Chapter Text
Stepping into muggle London, Eleazar Fig glances around as he buttons up a muggle longcoat over his robes. It’s dark brown and simple. Hopefully enough to deflect any suspicious eyes that wander in his direction. He turns his collar up against the cold air that nips his skin as he walks. Being so wrapped up in his own mind and the plan for the new student, he came a bit unprepared. Well, technically only in the ‘appropriate clothing for a muggle hamlet’ department. Perhaps even over prepared in everything else. Naturally.
He checks again that the spare wand he brought with him is most definitely still where he put it and takes a deep breath. He wants to make a good first impression and he hopes he doesn’t make an absolute mess of it. Miriam would laugh at the fact he’s nervous, which he rarely is. He can still picture the way it looked on her face and he hopes it stays that way for a long while. He’s going to be bringing a new student into their fifth year, but the thing is that is practically unheard of. Why Headmaster Black chose him among others is a mystery to him but he wasn’t going to turn down a child in need of his help anytime soon.
After confiding in Matilda (pacing excitedly in her office) neither of them have heard of such a thing occurring as long as they’ve been teaching at Hogwarts and he was most definitely curious that’s for sure. Ever since the news of this child reached them, the faculty for the past month have been frantically preparing so they can have a comfortable transition into the magical world and the school. He could no longer remember how many times Mirabel has talked to them all about the fact that their mental stability could be fragile, so everyone is to take things at a steady level so as not to overwhelm them.
And then of course there was the wonderful creation of that field guide that would only do them good. A great way to keep track of their progress and to learn more about the castle and its surrounding area. If he does say so himself, he thinks they’ve done a marvellous job and hopefully this will be a smooth transition for the child. Everyone was prepared to give them extra support and assignments to help them catch up. This is something that they were well aware they couldn’t fail on. From the little information they’ve gathered, the poor child deserves it. He was concerned at the least, he couldn’t imagine what must be running through their head at the moment.
A light breeze tussles his hair, it is a chilly day for a mid August afternoon. The beginnings of yellow leaves float down the cobbled flooring of the street and crunch under his shoes as he casually strolls down the paths. Wisps of cloud and a pair of colourful kites scatter across the sky, tails curling in the wind. (They aren’t as extravagant as the ones he is used to but are sweet nonetheless). It’s a bit of a small hamlet to be considered a part of London, he thinks, out in the countryside. But he can admit it’s cozy looking.
There’s probably about fifteen to twenty homes, little cottages, sitting reasonably close together, two or three shops placed throughout and of course a large pub somewhere around the middle of it all. As he passes by he can see the two large doors are propped open and inside are muggles having late lunches or playing what looks like unfamiliar games on tabletop. He doesn’t think it looks too dissimilar from The Three Broomsticks.
The hamlet’s centre is bustling with activity. Stalls have set up shop and he curiously cranes his neck to see what the muggles would be selling. It’s mainly clothing and jewellery among other things and he personally thinks it looks a bit out of place without a stall selling potion ingredients. For a moment the breeze bites harder against his skin and he folds his coat tighter around him.
He begins to weave through the small but concentrated crowd, a gentle hand guiding shoulders out the way and the other blocking the sun’s rays from piercing his eyes. They flitter over the things on sale in the stalls as he passes them. Some things practical like large cooking pots or light but appropriate summer ware. Other things like colourful trinkets, weighted animal themed door-stoppers or mobiles made of colourful glass that you could hang in doorways.
When he sees something that peaks his interest he stops in front of a stall which (with a glance over on the other side as she talks to a customer) is a ladies jewelry stand. Laying over the surface of the table is a deep dark blue coloured cloth which holds the scattered stands where necklaces hang and smaller pieces of lighter coloured folded cloth where bracelets lay upon them.
What interests him is not what most others would look for, because these pieces aren’t shiny silver or gold, riddled with priceless gleaming gems. They are in fact just ordinary metal weaved together, which makes sense for a small lower-class town in the countryside outside of London. No, what particularly interests him and has him studying them each intently with a fascinated curiosity, is the design. It’s a solely unique style of which he hasn’t personally seen before. The metal weaves and twists together in intricate detail which he can imagine must have taken quite some time to achieve. A learned patience and immense talent. And muggle made no less!
