Summary:
At age ten, Harry discovers his magic and has his scar burned off his head by a gang of muggles. Adopted by a thrown-together family of Hufflepuffs, he quietly begins researching Harry Potter in hopes that he can fake his own death and start life anew, having learned that attention was a bad omen.
Meanwhile, neutral pureblood Emir Shafiq, quietly teaching himself beyond his year hoping to escape to the muggle world, begins to notice things about Castor Ptolemy Dee, the homeless muggleborn Hufflepuff that everybody else has taken at face value…
1
Quick feet raced over hard granite, knobbly knees shuddering and lungs heaving as Harry hopped over a temporary wire fence with mild effort and curved around a corner, the yells and snaps of weapons behind him. He had been lucky enough to go unnoticed by this sort until now, but running through the Surrey-serving marketplace, hopping around stalls and diving through produce, he wished he'd had something less drastic occur, perhaps to train him for this moment. It surely would have helped him avoid the thugs.
Cursing his jangling pocket, and the small amount of remaining money squirreled away inside for his ride home, he dashed past an apple stall and dove behind a pear merchant, remaining only long enough to assure his pursuers were still inclined to chase after what little coin he had.
I can't let them have it, he thought frantically, skidding past a foreign vendor selling little charms and keychains, if I give them the money I won't be able to get home.
Shouts from behind him tempted him to react. Conflicted, he was distracted enough that he found himself run towards the thinner streets. He could feel a dull ache working its way through his
Seeing another scowling face, he dodged to the side - and into a dark alley. He nearly tripped over his own feet trying to stop, turning around swiftly to keep his eyes on his pursuers while he looked for escape.
He didn't bother to observe most of the gang, their leather jackets noticeable enough in the hot August air to tell them apart. The leader - at least who Harry assumed was the leader - reached forward and snatched up his chin, a cruel smirk marring the blond teen's face.
"Alright, you know the drill, kid," He hissed, pushing Harry backwards into the wall. Still holding him by the chin, he reached towards something in his pocket. "Hand over what cash you've got. You don't want the alternative."
Threats. Clear and simple. Harry honestly didn't want to cross this guy - he knew he had no chance of winning any fight. He'd almost started reaching for his pocket when he forcibly reminded himself what lay waiting for him if he didn't get home.
Starvation on the streets. He pulled up memories of Vernon, threatening him, reminding him of how useless he was. Nobody would offer a freak money to get home; nobody would hire him for any kind of work, either. Without money, he would die alone and hungry...
Conflicted, he said nothing, merely stared at the teen holding his face harshly in place and gulped.
"A'right, you had your chance," the leader decided. "Oi, Rick, hold him still while I torch this guy."
Before Harry could even register what he meant by 'torch', He was grabbed roughly. He squirmed, twisting violently until someone punched him in the stomach, forcing him to stop and heave. He abruptly noticed his glasses were gone and found himself staring at something made of gleaming metal, though he couldn't make out the details.
There was no warning. Simply a click, a burst of flame, and a fierce burning sensation around his scar. He had withstood burning before, but on his fingertips when cooking, or his back or stomach when Petunia hit him with a hot pan. This was constant, and it wasn't long before he screamed, desperately kicking, though nothing worked.
It felt like forever. An eternal moment where all that existed was a pain, a flux of incredible pain and numbness, then pain again, a constant pattern as his very skin crackled with fire.
"Shut up!" The blond demanded. 'Rick' attempted to cover Harry's mouth, hands scrambling to avoid the blistering flames, but it was too late - he could hear frantic footsteps far off, getting closer, and the blond turned off the fire and dashed off. He slumped down, screwing his eyes shut, and breathed a shuddering sigh of relief.
His head still ached and hurt, but there wasn't much he could do about that. There was no cold water to soak his burns in, no relief for his injuries.
The voices were getting closer. He distinctly heard a feminine voice crying out, "That's right, get outta here!" as the gang fled, escaping the bad position as quickly as they could.
He dared a look, eying the fuzzy shapes in an attempt to focus on them. A hand began patting down the ground around him, looking for his glasses, as a form approached him. Hearing and feeling his glasses - thank god they weren't broken again - he stuck them on his face and blinked.
The girl approaching him had a strange aura about her. Casual sneakers slapped the pavement in a confident rhythm as she walked with purpose. Black jeans hugged her frame, and she finally stopped in front of him, digging into her duffel bag for something as a critical eye looked him over.
