Chapter Text
Wylan remembers the first time they met — running late in a hall full of other kids, carrying his Potions kit close to his chest to prevent it from falling to the ground. He remembers the loud yelling, all the kids rushing to get downstairs to Snape’s class. He also remembers, somehow, stumbling into someone, even with all the care he had put into arriving to class all in one piece.
Wylan had knelt to help them gather their books, without even looking them in the eyes, whispering a quiet Sorry.
When he did get up to offer this person their books, he saw a boy look at him with big gray eyes.
“Watch out, kid,” the boy said, looking at him stubbornly. His brows furrowed in a way that spoke sheer judgment.
Wylan remembers feeling utterly and truly affronted.
“I’m not a kid,” he grumbled, clutching his stuff even closer to his chest.
“You look like you’re freshly out of an elementary school of muggles,” the other boy had said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m perfectly eleven, and I imagine you’re not much older either.”
Wylan found himself inordinately pleased to discover he was right about that. The boy had scraped the back of his head and admitted: “Well, I’m actually twelve. In my first year, that is. Just going to my Potions class.”
Wylan had smiled, wide, and said nothing. The boy grinned excitedly and put his hand out, exclaming: “I’m Jesper by the way, Jesper Fahey. You wanna be friends?”
“I’m Wylan,” he had smiled, feeling the tiniest bit sheepish, and then said, honestly, eagerly: “I would like to be your friend.”
At that, Jesper had smiled so wide, so big, Wylan couldn’t imagine they were on the brink of arguing just a minute before. Slowly, he cleared his throat. “I’m going to my Potions class, too, actually…if you want to come with.”
Jesper had smiled impossibly wider and made a gesture that meant for Wylan to follow him, which he had done, eagerly so.
Since then, many, many things would change. But his friendship with Jesper Fahey would be one of the constants throughout all his Hogwarts years.
Since then, Wylan’s always hollow and cold house would change, morphing into a bigger, far warmer one, made of changing stairs and bright giggles, talking ghosts and magic lessons.
His first year had been one of quiet discoveries and new friends, surrounding himself with people that felt like chocolate frogs and pumpkin pastries — his favourites. It had been a year of slowly getting rid of some of that ever-present tension, of feeling himself get braver and braver in a place where he was seen as equal and capable as all his mates. It felt like starting over – and Wylan was endlessly grateful for that opportunity, after what felt like forever in his Father’s cold house and fear-stained rooms.
He had never had this many friends – he had never had any friend, if he was being honest – and that too felt like a blessing, even if he wasn’t too close with his Ravenclaw mates and spent most of his time alone in their big hall, his five friends felt like everything Wylan would have wished for.
Jesper, of course, was his best friend – he had been since that very first day they met – but they were all inseparable, from Nina’s bold courage, to Kaz’s reclusive scheming, to Inej’s fierce kindness and Matthias’ loving patience.
Most of all, he was grateful that this wasn’t a place where he would be mocked for his inability to read. When he had told Dumbledore, and then to Professor Mcgonagall, he had been almost shaking with fear that they would send him away to his Father. Instead, all they did was nod like it wasn’t a big deal, like it didn’t betray Wylan’s biggest inadequacy. They had said something about accommodations and spells that would help with that and we have already had students like you, it’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal. Wylan had never had anyone refer to his inadequacy as not a big deal, and maybe that was because he had spent all his time with his Father and never told a living soul, but those simple words had settled something inside him. A seed that would slowly come to grow and grow with the years to come.
His first year was one of magic and running down the stairs because he had been on time, mind you, but spending time with Jesper had made him arrive late to class by reflex. It had been one of visiting Hagrid, being bewitched by all the weird and dangerous creatures he was friends with and sneaking into the secret forest – just once. It had been a year of curiosity and learning and thriving at school like he never did back home. It had been a year of running down the hill and – sometimes – sneaking out of his room to meet the five of them. It had been a year of his friends shrugging and smiling when he had admitted, just quietly, I actually can’t read.
It had also been a year of discoveries. Wylan had never seen so much of the world, the real world, outside of the small portion of the world he had been confined in for so long. It had been almost overwhelming, at first, to find himself with this many kids and this much happiness, he wasn’t really used to things being this simple, but endlessly good, all the same. It had been a year of discoveries in the way that seeing you don’t look at girls in the same way that your friends do is — a year of discovering himself blushing at some of those older Hufflepuff boys, and thinking — Ghezen, they’re cute.
That year he'd stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas – the last thing he wanted to do was go home to his Father, lest he decided at the last minute not to let him come to Hogwarts anymore and close him in his room once again. So he'd decided to stay, finding much more comfort in the castle’s halls and stairs than he ever had done in his previous home, and watching his friends leave and wave with the promise of See you next year.
He doesn't remember much about his first year, just the slow, gradual feeling of his cheeks feeling the sun on them again, getting warmed by the life growing around him. By the overwhelming feeling that he had friends, and he was loved.