Chapter Text
Carl woke up one morning with an owl pecking at his window, a letter in its talons.
“What the hell…?” Carl murmured, rubbing his one eye.
He opened the window, and the owl flew up and perched on his shoulder.
Carl didn’t know what he was supposed to do, so he just pulled the letter out of the owl’s talons, and opened it.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Grimes,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
We understand you and your family's current predicament, and will arrange a transport when needed, and room and board for your family.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Carl was wholly and utterly confused. The ache in his heart washed away and was replaced by deep suspicion that only accumulated into fear, and then utter bewilderment.
He had no idea what the purpose of sending such a letter would be, especially in the way that they did. Just the odd way of sending the letter made Carl think it was genuine. He wished that he still had a computer to look it up in.
Rick was going to have to see this.
Carl opened the door to his bedroom and paced down the short hallway to his father’s room. He knocked on the door, and heard his father tell him to come in.
Rick was sitting on the side of his big, white bed, a red phone sitting on the bedside table next to him. Carl knew what that meant, but chose to ignore it.
“This morning an owl woke me up, and he gave me this,” Carl said bluntly, reaching out and handing his father the letter.
“An owl?” his father questioned, taking the letter and reading it over.
When he had read all of it, he barked a laugh. It was the happiest Rick had sounded in a long time.
“Lori told me about this! She said that if you inherited the magic from your grandfather, that you’d be a wizard!” Rick exclaimed, with a wide smile on his face.
Carl gaped at his father, “So it’s real?”
Rick looked up at his son from the letter, “Yes, it is. Your mother wished for it so bad. She wanted you to be in Ravenclaw, like her father, but she also knew you wouldn’t be going to Hogwarts, since we’re in America... I guess the American school must be gone.”
“Oh,” Carl said, unsure how to respond.
“She also said that you’d show signs of magic around now… I guess we haven’t been paying attention. Has anything weird happened lately?”
Carl nodded slowly, “Yeah, I think so… A couple of days ago, a walker died for no reason.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Carl shrugged, “Didn’t need to know.”
After that, Carl and his father continued to talk for an hour, about things from Before, and about everything Rick knew about Hogwarts.
Finally, Rick said, “I need to go talk to the group. See what they think.”
As Rick left, Carl realized that he’d left the owl in his room.
Carl walked to his room, and opened the door to find the owl still there, perched on his desk.
As Carl walked by the owl to get some paper out of his desk, he petted it’s head and whispered, “Sorry I don’t have any snacks for you, we’re pretty tight here for food.”
The owl crooned, and leaned into his hand. Carl almost ‘aww’-ed at it, but coughed it back.
Carl turned away from the owl, and opened a drawer in his desk, pulling out a piece of paper. It was coated in dust from having never been used in quite a few years. Carl almost wanted to laugh at having to blow the dust off a piece of paper.
Carl pulled out a pencil to go with it, and quickly jotted down a response to the letter.
Dear Minerva McGonagall,
My dad is talking with our group. They might not want to come, but he says I can go.
How many people can come with me?
Carl Grimes
Carl wasn’t sure how to write a letter, but he tried his best. He folded the paper, and handed it to the owl.
The owl cooed as it took the paper in its beak, and gestured its head towards Carl.
Carl petted the owl’s head for a moment before it took off and flew out the window.
A couple of weeks later, an odd, old man showed up in Carl’s bedroom with a loud crack of wind.
He had a very long beard, and a jovial smile on his face, and was draped in long, patterned robes.
Carl jumped back, and reached for his gun at his side.
“There will be no need, Mr. Grimes,” another crack sounded, and a similarly dressed, stately old woman stood next to the man. “My name is Albus Dumbledore, and this is Professor McGonagall.”
Carl gaped at the pair, his hand still resting on his gun, but he slowly let it fall, and brushed his hair out of the way of his eye.
“Hello, Carl, we are here to pick you up for your term at Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall said gently.
Carl scoffed at her hesitant nature, and led them downstairs.
“Dad, they’re here,” Carl said, finding Rick in the kitchen, preparing lunch.
Rick turned and wiped his hands on his pants, “I’m Rick. How’d you even get here?”
McGonagall cringed a bit at the lack of hygiene that Rick presented, but took his hand anyway, answering, “We apparated here. Teleported, if you will.”
“Well! I’m sure you’re pretty anxious to leave this wretched place!” Dumbledore broke in.
For whatever reason, Carl found the man endearing, “No, we have more.”
“More?” McGonagall repeated.
Rick nodded, “Carl, can you go get them? I’m gonna talk with your teachers.”
It looked like Professor McGonagall was about to correct him for a second, when Dumbledore held her back with a smile.
“I’m sure you have questions, yes?”
Carl raced through the Hilltop, and found Carol and Sophia, Maggie, Michonne, and Daryl.
Morgan and Aaron had decided to stay. Aaron wanted to be with Jesus, and Jesus needed to stay. Morgan didn’t feel like people would be safe where he went.
Eventually, everyone was inside the house with their meager belongings.
“You won’t need weapons where you’re going. Most of the world survived the attacks, and some of the world isn’t even affected. England is one of those places. The disease isn’t known to be contagious, so the government has been working to help out countries badly affected, but they knew America was going to be a lost cause. They’ve lost nearly every person they’ve sent to help, and have given up.”
