That's basically canon. The ministry is definitely capable of placing rules and regulations on Hogwarts as we see in book 5. This means that they probably have at least some ability to effect the Hogwarts budget. Both of these combined with general government incompetence and corruption has probably led to many, many budget cuts. Oh we don't need multiple professors for each class, just have one for each and have the students do mostly self study. Oh we don't need x class let's stop offering it. Oh we don't need to replace that professor, just keep the ghost. The school has probably had many budget cuts and removed many classes in it's time. The professors are probably massively over worked and under paid. Hogwarts may have once been the best school in the world but I doubt it is now.
Spells in Silence (Harry Potter)
- Thread starter Silently Watches
- Start date
Seeing the other TriWizard schools are , Hogwarts sadly might be better still.
We also know that wizards are weird and fine with doing stuff that is not on the book like the non magical can. So maybe they are ok with a lot of whimsy in their professional life.
It seems that ghosts are treated as persons. Add seniority and Binns may be forced to be kept on staff.
Also it seems that wizard on wizard war is unheard(outside the dark lords) while the next big threat is goblin-wizard conflict. Add to that talking about civil wars in classroom that happened in their parents living memory is kind of traumatic for people. So people will be reticent for a school to teach the children of all sides of civil wars a definitive and unique history of those wars, and in interest of peace and not to make every civil war a fight to the death, it became taboo to teach about inter wizard strife.
- Pronouns
- They/Them/She/Her
Also, Mrs. Norris is, you know, doing her job? Catching students breaking rules? Kicking her for that would be the same as kicking the prefects on night patrol, except that she is less able to fight back.FictionPack said:
Half Moon
In the end, there is no end.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Of course, there are plenty of people who are pretty enthusiastic about the idea of kicking the prefects.
- Location
- Hug the Moebot; Save the world
Maybe his contract just has some really good dismissal bonuses built in and was writen in a way that 'death' doesnt count as an end to his contract. Now hes been on staff for so long firing him would bankrupt the school lol.
Alternatively he isnt even a staff member anymore. They just dont want to hire a new teacher when hes going to be there doing the job for free anyway?
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- Pronouns
- They/Them/She/Her
Okay, true.
But, yeah, Mrs. Norris is a good kitty. And brave, to still go out on patrol with the kind of treatment she receives.
On Squibs, I think it just boils down to them being for whatever reasons, unable to cast spells. This isn't exactly the whole of the wizarding experience, Potions, Divination, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, etc, don't need spells at all for the most part, nor does the inexplicable durability of wizarding world people seem to exclude them.
In a world where basically everyone is armed, the Squibs aren't.
You don't need any specific prejudice here, any petty bully could use schoolyard pranks on any squib and know that they won't face any consequences worth caring about. Even the muggles are better protected - at least theres laws for muggle baiting.
So they get treated somewhat similar to someone born lamed in the 1400s.
To be treated with shame and pity versus being the target of petty abuse.
In a world where basically everyone is armed, the Squibs aren't.
You don't need any specific prejudice here, any petty bully could use schoolyard pranks on any squib and know that they won't face any consequences worth caring about. Even the muggles are better protected - at least theres laws for muggle baiting.
So they get treated somewhat similar to someone born lamed in the 1400s.
To be treated with shame and pity versus being the target of petty abuse.
Which fits with the apparent era the Wizarding World acts like its in
yacov
Lurking and sometimes blurting
- Location
- Clogging a drain
Hazel continues having better luck getting along better with every magical creature in the wizarding world, except wizards.
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Kaernetron
Feuergeist
- Location
- Weit, Weit dort Oben
Hazel, you've already learned that forbidden forest areas are usually forbidden for very good reasons...
Well, at least you're aware of the potential danger...
Dammit, Potter! You're a survival badger, stop acting like a Gryffindor!
Not allowing children to visit a Dark Place whenever they want is the right move in my book. Chances are they'll corrupt themselves or something else will come back in their place...
... or stumble into another realm and never be seen again, I suppose.
Hazel Potter,
IF you're lucky and your teleport spell can aim itself through gates you not even realized you've crossed.
[Darkest Dungeon] Overconfidence is a slow and insidious Killer. [/Darkest Dungeon]
[Unicorns]
Hazel, you are without a doubt the luckiest Potter to ever go walkabout.
Familiar Bond with enhanced intelligence confirmed.
- Location
- Massachussetts
I'm rereading and noticed something during Hazel's first interaction with the hags. At one point in the conversation, Elfriede thinks this:
Whatever the case in HP canon, it appears that in Spells in Silence many (most?) natural magical abilities are strictly inherited. Parseltongue, metamorphing, and Hazel's own mindreading are all potential examples. According to Elfriede, the only way for new talents like that to pop up is through Nee-Moldus/muggleborn. Established wizarding bloodlines don't spontaneously manifest new abilities the way muggleborn do.
If we believe her, then a mostly-muggle with some degree of magical affinity but no ability to use a wand might have a magical skill not currently present in the wizarding community. In contrast, a squib with the same level of magical affinity would potentially have abilities that were overlooked and undervalued by other wizards, but this squib would not have any abilities that their magical lineage lacked.
This is all speculation, of course, and depends on the veracity of Elfriede's sweeping generalization.
I think it's also worth remembering that "muggle" as a category is likely to be a catch-all umbrella term, and that the (presumed) presence of non-wand magic capable individuals in that group does not necessarily imply that all "pig humans" (as the hags refer to them) have access to some amount of magic.
This is both interesting in its own right and also potentially relevant to the current discussion of how squibs do or don't differ from muggles.
Whatever the case in HP canon, it appears that in Spells in Silence many (most?) natural magical abilities are strictly inherited. Parseltongue, metamorphing, and Hazel's own mindreading are all potential examples. According to Elfriede, the only way for new talents like that to pop up is through Nee-Moldus/muggleborn. Established wizarding bloodlines don't spontaneously manifest new abilities the way muggleborn do.
If we believe her, then a mostly-muggle with some degree of magical affinity but no ability to use a wand might have a magical skill not currently present in the wizarding community. In contrast, a squib with the same level of magical affinity would potentially have abilities that were overlooked and undervalued by other wizards, but this squib would not have any abilities that their magical lineage lacked.
This is all speculation, of course, and depends on the veracity of Elfriede's sweeping generalization.
I think it's also worth remembering that "muggle" as a category is likely to be a catch-all umbrella term, and that the (presumed) presence of non-wand magic capable individuals in that group does not necessarily imply that all "pig humans" (as the hags refer to them) have access to some amount of magic.
I dislike this idea. As an alternative, it seems plausible that the same perceptions could stem from the chances of spontaneous new magical ability being pretty much universally equal, but the weight of numbers could cause this to be almost unheard of amongst wizards while still being quite common amongst other communities. It doesn't make much difference though. Wizard offspring with magical defficiencies would be yet another step further in being a dramatically smaller population, and thus even less likely to win the magical lottery, and even if they did, they would likely be mistaken for having inherited their magical affinity and be regarded as just another wizard...
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Yes! This story has been feeling so... claustrophobic since Hazel has arrived at Hogwarts and calling this opening in the walls a pressure release is the perfect metaphor.
Re: taking a friend with her through the wall, I hadn't even thought of that but suddenly find myself sharing your excitement.
Ch. 38, Friends and Foes
Silently Watches
Professional Stalker
- Location
- Right behind you
Wow, it's been a few months, hasn't it? I can't be held fully responsible the delay this time, though! I blame it on a recent addition to the Watches family, one who is enthusiastically earning their name of "Always Crying". AC has been making it hard for Significant Other and me to do basic errands like laundry and grocery shopping, let alone find time to write fanfiction.
Hazel frowned as she was pulled from her sleep by a quiet popping sound. She felt as if she had barely gotten any rest at all after spending most of the night in the library, and now what little sleep she was going to get was being interrupted? For once she regretted the fact that her sleeping was so light that even a sound coming from down a hall or even on another floor was enough to rouse her—
Something touched her cheek, and her eyes flew open as she pushed herself half upright and half backwards. Anything to get her away from whatever had just touched her!
A scrawny creature with gigantic eyes and floppy ears yelped at her explosive movement and tumbled backwards out of sight behind a large box.
Hazel took several gasps of air to slow her racing heart as Morgan, woken with her sudden actively, took wing and shrieked his displeasure.
"Oh, Tinky's head…" The creature, one that now she was awake she recognized as a house-elf similar to the one she had met her first night in the castle, pulled itself up and glanced over the box at her. "What bes miss doing in the storing room? Miss should bes in her house."
