Chapter 2
Rachel fell on his butt the second Mr Mulligan released his hand. He wouldn't be surprised if his head were swiveling around like a doll's, for he didn't know where Mr Mulligan's chuckle came from. There was a buzzing in the air, and he felt it through his bones.
"Welcome to The Leaky Cauldron, pal," Mr Mulligan exclaimed. When the spinning shapes calmed down, the child managed to see Mr Mulligan's coat's colour drip away into black. The man helped the struggling Rachel off of the floor.
The inn was... well, he has only been to one inn before in his life, so he doesn't really know what inns are meant to look like. It's a bit shabby, and quite dark. Wooden floors haven't been cleaned, and- are those candles? Why on earth are there no lamps in an inn? But there weren't- instead, paper swans fluttered in the air, followed by the nonsense of a piano that was not being played.
"Merlin, how do the muggles not yet know about us, ah?" His kidnapper muttered, tutting under his breath. He said nothing more, leading them both to the reception desk. The rest passed in a blur. He spent most of his time looking down at the dirty floor, ignoring the scruffy boys- they're all dressed so old-fashioned- that made the paper birds, the ones that somehow flew. It send a shiver down his spine, and he felt ridiculous.
Don't be stupid, Rachel. Magic can do anything. While he's seventy percent sure that those boys didn't make those paper swans to explode in his face and rip his tongue out, he's a hundred percent sure that there's a spell for that.
"Good evening, Mr Mulligan!" One of them exclaimed, and Rachel flinched where he stood. His hair was bleached blond from the sun, as was his skin ruddy. "Is that a new first year with you?"
"Aye, Snooker," Mr Mulligan called out, waving to him. A tap, tap of his cane, and an loud 'ow!' from the boy. He clutched his hair with a laugh, and flipped the bird at Mr Mulligan. Rachel watched owlishly as an invisible force pulled strands of straw hair to the other side. The twinkle in Mr Mulligan's eyes never faded. "Leave her be, or it's sure gonna be a less of a meeting with Professor Greene and more of a forest walk with the fox."
The other boys jeered, and Rachel was led away to his room, still wondering why walking in a forest was a punishment. Forests were dangerous, but not that much- and wouldn't wizards, especially boys, enjoy some danger?
His room was small, and there was only one bed. The windows weren't clean, the floorboards creaked, and the mirror talked back to him. When he put his backpack on the floor, he found it on a sitting innocently on a cupboard the second he looked away. When he sat on the bed, gazing at the wall, unmoving, for half an hour, the bed nudged him to make sure he was still alive.
It was too quiet at night. Rosie did not twist and turn in her sheets. There was no scratching of Trixie's pencil on paper, or Francis quietly chattering her ear off. The rough boys laughed downstairs, muffled through walls that shouldn't block out that much noise.
He wants to go home.
He met Mr Mulligan in the pub the next morning, chatting to the barkeep. He felt very small in the inn, with his longest black skirt and baggiest shirt, when the rest of them looked so strange. He was surprised to not see any white wig hair. Mr Mulligan wore a green coat this time, with little golden birds embroidered on much of it. When he laughed, the birds flew around wildly, shimmering across Mr Mulligan's back.
"Morning, Rachel." He slid a plate to Rachel. A curious bird on his sleeve inched forward to him. "Eat up- we've a long day ahead of us."
He did, shifting away from the cursed coat. Mulligan didn't notice.
Soon enough, he was led through a wall that opened up. That was... weird. The only thing Rachel thought of was how quickly he could get crushed by it. It opened up to an alley, like in London- they went there once, on a lucky Christmas holiday. They looked very similar- bustling streets, colorful signs, foreign smells, shouts and whistles from people of all ages. The only thing that took away from it was the brooms in the window displays, the robes that looked so old-fashioned, and the constant buzz of something in the air.
Everyone looked like Mr Mulligan now. He had never seen such color in his whole life. Everyone wore long hair, tied in ribbons- even the men, which was weird. Men wore neck scarves, strange coats and strange socks. Women had vibrant dresses with square necklines that were so deep that it would make Matron cover his eyes. Some people's hair was as white as snow, despite the faces being young, some as young as Rachel. Mr Mulligan had to shut his gaping mouth.
Odd, odd people.
He stumbled after him to a bookshop, packed full of people. One, two, three, four books thrown into a basket, with titles he did not understand. There was a leather book on the floor that had teeth, and attacked anyone who came to close to it- kids older than him jumped at it, laughing when one's long socks were caught between its fangs. Chatter came from every nook and cranny. Children with fussing mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers. The smell of dust. Sun rays streaked the room a stuffy golden through the roof window. Some books glittered like diamonds and rubies and things Rachel hadn't seen before; some whistled like trains, or like the wind on a frosty night; some floated- kids her age tried catching them with transparent fishing nets, like the icicles he and Trixie had their tongues stuck to last winter.
It wasn't the orphanage, though. Magic can do anything, such as levitate books- what if it was him that was up there? Entirely helpless to the whims of whoever cursed him, who would stop them from sending him to the ground, having his skull smashed into little meaty bits? What if those snapping books bit his fingers off, one by one? What if those diamonds that glittered razed into his skin, leaving scars as big as the ones on Francis' poor face?
He'll be fine. He'll be fine. A book cackled right behind him, as if it heard his thoughts.
"'S a lot of people, isn't it?" Mr Mulligan asked, when Rachel flinched for the millionth time. "Sorry, why don't you go down to the transfiguration section, Rachel? There's always less people there, since the kids hate it." Out of a pocket he produced a glass marble, and dropped it into his hand. "Keep that on you- t'll let me know where you are, so I can fin' you later when I'm done shopping so. Don't wander too far, alright?"
He nodded, and trudged down to where Mr Mulligan pointed. When he looked back, the man in the green coat was gone.
The chatter was less here. He was right- there were less boys and girls here, only one or two scattered adults, and a bored librarian, looking over at him with with her half-moon glasses. There was no place to sit, but the quiet made him feel like in his own skin again. He slunk around the shelves, keeping one eye on an elfish woman- white hair, green dress, high cheekbones, blue eyes- trying to pick a book. There was another person, a man dressed in red, but the women here were far more interesting.
