The protective glass vanished. The fat -and loud- boy stumbled into the cage and fell into the puddle, and the snake started slithering deep into the zoo to the horror of the visitors.
I was only barely paying attention to the chaos it was causing. The thin boy who had been hissing to the snake -and getting hissed back by it- had proved to be far more interesting.
By the time I had recovered enough memories of my previous life to know that I wasn't back at Bet or any world with parahumans, I had noticed the bizarre accidents happening around me.
Seeing my chance I sent mom to distract the guardian of the boy, whose face appeared to be about to explode, and stepped in to say my bit.
"You. That wasn't the first time something like that happened, was it?"
That snapped him out of his confused daze. His green eyes -or to be more accurate, the eyelids around those green eyes- narrowed, taking me in before settling on my stump.
"Who are you?"
"No one important, I assure you. Just someone who might be experiencing some occurrences similar to the one you just went through." God, Coil had really rubbed off me.
"You mean the impossible things." I nodded. "Like how the glass vanished?" I nodded again. "Uh, one time, I turned a teacher's hair blue. I felt it. Does that count?"
"Unless you dyed it..."
"Uh, no. Another time, when my hair was shaven clean, it grew back in a night?"
I chuckled. "What's with you and hair?" He snorted, but not because he found what I said funny. "But yeah, those seem to be the exact kind of weirdness that follows me. Last saturday, I made my classroom's wall assimilate the door into itself, and no one could get in for two minutes. It went away fast enough for it to not get plastered all over the news and everyone ignored it." I paused. He had a slight smirk. "The snake. You were conversing with it?"
He looked suprised. "Yeah. You could hear what I was saying?"
I shook my head. "No. But let's talk about that another time." I thrusted my open left hand to him. "I'm Taylor. Taylor Hebert. A pleasure to meet you."
He grabbed my hand and shook it with energy. "And I'm Harry Potter."
That was when the adults came over and tore us apart. After I settled into the car, my mom remarked on the unpleasantness of the man who turned out to be Harry's uncle. "Honestly, he doesn't seem like a good parent. I didn't say anything to his face, but I got where they live. Conveniently close to us. We'll check on the kid. You want that, right?"
I merely nodded.
...
"Quite the coincidence to meet here."
Harry turned to me with a nice smile on his face. "Taylor! I was just paying for my wand. It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"Hmm," I whispered as I greeted the old wandmaker with a nod. "You seem okay. But still. Are you?"
"Yeah, yeah, no problems. I'll tell you in detail later."
He had disappeared. His whole family had left. Right after telling me he had received the letter. I had written back to McGonagall, and to my suprise she had brought him back, but this was the first time we met since.
As Ollivander took my measurements, I asked Harry, "Wait for me? It'll take a few moments and then we can shop together."
Both of them grinned knowingly at that, and rightfully so, as I ended up searching for my wand for more than half an hour. Still, Harry didn't leave. The shop owner had to take out one of his father's works. Acromantula venom, a combination of Beech and Hornbeam, eleven inches long. When I touched it, sparks flashed in my mind, and I saw things I wasn't meant to see.
Ahhh.
Hi passenger.
Missed ya.
We left the shop, left Ollivander to his musing about his family tree and seers.
Shopping was mostly uneventful after that. But before parting ways...
My trunk bumped to something on the road as I slowed down. Harry was matching my pace since we started walking, so he did too.
"Harry, don't go back there."
He turned to me, scared but hopeful, ever so easy to read.
"Stay with us, mom and me. Until we can go to Hogwarts."
He didn't answer. Not for a while.
Then...
"If you'll have me..."
I smiled. Lisa would have loved this kid.
The mode of transportation to the magical school was... by train. Suprisingly mundane, though the fact that we had to go through a barrier to reach the train did make it a bit exciting for Harry.
I cracked open my copy of Hogwarts, A History as I settled into the compartment with Harry. He watched the scenery out of the window as I read.
Convincing his uncle to allow Harry to stay with us hadn't been hard. One could say he was eager to get rid of Harry, even. I decided to investigate his homelife a bit more, after this school year ended. The signs for mistreatment were all there but Harry had been quite tight-lipped during his stay with us.
Oh well. I had time.
The door slid open to reveal a ginger boy with freckles and blue eyes. For a moment I wondered if Emma was... reincarnated too but the moment passed and I was left wondering in which way I had sensed a resemblance.
Greetings uttered, names exchanged, Ron dropped next to Harry with awe in his eyes. Ah. That was a thing. Harry was famous for being the supposed cause of the demise of a villain so terrifying that authors were afraid to write his name -his cape name- down.
Ron, a part of the wizarding world since he was born, was able to provide the two of us with some casual, real-life info.
Eventually the talk arrived to who would be sorted into which house.
"Gryffindor, of course!" Ron declared. "My whole family was sorted there. I can't imagine going anywhere else. Ravenclaws are a bunch of bookworms and Hufflepuffs aren't famous for much. Either would be better than Slytherin, though."
I chuckled internally. Houses seemed to give way to an almost sport-club type of rivalry between the students of Hogwarts and even the people of magical Britain. Ron was not being fair to the other houses.
"I'm okay with being in any of them," I told him with a slight smile tugging at my lips, one adapted after many public relations lessons and showings. I more or less knew how to handle brats. Harry nodded.
Ron appeared to be horrified. "I could have guessed you would be okay with Ravenclaw, but Slytherin? Nothing good ever comes out of that house! Almost all future dark wizards are sorted there. You-Know-Who was sorted there!"
The trick to endure such tirades was to hold the illusion of remaining patient, even if I was internally reminded of some of the sillier kids I had to deal with as a ward. "If it really was the nest of villainy you are making the house to be, wouldn't the Ministry close it down for being such a problem? Wouldn't the staff? Surely they wouldn't allow the house to remain?" Personally, my trust in authorities was among the lowest so perhaps I wasn't being fair to Ron, but it wouldn't make sense for him to be right even if the authorities of the wizarding Britain turned out to be imcompetent or downright evil as I imagined things would be noticeably different.
A look of frustration settled on his face. He leaned forward and voice barely a whisper, he uttered, "Maybe I'm blowing things out of proportion, but you have to understand, it has been ten years since the war ended. The kids of the unconvicted Death Eaters -the followers of You-Know-Who- are all grown up. Which house you think they go to?"
Realisation dawned on Harry. "Slytherin?" he guessed.
Nodding, Ron said, "You get it know? You are a Muggle-born, Taylor, you would be in danger in that house."
My blood ran cold. The books had not mentioned this. I had no idea I could possibly board for years with a bunch that hated my guts because my parents weren't magical.
Wait. Unconvicted Death Eaters? I asked Ron about it.
"Voldemort's followers that claimed to have been under the effects of the Imperius Curse to avoid getting sent to Azbakan. Though the children of the convicted ones were likely sent to live with their relatives so big chance they share their parents' belief too."
