Chapter Text
In a burst of smoke, the Hogwarts Express barreled through Platform 9 ¾, coming to an alarmingly abrupt (and particularly earsplitting) halt. Had Monty been paying attention to her surroundings, she would’ve heard it coming, thus preventing her from jumping several feet in the air and protecting her from a pair of third year Hufflepuffs giggling at her. Alas, that was not the case. With the modicum of dignity she had left, she adjusted her prefect badge on her sweater, a new nervous trait to compete with pushing her glasses up. The Hufflepuff pair straightened up at the badge’s gleam, knowing better than to irritate another house’s prefect on the very first day of the year.
At this, Monty smiled to herself. After last term’s Quidditch Cup upset, she would take any morsel of respect for her, even if it came from a place of mild fear. She internally recoiled. You sound like a Slytherin. She shook her head of the thought.
She had nothing against Slytherin house, unlike many other Gryffindors, but she simply didn’t see herself aligned with their traits. Ambition, maybe, but she didn’t exactly declare herself as Slytherin-adjacent. However, she had secretly begun to wish she actually were aligned with Slytherin or Hufflepuff, dreading all upcoming interactions with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. She was certainly not in any hurry to spend time in the Gryffindor common room. Perhaps she’d befriend all first years. Who needed to go to Hogsmeade, anyway?
The rush of goodbyes around her snapped her back into reality again. She had probably spaced out this summer more times than her previous fifteen years combined. She suspected it had to do with the constant taunts from her brothers for the “assist in getting Ravenclaw the Quidditch Cup.” Three Quidditch stars would be too much for one family anyway, so it was in her best interest to quit regardless. In her (admittedly blurry) peripheral, she saw her younger brother give their mother one last parting hug before taking off for the nearest train door. Monty briefly considered whether she should turn and wave goodbye to her mother, but she thought it best to not. The likelihood of getting a wave back from mommy dearest was far less for Monty than it was for baby Joel.
Monty held on tighter to her bag and stepped forward on the platform. Normally she sat with the Gryffindor team, and despite a full summer of ruminating over the subject, she had no backup plan. Pick a random group of Hufflepuffs… or Slytherins... or look around for other prefects. At the very least, she could take solace in knowing that her older brother had graduated and was no longer Head Boy. Fingers crossed that Head Boy and Head Girl would be Hufflepuff or Slytherin. She had really begun to fixate on becoming an honorary member of one of her now two preferred houses.
Two younger boys ran in front of her in the train corridor, chasing each other with their wands drawn, nearly causing Monty to trip. The taller looked back, startled and slightly apologetic. Monty tapped her prefect badge in warning, causing the taller boy to push the shorter boy’s wand down with his free hand.
“Sorry!” the taller boy called, before continuing to rush down the halls with his friend. Monty was actually unsure if she had the power to take points away yet, supposing she’d find out in the prefect meeting. Right, the prefect meeting! And she silently rejoiced, remembering she had a place to sit for the journey to Hogwarts.
“Oi, Baird!” A male voice came from inside a nearby compartment. She did not look his way. “Taking flying again with the first years?”
She ignored it to the best of her ability and tried to regain her usual devil-may-care composure. Still, she couldn’t resist the urge to adjust her glasses as she hurried to the back of the train.
Unlike the rest of the train, the last railcar was exclusive to prefects. It was not separated into smaller compartments, but rather had several rows of emerald velvet benches facing a large mahogany desk, like pews facing an altar.
Only a handful of prefects had already arrived. Jake Lien, one of the sixth year Gryffindor prefects glanced at her coldly. So Gryffindor does hate me. And that was honestly how she pictured the entirety of fifth year to go. Luckily enough for her, she recognized a fifth year Hufflepuff sitting across the compartment.
Sade Agrinya was the Hufflepuff Seeker, and easily the quickest Hogwarts had seen in recent years. She was tall, dark, and statuesque, often compared to the Venus de Milo by the more worldly muggleborn students. Each gleam of her prefect badge lit up the freckles of gold in her otherwise dark eyes. She was unanimously considered to be the most beautiful girl in their year, both envied and adored by many. She idly twirled a few of her dark braids in her fingers as she blew kisses out the window to her family, waiting for the train to depart. In Charms, Sade always went out of her way to ask Monty how her day was. It was no surprise that Sade would be prefect.
