Chapter Text
31 October 1992
“You may go,” Dumbledore said to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore watched as young Harry and his friends left Lockhart’s office. Severus, his sallow resident Potions Master and Professor, had begun bickering with Lockhart about how underqualified Lockhart was as a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor again, Lockhart was playfully brushing off the insults being thrown his way – or he couldn’t understand them, the Squib caretaker Filch was still torn between being mournful or angry over the loss of his precious cat, and Minerva … faithful Minerva’s normally stern face was being compromised with worry. Of the five of them, only Minerva and himself had been present the last time the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. ‘Ah, Minerva, always so concerned for her students. Good for her.’
With a sigh, the Headmaster addressed the room, “You are all dismissed. I have much work to be done.”
Summoning his loyal phoenix Fawkes, Dumbledore disappeared from the room before the others could say anything.
Reappearing in his own office with a burst of fire, Albus settled into one of the plush chairs by his fireplace, Fawkes returning to his perch by his desk. A tea set materializing on the table next to him, Albus poured himself a cup, chamomile it seems. Mipsy must think that he hasn’t been getting enough sleep lately. Sitting back, he could only think of how well his plan has been going so far. Ever since he felt through Hogwart’s wards that a dark artifact had entered the school, he had hoped it would create a great enough trial to test young Harry’s resolve. Much better than his original idea of having Harry duel Lockhart, revealing Lockhart’s fraud and having Harry assume Lockhart’s popularity for his own. All Harry had to do was destroy the artifact and stop whatever had killed Ms. Warren those fifty years ago. Dumbledore had never witnessed the monster that Tom had used to kill the Ravenclaw student decades ago, but knowing the legend of the Chamber of Secrets and the creature trapped within, it could only be one thing: a basilisk. A dangerous beast, every XXXXX creature was, but not unkillable. Albus’ blue eyes twinkled with joy over a plan coming together so smoothly.
Fortunately, the Chief Warlock kept a weapon close by capable of slaying a basilisk close by. Made of goblin silver, his eyes moved towards where it should be displayed above the mantle of his fireplace, his plan was simple: once the situation had gotten out of hand, Harry would go into the Chamber and once the basilisk has revealed itself, Albus would have instructed Fawkes to deliver the sword inside of the Sorting Hat for Harry to wield and slay the beast. Truly a storybook ending. Now first, Albus would have to take the Sorting Hat and the –
The sword. The sword was in fact not above the fireplace. Albus dropped his teacup.
“Dear Merlin, do you know how expensive that carpet was?!? The Black family purchased it three centuries ago from the Medici family in Italy! They said it was an original from the Renaissance!” shouted the portrait of Phineas Black, one of the more notoriously bad headmasters that Hogwarts had ever had.
Vanishing the spill with a motion of his hand, Headmaster Dumbledore turned towards where the Sorting Hat, the dusty old thing, sat on one of the shelves behind his desk. “Were you able to see who did this?” Dumbledore said calmly, but urgently.
“No,” the Sorting Hat responded curtly. “No one has entered this office since you left it. And your wards would have stopped anyone under a disillusionment charm or an invisibility cloak. Well, except for that cloak.”
“I doubt young Harry would be so bold to steal from the Headmaster’s Office,” Albus muttered. “His time with the Dursley’s has curbed his father’s penchant for mischief. No, someone else must have taken it.”
“What makes you think someone did it?”
Albus looked up from his pondering. “Pardon?”
“Perhaps the sword itself had decided to no longer be here. It is an enchanted sword; perhaps, it has sentience similar to myself and simply decided it would better serve elsewhere?”
“There is nowhere better for it to be than here! There is a monster on the loose and young Harry will need that sword in order to stop it.”
“Then, maybe, it will come back. It might even bring someone with it.”
Albus sighed, returning his gaze to the empty spot above his fireplace. “Maybe it will. Maybe.”
4 November 1992
In a neighborhood in Surrey sat a house, a perfectly normal house, where perfectly normal people lived, at least for ten months of the year. At least, that’s what the family in said house thought. The other residents of Privet Drive; however, thought very differently of the Dursley family. In their weekly get-togethers, the other wives gossiped about the oddness of the Dursley’s over tea and books: Vernon was gone during the evenings more often, perhaps his alcoholism has worsened; Petunia can’t seem to keep her bed of flowers alive for most of the year, they usually got better in the Summer though; young Dudley appears to be almost Vernon’s weight now, despite being a head shorter; and that’s ignoring the mysterious black-haired boy that could be seen through the windows or out in the yard who even more mysteriously disappeared for most of the year until randomly being spotted last summer. Yes, the Dursley’s were a weird family, but none of the neighbors were going to say it to their faces. They are British, it isn’t their way.
