Aspen
In the dead of night of the Devil’s Acre in Victorian London, the scurrying of rats was the only sound prevalent that dared to break the silence of night aside from the usual outgoings of what some would consider one of the worst slums the sun and moon had ever cast light or shadow upon. There, stuck in midst of all the villainy and filth stood an orphanage funded by the city in hopes of showing the public the help they were bestowing upon the area.
But really, everyone knew it was farce though no one sought to fight it or point it out nor bring light to the terrible treatment that was sure to be ongoing inside the walls of the massive complex. Why would they when it was only logical to assume it, when outside the walls pickpocket and thieves thrive in the streets. Prostitutes roam the night looking to bed anyone and sharpers converge looking for their next prey to rob from in the form of simple yet rigged games.
Everyone knew to pity the poor young souls that lived in the New Haven Home for Boys and Girls.
The building itself already warded off anyone with right enough mind. Its crumbling exterior brick face is none too pretty and the dusty windows make it hard to see through. The cans and scraps that scatter the courtyard make it great for the rats to scurry about and hide behind, lending their help to the plague and disease that breed in the slums of Westminster Abbey.
Its tall six story structure looming over the rest of the city like a foreboding castle on top of a hillside announcing its so-called helpful presence. The damp and stagnant air makes it hard to breathe, seeming strongest on its grounds as it rests in the heart of what used to be marshlands prior to the city being built.
Inside fared no better as walls were painted poorly and already chipping off, lower parts of said walls scribbled in foul words and phrases (faded from attempts to scrub it out as a mild form of punishment to the artist themselves). Dust and cobwebs gathered at the corners and main thresholds needing constant monitoring due to nails beginning to stick out, waiting to inflict harm on whomever.
The main level held most of the common areas such as the kitchen and main eating quarters. A few rooms with doors taken off the hinges to act as smaller living rooms for the children to play and lounge in as well as a few slightly nicer rooms, done up for when the occasional guest or adopter come around to pluck a lucky soul from the hidden horrors beyond the first flight of stairs and above.
The next floors were spaces crammed to the walls with children, split by gender on either side of the halls, and a few caretakers in between to keep vigilant watch over the bastards and unwanted. A few bathrooms scattered along the rest of the five floors and more than a few punishment rooms were carefully placed on each floor, rooms all children of age and gender dreaded going in. The ladies and men that ran the place made it all too easy for anyone to get in trouble to not get acquainted with said rooms. Muffled screams and cries can be heard on occasion through those banged up doors and often were the fuel that the children of the compound often had nightmares about.
The children of New Haven Home were sorted as time went by. Often, the supposed worst and unruly were kept on the top floors while those who were favored (providing “services” and “help”) were also the ones who listened well to the horrid caretakers of the facility and lived on the lower floors, their chances of getting seen for adoption increasing tenfold. This way of dividing the children of the home was also true for those with unfortunate luck and disabilities.
Often being taken to the back of the compound to where a small makeshift clinic/ward was, made to hold and “treat” the ill and unstable. These boys and girls were too often never seen again once they left through those doors of the small building. It brought a sense of dread to anyone, as it overlooked the small yard, they had to give the kids a place to play and take in their daily dose of sun on the good moments of weather. Not that many chose to play and lounge about there even on the best of days.
Even the plants withered away out back, the atmosphere too dreary and dreadful to grow there.
It was the view that was all too familiar to a young Aspen Rosewood as her room sat in the back of the creaky hallway on the top floor of New Haven. Her floor often feels the worst of the heat in summer and the harsh chill of winter, and her room was no exception. The young girl of only ten years of age at least was wise enough to appreciate the fact that despite being labeled as one of the worst of a lot of kids here that she was able to snag a room all to herself despite the occasional loneliness that blanketed her daily or the insufferable lengths of time she's forced to spend in said room.
Sure, it was also incredibly small and was probably meant to actually be a small storeroom, but she was not going to complain about even she at that age could be glad to have a small space to herself to tuck into a corner and feel safe with her back against two walls. Her cot, pushed up against the two walls that had the only window in the room, was old and on its last legs and had a small crate used to ensure the middle didn’t break and often made for a miserable night's sleep. Her tattered blanket looked worse for wear as she sat crossed legged on top of her shabby floor, attempting to sew a tear together again with the stolen needle and thread she managed to snag whilst passing a caretaker who fell asleep in the middle of mending a quilt used for one of the sitting rooms.
‘C’mon Aspen, just pinch the two sides close and just make sure to not –’
A sharp hiss came from the young girl as she dropped her needle and blanket to wave her finger about in pain as she pricked herself for the 7th time that hour as she was making her way down the tear. Inspecting her finger once more she saw the appendage raw and red, with yet another droplet of blood beginning to form as she sighed and stuck her finger in her mouth. A crude way to clean the blood off her hand as she decided to give up at the moment lest she fancy another prick via sharp.
