Professor Fig
Meeting Professor Fig would always be one of Leo’s most fond memories. The man was excitable and seemed immediately fond of Leo and his lack of magical control. Without a second thought, the older man had decided Leo would come to stay with him, at his cottage in the country, safely tucked away from muggles where Fig could teach Leo all about magic. Nobody at the ministry spared it even a moment, agreeing with the professor and sending the two on their way. Leo was a little wary at how quickly they shooed them out the door, but Professor Fig assured him it was alright.
“They’re not used to such happenings, you must understand. A child coming into their magic at your age? They would prefer you educated as quickly as possible, so you can have control over your talents, you see? They do not wish for a repeat of what happened to the Sister,” Fig said, leading Leo to a wall of what looked like fireplaces.
Auror Higgins had helpfully explained to him that the fireplaces were floos, magical connections to places all over the country. Homes could have their own floos connected to the ones in the ministry, for faster means of travel. Leo had never traveled by floo before, only seeing them in passing as Higgins pointed them out. He was rather nervous to try it out now, though.
Professor Fig turned to him, hand resting on a bucket filled with black powder, “This is floo powder. You will take a handful of it, step into the floo, speak your destination clearly, and throw the powder at your feet. You will then be taken to your desired location. Now, shall we have a go?”
Leo’s shock and trepidation must have shown on his face, as Fig scooped up his own handful of the powder, and stepped into the fireplace. “I will go first, my boy! Listen and watch carefully, yes? I’ll wait for you on the other side.”
Leo watched aptly as Fig raised his hand in front of him, said, “Abbotsbury,” and threw the powder down in front of him. He disappeared in a flash of green fire, that surprised Leo so much that he stumbled backward, shielding his face with his hands as he did. When the fire cleared, the fireplace was empty, and Professor Fig was likely waiting on the other side. Leo swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling rather fearful at this very moment than he ever has. What would happen if Leo said the wrong name? Would he go somewhere else? What if the place he said didn’t exist, where would Leo go then? He should have asked Fig more questions before allowing the man to just disappear in a cloud of smoke.
His hand reached toward the pot holding the floo powder, shaking as it buried itself inside to scoop out a handful. Instinctually, Leo took a deep breath, filling his lungs full before expelling it loudly. He willed his hands to stop shaking, a little scared that if he dropped the powder too early the floo would turn against him and send him somewhere far, far away.
“I was scared the first time, as well,” a voice to his left said.
Leo whipped his head to the side, finding Tilman standing a little away from him, a smile lighting up his face. His glasses were still dangerously close to falling from his nose, but he looked much the same as he did the other night.
“How old were you?” Leo asked, glancing between Tilman and the fireplace.
The man walked closer, cupping Leo’s hand that held the powder, ceasing his endless shaking. “Twelve. I had spent the holidays with a friend, and his family strictly traveled by floo. I ended up going two streets over from where we were meant to meet. Scared the wits out of me! They found me not too long after, and Merlin did they give me a lecture on enunciating my words!”
He spoke of the story fondly, even as he reminisced on being lost. If Tilman, at twelve, could be brave enough to step into the floo, Leo could, too. He took another breath, smiling his thanks at Tilman, as he stepped into the fireplace. They faced each other then, and Leo lifted his arm in front of him, and said, “Abbotsbury,” as clearly as he could manage. The last he saw was Tilman waving goodbye before the green fire obstructed his view completely.
And just as suddenly as his vision had gone green did it clear entirely, allowing Leo to find himself gone from the atrium of the ministry, and inside a rather small pub, only a few people sitting at the tables near the windows. There was an older man standing behind the bar, watching Leo with a smile in his eyes, but not on his lips. “Always a joy to see a first-timer come round,” the man grunted, voice buried underneath his beard. He raised the glass he was cleaning, and Leo offered a meager wave, turning his attention back toward Fig.
“Fantastic job, Leo! The first time is the hardest, as they say. Welcome to Abbotsbury!” Professor Fig raised his hands up, gesturing to the building around them. Leo hoped the hamlet had more to offer than the dingy tavern they were currently standing in. The ministry itself had given Leo a rather inflated view of the magical world in general, and he was rather excited to explore the rest of it.
