Chapter Text
All I wanted was to be free.
Free of the chains that held me down, that tied me to where I lived. A chance to break these shackles came once in a lifetime, if not ever. If I had to argue, I’d reason that’s why I agreed to my mother’s hysterics.
A wish, most humans and perhaps even beasts have one. I suppose you could say monsters had them too, as was apparent regarding my mother. Ever since she was a wee child, of say 5 or 7, she had longed to be of importance. Therefore, when the opportunity arrived to marry into a famous pureblood family, how could she say no? However, her disappointment was like no other at the simple realisation the Lestranges held not as much power as she believed it to own. She longs for power.
And power came in the form of the ancient and noble house of Black. If only she had an offspring to marry into the black family, a girl. When she had first met me, fresh out of the womb, her mortification at the fact that was indeed not of the female sex had scarred me. Physically that is, I have two huge scars running over my face.
‘A ruin to your looks.’
Or so she likes to tell the child I used to be.
I suppose I am like my mother in a way; she saw a chance for power and grabbed it, and so did I.
A chance at freedom, no matter how short. An escape, presented to me out in the open. How could I refuse?
Throughout the duration of summer, a professor assigned from Hogwarts was helping me ‘catch up’ on the material taught at said school. In reality it felt more like a warning not to stand out too much, headmaster Black will keep private tabs on me, or whatever that means, my mother had informed me in private. Away from prying eyes.
Professor Eleazar Fig was a nice man. His expectations were low, although it is not without reason, the Lestranges have a history of experimental magic. Considered themselves greater than the peasants using basic magic.
The professor had no presumption – none I was made aware of at least. His flawed and kind soul guided me towards the future.
Here I stand, next to him, in silence, waiting for a mysterious guest. A ministry escort. I haven’t a clue as to why the mystifying sir George Osric – a ministry official, I hear – would escort a lowly man such as I. Perhaps it’s father’s connection with the ministry, how wretched.
We’ve been waiting for a short while now, standing next to a carriage I presume we’ll be taking to Hogwarts. The absence of existence to which the reigns at the front are connected to makes me certain that Thestrals are pulling said carriage.
“Ah! It appears we are almost ready to depart.”
Professor Fig had stated, after he finished talking to the driver. He takes a wide range to walk around me, am I that terrifying?
“It’s a pity that we didn’t have a bit more time to spend on spellcasting. I presume you’ve been practicing the spells we worked on?”
“I have. Professor.” Is he able to sense my tone? I hope not, this man has expectations. I can’t just waltz in and destroy them, perhaps I just don’t have the heart for it. He’s shown me kindness these past weeks, something I’ve never experienced before.
“You’ll be a force to be reckoned with when you’ve got better control.”
I hope. Alas, hope doesn’t bring one further. Determination does, I’m afraid that it’s a quality I lack.
“Thank you, professor Fig. I appreciate your working with me before the term begi-“
A sudden familiar pop comes shortly before the signs of apparition, George Osric, here in the flesh. He looked around, perhaps hoping apparition didn’t screw him over, so to speak. When his back finally faced away from us, he opened his mouth.
“Oh! Eleazar!” Perhaps they’re closer than I assumed, although I’m not sure if I care all that much.
“George. Glad my rather cryptic description of our location did not thwart your finding us.
Mr Osric formed a slightly embarrassed face before answering, “I’ve Apparated to more vaguely defined locations than this.” He chuckles after finishing his sentence. “Though,” he continues, “I confess I may have miscalculated slightly on my first try. Gave quite the fright to some theatre-goers in the West End.” Again, he chuckles. I’m quite curious, were those muggles? I dare not ask.
“It’s been much too long. When I received your owl, I must say I-“ the professor declared, right before Mr Osric interrupted him. “Best not speak here, Eleazar. Hmm?” He vocalised, Professor Fig seemingly understanding what he means. “Of course. Why don’t we speak en route to Hogwarts? We have a start-of-term feast and Sorting Ceremony to get to.” He exclaimed, somewhat looking at me.
“Wonderful idea! As long as your young charge here doesn’t mind me tagging along.” Mr Osric mentioned, as if I could refuse him. I wouldn’t be hearing the end of it for days if I refused a ministry official in any way.
“Not at all. Sir.” I answered, best to be on my guard. It does not matter that the man in front of me is a ministry official, a dangerous aura surrounds him and his belongings. Despite his peppy personality and mood, at the very least, that’s how it seems according to the lowly being that is I.
“Ages since I’ve been to the castle. Would be good to see the old pile of rocks.” It seems Mr Osric talks too much, what an annoyance, I fear he won’t be silent throughout our flight.