“Mind if I sit next to you?” Monty’s voice felt foreign in her own mouth. Her vowels were slipping, even if she tried to ignore it.
“Monty!” Sade grinned. “I’m so pleased it’s you. My favorite Gryffindor.”
Monty was sure she’d say that to any Gryffindor she crossed paths with, save one or two.
“Do you know who your partner is?” Monty asked as she sat down.
“Calvin MacPherson,” she responded. “He wrote to tell me last week. He’ll be just brilliant, I think.”
Again, Monty felt certain that Sade would have been happy with anyone as her fellow Hufflepuff prefect. Certainly, any Hufflepuff boy would be thrilled to do rounds by her side. Monty wouldn’t blame any of them to line up to beg for the position.
Almost on cue, Calvin entered the compartment and sat in the row just behind them.
“How’re you both?” But it was more directed at Sade than Monty. The girls exchanged pleasant greetings with him.
Calvin was a generally mousy boy, but it was clear that a growth spurt was imminent. His arms had lengthened from the last time Monty had seen him, but his torso and legs had yet to catch up. As always, his mushroom brown hair lay limp against his forehead, nearly concealing his green eyes. Or are they blue? I can’t tell. It didn’t matter either way.
In the comfortable lull in conversation, Monty was able to really take in the enormity of the train car. She felt cheated that she had shoved into the tiny compartments all these years before her.
Prefects were streaming in now, and Monty’s anxiety over who her Gryffindor counterpart would be rushed back through her body, colder than the Great Lake. Monty had hoped this would be the year that Hogwarts decided against nepotism, but with the sheer percentage of war heroes’ descendants at the school, it was highly unlikely. In fact, she was floored that she got the prefect position at all over the Weasley legacy (despite actively lobbying for the position). It seemed more unlikely to her throughout the first half of summer, as she further considered how the Headmistress would absolutely expect her to throw parties in the prefect bathroom. With her track record, that would have been the year’s event-to-be, but she’d sworn to Professor Longbottom that she would be on her best behavior for the year if he recommended her for the position.
When Lysander Scamander walked through the door in all his snowy glory, she let out a massive sigh of relief. Out of the fifth year Gryffindors, Lysander cared about Quidditch the least, and would be the least likely to be rude to her. Sure enough, he smiled at her and came her way to sit down.
“You’re not a Weasley!” Lysander joked, and Monty couldn’t help but return his grin.
“And you’re not a Potter!” She prodded at his ribcage causing him to laugh and swat her hand away. “Although, I did beat two Weasleys out, and you only beat one Potter.”
“One Potter is easily worth two Weasleys. Besides, James is one full Potter and one half Weasley.”
Snowy was always the first word that came to mind when she thought of Lysander, perhaps because they had first met at age nine, when both their families were enjoying a lovely winter holiday in Godric’s Hollow. They had begun the snowball fight of the century (or so they imagined) in front of the church, while their brothers looked on in disdain. It was also likely due to his nearly pale, spotless complexion, crystal blue eyes, and nearly white hair that had grown out a considerable length past his shoulders since the end of last term. Snowy, yes, but not icy, as Lysander’s presence felt familiar and comfortable to all that met him.
The fifth year Ravenclaws entered together, already in conversation. The girl was Natalia Truitt, who Monty knew to be a fairly introverted muggleborn girl. She lived in the muggle part of town next to Montgomery Hall, so Monty would run into her here and there in the muggle library on school breaks. The boy was Lysander’s twin brother, Lorcan. Not snowy, no, but icy.
Lysander looked up at Lorcan, looking as if he desperately hoped his brother would sit next to him. Instead, Lorcan breezed past him, not even bothering to make eye contact. Lysander stared at his lap.
“So,” Monty began. She rather hated tension. “We’re both avoiding Ravenclaw this year, then?” Lysander laughed somewhat weakly and nodded in agreement. Natalia looked back and smiled, prompting a wave from the Gryffindor pair. “Well, maybe we have one on our side.”
“I think the Head Girl is a Ravenclaw this year, so hopefully we’ll have two.”
