A Nine Lives Long Tale [SUSPENDED]

On September 1^st 1947, Minerva apparated side-along with her mother to Kings Cross’ public bathroom. Apparating was officially awful, especially if one was already nauseous due to anxiety.

The stool they arrived in was too narrow for two people plus baggage, and it stanked horribly. It was the ideal place for throwing up, though, and Minerva didn't let the occasion slip away. Good Lord, how she hated apparating.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” her mother whispered gently as she moved the hair away from Minerva’s face, which was bent on the toilet, “maybe we could connect the manse to the floo network next year.”

“Anhm.”

After, she cleaned herself up and accepted a small piece of dark chocolate her mother had offered, mostly to cover the disgusting taste in her mouth.

They exited the public bathroom, which luckily was empty, and made their way towards the platforms. The moment she saw Platforms 9 and 10, her heart skipped a beat. That was it. It was all happening.

They had to wait for the area to clean out first, but a small group of gentlemen in suits and ties didn’t seem willing to cut it off with their loud laughs. Isobel took advantage of that time to kneel down and hug her daughter once again.

“Are you nervous?”

It was a redundant question: she obviously was, so much she couldn’t even speak. Instead, she let out a sigh and nodded inside the crook of her mother’s neck. In response, Isobel hugged her even tighter.

“You’ll be fine, I swear. I’m sure you’ll see that as soon as you get on that train.”

Minerva nodded again, unable to list out loud all the things that could possibly go wrong, even if they were printed on the inside of her brain and she hadn’t stopped reading them over and over for the past month. The only thing she managed to say was, “We don’t have an owl.”

“What?” her mother asked, loosening her grip just enough to look at her in the face.

“We don’t have an owl. How will I be hearing from you if we don’t have an owl?”

Isobel gave her a small, comforting smile. “We’ll figure it out, sweetheart,” she assured, stroking her shoulder, "you can always use the school’s ones and… I’ll talk to your dad. We can save a little more and buy one after Christmas.”

Minerva shook her head. “He won’t allow an owl in the manse, mum.”

Her mother raised her eyebrows and looked her right in the eyes; on her face, she had what looked like a combination of dismay, guilt, and dead seriousness. “You really think he’ll let a whole year pass without hearing from his own daughter?”

She didn’t have a proper answer, nor did she love the idea of searching for one. Luckily, she didn’t need to. The group of men had walked away, there were no muggles in sight, and a small line had formed in front of the barrier. It was time to go.

They watched as a couple after a couple of wizards and witches made their way to Platform 9 ¾. When it came to their turn, Minerva mimicked the way they’d leaned on the barrier, and in a matter of seconds, she was on the other side.

The Platform was buzzing with people saying hello and goodbye under the shadow of a massive, vibrant red Hogwarts Express. With her mother by her side, she dragged her bags down the platform, skirting off crying children hugging their parents and lively groups of older students pushing each other playfully. They stopped in front of one of the last carriages; they both stood there, side by side, silently studying the few steps that separated Minerva from her new life.

“Are you all set?" her mother asked finally. Her voice didn’t seem as sure as it had been on the muggle side of the station.

“I think so.”

“You’re sure you haven’t forgotten anything?”

“We checked a thousand times, mum.”

“Well then,” she said, regaining some of her resoluteness, “better hop on that train before it leaves without you.”

Minerva swallowed hard, squeezing the handle of her trunk in her fist, still unable to move her gaze from the carriage door. “You all will be fine, right?”

“Of course, my love. Why shouldn't we?”

Minerva turned her head to face her. She was smiling, looking unbothered, but Minerva could see, after a lifetime of training in understanding the unspoken, that her mother knew what she meant.

They hugged again, and before any of them could raise another issue the other wasn’t ready to address, Minerva climbed the few stairs of the car. Then, she was on the Hogwarts Express.

The corridor was narrow and crowded with students looking for their friends. She’d pay to be like them, to know already who she was looking for. Instead, she had to stroll through the corridor and search for an empty carriage.

“Hey, girly, you lost?” a warm voice called from behind her, and when she turned, she found a girl with a mountain of mousy curls and the kindest smile. She was just a few inches taller, even if she was visibly older.

Minerva couldn’t help but return, even if shyly, her smile. “I- I’m just looking for a carriage to sit in."

“First year, eh? I just passed one full of you little pixies. Follow me.”

