Brownies and Periculum | Dora
Last night was busy. Despite the Headmaster sending us off to bed, the older students had a different idea. Half the night was spent playing ‘get-to-know-me” games, and eating sweets. It was fun! Then the other half of the night, for me at least, was spent vibrating under my blankets, to full to be able to sleep.
Beside me, my clock screams.
I jump out of bed. Not because I’m late, but because I’m about to be late. Yawning while rubbing my eyes, I glance around my dorm. It’s very yellow. Very Hufflepuff, with its honey—brown wood floor, and butter yellow walls.
The clock is still screaming. High, shrill and making me want to stomp my feet and scream right back.
Grabbing it, I hurl it as hard as I can at the wall. The clock whimpers before shutting up. I glower at it ruefully. Mum made me bring it. I bet Quinn doesn’t need a clock to wake up, Quinn, who’s parents let him go to Diagon Alley alone, which is so cool! I can’t even go round the block without my parents tailing after me.
It takes a moment for me to realize that my roommates are gone. My heart does a nasty little flip. I don’t expect them to wake me up or anything, just would’ve been nice to see them is all. But maybe I slept through their attempts? Whatever, it’s fine.
I dress, struggling with my tie before forcing my hair into two clumsy braids. Tucking my stuffed rabbit under the honeycomb quilt, I turn my attention to looking for my schedule, because it’s not on my bedside.
It’s under my pillow.
Right, because last night I kept staring at it, imagining my classes.
I can’t remember what classes I’ve got today, so I just grab every text book I’ve got and stuff ‘em into my school bag. Snatching the Official Hogwarts School Map from off my dresser, I bound out my dorm.
Hogwarts is big. Like, super big!… So big that I immediately get lost.
Great, that’s great. Cool. I’ll be fine, just a new experience is all! Yup! I’m fine!
Distantly, I wonder what would’ve happened if I woke up when my roommates did. Probably not this. Scowling, I look at my wrist watch, a gift from my… cousin. Mum and Dad don’t know I’ve got it, and I’m not sure why I’ve kept it. But, it’s useful anyhow. It reads 8:00 am. So I’ve got an hour until classes start. I can do this!
Poking around the dungeons and wandering through chambers and hallways, it’s fifteen minutes until I see someone. They’re odd looking, short and skinny, with big floppy bat’s ears. Their clothes are odd too, made of colorful patches like a quilt. They tilt their head up then, looking at me with big eyes. Shivers roll up my spine. Their eyes are too big, bulging out of their head, like a bug’s, and it’s like looking into a kaleidoscope. Their eyes don’t stay still, distorting and twinkling with all sorts of little shapes.
That’s a Fae. I should run. My shoulders tense and I shift my heels. Every Magical kid knows not to mess with ‘em, and everybody has a relation, or knows of one, who got stolen or killed because they listened to the nice voice under the deck or something. But it takes me a moment to realize they’re a Brownie.
And Brownies aren’t the scary type… unless you make them mad. They’re small household spirits that do housework and other stuff in exchange for bowls of cream and small cakes.
In the Hufflepuff common room, me and the rest of the first years even got to place some cakes by our fireplace. I wonder if the cakes are still there? Probably not. I wanted to check when we woke up, but I forgot.
Nervously, I give them a wave, they cock their head to the side and then they smile. They’ve got too many teeth. I shudder.
The Brownie raises a spindly and long finger and makes a ‘come here’ motion. I have to remind myself that I didn’t do anything to make it mad so my feet will actually move. The Brownie’s a little smaller than me, coming up just below my eyebrows.
“What’s wrong?” They ask. Their voice is high and reedy, and the way they speak is weird, like their mouth isn’t shaped quite right to make the words. Awkwardly, I explain that I’m lost and that I’m trying to get to the Great Hall for breakfast. They hum, considering something. I try not to bounce on my feet.
I flinch when the Brownie snaps their fingers suddenly, the noise echoing in the dungeons. All around us there's a great rumbling, like stone shifting. But looking around, I can see that nothing has moved.
The Brownie wraps their hand around my wrist, their long, spindly fingers grip tight, bruising. As the Brownie tugs me towards the wall, I realize that maybe asking for help might’ve been a bad idea. Some Fae kidnap kids and I don’t think Brownies do, but regret and fear starts to twist up in my belly. And the idea that this might not be a Brownie hops into my head.
