I believe the books tell us he was possessing snakes and eating rats.
Spells in Silence (Harry Potter)
- Thread starter Silently Watches
- Start date
Silently Watches
Professional Stalker
- Location
- Right behind you
Hey, guys. I know it's been a while since any of you heard from me. Typically I don't take this long between updates, so I just wanted to let you know that I'm still here and that this story has NOT been abandoned. RL is just keeping me insanely busy right now and not leaving much time to write anything. Hopefully the next chapter won't take long once I can actually start on it, and I'll get it up here as soon as I can.
In the meantime, I hope everyone is having a good Valentine's Day!
In the meantime, I hope everyone is having a good Valentine's Day!
its fine, real life comes before anything here, but thanks for letting us know ^^
take the time you need and don't feel stressed, we'll still be here whenever you are ready to continue ^^
take the time you need and don't feel stressed, we'll still be here whenever you are ready to continue ^^
- Location
- Pacific Rim
I would make a necromancy joke about the I'm Not Dead lead, buuut RL is messed up for all of us right now so don't want to make too much light of that. Hope things even out for all of us, so take your time, writing should be fun, not a chore.
Silently Watches
Professional Stalker
- Location
- Right behind you
Thankfully it's not really BAD things that are driving me nuts. Just time-consuming things and frustrating preparations for good things.
Cyrus 21
Kamen Rider/Spirit of Chaos
- Location
- Canterlot
Glad to hear you're doing okay.
Ch. 30, New Journeys
Silently Watches
Professional Stalker
- Location
- Right behind you
Hazel crested a short hill and glanced down at the small hamlet that was now visible from her vantage point. This was the kind of middle-of-nowhere village that had dotted the English countryside for centuries and would continue doing so for possibly forever. A sleepy town that the rest of the world and time itself seemed to have forgotten. The kind of place where surely nothing of note ever happened.
It was therefore both surprising and not so in the slightest to discover that the little town of Godric's Hollow was the birthplace and resting place of generations of wizards.
Readjusting the rope on her satchel over her shoulder, she started her tired walk down the hill. Until just a couple of weeks ago, she had never heard of this place and had little to no reason to seek it out. That all changed when she was browsing the bookstores on Diagon and Knockturn Alley looking for useful reference material. The bulk of her worthy finds had in truth come from a few secondhand stores – including a dog-eared book about something called 'hedge magic' and as well as a ratty primer on divination from the late eighteenth century she was itching to sink her teeth into – but her digging also found easily a dozen books on the war that rocked the wizards' world from the late 1960s up until Halloween of '81. Considering her reputation among the wizards, she figured it was prudent to read up on just what had happened that led to that fateful night.
Most of the books had been disturbing, not to mention frustrating. Part of that was because she still, even after so much reading, did not know the name of this terrifying wizard who was responsible for her own story; the bravest book of the lot labeled him one single time as 'the Dark Lord V—', but otherwise it was all 'You-Know-Who' and 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. She was, however, starting to understand the source of the fear. The same book that was willing to give her his initial also discussed a spell they called the Taboo, a curse straight out of a horror novel where saying his name out loud either directly summoned his followers to the speaker or else 'only' allowed them to teleport to people who stood against them. It certainly put Mr. Ollivander's comment about his name inviting death to one's doorstep in a clearer light.
The other source of her frustration was that none of the books said what happened after You-Know-Who's death. They talked about him murdering her parents and then somehow murdering himself when he tried to curse her, but if the books were to be believed, that was the end of it. He had led an army of all things; what happened to them?! All that was said was that wizards he placed under an incredibly powerful mind-control spell woke up and went back to their normal lives, but surely he could not have held all of his army in his thrall?
She knew how difficult it was to control just one person, as she had discovered when she and Hedwig had been attacked by that grief-crazed wizard. And this You-Know-Who figure was meant to have done this to as many as several hundred people? All at once? The mysteries of magic were immense, but this seemed too big to be believable. At that point, if he wanted to become a king like some of the books claimed, why hadn't he just mind-controlled the government and forced them to name him king of the wizards? She was no expert in politics, but that sounded much more straightforward and would have taken a lot less time.
Her brain later reminded her of McGonagall's words, about how she needed to be kept safe from the Death Eaters and the other people who followed him. She supposed that answered one question, that there were people who supported him in truth without coercion. She still did not understand why they would care that much about her now after a full decade, but clearly the professor believed they still existed and were out and about in the world.
But even more important than how the so-called Blood War started and ended and the toll it took on the wizards' way of life was the information connected to her personally. More specifically, a couple of the books talked about how her parents had lived here during the war, how she herself had been born here. And, sadly, how her only true family was buried here in the days following that awful Halloween.
She might not have set foot here since she was a toddler, but she knew it was long past time to pay her respects.
At least we know we're in the right place, she confided to Morgan as they entered through the gates of the town. Her arm rose to point at the statue standing in the middle of the town square, one that depicted a man and a woman with a bundle of something in their arms. A bundle that, if her eyes were not deceiving her, just might have a tuft of hair coming out from the top. I wouldn't mind it if they had made me look the right age, though. It's a small thing, I know, but that statue makes me look like I was a newborn or something that night instead of a toddler. Plus, I have to wonder what everybody thought when they found out there would be a statue dedicated to a random family built in the middle of the town. The book had mentioned that Godric's Hollow was not one of Britain's rare all-wizard villages, but one where sorcerers lived in secret amongst their mundane neighbors. Surely somebody would have some questions about the need for a new statue.
Shaking her head, she bypassed the memorial and stepped through the wide-open gates leading into the yard of the local church. She could already see the first row of headstones even from this angle, and wandering around the building she stepped fully into the graveyard behind.
The cemetery was not especially large, so within half an hour she had found what she was looking for. A white headstone sat on the grassy ground, surrounded by others just like it. Nothing was special about it, nothing that drew attention beyond the words carved upon its surface.
Hazel slid down the length of her staff to sit on the ground before her parents' grave. It was hard to know what to think, what to say. She had imagined many times over the years how life would change if her parents had lived, whether that meant she never went to live with the Dursleys in the first place or they showed up on the doorstep one day to take her back with them. Sometimes her thoughts even went so far as to thinking about the what-ifs of them abandoning her for a sibling and regretting their choice later on; surely a family that ultimately decided they wanted her was better than one that feared and loathed her, wasn't it?