It was now that Professor Fig escorted me into the carriage, at long last. I took seat by the window on my left side, across from the chatterbox that is Mr Osric and next to the kindred professor. The former of the two stopping shortly before getting in, looking around worriedly before giving in and going into our means of transportation.
A closed door let the driver know we were ready to take off, and off we went. As the carriage flew up, a shadowy figure was left standing, staring right at us as we left London behind.
An unfortunate colour filled the air around us, momentous day for a flight. Mr Osric and Professor Fig are obnoxiously chatting about their well beings and what not. I do wonder how long they haven’t seen one another, yet again, I feel that I haven’t really the presence of care to know. It was perhaps just a curious thought.
I’d hoped I could get some rest on our travels; I fear I’ve become dragged into their conversation.
Since our carriage went up into the air, I’ve been tuning out their exchange. For some peculiar reason I’ve decided to listen to what Osric has to say.
“Glad I caught you before you left for Scotland.” “Just barely.” Wow. What an interesting exchange of vowels, I regret my choice already.
“And, how is your travelling companion? Mr Lestrange, I presume.” Osric inquires about me, how curious.
“Perhaps it’s best if you ask our new student directly.” Great. Professor Fig, I trusted you, why can’t I ever just sit in silence in a room and be ignored. I desperately crave it.
Both Osric and Professor Fig changed their gaze towards me. “Ah, well, I suppose I am quite nervous. Notably due to my late start at Hogwarts.” I answered, I am unsure if I really meant what I exclaimed or if I just said a sentence hoping that they’ll turn their attention away from me again. “Je ne peux jamais avoir un moment de paix” I mumble to myself. Both of the older gentlemen look at me, yet again, “What was that?” Osric says, or he asks.
“Oh nothing, just- trying to calm my nerves.” I reply, fully hoping they do not push further. I mean, let me have my moments silently.
“Ah! Logical, seeing as it’s quite extraordinary to be starting as a fifth year.” Osric rambles on.
“Indeed, it is,” Professor Fig intertwined, “None of the faculty has ever heard of anyone being admitted to Hogwarts so late.” Neither have I.
“Nor have I.” I just said that, Osric. Never mind, sometimes I tend to forget others can’t read my thoughts. Which I honestly don’t mind, I’m pretty sure if they could I’d get sent straight home. To a prison.
“Of course. As the other fifth-years have been honing their magic skills for four years now, the Headmaster asked if I could get our new student up to speed a bit before the term begins.”
“Well, you couldn’t have asked for a better mentor.” I suppose that’s true; Professor Fig has shown me a kindness with which I am not familiar. A warmth absent in the creatures I call my mother and father. A comfort that encapsulates me entirely, pushing me to be on edge. A pulsing feeling that dreadful things are bound to happen. Nothing good can ever stay that way, no matter what. It will be ruined.
“Professor Fig is not only an exceptional teacher, he is also a remarkably intuitive – and gifted – wizard.” Ah, it seems like Osric had more to say.
“Mr Osric is prone to flattery. I daresay it’s one of the reasons he’s risen so far at the ministry.” Professor Fig chuckles, clever remark. I knew Professor Fig was a worthy man.
Osric makes the motion to grab an item out of his pocket, seems like the conversation is over. Could he perhaps not stand to be in the spotlight. The object he pulls out of his pouch is a folded-up newspaper, he held it up and mouthed words. I was too busy trying to read the paper to listen to his words, but I assume he said something along the lines of ‘Have you seen this?’
‘Ranrok’s GOBLIN REBELLION; truth? Or Gobbledegook?’
Ranrok? Who was that again? After looking at the paper yet again I notice a portrait of a goblin, must be this so called Ranrok.
“I have. Opinions differ as to how great a threat Ranrok really is.” Professor Fig enunciates, as well as a few other words. But they don’t strike me as something to bother paying attention to. Outside of the window there’s clouds upon clouds. A beautiful display worthy of a man such as I.
Something’s there.
A black blob, passing by under our carriage. Threat, danger. No matter, if Death has decided to come for me today, I shall graciously accept it.
“Although I’ve yet to convince my colleagues at the ministry. I believe he is a significant threat.” Said Osric. “And it was your wife, Eleazar, who alerted me to his activities months ago.”
“Miriam? How?”
Osric sighs, “She wrote to me about Ranrok before she died – wondering what the Ministry knew about his activities.” He pauses, putting the newspaper aside before continuing on, “Before I could respond, I received this.” He pulls out a metal tube looking thing, “It was the last thing she sent me, Eleazar. It came via her owl – with no correspondence. I can only assume-“
“-That she had to get rid of it quickly to keep it safe.” Professor Fig so kindly interrupted.