Azkaban too, was another thing to think about. So, so many things to think about. Things weren't the rainbow and sunshine I hoped them to be even with magic.
I had been getting ahead of myself. Ron was childish, courtesy of being a child, and biased but he had more knowledge and experience in the wizarding world than I had, and was good enough of a person to worry for and warn me. I felt bad for insulting him in my mind a moment ago.
Further indication that while I had the name, physical body and the memories of Taylor Anne Hebert of Bet, I wasn't her. I was just an eleven year old, complete with an immature brain.
I plastered a cocky grin on my face. There were no bugs for me to dump by emotional expressions on, and maintaining the image of calm I had before could be challenging for me. My attempt didn't seem to be working the way the two were looking at me with little smiles on their faces.
"Still though, Dumbledore is the headmaster, no? He is the greatest wizard alive. How bad could it be? I say we go and see it for ourselves." I wasn't trying to just be reassuring. I didn't want to presume things about little kids, even the possibility of them being horrible "fantastic racists" as the internet defined it. My lollipops, when phrased like that the term sounded so fucking disastrous.
Plus, if that was their upbringing, there would be plenty of time to fix their minds in the following seven years. They could be little shits, sure, but none of them would be seasoned gangsters like members of the E88 and ABB.
Ron nodded and Harry patted me on the shoulder, almost visibly secreting worry. "If someone acts like a jerk to you, tell me."
My Yank words were rubbing off him, it seemed.
I was glad to have cracked a book open with Harry at my side, but it was clear we had much to figure out about this new world we were entering.
Snacks arrived, the conversation stilled, and I returned to my book.
...
We found the frog -toad, or whatever- in the toilet. I had taken the chance to allow Harry and Ron to bond further without me in the way. I wanted Harry to make close friends and Ron was an eager candidate.
"So that's why I'm planning to go see a dragon sanctuary. None exist around here but there is a small one in Ireland, and I have already travelled to France before with my parents, isn't it rude that Ollivander didn't tell me anything about how to collect wand woods? Trade secret, I assume. No matter, Hogwarts has a giant library so I don't need..."
Hermione's yappings were almost as likely to sink to the background as Greg's, though I had to admit hers were more justified. At least she wasn't ranting about how the ten thousandth nerf Glolog-Mlolog received. I couldn't help but smirk. Maybe Greg had already succeeded at achieving whatever ranking he wanted in that stupid game.
Or maybe he was dead.
"And so I cast the spell and it worked! But then professor McGonagall showed up and told me the underage wizards or witches weren't allowed to use magic at home! I couldn't believe it! So unfair! How did she know anyways?"
That stopped me in my tracks. I had used magic at home and Harry had too, a simple Lumos and no one had popped up to warn us.
Fuck. So many things so think about.
I bid Hermione and Neville goodbye -the kid was shitting his pants, what the hell- and went back to my compartment.
Three boys were hovering near it at the moment of my arrival.
Blondie pointed a finger at me. "You. Is this your compartment?"
His attitude annoyed me. "What if it is?"
"I want to know if this is where Harry Potter is."
I shrugged. "Why?"
Wrong answer, clearly, as he hmmed. "So he is here. I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. And you are?" he asked. The two huge boys behind him didn't warrant any introduction, it looked like.
"Taylor Hebert."
A thoughtful look seized his features before leaving it's place to a sneer. "I don't recognize that surname. You sure it's not Herbert?"
Ah, fuck. "Nope, I'm a Muggle-born. The letter was quite suprising. Pretty interesting, this whole magic thing," I tried.
Wrong thing to say, apparently. That ignorant foreigner act only allowed his sneer to get worse. "A mudblood," he spat. Likely a slur, though I was calm in front of it. Why was I so calm now when I had been easily flustered back in the compartment? Because this was a confrontation? I couldn't control bugs but I had confirmation my passenger was still with me, was this it's doing? Or had my skills, my training not eroded at much?
My wonderings were cut short as the compartment door was pushed open to reveal a red faced Harry and Ron behind him.
"Ah, you must be Harry Potter," Draco attempted to greet, but Harry wasn't having it. He shouldered past the big boys and put himself between Malfoy and me.
"Leave my friend alone!" he snapped. Warmth crawled up my chest.
Draco's left eyebrow rose to hid under his bangs. "Friend? The infamous Boy-Who-Lived, friends with not only a Weasley, but a mudblood cripple. You'll learn that some wizards are better than others, Potter. I can only hope you'll come to your senses before the sorting and claim your seat near me in Slyherin."
"Piss off, whoever you are," Harry growled.
"Your friend can tell you who I am," Draco countered. He left, went through the staring contest Ron and the two big boys were having and absolutely ruined it. One of them followed Draco immediately, but I lunged and grabbed the back of the other. He turned to me.
I extended my hand. "Name's Taylor Hebert."
He looked bewildered, but eventually shook my hand. "Vincent Crabbe." Then he left.
"Bloody hell, what a bunch of prats," Ron said to me. "Why did you even bother with the last guy?"
"I had to start somewhere."
He didn't get it, but didn't press. "What did that blondie say to you? Sounded like he was whispering insults."
"I'll tell you in the compartment."
That's when Harry interjected. "Damn, if that ass is a Slyhterin then I sure as hell don't want to be in that house." It was nice to see Harry expressing his anger. Most of the time he was just a bundle of nerves and anxiety. "Sorry Tay, we heard the voices but the bean we split in two turned out to be the poop flavored one. We were having a pretty hard time".
I giggled at the sheer silliness of that even though it sounded like an unfunny cartoon joke.
Draco was indeed an ass but still, I felt conflicted about him. Was he the child of one of the Death Eaters? He must had been parroting his parents' words, no way an eleven year old could be so hostile otherwise.
Troubled, the three of us moved back into our compartment.
Annette Hebert considered herself one unlucky woman.
When had it happened? When had her smooth-sailing life turned around and rained misfortunes on her head?
It was, probably, when she and Danny decided to move to Britain, to Annette's grandparents' empty house. Annette was invited to the position of professor at a well-known university, and Danny had been very quick to find himself a job as the spokesperson of a local Union.
But Annette understood now, that she had regretted moving to Britain. The second she had set foot on ground, she had gotten chills. There was something off, something growing in the air.
And yet, she had ignored her sixth sense and moved on with her life. She had gotten busy, and learnt to ignore that little voice in her head telling her to go back.
Yes... Now that she was thinking about it, she had been very uneasy when she first came here. She had gotten used to it, but the feeling hadn't disappeared until...
Not even until when the doctor broke the news to the two of them that their child was going to be disabled, because of nothing at all but the unluck of genetics and they were forced spent days worrying and stressing about Taylor's future...
