Ch 00 – Victim
I flipped the preface of the latest hardbound in my collection, surrounded and half-buried in all the necessary and extra supplies my parents and I have bought for the upcoming school year. There were shopping bags holding parchment, ink wells, quills, robes, cloaks, academic books nonfiction books, romances, teen witch magazines, journals, potions set, astronomy equipment, candy unavailable in the part of Europe I came from—or in any other part of Europe rather-- bath oil, towels, satin underpants, and what-have-you.
It looked like I was moving out. In essence, I am and about to attend one of the best wizarding schools in the world, Hogwarts, this September. However, while people who looked like parents with their children in tow had been carrying five to ten bags of school supplies, I looked like someone who was staying in school up to graduation. Maybe I’m just exaggerating, but compared to everyone else, it seemed I had ten to fifteen more packages. Who needs five sets of everything--robes, cloaks, and what-have-you--when my letter from the school only asked for one or three?
My parents always over-prepared with everything. Mr. and Mrs. Valerius were both magical, but for decades, sought to belong with muggles – non-magical folk. I never knew anything about their magic and the wizarding world until I got my Hogwarts letter. I felt I was special after what happened when I was seven but that’s a story for another time. My parents were calm about it and very sympathetic when they discovered. They also said that there’s a proper time for me to know more.
It seemed strange to me why they said it but I moved on. All that mattered was that, right now, I’m in a world I had the freedom to be myself in, without fear of censure or danger to me or my loved ones where it be revealed to the wrong person. It was a world hidden from everyone else who wouldn’t understand. Witches and wizards have been feared, hunted down, and persecuted a long time ago. A lot were killed regardless of age, status, and good will. My mum told me so. It seemed nonsensical to me. How could anyone treat people different from them so badly, just because they're different and not because they did anything bad? Why did we hide? Why did my parents have to hide it from me?
My brows furrowed, as the thoughts just flowed. I couldn't seem to focus on anything else anymore.
We did more than well in the muggle world. My parents were both successful entrepreneurs, and I lived comfortably than most, but I still don’t understand why they had forced themselves to be muggles when the world they ought to have belonged to was much more exciting. Sure, muggles have better technology while the wizarding world seemed to have frozen somewhere around the middle ages or the regimen, err, the regency era, but who needs gadgets when we can swish and flick our way to get anything we desired, or to go anywhere, or to communicate to someone far away? Wizard tech seems even more natural and convenient.
“Excuse me, Miss Valerie.” Mr. FeodorFortescue stopped beside my table and gently placed the second helping of favorite ice cream. I closed “Wandlore in the British Iles” written by my wandmaker Ollivander’s grandfather.
“Thank you, sir.” I smiled at Mr Fortescue and began digging at my green tea – flavored ice cream.
There was a tall bronze cage on the chair beside me with my very own young avian messenger inside, looking content and proud as a bird of prey can be. He -- it’s a male -- is a huge and handsome black –which is rare – gyrfalcon, and he is mine.
I have ended my last year in a muggle school with flying colors, being in the honor roll and receiving special awards in creative writing, tennis, and chess. Quite a few people will say it’s great but that’s nothing really special in my former school where everyone at least excelled in two or three extracurriculars. Failing subjects was also non-existent when everyone can afford a tutor or two.
As a reward for my industry though, my parents gave me one of my dream pets—with the sole conditions that I train him well and not lose him. I have also always wanted a puppy but it would be to much of a hassle to have one in school. I was told by dad that some witches and wizards brought toads and even horned lizards to school. I’m sure those can be adorable pets but I have my own preferences. Plus. they looked even more impossible to tame.
I was in the middle of wondering whether either name, Starfire or Firebolt, will suit my fancy messenger when I saw him.
Yes, capital H, because that thing—err, He-- almost made me choke on ice cream. What happened was really nothing out of the ordinary to anyone else really. But, to me..
A beautiful boy just glided past me to sit, rather lazily, at the seat of the nearest table to me. He noticed my unseemly staring – I was such an idiot – staring back with a very blank face and a very blank mind.
“Mr Black.” Mr Fortescue was immediately beside him, pen ready to jot down on the fancy, pink notebook on his hand. I wondered briefly why he was using a muggle prop, before my thoughts went back on track.
Mr. Blank? Like point-blank?
His family name is Blank? He is so beautiful and has a strange-sounding surname. Blank… I don't think I mind.
He broke eye contact to address the man politely.
“Strawberry. And peppermint, for my brother.”.
That was when I realized I was rudely staring dreamily and tried to remedy things by pasting a bored look on my face and lazily leafing down through the book on my table.
I swear I could feel his icy stare at me.
He probably thought I was a freak after showing interest like that. Or worse, that I was in love with him...