“Prefects,” Jolie Waterford, a seventh year Ravenclaw, called out. “We are still waiting on a few stray prefects, but we are beginning the meeting in five minutes!”
“I think you’re right about the Head Girl being Ravenclaw,” Monty whispered to Lysander. He laughed, stronger that time.
“Sorry, but do I detect a hint of the Minister’s English in your tone, Miss Baird?” And while he said it teasingly, the words tore a bit at the pit of her stomach. She felt her smile wilt for just a moment, before reconstructing it again.
“I normally live with my aunt in Colorado in summer,” she explained. “But my mom kept me in the Hall, so I was surrounded by the redcoats the whole break. I thought I’d hang around the tourist-y areas to chat with some Americans for accent optimization, but for some reason it was all Italians this summer.”
It was somewhat of a shock across the prestigious in Wizarding Britain when the darling eldest daughter of the Montgomery family had married an American muggle. Since the family’s return to Britain about seven years back, it seemed that her mother grew ashamed of the decision. The Montgomerys were not pureblood fanatics by any means, but with wealthy pureblood lineage came considerable perks and protections. Marrying a halfblood would have been decent, a muggleborn would be questionable, and a muggle was downright scandalous. In recent years, it seemed her mother engaged in less and less conversation about her father, culminating that year into no mention of him ever existing and a staunch refusal to allow her to visit her muggle side of the family in America. While this decision came from a slew of rationalisations, it was heavily in part to the annual summer event of Araminta Montgomery-Baird begging her daughter to practice her British accent. This year, she had simply taken more extreme measures of persuasion.
While other British pureblood families intermarried, the Montgomerys noticed that as the other purebloods inbred, there was an increase in mental instability, violence, and squib births. Beginning in the mid-1700s, the Montgomerys began a tradition of leaving Britain to marry purebloods in other countries. Since the pureblood pedigree across nations could not be confirmed, the Montgomerys were not included in the Sacred 28, which the family claimed to not care for anyway. However despite the vast array of cultural ancestry, the Montgomerys always sent their children to Hogwarts and considered themselves distinctly British.
But Monty didn’t see why she needed to lose her accent. She lived in America for longer than she lived in Britain, which was unusual for a Montgomery. Next year, it will be dead even. The year after, you’ll be more Brit than Yank. The absolute last thing she wanted to do was give into familiar pressure and adjust her accent to fit expectation. That would be cowardice, and Montgomery Baird was not a coward.
Of course her brothers didn’t understand. Her older brother, Finch, spent the entire summer before his first year perfecting his British accent, so no one would pick him out as different. For Finch, any difference was a bad difference. He could not comprehend that standing out could be a positive thing. Besides, the heir to Montgomery Hall must be presentable, and being the proud son of an American muggle was absolutely not presentable.
Her younger brother, Joel, was too young when they moved back to Britain and forgot his American accent, but it was highly likely that he would’ve chosen a similar path to Finch. Joel was far too focused on his popularity and would rather his peers focus on his athletic prowess than a glaringly obvious accent.
She had to give it to them, having an American accent certainly did put a target on her back for cheap jokes and pranks, often from the sharp tongue of James Potter. While in years past she took the jokes lightheartedly, she imagined that she would not be so generous in her reception anymore, least of all from James Potter.
The prefect meeting was not as long as Monty had expected. She was hoping it’d stretch out until their arrival, so she could put off seeing any other fifth year Gryffindors until they got in the Great Hall. In fact, the prefect meeting was quite short and quite dull. The duties were exactly what she had expected from the previous years of Finch raving about being prefect and later Head Boy. All she could do was pray that actually performing the duties would be more entertaining than listening to them.
“Before you go,” the Head Boy, a Slytherin by the name of Eros Farley, stopped the chatter that broke out among the prefects. “Please meet with all prefects of your year. We will not tolerate house division this year, especially among prefects.”
A wave of relief washed over Monty at the opportunity to prolong interaction with her own house. Lysander and Monty turned inward towards Sade and Calvin. From the corner of her eye, Monty watched Lysander tense up when Lorcan had Natalia sit in between them. The two Slytherin fifth years, Mariana Caticovas and Nadim Bahri, sat next to Calvin.
