Hogwarts
July 1973
Somewhere sunny, in the Scottish Highlands, a game takes place, the final one of the season.
Robes of red and gold, green and sliver dart past each other, impossible to distinguish between the features that lay upon their faces.
Six gold characters on the back of a red cloak, suspended 50 foot in the wind, read 'Potter'.
Potter was plummeting- no, soaring, down into the centre of the pitch.
A green and silver robed figure was diving down behind him, his cloak read 'Black'.
Black was gaining on Potter as the distance between the two narrowed...
The two seekers nosedived, closer and closer to the floor of the pitch, shooting down as fast as hummingbirds in the wind.
Closer, closer, until it was certain they would crash into the soil!
Closer until...
Potter pulled out of his dive! He shot up like a rocket, ascending up into the air.
Black has crashed into the ground, tossing over the mud.
"Potter pulled a classic Wronski Feint! That's the Slytherin seeker of his back for now!"
Potter had eyed the snitch.
He ascended further, manoeuvring closer to the edge of his broom, arm reaching outwards...
He had caught the snitch.
"Potter has caught the Snitch! Victory to Gryffindor!"
Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor stands. Potter eyed in the direction of a dark, curly haired boy, cheering proudly, a scruffy haired boy to his right, scars tainting his subtle smile, and a mousy haired boy, more short and stout than the previous two. Potters gaze then averted to an auburn haired girl, beaming up at him, red and gold banners at hand.
It was clear that this summer would be a good one.
~
The high spirits of the Gryffindor common room or the cheery summers afternoon at Hogwarts seemed a world away to that of Catrina and Eliana Mikovsky.
The two sisters stared down at the body of their deceased mother, sat limply on the settee in her nightdress.
Her cigarette was still lit. It was as if Mrs Mikovsky had been preserved in time, like one of those wax dolls the girls had seen at museums and such.
Her makeup from god-knows how many days ago was drying up on her aged, sun damaged face.
The curtains were drawn, the television was still playing, Bullseye was on.
It's funny how death comes upon us like that. How just moments ago, their mother groaned about Mr Mikovsky, in her usual alcohol-induced state.
Mr Mikovsky, the twins father, had died before they were born. Their mother was retelling tales of him. How unordinary of a man he was. How he ended up in the furthest of away places, in the shortest of time. He had once traveled to Egypt one Monday and ended up in New Zealand the next Tuesday.
Their mother reminisced on how her husband was always the life of the party, having strange foreign substances on hand that you just couldn't get in the country.
She went on and on about him that afternoon, going particularly solemn when she spoke of her daughters, who were so unusual like him. How he had died, and left her alone with them.
She never spoke of how Mr Mikovsky died, but it didn't much interest the girls anyway. They supposed it was something morbid, that, or an overdose on drugs or alcohol, given with the way their mother was, and the reckless impression they got of him.
And now there she laid. Dead like him.
Perhaps deep down, the girls were affected by this, even if it did not show on their expressions. Their mother really was a distance away from them, usually boozed up with a new partner every other week, only interacting with her unusual daughters if she needed something done.
"Elle, here, put a tenner on the gas!" or "Cat, go to the local and get my fags!"
Perhaps the way their mother had raised them is what fuelled their fierce independence, an aversion to rely on others but themselves.
There was another time she spoke of their father. The girls had got into an argument with their mother over dinner, about something trivial they did not bother to remember, and her tea had shot up into her face. The girls were not sure how it happened, they had not gone near her plate. It had just moved.
"Just like your bloody father."
There had been a assortment of odd and unexplainable incidents throughout their life.
Like how once, Jonny Pickering, a boy from down the road, had stolen their gerbil and ran with it, only, he didn't get far as he had somehow managed to freeze on the spot bound to the same position, where he stood all night, screaming.
Or how another time, one of their mums new boyfriends had come in while she was away, with some rough looking blokes, he didn't come back though as he was somehow shoved backwards out the door, and down the steps on the porch, landing on top of the other men.
Though perhaps the most unusual of all was their bond, their ability to just understand one another. People often joked about 'twin telepathy' however in the girls case, they often believed it to be true.
If Eliana was feeling annoyed, Catrina understood that. If Cat was upset, Eliana knew right away. Just by looking at each other, they could convey their thoughts and emotions, like their minds were an open book, to be shared.
