Chapter 1
27th August 1997
McGonagall sighed as she sat at her desk, placing her head in her hands.
Muggleborns were banned from Hogwarts. A despicable horror that she never would have thought possible. Even in the darkest days of history, muggleborn children had been allowed, if sometimes treated with fear and discontent.
But the student population would decrease readily enough. The muggle-borns did not make up the largest group; that much was true. But there would be a definite decrease.
Her mind flickered to the many students who would not return this year. Justin Finch-Fletchley. A shame, since his O.W.L grades had been rather good. Colin Creevey and Dennis Creevey, so much bigger than the stick-like things they had once been.
Hermione Granger…
McGonagall clenched her fists as she rested them on her desk. She had to do something rather than just sitting here and letting children be dragged off to Azkaban – or worse.
Then she thought about something. The registry of all witches and wizards could be found in the Book of Admittance. This would include all the muggle-borns who would be old enough to attend this year.
Well, McGonagall told herself as she stood up and left the room, if I can’t save this year’s students, I will save future ones.
When the Book of Admittance was checked on 1st September by Headmaster Snape, he found that some of the names in the previous eleven years had been masked, now invisible to the naked eye. Several minutes of tedious spellwork later and with the names still remaining invisible, he groaned to himself and slammed it shut.
No need to bother anyone with this information. If it meant less fuss over finding muggle-born children, so be it.
1st September 1997
Eleven children sat on the bench on Platform 9 ¾, where they had been told to sit if they did not have any magical experience, according to the letters that had been sent to them.
There were six boys and five girls of all shapes and sizes. One was rather tall and strapping for his age, looking closer to fourteen than eleven. One was quite small and had a sniffle and looked almost as thin as a broomstick. One girl had her bootlaces trailing on the floor and one of the boys looked as if he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. They were mainly white, but one girl was black and another was Chinese.
They were all muggle-born.
They were all about to be interrogated.
The Ministry employees that were to pick them up had their names on some parchment, along with some photographs. One of them, a skinny man with beady eyes and long fingers, wearing a long black robe with a nametag, snarled at the parchment in his hands.
“They only have Muggle photos,” he slapped the piece of parchment as the accompanying witch glanced over, “and they think they’re meant for our world?”
The witch, a squat woman with a second chin, also wearing black robes, nodded as they turned the corner and looked directly at the children sitting on the bench.
She coughed, letting it echo around the platform, causing the children to jump. They looked around for a second, before all of them clapped eyes on the witch and wizard that had come to collect them. One or two of the children giggled at their stupidity.
Of course, they thought, they shouldn’t be afraid.
But they should have been.
The wizard read out the names on the parchment.
“Flora Adams?”
“Here,” a small girl with brown hair sat up and walked over to them, dragging her suitcase behind her. The wizard looked down at her as if she were something disgusting on the bottom of his shoe.
“Monica Church?”
“Here,” a tall girl with mousy brown hair pulled back into a ponytail got up and followed Flora.
“Marcus Dawes?” The witch called out, knowing that if her companion read out any more names then he might break character out of horror.
A freckle-faced boy got off of the bench.
“Jessie Edwards? Ava MacDougall? Kelly Millward?” Three more children got up from the bench and stood by them.
The wizard took over again, trying to concentrate instead on the pain they knew Umbridge would inflict on the children. If these were indeed Mudbloods, then sending them to the Dementors would be wonderful.
“Bianca Osborne? John Peterson?”
A girl and the scruffy boy came over.
“Finn Pearson? Zachary Small-Bone? Lucy Zhang?”
“Here.”
“Here.”
“Here.”
As Lucy Zhang completed the row, the wizard rolled the parchment up and folded his hands. The witch spoke – she knew how to work with children, even Muggles like these.
“Hello children. I am Penny Merryweather. I would like to welcome all of you to the world of witchcraft and wizardry. Now, before we go, does anyone have any questions?”