“Now, most homes in Abbotsbury are not directly connected to the ministry’s floo network. Too much hassle, you see? Most live near enough to come here, as it is. The ones that live farther away, like I do, apparate into the village.”
Apparate.
That was a new word, and Leo had no context to understand what it really meant. He knew it likely meant to travel, but how? If it wasn’t by a fireplace, how did they get around? Surely Fig didn’t mean by carriage.
His confusion was likely painted on his face, as Fig hurried to say, “You cannot apparate until you’re at least seventeen-years-old, as it is considerably dangerous to do without experience. It is the process of moving from one location to another, without traveling between those spaces, you understand?”
No.
Professor Fig gave a wry smile and gestured for Leo to finally exit the fireplace. Together, they left the pub, with Fig waving to the people they passed. If the village was as small as it seemed, Fig likely knew all of these people. Once outside, Leo basked in the sunshine, tilting his head back and letting his skin warm. Looking around, Leo took note of only two other buildings, a little way down a dirt path from their current standing. One was squatting, seeming to be sinking into the ground. The door was propped open, and a woman that was likely just a few years older than Leo was carrying a plethora of crates into the small cottage.
“That is Doris Bishopper’s shop, the only one in town, mind. So don’t get on her bad side, otherwise, we’ll have to travel far and wide to purchase any potion ingredients, and we definitely don’t want that!” Fig explained, gesturing to the woman.
Leo had no idea what potions even were, and what ingredients they would need, but he nodded along, committing the advice to memory.
The next building was standing proudly compared to Doris’ shop, with smoke billowing from the chimney despite the warm temperatures outside. The straw roof looked weathered, seeming to sag from the building as if growing too heavy to keep itself up.
“The only other shop near is Neil and Gemma Ledbury’s. They offer quite the collection of clothing options, going through the effort of purchasing fabrics from muggle Abbotsbury down the way, and hauling it up this way. Gemma is a talented magic-weaver, and her items are sought after far beyond just Abbotsbury!”
Leo feels a little overwhelmed, staring at the two shops filled with items he doesn’t truly understand. Clothes, sure, but clothes woven with magic? He was unsure what to do with this information, and he still didn’t know what apparating was. Professor Fig laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, bringing Leo’s narrowing eyesight to the older man beside him.
“You’ll adapt quickly, Leo, as all muggleborn children do. It can feel like you’re drowning at first, but you’ll swim soon enough. Now, back to apparating.”
Leo appreciated the pep talk, though he didn’t enjoy the metaphor of him drowning. Fig picked up Leo’s hand, placing it in the crook of his elbow. “Apparating is best learned through experience, I’m afraid.”
Suddenly, the world sank in on itself, Leo’s vision swirling away from him like he was being dragged away from his eyes. His body felt as though it was being crumpled like a newspaper, and thrown away, sending him free-falling through the world itself. Just as suddenly as it started, it reversed. His vision came slamming back to him, eyes throwing themselves into his head. His body unfolded, taking up a regular amount of space rather than only a fraction as before. And he was standing in front of a peaceful-looking cottage, vine-covered stones marking the walls, and a newer thatched roof sitting atop. Leo saw the flowers on the windowsill, and a small garden out front, sporting vegetables already. And then he was on his knees, vomiting violently, stomach still flipping despite the ordeal being over.
Fig gently patted his back, whispering words that Leo was unable to hear over his body rebelling against itself. “It happens to most on their first apparition trip. I hate to say it doesn’t really get better, one just grows used to it.”
Leo does not feel like he could ever get used to that, but he doesn’t voice that aloud, deciding instead to sit back on his heels, and refocus on the sun on his skin. He hears a small whooshing sound, and when he reopens his eyes, his vomit is gone from sight. Fig gives him a smile, and helps him to his feet.
“There is much to learn, Leo, much to learn. But you have had a day of travel, and days of turbulence previous to that. I believe a rest is in order, and then supper. We can begin your education tomorrow morning.”