“Why is mending a ratty old blanket so hard…” Sighed the young girl looking older than she physically seemed with how she slumped over herself, teardrops prickling at the corners of her honey brown eyes. Still, she never let the droplets of salty water tip over as she harshly rubbed her eyes with the grungy sleeve of her shirt. A hand me down from one of the older boys in the home.
Arm, bruised from the harsh ‘guiding’ of one of the caretakers taking her back to her room earlier in the day (after yet another unexplained mishap from attempting to help in the kitchen for lunch), laid over her eyes as she leaned back defeated by the day she had. Head tilted back to rest on the worn-out bedding, she sniffled twice before letting out a deep exhale as she decided to take a peek at her window to gauge the time, she spent taking a break from poor attempts at mending her blanket.
The window that had shown the cloudy and miserable day early on now showed the clear night sky with the moon rising, allowing moonlight to shine through the musty windowpane. Blearily blinking at the sight, Aspen realized she had once more zoned out that she missed dinner once more and the time to continue work on her blanket. She laid there, head empty as she slowly processed the sudden change in time as she watched dust specs float through the air and in the moonlight.
Silent as a mouse, she ripped and knotted the thread to continue another time. Inspecting the slightly smaller tear, she gave a weak smile and decided to continue and hope to finish the next day. Putting away her leftover thread and needle in a small box worn down with time, she pulled out her only memory of her late parents and hugged it to her chest as she shuffled her way on top of her bed and faced her window. The small and clearly loved plush of a bird was squished tightly in her embrace as she stargazed.
“Mum, Dad, I hope you’re here with me tonight.” her hoarse voice began as she began speaking to herself. “Who am I kidding of course you are, you always were before you passed on. I hope you are at least…Many happy returns to me…” a slight quiver in her voice breaks the steadiness as she curls in on herself. “May there be many more.” she tapers off as she wishes herself another year complete in the world.
The newly turned eleven-year-old girl cries herself to sleep that night.
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Time Skip:
Unruly and tangled blonde almost white curls, just reaching mid-way to her back, bounced wildly as Aspen raced through the halls trying to escape a beating from the other residents at the home. Specifically, that of Ms. Turner, one of the older matrons and her little pet Sophie Walters. Ms. Turner is wrinkled near the eyes due to stress and her body creaky but agile, able to crack a back hand upon children like a whip and without warning. Graying wiry hair tied back neatly in a low bun with a few flyways' whipping about her face as she chased after the fourteen-year-old.
“You insolent brat! How dare you ruin Sophie Walters potential adoption with your jealousy and need for attention. It’s bad enough you make more than half of the caretakers here clean up after all your screw ups but now it’s gone too far you no good bastard of a girl!” she all but screamed chasing the agile girl as she scrambled to her room and slammed the door nearly off its hinges. Pushing back against it she tried to keep the women out of her small safe haven before a large push flung the door open and found herself thrown forward, scraping her knees and the palms of her hands on the rough floorboards.
Sprawled almost facedown, Aspen tries to steady herself and catch her breath before feeling a bony hand grip her tresses and pull harshly, yanking her head back before beginning to drag her. She could feel the harsh tugging at her scalp and welled up at the corner of her eyes, the sharp pain it produced worsened as she was shunted to one of the punishment rooms.
Trying to stop her forced entrance, she attempted to dig her heels into the floorboards before getting shoved in and slammed against the wall, almost bashing her nose in and giving the off white walls a new coat of red. Groaning in pain, Aspen held her head before hearing the old hag rummage through the stuff laid out in the room, looking for something to flog her with as her breathing started to pick up. A chilling cold rushed over her and filled her veins as she wildly looked around for a way to escape, whispers in the back of her head taking over her hearing as she felt her heart pound.
It was then when she moved without thinking, her hand shot out as if to stop an unseen force before watching an invisible energy burst out from her palms and knock into Ms. Turner. All of this happening in slow motion in her eyes up until the moment of impact.
A shrill scream cut off while colliding into the wall is what released Aspen from her daze, and everything sped back up. All she could hear over the rushing silence was her shaky pants of breath and slight groaning from the older lady as she knocked out.
With trembling hands, she scrambled up and scurried away back into the safety of her room, shoving boxes and crates left in the room that she used as chairs and desks to attempt to prevent anyone else from entering. It wasn’t until she tucked herself tightly into the corner of her room on top of her cot that she took a moment and replayed the scene in her head, trembling as she blankly stared at her rough hands. She took in every bruise and cut she received from the past and looked at her palms that were bright red and splotchy, beginning to pick at the skin that was scrapped as a means of keeping her grounded as her mind went miles a second.
“What just happened? She was just thrown against the wall like I pushed her or something… Was that me? How? Can I do it again? Do I even want to do it again? That was terrifying seeing her take out a riding crop again…” she sniffled, tucking her knees in against her chest and put her forehead on top.
It was another birthday spent crying as she spent the day away trying to not to think about the hunger gnawing at her stomach since lunchtime the day prior and the emotions bubbling up in her chest of the sad hand she was dealt with that was her life.