The (Hopefully a ) Brownie stabs at one of the stones in the wall, the stone and those around it begin to recede into the dark, leaving behind a gaping tunnel. Still holding my wrist, the Brownie enters into the dark maw, pulling me inside.
It’s so dark, even as I blink and rub at my eyes. The Brownie seems to have such trouble, their kaleidoscope eyes glowing in the dark.
“Every house has little gaps in its walls. Make great homes for us Brownies.”
I make a noise of general agreement accompanied by what I hope is a nice smile, and we continue on. The tunnel is darker than night, and far more cramped. Nausea joins the fear and regret, The tunnel seems to stretch and grow with every step, unending. The castle shifts and creaks with our every movement, and it takes everything in me not to tremble. Shoving my free hand into my robe, my fingers wrapped around my wand. It’s something Mum and Dad do when they're nervous. The wood is odd, engraved with spirals that seem to make a shape until you look away and then it's not. It’s very pretty, and rubbing my fingers over it feels nice, it’s magic tingling against my fingers.
Eventually the Brownie stops, humming. They tap at the inky darkness in front of them, sounding vaguely like tapping on wood.
“Here should be good, what do you think?”
The Brownie turned towards me, too big eyes boring into mine as they tilted their head. Biting my lip, I don't know what to say. But I want to leave. Now.
“Uhh, yeah? That- that seems good?” I squirm in place as I respond, I want to tug my hand out of the Brownie’s.
They chuckle. At least, I think it’s a chuckle. It sort of sounds like marbles chinking against each other and an echoing bird call. Tapping at the wall again, the Brownie starts to dig their nails into the wall. I stare in horror as their nails elongate, turning chipped, yellow and dangerous looking.
Hooking a nail under… something, the Brownie peels away the blackness. I blink, using my free hand to rub at my eyes. Slowly a stone wall became visible, and light started to flood… wherever we are.
When the hole is big enough, the Brownie hops out, dragging me along with them.
My knees shake as my shoes thud against the stone floor. Actually, all of me is shaking and I tug the hand the Brownie is still holding. I guess they get the hint because they finally let go of my hand.
They pointed down the corridor. “Here we are! The Great Hall is the first set of doors on the right, off you go now.”
Whispering a ‘thank you’, I started down the corridor, trembling. Halfway to the doors, I remember that Da says that waving goodbye is the polite and good thing to do, and I don’t know if that rule applies to Fae, but they did help me so…
Stopping and turning, I paused as I stared at them. The Brownie was melting into the wall. It’s pinkish skin melding into the stone, hardening and changing colour.
Is that what happened earlier? It… didn’t feel like it.
I try not to grimace. Half melted, they waved at me, their eyes glistening. I try to smile, though I know it looks more like a grimace, and wave back. After the Brownie had fully melted back into the wall, I turned back around and, with fast steps, made my way to the Great Hall.
Even from halfway down the corridor, I could hear the rumbling of chatter… I wince as I draw close, tugging on my pigtails. It’s too loud, but my belly’s rumbling and I want to see Quinn.
But just before I could go in, there was a loud BoomBoomBoom. And suddenly, the clattering and chattering of before turns to a rumbling of footsteps and the shrieking of chairs against the floor. There’s suddenly a flood of grey and black, pouring out of the Great Hall. Nobody notices me, the students at the front are older and taller by a lot and my head barely comes up to their chests. And because the older students don’t notice me, they shove and jostle me around, and I’m sort of… absorbed into the crowd.
It’s weird, because I’m falling behind but still going forward. My feet stumble and elbows and arms shove me back, but the rush of everyone forces me forward.
As I’m being shoved and jostled towards the staircase I realize that the BoomBoomBoom from earlier must’ve been the class bell. So that means it’s gotta be class time. I don’t which class I’ve got though, and there’s no room to pull out my bag, or no way to stop.