Those dreams had fallen by the wayside as she got older and were ultimately abandoned entirely by the time she left to walk her own path, but now she could not help but reflect on them. Especially in light of the knowledge she now held about her parents' true natures and abilities.
Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad, she finally thought in lieu of anything else profound to say. I'm sorry it's taken me this long to come visit you. I didn't know where you were buried until a couple of weeks ago, and I haven't really been anywhere near here I could jump to, so I had to make the trip entirely on foot. I… don't know what I'm supposed to tell you about my life, she admitted after a moment's pause. I don't know if some part of your spirits are here, if you can hear me, or if you would even care.
I wonder what you would say if you could see me here and now, she continued as she stared at the headstone. You were both wizards, following their traditions and believing in what they believe. You weren't druids, no matter how much I hoped you at least were, Mum. The magic I wield isn't the same kind you do. Would you be proud of me and what I have achieved by my own merits? Disappointed that I can't follow in your footsteps? Ashamed that I'm a cripple the way the books I've read suggest so many of your people are? Would you support me in making my own way in the world, or would you stand against me and how I want to do things?
I can't pretend to know what you were like when you were alive. These are all answers that I'll never know the answers to. But… She looked past the headstone toward nothing in particular, wrapped up for a moment in the tight feeling in her chest like a hand that had closed around her heart without her notice as she thought about might-have-beens. I guess if I can't know how you would think about me, there is no reason I shouldn't assume you would have been proud. Isn't that how parents are supposed to think about their kids? Proud of our accomplishments, supportive and loving even when we screw up?
Even as a witch, I know you could do some magic without the need for a wand, so I expect you would be proud of me, she told her mother's name. Dad married you, and I doubt you went out of your way to hide your talents from him. That is probably the best evidence of how you would feel I am going to get unless I was able to bring your souls back from the dead. Which I'm not going to do! She shook her head. She had read stories about that kind of magic, and that was the sort of thing she did not want to get mixed up in.
But even if I can't know how you feel for sure, even if I have to assume it, I want you both to know I still love you. I don't remember you, and I wish I was able to, but I'll carry you with me.
Glancing over at the nearby graves, she frowned for a moment when she realized she had not brought any flowers to leave in remembrance. Then a thought came to her. Sure, she had not brought any, but… She pressed her fingertips into the cool soil in front of the stone and unleashed her magic. It was not green lightning that came forth as had happened so many times before, but that was no surprise. She was not healing anything now; she wanted to bring forth something new. Instead her spell came out of her hands in the form of shimmering green ribbons. The grass they drifted over perked up and deepened in color as new life flowed into it, and then with amazing speed fresh stalks shot up and bloomed into fresh flowers in a rainbow of colors. Tall ones, clusters of tiny ones, many that were imperfect in shape with wonky petals but all the more natural for those flaws.
She climbed to her feet and brushed herself off before giving her parents' resting place a nod. The train for Hogwarts left tomorrow, so she needed to make sure she found a place near the train station to get some sleep. I'll be back. Someday, when I have a story worth telling you, one that would surely make you proud. Until then…
Goodbye.
The soft tapping of Hazel's staff against the tile floor echoed through the air despite her care to move quietly. The first rays of the sun were only just now cresting over the city's artificial horizon and shining through the windows of London's King Cross Station, and while the first trains of the day had already come and gone, it was still early enough that few people were loitering inside the building. Few people meant that there was no other noise to swallow the little bit she made. The sound was enough to attract attention if the way some people lifted their heads and looked around was any indication, but even with the noise her ignore-me smoke continued to do its job as she kept walking unhindered and unnoticed.
The fact she was unnoticed was useful because right now she was not sure just where she was going. She had made her way to the train station as soon as she could see where she was going in the pre-dawn twilight, and it was a good thing her train ticket was already in her hand or she would have missed the effect. Just as McGonagall told her would happen, the instant she crossed the threshold of the station she could see the ink all over the ticket for this special train that would take her to magic school suddenly start to glow. It was not, however, an even glow. Parts glowed more than others, and it took her an embarrassingly long time for her to realize that the glow moved when she turned around, making it act like a compass to her destination.
Which honestly would have been good to know an hour ago when she first entered the building. McGonagall had left that part out of her explanation, and it made Hazel thankful she had come as early as she had. She could only imagine what might have happened had she delayed looking for the platform until it was almost time for it to leave!
With the guide in her hands working and finally understood, she ultimately found her way to the entrance to the oddly-named Platform 9¾, and once it was in front of her she could only sigh. In hindsight, she probably could have found it without the ticket after all, although it would have taken a longer search.
When she explored Merlin's Cave below the ruins of Tintagel Castle the year before, she had discovered the statue of the ancient wizard by walking through an illusion of a stone wall that was in the apparent 'back' of the cave. An illusion that to her fairy lens shifted and flowed like a layer of wet paint. Now she was confronted by the exact same thing, a wavering pattern of a brick wall covering one side of an otherwise unremarkable and random pillar between platforms 9 and 10. Which I guess explains why they chose the number they did, she told Morgan, who was riding on his customary spot on her shoulder. If this illusion was anything like the one she encountered in Merlin's Cave, crossing into the platform should be as easy as…
A single step carried her through the undulating pattern and into another part of the station. This one, however, was not all glass and steel like the rest of King's Cross; it instead had plentiful brickwork all around with small windows set in dark iron grates. No doubt due to the early hour, it was just as empty as the portion of the station rest of the station. The rest of the station that she could not longer see, she realized when she looked backwards and once again found herself staring at an illusion of a brick wall. The only people walking around besides herself were two men in eye-searing violet overalls sweeping away dirt and dust on the floor. Resting in the middle of the platform was a massive scarlet train, the old-fashioned engine car bearing a smokestack that was currently cold without a wisp of smoke coming out.
The inside of the train was wide enough that two people could walk past each other with just a little squeezing, something that was not an obstacle to her since she was the only person aboard. Claiming the nearest compartment for herself, she flicked the lock on the door and flopped onto one of the benches after leaning her staff against the wall. Think we have time for a nap, she asked Morgan. He puffed up his feathers and lowered himself onto her belly, which she took as the closest thing she was going to get for an answer. She nodded as she closed her eyes and wiggled into a more comfortable spot on the cushioned bench. Yeah, I agree.