A necklace that lay just before him catches his eye. He’d never seen anything like it before, perhaps similar, but nothing quite like this. Metal tendrils intertwine and curl into a waning crescent moon, the little shapes of stars are ingrained into it. Nestled between the two points, coming to rest in the middle, is what he guesses is a sun. Its petal-like points twist and curl. But what fascinates him is in the centre lies a small glass ball. The inside is hollow and split down the middle to separate liquid that is filled three quarters full up the glass. On the left it’s a dark blue colour, much like an early night sky or the cloth of the table. On the other side, separated by glass is a warm coloured yellow liquid. Imagining it’s to follow the sun and moon theme, he smiles.
“Anything piques your interest, sir?” The chipper voice interrupts his intent examination and he looks up from the necklace to the saleswoman before him. Her black hair is tied back from her face, deep blue eyes meeting his. Her hands are folded behind her, back straight and shoulders relaxed. She smiles at him politely, which he returns after straightening up.
“Oh, no. Just browsing, if you don’t mind?” Eleazar replies, glancing over the selection again.
“Not at all! Though if you change your mind, don’t be afraid to let me know!” She gives him a friendly grin with a nod.
“Do you make these yourself, my lady?” He asks curiously with a cock of the head before she turns away.
“Oh, no!” She chuckles gently.
“I wish. No, I just sell over here for the main owners up in London. They wanted to ‘expand their horizons’, get some produce for the people on the outskirts. They’re quite something, don’t you think?” She asks, gesturing to the spread.
“Oh yes, quite. All handmade and everything?” He replies with wide, interested eyes.
“Rightly so! Honestly, I haven’t the foggiest idea how they manage it.” She laughs again.
“I can imagine.” He laughs softly with her.
“Did you want to take a look at this one, sir? The lady points at the necklace of a sun and moon he had been looking at before.
“Oh! If you wouldn’t mind?” he questions, already reaching for the necklace. She smiles and gives him a ‘go ahead’ gesture with a wave of her hand.
Gingerly sliding his fingers under the chain he lifts it from its cushion and turns to hold it to the sun. It rocks back and forth in the light. The rays shine pleasantly through the liquid centre, reflecting blue and yellow light. With a grin he realises the sun can spin on its axis and he taps it with his finger.
“Perhaps a lovely lady of yours would appreciate it? Or a gentleman of course.” She tilts her head and watches as he holds it up to the light.
He pauses, his hand hovering and eyes fixed on the sun as it slows to a stop. After a couple seconds he blinks and lowers his free hand back down.
“Yes, I believe she would have.” It comes out barely above a whisper. He can see her face drop out of the corner of his eye and he inwardly winces.
“It’s a truly wonderful piece.” He says with a gentle smile.
“I would pass my compliments on to the makers if I could.” He adds, gently laying the necklace back down in its place.
“Yes, it is one of my personal favourites.” She replies more softly and quietly than before, watching his face. With a breath Eleazar clasps his hands together and rocks back on his heels.
“Well! I wish you a nice day my lady, it seems I've gotten myself a bit distracted! I have something important to attend to.”
“Very well, I wish the same for you, sir! Have yourself a good day.” She seems to snap out of her thoughts, flashing him a smile. And when he turns to leave she adds on a ‘come again!’. He turns back with a grin and looks at the necklace laid over its cushioned blue cloth. The sun now shines its rays through where it's placed on the table, reflecting strips of blue and yellow over it.
“I just might!” He replies before slipping back into the crowd.
Reminding himself not to get distracted again, Eleazar continues to manoeuvre through the families. He gets up on his tiptoes and cranes his neck over the heads every now and then to try and figure out where he’s supposed to be going. Unexpectedly, something solid and warm comes full force into his right shin, causing him to stumble slightly with an ‘oof’. After stabling himself he looks down to find a little girl with blond bunches down her back rubbing her forehead and scowling. What he assumes is her brother (though his hair is a light brown) is next to her holding her hand as he laughs at her. He kneels down next to them with a concerned amusement.
“Oh I’m sorry, dear. Are you alright there?” He asks gently.
“You were in the way!” She whines at him, still scowling. Her brother snickers behind his hand. Eleazar chuckles softly in surprise.
“I am truly sorry about that. Here, how about this.” Reaching into his bag he subtly summons a muggle coin. He retracts his hand and holds it out to her on a flat palm. Her eyes widen and she makes an ‘oh!’ expression with her mouth to her brother. He’s the one scowling this time, jealous he isn’t the one being given it. She reaches out for it, plucking it from his hand hesitantly, and he smiles at her encouragingly. She smiles as she turns it over in her little fingers.
