I also saw Blackwood and two girls talking before the dorms. I wanted to avoid them.
"Wait, isn't that our little hatstall?" one of the girls with Blackwood exclaimed. No cigar, I guess. They hurried over to me and Blackwood followed them with a bemused shake of her head. "Hi, shortstack! We wanted to see you up close!" The other said. She had straight jet black hair and the other had curly brown hair. I guessed they were the prefect's yearmates.
"Hatstall?" I inquired. It wasn't hard to infer what it was from its name, but I was suprised it was a common enough phenomenon that it had a name. I felt upset had having gathered enough attention by it that people would come over to me, but was relieved a little that it wasn't completely unattested. "What's that?"
"Well," Curls started, "whichever firstie takes more than five minutes to get sorted, is deemed a hatstall."
"No, no," Jet Black contested, "Five minutes? That's just arbitrary bullshit someone made up because they wanted a neat criteria and caught on. That's not how it works."
"Huh? But that's what Davy said?"
"And Davy heard it from someone else. It's hearsay. Meaningless."
"How is it decided then?" I interrupted. They looked at me. "Who's a hatstall and who isn't, I mean."
"It's not an official thing," Jet Black said, and I was inclined to trust her. "It's more like a trend the students noticed and it isn't clear cut. The longer it takes for you to get Sorted, the more hatstall you become. In my opinion, under half a minute is firmly in the normal territory. People who pass that aren't called hatstalls, but they are noticed. There have been plenty this year."
"All of them went to Gryffindor, though. Even Potter," said curls.
"Anyways," Jet Black continued, "McGonagall is a pretty notable example of an actual one, I don't know her time, but she is the pillar holding up this hatstall story around here. As a sixth year, I haven't seen anyone I'd call a hatstall in my time here, but I remember the seventh years when I'd been a first year insisting they've seen one Ravenclaw took nine minutes." She grinned at me. "Personally, I'd always thought it was meaningless, the name and the five minute mark, I mean, cause what's the difference between someone who takes four and a half minutes and someone who takes five minutes? I was on the verge of dropping it and writing an article about it on the school newspaper. That was until you came along of course."
This seemd to be more of an opinion Jet Black held about the concept instead of solid information about who counted as a hatstall and who didn't. Whatever, so it was very eye-catching, at least within the student body. "So I'm absolutely one, aren't I?" I didn't really know how much time I had taken, other than it being more than the others had, and I hadn't bothered to calculate.
"Are you kidding? You redefined the concept! Twenty five minutes, thirty three seconds! This has been the longest start-of-the-term feast I have been at! I think no one else even deserves to call themselves one after this! No doubt everyone's talking about you!"
Shit. It wouldn't be such a problem if I really deserved to demand such attention, but I had no concrete pull here, whether it be money, connections or actual power. I didn't want anyone to come at me because of this. Wait, wasn't that exactly what was happening at the moment?
Blackwood put a hand on her friends' shoulders. "Guys, don't give the firstie a big head." She flashed a smile at me. She liked doing that, I got the feeling she liked being perceived as dependable. I also got the feeling that she was interrupting the others' rant not because she wanted to stop them feeding my ego, but because she noticed I was worried. "It's really not that big of a deal, Taylor. Can I call you that?"
I nodded.
"You're pretty unusual, but that's not coming with expectations. You'll be treated like any other student."
"Well, she's so unusual, I bet most don't even know what to expect," Curls came back online. "But those of us with half a brain, can tell it means something. We are Sorted according to our qualities, but no brat is going to be exceptionally brave or exceptionally genius or exceptionally ambitious. Those traits, you get as you grow up and live life."
Jet Black, who'd been nodding along, opened her mouth. "Or, in the rare occasion they are, a trait is so overwhelming, they are Sorted immediately. Camouflaged by the masses who get Sorted at the same speed."
"But," Curls again, "when one takes this much time? It tells me that you are Sorted wherever to despite very, very good arguments for other houses. It tells me that you are quite brave, quite intelligent, quite loyal perhaps, but you are a true Slytherin in the face of all that. It tells me that you have potential."
