hat, to his mind, cutting him off. Raphael closed his eyes, braced himself, for a probing touch in the almost blackness, bracing himself... but the darkness faded, and the light faded with it. A hand clasped itself around Raphael's - leathery, strong, aged hand - and pulled him into the sunshine.

He was in a deserted garden, ensconced by forest, wildflower wrapping themselves around the trees, wreathing them in a delicate aura that shone and rippled colour in the sunlight. Raphael could feel the hat on his head, but now he could see... he was somewhere else.

"Where am I?" he inquired. The sunlight poured down on them, warming Raphael as he had not been warmed in hours, making his blood flow and his mind retreat from the precipice. Friendly flame crept into his words, and he asked the hat, "you gonna try and finish off the job this time?"

"Inside," stated the hat on his head, speaking aloud about and to the forest and flowers. This was a tiny, cultivated section of the forest: the crumbling remains of a stronghold, Raphael could see, started in the dimness of the trees nearby, a stronghold with grey stone and silent passages, but it was not important, not a consideration amongst this temple of wildness. These flowers... who had planted them here? Had he? Was this garden meant for him, from the Mother Nature herself?

Walking through the flowers, which became more and more unorganised, beauty in their freedom, the hat and he came to the source of the smoke on the horizon, a painted, leather tent with smoke pouring from a hole in the top. "Do you want to go into the sweat, Raphael?" asked the hat.

"Not yet," was his mind, heart and voices' reply, and again his spirit rose, "I'm not into chucking due to smoke inhalation, thanks, messieur hat." His pathway, the flowers spinning around him in a cacophony of colour, soon came across the doorway. Dark frame, an oaken door, bound with iron, swinging open, darkness beyond... lightning flashing. Thunder sounded.

An ancient oak stood in the distance, through the door, in another place, and... a figure stood... a fiddle in his hands... violinist with blackened hands? Images: peeling, swaying, dry bowstring, screech of the instrument, a set of cards, exploding in the moonlight, the black knave of hearts... the card striking the floor....

The hat slipped further over his vision... he couldn't see the face of the fiddler... he couldn't see the face... the face...

The door was suddenly closed no sound but the dying echoes of the thunder and a haunting fiddle melody that died in the sounds of sunlight.

"No," said the hat. "Not yet there, either, young one." And so Raphael walked onwards, the pathway slipping, blurring from his vision, blurring into obscurity, fading, and then all memory gone.

"Young one? You poke my mind into pieces, and then you call me young one?" asked Raphael of the hat, his heart calm and without anger, now he was away from the doorway. "You should learn some bedside manner, mister. Damn insensitive Emergency Medical HoloHats'."

To that the sorting hat chuckled, but then fell silent, concentrating as the sun slipped towards the horizon. Without warning, blackness swirled over his vision, a deep dark with an oily sheen, tumbling... a waterfall in the forest, the light dim of dusk or approaching dawn, he couldn't tell. A waterfall that the water tumbled black in the dim light.

"Your legs ache," the hat told him, "you are tired, and yet your mind is not spent. Interesting," the hat said, and it was true - had he been running for hours in this place? A sprint through the forest. Even his mind seemed to ache. He was seeing things... his hands had a bluish gleam around them... reflecting the icy gleam of eyes in the forest... Zephyr was there, although distant, watching. "He watches over you," said the hat, "as is his duty?"

Raphael didn't reply, but walked closer to the black waterfall, seeing in his left hand his wand, glittering black. Then the waterfall of night. In his vision tumbled the water... the raven feathers... a million raven feathers, floating down, crashing against each other, flowing, a waterfall of black, and an aura of the rainbow off the oily tumbling scraps.

There were so many of these - rose petals - raven feathers... millions of them flowing into a dark basin, and yet, the dark did not trouble him.

"I have been here before" muttered the hat, "those dark feathers..." They were beautiful: a million dark shapes, blackness which were the colours of the rainbow, hypnotising Raphael, entrancing him, as they flew into his vision, blinding him momentarily...

He didn't let go of Nathaniel's hand as he swiped off the hat, only a minute after he had placed it on his head, his eyes shining a bluish black for just a moment as he returned his mind to the hall. The hat he placed on the chair next to him, Nathaniel and he silent, both of them glancing at each other, both of them wondering.

"Which house am I in?" asked Raphael of the hat, his murmur filling the great hall.

"Ravenclaw," whispered the hat, "Ravenclaw House once again welcomes an angel, Raphael Lathander."

