Chapter 3
Why did he have to run through a stone wall? Surely, they could have made it easier to simply appear, as Mr Mulligan tended to do. How many non-magical kids got lost because of this? Absolutely ridiculous.
The train was magnificent- he hadn't even imagined trains could be so big. Mr Mulligan helped him get his luggage- which wasn't much- on the train. His guide clicked his teeth, "Right, you've got 'bout an hour and a half until the train departs. I've got a little trinket to get out Gringotts- a wizarding bank, doesn't matter- so I'll be leaving you here, alright? If you ever need anything, just shout." A wink. "Literally."
Rachel didn't know if he should be comforted or unsettled. He didn't want Mr Mulligan to go, and sit here all alone, but he knew that he couldn't ask for that. "Alright."
Mr Mulligan smiled, his eyes crinkling playfully, and he stepped out of the compartment, and out of sight. Rachel heard three footsteps, and then there was nothing but the huffing and puffing of the train. Rachel curled into himself, staring at the empty train station through, barren of any life but a few stray conductors. There was a reflection in the glass, as well- an odd-looking stranger in a black dress and covered hair looked back.
Thankfully, she didn't smile at him pitifully.
It was not that long a wait, really- soon enough, little black dots started appearing, with a woman each, sometimes a man. They kissed the kids, pulled them close to their chest, helped them on the train. It seemed like an unnecessary amount of affection given to each child- none of them are crying (well, some were), nor have they done anything special. He watched it all like an ant nest- students bustling, laughter, massive trolleys- he didn't have enough things for a trolley- crying parents(?), hubbub, children running around, screaming like they were seven.
Soon enough, they pushed themselves into the train, chattering excitedly. Three very pretty girls drifted past his compartment, giggling, as did several boys- posh, glass-skinned and cackling. He curled into himself, closed his eyes. No way on earth will he fit in between them. Four brothers, louder than life, found themselves in his compartment. As the train started moving away, away, away, into winding rivers and lush forests, they talked and talked, laughing about them all finally being able to go to Hogwarts together. They didn't talk to him, but they did join him in their awe of grand mountains, sparkling lakes, the countless sheep scattered like salt across the rolling hills.
When the cart came over, offering sweets, they bought a lot. Rachel didn't watch. There was no reason to be upset.
"Agh, I got Washington again!" The eldest exclaimed, the only one wearing a yellow scarf, taking a card out of a box with chocolate frogs that were alive, and jumping around the compartment. "Honestly, just my luck. Hey, miss, do you want the card? I've got two of his already"
"Tench is talking to a girl," his brothers sing-sung, but Rachel still took the intricate card. On it sat a middle-aged man, with greying red hair and icy blue eyes. His stare was piercing, almost as critical as the thin press of his lips.
George Washington, current headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Washington is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Washington enjoys ice cream and vampire hunting.
And the picture moved. Of course it did.
When the sky painted itself a bright orange, the train slowed to a stop. Rachel followed the excited brothers out, with 'Tench' pushing his youngest brothers to a certain place. "Come on, you peasants, you're going on the boats first, then you can eat."
The brothers, blowing raspberries to their eldest, went towards the tall and looming wizard, calling out "First years with me! Come on, boys and girls, we don't have all day!" He was sat in a wooden boat with another girl, and those creaking boats slid onto the lake. It was eery, how they did not need to be rowed. He watched the black waters in a paralyzed trance- something in it moved, dimly glowed, in a way that it should not- only the delighted gasps and exclamations of the other children made him wretch away his gaze from the deep pool.
And, even though magic was an unfortunate fact thrust upon him, with no regard as to what he really wanted; even though Matron drilled in his head how magic twists a person's mind, how it makes them less than human- he had never seen such a marvelous picture in his life.
The castle was spectacular. Glowing, glittering, wondrous, out of this world- utterly, utterly spectacular.
Magic, it was. Magic.
The daze followed him as he climbed up the stairs to the castle. The most simply dressed man he has seen yet, much like the students, greeted them at the top of them.
"Good evening, first year," he announced, tipping his strange flat hat to them in greeting. He had a long nose. "I am professor Greene, and welcome to Hogwarts. In a moment, you'll be entering the hall and taking a seat with your schoolmates- but, before that, you shall be sorted into one of four houses." The houses were based on a person's personality, which was a strange thing to categorize children into. They were named Hufflepuff, for the loyal and persistent; Gryffindor, for the brave and the helpful; Ravenclaw, for the smart and the witty; and Slytherin, for the cunning and ambitious.