And so, she did. As they walked down the train, the girl asked, “You said your name was…?”

“I didn’t. It’s Minerva.”

“Cool. I’m Pomona Sprout, Hufflepuffs’ Prefect.”

“Oh, Hufflepuff,” Minerva repeated dumbly.

“The best,” she said glooming with pride, before turning to Minerva and raising her eyebrows suggestively. “You’d be glad to become one of us.”

Minerva didn’t know how to respond to such a statement, but Pomona must have sensed her discomfort because she erupted in a warm laugh.

“Don’t worry, girl, I’m not a fanatic like that. We’d be glad to have you, but really, every house is great. Sure, idiots are everywhere, and they forever will be, but so are good people, regardless of the colour of their tie.” She stopped, and so did Minerva behind her. Then, pointing with her thumb at the carriage door on their left, Pomona added, “Maybe you’ll meet the best ones in there. It surely happened for me.”

Minerva smiled at the girl gratefully. “I’ll see you tonight, right?”

Pomona nodded. “Of course. Now let me go talk with someone older before I get too nostalgic.”

After giving her a last warm smile and a wave, Pomona walked back to where they’d come, and Minerva was left alone in front of the carriage. Craning her neck, she could already catch a glimpse of the faces inside, but none of them was paying too much attention to the outside of the carriage. She took one deep breath, walked two steps forward and knocked three times on the glass door before sliding it open.

"Here's another one, gentlemen!" a cheerful voice announced. It belonged to a dark-haired boy, with a long nose and a large smile. He had shot up on his feet and was gesturing theatrically at her to enter the carriage. “Welcome to the cosiest and most popular carriage of the train! Wise choice, I must say.”

The boy sitting beside him pulled him back down by the arm. “Don’t scare her right away, you nutter!”

“I’m not scaring her!” he protested, before turning back to Minerva, “Did I scare you, milady?”

Minerva, who was now standing in the middle of the carriage with her bags still in her hand, couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I’m frightened.”

She started lifting her bags, and the second boy helped her willingly. As they sat, she took a better look at him. His strawberry blonde hair may have been neatly combed on the side that morning, but now they were falling right over his green eyes; a constellation of freckles run over the bridge of his nose, and he was missing one of his front teeth.

“I’m Edgar Bones,” he said politely, offering his hand.

“Minerva McGonagall,” she answered, taking it.

“And I,” the dark-haired boy followed promptly, “am Nobby Leach. And this is… oh, I’m sorry, I’m still not sure I can pronounce it right.”

He was referring to the last boy in the carriage. He’d been sitting there quietly, not really paying attention to them until now. He had brown skin and very dark eyes, now shining with what seemed like a deep annoyance. He turned from his seat beside Minerva, eyeing Nobby dangerously, as he clearly spelt, “It’s Samad Shafiq, you idiot. I’ve already spelt it out for you four times.”

“I’m sorry,” Nobby exclaimed, raising his hands in defence, “it’s hard enough for me to speak English, I didn’t want to mess it up!”

“If it is so hard for you, why haven’t you shut your mouth for one second?” the other boy hissed.

“Calm down, gentlemen,” Edgar intervened, “I’m sure we can manage not to kill each other before we even leave the station.”

“I’ll try, but I won’t make promises,” Samad mumbled.

His threat was received as a challenge by Nobby: during the following endless minutes of uncomfortable silence, he was clearly fighting the urge to speak again, and every time he couldn’t take it anymore and opened his mouth to talk, Samad shot a murderous glare at him, making him shut it without a sound. Edgar on the other hand, despite his white knight performance from only moments before, was now openly enjoying the silent game between the two, shifting his gaze from one to another as if they were in the middle of a tennis match. Upon casually intercepting Minerva's confused look, he shrugged in bemused resignation.

Finally, a long whistle released them from that agony.

“Hey, we’re leaving!” Evidently, Nobby’s tongue couldn’t be held anymore.

“You couldn’t last even five minutes,” Edgar chuckled, “I should’ve bet on it.”

“Trust me, no sane person would have taken such a bet," Samad mumbled, as he picked up the book splayed open on his legs and buried his nose in it, definitively shutting them out.