And There’s so much noise. From the pounding of footsteps to the harsh snaps of voices. I can’t even really think. And everyone is touching, I swear I can feel every brush of fabric against my skin as I’m shoved and bumped, every arm and hip and chest and shoulder. The scratch of the clocks and sorta soft, but not right now, gentle brush of the robes. Somebody’s braid slaps me in the face and someone’s bag swings, hitting me in my belly. I cry out and stumble and bump into somebody. That somebody shoves, their hands gripping my shoulders for a moment before shoving me away and barking to watch where I’m going. Tears well up in my eyes, and my chest goes really tight, like I can’t breathe. I want to cry, or hold Mum’s hand.
Whenever something got too loud or big, Mum held my hand and told me to squeeze every time it became too much. And, maybe last night, when I told Quinn to hold my hand, it was just as much for me as it was for him. I wonder where he is, if he’s in this crowded hallway too, if he also feels like he’s drowning. That thought almost makes me feel better, but the guilt is immediate. Because the crowd is awful and Quinn being here and drowning too shouldn’t make me feel better.
Stumbling forward, as my right foot falls, my left goes up. Except it doesn’t. My left foot comes to a sudden stop, my now-untied-laces, pinned by my right foot, are holding it back. I’m not stumbling anymore, there’s a woosh of air, the stone floor growing closer. I guess it’s the other way around, but I’m twisting ‘round, sort of like Mrs. Thanburry’s cat when he fell off her balcony, and my hand stretches out, desperate to grab anything.
All I catch is air, my fingers spread out groping for something to slow my fall. This is going to hurt so so much, I think, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Slap
The noise rings out and my arm is tugged at painfully, fingers dig into my wrist. My eyes fly open, a familiar brown face stares at me. Only for a moment though, because suddenly he’s a blur and I’m falling again.
My body makes a dull thump when I slam onto the floor, my palms slapping painfully against the stone. It stings. And the tears that’d been welling up fall.
I fall back proper when Quinn lands on top of me. I don’t think my head cracks against the floor, but air is shoved out of my lungs, leaving me gasping.
“Ow.” Quinn mumbles, his face is scrunched up, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his head. I stare up at him. And Quinn snaps his head back down, his dark eyes going wide. Huh, I didn’t know he had little flecks of gold in there. His thick brows scrunch up even more, and then I remember the tears. Our mouths open at the same time. But before either of us can say anything, pale hands reach under Quinn’s arms, lifting him off with a squeak.
The other boy is tall and older, with dark hair and eyes like a raccoon. There’s blue on his uniform, and a little pin with a P on it. Setting Quinn down, he grabs my hand, hauling me up with ease. My cheeks begin to heat as his big hand holds mine. He’s strong is all I can think as he picks me up under the armpits like I weigh nothing.
He sets me down beside Quinn, in between two pillars and away from the crowd. He then gives us what I think is supposed to be a stern look but seems too tired to hold any real weight. Nervously I wipe at my cheeks, hoping he didn’t notice that I was crying.
“Alright,” he says, more to himself as he rubs a hand through his brown hair, “alright. First year?” He points at me. At my nod he continues on, “Okay, so that’d be… Charms?”
It’s more of a question than a statement, but it’s right, I think, and I can’t help but wonder; “How’d ya know?”
He makes a soft noise and his right hand does a circular motion. “Well, uh… class sizes are still pretty small, so the First Years share most of their classes.”
I nod because I don’t need to ask why.
The Prefect, ‘prolly out of a want to not talk about why, is quick to grab our hands and dive back into the throng of people. It’s still crowded and awful, but his hand is big and he’s got a good grip, so I can sort of pretend he’s my Mum, and I feel a lot better. A glance Quinn tells me he doesn’t, so I give him a smile, and this time it feels more real. His lips only twitch in an attempt at one, but his eyes soften, so I take it as a win.
As we hurry down the hallways and shove past students, it occurs to me that I don’t know the Prefect’s name. And that I haven’t thanked him. Da says you’ve got to know someone’s name if you’re gonna thank them. I want to ask, but everyone is too loud and the Prefect is mumbling under his breath about ‘how unorganized this is’ and ‘think they’d at least give the First Years a guide or something’, and Mum says it’s rude to interrupt people, especially if they’re an adult. Though he doesn’t look quite like an adult, but he's closer than I am; and a Prefect. So resign myself to not knowing his name with a sigh.