'I would if I could,' she replied before standing up and stretching all the kinks out of her back. That it also gave her something to do besides pay attention to her lingering scraps of panic was a nice bonus. 'But I can't get into the Hufflepuff dorm on my own. The barrels only respond if someone talks to them, and I can't.'
The house-elf frowned at her. "Tinky not knows wizard letters. Why not miss just talks?"
Well. That was… inconvenient. There was no way she could pantomime everything she had just said. About the only thing she could get across in that manner was the answer to Tinky's question, and in response she pointed to her mouth and her throat before shaking her head. It was as good as she was going to manage right now.
"Tinky still not understands. Come, miss," the elf told her, patting dust off itself – himself? She thought the first one she had met was a girl elf, and this one's voice was a little lower in pitch even if it was still incredibly squeaky – and waving for her to follow. "Miss bes Hufflypuffly, and Mipsy knows wizard letters. She can helps."
Well, if nothing else that confirmed her first guess at house-elf genders.
She followed Tinky out of the storage room and down the corridor, ultimately stopping at a large painting she had passed several times on her way back and forth to the Hufflepuff's common room, one that was a still-life of a bowl of fruit. Tinky reached up to stroke the large pear in the lower left corner, and she had to blink as the pear seemed to bulge out of the painting before solidifying into a doorknob big enough that Tinky had to reach up and grab it with both hands in order to turn it.
When he managed it, however, Hazel was astonished by the room that was revealed. It was cavernous, at least as large as the Great Hall but possibly – likely, even – bigger still. Along the far wall where she could see from her perspective was a row of ovens, some with doors that could be opened and closed and others just holes in the brickwork from which loaves of bread were being pulled out. To the left were rows of counters with pots and pans and wooden utensils hanging from the ceiling. To the right, five long tables that looked like they would match the size of the tables in the Great Hall proper.
And running around this room, this massive kitchen, was a veritable army of house-elves.
Several of the elves had glanced over when the door opened, but only one rushed forwards with a stern expression on her face. A house-elf who looked oddly familiar. "Tinky! What bes you doing with miss Hazel Potter? Oh, that boy! I not has the time to deal with him right now, but what bes he thinking? Mipsy knows your mama tells you not bothers the students!"
While Tinky was stammering an explanation, Hazel twisted a hand and summoned letters of flame. 'I can't get inside the Hufflepuff common room on my own. Because I can't talk to the barrels. He found me sleeping in a spare room.'
Mipsy's eyes widened at her revelation and shook her head, ears flapping with the movement. "Oh, no. That not right. Comes with Mipsy, miss. Botchins knows how to help."
Botchins, it turned out, was an extremely old elf sitting in the back of the kitchen who was in the process of waving his hands to make vegetables cut themselves up and toss themselves into a large steaming pot of stew. A quick explanation from Mipsy, and he gestured for Hazel to seat herself on a stool that appeared from nowhere.
"Miss has made Hufflypuffly complicated," Botchins said, though the tone of his voice and thoughts softened the words. "Not miss's fault, no no, but true all the same. Hoggywarts never has a no-talky student, not as far as Botchins remembers. Botchins not knows that witches could bes no-talky. No good way to get through Mistress Helga's magic, no miss."
'That is why I've been sleeping in the storage room.'
He nodded. "Botchins understands, but students sleeps in their sleeping rooms, not the storing rooms. Not the place for that. Botchins can thinks of a solution, but against the rules, yes it bes." He stopped in his cooking and stared straight into her eyes. "Miss not able enters the Hufflypuffly sleeping room? Truly?"
Hazel gave him a nod. 'I've tried a couple of times to get in on my own, and I can't. Professor Flitwick even tried making something to let me get in, but that did not work either. I can't teleport into the common room, either. I don't have any more ideas.
'But if it's against the rules or something you're not allowed to do, I can just find somewhere else to sleep where I won't be in your way. It's not a problem, I promise.'
"Rules bes rules, and bes important, but Master Salazar says sometimes rules needs be broken if good needs be done. Botchins wants know that breaking rules bes needed. If Professor Fighty bes looking for an answer, then Botchins helps." He held out his hand. "Let Botchins sees miss's hand."
Curious just what the elf had in mind, Hazel reached out her right hand and laid it palm-up in Botchins's own. He traced the lines of her palm, almost like she would expect a palm-reader to do, then nodded to himself. "Yes, yes, she bes an honest witch. True like a Hufflypuffly should bes. Botchins can helps miss." He wrapped his hand around her thumb and squeezed gently, and then his thoughts became jagged and painful. Hazel winced.
Then her vision turned blurry, and up was left and right was purple and the stones tasted like mint—
A soft hand patted her cheek, and she blinked her eyes clear of tears. She was laying on the stone floor, with Botchins kneeling at her side and pinching her nose with a cold towel. He gave her an apologetic grimace. "Botchins bes very, very sorry, miss. Not knows that miss was a thinking-hearing witch. Botchins would makes miss sleep first if he knows."
A wave of her hand, but instead of letters all she produced was a glittering squiggle. Hazel frowned and pushed herself up to a sitting position. A moment of focus was enough to get her words out into the air. 'What happened? That has never happened to me before.'
"Mistress Helga puts the magic on the Hufflypuffly door," he explained, pulling the towel away from her face. The smear of blood on the cloth raised more concerns than it put to rest. "House-elves not uses witch magics. We uses elf magics. Botchins learns how mix the two, but…" He shrugged. "Not bes natural. Mixing magics has costs and consequences."
Costs and consequences? Considering the elderly elf already knew she could read minds, she asked outright, 'But I've learned hag magic, and I'm not a hag. How come I never encountered anything like this if different magics can't normally be mixed?'
"Botchins not knows why. Witches bes strange. Their magics not bes like elf magics or centaur magics or phoenix magics. Maybe because miss bes a witch, she not pays the cost."
The talk of different creature magics gave Hazel pause, and a memory from her time in Germany came back to her. When Elfriede described the origin of the hags' curse, she had also given a brief mention of the origin of human magics. 'I was told before that when humanity was young, we were favored by many minor spirits who taught us magic, and that's part of why our magic is so broad in scope. Could that also be part of it?'
"Botchins not knows the story miss speaks, but could bes true. Botchins just not knows."
…That was fair. Considering she knew essentially nothing about her own people, be them druid or wizard, she could not blame Botchins for not knowing facts that were probably lost to the sands of time. She instead raised her right hand to see just what strange hybrid human-elf magic he had wrought.
Around the base of her thumb was a band of alternating black and yellow. It looked almost as though it had been painted onto her, but when she rubbed it she felt nothing beyond her own skin.
"This bes the easiest solution Botchins thinks of. It says miss can enters the Hufflypuffly house whenever miss wants."
'Thank you.'
Botchins smiled at her gratitude. "Mipsy says miss is a good witch. Mistress Helga would bes proud."
Mistress Helga. This was the second time the old elf had mentioned who she could only assume was Helga Hufflepuff, and the third time he had mentioned one of the founders of the school as though he had first-hand knowledge of them. Except from what she had read, the school was founded a millennium ago, and the founding members were all long dead. 'I have to say I'm curious. You talk about Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin like you knew them personally.' She thought for a moment about how to phrase what she wanted to know before just asking, 'How old are you?'
Botchins just gave her a smirk and tapped the side of his nose. "That bes for Botchins to knows and not tells. And miss knows it bes rude using her thinking-hearing if Botchins not wants her knowing."
At that reprimand, all Hazel could do was shrug. 'I don't exactly control it. People think, and I hear them. I don't even know how I do it. I just do.'
"Botchins understands. Miss's thinking-hearing bes like elf magics." She gave him a confused look because had he not just said that human magic was not like elf magic, and he explained, "House-elves not have learning-school like witches. For elves, magic not bes something we do. It bes something we bes. Come, look."
She followed his finger to where he pointed to the elves tending the ovens and levitating out fresh loaves of bread. "Elves not learns the lifting magic or the cooling magic or the fixing magic. We needs it happens, and magic happens. Miss's thinking-hearing bes like this, yes?" When she gave him a nod, he smiled and patted her shoulder. "Miss can not help bes miss."
'Thank you again. And I guess it answers another question I had.' He tilted his head, and she continued, 'I know that elves can teleport within Hogwarts. My jumping doesn't work like that. I hoped I could learn from you how to do it, but if you just do, there is not much point in asking, is there?'
The friendliness in Botchins's face was immediately replaced with a stern stare. "No, miss. No goes looking for that. Witches not bes remade right. Botchins sees what happens when wizards tries. It bes awful. Miss promise Botchins not asks again."