"Merlin, she is just a first year," Blackwood muttered as she rolled her eyes. She grabbed at their hairs and squeezed and shook a little as the girls made sounds of protest. "Sorry Taylor, these two have been bored out of their minds and have been looking for something to blow out of proportion. You're just their first victim."
Putting the unwanted attention aside for a moment, I felt bad because I was feeling like a fraud. Partly because I was actually Hufflepuff and these girls thought me the Slytherin or something, but mostly because I wasn't actually a hatstall, certainly not to the extent they were describing. I had no doubt most of those twenty five minutes had been for the secret meeting the hat had with my passenger. Being rumor woman would be tolerable if I could back my reputation up, walk the talk and all that jazz. Wait.
"School paper?" That was interesting. "Will you write about me?" I didn't want that.
"Nope," Blackwood said, and her voice brooked no argument. "She won't."
"Hey!"
"You won't," Blackwood told her, "we bothered her enough already. C'mon, we are going to class." The girls grumbled. "What class do you have, Taylor?"
"Transfiguration."
"Nice first lesson," Curls commented. "Will you be able to find where it's held?"
I shrugged. Even if I couldn't, I didn't want to spend any more time here. "I think I'll manage."
"All right, good luck!" Curls greeted me off. "Bye," Jet Black said, and Blackwood merely nodded. They walked off.
So far, no one had acted like a racist to me in the school grounds. Not hurling slurs was one thing, but coming over for small talk? That was good. Granted, it was the second day. First?
I would return to my room and go to the classroom with Tracey.
...
Hadn't been hard at all to find the classroom. Did the wizards just collectively have shitty sense of direction? Hogwarts' tricks had nothing on me.
I took notes alongside my fellow Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs who were taking this class together with us.
It was kind of annoying we needed to use quills and parchment, extra after having tasted the comfort of pens. Magic allowed wizards to get away with leading less technologically advanced lives, but I would have expected they'd take small commodities like this. They'd certainly taken trains and railroads. Maybe pens weren't on-brand.
It wasn't just writing with something hard to use. Having gone through years of practice, I could write like any natural leftie, heck, quite better than the average even. But I hadn't cared about the side of my hand sliding on the surface of the paper before, even though it got darkened all over, because it wouldn't mess up my notes. Now though, if I didn't pay attention, I felt like I could accidentally smear my hard work into unintelligable paint. I bet some other kids were having a hard time in this very class, too.
An interesting experience, that. Going through life as a left-handed person, one was likely to come across some obstacles small enough to go unnoticed but big enough to sour the mood. Most tools were constructed for right-handed use, and it was hard to tell the difference until you either tried it out with your right hand or got the tool's for-left-handed-people-equivalent. Even I had gotten scissors like that after mom watched me struggle with ones we had. Beyond practical problems like that, there were the cultural implications, too. All over the world, older traditions and religions denounced using your left hand for basic actions like eating, writing or engaging in any work. For a moment, I stared at my remaining hand. The wizarding society was highly conservative. Were there opinions about which hand were to be used here as well?
"Now," McGonagall said, after we finished writing. The notes were irrelevant stuff, outlaying the basic goals of the class, except unnecessarily detailed. "Theory is important, but practice is our actual path. A demonstration." She waved her wand and her desk turned into a bright pink, clean pig. We cried out in suprise and excitement. It oinked.
McGonagall waved her wand again and the pig turned back into the desk. She wore a stern expression. "Transfiguration is among the most complex magical branches you will learn here at Hogwarts. It is not a subject that could be taken lightly, unless one is determined to pay the price. Anyone who thinks they'll have a lack of interest or an inability to take the lesson seriously may and should leave my class."
No one spoke.
"All right. Now that we got that out of the way..."
