Bicycle-On-Thames
The year is 2000; Raven Reyes is 12 years old, nearly 13, and she hates school. School, where she gets made fun of for everything from her American accent to the brace on her leg and the hand-me-down clothes donated to the group home where she has lived ever since her parents died. No one messed with her, but no one would be her friend, either, probably because of what her teachers referred to as the “incidents.” Raven couldn’t explain the strange things that happened around her, but she didn’t mind.
She did mind being cooped up in that prison of a school day after day, and more often than not, she just didn’t go. One of the boys from the group home that had aged out worked at a garage, and she spent stolen hours helping him work on illegal race cars and busted up sedans in back alleys. He’d throw her a wrench, give her explicit instructions, and leave her to it. Any car Raven worked on never broke down, and their owners swore they were faster than they had ever been, even when they were new.
Soon, the mechanics in their greasy coveralls were Raven’s closest friends, and they taught her everything they knew.
Raven might have continued that way forever, fixing cars that were impossibly broken down, but a fit of accidental magic did her in.
She’d found the bicycle behind a dumpster, looking like it had gone three rounds with a garbage compactor and lost. It became her new project, and as she spent hours scraping the rust off the frame and aligning the gears, she’d felt that same inexplicable warmth that she felt when she worked on cars. The bike took shape before her, a glowing machine that was hers more than the cars had ever been, and she somehow knew that she’d be able to ride it. Even with a bum knee that kept her awake at night with pain, she’d be faster than the wind on this bike.
The one and only time she rode that bike, she’d been charged with 87 counts of performing magic in front of muggles, and the Obliviator squad had worked around the clock for sixteen hours to keep the story out of the nightly news. Apparently, a lot of people had noticed the thirteen year old girl on a flying bike in the middle of London.
Raven had managed to fly her bicycle halfway down the Thames before crash-landing into the side of a yacht. Some very nice men with strange looking sticks took her away from the police man who was shouting at her as she stood, dripping on the pavement, and her life had changed from that moment.
Raven Reyes was a witch.
She found herself in another world; a magical world of subterranean ministries and self-flying paper airplanes, and a thousand other impossible things. There was a whirlwind of paperwork, whispers of records burned during the war, and muggle-born children lost to the lack of birth records. The next day saw Raven slinging a pillowcase of her belongings over her shoulder as she left the group home forever. Post-war legislation dictated that muggle-born children who could not safely stay with their own families or ended up in the muggle system could be fostered with a magical family. Raven was taken from her group home and placed with a wizarding family in the countryside. Molly and Arthur Weasley were empty-nesters and volunteered to foster magical children without families of their own.
Walking up to the Burrow for the first time beside the ministry official assigned to her case, Raven had been worried; what was she going to have in common with her new foster parents? But as soon as she’d been in sight of the front door, Molly Weasley had run out of the house.
“Good morning! You must be Raven, oh dear, you look like you haven’t had breakfast yet. Didn’t you feed her?” was directed sternly at the ministry official, Frank, who blushed and admitted there hadn’t been time. The short, plump woman cheerfully hugged Raven, ushering her into the house along with the ministry official and seating both of them at a well-scrubbed wooden table groaning under the weight of a massive breakfast.
As the three of them ate, there was a loud BOOM from the back garden.
“I told him not to do this today!” Molly cried, pushing away from the table. Out the kitchen window, Raven could see a man tottering out of a small building, covered from head to toe in soot.
The back door opened, and the man came inside, collapsing at an empty seat at the kitchen table.
“Arthur Weasley!” Molly shouted. “Is this any way to welcome Raven!?”
Mr. Weasley coughed, and spluttered, “Just a small issue with the carberry-rator, Molly. Nothing a bit of grease won’t fix.”
Frank stood, stiffly. “I didn’t hear that Arthur. I hope you aren’t charming cars again.”
“Oh not at all, Frank! Didn’t see you there!” Arthur smiled broadly and unconvincingly.
Frank harrumphed, “Very well. Goodbye Raven, be sure to let me know if you need anything.” He gave a small bow before letting himself out the front door and apparating halfway down the drive.
Molly stood, muttering, and stalked over to the sink to begin washing the dishes. Over the clanging of pots and pans and the chinking of china being roughly handled, Raven ventured, “Did you say carburetor, sir? Are you working on a car?”
“Please, Raven, call me Arthur. And, yes, I am working on a car. Er, don’t tell Frank, though.” Arthur took his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt, frowning as he realized his shirt was dirtier than his glasses.
“I could help you, si- Arthur. If you wanted.” Raven grinned. “I’m great at cars.”
“Really?” Mr. Weasley exclaimed. “What luck, yes- let’s go, quickly if you please- Molly doesn’t approve, see.” Arthur led Raven to the back shed, beginning to explain, “See the carberry-rator and the fire sparks aren’t working right…”
Raven listened intently, tying back her hair and rolling up her sleeves. Maybe she’d fit in here alright, after all.