A loud, deep whistle that rattled her down to her bones made her eyes fly open, and she shook her head and wiped sleep from her eyes when her still half-asleep brain remembered where she was and why she was there. I must have been more tired than I thought, she told herself and Morgan as she pushed herself upright to sit instead of sprawl. Normally she was a light sleeper, but in hindsight she had been pushing herself to make the trek to Godric's Hollow in a short enough time that she could visit her parents' graves before the trip to Scotland. Between the last week plus getting only a short nap before entering King's Cross, it was not too surprising that her body needed rest.
The door rattled for a moment before the shadow barely visible through the frosted glass walked away, and she peered out the window on the side of the compartment only to blink in surprise. She must have been asleep for even longer than she thought. Where once the platform had been completely empty bar a couple of train workers, now it was absolutely packed with with people. Some were dressed in normal mundane clothes, but the vast majority wore long robes with a smattering of pointed hats. Adults, teenagers, even little kids too young to go to school were milling around in a thick crowd. Other students and their families, she had to assume, which meant they were approaching the time for the train to depart. She craned her neck to try to see a clock, but no matter how she searched none were visible from her angle.
Someone else tugged on the door, and she frowned as she watched this person also move on. She knew intellectually that she might as well unlock the door; she did not know how many people were going to Hogwarts, but presumably there were enough that she should not claim this entire compartment for herself alone. Not just that, but she should start meeting the people she would be in class with. It was only polite.
At the same time, a surprisingly large part of her wanted to keep the door locked so no one could bother her. This was not like when she reached out to the werewolves or the hags. If she opened the door and someone walked in, she could not simply jump out of the compartment to somewhere familiar. She would be stuck with few to no avenues for escape, and that idea was disconcerting. No, not even disconcerting; it scared her to a degree that caught her off-guard. She knew she was not the most friendly and outgoing of people, but she had not realized that she was actively avoiding people whenever she could.
In hindsight, she could only think with embarrassment, the amount of time she spent around crowds hidden within her ignore-me smoke should have been a clue.
The engine car's whistle sounded again, this time three times in succession, and with a loud chug the platform started to slide towards the rear of the train. They were getting on their way, and a sad smile – not bitter, or at least only a little bit – touched her lips as she watched the parents and the little kids on the platform wave at the train before slipping out of sight. Soon, there was only verdant grass and bushes in sight, pristine countryside she had not expected to see so close to the heart of London.
Probably it's another one of the wizards' hidey-holes that are stuffed inside themselves, Hazel thought as she brushed Morgan's feathers. Like Diagon Alley, although this looks more like a space connected to a portal of some kind. That would explain how we could get from the platform to the countryside without seeing anything in between.
She glanced at the door again, and with a greater effort of will than she wanted to admit she waggled her fingers to unlock the door with her ghost hand and open it a crack. She might not want to invite the whole world in all at once, but it would not do for her to shut out all of her soon-to-be classmates from the word 'go'. Making friends was not something she was an expert at, not when Dudley and the teachers and her own lack of speech were enough to drive away any potential friends back in primary school, but she had no doubt locking herself away was a guaranteed way to prevent it.
Maybe, just maybe, wizard children her own age would be more like the werewolves and the hags than normal people, in regards to this if nothing else.
The train rattled on for several minutes, and the longer it did the more she found herself relaxing. She had been worried about nothing, hadn't she? They had already left the station by the time she unlocked the door, and doubtless that meant everyone had already found their old friends or had chosen a seat with strangers. She had this compartment all to herself for however long the trip was, and she did not even need to feel bad about keeping anyone out—
With another rattle, the door slid open fully to reveal a girl about her own age. Blonde, with brown eyes that looked a little too big for her face and dressed in a plain black robe identical to the single robe Hazel had purchased at the robe shop in Diagon Alley. Well, 'purchased' for a certain definition of the word; after noticing that the robes were all in standard sizes and that the tailoring she saw someone going through as she walked in was optional, she snagged one and left the appropriate coins in her wake. "Is this one empt— Oh. No, it's not. Hi," the girl said in a weak voice with a watery smile that quickly faded away. "Is, er, i-is this seat taken? You aren't waiting for anyone, are you? Professor McGonagall said we should be wearing robes as soon as or before we got on the platform, but she isn't. Is this what is in fashion for witches my age? Should I be wearing stuff like that instead?"
Hazel blinked at the surprising change in the blonde girl's train of thought and quickly glanced down at herself and what she wore. First McGonagall, now this girl; she knew what she wore was not typical, but was it really that odd? Jeans that might be a little too tight on her because she grabbed them from a charity bin in Sarajevo. A dress that she bought in France during her stay with the werewolves that she was using as an extra-long blouse. The boots from Stuttgart, stuffed with extra socks and scraps of fabric to help with the fact that her feet were still too small for them. Then, of course, there was her monocle and the earrings she received on her birthday that she still wore, a round stud in her left ear that slowly shifted through all the colors of the rainbow while her right ear had a hoop of quicksilver that jiggled and twisted but never splashed. And last but not least, her satchel made from a bag of dog food and a length of rope.
…Perhaps, just possibly, her outfit was that far out of line with what most people wore, wizard or not. It was not her fault that she had to scavenge or steal everything she had!
Pushing that thought to the side where she could worry at it like a dog with a bone later, she shook her head. Raising her left hand, she spun her index finger around in a small circle. The motion caused light to slide around the surface of the black papier-mâché ring she wore on that finger, and several words formed out of the same goldish-white sparks created by her sparkler spell came into existence all at the same time. 'It's just me in here. You are welcome to join me.'
Inside, she danced a little happy dance. She had practiced using her new tool several times over the last month, of course, but this was the first live test of her fire-writing ring. She was allowed to be happy that it worked the way she wanted it to work!
"O-Okay. That's neat, but I don't know why she didn't just say that." The girl wheeled her suitcase – and it was a normal plastic suitcase, hot pink with butterflies on it, rather than a wooden trunk like those she had seen in the window of a shop on Diagon Alley or being carried by several of the teens on the platform – into the cabin and awkwardly lifted it up and onto a rack above them that Hazel had not paid any attention to at first. Mostly because she would not have been able to reach it in the first place, at least not without the use of her ghost hand. Once her luggage was settled, the girl sat on the opposite bench and wrung her hands. "Don't just sit here like a lump. You need to learn to talk to people, dummy. Hi. I… I already said that, didn't I?" she added immediately, her cheeks turning red. Her hand reached up and clutched at something beneath her shirt. "Um. I'm… M-My name's Sally-Anne."