No no no no no no NO! He could be in my year. He could be a classmate.
Then I remembered that this school year is supposed to be different, the start of the new, much more confident me. How fortunate.
So far, I think I held my self so well, absorbing more and more pages. Eventually, he shifted his full attention to his strawberry ice cream. I didn’t have a sheen of sweat on my lip or anywhere in my body. My breathing looked normal. I don’t think I was blushing…
My only error was that there were drops of melted green tea ice cream on the cover of my book, but there was no lasting damage, and I dabbed it all off with my napkin.
My heart was making a dull ba-thump ba-thump though, as If it knew it should be quieter rather than betray my infatuation to the person I wanted to conceal it from. I am no stranger to a rejection.
When I was ten, one guy knew about my feelings for him. He had thick, curly blonde locks that fell below his ear and seemed to surround his head like a halo. It made his beyond handsome face look like a cherub’s, I couldn’t stop looking at him. Measuring myself against him. It left me dumbfounded when he later asked me to just stop my feelings, like I could just switch them on and off, and revealed that I was embarassing him. He wanted his friends to stop teasing him to the weirdo. I just came into the conclusion that he realized spending time with an unpopular and awkward girl was more trouble than not. I didn't think I was bad, at all. But the treatment hurt, and I tried avoiding pain by avoiding him.
I mentally laughed nervously. Here was another whose looks I’ve fallen fast with. Not that I am still the same person about to react the same way or make the same trouble for my self.
A few minutes later a younger boy who resembled him greatly arrived. They talked briefly about their mother being in Gringgots at the moment and that was it.
I knew later – just after I knew about me being a witch—that we have an account in Gringgots. My dad said he’ll bring me in there someday. He and my mother are still nowhere to be seen. My mom proabably—as I like to call it—"saw something shiny" again, can’t stand not to try it on, and buy it. She was never the smart spender or a good accountant That was me--except when it comes to books. They're my "vice". It was my father who was rather frugal. Both of them were no entrepreneur prodigies compared to my maternal grandparents and my late paternal grandmother, though. Actually, my remaining grandparents were still pulling strings on the family business.
All was cool and nothing horrible was happening. I’ve already relaxed. But I just had to ruin it. I tried to steal a glance at Him, only to see him already staring at me.
I am NOT in love with you. But the thought made me blush.
“Hello.” I said, rather lamely. Still fighting for a cover up even as I was caught.
“Hi.” He said, smiling briefly. His brother stopped his graceful digging at his food and looked at me curiously.
I didn’t know what to say. My tongue was either trying to dry up or to curl up and die. My mind was only filled with what I’m seeing. Gorgeous, ethereal gray eyes. Not just any gray. Probably ten different breath-taking shades of it.
They were smiling at me. He knows.
"Is THAT a gyrfalcon?"
What happened after was a disaster. His exuberant voice startled me and I dropped my wandlore book. I quickly bent down to pick it up and hit my forehead at the table. There was a muffled whimper. I realized it was mine. There was a throbbing pain where I felt the table hard. My hand shot to soothe it. Then, the collar of my wine-colored lace dress got caught at the harmless screw under the table when I bent for the second time, and I was stuck in a very awkward position partly under the table.
I wanted to cry or for the alley to swallow me up. I wanted to ask Mr. Feodor Fortescue to help me. I was expecting them all to laugh.
“My dear, are you quite all right?” It was a grown man’s voice. He unhooked the lace from where it was caught and he raised me upright to my chair. I could smell the faint scent of vetiver and sandalwood.
For a moment, I thought my crush grew up thirty-years in a span of a minute, then I realized said crush was beside the man, with a sheepish expression on his face.
I remembered my manners.. and some small pride.
“Thank you, sir. I thought I was going to die with a throbbing headache under the table.”. He blinked and smirked a little bit at that.
“You might have concussed.” A stunningly beautiful woman stood a little farther away, beside His brother, carrying what looked like a paper bag of cloaks.
“What are you feeling, dear?” asked Mr. Fortescue, worriedly.
“I think there’s a little bump on the way, sir, but other than that, I’m fine.”. I grinned sheepishly. I realized smiling softens the embarassment a little.
“You seemed pretty adamant to get on your book, you forgot everything else.” observed He.
I turned to see him walking towards me and take out his wand.
Rowan wand. It has gret rep for protective and healing spells. Known for it's "dissociation" with the dark arts, and a match for duelling, too. Mr. Ollivander also said that he has never sold a Rowan wand to a user who has turned evil..
I remembered what I've read!
My realization and excitement barely registered as He placed the point on where the growing bump on my head is. “Episkey.” and the injury disappeared.
I saw his father drop his jaw for a second and there was a sudden defeaning silence around me -- which confused me.