“Presumably from Ranrok.” Osric said. “I cannot open it. Whatever magic protects this is powerful indeed.” In the meantime, I’ve been inspecting the tube-shaped object for a while now. Letting the words go in one ear and out the other.
“It looks like goblin metal. That symbol—”
“What’s that glow?” I bluntly let out, on accident. Interrupting precious Professor Fig. Both Professor Fig and Mr Osric looked at me weirdly.
“I don’t see a glow.” How peculiar, why does Professor Fig not see the obvious?
“Nor do I.” Osric said while looking up, as if to have discovered something.
The two men share a look right before Professor Fig hands the tube over to me, the moment I come into contact with it a chill runs through my body. Almost as if an alarm to wake or disturb. The glow had only increased more, I couldn’t help myself but to touch it. And just like that, the tube shot open. Inside lay a key.
“Merlin’s beard! How did you—?” Osric exclaimed.
I reach my hand to grab the key until Professor Fig stops me. “Wait. We do not know what –“ He takes the tube from me while talking. Right as it entered his hand, a dragon bit the carriage, out of nowhere.
It bit off the back side, including my books, owl, and George Osric.
I grabbed the sides of the carriage, steadying myself. Seeing Professor Fig do the same. The carriage – what’s left at least – is shaking uncontrollably. I see my owl fly off in the distance as the dragon bites down, swallowing George Osric whole. I look to the front, perhaps to check on the driver. I’m not sure, it’s not as if I’m in a life-or-death situation right now.
Thestrals appeared in my vision suddenly.
–Of course, George Osric. He’s dead. I didn’t know him that well, and from what I can tell I do not think I would’ve liked him that much, had I known the bastard longer.
The carriage driver shouts out a few times, urging the Thestrals to be faster. The dragon was back on our track, getting closer and closer to the carriage by the second. Once it had gotten close enough, it opened its mouth. Preparing to spew fire, I presume. I hear Professor Fig yell to jump so I do.
I jump out of a moving carriage, mid-air.
Surprisingly, not the first time that’s happened.
The dragon collapses into the carriage, exploding all that was left of it. The driver had already apparated away and the Thestrals were flying away. What beauties they are.
It hasn’t occurred to me, that we are in fact, falling to our death at the moment. The tube thing was still open, and the key fell right out of it.
“The key!” Professor Fig exclaimed, reaching out to grab it but ultimately failing to do so. He looks back up, so do I, the dragon has now redirected its course to us. “Give me your hand.”
I trust him, interestingly enough, so I take his hand, as instructed. Once our hands were firmly in each other’s grasp, Professor Fig casted Accio on the key which took us somewhere. Somewhere unknown.
***
The thing that stands out the most, isn’t the throbbing pain in my legs, not the fact that I just saw a man die, but the fact that I survived. How? I’m sure that the dragon got us. I’m sure of it.
“Are you okay? You’re hurt. Here, it’s Wiggenweld potion, that’ll stuff you right up in a second.” He handed me a vial, which had a green liquid in it. Wiggenweld. A classic. That brings me back, in the past I couldn’t live without them. At least, until I grew to become unaffected by the potion. Yes, it still works – fortunately – but not as much as it’s supposed to. Perks of being a pureblood I suppose.
I uncork the vial and bring it to my lips, ah the familiar smell I’ve been missing.
The taste – can you even call it that?—is as non-existent as ever. I can feel the throbbing pain in my legs lessen, enough to walk at the very least. I bring myself to my feet, standing up to the fullest I can. My legs are unstable, yet not in a way that’ll be noticeable to Professor Fig.
“Where are we?” I manage to bring out, my vocal chords are oddly enough wonky. I suppose due to the stressful situation we – excluding Osric – barely managed to escape.
“I’m not sure, would you mind if we look around?” Professor Fig answered. I nod my head in response, my curiosity getting the better of me. Together we head towards the light – which one should usually not do, unless if one is in a situation such as we.
Stepping through, our eyes have to take a minute to get used to the light. Once it’s settled both I and Professor Fig come face to face with a cliffside. The sea is looking rather rough at the moment, and in the distance, we can see a corroded part of the cliff, unusually enough, there’s ruins located on said part.
“Would you mind indulging me once again? I’d like to see if we could get closer.” The professor’s voice awakens me from my thoughts.
“Not at all. Professor.”
The Professor, acknowledging my agreement, turned around and started looking for a way to get down to the cliffside closest to the stand alone one. “Over here.” He said, voice sounding somewhat excited and somewhat nervous. Which is, indeed, completely understandable. I mean, we don’t even know where we are – aside from the obvious cliffside – and what took us here. Yes, a portkey, but who exactly made it? Questions, questions, questions. Professor Fig has already moved down the path in the meantime that I was rambling on in my thoughts. I don’t want to be left behind, so I start sprinting to get back to the Professor.