Across the road and down the street sat another perfectly normal house: 17 Privet Drive. The home of the Smith family. Mr. David Smith was an accounts manager for a local investment firm. In the morning, he would head out to his office, meet with his clients, and keep up to date with the recent investment and economics news. In the evening, he would come home, cook dinner, and settle into a book, usually some non-fiction, historical account or one of those self-help books most CEOs put onto their bookshelf and never read. Mrs. Jane Taylor Smith worked at the local public library. It was an easy job, mostly putting books away and showing visitors where certain books were, but it did give her the opportunity to read most of the day, a hobby she often continued into the evening, reading alongside her husband in their sitting room; though, Mrs. Smith much preferred tales of adventure and romance. The two had met at the same college in Boston: Jane was a local and David an international student. After getting married, Jane followed David back to England and David’s work led them to Surrey.
Not too long after, they had a daughter. Born 14 October 1980, Sally Jane Smith was a perfectly normal girl. Blonde-hair with brown eyes, there was nothing about Sally’s appearance that appeared out of the ordinary. Having recently had her 12th birthday, a quiet affair but a preferable one, Sally was much like her parents. She did reasonably well in her schoolings, but her passion was in stories. Not just any stories, Sally loved stories about magic. She knew that magic wasn’t real – it couldn’t be real, she’s never seen it – but she grew up reading C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia and J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. She heard the legends of a sword entrapped in stone and mischievous fae tricking humans and she was enthralled. Sally always brought one of her books with her to school and now she sat with a book in her lap whilst the other kids ran around with a football. She didn’t grow up in a very sporty family nor did she have an athletic body, relatively short and thinner than many girls her age. Sally preferred the company of books more than people. While reading, she could overhear a group of kids huddled near her.
“Did you hear? This cool-looking sword showed up a couple of days ago.”
“Really? I wanna see!”
“You’ll have your chance. No one’s been able to pull it out of the ground yet. Must be really stuck in there.”
“You have to show me after school!”
“I can take you guys later. It’s out in the woods behind the school.”
“Can’t wait! It’s not every day something interesting happens in Surrey.”
‘Indeed,’ Sally thought to herself. ‘Maybe, England is in need of a new king: that was why the sword in the stone appeared originally.’ Sally shook her head furiously. ‘No, better to not have delusions of grandeur. Heaven knows my father would rather keep me grounded in reality.’
Sally returned to her book until it was time for class again. Sitting through the remainder of her lessons, the blonde girl couldn’t help herself but think about the rumors of the sword. Once classes were over, Sally continued her reading in the library – the librarian didn’t mind letting a few students stay after school and Sally knew that dinner wouldn’t be ready for another few hours. After a couple hours of reading, it became much harder to pay attention as her thoughts about a legendary sword kept creeping into her mind, consuming her consciousness. Closing her book and setting it into her bag, Sally set off from the library to go find a sword and put her expectations to rest.
Starting from the entrance at the back of the school, Sally made her way across the school’s football pitch towards the woods that served as a natural boundary to the premises. Standing at the edge of the forest, Sally looked up, taking note of the dwindling amount of light as the sky was slowly turning from day to night. ‘I’ll have to keep this adventure short I suppose.’
The girl began marching forward, passing trees and bushes, stepping over the occasional upturned root, keeping an eye out for any wildlife that could be stalking the forest. Wolves were supposed to be extinct in England, but if one somehow made its way to Surrey, Sally was certainly not going to let herself be its first victim.
You’re getting close.
Sally whipped around at the sound of what must have been a man. The voice had been deep and rich like one of those sports analysts Dad would occasionally watch whenever a sporting event happened like the Olympics or the World Cup, if only so he could appear knowledgeable to his clients about their interests. Sally’s first instinct was to run back home as soon as she could, but she’d already gone so far and honestly, hearing mysterious voices in the back of your head was one of the common tropes for the call to adventure and Sally could certainly use some more adventure in her life.
Continuing down the path, Sally finally made it to a clearing. In awe, Sally could only gaze at the remarkable sight in front of her. Lit up by a beam of light created by an opening in the canopy, further emphasized by the golden colouring of the setting sun, was indeed a sword. Made of pure silver, untarnished by age or use, with a hilt covered in dark leather and capped with a large ruby, the sword looked as if it had been pulled from some ancient myth. Its brilliance matched what scholars often thought Excalibur looked like, not to be confused with the sword in the stone that was a different one. Silently, Sally crept closer to where the sword was lodged into the earth.
