bunny loops
Hana Kurusu is eleven years old, and she’s finally making progress towards her goals.
Two years ago, another little boy with raven black hair and stunning green eyes had rescued her from hell, leading her from the monsters’ nest with his beautiful silver wolf patronus.
She hadn’t known his name then, of course, but in the aftermath, the children’s home caretakers had told her excitedly—Megumi Fushiguro of the Zen’in bloodline, pure and beautiful. Well, he’s technically a half-blood, but who cares about that? Nine years old, and already a prodigy.
Destiny is real, and Hana can grasp it between her small, eager fingers. Even thinking about her savior makes her float, air and clouds beneath her feet as she relearns how to speak and throws herself into studying witchcraft properly. It gets so bad that the caretakers make her wear ankle weights to keep her from just drifting away like an errant balloon, but she just can’t help it.
No more hiding away from the caretakers’ lessons—she’ll be a prodigy, too. The textbooks in the home are a bit old, the binding loose in places and the pages crackly like they might just dissolve into powder. Still, Hana sequesters herself away where the caretakers can’t nag her to do her chores; beneath dusty furniture and the covers of her bed, eyes fluttering over words as she fights sleep.
And now she’s finally eleven, which means she’ll be seeing her savior again for the first time in two years. She looks different, now, Hana’s made sure of it; she surely hadn’t left the best impression before, dirty and bedraggled and mute with terror. No, this time she’s going to look her best. They’re going to make eye contact, and he’s going to remember her as the little girl he saved, and they’re going to live happily ever after in the magical world.
And it really is a magical world, Hana thinks, eyes wide as she takes in the sights. She’s heard about Diagon Alley from the older kids, of course, but she’s never seen it. It’s her first time using the floo and her first time coming to a place like this. Hana stumbles out the other side without so much as a smear of soot on her clothes—and the destination is just as magical, filled to the brim with people swishing past in fancy robes and hats, waving wands and hands in greeting.
Animals coo and howl from shop doors, all brick and cobblestone, and wonderful scents float from everywhere sweetly enough to make her mouth water. Colorful awnings and tables with umbrellas scatter along the walking paths, and the chatter is nearly loud enough to overwhelm her completely.
“All right, Hana, first stop is for robes,” her caretaker says, soft-spoken as always. It’s just loud enough to startle her from her amazement, non-nonsense and nonetheless gentle. “Remember, the school gives us a bursary, but we still need to be mindful, okay?”
Hana nods politely, as she figures a lady should. Megumi Fushiguro isn’t the sort of boy who would judge her for wearing secondhand clothes, after all. Even if she does wish she could get brand new, cutely pressed outfits, she’s buying her Hogwarts robes now. Slightly scuffed robes do nothing to dull the thrumming in her blood, knowing that in just a few months she’ll be there.
And, more importantly, so will he.
“Let’s see… three sets of plain work robes, a pointed hat, protective gloves… a winter coat… oh dear, all with name tags, we’ll have to sew those on…” Miss Himari sighs at the papers in her hands before casting her eyes about the shopping plaza, tidy brown hair piled atop her head. “Okay, dear, come this way now.”
They stop first in a secondhand clothing store for everything but the coat, which Miss Himari is forced to buy new from Madame Malkin’s. It’s soft and lovely and lined with silky furs, and Hana quietly admires the way it swishes over her shoulders in the charmed mirror. Then they go to the secondhand bookstore for such fantastical textbooks as One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
The names of shops they pass are delightful. Hana grips her caretaker’s sleeve to keep from getting lost, but can’t help but crane her neck to read the signs as they go in and out of various shops, Miss Himari carefully counting down their galleons. Potage’s Cauldron shop. Scribbulus Writing Implements. Twinkle’s Telescopes. Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment.
At every stop they get some strange, necessary thing—cauldrons and telescopes and brass scales and pretty crystal vials. Every single store smells different; mothballs and copper and ink and old rotten eggs. Hana stares at a jar-full of pretty opaque feathers and a tank of tiny, goopy tadpole eggs while Miss Himari buys her potion ingredients at the Apothecary, wide eyes reflected right back at her against the glass.
Every window display is stuffed to bursting with colorful stacks of tomes and vibrating brooms desperate to reach open air. Dancing quills and smoking cauldrons and crooning, sparkling gramophones tempt her with every shop they pass. Every bagged purchase vanishes at a wave of her caretaker’s wand, back to the children’s home storage; ready and waiting for her to seize her destiny.
Even so, it feels like they shop for hours. After what feels like an endless amount of shops and trying on clothes and talking to grown-ups, her feet hurt and her stomach is grumbling. Still, she doesn’t complain, content to distract herself with the fantastical magic shows in every storefront window and peddler’s booth.