Trying to focus made him dizzy. His forehead and cheek felt numb and tingly, as if he were trying to feel something but was being cut off. He groaned quietly, too distracted to think about the repercussions of the encounter just yet.
"Hey, uh, hold still for a second," she requested. Fresh memories returned and Harry winced, but he did as told and held still, keeping his eyes on her dexterous hands as she snatched up a water bottle and a rather feminine pink cloth, considering her attire. She poured some strange green liquid onto the cloth from a glass bottle, and Harry did a double-take as it disappeared the moment it hit the material.
Noticing where his eyes were wandering, she smirked. "Betcha didn't expect someone like me to have a frilly pink cloth, yeah? This one's special." She reached forward and gently began to clean his burn expertly, reviving the stinging pain slightly and making him wince. "Don't worry, little warrior. I'll get you cleaned up so you can go home."
"Little warrior?" Harry repeated, bewildered. If he'd been in any state to notice, he would have seen the soft glow emanating from the cloth
"Yeah," she agreed, finally taking away the damp cloth and stuffing it back into her bag. Just glancing in, he could see all manners of things - soaps and deodorants and packets of food, like some sort of survival set. "You didn't back down, kiddo. You made those bullies scared enough to get violent. So - warrior." Rising, she offered him a hand. "Can you stand? They got pretty rough with you."
Harry nodded quietly, reaching out cautiously, and after a moment of indecision, snatched up her hand in a death-grip and pulled himself up. He could feel his body shaking mercilessly, but a solid hand on his shoulder kept him steady as they began walking.
"So," she began, quickly steering him away from the police still chasing the gang off in the distance, "what brings a little guy like yourself to this neck of the woods?"
"I was…" he gulped. "I was giving a book back to the library." Petunia had asked him to get a bunch of books last week and had promptly decided they were all useless, and today had remembered them and asked him to return them.
She nodded. "Right. Honorable acts and all that. You got a way home?"
Harry checked his pockets and felt his stomach drop. "Oh no," he murmured, checking his other pocket just in case. "Oh no. No, no, no…"
"Hey, calm down, the fight's elsewhere," she insisted. "Take a breath, that's it, now tell me what's happened that's making you freeze up." A hand reached out and held him steady again, in a grip he could fight if he needed to, and in a jittery moment like this, he calmed himself down by focusing on the inconsequential. He read the patterned words on her shirt to a rhythm - Weird Sisters, Weird Sisters, Weird Sisters - until he was breathing steady again.
"I," he choked out. Gulping, he corrected, "My money was stolen. I can't afford the ride home."
She frowned. "Right. Where's your fam?"
"At the house," he answered immediately. "Uncle Vernon is at work. If I don't get back on time to make dinner…"
"If you don't get back?" she prompted, leading him to a bench. She flopped onto a seat and pulled him down with her, a gangly arm reaching around his shoulder. "Speak to me, little warrior. You're strong, yeah? You can tell me."
Harry took a deep breath and went for it. "Vernon'll beat me if I don't get back in time to make dinner."
For a terrible moment, there was silence. Then, quietly, she murmured, "I know how it is, little warrior. Nah, little don't do you justice. You're straight-up warrior."
Something about this filled him with pride. It was small, and as of yet barely noticeable, but he corrected his posture a little, holding his head a little higher.
"The same thing happened to me. Pops wasn't the best guy. Can't blame him, though," she allowed. "He just didn't understand me."
"I don't think I understand me," Harry admitted, whispering to keep it secret. "Hey, um…"
"Gracie," she supplied. "Go on, warrior. Tell me what's on your mind."
"Promise you won't hate me?" He asked childishly. It was somewhat juvenile, he knew that, but he needed the reassurance.
She nodded. "Nah, it's kind of hard to hate people," Gracie smirked. "Don't worry. Go straight ahead."
He beamed at her for a few seconds, revelling in the freedom of being able to say anything he wanted. Then, taking a deep breath, he let it out. "I… weird things happen around me sometimes. That's why Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia hate me so much, and why they let Dudley bully me."
It was like lifting a weight off his chest. He felt a little lighter, a little… floaty.
"Weird, you say?" Gracie mused. "What kinda weird? There's lots of kinds of weird. I won't judge."