Fig leads him into the home, walking into the living space and kitchen. It’s small, quaint. Much more homely compared to Saint Cecilia’s, Leo decided immediately. There was a couch that looked well worn, sporting twin sags in the cushions, placed in front of the fireplace. The non-floo-connected-fireplace. Fig gestured for Leo to follow him up the stairs that were tucked away in the corner. There was a small landing, two doors on either side. “This is my room,” Fig said, touching the door on their left, “and this will be yours,” he pushed the right door open, revealing a bedroom filled with sunlight.
There was a chest of drawers, a rather comfy-looking bed, and a shaving table nearer the windows. Leo had no use for a shaving table, though he would enjoy having a mirror to see himself. He rarely saw his own reflection at the orphanage, the nuns seeing no need to keep mirrors about. “We’ll see the Ledbury’s in a day or two about getting you a wardrobe sorted. Until then, I shall transfigure a few of my own items for your use.”
Transfigure.
Leo could fill a book with all of the new words he was learning. Leo had seen a dictionary once, in Sister Margeret’s office. She had let him leaf through the pages for a brief moment, before she sent him on his way to continue his chores. Leo wondered if there was a magic dictionary, for people like him. Fig and Tilman spoke about muggleborns as if they were common enough to be expected. Surely there was a book or two helping assimilate them into the magical world?
“Professor?” Leo asked, catching Fig as he was backing out of the room, likely leaving Leo to rest as he had said earlier. He paused, gesturing for Leo to continue. “Is there a dictionary on all of these words? For words like floo, and apparate, and transfigure. Words that I’ve never heard before but seem to be common for magic people.”
Professor Fig’s lips twitched upwards at Leo’s phrase magic people.
“Witches and wizards, Leo, that is what magic people are called. And… Unfortunately, no, there is no dictionary that I know of about magical terminology. Though that is a good idea!”
Leo rolled his bottom lip in his teeth, thinking of learning all of this at eleven rather than fifteen. He felt out of his depth now, but he could only imagine how overwhelming this would be to him four years ago. He may not have read the dictionary, but having the option to one would be appreciated.
“Could I… Could I have paper and a pen? To write my own, at least?” Leo asked, worried Fig would find his request ridiculous, as the nuns would.
So far none of the magical people (witches and wizards) had treated Leo as the nuns had. Nobody had even mentioned a caning to Leo, which he is finding rather surprising. But he’s eerily afraid of the moment he crosses the line. Of the action he commits that forces Professor Fig’s hand. A cane he could handle, he knows, as he’s handled one for years. But a magic stick? He doesn’t know many spells, and by that he means he knows no spells, but he has seen a few. Leo had watched Auror Higgins freeze and levitate Sister Beatrice before his very eyes. And that was just the beginning. What else could be done with magic? If muggles caned him, what would a wizard do?
Fig seemed to ignore his inner turmoil, that or he didn’t notice it happening, as he happily brought out his stick, waved it gently in the air, and Leo watched as a stack of what he’s assuming is paper appeared, along with a feather, and a jar of ink. “We use parchment and a quill to do our writing. While I am a fan of the muggle invention of the pen, at Hogwarts you’ll be expected to use a quill, so best to get used to it now.”
Professor Fig slid the stick back into his sleeve, smiling at Leo.
“What is it called?” He asks.
There is a silence that permeates the air, before Fig asks for clarification. “The stick you have. Auror Higgins and Healer Lawson had them, as well.”
With that question, Fig pulls the stick back out, and offers it to Leo. He cautiously reaches his hand out, refusing to take it from Fig, but touching it at the very least. He’s unsure of what would happen if he picked it up himself, afraid he might cause the room to explode as he had with Sister Beatrice.
“We call them wands, Leo. We use them to channel our magic, and focus the spells we cast for a more complex result. Each wand has a magical core, made from various materials, but the most common are unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, and phoenix feather. The wood around the core has meaning, as well. But there are far more wood types than core types, and that is a lesson best left for another day. I’ll give you a temporary wand to use this summer, and we’ll get you your own wand when you get to Hogwarts later in the fall.”
Fig slips the wand away again, turning to leave without being stopped by Leo this time. He calls over his shoulder, “Rest now, Leo. There will be time for lessons and dictionary-making over the next few months.”
And with that, the door closes, and Leo is alone.