Anchali Chanthara
Anchali’s brown eyes surveyed the Great Hall, watching the students that lulled about, lazily eating their lunch and chatting to their friends about their work. Anchali seemed like a stereotypical Ravenclaw to most people, keeping mostly to herself and her studies. She felt a bit out of place in Hogwarts. Her family all went to Mahoutokoro, the Japanese wizarding school, despite all hailing from Thailand. Mahoutokoro was the closest wizarding school they could attend, and so they were fluent in Japanese from a young age. Anchali was the only person in her family who had attended Hogwarts, and she greatly wished it wasn’t so. She sat at the Ravenclaw table alone, poking and prodding at her bowl of baked pumpkin as she played with the idea of simply leaving the Great Hall and going anywhere but Hogwarts. Anywhere that wasn’t filled with the snivelling, pompous, selfish Slytherins that grated her nerves, day in and day out. Ever since Harry Potter was chosen for the Triwizard Tournament, the entire castle had been even worse than usual. Kids wearing “Potter stinks!” badges roamed the halls, jeering at the chosen one in an attempt to bring his spirits down. It wasn’t just Slytherins annoying her anymore, but any student from any house who thought it was an original, hilarious idea to poke fun at the Chosen One. Anchali rolled her eyes at her fellow Ravenclaw classmate, Marina, who took a seat across from her, boasting a “Potter Stinks!” badge with a smirk painted onto her face.
“Fancy yourself a badge, Chanthara?” Marina teased, noticing Anchali’s expression.
“No thanks.” Anchali sneered back. It was only ten minutes into lunch and she was already annoyed. She swung her book bag over her shoulder and quickly stood up from the table. Her baked pumpkin sat uneaten in her bowl, swirled around into something that didn’t even look like baked pumpkin, baby puree, perhaps? Whatever it looked like, Anchali was not eating it, as she was already halfway out the doors of the Great Hall, leaving behind a confused Marina, who scoffed and grabbed a cup of orange juice, her badge spinning and making a loud whirring noise as it did so.
Anchali decided to make her way to Transfiguration early. Professor McGonagall had been kind enough to leave her classroom open for students to stay in if they needed a quiet spot away from the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts. The library was of course an option, though if a student didn’t want to be around other people, it wasn’t a viable option.
The classroom was empty, save for one student. A small smile had found its way onto Anchali’s face when she noticed who it was, and she rushed over to sit beside them. Her best friend, Albhi, a Scottish student with grey eyes and short, brown hair turned to her with wide eyes, startled by the screech of the chair next to him being dragged out from under the desk.
“Oh, Anchali! Fancy seeing you here! What brought you here so early?” He chattered, happy to have someone to talk to. He started putting away parchment that he had been mindlessly drawing on before Anchali sat next him.
“Too many pricks in the Hall, I figured they wouldn’t be hanging around McGonagall’s room. Speaking of, do you know where she is? I need to ask her about our assignment.” Anchali started rummaging through her book bag, eventually pulling out her Transfiguration textbook along with a parchment and quill as Albhi responded to her.
“She’s with Dumbledore, she said something about the Tournament but I can’t remember what it was. How do you feel about it anyway? The Tournament, I mean. You know it hasn’t happened since 1776, right? Apparently a few kids died that’s why they haven’t held it in so long. I can’t imagine why they thought it’d be a good idea to bring it back again.” Albhi babbled as Anchali settled at her desk, finally making eye contact with him.
She brought up how she was nervous about the Tournament, how she was worried for Cedric and Harry and was frustrated about the Tournament being a thing in the first place. Who would create such a thing for children? Their main focus until they’re 17 is supposed to be practising and learning about magic. Both Anchali and Albhi were firmly against it. Albhi more so as he had done an abundant amount of research into the cruel history of it. They continued chatting about the ethics of the tournament, who they thought had better odds of winning, and the Yule Ball before Albhi seemed to remember something, as his eyes widened and he let out a small gasp before firing a question at Anchali.
“By the way, before I forget, I wanted to ask if you want to be my date to the Yule ball,” he noticed Anchali pause in her movement and stammered, continuing on, “you know, since we’ll both be here for it. As friends of course. You’re one of the only people I’d feel comfortable going with that isn’t already going with someone else.”
Anchali’s deep brown eyes seemed to show a glimmer of knowledge. She nodded.
“Of course, you’re the only person I’d go with.”
Albhi seemed to relax and started getting ready for their lesson, both of them chatting together until the rest of the students started streaming in.
Anchali noticed another student sitting in the middle of the back row of the room. She didn’t notice him enter the room, nor did she know who he was. It was quite strange to her. Surely she would have known everyone in her classes by now, it had been over a month since her fourth year at school had started.
The unknown student scribbled away on pieces of parchment. He hadn’t lifted his head up once, though he stopped only for a moment every now and then to bring the tip of his fountain pen to his tongue, then continued to scribble away. He seemed entirely out of place, from the scruffy, unkempt hair to the Hufflepuff uniform that seemed like it had been thrown on without a care in the world. The fountain pen was the one part that stood out to Anchali. Everyone used quills in Hogwarts. If the act of dipping one’s quill into an ink pot constantly was troubling enough, then a self inking quill would be bought. No one uses fountain pens unless they were a muggleborn who had never been around magic before, but if this student was in fourth year Transfiguration, this wouldn’t be the case. Anchali furrowed her brows in confusion then slowly turned to face the front of the class again, resolving to bring it up to Albhi after class.
The Transfiguration classroom was alive with a light hum of conversation filling the air. The high ceilings seemed to continue to stretch for metres upon metres, and the white stone walls reflected the natural sunlight so much so that there was no need to use the lanterns that adorned the room. The chatter died out as Professor McGonagall entered the room. Her robes billowed behind her as she walked with a determined pace past the student’s desks, eventually taking her place behind the stone lectern. She greeted the class, and her eyes scanned the room for anyone who may have been missing. Making a mental note on the unoccupied desks, her gaze fell upon the student in the middle of the back row, still scribbling away on parchment. She knew who he was, but he hadn't been in this class before. Before carrying on with her lesson she noticed the student licking his fountain pen every so often.
His tongue was completely black with ink.
Minerva McGonagall felt a sudden shiver run down her spine and quickly flicked her gaze to the rest of the class. This matter will be discussed with Dumbledore in due time.