The Professor doesn’t seem to mind my absent-mindedness, he’s too busy climbing up a bunch of rocks. I follow soon after. Now with the resolve to not the leave the Professor again.
After walking, climbing, sliding for a bit, we came across ice. It seemed to be blocking the way to the Professor’s wanted location. “Ice? How odd.”
“It’s certainly not the right temperature for it, must be magic.” I quip in response.
“Very well, now seems like a suitable time to show those spells on which you’ve been practicing. Go ahead and cast a basic cast on the centre of the ice to break it.” He instructs me. Usually, I’d hate this, it feels like he has low expectations of me. I feel looked down upon often already. But now, now I don’t mind. It’s nice to actually be treated as a kid every once in a while. I raise my wand, ready to blast the ice to pieces.
It’s much easier to break than you’d expect, it’s magical ice, just three or four hits and it’s obliterated. It’s magic for fuck’s sake, why is it so weak? How pathetic, who even made this? Never mind, that’s not important. Me and Professor Fig have to keep moving, I gesture for him to walk – he stood away while I was casting my magic. What I didn’t expect, and the Professor also not I suspect, is that the ice made the floor wet – and therefore slippery.
I am ashamed to admit that we both slipped and fell down the slope. A humiliating experience to say the least. “A bridge.” The professor sounds breath taken, almost as if he didn’t expect he’d make it here. But when I look. There is no bridge. Only ruins. Perhaps I seem to be going crazy.
The professor keeps walking, stumbling upon the fallen ‘bridge.’ He takes out his wand, he softly casts Reparo. His movements seems irregular and odd. But to no avail, the bridge starts rebuilding itself. A wonderous moment, I have never seen it be cast on something like this. Something this grand.
Once its finished restoring itself the professor gestures me to walk with him, which I do. The ruins come closer by every step we take. “Seems like these ruins have clues scattered around, let’s both investigate a little. Alright?” The professor said, he worded it like a question, but he didn’t intend it as a question. I can tell.
“Yes. Professor.”
Professor Fig walks to the wall, which seems to have some sort of mural depicted upon it. I follow after him, not knowing where to start. The mural depicted a man, he seemed to be doing something magic related – reasonable considering the amount of battle the two had to go through before they made it to ruins. The professor seemed busy inspecting the wall, every nook and cranny, so I’ve decided to move on to the statue which stands further on. Once I’ve gotten closer the man seems familiar, I look back over my shoulder. The mural, that’s where he’s from. Who is this mysterious man? What is a statue of him doing here, out in the sea?
My thoughts continue rambling on for a while, until I notice the path goes further. I look back once again to the professor, who’s too deep in his thoughts to be bothered. I’ll do this alone.
Again, I have to walk on a path that is half crumbling down. I wonder how old this place is. Must be old because what the fuck is this design. It so, ugly, I’d mind my manners more if this weren’t all in my head.
I have to look up, don’t i? – I’ve been looking at the rocks and at my feet this whole time, I’m tired. This year is already off to a great start. I’ve reached a dead end and walked into a wall, I wasn’t really paying attention. No matter.
A symbol, the wall I crashed into bears a symbol. The same symbol as on the portkey container, and yet again, it is glowing. "Je pense que le professeur devrait voir ça” I can’t stop a sigh from escaping my lips. “Professor Fig! Come take a look at this!”
It doesn’t take long before the Professor enters my line of sight. He seems to have a slight jog to him, somewhat excited and scared.
“The symbol from the portkey container! What is it doing here?” The professor says, sounding out of breath. Perhaps his stamina isn’t the best. My hand reaches out to touch the wall, and suddenly it feels as if we’re transported. When my eyes realign themselves, we find ourselves in a different place. A place booming with the feel of magic. Gringotts.
*#*#*
The goblin we met, took us to vault twelve, one of the earliest commissioned vaults at Gringotts. On the way we met another goblin – apparently, I was pretty much blacking out this whole time. The second goblin was wearing glowing armour like the dragon had – this fact I realised much later when me and Professor Fig weren’t at risk of imminent death. Anyway, long story short. The first goblin has now locked us in said vault, as those were apparently the instructions for when someone visited this vault.
The vault is empty and smells like old moist stone. Anything of value would probably be all mouldy now. “Try casting Revelio, to see if anything is here.” The Professor says, I think I was ignoring what he was saying before this. How rude of me.
I do exactly what the professor says, and to my surprise is what looks like some pillars appear and disappear. The professor urges me to step closer and try again, which I do. Out of thin air, a door appears. With the same symbol on it, again. What does this symbol mean? What could it mean? I push the worries aside and reach to open the door but before I get the chance to do so the door transports us somewhere. It’s very dark, the professor casts Lumos and urges me to stick close to him. Something tells me we’ve got some challenges which we have to face head on waiting for us.