“Now, I was wondering if you might help me with something. I’m in need of a little guidance.” The girl looks up at him from her coin and begins to over-exaggerately squint her eyes in suspicion, he bites back a laugh.
“Depends...” She says, dragging out the word as she says it.
“You see, I was meant to be meeting with a lady by the name of Ms Jones today but I seem to have gotten myself a bit lost,” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Lost!? Here!?" She bursts out with a laugh and her brother giggles alongside her.
“Yes! Can you even believe it? You wouldn’t be able to help me would you?” This girl is quite the character, he thinks to himself. He finds he can’t stop his smile from growing the longer he speaks to her.
“Hmm, I donno where she lives. Mummy knows though, she knows about everyone. Be careful though! Mummy always says Ms Jones is a meanie.” She nods matter of factly and he can’t hold back his laugh this time.
“That’s true, she does say that.” The boy chimes in.
“And where might your mother be?” He asks with a touch of concern. These children are just running about on their own.
“Oh, she’s in the middle, over there.” The boy points in a direction past the crowd. At least they know where she is.
“Thank you very much. You be good now!” He says, getting back up off the floor with a grunt. The girl rolls her eyes dramatically.
“Obviously!” She replies, tugging on her brother’s hand and leading them to continue running through people’s legs.
With some more gentle manoeuvring he steps free of the crowd and back into a more open area. Looking back, the children are nowhere to be seen and he smiles to himself. His mind wanders back to the child he’s going to be meeting today. His eyes scan the area as he lists over what he knows. Fifteen, turning sixteen December of this year. Orphaned at the age of six and stayed that way until four weeks ago when they were placed in the temporary custody of a squib, Ms Jones. The child didn’t have luck with adoption because of the fact they are intersex and they have a bad behavioural reputation.
What he couldn’t find was anything beyond that surface level description. Nothing, no matter how much he searched. No recorded information on how they might have acted or interacted with others as a younger child. No recorded preferences they might have had. Favourite toy? Allergies or food preferences? Friends? Nothing personal to them at all. He was beginning to wonder if the adults running that place even knew they were there. Or if they were just alone while surrounded by people all this time. Just a name on a file. A mouth to feed. It causes a quiet anger to simmer up his neck every time he thinks about it.
He takes a deep breath. He reminds himself they are going to take them away from all that now. To live in a safe castle where they can learn and make friends. Where they’ll be looked after properly. In the centre of the clearing he spots a middleage-ish couple arm in arm gesturing down a street as they talk. The woman has blond hair, the man a light brown. Figuring it’s a safe bet he begins to make his way towards them, apologising as he accidentally bumps into someone. Approaching, he puts on a friendly smile.
“Hello there, I apologise for interrupting.” Eleazar waves a hand in front of them, smiling gently. The lady turns to face him, returning a polite smile.
“Hello! Is there something we could help you with, sir?” She offers him a hand and he shakes it thankfully. The man at her side narrows his eyes at the interruption.
“Yes, I was wondering if you could direct me towards a Ms Jones’ residence?” He asks with a tilt of the head.
“Ah, yes, Ms Jones.” She raises her eyebrows, her tone turning subtly sarcastic. Perhaps this is the girl’s mother after all.
“What brings you there?” The sharp tone of the man cuts in. He looks Eleazar up and down. Ah, this is exactly what he didn’t want happening.
“Have you heard about the child Ms Jones has taken in recently? I’m the one to l be taking them to their boarding school a few weeks from now, Eleazar Fig.” He offers his words carefully and extends his hand. The man takes it, shaking it firmly.
“Oh yes, that’s right.” He confirms, recognition flashing over his eyes.
“About time,” he chuckles.
“I’m… sorry?” Eleazar questions with false-politeness, tugging at his coat. The man stammers for a second.
“Oh, I apologise, I didn’t mean it in that way. That child is nothing but a bother and it’s just Ms Jones already has a lot on her plate! She needs her hands washed of it. I do wish you luck, good sir!” He laughs in this patronising way, a hand clutched to his chest. Any friendliness seemed to drain from Eleazar’s face the longer he spoke. He spoke of them as if they were this thing. A leech stuck to the arm rather than a human being with thoughts and feelings and intelligence.