John put his hand up. “Yes, Peterson?” the witch asked.
“Does it make any difference,” he raised his voice so that they could hear him, “if we were born in the magic world or not? I mean, we don’t know much ‘bout magic, so what do we do?”
The witch forced herself to smile. “Everything will be revealed shortly.”
“But that doesn’t explain anything.” Bianca pointed out, but the two Ministry employees had already turned around and had walked through some doors leading out of the platform.
Almost instantly, the children heard voices from all sides shouting. The group wildly peered around, before they started screaming.
The screams were cut short by the voices shouting out the same curse.
“Stupefy!”
The children were all hit, some more than once. Their vision slightly blurred and they could do nothing but watch as stretchers were conjured up and they were chained to them. The witch and wizard smirked. Now the children would be exposed for the thieves that they were.
The trial started quickly. The Stunned children were all placed outside the courtroom, as the Dementors prowled the corridor. All eleven children were squeezed in beside grown adults, some of whom were weeping. Combined with the darkness, the homesickness and the utter confusion, none of the eleven-year-olds were in the least bit comfortable.
Flora Adams was first, simply because she was closest to the door. Once she was dragged inside, she started pleading.
“Get off me! What do you want? Why aren’t I going to Hogwarts?”
“You’re not going to Hogwarts,” Umbridge called from her seat, as Flora was hastily fastened to the chair, “because we need to determine if you have stolen magic.”
Umbridge sat back in her chair and looked through the questionnaire that the children had been told to fill out while they were waiting. “Now,” she peered up at the terrified girl, “your name is Flora Adams?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Flora trembled.
Umbridge ignored the girl’s fear. “Daughter of Pamela and Jerome Adams?”
“Yes. I want –“
“Parents’ profession: gardeners?”
“Yes, ma’am. Let me go. The letter I received said I was a witch, why are you asking me these questions? And what are those scary cloaked things?”
Umbridge groaned to herself. Children were annoying, but crying, Muggle children were unbearable.
“A wand was taken from you when you arrived,” Umbridge held it up, “hazel, ten inches, unicorn hair?”
“Yes,” Flora swallowed, “it was given to me in the post with my letter.”
Umbridge raised an eyebrow. This had been part of the test; to see if the Muggles would be tempted to use them. The individual wands had been specially selected by Ministry officials who had looted Ollivander’s. It was time to see if the test had worked.
“You see,” Umbridge twirled the tip of the wand in her fingers, as if conducting an orchestra, “the wands chose the witch or wizard. You are not a witch.”
“Then why did I get my letter?” Flora found the courage to shout.
Yaxley snapped across the room, “Stay quiet or I will send you to the Dementors, girl!”
Flora didn’t know what Dementors were, but they sounded terrifying. So she kept her mouth shut.
“Can you name the witch or wizard you stole the wand from?” Umbridge reeled off.
Flora shook her head, determined despite her fear. “It was sent to me in the post. It came with my acceptance letter that said I was to go to the magic school. I don’t want to be a witch any more. I want to go home.”
Umbridge sighed. “Now, Flora,” she tried using her sickly-sweet voice, “you’re a good girl. Surely you can tell the difference between a truth and a lie?”
Flora nodded, frantic.
“I ask again; can you name the witch or wizard you stole this wand from?”
Flora knew that telling the truth wasn’t going anywhere. If this horrid woman said that she was lying, then Flora would lie.
“It appeared in my post,” she tried, “but the letter was not addressed to me. I took the wand to my room because I thought it looked pretty. But I have never used it.”
That part was true. Flora had been too afraid of what could happen to try and attempt any magic. Although being magic would explain why she had been able to jump onto the school roof or why her chess set had turned purple once.
Umbridge was taken aback. She had not expected this. The girl must be lying.
“Very well,” Umbridge closed the file, “try to perform a spell.”
If the Mudblood was able to cast a spell, they would send her to Azkaban. If she couldn’t and she was simply a Muggle, then they would snap the wand, send her home and Obliviate her. After they had performed the Cruciartus Curse on her, of course.
