Chapter 2
The mode of transportation to the magical school was... by train. Suprisingly mundane, though the fact that we had to go through a barrier to reach the train did make it a bit exciting for Harry.
I cracked open my copy of Hogwarts, A History as I settled into the compartment with Harry. He watched the scenery out of the window as I read.
Convincing his uncle to allow Harry to stay with us hadn't been hard. One could say he was eager to get rid of Harry, even. I decided to investigate his homelife a bit more, after this school year ended. The signs for mistreatment were all there but Harry had been quite tight-lipped during his stay with us.
Oh well. I had time.
The door slid open to reveal a ginger boy with freckles and blue eyes. For a moment I wondered if Emma was... reincarnated too but the moment passed and I was left wondering in which way I had sensed a resemblance.
Greetings uttered, names exchanged, Ron dropped next to Harry with awe in his eyes. Ah. That was a thing. Harry was famous for being the supposed cause of the demise of a villain so terrifying that authors were afraid to write his name -his cape name- down.
Ron, a part of the wizarding world since he was born, was able to provide the two of us with some casual, real-life info.
Eventually the talk arrived to who would be sorted into which house.
"Gryffindor, of course!" Ron declared. "My whole family was sorted there. I can't imagine going anywhere else. Ravenclaws are a bunch of bookworms and Hufflepuffs aren't famous for much. Either would be better than Slytherin, though."
I chuckled internally. Houses seemed to give way to an almost sport-club type of rivalry between the students of Hogwarts and even the people of magical Britain. Ron was not being fair to the other houses.
"I'm okay with being in any of them," I told him with a slight smile tugging at my lips, one adapted after many public relations lessons and showings. I more or less knew how to handle brats. Harry nodded.
Ron appeared to be horrified. "I could have guessed you would be okay with Ravenclaw, but Slytherin? Nothing good ever comes out of that house! Almost all future dark wizards are sorted there. You-Know-Who was sorted there!"
The trick to endure such tirades was to hold the illusion of remaining patient, even if I was internally reminded of some of the sillier kids I had to deal with as a ward. "If it really was the nest of villainy you are making the house to be, wouldn't the Ministry close it down for being such a problem? Wouldn't the staff? Surely they wouldn't allow the house to remain?" Personally, my trust in authorities was among the lowest so perhaps I wasn't being fair to Ron, but it wouldn't make sense for him to be right even if the authorities of the wizarding Britain turned out to be imcompetent or downright evil as I imagined things would be noticeably different.
A look of frustration settled on his face. He leaned forward and voice barely a whisper, he uttered, "Maybe I'm blowing things out of proportion, but you have to understand, it has been ten years since the war ended. The kids of the unconvicted Death Eaters -the followers of You-Know-Who- are all grown up. Which house you think they go to?"
Realisation dawned on Harry. "Slytherin?" he guessed.
Nodding, Ron said, "You get it know? You are a Muggle-born, Taylor, you would be in danger in that house."
My blood ran cold. The books had not mentioned this. I had no idea I could possibly board for years with a bunch that hated my guts because my parents weren't magical.
Wait. Unconvicted Death Eaters? I asked Ron about it.
"Voldemort's followers that claimed to have been under the effects of the Imperius Curse to avoid getting sent to Azbakan. Though the children of the convicted ones were likely sent to live with their relatives so big chance they share their parents' belief too."
Azkaban too, was another thing to think about. So, so many things to think about. Things weren't the rainbow and sunshine I hoped them to be even with magic.
I had been getting ahead of myself. Ron was childish, courtesy of being a child, and biased but he had more knowledge and experience in the wizarding world than I had, and was good enough of a person to worry for and warn me. I felt bad for insulting him in my mind a moment ago.
Further indication that while I had the name, physical body and the memories of Taylor Anne Hebert of Bet, I wasn't her. I was just an eleven year old, complete with an immature brain.
I plastered a cocky grin on my face. There were no bugs for me to dump by emotional expressions on, and maintaining the image of calm I had before could be challenging for me. My attempt didn't seem to be working the way the two were looking at me with little smiles on their faces.
"Still though, Dumbledore is the headmaster, no? He is the greatest wizard alive. How bad could it be? I say we go and see it for ourselves." I wasn't trying to just be reassuring. I didn't want to presume things about little kids, even the possibility of them being horrible "fantastic racists" as the internet defined it. My lollipops, when phrased like that the term sounded so fucking disastrous.
Plus, if that was their upbringing, there would be plenty of time to fix their minds in the following seven years. They could be little shits, sure, but none of them would be seasoned gangsters like members of the E88 and ABB.