As the train started moving beneath them, Minerva looked out the window as the station fell behind faster and faster. The day had already been exhausting, and it was just past eleven. She wished she had a window seat, so now she would have been looking outside and hiding her nerves much more comfortably. But maybe it was for the best; eventually, she had to get to know some of her future classmates, and the boys seemed alright, premature bickering aside. Besides, if the worst that could happen was that she embarrassed herself, then so be it.

“So, where are you from, lads?” she asked, after that sudden burst of bravery.

“London,” Edgar replied first, “but actually I’ve moved back there just two years ago.”

“Moved back? Where have you been before that?”

“I have some relatives in Canada. My parents sent me and my siblings there for some time.”

His tone was serious, and Minerva nodded gravely in response, knowing what he meant. Before she could ask further (probably she wouldn’t have anyway – too delicate subject), Nobby chimed in.

“I’m Italian,” he started with enthusiasm, “well, my dad is British, but mum is from Sicily, and so am I.” As he said that, his slightly foreign accent and what he had said before made sense. “I’ve lived a bit both here and there. Mostly in England, though.”

“You speak Italian then?” Minerva asked, any less than impressed.

“Certo che si,” he replied, glowing with pride.

“Of course you do,” Samad mumbled from behind his book, “so that you can bug us in two different languages.”

Both Edgar and Minerva shot him with a warning glance, but he didn’t bother to look up from the pages. Nobby, on the other hand, wasn’t willing to let it go this time.

“Hey ace, how many languages do you speak?”

Maybe it hadn’t been the most effective tactic: Samad’s eyes remained fixed on the book, but his lips stretched in a smug smirk, like a cat ready to play with his prey.

“Seven.”

“Seven?!” the other three kids chorused.

Samad's smirk widened as he flipped the page. “Actually, Latin and ancient Greek are mostly written, so you can count five, if you’d rather.”

The rest of them was speechless, and Minerva thought even if they knew a hundred languages each, they still would have nothing to say.

“Bloody hell. You really are a swat, aren’t you?”

Well, someone had something to say. Luckily, it turned out to be the right thing when they all failed to hold themselves from bursting out laughing, even Samad.

In the following hours, they started to know each other. Nobby had apparently settled to listen – or at least to not interrupt - and so Minerva was able to learn that Edgar had two younger siblings, a brother and a sister, both due to come to Hogwarts in a couple of years; Samad instead had three older sisters. They both had two magical parents, and by noticing the way Samad raised his chin and Edgar lowered his when speaking about their families, Minerva guessed that Shafiq must be a big name in the wizarding world. After all, what upbringing could produce an eleven-year-old able to speak seven languages?

When the trolley arrived, Minerva was astonished: she had never seen sweets and candies like those. Clearly Nobby felt the same way: while Edgar and Samad were rushing to search their bags and pockets, he simply leaned forward, staring at those countless treats with his mouth slightly open, to the point that Minerva thought that he might start drooling. But then something sad emerged in his eyes; he closed his mouth and slouched back on his seat.

“I don’t have coupons on me,” he frowned, crossing his arms childishly.

“Coupons? What are you talking about?” Edgar asked absentmindedly while digging inside his shoulder bag.

"Coupons... for the sweets," he repeated even more sternly - in confusion or disappointment, Minerva couldn't tell.

Minerva was a bit disappointed too: she had left her weekly coupon to her brothers, assuming that once at Hogwarts she wouldn’t need it, but now she was starting to reconsider her choice.

“I don’t have them either,” she admitted, smiling sympathetically at Nobby, “but mum packed me some apples. I can share if you want.”

Samad seemed to pay them no mind as he talked with the trolley lady, asking her about this or that candy. Edgar had just emerged victorious from the battle against his bag, holding a red velvet pouch like a trophy, when suddenly he stopped to give her and Nobby a puzzled look.

“You chaps don’t have money?” he asked, with a small line of pity forming on his lips that Minerva hated on the spot.

"We do," she replied dryly, without checking with Nobby.

“But we don’t have rationing coupons,” the other boy sighed.

“Again, what are you talking about?” Edgar questioned in confusion. Then he turned to Samad, who in the meantime had bought himself a handful of lizard-like biscuits. “Are they playing with me?”

“We’re not!” Nobby whined, exasperated. “You’re the one playing with us!”

They exchanged some more confused looks before Samad sighed. “Whatever you lot are talking about, you won’t need it. Just pay and let the lady move on.”