She looked so interested in those books that Rachel decided to copy her, picking a random book off the shelf. '10 simple transfiguration spells to help your garden bloom' seemed as boring as a dictionary, but he had nothing else to do. So he cracked it open, skimming over the first page, and the second, and the third. It was as dull as nails, he didn't know any of the terminology, and he didn't know why he continued to read how to transfigure a snail into a skipping stone, but he did.
He did.
"Well, you seem awfully interested in gnome torture," A familiar voice quipped behind her after he started the second chapter, making him yelp and fall over himself. Mr Mulligan laughed, both of his hands occupied with a bag each. "Sorry, didn't intend to scare you. I was just curious about what had you looking so serious."
He flushed, shutting the book and looking away.
"Aw no, kiddo, that's alright, I'm not tryna pull your leg," Mr Mulligan whispered softly, crouching down to Rachel's height. From up close, his eyes looked like the morning fog. He took the book from his smaller hands, and looked at it. "You like gardening? We've got exactly enough money to get you a book that you want. Would you like this?"
Rachel shook his head.
"Are you sure?"
A pause. No matter how long Rachel didn't answer, Mulligan waited- until it was too awkward to bear.
"...I don't like gardening." He felt so stupid, having to explain himself like this. He didn't know why he opened that book, or why he didn't close it.
"Alright, you don't like gardening. That's fine." He looked down at the book, and Rachel could see light freckles speckled across his old forehead. "Do you think you like transfiguration, then?"
Rachel didn't really know what that was, so he didn't answer.
Mr Mulligan sighs, not unkindly, and takes out another marble from his pocket, laying it flat on his hand. "Transfiguration is magic that takes one object-" Suddenly, it glowed, shifted, and a sweet now lay in his palm, wrapped in a colorful wrapper, "-and turns it into another. Pretty nifty, aye? That's for you, kiddo- entirely edible."
Rachel took it. With an encouraging smile from Mr Mulligan, he plopped the sweet in his mouth. It was a caramel, and it didn't explode or make him float. "...Thank you."
"Of course. It's very, very difficult. 'S the most precise type of magic, to turn something into something else entirely. But, once you get the hang of it, you can turn anything into anything, really."
"Anything?" He perked up on that, and even he was surprised by that. A twisting feeling gnawed at his stomach. "Even... animals?"
"Absolutely. You'll get a chance to play with some rabbits and mice in your lessons, I'm sure."
A small part of his head was unsure of how the animals felt doing that, but the bigger part was buzzing and scattered. He didn't know how to word the next sentence, because even he didn't know why he asked this. "What about... people? Can you transfigurize... parts of people?"
He hummed, sitting down properly- Rachel was taller than him now. His lone cane remained standing. "Why do you ask?"
"B-because if the t-trans...figurization of animals is possible, then... people, as well? I don't know, I'm sorry," he squeaks out in the end.
"Don't be sorry, that's a perfectly reasonable question." Mr Mulligan closed his eyes, looked up, inhaled. "Absolutely you can- you can transfigure both parts of people, and an entire person- but that's treading a dangerous line there. It's incredibly difficult, and even harder to do what you intended to do. If it's permanent, that would be considered- uh- not great, and not very legal to do." Rachel didn't know what to say when he took a black glove off of his right hand. He opened up his old palm, and on the very middle of it was written 'SNAKE' in black, bold ink. Except it wasn't ink- when the man tapped with his other fingers, it went tink, tink, tink. "That's silver, pal, and I can't get it off, ever."
"Why is it black?"
A laugh, like he didn't expect that perfectly normal to ask. "Oh, washing it's a hassle sometimes. It goes black very fast, silver- you know?"
His mind went back to the silver cross that Matron keeps in her bedroom, and how ardently she scrubbed it in the morning. Mulligan let him trace the 's'- it was warm, but it was definitely not skin. He tried to find the edge of it, to see if he could peel it off, or rub it away, but he couldn't- it was a part of his hand. It was so clearly written, and so truly unexplainable. "That's amazing, that you can do that," he muttered.
An amused chuckle. "Aye, absolutely amazing wand-work- but it wasn't me, pal."
Wait, what? "You can transfigurize other people?"
"Transfigure, and aye, people usually do it to others. You can't do that anymore- because how would you feel if someone, for example, turned your arms into large red crab claws?" He mimicked crab claws snapping with his hand right in front of Rachel's face with a laugh. The metal of his hand didn't bend when he closed his hand, digging into irritated skin. "Not very grand, I'll tell you that. That's mutilation, and illegal if irreversible."
"How did you get it then, if it's illegal?"
Mr Mulligan slid his glove back on. "It's been a while since this happened, pal. A school prank gone wrong. Things like these don't happen in Hogwarts anymore."
"Oh, okay." That makes sense. The silver was so black- it must have been ages since it found itself there.
"Anyhow, good life advice is to keep the transfiguring to the rats, alright? No one wants to be changed irreversibly, I'll tell you that."
"Yeah," he replied, a sour taste left in his mouth.
"Grand. Now, do you want to find a book on it? I'm sure there's a few transfiguration books for beginners." They stood back up, and headed to the section for children. He helped Rachel pick the best book- he knew a lot about transfiguration, and spells, and could answer any question he had.
"Are you a teacher, in Hogwarts?" He asked, because he had to be.
"I- well, I amn't. I work in Hogwarts, but not as a teacher. I do bits and bobs and things around."
"Then what do you do?"
"Well, currently, I get unwilling students to there." He smiled and winked. "During the school year, I'm a warden- I make sure that no one's crawling around the school after curfew. I'm a tailor, as well, so if your clothes rip or don't fit you, pal, you can pop by during the term to see me, and I'll fix you right up. Also do some baking when I'm up for it."
Rachel thought of Mr Mulligan in a pink apron, baking choc-chip cookies in the orphanage's tiny kitchen, and laughed.