'Hi, Sally-Anne. I'm Hazel.'
"Hazel. Okay, got it. Hazel. She's friendlier than the boy at the robe store. That has to count for something, right? Nice to meet you, Hazel. Are y-you starting your first year, too?"
'Yes. I wasn't sure whether to come at all or not since I can't talk'—there, that should avoid the inevitable question of why she was writing out her words instead of speaking—'but McGonagall talked me into it in the end.'
The mention of the professor's name finally pulled a smile out of Sally-Anne. "She talked my parents into letting me come. She's awful nice, isn't she?"
Hazel's lips thinned slightly. She supposed if she had not learned that McGonagall was one of the people responsible for placing her with her aunt and uncle, she might feel the same. That was not the case, though, so in lieu of any written response she simply held up one hand flat and rocked it side to side. That aside, something Sally-Anne had said caught her attention. 'You're Née-Moldus, right? Muggleborn?' she corrected when she realized she had once again used the wrong terminology. 'Is that why your parents didn't want you to go to Hogwarts? They wanted you to go to a normal school?'
It would not be totally surprising. Uncle Vernon had made no secret of the fact that she was supposed to go to Stonewall High whereas Dudley would be going to her uncle's old school, Smeltings… which would actually be this year, wouldn't it? Her cousin might actually be on a train right now just like she was. When she lived with them, when she left, a year and a half had seemed so far in the future as to be all but an eternity away, but now in retrospect it had passed almost in the blink of an eye.
The innocent question made the other girl squirm faintly and hunch in on herself. "That's… not really the reason. My parents… I wasn't allowed to go to school before. It wasn't… wasn't safe. Strange things happened around me, so I've never been to a real school. Mum and Dad were always worried that somebody would get hurt, or that people would do bad things to me because I did something. Th-then Professor McGonagall came and said it wasn't strange, said I have m-m-magic and this was normal if I get nervous or scared. They are okay with me going to school if it means all the strangeness stops."
The tension that had been building in Hazel's shoulders slowly washed out. For a moment she was worried that Sally-Anne's parents were like the Dursleys, but it sounded like that was not the case. Not if they were worried for her and her safety. Her own aunt and uncle had been afraid of her, and that could make all the difference in the world. 'You were not missing much. I'm much happier not going to my old school anymore. Hopefully Hogwarts will be different.'
"I hope so," mumbled Sally-Anne. "Do you know what House you want to be in?"
Hazel shook her head. She had read about the Houses of Hogwarts in a book about the school's history, and truth be told that section had left her somewhat confused. Not in the fact that there were four Houses or that they were named after the school's founders, but more the point of it all. The book made it sound like which House somebody was in was incredibly important, but she could not figure out why that was the case. As far as she could tell, it was not as if the House she was in would change what classes she could take or when she could go to the library or what clubs she could join or anything else, really. It was just who she would share a dormitory with, which was only important when she was asleep and did not care anyway. 'They all sound pretty similar at the end of the day,' she finally wrote out.
"I don't know, either. Professor McGonagall said she was in charge of one of them, and it would be nice to know who I should talk to if I need help with something or if I'm homesick or a-anything, but I don't think I'd fit in Gryffindor House. I'm not b-brave like they are."
'Bravery isn't all it's made out to be,' Hazel replied. That House, the same one her parents had been in when they were students, had the reputation for being the home of the brave and the bold. The kind of people who charged in to any challenge and never backed down. That was a great sentiment, but she could not help but think about her encounters with the red cap and de Rais's spectral victims and the murderous spirit of the scoured clearing. Even her first encounter with the Compiègne commune under the full moon when they were all furry.
If she had never backed down from a fight, she would have been dead and eaten several times already. That sounded like a good argument against putting courage on a pedestal. Of course, she was not sure she liked any of the Houses as portrayed in Hogwarts, A History. She was not sure if she was really brave, or loyal, or wise, or ambitious.
In a way, it would have been far better, at least easier, if the Houses were based on interests or abilities or something else. Something she could see in herself, in her own nature. Instead it sounded like once again she would be the outsider that never quite fit anywhere. The mere idea of spending seven years somewhere she was just a lonely misfit was torture.
The only good thing she could think about the situation was that unlike her time at Little Whinging, nowadays she knew how to get away from places that held no place for her. Still, that was probably not the sort of thought Sally-Anne wanted to hear, nor necessarily a backup plan she wanted spread around to all and sundry. de Rais's tower and Diagon Alley were proof that there were ways to prevent teleportation, and she had long ago learned the value of keeping at least some secrets to herself. Instead she twirled her finger again and wrote, 'If we don't know where we want to be, it isn't worth worrying about ahead of time, is it? We'll find out which House we're in when we get there anyway.'
That seemed to perk Sally-Anne up, and the blonde gave her a weak smile. "I suppose you're right. I just wish not worrying was something I was any good at. What about classes? Are there any that caught your eye reading about them?"
'Potions are fun to make. I've had lessons in that here and there over the last couple of years, so that class is at the top of my list. Astronomy, too,' she added as a memory of a complex astronomy chart came to mind. 'You?'
And thus started a long, if occasionally stilted, conversation as the empty countryside continued to pass them on their many hours-long trip to Scotland.
Because small talk with strangers is tedious enough in real life, and I don't want to write a couple more thousand words of it when it takes place between two socially awkward pre-teens. Next chapter, the arrival at Hogwarts.
It was therefore both surprising and not so in the slightest to discover that the little town of Godric's Hollow was the birthplace and resting place of generations of wizards.
Readjusting the rope on her satchel over her shoulder, she started her tired walk down the hill. Until just a couple of weeks ago, she had never heard of this place and had little to no reason to seek it out. That all changed when she was browsing the bookstores on Diagon and Knockturn Alley looking for useful reference material. The bulk of her worthy finds had in truth come from a few secondhand stores – including a dog-eared book about something called 'hedge magic' and as well as a ratty primer on divination from the late eighteenth century she was itching to sink her teeth into – but her digging also found easily a dozen books on the war that rocked the wizards' world from the late 1960s up until Halloween of '81. Considering her reputation among the wizards, she figured it was prudent to read up on just what had happened that led to that fateful night.
