Chapter Text
“Fucking hell!”
I run out of the front door and check my phone yet again as if it would suddenly change time indicating that I’m, in fact, not severely late for school.
“Stupid, idiotic!” I mutter under my breath.
Shoving with, I hope, is all the books I need for my classes in my backpack, I start to run down my street towards my bus stop. I completely forgot to set my alarm before I passed out last night and was lucky enough to have my mom wake me up just 10 minutes ago when she realized I never woke up. I throw my backpack over my shoulder and try to smooth my long black hair. I don’t even remember if I brushed my teeth. Lost in a panic haze, I can barely remember getting dressed.
At that thought, I quickly look down to make sure I actually changed out of my PJs. I sigh in relief. I threw on a simple green hoodie and ripped jeans. Thank GOD. I look back up and see my bus stop just a few blocks away and across the street. No sign of the bus and the clock on my phone says I still got about 3 minutes before it comes. I slow down to a fast walk, fighting the tightness in my chest that I always get when my asthma gets irritated. Almost there, almost there. It is only my 3rd day of freshman year and I’m already messing up.
“Stupid book.” I mumble.
Honestly, it is not a stupid book. I was just dumb enough to read it before bed and passed out without even realizing. I just got so lost in this magical world and the main character being an absolute badass that I didn’t know it had gotten so late. I’ll need to either read earlier in the day or not touch it on school nights.
I continue to grumble to myself about my own stupidity as I get closer to the bus stop. I see my best friend, Sammy, standing at the bus stop. Her short, brown hair blowing in the light breeze. She spots me just a block away and I wave to her when I notice the bus is coming. Shit, shit, shit. I start to run again and cross the street diagonally to, hopefully, reach the bus stop quicker. I see Sammy speak to the driver and then turn back at me. Absolute fear crosses her face and she starts to scream at me.
Before I can register what she is trying to say, I see out of the corner of my eye something coming towards me from my right. Before I can even look, something hits me and everything goes black.
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I gasp as I sit up. My heart is racing and there is a pounding in my head. I shut my eyes, gripping my chest, and try to get my breathing under control. Remember what the doctor said, Erin. I take a deep breath in and slowly let it out. The burning in my chest is intense, but I am not coughing so that is a good sign. As another wave of pain hits my temple, I groan and grab my head. I realize I am wearing some kind of bandage around my head.
“What the hell?” I mutter.
“Are you okay, Erin?”
I jump at the unfamiliar voice and look over to see a random brown hair girl sitting up in her own bed, staring at me. Wait a minute… I realize I am not where I thought I was. I quickly look at my surroundings and my breath starts to quicken again. This isn’t my bedroom, hell, I don’t even think this is my house! Rows of beds fill the long, rectangular room. They are all identical. Simple white sheets and white pillows on black metal frames. The room is as simple as the beds. Plain white walls with windows all the way down, each with brown shutters opened, letting the sunlight in. The wooden floor has a worn-down look, creaking as girls walk by. The girls are of all different ages. From as young as 5 years old up to maybe 18 years old if I am guessing correctly. The ones who haven’t changed their clothes wear long, white nightgowns. The girls who are dressed wear white blouses buttoned up to the chin, tucked in long, brown skirts.
At this point, I’m panicking. My arms start to shake and I can barely breathe. The girl who spoke to me comes to my side and tries to comfort me as she touches my back. I flinch away and end up falling off my bed, landing on my ass. The pain somehow jars me out of my panic attack and my lungs let in a huge gulp of air. The few girls near us look up at the thump and some even chuckle as they see me on the ground. The brown hair girl looks down at me, worried.
“Oh my. Did you have a bad dream again?” She asks.
Her accent is thick, but I have trouble placing it. Possibly Scottish? I realize I am wearing the same nightgown as the other girls and I touch it. It’s mostly soft, a little scratchy. It has a thin, pink ribbon that is tied underneath my chin. My head continues to pound and I grip my temple in pain. What happened? Where am I! I try to think back to what I last remember. I remember crossing a street, yes! A street, but where was I going? Something was coming towards me…. then blackness. More pain shoots through my head and I groan. I look back up at the brown hair girl.
“Is this the hospital?” I ask.
She looks at me confused. “Of course not.”
Well, where am I?! I want to scream, but I take another deep breath and look around again. The place makes me think of an orphanage, but that doesn’t make sense considering both my mom and dad are very much alive. And the clothes, it is like right out of one of those romance Victorian shows my mom loves to watch. Maybe I’m dreaming? I pinch myself. Nope, I am very much awake. What the hell? I stand up as the brown hair girl continues to watch me, looking more concerned by the second. I am barefoot, the brown wood is rough against my feet. Next to each bed is a small end table, the same wood color as the floor. I open the top drawer and see a letter folded. Maybe there is something here that will tell me what the hell is going on! The parchment is slightly yellow and thicker than any piece of paper I’ve seen. I unfold it and see the letter is very short in curvy writing that I do not recognize.
