Chapter Text
Holding her finger on the page, she stopped at the paragraph and flicked a bug off her leggings, adjusting her skirt to cover the thin cloth over the knees. Beyond the brick wall, a car scraped around the corner, kicking up the smell of exhaust fumes and asphalt melting in the summer heat.
She should've known trouble was coming when she heard Tobias approaching from outside the yard. For a boy with no indoor-voice he could be frighteningly sneaky at times. Shuffling around the corner in his baggy sweatpants and stained t-shirt, he was flanked by two of his latest orbiters, but the names escaped her. Evan or Charlie, or something of that sort.
The spot between the hedge and the conifers was comfortably shielded from the noise of traffic crawling through the streets of London. But with only one exit, it was as much a trap as it was a refuge. Any hope of being left alone, to read the worn-out novel in her hands, was squashed when Tobias spotted her, before pointing her out to his lackeys.
He opened his gob and barked, "Oi! Cheese cake!"
The name had stuck, thanks mostly to her tendency to tan about as well as a piece of marble stuck in a deep well on the far side of the moon.
"What?" she grumbled.
Tobias waved his flabby arm towards the gate. "You're gonna pop down to the shop on Leven 'n fetch me a box of Black Jacks. And none 'o those with tha' sparkly rubbish on 'em!"
She kept her eyes on the page and replied flatly, "Got no money."
Unperturbed, Tobias sneered and spat, "Well thas' not my problem now, izzit?" He had no qualms regarding petty theft, considering how often he'd been brought back by the police, but trying to rope in others was new, even for him.
With a sigh, she closed her book, looked up and muttered, "Get 'em yourself." In hindsight, the smart thing would've been to go, leaving him to think she had given in and then letting him fume when she'd return empty-handed later. Tobias did not handle immediate rejection well.
"Looks like someone needs a lesson in showin' respect," he snorted, grinning at the boys besides him. "How 'bout we make her eat some dirt?" Seeing him come closer, she quickly stood up, ready to at least put up a fight, no matter how futile.
Her fingers prickled and Tobias suddenly stopped in his tracks. He opened his mouth, but instead of insults he let loose a mouthful of spit and dirt. He retched and coughed, spilling even more dark, brown earth over his shirt.
She watched in awe as Tobias keeled over.
There was little at Bow Creek Communal Foster Home that wasn't showing its age, and the crammed office of Mrs. Dolbeny was no exception. Next to a shelf filled with old books and bleached folders, boxes, overflowing with binders, were piling up between the floor and ceiling.
Sedimentary layers of paper had formed on every surface, waiting to be picked over by the world's most bored archaeologists. Squeezing out of the seams were crinkled magazines and newspapers, headlines blaring about riots in Bristol and war in Yugoslavia.
A shabby oak desk filled most of what little space the room offered, its black legs having long since squeezed four circular holes into the carpet underneath.
It was very much part of a building that had been slowly falling apart for decades. And it would continue to do so, provided the imminent cuts to municipal spending in the East End wouldn't see it sold off, bulldozed and turned into an overpriced apartment block.
Behind her desk, Agnes Dolbeny was hacking away at a navy-blue typewriter, Sears Citation two, model of nineteen-sixty-five. She stamped a final period onto the end of the paragraph, before leaning back into her seat and letting out a slow sigh.
The wrinkles on her face formed into the vague approximation of a smile, not with the false cheerfulness of a disguised sneer, but nonetheless tired and unenthusiastic. She addressed her visitor, "Are you ready to talk now, Amelie?"
Attempting, unsuccessfully, to disappear into the folds of a cracked leather armchair was a young girl; skinny, pale-faced and with wavy, dark auburn hair that reached to her neck. A grey jumper, bearing the fading image of a cartoon animal, loosely hugged her frame, contrasting with a long, black skirt, that at some point might have had a few yellow stripes on it. Her clear, amber eyes remained stuck to the front of the desk, avoiding Mrs. Dolbeny's disappointed gaze.
Biting her lip and gripping the hem of her sleeve, she mumbled, "I didn't do it."