I was sure the other kids didn't think much of her words, assuming them to be of part of the usual serious educator persona, but they got me thinking. One of the most complex magical branches and pay the price... What did that mean? I'd taken a look at our schedule and read up about the lessons offered at Hogwarts. Herbology and potions were quite clear parallels to human practices. Charms, from what I understood, stocked the bulk of basic wandwork. They differed consistently in methods taught. defence against the dark arts most likely included a bit of everything, but that class made the most sense to me. Especially for muggle children, who were newcomers in the magical world, who had no allies or guardians or allies, the ability to identify and protect themselves from the dangers of the supernatural could be vital. Though I thought the naming was a bit... ideological? The lesson was to include any danger, but the name made it sound like it was specific to "evil wizards" wielding the worst their magic had to offer. Then again, maybe the biggest threat would be the occasional odd malicious wizard, worse than dragons or evil spirits. Yes, this line of thought was making sense. Because while this society was conservative, it wasn't authoritarian. Not out of the goodness of their hearts, of course. Population of people who wielded magic was really, really low. With magic allowing people to not depend on anyone else for travel, food, riches, the importance of the individual was much higher here than in the normal society. They simply couldn't enforce anything as effectively. If someone decided to go south, be a sick fuck, murder a few people I had no doubt they could disappear off the face of Britain and live a full life without facing consequences on the other side of the globe. Of course, the good guys also had every resource the sick fuck had but the sick fuck had the advantage of making the first move, of preparing well and deciding the rules of the engagement.
...That sounded a lot like how I used to describe the modus operandi of Undersiders.
I was being paranoid, viewing this world which I knew next to nothing about from the lens of my previous world.
Back on track. Classes and methods, right. To cut it short, main subjects seemed to be divided via methodology. Why wasn't transfiguration, essentially wandwork, paired up with charms, was the question in my mind. Or rather, how was it so important within this group that no other wandwork subject was offered to us seperately? Did it differ in methods from the rest in some way? Or were the material so great, it got this treatment? Was it extra advanced?
Or maybe, it was dangerous in a way that it demanded a specialized tutor. Warping objects into one other, turning a desk into a living being... Magic wasn't automatic or instinctual like powers had been. What could have happened had someone else tried McGonagall's trick? Create a half-desk half-pig monstrosity, killing the animal due to an incomplete attempt, with maybe even vital organs missing entirely? Or create a few seconds of pure torture for it? What if we directed that at ourselves? I had seen enough gore and power fuckery back home to tell it would've been a terrible idea. I felt it tracked, because why would they send someone like McGonagall, a senior and respected teacher, to break the news to muggleborns? Worst case scenerio would be accidental magic firing out to alter a body part or hurt a person, give them a pig tail or something. McGonagall would be the most qualified to be the first responder to something like that, I bet.
Whatever. I'd learn as I went. I was sure many of my theorizings would fall apart with further context I didn't know yet.
Still though, the previous thing remained on my mind. Potions being a different class, could I assume there were things witches couldn't do with their wands but could with poisons? Or maybe potions were just easier, convenient. If I were to compare potions with tinker tools back in Bet-
"Attention, Ms. Hebert."
Oh. Right. Matches had appeared in front of each of us, in front of every first year from Slytherin and Hufflepuff. I looked at her.
"What did I say?" she asked.
"Um..." Honestly? I hadn't heard. Draco, a girl and others giggled in the back. Annoying. Having arrived last, I was forced to sit at the front. I hated that. "We will change the matches to," guess time, "toothpicks."
Full blown laughs rose from the back as McGonagall shook her head. "A point from Slytherin, Ms. Hebert. Not listening to the first lesson? What will you be like at the end of the year if you're starting out like this?" She stared behind me, but didn't speak. The laughter died down. "Another point from Slytherin. Now, to repeat myself, I'm asking you to turn your matches to nails. The spell is..."
I paid full attention this time. After gettin my powers, it had gotten shockingly easy to keep track of things, focus on multiple different things at once through my bugs. Multitasking, the PRT scientists had said. It was also what I bet Number Man to had implied with the talk of me double triggering. Back then, I could prepare breakfast with my two hands as I carried conversations and fought battles at the same time. Now, I couldn't even keep myself from daydreaming in class.
I was a shadow of my former self.
Or was I related to her at all, or enough to say stuff like that? Was I just some girl who got Taylor Hebert's memories and her name by coincidence?
I pulled out my wand to swing it at the match and utter the incantation, but my heart wasn't at it. Nothing happened. Looking to my right, Tracey was trying and failing to do anything to the match as well. Hell, it seemed to be the whole class. I swung the wand again. No result.
