Chapter 4
The next morning, Rainy took the time to get a better look at the Hufflepuff common room.
The ceiling was the same as in the dormitory but the walls were entirely made of yellow brick–sandstone? There were multiple round windows on one side of the room, as well as an unlit fireplace that had tables and chairs on one side and comfortable sofas on the other.
By the door, there was a big notice board with miscellaneous missives such as the announcement of this year’s prefects: Nymphadora Tonks and Devan Chahal.
Also on the notice board was a big map of Hogwarts. All classrooms were labelled, as well as the great hall, the library, and Professor Sprout–who was their head of house–'s office.
Someone had also taken the liberty of highlighting all the restrooms in bright pink.
Rainy was motioned closer by one of their roommates. She wore brightly coloured butterfly hairclips along her braids and Rainy had no idea what her name was.
“Want to walk to breakfast together?” the girl asked.
“Sure,” Rainy agreed.
“Wait up!” another of their dormmates yelled. It was the pale one who had commented about the cats. Rainy didn't remember her name either.
They waited for her to catch up before leaving the common room.
“I didn't catch you guys's name last night,” the girl with the butterfly clips admitted, “I was so tired from all those stairs, I just fell asleep.”
“Oh, I’m Yasmine,” the pale girl told her. “You’re Rosen, right? I read it on your bed.”
Rosen nodded.
“I’m Rainy Baggins,” Rainy introduced themselves.
Rosen grinned, “That's a cool name. Are you guys, you know, ‘wizard-born’?”
Yasmine pulled a face, “I’m from a wizard family, yeah. We don't usually say wizard-born, though.”
Rosen pouted, “Sounds dumb to say muggle-born but not wizard-born.”
“She's got a point, I guess,” Rainy admitted.
Yasmine nodded, “Yeah, I guess you're right. I’m wizard-born then.”
Rosen immediately began to ask questions about growing up in the wizarding world and Rainy listened with rapt attention, glad that the two girls were too distracted to ask about her own family.
Rainy's father was a very respectable hobbit who, as a youth, had apparently quite enjoyed wizarding shenanigans but, sadly, grew out of it eventually. Although he had a strange ability to sense magic at times, he was not a spellcaster.
Similarly, Rainy was entirely certain that their mother had not been a wizard either.
Logically, this would mean that Rainy was a muggle-born.
On the other hand, Rainy's parents were both non-humans. Technically, they were considered magical beings by this world's standards. No one thought of a magical being as muggle-born.
But then again, hobbits didn't exist in this universe and Rainy had not grown up in the wizarding world.
Thus was Rainy's conundrum–in which they entirely ignored that this new world had given them a new body as well, as such thinking just complicated things and Rainy still considered themselves mostly a hobbit anyway.
They made their way to the great hall and found places to sit at the Hufflepuff table. One of their other roommates (the redhead) was already at the table, eating porridge while deep in thought.
It seemed that their last roommate, the one with the cat, had not made it to the hall yet.
The hall continued to fill and at exactly seven-thirty every first-year had a piece of parchment appear in front of them. It was their schedules.
During Rainy’s first year at Hogwarts, they would have Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall three times a week (although one was a double period), Charms with Professor Flitwick four times a week, Potions with Professor Snape–and the first-year Ravenclaws–three times a week (again, one was a double period), History of Magic with Professor Binns twice a week, Defence with Professor Stone three times a week, Astronomy with Professor Sinistra every Monday at midnight, Herbology with Professor Sprout (and Gryffindors) twice a week, and Flying Class (again with Ravenclaws) every Tuesday between fourth period and dinner with Madame Hooch.
“Why is Hooch the only one who’s not a professor?” asked a boy a few seats down the table.
“I’m more concerned with why her name is Hooch,” said Rosen, making Yasmine giggle next to her.
Someone clinked against their glass with a purpose at the end of the hall and an immediate silence fell over the hall as students realized it had been Professor McGonagall. Next to her, Dumbledore gave her a thankful nod.
Today, Dumbledore wore a shiny yellow tunic with ruffled sleeves and some white extra ruffles around the collar. He had accessorised with a broad red belt–in which he had tucked his beard–and a bright blue coat with fur trimmings (it was September after all). The hat of the day was pastel pink with a decoration of pearls that matched the embroidery on his tunic.
“Second years, please step forward for your re-sorting,” the headmaster requested.
There was a bout of quiet murmuring as students from all houses made their way towards the three-legged stool that was still standing at the front of the hall. With a wave of Dumbledore’s hand, the old hat reappeared again.
A good amount of the students returned to the tables they had come from but there were some whose uniforms changed colours as they joined their new housemates.
“Statistically, most students first switch houses in their third years,” an older boy was explaining to the same first-year who had asked about Hooch’s title before, “I think it’s because most are scared of losing the friends they made in first year. By your third year, you usually have the confidence to spread out.”
The boy next to him laughed. Rainy recognised him as the blond they had sat next to during the welcoming feast.
“Loughlin here’s been swinging between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff since third year,” the blond said. Then, turning towards Loughlin himself, he added, “This year is your last chance to prove you’re a true ‘puff!”
Loughlin shrugged as if he didn’t really care either way and was thoroughly shaken by his friend for it, who proceeded to rapidly talk to him about house pride and loyalty.
Turning away from the spectacle, Rainy declared, “I hope I make it into Slytherin at least once.”