And with that Raphael stepped away, only allowing himself to stagger and start to slip, exhaustion in his eyes, as he gripped Nathaniel in a bear hug. He stopped, silent, and swayed before him, a tired smile on his lips, and led Nathaniel Greenleigh back towards the door, limping and leaning on the other, his eyes burning an invitation into Sarah's to follow them out.

Marvo watched closely, his arms crossed, and raised an eyebrow.

*********

Sitting next to Oriana Drake nodded absent-mindedly, distracted by the Sortings of Piotr and even more Raphael. "Well, well," he muttered to himself, frowning, "funny year, isn't it..."

He knew that, since he was only assistant teacher and had not even really started his position yet, the Headmaster would not tell him what was going on, but maybe he's have a chance to find out.

He watched McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanging words and looks and then examined Piotr a bit further up the Slytherin table. A hiss let him turn his head. Nathan was gesturing to him.

Drake smiled as he recognised the sign language they'd invented as kids, took in the message and nodded briefly before turning his head again to watch Piotr.

Since there was so much going on, nobody in the Hall noticed anything, he was quite sure of that. Except maybe the girls sitting next to him.

"Funny indeed" Whispered Arcadia, her eyes fixed on Piotr. She involuntarily licked her lips.

"That boys going to need a closer look I think" She said, more to herself than anyone else.

She was able to drag her eyes away from Piotr long enough to see the commotion that Raphael was causing.

"Ha! Another Ravenclaw. I bet they'll be desperate to get to their books and explain this!" Pantalaimon remained curled by Arcadia's feet, his amber eyes looking straight at Piotr.

"Nothing bad a-about b-books, Miss Fudge," Drake said scathingly, "is th-there?" But somehow he wasn't in the mood to quarrel. "Wh-what do you think of him?" he asked quietly and nodded at Piotr. "A-and of the o-other two?"

"Books are okay I suppose, if you're into that sort of thing." Arcadia turned to give her full attention to Piotr.

"He's... different." Was all she said. Then she looked over to Nathan, but Pantalaimon remained looking at Piotr. She sighed a little.

Piotr did not notice Arcadia's scrutiny. The Hat had certainly given him food for thought. 'Your future is up to you'. He'd always sincerely believed that his future had been mapped out for him. It had been freefall until the day his father had decided to map it for him.

Up to him.

The concept was alien and almost frightening to a boy with such a crystal-clear view of the world as Piotr Rachinov. He had known from an early age what his destiny was meant to be. The fact that he neither wanted nor agreed with it was perhaps not important any more.

He became aware of the prickling sensation of being watched and raised his gaze, swinging his violet eyes around to meet those of Arcadia Fudge. He smiled, just ever so slightly, his violet eyes glowing gently, before turning away from her again to stare out the window, a bored expression on his face.

As Piotr's violet eyes met Arcadia's amber ones she felt a shudder (or was it a tingle?) run though her body. Pantalaimon shook himself and she looked away. "ooh" Was all she said.

Raphael's rather unusual sorting caused a lot of hushed rumours at the Slytherin table. "This is turning out to be quite an interesting feast," remarked Winifred.

**********

The sorting was done with. Nathaniel didn't know or care if there were any left to be sorted after Raphael. As far as he was concerned, the event was over when the Hat pronounced Raphael to be Ravenclaw.

Raphael staggered and Nathaniel was there, turning the fall into a bear hug between friends while Raphael got his balance again. Too many eyes here even with the entertainment over.

Kat who had already welcomed the new Ravenclaw first years was standing and cheering with the other Ravenclaws at the sorting of Raphael.

"Welcome to Ravenclaw!" She called to Nathaniel and Raphael. "I'm sure you will both enjoy sharing our house." She winked at Sarah.

Nathaniel got Raphael to lean on him and led him towards the door and the promised fresh air, shrugging the sleeves of his robe down over his wrists to hide the bruises that Raphael's grip had left on his lean wrist.

The mostly black kitten on Sarah's lap mewled up at her and leapt down to the floor, looking back at her and beckoning with an imperious flick of the tail to follow.

"Hang on in there, kid." he murmured. Outside he navigated by sense of memory to an outside door, and the two black haired boys stepped out into the night. There was no cloud cover and the stars were diamonds twinkling in a bed of black velvet far overhead.

Too early in the season for the chill of autumn to touch the air with a frosty nip. "Well, we're Sorted." Nathaniel said brightly. "So it looks like the Hat saw something in us both worth training as wizards. There's a scary thought, eh?"

Sarah didn't need the kitten's encouragement. She did however exchange a look with Professor Dumbledore as she left her seat at the Ravenclaw table. He nodded granting her permission to leave the Hall and follow the boys.