Peeking at McGonagall, she didn't seem particularly disappointed with this extremely untalented batch of students, so I guessed it was normal.
Another few swings for the lip service, and I let my wand rest on the desk, still holding onto it. Through my contact with the stick, my passenger's presence loomed around and above.
Well, that was a thing. If I wasn't Taylor Hebert, why did I have her name, her face at eleven, her mother, her passenger?
I closed my eyes. Shallow breaths. Trying to ignore the sound of wands whipping through the air and the rustle of muttering of a crowd, there was only me and my passenger.
I had memories of using thousands of powers. Parahuman abilities worked differently from magic. Many were like switches implanted inside our brains, our passengers handled the inner workings of the trick. I'd assumed magic was unrelated to Scion and his mate, that I was the only one with a passenger here.
Could I use that to my advantage? It hadn't done anything other than to watch back when I was experimenting with Harry, but that spell had been much simple.
Can you do something about this? I thought.
It responded, not with words, but with movement. Attention.
I jumped in my seat. Something rose in my chest. I was going to make something happen.
"Are you okay?" Tracey asked. She had an annoyed frown.
"I'm fine," I said. "How is it going?"
"It's not," she sighed. "My dad made this look much easier."
"Think I found something."
"Oh?"
"Watch." I wasn't one to brag, but I couldn't deny that excitement had me talking weird.
"Oh?"
I didn't respond. Focus.
Energy. It was giving to me. Power, fuel, heat.
For a little, there was only me, my passenger, the match and the heat. I wondered if Tracey was feeling it too, or if it was something within me only.
Brute. It wanted me to force my way. Huh. Did that mean magic was a blackbox to it, or did this have other implications entirely?
How? I had no idea.
Manifest.
A touch of irritation there. How?
Experience. Annoyance.
In my mind's eye, a feminine figure rose, dressed in green. She had platinum hair and her face was warping, various forms of terrains and shapes coming out and going back in. Labyrinth.
She was the greatest shaker I knew. A bit too great, maybe.
Safe?
Safe. Inspiration.
Inspiration, not imitation. Got it. Don't get angry, jeez.
I swung my wand once again, eyes still closed. The heat pulled out of my body to my wand, but it slid back before it could break free, falling back to me like a heavy blanket that'd tire you out trying to fold it.
Okay, that was a lousy attempt. Harder, faster, pushing more, I tried again. The heat traveled a little further, almost reaching the tip of my wand.
Holy shit was that tiring. Not much different than trying to crush an apple with your bare hands... Pure effort. On to the next one. I felt that the incantation was a distraction.
I cast silently, and the heat jumped out of the end of my wand, quickly, lightly like a butterfly flying for the first time out of the cocoon. The heat tore itself out of my chest and surged through my hand to my wand to outside.
My breath caught. Uhhh, that was like the final rep of a set of squats. My forehead hit the table as I collapsed where I sat out of exhaustion, but my head didn't crush the match like I'd expect.
Ughh. I breathed heavily.
Satisfaction.
Didn't even see what happened.
My passenger retreated back into nonchalance, observing but not looking, listening but not answering.
"Woah, Taylor!" I heard Tracey exclaim, alongside some sounds of suprise and some giggles from those at the back. "You did... it?"
I raised my head. On the air was suspended a needle-like shape, metallic like a nail, although that was where the similarities ended. Lines of pointy pins had grown out of its body, bending sideways in the shape of a spiral.
McGonagall had her wand in the air, having walked towards us, side-eyeing my match with a considering expression.
That's not a nail... I guess I get the spiral idea, but it isn't.
Again, no reply. I wouldn't be drawing anything out of my passenger for a while.
"What in the," McGonagall hummed. "Did you do this, Ms. Hebert?"
"Yes, Professor, I did."
"You're breathing heavy, and you just hit your head. Do you know why?"
"Because I pushed too much?"
"Precisely. Magic exhaustion," she stated. "Happens when one drains their magic capacity. Extremely, extremely rare for a witch to be able to do this, to be able to bypass the finesse of the matter. Could be dangerous if abused, but a huge advantage as well if utilized well. Hmm," McGonagall hummed. "Two... no, three points to Slytherin."