“So, in other words, there’s no walkers in England, and we can’t have guns?” Daryl said gruffly.
Dumbledore smiled, “Basically.”
Daryl sniffed and undid his belt holster, dropping it to the ground. Everyone else reluctantly followed.
“Good,” Dumbledore said, and put his hand out. “I need each of you to put your hand in the middle. Hold onto the hand underneath yours tight.”
Even more reluctantly, the group followed these directions.
“Isn’t this so cool!” Sophia whispered to Carl, and Carl nodded in response, smiling at her.
“Good,” Dumbledore said with a smile.
“Hold on,” McGonagall commented from the side.
There was a loud crack of air, and it felt like Carl was being stretched through time and space. Finally, it stopped.
“Are you all alright?” Dumbledore said, as McGonagall apparated next to him.
“No,” Michonne huffed out, and then turned to grin at Carl, still leaning over with her hands on her knees.
Carl grinned back, already feeling much better.
Everyone stood, and Daryl subconsciously moved closer to Carol.
“Welcome to London!” Dumbledore exclaimed.
It was at that moment that Carl noticed the hustle and bustle of the streets. It scared him.
Everyone else seemed so happy and surprised. Daryl was hugging Carol and Sophia, and Rick was just staring, a smile developing on his face.
At their reactions, Carl’s anxiety melted away, he turned to Maggie when Professor McGonagall started to talk.
“We have a large apartment set up for all of you. I hope it isn’t too tight. We weren’t expecting quite so many,” McGonagall said.
Carl tuned her out as he walked to Maggie and put an arm around her shoulders. Maggie had told him how Beth had always wanted to go to London. She was probably remembering that now, with tears streaming down her face, hand cupping her mouth.
Another week passed, with the group mostly staying inside. They were too anxious to go outside and see that many people so soon. Even the noise from the cars in the street was almost too much.
But now, Carl was walking down an alley packed to the brim with bustling kids and people all around. He was following a huge man named Hagrid.
“It was only yesterday that I was walking Harry through these very streets too, let me tell ya. He was the nicest boy you’ll ever meet, too.”
Carl was mostly tuning the man out, too preoccupied with the raging panic coursing through his body.
Finally, he couldn’t bear it anymore. He had gotten his owl, he had gotten his books, suffered through his robes, and found a nice cauldron.
But he just couldn’t take it anymore. The dark hole he felt in his chest was too gapingly wide for him to ignore. The dark, desolate feeling of certain death tugged on his brain painfully. His breath was shortening, and his vision going black around the edges. He was shaking from the coldest feeling resonating through his body.
“H-Hagrid?”
It was the first thing he’d said since they’d gotten to the alley.
“I need to stop,” Carl huffed out.
“Whatever do you mean?” the man said as he turned to Carl.
He took in the boys pallor, shaking form, and slowed to a stop.
“Oh,” he breathed.
Hagrid pulled the boy towards a mostly empty alleyway. The moment they were alone, Carl collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face.
“What’s the matter?” Hagrid said, knowing the answer, but also knowing the boy needed to talk about it.
Carl took a shaky breath and said, “The last time I was in a crowd with that many unfamiliar people, they were dead.”
Hagrid shook his head. He was astonished at the state of things in America.
After a few minutes, Carl calmed down, He knew he wasn’t in any trouble, but it was the paranoia from previous experiences that had tugged at his brain. With nowhere to go, it just built up into a panic attack.
“Are you ready to go? There’s only one last thing,” Hagrid said.
Carl nodded, and they were off to Ollivander's wand shop.
They stepped inside, and Carl found it pleasantly empty.
“Hello there Hagrid. I just saw you yesterday didn’t I?” an odd old man said, whom Carl assumed was Ollivander.
“Yes, indeed Mr. Ollivander!” Hagrid said jovially.
“Oh, and you must be here for a wand,” Ollivander said, peering down at Carl.
“Yes, he is!” Hagrid said for him.
Ollivander ignored Hagrid in favor of finding Carl’s wand, “Hm, which would be best for you…”
They went through many wands, each touching Carl’s hand and exploding something near him, or shattering a gas. One was so impartial to Carl that it secreted a gas that made it hard to breath.
Finally, a wand was settled into Carl’s hands that didn’t blow up. For a moment, nothing happened, but then a warmth spread throughout Carl and the wand lit up in a soft glow.
“Unusual... Hawthorn wood, phoenix feather core, supple, twelve and a half inches,” Ollivander said.
“It’s the first day, Carl! You’ll be fine!” Michonne said, hugging Carl tightly.
“Actually, tomorrow is the first day,” he corrected, grinning.
Michonne stepped back, and handed Carl something.
“Where’d you get a Big Cat bar?” Carl said, wide eyed, taking the candy.
“At the convenience store. I didn’t think they’d have them in England,” Michonne said with a smile. “And, even better, we don’t have to share.”
She pulled out another bar from her pocket, and waved it in his face.
“We’ve both got some this time,” she said, which made them both laugh.
Rick walked up to them after having talked to a red-haired woman that knew where platform 9 ¾ was.
Rick looked fairly uncomfortable trusting his son with a person again, but he didn’t have much of a choice. She was the most trustworthy of the people he had seen, having quite a few kids herself.
“This woman’s gonna help you to the train, Carl. I’m sorry I can’t go with you,” he said, hugging his son tight. When he stood back up, he tapped Carl’s head, “And don’t forget to take this off, too.”