“I think the last thing we’ll get is Angel’s food and collar, just to make sure we stay in budget,” Miss Himari frets, and Hana blinks and looks up as she speaks. The permanent furrow in her brows returns, pinched and poorly hidden beneath the brim of her hat. “Are you sure you want to bring her with you?”
Angel, her sweet stray. She’d secretly fed the cat from her own dinner for nearly a year before being caught, and Hana has planned to bring her since the letter came saying cats were allowed at Hogwarts.
“Yes ma’am,” Hana agrees sweetly, hands squeezing against her sweater as they weave through the throng. “Angel is my friend.”
Miss Himari smiles in reply. Her eyes look tired, Hana notes; all the caretakers seem to look like that except for the meanest ones. She does her best not to fidget in the long lines while she pores over discounted supplies, to stay on her very best behavior—since being rescued, she’s decided to be as helpful as she can be, too, just like Megumi.
After all, what boy would want to marry a selfish person? Especially one who would go out of their way to rescue a nobody orphan from those scary things, even when he was so young too? She can’t imagine how kind he must be, and Hana has to scramble to meet his standard.
“Okay, Hana, this is our last stop before Menagerie’s,” Miss Himari tells her as they come to a stop in front of yet another shop. She seems more upbeat, though, like something in this dusty, worn-looking storefront excites her. “Listen, sweetheart. I have a few errands to run, and Ollivander will take great care of you while you find your wand. Do you think you can pick your own like a big girl?”
Hana’s shoulders tense at the suggestion. Being separated from her caretakers has only ever led to horrible things like the monsters— it’s how they’d gotten her last time, when she’d wandered off on her own, went a little too far and nearly never to be seen again.
But she is a big girl now, nearly eleven. Soon she won’t have the caretakers, and besides, with this many people around, monsters wouldn’t have a chance to grab her. Even if they did, once she has her wand, she’ll finally be able to protect herself and Miss Himari, too. So she just nods, curls bouncing against her cheeks, and Miss Himari’s warm beam is enough to loosen the tension in her shoulders.
Her caretaker pulls the little pouch of money the school had given the home from her wide sleeve, taking one of Hana’s hands and pressing it to her palm with gentle fingers. It’s heftier than she expects, not quite heavy, and the bag tinkles when she pulls it closer to inspect.
“This will be enough,” Miss Himari says kindly. “Ollivander charges the same for all his wands, so pick a good one; okay, Hana?”
“Okay,” Hana says, reluctance tucked beneath a hesitant smile.
It’s not a scary shop, anyway. It’s narrow, and weirdly shabby for all the good things she’s heard about it, like someone had crammed it in an alleyway as an afterthought. Peeling gold letters spell out Ollivander’s overtop the door, and of all the things she’s been the most excited about, it’s been getting her very own wand.
Everything she owns is second-hand, and honestly owns is a strong word. The only reason she’s getting most of her things from Diagon Alley instead of as a hand-me-down from another child is that everything is in use right now; nobody has quite aged out enough for any Hogwarts-appropriate clothes or tools to be her size or year.
But a wand? A wand of her very own? That’s something she won’t ever have to share or pass down. A wand is a witch’s closest friend, after all—and the wand she chooses now will hopefully be the same wand she uses to stand by Megumi’s side someday.
Miss Himari waits until she cautiously enters the shop, but Hana doesn’t turn back.
Brave Hana. Helpful Hana.
A bell jingles pleasantly from somewhere deep inside as she steps through, worn shoes scuffing worn carpet. There’s hardly space to walk even right from the entrance, less because the shop is actually that small and more because the shelves and shelves and shelves of boxes leave nowhere to walk. The entryway is empty save for a single spindly stool, unoccupied and wedged in a corner.
It’s darker than she thinks any shop should be, lit by the daylight outside and little else. She has to blink and squint as her eyes adjust, fingers tight around the bag. Some sort of light emanates from farther back than she can see, pouring softly past the shelves from some unknown source she doubts is coming from a candle around all this wood and paper.
Thousands of the narrow boxes pile all the way to the ceiling, and Hana realizes they’re all wands. Hundreds and hundreds of wands, tucked away in multicolored boxes with scratchy gold embossments. Where her sleeve brushes against the doorframe, dust floats across the sunbeams like a cloud of teeny tiny bugs.
It smells like the small house library in the children’s home—like old books and varnish and firewood. Something about it seems to crackle like air just before a nasty storm, quelled and building in the same breath. The dusty, stale air of this place seems to be buzzing in welcome and in wait.
“Good afternoon,” someone says from much closer than she expects, tucked away behind a haphazard stack of boxes. It makes her jump and gasp sharply, and it’s so quiet she nearly thinks she’s imagined it. At least, she thinks that until an ancient old man steps out into view.
