Chapter 1
Dear Miss Hamilton,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours Sincerely,
Nathanael Greene,
Deputy Headmaster
---
Oh sugar, he should've stayed curious. He knew the day was coming, yes, but not now.
Matron found him there, frozen by the door with the mail that she asked him to get for her in his hands. She slowly took the letter from him- he let her. There's cotton in his head, like when he hit his head and it all went silent for a minute.
It was silent now.
Matron scoffed. "Lovely. Now you're being shipped off."
She pocketed the letter, then strode to the kitchen. He stared at the old paint of the wall. It's been peeling for the entire time he's been here, and he still wants to rip the little bits off.
"Rachel!"
He doesn't, because Matron would be very disappointed. "Coming."
-
"Bloody Washington and his bloody wizarding school," Matron grumbled the next Sunday as she combed Rachel's hair, paying no heed to his wincing. "Have the Hamiltons not suffered enough from all the magic nonsense?"
He said nothing, twiddling his hands on his lap.
"Seriously, what are they thinking? They send me the victims of their petty squabbles to raise, only to throw them back into their bloodbath of a nonsensical society. Now they expect my children to uproot their life because, what, you turned a child green? Children do that!" She scoffed, twining in a ribbon with her callused hands. "Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous."
The colour that Samantha turned to, though, wasn't normal. It was a vile, frog-like green that had her throwing up lily pad leaves rather than the breakfast porridge. Rachel didn't even know why that happened- but he wasn't too surprised. Not normal they were, but not unseen before. A couple years ago James, one of the kinder boys in the orphanage, laughed so merrily that the flowers danced around the yard, chasing the younger children. Matron watched it all occur through her bedroom window, pain only visible on her old face. He was whisked away only months later- and, as his beloved stuffed cat was given to the very children that the flowers chased, they knew he wasn't coming back.
And now he'll be whisked away, too.
"I don't want to go." Rachel uttered. His voice echoed in the room like a bothersome twitter of a Nuthatch.
"You will live. Keep your common sense, and focus enough on your studies to not be noticed. Do not stand out, for they encourage queerness that you know you are susceptible to." Matron glared at him through the mirror, squeezing his shoulders. "But if they want you, they'll have to take you themselves. I ain't sending you there."
He looked down at his Sunday dress and his best pair of heeled shoes.
"Nothing else to say?" Matron jabbed coldly. She didn't mean it, he knew that, but she didn't know that he knew.
So he asked a question he knew the answer to. "What if they don't come to get me?"
A pause.
"Well, let us hope that to be the case." A humorless laugh. "With John Laurens starting this term, there might be a chance you'll be forgotten."
He didn't know who John Laurens was, but, at Church, he prayed that to be the case.
---
They didn't forget him.
The orphanage was in the woods, away from the rest of the world. So when a strange man stalked to the gates of the orphanage, in the middle of a violent summer storm, everyone knew that he was here for Rachel. Nobody uttered a word to him, but nine-year-old Rosie's eye color shifted to a sick yellow- another thing they did not speak on. Trixie convinced him and the other girls to go down and eavesdrop with a sweet, yet sly smile ("Come on, Raech, we have to know who's the person who's stealing you away from us."). He didn't want to go, but he did it for them.
In the living room sat a tall and thin man, younger than Matron, with one of his legs crossed over the other. He was dressed very old-fashioned- with a neck-scarf, and funny pants, as well, all in a shimmering yellow color that clothes shouldn't be able to have. His wispy grey hair floated around his strong jaw and brows, but his eyes were sharp,
"Do you think he's a time traveler?" Rosie whispered, eyes glinting a curious green.
"No, don't be silly- wizards just dress strange," Francis shot back. Rachel didn't want to dress strange.
"But don't wizards also time travel?"
"Shut up, both of you," Trixie hissed, closest to Matron and the strange man.
Matron was not happy to see him- the tea she served him was lukewarm. He did not seem to notice, only smiling politely and tapping with his walking stick- tap, tap, tap.