Take it. Prove yourself worthy.
That voice again. Now Sally knew for certain that she wasn’t imagining things; she was hearing things for sure, but imagining? No, that was no longer the case. Putting both hands on the hilt, Sally could feel a warmth spreading through her as she pulled the sword upwards until it dislodged itself from the ground. A large burst of light surged from where the sword had been sitting, causing Sally to fall down with the sword still on top of her, knocking the wind out of her lungs.
Slowly, the light died down. Sally’s vision returned even more slowly as she started putting together what had happened. Sally had heard a mysterious voice, Sally had pulled out a sword no one else had, Sally caused a big burst of light to appear, Sally … didn’t know what to do now. Sally was a normal girl; normal girls don’t hear mysterious voices or wield legendary swords or cause big bursts of light to appear. Those are things that happen in books, not reality. Setting the sword beside her, Sally decided to ignore the call of adventure and get the hell out of there. Walking away from the clearing and the sword, Sally breathed a sigh of relief until her foot caught on what must have been another upturned root and she fell hard onto the ground. Muttering to herself, the bookish girl got back up and looked at what had tripped her, her eyes going wide. It was the sword. Sally looked back across the clearing where she had left it originally and sure enough it wasn’t there any more. Sally crept back slowly again away from the sword until she heard her foot touch metal. Looking down, it was the sword, again. Now, Sally was panicking. She picked up the sword with both hands, careful not to touch the sharp edges and bound out of the woods, across the school, down the roads, onto Privet Drive, and eventually to 17 Privet Drive.
Bursting through the door, she could barely make out her father welcoming her home from the kitchen as she bolted up the stairs, into her bedroom, where she shoved the sword into her wardrobe, closing the doors behind her. Sally collapsed on her bed, not used to running so much and desperately trying to forget about the sword currently hidden behind the wardrobe’s doors.
A knock on her door. “Sally, are you alright in there?” Her father; he must be worried. It’s not often your child comes home and charges up to their room in a frenzy.
“I’m fine, Dad,” she replied, her voice strained from exhaustion. “Please don’t come in.”
That was the wrong thing to say. Sally watched as her door slowly opened and her father’s head poked out. “Are you sure, dear? You know you can always talk to – well, now that’s odd,” her father’s gaze had shifted to the right.
Sally looked over to her window, where her father’s attention had diverted to, and sure enough, it was an odd sight. Sally’s collection of books had moved from her bookshelf to now cover her window, sitting on its surface as if stuck there. The books remained until suddenly, as if the books remembered gravity existed, they suddenly fell onto the floor with numerous loud thuds.
“What was that?” Sally couldn’t register whether it was her or her dad who said that they heard a doorbell ring from downstairs.
“I’ll go see who that is. Could you wait here for me?” Sally nodded in response. “Alright, I’ll be back soon.” Sally watched as her father left and heard his footsteps as he went downstairs to answer the door.
After some time, Sally heard another knock on the door. Her father’s head poked in again. “Sally, there’s a couple people who want to talk with you. You’re not in trouble. They just want to talk. Do you want to talk in here or the sitting room?”
“Here’s – fine.” Here was not fine, here was far from fine, but she wasn’t leaving her room anytime soon.
Sally’s father opened the door further, entering the room along with a bald, Black man in odd purple robes and a pale woman with long, black hair wearing a long, black dress. ‘Those outfits are a bit odd. Maybe they’re foreign,’ Sally surmised.
“Hello Ms. Smith,” the man spoke gently. “My name is Mr. Shacklebolt. My partner here is Ms. Vance. I’d like to start by saying that you haven’t done anything wrong and we’re here just to ask some questions. Is that okay with you?” Sally nodded silently.
The woman – Ms. Vance – smiled softly. “What do you know about magic, Ms. Smith?” ‘Magic?’ Sally thought to herself. ‘I knew I was in over my head. This is way too much trouble in exchange for a “cool-looking sword”.’
“I’ve read about magic,” was Sally’s nervous response. “But those were fiction books – stories. I never thought it was real.” She paused. “Magic … is real?”
Ms. Vance’s smile held. “It is real. Here in Britain, we have an entire magical community consisting of hundreds of people. Using our wands,” Ms. Vance pulled out an elegantly-carved stick, “we have the ability to create something out of nothing, levitate objects in the air, and even stop an injury from bleeding.” To prove a point, Ms. Vance pointed her wand at the pile of books by the window. “Wingardium Leviosa.” With a flick of her wand and some careful movements, the books levitated off the ground and one-by-one returned to the bookshelf.