Ron nodded and Harry patted me on the shoulder, almost visibly secreting worry. "If someone acts like a jerk to you, tell me."
My Yank words were rubbing off him, it seemed.
I was glad to have cracked a book open with Harry at my side, but it was clear we had much to figure out about this new world we were entering.
Snacks arrived, the conversation stilled, and I returned to my book.
...
We found the frog -toad, or whatever- in the toilet. I had taken the chance to allow Harry and Ron to bond further without me in the way. I wanted Harry to make close friends and Ron was an eager candidate.
"So that's why I'm planning to go see a dragon sanctuary. None exist around here but there is a small one in Ireland, and I have already travelled to France before with my parents, isn't it rude that Ollivander didn't tell me anything about how to collect wand woods? Trade secret, I assume. No matter, Hogwarts has a giant library so I don't need..."
Hermione's yappings were almost as likely to sink to the background as Greg's, though I had to admit hers were more justified. At least she wasn't ranting about how the ten thousandth nerf Glolog-Mlolog received. I couldn't help but smirk. Maybe Greg had already succeeded at achieving whatever ranking he wanted in that stupid game.
Or maybe he was dead.
"And so I casted the spell and it worked! But then professor McGonagall showed up and told me the underage wizards or witches weren't allowed to use magic at home! I couldn't believe it! So unfair! How did she know anyways?"
That stopped me in my tracks. I had used magic at home and Harry had too, a simple Lumos and no one had popped up to warn us.
Fuck. So many things so think about.
I bid Hermione and Neville goodbye -the kid was shitting his pants, what the hell- and went back to my compartment.
Three boys were hovering near it at the moment of my arrival.
Blondie pointed a finger at me. "You. Is this your compartment?"
His attitude annoyed me. "What if it is?"
"I want to know if this is where Harry Potter is."
I shrugged. "Why?"
Wrong answer, clearly, as he hmmed. "So he is here. I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. And you are?" he asked. The two huge boys behind him didn't warrant any introduction, it looked like.
"Taylor Hebert."
A thoughtful look seized his features before leaving it's place to a sneer. "I don't recognize that surname. You sure it's not Herbert?"
Ah, fuck. "Nope, I'm a Muggle-born. The letter was quite suprising. Pretty interesting, this whole magic thing," I tried.
Wrong thing to say, apparently. That ignorant foreigner act only allowed his sneer to get worse. "A mudblood," he spat. Likely a slur, though I was calm in front of it. Why was I so calm now when I had been easily flustered back in the compartment? Because this was a confrontation? I couldn't control bugs but I had confirmation my passenger was still with me, was this it's doing? Or had my skills, my training not eroded at much?
My wonderings were cut short as the compartment door was pushed open to reveal a red faced Harry and Ron behind him.
"Ah, you must be Harry Potter," Draco attempted to greet, but Harry wasn't having it. He shouldered past the big boys and put himself between Malfoy and me.
"Leave my friend alone!" he snapped. Warmth crawled up my chest.
Draco's left eyebrow rose to hid under his bangs. "Friend? The infamous Boy-Who-Lived, friends with not only a Weasley, but a mudblood cripple. You'll learn that some wizards are better than others, Potter. I can only hope you'll come to your senses before the sorting and claim your seat near me in Slyherin."
"Piss off, whoever you are," Harry growled.
"Your friend can tell you who I am," Draco countered. He left, went through the staring contest Ron and the two big boys were having and absolutely ruined it. One of them followed Draco immediately, but I lunged and grabbed the back of the other. He turned to me.
I extended my hand. "Name's Taylor Hebert."
He looked bewildered, but eventually shook my hand. "Vincent Crabbe." Then he left.
"Bloody hell, what a bunch of prats," Ron said to me. "Why did you even bother with the last guy?"
"I had to start somewhere."
He didn't get it, but didn't press. "What did that blondie say to you? Sounded like he was whispering insults."
"I'll tell you in the compartment."
That's when Harry interjected. "Damn, if that ass is a Slyhterin then I sure as hell don't want to be in that house." It was nice to see Harry expressing his anger. Most of the time he was just a bundle of nerves and anxiety. "Sorry Tay, we heard the voices but the bean we split in two turned out to be the poop flavored one. We were having a pretty hard time".
I giggled at the sheer silliness of that even though it sounded like an unfunny cartoon joke.
Draco was indeed an ass but still, I felt conflicted about him. Was he the child of one of the Death Eaters? He must had been parroting his parents' words, no way an eleven year old could be so hostile otherwise.
Troubled, the three of us moved back into our compartment.