How on earth could they categorize someone into that? Those categories were, by far, not mutually exclusive. No other children seemed to have any questions about that, only excitedly discussing what they'll get into.
The hall was grand- hundreds of candles flickered high above the student heads, but below the watercolor canvas of a starry night. It's vibrancy unsettled him- the sky was never that extravagant, instead simply elegant, like sugar scattered across the dark table of the sky. It couldn't be real. The tables were laid by goblets and plates that Rachel wouldn't dare touch for how cleanly they shine.
To him, the hall was massive. The biggest room he'd ever been in. The first year students were made to line up down the center of the room, between the long wooden tables with yellow scarf students, and ones with blue ones.
And then, a scream. Ghosts, because they have to be, fell through the walls, swooping down to them. Rachel squealed, and he wasn't alone- these sickly figures, passed through them, cackling and chortling, delighting in the terrified exclamations.
"Pay no mind to them," Professor Greene stressed behind them. "They cannot hurt you, they are dead."
"Except for Peeves!" Someone in the yellow table exclaimed with a cackle.
"3 points from Hufflepuff," Professor Greene snapped back, "For speaking out of turn and not differentiating a ghost from a poltergeist."
How horrible must it be to be dead, yet alive. He can barely imagine, being safe in his grave, but being pulled out by a force he did not understand away from heaven. A shiver. What if these ghosts were only here because they couldn't get there? One of their heads nearly fell off, and it will be something Rachel will see in his nightmares.
Professor Greene walked- and thank God he could hear it, unlike Mr Mulligan, he would go mad if it were a staple of all wizards- to the front, and placed a four legged stool in front of them. On the top of the stool he placed a hat, which was the most revolting thing he'd ever bloody seen.
Aaaaand it had a mouth. Which opened.
Oh Christ, it started singing.
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, but don't judge on what you see- I'll eat myself if you can find, a smarter hat than me." Its singing was very slightly flat. "You can keep your bowlers black, Your top hats sleek and tall, For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, and I can cap them all."
They're leaving the sorting of the houses to a hat?
"There's nothing hidden in your head The Sorting Hat can't see, so try me on and I will tell you where you ought to be. You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart- their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart." Well, that's a house made up entirely of boys. But, he reconsidered with a thoughtful frown, maybe not, because most boys weren't chivalrous.
"You might belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal, those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil-" Most people perked up at the yellow house, and a whisper or two broke out, "Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind, where those of wit and learning, will always find their kind." Absolutely not. He has no passion for this literal witchcraft. No thank you. "Or perhaps in Slytherin, you'll make your real friends, those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends."
That just sounded like a lot of effort.
Soon enough, names were being called out. A girl stumbled to the hat, a boy, and the hat shouted out the name of the house they shall spend the next seven years in.
Christ, seven years. That's an age.
It was all followed not by applause, but by banging on the table. No one else but a few first years were surprised by this.
"Kinloch, Francis."
He saw the boy again, with even scrunchier curls sitting on his head, and barely restrained excitement on his face. That grimy thing was put on him, and maybe he was too shocked to fling it off like Rachel thought he would.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" He lit up in a massive grin, which he immediately tried to suppress- he failed, really, when his scarf bled into a honey yellow. His house clapped a bit louder for him than for the other students, and he glided there, immediately accepted with pats on the back.
Hufflepuff looked nice to be sorted into. But so did Ravenclaw, whose two older students gave their new house mate a smirk and witty remark that made her laugh. When a red-haired boy was sorted into Slytherin, everyone at the emerald table literally hissed, wide smile on their faces.
"Greetings in snake, apparently," a girl behind him whispered. "One of the oldest Hogwarts traditions to, and I quote, 'accept the new viper into the den'."
"That's not parseltongue," a boy's voice answered flippantly.
"Obviously, it's not. That's an inherited trait, by family." A pause. "But Slytherins like acting like they all have it, because they're all family now. I don't know, Slytherins are weird- especially with how dark they all are."
Words.
"Hamilton, Rachel."
Suddenly, all of the world's eyes were stuck on him. With shaky legs, he moved to the front, sat on the chair.
Oh, sugar, it spoke again.
"Well, not a Ravenclaw, I can tell you that." A laugh that make Rachel near jump out of the his skin. "Not Hufflepuff, either- there's enough loyalty, alright, but that determination will get you nowhere. Slytherin, as well- absolutely enough cunning, I see, but, ah... maybe one day, absolutely, but I cannot let you in now, not if you have not yet seen the good of wizard-kind."
There is no good in wizard-kind. If there was, they wouldn't hide from the rest of the world. Bloody cowards with superiority complexes, they are.