“This looks like a solid group,” Nadim clapped his hands together in greeting.
Nadim possessed happy manners and always picked his words carefully. He rarely ever misspoke, which naturally led him to be appointed leader in most group activities. While he kept his professional aspirations close to his chest, nearly no one would be shocked to open up the Prophet and see him as Minister of Magic. Monty imagined that his growing in attractiveness certainly wouldn’t hurt his career, but that was neither here nor there.
“Should we all introduce ourselves?” Sade’s smile was so wide, it could split in two. Nadim nodded in agreement. In two years, they were likely to be the perfect Head Boy and Girl.
“We’ve been in classes together for four years now,” Lorcan spoke up. His tone had an edge to it that Monty didn’t remember being there before in their - admittedly - brief interactions. “If you don’t know someone’s name, you haven’t been paying close enough attention.”
Lysander’s gaze returned to his lap.
“Maybe we should say fun facts about ourselves,” Sade tried to diffuse the awkwardness. This was the perfect stalling opportunity.
“I agree,” Monty added quickly. Sade shot her a grateful smile. “I think we’ll work best as a team if we’re all friends.”
“We don’t need to be friends to do our job,” Lorcan mumbled. Sade and Monty gave one another the look, the sacred feminine code that transcends all language barriers, and continued on.
From their sharing circle, Monty learned that Natalia wanted to be a portraitist, Lorcan prided himself in creating his own spells, Sade could speak three languages other than English, Calvin’s family had recently rescued an abandoned Niffler (and subsequently lost all their silverware), Nadim interned for the Ministry over the summer, Mariana had returned from visiting family in Mexico only three days prior (carefully reminding the group that the Caticovases were the most powerful wizarding family in Mexico), and Lysander hoped to work as an editorial assistant for the Quibbler when he graduated.
Monty began to wish she hadn’t endorsed the fun fact plan, as she was thoroughly unsure what to say about herself. She was certain there were things she was notorious for (Gryffindor’s resident party girl, the Chaser that lost Gryffindor the Cup, the American, etc.), but this year, she was determined to earn the respect of her peers. She was actually quite tired of maintaining her persona.
“I, uh,” she scrambled to come up with something. Lorcan snickered quietly. “I spend a lot of my free time studying advanced mathematics and enchantments for modern muggle technology.”
“You can’t enchant muggle technology,” Mariana snapped.
“See, that’s the thing. I have a theory that if you blend muggle engineering with more advanced charms, you actually can. I don’t know, it’s just a theory.”
Mariana scoffed and turned her attention towards Nadim. “Is that enough socializing?”
The seventh year prefects had already left, and the sixth years were grabbing their bags to leave.
Nadim looked to Sade, who politely shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“I think this will be a great team!” Sade cheered.
While the other prefects rose to leave the railcar, Monty hesitated. There was still a significant amount of time left before the train arrived at Hogsmeade station, and she did not want to spend it hiding from Potter and his trailing family tree. She briefly considered spending the rest of her time sucking up to the Heads, but she supposed they deserved to enjoy the rest of their last first ride to Hogwarts.
To her moderate surprise, Natalia Truitt also did not rise, but rather pulled out a sketchpad. As Lysander maneuvered around Natalia to exit the row, Monty slid over to make up the space.
“Not looking to join the fray either?” Monty asked politely. In truth, she was just desperate for as many friends as she could manage at this point. She was, in her essence, a social butterfly. Hermitude was not her calling.
Natalia looked up from her sketchbook and smiled. “Honestly? I’m just trying to avoid Lorcan; he’s been talking my ear off about rounds and duties from the instant he saw my pin.”
They began to share horror stories of Lorcan Scamander’s intense expectations. Monty did feel guilty that a few of the indictments she shared were actually tales she heard from Lysander, but she really couldn’t be expected to turn down a gossip session. After all, she was still fifteen and mutual dislike is always the best bonding technique.