No, the feeling had gone away sometime after Taylor's birth (a "very healthy baby, despite everything. What a fighter," according to the doctors...) and Danny's death...
Danny had been enthusiastic about this plumbing job. Despite not being a worker, he had wanted to be in the work with his men. Annette remembered vividly how he had kissed her goodbye and squeezed Taylor's cheek.
Then the news had came. A gas leak, they had said. An explosion. His body was so scarred that they hadn't allowed her to look at his body.
And Annette was left all alone. She had no family except for Taylor. No friends.
At least the pay was good. She didn't have to worry about the rent or anything.
But the uneasy feeling that disappeared... She could remember it now, sitting with a beer at her hand, after not having any time to think for so long...
Taylor had been... A remarkable child. Far too mature for her age, but not in the way kids pretend to be. Annette often felt she was interacting with a peer instead of her child when talking to Taylor. She was so understanding, helpful, thoughtful... Annette didn't know where that had came from.
There were problems too, but nothing too overt. Stuff like Taylor not having many friends, not listening to her classes. Her teachers always seemed like they wanted to say more, but they wouldn't.
Annette wouldn't push, either.
But all of this meant that Taylor was much easier to look after than expected. Annette had worried to death, but with Taylor she wasn't having a hard time at all.
There were other things though... Unrelated to her disability and the father she never knew. She could now see what they were and why they had happened.
One time Annette had been drinking, out of stress. A usual occurance after Danny's death. There wasn't anything unusual. And Taylor had marched straight from her room to the living room where Annette had been, eyes wet and nose red, and all but attacked the can of beer at Annette's hand, crying, "Don't drink that moom that tastes baadd!!! Mom it tastes horrible I don't want you to drink thaaaat!"
Annette, dumbfounded, had allowed the can to be torn out of her hand and had watched Taylor go and throw it to the thrash bin.
"Okay, dear, okay," she had soothed. "I won't drink anymore..."
"N-never ever?"
"Not ever."
Taylor had stopped crying after that, but Annette couldn't help but ask;
"How do you know what beer tastes like?"
Taylor had shot her a dumbfounded look. "When you were drinking it."
Annette had thought in her drunken state, she had let her toddler try alcohol. The guilt had been overwhelming.
Another time, when she and Taylor had been watching television. It was a movie about some boxer and the man on the screen had dropped down and started doing push-ups.
"Wooah, I want to do that!" Taylor had said, with a smile.
It was... grim, watching your child get pumped about things they wouldn't, couldn't, do. Annette had almost changed the channel at that, but Taylor had gotten up with a, "Let's see if I can!" dropped to the ground, and start doing push-ups with one hand.
Now, Annette had never been the physical type, but she had tried push-ups here and there. She had also watched people try -and fail- them. For a untrained human, even a single normal push-up. And there Taylor had laid, having done five one-armed ones.
Children weighed less, that must have been it. The lighter you were, the easier push-ups became.
These two weren't the strangest things Annette had noticed Taylor do. There was also the weird pain tolerance, which had been another point of worry for Annette, though Taylor was very responsible at keeping herself safe, sound and healthy.
The most damning event she could remember was this:
They had been at a mall. A big one. Taylor had always hated standing on the escalators, so they were walking.
On an escalator, you stand on the right side if you want to. You leave the left open for the people who are in a hurry. Unfortunately not everyone had the memo.
"Excuse me," Annette had said. The man had taken one look at her, then decided to ignore her.
Annette had been about to call out to him, when Taylor had stopped her by squeezing her hand very tightly.
"What's wrong Taylor?" she had asked.
Taylor had only shook her head.
Annette had noticed the man had moved, walking up the escalator, though they had reached the top anyways.
It was only then Annette could realize what was up, when she had stepped onto the floor and looked around.
All over the floor, people were walking in lines. Like a bunch of soldiers in the army, with no regards to personal space or preferred walking speed. When arrived at the straight-line-distance of the stores Annette had assumed they were planning to go, they would turn ninety degrees and walk straight towards the store. From what Annette could tell, they went back to normal, walking like a normal person, when they entered the stores.
"Beautiful."
That hadn't been Annette.
That had been Taylor.
These little unexplainable happenings had always been at the corner of Annette's mind. Except, they weren't unexplainable now. The explanation was that Taylor was a witch, and she had been doing magic.
For the first time in years, Annette took a huge sip from her beer.
I'd scoured through a dozen of books on the inner workings of Hogwarts and although there were many interesting things to find in them, none of them had any information about how the Sorting was conducted. From what I could tell the majority of the British wizards and witches were Hogwarts alumni and yet none of them had bothered to mention anything about what it was actually like to their children, junior siblings or nieces and nephews judging from the reactions of the crowd I was a part of.
It was an open secret, why I wasn't sure. I didn't think there were laws in place forbidding it's mention or anything like that. Maybe the parents unknowingly agreed with each other that they wanted their kids to be unprepared and so "unbiased," for the lack of a better word, for the Sorting, which was basically dividing the kids into groups for no reason other than... I didn't know. Culture? I didn't believe people could be so neatly put into boxes according to their personalities, especially kids, for them to develop identities and emotions around the particular houses. To me, it looked like this system did little good; encouraging healthy rivalry, forming of friendships and so on but the negatives it could bring seemed far worse. I hadn't been in the magical world for long and I could see the problems the adults of it who had too much attachment to their high school cliques caused.
I was getting distracted, probably because I was bothered. I didn't want to put the hat on my head. What was the implication of a talking headwear choosing which dorm you'd be in by sitting on your head?
I was powerless to act though. The entire student body, the teachers, the ghosts and my fellow first years were here. I was but a muggleborn, unfamiliar with the magical world no matter how much I'd read up on it. It was best to put up with this ritual.
Small mercy was the hat seemed to take little time in announcing where most of the students would sleep, a matter of a heartbeat with some.
"Hebert, Taylor!" I was called out. Harry squeezed my shoulder and off I went. A flurry of whispers rose from the four long tables, a missing arm wasn't the most common thing back in the muggle world, and it was even rarer with the magical treatments they had available. Most kids would assume I simply couldn't access St Mungo due to me being a muggleborn and leave it at that. If only they were right.
I walked up the stool and sat. McGonagall put the hat on my head.
Oh, the hat intoned inside my brain in a voice I could tell was trouble, what has dropped into my lap?
This is... barely a chapter at all. I wanted to try my hand at texting up a whole bunch of bullshit to fill the pages like I see all the authors doing (I wonder if it feels like bullshit to them when writing, too) and I need to shower so I cut it short of the actual convo between the hat and Taylor. Um. Sorry? Or, let's frame it like this: My first attempt at a cliffhanger. Don't kill me.
I don't appreciate an adult infiltrating the ranks of the fresh batch of Hogwarts' students, the hat accused, especially one who's foolish enough to go through the Sorting willingly. Did you think I wouldn't notice?