***
I was right. I’ve just went head on with two fucking waves of statues – the first was backed up by Fig. By the time the statues stopped dropping both the arena and the professor Fig. The second battle was a pain in my ass. Now I find myself standing in a room, with what seems to be a pensieve – I’ve never seen on in real life, but I remember seeing drawings of one in a book I read years ago. An object is floating above it, a locket perhaps. More like a vial of something, I’m not sure.
The door slams open, and guess who walks in. Professor Fig, where in fucks name did he come from? “Professor! Are you alright?” He nods as a signal of response. I can feel a slight smile form, I’m glad he’s alright. Ah, the thing. “Professor, I found this floating above that basin over there. What is it?”
“I’m not sure, seeing as that basin is a pensieve there might be a memory in here. We can try.”
Try. We’ll try.
And try we did, Professor Fig’s judgement was right once again. What a clever fellow. We drown ourselves in the water provided by the basin. It takes us into a memory, a group of people using unknown forms of magic to save a hamlet from a draught that’s been ongoing for a while. Then it cuts to a memory – presumably taking place later than the first one. A girl is called into the office of the man from which we found a statue earlier. They’re talking about a bunch of unnecessary stuff, one subject catches my attention. Ancient Magic.
Once the memory has ended we pull out of the water at the same time. I hear Professor Fig mumble something about ancient magic, at the same time I hear loud noises coming from far away. Its coming closer. By now the professor has heard the noises as well. We both look as doors slam open – louder than with the professor. And there we see a goblin, whose face looks familiar. But from where do I know him? Yet again I am zoning out and ignoring all talk that’s flying around the air. At least until I hear Professor Fig say a name, Ranrok.
“I see my reputation precedes me.” The goblin said, and ever since that all has been a bit of a blur to be honest. Something dropped when I saw the goblin, why?
I can vaguely remember a giant knight dropping down and destroying the pensieve room. Professor Fig almost got squished by a falling pillar. I remember seeing another glowing symbol and that I and Professor Fig got teleported somewhere.
“Ah, so we’re here.”
“Where?” I ask, it only seems like were in a forest. I don’t know this place.
The professor only smiles, “Come on, we’ve a sorting ceremony to get to.”
***
The walk up to the castle was a decently long one, however all of my annoyances disappeared when I saw the castle for the first. It was like a fairytale, a rightful place of magic – as ironic as it sounds. A place where worries could escape my mind and let me be as free as possible – an heir of a pureblood wizarding family can never be truly free after all.
Now we have made it into the castle – yet again a sight that blesses the eyes. The castle is old, indeed, however it feels lived and possesses a type of warmth which is crucial for living. The door to the Great Hall is massive, it’s all a bit much really. Professor Fig has a small sprint in his step, why? I’m not sure. He puts his ear up against the door – presumably listening to the students and faculty which are currently residing in said room.
“Oh, good – we haven’t missed the Sorting ceremony.” He says, looking back at me, I show him a small smile in return. He now walks back to stand in front of me, “I’m no expert, but that seems more appropriate.” He says while casting a type of nonverbal magic. He waves his wand from my head to my toes, my dress robes turn into a school uniform. A version which doesn’t have the house colours yet, usually only first years dress in these. I can feel my face flush slightly, I’m a tad ashamed.
“Now – I need to study this locket as soon as I can, but first I must contact the Ministry. They need to know what happened to George – and be warned of Ranrok.” The Professor says, we have made our way to the door – together this time. He turns back to look at me, “For the moment, I ask that you keep all that has happened this evening, between you and me.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Thank you. Ready for the Sorting ceremony?” he clasps his hands together, a satisfied look painted on his face. He opens the door slightly, peeking his head through. It takes a small while, I can hear laughter and music in the back. I presume it to be together with joy created by students who’ve friends and share laughter. How I wish I could’ve come here earlier, experience all of that with them. Not on my own, not with her.
I can hear loud and obvious footsteps come. “Phineas Nigellus Black,” professor Fig sighs before continuing on, “Prepare yourself to meet the Headmaster.” He grabbed me by the arm and together we backed up a little. It didn’t take long before a man – presumably around age 30-40 – came waltzing through the door. He had a difficult expression on his face, as he looked me up and down.
“Fig – nice of you to join us.” He said, sounding so sarcastic that I doubt anyone would truly believe the man was psyched to see professor Fig. “The Sorting Ceremony’s over.” Headmaster Black spit out, sounding almost like a fuck you to Professor Fig.
“There were – complications.” Professor Fig protested.
“Complications?” the Headmaster almost sounds enraged, perhaps he is.