At least until I remember that Quinn would. Because there’s blue on his uniform and he was clearly watching out for Quinn, so Quinn’s gotta know!
Who’s he? I mouth, but at Quinn’s scrunches and he titles it, confused. I scowl. Then I nod my head to the Prefect. His mouth makes an ‘o’ shape and he nods.
Phenter Navies he mouths. That doesn’t quite sound like a name, so I scowl again. He mouths ‘Phenter Navies’ again, and figuring that Phenter’s probably got a mum or dad like me who thinks that ‘Nymphadora’ or ‘Quirinus’ and other names like that are good names, I grin and mouth Thanks Quinn!.
Quinn says something that I can’t quite hear, but sorta sounds like ‘hedged-in’... I think.
Maybe.
Phenter moves quickly, shoving his way through the crowd with an ease I’m jealous of. Bet he doesn’t get overwhelmed in crowds.
Excitement bristles under my skin as Phenter stops in front of a large wooden door.
“Here we are,” he says. Phenter turns to us, he looks proud. My cheeks begin to heat again and my tongue feels like it’s made of jelly. I gotta thank him, but nothing is coming out.
There’s a silence between the three of us and Phenter’s proud expression becomes more strained. He looks like he wants to say something too.
“Th-tha..thanks…” Quinn mumbles, hes rocking on his feet a little, small hands fidgeting with his sleeves. He’s not looking at Phenter. But it seems to give Phenter the opening he was looking for because he reaches out and squeezes Quinn’s shoulder.
“Let me know if you get lost or need… uh, need an escort or something. I don’t mind. Besides… it’d probably look bad on my record if I lost a kid.”
Quinn nodded, and the heat in my cheeks spread its way to my ears as Phenter turned to me. His tired raccoon eyes gave me a gentle look as before he ruffled my hair.
“You too Hufflepuff. Though I’m sure Jane won’t mind helping you out either. She’s your prefect too.” I want to thank him, but my tongue is still useless jelly in my mouth, so I don’t say anything.
Phenter gives Quinn a nod, before he turns back, diving into the rush of students, giving us both a final wave.
It’s then my tongue solidifies and I can use it again.
“Thanks Phenter!” I yell over the crowd, waving at him.
Phenter pauses, half turning. His brow is furrowed and he looks confused. His mouth opens as if to say something, but I guess he thinks better of it because he shakes his head and keeps walking.
“Ph-Phen… Phenter?” Quinn says from behind me.
“That… that’s his name, right?”
He blinks, owlishly. “I-it… it’s Ch-Chester Da… Chester Davies. Ah… Ah th-thou… thought Ah said ‘at? An’… an’ wh-why’s yer f-f… fa-face aw red?”
My face only goes redder, though I’m not sure why it went red in the first place too. But right now I know it’s because I feel really silly. Who even names their kid Phenter?
“Uhh… it’s nothin’ let’s go get good seats.”
Grabbing his hand, I tug Quinn inside the classroom. Looking around, I notice all four house colours. …I guess the class size is smaller than I thought?
I don’t give the matter any more thought, don’t want to.
Quinn spots two empty seats in the front row. I can barely contain my excitement as we sit down. It feels like I’m gonna burst. All around us, there’s excited chattering. And I can’t stop myself from bouncing in my seat. Mum says that’s distracting, and I’m not supposed to do that, but Quinn is bouncing too, so maybe it’s not a bad thing.
Digging out my notebook and quill, I cast a glance at my watch. 8:20 am.
Huh, I think, All that in twenty minutes?
“A-all wh-whit i-in twe-twen… twenty min-minutes?” Quins asks.
I stare at him. Did I say that out loud?
“Yeah.”
“Oh…” My cheeks heat a little again, and my fingers fidget with my quill. Mum and Da say I do that sometimes. My thoughts slip out and become words. I dunno why it happens, maybe it’s cause I’m used to talking to my dolls?
Peeking a look at Quinn, his head is cocked to the side slightly, like a little bird. Curiosity sparks in his eyes, and now that I’m close, I can really make out the golden flecks in the iris. It’s pretty. He looks like he wants to ask more. I hum a little, hoping he doesn’t want to ask why my thoughts come out. “D’ya want me to tell you what happened?”