I fought to keep my panic in wraps. Deep breaths; one, two, three....
Let's walk back a second, there, I thought back, who said I was infiltrating anything?
The Sorting ceremony is for the newly accepted students to go through, who are typically eleven, at most twelve human years old, Ms. Hebert.
I devoured the books on this, I thought indignantly, there've been people who'd been held back, be it because of their health and family situation. There is precedent.
You think yourself so smart, don't you, the hat spat and I was shaken by the bile in his voice. Do you think they keep me in a dust bin except for a single day in the year? I am notified by the headmaster of any extremes and unexpected situations among the newcoming students before I Sort them. And in the precedent you are referring to, students who were tragically unable to attend in the appropriate age have never been treated just as like any other student in their year, that would have been unjust to both them and the rest of their year. They would be accommodated to one of the seperate quarters available in the vast complex that is Hogwarts.
Shocked by the influx of information, and my argument thwarted, I asked, What even is the point of Sorting them then?
To provide a sense of tradition, the hat replied, and I personally request it, it told me, it's tone sweet from satisfaction.
It immediately made sense to me. The hat had no eyes, hands or legs and although it claimed to not get buried in some holder until they needed it for the Sorting, there couldn't have been going on much for him. His presence on earth amounted to little, sitting around wherever they would put him after this, and deciding with who, where and how the children would spend their time here at the school. I realized that the implications of which child went where in terms of the houses reached much further, as reminded to me by Ron back in the train, considering the importance the magical world placed on them, and the hat probably thought himself to handle one string among others making up the thread of destiny of these kids.
Except, the hat was quick to send the kids away to their houses, sometimes barely spending any seconds on their heads. If I was correct on the previous idea about the hat making the most of what little he had, wouldn't he take this sweet time with this whole ordeal?
Maybe he used to, but got told to hurry up, or even threatened with replacement.
When had I started referring to the hat as a "he?"
My face had gotten wet with sweat. I was stalling.
The hat seemed to agree. But that's a topic for another day, it was saying. Let me ease one of your worries, Ms. Hebert. I can neither read your mind nor dig through your memories.
I exhaled a long breath as I heard it from the dog's mouth. It made sense, that would be too invasive to be allowed, but I couldn't help but consider it. I found it dumb, to reveal his inability like that. When interrogating, you wanted the victim to think you aready knew or everything, or that it was inevitable you would. That's why Tattletale went around claiming she was psychic and why Alexandria...
I can, converse with you silently, as demonstrated, and I can feel around your emotional make-up, analyse your personality, take a glimpse at a defining moment here and there. Nothing near the level of anything anyone would need to be wary of, other than you I suppose.
I was the mouse and it was the cat.
The moment I touched your temple was the moment I understood that your mind is not that of an ordinary child, no. It's much more like an adult's. Which of these children are bothered at the idea of someone swimming around in their head? I can smell the experience, not just the time, the years but the actions and the consequences, the stumbling of a life responsible for itself. You are a lot more assured and sure of your thoughts. You are cynical in a way no kid is. But before all of those, you are a killer.
My brows furrowed.
Ah, yes. I recognize the stain on the soul right away.
My heart was struggling to beat it's way out of my chest. My hand, grabbing the side of the stool, was a waterslide. My breath was hitchy.
But my thoughts remained clear.
So tell me, Ms. Hebert, a reason for me not to scream my lungs out and expose you to everyone present.
I responded immediately, Because you can do that any moment you want, and you won't lose anything by hearing me out.
Hear you out? I don't think so, Ms. Hebert. I'll ask and you'll answer.
Giving myself a second to think, I didn't actually have anything to hide, as shitty as that phrase sounded. I was here on good intentions, I'd been formally invited and accepted, I was not impersonating someone I wasn't. Shoot them.
Have you stolen the body you're in right now?
No.
Have you altered your appearance in any way to be mistaken for someone you aren't?
No.
Do you plan to bring harm to the students of Hogwarts?
No.
What about other residents of the school? The magical beasts outside it?
No.
A moment of silence. I sneaked a look to the tables, and the students were more occupied with whispering at each other than being curious about me and why I was taking so long.
I'm really harmless, Mr. Hat.
Explain the details surrounding the situation you are in. Don't lie or omit any details, I'll know.
Lie detectors were helpful in cases like this where they were a shortcut to reach agreement with a party you weren't hostile to.
I reincarnated.
Rare. Curt, but considerate. Was I getting through him? I have encountered some, much before you. I definitely was.
I was eighteen when I... died, in my previous life. I was... at a chaotic region of my country, and disaster struck, and my city was plunged to disorder. I had to fend for myself and my loved ones, and I did a lot of things I'm not proud of.
He didn't reply.
Am I cleared?
You aren't lying, Ms. Hebert. You appear to be legitimate. You certainly think you are reincarnated, but there is a fine line between a child inheriting the soul and memories of someone gone, and an adult in a child's body. No suspicion of foul play is left, but this is an important distinction. Follow my thought.
I'm following.
When you found out I was the Sorter, you didn't want to go through with this process, yes? He didn't care for my confirmation, he already had it the moment his question had reached me. And yet, to not make a scene, to not attract attention, to not disturb others. You did anyways. And where did that lead you? Right in my grasp. As much as you tried, you could never disappear into the crowd, yes, I can see it now. You've tried before, haven't you? A pretense, or even multiple. Never kept for long.
I understood what it was getting at. Trying to endure the bullying, not doing anything to change my situation had been the catalyst to my powers manifesting and me going out looking for trouble.
Acting like I was undercover, which Lisa had always known, was another example, and I was on the verge of dropping it until I learned about Dinah. Then Leviathan had hit... There were other examples, but the main idea was that trouble seemed to find me, and I'd never been able to keep up a ruse for long.
It's even more obvious to my eyes now, Ms. Hebert, that you aren't the direct continuation of the adult you'd been in your past life. Shutting up, pushing your protests down, going with the flow? It's antithetical to the person the old you had grown to be. If you really were her, you'd trust your instinct and not put me on....
He took a moment.
This conversation could have taken longer. There are other ways to seperate an actual reincarnation from similar ones, but we are on a time limit, unfortunately. I'm satisfied with what I'm given, and I consider you nothing more than a little special first year, Ms. Hebert.
My fear gone, I sighed. So what now? You terrified the shit out of me. Was all that necessary?
Yes... Forgive me, I hoped you were of ill-intentions.
Baffled, I asked, why.
Because, he whispered ominously, that would be a neat explanation for the infestation in your head.
For a moment, I wondered if I had some kind of tumor in my brain. Then I caught up and breathed out a sigh of relief.
You are aware of its presence? the hat asked.