They’re just a child, no matter what they’re like they shouldn’t have to deal with a petty, stuck up muggle’s treatment. He hopes they haven’t heard anybody speak about them in this way. It takes everything in him not to go off on him, rage boiling in his gut. His fingers twitch at his side. He wants to wipe his hand clean where he shook it. It was a sharp contrast to the people he just had the pleasure of meeting. He feels sorry for those poor children if this is their father. Reminding himself he still needs those directions he gathers his strength and tries to chuckle along. It comes out a bit bitter. The lady hasn’t said anything, just lowered her head. He’s not sure if he should feel anger or pity towards the action.
“Yes… so which way should I head?” His words come out sharper than he wants them to. But hey, he tried.
“Yes, of course. Ms Jones’ house resides on the outskirts that way. Black door, grey stone leading up to it.” The man is completely oblivious to his discomfort and he holds back the urge to roll his eyes.
“Thank you.” He just says quickly with a nod and turns away, striding away from them and down an alley. He doesn’t bother looking back.
…
The loud chatter gradually fades to a muffle in the air as he nears the edge of the houses. There doesn’t seem to be anybody around, all most likely with the others at the market. He strolls between and around people’s homes, looking for the one on the edge with the black door and grey stone leading to it. He imagines the child would be at the market with the rest of the hamlet on a day as nice as this. He hopes the lady housing them isn’t as unpleasant as he’s heard, if he would have to wait for them to return. He’s not very tolerant of unpleasant personalities. Miriam was much better at that. He takes a couple deep breaths as he rounds the corner and a little aways down a stone cobbled pathway is a house with a black door.
He stops in his steps for a moment to observe it. It’s old, a bit shabby, rough on the edges, dehydrated. It’s all grey and black; there’s flower pots under the windowsills but they don’t hold any flowers, just dry, crumbling soil. His shoes gently clunk against the stone as he approaches, it’s cracked under his feet. The loud chittering of birds sounds out behind him and he looks over his shoulder. On the roof of a house there’s a little nest, it holds a group of chicks. A much larger bird comes swooping down to it with its prey in its beak. Looking back to the home before him the difference in colour is almost jarring compared the colourfulness and life of the rest of the hamlet behind him. The child has been living here for weeks… he can imagine it’s probably not much different from the look of the orphanage they came from and it makes him frown. He picks up his steps and shakes his head, perhaps it’s much nicer on the inside. Don’t judge a book by its cover.
Stepping up to the door he smoothes out his ruffled coat. The curtains for the windows are closed on the inside. If he didn’t know any better he wouldn’t think anybody actually lived here, with its weeds coming up through the stone and chipped exterior. With a huff he lifts his hand and knocks on the door three times. A moment later there’s a movement from the curtain in the window to his right but by the time he looks there’s no one there. There’s a clunk on the other side of the door before it opens inward and he quickly smiles. A stern looking lady has opened the door, she doesn’t smile back at him, just glares at him as she looks him up and down. Her hair is grey all the way through and tied back firmly from her face. His smile slips a bit. What a great start. He really doesn’t have the patience for if she is going to make this difficult for him. He’s going to be here for two weeks after all. Sticking out his hand he fixes up his smile.
“Ms Jones? My name is Eleazar Fig, I’m here for Rayne.”
…
Rayne lets their eyes slip closed as they rest their head on the window-sill. The sun shines through the opened gap and onto their face. It’s pleasant and warms their skin. They try to breathe it in and only the smell of grass and earth reaches their nose, that’s good enough for them. Shuffling further forward on their bed they press their forehead to the glass. That’s warm from the sun too and they smile. The breeze tickles their skin and a shiver runs up their spine.
Reaching behind them, Rayne brings their sheets up round their shoulders and over their arms. They tuck their knees to their chest and rest their head back forward onto the glass. A gust of wind flows through the opening again. Cracking open their eyes they reach out a hand and push it through the gap, it only just fits through. The air rushes through their fingers. They thread them through it and smile wider. They try to push their arm further through as the birds sing outside. Though they are stopped as it scrapes against the fullest part of their arm, pushing on the latch. Their eyes lock onto it and their vision seems to go out of focus.