He shifts eagerly, clasping his hands and leaning forward. I put down my quill and turn so I’m facing him. Squirming in my seat, I launched into my journey to the corridor; From waking up alone, to getting lost in the dungeons, meeting the Brownie, and going through the walls.
Quinn’s a good audience, gasping and oohing and asking questions (“Through the walls?!” “Yeah!!”). I can’t help but smile and preen at the attention. Though his face screws up a bit when I mention the walls.
“We-were ye sc-scared?” My cheeks begin to heat again, because I was scared. With the way the walls morphed around us, the creaking and shifting of things just out of sight, how I’d gripped my wand, I was scared. But I don’t want Quinn to know that. He’s cool and I want him to think I’m cool too… so the lie slips out before I really give it any thought.
“No, I wasn’t scared at all! It was sorta cool actually”
“Oh” He breathes, and his eyes are shining with some sort of emotion. Awe? Does he think I’m cool too?. Internally, I shake my head; No way; Quinn’s got an iguana and his parents let him go to Diagon alone. Nothing can top that in terms of coolness.
Quinn’s got more questions, judging by the way he’s bouncing in his seat and his hands are fiddling with the chair, but our conversation is cut short by a loud pop! From the stack of books there’s a flash of colourful smoke and sparks. In the smoke there’s a sorta human shape, they’re Brownie sized but a bit bulkier.
There are oohs and ahhs from the class as we all lean forward in our seats.
The figure in the smoke spreads their arms and the smoke pulls away, revealing a small man. There’s a smattering of applause and excited whispering. The man has tawny skin, a friendly face and clever eyes. His thin mustache and brown hair are starting to grey. His face lights up as he sees us and Quinn jostles me excitedly as the man takes a bow.
“Th-tha-that’s pr’fessor Fl-Fli-Flitwick” he whispers into my ear.
“R-really?” Da talked about him a lot, mostly about how friendly he was and how fun his classes were.
Professor Flitwick waves his hands, making the smoke disperse. “Alright, alright, quiet now. I’m sure you’re all excited about starting class!”
All around there are murmurs of agreement, but he scowls a little. Not in a way that makes me think he’s cross though.
“Well!” He says, putting his arms on his hips, “I guess no one here wants to learn Periculum!”
There’s a sudden uproar and cries of ‘no’ ‘yes we do!’. I flinch at the suddenness of it and I can see Quinn tense too.
“So you do want to learn Periculum?”
“Yes!” We all chorus. The noise easier once I know it’s coming.
“Good then!” Professor Flitwick says. “But first we must do a little housekeeping!”
There are groans and whines and I pout a little, pulling out my textbook.
What follows is very boring and dull. Though I guess basic wand safety and all that is important. It’s just boring and hard to focus on.
Professor Flitwick is standing on his podium. And he’s clearly trying to make his expectations for homework interesting, hopping around and doing that little chorus thing. But it’s not really working. At least on me. It doesn’t help that his podium is right in front of the window, and I’m pretty sure there are two birds fighting or playing or something. And it’s a lot more interesting than lectures on due dates.
They’re song birds, pretty colours and pretty chirps. One bird, pink, darts about, always just out of reach of the purple one. At least until it flits wrong, and suddenly the purple one is flying circles around it. The two go back and forth for a while, and eventually I realize they’re taking turns. One bird leads and the other copies, until something shifts and the other bird is in charge. My feet kick lightly as I watch the two play.
It’s not until Quinn tugs on my arm do I tear my attention away from the window. Professor Flitwick is on the floor, talking about something… Oh! He’s talking about Periculum!
The birds leave my mind and I’m leaning forward, hanging onto the Professor’s every word.
“Now, Periculum isn’t a spell that will make anything float or change shape, but I’m sure you’re all eager to learn it anyways?”
He gestures his arms out, and we all chorus ‘no’.
I can’t stop bouncing in my seat as he talks, Periculum acts like a flare gun, judging from his description, shooting up red sparks to show your location. Professor Flitwick says it’s necessary that every first year knows the spell, as there’s still a lot of danger about. We also aren’t gonna learn the real Periculum today either, he mostly wants us to practice movements and using our wands. The most we’ll do is create a shower of sparks. But I don’t care, because I’m going to cast a spell! Real magic!!