Most of the books had been disturbing, not to mention frustrating. Part of that was because she still, even after so much reading, did not know the name of this terrifying wizard who was responsible for her own story; the bravest book of the lot labeled him one single time as 'the Dark Lord V—', but otherwise it was all 'You-Know-Who' and 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. She was, however, starting to understand the source of the fear. The same book that was willing to give her his initial also discussed a spell they called the Taboo, a curse straight out of a horror novel where saying his name out loud either directly summoned his followers to the speaker or else 'only' allowed them to teleport to people who stood against them. It certainly put Mr. Ollivander's comment about his name inviting death to one's doorstep in a clearer light.
The other source of her frustration was that none of the books said what happened after You-Know-Who's death. They talked about him murdering her parents and then somehow murdering himself when he tried to curse her, but if the books were to be believed, that was the end of it. He had led an army of all things; what happened to them?! All that was said was that wizards he placed under an incredibly powerful mind-control spell woke up and went back to their normal lives, but surely he could not have held all of his army in his thrall?
She knew how difficult it was to control just one person, as she had discovered when she and Hedwig had been attacked by that grief-crazed wizard. And this You-Know-Who figure was meant to have done this to as many as several hundred people? All at once? The mysteries of magic were immense, but this seemed too big to be believable. At that point, if he wanted to become a king like some of the books claimed, why hadn't he just mind-controlled the government and forced them to name him king of the wizards? She was no expert in politics, but that sounded much more straightforward and would have taken a lot less time.
Her brain later reminded her of McGonagall's words, about how she needed to be kept safe from the Death Eaters and the other people who followed him. She supposed that answered one question, that there were people who supported him in truth without coercion. She still did not understand why they would care that much about her now after a full decade, but clearly the professor believed they still existed and were out and about in the world.
But even more important than how the so-called Blood War started and ended and the toll it took on the wizards' way of life was the information connected to her personally. More specifically, a couple of the books talked about how her parents had lived here during the war, how she herself had been born here. And, sadly, how her only true family was buried here in the days following that awful Halloween.
She might not have set foot here since she was a toddler, but she knew it was long past time to pay her respects.
At least we know we're in the right place, she confided to Morgan as they entered through the gates of the town. Her arm rose to point at the statue standing in the middle of the town square, one that depicted a man and a woman with a bundle of something in their arms. A bundle that, if her eyes were not deceiving her, just might have a tuft of hair coming out from the top. I wouldn't mind it if they had made me look the right age, though. It's a small thing, I know, but that statue makes me look like I was a newborn or something that night instead of a toddler. Plus, I have to wonder what everybody thought when they found out there would be a statue dedicated to a random family built in the middle of the town. The book had mentioned that Godric's Hollow was not one of Britain's rare all-wizard villages, but one where sorcerers lived in secret amongst their mundane neighbors. Surely somebody would have some questions about the need for a new statue.
Shaking her head, she bypassed the memorial and stepped through the wide-open gates leading into the yard of the local church. She could already see the first row of headstones even from this angle, and wandering around the building she stepped fully into the graveyard behind.
The cemetery was not especially large, so within half an hour she had found what she was looking for. A white headstone sat on the grassy ground, surrounded by others just like it. Nothing was special about it, nothing that drew attention beyond the words carved upon its surface.
JAMES POTTER
BORN 27 MARCH 1960
LILY POTTER
BORN 30 JANUARY 1960
DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
BORN 27 MARCH 1960
LILY POTTER
BORN 30 JANUARY 1960
DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
Hazel slid down the length of her staff to sit on the ground before her parents' grave. It was hard to know what to think, what to say. She had imagined many times over the years how life would change if her parents had lived, whether that meant she never went to live with the Dursleys in the first place or they showed up on the doorstep one day to take her back with them. Sometimes her thoughts even went so far as to thinking about the what-ifs of them abandoning her for a sibling and regretting their choice later on; surely a family that ultimately decided they wanted her was better than one that feared and loathed her, wasn't it?
Those dreams had fallen by the wayside as she got older and were ultimately abandoned entirely by the time she left to walk her own path, but now she could not help but reflect on them. Especially in light of the knowledge she now held about her parents' true natures and abilities.
Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad, she finally thought in lieu of anything else profound to say. I'm sorry it's taken me this long to come visit you. I didn't know where you were buried until a couple of weeks ago, and I haven't really been anywhere near here I could jump to, so I had to make the trip entirely on foot. I… don't know what I'm supposed to tell you about my life, she admitted after a moment's pause. I don't know if some part of your spirits are here, if you can hear me, or if you would even care.
I wonder what you would say if you could see me here and now, she continued as she stared at the headstone. You were both wizards, following their traditions and believing in what they believe. You weren't druids, no matter how much I hoped you at least were, Mum. The magic I wield isn't the same kind you do. Would you be proud of me and what I have achieved by my own merits? Disappointed that I can't follow in your footsteps? Ashamed that I'm a cripple the way the books I've read suggest so many of your people are? Would you support me in making my own way in the world, or would you stand against me and how I want to do things?
I can't pretend to know what you were like when you were alive. These are all answers that I'll never know the answers to. But… She looked past the headstone toward nothing in particular, wrapped up for a moment in the tight feeling in her chest like a hand that had closed around her heart without her notice as she thought about might-have-beens. I guess if I can't know how you would think about me, there is no reason I shouldn't assume you would have been proud. Isn't that how parents are supposed to think about their kids? Proud of our accomplishments, supportive and loving even when we screw up?
Even as a witch, I know you could do some magic without the need for a wand, so I expect you would be proud of me, she told her mother's name. Dad married you, and I doubt you went out of your way to hide your talents from him. That is probably the best evidence of how you would feel I am going to get unless I was able to bring your souls back from the dead. Which I'm not going to do! She shook her head. She had read stories about that kind of magic, and that was the sort of thing she did not want to get mixed up in.
But even if I can't know how you feel for sure, even if I have to assume it, I want you both to know I still love you. I don't remember you, and I wish I was able to, but I'll carry you with me.
Glancing over at the nearby graves, she frowned for a moment when she realized she had not brought any flowers to leave in remembrance. Then a thought came to her. Sure, she had not brought any, but… She pressed her fingertips into the cool soil in front of the stone and unleashed her magic. It was not green lightning that came forth as had happened so many times before, but that was no surprise. She was not healing anything now; she wanted to bring forth something new. Instead her spell came out of her hands in the form of shimmering green ribbons. The grass they drifted over perked up and deepened in color as new life flowed into it, and then with amazing speed fresh stalks shot up and bloomed into fresh flowers in a rainbow of colors. Tall ones, clusters of tiny ones, many that were imperfect in shape with wonky petals but all the more natural for those flaws.