Carl nodded, and he and Michonne followed the woman back to her kids. Rick couldn’t go with Carl because Daryl and Sophia had gotten lost, and Carol and Maggie hadn’t found him yet.
“Hi, Carl, Michonne, I’m Molly Weasley. We’re running a bit late, so we’re gonna have to hurry it up,” they started to rush, and when she got back to her kids, they rushed to the platform.
A boy with red hair just like his mom’s fell into step next to Carl, “Hi, my name’s Ron.”
“Carl.”
Ron nodded, and they hurried to the platform next to each other.
When they got there, they met another boy that needed help. He was small, and he had greasy, long hair and glasses.
Finally, they were inside the platform, and Carl turned to Michonne, “Goodbye.”
Michonne pulled him into another hug, “I’ll miss you.”
Carl nodded into her shoulder. This was the first time in a long time that they’d been separated for more than just a few days.
“I promise to send you comic books every month,” Michonne said as she pulled away.
Carl laughed, and walked onto the train, following Ron and the small boy from earlier.
They found a compartment to sit in.
“So, what’s your name? I’m Ron,” he asked the other boy.
“I’m Harry. Harry Potter, and who are you?” Harry asked, turning to Carl.
“Carl,” Carl said, looking at Ron, who was staring at Harry with his mouth wide open.
“You’re the Boy Who Lived!” Ron exclaimed.
“Um, yeah? I guess... I mean, I just learned about this recently…” Harry said.
“Do you have the scar?” Ron whispered, mesmerized.
Harry nodded fervently, seemingly happy just to be acknowledged. He lifted his hair up to reveal a lightning shaped scar.
Ron gasped, and Carl whistled.
“Wish my scar looked like that,” he said.
Harry pointed to his own eye, and Carl shook his head.
“Not that one,” Carl said, lifting his shirt, “This one.”
Carl showed Harry and Ron where he’d been shot the first time. Other, more minute scars littered his torso, but the boys were looking at his old gunshot wound.
“How’d you get that?” Ron asked.
Carl shrugged, “I got shot.”
“What?!” both boys exclaimed.
“Yeah, but look, there’s no exit wound,” Carl said, turning around. Suddenly, he was excited to be talking to kids his age.
While Harry still looked bewildered and afraid, Ron’s surprised look turned into a face of understanding, “Oh, your accent… You must be from America, right?”
Harry’s look of fear got even worse, as he whipped around to look at Ron, and then back to Carl for confirmation.
“Well, yeah. I mean, where else would you find an eleven year old who’s been shot twice?”
“Twice?!” Harry squeaked.
Both of the boys ignored that, “Um, if it isn’t too personal, what’s it like out there?”
Carl sighed. “It was horrible. Corpses everywhere. If you lived long enough, they didn’t really matter anymore. They were just nuisances. What you really needed to be afraid of was what they turned people into….”
“Oh,” Ron breathed.
He knew he had hit a touchy subject, and could see Carl's discomfort, so he switched the conversation to a more happy subject.
“What house do you think you’ll get into?”
Harry seemed to calm down enough to ask, “What do you mean?”
“Each of the students are sorted into a different house. It’s the people you live with, have classes with, and sit with during meals. It’s like your sports team,” Ron explained.
Carl continued, “There’s four houses: Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin.”
Carl had learned a bit about the school from reading the books he had bought a few days before.
“Yeah. Gryffindor is for the brave, Hufflepuff for the loyal, Ravenclaw for the wise, and Slytherin for the cunning, though lately they’ve all been pure-blooded bigots. Not really sure why,” Ron said.
“Well, I guess I’d be in Hufflepuff? Or Slytherin, the others don’t really match….” Harry said.
Ron smiled, “I’m gonna be in Gryffindor! Everyone in my family has been. Where do you think you’re going, Carl?”
“My mom hoped I’d be in Ravenclaw.”
“You mean that woman from the platform?” Harry said, smiling.
Carl shook his head, “No, but Michonne’s like my mom. My mom died a few years ago.”
Ron and Harry were silent for a moment, before Harry replied, “I mean, at least you have those happy memories, right?”
Carl thought Harry sounded as if he were speaking from experience, or lack thereof, so he nodded, “Yeah, I guess so.”
After that, they talked about more happy topics, about school and houses and such. The trolley came, and Harry bought it out.
Just as Ron was about to show off a spell, a young bushy haired girl walked over to their compartment door.
“Have you seen a-oh, were you about to do a spell?” the girl said in a high, elegant voice, “Why don’t you show us then.”
Ron nodded, and cleared his throat, “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow!”
Ron swished his wand at Scabbers, his rat, and a burst of force pushed Scabbers out of the box he was hiding in.
“Did you really think that was a spell?” Hermione sniffed, “Let me show you what a real spell looks like.”
She walked up to Harry in the corner, “ Oculus Reparo .”
Harry’s broken glasses knit together again, and he took them off and stared, mesmerized.
Hermione was about to walk out, when Carl spoke, “What were you saying before?”
Hermione seemed surprised to hear him talk, or maybe more at his accent, before she started to speak, “Oh, yes, have you happened to see a frog around here? A boy named Neville was looking for it.”
“No,” Carl and Ron said unanimously.
They both looked at each other for a second before Hermione started to speak again.