After the chains were undone, Flora held the wand in her shaking hands as Yaxley placed a pear on the floor in front of her.
“Turn it into a melon.” He told her, sneering.
Flora held the wand outright, but even as she did so, she begged it not to do anything. Holding everything in, she felt as if her insides were putty. Flora willed the wand not to cast any magic. Who knew what would happen if she did?
When nothing happened, Flora quickly placed the wand on the arm of the chair and looked up at Umbridge, gripping the corners of her skirt as she did.
“I can’t perform any magic. I am not a witch. I’m sorry I opened post that had not been for me.”
Umbridge did not know what she should do. The girl’s name had been on the list for Hogwarts, which must have meant that somehow the girl had stolen magic. The girl had answered the questions.
According to the rule, a Muggle who had stolen magic – a Mudblood – could only go to Azkaban if certain procedures took place. None of the outcomes listed what she should do if a wand did not perform. Of course, Umbridge did not care about that so much - she would sentence Mudbloods however she pleased, but she did have to obey the laws of the Ministry and that was something Umbridge prided herself on.
“Flora Adams,” she spoke at last, “you are found innocent of stealing magic. But before you go home, you need to undergo one more thing.”
Flora was ushered into the next room, where half a dozen wizards called out in joy. Almost immediately, Flora screamed as she was lifted ten feet into the air and forced to perform somersaults, spin around and dance like a marionette.
The next three children’s cases went by with identical results.
Ava MacDougall had answered every question tearfully. When she had held the wand out (cherry, twelve and a quarter inches, dragon heartstring), she had done exactly the same as Flora. Too afraid of what would happen if the judges found her ‘guilty’, she had faked not being able to perform.
But she was taken into the next room anyway and given the same treatment as Flora.
Finn Pearson had been a very bad boy, swearing and kicking and refusing to answer questions, before Yaxley had told him to behave or he would have his soul sucked out.
Finn Pearson had stayed quiet, refusing to play around.
He was given the wand (ash, eleven and three quarter inches, unicorn hair) and given the same instruction.
Finn knew that he had been practising with his wand at home and had managed to make the entire cutlery set lie on the table, much to his parents’ delight. But this time, he hummed the first tune that came to mind – the Wombles – and didn’t think of a spell at all.
Thrown to the torturers, the next child was Jessie Edwards.
A stubborn child, she denied all of the questions, answering none. When Umbridge said that they might have to torture her, Jessie opened up.
Again, nothing happened with the apple.
Umbridge was getting fed up of this. Surely one of the children had stolen magic?
When Bianca Osborne was dragged inside, Umbridge asked the same questions as she had asked the others.
“You are Bianca Osborne?”
“Yes.” Bianca answered sternly. Growing up in possibly the worst part of Birmingham, this girl could be tough when she needed.
“Daughter of Isabel and Ralph Osborne?”
“Yes.” Bianca snapped, her ponytail flying in front of her face as she squirmed in her seat.
“There is no need to be rude, girl,” Umbridge snapped back even louder, “parents’ occupation: cook and cleaner.”
“Yes.” Bianca spoke more softly this time, but still harsh enough to let Umbridge know that the girl wouldn’t give up easily.
Umbridge then asked, “Now, Bianca, you’re a smart girl. Surely you can tell the difference between a truth and a lie?”
Bianca nodded.
Umbridge held the wand high. “Do you recognise this wand?”
“Yes.”
“Dogwood, thirteen inches, unicorn hair?”
“Yes.”
“Now then,” Umbridge asked in her sickly-sweet voice, “can you tell me the name of the witch or wizard you stole this wand from?”
“I didn’t steal it,” Bianca replied angrily, “It was given to me in the post.”
“The wand chooses the witch or wizard, Miss Osborne. You are not a witch –“
“Then how come I got a wand in the post, then?” Bianca spat at her, cockily, "It doesn't make any bloody sense if it's not for me, but it had my name on."