Despite pushing for a further explanation on just how it was awful, Botchins refused to elaborate, and his thoughts were a litany of him telling her no. Reluctantly, she let her shoulders drop with a silent sigh. 'Very well. I promise.' He finally gave her a nod, and she decided this was as good a time as any to change the subject. 'Everything you've done for me and told me is appreciated. Is there anything I can do to repay you somehow?'
"Absolutely not," Botchins replied with an almost offended huff. "Miss bes a witch, not an elf, so she not knows. Elves no wants payment." He all but spat the last word. "A good and proper elf does what he cans because it needs doing. Asking for payment bes greedy, and a greedy elf does no good for his family. He bes focused on himself and not cares about any other elf."
In her silence, Hazel pondered that. Elves did what they did because they could and because it needed to be done? Well, she had a number of things she could do. If she could find something that the elves needed done, she knew how she would thank them for Botchins's help. They would not have to consider it payment that way.
And really, was it any different than how she treated the werewolves and the hags at the end of the day?
You know, Morgan, I'm getting really tired of how self-centered these wizards are, Hazel ranted to her feathered companion as she all but stormed out of the library. Imagine, being surrounded by other people you can talk to, you can collaborate with, but because they aren't specifically magical humans you refuse to even consider them worth knowing about! It would be like thinking that just because another human lived in a different country or spoke a different language that suddenly their experiences are of no value.
For the last two days, she had placed her quest for information on the druids on hold so she could dig deeper into the history of house-elves. After giving her a means to enter the Hufflepuff common room, she had spent another half-hour or so just chatting with Botchins and the small number of other elves who could read English, but while they could tell her much about themselves personally and even stuff about Hogwarts she had not known or read about, they could not shed light on their own history.
She – foolishly, it turned out – had thought that since wizards apparently interacted with house-elves on a regular basis, it would be at least a little easier to find information on them than it had been on the druids. It turned out that no, that was not the case.
The first day, she had gone looking for herself and had found nothing to show for it. Today, she resigned herself to ask for help from the librarian, Mrs. Pince. The old lady looked perpetually like she was sucking on a lemon, and she had heard the librarian's thoughts whenever someone else asked for help finding something; as far as Mrs. Pince was concerned, libraries were a place where books were supposed to be kept safe from children, not a place for children to learn from books. About the only upside of the interaction was that she now knew where to find the collection of mismatched drawers that could generously be called a card catalog.
Using the less-than-intuitive organization system, she finally tracked down the books that so much as mentioned house-elves even once. All three of them, and none of which delved into the species' actual history, origin, or culture. The only thing she had learned was that they had been serving wizards for many centuries. Everything else was less detailed than what she had been told first-hand.
Then again, she supposed she should not be surprised. After discovering just how little wizards knew about the very people who did all the chores around the castle, she had given into her morbid curiosity and checked what the wizards had to say about hags. Once again it was incredibly bare, filled with suppositions and assumptions that she had not witnessed during her months with her hag friends, but what really irritated her was how they had derogatorily labeled the hags' Secrets as 'rudimentary magic'. As if the Brewing – which wizards did themselves! – and the Making were lesser than wizards waving their wands around and acting haughty.
The wizards' pride in their sticks certainly reinforced her conclusion about just why the hags called wizards 'wand-wavers', and it made her wonder just how many other non-humans used the same or similar terminology. It unfortunately also made her question just how useful the library would be in her pursuit of her own origins. According to the card catalog, there were no books that featured the word 'druid' in them, and considering how much wizards looked down on any people who were not themselves, she had her doubts whether there was even interest in other magic-users in the first place.
"—spend so much time in the library."
The snippet of thought pulled her out of her introspection, and she turned on her heel towards the person thinking it. It meant she had just enough time to see two boys in green-trimmed robes step out of a hidden passage. The exit wavered and rippled back into a wall as the taller boy pointed his wand at her and called out, "Petrificus cruris!"
Her legs immediately slid on the ground and tangled up with themselves, and she tumbled to the ground with a painful and silent grunt. Her staff slipped out of her hand and rolled several feet before stopping a foot or so short of the stairs down to the lower level. Behind her, she heard both boys snickering before footsteps ran back through the portal from which they had come, their thoughts self-congratulatory for the impressive achievement of picking on someone else for no reason whatsoever.
Morgan had jumped off her shoulder when she started falling, and he fluttered closer and landed on the stone floor before chirping to her in concern. She pushed her upper body up and looked down at her lower half. When she tried to move her legs apart, they refused to respond.
Her eyes widened. She tried to move her feet again, but still nothing. They lay heavy and still on the stone floor. Panic starting to well up, she twisted to side to side, anything to get some kind of response from legs that felt like they were nothing but dead weights attached to her body.
A twist that actually worked, her legs turning to the side and shifting her knees. Experimenting further, she found that her knees and her ankles worked just fine so long as she was trying to move both sides the same way at the same time. It was just when she tried moving her legs in different directions, and particularly when she tried to separate them, that her muscles would not work.
This discovery made her sag onto the floor in relief. For those long moments, she had been worried that those Slytherin boys – those wizards – had truly paralyzed her. Even this, despite being a better alternative, still left her fuming. Why, she had to ask. What was the point? She did not know who they were, even if one of them looked vaguely familiar in a 'she had seen him in one of her classes' way, and certainly she had done nothing at all to them. Moreso, there had been no anger in their thoughts when they attacked her or when they ran away, so it did not make sense that it would be in response to anything they had taken offense to.
No, they had done this for… what? Entertainment? How was this supposed to serve as fun for anyone?
Shaking her head at the sheer cruelty these wizards engaged in to fill their apparently empty souls, Hazel looked over at the staff laying on the ground just a few feet away and yet completely out of her reach. Her physical reach, at least. A gesture summoned her ghost hand, and it instead grabbed the end of her staff and pulled it back towards herself. Once she held it in her flesh and blood hand, she braced it against the floor and slowly pulled herself upright, leaning most of her weight against the length of maple. If she could not move her legs independently, she could not walk, but just maybe she could hop and support herself with the staff enough not to fall flat on her face?
She shifted her weight from one side to the other, testing her balance without the ability to move her feet. It was not great, not that she should have expected it to be, but it was the best she was going to get. A few experimental hops got her to the edge of the staircase, and she glanced at the flight of stone steps before her before looking back at the portion of the stone wall that had revealed itself as the entrance to a secret passage. Would chancing the passage be safer than the stairs?
Hazel nibbled her bottom lip before shaking her head. Probably not. It was more likely than not that the passage would still require her to go down at least one flight of stairs, and where it would put her at the end was a mystery. Not to mention that at least out here, she had a better chance of being found if something happened to her. And of the various 'somethings' that could happen, none were anything she wanted to dwell on.
Squeezing her eyes shut tight for a long moment, she took a deep breath, focused on the step just below her, and hopped.
Her feet hit. She wobbled for a second, but with her staff in hand she stabilized herself. A sigh of relief, and she moved to the second step.
Then to the third step.
Then to the fourth—
Her feet shifted just an extra centimeter to the right, and the butt of her staff slipped back towards the step above. Hazel's eyes barely had time to widen in fear before she pitched forwards into an uncontrollable fall.
Stone stairs slammed mercilessly into her ribs as she rolled down the length of the staircase. A heavy blow to the back of her head had her seeing stars, and when the rolling finally stopped she could still barely see straight. Something wooden scuttling over stone had her look out through the corner of her eyes.
Those eyes focused once more when she realized it was her staff rolling towards the edge of the landing. A landing that had no railing because it was where one of those blasted moving staircases was supposed to connect, except there was no staircase there. Her fingers moved in the pattern to form her ghost hand…
But by the time it formed, her staff had dipped out of sight.
Her eyes widened, and any hope she might have had about her staff getting caught on the lip just out of sight withered and died as she heard an ever more distant clink, clink, clink from below. The sound of a long piece of wood bouncing off of solid stone.
Hazel flopped onto her back. She narrowed her eyes, but that was not enough to push back the hot tears of frustration that were soon sliding down both temples. Just… why?! What was the point of doing this to her? She had never done anything to anyone, but those boys thought they had the right to hobble her. Most of the other people in Hufflepuff had already convinced themselves that she was liar just because she had different experiences than they had. Of all the teachers here, while only Snape seemed to actively dislike her, Professor Flitwick was the only one who was willing to help her in the ways she needed help or cared to listen to her in the first place.
Why were the wizards so awful to her, so judgemental and hateful like this? Why could she not have been found by the druids first? Why had she been left behind by the only people who might have actually cared about her at all?
She eventually brushed Morgan off her chest – the bird had landed there shortly after her breakdown started and was chirping reassuringly at her – and rolled over onto her belly to make it easier to push herself back up. A smooth, thin wooden pole lay close at hand, which she grabbed and braced between the stones of the floor for additional purchase. A strangely familiar pole….