Excitedly I wave my wand, carefully mimicking Professor Flitwick’s movements. I can feel the magic thrumming underneath my fingertips and I’m careful to enunciate each syllable. And I stare. At first nothing happens, and I stare at the tip of my wand, disappointed.
But Professor Flitwick had said not to expect anything immediately, and as I look around, I can see that, despite the rapid movements and clearly spoken incantations, there isn’t a single wand with sparks coming out. So I try again… still nothing.
But there’s a little gasp from beside me, before I can make my third attempt, and out the corner of my eye I can see a golden glow.
Golden sparks are coming out of Quinn’s wand, strong and steady. He’s smiling, bigger than I’ve seen since I’ve met him.
And suddenly there’s a lot of whispering, as everybody notices the golden sparks.
Professor Flitwick notices too, clapping his hands. “Well done Mister Quirrell! That’s the fastest I’ve had a student produce sparks, five points to Ravenclaw!”
Quinn startles at the praise, dropping his wand, causing the sparks to fizzle out. Behind us there’s a snicker.
“Ah, apologies for losing your focus. But that was very good! Keep practicing and I’m sure you’ll be doing Periculum in no time!” He said, giving Quinn an apologetic look.
Clapping his hands, he ordered everyone back to practice and the swishes of wands and muttered incantations start up again. Quinn hasn’t moved much, but after nudging him and whispering a quiet ‘that was brilliant!’ I pick up my own wand.
After a few more tries, I realize that Quinn didn’t say anything. Like, not when Professor Flitwick was congratulating him, but when he did the spell. He didn’t say a word. My brows scrunch and I stare at him. He’s moved, gently running his fingers over his wand. He closes his eyes, and with precise movements he follows the movements Professor Flitwick taught us. Quinn’s mouth moves, carefully forming the syllables for Periculum, but not even a whisper comes out.
From his wand tip there are sparks. Gold, bright and steady. Quinn flicks them off before anyone else can notice.
Then I remember that Flitwick said the sparks were supposed to be red, not gold. He scowls at his wand. ‘Prolly cause he knows the sparks are supposed to be red too. But hey, he’s making sparks, unlike anyone else in the classroom. Including me.
He sighs and sits back. Fingers gently rubbing his wand. But he stops suddenly, looking up at me. Been staring too long, oops.
I don’t know what face I’m making, but it must be bad cause he looks so nervous now. I cough. And then it occurs to me to ask him how, since he clearly knows.
“So… How’d ya do it?” I ask, Quinn blinks at me, surprised. His mouth opens and closes, before he brings a small hand up to rub at his chin. His other hand taps his wand against his head.
I’m pretty sure that was one of the safety rules, not having your wand so close to your head, but I wasn’t really listening, and I’m not a tattle.
“Uhm, Ah uh, Ah din-di-din… dinnae r-really kn-kn-know. Ah j-ju-juist sho-shove… shoved myself through?” He shrugged, fidgeting with his wand and looking away again.
Scowling to myself, I flick my wand, letting it roll up the desk and flicking it again when it comes back down. Shove yourself through it? Maybe it’s like… Mum says that sometimes she’s got to imagine something to make a spell go right. So maybe it’s like that?
“Th… that di-di… disnae re-really h-help, does it?” He whispers, sounding guilty.
“Sorry.” I admit. I feel guilty for asking. Especially since he wasn’t even doing it the way Professor Flitwick said to.
The moments creep by, the air awkward. I feel sorta guilty. Biting my lip and kicking my feet, I do my best to ignore the atmosphere. Beside, out of the corner of my eye, I can see Quinn fidgeting with his wand, rolling it between his fingers.
“Uhm…” He starts again, “Ah th-th-thin… think wh-whit Ah di-did w-was im-im-im… imagine, l-loch, mah magic flowin’ th-th-through my f-fingers an’ out mah wand tip? Loch a v-v-vine gr… growin’ up a st-st… a stake.”
“Like in a garden?”
“Yeah! It uh… it’s c-c-call.. called vi-visu… visual-visualiza… visualization, Ah th-think!”
“Okay, so like, would it grow from my fingertips?”