This was mostly correct, in that Amelie hadn't intended for any of the things to happen after Tobias approached her. Yet this didn't explain why his mouth and stomach were suddenly found to be filled with flowerpot soil. Nobody had seen her so much as lift a finger, but this did not stop them from sending her straight to the office, while Tobias was being rushed away in an ambulance.
"I know that you are not someone in the habit of being sent to my office," Mrs. Dolbeny conceded. "I'd say we've had a good relationship over the years so far." By which she meant 'The fact that I barely knew your name was a testament to your ability to stay out of trouble, and now you've ruined that as well'. She rested her elbows on her desk, hands folded, and continued.
"But this does not mean that I can just send you off with a slap on the wrist. The boy is having his stomach pumped and trips to the Accident and Emergency tend to draw uncomfortable questions. I cannot say how what happened to him... happened, but I am left with an injured child, a pair of panicked, incoherent boys and a lot of fingers pointing to one person."
She lowered her arms against the desk and leaned forward. "What's going on with you, Amelie?" she sighed. "And not just today." Reaching into a drawer, Mrs. Dolbeny produced a messy stack of hand-written notes and letters.
She continued, "You haven't been eating properly. Mrs. Malcolm says you're uncooperative in class. And don't think I've forgotten how often the school has sent you to the nurse's office in the last few months alone." Agnes flicked through the stack of slips.
"It's nothing," Amelie lied, but she could barely muster the will to put much effort into it.
She'd had more than her fill of visits that had gone nowhere. Mumbling about chronic fatigue, food allergies or incomprehensible gibberish that, she was sure, weren't even real illnesses. On top if it all, her teeth had started hurting again and if she so much as thought about climbing into a dentist's chair, she'd faint for sure.
Perhaps it was punishment for her wish to see Tobias get a dose of his own medicine. She didn't want to believe that she had anything to do with it, but it certainly felt like she had wanted to stuff his ugly, sneering face with gravel.
Mrs. Dolbeny heaved another sigh and pulled the page from the typewriter. Amelie caught a glimpse of the city's seal in the letter-head. Never a good sign for anyone raised in foster care. The droning of traffic and ticking of the clock on the wall were becoming unbearably loud. Amelie rubbed her temples, trying to drown out the buzzing noise creeping up around her.
"I wish I could do more to help you," Mrs. Dolbeny offered, "but we just don't have the resources to resolve these things here at home. We're understaffed as it is, and Mrs. Reynolds will likely leave us by the end of- what's wrong?"
But Amelie could barely hear her speak any more. Her voice disappeared into a high-pitched cacophony that seemed to bounce around the inside of her skull, while her vision became blurry. Sounds were hammering into her from all directions and her skin felt as if it was on fire. A lorry on the street outside screeched its way around a corner and she felt as if her eardrums would rupture.
"Amelie?"
Grabbing her head, Amelie squeezed her eyes shut. It was too much. A pained groan, coming from her mouth, rose into a scream and she felt her skin prickle, a rush surging through her like a gust of wind coming up from under her feet. Through the fading noise, she could hear an avalanche of thumping and tumbling objects.
Slowly opening one eye, she saw Mrs. Dolbeny was on her feet, her back pressed against the bookcase behind her. A threadbare copy of 'The Principal Guide to Youth Discipline' tumbled off the shelf and inexplicably started falling upwards. Amelie followed the floating book and found the desk, chairs, boxes, folders, letters, papers and even the navy-blue typewriter, stuck to the ceiling. A few pencils and binders were bobbing lazily just below the inverted pile of stationary and furniture.
The bizarre sight made Amelie's stomach turn. Something clicked and gravity seemed to remember who was supposed to be running the show. The contents of the office came crashing down in a torrent of wood, paper, plastic and metal, the brunt of it barely missing both of them. Mrs. Dolbeny screamed, shielding herself from a hail of debris and splinters that seemed to avoid Amelie entirely. As the chaos died down, Amelie's gaze met Mrs. Dolbeny's, her face pale and eyes wide with shock, her mouth moving soundlessly.