Halfway to her feet, Hazel stopped and looked at the maple staff that she held in her hands. It was the perfect length for her, matching her height to the millimeter, and without a single tool mark upon it. As if it had been reshaped purely with meditation and magic rather than a knife or saw. Even the faint speckling of bark at the upper end was the same.
Except she had literally just seen her staff fall into the great emptiness between her and the ground floor of the castle. How was it back here next to her?! She did not think her staff could teleport, and even if it could, she could not jump while within this school, so how could her staff?
Once fully back to her feet, she gave it another look and a wry smile. On the one hand, she was not going to complain if it turned out her staff could come back to her wherever it lay. And, she thought in a moment of dark humor, how ironic was it that the staff she did not know how to use – or if it even had a use – apparently could not be taken from her when Professor Sprout had once thought about how wizards could lose and break their wands. On the other hand, though, she was going to be right brassed off if it turned out her staff was capable of house-elf-style jumping but was unable to teach her what the elves were unwilling to teach.
The route from library to Hufflepuff dormitory was not exactly a straightforward one even on foot, and when one's feet were all but glued together by magic the path was even harder. Hazel found herself rolling down staircases and falling flat on her face many more times, but thankfully she had no further instances of her staff falling into the abyss. Lots and lots of it rolling several feet away after she tumbled, though, which necessitated either pulling it back to her with her ghost hand or just crawling over to it.
Like now, she thought as she glared at her staff laying innocently just out of reach. She was on the ground floor by now, just a few corridors from the Hufflepuff common room, and yet for all that it was so close it still felt so far away. Dropping her forehead onto the cold stones, she let out a near-silent sigh of frustration and fatigue. She was honestly considering just sleeping here in the hallway at this point. It was not as if it would be the most uncomfortable place she had ever spent the night.
Meow.
Hazel raised her head enough to look ahead and a bit to the left. That sound was familiar, and sure enough she was soon staring at the dust-colored fluff and wide amber eyes of Mrs. Norris. Hi, girl, she thought to the cat. Any chance you can go get some help for me?
The cat turned around and with a flick of her tail took off down the hallway, her calls echoing between the stone walls. As soon as she was gone, Morgan also relaxed and popped his head out from underneath her collar. See, she told him. This is what happens when you're nice to other creatures and don't immediately assume they're going to eat you.
Not ten seconds later, Mr. Filch came into sight.
"Who have you found this time, sweetie— The Hufflepuff girl? And here I thought she wouldn't be the type." He walked closer, his brow knitting together as he took in her situation. "But why is she on the floor? It is after curfew – what was her name again? – Hazel. It would have been nice if she gave me a last name. Calling her by her first name just feels too familiar. You're supposed to be in your common room."
'I know,' she wrote out after giving up on any idea of dignity and crawling over to her staff. 'I'm trying to get there, but it's harder than it should be when my legs are stuck together.'
"Stuck together, huh? Let's see if that is really the case." Somewhat forewarned, she was less surprised than she might have been otherwise when he came closer and rather roughly pulled her upright by her armpits. His hands were gentler when he immediately had to catch her to keep her from falling sideways. "You weren't joking, were you?" he muttered almost to himself. "How'd you get in this state, anyway?"
'A pair of boys popped out of a secret passage just outside the library and cast the spell. I don't know what spell it was, but my legs don't move if I try to move them apart.'
Mr. Filch's eyes moved over to where the stairs stood behind her and then drifted upwards. "The library? She crawled down four flights of stairs like this? Normally I would let Professor Sprout deal with you, not that you'd get a detention for something like this, but in this case I think we should have Madam Pomfrey take a look at you first. I'm surprised she didn't fall off the stairs and break her fool neck, but there's no telling how she has hurt herself. We, er, are going to have to go back up the stairs, though. I'm sorry."
She waved his apology off, and sure enough with him helping keep her upright the climb was not nearly as bad as the descent had been. She still needed her staff to keep herself upright, but at least she only needed its support on the side where Mr. Filch was not. By the time he opened the tall doors of the hospital wing for her, any shreds of doubt about her honestly had been washed away. "Madam Pomfrey! A wee bit of help would be appreciated!"
Rattling and rustling came from behind a door to the right of the door. "Argus?" a woman's voice called out. "I'll be right there."
Mr. Filch helped Hazel to one of the many identical beds in the room, and while he was getting her seated on the edge a woman in a white robe hanging open over a frumpy black dress. "Now, what's the trouble?" Madam Pomfrey looked Hazel up and down before frowning lightly. "She's in a better state than most students you bring my way, which is curious all on its own. Normally Argus only brings students here when they are hurt enough that they need immediate care and can't walk up here on their own."
"Some students jinxed her just outside the library. I found her in the hallway to the Hufflepuff dorms after she apparently crawled down four flights of stairs on her own."
Madam Pomfrey just hummed and pulled out her wand to wave it over Hazel. "A Leg-Locking Jinx. Simple, but enough to cause trouble." A slash of the wand and a muttered word, and suddenly the force pinning Hazel's legs together simply vanished. "There, done. Now I have to ask, why didn't you undo the spell yourself? If I remember my curricula correctly, I believe the basic counter-charm is supposed to be one of the first spells you learn in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" the woman asked with a raised eyebrow and a chiding tone of voice.
If she was expecting embarrassment or shame, Hazel was going to have to disappoint her. 'I don't remember Professor Quirrel mentioning that one.' Especially as a spell to just get rid of other magic was one of those things she would have dearly wanted to know about even before this encounter. It was yet another thing to add to her ever-growing to-do list. 'Even if he did, it isn't like I have a wand to cast it the way he teaches magic anyway.'
The admission that she didn't have a wand hit both adults with surprise, although their follow-up emotions were radically different. Madam Pomfrey felt mostly pity, not a surprise considering wizards and their own obsession with little twigs, but Mr. Filch was filled with… affection? No, not quite, but maybe familiarity would be a better term? It was a surprising mindset for a wizard to hold for her, and one that made her immediately curious.
Before she could even think about how to start asking Mr. Filch about the reasons behind emotions and thoughts he did not know she knew, Madam Pomfrey pushed her upwelling of pity behind a wall of detached interest. "Well, I suppose that's neither here nor there right now. Do you know who did this to you, or can you give us a description? Not that anything will likely happen considering that it will be her word against theirs, but it would at least be something for their head of house to keep an eye out for more of."
Thinking back, Hazel was pretty sure she could describe them with words, but what she really wanted to give Mr. Filch and Madam Pomfrey was a picture. And, if she were being honest with herself, to push back against the witch's assumption that just because she was not beholden to a wand meant she was incapable of magic.
She had just the thing for this, in fact. Back when she went to the hags' Convocation, she had disguised herself as what she imagined a half-hag might look like. Making herself look like the two boys who attacked her would be no different and certainly no harder.
Or…
An errant thought crossed her mind, and Hazel frowned as she thought it through. It should work; there was no reason she could find that it would not. And if it failed, she could always go back to her previous plan of making herself look different.
Hazel raised her right hand palm up and focused first on the face of the older boy. Pursing her lips, she gently blew, and a cloud of colorful glitter just like she had used while with the hags came out with her breath. The difference this time was that the glitter did not swirl around and land on her skin and clothing. Instead it coalesced into a more compact cloud drifting over her open palm and then twisted. A nose came out, eyes sunk inwards, hair sprouted like grass, and flecks of glitter the color of pale skin became the dominant palate. In the span of seconds, an illusion of the first boy's face hung in the air.
More surprise and even gasps from both adults confirmed whether this new application of her ignore-me-disguise-me smoke had been successful.
"I thought she just said she didn't have a wand," Madam Pomfrey thought before shaking her head. "Which could still be entirely true. Casting a spell with breath? I have never heard of such a thing. That is certainly one way of giving us what we need to know, I suppose. Unfortunately I do not recognize him," she added after looking more closely at the illusion.
"I do." Mr. Filch's voice was almost a growl. "Sanrich. Second-year Slytherin. I should have guessed it was a Slytherin student, and that it's this one is no surprise. Those rumors of a student who couldn't use a wand were true, after all, and he is just the type to enjoy a spot of Squib-baiting on someone who can't discipline him. Although clearly the idea that Hazel can't do magic at all was wrong. I'll talk to Snape, even if we all know that it will be a waste of time and air to try convincing him to discipline his little bigots."
That was probably not something any of the teachers and staff would want her to overhear, even if it did help to explain Snape's reaction to her mind-reading somewhat. If nothing else, it all but confirmed her suspicion that he was angry that she was also capable of such a feat.