"You don't know what a superiority complex means, child," it remarked with a snort. "You've an alright head on your shoulders, I suppose, but not anything special."
He looked down, red faced. Matron always called him smart, and he could do a lot of things other children couldn't very easily. Maybe he just wasn't a good witch- that he could live with, even if it stirred a strange feeling in his gut.
"I'm no fortune teller, Hamilton," the hat growled in Rachel's head, as if offended. "I expect no hero from you, but not everyone has to be one. You have enough magic to be a decent witch- or- well."
What?
"GRYFFINDOR!" The hat screamed, and the red house clapped, let out a few scattered cheers. He hopped off, joined the table, where he got a few smiles, and no pats on the back. His scarf bleeds into red. It fits his hair, at least.
A few sortings passed in a blur, accompanied by the quiet chatter of the tables.
"Troup, Robert."
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Meade, Richard Kidder."
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Laurens, John."
The chatter stopped immediately. Rachel looked over the other searching heads to see this martyr boy- and there he was. He was a bit disappointed, honestly- he didn't look very different, or very good. He was a blond boy- with hair so light it was a golden eyesore- with a smug expression on his face as we strode up to the chair. Whispers burst out again, and he didn't know why.
"Holy shit, he's got the scar," An older boy whispered to his friend, and Rachel near balked at the language. And yes, Laurens did have a thin scar sitting on the left side of his forehead. "Wow, it does look just like lightning!"
If lightning bolts looked like that, kids wouldn't fear thunderstorms.
He sat on the chair with a smile that definitely looked stunning in pictures- teeth showing, showing excitement that wasn't there seconds ago. The whole room held their breath- Rachel didn't understand why this was so important- but they didn't hold it for long. The hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" before it even lowered on his head.
And the table roared, banging the wood with their fists. The whole hall was enveloped with their thunderstorm. It reverberated through his ribs, rattling his poor heart into joining with a loud thrum. The joy, the pride, of this boy, that echoed across the walls, it was all-encompassing. A warm glow spread across his cheeks, then to his whole body.
It made him feel something he'd never felt before. Rachel wished he could bottle this feeling up, to keep it to himself forever. But it wasn't meant for him. It was meant for the boy trotting down from the podium, another smug smile on his face, like he expected that all. Like he was worthy of that.
Well, he was. The rest of them weren't.
What did it feel like, to be in the center of so much love?
Rachel was pushed to make space for Laurens ten seats away, to the point where his pumpkin juice spilled across the table- the pumpkin juice that wasn't there before. It didn't matter to his prickling eyes that an older student made it vanish moments later. Dozens of students crowded the blond, not all of them red-scarfed, starry-eyed and chattering. His pretentious laugh- so, so loud, and so,so posh- lifted over the massive crowd, even if Rachel didn't see the boy anymore, just the massive crowd. And what did he do, to deserve so much attention?
Rachel bristled, munching on a chicken wing that was once covered in pumpkin juice.
The staff table was- Rachel blinked in surprise- nothing but men. Not a single woman sat there. Were those all the teachers? Surely not. In searching for a single skirt in between all of the colorful clothing, he found a familiar face- grey-red hair, tight lips and an icy gaze overseeing the whole hall. He must be Professor Washington. That was proven correct as he, moments later, stood up.
"Good evening, students!" he said, not loudly, yet people immediately quieted. He fixed his light blue sash that ran from his shoulder- Rachel's only seen such things when he went to the Highland Games once, but Washington's one wasn't a tartan. "Welcome to your last year at Hogwarts, seventh year- I hope you have all had a wonderful summer. First year, we are delighted to have you with us. Some words from the staff- No magic in the hallway, or you shall have to clean it yourself. The forbidden forest is forbidden to any and all students, no matter if there are unicorns in it. Behave respectfully to all, mind your uniforms, and remember- if you somehow managed to break past the wards and wander off to third floor corridor-"
"Hogwarts is not legally responsible for any deaths, injuries, or loss of limbs," Everyone but first year chanted out, half-of-them with their mouths full.
What on earth? No one, not even all the first years, reacted to that absolutely absurd claim. Was this normal?
He's not going to survive the first year, is he?
Soon enough, they were lead to their common rooms. The prefects had to snap at the students from other houses to back off, and away, from a gleeful Laurens. The fat lady watched them all from the portrait with a raised eyebrow. He did not look apologetic when the crowd pushed through the smaller gryffindors, grumbling and still whispering about this stupid boy.