“Um, do you happen to be from America?” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Do you know about what’s happening out there?”
Carl grinned, “I’d think so, I just left a week ago.”
Hermione’s eyebrows raised, “Really! How so? It must’ve been Dumbledore, right?”
“Yeah,” Carl mumbled, “A lot of people stayed behind.”
“I wonder why?” Hermione voiced.
“There were too many to take, mainly, but Aaron stayed because of Jesus, Jesus had to take care of the community, and Morgan stayed because he was too scared of being with people again…” Carl mumbled.
“Um, I really must go now,” Hermione said, as she saw students in the compartments bustle around, trying to get their robes on.
After Hermione left, Ron, Harry, and Carl stripped out of their clothes, and put on their robes.
Carl stepped off the train, soon followed by Harry and Ron.
In front of them, a large man was leading the students to the school.
Harry ran up to the man and gave him a hug, “Hagrid!”
“Harry! How are ya!” the giant man bellowed, “Oh, and Carl! Glad to see you’re friends!”
Harry pulled away and looked at Carl, “You’ve met Hagrid?”
“Yeah, he took me to get my school stuff,” Carl said, and Hagrid looked surprised, Carl hadn’t spoken at all during their trip.
Ron, Harry, and Carl soon left, and Hagrid continued leading the students.
They followed the other students to carriages. Carl thought they were quite odd, being pulled by skeletal horses.
“Aren’t those carriages weird, Harry?” Carl voiced.
“Yeah…” Harry mumbled, “Skeleton horses are quite weird.”
That’s when Hermione popped up behind them, “You see the skeleton horses? That means you’ve seen death ,” Hermione said, pressing the last word.
“Well, yeah…” Carl mumbled.
No one seemed to know what it was like out there. They keep bringing it up, and some memories really hurt to talk about. The only person he’d been able to talk about it all with was Sophia, whom he’d always been quite blunt with.
The group got on the carriage, including a cute, chubby boy named Neville. They were silent the whole trip, and continued to be on the boats.
Except for Neville’s worried mumbling about the ‘giant squid’.
Finally, they were inside of Hogwarts. The whole class of first years were herded into a giant entrance hall.
Ron and Harry were excitedly chattering about the magnificent castle when a short, blonde boy walked up to them.
“It’s true then, what they’re saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts.”
“Who’re you?” Harry asks.
“This is Crabbe, and this is Goyle,” the blonde boy says, gesturing towards them, “And I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”
Ron snorted, and Draco’s smug expression soon turned into a frown of contempt, turning towards the boy.
“You think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask yours. Red hair, and a hand me down robe. You must be a Weasley,” Draco taunted, looking Ron up and down.
Draco turned to Harry, smirking again.
“You’ll soon find out that some wizarding families are better than others. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there,” Draco said, sticking his hand out to Harry.
Harry looked down at the boy’s hand, and then looked back up, “I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.”
Draco looked hurt for a moment, before his face twisted in anger. He lifted his hand and gestured to Crabbe and Goyle to come over.
The two, big boys shouldered their way to Harry, but Carl swept in in front of him, raising his fists.
“Don’t touch him,” Carl said.
Draco laughed, “And who’s to say they can’t? You?”
“Yes,” Carl growled.
“Wait, I recognize that accent! You’re from America! How’s it holding up out there? I mean, with everyone dead and all? Don’t you have the disease, too?” Draco taunted.
“Yeah, and if you don’t back the fuck up, I’ll give it to you. Wouldn’t want to eat your friends, would ya?” Carl threatened.
Draco was about to respond, before Professor McGonagall shouted out, “Boys!”
She was standing at the top of the stairs in the middle of the entrance hall, which led to a giant pair of doors.
The boys turned to face her, all looking guilty, before she began to speak again.
Shortly after her speech. They were led into the feast hall, which was bustling with loud, boisterous kids lined up in four long dining tables. The teachers were sitting up front, with Dumbledore sitting right in the middle.
In a space between the student tables and the teacher table, sat a stool with an old, big hat on it.
When the first years were led to stand in front of it, the hat started to sing.
Carl found the tune odd, but expected nothing less of a school for magic.
Eventually the hat stopped, and McGonagall stepped up next to the hat.
“Now, before we begin, Professor Dumbledore would like to say a few words.”
Dumbledore stood up from his seat, “I have a few start of term rules I would like to discuss. The first years, please note that the dark forest is strictly forbidden to all students. Also, our caretaker, Mr. Filch,” Dumbledore gestured to a dirty, angry looking old man, “Has asked me to remind you that the third floor corridor, the right hand side, is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death. Thank you.”
What kind of school is this? Carl thought, his face morphed into a confused scowl. Are they hiding walkers up there or something?
Everyone else’s faces turned fearful, afraid of accidentally stumbling into it. At least, the students who knew about the moving staircases were.
Professor McGonagall stepped to the front again, and unwound a scroll, “When I call your name, you will come forth, I shall place the sorting hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses.”
Professor McGonagall picked up the old hat. The idea of an old, dirty hat like that touching Carl’s head gave him shivers. He didn’t want lice ever again.
“Hermione Granger,” she called out.
Hermione scoffed, of course she would have to go up first.
Hermione walked up to the front, and sat on the stool.
The hat grumbled quietly to her for a moment, “Gryffindor!”