Not to mention, for a wizard to call someone else a bigot was concerning all on its own considering what their culture and attitudes were like. Hazel was not sure just what she should do with such knowledge.
Shaking her head and putting her thoughts back in line, she twitched her fingers and molded the cloud of glitter into a new face. 'This is the other boy. He looks familiar, but I don't know his name.'
"I don't know all the first-years yet," Mr. Filch told her with a frown that was mirrored on Madam Pomfrey's face. "Was he wearing Slytherin robes like Sanrich was?" Hazel gave him a nod, causing him to huff through his nose. "Another one. Ugh. We'll try to take care of it. In the meantime, stick with your fellow Hufflepuffs. Bullies like Sanrich pick on people walking around on their own, but they're too cowardly to attack a whole group."
Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat and shot Mr. Filch a displeased look. "While I don't disagree, perhaps that was not the best way for him to phrase his advice. Regardless, I don't see any broken bones or major injuries on you, dearie. Just some minor bruises, which"—another wave of the wand, this one making her skin itch the tiniest bit—"are all gone. Next time, try to get some help before climbing down a bunch of stairs on your hands and knees, hmm?"
Hazel only gave her a nod before the woman gestured for both her and Mr. Filch to leave the hospital wing. As the doors closed behind them, Hazel reached up and gave the man's sleeve a faint tug. When Mr. Filch looked down at her, she already had her words ready. 'Thank you. I wasn't expecting anyone to find me out there, let alone give me any help.'
Mr. Filch blushed and looked away before clearing his throat in embarrassment. "I wouldn't think so, not considering how the world treats us. Wizards can just be the worst. You don't need to thank me, Hazel. Isn't like I did much in the first place. But, um, you're welcome.
"Come along," he told her, pitching his voice to be gruffer. No doubt to hide the emotions she could hear still rolling around in his head. "I'll escort you back to the dorms. Don't want you getting lost or attacked again. Plus this way you won't get in trouble if one of the professors or a prefect catches you out and about. Just don't take it as encouragement to go wandering around after hours, you hear me? There's a curfew for a reason."
She bit her lip in amusement and just nodded. He did not need to worry.
If she wanted to sneak around, she had better ways to stay unseen than hoping she wouldn't be caught.
…I just turned house-elves into reality-warping communists, didn't I? What is wrong inside my brain?
Now if you'll excuse me, I think Always Crying needs their diaper changed. AGAIN.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Hazel frowned as she was pulled from her sleep by a quiet popping sound. She felt as if she had barely gotten any rest at all after spending most of the night in the library, and now what little sleep she was going to get was being interrupted? For once she regretted the fact that her sleeping was so light that even a sound coming from down a hall or even on another floor was enough to rouse her—
Something touched her cheek, and her eyes flew open as she pushed herself half upright and half backwards. Anything to get her away from whatever had just touched her!
A scrawny creature with gigantic eyes and floppy ears yelped at her explosive movement and tumbled backwards out of sight behind a large box.
Hazel took several gasps of air to slow her racing heart as Morgan, woken with her sudden actively, took wing and shrieked his displeasure.
"Oh, Tinky's head…" The creature, one that now she was awake she recognized as a house-elf similar to the one she had met her first night in the castle, pulled itself up and glanced over the box at her. "What bes miss doing in the storing room? Miss should bes in her house."
'I would if I could,' she replied before standing up and stretching all the kinks out of her back. That it also gave her something to do besides pay attention to her lingering scraps of panic was a nice bonus. 'But I can't get into the Hufflepuff dorm on my own. The barrels only respond if someone talks to them, and I can't.'
The house-elf frowned at her. "Tinky not knows wizard letters. Why not miss just talks?"
Well. That was… inconvenient. There was no way she could pantomime everything she had just said. About the only thing she could get across in that manner was the answer to Tinky's question, and in response she pointed to her mouth and her throat before shaking her head. It was as good as she was going to manage right now.
"Tinky still not understands. Come, miss," the elf told her, patting dust off itself – himself? She thought the first one she had met was a girl elf, and this one's voice was a little lower in pitch even if it was still incredibly squeaky – and waving for her to follow. "Miss bes Hufflypuffly, and Mipsy knows wizard letters. She can helps."
Well, if nothing else that confirmed her first guess at house-elf genders.
She followed Tinky out of the storage room and down the corridor, ultimately stopping at a large painting she had passed several times on her way back and forth to the Hufflepuff's common room, one that was a still-life of a bowl of fruit. Tinky reached up to stroke the large pear in the lower left corner, and she had to blink as the pear seemed to bulge out of the painting before solidifying into a doorknob big enough that Tinky had to reach up and grab it with both hands in order to turn it.
When he managed it, however, Hazel was astonished by the room that was revealed. It was cavernous, at least as large as the Great Hall but possibly – likely, even – bigger still. Along the far wall where she could see from her perspective was a row of ovens, some with doors that could be opened and closed and others just holes in the brickwork from which loaves of bread were being pulled out. To the left were rows of counters with pots and pans and wooden utensils hanging from the ceiling. To the right, five long tables that looked like they would match the size of the tables in the Great Hall proper.
And running around this room, this massive kitchen, was a veritable army of house-elves.
Several of the elves had glanced over when the door opened, but only one rushed forwards with a stern expression on her face. A house-elf who looked oddly familiar. "Tinky! What bes you doing with miss Hazel Potter? Oh, that boy! I not has the time to deal with him right now, but what bes he thinking? Mipsy knows your mama tells you not bothers the students!"
While Tinky was stammering an explanation, Hazel twisted a hand and summoned letters of flame. 'I can't get inside the Hufflepuff common room on my own. Because I can't talk to the barrels. He found me sleeping in a spare room.'
Mipsy's eyes widened at her revelation and shook her head, ears flapping with the movement. "Oh, no. That not right. Comes with Mipsy, miss. Botchins knows how to help."
Botchins, it turned out, was an extremely old elf sitting in the back of the kitchen who was in the process of waving his hands to make vegetables cut themselves up and toss themselves into a large steaming pot of stew. A quick explanation from Mipsy, and he gestured for Hazel to seat herself on a stool that appeared from nowhere.
"Miss has made Hufflypuffly complicated," Botchins said, though the tone of his voice and thoughts softened the words. "Not miss's fault, no no, but true all the same. Hoggywarts never has a no-talky student, not as far as Botchins remembers. Botchins not knows that witches could bes no-talky. No good way to get through Mistress Helga's magic, no miss."
'That is why I've been sleeping in the storage room.'
He nodded. "Botchins understands, but students sleeps in their sleeping rooms, not the storing rooms. Not the place for that. Botchins can thinks of a solution, but against the rules, yes it bes." He stopped in his cooking and stared straight into her eyes. "Miss not able enters the Hufflypuffly sleeping room? Truly?"
Hazel gave him a nod. 'I've tried a couple of times to get in on my own, and I can't. Professor Flitwick even tried making something to let me get in, but that did not work either. I can't teleport into the common room, either. I don't have any more ideas.
'But if it's against the rules or something you're not allowed to do, I can just find somewhere else to sleep where I won't be in your way. It's not a problem, I promise.'
"Rules bes rules, and bes important, but Master Salazar says sometimes rules needs be broken if good needs be done. Botchins wants know that breaking rules bes needed. If Professor Fighty bes looking for an answer, then Botchins helps." He held out his hand. "Let Botchins sees miss's hand."
Curious just what the elf had in mind, Hazel reached out her right hand and laid it palm-up in Botchins's own. He traced the lines of her palm, almost like she would expect a palm-reader to do, then nodded to himself. "Yes, yes, she bes an honest witch. True like a Hufflypuffly should bes. Botchins can helps miss." He wrapped his hand around her thumb and squeezed gently, and then his thoughts became jagged and painful. Hazel winced.
Then her vision turned blurry, and up was left and right was purple and the stones tasted like mint—
A soft hand patted her cheek, and she blinked her eyes clear of tears. She was laying on the stone floor, with Botchins kneeling at her side and pinching her nose with a cold towel. He gave her an apologetic grimace. "Botchins bes very, very sorry, miss. Not knows that miss was a thinking-hearing witch. Botchins would makes miss sleep first if he knows."
A wave of her hand, but instead of letters all she produced was a glittering squiggle. Hazel frowned and pushed herself up to a sitting position. A moment of focus was enough to get her words out into the air. 'What happened? That has never happened to me before.'
"Mistress Helga puts the magic on the Hufflypuffly door," he explained, pulling the towel away from her face. The smear of blood on the cloth raised more concerns than it put to rest. "House-elves not uses witch magics. We uses elf magics. Botchins learns how mix the two, but…" He shrugged. "Not bes natural. Mixing magics has costs and consequences."