‘This will not be happening again. Do you hear me? Ridiculous girl. Where did you even think you would go?’ She pushes harshly on the window, testing the newly added metal latch. The candlelight flickers up the walls. She pulls it closed then firmly pushes it open again. It doesn’t open more than a couple inches, stopping suddenly in place as the latch extends to its full length. She nods confidently to herself and whips round to the small child curled up on their single bed.
‘You have nowhere to go. No one to look after you. And while you live under this roof, you- will- follow- our- rules. Do you understand?’ The child stays frozen still as the woman looms over them.
‘Do you understand!?’ She repeats louder and they flinch.
‘Yes madam.’ They spit out quickly.
‘Good.’ She turns on her heel and picks up the candle before striding from the small room. The door slams behind her. There’s a clinking in the lock before the sound of footsteps fade away. A sob bubbles up in the child’s throat. The many other children sleep soundly upstairs.
Raine blinks furiously and frowns. There’s a loud knock on the door downstairs and they flinch, their breath hitching in their chest. They frantically pull their arm back through the window and silently shuffle back into the middle of their bed. The sound of muffled talking begins to sift through the doorframe. The first they know, they’ve become accustomed to the sound of Ms Jones’ croaky drawls. The second they are completely unfamiliar with, it’s deep and soft. Mostly only the low rumbles meeting them through the walls. It covers over Ms Jones’ voice by a mile, which they didn’t think was possible.
They very cautiously stand up from the bed, not making a sound as they cross their room. They’ve never had a bedroom this big before. Well technically, this isn’t their bedroom at all. They’re only borrowing it temporarily. Not like their bedroom from before was really theirs either. They never got to decorate it or choose what colour sheets they wanted… Well, that’s what the other kids would talk endlessly about when they were allowed out into town.
They were finding it difficult to sleep in such a new and unfamiliar place and it was beginning to show on their face. They’d lie awake for hours most nights, jolting awake at the slightest sound. Sometimes just barely getting enough sleep before they’d have to get up all over again. They didn’t like looking in the mirror and seeing the pale figure with dark circles under its eyes. It reminded them of those fake skeletons they’d hang up in the shops on Halloween. So they tried to stop looking.
They reach out and wrap their fingers round the door handle, every movement slow and gentle as to not alert to their presence. Cracking the door open the voices downstairs come through clearer.
“... two weeks, correct?” That’s Ms Jones. They can hear the thumping of the heels on her shoes as she steps back further into the house.
“Yes. We will depart for Hogwarts on the first, as discussed.” This must be the professor that’s come to catch them up to speed. He sounds… impatient, irritated. Their heart clenches painfully in their chest. Perhaps he didn’t want to be here, maybe that’s why he’s late. They are still sceptical about the whole magic thing, witches and wizards and a magic castle school. It sounds like something they’d imagine up when they were little, when they wanted to be anywhere other than where they were. Perhaps they’d belong with something people seemed to hate just as much as them. But even Ms Jones seemed to be in on it and she is strictly ‘no nonsense’. If it wasn’t true she’d definitely be the kind of person who’d scream ‘sin’ at any kind of mention of that kind of thing. So it must be true? But really, magic? Perhaps it’s actually a cover for something else. Maybe they were finally being sent to an Asylum or something of the such. It was a long time coming.
“So, where are they?” It sounds like he claps his hands together, his voice rising in… anticipation, or excitement? He sounded more genuine this time. They’re finding it difficult to get a read on him from just his voice which is unusual for them with how meticulously they studied that sort of thing. Though they’ve never met him and they’d become very familiar with all the staff at the orphanage. And Ms Jones was very easy to pick up on, she was almost just like-
‘Do you hear me? Ridiculous girl.’
“Girl!” Comes Ms Jones’ screech from the bottom of the stairway. They flinch and frantically close their door as soundlessly as possible. Eavesdropping is not allowed.
“Your new professor is here! Come and greet him!” They glide back to the other side of their room, away from the door, before they call back.
“Yes madam!” Her footsteps click away and they let out a breath they hadn’t realised they’d been holding.
They rush over to their wardrobe and stand in front of the mirror plastered on the front. Their hair is still fine from where Ms Jones had insisted on tying half of it up firmly back from their face. It still isn’t long enough for her to be able to tie it up fully which she complained very vocally about. There’s a few flyaways… but they’re sure it’ll be fine. Their formal dress that she forced them to put on though is all ruffled and wrinkled. They nervously smooth it out with their hands and wince, hopefully this is still good enough for her. Glancing over to the folded fabric on their small chest of draws they reluctantly reach for it. Rubbing the fabric between their fingers their eyes begin to burn and they determinedly blink it away.