Hermione’s face lit up, and she shuffled quickly to the Gryffindor table.
“Grimes, Carl.”
Carl walked calmly up to the stool and sat down. The hat was placed on his head, but it slipped down over his eye.
“My, you’ve been through a lot haven’t you?”
Carl hummed in response, swinging his legs.
“You’re a smart boy, and loyal to your father. But, you were always ready to leave. You loved some people, but didn’t trust others. You would never betray anyone, but you would leave them.
“You value strength, and you have strength. You want to learn to protect yourself, but there’s not much else you care to learn about. You’re brave, and you value that in people. You hate cowards.”
Carl didn’t like having his head picked apart.
“There are things you’re scared of. Death, killing, men. But you push through. That is true courage. So, I think your place should be:
“ Gryffindor !”
Carl grinned, and scampered off after Hermione, plopping down next to her, which just so happened to be in front of Ron’s twin brothers.
After the sorting, there was a feast.
It was the most food Carl had seen in his life, even before the apocalypse.
Ron, Harry, and Neville had all been sorted into Gryffindor.
Of course, Draco had been sorted into Slytherin.
Carl had stuffed himself, mostly gorging on the dessert and staying away from the meat.
He’d had enough meat in his life. Squirrels, deer, rabbits. And it had all been disgusting.
After supper, they were led to the dorms by another one of Ron’s brothers.
Carl climbed his way up the stairs, followed by the other students.
He was the first into their dorm, and got on the bed farthest from the door.
His luggage was already next to the bed, so he opened it and pulled out pajamas.
Carl still wasn’t used to the idea of pajamas. They weren’t comfortable, and made Carl feel weird. Still, he pulled them out of the trunk.
The other students were unpacking knick-knacks and chatting.
Carl pulled out his picture of his mom and dad, and a recently taken photo of his group. Maggie, Rick, Daryl, Carol, Sophia, and him.
That was all he had. Michonne had kept her cat, of course, so nothing else had mattered enough to take.
All of the other students were starting to shuffle out of the dorm and into the bathroom, so Carl followed, holding his towel, pajamas, toothbrush, and toothpaste.
The bathroom was big, and the showers were open.
Carl stripped with everyone else, and Dean gasped.
“Where did you get that scar?!” he whispered.
“A guy shot me.”
Seamus and Dean gasped again, “Why?!”
“He missed the deer.”
“So it was an accident?” Neville asked.
“Both of them were,” Carl mumbled.
“Both?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, didn’t I tell you? The one on my face is a gunshot wound too,” Carl said, lifting his hair above his bandage.
“Oh,” Ron breathed, surprised.
At that moment, everyone felt bad for Carl. Carl, well, he felt embarrassed, because everyone was staring at him.
“Could you not look at me so much? I need to take my bandage off, and I don’t like having people look at it.”
“Oh, oh yeah, sure,” Harry said, turning around and walking into the showers.
Everyone else nodded and followed his lead.
Carl unwrapped the bandage around his head, and threw the dirty bandage in the trash. Unfortunately, Carl had forgotten his bandages at the apartment.
“Shit,” Carl mumbled.
He pulled his hair over his eye, and got into the stall farthest from everyone else. He didn’t mind being actually naked in front of them, he’d forgone his privacy a long time ago, but being without anything to cover his scar made him feel deformed, like something to be pitied.
Even less than being pitied in general did Carl want to be pitied over a stupid scar on his eye. There was plenty else for him to be pitied about, and the one thing that made Carl feel terrible physically and mentally was the last thing he needed anyone to think about.
Carl turned the water on to the hottest it would go, and quietly moaned at the feeling of hot water pouring over him. He still wasn’t used to having a shower. The Hilltop hadn’t had a shower, and Alexandria’s didn’t get very warm, on top of the shower times being rationed. Even before that, he hadn’t been able to ever have shower, let alone be clean.
Michonne might’ve obsessed over brushing her teeth, but Carl was more thankful for a hot shower.
He could feel stares on his back.
“How can you have your shower that hot?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, seriously. Doesn’t it hurt?” Seamus finished.
Carl shook his head, “No, it feels amazing.”
Everyone else was puzzled, and Neville even turned his up to the heat that Carl had it on, before yelping and turning it down.
“We didn’t have hot showers where I was. And before we got to Alexandria, we didn’t have showers at all, after the prison.”
“Alexandria?” Harry asked.
“The prison?!” Neville screeched.
Carl laughed, “We found the prison was abandoned. We took out the walkers swarming the place and made it a community for a while. We had these cold, makeshift showers from the stream nearby where we got our water, but the times people could use them was rationed.”
“And Alexandria?”
“It was one of the last communities we stayed in. The times were rationed, and the showers were barely warm. After Alexandria was taken down, we moved to the Hilltop. The hilltop didn’t have showers, or electricity like Alexandria had, but it was a nice place.”
“No electricity or showers, and you call it a nice place?” Seamus laughed.
“Well it was better than walking all day and starving to death,” Carl responded.
Seamus paled, “Oh. You’re from America, then.”
“You didn’t notice?”
“No,” Dean responded for Seamus.
It was silent for a while as everyone finished their showers. Carl waited until everyone was gone and in the dorm before he slipped out. He dried himself off and put on his pajamas, then brushed his teeth.
He slipped out of the bathroom quickly, and before walking into the dorm room, he pulled his hair down on his face again.