Thus, following the kitten's lead she exited the castle into the astonishingly beautiful clear night.

Approaching Nathaniel and Raphael she was lost for words. She had been crying during Raphael's ordeal and she could still feel where they had run down her cheeks.

"Hey..." she said quietly, "Welcome to Ravenclaw...both of you."

**********

The rain was falling all around him, coming down in torrents from the angry, roaring sky.

It had been a most eventful summer, for sure. He had read more books in those few months than he ever had in his whole life put together.

Books that helped him learn about his own true kind: Wizards.

The boy was a spectacle in white and blue--and red. He wore a white T-shirt, blue jeans, clothes that were not appropriate for the weather. Then again, he was a California boy by heart.

But he wasn't cold.

Surrounding him in a visible aura of fiery red was his very own pyrokinetic projection--manipulated fire. It served as both a full-body shield against the rain and his built-in body heater. He enjoyed the sizzling sound of rain hitting the fiery force field. Inside, he was dry and warm, his clothes and things all untouched by the downpour.

He walked up the steps of the castle. He looked up, and further up still. Above him were towers and stone shapes and magnificent structures. A Gothic sight against the raging heavens, straight out of a Tim Burton movie.

"Hey, Hogwarts School," he said. He smoothed a hand through his dark auburn hair, cut short and neatly. In the darkness his eyes glowed a very bright red.

Zidane Marsh Summers rapped on the door.

Professor Flitwick had escaped unseen from the Great Hall in all the chaos. He was expecting someone. Quite an interesting student in his opinion, a fascinating find he had told Dumbledore when he had recommended that he be invited to the school.

The entrance hall was quite empty now, and as Professor Flitwick reached the front door there was a knock. He opened the door, to see Zidane Summers on the steps. "Ah, there you are m'boy. Good."

The Professor watched the rain sizzle off the aura around the red haired boy. The red eyes that peered at him were still a little disconcerting.

"I see you didn't get too wet on the way here then. Well come in, don't just stand there." He held the door open, listening carefully to the sound of the sorting in the great hall, and consciously aware that if they did not hurry back to the Hall they were going to be late...

**********

Of course, Professor McGonagall had not batted an eye at the unusual behaviour of Mr. Lathander though she did raise an eyebrow when the two boys followed by Miss Taverner and a mostly black kitten exited the Hall. Dumbledore didn't seem to mind and Professor Flitwick... well.....

Still whatever the Headmaster may have whispered to Prof. McGonagall had seemed to satisfy her curiosity for now about the substitution. It would no doubt be an interesting evening in the Staff Room as the Heads of Houses compared notes on their latest recruits. Flitwick was certainly gathering himself a most unusual crop this year!

She looked at her list. There was another name but no one was seated at the waiting table.

She cast a look around the room - hundreds of expectant and hungry faces greeted her including a few from the Teachers' Table!

Still she observed the ritual of the Sorting: "Summers, Zidane." she called.

Silence......

"Summers, Zidane" again silence.

"Does anyone know if Mr or Miss Summers" she was taking no chances with such an unusual name, "will be gracing us with their presence this term?"

********

Carina Darnell surveyed the goings on with inquisitive grey eyes. From her side-table, the pupils seemed so alien. But she knew that would soon change. She looked over at the Slytherin table, where she was certain she would end up. A slight smile flitted across her face, before she resumed her blank, emotionless expression.

She turned her eyes back to the sorting hat. She wished that her name would be called soon. Her patience was starting to wear thin. She hadn't been waiting for the few minutes. She'd been waiting for three years. And it was nearly her turn. Nearly.

Lips curled slightly, she continued to await her call.

*******

"Good evening, sir," Zidane (his voice rather strangely disembodied through his burning red aura) greeted the diminutive teacher.

"I hope I'm not late." Suddenly, the fiery aura around his body fell away as he stepped out of the rain and into the dry warmth of the Hogwarts Entrance Hall. His eyes turned back to their normal hazel colour.

"I have to apologise all the same, Professor. My mother was not much help. She talked my ear off over the mobile phone. Told her the stuff won't work anymore once I get into proximity with Hogwarts School, so she took all the time she could in saying last-minute reminders while I was still well away from here."

Zidane had met Professor Flitwick over the summer. The teacher had presented to him and his parents another opportunity to "learn about Zidane's unusual abilities." For Zidane, it was his first chance at being away from the doctors poking and probing into his insides and from the paranoia of his parents of others finding out about their son's "fiery nature."