She didn't greet him, she didn't even ask to take his coat off. "I didn't get her the books."
"Alright," he replied. His voice was very smooth, and very deep. There was also quite a strong accent glowing through, but that's not what gave him an empty feeling in his gut.
"She doesn't any have equipment or supplies, either."
"I'll keep that in mind with me."
A silence.
"Hogwarts will not benefit her."
He blinked slowly, and his smile didn't falter. Tap, tap. "We're after this conversation, Mistress."
"No, we are not. You know she shouldn't go," the grey woman asserted.
He raised a brow. Still, he managed to be polite when he said "She've a right to go wi' her as much as the other children. Including the ones you let wi'out this much a worry." He twisted his hand, and out of nowhere- surely, nowhere- a letter appeared. He put it on the table, and reclined with a sigh. "I can't leave wi'out herself, you know this."
"I think he's Scottish," Trixie whispers.
"He doesnae sound Scottish, pal," Francis replies, because she claims to remember what her father sounded like. He feels very bad for Scottish people if they really sound like that. "His 'r's are similar, but it's too... melodic."
"Of course I do, but none of you ever listen!" She exclaimed. "All of these children are traumatized by what the wizarding world, and here ye are, dragging them back into a world that wants my kids killed!"
He checked his nails, tapped the walking stick. "Tha's not what the school is for- sorry, Mistress."
"What is the school for, then, Mulligan? Recruiting new Death Eaters"- what on earth is a Death Eater? "-or getting eaten by the centaurs or sirens in the lake?"
The walking stick banged at the floor, and suddenly, Rachel couldn't move. Neither could Rosie, or Trixie, or Francis, or Matron. Mulligan stood up at his extraordinary height, and walked towards Matron's plumper figure. When he spoke, his eyes glinted in warning. "Petra, I understand tha' you're upset, and you have a reason to be wi' you. But you're a wee close to insulting Washington's integrity now, no?"
No matter what Rachel did, he couldn't move- not even his fingertips, or his lungs, or his eyelids. The brown room glimmered before his eyes like a dream before the walking stick hit the ground again, and his lungs filled with crisp air again.
Rachel looked at his fingertips, paralyzed moments before. A shiver ran down his spine- if that is what magic can do, then what other things can it do to a person? Hurt them? Set them on fire? Turn them into ugly frogs? Kill them?
Well, he knew that. The orphanage was made for the kids that saw the green lights. Evil, evil people, who were wizards. But to see it, to feel it- paralyzing him from the inside out- he didn't want it. He wanted to get away, far away from it.
"Do not use your witchcraft in my household," Matron hissed after wiping the tears off her face.
"Sorry, Mistress," he threw out an apology, twirling the stick in his hand harmlessly. "I have no wish to impose for long with me."
Matron didn't answer. After a very long silence, she turned away.
"It's for her greater good- she's not gonna run around wi' magic exploding at her fingertips, is she now? There's no place safer than Hogwarts for her." But Hogwarts isn't safe- it's full of strange people and beasts and magic that muddles your head. Still, Mr Mulligan's lips tilted up, and he added that "If you can't believe that for what it is, then believe that Washin'ton will try his damnedest to keep the wee Laurens safe- yer cailín as well so, isn't it."
Laurens, Laurens, Laurens. He's heard the name three times today already. He sounded like someone important, like royalty, or a hero. But no one's a hero his age.
He didn't even notice the awkward silence, filled only with the tapping of the freezing cane, until Mulligan asked "Sorry- there's something else, perhaps, Mistress?"
What was he apologizing for? He didn't look apologetic, either, when Matron heaved a sigh.
"Rachel, come. I know you're behind the door."
He freezes, only by the magic of Matron's words this time- not being able to skitter away like the rest of his roommates. So he slunk in, hands behind his skirt and watching the dirty floor.