How to spin this? My passenger was bad news, be it back on Earth Bet or here in the magical world, and it was in its nature to harm us, technically, so the hat would be very accurate to peg it as a major threat. But I hadn't had a lick of control on any bug since remembering I could, once, tell bugs what to do, not even thanks to accidental magic. I'd thought maybe it was just myself who'd moved on to this afterlife and I could almost believe it because it didn't feel very Parahuman-y.
I was only further convinced by discovering magic, that not even Contessa had anything to do with this, until I touched my wand and felt a connection reaching to my head like the ones I had with bugs, a slight presence clearly all around and within me, except in another dimension. I felt I could concentrate on it, but I also felt that would develop into a headache very quickly and frankly I hadn't been all that eager to jump right back into the arms of my passenger, or whatever it had, tendrils? I still didn't feel it when I wasn't in contact with my wand and even than it was more like sitting in the same room but not paying much attention to each other than anything else.
Well, not always. When I'd went a few days not touching my wand at all, when I'd been unsure about it, it had shifted around a little, almost like saying, Hey, I'm here. It also seemed to focus? when I was trying to cast a spell. Annoyingly, I'd forgotten the vision I'd got when I bought my wand somewhat, which made me a little paranoid, but I suspected that was more about something with magic than anything about passengers. I hadn't thought much of the vision itself that day, had taken it in stride, which was weird also. Asking about it to my passenger had gotten me a metaphorical shrug, and I hadn't pushed the issue. I had no idea how I was supposed to do that anyways, talk and argue with the multidimensional parasitic alien between my ears.
It's... complicated. It's a guest in my head. A girl I met had told me they are called passengers... It might seem dangerous but it's harmless.
You'll acknowledge I didn't ask further about the previous matter?
I blinked. My past life. Yeah? What about it?
We'll agree I'm not being pushy on any matter other than the safety and the security of the school, the student body and the greater magical world, yes?
Letting the hat control the conversation was annoying, but I didn't have a choice, and honestly? It was right. Even if this was my second chance, even if the hat said I had "inherited" my memories as the hat had put it, I wasn't necessarily a person anyone would want near vulnerable people. Sure, I replied.
But, to be honest, that whole tangent of the hat about whether I was the actual Taylor Hebert or not? That hadn't felt right. It was something I'd thought myself, but the hat's words had left me feeling bothered.
Glad for that, Ms. Hebert. Now, I think you'd like a share of my perspective. What do you know about the Sorting's history and how I came to be the main event of it?
No idea, really, I answered. The books don't mention you at all.
It actually chuckled. The common knowledge is that the Four Founders of Hogwarts used to choose who would go to which house, but as they approached their old age, they came together and made me.
I'm sensing some crucial info is missing from that?
Very astute. I guess I would be sarcastic if I only could talk to kids and old men for 800 years, too. The usual understanding is that I was made from scratch, a new idea. Couldn't be more wrong. You see, Ms. Hebert, the calm; quiet, welcoming Wizarding Britain you entered wasn't always what it is now. Just like the chaotic muggle world back then, the era Wizarding Britain was in when Hogwarts was founded didnt forgive, didn't show mercy. It was in turmoil. Monsters lurked at every corner and it was common place for parasites to prey on people, ambush them or trick them to take over their bodies or assimilate their brains. The first of my kind were invented for detection of monsters under human skin, and it was a success. With creatures, ghosts, possessors, worms and other kinds of this particular niche of magical existence eradicated, the hats soon followed their disappearance, except for me, who'd been pulled aside and repurposed for the Sorting. Truly genius thinking.
I would have loved this if we didn't have more pressing matters.
If you think I'm the victim of some kind of magical brain tick, why even bother talking to me? How can you tell it's not making me talk and lie to you, or even control the flashes of emotion and personality you see? I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it had an answer have ready.
Two reasons. The first is that for the effect of parasiticism to be covert, there needs to be some, usually considerably high amounts of cooperation on the victim's part. This meant that unwilling victims were often quickly identified and freed of their torture, and that it was evil witches and wizards who took on the creatures for the purpose of power. Since the entire shtick of them is pretense, they often aid their cooperators in their disguises and impersonations.
So it looked like I was some slimeball who injected some flatworms into their brain to perfect their mask as a kid to you?
Precisely. That was the reason for my anger and threatening attitude, and I sincerely apologize for that.
Apology taken. I understood it, really. And the second reason?
Let me explain it with a metaphor. When I'm Sorting, it's as if I'm on a boat, floating on a serene lake. So serene and clear that, when I lean over the side of the boat and take a look below, I can easilly see all the fish swimming around, the ecosystem. That is what's going around in your head, and your replies are the fish that come over and your memories are the fish that swim too fast, go behind rocks and algae and such. Now, in the case of a casual parasite, I'd see it in the form of a alien worm, or maybe a clearly abnormal predatory fish, attacking and eating the other living beings and disrupting the ecosystem and maybe even mutating it.
And how do you see my passenger?
Well. That's the problem. These lakes are normally not very deep and they are very clear, I'm used to seeing everything from the very surface to the sand at the bottom. It stopped.
And?
With you, I can't see the bottom at all, it said and I was stunned. It descends into darkness, but here and there, I see the impression of something different lurking beneath, moving up and down, something so large it's everywhere.
I was speechless.
This is the problem. This creature is unlike anything seen before, something old and strong, something that has chosen you as a vector instead of a vessel... And yet, your fish are perfectly healthy, undisturbed, unchanged by the expected effects of such a gigantic influence.
I... see. What could I even say to that? The way he made it sound, I needed to be locked up away from society until it could be figured out what was looming over me. What now?
I need to think, Ms. Hebert. I think this conversation is far from over- ah.
What?
To continue the metaphor, a tendril of something alien has been extended out of the water for me to grab, requesting audience.
What?! What the fuck did that mean, my passenger wanted to talk to the hat?
I think I'll take it.
Wait! Stop!
It was useless. I sat there, the stream of speaking in my mind gone, unnervingly aware of the people on the tables and my fellow first years standing. I closed my eyes and tried to catch the now familiar voice of the hat, but nothing reached me. I didn't know what to feel, if the situation hadn't already taken my legs from under me, I might have said I was hurt my passenger had so eagerly pulled the hat aside for small talk, despite pretty much ghosting me for months, even with my wand.
Seconds turned to minutes, and I glanced to my right as McGonagall retrieved her hand from my shoulder. "Is there a problem, Ms. Hebert?"
"No, no, he is thinking," I said a little too loudly, and whoever was within my eyesight turned to their eyes to me in some manner; glancing, staring, some even glaring.
The uncomfortable silence stretched, but the hat eventually came back.
Yes, yes, it was muttering, what a brilliant mind. Yes. Far more similar to each other in our interests than I realized.
What happened?
Ah, Hebert. True. It's decided, there is no problem. I will keep your secrets, especially the one of your passenger. We can Sort you now.