“It seems the goblin problem-“
Headmaster Black groans, “Enough. Goblins. I’ve no time for rumours, Fig. And I’m rapidly losing whatever patience I had left.” What a whiny man, sadly I must respect him. It’s my mother’s wishes. “If you’re lucky, we might still be able to get you sorted this evening.” He said, looking me up and down once again, before making a 180 and turning his back to me, signalling for me to follow after him. Right as I’m about to walk through the doors, Professor Fig says one last thing.
“I’ll be in touch.” He nods, and so do I. I presume that’s the last I’ll see of the Professor today. I brace myself and enter through the doors. I hadn’t expected this, but I am glad that this room is what came to face me.
The room is even more warm, metaphorically, in reality the temperature is about the same as in the hallways. All around me are four long tables, filled with foods of all kind. Students sit in small groups of friends all chattering away, almost as if they have no worries to be wed. At each table a different house sits, and each house is represented by students befitting of the personalities one would expect. And at each table I can count a number of people who I deem to be attractive – either in looks or personality, of course personality is presumed. But I’m good at reading people, so I’ll take my chances. There are a few kids whose faces look familiar to me, must be purebloods. Pureblood families tend to be ‘close,’ in reality they couldn’t care less about the other. However, blood purists tend to stick with each other.
At the Ravenclaw table there’s a Carrow, I think her name was Esther. She’s the second eldest in the current generation of the Carrows. Her older brother should be a 7th year, from what I remember my mother telling me. She had told me to only talk to fellow purebloods, like myself. Ones that came from a prideful and respectful family.
At the Slytherin table I can spot a few, most notably Ominis Gaunt, according to my mother’s resources he’d be in the same classes as I. Further down the table I spot Ambrose Carrow, he’s spouting a big and obvious prefect badge. Almost seems like he’s screaming ‘look at me world, I am what you want me to be,’ or perhaps I’m reading too much into it. Who even knows these days with all the noble pureblood family children. From what I hear, the Black family is incredibly unforgiving – I of course learned this piece of information from my old friend at the Rosiers, Clement, they’re a pen friend of mine since we were six. We send messages to each other in code, almost like we’ve created our own language. They’re being homeschooled, just as I was up until this year.
Speaking of which, I have now made it up to the faculty desk. There sat a high stool, and a Professor holding a hat, an enchanted one. I can feel the looks of the students ripping into my back. Their gazes are stuck to me, it is quite a rare sight to see a student start in fifth year.
“Professor Weasley! we’ve one more to be sorted.” If everyone’s attention wasn’t on me already, it would be now. The red-haired professor who was holding the hat smiled at me kindly.
“Welcome. You’re just in time. Have a seat.” She gestured to the stool, I nod and take a seat. Onlooking all the students in the great hall. I can feel my nerves tremble, this feels humiliating. Professor Weasley places the hat upon my head, after which she takes a step back. I take in a sharp breath, startled by the voice of the hat talking to me.
“Ah, yes – a bit older than the others, aren’t you? You come here with preferences and preconceptions – certain expectations.” It feels like someone – or something – is taking a peek into my mind, into who I am.
“I’m looking forward to meeting my professors and learning all that I can at Hogwarts.” I answer the hat, somewhat like a machine. This is what my mother had ordered me to say after all, she’ll go to any length to make sure I don’t embarrass her.
“Indeed. Hogwarts has much to offer a dedicated student. And what you learn in class will prepare you for challenges outside the classroom as well. Hmm. I wonder. Hmm. I detect something in you. A certain sense of – hmm—what is it?”
“A sense of – loyalty, perhaps? I dare not stray away from the clutches of those I am loyal to, I will defend them to whoever and what not, no matter how wrong they are. Without them I’d simply be a shell, one who does not know how to live.”
“Hmm. You do not give up easily, do you? You are undaunted by challenges that lie ahead. And your loyalty to a friend delayed your arrival here this evening. Perhaps you belong in Hufflepuff.”
“Do I? Would that make my mother proud –or would that embarrass her? I cant help but reckon my second guess is right, let this be my small spark of rebellion. So be it, if you say I am fit to be one of Hufflepuff, I shall listen to you and accept your wishes.”
If the hat could smile, he would definitely be smiling at this very moment. I can feel it, throughout my whole body. In my bones, in my blood and in my lungs.
“Better be – Hufflepuff!” The hat yells out, almost making me feel like my ears are bleeding. I reckon I need to get used to noise, it’s not fit of the heir of Lestrange to be incapable of dealing with loud noises.
The Hufflepuff table roars out and starts clapping, the other tables do so as well, but none as loud. I can already imagine the type of people I’ll meet in here. They all have this air of kindness around them, an aura I need to be around. Even though my time here won’t be long, I already know.