Quinn nods eagerly. Scooting over, using his hands, he traces out how the vine would grow. Starting from my hand, then ‘round the wand and out the tip. Quinn’s hand spread out, like a flower blooming and shooting out the tip.
I’m not sure if it’ll work for me, but I’ve gotta try!
Taking a few deep breaths, I shut my eyes. As I make the movements and enunciate each syllable, I imagine the magic forming from where my fingers touch my wand. I can feel the magic thrumming in my wand, warming my hand, as I imagine it spiraling around my wand. And as I reach the tip, vibrant red sparks blooming from my wand tip, I open my eyes.
A tiny red spark emerged, slowly falling to the desk, fizzling out. I stare at the tiny soot spot. It’s no bigger than a needle head. And when I blink, I’ve lost track of it.
Sighing, I turn to Quinn, expecting to see disappointment. But I don’t. He’s bouncing in his seat again, kicking his legs. There’s another big smile on his face. He looks so proud of me.
“But it was only a spark?”
“Y-y-y… yhe— yeah!! An’ s-s-soo… soon it’s g-gonna be sae m-m-mu-much maire!”
“I’ve just gotta keep trying!” I smile.
Fourth and fifth attempts are the same, and I can see one of the Sætoris shooting out red sparks. They’re smiling and their siblings are congratulating them. Quinn gives me a thumbs up as attempt number five’s spark fizzles out and dies.
Professor Flitwick says we’ve got a few more minutes until class is over. Okay, one last try today. And as I shut my eyes, I know attempt number six is gonna be different. As I imagine that magic growing from my palm, roots deep in my soul, my wand grows hot. Like its eager to let loose all this magic. As the vine spirals, I can feel the magic crackling and fizzing as it grows up and up. I open my eyes when the magic starts to bloom.
Red sparks pour from the tip of my wand. I stare at it, both hands clutching my wand tight like a wooden sword. My hands tremble and the in and out of breath is all I can hear.
Beside me, Quinn makes a soft noise, and all around there are oohs and ahhs and pride rushes through my heart.
I’m doing magic! I’m actually doing magic!
I smile and a laugh belts out of me, I look for Professor Flitwick, and he’s right across, near the other desks. It looks like he was talking to another student, was; because now he’s staring at my wand. I open my mouth to say something, maybe ‘look Professor!’, but whatever I’m gonna say turns into a shrill shriek as the red sparks stop sparking.
My fingers burn as the sparks change into a spire, blasting out of my wand. There are cries and shrieks, and I’m blasted backwards by the force, tumbling off my seat and my back thunking hard into the row of desks behind me.
I screw my eyes shut. That hurt. And my fingers burn, even as my wand clatters to the floor. There’s a lot of noise around me, the benches squeaking, other kids yelling, talking and the crackling of fire… Fire. And the scent of something burning.
My eyes fly open. I can’t see over the desk, but as I try and push myself up, to see what I’d done, Quinn’s at my side, his hand pressing into my chest.
“Y-you okay?”
“Yeah… yeah. I’m fine.”
He still helps me up anyways.
Across from us there’s a large scorch mark and scraps of paper flit down, the edges bright and smoking. Professor Flitwick is standing above the scorch mark, on the desk. His water drips out of his wand tip. The student he was talking to is crying, and soot covered. And when the professor moved to comfort them, I realize half of his mustache is burned off.
I plop back down to my bench. Humiliation and guilt burns at my cheeks and I duck my head so nobody will see the tears welling up in my eyes. Quinn rubs my back.
Slowly the yelling and talking around us dies down. I can sort of see Professor Flitwick moving away from the crying kid, but I’m not really paying attention. My hands wring and tug at my robe. Mum and Da are gonna be so disappointed. First class and I’ve already set something on fire.
Even though no one’s yelling, I can still hear murmuring, and Quinn’s hand is joined by the feeling of everybody’s eyes on me. I sniffle.
And from behind there’s a laugh. Well it’s more like a cackle. And despite how much I want to not see anyone’s face, I whip around to see who’s laughing.
It's a witch in the seat behind us. She’s got messy brown hair and a pretty face. At least… it’d be pretty if she didn’t look so mean. Her laugh is high and piercing, her upturned and dainty nose scrunched up as she guffaws.