She climbed to her feet and brushed herself off before giving her parents' resting place a nod. The train for Hogwarts left tomorrow, so she needed to make sure she found a place near the train station to get some sleep. I'll be back. Someday, when I have a story worth telling you, one that would surely make you proud. Until then…
Goodbye.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
The soft tapping of Hazel's staff against the tile floor echoed through the air despite her care to move quietly. The first rays of the sun were only just now cresting over the city's artificial horizon and shining through the windows of London's King Cross Station, and while the first trains of the day had already come and gone, it was still early enough that few people were loitering inside the building. Few people meant that there was no other noise to swallow the little bit she made. The sound was enough to attract attention if the way some people lifted their heads and looked around was any indication, but even with the noise her ignore-me smoke continued to do its job as she kept walking unhindered and unnoticed.
The fact she was unnoticed was useful because right now she was not sure just where she was going. She had made her way to the train station as soon as she could see where she was going in the pre-dawn twilight, and it was a good thing her train ticket was already in her hand or she would have missed the effect. Just as McGonagall told her would happen, the instant she crossed the threshold of the station she could see the ink all over the ticket for this special train that would take her to magic school suddenly start to glow. It was not, however, an even glow. Parts glowed more than others, and it took her an embarrassingly long time for her to realize that the glow moved when she turned around, making it act like a compass to her destination.
Which honestly would have been good to know an hour ago when she first entered the building. McGonagall had left that part out of her explanation, and it made Hazel thankful she had come as early as she had. She could only imagine what might have happened had she delayed looking for the platform until it was almost time for it to leave!
With the guide in her hands working and finally understood, she ultimately found her way to the entrance to the oddly-named Platform 9¾, and once it was in front of her she could only sigh. In hindsight, she probably could have found it without the ticket after all, although it would have taken a longer search.
When she explored Merlin's Cave below the ruins of Tintagel Castle the year before, she had discovered the statue of the ancient wizard by walking through an illusion of a stone wall that was in the apparent 'back' of the cave. An illusion that to her fairy lens shifted and flowed like a layer of wet paint. Now she was confronted by the exact same thing, a wavering pattern of a brick wall covering one side of an otherwise unremarkable and random pillar between platforms 9 and 10. Which I guess explains why they chose the number they did, she told Morgan, who was riding on his customary spot on her shoulder. If this illusion was anything like the one she encountered in Merlin's Cave, crossing into the platform should be as easy as…
A single step carried her through the undulating pattern and into another part of the station. This one, however, was not all glass and steel like the rest of King's Cross; it instead had plentiful brickwork all around with small windows set in dark iron grates. No doubt due to the early hour, it was just as empty as the portion of the station rest of the station. The rest of the station that she could not longer see, she realized when she looked backwards and once again found herself staring at an illusion of a brick wall. The only people walking around besides herself were two men in eye-searing violet overalls sweeping away dirt and dust on the floor. Resting in the middle of the platform was a massive scarlet train, the old-fashioned engine car bearing a smokestack that was currently cold without a wisp of smoke coming out.
The inside of the train was wide enough that two people could walk past each other with just a little squeezing, something that was not an obstacle to her since she was the only person aboard. Claiming the nearest compartment for herself, she flicked the lock on the door and flopped onto one of the benches after leaning her staff against the wall. Think we have time for a nap, she asked Morgan. He puffed up his feathers and lowered himself onto her belly, which she took as the closest thing she was going to get for an answer. She nodded as she closed her eyes and wiggled into a more comfortable spot on the cushioned bench. Yeah, I agree.
A loud, deep whistle that rattled her down to her bones made her eyes fly open, and she shook her head and wiped sleep from her eyes when her still half-asleep brain remembered where she was and why she was there. I must have been more tired than I thought, she told herself and Morgan as she pushed herself upright to sit instead of sprawl. Normally she was a light sleeper, but in hindsight she had been pushing herself to make the trek to Godric's Hollow in a short enough time that she could visit her parents' graves before the trip to Scotland. Between the last week plus getting only a short nap before entering King's Cross, it was not too surprising that her body needed rest.
The door rattled for a moment before the shadow barely visible through the frosted glass walked away, and she peered out the window on the side of the compartment only to blink in surprise. She must have been asleep for even longer than she thought. Where once the platform had been completely empty bar a couple of train workers, now it was absolutely packed with with people. Some were dressed in normal mundane clothes, but the vast majority wore long robes with a smattering of pointed hats. Adults, teenagers, even little kids too young to go to school were milling around in a thick crowd. Other students and their families, she had to assume, which meant they were approaching the time for the train to depart. She craned her neck to try to see a clock, but no matter how she searched none were visible from her angle.
Someone else tugged on the door, and she frowned as she watched this person also move on. She knew intellectually that she might as well unlock the door; she did not know how many people were going to Hogwarts, but presumably there were enough that she should not claim this entire compartment for herself alone. Not just that, but she should start meeting the people she would be in class with. It was only polite.
At the same time, a surprisingly large part of her wanted to keep the door locked so no one could bother her. This was not like when she reached out to the werewolves or the hags. If she opened the door and someone walked in, she could not simply jump out of the compartment to somewhere familiar. She would be stuck with few to no avenues for escape, and that idea was disconcerting. No, not even disconcerting; it scared her to a degree that caught her off-guard. She knew she was not the most friendly and outgoing of people, but she had not realized that she was actively avoiding people whenever she could.
In hindsight, she could only think with embarrassment, the amount of time she spent around crowds hidden within her ignore-me smoke should have been a clue.
The engine car's whistle sounded again, this time three times in succession, and with a loud chug the platform started to slide towards the rear of the train. They were getting on their way, and a sad smile – not bitter, or at least only a little bit – touched her lips as she watched the parents and the little kids on the platform wave at the train before slipping out of sight. Soon, there was only verdant grass and bushes in sight, pristine countryside she had not expected to see so close to the heart of London.
Probably it's another one of the wizards' hidey-holes that are stuffed inside themselves, Hazel thought as she brushed Morgan's feathers. Like Diagon Alley, although this looks more like a space connected to a portal of some kind. That would explain how we could get from the platform to the countryside without seeing anything in between.