Next, after dodging newspaper boys shouting 'John Laurens, the boy who lived, going to Hogwarts!', they went to 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions' , not much less crowded. The plump lady at the front- with red hair, blue eyes, in a big brown dress that went down to her ankles- gasped at the sight of them.
"Another orphan?" She exclaimed in a voice so high and shrill it made Rachel sick to think he'd ever sound like that. "On the last day, as well? It's like youse wanna kill me, Hercules!"
Seeing the moving needles and flying materials glowering behind her, the opposite seems true. Rachel hid behind Mr Mulligan, just in case. His sewn birds twittered carelessly, which only gave him little comfort.
"You look awfully busy for the last night," Mr Mulligan commented mildly, with a tap, tap of his cane.
"Oh, you've no idea-" she cried, running a hand through her wild hair,"-the Kinlochs decided his robes didn't fit their bairn, so now I have to make alterations to it, there's been a swarm of orders and half of my team is off, and now there's another one of your strays? Greene has to write me a letter before he pulls things like this! I need more time!"
"That's fine, then, we won't be bothering you. Could we get a changing room, and the material? That'd be grand."
A lot of black flied into Mr Mulligan's arms, he caught them effortlessly- several measuring tapes wrapped around his walking cane, as well. "At least that, then. Off, off you go! Cato'll get you your funny machine! Seventh one is empty, on the left!" And she blazes off like the hounds of hell were at her feet.
"Typical Madam Malkins," he muttered, adding nothing else. When Rachel stood on the seventh podium, measuring tapes snaked around his waist, hips, chest, shoulders- he shuddered, thinking of how easily it could go around his neck. Numbers lit up in the air like fireflies that only Mr Mulligan understood. A young black man came to Mr Mulligan, wheeling a sewing machine. His hair was twined in strange rows of braids, tied back with a lovely red ribbon. Mr Mulligan and him exchanged a few quiet words and a laugh- his teeth were so, so bright. His palms were lighter than the rest of him, and his eyes were so brown they were black.
"Staring is rude, Rachel," Mr Mulligan reminded when the young tailor leaves. He huffed, embarrassed. How was he expected not to look when he hadn't seen anyone like that before?
Mr Mulligan than took off his gloves, threw them in the air- moments later, they were animated, and they zipped to work on the sewing machine, twisting and turning the thick and coarse fabric in ways that he could only watch in amazement. The machine whirred to life, jabbing the needle in and out- he only had half the mind to ask that the gloves wouldn't make the chest window as big as he saw in the streets and shops.
"I'll keep that in mind for you. Now, wait here a moment, alright? I need to get stays for you."
His what? So he was left there, stranded, on this podium, watching the gloves race around the sewing table- grabbing this, holding that, doing God knows what else. The yellow and red room was filled with not much more but the same black fabric, and the same emblem. Tailors rushed around him, with sharp needles and scissors suspended in the air, some following them at high speeds, and all Rachel could do was shrink into himself. An absolute beehive this is, Matron would grumble.
"No, I don't want it!" A whiny voice suddenly exclaims, which clashes with the incredibly posh accent. It snaps Rachel out of his wide-eyed staring. "I want clothes that fit me, not ones that are miles too big!"
"Mr Kinloch, these robes are meant for both your first and second years-"
"But they don't fit me now! What are the point of them if they do not fit? I'll look ridiculous!" Which is an absurd question, and Rachel looked around to see this caricature of a boy. His voice came from around the corner, and was getting louder. And, lucky- or unlucky- enough for him, the only free podium was the sixth one, directly next to his.
The boy that turned the corner wasn't exactly what Rachel expected. He wasn't blond, or fat, nor did he carry around a backpack embedded with jewels, or a massive teddy bear. That would have been nicer, or at least more entertaining to look at. He wore a massive frown on his face, staring judgmentally at all the robes with his beady eyes. Dressed exactly like the man beside him- shiny shoes, boring black coat, expensive whatever-it-is under the coat- he looked like a porcelain doll, were porcelain dolls loud and whiny. His black curls looked like they would crunch if someone pressed a hand down on them. His hands obviously never felt the touch of a shovel.
Wow.
"I don't like this one, Dad!" He repeated to the man- his father, who had equally solid curls. "Laurens had his tailored to him! I can't have clothes that don't fit me, that'll make me look ridiculous!"
His father was barely paying attention to him, busy at looking at something in his hand. It shone at his face, and he was quietly talking to it, like to a mouse. The boy didn't like that, tugging at his coat and whining like a three-year-old. Between the whining, he caught that sacred name again. Laurens, Laurens, Laurens. Who on earth was this mystery boy, and why did everyone know him but him?
The boy hopped onto the podium like he'd done so a million times. "Get it now, or I'm not stepping foot in Hogwarts!"
That was not a choice, Rachel thought sourly. Immediately after, the boy turned to her and said "Can you believe what they wanted me to go with? My sleeves went down to my fingers! How am I meant to learn in that?"
"That's crazy," he replied, fiddling with his sweater paws.
"Exactly. Ridiculous, they are- I can't go to school wearing that, I'll be laughed at." He fiddled with his cuff-links, before pointing at the sewing machine. "What on earth is that and what is it doing to your uniform?"
"That's a sewing machine."
"A machine? Why can't you make a person do it for you? I wouldn't trust that muggle contraption with my breeches."
"Well, I think it's pretty nifty," he replied. "And it's not doing it on its own, I think. Those gloves are Mr Mulligan's, and he's nice." As nice as a wizard can be, he supposed.
"Is he any good a tailor, though?"
He shrugged, twiddling his hair.
"Mine will tailor it perfectly. If they don't, after the third time-" He growled, voice going as deep as a child's could get, which was funny, "-I'll get them all fired. All of them."
"That's not very nice."
"Well, they can fit it permanently with a simple charm- if they can't do it, then they must be really stupid." It's not very nice to call someone stupid, either. Rachel didn't think Francis was very nice. But the boy didn't care, continuing. "What house do you think you'll be in?"
"...Hogwart."
"Oh, obviously Hogwarts," he said with a scoff, before he turned to Rachel curiously. "Hold on. Are you a muggleborn that you do not know the houses?"