Harry nodded. "Weird. Once, Aunt Petunia decided to cut my hair, and all I could think about was how ridiculous I'd look." he murmured. "The next day, my hair had grown back."
Shades of something serious flashed over her face, but she returned quickly to her casual calm. "Anything else?" she asked softly, patting his head in a fond gesture.
"Once," he continued, "when Dudley's gang was chasing me, I… well, one moment I was running, the next I was on the roof." He shrugged. "I swear I don't know how I got there. I just… was."
"Would've been pretty useful if you could do it on demand, huh?" she nodded, a thoughtful look on her face.
"Mhm," Harry agreed, stretching. "But my freakishness doesn't always do useful things. Like, one time, it turned my teacher's hair blue."
"Your… freakishness?" she repeated softly. "Warrior. That sounds more like superpowers to me, not 'freakishness'."
Harry shrugged. "Well, it's what the Dursleys call me. I mean, when they're angry, they call me 'freak', and because the freakishness causes them to get angry…" He shrugged, explanation given, and pulled up his legs to hug them in a comforting way - the way he did when soothing himself in his cupboard.
Gracie pulled him into a one-armed hug. It wasn't demanding, nor was it hurtful. Just a hug, a simple hug, holding him and offering him a form of support that seemed rather alien to him. They stayed there for a bit, and then finally, she said, "Hey. Listen. Do you… like your family?"
"No." Harry said flatly.
She nodded. "And if I said there was a way to… escape them, never go back - would you take a chance?"
Harry turned slowly to her and blinked. Quietly, he admitted, "Yes."
Gracie looked up to the sky. "And if you had the chance to live with me instead… would you?"
Harry's naturally suspicious nature didn't kick in until after he'd thrown himself at her and burrowed into her shoulder, though he quickly retreated, a blush rising on his face. She let out a warm laugh and ruffled his hair, chuckling cheerfully.
"Alright then," she grinned, "let's get you registered, yeah? Follow me - I've got to introduce you to Natalie…"
Gracie threw open the door and called out, "I'm home! I brought a warrior with me!"
Harry gulped as he heard footsteps pacing down the stairs in the small apartment. He was led gently into a small living room, which was furnished with two comfy sofas. Combine that with the low lighting and it was pulled together into a cozy, friendly space.
He sank happily into a chair and curled up, pulling his legs up to his chin and snuggling into the soft material. Focusing on his breathing to stay calm (and eying the fireplace with clear distrust), he watched as another girl walked into the room.
She was slightly taller, and to him, she looked tired yet content. She adjusted her glasses and glanced between him and Gracie for a few moments before nodding.
"Another little warrior?" The girl inquired, smiling. "He's a bit bigger than the usual ones, isn't he?"
"He'll stay in the kneazle room until I can get the paperwork through," Gracie decided. "I'll be right back, Natalie. Hey, Warrior, any objections to the name Castor Ptolemy Dee?"
Harry blinked. "Er, no objections?"
"Great!" Gracie dashed off, leaving Natalie and Harry to stare at each other for a few awkward moments.
"Sorry about her," Natalie said at last. "She's a bit… flighty. But she's a dedicated sort, too. I suppose she's off to mark herself as your magical foster now."
"Magical foster?" Harry repeated, rather at a loss for words.
Natalie nodded, slumping into a chair and putting down the book he only recently noticed. "Gracie has a habit of picking up strays," Natalie admitted. "She's… not very trusting of authority. I suppose she's off making up some nice little story now so you can live with us." She shot him a warm smile. "Don't worry, you're in good hands. We haven't got many at the moment, but we've offered a roof to people like yourself before. We've still got Lavender Lemongrass - she's a second year, sweet kid - who's yet to get a proper magical guardian. She's doing a Healing credit with Poppy at the moment, but come Christmas, you'll meet her."
Harry nodded mutely, still thinking. "Magic," he murmured. "It's… real?"
"Of course it is," Natalie confirmed, reaching for her book. "Life wouldn't make much sense otherwise."
Deciding he didn't want to mentally decipher that statement, he decided to ask something else instead. "What about school?"
"No point enrolling you anywhere until you're ready for Hogwarts," Natalie chuckled. "I suppose Gracie whisked you off the streets without so much as a by-your-leave."
Harry shook his head. "She asked if I liked home," he defended.