Costs and consequences? Considering the elderly elf already knew she could read minds, she asked outright, 'But I've learned hag magic, and I'm not a hag. How come I never encountered anything like this if different magics can't normally be mixed?'
"Botchins not knows why. Witches bes strange. Their magics not bes like elf magics or centaur magics or phoenix magics. Maybe because miss bes a witch, she not pays the cost."
The talk of different creature magics gave Hazel pause, and a memory from her time in Germany came back to her. When Elfriede described the origin of the hags' curse, she had also given a brief mention of the origin of human magics. 'I was told before that when humanity was young, we were favored by many minor spirits who taught us magic, and that's part of why our magic is so broad in scope. Could that also be part of it?'
"Botchins not knows the story miss speaks, but could bes true. Botchins just not knows."
…That was fair. Considering she knew essentially nothing about her own people, be them druid or wizard, she could not blame Botchins for not knowing facts that were probably lost to the sands of time. She instead raised her right hand to see just what strange hybrid human-elf magic he had wrought.
Around the base of her thumb was a band of alternating black and yellow. It looked almost as though it had been painted onto her, but when she rubbed it she felt nothing beyond her own skin.
"This bes the easiest solution Botchins thinks of. It says miss can enters the Hufflypuffly house whenever miss wants."
'Thank you.'
Botchins smiled at her gratitude. "Mipsy says miss is a good witch. Mistress Helga would bes proud."
Mistress Helga. This was the second time the old elf had mentioned who she could only assume was Helga Hufflepuff, and the third time he had mentioned one of the founders of the school as though he had first-hand knowledge of them. Except from what she had read, the school was founded a millennium ago, and the founding members were all long dead. 'I have to say I'm curious. You talk about Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin like you knew them personally.' She thought for a moment about how to phrase what she wanted to know before just asking, 'How old are you?'
Botchins just gave her a smirk and tapped the side of his nose. "That bes for Botchins to knows and not tells. And miss knows it bes rude using her thinking-hearing if Botchins not wants her knowing."
At that reprimand, all Hazel could do was shrug. 'I don't exactly control it. People think, and I hear them. I don't even know how I do it. I just do.'
"Botchins understands. Miss's thinking-hearing bes like elf magics." She gave him a confused look because had he not just said that human magic was not like elf magic, and he explained, "House-elves not have learning-school like witches. For elves, magic not bes something we do. It bes something we bes. Come, look."
She followed his finger to where he pointed to the elves tending the ovens and levitating out fresh loaves of bread. "Elves not learns the lifting magic or the cooling magic or the fixing magic. We needs it happens, and magic happens. Miss's thinking-hearing bes like this, yes?" When she gave him a nod, he smiled and patted her shoulder. "Miss can not help bes miss."
'Thank you again. And I guess it answers another question I had.' He tilted his head, and she continued, 'I know that elves can teleport within Hogwarts. My jumping doesn't work like that. I hoped I could learn from you how to do it, but if you just do, there is not much point in asking, is there?'
The friendliness in Botchins's face was immediately replaced with a stern stare. "No, miss. No goes looking for that. Witches not bes remade right. Botchins sees what happens when wizards tries. It bes awful. Miss promise Botchins not asks again."
Despite pushing for a further explanation on just how it was awful, Botchins refused to elaborate, and his thoughts were a litany of him telling her no. Reluctantly, she let her shoulders drop with a silent sigh. 'Very well. I promise.' He finally gave her a nod, and she decided this was as good a time as any to change the subject. 'Everything you've done for me and told me is appreciated. Is there anything I can do to repay you somehow?'
"Absolutely not," Botchins replied with an almost offended huff. "Miss bes a witch, not an elf, so she not knows. Elves no wants payment." He all but spat the last word. "A good and proper elf does what he cans because it needs doing. Asking for payment bes greedy, and a greedy elf does no good for his family. He bes focused on himself and not cares about any other elf."
In her silence, Hazel pondered that. Elves did what they did because they could and because it needed to be done? Well, she had a number of things she could do. If she could find something that the elves needed done, she knew how she would thank them for Botchins's help. They would not have to consider it payment that way.
And really, was it any different than how she treated the werewolves and the hags at the end of the day?
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
You know, Morgan, I'm getting really tired of how self-centered these wizards are, Hazel ranted to her feathered companion as she all but stormed out of the library. Imagine, being surrounded by other people you can talk to, you can collaborate with, but because they aren't specifically magical humans you refuse to even consider them worth knowing about! It would be like thinking that just because another human lived in a different country or spoke a different language that suddenly their experiences are of no value.
For the last two days, she had placed her quest for information on the druids on hold so she could dig deeper into the history of house-elves. After giving her a means to enter the Hufflepuff common room, she had spent another half-hour or so just chatting with Botchins and the small number of other elves who could read English, but while they could tell her much about themselves personally and even stuff about Hogwarts she had not known or read about, they could not shed light on their own history.
She – foolishly, it turned out – had thought that since wizards apparently interacted with house-elves on a regular basis, it would be at least a little easier to find information on them than it had been on the druids. It turned out that no, that was not the case.
The first day, she had gone looking for herself and had found nothing to show for it. Today, she resigned herself to ask for help from the librarian, Mrs. Pince. The old lady looked perpetually like she was sucking on a lemon, and she had heard the librarian's thoughts whenever someone else asked for help finding something; as far as Mrs. Pince was concerned, libraries were a place where books were supposed to be kept safe from children, not a place for children to learn from books. About the only upside of the interaction was that she now knew where to find the collection of mismatched drawers that could generously be called a card catalog.
Using the less-than-intuitive organization system, she finally tracked down the books that so much as mentioned house-elves even once. All three of them, and none of which delved into the species' actual history, origin, or culture. The only thing she had learned was that they had been serving wizards for many centuries. Everything else was less detailed than what she had been told first-hand.
Then again, she supposed she should not be surprised. After discovering just how little wizards knew about the very people who did all the chores around the castle, she had given into her morbid curiosity and checked what the wizards had to say about hags. Once again it was incredibly bare, filled with suppositions and assumptions that she had not witnessed during her months with her hag friends, but what really irritated her was how they had derogatorily labeled the hags' Secrets as 'rudimentary magic'. As if the Brewing – which wizards did themselves! – and the Making were lesser than wizards waving their wands around and acting haughty.
The wizards' pride in their sticks certainly reinforced her conclusion about just why the hags called wizards 'wand-wavers', and it made her wonder just how many other non-humans used the same or similar terminology. It unfortunately also made her question just how useful the library would be in her pursuit of her own origins. According to the card catalog, there were no books that featured the word 'druid' in them, and considering how much wizards looked down on any people who were not themselves, she had her doubts whether there was even interest in other magic-users in the first place.
"—spend so much time in the library."
The snippet of thought pulled her out of her introspection, and she turned on her heel towards the person thinking it. It meant she had just enough time to see two boys in green-trimmed robes step out of a hidden passage. The exit wavered and rippled back into a wall as the taller boy pointed his wand at her and called out, "Petrificus cruris!"
Her legs immediately slid on the ground and tangled up with themselves, and she tumbled to the ground with a painful and silent grunt. Her staff slipped out of her hand and rolled several feet before stopping a foot or so short of the stairs down to the lower level. Behind her, she heard both boys snickering before footsteps ran back through the portal from which they had come, their thoughts self-congratulatory for the impressive achievement of picking on someone else for no reason whatsoever.
Morgan had jumped off her shoulder when she started falling, and he fluttered closer and landed on the stone floor before chirping to her in concern. She pushed her upper body up and looked down at her lower half. When she tried to move her legs apart, they refused to respond.
Her eyes widened. She tried to move her feet again, but still nothing. They lay heavy and still on the stone floor. Panic starting to well up, she twisted to side to side, anything to get some kind of response from legs that felt like they were nothing but dead weights attached to her body.
A twist that actually worked, her legs turning to the side and shifting her knees. Experimenting further, she found that her knees and her ankles worked just fine so long as she was trying to move both sides the same way at the same time. It was just when she tried moving her legs in different directions, and particularly when she tried to separate them, that her muscles would not work.
This discovery made her sag onto the floor in relief. For those long moments, she had been worried that those Slytherin boys – those wizards – had truly paralyzed her. Even this, despite being a better alternative, still left her fuming. Why, she had to ask. What was the point? She did not know who they were, even if one of them looked vaguely familiar in a 'she had seen him in one of her classes' way, and certainly she had done nothing at all to them. Moreso, there had been no anger in their thoughts when they attacked her or when they ran away, so it did not make sense that it would be in response to anything they had taken offense to.