The lights were out, and everyone was curled up in bed, so Carl quietly put his things back into his trunk, and slipped into bed, pulling the bed curtains around him, so nobody would see his scar in the morning.
Carl was the first one up, awoken by his inner alarm clock that was set for dawn.
The sun was barely rising in the bedroom windows, but Carl still slipped out of bed like it was nothing at all.
He was a morning person.
Carl grabbed his uniform and cloak from his trunk quietly and put them on.
He grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste and padded off to the bathroom.
When he was done, he went back to the room, put his stuff away and tied his new shoes on.
Carl liked the feeling of new shoes. His old ones had been so worn out that there’d been holes in the heel.
Socks were a nice luxury, too.
Carl grabbed his bag with his school things in it, which included a quill and ink. Carl had spent the couple of weeks he’d had in London to practice with them, and still his handwriting was horrible.
It wasn’t like his handwriting was much better with a normal pen, but what could you expect? School had stopped for him at the age of eight. He barely knew how to multiply, and certainly didn’t know how to divide. Reading was still tough for him, too.
Before Carl even went to the breakfast hall, however, he found his way to the nurse’s office.
Madam Pomfrey was surprised to see him so early, but got to work nonetheless.
She gave him some magical painkillers for his eye, and wrapped it, with a healing salve.
“The salve should stop the pain and knit up the last bit of it that didn’t heal properly,” Madam Pomfrey said.
She still had other things to check for on the boy. She checked for lice, worms, and any other diseases he could have contracted.
“You’re surprisingly healthy, for having been in such terrible conditions,” Madam Pomfrey stated.
“There was a disease that passed through one of the communities we stayed in,” Carl said.
“Oh, do you know what it was? Symptoms?”
“Well, it killed pretty quick. Coughing a lot was the main indication. Coughing blood, fever, weakness, that kind of thing. Hershel seemed to cure it, or at least the symptoms.”
“Well, you’re not having those symptoms, are you?”
Carl shook his head, “No, I guess not.”
“Then you’re good to go. Breakfast is ending soon.”
Carl hopped off of the stool, “Thanks!”
“Don’t forget your meeting with Snape after classes!” she called after him.
“Yeah!” Carl responded, scampered off to breakfast
Once Carl got into the breakfast hall, he scarfed down his food, and then rushed off to his first class, which was transfigurations.
Carl showed up just on time, and sighed in relief as he sat down at a desk.
The classroom was large, and beige. There was a big wooden desk at the front, with a brown tabby cat sitting on top of a couple of books. The desks were positioned horizontally and looked nothing like the desks Carl had had at school before, they looked more like the teacher’s desks had.
A few minutes later, the teacher still hadn’t shown up to class. Professor McGonagall didn’t seem like the type to be late, but maybe she was just waiting to show up when all of her students did. Harry and Ron hadn’t made it to class yet.
Right when Carl was about to turn around to look for them, Harry and Ron stormed their way into the classroom.
“I can’t believe we’re late on the first day,” Harry groaned as he sat down next to Carl
“Well, at least the teacher isn’t here,” Ron said, plopping down next to Harry.
The cat on the front desk had been staring at the two boys as they made a ruckus coming into class.
Suddenly, the cat jumped off of the desk, and transformed into a human.
“Think again, boys. Next time you come into class late, sit down quietly,” Professor McGonagall huffed.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, we got lost in the halls,” Harry apologized.
“Well next time maybe you should invest in a map,” Professor McGonagall retorted.
The lesson went on, with no teaching of any spells. It was disappointing to say the least.
The next class was charms, and it was the first class they were learning a spell in.
“Wingardium leviosa,” Carl mumbled to the feather in front of him, remembering the swish-and-flick motion they’d been working on for most of the class.
Carl’s feather floated up a bit, following the motion of Carl’s wand, before floating back down to the desk.
“Nice job, Carl!” Hermione praised.
Carl had taken a liking to Hermione. She’d sat with him for the short time he’d been at breakfast, and didn’t talk too much when he didn’t want her to. He’d sat next to her in transfigurations, and helped him to take notes, understanding that quill writing was hard for him.
She also reminded him a bit of Sophia, though she was a bit more spoiled and a show-off. Or, at least, she seemed like it.
Harry turned to look over at Carl, “Did you get it?”
Carl hummed.
“Cool! I haven’t been able to get it yet. Ron hasn’t either,” Harry said, motioning towards Ron, who sat on the other side of him.
Ron shrugged, and flicked his wand towards the feather, “Wingardium leviosa.”
He said it a bit wrong, and Hermione corrected him, “It’s wingardium levi o sa, not levio sa .”
“Yeah, whatever,” Ron huffed.
The class came to an end, and Carl rushed off to his next class, excited to get to potions. He wasn’t quite as excited to have the same guy who was his ‘grief counselor’ be teaching the class.
Carl was the first into class. He plopped himself down on a stool at a table near the front of the class.
He was finally going to use the cauldron he’d been carrying around all day, and Carl was excited to see what they were going to be brewing.
The classroom was dark and dank, despite the tall glass windows in the back of the classroom. Tables were lined tightly in rows descending on long stairs that stretched across the classroom, and the walls and floor were the same boring stone as the rest of the castle, but the floor and tables were stained from old accidents with brewing. There was a desk sat in the front of the classroom, and despite it’s dark color, was the lightest part of the room.