Monty wasn’t sure how she hadn’t taken more notice of Natalia before. Her features were soft, complimented well by her waist-length, wavy brown hair and almond-shaped blue eyes. She had a small stud piercing in her nose, and piercings going up her ear that hinted at a rebelliousness otherwise hidden by her quiet demeanor and small movements. On her wrist, an ink doodling of a solar system rotated around in circles. When Natalia noticed Monty looking at it, she turned her hand over and opened her palm to reveal a drawing of the sun, the rays flaring repetitively.
“After graduation, I’m getting it tattooed.”
“That’s incredible!” Monty continued to gape at it in awe. “Anyone that wants a tattoo, I’m sending straight to you.”
Natalia blushed. “Thank you.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying each other’s company as the only two left in the compartment. Outside the window, the Scottish countryside whipped by in a dewey green blur. Were she to take off her glasses, Monty would’ve been sure to only see a wall of emerald. Emerald green was her favorite, and she was always going to be astronomically jealous of Slytherin for their house colors. Past the window, grainy specks sparkled that could’ve either been rain or visual snow, but between the speed of the train and Monty’s questionable eyesight, it was relatively indecipherable.
“Oh, I meant to tell you that I thought your theory was very interesting,” Natalia spoke suddenly. “Well, you know I grew up in the muggle world. Everything moves so quickly out there now, and when you go back, you feel left behind.
“Summer’s the worst, too. My parents don’t see the point in getting me a cell phone if I’m only going to use it a few months out of the year, so I always get forgotten in family plans and inside jokes. And let’s be honest, wizard music sucks.”
“Right?” Monty near cackled. “Worty Greenbolt wants what Harry Styles has.”
“Ugh, I’d kill to listen to Harry Styles!”
“My cousins actually get me records for holidays,” giddiness overtook Monty. “I have a decent library going, and I did get a Harry Styles album. I can bring my record player to the prefect bathroom sometime. It took me all third year to get the enchantment right.” There were actually plenty of pre-enchanted record players you could get at Diagon Alley, but Monty preferred her muggle one with the pink rose pattern. Besides, the work was good training for her new expedition of enchanting her aunt’s old CD player.
It was thrilling to have someone to talk to about muggle culture. Niamh Clancy was the only muggleborn Gryffindor girl in their year, and she didn’t like to talk about her muggle upbringing. On occasion, Monty was able to engage Archie Wright, the only other Gryffindor muggleborn in fifth year, in a conversation about movies they might have seen over summer holiday. However, Monty’s muggle culture references came from her cousins in Colorado and frequently went out of fashion before she could discuss it with anyone.
Out of politeness, Lysander would often try to engage her with American wizard trends with her that he got from his great aunt in New York, but she had no interest in being a part of American wizarding culture. She was, in all confusion, a British witch and an American muggle, and neither of those things fit with the other. At least not at Hogwarts.
Every once in a while, Hogwarts would be a bitter realization that she was growing to be more of her mother than her father. While like her father in temperament, she was constantly reminded by professors, portraits, and ghosts that she was the spitting image of her mother. She couldn’t step too far without a comparison of their freckles, dark brown waves, or dark eyes. It irritated her that they wouldn’t know that she had her father’s smile, laugh, or his sense of adventure. There was only one portrait that commented on her likeness to her mother in a way that mattered, a portrait of a young man she was eager to see.
Monty hadn’t realized she’d drifted off into her personal la la land until the screech of the train’s brakes reverberated through her ears. Natalia jumped up, practically itching to get off the train. Leaving the comfort of the train meant the increased likelihood of riding in a carriage with Gryffindors, so Monty was in no particular hurry to get up or out.
“You go on ahead,” Monty waved Natalia off casually. Natalia looked unsure, but was reassured by the ear splitting grin Monty could pull off so convincingly.
Natalia took off just short of a sprint, leaving Monty alone in the pulsating silence of the empty space around her. She supposed she could just stay there until the train returned to Kings Cross, but the most annoying thought bounced through her head like that stupid rabbit from that animated muggle movie she couldn’t quite place the name of at the moment. Avoiding your problems is cowardice. And the worst part was, it was probably true.
With the heaviest of sighs, Monty grabbed her bag and forced herself through the door to the corridor, only to be met by a cocky, lopsided grin under a mop of unkempt black hair blocking her path.
“Not very Gryffindor of you to be hiding away. Is it, Baird?”