She’s still catching her breath from the fright as he steps closer, adjusting his tiny glasses on his nose. His robes look as worn as his face, creased with age and dust and knowing, and his eyes are pale and bright like moonlight. Hana swallows, tempted but unwilling to look back out the window for help.
“Hi,” she says back, as politely as she can. Ollivander—this has to be Ollivander, right?—doesn’t smile, and it looks a little creepy maybe, but not unkind.
“And what’s your name?”
“H-Hana,” she tells him, toeing the threadbare rug. “Hana Kurusu.”
“Ah, Kurusu.” He folds his hands together at his waist, a reminiscent expression on his face. “I remember your mother. You have just the same hair, you know. I sold her—ah, yes. Eleven inches long, supple, made of cedar. Excellent for duelling.”
She’d known her mother was magical; that there was an accident shortly after Hana’s birth with no muggle father in sight. But it isn’t like she remembers her at all, so she can’t help herself from asking, “You knew my mother?”
“Of course, I sold her her first and only wand,” Ollivander agrees. “And now, I suppose, you’re searching for yours?”
Mutely, Hana nods.
“Well now, Miss Kurusu—which is your wand arm?” He nods absently as she tentatively raises her right hand, fishing through his robes. “Hold out your arm then—yes, that’s it.”
The tape measure he pulls from the depths of his clothes flits off from his palm and starts to measure by itself, cool metal tape sliding gently over skin as it flies about. It measures her from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and all the way around her head, curling like a crown.
“As you know then, Miss Kurusu, every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons.” The tape measure continues to work, taking note of the length of her throat and pinky finger. “No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you’ll never get such good results with another wizard’s wand. That’s enough now.”
At his words, the tape measure sucks itself up and flutters to the floor. Hana cautiously lowers her arm, but Ollivander is sorting through wands, pulling them at random from piles and shelves. He pops the lid off the first and offers it towards her—pale brown like sweetened coffee, curled at the tip.
“Right then—Try this one. Pear wood and dragon heartstring. Nine and a quarter inches. Fairly pliant. Just give it a wave.”
It’s an effort to take it carefully instead of snatching it straight from the box. She twirls it like she’s seen the caretakers do, but Ollivander shakes his head before she even finishes the movement, snatching it away and discarding it with the box on the nearest shelf.
“No, no… Here.” Another box is shoved in her face. This one is stained a deep chestnut color, square at the handle. “Larchwood and unicorn hair, eleven inches. Nice and swishy. Give it a try.”
Hana takes it for all of two seconds before Ollivander takes it back again, shaking his head. Hana bites the inside of her lip out of frustration, struggling to keep her face neutral as Ollivander hobbles away to parse through wands. Why even give them to her to test if she can’t even test them?
Finally he returns, larchwood wand discarded just as easily as the first. He’s got a new box, smooth and yellow as her hair, and offers her the wand inside. “Here we go—this should do it. Alder wood and unicorn hair, ten inches. Quite rigid.”
She stares at him for a second, just to see if he moves to yank it out of her hand before she even picks it up. But he just watches her right back with an expectant gleam to his eye, so Hana takes it slowly without even looking, eyes locked on the old man, and waves it.
Hana’s so surprised that he doesn’t immediately snatch it back that it takes her a moment to realize anything’s happened at all. At first all she notices is the warmth of the wand, seeping warm and friendly against her palm, her fingers, the pulse of her heart and body—the second thing she notices are the wands, floating softly in the air as the boxes twirl and tumble like dancers.
“Oh, bravo!” Ollivander cries before she can react, clapping his weathered hands happily. “Yes, yes, very good. Excellent match.”
“Oh,” Hana breathes, staring at the wand. It settles nicely into the palm of her hand and sits gently against her fingers, twisted gently like vines or clay at the handle but plain and tapering to the tip, burnished smooth and stained nearly white. She runs her fingers along the length of it, nails ticking gently off the grooves, and it takes her much too long to remember everything is still floating. “O-Oh! Sorry!”
“Never you worry, my dear. You’re a reliable sort, aren’t you? Faithful and considerate. It’s been awhile since I placed an alder wand so young.” Ollivander cracks an amiable smile and pats her hand, strangely familiar. “This wand will serve you well, and I daresay it should be exceptional at wordless casting.”
Hana brightens at the praise. Before she can ask, though, the floating things start to settle, as if they’d only flown with some brief gust of wind. A few boxes topple off their piles to the floor with loud clatters in the silence of the shop, but Ollivander doesn’t seem to notice or mind.
She pays for the wand with seven golden galleon coins from the bag, exactly as many as Miss Himari had left her with. It’s more money than she’s ever held in her hands before, shiny and chill to the touch, and Ollivander takes them kindly and bows her out from the shop.