Eventually, students started to pile into the classroom. Hermione slid into the seat next to him, upset about something, so Carl scooted closer to her.
“What’s wrong?” Carl asked.
“It’s nothing,” she mumbled.
Despite her initial distress, being acknowledged seemed to cheer her up. Carl saw Harry and Ron enter the classroom out of the corner of his eye, but there were no seats left near him, so when they caught his eye, Carl shrugged.
Suddenly, a man burst through the doors, as the last of the students sat down.
“There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class,” the dark man decreed, “As such, I don’t expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. However, for those select few who possess the predisposition I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.”
Snape looked down at Draco, who sat in front of Carl and Hermione. Carl could practically see the beaming hope and ambition on Draco’s face from behind the boy.
Snape continued, turning his head up to Harry, who was taking notes, “Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not pay attention.”
Snape raised his voice, calling for Harry’s attention.
Harry put his quill down and looked up at Snape, looking apologetic.
“Mr. Potter. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Hermione raised her hand up high, but Carl nudged her, shaking his head, and she put her hand back down.
Harry shook his head.
“You don’t know? Well, let’s try again,” Snape said, and raised his voice, “Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”
This time Hermione didn’t raise her hand.
Harry shook his head again.
Snape shook his head, “You still don’t know? Well, next summer, read the book. Hopefully, this public announcement taught you that.”
Snape was sarcastic in his tone, and while Carl was sure Harry was going to take this personally, Snape seemed to be trying to be light-hearted.
Snape turned to the rest of the class, “Asphodel and wormwood would make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the draft of the living dead. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons.”
The class stared back at Snape, and did nothing.
“Well? Why aren’t you taking notes?”
Class went on, and they brewed no potions. Carl hadn’t needed to carry his cauldron all morning after all.
Before lunch, Carl rushed to the Gryffindor house to put his cauldron away, and then rushed back to the lunch hall.
Carl found Hermione quickly, and slipped in next to her.
“So, how have you liked the first day?” Hermione inquires.
“It’s been great! I haven’t been to school in years. Was there always so much homework?”
Hermione shrugged, “Probably not as much in American schools as there is here.”
Carl nodded, and turned back to his food, while Hermione turned back to her book.
Carl scarfed down his food, and tugged Hermione away from the lunch hall out to the fields where their next class would be.
Carl and Hermione followed the couple of other excited first years to the broom closet, and chose a broom with the help of Madame Hooch, the flying class professor.
Soon, all of the students were lined up in two rows on the field, their brooms placed on the ground next to them.
“Look down at your broom, and command it: Up!” Madam Hooch lectured, providing an example.
The broom jumped up into her open palm, and she conducted the students to try it on their own.
Carl looked down at his broom and glared at it, turning his head slightly to the side.
“Up!” he commanded, and the broom flew into his hand.
Carl smiled. He looked around, seeing that Harry and Draco had also gotten it on the first try. Ron had technically gotten it, but hadn’t been prepared enough to catch the broom, so it slapped him in the face.
Eventually everyone had their brooms, and the lesson was ready to continue, “When I blow my whistle, take off the ground, float for five seconds, and then lean forward and touch down again.”
Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and Neville was the first to take off.
He floated in the air for a few seconds, but then his broom went haywire.
“Neville! Get down this instant!” Madam Hooch screeched.
Neville was thrown up into the air and swung around and around, through the hoops around the field, and around the castle’s towers. Finally, Neville fell off the broom, and onto a spike sticking out of the stone wall of the castle.
The class ran over to him, but his cloak ripped far too soon for anyone to help. Neville fell to the ground, but a voice rang out.
“Wingardium leviosa!” Carl shouted out, flicking his wand towards Neville.
The boy stopped mid-air just before he hit the ground, floated a bit, and then was lowered slowly to the ground.
Madam Hooch sighed, “Thank you, Mr. Grimes. Ten points to Gryffindor, for quick thinking and competent spellwork.”
Hermione nudged his shoulder and shot him a grin as class started up again, and though he failed quite spectacularly at actually flying, he felt quite proud himself for the rest of the day.
Class ended soon enough after that, and Carl made his way through the rest of his classes that day.
Carl rushed to his meeting with Snape, he had nearly forgotten.
He ran down the hall and into Snape’s classroom.
“I’m here,” Carl gasped, trying to catch his breath.
“I can see that,” Professor Snape drawled, “Take a seat.”
Carl nodded, and walked up to Snape’s desk, plopping into the chair pulled up in front of it.
“So, what are we doing here?” Carl asked.
“Legilimency. Magic of the mind,” Snape responded curtly.
“Ah.”
“So do you feel comfortable starting there, or would you just like to talk?” Snape asked, drawing the words out in the weird way that he does.
“I mean, what exactly is legilimency?”
“I’d essentially cast a spell, and you would be brought into a sort of mindscape. It’ll have memories, and I’ll help you to sift through them.”
“How is that going to help anything?” Carl asked.
“It helps you to process and deal with those memories, whether they be bad or good,” Snape answered.
Carl thought for a moment, wondering if he really wanted someone sifting through his head, “I guess I’m okay with it, but there are some things I’d like to keep private.”
Snape had an odd expression on his face when he responded, “I’m sure. We’ll start small. Looking through things that don’t bother you much.”
Carl nodded, “So is there anything I need to do?”
