No one gave a shit about soulmates. At least not until they’re sixteen. I’m already twenty-one and I still don’t care about mine.
When a wizard turns sixteen, they develop something called a Soulmate Mark. It’s a dumb ass tattoo that appears anywhere on your body (usually the same place as your soulmate).
What makes them stupid, in my personal opinion, is the fact that the mark can be anything. An image, a doodle, an animal, an object, a word, multiple words, a letter, initials, a name, a phrase, a number, a series of numbers. One person I graduated Ilvermonry with had the digits of Pi that wrapped up their arm like a fucking tat sleeve.
Not to mention that the whole idea of this fucking core magical power that overarches all wizardkind, telling us which person is ‘perfect’ for us. That can’t be true. I’ve known people that had their soulmate die only a year after meeting them. My own mother and father were soulmates and got a divorce because she cheated on him. The heartbreak eventually killed him. Just because they were soulmates doesn’t mean they were perfect, my mom was still the infidelious bitch that chose to cheat with another man.
And some people refuse to think that soulmates are anything less than perfect.
Whatever. Soulmates are dumb and I don’t even know why I’m talking about them.
Oh wait, no, I remember, now.
I’m talking to Hermione Granger, my friend from the British Ministry of Magic’s Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at a pub near my house. We were talking about any job opportunities in the Ministry because the job I’ve had for the last two years at the British Museum almost outed me as a witch.
Soulmates came up because I asked how she came up with S.P.E.W. and she went into a whole anecdote about her boyfriend/soulmate helping her build the movement after calling it dumb in her school years.
“My mark is, of course, his most used words,” the bushy haired woman rambled, pulling her sleeve down her shoulder so I could see the blank scribbled words on her skin. Bloody hell . “He says it at least twenty times a day, if not more. But, he is my soulmate and I love him. I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for him, as a matter of fact. Oh! Would you like to meet him?”
I blink, confused as to how she got there so quickly. “I’m sorry?”
“Ron? Would you like to meet him? I’m sure he would love you. He’s very sweet and welcoming. And I’ve told him all about you, of course.”
“You have?” I ask. “Why?”
“Well, I am quite fond of you,” she chuckles. “We’ve been friends for almost two months now, Becca. And Ron is an Auror, so he’ll definitely know about any job openings within the Ministry. Aurors are the centre of everything around here.”
“Sure, why not?” I say with a friendly smile.
“Brilliant!” she exclaims. “I’ll owl you, but does this Saturday work? I’m meeting Ron up in Hogsmeade. I can pick you up and we can go together.”
Even after a few months, I am still struggling to keep up with how fast she talks. Her thick accent doesn’t help, but I piece together her words and nod. “Yeah. Here’s my address.”
I quickly write down my address, 60 Mylne Street, on a napkin and pass it to her. She startles a moment, as if surprised I just gave her my address.
“Everything alright?” I ask.
She shakes off whatever stupor she put herself in. “Yes, sorry. It’s just strange getting used to how things are now that the war is over.”
Oh right, the Wizarding War. That was a whole thing that ended the year before I graduated. I knew all about the war, my father was worried sick that it would come overseas. But I never worried. That Potter kid defeated Lord Voldemort and now everything is fine.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t mean to bring any of that up for you. You must have still been a teenager back then.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Hermione smiles pleasantly, tucking the napkin in her pocket. “It’s over and done now, no sense dwelling on it. I’ll see you on Saturday?”
“See you then, Hermione.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two days later, there’s a knock at my door.
“Hey, Hermione!” I greet happily, closing the door behind me. She sent me an owl yesterday saying she would be here at ten in the morning, so I made sure I was good to go by nine-forty-five. Sure enough, she was at my doorstep at exactly 10:00 AM.
“Ready?’ she asks.
“As I’ll ever be,” I reply, closing the door behind me and placing all my wards.
Should I be a little more reserved about a person I have only known for two months Apparating me to Scotland to meet her boyfriend? Maybe. But I am a witch from the Wampus House, Transfiguration, Defence and Potions were my best subjects. I could have become an Auror if I wanted, but I chose to follow my Transfigurations passions instead. I studied Transfiguration for another three years before getting a book published about Human Transfiguration, including my process of inventing Human Switching Spells. After that, I got a job at the Muggle British Museum in the Restorations Sector, restoring artefacts that arrived from around the world to be put on display. It was a wonderful job, it’s where I met Hermione who was searching for a rogue Demiguise that was hiding somewhere in the museum. I had fun, until a tour group walked in on me using magic to restore an old Greecian pot and I had to spend an entire month tracking those people down and Obliviating them and whoever they told. I quit the job a week later to avoid any other mishaps such as that.
