Chapter Text
“I’m just sayin’, I don’t know how you can walk around without ‘em.”
“Miles, you know I barely use mine. We have hands for a reason.”
“Yeah. To use our wands.”
His mom tugs on his earlobe and then her palm slips around his cheek, pats it twice. She has that crooked smile. Her eyes are slanted as though she is resting her head against an invisible pillow. It is at moments like these when she looks between fifteen and forty.
“I’m going to miss your whining.”
“I don’t whine.”
“You whine.”
“No, I—”
“Stop talking back to your mother and take this. Don’t know why I’m holding it in the first place.”
Miles shrugs on his backpack.
“Do you have your ticket?”
“No, I’m just gonna walk onto the plane without—”
“Miles.”
He rolls his eyes. “I have my ticket. And my wallet. My suitcase, my backpack, my other backpack, my passport, my birth certificate, for some reason, and sunscreen — you do know I’m going to Scotland, right? As in Scotland, in Britain, where it rains every single day.”
His mom turns to his dad, as though Miles hadn’t spoken. “His laces are untied, Jeff. I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“They’re always untied. Look, you know this is for the best. We have to let him… spread his wings. His wings, honey.”
“I’m not dying.”
His dad waves him off. “We’ll only be an, er, owl away.”
“Yeah an owl across the ocean, Jeff.”
Miles shifts on his feet, checks his metaphorical watch. “Not that I don’t love you guys talking about me, but I have to leave— like, now.”
He is abruptly pulled forward into his mom’s arms. She is strong, and emotional. Miles feels a wetness against his neck where her face is tucked. He rubs a hand down her trembling back and looks at his dad imploringly. His dad puts both hands up in the universal sign of uselessness. Miles sighs, pats his mom’s back twice and pulls back enough to look her in the eyes.
“I’m only an owl away. Across the ocean. And a few hills.”
That makes her laugh. She pushes the heel of her palm into her watering eyes, and laughs. “Wear the sunscreen, Miles. I don’t care if it’s snowing, put it on.”
“And write to us everyday.”
Miles winces. “Everyday?”
“Every single friggin’ day, Miles Morales.”
“Okay, okay.” He pats her shoulders. He waits a second, then two. “Can I go now?”
“Oh sure, run off without giving me a hug. Not like I’m your dad, or anything.”
Miles gapes.”Not you too. Why are you guys making this so— so emotional? I’ll be back for half term in like a month, or something.”
“Don’t ‘guys’ us. We’re not your little friends.”
“What? I wasn’t— ugh, whatever.”
“Whatever? Jeff, did he just?”
“He did.”
“Scotland can take him. I’d like to see you give your teachers the same lip.”
“Mhm.”
Please, someone, anyone, give him strength. “I’m gonna miss my plane.”
His dad pulls him into a side hug, one large arm wrapping around Miles’ narrow shoulders. “No, you’re not. Send us a letter when you land.”
“Okay, I will.”
His mom picks invisible lint out of his hair. “Wear the gloves I packed. I mean it. Don’t just leave them at the bottom of your suitcase, that’s how you get frostbite.”
“I could just use a warming charm— Okay, okay, I will, I promise.”
His dad squeezes his shoulder before letting him go. “Study hard. I don’t want a single call from your teachers unless it's them singing your praises.”
“No pressure or anything,” Miles mutters under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t do drugs.”
“What?” Miles coughs, shoulders hiking up. “Why would I do drugs?”
“Why does anyone do drugs, Miles?”
“I don’t know—”
His dad cuts him off, “Enough, no drugs.”
“I wasn't going to.”
“Okay, we’ve kept you long enough,” his mom places a hand on his dad’s arm placatingly, making an ushering gesture at Miles. “Off you go then.”
Miles adjusts his backpack straps, nods.
“Miles?”
He resists a sigh. “Yeah?”
“We love you.”
Miles swallows, glancing around to make sure no one can hear him before he mumbles, “love you too.”
London is cold. Not as cold as a Brooklyn winter, but it is close. The wind is so sharp that Miles actually uses the scarf his mom packed for him, wraps it double over his nose and shoves his hands into his pockets. The train platform is teeming with new and returning students. Parents have their wands out, doing last minute spells to tidy up dirty faces and stray hairs. There is a girl to his right, crouched low, playing a game on her phone. A shooting simulator, it looks like. Miles is curious, he has to ask:
“How is that working?”
The girl doesn’t look up, and Miles assumes she didn’t hear him.
“How is that—”
“You mean muggle technology in a Wizarding space?”
Miles nods, “Yeah. I thought all muggle tech kinda,” he makes an explosion with his fist, “short-circuited.”