“Just keep an open mind, and try to close up the things you don’t want me seeing.”
“How do I do that?”
“Picture a brick wall around them, or just don’t think of them at all. Think of the things you want me to see.”
Carl nodded one last time before the spell was cast, and he lost consciousness.
Carl’s mindscape was a light brown. It was rather desolate, as if there should be tumbleweeds around, but there was none.
Carl was supposed to be thinking of something, but when you’re in your own mind, what are you supposed to think of?
He tried to think of something easy: taking out a walker.
And, suddenly, he was there again, cockily drawing the walkers towards me, full of confidence in myself.
And quite so suddenly, a loss of it. A sense of panic as I stumble into another one.
The gun in my hand immediately responds, even before my mind catches up, and suddenly the walker’s dead corpse is on top of me, and I have a noseful of the stench of rotting corpse.
The next one descends upon me, and my trigger finger squeezes, the rotted brain and blood raining down upon my face. I gag as the body falls onto my legs, pinning me down even more.
The final walker drops onto me, squirming, before I hold the gun up to its face and pull the trigger.
Three dead corpses lay on top of me, rotting flesh upon rotting flesh upon living, healthy skin.
The stench makes me lean over and puke after I finally drag myself out from under the pile of corpses.
I’ve had enough; living on my own isn’t quite so easy after all.
I start my way back to my dad.
Carl gagged as he remembered how bad it’d smelled.
Was he supposed to remember something else now?
Carl pulled on something in his head. Tried to remember something else, and it came tumbling out again.
We’ve broken our way into another empty house.
I scavenge the kitchen for something to eat, and underneath the sink I find something—canned dog food.
My lips tug upwards as my stomach rumbles at the thought of something to go in it for a change.
Eight months of near starvation had taken its toll; I’m lowering myself to dog food, and even as I think about how degrading it should feel, I still feel nothing but hunger.
I carry my haul to the living room where the group is congregated, and sit down on the floor next to my mom, and pull the knife out of my pocket.
I stab it through the can’s cover, and drag the knife around the lid, as Dad walks over to me.
Dad snatches the dog food can from my hands and throws it across the room.
Rick stares at me as he sits down across the room, next to Hershel.
I’ve learned my lesson:
We’re still human.
Carl wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do anymore, he felt like he was doing it right, but wasn’t this supposed to be gratifying or something? These experiences were just a part of him now.
He felt his conscious fade again just as he was about to conjure another memory.
Carl opened his eyes again to Snape’s classroom.
“You’re very mature,” Snape comments, “The experiences you showed me are just a part of you now, yes? That’s a very mature outlook on life.”
“I guess,” Carl shrugs.
Snape looks at him from the corner of his eye, “Next time, if you’re comfortable with it, I’d like to try another memory. Something more… difficult.”
“Difficult? Like something that hurts to think about?”
“Yes, if you’re comfortable with that.”
“I guess so.”
“Hm. Well, you’re free to go now, dinner is about to start,” Snape drawled, nodding his head towards the door.
Carl nodded, and got up, grabbed his bag, and left the classroom.
When the boy was gone, Snape dropped his head to the desk and heaved a deep sigh.
Those memories were “just a part of him”? Those were the easiest things for Carl to think about?
Snape wasn’t qualified enough for that boy.
The next morning, Carl woke up and went to breakfast early.
Barely anyone was in the breakfast hall as he went in, and as he sat down, food was conjured in front of him.
He dug in.
A few minutes later, Hermione sat down next to him, and the hall had filled up with more students and teachers.
“Good morning,” Hermione yawned.
Carl hummed and continued to eat.
This would quickly become tradition for them.
Harry and Ron eventually show up, and at that time, the hall was nearly completely full of students.
Harry and Ron sit across from Hermione and Carl, and start to chat.
Carl joins in, having finished his breakfast, and helps Ron in congratulating Harry on his new place on the quidditch team.
Suddenly, a hoot sounds from above them, and Ron calls out, “It’s the morning post!”
Carl’s owl swoops in and lands in front of him, as other owls land around their owners, or just drop the morning post in front of them.
“Hey, Ronnie, what’cha got for me?” Carl cooed at him, pulling the letter from out of the bird's beak.
Carl absentmindedly petted his owl as he opened the letter and started to read.
Carl,
Hey honey, I know it’s only been a couple days but we miss you already. Especially Carol, she misses her best baking buddy and can’t wait until she can teach you to bake sugar cookies! I definitely can’t wait to eat them.
Sophia wanted to know if your classes are going well. She’s a bit jealous that you get to go to school right now, but we’re working on getting her enrolled, so don’t mind her if she keeps prying, she should be sated soon.
Maggie got herself a part time job, too! Saw the ad posted by the convenience store and couldn’t resist, even if your ministry is taking care of our expenses for now. She’s starting next Monday as a pizza delivery girl.
You’ll probably be getting some letters from everyone else soon, and I think Carol made you something. Hopefully it won’t be bad by the time it gets there--she said that since it’s a magic postal service that it shouldn't, but I wouldn’t trust that if I were you.
Love you,
Michonne
Carl choked back a sob as he read the letter. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed them until now.
“Carl, is something wrong?” Hermione asked.
Carl looked up, and saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione looking at him worriedly. At least he wasn’t alone.
“It’s just a letter from my family,” Carl started.