"Ah, here's the yon wan herself," Mr Mulligan exclaimed, and there's a buzzing quality to his voice. It made him look up to the startling blue eyes. Blue eyes can't be warm- it goes against the colour- yet somehow his were. When he smiled, they crinkled above red cheeks. "I'd say, I coulda recognized that hair anywhere."
"Oh, really?" Matron droned.
"Aye!" He chirped back, as if he were blind to the frown growing on Matron's face. The glimmering fabric of his strange clothes laughed in tandem with him. Tap, tap. "Ah, it seems that old Alexander's genes are as strong as he've claimed!"
Alexander? Who's Alexander? Rachel didn't know an Alexander. So many questions muddled in his head, questions he didn't know if he wanted the answers to.
"Don't-!" Matron very suddenly raised her voice, and Rachel let his head fall again. His cheeks flushed when Mr Mulligan turned to Matron, and he would fall through the ground if he could. "-Don't compare her to her Grandfather, or any man. She has enough trouble with fantasies of her own."
The last part was hissed at him, so he whispered "Sorry, Matron." And he was. He was so sorry. He shouldn't have said a thing.
"I shan't if the Mistress says so, aye," The wizard continued seamlessly, his eyes glimmering playfully. A gloved hand- a pretty glove, embroidered- runs over the wispy grey hair. "Though I expect her be noticed by the rest o'staff." There could have been a question in his words, but not in his tone, or his voice. Mr Mulligan looked at Rachel, and only then did he realize he was staring. "Do you have things at all you want brung, lass?"
"I- sorry?"
"Take your clothes, Rachel," Matron orders, pinching her nose bridge in between two fingers.
So he goes to his room. The girls waited there, pretending that they weren't listening in.
"Well, you're dead," Francis was the first to say, not opening her mouth. "If you die, send us a photo card of the dragon that ate you."
That's all that was said, and that didn't bode well for Rachel. Why, why was he born with magic, the very thing that tore his entire bloodline into shreds? He was sure that he would not have had a good life, anyway- Matron said his father, James, was a bit nuts in the head, and his mother, Rachel, had the misfortune of wanting a kid with him- but he would have had a mother, maybe a father. Magic ruined it all.
He should be terrified. He didn't feel much, though, unfortunately. He hadn't felt properly for a while. He knew those feelings should be there, but they're not- like they've been sucked away like dust in a vacuum, leaving a large space for... not much.
He thought this, this, would make him cry, and scream that he didn't want to go. Still, similarly to the past year, nothing. Ever since he admitted to himself that he thinks way too much about being a boy when he is not one the nothing's been slowly taking over his head. He remembered telling Matron, only a week later, of his sudden discovery. She made him tell her everything. She demanded to ask of who told him these things- he didn't have an answer to that.
Then, very seriously- he has never seen her so serious in his life- she put a hand on his ten-year-old shoulder, and stated, "You are not a boy, Rachel."
Well, obviously. Did she think he's dumb? He had eyes! He was a girl- a very pretty one at that. He didn't see it, but the rest of the people around him did, and that made him feel good. She asked him if he hated his body, if he has been eating. Why on earth would he hate his body? It did him no wrong. No one is able to truly control their body- it is a separate entity to the mind, doing its best to survive alongside it. He would never hate something for existing.
But he also sometimes wished to play with boys, dress as a boy, act as a boy, be treated as a boy. Was that his body's fault? No. Was it his mind's fault? Also no. He wasn't dumb, even if he was young.
So, it had to be the magic in his blood. Great. Now he was going to a school for magic. He could see why Matron was so concerned for him. With a family line littered with insanity, going to Hogwarts was only leading him towards his ruin.
Oh, well, one day at a time. Not ruined yet. He can't not go, so he will make do. He didn't weep because he can't make himself, but that was also very convenient.
"Do write if you're not dead, as well- James always forgets to write, so he might be dead," Rosie insisted, pouting. "Also, please don't die, we all like you a lot. And, if you kill anyone, don't leave any evidence."