Miss Himari is already waiting for her with a knowing look on her face, and it brightens even further as Hana exits the wand store with her new wand’s box held tightly to her chest.
“Well?” she urges, bending slightly at the waist to lean closer. “How’d it go?”
“Good! Mister Ollivander said I got a good wand!” Hana can’t help but boast, still warm from the magic she’d cast. “He said it had—um, alder wood and unicorns.”
“Unicorn hair,” Miss Himari corrects. “That’s lovely, Hana. Here—I got you a gift. It’s from all of us at the facility.”
“For me?” Hana tucks the wand box in her elbow to take the little package, wrapped in brown paper and maybe the size of one of the shiny gold galleons she’d given Ollivander. It crinkles around something hard, smooth in places and bulky at the ends. “What is it?”
“Well, open it and see.”
Hana pulls gently at the twine to loose the bow holding it together, folding out the paper in the palm of her hand. People hustle and bustle past them, laughing and moaning about raised prices, hauling their own purchases and wheely bags, but tucked against Ollivander’s nearly empty window display, nobody bumps into them as she unwraps her gift.
It’s a tiny lantern, made with smudged brass and round, clear glass. It’s only a little bigger than her thumb, maybe, but there’s no wick or oil compartment to speak of. Before she can ask, Miss Himari reaches gently to take the wand box and pop it open tantalizingly.
“Tap it with your new wand,” Miss Himari tells her. “I’ll hold your box, don’t worry. I got it from the Magic Lantern—it’s a shrunken lumos sphera lantern with a suspended spell.”
Eagerly Hana takes the wand, giddy as it seems to reach back in some strange way. It feels so friendly, like an old pet, and when she taps the end of it against the lantern head, the glass orb glimmers brightly enough to cast light even in midday. There’s no heat, either, not even against the skin pressed to the sphere itself. Honestly, the lantern is still cool to the touch.
She taps it again, and the light vanishes as quickly as it’d sparked. Of course, Hana’s grown up with magic—she’s seen this spell, before, cast by the caretakers in the darkness; she’s used to self-knitting needles and soup stirring itself over the fire. But this is her magic. Sure, the suspended spell had been cast by a lanternmaker, but it’s answering her call.
“Thank you,” Hana says, because she’s polite above all else. “It’s pretty.”
“We know you don’t much like the dark, sweetheart,” Miss Himari admits. “This way, no matter what House you’re sorted into, you’ll have a nightlight wherever you go. Consider it Agatha House’s welcome gift to Hogwarts.”
Hana’s hands tighten at the mention itself, but it’s nothing in comparison to the gratitude that fills her. Megumi may have saved her, but Miss Himari and the others have cared for her ever since, understanding and sweet even when she couldn’t speak.
Instead of saying anything, Hana lunges for a hug, burying her face in Miss Himari’s robes and squeezing her gifts in both hands against her waist. Miss Himari startles but returns it not a moment later, folding warm arms across her shoulders, and Hana nuzzles happily against her. She breathes in the smell of Agatha House—cleaner and old wood and laundry soap.
Soon, she’ll only see Miss Himari over holiday breaks. She’ll be living with strangers in her House, hopefully soon to be friends, but the thought is still scary. What if they think she’s strange, or don’t like her lantern glowing? What if she goes to class and it turns out she’s absolutely horrible at magic after all?
But she thinks of Megumi and his wispy, glimmering patronus in the dark, dressed in soft blue robes. He hadn’t even bothered with the creatures, hadn’t paid them any mind at all in favor of making sure she was okay. Hana won’t be awful at magic, because nobody awful at magic could be cool and collected in the face of danger, and if she’s going to stand by his side someday then she has no choice but to excel.
The thought fills her with excitement, and it’s a fight not to float away right out of her caretaker’s embrace. Fate had brought them together that night—had led him to her side—Hana is sure of it. All that’s left now is to become someone worthy enough for him to notice.
“We should be heading back now,” Miss Himari says, unaware of the prophecy spooling through her mind’s eye. “I promised Eleanor we’d be back in time for dinner.”
“Okay,” Hana says brightly, doubts banished from her mind. She nearly steps on Miss Himari’s heels all the way to the Floo shop, filled to the brim with anticipation to show her fellow orphans her brand new wand.
She’s been on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters before, of course, clinging to her caretaker’s dresses as her older housemates boarded the train to Hogwarts. But this is her first time going, now, so she can’t help but see everything in a new, exciting light.
Angel is held close to her chest as they step carefully through the thrall of multi-colored cats underfoot, pressing to her legs for treats and attention but slipping away before they can catch their tails beneath her trunk. Owl calls twine through the excited chatter of children and their parents, trunks and carts scraping and wheeling over the platform.