Natalie laughed. "Did she? That's better than usual. Well, Castor, there's a small library I can show you which should have a few books introducing the magical world. If you have any questions after you've reviewed some of them, just ask, okay?"
Harry nodded, a quiet part of his mind allowing him a tiny bit of optimism.
2
Harry sighed in relief as the soaked cloth was finally removed. Natalie had insisted on treating it, at least a little, and so he had been shoved into a bed and told to sit still while Natalie stuck cloths on his face and attempted to smooth over the burns with various spells. The wand had been distracting for all of thirty minutes before he started getting annoyed by the stinging sensations on his face.
Five days ago, he would have thought himself crazy. Believing and seeing magic, being brought to a magical home with a potioneer and a librarian, given a new name. It was a lot to take in, but things seemed to have finally settled down.
Just as he pulled on his shirt (a sinfully soft sweater which was just about thin enough for the hot weather), he heard a knocking on the door and sighed.
"Come in!" He called out. Magic words said, Gracie, ever-exuberant, leaped into the room like a gazelle and proceeded to prance about as she regaled him with the day's lined-up events.
"Morning, Lemmie! It's time! You've learned about magic, you've gotten your own room as of two days ago, and Natalie has given me the thumbs-up! Are you ready?" All said in quick succession, she bounded over to his side and tugged gently on his sweater, helping him get it down the last bit of the way, and pulled him into a friendly embrace.
"I'd know better if I knew what it's time for," Harry replied gently.
"Didn't we tell you?" Gracie mused for all of five seconds. "Nevermind! We need to get you a tattoo and jacket! You know, 'friends forever' necklaces, but cooler!"
Harry blinked. "Am I old enough for tattoos?"
"Magical ones, yeah!" Gracie replied, not missing a beat as she began herding him out the door. "You remember the motto I told you about?"
"Yeah," Harry sighed. With a bit of dread, he asked, "Are you going to make me have the motto tattooed on my back?"
He was rushed down to the kitchen, where Gracie grabbed some sandwiches off a plate, pulled Natalie away from her cooking to give her a tight hug, and then pushed out the door. It was only once she was on the step with a sandwich in hand that she replied, "Nah, motto just goes on the jacket. Yo, Bells!"
It was at this point that Harry abruptly noticed that there was a motorcycle parked outside Gracie and Natalie's modest apartment. A tall woman, clad entirely in skin-hugging equipment, a dark blue to match the bike. She pulled off her helmet and shook out curly ginger hair, giving Gracie a bland look.
"How many times have I asked you to call me by my full name?" 'Bells asked dryly, hooking the helmet onto the handles as she gave her bike one last glance. Her face changed entirely, however, when she turned to Harry.
"Oh, who's this?" Bells grinned. "New recruit? Nice to meet you, little guy. The name's Belladonna Myrhe. What wacky name did Gracie give you? I'm afraid you're stuck with it."
Harry blinked. This was the first time he'd been introduced to another one of the adopted kids of the two relatively young witches, or indeed, anyone at all. "Um, I'm Castor… Castor Ptolemy Dee."
"Nice. Could've been worse - my brother got stuck with Billywig." She turned a somewhat bored face to Gracie. "This gal thinks she can name everyone after her work. Never you mind, Little Lemmie - you'll get used to it pretty fast if you haven't already."
Gracie, being a mature adult, stuck out her tongue. Mild revenge submitted, Gracie replied, "Like you don't take after me, Bells. You even stole my bike so you could take all the new ones to get their tattoos. Like this guy." She turned a soft smile to Harry. "Well, go on. Bells has got some gear in her bag that's bound to fit, and then you can be off to get all our ceremonious stuff over with."
Despite himself, as Harry helped Belladonna search through her bag, he could feel a thrill of excitement.
Magical tattoos tickled.
Thankfully, he wasn't going to have the somewhat sappy 'motto' stamped on his back. He'd just have a pair of wicked black wings on each shoulder, which was arguably much cooler. The fact that he could stick protective magics or magical pockets in the thing was a plus.
"You sure you don't want that burn tattooed at all?" Bella inquired, studying his face for a moment.
Harry made an effort not to shake his head. "No," he replied. "Gracie said I shouldn't try to cover up the past. She figured if I tried to push it down it would just be harder to forget."
Belladonna shrugged. "Suit yourself, kid. Just saying - it's definitely not the worst burn I've seen, but it doesn't exactly scream 'pretty'."