“Not short-circuit. Nullify.” She corrects, sounding disinterested. “Wizarding spaces nullify muggle tech. I just nullified the nullification. It’s not that complicated,” she gives him a sidelong glance, blows a stretchy pink bubble of gum and resumes her game. “Probably complicated for you, though.”
Miles takes offence. He frowns and then un-frowns, because he doesn’t want her to know that he is offended. “I know stuff.”
“ITT stuff?”
“What?”
“Inter-dimensional technological travel stuff?”
Huh.
“Yeah, didn’t think so.”
“S’that what they teach at Hogwarts?”
The girl looks back up at him, puzzled. “Course not. The headmaster wouldn't be caught dead allowing us to,” She pauses, tilting her head. Her eyes are large and the gesture is reminiscent of a puppy dog. “You look a little too old to be a first year. Transfer?”
Miles shrugs. “Something like that.” He is not sure he likes her enough to say more. Besides, the train is here. Immediately there’s a swarm of children heading towards the doors, carrying bags bigger than their torsos and dodging goodbye kisses from their parents. They are all so small. Miles wonders if this is what he would have been like. He lets all the kids below his chin go first and then steps into the first semi-empty carriage he can find.
There’s a boy near the window, flicking through a book, looking decidedly against conversation. Miles is fine with that. He sits down and instinctively reaches for his headphones before remembering he didn’t pack them. Not that they would work. Then he thinks back to the girl on the platform, if she had figured out a way… Surely it could not be that difficult. Miles is not stupid. He could totally figure it out, and probably even better than she did. He could get a TV working, instead of just a phone. He puffs out his chest at the thought. The train starts to move, a slow chugging motion. It lulls him a little and his mind starts to wander. There is a smudge on his sneakers where he had tripped getting onto nine-and-three-quarters. Damn, he just got these. Actually, are sneakers against dress code? More importantly, does Miles have to wear one of those pointy wizard hats? What do wizards even wear?
He tries not to stare too pointedly at the boy across from him. He has got on thick rimmed glasses and a hoodie. So he is a muggle, or at least dresses like one. That’s nice.
“Hey,” Miles says. He is no good with silences.
“Hey.” The boy spares him a glance.
“What you reading?”
The boy flips the book around. It’s a comic. “Oh cool, that’s…” Miles feels like he has seen that character somewhere.
“Spider-man.”
“Spider-man.” Miles nods. “It’s a new thing right? What’s it about?”
“Spiders,” The boy deadpans.
“Cool.” He doesn’t know what else to say.
The boy laughs, a short amused noise, and seems to take pity. “This guy gets bitten by this radioactive spider and it gives him powers. Basically. It’s kinda stupid, but once you start reading,” He shrugs, “It’s pretty addictive.”
“The art style is tuff, I’ll check it out.”
“So, what? You new?”
This will not be the last time he’s asked this question, or a variation of it. Miles does his best not to sound put out. “Yeah, I’m new. Transfer.”
The boy does not look particularly interested. “Cool.”
“Kinda.”
“Why’d you transfer?”
“Family stuff.” That sounds a bit pitiful. “They’re not dead.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah.”
“What house d’you think you're gonna be in?”
“House?”
“Yeah. House.”
Miles scratches his cheek. He thought Hogwarts was one massive building. Is it more like a college campus? With… houses? The British are so weird. “Uh, not sure. Probably whatever house is easiest?”
The boy stares at him for a moment before smiling. It is not a nice smile. “What do you know about Hogwarts?”
Miles feels himself sweat. “It’s an old school. Teaches wizards and witches… magic. There’s a Quidditch pitch. The headmaster is one of the most powerful wizards alive. Uh, I heard there’s a pig for a teacher?”
The boy grins, suddenly entertained. “Man, you don’t know a thing. This is great.”
“I know some things.”
“Did you not think to read up on it? There’s literally a book about the school— ‘Hogwarts, A History’ sound familiar?”
“I’m not much of a reader.”
“Anyway, there are four houses. Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. You get sorted in first year by a hat. You do everything in your house,” he begins to count off his fingers, “Meals, Quidditch, lessons, sleeping. Hogwarts is very… Well, whatever, your house is important basically.”
“What house are you in then?”
“Guess.”
“How can I guess if I don’t know a thing about the houses?”
The boy shrugs. “Not my problem.”
Miles frowns. “You know, you’re kinda unhelpful.”
“I try to be. Who are you, by the way?”
Miles blinks at the non-sequitur. “Uh, Miles?”
“Miles…?”
“Morales.”