Amelie fell out of the chair and bolted for the door.
The old house's loft remained pleasantly cool, even in the middle of summer, providing a retreat from childish cruelty. Amelie sat against an old cupboard filled with crumbling board-games and moth-eaten bed sheets, her small frame trembling ever so slightly.
She was cursed, that much she was certain of. The fight with Tobias could've been anything, a prank by one of the other children, a weird attempt to frame her or any other nonsense that someone could've done to get her in trouble. But now this...
Pulling her legs to her chest, Amelie felt sick. Her head spinning, her stomach rumbling and her hands shaking from the aftershock of what had happened just minutes ago, followed by her desperate flight up the stairs and into this room. It wasn't her fault. It couldn't be her fault again.
She considered, not for the first time, stuffing what clothes she owned into the battered, old trunk under her bed and making a run for it. But after today, she'd be lucky if they didn't throw her in a padded cell the moment she stepped outside. Wallowing in anger and confusion, kicking dust bunnies around the hard, wooden floor, Amelie was ripped from her misery with a start, when there was a knock on the attic door.
For a moment, Amelie hoped that whoever had come looking for her would take the lack of response as a sign to give up. There were muffled voices on the other side of the door and she felt fear rising, clamping down on her throat. Had the police been called? Were angry men in white coats waiting to throw her into a truck and speed off to a sinister sanatorium?
The lock hadn't had a key for as long as she could remember, but there was a rusty latch keeping the door closed. How much resistance would it offer? As it turned out, none at all. Amelie stared, perplexed, as the metal bolt creaked and slid back by itself. She held her breath, wishing to vanish into the cold, wooden surface at her back, when the door slowly opened.
Stepping into the room was, not a duo of hard-faced orderlies holding a straight-jacket, but a tall woman Amelie had never seen before. Her black hair, strands of grey running through it like spider-webs, was pulled into a tight bun. Underneath a dark jacket, she wore a white blouse, tucked into a tartan-patterned skirt. Long, black leather boots disturbed the dust on the floor as she came closer. Her thin lips relaxed into a smile as she observed Amelie sitting curled up against the cupboard.
"Miss Hastings, I presume?"
Amelie slowly rose to her feet as the woman came closer.
"My name is Minerva McGonagall."
Amelie regarded 'McGonagall' in quiet confusion, thoughts stumbling over each other as she tried to keep up with what was happening. Pressed for a reaction her mind sent her mouth an unhelpful, "Who are you?" which wasn't the keenest response to someone having just told you their name.
McGonagall gave her a disarming smile and replied, "Everything in due time, my dear. Now let me have a look at you. That was quite a close call downstairs just now." Amelie swallowed, reminded of the destroyed office she had left in her wake.
"It wasn't- I don't know what-" she stuttered, but McGonagall waved her off.
"Not to worry now." Seeing no obvious damage, she continued, "I know this wasn't your fault. We- that is, Mr. Peasegood and I, are here to make sure you are well and to see this little accident cleaned up. But perhaps we should discuss this in a more comfortable location." She stood aside and gestured for Amelie to step into the corridor. Pulled forward by curiosity and backwards by gnawing doubt, Amelie shakily followed along.
She tensed up as she saw a man, dressed in a kind of grey robe and wearing a bowler hat, approaching from the staircase. An odd patch on his shoulder read 'AMRS'.
"Everything in hand down there, professor," he reported to McGonagall, who had come up behind Amelie.
She nodded and replied, "Thank you, Arnold. I'll just need a few more minutes," before turning to Amelie. "Mr. Peasegood works for the ministry," she explained, as if that would clear things up in some way. The oddly dressed man offered Amelie a smile, touching the brim of his hat. McGonagall placed a hand on her shoulder and nudged her towards the door to the tea kitchen.
The small, grubby kitchen had served for dinner as well as a place to kill time whenever the weather wouldn't allow them to set foot outside. But with her head swimming from what McGonagall, Professor McGonagall Amelie reminded herself, had just told her, the familiar room now seemed as alien and strange as the surface of Venus.