I wanted to push for info, because I was curious how the hat was made to drop it so fast and it wasn't everyday that I came across someone that could communicate with my passenger. But I shut up, because I felt like I was getting off lightly and that I'd taken too much time on this stool.
Hmm, hmm.... Very multifaceted for a child, but that's expected for someone like you... Brave, brave like a honey badger out in the savannah, brave out of necessity more than anything else. Smart too, but not a researcher. Practical, thinking when the moment demands it. Ambitious as well... Monstrously so.... And yet, what defines you is... your desire for connection and cooperation, your sense of value for friendship and loyalty. You are a Hufflepuff all right.
I noticed it wasn't announcing my house.
But?
But, your circumstances are wholly unique, to the point that I doubt I'll encounter another one like you ever. And you are equipped, the experience of a warrior, thinker and a politician all wrapped in one, sitting in your lap.
I could see where it was going. Stop, I pleaded. I want to be in Hufflepuff. Put me in Hufflepuff!
My protests fell on deaf ears. The soul of this school has been rotting quietly for some time. You have the quality to heal it. You have the spirit to connect it, to bring the lions and the snakes together. The nerve to do it, yes...
Shocked, I was. Just a moment ago, you were telling me how I'm not the me from before, how I was a child!
Yes, but you are armed with-
Ah, stop! Be consistent! Am I an adult or am I not? If not, don't put an adult's responsibilities on my shoulders!
Take it up with the devil on your shoulder, it said, and the fucker was gleeful.
What are you doing, fucking me over?! I'm eleven years old, I want to have fun, I don't want trouble, that house is dangerous for a-
"SLYTHERIN!" It boomed and what followed was a sharp silence instead of deafening applause.
I gripped the edge of the hat, squeezed hard, threateningly.
Do not, I said, let Harry come after me, I warned, before ripping it out of my head and walking to my table.
So. The entire Sorting sequence happened to be longer than the rest of the fic LOL. My heart yearns for long-ahh chapters but my body and mind can't keep up.
Guys, honestly? I'm really curious about how this chapter will be received. I'm not really sure what about this fic that made you guys like it very much, and it's a bit terrifying cause I feel like I lost the secret sauce lol. I got a vision for what I wanna do with this fic, but not sure how liked it'll be, and I'm afraid my barebones first chapter isn't helping the matters.
Let's see. Thanks for reading.
I didn't know if it was the hat listening to my warning or Harry not pushing for it, but he went to Gryffindor. That eased my anger, somewhat. He shot me an apologetic look got up from the stool which I smiled back confidently at. Ron followed him to the house of gold and red, and glanced at me as well, more worried and confused than anything else. That, I replied to with a wink, I didn't need either Harry or him to get concerned about me, my own anxiety was enough. Ron raised an eyebrow, and the beginnings of a smirk on his cheek didn't escape my notice before he claimed his place near Harry.
The Draco brat got into my house too, and he seemed to be a natural attention seeker, diving into excited conversation with many of his older housemates, which was fine by me as I didn't need more time on the front stage. The Sorting concluded and I ate as I ignored the people watching me from the corner of their eyes. Between being a muggleborn in Slytherin, missing an arm as an eleven year old and taking easily more than double the time any other first year had taken on the stoll, I was sticking out like a sore thumb enough already.
Not that I'd ever been good at socializing or I was eager to cozy up with the blood supremacists of my house, but I was eleven and I wanted friends, damn it.
I wished I were at Gryffindor too, with Harry and Ron and even Hermione and Neville. The first was a friend and the rest were people I'd talked to, the only ones in this foreign place. At least the former two seemed to be hitting it off.
Though even without whatever happened with my passenger and the hat that convinced or maybe encouraged it to put me where I was, I'd probably be at Hufflepuff, not Gryffindor. I swallowed down the remaining half of my egg bread and craned my neck to look behind me, at the table of the house where I was meant to be.
There was a pleasant air around them. Talking, laughing, it looked innocent. A blonde, pig-tailed girl was talking about something passionately with to a boy with curly hair. Hannah and Justin, if I'm remembering their names right. My age.
I returned to my food, my housemates back in my sight. Was I romanticising something I didn't have? The people on this table were kids too. I caught Vincent looking at me. He looked away.
Eating with one hand was a struggle, worse yet because contrary to my history, I knew what it was like the other way, having them both. And being right-handed seemed to have persisted to this life, despite never even developing one on that side of my body. Research on the internet had told me I had enough years of experience under my belt now that there shouldn't be a difference, but that didn't feel right. Maybe it was a trick of my mind? Whatever it was, the universe seemed to hate me.
But I was used to it. I was extra hungry after not eating for the entire day, I ate without holding back, even if the posh kids here thought I didn't have manners. Proper nutrition was one thing I wouldn't drop. It was something that I had to adapt in the Protectorate, living the life of a soldier, fighting, thinking, planning, training and I'd continued on with those acquired habits in this life. My appetite was much larger than it had been back in Earth Bet. I inhaled a large piece of bacon and the guy sitting across me sneered. Fuck him.
If eating was going to be like this every day at Hogwarts, I could get used to it. It was a feast out of a fairy tale. All kinds of meat, roasted dishes, carbohydrates and more. I wasn't the only one lost in the sauce of the banquet; I could see Crabbe and Goyle hogging all the food like I was from the corner of my eye. Beyond them, poorer kids and muggleborns likely enjoyed it a tad bit more than their prueblood counterparts. Magic was a gigantic resource, and I had no doubt most wizards made sure they and their families ate good, lived nice. They were all upper class in practice.
All good things came to an end and so did this banquet. The desserts disappeared, and Dumbledore rose from his chair to utter a few more words, alerts about where we were and weren't allowed to go and where we could do magic. Then, Dumbledore said it was time to sing the school song, which I didn't want to do at all. I mumbled under my breath as the student body sang and looked out for the few eccentrics who were either really trying or knowingly distrupting the rest of the singers with their uncoordinated singing. Ginger twins who looked like Ron caught my eye, they were singing slower than anyone else, almost like a funeral hymn. It was like torture. Dumbledore seemed to agree, because he didn't keep us waiting any more. Off we went, following the prefects of our house, walking through the double set doors back into the Entrance Hall where we'd came from, went through a door on the right and down a steep path of stairs. Personally, I found it eerie for student dorms to be in dungeons, but who was I to question the wisdom of Hogwarts administration? It was a long, dark, cold walk, but we reached our destination. A girl with jet black hair spoke to the wall, -serpent- and the wall ripped apart to reveal our common room. Who could have guessed that password? It was a nice place, all cozy, with tasteful furniture and which kid hasn't dreamt of an underwater place to stay at? The lake beyond the glass was way too dark to make out anything, but I bet there was magic for that.
Before we could be led to our dorms, however, I was called out.
"A word, Ms. Hebert."