What, was he made of gold or something? Rachel rubbed his throbbing shoulder, trying to keep his tears at bay.
His room was massive, and he shared it with three other people- the three pretty girls he saw on the train. The beds that they were given were bigger than at home, and they each had curtains, embedded with stars. They didn't creak, either.
The three girls- sisters, it seemed- already placed dibs on the beds that they wanted, before Rachel even had the time to look around. He was left the bed closest to the door, which meant he'd be feeling all the drafts. That was annoying, but fine. It didn't bother him too much, and sulking never got much done. He unpacked his things as best as he could- taking out his books, his clothes, and all the other things Mr Mulligan bought him.
"Hey, you," one of the girls stressed. She was the prettiest one, like Goldilocks- yellow curly hair, styled in a way that Rachel could never manage. Her cheeks were rosy and blush, and her sky blue eyes looked at him critically. "where's your pet?"
"My... pet?"
Only then did he notice a black owl, perched on one of their bedposts. And another one- snowy white- hooted to the side, affronted by a wandering kitten. It didn't look like a real kitten, either- it was cleaner than the newest plush toy, and was fluffier than a husky. It stumbled around one of the beds, uninterested and unwary.
"Yeah, where is it?" Another sister, shorter, chimed in.
"I don't have one."
"Oh. Why not?" The original sister asked snidely, crossing her arms.
"I just... don't?"
"Well, don't expect us to share."
"Why would I need your pets?" he replied with a huff, and turned away.
"Angelica, be nice," the third sister, now swaddling the kitten, exclaimed. Her hair was black, and she had the darkest eyes. She was dressed the simplest, though the material was good and fitted her- he could spot trousers underneath her skirt.
This Angelica harrumphed, and stomped to her bed. "I don't want her suddenly wanting to write to her Mummy and Daddy and getting my owl killed."
The third sister laughed. They had parents? He knew people like that existed, of course, but...
He tried to think of a man that looked like the girls, of a woman that raised them, from whom they came from. Of- of- of...
Of... what?
He slept early. The whispering of the sisters made him want to go home.
---
The dress looked fine. Early in the morning, he managed to sew the skirts short enough that he wouldn't trip on them. He struggled with his hair- it refused to succumb to the sharp hairbrush- he heard Angelica laugh at him on the way to her first class. The simpler sister, Elizabeth, lent him her brush. Still, his hair clumped into a frizzy mess, and he was glad for the cap to hide it.
The first lesson was charms, which brewed a mix of anticipation and dread in his stomach. His wand still laid in his pocket, untouched as it can get. Professor Greene tutted when Rachel stumbled into the class late- because of course the blimming staircases moved- and no one bothered to tell him that. "I hope you do not make a habit of this, Miss Hamilton."
He nodded, scampering to the only free desk, next to a boy with a blue scarf. He could spot a golden head at the very front of the class, and not only because everyone around him was pointing at him, whispering among themselves. The crunchy head of Francis also sat by him, snickering at something.
"You're meant to take out your the Spell Book, mate," The blue-scarf boy whispered, which immediately snapped out Rachel of his daze. He rummaged in his bag to find a stiff copy of 'The Standard Book of Spells', and hoped this was the correct one.
Immediately, he was made aware that this type of magic was not going to be as easy as turning a child green or vanishing a tablecloth from the dining room. The waving sticks were taken out- all with different little intricacies, patterns and shades. Angelica's was pink- the same colour of the one that Rachel wanted- with black symbols carved in, the blue-scarf boy's one was light and not entirely straight, with a lovely handle.
Rachel's one barely looked like a stick. It was more a conductor's baton than wand.
It acted like it, as well- when he swished and flicked, said the correct words. No amount of swishing and flicking could get the feather off of the table. Not many students managed to get it to levitate how it should've, but he couldn't do anything at all to it, not even light it on fire, like a yellow boy did on accident. The feather remained untouched, sitting mockingly in front of him. And his was the only one that remained that way, other than one at the front, belonging to no other but John Laurens, whose wand also remained untouched, simply chattering Francis' ear off.
Was he also struggling?
"Laurens, please quiet and try to focus on the spell," Professor Greene interrupted him, his black form stopping in front of the two children. Laurens stopped,looking annoyed that he was interrupted. With a big sigh, he dragged out his wand, pointed it at the feather.
"Wingardium leviosa," he droned out, not swishing or flicking, and the feather stuck to the ceiling before he even finished the incantation. Gasps exploded around the classroom. More whispers, wide eyes. "There, I can do it."