I get up, I now no longer have to sit on the stool, and I dare not overstay my welcome. Professor Weasley has already taken the hat off of my head. I turn to look at her, I am met with a proud smile as she’s holding her wand out. She casts a nonverbal spell – perhaps the same one as Professor Fig earlier. My unsorted house robes turn into a warm shade of yellow. My vest becomes a goldish brown as the reality of my choice sets in. The tables of students are still clapping and cheering – I cannot fathom as to why it goes on this long. I take a step back, hopefully inciting into the students to quit their celebrations.
Professor Black steps up to the front of the podium, clearing his throat to silence the poor students. He opens his unfortunate mouth, “Oh, and one more thing-“ he says, finger raised. “Due to the unfortunate injury on the pitch in last spring’s final, this year’s Quidditch season has been cancelled.” The man plasters a sly smile on his face as all students – aside from first years, perhaps – start freaking out and worrying about their school life.
I wasn’t ever the biggest fan of Quidditch, I suppose that was instilled upon me by my mother as well. When I was younger I would always sneak out to see the local kids in town play a small Quidditch match. Oh how I dreamed of going to a professional one, in a large stadium, surrounded by others just as I. Whose fascination lie in the unpredictability of the players, the brooms and everything else that lie to this game. Alas, that dream was soon crushed by my mother, who told me it was unfit of an heir to watch and be a fan of something as horrid as Quidditch.
Now I don’t even know how to feel, a part of me was very interested in finally seeing a Quidditch match. The other part is violent at myself for even having the wish to not follow her orders.
“Enough. It’s not as if I’ve banned flying altogether. But – don’t tempt me.” Was Black’s final decree on the matter. “You are here for your academic futures. I’m sure you all have plenty to do before classes begin tomorrow.” The students hadn’t moved, looking at him as if he was crazy for shooing them away. “I said – I’m sure you all have plenty to do before classes begin tomorrow.” He repeats, this time glaring back at all the students – who now get the message and proceed to stand up and get ready to leave for their common rooms.
I just stand at my spot watching all students grumble and complain about the headmaster. Professor Weasley turns to look at me, another kindred smile plastered on her face.
“Quite an entrance. It’s lovely to meet you. I’m—” A loud voice interrupts her.
“Professor Weasley – would you be so kind to show our new student to their common room?” Headmaster Black asked, although it sounded more like a demand.
“I shall see to it, sir.” Professor Weasley answered, her tone sounding robotic and rehearsed. The headmaster turned around in a complete 180, satisfied with the answer provided to him by Professor Weasley. The both of us watch as the Headmaster steps off of the podium, and then Professor Weasley turns her head towards me. “As I was saying – I’m Professor Weasley. Pleased to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you as well, Professor.”
“As Deputy Headmistress, it is my distinct honour to show you to your common room. Right this way.” She urged her hand towards the door of the Great Hall, but she had ordered me to follow her so I am still unsure why she gestured this.
***
The two of us were walking down in the cellars, from what I heard it’s close to the entrance of the kitchens. We passed a corner and there were three big crates – which I presume hold a liquid. The whole way here I’ve been left alone to my thoughts. So it was to my surprise that Professor Weasley decided to make conversation as we came closer to a dead end in the hallway.
“It’s quite uncommon for a student to begin as a fifth-year. Might be a bit of work, but I’m sure that’s never stopped you before.”
“It hasn’t, Professor.”
The two of have come to a halt, “Now, here we are at the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room.”
“This is the entrance?” I try as hard as I can to hide the tone of my voice, this cannot be real. I made a mistake, I’m sure of it.
“Indeed.” She looked at me with a slight sense of familiarity, “I will explain what to do, but I hesitate to do it myself as one errant knock leads to being doused in vinegar. Most unpleasant.” I can feel my face muscles tense up, this was a terrible mistake. “You must tap the barrel, two from the bottom, middle of the second row, in the rhythm of Hel-ga Huff-le-puff.” I walk up to the barrel, repeating the steps advised to me. I admit I had a small worry of doubt, of hesitance, but I did what I had to.
Seeing as I’m not currently being doused in vinegar, I take it I did it correctly. I gave Professor Weasley a slight smile as I heard a noise behind me. I turned around, and there – to my surprise – was a crate opening up. Inside was a cramped and narrow hallway. Which was leading up to the common room.
“Well done. Now, go in and get some sleep. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow. I shall be back in the morning to collect you for your first class.”