I want to sink into the floor. My cheeks are burning hotter than my wand did and I feel myself sag even more into my seat.
The rest of the class grows quite.
“Oh man! I’ve seen babies with better control than you!” She cackles.
My lower lip wobbles at her words and Quinn’s fingers dig into my back. It doesn’t take long for tears to start to fall. “I mean, you’ve gotta be a baby with the way you’re—”
“Miss Synde!” Professor Flitwick cuts her off, stamping towards us. He’s scowling and this time I know he’s mad. But he’s staring at Snyde, so at least it’s not at me… for now.
“There will be no such talk in this classroom, five points from Slytherin!” And seeing the staring eyes, “Everyone read the introduction chapter to your textbooks.”
There was a flurry of books opening and the flipping of pages. Everyone was still staring.
Professor Flitwick turned his attention back to us, raising a brow. Snyde pursed her lips into a pout, glaring fiercely, well it might’ve been fierce if she wasn’t pouting, at Professor Flitwick. He gives her a look, gentler than before but still hard. “I expect you to apologize to Miss Tonks, accidents like this happen to everyone.”
Snyde doesn’t move. But something in her gives in and she turns to me. She sneers. Squirming, I look down at my wand, still on the floor, sniffling.
“Miss Snyde.” He says.
Synde heaves a sigh and I don’t have to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. “Ugh… I’m sorry I called you a baby because you set the classroom on fire, and because you’re crying like one.”
My hands clench, and I can feel another wave of tears. Quinn makes a noise, and he pulls me closer.
“Miss Snyde, You’re a first year student too and I imagine you’ll have an accident like this too at some point, we all do. I bet you wouldn’t like it if someone started making fun of you.”
But Snyde doesn’t respond. Professor Flitwick sighs. “Please see me after class then.”
She huffs. And I can hear her leaning back into her seat.
Staring at Professor Flitwick’s shoes, I start wondering when he’s gonna leave. But he doesn’t. He stoops down for a second, picking up my wand, before walking over to me. His hand rests on my shoulder and I look up.
He doesn’t look mad, his gaze gentle. I bite my lip when my gaze lowers to the burnt off half of his moustache. He hands me back my wand, his small hand pressing it gently into mine. It’s not burning anymore.
“Don’t you blame yourself now Miss Tonks. Magical accidents happen all the time. Especially during first spells,” he said, voice much softer and gentler than before.
“It… it seemed to be going so well though.”
“Well, it takes time for wands to adjust to their person. Especially… especially with young children like yourself.”
I look back up at him. He looks sort of sad. Biting my lip, I glance around the class, seeing all four house colours.
Two years ago it was announced that the age a kid could be enrolled in Hogwarts was reduced to nine; there weren’t enough kids coming in (or staying) to justify it being open. Apparently. But since Hogwarts is like the safest place in the United Kingdom, I don’t think any of the parents minded sending their kids early. Mine sure didn’t; they’re still rounding up Death Eaters. Though Mum said that she’s pretty sure this is the last year they’re having the lower age.
Professor Flitwick pats my shoulder. He’s got a nice, if kinda wonky smile.
“And besides, that was very good for your first time casting,” Quinn makes an ‘uh-huh’ noise, “I think your wand might’ve been a little over eager is all.”
Professor Flitwick gives me a grin, and a smile creaks it’s way onto face. “So… you’re not mad I set stuff on fire?”
He hums, stroking the remaining half of his moustache, and more a heartbeat I’m worried, but then he says,
“Of course not! Though I imagine I might be a little cross if you were to do so on purpose. And, you aren’t going to do that now, are you?”
His gives me a playful wink and I giggle,
“No sir, I won’t!”
“Glad we’ve got that all settled then,” there’s a loud Boom, Boom, Boom. “Ha! Just in time too!”
Chairs screech and everybody’s putting away their things as quickly as possible before stamping down the steps and out the door. Thank Professor Flitwick, Quinn and I pack our stuff too. It’s just as we’re out the door that I can hear him shout about reading chapters one and two.
I don’t bother making a note, too busy pulling out my schedule and map. I’ll remember it fine.
“So what’s next?”
“B-break.”
Oh. Guess I’ve got time to write that note about readings.