Harry snorted. "I don't need to be pretty."
Belladonna clucked. "Lucky you." That said, she went back to adding little details to her painted nails. At the moment, they were a sparkly blue, but Bella was painting them with a periwinkle which reminded Harry of fish.
The jacket had been much simpler. It was quite simple - a black, cozy jacket charmed to fit, embroidered around the wrists, neck and base with two gold stripes each. He read the motto on Bella's jacket as she inspected some of the designs strewn around the tattoo artist's place to distract himself from the tickle, the white, stylized words embroidered over the back of every jacket made for Gracie and Natalie.
"Done," The middle-aged artist tossed them both a grin. "Glad to see little Grace's making a difference in the world. You stay strong, kiddo."
Harry nodded, casting the man a small smile. Belladonna nodded to the man, paid, and shooed Harry out of the shop.
"Now, Gracie did this for me," Bella said once they were out, "and I'll do it for you, as I've done for pretty much all of the kids that pass through. This is the only time you'll see me actually serious, so hold your head high."
Harry did so, giving her his full attention as they stood outside the tattooist, nestled between a muggle cafe and an empty lot, her bike parked not far away.
"Right, turn here and grab my hand, yeah?" She held out a delicately manicured hand, waiting patiently. Gently, he took it, the tension heightening the warm sensation.
"Repeat after me." She took a deep breath, and her voice took on a somewhat melodious tone, a different pitch to her usual. "Let it be known that we are friends."
"Let it be known that we are friends." Harry already knew what came next; he'd read it on the jackets, the few times he'd seen them.
"Fighting together, we are braver."
"Fighting together," Harry repeated, "we are braver."
"Thinking together," Bella continued, "we are wiser."
"Thinking together, we are wiser."
"Rising together, we are greater."
Harry felt a tentative smile on his face. "Rising together, we are greater."
"We are more together," Bella smirked knowingly, and after a moment of silence nodded.
Harry grinned. He knew this part. "And together we are."
There was a glow between their hands which had Harry freezing up for just a moment before it melted away into a sinking warmth that brought a blinding smile onto his face.
"Welcome to the family, Castor," Belladonna said softly, her slender hand letting go only to pull him into a soft hug. After a week of hanging around the hug-happy Gracie, he reciprocated without hesitation, breathing in the soft scent of fruit that wafted off her jacket. "You're not going to lose us, I promise. We stick together. We'll always be here for you."
For someone who had lost his own parents, it was all he could ever ask for. While nobody would mention it later, Belladonna's jacket was damp with tears and Castor's eyes were puffy and red when the motorcycle finally pulled away and began to race homeward.
3
It was two weeks later that Gracie burst into the library with a bag of coins and cried, "Oi, Castor! It's time to get you your first wand!"
For the ten-year-old, those were currently sacred words. Said with anticipation, reverence, eager joy - 'first wand' had him slamming his book on mind magics shut and leaping out of his chair.
Over the past days, he'd fallen into routine, if a house with Gracie and Natalie in it could have any sense of routine. Natalie mostly taught him essential things - new recipes, maths, sciences, shortcuts in everyday life that would help him when he someday made his own way in the world. It was Gracie's lessons, however, that were arguably the best, even if they weren't of the fact-based type Natalie insisted he learn, and regardless of his newfound love of books, heavily encouraged by his librarian guardian. Gracie blamed Natalie for his habit to say as little as possible, acting almost like a shadow to whomever had his attention at the time.
Gracie, by all accounts, taught him how to live. How to dance, how to sing, how to move like he was really alive. Once or twice a day she'd pull him aside and tell him to think, really think about everything that was happening around him - and more often than not she'd manage to convince him to participate in whatever strange activity she'd found scouring the library. Once every few days, she'd leap into a room and suddenly announce that they were going somewhere, no questions asked, and fling a yellow helmet at him.
The last few days he could remember going to Diagon Alley to visit the shops, being dragged off to the woods to take pictures of magical creatures, and going downtown in an abrupt flash of apparition to visit one of Gracie's 'success stories', a breeder of mail owls and kneazles who had given him a familiar. Said familiar - a black cat named Bowman who had hopped onto his shoulder and refused to move - hopped off the arm of the chair, tail high, and brushed against Castor's leg before bounding after him, joining him in his excitement.