“Hold on tight,” Hermione warns as I take her arm. The minute I have a grasp of her forearm, she Apparates.
We pop into existence at the entrance of a cute village. The buildings are quaint and the shops all have an abundance of customers. Most of the people around us are school kids. The students must spend their weekends here. It is the first week of September after all.
“This way, Becca,” Hermione pulls me in the direction of a pub. It’s called the Three Broomsticks and it is so busy we could barely move.
“‘Mione!” a deep voice calls over all the chatter.
The woman drags us toward the voice. It belongs to a tall, red-headed man with blue eyes and freckles. He is definitely attractive and the way his face lights up at the sight of my friend tells me that this is the one and only Ron.
“Ron!” Hermione confirms my speculations, letting me go to hug the man. “I missed you.”
“We saw each other yesterday, love,” he rolls his eyes.
“Shut up,” she scolds playfully before turning back to me. “This is Becca. The woman I was telling you about.”
“Ah, so you’re the one who found the rogue Demiguise,” Ron stretches his hand forward in an offer to shake mine. I take it. “An honour to meet the woman Hermione has been praising the last few months.”
I blush. “It was nothing,” I say modestly, following their lead and sitting in the booth Ron had held for us. “I was happy to help.”
“I also told Ron about your book,” Hermione suddenly says. “He read it at least three times.”
“Correction, I read it once and then you proceeded to recite it to me from memory another two times,” Ron rolls his eyes. “She really liked your book.”
“Oh shut it, Ronald,” Hermione jabs him with her elbow. “Becca managed to invent a Human Switching spell. It was thought to be impossible but apparently not!”
“It’s still incredibly difficult to achieve, though,” I remind her. “It took me three years to master it, and even now I find it hard to pull off. The mental strength, practice and power it takes to do it is immense. The theory alone is hard to wrap one’s mind around.”
“It’s still brilliant that you invented it,” Hermione waves her hand at my humble words. “Now, when is Harry arriving?”
“Harry?” I ask.
As if summoned by the mention of his name, a tall man with honeyed skin, black hair, round glasses and piercing green eyes approached the table.
“Hey guys,” he greets. “Who’s this?”
“Harry, meet Becca,” Hermione introduces. “She’s the friend from Canada that I was telling you about.”
“The one who invented the Human Switching Spell,” Harry smiles, holding his hand out for me to shake. I take his hand with a matching smile. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
A short silence falls and Hermione is quick to fill it as Harry slides in next to me. “Harry is the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts,” she explains.
“Professor?” I turn with an impressed smirk toward the man. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a professor so young.”
“He and I were Auror partners beforehand,” Ron supplies an explanation.
I tilt my head curiously. “What made you change professions?” I ask.
Harry shrugs. “I decided the classroom was a better fit for me than the field,” he answers.
“More your speed?” I suggest. He nods. “Yeah, the academic world is a lot easier to deal with than the real world.”
“You teach as well?” he asks, his interest piqued so much it surprises me slightly.
I nod. “I shadowed the Transfigurations Professor at Beauxbatons for a year for research purposes. Ended up becoming a teaching assistant as I was writing my book.”
“Would you ever consider teaching as a career path for yourself?” he asks.
I give him a suspicious look. “I mean, maybe. I did enjoy it while at Beauxbatons.”
Harry’s face lights up. “Hogwarts is looking for a Transfigurations professor at the moment. You should apply. I’m sure Headmistress McGonagall would love to meet with you.”
I sputter a moment. My gaze goes to Hermione who hurriedly looks away from me. She definitely knew there was a position open; she set this up. Clever woman.
“Very clever, Hermione,” I sneer at her with no malice. I turn back to Harry with a shrug. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to try.”
“Excellent!” He looks around the room for a moment before his eyes widen and he jumps out of his seat. “Professor McGonagall!”
A tall elderly woman in a green dress and matching hat turns to smile at Harry. The two talk for a moment, their words are drowned out by the amount of people in the pub. Harry gestures over toward me and the woman’s eyes meet mine. Her gaze is piercing but I refuse to let her intimidate me. A trait that got me in many fights back in school.