“Thank you, Professor Weasley.” I send her another slight smile before turning around and walking into the aforementioned hallway. Inside there was the common room, I couldn’t see much of it as the room was dimly lit and most students had surprisingly already gone to bed. Only one person – aside from the ghost – was actually in the common room, and not in their dorm, it was one of the Hufflepuff prefects. He greeted me kindly and showed me to my dorm, surprisingly the dorm was pretty much empty. One person aside, the prefect informed me that this was due to a rooming issue and that I was considered lucky to only have one dorm mate. I claimed a bed as my own and put down the small briefcase that was left over from the dragon attack. The term small is relative, this briefcase is in fact a hybrid of a moleskin pouch. Inside one could find my sleeping draughts, my favourite novels, my notebooks – in which I wrote my poetry, my letters from Clement – these have to be kept secret as my mother would be furious once she’d find them. I also kept a few emergency clothes inside my briefcase, which I’m glad I remembered to do. And finally my most prized possessions, these I did in fact not take out but keep in, a few muggle items I had stolen when we were spending the summer in France – as we usually do.
I put on my sleeping robes, and I grab out my favourite novel; Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. A muggle author who passed away in 1851, if I recall. This is one of those stories I can read again and again, it never gets old. I lose track of time easily, as I get so caught up in reading. It’s about 5 am when I’ve finished reading. Not enough time for me to take the sleeping draught and get a good nights rest, I suppose I’ll pass the time by writing a few poems – or reading another novel.
***
It is now about 7 am, a great time to get out of the room. My dorm mate, Cassius, has already left our dorm. The three other, unused, beds fill the space between ours. From what I recall – from the small interactions we had last night – he seems like a nice guy, not relatively wild or adventurous. He’s more laid-back and shy, of course these are all assumptions I made from our interaction.
I get up from my bed, and quickly change into my school robes. Now that I’m seeing them in daylight I must admit the colours suit me – surprisingly. My eyebags are not as obvious today, as they were a week ago. I take another breath, I can do this.
I step out into the common room, and it certainly is beautiful. Its very ‘cosy’ as one would say. As soon as I entered through the door I could hear whispers about me, no matter. It’s to be expected. I look around the room, to see if there’s anyone I could introduce myself to, but not a single ‘worthy’ pureblood was to be seen around the common room. However, one girl was waving at me to come over to her, and so I did. The moment I started to step towards her a big, gleeful smile spread across her face.
“Hello! My name is Florence, Morris. Florence Morris. Nice to meet you!” she said as soon as I was in her close vicinity, her happiness already seemed contagious. Florence was a gorgeous girl, she had dirty blonde hair and bore dark brown – almost seeming red – eyes and had the slightest hint of freckles spotted around her face. She wasn’t incredibly short, nor was she tall. She was average, I suppose.
“Hi.” I answered her, my voice unintentionally sounding softer than it usually does, I can sense the corners of my mouth tingling. Smiling back at the girl. “I’m Wolfe, it is indeed nice to meet you. Are you also a fifth year?” I ask.
With another smile she answered, “Yes, I am like you. A fifth year, that is. I’ve always felt less experienced than everyone here. I have to admit that I’m glad you came here, perhaps it’ll make me feel better.” She went silent, rethinking what she said. “Are you happy to be here?” The question came out of nowhere, but it’s clear she thought that she’d misspoke. She must be either a half-blood or a muggle-born, mother would be furious.
Mother doesn’t have to know everything.
“Yeah, I am. I apologise if this seems rude, but are you a muggle-born?” Her face flashed slightly with a sad look, she nods, afraid to answer me verbally. Many muggle-borns are treated as lesser by the pure- and half-bloods. “Do you,” she takes a sharp breath, “do you have an good novel recommendations? I’d love to know more about muggle society.” In an instant her face lights up while relief starts spreading throughout it, she excitedly starts rambling on about her life. She’s a sweet girl.
We’re getting weird looks, left and right. Let them stare. It’s nothing I’m not used to. I mean who wouldn’t want to be me?
Me and her, we get along well. I just met her, and she’s already the nicest person I’ve ever met. “What classes do you have today?” she quits her rambles, and thinks for a while. Looking somewhat dazzled, that I’d even ask her that. “It’d be lovely to be in the same class as you,” I continue, still nervous as I seem to have made my first friend – I think. She sent me a smile.
“Today I have Defence and Charms I think – I’m not entirely sure.” She chuckles, while exuding a warm aura capable of filling one’s lungs up with love.
I hope I shan’t be excluded from her, I’ve no one else to trust. Either it’ll be a student looking at me with contempt, or an individual who believes me to be a ticket into pureblood society – if they believe befriending or following me around will lead to their acceptance, there’s no doubt that they’ll die within minutes of entering. Naïve children won’t survive, unless, one has a certain dark charm to them.
“I’m going to manifest that I’ll be in the same classes as you, however I am starving. Would you like to get breakfast together?”
“I’d love to.”