She glanced at the door again, and with a greater effort of will than she wanted to admit she waggled her fingers to unlock the door with her ghost hand and open it a crack. She might not want to invite the whole world in all at once, but it would not do for her to shut out all of her soon-to-be classmates from the word 'go'. Making friends was not something she was an expert at, not when Dudley and the teachers and her own lack of speech were enough to drive away any potential friends back in primary school, but she had no doubt locking herself away was a guaranteed way to prevent it.
Maybe, just maybe, wizard children her own age would be more like the werewolves and the hags than normal people, in regards to this if nothing else.
The train rattled on for several minutes, and the longer it did the more she found herself relaxing. She had been worried about nothing, hadn't she? They had already left the station by the time she unlocked the door, and doubtless that meant everyone had already found their old friends or had chosen a seat with strangers. She had this compartment all to herself for however long the trip was, and she did not even need to feel bad about keeping anyone out—
With another rattle, the door slid open fully to reveal a girl about her own age. Blonde, with brown eyes that looked a little too big for her face and dressed in a plain black robe identical to the single robe Hazel had purchased at the robe shop in Diagon Alley. Well, 'purchased' for a certain definition of the word; after noticing that the robes were all in standard sizes and that the tailoring she saw someone going through as she walked in was optional, she snagged one and left the appropriate coins in her wake. "Is this one empt— Oh. No, it's not. Hi," the girl said in a weak voice with a watery smile that quickly faded away. "Is, er, i-is this seat taken? You aren't waiting for anyone, are you? Professor McGonagall said we should be wearing robes as soon as or before we got on the platform, but she isn't. Is this what is in fashion for witches my age? Should I be wearing stuff like that instead?"
Hazel blinked at the surprising change in the blonde girl's train of thought and quickly glanced down at herself and what she wore. First McGonagall, now this girl; she knew what she wore was not typical, but was it really that odd? Jeans that might be a little too tight on her because she grabbed them from a charity bin in Sarajevo. A dress that she bought in France during her stay with the werewolves that she was using as an extra-long blouse. The boots from Stuttgart, stuffed with extra socks and scraps of fabric to help with the fact that her feet were still too small for them. Then, of course, there was her monocle and the earrings she received on her birthday that she still wore, a round stud in her left ear that slowly shifted through all the colors of the rainbow while her right ear had a hoop of quicksilver that jiggled and twisted but never splashed. And last but not least, her satchel made from a bag of dog food and a length of rope.
…Perhaps, just possibly, her outfit was that far out of line with what most people wore, wizard or not. It was not her fault that she had to scavenge or steal everything she had!
Pushing that thought to the side where she could worry at it like a dog with a bone later, she shook her head. Raising her left hand, she spun her index finger around in a small circle. The motion caused light to slide around the surface of the black papier-mâché ring she wore on that finger, and several words formed out of the same goldish-white sparks created by her sparkler spell came into existence all at the same time. 'It's just me in here. You are welcome to join me.'
Inside, she danced a little happy dance. She had practiced using her new tool several times over the last month, of course, but this was the first live test of her fire-writing ring. She was allowed to be happy that it worked the way she wanted it to work!
"O-Okay. That's neat, but I don't know why she didn't just say that." The girl wheeled her suitcase – and it was a normal plastic suitcase, hot pink with butterflies on it, rather than a wooden trunk like those she had seen in the window of a shop on Diagon Alley or being carried by several of the teens on the platform – into the cabin and awkwardly lifted it up and onto a rack above them that Hazel had not paid any attention to at first. Mostly because she would not have been able to reach it in the first place, at least not without the use of her ghost hand. Once her luggage was settled, the girl sat on the opposite bench and wrung her hands. "Don't just sit here like a lump. You need to learn to talk to people, dummy. Hi. I… I already said that, didn't I?" she added immediately, her cheeks turning red. Her hand reached up and clutched at something beneath her shirt. "Um. I'm… M-My name's Sally-Anne."
'Hi, Sally-Anne. I'm Hazel.'
"Hazel. Okay, got it. Hazel. She's friendlier than the boy at the robe store. That has to count for something, right? Nice to meet you, Hazel. Are y-you starting your first year, too?"
'Yes. I wasn't sure whether to come at all or not since I can't talk'—there, that should avoid the inevitable question of why she was writing out her words instead of speaking—'but McGonagall talked me into it in the end.'
The mention of the professor's name finally pulled a smile out of Sally-Anne. "She talked my parents into letting me come. She's awful nice, isn't she?"
Hazel's lips thinned slightly. She supposed if she had not learned that McGonagall was one of the people responsible for placing her with her aunt and uncle, she might feel the same. That was not the case, though, so in lieu of any written response she simply held up one hand flat and rocked it side to side. That aside, something Sally-Anne had said caught her attention. 'You're Née-Moldus, right? Muggleborn?' she corrected when she realized she had once again used the wrong terminology. 'Is that why your parents didn't want you to go to Hogwarts? They wanted you to go to a normal school?'
It would not be totally surprising. Uncle Vernon had made no secret of the fact that she was supposed to go to Stonewall High whereas Dudley would be going to her uncle's old school, Smeltings… which would actually be this year, wouldn't it? Her cousin might actually be on a train right now just like she was. When she lived with them, when she left, a year and a half had seemed so far in the future as to be all but an eternity away, but now in retrospect it had passed almost in the blink of an eye.
The innocent question made the other girl squirm faintly and hunch in on herself. "That's… not really the reason. My parents… I wasn't allowed to go to school before. It wasn't… wasn't safe. Strange things happened around me, so I've never been to a real school. Mum and Dad were always worried that somebody would get hurt, or that people would do bad things to me because I did something. Th-then Professor McGonagall came and said it wasn't strange, said I have m-m-magic and this was normal if I get nervous or scared. They are okay with me going to school if it means all the strangeness stops."
The tension that had been building in Hazel's shoulders slowly washed out. For a moment she was worried that Sally-Anne's parents were like the Dursleys, but it sounded like that was not the case. Not if they were worried for her and her safety. Her own aunt and uncle had been afraid of her, and that could make all the difference in the world. 'You were not missing much. I'm much happier not going to my old school anymore. Hopefully Hogwarts will be different.'
"I hope so," mumbled Sally-Anne. "Do you know what House you want to be in?"