And, of course, there’s the Hogwarts Express—handsome and gleaming scarlet as always, smoke drifting from the engine like a welcoming cloud over their heads. Hana is wearing her prettiest dress, worn and pink but one of the few left without patches. It’s white-collared, soft and rib-stitched by whichever kind-hearted person had donated it in the end, and perfectly warm in the faint September chill.
She can already feel her hair straining at the ribbon tying it back, but the headmistress always said it had a mind of its own, golden and curly like a Necrotizing Meloi sheep’s wool. No matter how early in the day she gets up to brush it, the ends just want to spring and sproing misbehavingly. But even her unruly hair can’t dampen her spirits today or all days.
“Right then, Hana, let’s find a compartment for you,” Miss Airi says as sternly as ever. Her eyes, narrow and bright as a bird’s, scan over the crowd. They’re early, still, so there’s plenty of spots left, and Hana is content to let her look while she cranes her own neck to look for some one.
Megumi is from a distinguished family, even if he’s technically using another name. He’d be smartly dressed, Hana is sure, long since arrived and sitting coolly in his own compartment. Could she be so bold as to look for him? Maybe they could sit together, and when they make eye contact there’d be a spark, and then he’d ask to—
“Give me your trunk, child,” Miss Airi interrupts. Hana pouts but does as she’s told, and her caretaker hefts the old, battered chest up over the steps for her. It’s weathered, pockmarked with dings and scratches, and if it’s been painted before there’s nothing left of it. At least four other of her housemates have used it, and Hana figured that’s an awful long time to be a trunk.
It’s spelled, that much she knows. It’s just to give a little more space for all her things; Angel’s bags of food and bowls, her hefty textbooks, the scales and collapsing telescopes and potion ingredients and robes squashed down next to her normal clothes. There still hadn’t been enough room for Angel’s empty carrier, so Miss Aira had tied it tightly to the handles.
“Here’s your ticket. Make sure not to lose Angel on the train, understand?” Hana nods, and Miss Aira makes a satisfied sort of sound. “Good. Well then—be a good girl, Hana. We put the rest of your bursary in your coin purse, but remember that’s for the whole year.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“And don’t bother that Megumi boy.” Miss Aira cuts her off before she can even protest, brows knotting over her eyes. “No, none of that now. If I get any calls from Mister Gojo or the Zen’in about you harassing him, you’ll be sorry when you get back. You’re too young for all that anyhow.”
“But—!”
“Hana.”
It’s an effort not to squeeze Angel too tightly in her irritation. Instead she buries her face in her pure white fur, hiding her disgruntled expression. It does nothing to stifle the petulance in her tone as she echoes, “Yes, ma’am.”
Miss Aira seemingly chooses to ignore her attitude, nodding once with satisfaction. “Good girl. Now, that said—study hard and get along with your housemates. I’d better not be getting any owls from the school hearing you’re getting into trouble, understood?”
Ugh, why did Miss Aira have to take her today? She would’ve vastly preferred Miss Himari, or anyone else. She’s sure she’s the only kid being lectured on her very first day of school at Hogwarts; it’s totally unfair, too. But she swallows the first unladylike thing that comes to mind, taking the handle of her trunk cart in one hand.
“Yes, ma’am,” she mutters grumpily.
“I’ll be off, then,” Miss Aira says without acknowledging her bratty tone. “I’ll see you again for the winter holidays. Make sure to send owls once in a while.”
And then, without so much as a goodbye, her caretaker turns and walks sharply off. Hana’s left in the doorway, not even having made it fully into a compartment yet, and she can’t help the pinch in her chest as she looks out the door to see other kids hanging out of their windows in both directions, laughing or crying goodbye to their families.
“C’mon then, Angel,” she says instead of acknowledging it. “Let’s get settled, ‘kay?”
Angel licks her chin with a bright pink tongue in answer. Hana giggles at the tickle of her whiskers against her face and steps away to settle in for the long train ride to Hogwarts.
She’s still moody ten minutes later, the train still whizzing past the last few homes of London before breaking into open field, when someone knocks tentatively on the compartment door before sliding it open just a crack.
It’s a pudgier girl with a dark brown bob, just a little taller than herself. She flinches when she meets Hana’s eyes, like she hadn’t expected to find anyone here. She’s wearing an odd bit of fabric, thick and loose with a pocket in the dead-center, and equally soft looking pants—a muggleborn perhaps, or a half-blood like herself.
Whoever it is hesitates for a moment, looking out to the hall before looking back in, so Hana ventures to make the first move. “Hello. Did you want to sit in here?”