Sally gaped in awe. “So cool.” Shaking off her amazement, she turned back to the two magic people. “Is that why you’re here? You want the magic sword back?”
“Magic … sword?” said Mr. Shacklebolt, confusion clear on his face.
“Yes, the magic sword,” Sally replied, hopping off of her bed. “I hid it in my wardrobe but if you two want it I will gladly let you take it away.” Opening the wardrobe doors, Sally reached in and pulled out the silver sword, showing it to the two guests.
Mr. Shacklebolt’s expression remained confused, but Ms. Vance’s eyes widened in recognition. “That’s the Sword of Godric Gryffindor! Dumbledore asked us to be on the lookout for that!” Ms. Vance’s partner’s eyes widened as well upon receiving that information.
“We would love to take that off your hands; though, that isn’t the actual reason for our visit. Actually, our sensors recently detected the use of accidental magic in what we have registered as a non-magical household. It is highly unusual for a Muggleborn to start showing their magic so late in their life, usually the child is closer to four or five when they start showing their magic, but, Ms. Smith, you are a witch.”
“I’m a witch,” Sally said, mostly to herself. Processing what Mr. Shacklebolt told her, her thoughts caught onto a word. “Mr. Shacklebolt, what’s a Muggleborn?”
“A Muggleborn, Ms. Smith, is a wizard or witch who is born from two non-magical parents. In our community, we call the non-magical people Muggles. The corresponding term for someone who does have magic is Wixen, with men being referred to as wizards and women as witches.”
“I see,” Sally responds hesitantly. “So what happens now?”
“Now,” Ms. Vance replied. “We will have a professor come visit you to recruit you for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As a Muggleborn, tuition will be paid for and you will learn from the best instructors in Europe on how to best use your magic. It is a boarding school, so you’ll live away from your parents for most of the year, but you could visit for holidays and the summer.”
“And if she doesn’t want to go?” Mr. Smith finally spoke since entering the room, his normally analytical mind must have gone into overdrive upon learning the existence of magic.
“Then we’ll place a bind on her magic so she can’t harm anyone, intentionally or unintentionally.” Mr. Shacklebolt said coolly. “We’ll also have to erase both of your memories so no one else can find out. We Wixen take the secrecy of our existence very seriously.”
Sally didn’t know what to think. On one hand, magic is real and with it Sally could have the chance to experience the adventures she used to only read about. On the other, Sally had a life here; in fairness, it was a quiet life but it was still hers. “Can I have some time to decide? This is a lot to process and I don’t think I can get you an answer today.”
“Of course. Usually, any prospective student is given weeks before they need to give their answer, but in your case, you’d be starting partway into the school year. We can give you a few days, but we’d like your response by the weekend. In the meantime, we would gladly take that sword from you. It is one-of-a-kind and I’m sure that the Headmaster would love to have that back.”
Realizing she’s been holding the sword the whole time, Sally blushed a bit. “Of course. Here you can take it.” Sally handed the sword over to Mr. Shacklebolt only for it to fall out of his hands, dropping to the floor. Mr. Shacklebolt bent down, hands pulling at the sword in an effort to lift it up, to no avail. Eyes gesturing towards Ms. Vance, she moved over to make her attempt to lift the sword, only to come to the same frustrating conclusion.
“Ms. Smith?” That kind smile returning to Ms. Vance’s face. “Could you please lift the sword for us?”
“Of – of course!” Sally stammered. Stepping forward, Sally took both hands and lifted the sword off of the floor. Mr. Shacklebolt and Ms. Vance looked at each, some silent conversation taking place, before looking back to where Sally and her father stood.
“Ms. Smith,” Mr. Shacklebolt said slowly. “We would like to bring in a specialist to look at your sword. He’s a busy man, but he works at Hogwarts so you can give him your answer when he comes here. In the meantime, could you stay at your house? Call in sick to your school? We wouldn’t want to risk any accidental magic occurring while you’re in public.”
“I understand,” said her father; though, if he actually understood was debatable. “I’ll call the school in the morning. Sally, is that alright with you?”
“Yes, that’s fine,” was her reply. It truly was fine. Sally didn’t want to bring the sword to school; it was too big to be hidden in her bag and she knew that if she left it behind it’d follow her anyway. Besides, Sally was smart enough; she could catch up on a few days of work rather quickly.
“Thank you for your understanding. The specialist will be here in a few days.” And with that, the two Wixen left the room. Sally’s father followed them out, probably leading them to the door. Sally went back to her collapsed position on her bed. She had much to think about and clearly, life wasn’t going to be so normal anymore.