"I don't know what that is," he replied awkwardly.
"So you are muggle born!" He gasped. Suddenly, Rachel was under the scrutiny of his dark, dark eyes. "But your hair is quite long. Muggles don't have long hair."
"I'm a girl. Girls have long hair." He touched his loose hair self-consciously. Matron always tied and braided it up- how on earth will he manage that in school without her?
"Fair. It does seem a bit long, even for us, perhaps." The boy laughed haughtily. Maybe it was his accent, but Rachel didn't know. "I should have noticed the weird way you're dressed. Why is your skirt so short? Only workers have such, and you're way too young to work."
"This is my longest skirt," he replies defensively. "How else am I supposed to climb trees and run with a longer dress?"
"You're not supposed to do such things, that's what!" The boy retorted with a sputter. "Girls don't do that!"
A flash of satisfaction came with that, which he paid no mind to. "It sounds like you haven't talked to many of them."
"I've talked to enough to know that well-mannered ones don't do that. Are all muggle girls as wild as you?"
He went red, and spoke to hide his hurt. "W-Well, do you know every wizard boy in the world?"
"No, but I do know John Laurens."
"...Okay?"
The boy looked smug, like a victorious cat licking itself after a scuffle- he either didn't notice or didn't care for Rachel's confusion. "Yes, I do. My father knows the Sir that takes care of him. We take all our lessons together, at home. On Tuesdays, we go out to the fields and fly with our brooms. Well, I do, because he doesn't flying by himself, says that the brooms misbehave- though they don't, they're the best in the country- so sometimes I get to fly on the same broom as The Boy Who Lived."
"Good for you," Rachel replied slowly, very glad that this boy does not share a broom with a corpse. "I'm Rachel. Nice to meet you."
"Kinloch, Francis Kinloch." He somehow grabbed Rachel's hand, even with the gap between the podiums, put a kiss to it. He nearly lost his balance trying to stand back up, but he managed. Then, a pause. "Do you not know my name?"
"No. It's a nice name, though," he added, not meaning it.
"Obviously, it is. Thank you," Francis added as an afterthought. Rachel wasn't sure what to make of him. Then, Francis looked him up and down, with a familiar frown. "Is your hair always this untidy?"
"It's not untidy," Rachel said, brushing away his untidy hair from his face. He simply forgot to brush it this morning, and it's always such a hassle to do. His frizzy hair never remained tidy, anyway- curling and bouncing all over the place.
"Do muggles have a different level of hygiene than we do?" He asked in response. "Father always said that you don't wash as much because you don't know about germs. Do you know about germs?"
"I'm not a dog," he replied indignantly. "Obviously, we know about germs, and we keep clean. My hair just has a mind of its own."
"Does it?" The black-haired boy exclaimed. Before he could reply, though, Cato returned, with perfectly fitted robes. Except that they weren't, and he was sent back by Francis, with some scathing comment about a waistcoat and... silk? "I think that I want to be in Gryffindor. Though Hufflepuff would also be great, since Washington's one, and he's- well, he's Washington. I just want to go anywhere John Laurens is- then we can share a dorm, which would be absolutely incredible."
"Who's-"
"There's your stays for you, pal," Mr Mulligan spoke from behind Rachel, and both the kids jumped. Were his shoes magic that they didn't make any noise? He didn't like that. "Say goodbye to your friend, because I'm pulling the curtains."
"Bye, Francis Kinloch."
He didn't reply because he was fixing his hair in the mirror, and the curtain whooshed around Rachel.
"Kinloch, ay?" Mr Mulligan said, putting the corset-looking contraption on a table that wasn't there moments prior. "Getting connections fast- I respect that."
He didn't respond, eyes stuck to the table. He didn't like it, it scared him. Tables are not meant to do that- they're meant to stay in place, there where it usually is, so you can find things where you put them. What use is a moving table to anyone, huh?
"I didn't really like him," he said quietly.
"He wasn't nice?" Mr Mulligan talked way too loud, but Rachel also noticed that the world without them was silent. Magic, again.
"No, he was just..." He didn't know how to word it. "He sounds a bit like Veruca Salt, from the- that book."
A warm laugh. "Oh, I'm absolutely not surprised at that, you know. Worked wi' his parents- lovely folks, mind, but they hadn't lifted a non-magic hand in their life. Now, let's get you dressed in your uniform. Put your shift- the white one- on, and I'll help with the rest."
He frowned, looking around. "I think I need more underwear, Mr Mulligan."
Mr Mulligan stilled, as did the birds on his coat. He chuckled awkwardly. "Wizardfolk don't wear muggle underwear, sorry."
"Why?"
"It- ah- it- well, it- it's more convenient."
"No it's not."
"Well, you haven't seen the amount of skirts you've got to put on, Rachel." His gaze was fixed on the wall. The birds were also looking at anyone but him.
"Wizards are weird," Rachel retorted, shuffling out of his jumpers and skirt. "Can I wear my underwear?"
"Absolutely."
He's not a wizard, or witch, so he does. He put on a white- no, light grey- gown that went down to his knees. Mr Mulligan tied the strings to his elbows, and helped him get into his stockings, under-petticoat, stays, pockets (yes, the pockets- seperately), a black petticoat, a black gown- Rachel feared for his life when Mr Mulligan jabbed at it with sharp needles and pins, right on his chest and sides- and a scarf.
"You don't have to wear the cap, but I'd recommend it now. You'll get a lot of comments on your hair, I'd think."
Some boys made fun of his hair on the orphanage- he knew why, it frizzed too much, falling onto his shoulders like wet wool- so he decided to take it.
"Why must there be such a big gap in my chest, Mr Mulligan?" He asked when he looked in the mirror, because he didn't dare to whine.
"That's a lot of complicated history to explain, I'd say. It's a different culture, and they- we- view modesty differently. But, you know how muggle- as in, non-magical- boys are sometimes allowed to be shirtless, whilst girls aren't?" Rachel nodded, knowing how the boys in the orphanage are allowed to wear ridiculously loose tank tops in summer. "Well, it's the opposite here. If you see a magical boy, or man, especially a man, whose collarbones you can see- honest to Christ, Rachel, run."