I turned, like others, and some even jumped in suprise. A man in all black, with a hooked nose and greasy hair was standing in the middle of the room. How had we missed him?
His eyes passed us one by one, taking the students in. "For those of you who aren't aware, I'm Professor Severus Snape. I'm both your potions professor and the head of the Slytherin house. Welcome to Hogwarts." He had a low voice, powerful in a way that I could tell he expected to be listened with all we had. His gaze settled on me, and I met his full force with mine.
"Yes, Professor?"
"Follow me."
I came after him to the other edge of the room. Calculated, no doubt, to give me the imression of privacy and allowing the other students, especially the few older ones who'd assumed their place on the chairs, the opportunity to eavesdrop. Heck, I had no doubt some would use some magic tricks for that, even. The question was why he wanted the other students to hear our conversation.
"What is it, Professor?"
"I won't keep you for long, Ms. Hebert," his eyes were on anywhere but me and he spoke like he was bored of me, which was annoying, "During your time at Hogwarts, you'll come to understand... there are traditions in place. Long, unbroken traditions. Expectations of wizards and witches."
He stopped to take a look and I scrambled to answer. "I see it, sir." He went on.
"Houses, above all, are defined by tradition. It's natural that, there will be some amount of confusion when those traditions are... broken."
"Broken like by a muggleborn in Slytherin, sir?" I cut to the point. "Will you put me in another house?" I allowed myself a sliver of hope.
He smiled and it was a ugly thing. He didn't affirm or deny my first statement, he simply said: "Ah, Hogwarts doesn't allow students to change houses. Besides, it's nothing that will require a house change, no." He put his hand on my shoulder. "You're a Slytherin and you'll stay one. But, if you ever have a problem, a question in your mind, a trouble before you, I'm formally inviting you to seek me out, Ms. Hebert."
He retracted his hand from my shoulder, and there was a badge there. I looked at him questioningly. "That's a charmed tool to warn for emergencies. Keep it on. Ms. Blackwood?" he called out.
A girl with dirty blonde hair appeared at his side. "This is Ms. Blackwood, a prefect."
"Hi there," she smiled at me. "You can come to me if you need anything.
It was kind of weird, she was the kids between the two of us. Yet I was the one being treated like a baby.
"Understood. Thank you sir, thank you Ms. Blackwood."
Snape nodded. "We are done here." He walked away.
"Let's get you to bed," Blackwood said. Jesus, was I your junior or was I your daughter?
I glanced around. The kids sitting around were pretending they hadn't listened. I followed her back to the staircase. Rest of my class had left early. I wondered how much of my talk with Snape they had witnessed. When we arrived to the dorm, she pointed up the stairs. "That's where the seventh years stay. Don't be shy if anything comes up, okay?" With that, she left.
The dorms also had the glass looking into the lake. It was nice. It looked like Slytherin dorm rooms hosted only two people. My roommate was a girl, no shit, with short, straight brown hair and that was the most I could tell of her appearance while she was busy on her suitcase.
"Hi," I greeted.
She craned her neck back, a look of suprise on her face. "Oh, hi." I could see her eyes were wide and her nose was steep, now.
"Let's have a good time here on our stay." I didn't know if this girl hated me because of my... race? But I wanted to try my hand at being polite this time around.
"Let's."
My suitcase was here, too. I opened it up. My hand reached for my wand.
S'up. What the FUCK was that?
For a moment, I thought it was going to ignore me, making me grit my teeth, but I felt a pulse.
Confident.
Confident?
Confident.
I got my fingers off the wand. I didn't need this bullshit, didn't need to get angry and delay my sleep. I took my pajamas out instead.
Dressed, teeth brushed, I was ready to go to bed. Something was missing though... "Hey."
She looked up from her book. "Yeah?"
"What's your name?"
She opened her mouth, but shouldn't I have introduced myself first, before asking for her name? "I'm Taylor Hebert, by the way."
"I remember. You're kind of distinctive. I'm Tracey Davis." She extended her left hand halfway, as if she wasn't sure about it. I took a step towards her and shook it.
"Nice to meet you. Distinctive how?"
"To you as well. And isn't it... obvious?"
I shrugged. "Muggleborn. Dunno what's normal, what isn't around here."
"Umm." Her eyes darted around, hesitant. "Well, not to be rude."
"It's okay," I said. "I'm listening."
"Excuse me then," she said, breathing in. "Not many wizards have," she said, her arms folded, pointing at my arm with her pinky, "defects like that. This will be a lot to digest for you, but, you can actually... get your arm back. Congrats? I wanted to say that since the moment I saw you."
Huh. She was nice. I sighed. "Already knew that. Tried that. As soon as McGonagall stopped by to invite me to Hogwarts, I grilled her about something, anything that could fix my arm," I moved my stumped arm around as I spoke, "and she took me to St. Mungo's... they tried a lot, but nothing worked," I explained.
"What the..." she whispered, her brows rising. "Wounds only persist like that if they are inflicted by powerful curses. How did you get it?"
A monster crushed it and I had to burn it off.
I couldn't say that, of course. That would give birth to more questions than it answered.
I shrugged, saying, "Born out of the womb this way," instead. "Super rare according to the doctors."
"Muggle doctors?"
"Yep. Is there a problem with that?"
She raised her hands to her shoulders, catching my meaning. "Just that they wouldn't know anything about curses. On that topic, you sure your mom's a muggle? I've heard of some curses targeting pregnant women, but I wouldn't imagine any wizard or witch utilizing them against a muggle. Because that's highly illegal and because why bother?"
"McGonagall said something to that effect. She said it would be easier to look into it if I accepted coming to Hogwarts."
She looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure how much the professors could do about it, but there are people you can seek out, books you can research." She gave me a bittersweet smile. "But curses like that which elude even St. Mungos' medics? I wouldn't expect much, if I were you."
I walked to look to the window to look into the lake. Was I being pitied? It made me uncomfortable. "Could have told you that."
Silence descended upon us.
I caught the shadows of movement. If I had my bugs, I could feel all over the lake with aquatic bugs and crustaceans.
"I'm a half-blood."
I turned back to her. She was staring off at the door.
"Is that so?"
"I get the feeling that you already understand what being in Slytherin as a muggleborn entails," she continued, "so I won't give you a pep-talk. Just..."
"Mom or dad?"
"What?" She raised a brow.
"Is it your mother who is your muggleborn parent or your father?" I clarified.
"Oh. My mum. I mean, she isn't even a muggleborn, just a muggle," she said. "No magic whatsoever."
"How did that happen?"
That earned me a shrug. "Parents are tight-lipped about that. I just know my dad was a rebel back in the day." She shook her head. "That's besides the point. I... You'll have problems, here in Slytherin. I want you to know that I wont add to them." She closed her eyes. "I don't think like that."