No, they had done this for… what? Entertainment? How was this supposed to serve as fun for anyone?
Shaking her head at the sheer cruelty these wizards engaged in to fill their apparently empty souls, Hazel looked over at the staff laying on the ground just a few feet away and yet completely out of her reach. Her physical reach, at least. A gesture summoned her ghost hand, and it instead grabbed the end of her staff and pulled it back towards herself. Once she held it in her flesh and blood hand, she braced it against the floor and slowly pulled herself upright, leaning most of her weight against the length of maple. If she could not move her legs independently, she could not walk, but just maybe she could hop and support herself with the staff enough not to fall flat on her face?
She shifted her weight from one side to the other, testing her balance without the ability to move her feet. It was not great, not that she should have expected it to be, but it was the best she was going to get. A few experimental hops got her to the edge of the staircase, and she glanced at the flight of stone steps before her before looking back at the portion of the stone wall that had revealed itself as the entrance to a secret passage. Would chancing the passage be safer than the stairs?
Hazel nibbled her bottom lip before shaking her head. Probably not. It was more likely than not that the passage would still require her to go down at least one flight of stairs, and where it would put her at the end was a mystery. Not to mention that at least out here, she had a better chance of being found if something happened to her. And of the various 'somethings' that could happen, none were anything she wanted to dwell on.
Squeezing her eyes shut tight for a long moment, she took a deep breath, focused on the step just below her, and hopped.
Her feet hit. She wobbled for a second, but with her staff in hand she stabilized herself. A sigh of relief, and she moved to the second step.
Then to the third step.
Then to the fourth—
Her feet shifted just an extra centimeter to the right, and the butt of her staff slipped back towards the step above. Hazel's eyes barely had time to widen in fear before she pitched forwards into an uncontrollable fall.
Stone stairs slammed mercilessly into her ribs as she rolled down the length of the staircase. A heavy blow to the back of her head had her seeing stars, and when the rolling finally stopped she could still barely see straight. Something wooden scuttling over stone had her look out through the corner of her eyes.
Those eyes focused once more when she realized it was her staff rolling towards the edge of the landing. A landing that had no railing because it was where one of those blasted moving staircases was supposed to connect, except there was no staircase there. Her fingers moved in the pattern to form her ghost hand…
But by the time it formed, her staff had dipped out of sight.
Her eyes widened, and any hope she might have had about her staff getting caught on the lip just out of sight withered and died as she heard an ever more distant clink, clink, clink from below. The sound of a long piece of wood bouncing off of solid stone.
Hazel flopped onto her back. She narrowed her eyes, but that was not enough to push back the hot tears of frustration that were soon sliding down both temples. Just… why?! What was the point of doing this to her? She had never done anything to anyone, but those boys thought they had the right to hobble her. Most of the other people in Hufflepuff had already convinced themselves that she was liar just because she had different experiences than they had. Of all the teachers here, while only Snape seemed to actively dislike her, Professor Flitwick was the only one who was willing to help her in the ways she needed help or cared to listen to her in the first place.
Why were the wizards so awful to her, so judgemental and hateful like this? Why could she not have been found by the druids first? Why had she been left behind by the only people who might have actually cared about her at all?
She eventually brushed Morgan off her chest – the bird had landed there shortly after her breakdown started and was chirping reassuringly at her – and rolled over onto her belly to make it easier to push herself back up. A smooth, thin wooden pole lay close at hand, which she grabbed and braced between the stones of the floor for additional purchase. A strangely familiar pole….
Halfway to her feet, Hazel stopped and looked at the maple staff that she held in her hands. It was the perfect length for her, matching her height to the millimeter, and without a single tool mark upon it. As if it had been reshaped purely with meditation and magic rather than a knife or saw. Even the faint speckling of bark at the upper end was the same.
Except she had literally just seen her staff fall into the great emptiness between her and the ground floor of the castle. How was it back here next to her?! She did not think her staff could teleport, and even if it could, she could not jump while within this school, so how could her staff?
Once fully back to her feet, she gave it another look and a wry smile. On the one hand, she was not going to complain if it turned out her staff could come back to her wherever it lay. And, she thought in a moment of dark humor, how ironic was it that the staff she did not know how to use – or if it even had a use – apparently could not be taken from her when Professor Sprout had once thought about how wizards could lose and break their wands. On the other hand, though, she was going to be right brassed off if it turned out her staff was capable of house-elf-style jumping but was unable to teach her what the elves were unwilling to teach.
The route from library to Hufflepuff dormitory was not exactly a straightforward one even on foot, and when one's feet were all but glued together by magic the path was even harder. Hazel found herself rolling down staircases and falling flat on her face many more times, but thankfully she had no further instances of her staff falling into the abyss. Lots and lots of it rolling several feet away after she tumbled, though, which necessitated either pulling it back to her with her ghost hand or just crawling over to it.
Like now, she thought as she glared at her staff laying innocently just out of reach. She was on the ground floor by now, just a few corridors from the Hufflepuff common room, and yet for all that it was so close it still felt so far away. Dropping her forehead onto the cold stones, she let out a near-silent sigh of frustration and fatigue. She was honestly considering just sleeping here in the hallway at this point. It was not as if it would be the most uncomfortable place she had ever spent the night.
Meow.
Hazel raised her head enough to look ahead and a bit to the left. That sound was familiar, and sure enough she was soon staring at the dust-colored fluff and wide amber eyes of Mrs. Norris. Hi, girl, she thought to the cat. Any chance you can go get some help for me?
The cat turned around and with a flick of her tail took off down the hallway, her calls echoing between the stone walls. As soon as she was gone, Morgan also relaxed and popped his head out from underneath her collar. See, she told him. This is what happens when you're nice to other creatures and don't immediately assume they're going to eat you.
Not ten seconds later, Mr. Filch came into sight.
"Who have you found this time, sweetie— The Hufflepuff girl? And here I thought she wouldn't be the type." He walked closer, his brow knitting together as he took in her situation. "But why is she on the floor? It is after curfew – what was her name again? – Hazel. It would have been nice if she gave me a last name. Calling her by her first name just feels too familiar. You're supposed to be in your common room."
'I know,' she wrote out after giving up on any idea of dignity and crawling over to her staff. 'I'm trying to get there, but it's harder than it should be when my legs are stuck together.'
"Stuck together, huh? Let's see if that is really the case." Somewhat forewarned, she was less surprised than she might have been otherwise when he came closer and rather roughly pulled her upright by her armpits. His hands were gentler when he immediately had to catch her to keep her from falling sideways. "You weren't joking, were you?" he muttered almost to himself. "How'd you get in this state, anyway?"
'A pair of boys popped out of a secret passage just outside the library and cast the spell. I don't know what spell it was, but my legs don't move if I try to move them apart.'
Mr. Filch's eyes moved over to where the stairs stood behind her and then drifted upwards. "The library? She crawled down four flights of stairs like this? Normally I would let Professor Sprout deal with you, not that you'd get a detention for something like this, but in this case I think we should have Madam Pomfrey take a look at you first. I'm surprised she didn't fall off the stairs and break her fool neck, but there's no telling how she has hurt herself. We, er, are going to have to go back up the stairs, though. I'm sorry."
She waved his apology off, and sure enough with him helping keep her upright the climb was not nearly as bad as the descent had been. She still needed her staff to keep herself upright, but at least she only needed its support on the side where Mr. Filch was not. By the time he opened the tall doors of the hospital wing for her, any shreds of doubt about her honestly had been washed away. "Madam Pomfrey! A wee bit of help would be appreciated!"
Rattling and rustling came from behind a door to the right of the door. "Argus?" a woman's voice called out. "I'll be right there."
Mr. Filch helped Hazel to one of the many identical beds in the room, and while he was getting her seated on the edge a woman in a white robe hanging open over a frumpy black dress. "Now, what's the trouble?" Madam Pomfrey looked Hazel up and down before frowning lightly. "She's in a better state than most students you bring my way, which is curious all on its own. Normally Argus only brings students here when they are hurt enough that they need immediate care and can't walk up here on their own."
"Some students jinxed her just outside the library. I found her in the hallway to the Hufflepuff dorms after she apparently crawled down four flights of stairs on her own."
Madam Pomfrey just hummed and pulled out her wand to wave it over Hazel. "A Leg-Locking Jinx. Simple, but enough to cause trouble." A slash of the wand and a muttered word, and suddenly the force pinning Hazel's legs together simply vanished. "There, done. Now I have to ask, why didn't you undo the spell yourself? If I remember my curricula correctly, I believe the basic counter-charm is supposed to be one of the first spells you learn in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" the woman asked with a raised eyebrow and a chiding tone of voice.