The girl spooks, and her eyes are so guarded as to nearly look suspicious. “Uh—Um, I… if you don’t mind.”
She’s anxious. Hana can’t fathom why, considering they’re going to the most magical place on Earth, but she knows what it’s like to be afraid.
Hana puts on her very best smile, the disarming one that always wins adults over. It seems to work at least a little, and the new girl relaxes enough to gently slide the door open. There’s a terrarium tucked to her chest that looks awfully similar to a bug box, but she can’t quite make out what’s inside as she fumbles her wheely chest inside.
It’s a big chest, and a nice one—all dark, burnished leather and brightly polished golden clasps. Hana allows herself a moment of petty jealousy before standing to help as the compartment rattles over a supposed bump in the tracks, and Angel gives a disgruntled meow before jumping off her lap to the other end of the bench.
It’s heftier than she’s expecting, like hauling a chest full of rocks or steel, so no wonder the new girl is huffing and puffing. Between the two of them they get the chest inside and wedged safely against the corner, and the stranger girl sits opposite from her on the other seat.
“Phew,” Hana says, stroking Angel’s head in apology. “What do you have in there? It’s pretty heavy.”
The other girl’s eyes dart everywhere except her face. She’s still cradling the plastic box, and Hana is still dying to know what’s in it, but she forces herself to pay attention as she softly answers, “Weights.”
“Weights?” Hana says curiously. “Like paperweights?”
“No, um. Weights for exercising,” the girl says awkwardly. “What’s your name?”
Weights for exercising? Miss Aira had made doubly sure Hana had packed her ankle-weights, but she hasn’t needed those in nearly a year now. She isn’t a baby, after all, she can control her magic—but she supposes wearing them all the time might give her a workout, too.
“Hana Kurusu,” she greets. Angel shoves her way back onto her lap, purring aggressively against her palms. “You?”
“Uhm… Yuko Ozawa.”
“Ozawa,” Hana echoes, tilting her head. A curl slips loose and bounces off her cheek as she does. “I don’t know that name. Are you a half-blood or a muggleborn?”
“Mister Ijichi said I’m a… muggleborn,” Yuko agrees carefully, the word thick and awkward in her mouth. “But the girls in the other compartment called me a mudblood, so I’m not really—”
Hana’s eyes widen, hand slapping over her mouth in surprise. She can’t stop herself from interrupting even though it’s rude, tone hushed. “They called you that! Miss Eleanor said it’s a nasty word; they shouldn’t be saying it.”
“Oh,” Yuji mutters. “So—So it was an insult? No wonder…”
“Well, it doesn’t mean anything,” Hana dismisses. “Plenty of students are muggleborn and they do just fine. A few of my housemates are too.”
“Housemates?” Yuko brightens slightly. “Are you, uh, a second year? Can you tell me what all this means?”
“Oh no, it’s my first year,” Hana says proudly, patting a hand to her chest. “I live in a children’s home and we call each other housemates. But! I can still tell you stuff about Hogwarts, if that’s what you mean?”
“Yes, please,” Yuko begs, finally shedding most of the wary tension in her shoulders. “Oh, I’ve no idea what’s going on. I had to buy cauldrons and telescopes and I have all this money I don’t know how to use. Mister Ijichi told me some of it but he was stammering so badly I didn’t understand most of it.”
Pleased to be helpful, Hana spends the next hour explaining everything she can remember. She tells Yuko about the sorting hat and the feast and the different Houses and Quidditch teams and Quidditch rules, and even pulls out her Magical Theory textbook to show her a few pictures. Eventually Yuko migrates over to her seat to see better, and Angel preens at the extra attention.
Their makeshift study session is interrupted by a loud clattering a little while later. A smiling, dimpled woman slides back their door, and Hana recognizes the Honeydukes Express cart from the stories her other housemates had told her about, filled to the brim with little snacks and treats. Her stomach pangs as she remembers the soup she’d had that morning, and she wilts a bit.
“Anything off the cart, dears?”
Yuko’s eyes widen and she leans forward. “Do you happen to have any sour patch kids?”
“Sour patch kids?” the woman echoes, bemused. “If that’s a muggle candy, I’m afraid not. We have plenty else for you to look at, though.”
Yuko stares at the cart, clearly at a loss. Then she looks hopefully to Hana. “Are—Are you getting anything? I’m, uh, not sure what I’m looking at.”
“No, I—I don’t have much money,” Hana says, hiding her wince behind another sympathetic smile. “But I can help! You like sour candy, right? You might like the snapping boing-balls or the sour slugs.”
“Sour slugs?” Yuko repeats, alarmed until the woman running the trolley points out the bags. She relaxes immediately and shuffles about in her pockets for an odd-looking purse. “Oh, like sour gummy worms! Do you have any drinks?”