He didn't understand, but nodded anyway.
His dress was nice- it didn't have a massive space to show his chest and collarbones, like he dreaded, but it was still big- and Mr Mulligan showed him how to cover himself up more with a scarf. The stays were tight, stiff and itchy, and clearly for a chest he, an eleven-year-old, didn't have. He didn't know why he needed them, but Mr Mulligan said it was good for his posture, and it's a part of the girls' uniform.
That very word made him dislike it.
But it had massive tie-on pockets, where she could fit a whole book in. The skirts swished nicely, and weren't as irritating as he thought they'd be. When he put on his cloak, another part of the uniform, no one in the world could see his body. That wasn't a bad feeling.
The only bad things was that the dress was so big it dragged across the floor, and his sleeves so loose that no matter how much he rolled them up, they slid right back down. "This uniform will have to last you four years, that's why it's so big. I could charm it to make it smaller, but that's not permanent, and a tad unreliable. Or I could sew up the sleeves and hems whilst on the train, if that'd be okay."
"Just saw a charm done to the exact measurements, though. For the- uh-" crunchy-mop-haired, "-boy."
"Ach, quite unfortunately, that's specialist service- advanced spells and all- and we don't have the money or time for that. Really sorry, pal."
"That's fine." Because it was. He has dealt with clothes too big before. "I can sew up the hems myself."
He could only take off the stays with the help of Mr Mulligan. The dress was easy enough to take off, and the man turned around when Rachel struggled out of his strange underclothes. Putting on his usual clothing made him feel at home again. He didn't think that he'll be wearing them for much longer, and that made his head swin in despair.
They passed the boy with the black curls again, and he was whining about cuff-links and John Laurens. When Mr Mulligan put the golden and silver coins to the counter, Rachel waved him goodbye, as is polite- he didn't notice. But he's heard that bloody name enough- he had to ask who on Earth this person was.
What he got back was surprise from his guide. Even the birds on Mr Mulligan's coat stilled. "You don't know who John Laurens is? Surely not."
Rachel shrugged sourly. "Matron doesn't like magic."
"That I know very well. After all, she's seen the worst it has on offer." Rachel thought that line of thought wasn't finished, but Mr Mulligan didn't finish it. "Do you know of the war, then, that left so many orphans in your orphanage?"
He kept quiet. Mr Mulligan continued, suddenly having turned serious.
"There was a really bad man, once. The most terrible man you could think of. Sorry, I cannot even begin to describe how despicable-" he spat the word out like it were poison, "- he was- he was the worst thing this wizarding decade has seen."
"Did he kill people?"
"Thousands, tens of thousands, murdered for their- for no reason at all. He, without a doubt, was the most evil man in the world." He looked up to the ceiling. "The kiddies in your home, their parents and families fought against him, and his followers. Aye, they tried to stop his reign of utter terror, but they paid the price. Their whole bloodlines paid the price. Youse are the few that managed to survive, by mere stroke of luck."
His parents? Heroes? Ridiculous. "You're lying, sir. My father was nuts," he retorted. "Matron wouldn't lie to me."
Mr Mulligan thought for a moment, then nodded. "Aye, actually. He was a very strange fellow, from what I've heard. Still, the rest of your family were mad famous for fighting you-know-who."
"You-know-who?"
"That's the man, aye." Mr Mulligan gazed to the other wall. He shook his head, and his smile returned again. "He has a real name, but that's what the people called him, in fear that his name would- well- bring him to them. But the bloody bastard's dead now, all to the thanks of baby John Laurens and his parents."
"...Baby?"
"He's your age. And his family was targeted by him, as well- rich, loud, magically powerful, and all that. There was a prophecy, about a baby being the end to his reign of terror- you-know-who thought it were John Laurens, so he went out to kill him. His parents died tryna protect him, but he survived."
Well, he didn't sound special at all to Rachel.
"The spell used on the kid somehow backfired, killing the Dark Lord," Mr Mulligan said, shaking his head in awe. "The impossible happened to him- truly impossible. Nothing short of a miracle bestowed upon us, that boy is. Had he not, the tens of thousands dead would've been hundreds of thousands."
Rachel wasn't too sure what to make of that. "Why didn't he come to our orphanage?"
"Pardon me?"
"He's an orphan, because his parents were killed by magic. Why isn't he in our orphanage?"
A hiss through teeth. "Well, I don' think the ministry would be entirely glad to hand away a miracle to anyone but themselves, don't you think? And on top of that, the kid's after ending a- well- a general's life, Rachel- bad people want him dead."
He must've been a pretty bad general. You don't need to be very smart to kill, Matron's chiding voice reminded him, you don't even need decent aim, but that helps.
"Whenever after you hear of The Boy Who Lived, know that is who they're referring to. Because of him, we can live a peaceful and happy life."
Rachel's an orphan.
It also seemed strange to single out one Boy Who Lived, when he could think of at least twenty-six. They shared a house with him only a day ago.
"To tie the story up in an even prettier bow, mind, he comes from the very magically powerful Laurens Family. Not only was their wealth that of- well- robber barons, but they've always been magically incredibly strong, and- oh, I've lost you there," He interrupted himself, chuckling at, what must be, Rachel's confused face. "Some people are stronger than you, aren't they? They can lift more things, at the same time. I can't lift a wardrobe, but there is someone out there who can, and they're stronger than me. The same applies to magic, no?"
Rachel grimaced, looking down at her hands. "But magic is... you either do it, or you don't. If you levitate a sock, it either levitates, or it doesn't."
"It does, aye, but how much effort do you have to put in to levitate it? Look- lumos." His right hand, gloved, started glowing a dull white, and Rachel nearly jumped out of his seat. "Careful there! See, it's not very bright- that's what magic looks like when it's cast by someone who either doesn't know what they're doing, or is magically weak. And this is what it looks like if it has more power." His hand was more like a little star now- the light hurt his eyes.
"I get it... I think." He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "So this... boy's... light would burn really bright?"