"But it's not a nail!" Someone cried out.
"No, it isn't. But it's much more than any first year have managed to do in all my years of teaching here. Good job, Ms. Hebert." She was still staring at my... pointy shape? I bet that was the only reason whoever had just screamed didn't get punished. "Although..."
I noticed it at that moment. The newly acquired spikes? They were still growing, getting more extreme in the shape they had taken.
"Albus," our transfiguration professor muttered and my match disappeared. "He'll see this."
Then she turned to us. "What are you doing? Continue!" The class hurried to get back to their fruitless work.
"You really did it," Tracey whispered to me. "That was great!"
"It was," McGonagall answered in my place. "And now it's your turn, Ms. Davis. In the meantime, I'll take Ms. Hebert to the hospital wing."
I kinda had other plans, but I wasn't going to say no to her, and it wasn't like I had any energy left to continue.
This had been fun. Visualizing something and going through with it to succeed, at least a little, raised my mood a lot.
But still, this while thing had left me with more questions than it answered.
I got up and followed McGonagall through the door.
Of course Tay's gonna get some advantages after I gave her a billion disadvantages lol
I have a lot to say. It's funny whenever I start writing a note like this I forget what I was going to say. Please do read tho, cause I'm gonna ask some questions.
Okay so, first things first. I don't know if you can actually mess up the ink on parchment with your hand. It just made sense to me and I wrote it. I might change that.
Another long chapter. This is kinda me experimenting. I do wanna write long, I just figured that out lol, but I'm a bit afraid it'll come across as yap which bores readers. That's some of the most common criticisms I see, thousands upon thousands of words with no action lol.
On the other hand, I think I'll go back to writing shorter chapters. For one, it feels TERRIBLE when I'm writing and I have to stop and it's not finished and I forgot something I wanted to write, like one or two sentences that aren't worth taking note of, but you forget it because of it. It's not really the lost stuff, but the momentum being lost. And I feel like four 1k chapters would get me more engagement than a one 4k chapter but I promised lol
Also, performance drops when you get hungry, tired, annoyed etc. That happened here.
I think I struggle with moving on from one scene to the next. Probably why I have so many "line break"s. It's also hard to like, write descriptions of the terrain and the environment. Especially for Hogwarts, the description for the Slytherin dorms on wiki fried my brain. Tho I struggled with that in my native language too.
I'm trying to crosspost this to Fanfiction.Net, but the formatting is kicking my ass, oh my god.
Again, not checked for typos and errors. Do you think I should use a website or some program for that? Would that count as AI?
I'm definitely forgetting something. Well, enjoy...? Any comments or feedback is much appreciated. Will be crossposted to the other sites, just too tired at the moment.
Wednesday at 10:10 PM
New
Add bookmark
#258
"Magical exhaustion? That doesn't sound... unique." I half-asked, half-stated as we walked.
"For someone of muggle background such as yourself, it may make sense to view magic as like any other human practice," McGonagall answered. "But it works in mysterious ways, even to us who have grown up wielding it and studied it ot the point of profession. The overwhelming majority can not simply grit their teeth and clench their fist to force the spell in their mind to reality. The repetition itself may get tiring and boring, but normally it's not beyond that as a bodily effort. Except in cases like yours, of course," she explained.
"Is it dangerous?" That had priority.
"Could be. The researchers of magic have theorized that it is actually the lack of a mental block, one that keeps the physical body and the magical body of a wizard separate and thus protecting it."
That, sounded like the Manton Effect. I had dismissed the possibility of magic being a ploy of passengers, but it still hung in the back of my head, an ugly thought.
"As is the case with everything else, the potential for magical exhaustion is a spectrum. I reckon it doesn't even get noticed in most individuals who have it; it's nothing more than a little oomph, aiding the casting of a spell. On the other end, there are tales and stories of wizards giving too much, felling themselves in the process of casting a spell. That's why we are taking you to the Hospital Wing now, to check if you have sustained anything."
"Like internal bleeding?"