“Never heard of them.”
“Well.” Miles crosses his arms. “They’ve never heard of you either.”
The boy stares at him blankly. “I’m Ganke Lee.”
“Cool.”
“You don’t know who I am.” It is not a question.
“You’re Ganke Lee. You just said.”
“Word of advice, since I’m feeling sympathetic. You’re a Muggle, American by the sounds of it, and the son of no one recognisable— Try not to draw attention.”
“No one recognisable,” Miles repeats in disbelief. He stands. “What the hell? I dunno what I did to you, man, but say another word about my parents and I’ll—”
“Sit down.” Ganke Lee looks bored. “You think you’re a threat with your training wand?” Ganke Lee has Miles’ wand between his fingers, twirling it like a toy. When did he—?
“Give me my wand.”
Ganke Lee tosses it into the air. Miles barely catches it. They stare at each other. Miles swallows and shoves his wand into his pocket.
“I’ll find another carriage.” Miles decides, taking his backpack and yanking down his suitcase from the overhead storage. It almost topples him over. He dusts invisible lint off of his arms and pretends his heart is not beating twice the speed.
Ganke Lee does not say a word as Miles leaves.
Miles does not find another carriage. He finds a nook between two toilets and sits on his suitcase, hugging his backpack to his chest.
There is a child’s elbow in Miles' stomach, and another in Miles’ back. Someone is stepping on his sneakers. Miles summons a very, very deep breath. It is cold and they have been waiting on the hillside for almost fifteen minutes now. The boat ride has already had its effects on what little he ate this morning, and the bony arm in his side is—
“You’re really tall.”
Miles makes a vague noise of assent. “Yep.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“August. Third.”
“Oh! You’re older. My birthday is October thirty-first.”
Miles looks down at the first year. She’s got a gap between her front teeth and red hair that keeps falling into her face. “I’m a lot older, actually. I’m not a first year.”
She frowns, as though he had said something incomprehensible. “Then what’re you doin’ here?” She has a lisp. “The feast has already started!”
Miles shifts and accidentally shoves an unsuspecting kid. He winces. “Sorry. You guys are just— so close. Hey,” He raises his voice, “Can we all make some space? So no one gets hurt? Let’s all stand two steps apart from each other.”
“You’re not a teacher!”
“Your hair is massive.”
“You can’t tell us what to do!”
“Is the feast gonna end without us?”
“My mum said I don’t have to listen to anyone who isn’t an adult, are you an adult?”
“He’s not an adult, he’s just tall.”
“Hey!” Miles claps his hands together. They fall silent, or as silent as they can get. “No, I’m not a teacher or an adult. But I’m closer than you. I dunno anything about the feast,” He turns to the gap-toothed girl. “I’m a transfer student, I gotta get sorted like you guys.”
They all make gasping noises.
The girl tugs on his arm. “Hogwarts never has transfer students, are you special?”
Miles feels himself sweat. “I don’t think so.”
Another kid shoves themselves up against him. “What house are you gonna be in?”
“I don’t—”
“If I don’t get Ravenclaw, mum’s gonna kill me.”
“I want Slytherin, I heard they sleep in the dungeon.”
“Seriously?”
“There’s no dungeon in Hogwarts.”
“No, there is!” The gap-toothed girl insists. Once she starts talking it seems she can’t stop. “There’s a dungeon. Slytherins’ dorm is there. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor are in the towers, and Hufflepuff is in the basement, near the kitchens. And did you know that the staircases move when you’re on them? There’s portraits of the old headmasters too, and they’ll talk to you if you’re polite.”
“She’s lying.”
“How’d you know all that then? You haven’t even been to Hogwarts!”
“My mum and dad work there,” The gap-toothed girl puffs out her chest, looking exceedingly pleased.
“Oh yeah?”
“She’s lying, she’s a liar. She’s been making up all sorts of stories since we got on the train.”
“I’m not lying!”
“You are!”
“You’re just jealous because you don’t know anything!”
“Okay, okay,” Miles raises both his hands in the universal sign of please-shut-the-hell-up. “You think she’s lying, she says she’s not. We could do this forever. How about we all agree to disagree and play the quiet game?”
They all stare at him for a moment.
“We’re not babies, you know.”
“Yeah, the quiet game? Really?”
“Ah, ah.” Miles wags his finger back and forth. “This isn’t the boring quiet game. This is the fun one. The… one that your parents won’t teach you. The secret one.”
“Secret?”
“Why’s it a secret?”
“I’ll play!”
Got them. Miles makes a humming noise, rubs his chin. “Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not sure I should tell you guys. It might get me in trouble.”