He dropped his wand, and the feather drifted to the table to the left of him. Mr Greene raised a brow, but his expression otherwise didn't change. "Very well. Three points to Gryffindor. Mind that this is a spell to remove gravity, not add an additional force, Mr Laurens."
"You told us to lift the feather," Laurens snipped back, and Rachel watched, horrified. "That is exactly what I did, sir."
Dear Christ, has he never been slapped in his life? That expression would have had Rachel banned from breakfast for 5 months!
But Professor Greene sighed, moved on to look at the rest of the students. Rachel did everything that Laurens did, did it twice as well. Even with Professor Greene towering over him, the feather did not budge. He'd given up on it at the last ten minutes, instead gazing at the passing clouds out of the window.
He stayed after class, fiddling with his scarf until Professor Greene came back to his desk.
"Alright, Miss Hamilton?"
He freezes.
Professor Greene sat down. The buzzing feeling in the air returned when brown eyes met his. "How could I help you, my dear?"
"My wand's not working," he said, instead of what he wanted to say.
"That is not entirely uncommon for a person's first try at it. And- may I?" he asked for the wand, and Rachel gave it. His eyebrows raised. "Oh, I thought you would absolutely be a unicorn, not..."
As if that's meant to mean something.
The professor muttered an incantation. Nothing happened. He put the wand down, and rubbed his hand against his black coat sleeve. "It works fine enough, I assure you."
"You're kidding."
"You are kidding, sir," He chided sternly. "Your wand is a difficult one, that I understand. I've only seen a few thestral hairs before, and they've always been very... particular." A searching eye fell on Rachel. "You do not particularly look like a person that thestral hair would choose, but I suppose that appearances can indeed deceive."
Professor Greene turned the wand once, twice, either not noticing or caring for Rachel's confusion. Moments later, he returned the stick, clarifying that wizards are indeed insane.
"There's nothing wrong with it, Miss Hamilton. Give it a bit more time, it is a fiddly wand."
So everyone tells him. "Why?"
"Why, sir." A thoughtful hum. "You will come to understand that all wands have their own downsides. Unicorn wands are easy to use, but that's because they're not particularly strong, unless in very skilled hands. Pheonix feather holds the greatest range of magic, not too much power, but it has a personality, and sometimes acts on its own. Your wand holds a lot of power. Dragon's heartstring also holds a lot of power- and it is very prone to accidents if not handled correctly. When your wand is not handled correctly, it will simply refuse to work."
He was doing all the right things, though. "I think the wand chose wrong. I'm not the right person for it, or it would work."
A chuckle at the incredibly reasonable statement. "It's yours, Miss Hamilton, that much I can assure you."
"How?"
"I happen to be a professor, my dear, specializing in wand-work."
That answered nothing.
"You have quite a while to figure it out, and not without help, dear. Every child moves at their own pace," Professor Greene continued with a smile. "I am sure you shall get the hand of transfiguration long before anyone else."
Was that meant to be comforting?
...Though he was very interested in what that was.
"Do I have to learn this?"
"Hmm?" Professor Greene asked, leaning in.
"I don't want to learn magic," he reiterated. "Can't I just go home? I can't do it, anyway, and I don't want to."
A pause, and then a warm smile. "Mr Mulligan has said very nice things about you." Rachel blinked. "He also warned me that you might ask that. Unfortunately, unless you're homeschooled with a magical education, we cannot let you go."
"Why?" He demanded. "I don't wantto do magic! I could always go to a normal school! If I don't learn magic, then I won't be able to use it, ever!"
A chuckle. "Well, that answers the question of how much you know, I suppose. A witch cannot not use magic. If you are magical, you are magical. It's as vital as blood, and you cannot not have it. There's nothing in the world you can do to stop that, other than dying." Rachel's mind called back to the flashes of red, yellow, green, green, green. "You are here to learn how to control it, to understand how it works, to learn to channel it in the best way. After that, Miss Hamilton, you'll be able to do whatever you wish."
"Will I be able to go home?"
A tight smile. "If you so wish, absolutely."
"Alright." A pause. "Can I go now?"
"May I go now, sir?" He corrected him, only receiving a nod from Rachel. "And are you sure you do not wish to speak on anything else?"
"No..?" A pause. "Sir?"
"Alright. You are dismissed. Herbology is down in the gardens- the stairs down by the dining hall." A note appears in his hand, with a few words written in loopy green. "Give this to your Professor for me, my dear."
He took the paper and trudged out of the classroom, disappointed. As he tried to get to the stairs, they moved again.
The only benefit to learning magic would be to knowledge on how to remove it, he decides, clambering his way down to his next class.