"Very bright. You'll see him in a few days, and you'll understand exactly what I mean." A laugh. "Of course, if you'll be able to spot him through his crowd of fans. Right, our last stop- Franklin's. Best wands in Europe, I'll tell you that." A cluttered shop stood in front of them, and he doubted it, though Mulligan looked at it with a wide smile. "He's off on business, but I'm sure his prodigy will be glad enough to help us."
The bell rings when they enter the shop. It was full of dust, and smelled like old books.
"Good morning, Mr Mulligan," sung out out a voice somewhere behind the shelves. "Need another wand?"
"Afternoon, Kościuszko." Mr Mulligan stressed playfully. Rachel was stuck in the doorway, so Mulligan pushed him further into the stuffy shop. "Not this time round, no. One of the kiddos needs their first one."
A head popped out of one of the doors behind the counter. It's a brown-haired man, in his mid twenties, with sharp cheekbones and glossy waves for hair- his mouth dropped when he spotted Rachel. "A Hamilton? Hercules Mulligan, I did not know you dabble in necromancy!"
How did he know, how did he know? Rachel shrunk into himself. And necromancy? What even is that?
"Very funny."
The man behind the counter rubbed his eyes. "How on earth did you- how is she- what? It was all over news, though! The Prophet said that there was no doubt that whole bloodline was wiped out!"
"Apparently not," Mr Mulligan quipped.
He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed and mouth agape. "Ayayai, why did you not tell us? Mr Franklin will have your hide for that."
"Sorry, I found that out myself only a week ago or so sure."
"Aha, sure. And who is she, if she is not dead?"
"James's cailín, with the Faucette girl."
Brows furrowed. "I thought the Faucette girl was Buck."
"She was." A chuckle, and the man's eyes widened. "That be where by bets lie why they didn't find her- aye, pal?"
She nodded, not knowing what they were on about. Mr Mulligan kept smiling, unfazed. Mr- uh- Kos-something, clapped his hands, and now his gaze was on Rachel. "Right, enough chit-chat. I am Tad, Miss Hamilton, and welcome to Franklin's. Unfortunately, Franklin is away on business trip, so you only have me for now. Now, does not take genius to guess what you are here for." A furrow of his brow when he saw Rachel stare at him blankly. "Did you grow up with magic, or without?"
Rachel looked down at the floor, not knowing how to answer. He didn't want magic, but if magic is in him, how could one grow up without it? Mr Mulligan sighed. "By all intents and purposes, no."
"Really?" Tad exclaimed. "No magic? Might be good that Franklin is out- he'd be mortified."
"Taken offense for Grange, I'm sure," Mr Mulligan replied as Tad started rummaging in the cupboard behind him, muttering to himself in a foreign language. Rachel watched the floor, entirely befuddled. Maybe he wished he didn't, but Mr Mulligan noticed that. "Lord Hamilton of Grange was your Grandfather, on your father's side. He was... well, he was quite a man."
"Quite a man, indeed!" Came from behind the counter. "He was one of most influential aurors in pursuit of the Dark Lord! And all that, whilst being muggleborn? Incredible. Franklin could not shut up about once I asked- girl, never ask him about Alexander Hamilton, OK? It'll save you hours of life."
"Alexander..?" Again, that name. Rachel knew that he had a grandfather once- everyone had grandfathers- but it never really dawned on him that they were actual people. To hear about someone he once shared blood with, and for people to regard them with awe- because that's what was on Tad's face, nothing else- is so wrong. It's weird.
"Now, what we looking at, then? Let's try some unicorn hair- those run in your bloodline."
Unicorns are real? "Okay," he replied quietly.
"Ah, so she speaks," Tad sung back, now rummaging through a box. "If it were not for the hair, I would think you weren't related to old Grange."
So it was the hair that made him so easily identified. Though his hair always felt too heavy over his shoulders, now it weighed tons.
He was handed a wand. It was twisting, and a dark brown. "Ten inches, cypress wood." The stick sat limp in his hand, and Tad looked at him expectantly. "Come on, give it a flick."
So he did that, awkwardly, and a vase exploded- Rachel yelped in an embarrassingly high voice. "Oh, dear God, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"
The wand was plucked off of his frozen hands. "You have no idea what that vase has been through, girl. Repairo." Immediately, the vase is as good as new, sparkling like it hadn't been completely obliterated moments before. Another piece of wood was shoved in his hands. "Try this one- unicorn hair, holly, nine inches."
That made a cupboard fly across the room. "No, not that. What about unicorn hair, elm, ten inches?"
That made a loud shrieking sound. "Alright. Pheonix feather, hazel, eleven inches."
That set the curtains on fire. "OK, fine, be like that, you ffff- stubborn mule." Mr Mulligan muttered, to Rachel's relief, that Tad was talking to the wand, not him. Next, he was given a very pink one, with a lovely pattern on it. "African mermaid hair, cherry, ten inches."
That set off loud fireworks that glittered across the room like stardust. It was surely the one, with all the power that he felt in it, but Tad tutted and snatched it away. "No, not even that. OK, dragon heartstring, maple, ten inches."
None of them worked. Every single wand he picked up very theatrically refused to cooperate with him. He didn't know what he was doing wrong, because even Tad was looking at him weird after the twenty-second one.
"Well, you are finicky one, aren't you?" Rachel looked down, embarrassed. Already, he was causing people problems, when he promised himself to remain invisible. Tad clicked his perfectly straight teeth. "What should we try, what should we try..."
Couldn't he just get the pretty pink one? It wasn't as explosive as the rest of them, and it was a gorgeous thing. Even if boys don't like pink things, so he shouldn't like it, he did. Also, he wasn't a boy, so he should just get it because he liked it.
Suddenly, Tad froze. Now, there was a calculating look on his face.
"Alright, mate?"
"Fine," he replied to Mr Mulligan, now gazing at Rachel. "Hamilton, have you seen someone die?"
Rachel sputtered. What kind of question was that? "You- I- wh- sorry?"
He then turned to Mr Mulligan. "Weren't the Hamilton killings some of the most violent in the country?"