Hazel shook her head. She had read about the Houses of Hogwarts in a book about the school's history, and truth be told that section had left her somewhat confused. Not in the fact that there were four Houses or that they were named after the school's founders, but more the point of it all. The book made it sound like which House somebody was in was incredibly important, but she could not figure out why that was the case. As far as she could tell, it was not as if the House she was in would change what classes she could take or when she could go to the library or what clubs she could join or anything else, really. It was just who she would share a dormitory with, which was only important when she was asleep and did not care anyway. 'They all sound pretty similar at the end of the day,' she finally wrote out.
"I don't know, either. Professor McGonagall said she was in charge of one of them, and it would be nice to know who I should talk to if I need help with something or if I'm homesick or a-anything, but I don't think I'd fit in Gryffindor House. I'm not b-brave like they are."
'Bravery isn't all it's made out to be,' Hazel replied. That House, the same one her parents had been in when they were students, had the reputation for being the home of the brave and the bold. The kind of people who charged in to any challenge and never backed down. That was a great sentiment, but she could not help but think about her encounters with the red cap and de Rais's spectral victims and the murderous spirit of the scoured clearing. Even her first encounter with the Compiègne commune under the full moon when they were all furry.
If she had never backed down from a fight, she would have been dead and eaten several times already. That sounded like a good argument against putting courage on a pedestal. Of course, she was not sure she liked any of the Houses as portrayed in Hogwarts, A History. She was not sure if she was really brave, or loyal, or wise, or ambitious.
In a way, it would have been far better, at least easier, if the Houses were based on interests or abilities or something else. Something she could see in herself, in her own nature. Instead it sounded like once again she would be the outsider that never quite fit anywhere. The mere idea of spending seven years somewhere she was just a lonely misfit was torture.
The only good thing she could think about the situation was that unlike her time at Little Whinging, nowadays she knew how to get away from places that held no place for her. Still, that was probably not the sort of thought Sally-Anne wanted to hear, nor necessarily a backup plan she wanted spread around to all and sundry. de Rais's tower and Diagon Alley were proof that there were ways to prevent teleportation, and she had long ago learned the value of keeping at least some secrets to herself. Instead she twirled her finger again and wrote, 'If we don't know where we want to be, it isn't worth worrying about ahead of time, is it? We'll find out which House we're in when we get there anyway.'
That seemed to perk Sally-Anne up, and the blonde gave her a weak smile. "I suppose you're right. I just wish not worrying was something I was any good at. What about classes? Are there any that caught your eye reading about them?"
'Potions are fun to make. I've had lessons in that here and there over the last couple of years, so that class is at the top of my list. Astronomy, too,' she added as a memory of a complex astronomy chart came to mind. 'You?'
And thus started a long, if occasionally stilted, conversation as the empty countryside continued to pass them on their many hours-long trip to Scotland.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Because small talk with strangers is tedious enough in real life, and I don't want to write a couple more thousand words of it when it takes place between two socially awkward pre-teens. Next chapter, the arrival at Hogwarts.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Yes! Hazel is back!
Let there be shenanigans amongst the houligans!
Snape will be impressed I think. Hopefully disturbed.
I've greatly missed this.
Let there be shenanigans amongst the houligans!
Snape will be impressed I think. Hopefully disturbed.
I've greatly missed this.
feauxen
I know everything and nothing. I'm very confused.
- Location
- Yes.
- Pronouns
- Human/Person/Thing
Hazel is going to take the wizarding world by storm, isn't she? Not on purpose, of course, but she's basically a foreigner with incredibly strange magic no one's going to understand. That'll be interesting.
Flairina
Least Omnipotent Goddess
- Location
- The next infinity over
Well, that's a bit concerning - Sally Anne wasn't exactly hinting at the most accepting parents there, and as I recall, she's due to disappear with no real explanation in second year or something like that. Unless she just happened to decide Hogwarts wasn't for her, here's hoping Hazel manages to prevent whatever that was, whether intentionally or not.
Gonna be interesting to see what the teachers' reactions to Hazel are, especially since I expect Hazel will not be satisfied with just sticking around in the school. Given she's gotten used to apparating across the country at a moment's notice, she'll likely plan for evening jaunts to the hags or the werewolf commune at the very least. If her method can get around the Hogwarts wards, people will panic at the suddenly disappearing Potter, and if it can't, Hazel might be annoyed enough at her sudden lack of freedom or ability to check in on people she cares about to reconsider this whole "school" idea to begin with.
Gonna be interesting to see what the teachers' reactions to Hazel are, especially since I expect Hazel will not be satisfied with just sticking around in the school. Given she's gotten used to apparating across the country at a moment's notice, she'll likely plan for evening jaunts to the hags or the werewolf commune at the very least. If her method can get around the Hogwarts wards, people will panic at the suddenly disappearing Potter, and if it can't, Hazel might be annoyed enough at her sudden lack of freedom or ability to check in on people she cares about to reconsider this whole "school" idea to begin with.
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Roth963
If I become inactive with this massage, I died
She can leave, just get far from the castle first.
- Pronouns
- you
Thank you for the chapter, I really enjoyed the awkward interaction and am looking forward to how important canon characters will react to Hazel and her way of life!
:3
:3
LostArchivist
Sane, unfortunately.
- Location
- The State of Confusion
It has been a while, but didn't she eventually find a method to escape those too?
Roth963
If I become inactive with this massage, I died
She found new kind of teleportation, and going to an in between plane, bur if the first doesn't wo rk, she needs to leave or invent something new.
- Location
- Australia
Great chapter nice to see her interact awkwardly with a peer finally instead of the adults she mostly hangs out with.
With her history of befriended marginalized races it'll be interesting to see her interact with the Selkies and the Centaurs.
With her history of befriended marginalized races it'll be interesting to see her interact with the Selkies and the Centaurs.
RoninSword
Sky God
- Location
- Canada
Little surprised Sally didn't make any mention of her fire writing. I assume it's so that she's not making a big deal out of her lack of speaking ability but still.
- Location
- Hug the Moebot; Save the world
Considering shes muggleborn she may not have the context to realise that is not normal.
- Location
- Earth Aleph
I'm looking forward to all the spell-crafting Hazel's going to get up to, now that she'll have plenty of inspiration for new things to do. I'm also happy to see a less popular canon character get some screen time, and I guess there will be more of that if McGonagall is right about her going to Ravenclaw.
Divination is also something not often seen in fics; I wonder how different Hazel's book will be from the methods Trelawney covers.
Divination is also something not often seen in fics; I wonder how different Hazel's book will be from the methods Trelawney covers.
