Author's note: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy fans in the audience may recall that its author, Douglas Adams, once wrote a book with John Lloyd entitled The Meaning of Liff, in which they took various place-names off maps and made them into words describing things or situations for which no words yet existed. (For instance, "Woking: Standing in the kitchen wondering what it was you came in there for.") The idea behind this fic is that each chapter uses one (or sometimes more) of these words as its central theme. Apart from that, the stories have no connection whatsoever to each other; in fact, not all of them are even mine. (If you wish to submit one, just cut and paste it into a PM, and I'll upload it with full acknowledgement of your name and forward its reviews to you.)

Disclaimer: Unless J. K. Rowling does something really unexpected, none of the participants in this fic will own Harry Potter.

Aalst (ay-AY-lst), n. One who changes his name to be nearer the front.

Hannah Wilkinson tugged nervously at her pigtail as the Sorting Hat serenaded the Great Hall with the virtues of the four Houses. She looked around to see if any of the other first years were as sick with apprehension as she was, but, although she saw some remarkably queasy expressions (particularly on the face of the black-haired, bespectacled boy three rows behind her), she remained unconsoled. None of them, she felt sure, had fathers who would disinherit them if they wound up in houses other than Hufflepuff.

Not for the first time, she found herself wishing that her father had actually been able to attend Hogwarts as a boy. Maybe then he would have had a less idealised notion about the four Houses, and wouldn't have gotten this idea that being placed in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin was the mark of a deficiency in virtue. As it was, it was Helga's house or nothing with him, and Hannah, listening to the Sorting Hat's eulogy, felt her heart sink. Just? Patient? Unafraid of toil? None of those phrases seemed, at that moment, to describe her in the least. (Granted, neither did "brave at heart", "ready-minded", or "cunning", but that was scarcely relevant.)

She turned to the Hufflepuff table and sought out her brother Christopher's eye. A Hogwarts veteran currently entering his fifth year, he was just about the most empathetic person Hannah had ever known, and, when he saw the expression on his sister's face, he knew exactly what was going through her mind.

It's okay, he mouthed. It'll be over soon.

But it wouldn't, Hannah knew. That was the worst part of having a name like Wilkinson: you were always left to writhe during roll calls while the stupid Andersons and Blatchfords and Cartwrights got off easy. If only she could just run up there and squeeze the Hat on right now, maybe she could handle it, but...

Her thoughts were interrupted. The Hat had finished its song, and Professor McGonagall was coming forward with the list of names. "When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted," she announced.

She looked down at the parchment, and, for the briefest of moments, a flicker of puzzlement passed over her face. Only a handful of people in the Hall noticed, but to Hannah, who was one of them, the Deputy Headmistress looked almost exactly like her Uncle Chester when her mother had Confunded him to keep him from going into his spiel about house-elf liberation in front of the Minister of Magic.

The next moment, however, the impression vanished, and Minerva McGonagall was her usual, ironclad self. Hannah sighed inwardly, and readied herself for the agonizing wait ahead.

"Abbott, Hannah!" said Professor McGonagall.

Hannah nearly fell out of the line in shock. She was well aware how uncommon her Christian name was in the wizarding world; Mr Ollivander, when she had gone to buy her wand, had specially mentioned that he couldn't recall ever having a customer by that name before. So either some extraordinary coincidence had occurred this year, or...

She darted a second glance at the Hufflepuff table, and Christopher smiled secretly and ostentatiously replaced his wand inside the folds of his robes. Hannah's jaw hung open for a moment; then she felt a poke in her ribs, and her friend Bridget Costello whispered, "Well, Miss Abbott, aren't you going up?"

Slowly, the light of understanding dawned in Hannah's brain, and a broad smile suffused her face as she stumbled out of the line and headed for the stool.

Maybe Daddy was right about Hufflepuff House, she thought. I'll bet a Gryffindor would never have done something like that for his sister.