Only two weeks. Perhaps the professor won’t care too much about it. They haven’t really interacted with men all that much… except for the gentleman and his wife from the jewelry shop back home. Their bracelet is still hopefully tucked in that secret compartment in their trunk along with their sketchpads. And it didn’t matter to him in the slightest whether they looked like a boy or a girl! Maybe the professor would be the same. Who are they kidding, with their luck?
They wrap the thin fabric of the scarf round their neck, securing it up over their adams apple to cover it, before reaching for the shawl. Crossing it over their chest and holding it there they slowly look back up to the mirror. No matter how many times they have looked, the image that greets them never seems to look like them. It’s no different this time around. Not like they actually know what they’re expecting to see. They cross back over to their door, making it audible this time. They make sure to close the door gently behind them.
…
The tea is bland, earthy, exactly the opposite of how he likes it. The armchair is also scratchy. He just smiles and nods.
“Just give it a moment, she’ll be down any second.” The woman’s smile is strained and she laughs nervously.
“Dammed girl…” Her words trail off into harsh grumbles as she retreats back into the kitchen.
‘She’... again? Maybe the child prefers to be referred to that way. He’ll be sure to ask, perhaps when they’re not in the company of this Ms Jones. He can hear gentle footfalls begin to descend the stairway and he carefully places his cup back on its saucer on the coffee table beside him before standing and smoothing out his clothes.
When he looks up they are standing at the bottom of the stairway. Their gaze is sharp, incredibly sharp. But they stand as if they are on guard. The way they look at him, the way they hold themself, it makes it seem like they are much older than they’re supposed to be. The front of their hair is tied back firmly from their face, likely to try and tame the brown waves that’s left behind. It’s at this awkward length like they are trying to grow it out. They are also wearing this formal dress with a shawl crossed firmly over their chest. Perhaps they would prefer to be referred to as a she. But at the same time they look unhappy… and he’s never seen a person look so subtly but incredibly uncomfortable with themself. They stand completely stiff and closed in. Arms close to their body, head tilted down, but a raging storm in the blue of their eyes. He smiles softly and lets his body hang in a relaxed position.
“Hello. My name’s Professor Fig. I’ve been asked by the headmaster at Hogwarts to come to catch you up to speed a little. In preparation for when you start in September?” Their gaze has softened a little at least, it’s no longer what you’d probably describe as a glare.
“What’s your name?” He knows their name, it’s just they haven’t tried to speak yet.
“Rayne.” Their voice is a little deep and so soft he only just catches it. He didn’t expect it, with the way they present themself and Ms Jones using strictly feminine pronouns he forgot for a moment they weren’t a young girl. They didn’t seem to make any move to come closer to greet him, planted firmly into the floorboards. So he gently begins to approach them, keeping his movements relaxed and slow.
“Rain?” He asks with a tilt of the head and a curious expression.
“Not- not as in rain that comes from the sky.” They glance toward the windows with their closed curtains and begin to fiddle with their hands as he gets closer. He stops a couple steps away from them.
“It’s spelt with a ‘y’... and an ‘e’.” They add gently, looking at the floor.
“So R-a-y-n-e, I'm guessing?” He asks with a smile and they nod softly.
“Well, Rayne, I think you’re going to be just fine.” Ah, finally something other than a blank expression. They look back up at him with widened eyes and search his face as if to see if he’s speaking truthfully. Before their eyes suddenly snap to somewhere behind him. Their posture quickly straightens and they tilt their head back up so it’s straight. They cross their shawl back firmly over their chest and tug up their scarf. Looking over his shoulder he can see Ms Jones standing in the threshold to the kitchen, watching Rayne. Eleazar turns back to face the child.
“How would you feel about taking a walk with me? Nice stroll in the sun so we can chat? It’s a lovely day.” They look back at him with that same wide-eyed look, glancing longingly at the door. He pointedly gestures with his eyes to the lady behind him before rolling them and pulling a face, hoping it would amuse them. Their lip twitches and they look to the floor. Hey, that's something.
“Okay.” They reply quietly with a gentle nod.
“Well!” He clasps his hands together and they flinch. He notes that down internally.
“Do you have a jacket or something of the other, dear? The breeze is a bit nippy today.” Striding back across the room he smiles as he lifts his coat off the hook, slinging it behind him and slipping his arms through.