He followed Professor Flitwick through the halls. Zidane excitedly noted of portraits moving around, whispering and pointing and goggling at him. When they stopped before a large door, Zidane reached into his backpack and gave the teacher a large package of Reese's Pieces.

"Before we go inside, sir, please accept these, uh, Muggle, um, sweets. Chocolate with really delicious fillings inside. They're a token of my appreciation for all your help. I didn't know what to get wizard teachers, so..." His voice trailed off and he gave the teacher a grin.

Professor Flitwick looked slightly embarrassed at the gift. "Thank-you." He said. "But it really was only what I would have done for any talented youngster like yourself." He gave the boy a shy smile.

As they stepped into a big hall filled with people, Zidane heard a very formal-sounding female voice say: "Does anyone know if Mr or Miss Summers will be gracing us with their presence this term?"

Zidane looked towards the front of the room at a regal-looking witch and back down at Professor Flitwick. "Is she talking about me, sir?"

As he heard Professor McG called Zidane's name Prof. Flitwick became a little flustered. "Yes, I think she does mean you. It is the sorting you see."

He seemed to remember explaining it before, but as this young man had come to Hogwarts from a muggle background he had no idea how much Zidane would remember. He ushered the boy into the Great Hall.

"He is here, Professor McGonagall. I'm sorry that he is a little late." Professor Flitwick looked small and nervous as he pushed the boy forward towards the stool on which the sorting hat was waiting.

Zidane had grinned at the teacher's reaction to his Reese's Pieces gift, but nerves took over when Professor Flitwick pushed him forward into the line of sight of everyone in the very big dining room.

There were so many kids here. Maybe this was what high school cafeterias looked like, though this time he was in a setting with a more cinematic Gothic twist.

The Sorting. Zidane Summers rarely forgot about anything and now was no exception. It was a ceremony that determined as to which Hogwarts house one belonged. Kind of like selecting people for teams. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and...he tossed his mind around for a few seconds. Powerpuff? Jigglypuff? Nah. Hufflepuff. That was it.

Taking his cue from Professor Flitwick, and determined not to let the teacher down, he cleared his throat and summoned all the bravado he could muster under the very obvious public scrutiny.

"Good evening, Professor McGonagall," he said clearly, a smile on his face, to the regal witch who was holding some kind of list. He lowered his head slightly, respectfully, then he shouldered his backpack more tightly and stepped forward. "I am Zidane Summers. Sorry to have kept you waiting."

That Zidane had apologised for keeping them waiting, stood him in good stead with Professor McGonagall. She nodded at him.

"That's quite alright Mr. Summers. You are here now. Just step forward and sit upon the stool and place the Sorting Hat upon your head."

*Try not to traumatise it* she thought to herself.

Professor McGonagall then noticed another new student sitting back in the shadows, not yet sorted. She looked back at her list of sortees for the Fourth Year and saw that the top of the parchment contained the name - 'Carina Darnell'.

She gave a little sigh but caught the eye of the girl and nodded slightly. She would be called next.

"Thank you very much, ma'am," Zidane replied smoothly, smile still in place.

The Sorting Hat took him by surprise. It was old and tattered and patched and frayed. His mother would probably have a heart attack when she saw the thing near her only son.

Zidane raked a hand through his auburn hair. He let his backpack drop on the floor and picked up the Sorting Hat. He sat on the stool and placed it on his head.

Before the hat's brim fell down to cover his face, his eyes glowed its telltale fiery red then receded in colour once more. His eyes were so sensitive to magical energies.

He just hoped that no one would give a big deal that his eyes had just turned red.

Zidane stared into the darkness behind the Hat's brim.

// Now what? // he wondered.

~ Now I sort you. Hmmm...you are a strange one. And so full of fire. ~

// That would be literal, right? //

~ Both literal and figurative, I say. I must admit there never was one in this school like you, boy. ~

// That's what some people told me. Never one like me. I do things with fire. It's only lately that someone told me I was a wizard. //

~ But of course you are. You have tremendous power, and so unique. A human phoenix, or most like. But above all your intellect is blinding, boy. ~

// Is it? //

~ I know things that others do not. But worry not. I keep my secrets. So be it then. I choose you, human phoenix, for RAVENCLAW! ~

Zidane instinctively whipped the Hat off his head as it shouted out the last word. He got to his feet, grabbing his backpack's strap. His knees were still shaking slightly at the Twilight Zone trip into the Hat.

Applause exploded from one table where the students were all wearing black robes pinned with blue eagle crests. Ravenclaw. Right.

He looked at Professor Flitwick and gave the teacher a thumbs-up sign. Zidane then turned and made his way to the Ravenclaw table.