"The most violent, by far," Which is insane.The Irishman glanced at Rachel, and the cold expression in his face melted. "Your grandfather was an incredible man, pal. The D- the bad wizards were so terrified of him, that you-know-who ordered all family and relatives dead."
A cold shiver ran down his spine. He mustered up the courage to speak. "But I'm still here."
"Your parents weren't married. I don't think they even registered you yet, when they died. Sorry, the bad wizards couldn't have known about you." He's also a bastard, then. Oh well. What else didn't he know?
"I saw flashing lights," he whispered. Mr Mulligan could not have heard him, but he did.
"She's seen death, then. What I'm curious is why you ask now."
Tad looked quite serious suddenly. "I want to try out a more... unique wand."
"If you put a Hogwarts student in harm, the word will reach Washington, one way or another," Mr Mulligan stated firmly, in a way that he never talked to Rachel before. "I am in no control of what he will do with such information."
"I'm not planning to hurt poor girl," Tad said, exasperated. "I like this job too much for that. It's just very weird wand. And... Franklin mentioned that Alexander Hamilton would have been better served with- with this, rather than his unicorn. Probably will not work, but I want to try."
"We'll have no problems at all, then."
The man strode to the staff room, and came back with a black box. In it laid a wooden stick, straighter than a pencil, but other than that no more special-looking than the rest of them. It didn't rattle, like some, or emanate some power. It didn't even look particularly nice- it had no pattern, either, just a rough handle. From the dust, it looks like it has been sitting there for a while.
But when he flicked it, the whole world glowed like a fireplace. A buzzing feeling settled in his bones. Behind formed a figure- no, two figures, and he startled, nearly dropping the wand. Two girls they were, their arms interlocked, watching him with a smile. One of them was black haired, with her locks floating down her lean back. Her eyes crinkled, and she watched him with fond eyes. The other girl- wasn't a girl. His long hair, fiery and wild, tumbling down his shoulders- exactly like Rachel's own- distracted him from goatee he bore.
"You'd look miles better with short hair," he remarked, the Scottish accent ringing out like a bell. The voice itself rang like a bell, echoing and echoing.
"Oh hush, Jamie, he's fine as he is," the pretty lady scolded, slapping the man's chest lightly. She was unreal, as well, her hand sparkling and transparent.
"Aye, and he'd be finer with short hair!" They were talking about him, it suddenly struck. About his heavy hair. They called him 'he'. And the man- oh, he looked like him. He had Rachel's hair, his nose, his eyes, his ears. But Rachel didn't have his hands, his back, his jaw, his voice. Of course he didn't- he was eleven.
He wanted to look like that. Surely, some girls looked like that. He wanted to be a girl that looked like that.
Maybe those were his parents. Somehow, he didn't find it in himself to care- could have been an effect of the magic. He puts down the wand in a daze. The people shimmered out of view, but their fond smiles, shared like a secret between them and him alone remained imprinted beneath his eyelids.
"I saw people," he uttered, and his own voice echoed in his head.
"Oh, it likes you, then," Tad stated. "That's... fine.
It did not sound fine, and Rachel stilled.
He gently handed the wand back to the brown-haired man when he asked for it. He flicked it, and black smoke spilled from it like oil, along with whistling inhuman voices. A cold feeling crawled up and down Rachel's face, belly and back like a spider. Tad dropped the wand on the desk like it was on fire. "Yes, definitely thestral hair. Oh, calm down, you," he retorted when the want didn't stop hissing, and sharply aimed a yellow light at it.
Mr Mulligan's brows furrowed. "Tadeusz, you should only be able to use that when you have killed someone sure."
The much younger man picked up the wand again. "If you believe that child killed before, up to you."
A pause. "Seriously?" Mr Mulligan laughed sharply. "You can't be, can you? That thing'll get her killed."
A sigh. He looked like he'd had this conversation before. "Thestrals don't kill, people do."
"Okay, I'm sorry, to master that would take ages, and that definitely won't give poor Rachel a unfair playing field, not at all!" Mr Mulligan exclaimed. "Sorry, I don't think giving her that would be smart, even if it likes her. Additionally, death follows thestral hair like a lovesick puppy, do they not? With Death Eaters still out, she, as a student, can be a target!"
What follows what, now?
"We sell wands, not toys. They know their master best, even if it will take a while to get familiar. Don't know what to you it sound like, but to me is that you do not trust Washington to keep kids safe." Tad crossed his arms, a challenging look on his face. "If that is not the case, then I see no reason I should not give Hamilton wand that fits her best. Literally my job."
The temperature in the room suddenly dropped with a tap of the cane. "Watch your mouth, pal."
He crossed his arms, shrugged. "I do not know why from me you expect anything else, because I will not lie to friend like you. Thestral hair is not bad luck, Mulligan- it speaks on person's ability, not fortune. You know these things, of all people." Tad pushed the wand towards Mr Mulligan. "There are many worse wands than this to try and master . Thestral hair is picky with their users- not as much as phoenix, but close- if she likes her, she is meant for her. And look- fir."
Mr Mulligan picked up the wand, unchanged expression on his face. The birds of his coat hopped away from it. "The survivor's wand," he muttered. "What a strange combination."
"Excuse me," Rachel squeaked out, because he doesn't want to die. "What on Earth are either of you talking about?"
Mr Mulligan looked at him like he only now remembered he was in the room. "That the wand that chose you- well, I definitely wouldn't think it suits you, kiddo- not such a shy little thing like you," Tad opened is mouth, but Mr Mulligan put a hand up. "Fir, the wood it is made from, is an incredibly good wood for advanced wizards, who are very sure of themselves. If you are in danger of death, it is amazing, I'll admit- but for any other casting? It's a fidgety tool. Pairing that with thestral hair? Ignoring the bad omen that that is, pal, that thing won't work for a year."
Rachel didn't like bad omens. They weren't good. He shouldn't take a difficult wand, either. He's not going to take it.
"Except in transfiguration," Tad interjected.
"Sorry, except in transfiguration," Mr Mulligan added.
He might not have made his mind up as firmly as he thought.