“No-” They begin with a shake of the head.
“No, she does not have a jacket.” The lady cuts them off with a look like he suggested something completely outrageous. His brows pinch together in confusion.
“She is a lady, she does not wear jackets!” The child flinches again and he only just catches himself from glaring at her. He just got them to calm at least a little. He has no idea what she’s talking about. He’s also surprised she doesn’t stamp her foot with the way she’s speaking.
“Okay… Thank you for your time, I'll have them back by the hour.” She bristles and he fights the urge to smirk or pointedly give her a smug look.
“Come along, dear,” He pulls open the door and holds out an arm. He guides them out gently with a hand on their shoulder but immediately retracts it when they stiffen at the contact.
…
The sun is getting low in the sky, it’s probably going to set about two hours from now. Rayne’s feet step almost soundlessly on the dirt path, Professor Fig’s not so much. But they don’t mind. They find the steady rhythm beside them to be quite… calming? They have never found the sound of footsteps calming before, often the complete opposite. They can’t seem to find the word for it, it’s strange. They are enjoying this moment of comfortable silence because they are desperate to take in… well everything.
They’d never been on a walk through the countryside before. In fact they’d never been in the countryside at all. It’s always the same walk through the hamlet to the market. They’d never strayed any farther in fear of Ms Jones finding out, they didn’t know if that was allowed. For the rest of their life they’d been deep in London, and nowhere else. Specifically the orphanage and its town square. They’d only ever seen a tree in shabby picture books, never felt grass or dirt beneath their feet. The air felt lighter here, it smelt better. It smelt like what they were coming to know as the smell of the earth.
The wind threads through their hair, making it float in the wind. The parts that aren’t tied back anyway. The blades of grass brush their ankles, the birds sing in the distant trees and the sun shines on their skin. A small smile curls their lips. They don’t notice the little bounce in their step nor that they’ve left their shawl to just sit loosely on their shoulders. They have a strong urge to disappear into the woods.
The professor mostly just talked about the schedule for the next two weeks and something about a ‘second hand wand’. They were not really sure what exactly he was referring to so they didn’t say anything. He was going to be meeting them every week day for the duration of five hours, between one and five pm to teach them. What exactly they were going to be taught was beyond them.
He seemed very confident on the whole ‘magic’ idea, just as Ms Jones was. Apparently this man is a ‘Wizard’. Apparently they are one too, which is why he is here. That seemed to have them at a loss for words, they just couldn’t get anything out of their mouth. Apparently it was why that glass smashed in Elisabeth’s hand, and why Sam’s feet flew out from underneath him, and why the windows blew open when they screamed that one time. Still, it seemed too good to be true. Why would they be gifted with such a thing as magic? The ‘mutated child’, the problem, the troublemaker. They were already enough of a problem without the magic, now this?
“If it bothers you so much why don’t you just take it off?” Professor Fig’s gentle voice cuts through their haze and they blink back into focus. They pinch their brows in confusion and look over to him.
“Pardon?” They reply quietly, crossing their shawl back over their chest nervously when they notice it’s come loose.
“Your scarf, it appears to be bothering you.” They had been tugging on it uncomfortably again without realising it.
“Uh- no. No I can’t.” They look at the floor as he watches them intently.
“How come? Is it too cold for you?” Their mouth hangs open in a stammer.
“Would you like my coat?” He adds softly.
“No!” Raine snaps and his eyes widen in response. They flinch and clear their throat, their face a look of horror.
“No, uh, I’m fine thank you sir. I can’t, I have to- Ms Jones wishes me to wear it.” They don’t see the way his eyes narrow, before pinching in concern. He slows his steps, coming closer and leaning down slightly. They look over at him in confusion again.
“I’m not sure if you noticed, Rayne, but Ms Jones isn’t exactly present…” He smiles down at them.
“Of course I’ve-!” They snap their mouth shut, eyes widening in horror. What is it with this man? Well, Wizard, perhaps that’s why. They would never speak to an adult like that, they wouldn’t want to risk it. Professor Fig’s smile brightens and it confuses them beyond belief.
“Here, let me hold it. You could put it back on before we reach the house?” He holds a hand out for them and they both stop in the path.