All three of them apologised profusely to the old witch, but she dismissed them with a kind smile. Yet Minerva didn't want to bother her by asking about every candy she had, so she ended up buying the same thing as Samad - Newt Gingers, apparently. As soon as the lady strolled past their cart, they opened their candies in silence and started eating. Minerva loved her biscuits and planned to compliment Samad on his taste in the future.

“So,” the dark-skinned boy started, suddenly breaking the silence, with a malicious expression painted on his face, “you two must be mudbloods.”

“Hey,” Edgar admonished, “watch it.”

Minerva sighed, putting down the already decapitated newt she was about to finish. Her mother had warned her about this, about those words, those prejudices. However, she didn’t expect to have to deal with it before even getting off the train.

“I’m a half-blood,” she simply recited, as she had been taught, “mum’s a witch and dad is a muggle.”

“Very interesting,” Samad mused. “What about you? You’re a half-blood too?”

Nobby was staring at his shoes, mortified. “I’m muggleborn.”

“Even more interesting.”

“Shut it, Shafiq,” Edgar hissed, “There’s nothing interesting about that. But if you care so much about that sort of thing, I shall let you know I have myself a muggle grandfather. Are you happy now? Or are you scared to share a cart with such dirty people? We might infect you with our "mudblood-ness", you never know!"

Edgar was fuming with rage, and Minerva was expecting a nasty response from Samad, maybe a real fight, but it didn’t come. Instead, he smirked.

“I never said I cared,” he corrected smugly, “it’s just interesting. Different culture, you know?”

Minerva rolled her eyes, hoping to get over with it quickly. Nobby seemed about to cry. But Edgar was out for blood.

“Different culture you say? How about “medieval prejudice”, doesn’t it sound better?”

“Okay!” Samad caved in, raising his hands. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said “mudblood”, but I was just teasing them, I swear. And it is a different culture! Didn’t you see, about those coupons? It’s what gave them out. And I just want to learn, nothing more!”

Edgar studied him for a bit. “You’re not a blood purist?”

“I am not,” he assured firmly. “Some in my family are. And I am well aware of how stupid they can sound."

“Good.”

Another minute of awkward silence passed, and Minerva was getting tired of it. She had already lived through too many silences in her short life; she was born out of silence, and she wouldn’t take it anymore. Not in her new life. No more silence; blabbering and non-sense would be better than silence.

And so, she explained. “Coupons are war measures. There wasn't enough sugar for everyone, so they decided to ration it. If you want sweets, you need a coupon. That’s it.”

"Oh." Samad stared at her with big dark eyes. “So… the muggle world knows about… him?”

“You mean Grindelwald? No.”

“But… you said you had war measures…”

“There has been a muggle war too, you know? A big one.”

“You really don’t know?” Edgar asked, dumbfounded.

“I- I didn’t-” he stuttered, “Nobody ever told me.”

Edgar scoffed. “And this is the blossom of the pureblood education.”

Samad huffed at him, before turning back to Minerva. “Will you tell me more about it?”

He sounded sincere and eager to learn, but she wasn’t so sure about it.

“Maybe,” she said, “but not now. We’ve ruined this ride enough. Let’s just talk about pleasant things and, please, let me eat my biscuits.” But then she gave him a kind smile. “They’re very good, by the way. Good choice.”

The rest of the ride ran smoothly. They talked about school subjects, and Houses, and Quidditch – Edgar and Samad tried to explain it to her and Nobby, before getting into an argument over their favourite teams – and before they knew it, they were arriving.

Pomona knocked at their door to request they put on their uniforms, and so they did. As they sat back, all wearing their own black robes, the excitement became palpable in the carriage. Minerva had a lump in her throat and her heart started acting funny, but it was a relief to see she wasn’t the only one. The boys were looking at each other with big, shiny eyes, and smiling nervously. Nobby couldn’t sit still, and he was bouncing his leg so hard he made the bag of leftover candies fall on the ground; Samad, who seemed the cooler among them, barked at him with exaggerated viciousness, and by that Minerva understood he was in fact as tense as them.

Finally, the train stopped, and they piled into the crowded corridor with the other students to leave the Express. As soon as Minerva set foot on the platform, she heard a roaring voice from above her.

“FIRS’ YEARS! FIRS’ YEARS, WITH ME! WE’VE GOT A BOAT TER CATCH!”