If she was expecting embarrassment or shame, Hazel was going to have to disappoint her. 'I don't remember Professor Quirrel mentioning that one.' Especially as a spell to just get rid of other magic was one of those things she would have dearly wanted to know about even before this encounter. It was yet another thing to add to her ever-growing to-do list. 'Even if he did, it isn't like I have a wand to cast it the way he teaches magic anyway.'
The admission that she didn't have a wand hit both adults with surprise, although their follow-up emotions were radically different. Madam Pomfrey felt mostly pity, not a surprise considering wizards and their own obsession with little twigs, but Mr. Filch was filled with… affection? No, not quite, but maybe familiarity would be a better term? It was a surprising mindset for a wizard to hold for her, and one that made her immediately curious.
Before she could even think about how to start asking Mr. Filch about the reasons behind emotions and thoughts he did not know she knew, Madam Pomfrey pushed her upwelling of pity behind a wall of detached interest. "Well, I suppose that's neither here nor there right now. Do you know who did this to you, or can you give us a description? Not that anything will likely happen considering that it will be her word against theirs, but it would at least be something for their head of house to keep an eye out for more of."
Thinking back, Hazel was pretty sure she could describe them with words, but what she really wanted to give Mr. Filch and Madam Pomfrey was a picture. And, if she were being honest with herself, to push back against the witch's assumption that just because she was not beholden to a wand meant she was incapable of magic.
She had just the thing for this, in fact. Back when she went to the hags' Convocation, she had disguised herself as what she imagined a half-hag might look like. Making herself look like the two boys who attacked her would be no different and certainly no harder.
Or…
An errant thought crossed her mind, and Hazel frowned as she thought it through. It should work; there was no reason she could find that it would not. And if it failed, she could always go back to her previous plan of making herself look different.
Hazel raised her right hand palm up and focused first on the face of the older boy. Pursing her lips, she gently blew, and a cloud of colorful glitter just like she had used while with the hags came out with her breath. The difference this time was that the glitter did not swirl around and land on her skin and clothing. Instead it coalesced into a more compact cloud drifting over her open palm and then twisted. A nose came out, eyes sunk inwards, hair sprouted like grass, and flecks of glitter the color of pale skin became the dominant palate. In the span of seconds, an illusion of the first boy's face hung in the air.
More surprise and even gasps from both adults confirmed whether this new application of her ignore-me-disguise-me smoke had been successful.
"I thought she just said she didn't have a wand," Madam Pomfrey thought before shaking her head. "Which could still be entirely true. Casting a spell with breath? I have never heard of such a thing. That is certainly one way of giving us what we need to know, I suppose. Unfortunately I do not recognize him," she added after looking more closely at the illusion.
"I do." Mr. Filch's voice was almost a growl. "Sanrich. Second-year Slytherin. I should have guessed it was a Slytherin student, and that it's this one is no surprise. Those rumors of a student who couldn't use a wand were true, after all, and he is just the type to enjoy a spot of Squib-baiting on someone who can't discipline him. Although clearly the idea that Hazel can't do magic at all was wrong. I'll talk to Snape, even if we all know that it will be a waste of time and air to try convincing him to discipline his little bigots."
That was probably not something any of the teachers and staff would want her to overhear, even if it did help to explain Snape's reaction to her mind-reading somewhat. If nothing else, it all but confirmed her suspicion that he was angry that she was also capable of such a feat.
Not to mention, for a wizard to call someone else a bigot was concerning all on its own considering what their culture and attitudes were like. Hazel was not sure just what she should do with such knowledge.
Shaking her head and putting her thoughts back in line, she twitched her fingers and molded the cloud of glitter into a new face. 'This is the other boy. He looks familiar, but I don't know his name.'
"I don't know all the first-years yet," Mr. Filch told her with a frown that was mirrored on Madam Pomfrey's face. "Was he wearing Slytherin robes like Sanrich was?" Hazel gave him a nod, causing him to huff through his nose. "Another one. Ugh. We'll try to take care of it. In the meantime, stick with your fellow Hufflepuffs. Bullies like Sanrich pick on people walking around on their own, but they're too cowardly to attack a whole group."
Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat and shot Mr. Filch a displeased look. "While I don't disagree, perhaps that was not the best way for him to phrase his advice. Regardless, I don't see any broken bones or major injuries on you, dearie. Just some minor bruises, which"—another wave of the wand, this one making her skin itch the tiniest bit—"are all gone. Next time, try to get some help before climbing down a bunch of stairs on your hands and knees, hmm?"
Hazel only gave her a nod before the woman gestured for both her and Mr. Filch to leave the hospital wing. As the doors closed behind them, Hazel reached up and gave the man's sleeve a faint tug. When Mr. Filch looked down at her, she already had her words ready. 'Thank you. I wasn't expecting anyone to find me out there, let alone give me any help.'
Mr. Filch blushed and looked away before clearing his throat in embarrassment. "I wouldn't think so, not considering how the world treats us. Wizards can just be the worst. You don't need to thank me, Hazel. Isn't like I did much in the first place. But, um, you're welcome.
"Come along," he told her, pitching his voice to be gruffer. No doubt to hide the emotions she could hear still rolling around in his head. "I'll escort you back to the dorms. Don't want you getting lost or attacked again. Plus this way you won't get in trouble if one of the professors or a prefect catches you out and about. Just don't take it as encouragement to go wandering around after hours, you hear me? There's a curfew for a reason."
She bit her lip in amusement and just nodded. He did not need to worry.
If she wanted to sneak around, she had better ways to stay unseen than hoping she wouldn't be caught.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
…I just turned house-elves into reality-warping communists, didn't I? What is wrong inside my brain?
Now if you'll excuse me, I think Always Crying needs their diaper changed. AGAIN.
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Roth963
If I become inactive with this massage, I died
I, too, would be distressed if a shadowy mass of eyeballs was always Silently Watching me...
(Welcome back.)
- Pronouns
- They
First, congratulations on the baby and wish you/your SO speedy recovery.
Second, yay, new spells!
Second, yay, new spells!
RoninSword
Sky God
- Location
- Canada
I mean, Filch just has like, the worst job, doesn't he. While the house elves do the actual cleaning etc, his job is to try and enforce rules amongst a school of magic users while he himself can't actually use any magic.
Nausicaa
Monster-Friend
Don't worry about the wait, and congratulations! (I wish you luck and patience.)
I love this story to death. You found all the parts of HP that I wanted to see more of and put them in a unique and entertaining story.
Plus, I like the attention you give to Filch here. It's easy to dismiss him as just another staff member who shouldn't be around kids, but with a bit of thought, his bitterness is very understandable (and not in Petunia's sense of jealousy, but in self-defense). Scaring the students, and possibly in the past using physical punishments, is probably the only way he has to retaliate for the constant abuse he has no defense against.
I love this story to death. You found all the parts of HP that I wanted to see more of and put them in a unique and entertaining story.
Plus, I like the attention you give to Filch here. It's easy to dismiss him as just another staff member who shouldn't be around kids, but with a bit of thought, his bitterness is very understandable (and not in Petunia's sense of jealousy, but in self-defense). Scaring the students, and possibly in the past using physical punishments, is probably the only way he has to retaliate for the constant abuse he has no defense against.
FictionPack
Monochromatic Ursine
- Location
- Tennessee
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Felicitations be upon your spawning One of many Silent Watchings.
House elves actually make communism work?! Or they would if not treated like dirt by others.
This library is a sad and dismal location unfit to be called a place of learning.
Hazel has stepped upon the path of being a Mistress of Illusions!
Is this a setup for Hazel to teach Filch druid magic? Because that is now a level of wholesome I want!
House elves actually make communism work?! Or they would if not treated like dirt by others.
This library is a sad and dismal location unfit to be called a place of learning.
Hazel has stepped upon the path of being a Mistress of Illusions!
Is this a setup for Hazel to teach Filch druid magic? Because that is now a level of wholesome I want!
- Location
- Pacific Rim
Your brain? The second you said that I suddenly was picturing three house elves, one British, one Russian and one American doing an even more messed up house elf take on the Yalta Conference all arguing that the other two need the third to serve them.
FictionPack
Monochromatic Ursine
- Location
- Tennessee
- Pronouns
- He/Him
They could at least give the man magical objects to use. I think we see him use a few in the books but not very often.
Nausicaa
Monster-Friend
I can think of several named "Dark Detectors" that would have helped him a lot and seem pretty commonplace. And that's just for his job.
Even if nobody trusts him with a weapon, there HAS to be an object that can finite things at a touch.