As Sierra strolled into the Great Hall for the start of term feast, she glanced quickly behind her. She'd left Hissy Fit, her kneazle, with her luggage, and the poor creature had been hissing angrily as she sat stowed away in her little carrier. Sierra frowned, hoping her pet was alright. She wasn't usually this concerned about anyone or anything else, but the kneazle had taken a liking to her and didn't seem comfortable at all around nearly everyone else.

Shoving the book she'd been trying to read on the train deep into the pockets of her robes, Sierra took a seat at the house table. For a few brief seconds, her eyes scanned the staff table. Oh, great--that lazy excuse of a professor was back again. Oh, yes, you--the one who made us service all the school brooms and clean up the filthy, deserted greenhouses. At least he was a good Flying instructor and Quidditch official, though. There were a few new faces, but Sierra would get around to figuring out who they were once classes got underway. For now, she turned her attention to her own house table.

Ahh, Slytherin--her safe haven away from Hufflepuffs, annoying Gryffindors, and spastic Ravenclaws.