After a few seconds of scrutiny, the woman and Harry make their way back toward us. I stand from the booth to greet the woman.
“Professor Potter here tells me you are Rebecca Trader, author of Switching Perspectives: A Guide To Human Transfiguration ,” she says. I only nod at her, confirming that her statement is correct. There is a brief moment when I realise that this Harry person is in fact Harry Potter, the kid that defeated Voldemort, but that moment passes quickly. He’s just a regular person, like the rest of us. But now, that also makes way more sense as to why he became a teacher rather than continue being an Auror. I can imagine he wants a break from all the action after being the centre of it for his whole life.
“Are you interested in teaching the next generation of wizards and preparing them for the world?” she asks.
“Yes, Ma’am,” I answer.
“Do you believe you are qualified to teach at the N.E.W.T. levels?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Do you enjoy teaching children despite all the trouble they can be?”
“I do, Ma’am.”
“Do you have any references?”
“Professor Lefebre from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.”
“You start on Monday.”
“Yes, Ma- Wait what?”
“If Professor Potter, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley believe that you are qualified to teach, then they have my full confidence,” Professor McGonagall smiles. “You will shadow myself for the upcoming week before I must return to my own duties. Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Trader.”
I stand, wide-eyed, unable to say anything due to shock. The Headmistress simply bids the other three goodbye and leaves.
“What just happened?” I ask in a daze.
Harry smiles. “You’ve just been hired as Hogwarts’ newest member of staff. Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” I say quickly. “I need a drink.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Professor,” a hand raises into the air and I stop writing the assignment instructions on the blackboard to acknowledge the question. “Do you know who Professor Potter is?”
I freeze for a moment. Where on earth did that question come from?
“I fail to see how Professor Potter has anything to do with turning a desk into a boar, Miss Kindling,” I say with a stern tone, trying to tell her that she should move away from the topic and get back to the class material.
“It’s just…” she sucks a breath between her teeth. “You’re from North America and we were wondering if you knew about the War and who he was and all. Since you don’t seem to gawk at him like other people do when they first meet him.”
The other students around her glared as she threw them under the bus with her phrasing. I sigh. I’ve taught teenaged girls before, and I know that they won’t let anything go until you give them any inkling of gossip.
“Miss Kindling,” I begin, “The Wizarding War was a major event, so yes I know all about it. I know exactly who Professor Potter is. Which is exactly why I choose to treat him like a human being. I don’t know his full story, but I can imagine he spent a great deal of his life having strangers treat him in ways that may have made him uncomfortable, such as gawking. He is a friend and colleague of mine that I treat with the same respect as any other teacher in this school.”
The students all stare at me with different expressions. Some of them had a bored expression, others were disappointed, but most were impressed.
“Now, Miss Kindling,” I direct my students back to the course material, “would you mind explaining how casting this spell can go disastrously wrong?”
As she begins her explanation, I notice the door to my classroom shift closed. Was someone there? Why didn’t they announce themselves?
Classes go normally through the rest of the day. Teaching, I have found, is much more satisfying and enjoyable than I imagined. Transfiguration is what I’m best at and these children respect me for it. I even had a few Ravenclaws ask me to sign their copies of my book.
I love it here.
“Becca!”
I turn around. Harry is running towards me with his signature bright smile. I smile back.
“Hi, Harry,” I greet. “What can I do for you?”
He stops in front of me, his eyes cast downwards and a blush creeps up his neck. “Thanks,” he says sheepishly.
I blink, confused. “For what?”
“For what you said to your seventh-years today,” he explains. “I forgot you had a class and was gonna ask how things were going, but I overheard what you said to them. So… erm… thanks. For being normal around me.”
I smile, reaching up to gently squeeze his arm. “It’s no problem, Harry,” I assure him. “It’s the least I could do for the Saviour of the Wizarding World.”
He blushes and I can’t help but find it cute. He’s so dorky for someone who defeated one of the Darkest Wizards ever known.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
“I’ll see you around?” he asks, cheeks dusted with pink.
I chuckle. “See ya ‘round, Harry.”
With a kind smile, I give him a small wave before turning back around to head towards my room.
I have a few quizzes left to mark before tomorrow and I have to get them done. Once I get the image of Harry’s adorkable smile out of my head.