"Hopefully nothing of that level, but any possibility should be checked. We don't have much precedence when it comes to cases like this. I think you're fine, Ms. Hebert. You are clearly fatigued and I assume you won't be performing very well in rest of your classes today, a negative side of this talent," I didn't think that was a problem, the remaining classes didn't seem to include a lot of wandwork, "but you're walking, talking, breathing okay, you look fine. Well, we'll see."
This was kind of like that common myth, that we only used a little percent of our brains day to day. It was kind of true when it came physical performance, most progress new lifters had was actually their brain and nervous system adapting to the movements and exercises. And I'd read even us hitting failure, was not actually the muscle being depleted, but the brain hitting its perceived limit.
"Does that mean one can train it? Or unlock it in some way while they couldn't before?"
"Perhaps," she said offhandedly. "Something on that path demands blood and tears. The magical mentality is built on ease of use. Most wizards wouldn't bother, unless they are forced to, especially considering the risks." She glanced at me. "Do not... misuse your condition."
I nodded. So I had a different method available, but standard magic was performed differently. Was it something spiritual? Mental? With all the drawbacks of exhausting myself, I wanted to squeeze out everything I could learn about regular casting.
"What was up with my match, Professor?" I felt this was the more pressing topic. Magical exhaustion was an interesting concept and all, but I didn't actually do that myself. It had been only possible with my passenger's assistance. I had no idea what exactly it had done, beyond giving what felt like fuel, and helping me imagine what I'd do. But I'd still worn myself out, so had it been my own magic that I lost? And what was the shape my magic had taken?
Had that been me, or had my passenger influenced the outcome?
"I'm not sure, Ms. Hebert, but I'm sure it's nothing you need to worry about. Merely a quirk of the unearthed nature of magic."
I wanted more than that.
"We are here."
Damn.
There was a pretty cool looking unicorn statue before the entrance, but there wasn't anyone in the place.
We ventured inside.
It was a nice looking place. Beds lined up, closests which no doubt hosted tubes of weird liquid.
"Poppy?" McGonagall called out.
"Maybe she is in the loo, ma'am?"
An elder woman strolled inside from the door on the opposite side of us. "This early?"
"Is it the record?" McGonagall asked, smiling.
"If only. Hi there, dear. I'm Madam Pomfrey. How are you?"
"Hello, Madam Pomfrey, I'm Taylor. I'm fine, a little tired I guess."
Her eyes settled on my right shoulder under my robe, and recognition flared in her gaze.
"Okay, dear. Tell me what's the matter with you?"
"Actually, I'm not sure what it is. I just learned about it."
McGonagall took it from there, explaining what happened and the condition I had. I didn't even listen much as Madam Pomfrey waved her wand through the air around my body, checking me for any problems.
"This one's healthy," she announced. "Heart rate's a bit low, for a kid who just exhausted their magic."
I shrugged. "I run daily. Low resting heart rate compared to my peers."
"Oh I see. Now that you are here, would you like to inform me of any health condition you may have, dear?"
I thought a little. "I'm a little insensitive to pain."
"A little?"
"A little."
Her wand danced through the air for half a minute.
"I see it... I want you to visit me later, when both of us have time, so I can give you a proper check-up. All right?"
"All right." I was fine with that.
"Your prescription is not pushing yourself any more today. I want you to rest well, eat properly. Okay?"
That was already what I planned to do. Madam Pomfrey set me free, and we went back.
"Was it a good idea to leave the classroom, Professor?" I asked.
"I'm experienced enough to tell which class of students will cause problems and which won't," she answered. "And I've watched them enough to know they won't do much at all to their matches."
I felt I was like a prime example against that, but whatever, wasn't going to argue.
Just then, a group of ghosts came out of a wall and shouted in excitement when they detected McGonagall. She, too, seemed happy to see them, cause we and the ghosts hurried over to greet each other. She and them fell into chit-chat, McGonagall asking about how the summer had been for the ghosts.
I carried McGonagall one spot up in the weirdness scale in my head. Was it common to befriend ghosts, let alone stop in the middle of the corridor, while there were lessons underway no less, to have a talk?