Eventually she blinked herself awake, not realizing when she dozed off before stretching herself out on her cot and laid down, back facing her blocked off door and looked out the window, remembering back to her eleventh birthday and sadly chuckled as a fist clutched her tattered bed sheet.
“Guess some things don’t change after all…” she muttered bitterly, not even bothering to wish herself congratulations for another year completed in the world and shut her eyes into a fitful dream of monstrous caretakers and bullies her age.
Little did the now fifteen-year-old know that in another country not too far from her, her birthday was sending a few witches and wizards into a stupor…
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“A fifth year!? What does this ruddy quill think it's on! Never in all of my time here has a new student beginning their magical education also started as a fifth year. There must be something wrong with the enchantment!”
Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black exclaimed, astounded as he looked at the floating quill and book that was in charge of informing the faculty who would need to receive their Hogwarts letters each year.
An elderly but spry gentleman who was standing with Headmaster Black just rubbed his chin in curiosity and amusement. Standing up from his seat, he wandered over to the objects in question and cast his wand over checking the enchantment. “How intriguing. Nothing is out of place with the charm. This is genuinely a student who just missed the past four years. Luckily, we know of them now and can prepare for their arrival!” Eleazar Fig concluded before turning around to face the rest of the staff that was present for the phenomena.
“Oh, how exciting! A new rose bud to help blossom. Do we know if this new student comes from a magic knowing family or are they a muggleborn?” Professor Mirabel Garlick questioned from her spot by the lit fireplace in their faculty break room before, yet another spoke up.
“It would appear so Mirabel. I’m sure they must be wholly confused with what's going on alongside their parents…” Professor Aesop Sharp had deduced before trailing off near the end of his sentence when he saw the address that was being scribbled down by the floating quill. This caused for looks of curiosity to be sent towards the stoic potions professor before Fig had glanced back down and understood why the other man had trailed off so suddenly.
“The new student actually resides in an orphanage or a home of some sort in the Westminster Abbey district in London. Does anyone know where that is? One of us is going to have to go explain magic to her of course and take her to get her school supplies and –” Fig had started to speak up before getting interrupted by the headmaster.
“I do apologize for interrupting this lovely chat we're having,” Black sarcastically started off with before making his point “but how are we to accept a random muggleborn starting their learning as a witch as a fifth year when they haven't even got a lick of knowledge that most of our bumbling first years do prior to even stepping foot on Hogwarts grounds. Are we just to let this new student create chaos amongst their peers whilst running amok? I believe they should start as a first year, don’t you agree?” Black had pointedly said, crossing his arms across his chest before Garlick quickly protested.
“Headmaster Black! I do not agree with that sentiment. This student should start in their intended age group despite the lack of knowledge. Just because this new rosebud should be a muggleborn and unknowledgeable of the ways our world works doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be capable of catching up to the rest of their peers. If we put them in with the first years, I doubt they would have any gratification living and learning here at the castle and would feel isolated from others their age. Part of the Hogwarts experience in a child's journey in learning magic is the camaraderie one makes during their time here at school.” she stated as she stood up, taking a more proactive stance on the matter as she felt like the others remark was a slight towards those who are muggleborn.
It was almost immediate the effect the two opinions had on the others in the rest of the room before another spoke up.
“I concur with Ms. Mirabel, Headmaster Black. If anything, is it not also the responsibility of us professors to help this child catch up on their learning? After all, isn't that why, to some degree, we all chose to come and work here?” Matilda Weasley questioned with a raised eyebrow as she looked around the room before her eyes landed on their Headmaster who just stood there in silent disbelief that not a single one of them agreed with his underlying sentiments before scoffing and straightening up as he relented to his second in charge.
“Very well then, I expect you all to come up with a plan then to help this student take on learning four years of missed learning whilst also focusing on this year's curriculum. Now if you will excuse me, I have other things to check in on.” He grumbled before swiftly walking out the room, his footsteps growing further away before disappearing and sending the rest of the professors to discuss their plans for the new student for the rest of their evening.
Sometime later…
“Very well I think this plan will be the most effective and efficient in terms of getting the new student acclimated with what is sure to be a confusing and frightening situation. Are you really alright in getting them and catching them up to the basics Eleazar? I’m sure Aesop or Abraham wouldn’t mind getting them. I could even –” the deputy headmistress began in concern before getting cut off by the very man himself. “Yes, yes Matilda, do not fret. It will be more than okay. If I’m not mistaken, they live just a ways away from Diagon Alley. We can stay at the Leaky Cauldron, and it’ll be a safe environment away from the curious muggles for her to begin training in the basics of spell work. I even have a spare wand for her to use.”
“If you truly are certain then I suppose you would be the best to go. I guess that’s that. Whilst Eleazar is getting the new student acclimated to her new world, the rest of us will be busy getting that field guide together. What is the new student’s name anyways?” Matilda Weasley had asked, realizing no one had ever mentioned the name of the child in question.
Eleazar Fig took one more glance at the name written out by the enchanted quill before turning to face the rest of the Hogwarts Faculty with a smile.
“Her name is Aspen Rosewood.”