"I'll try not to die," Rachel promised with a laugh, stuffing two dresses and underwear into his bag. He's never been to a real school before- he's barely seen anything outside the orphanage walls, other than Sundays- so he didn't now what to expect. He packed his only maths book, just in case.
Matron was still speaking to Mr Mulligan when he trudged down the stairs. "-want any of her damaging ideas enforced. If I find out about anything, I'll bring hell on Earth to get her out."
"Alright. Then again now, wi' Galbraith as the new Minister of Magic, I don't think there will be much an issue on that," Mr Mulligan replied. Through the door he saw the man's easygoing smile, and the tap-tap-tapping of the cane. Maybe the lighting changed, because his clothes were now a light orange- though, seeing Rachel's befuddlement, he winked discreetly, so that's probably not the case. Brr. "Is that all you're taking on you, pal?"
He shrugged. If he could take the orphanage, he would.
"Rachel," Matron warned.
"Yeah, that's all," he managed to get out, gripping his backpack. The green carpet looked back at him, tired and worn. When he was too young to go outside without supervision, he pretended it was a field of flowers where fairies and elves waged war against one another. When it got dark, Matron sat down the younger ones and told them a bedtime story by the fireplace. If Rachel pretended to be asleep, she would press a kiss against his brow and carry him to bed.
Mulligan smiled warmly. He felt nothing.
"Any little rats you wanna say goodbye to?" His gaze shoots to the man, who now stood up, towering over them. His eyes, blue, weren't affected by the shadows, still blue and cloudy. Rachel froze up. Rats? What rats? Did he just-?
"Rachel's not Irish enough to understand that, Hercules," Matron stressed, exasperated, but she laughed. It dimmed very quickly, but it was there. Mr Mulligan tilted her head, smiling lopsidedly.
"I know you're worried, I do. But she'll be fine, Mistress. I'll keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't get with the wrong crowd."
"Slytherins?"
"Not allowed to answer that for you, I'm afraid," he quips right back, eyes widening playfully.
Rachel was so confused.
"Come on, la- lass, let's get you down to the Leaky Cauldron." Mr Mulligan pats Rachel's shoulder.
"I don't want a leaky cauldron," he whispered, clutching his backpack tighter.
"Haha, no, pal! It's an inn!" How did Mr Mulligan hear that? He also took out a list from God knows where, and- "Ah, they got you a room at the very top floor, as well! That's grand- It's mighty quiet there, as well, knowing how loud the other customers can get."
In the lamplight, Matron looked like a portrait of the Virgin Mary- solemn eyes a murky grey, no expression pulling her lips down. She was wrapped in her blue shawl, making herself look duller than she really was. He wished to see her smile. He wished she'd make him stay. Surely, she loved him enough to try.
But she'd tried it before, and it never worked.
Mr Mulligan was already out of the door. Without a moment's hesitation, Rachel rushed to hug Matron, as hard as he could. She hugged him back, and his nose was filled with sweet dust.
Matron then gave him another bag, after kisses and goodbyes. "Open it when you're there. Just some bits and bobs I've packed for my darling girl," She muttered fondly, stroking his cheek. Rachel learned into her, and she pinched his cheek. "I'll see you in no time. Keep your sanity, love, and don't disappoint me."
He would have never even dreamt of that. He will do everything he has to do to make her proud. What would Matron think, getting back a different child, filled with radical ideas and a trouble-making spirit?
Rain spat at Rachel's face when he stepped outside, immediately trying to soak through every material that he wears.. Mulligan waited by the tall silver gates, hair framing his long face like a cloud, unaffected by the water. When Rachel ran over, tripping over himself and his two bags, the wizard offered a gloved hand, now a deep purple, and exclaimed "Ready, pal?"
What other choice did she have? But Mr Mulligan's smile was friendly, and maybe he did feel a bit better. She could do this, she knew she could- the magic was the curse she had to live with, but she will not let it define her entire life. All she had to do now, was manage the first few days.
Rachel took his hand, and the world inverted, as if she was being sucked through a cold and dark tube.