“No, tell us!”
“Tell us, tell us!”
“You have to tell us!”
Miles sighs, put on. “Fine, but you better keep this between us.”
Hogwarts is not serious, at all. The ‘chaperone’, Miles puts this title in loose, very loose, quotation marks, looks like he woke up five minutes ago. There is no apology to speak of, for his lateness. The man simply smacks his lips together, scans the group of silent children and then makes a vague ‘come hither’ gesture over his shoulder before walking onward. They follow. Miles’ mood is steadily worsening, but at least the children seem to be having the time of their lives. The gap-toothed girl sticks close to him, tugging on his sleeve every now and then to show that she is in fact remaining silent.
The school itself is impressive. Large and old, like he expected. He’d be more impressed if he wasn’t so freaking cold. They stop in front of a heavy set pair of doors, regal wood that he assumes opens out into the main hall. Miles can hear noise from the other side, students talking. Strangely, it is this that has his chest tightening. He squares his shoulders.
“This is the Great Hall.” The man’s voice matches his appearance, dull and far too casual. Miles watches in horror as the man digs a finger up his nose absentmindedly. “This is where you’ll eat everyday. Breakfast is at seven or eight. Lunch at twelve. Dinner at six. Don’t be late. Huh, you guys are real silent today.”
The children stare at him.
The man shrugs. “Anyway, in a minute the Headmaster will signal you in. Line up against the wall, wait until your name is called, you sit under the hat, yada-yada-yada, we all know how this goes.”
No we don’t! Miles wants to scream.
“If you don’t get the house you want,” The man pauses, eyes suddenly becoming sharper. “Don’t cry about it.”
Then he leaves.
Well then.
His mom and dad never talked about their days at Hogwarts. Miles had tried, when he got his letter, he had needled and pressed and hinted and— Nothing. When he got his letter, they sat him down and told him it was a good school. A good school. The kind where he would do well, his dad said. What did you eat? What were the lessons like? Were the teachers nice? All these questions were answered in vague, dishonest ways. The food was lovely. I liked potions the most. The teachers were fair. It was all so… Miles did not get it. He did not understand why they were so tight-lipped, why they stiffened at the mention of the school they had supposedly loved, why his mom left her wand in her bedside cabinet every morning and washed dishes with her hands. Why did they hate magic?
“Miles Morales.”
Miles walks. He sits.
Well. This is certainly interesting.
Miles’ eyes widen. The hat is talking. The hat is talking?
Yes, yes. Ah, Muggleborn.
Miles clenches his fists on his lap.
Curious, too. Hmm. No, you don’t belong here do you?
“What?” Miles whispers.
The hat ignores him. Too stubborn, for one. Ah, what to do. I could give you mercy, make things a bit easier but… No, that won’t do. Okay. Listen carefully, Miles Morales, this house will do little to protect you, that is true, but it has something you need. If it’s any condolence, you will succeed.
“What?” Miles says, louder. “Succeed what?”
Better be…
“GRYFFINDOR!”
The hall is silent. Silent aside from a smattering of applause. Some of the first years are clapping hesitantly. The gap-toothed girl, a flash of red hair in the hall, claps the loudest.
Miles walks mechanically to his table and sits. There’s a first year beside him in tears, doing her best to stymy them behind her fist. He puts a hand on her back and pats. He thinks. Ganke Lee. Hogwarts is very… Well, whatever, your house is important basically. He thinks. If I don’t get Ravenclaw, mum’s gonna kill me. He thinks. Don’t cry about it.
Ah.
“So… Gryffindor, huh?” Miles tries.
The girl cries harder. “My mum is gonna disown me!”
Dear
Mom and Dad,
I’m at Hogwarts. The feast was nice. Also, why didn’t you tell me that this school has a freaking hierarchy based house system that makes eleven-year-olds cry?
What house were you in? Is being in Gryffindor really the worst?
From,
Miles
___
EXTRA
There is a transfer student. Hogwarts does not take transfer students. He’s lanky and narrow and his eyes are open, completely open. Muggleborn, certainly, with a name like that. Whatever the stupid hat says, it strikes him down the middle. His mouth parts, his eyes widen. He is confused. He is lost. He is going to do terribly here.
Gwen sighs, turning back to her food. The baby Slytherins are oddly silent this year. “How long till he drops out?”
“I give 'im until half-term.”
Gwen considers. “He might make it till Christmas.”
Hobie laughs, bright, loud and mean. His teeth catch in the light. “No chance.”
Gwen grins, “No, you’re right.”
Terrible, terrible luck, Miles Morales.