Yaxley held his wand up to threaten her, but Umbridge instead pleasantly said to Bianca, “There could have been a mistake.”
Bianca gave a small laugh, despite the circumstances. “It was in the post and I was told that I was going to a magic school. It was my name on the letter. It had my address. There wasn’t a mistake.”
Umbridge lay back in her chair. She was enjoying this.
“Fine,” she placed the wand in front of her, “perform a spell. Turn this apple into a melon.”
As soon as Bianca snatched the wand from Yaxley, she held it at the apple and said loudly and with confidence, the spell. The apple turned into a huge, ripe mango. As Yaxley picked it up and Bianca started smirking, hoping that this proved that she was not a fake, Umbridge passed sentence.
“Very well. Bianca Osborne, you are found guilty of stealing magic –“ Bianca started protesting loudly, causing Umbridge to then shout over her, “and will be taken from here to Azkaban, where you will spend a minimum of six months.”
As Bianca was taken away by bailiffs, screaming the whole time, Umbridge ticked the name off. The screaming only ceased when the bailiffs Apparated.
The next child on her list was Zachary Small-Bone. He was as stubborn as the others, but when given a wand, he did not perform magic. He had suspected this was a trick. He just wanted to go home, if the magic world was as horrid as this.
The child after him, as well as after four grown Mudbloods, was Kelly Millward.
“Kelly Ann Millward?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kelly shook in her seat.
“Daughter of Emily and Mark Millward? Sister of David Millward?”
“Yes, ma’am. Please, I just want to go –“
Umbridge put her hand up for silence. She held the wand up in her fingers and twirled it. “Do you recognise this wand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kelly nodded, pushing her feet inward on the stone floor, even though she could only just about reach.
“Chestnut, twelve inches, dragon heartstring?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kelly answered, licking her lips without meaning to.
“Can you tell me the name of the witch or wizard you stole this wand from?”
Umbridge asked her.
Kelly was taken aback. Maybe, she thought, if I say I stole the wand, they might let me go.
“I don’t know, ma’am. It was on the pavement near my house. I haven’t shown anyone else the wand, promise.”
Umbridge smiled. Another liar. Would children ever learn? This girl wasn't a witch any more than Umbridge's dress was green.
“Can you perform magic with this wand?”
Kelly shook her head.
“Well, we shall try anyway. Turn the apple into a melon.” The apple, which had been Transfigured back, was placed on the floor in front of Kelly.
“I don’t know what to do, ma’am.” Kelly shook her head, her pigtails flying.
Umbridge frowned. “Very well. Kelly Millward, you are found guilty of stealing magical property. You are therefore sentenced to a minimum of six months in Azkaban.”
“Wait! I’ll give it back; I promise!” Kelly shouted as the bailiffs came to take her. As they dragged her away, she screamed, “I’m begging you, ma’am! I won’t do any magic! I want to go home!”
Flora Adams and Ava MacDougall had had their memories modified as soon as the torturers were finished with them. They were to go home, that the events of the past day had not happened, that they were to carry on as normal.
They were dropped off at their homes, dazed, confused and extremely sore. Their parents brought them back in, asking why they had returned home.
Flora and Ava recited what had been implanted in their heads.
“I’m sorry, but there was a mistake. I am not a witch.”
Over the next several weeks, they had horrific nightmares. Of being prodded, pulled, feeling as if their limbs were being removed from their sockets, or that their organs were being tugged out. Of men and women cackling wickedly.
These nightmares would haunt the two girls for the rest of their lives. And when the Second Wizarding War was over, when an actual member of Hogwarts faculty came over, lifted the spell and asked if they wished to attend, both girls gave the same answer.
“No. I’m sorry, but it’s too much for me.”
A quick reminder to their parents about Obscurials later, the girls were left alone.
But what was saddest about this situation was that these girls were lucky...