“Me too,” said Yasmine, “I heard their common room is under the lake. Imagine all the wicked things you can see through those windows!”
Rosen’s eyes widened, “What kind of stuff lives in that lake? It’s not anything dangerous, is it? Like sea monsters?”
“It would probably be lake monsters,” Rainy corrected, “You know, because of the lake.”
Rosen did not seem to like the idea one bit.
“Don’t worry, the Kraken is mostly domesticated,” Yasmine told her and she seemed genuine in her attempt at comfort, if not very effective.
“I think I’ll remain a Hufflepuff,” Rosen told her.
The first week of school did not actually entail any lessons yet. The first years followed their schedule to meet all their professors and receive an overview of what the year would entail. At the same time, it was a way to familiarize themselves with the castle. No one would manage to actually be on time until at least Tuesday but there would still be some students getting lost on Thursday.
The first teacher Rainy officially met was Professor McGonagall. Of course, the witch was also the one who had escorted them all three days before (It was Monday now, the ceremony having happened on a Friday) but it was only now that Rainy was able to study her properly.
Professor McGonagall was perhaps in her mid-fifties. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun at the back of her head and her thin brows and filigree reading glasses gave her the look of a very stern teacher. Although she was head of Gryffindor, she also seemed to exclusively wear green.
(The cat-owning dorm mate of Rainy’s–Leila Hay–turned out to have a fashion historian for a mother and an interest in the topic herself. She had spent almost an entire breakfast analysing the clothing choices of the teachers and decided that nearly everything McGonagall wore somehow symbolised her Scottish origin. Good for her.)
“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned,” the witch said in place of a greeting. “However, this week will see you receiving introductions to your classes and,” she paused, giving them a meaningful look, “You will undergo the making of your wands.”
As the woman had seemingly predicted, the class broke out into excited whispers. With a single pointed look, she managed to breathe silence back into the room. It was quite impressive, really.
“Luckily, this is a double period so we will spend our first period–or what is left of it now that everyone is here–with discussion on this year's syllabus, as well as my expectations of you and the ethics of transfiguration.”
Had this been another teacher, the class might have groaned but as it was, McGonagall was just too respect-inducing (even for eleven-year-olds) to do so.
Then, finally, at nine-fifty-five exactly, it was time for the students to take the first step towards making their wands.
With a flourish of her own wand, McGonagall summoned an assortment of wood pieces onto her desk. They were all different shades and sizes.
“Now I will have you all come forward, row by row, and see which tree speaks to you. Once you have found your wood, you will take it and sit back down.”
A brunette kid in the second row raised his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Diggory?” the professor asked.
“I was just wondering, well,” he was looking at the assortment of wood on the desk, “That can’t be all the wood kinds in the world. What if none of them fit us?”
“Correct, Mr. Diggory,” McGonagall nodded, “These are merely the most common woods and what we have available to us at the moment. Anyone who proves to be unable to find their wand wood today will be encouraged to message their family.”
She motioned the first row of students forward to start the process of finding their wand wood as she continued to explain. “Sometimes mages are drawn to woods of their ancestral homelands or a particular family of trees can be dominant throughout a magical family. Based on today’s results, a rhabdologist–that is someone who studied wands professionally–will send us any other wood we request.”
McGonnagal continued to answer questions as students went and picked out their woods. There were a couple who had to sit back down empty-handed (though the boy who had been worried earlier was not amongst them–the ash wood had called to him almost immediately).
When it was Rainy’s turn, the former hobbit didn’t have to stand in front of the selection of woodcuts for very long before something instinctual led her to pick up a piece of light brown wood. A label underneath the wood informed them it was birch wood.
The class was loudly chattering on their way to the dungeons, where they met with the first-years of Ravenclaw who had gotten their wand woods from Professor Sprout after their introduction to herbology.
“What do you think they mean by “familiarizing ourselves with the wood”?” Rosen asked. They had found themselves a shared bench in the potions classroom.
Rainy, who knew about as much about wizarding tools as any muggle-born (they hadn’t exactly focused on the topic of wand creation in their earlier research), shrugged. They vaguely remembered that Gandalf had once had to use a different staff when his usual one was pulverized. It hadn’t quite worked for him and Rainy had later found out it had been a loan.
“Maybe we need to talk to it,” a red-headed boy suggested. He had half-lidded eyes and was slouched slightly as if tired.
“I suggest you discuss your ideas during lunch, not during introductions that are already cut short by tardiness,” a familiar voice drawled and the class quieted down. Snape had apparently entered the room at some point without anyone noticing.
“It’s not our fault the school layout is so bloody complicated,” a Hufflepuff boy muttered. Rainy vaguely remembered him from breakfast.
“Do you or do you not have maps on the back of your schedule?” the Professor asked, with an unimpressed lift of his dark brows. He ignored the boy’s embarrassed protests to continue addressing the class. “There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making.”
“However, for those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death.”
The class had fallen entirely silent as they listened to the potioneer. He talked them through the year’s syllabus, just as McGonnagal had and then laid down safety rules with a bruskness that left no room for arguments.
“Should I catch anyone misusing their potion craft or endangering themselves and others through simple foolishness,” he intoned, glaring at those he deemed most likely to commit such an act of foolishness (Rainy included), “I can assure you, you will regret it.”