Before this whole exhaustion thing came up, I had planned to go up and introduce myself to the Hufflepuff crowd. I didn't want to be strangers with the people who I'd live with for seven years if not for one talking asshole headwear. I didn't want to wait out this bizarre cut-scene and risk the class ending.
"Can I go ahead, Professor?"
She frowned at me. "Will you be able to find the classroom?"
"Easily, ma'am." I knew the way now, and I wasn't afraid of the tricks Hogwarts supposedly had up its sleeve.
She gave me a curt nod. "No running."
"Thank you, ma'am!" I turned around and walked as fast as I could, excited.
I made it to the class in record time. I was getting more and more skeptical of this whole "maze" reputation of the castle. The buzz of chittering died down when I entered. I assumed my seat near Tracey. I wanted to hide somewhere as the stares of my classmates burned in my back.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "You aren't hurt, right?"
It was a bit embarrassing to admit, but it warmed my chest that those were the first words out of her mouth.
"No, not at all. Just a bit out of energy." And I was already getting better. I had good cardio, after all. Uncomfortable with the attention, I asked, "What about you? How is it going? Did you manage to change your match...?"
She sighed and took her hand off the table to reveal an untouched match. "Would you believe me if I told you I changed it into a nail and back?" she asked with a humorous smile.
I smiled back. "Don't worry, you'll get it."
Her lips retreated down to a sull. "I hope... Well, it's not like I'm the only one who couldn't do it, heck, it's the opposite." She looked at me with something I couldn't quite place in her eyes.
I hoped it was something positive. Admiration, maybe. I wanted to tell her, No, I'm not special either. It's just this creature wormed up in my brain, but I couldn't.
McGonagall wasn't lax enough to keep the class headless any more, and she arrived to silence the hushed conversations the students were having.
In the end, no one did anything to their matches, nada, zilch, and McGonagall set us off with a few words of affirmation and encouragement.
"Don't you worry. This is just the beginning. Once you get your hand used to casting, you'll be suprised how easy you find spells like this!"
I didn't know what everyone thought of me after all this, but I needed her words as much as they did.
That weird shape that my match turned into? It hadn't felt like mine.
I realized, with a jolt, in this world where the source of paranormality wasn't passengers, I wanted my achievements to belong to me, and not to my passenger.
A troubling thought.
The paths to Hufflepuff and Slytherin classes on the two opposite sides of the corridor. "You go ahead," I told Tracey.
"Uh, what're you gonna do?"
"I wanna get to know them," I said, pointing at the members of the other house.
"Suure," she said, hitting me with a raised brow. "You won't get lost?"
"I won't. I don't think it's all that hard to find your way around here, despite how everyone's been acting."
She shook her head, bemused. "All right. The next class is... Herbology. I'll save you a spot near me."
I beamed. "Thanks!"
She couldn't help but smile back. "My pleasure. See ya, then."
"Bye-bye."
She hurried behind the rest of the Slytherins, some of which were giving me confused looks over their shoulders.
I turned back and and caught up to the Hufflepuff crowd, stopping their advance with a loud, "Hey!"
They stopped to look at me. Okay, it was a bit awkward approaching this many people.
"...Hello...? I'm Taylor."
The clique at the front resumed walking, and the rest followed, though they started introducing themselves.
"My name is Susan."
"I'm Ernie."
"Justin Finch-Fletchley here!"
"Hannah Abbott."
"They call me Megan Jones!"
Everyone shot weird looks at the last girl.
"What?"
"I, uh, what's, um, how do you find Hogwarts like?" I tried to ask, cringing. Gosh, this was going terrible. I should have went after someone standing around alone.
"It's fine." that was Susan. "As expected."
"Come on, it's great!" said Ernie. "Much cooler than I expected."
"I like it, but the courses are a little intimidating," said Hannah Abbott.
"It's my first time staying away from home," Megan nearly shouted. She seemed to be a loud person. "Exciting!"
"You mean terrifying," one of the boys walking in the front interjected. "Name's Wayne Hopkins, by the way. You're a Slytherin, aren't you? Why are you coming this way?"