Miss Erin O’Dooling,
As you are probably still shocked by our conversation just a fortnight ago, I am sorry that I scared you as such. It is always a great surprise to any Muggleborn, especially one whose magic ability developed so late in their youth, that things such as magic could even exist! As we previously discussed, I will help you develop the basics before escorting you to Hogwarts. Please remember not to tell anyone of what we’ve discussed. Muggles are not allowed to know we exist. I will arrive precisely at 8 o’clock on the 12th of July to take you to where we will begin your training.
Best regards,
Professor Fig
Hogwarts? Muggleborn? Muggles? Magic?! The only thing I can recognize is my own name! And who the hell is Professor Fig? All these weird names are making my head hurt more. I toss the letter back in the drawer. Panic squeezes my chest as I rack my brain to find any rational to this. I go through the basic facts in my head. Okay, so my name is Erin O’Dooling. I am 15 years old. I am from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. My birthday is March 15, 1995. My mom is Grace O’Dooling and my dad is John O’Dooling. I am an only child. I am a freshman in High School.
“Erin?”
Right. Brown hair girl. She is biting her lip, kneeling on my bed, with her hands clamped together on her lap. Clearly, she knows me, but that gives me no comfort since I don’t even know her name. I need to figure out what is going on without raising any alarms.
“Uh…sorry!” I fake a cheery voice. “I think I must have bumped my head. I am having hard a time remembering much.” Brown Hair Girl raises her eyebrows so high; they disappear underneath her bangs.
“So, you don’t remember?” She asks.
“Remember…what exactly?”
She bites her lip again. “You were in an accident yesterday.”
Flashes of memories cause another sharp pain my head. I am looking down at my phone, next I see Sammy screaming at me, then something is coming towards me, then blackness. My eyes open and I look back at Brown Hair Girl.
“Did I get hit by a car?” I ask.
“What? You were hit by a carriage, Erin.” She says and stands up. She checks my head, moving the bandage slightly up.
“Seems like the bleeding has stopped. Are you sure you are okay?” She asks.
Her hands fall back down to my shoulders and she stares into my eyes, searching for something. Her dark brown eyes are never ending, I can hardly see her pupils. My mind is reeling. Carriage? There are no carriages in Pittsburgh.
I force a light chuckle. “I think I am missing more of my memory than I thought. Where, um, exactly am I? What happened?”
“You’re at Saint Mary’s Orphanage, of course.” She states. As I continue to stare at her blankly, she continues. “We were out strolling at the park yesterday and out of nowhere you said you saw something. And before I could stop you, you just ran out in the middle of the road! And when that carriage hit you…”
“Yes?” I push.
Brown Hair Girl bites her lip again. “There was just so much blood,” She grabs my hands. “I thought you had died, Erin.”
I instinctively touch the bandages on my head. That explains that at least, but I am just even more confused. I wasn’t near any park nor was I with someone. I was heading towards Sammy for school! Yes, school! I pull my other hand out of Brown Hair Girl’s grip and look out the closest window to me. This definitely isn’t Pittsburgh. The buildings are right out of a history book. All pressed up together like townhouses, but the style is obviously Victorian. The roads are cobblestone, not the paved cement that is about every street in Pittsburgh, minus the few red brick roads we have. The carriages Brown Hair Girl has mentioned are being pulled by horses below, some finer than others.
Victorian houses, Victorian clothes, Victorian carriages…
My head snaps back at Brown Hair Girl who is watching me intently. A lump starts to form in my throat and I force it down to ask the question that I am so afraid to hear the answer.
“Um…”
“Samantha. My name is Samantha, Erin.” She adds. My mind screams. Samantha, Sammy. What the FUCK. Besides the same color hair, this girl looks nothing like the Sammy I know. Sammy has bright blue eyes, not brown. And her skin is tanner than Brown Hair Girl or Samantha, or whatever the hell her name is.
“You’ve gone quite pale, Erin. Maybe you should lie back down.” Samantha suggests.
I ignore her and say, “Samantha, right. This might sound crazy, but what year is it exactly?”
Samantha tilts her head to the right in confusion and gives a sweet smile. “Well, it’s the year 1890, of course.”
Suddenly, there is a high pitch ringing in my ears and everything starts to spin. I sway and Samantha grabs me to steady me. I see her mouth move, but I can’t hear her voice over the ringing. Just one thing keeps repeating in my head, 1890. Next thing I know, I black out again.