“I have iced pumpkin and peach juice and a few iced teas,” the woman answers kindly. “And a few pasties, if you’re wanting something more filling than sweets.”
“Can I have a… do you have any healthier pasties? Like, with veggies?”
“I’ve got a few pumpkin and apple pasties left,” she offers.
“Then can I have an apple pasty, a bag of sour slugs and a green tea? Please,” she tacks on harriedly. Then she looks shyly to Hana. “Um, what do you want?”
Despite herself, Hana can feel her face start to warm. “Oh, no, I said—”
“My treat,” Yuko adds quickly. “For helping, you know. I have plenty.”
Hana hesitates. It’s rude, isn’t it, to take charity? But then, they take charity all the time. And she is quite hungry; all she has to pass the hours with is half a loaf of bread and some hard cheese. In the end, the smells of the pasties break her resolve, and she smiles gratefully at Yuko as she orders a peach juice and pork pasty.
Hana has to help her with the money, Yuko mixing up knuts and sickles trying to pay for it. It’s only as they both sit down again, the door sliding shut as the woman makes her merry way down the train cars, that Hana notices the plastic box, left unattended for the first time since Yuko had introduced herself.
There’s a bit of dirt inside, but more alarmingly, there’s a toad making direct eye contact with her, glassy-eyed and fat. It’s scaled like a lizard, all dark reds and light browns with craggy black marks that nearly look horn-like. A horned toad, perhaps? Or a crested one? Hana hasn’t seen many toads aside from the few normal ones hopping around outside in the spring.
Yuko hasn’t noticed their staring competition yet, distracted by her sweet pasty and digging in happily. Somehow she doesn’t get any cinnamon goop on her fingers or her face, a feat Hana’s never quite managed to pull off. She sips her juice and asks, “You brought a toad?”
Yuko stiffens, one hand jerking protectively to the lid of the box. “Yes, I—Why does everyone care?” she says defensively. “I thought toads were allowed! That’s what the letter said, but everyone keeps—”
“No, no, sorry,” Hana says quickly, lifting the hand not occupied with her juice bottle in entreaty. “I just meant—most people bring owls for private letters. Or family cats. Angel is different—she’s a stray I helped. Is he a magic toad?”
Her compartment-mate watches her for a tense few moments before settling back down, but she still keeps a watchful eye like she’s expecting Hana’s face to twist with disgust the moment she looks away. “… Yeah. That’s what the seller said anyway. I just… thought he was cute.”
Cute is… a word for it. Hana tactfully doesn’t say that, though, because that’s rude. Besides, toads have been a loyal pet of witches and wizards since before Hogwarts was even founded. Hana read in Fantastic Beasts that some of the earliest familiars were toads, dating all the way back the same as cats.
“What’s his name?” she asks instead of prying. “What kind of toad is he? I haven’t ever met a magic toad up close.”
“Oh.” Yuko blinks at her for a moment, then down at the toad, who croaks back at her. “His name is Hopscotch. I bought him at—Ijichi called it, um, Bufo’s? They said he’s a dragon toad. It’s kinda like holding a hot water bottle.”
“Hopscotch?” Hana takes another curious sip of juice. It’s sweet and cool, just as refreshing as a real peach. “What’s a hopscotch?”
“You never played hopscotch?” Yuko looks affronted by the news. “You draw blocks with chalk and—and jump on one leg! It’s a kid game.”
“I’ve never heard of it. Maybe it’s a muggle game?” Hana kicks her feet absently against the booth. “You can show me when we get to Hogwarts. Er, after the feast I mean.”
“You… want to play hopscotch with me?”
She sounds so befuddled that it gives Hana pause partway through unwrapping her pasty. Her face is ruddy, and she looks like one of the littler children getting caught stealing sweets from the pantry, wary and embarrassed.
“Oh, sorry,” Hana says, a bit confused herself. “Do you not like it? I figured, since you named your toad after it…”
“Oh, no, uh—I mean—” Yuko seems unbelievably flustered. “You want to be friends with me?”
What an odd question. Why not? Hana hasn’t met very many people she wouldn’t want to be friends with. Megumi Fushiguro is, of course, on the top of that list, but future husband and friends are two vastly different criteria.
“Sure,” Hana says agreeably. “You seem nice. It’d be nice if we ended up in the same House, I think.”
“The same House…” Yuko trails off, pasty forgotten in favor of glancing out the window, sheep and cows blurring past over bright green fields. The rattle of the train is pleasant, even if she’s a bit tired, and Hana thinks if the seats were a bit bigger she’d just take a nap right here with Angel. “That… sounds nice.”
“I heard that Gryffindor and Ravenclaw’s dorms are way up in the castle towers,” Hana tells her. “Benny said they kind of wobble when it’s really stormy.”