The tone was neutral, but the content was slightly accusative, making me stumble in my words. "I, um, I wanted to," make friends.
"Wait, don't I know you?" Justin exclaimed. Huh?
"Is it because you are both muggleborns?" someone said.
"Dude, there are millions upon millions of muggles. No."
"Wait, you're muggleborn? In Slytherin?" Hannah asked me.
I nodded. "Yep." I was glad Wayne's question got lost in that moment of chaos.
"You didn't know? We talked about- um, forget that," Justin stopped what he was saying to Hannah, looking sheepish. "Forget that."
That was all right by me. "Where do you know me from?"
"Uh, my brother was in the last year's athletics meet-up," he explained. "Aren't you the girl who won the province in judo?"
Ah, that. There were various sports meet-ups every year for British students. I liked to participate in track, judo and exercise competitions like push-ups. Having the trained nervous system of a soldier, the disclipline to exercise everyday as a ten year old, and being at the age where my male peers hadn't hit puberty yet, I stood out.
Of course, having a single arm was a major setback, but at this level? I could cope.
"Yeah, that's me!" I was happy to find something to talk about.
"Oh my god, small world. You are super strong! You beat my bro with ease! And no one could match her number in push-ups with two arms!" Justin launched with excitement. I didn't necessarily like my arm being brought up, but I was used at this point, and I was mature about it, hmph. Plus, the topic demanded it. But I wasn't happy about it turning into a hot topic around here. He turned to his housemates, speaking animatedly. "She is faster than anyone our age!"
"What's judo?" Susan asked as Ernie said, "Faster than me? I doubt that." I guess it could be identified who was a muggleborn or atleast a half-blood with their reaction to that. Kids who grew up in the magical world.
"Wanna bet on that?" I taunted Ernie playfully.
"Bet? Noo, that's illegal," he replied with a smirk. "But when we have the time, let's race."
I gave him a look over. I'd leave him in the dust, no doubt. "Sure."
"What's judo?" Susan asked again. "Guys?"
"It's a form of wrestling," I explained. "From Japan. It's mostly trying to get your opponent to drop to the ground."
She frowned. "Sounds horrible." The others gave nods and murmurs of affirmation. "What's a push-up?"
Magical kids didn't even know that? "Well, it's a form of exercise targeting the chest, shoulders and arms. Meaning that the more you do it, the stronger the muscles in those places get."
"How do you do it?"
"You put your hands to the ground. Keep your arms, feet, stomach tight and firm, not bending any joints. Your back's a straight line, you're on your toes. Then you go down until your chest touches the ground, then you go back up, but no cheating by bending your knees or dropping your chest."
"Seems complicated," she said, and I could see the others thinking the same.
Time for a demonstration, then.
"Watch."
I dropped down and gave one, two, three push-ups, fast. These had gotten disgustingly easy. I felt it was the suddenness of my movement more than anything else that prompted the sounds of suprise from them.
"Do the handstand, the handstand!" Justin said. Damn, was he my fan or what?
All righty. I rose back up, took my robe off. I crouched, felt the ground under my palm.
Then I was upside down, looking at their legs.
These stuff weren't even that hard. It was more about balance and being used to the position than strength.
"Woaw, I didn't know a human could even do that," Susan whispered.
One by one, they started clapping. My face grew red and hot. I decided against doing a handstand one-armed push-up, I wouldn't be able to endure any more reactions.
Jumping back on my legs, I got my robe and glasses from Wayne, who had ended up holding onto them.
For a moment, we just started at one another, the Hufflepuff group and I.
"That was cool, Taylor," Hannah said.
"Agreed."
"Yep.
"What did I tell you!" Justin. "She's great."
"Nice show, commando," said Megan. Did she have muggle background as well? "But we really need to go now. We won't be able to reach our class in time if we wait around any longer. It was nice to meet you." She gave her hand and I shook it. I moved to repeat that with the others, but there were really too much of them for that, and I awkwardly settled for exchanging nods and words.
They went on, and I stood there, staring after them.
"..."
I spun on my heel and power-walked through the corridor. I didn't have much time to reach my own class, either.
There would be plenty of time to see them around.