Chapter Text
“Milo… No! Don’t eat that!” I scold, yelling after the small goat, who had stolen some of my washing, most likely to hide it somewhere impossible. “Get back here!”
But, just as I was about to catch him, a crack echoed across the farmyard.
Frozen, I looked for what had broken. Maybe a branch fell? I noticed a man who hadn’t been there moments before but shook myself, pulling out of my musing. I must have missed him.
“Father!” I called through the open window, “I think we have a visitor.” Milo bleated at my feet, in seeming bewilderment. When had he come back?
He came out the side door saying, “A visitor?” Father glanced around in confusion and saw the man at the fence line.
“Hello” the visitor called, “Might I trouble you for a place to sit for a moment? And perhaps a glass of water?” As the man approached more details about him could be made out. He was abnormally tall and his clothes were deep blue with golden embroidery; quite fine for this part of the country. He also had some rather marvelous gray sideburns.
Father opened his mouth, most likely to refuse, but I interrupted him. “Of course,” I told the stranger, “Come in! What’s your name sir?” As my father glared at me, I led the man into the house. I was highly intrigued by him. How had he seemingly come from nowhere?
“Eleazar,” he declared, “Professor Eleazar Figg. Yours?”
“Elizabeth Whizbee,” I glanced at Father and saw my own confusion reflected. Who was this professor and why was he out here in the middle of nowhere? Our group entered a small but cozy living room. The grate was not lit, as it was rather warm outside, but there were still some charred logs from a previous fire. In front of the fireplace was a low table surrounded by two worn but comfortable armchairs, one of which I offered to Professor Figg.
Father sat in his own armchair, resigned to fate. “What brings you out this way Professor?”
Professor Figg seemed to consider his next words carefully. At long last, he said, “I’m looking for new students to continue my work.”
“Which is?” I inquired.
“Researching the origins of magic,” he stated, as if it were the most normal form of study possible.
I finished up the tea and Father side eyed me. Even I was beginning to think I had brought a mad man into our home. “Origins of magic?” I asked, in an attempt to be polite, sitting at the hearth.
“Yes,” the professor affirmed, with a small smile, “Where myths come from, what led to people’s belief in them, etcetera.”
“Have you had any success finding students?”
He laughed at what seemed to be an inside joke with himself, “I believe I have.”
“Believe?” Father repeated.
“I think your daughter would be an excellent fit for the program,” Figg said, reaching his hand into his coat and pulling out a parchment envelope.
“What?” Father barked while I burst out laughing.
“Me?” I hiccuped, stifling my outburst, “Sir you do realize I have a very small education? I can barely do more than simple mathematics.”
“You wouldn’t need that to research in his cock and bull field,” Father muttered.
Professor Figg smiled indulgently at us, “I recommend reading this.” He held out the envelope to me.
I took it and ripped it open, two pages of parchment fell out. I picked up the top page and began to read:
Dear Ms. Wizbee,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a fifth year student.
Term begins on September 1st.
Preliminary supplies have been collected for you and will accompany you on your journey to the castle.
As you may be aware, the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery prohibits the use of magic by those under the age of seventeen outside school. However, due to your unique circumstances, the Ministry has graciously agreed to allow Professor Eleazar Figg to help you hone your spell-casting before escorting you from London to the castle for the start-of-term feast and the Sorting Ceremony.
Yours Sincerely,
M. Weasley
Professor Weasley
Deputy Headmistress
“Witchcraft and Wizardry?” I asked, with my own indulgent smile, “Hogwarts? Sir, I’m not sure-”
Father put a quieting hand on my leg and I looked up at him. “Professor,” he said, “Lizzy is fifteen, magic would have shown itself by now.”
Professor Figg tilted his head in confusion, “You’re a wizard?”
At this point I was sure this was an elaborate prank being pulled on me as Father answered Professor Figg’s question, “No, my grandfather was a squib, at least that's what he called it, said he hadn’t been accepted into Hogwarts. The knowledge was passed down, in case another magic child was born.”
“What was his last name?” Figg asked.
“Same as ours,” Father said.
“Hm, well what your ancestor did was incredibly dangerous,” the professor warned, “You’d be wise to stop the tradition. One slip of the tongue and we could be exposed.”
“Alright,” I huffed, “This is all very funny but you can stop now.”
My father shook his head, “It's not a joke Bizzy.” He turned back to Figg, “You still haven’t explained how she’s even accepted.”
Professor Figg hesitated, “It's unknown why but occasionally there are children who grow into their powers late. I’ve never known it to happen this late though… A delay hasn’t happened for over two decades and even than the student was only twelve. You might possibly be the first to develop this late.”
Father nodded, rubbing my knee in comfort.
I looked between the two, searching for any trace of a joke but I couldn’t see one. Narrowing my eyes, I said, “Prove it.”
Professor Figg smiled again, but this time with a bit of wildness. “Of course.” He flicked his wand. A fire sprang into existence, merrily crackling in the grate behind me. I jumped back with eyes as wide as saucers.
“It's real,” I whispered in awe, ”Magic? And there’s a school for it? How many students are there? How many students are there? What can magic do? Where does it even come from?”
“Quite a few questions,” Figg laughed, “The last two will be answered when you take higher level classes, the answers are far too complicated for me to explain now. As for the other ones; yes, there is a school, created to help young witches and wizards, like yourself, to control their magic. There are about 900 students enrolled currently but most of your peers will be in your year.”
I nodded, absorbing all of this information.
“When do we begin?”