He’s offering to hold their scarf? Why? Looking at his face he only looks sincere. His brows furrow and he smiles at them softly. If they take off their scarf then he’ll know. But he has also been calling them ‘they’ and ‘them’ the entire time, perhaps he already knows. He doesn’t get impatient as they stand there and look at him, he doesn’t snap or shout at them. He just stands there patiently looking at them with this expression that’s so soft. No one's ever been like that before. They can feel a burning in their eyes and they blink it away in confusion.
“Are- are you sure?” It comes out of their mouth so quietly he leans in to hear them. That thing happens again where his brows pinch together.
“Of course…” He holds out his hand gently again. They raise a hand to their neck, it’s shaking. Why is it shaking? They tell themself to stop being silly. It still shakes. They grip the fabric between their fingers and stiffly pull it away from their neck. Their Adam's apple bobs in their throat as they swallow nervously. It floats on the breeze and for a moment they fantasise about letting it blow away on the wind, but they hold it out to his hand.
He gently takes it from their fingers and smiles. He smooths it out and folds it over his arm before tucking it into his side. He gestures with his head ahead of them but only starts walking again after they do. This man is strange. Well actually, he is a wizard, perhaps that’s why he’s strange. Perhaps all wizards are just like this, and it’s just normal to them. Perhaps that’s why they are strange. Would they get to be normal around these magical people? Finally?
“I have to ask you,” The professor starts, his voice never raises higher than anything other than soft and they can’t seem to figure out how they feel about it.
“Ms Jones refers to you as ‘she’. The staff at the orphanage seemed mixed on the idea, some would call you ‘he’ some ‘she’. What would you like me to call you?” Their eyes quickly snap to him. What? No one’s ever asked them that before. They weren’t aware that was something that could be asked. Something finally clicks in their head, they think this might just be the nicest person they’ve ever met.
“I’ve been using ‘they’ as a placeholder before I could ask you myself.” He adds on gently. What would they like people to call them if they could. They’ve never really sat and thought about it properly before. Whenever Ms Jones calls them ‘she’, it always made something inside them twist uncomfortably. It definitely doesn’t feel right, perhaps when they were very young, but not anymore. And it hasn’t for quite a while now, they think. Whenever a staff member would use ‘he’ when talking about them they wouldn’t even realise it was them they were talking about until their name was mentioned. It didn’t feel right either. ‘They’ on the other hand… it made sense. It was something in between, just like them. It was something used when you didn’t know someone's gender, just like them. It felt right, it felt like them. Rayne Koster.
“Uh, well- Could-” What if he was just being polite? What if he didn’t actually care and they would just be making it difficult for him?
“Hm?” He smiles at them in that way again, so welcoming and comfortable. Something they’ve never really seen before. It makes them feel like they could tell him anything.
“Could you call me ‘they’?”
“Of course! I’ve gotten it right from the beginning, then. Isn’t that convenient?” And then they do something they haven’t done in front of another person for a very long time. Smile.
He glances at them before he suddenly begins to remove his coat. This confuses them because they can’t imagine he’d be warm in this temperature and they had also said no when he’d offered it. Not that they weren’t cold, because they were. If the raging goosebumps on their arms were saying anything. He slows in his steps again as he removes his arms from the sleeves and they continue to watch him in confusion.
He then does something they weren’t expecting. Slowly while glancing at them he goes to rest it over the back of their shoulders and they stop in the path again. They kind of just freeze in place, their jaw falling slack a little as the professor wraps his coat round their shoulders. It’s so warm. They curl into it, crossing the front over their arms. It smells pleasant and the fabric is soft. Their eyes begin to droop a little as they stand there. They open their mouth, wanting to say ‘thank you’, but nothing really comes out. His soft whisper reaches them distantly.
“Let’s get you home.” A warm hand comes between their shoulder blades, but it doesn’t make their insides twist, they don’t flinch away. Professor Fig turns them around and begins to walk them back down the path. They don’t find the strength to tell him it’s not really their home.
…
After his presence was long gone it felt as if a gaping black hole was left in the space around them. No warm coat or amused quips coming from beside them. The silence was no longer comfortable. They keep expecting to hear his soft voice, heart twisting when they remember they are now alone again. They frown and curl in on themself on the bed. The room got darker and darker as the sun left the sky and eventually they closed their eyes to it. They drifted off to the image of a kind smile and someone that cared. They would be seeing their professor tomorrow, but for now they merge back into the drained colour of the house.