"Thestral hair is not bad omen, either, Mulligan. If you want me to get into nitty gritty, I will. Franklin did teach me shhhh- things here, despite my pretty face, and I am not about to let you badmouth perfectly fine wand. It's not thestral paired with yew, spruce, pine, hornbeam, hazel, hawthorn, ebony, or red oak- though that would be gorgeous wand, I wouldd never sell that. Should I continue?" Mulligan shook his head, and he sighed. "I will not sell this child a wand that does not fit her, simply because you dislike her core. If you want another one to fit her, take it up with God."
A sigh, and Mr Mulligan looked down to her.
"It is your choice, pal. It clearly likes you, and, sorry, I don't think any other wand will as much as that. If you do get it to work for you, and work well, then it'll be the best companion you'll ever have. But I don't want you to struggle more than you have to, you know? This world is already new enough for you."
"Alexander would be frothing all over that and you know it," Tad muttered.
"Sorry, how unfortunate that he is dead, then," Mr Mulligan snaps at him. When he turns to Rachel, his gaze softens. "Do you want to buy this, or continue looking for an easier one?"
Rachel looked at it. It did not look at dangerous, or difficult, as Mr Mulligan described. It just looked like a stick. And it was the only stick that worked. And it was good at transfiguration- the magic that changed things. That wand could do that. And, somehow, hearing that his grandfather, Alexander, a man that they seemed to like, would love this wand... it didn't take away from it.
Alexander. What a lovely name.
He shook his head, ridding that thought. He's wasted enough of their time, he'll take this. "I want this one," he muttered, picking it up. When he flicked it again, a joyous laughter rung in the distance, warm as the orphanage's heating pipes in cold winters, and it left a strange hole in his stomach.
A pause. "I see that I have been outnumbered by you two, haven't I?" His light tone returned, and Rachel was relieved to hear it. "So, how many galleons for the waving stick?"
"Twenty-five just for that comment, prat."
"Hmm," he replied, amused. "I'm sure I can convince you otherwise."
"I think I should mention that using magic in here is highly illegal, considering how many times you have done that in the past ten minutes," Tad added, picking off the snake, that was a wand seconds ago, off of his hand. Mr Mulligan waved his hand carelessly, returning it to what it was, before taking out his purse. That must be transfiguration again. Rachel looked at that wand longingly, not knowing why he wanted to learn so desperately how to do that.
"Good luck proving that, mate. Now, how much is it- twelve, thirteen?"
Tad shrugged. "Eh. Nine."
Mr Mulligan paused. "I'm not buying a unicorn one, am I- why is that so cheap? Are you tryna win my favor back, pal?"
"Who else will come brighten my day with wit and suspicious purchases? Nine, I will not take more."
"Franklin will kill us both, kiddo."
"He will kill you for not telling him about her, kiddo, and me if I don't give her a discount."
"You sure?"
"No. Eight now."
"Brat."
"Fox."
"Anyone ever taught you the art of discretion?" Mr Mulligan remarked. Rachel had stopped following the conversation three minutes ago.
"No, I study engineering. But, speaking of discretion, John Laurens was here recently," Tad mentioned, casually leaning on the countertop. Rachel suppressed a groan. Seriously, him again? "Missed him just by a hair. Wow, what a wand Franklin gave him-Red oak, fourteen inches, with Phoenix feather, and, even stranger, is- well, I'm sure you already know."
"Better not talk about it in front the cailín, aye," he replied. "Absolutely thought he'd be dragon heartstring."
The shopkeeper laughed sharply, but not in an unfriendly way. "Oh, thank God it was not. Ayayai, amount of cleaning I had to do after he left! He turned whole room into battlefield- and he only tried three wands! With the amount of magic that kid has, he could power muggle neighborhood for whole year- heartstring would have him exploding the school when he cast lumos."
A shared laugh. "Incredible."
What part of a school- Rachel's school- exploding, was incredible?
"Franklin thought of giving Cherry to try, but he didn't want shop to fall to ruin. Now that is danger wand we would not sell."
"I- fair, I suppose. Thinking of that, your wand isn't that fiddly now, is it?" Mr Mulligan said to Rachel, and he nodded sourly. So his wand isn't special, just difficult. He didn't know why he felt a tad disappointed. He didn't like magic, obviously, but apparently, he was a bit different in this, a bit special. Why did this random boy had to take that away from him?
This John Laurens was a prat.
Tad waved them goodbye, wishing a casual "Come back soon!" to Mr Mulligan, and they exited the shop. Mr Mulligan allowed him to keep the wand, as long at it stayed in his pocket. He fiddled with its handle, but there was no more glow, or the people. He didn't know if he wanted to see them again.
Food was alright. He paid no mind to the people staring at him for shoveling it into his mouth. Silver and bronze coins were being pushed around the table, and Mr Mulligan explained how the money works. "There are 29 knuts in a sickle, seventeen sickles in a galleon, and a galleon- the golden one- is about sixty quid, give or take. The sickles are about three to four pounds, and the knuts are... not a lot. Ten, twelve pence?"
"...No paper bills?"
"Don't have those, sorry- and there's no higher currency than the Galleon. Nothing else in between, either, sorry. Depending on the day, and the mood of the seller, the price varies as well."
Rachel imagined going to the village shop and finding that the milk was suddenly ten quid because the seller hated Thursdays. "That makes no sense."
A tired laugh. "Tell me about it, mate- it's an absolute secretarial nightmare sure. Myself could not get heads or tails of it when I was your age. But that's fine, you won't have to worry about money until Christmas, you'll get a bit of an allowance then."
"Can I go back home at Christmas?"
"Of course." A pause. "But for now, let's get back to the Leaky Cauldron. Try on your uniform, get a good look at your supplies. You can read about all the spells that you want, but don't attempt them with your wand yet." He smiles, and his eyes crinkle. "You'll be an amazing witch in no time, and I hope you'll get to see that in a different light than your Mistress soon."
It was meant in good heart, but Rachel glowered down at his plate. Magic was dangerous, maybe not all of it, but he sure as hell didn't want to be a witch.