"Magic," Amelie uttered. As if saying it out loud would somehow let her pin down the errant thought like a butterfly madly flapping its wings around in her head. "And I'm..."
"A witch. Yes." McGonagall seemed pleased, watching Amelie closely. "Of course you are as yet untrained. The events of yesterday and this morning were, what we would consider 'accidental magic'. Underage witches and wizards are often prone to causing such incidents during moments of stress or heightened emotion." She folded her hands in her lap, looking across the low table at Amelie, who felt like the dusty old sofa might swallow her up at any moment.
Biting her lip, Amelie asked, "So that's why my head and ears have been hurting?" McGonagall's brow furrowed and she observed the girl for a moment.
"Well, that is a possibility. Uncontrolled magic can do a number on the body, especially for someone as young as yourself." She continued, "Now, thankfully the ministry of magic is very much prepared to handle these little slip-ups. Mr. Peasegood has already returned the office downstairs to its previous condition. As it would happen, this event also helped us solve a small conundrum."
She cleared her throat. "You see, the quill that names the students for the new school-year has given us your name, but not much else to go on. Which is unusual, to say the least. As such, we were in quite a bind to find you, until your unfortunate accident yesterday."
Amelie felt herself bursting with questions, but settled on, "What 'school-year'?" McGonagall's smile widened and she pulled a thick envelope from her jacket. It read 'Amelie Hastings', with only 'London' given for an address.
"Go ahead, open it," McGonagall nudged her. Carefully unsealing the envelope, Amelie pulled out several thick pages and began to read.
The letter was a brief as it was confusing, every new piece of information exploding into dozens of new questions. Amelie looked up, her tone guardedly hopeful as she asked, "It's a school for magic?" The other two pages appeared to be lists of various items and books.
Professor McGonagall nodded and explained, "Hogwarts is the pre-eminent institution for magical learning and education in Britain, and among the most distinguished in the world. All young witches and wizards across the country, who are found to possess the ability, receive an invitation to attend in the summer of their eleventh year."
Reaching into her jacket, McGonagall revealed a long, smooth wooden stick. She pointed it towards a knitted tea-cozy and Amelie watched as it turned into a parrot before her very eyes. The confused bird took off and flew a lap around the room, before settling on the counter, where another swish of McGonagall's stick turned it into a tea-cup. A fizzy feeling started bubbling up inside Amelie. This was real.
McGonagall's smile diminished slightly as she continued, "Normally at this point I would be discussing the details of your preparation with your parents or guardian."
She shifted in her seat. "Given the situation, this seems not very feasible. But not to worry, Miss Hastings. Even for irregular circumstances such as these, there are procedures in place to help young students along the way."
She straightened up, brushing some dust off her sleeve. "As such, I would like you to gather your belongings and join me. I have arranged for a place where you may stay until you are ready to leave for Hogwarts."
A million questions were still floating around Amelie's head, like moths frantically circling a lamp, but McGonagall's offer nudged her towards a clear path. A path away from Bow Creek. She nodded and was on her feet before she had fully digested what was happening. One last thing gnawed at her mind though.
"What about Mrs. Dolbeny?" she asked. Professor McGonagall gave a firm nod while getting up and opening the door for them.
"It is good that you ask, but thankfully she come to no harm. Mr. Peasegood has notified me that he has administered a calming draught to let her get some rest. She won't be remembering anything about today. Furthermore, we will make sure that your absence will not be noted."
With only half a dresser of space for herself, stuffing her meagre clothes and what few things she owned into the beaten-up trunk seemed to take no time at all. Before long, Amelie was dragging her luggage out the door and towards the stairs.
Professor McGonagall stepped up and drew her wand. "Here, allow me." With a swish and a few muttered words the trunk suddenly seemed to weigh next to nothing. McGonagall beamed.
"That should last for a while. Now, do you have everything?" She might've expected Amelie to give a long, wistful look back across the room she had spent most of her life in, but the young girl simply nodded, eyes forward. "Well, then let's not waste any time."
Following the witch, Amelie set off into the city.