“Is—Is that safe?”
“It must be,” Hana says decisively. “It’s Hogwarts after all.”
“I wonder what House I’ll get sorted into,” Yuko says after a moment of silence. The strange atmosphere from just a moment ago seems to slither right out the slits of the door. “They all sound so strange. What are you hoping for?”
“Whichever one Megumi Fushiguro is Sorted into,” Hana says confidently. “Even if it’s Slytherin. He’s my destiny.”
“Y-Your destiny?” Yuko stutters, alarmed. “What does that mean?”
“It’s a secret why,” Hana tells her primly, wiping pasty crumbs off her face. “He’s the only one who needs to remember, but our fates are intertwined. My dream is to be the sort of witch he’d like to marry someday.”
“Oh, wow,” Yuko says, eyes wide. Her gaze darts nervously to the door before she lowers her voice down to a murmur and says, “Um, I also hope… that I end up in the same House as a boy.”
Hana feels her face light up, and she leans forward excitedly. “Which boy?!”
“H, His name is Yuuji Itadori,” she mumbles, nearly a whisper as she fidgets with her tea bottle. “I—I saw him in the shopping alley. We—He didn’t know he was a wizard, either, but Ijichi says he’s a half-blood like you. But we went to elementary school together.”
Hana knows what elementary school is—a few of the older kids had gone before they found out they were magical. The name sounds vaguely familiar, too, dancing just on the edge of her mind. “Are you fated, too?”
“I—I don’t know about that,” Yuko squeaks. “But he, um—he once said… I overheard him saying he might have a crush on me.”
“Oh?”
“The boys he was talking to said why, since I’m fat and—um, other stuff,” the other girl says, a sharp cut of bitterness in her tone that quickly melts like snow. “But he—Yuuji said I’m very graceful, and if he had to date anyone in the school, it’d be me, even though he has a crush on Jennifer Lawrence.”
“Who’s Jennifer Lawrence?” Hana scoffs, already sure that Jennifer isn’t nearly as cool as Yuko. “No matter! Who cares about all that? Those kids were just being mean, and he stood up for you. That’s so romantic, Yuko! I bet you will be in the same House.”
“He’s really strong,” Yuji says, now with more life in her voice than she’s had the whole time. She says it giddily and secretly, and Hana realizes they’re having real, genuine girl talk. “Like really really strong, and cute, too. What—What about Megumi?”
“He’s super handsome,” Hana says proudly. “He has black hair and green eyes and a beautiful patronus.”
“Patronus?”
“A patronus is an extension of yourself,” Hana explains grandly, finishing the last of her pasty and patting a hand against her heart. “It’s a spell familiar made with your happiest feelings that repels dark monsters.”
“I’m not sure I have many happy memories,” Yuko says, worried. “Is that important?”
Hana wants to frown at that, but brushes it straight off like cobwebs. “It’ll be years before they teach that, so don’t worry. Hogwarts is the best place on Earth, so you’ll definitely make a bunch of good memories, and! I’ll help you get Yuuji’s attention if you help me with Megumi.”
Yuko gasps, a tiny sound swallowed up by the whooshing of the train car, and puts her sour slugs aside intently. “You would do that?”
“Of course! I bet our destinies are intertwined too,” Hana says confidently. “We can marry our fated partners and help each other with our weddings!”
“Oh, I haven’t even thought of marriage,” Yuko says anxiously, scratching at her soft cheek. “I’m not sure I’m… ready for that yet…”
“Well, we have to graduate first,” Hana reminds her. “That’s plenty of time for you to get to know each other and court properly. And Miss Himari said we’ll get to go to the Yule Ball in a few years.”
Yuko’s voice is full of wonder as she exclaims, “A ball? Like in fairytales?”
“Do muggle schools not have balls?”
“No, but—even if they did, nobody would ask me. If they did, it’d just be a prank,” Yuko mutters, embarrassed. “I’ve been trying to, um, exercise, and eat better, but it’s, uh… really hard to lose weight.”
Hana supposes she wouldn’t know. She’s always been pretty thin, but that bout with the boggarts nest had reduced her down to skin and bones for long enough that the Healers said it would take longer than a few years to properly recover from. “Why do you want to lose weight? Didn’t Yuuji say he doesn’t mind it?”
“Well, yeah,” Yuko admits. “But I want to work hard, too. At—At least as hard as he does.”
Hana brushes her hands together to rid herself of any clingy crumbs and grasps Yuko’s hands betwixt her own, beaming. It clearly takes Yuko off guard, but Hana pays her awkwardness no mind at all.
“Yuko Ozawa,” she declares. “I think we’ll be very good friends indeed.”