There were many of these strange events, that throughout the girls whole lives went unexplained. That was until now.
The two sisters of fourteen sat on a wooden bench in the garden of a decrepit old children's home.
It wasn't a particularly nice place, unpleasant, in-fact, with unpleasant people.
There was somebody they were waiting to see.
A man. Not just any man. A Professor, as he called himself. He must be some sort of doctor or a scientist.
He was ushered through the back door by one of the carers. He was one of the strangest men they had laid eyes on, other than some of the eccentric gents their mum had brought home, possibly from a queer club or some hippie joint like that.
The man spotted a burgundy pinstripe suit, with an unproportionally long tail coat and double breasted blazer. At his feet were red-leather shoes so pointed they were sure could poke their own eyes out. Much more flashy to the plain second-hand garments they were draped in.
The girls conveyed immediately their concerns to one another. They concluded due to his striking and uncanny resemblance to an American pimp, he must be scouting all the child's homes, looking for girls. Heck, possibly boys too. And this was now their destiny as orphans to become ladies of the town.
As if he too could read their minds, he spoke. "There is nothing to be frightened of. I merely want to speak with you." He paused. "My name is Professor Dumbledore, and I run a school, a rather unusual one at that." The professor smiled.
The girls shifted awkwardly in their seats.
"What? Like a boarding school, one for freaks with behavioural issues?" Catrina’s eyes narrowed as she questioned him.
"Because we don't need that. We don't have problems, if that's what they've told you." Eliana crossed her arms proudly. Perhaps this wasn't completely true. Sure the girls were well behaved when they needed to be, if they needed something to reflect on them well. But growing up in this village, with Mrs Mikovsky as a mother, and really no one but themselves to rely on, there was an ounce of tactful rebellion within the girls.
"Hogwarts is not a school for troubled children." He spoke flatly. "I am a wizard. It is a school of magic. I'm sure you've done things you could not explain, unusual things. Well, to put it plainly. You are both witches. And I want to offer you a place to study at Hogwarts."
The twins sat for a few moments, processing what they had just heard.
They were... witches? It certainly explained a lot. But how?
The girls had sometimes insulted their mother by calling her a witch. They didn't believe they were actually real, nor that their mother displayed any extraordinary abilities to truly be one. Other than smoking two crack pipes at once maybe.
It must be from their father then. Their mother always said they were weird like him.
Their dead father, a wizard? It was certainly unusual to think about, but then what about this was usual.
"I understand this is surprising news, but I can assure you at Hogwarts, your best interested will be concerned. We will teach you to control your magic. Infact the real strange thing about this is how old you are." Dumbledore stroked his beard and stared at the battered concrete. "You see, whether a witch or wizard comes from a magical background or not, they are usually informed at 11 years of age. But in your case, your names were not on the registry. We can only assume your father registered himself married with muggle authorities and you'd slipped off our radar ever since. But we wizards have our ways of detecting magic. Your dear mother was rightfully skeptical when she received an owl at her doorstep" He smiled again.
"So our father was a wizard then?" Eliana furrowed her brows.
"That is correct." Dumbledore handed the girls an envelope each. "This contains all you need to know. All your supplies will be provided for you. A member of staff should be able to meet you in the village to escort you to the school, considering you are new and will be on your own, I believe some guidance may be practical. I am looking forward to seeing you this September." Dumbledore stood and shook both of their hands. They took it, still dumbfounded, there was so much more they wanted to ask, so much more they needed to know.
"Wait- where is this school?" Catrina had already ripped open the letter, scanning the text.
"It is well hidden, your escort will be able to help you locate it."
"And it's a boarding school? We won't have to live here no more?" Eliana's eyes widened.
"You will be able to stay at Hogwarts throughout the school year, but will be expected to return here over summer." Dumbledore looked over to the back door where one of the senior carers stood eyeing him. "I believe my time here has run thin. Again, I look forward to seeing you in September. Good bye for now." Dumbledore flashed a smile once more before leaving, as quick as he came.
So, witches it was then...
The girls turned to face each other, their lips curling up into a grin.
"I think this Hogwarts may suit us" Catrina smirked.
"I still think it's a child prostitution ring." Eliana frowned.
~chapter end~