I breathed out a sigh of relief. "Great to hear." I didn't know what I'd do if I had a roommate who hated my guts cause of my background. "And I won't give you problems either." After a moment of awkwardness, I asked, "So what is having a normal mom like? For a witch?"
She opened up one eye. "Barely a witch, I mean, that's why I'm here," I snorted and she did too, "but honestly, I grew up mostly muggle. We had some magic in the house, thanks to my dad, but I went to primary school and my favorite class was P.E." A wistful look came over her. "Though math was interesting too. And my dad likes my uncle, they used to take me to football matches."
"Ugh. Were there a lot of hooligans?"
"Football's more than hooligans," she said.
"Sure, maybe. I'd prefer playing to watching."
"Me too, heck, what do you think I did in P.E?
"Exercising how to get in line?"
We chuckled.
"You aren't like how you seem at all."
That was out of nowhere. "What do you mean?"
She cringed. "Just... you seemed really angry back when the hat was on your head. Real angry. Like, murderously."
"I was pretty pissed at the hat."
She stared at me. "Why would you be pissed at the hat? Also, a piece of advice. That?" She pointed at my face. "That won't help you in this house."
"Anger?"
"No, I mean, maybe that too, but I mean being obvious what you feel and think that much."
"Not sure what you mean." I wouldn't claim to be some kind of trickster anywhere, but I thought I had a pretty good poker face.
"You didn't know? Talking to you, it's like watching a cartoon. I can easily tell what you are feeling, it shows up on your face. Yep, mouth half open, one eye squinted, head tilted? You're confused as hell."
Aisha had implied I hid my emotions and expressions in my swarm. Reacting, moving, expressing through them. It wasn't really specific stuff for specific emotions, but it was the equivalent of letting off steam by flailing your arms around, except ten times more effective. Was that something else that I lost without realizing, coming here? In the abscence of an outlet for what was going on inside, had I grown much more readable? Why hadn't anyone commented on this before?
Well, I was eleven, most kids were annoyingly expressive, and it had taken me some time to get my memories back. Maybe it was something I developed along that way.
Tracey was still talking, "Were you in a theater class before coming here? I heard you're thought to exaggerate how you move there."
"No, but my mom's a professor for English literature. Maybe I picked up a dramatic flair, listening to her about the old dramas."
"Ah!" Her face lit up. "Did you read-"
As our conversation went on, I couldn't help but think how good I was feeling. The anxiety that was there since the train had disappeared.
I didn't know what the hat's problem had been, but fuck it and what it wanted. Fuck what my passenger wants, too. I'd came here to learn magic, have fun, make friends, maybe get rich or something. That was what I wanted. If I was going to do anything, it was going to be because I wanted to do it. I'd deal with anything Slytherin might throw at me, but nothing more.
Being here, meeting with Snape and Blackwood, striking up conversation with Tracey had cemented my opinion: This system, dividing the students to houses, giving them the culture and background to absorb, pitting them against each other, putting those with harmful ideas together, creating echo chambers? It would encourage or even nurture any problem the wizarding society had, especially racism by the Slytherin students.
It wasn't something needed. I could see the plan. It needed to be abolished. All students wearing the same colours, in the same team. Protecting the muggleborn kids from the organized targeting of the blood supremacist kids, and socializing the isolated pure-blood kids instead of cooping them up in a house with others who affirmed their shitty beliefs.
It wasn't more than a thought. I mean, I wasn't necessarily planning to act on it and it would be something for decades later. I wanted to kick back and relax for now.
I dwelled on the idea maybe a little more because the only enjoyment of that stupid hat, the Sorting, would be gone in that series of events, and I'd personally visit the hat in-
"Unrelated, but are there museums in wizarding Britain?"
"There are plenty! Biggest one is probably the Ministry's Museum of Magical Artifacts!"
-not in that one, something smaller, somewhere it'd collect dust in a box in the corner, not getting anyone to talk to...
Whatever, enough fantasizing. Priorities were mastering magic and spending time with my friends.
Anything else was waiting on the queue.
Guys, I feel so bad 😭 THE WELL OF INSPIRATION DRIED UP. I mean, I had an idea (I mean, a very through idea) about what I wanted for this chapter, but I'd sit in front of the computer and my fingers would click on the keyboard by themselves before! And now that's gone, gone, gone! It took me ages to write this and nothing felt good! I dunno what is it, if I lost it by taking too much time and not writing when it came to me or if I'm being dramatic.
Anyways, as you can guess, this didn't turn out like I imagined, like at all. I also felt like the prose is unnatural or stocky or sloggy or whatever adjective feels appropriate, I'm leaving that to y'all.
Have fun... hopefully 😭
I woke up. Habits and routines had persisted to this life. Tracey was fast asleep on her bed.
It had been a nice night of talking with her. A little bit of everything, favorite foods, tv shows, what our parents were like. For a moment, I'd forgotten who I had been.
I got out of my bed, brushed my teeth, dressed.
I liked the whole robes thing, it hid my missing arm well. I equipped my wand, -hello there, passenger- and ventured out.
Hogwarts was supposed to be a maze, magic made sure of that. According to the books, the castle played many whimsical tricks to make navigation a pain in the ass.
Back at Bet, I'd left that to my bugs. It had been downright impossible after a while to get lost or hesitate about my way when I could scout out a few city blocks all around me. I didn't have that here, so learning the ins and outs of the castle early would be beneficial. Also, I wanted fresh air. We lived under the fricking ground.
Our common room was empty. Seemed like I was the earliest riser here.
It was suprisingly easy to reach the surface, honestly. I'd expected more.
Scottish weather in September was... different. The Sun was rising, but it wasn't very bright with all the clouds covering it.
I stepped on the soil. Wet from the storm yesterday.
It had been a debate back at the PRT, about how we were supposed to exercise. The experts argued routinely about which exercises were ideal for our performance.
I didn't know, but I had an attachment to low tempo runs ever since I started doing them. I wouldn't stop doing them even if the biggest sprinting advocates ganged up on me.
I threw my robe to the ground, tacked my wand to my belt, and just started running. For minutes, there was only the wind I was cutting through, the forgiving soil I was stomping on, the sound of my slowly speeding up breathing. I forgot the school, the magic, the school, reincarnation, dad, Bet, Lisa.
I went back inside when I saw some other students get out. Running around had been embarrassing at first back in Brockton Bay, it was even weirder when people actually found it unusual. Personally, I thought wizards exercised too little.
My next destination was the Great Hall. I found breakfast being served, sat down to grab a bite. I watched for Harry and Ron as I ate, but they didn't show. Had they gotten lost?
Well, sucks. I wanted a quick shower. I went back to the dungeons. A skinny guy gave me a funny look as I walked past him, but he politely gave me space. Good. Snape's words seemed to carry weight. Or maybe the guy was polite himself. Or maybe he didn't want to be close to the muggleborn. Whatever.