There was a room reserved for apparition which he dashed into, his cat climbing up his back and up his arm to hover on his shoulder. He spoke up softly, "Will Bowman come with us?"
Gracie shrugged. "I'd shoo the furball out if he couldn't, you know that." Turning around, she gripped Castor's shoulder and put a gentle hand on Bowman's paw. "Right, you know the drill, stay still unless you want a quick trip to St. Mango to see Lavender."
"Mungos," Castor corrected quietly, but it went unheard as they warped away to the small magical community in Surrey.
When Castor asked why they weren't going to Ollivanders, the most famous and reputable wandmaker, Gracie pouted.
"You've got to hand it to the Ministry berks," Gracie commented as they walked down the road, "they know how to control a population. They got him good, and while sweet old Ollivander makes out that he 'only uses the best materials', he actually uses the ones that don't explode or fail to function when you stick a tracking charm on them." She huffed. "Anyone who owns an Ollivander wand is tracked by the Ministry for five years after they buy it. Every once in a while he can get away with giving non-tracked wands, but it just isn't worth the risk."
Castor nodded in agreement. "Where are we going then?" he asked, curious eyes scanning the mostly muggle surroundings. Surrey, unlike the obviously magical Diagon Alley, preferred to keep itself well-hidden and immerse itself directly into the muggle community. Through slow replacement, the community, while still muggle in design, was filled with magical residents and had hidden magical shops.
"Oh, you'll like this," Gracie grinned. "Apparently when you infuse synthetic sapphire with magical gems, then add another for a core and flood it with a burst of magic, it becomes impossible for foreign magic to charm it. My senior from Hogwarts, Boniface, he makes gem wands. We're getting a wand from him. Best part? They're perfectly legal. Since some of the Ministry arses have unregistered combat wands, they don't dare make unregistered wands illegal. All they can do is control the main suppliers." She skipped down the street, spinning on her heel to turn a corner. "He's got a cafe just this way, come along."
It was with slight concern that Castor followed her into the cafe, the low ceilings highlighting the dark, cavelike nature of the shop. The day seemed slow, as there were few customers, and Gracie made a beeline for the register, the lanky man on duty giving them a once-over before breaking into a grin.
"Hey," he grinned, "if it isn't one half of Natural Grace. Where's Bookie?"
"Natalie couldn't make it, she's busy working on stocking the magical sect with Astronomy books today," Gracie informed him. "Long overdue, if you ask me - but that's not important. Tell Abe I need to see Bo for an untrackable, Castor here's getting his first wand today." Bowman marched in as if he'd been there the whole time, curling a tail around Castor's leg as the man walked off to find 'Abe'.
Bowman had managed to find his way into Gracie's arms by the time two men came through. One had flaming red hair and a bright, lopsided smile, and the other looked rather tired but had a rumpled allure about him, drawing eyes to him despite how muted his features were in comparison to the first.
"Hey, Abe," Gracie nodded to the redhead, and to the other she said, "Yo, Bo. Up to making a wand for Little Lemmie here?"
"Sure am," Bo agreed, giving her a smile. Turning to Castor, he said, "if you're ready, little guy, we should probably head off to my workroom. It won't do you any good to have all the magical saturation getting in the way while you find a wand for yourself."
Absently, Gracie commented, "we checked him for spells and skills a week ago. Kid had a few weird charms on him, couldn't identify them, but took them off no sweat. Next to no Divinatory abilities, but he's a Meta. Might have some Ani abilities if he ever decides to pursue that."
Bo let out a low whistle. "Don't see Metamorphmagi often. You have him train it at all?"
"Course not," Gracie pouted, as if she very much wanted to say otherwise. "He's got to wait until second year before we can reasonably ask him to do that without hurting himself. Magical suppression and all that."
Thoroughly lost, Castor glanced between them and felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he noticed 'Abe', who was watching the pair with an amused glint in his eye.
"Sometimes, kid," he admitted, "I wish I could be a part of this. I'm glad I got Bo and Dave out front, but it's still tough living around magic and never quite being able to touch it. I'm glad you don't have to face that."
It would be a while before the impact of that statement hit. It was unfortunate - or, perhaps, quite fortunate indeed - that Bo chose that moment to stop chatting with Gracie and pulled Castor away towards the private rooms.
It turned out that Bo's workroom was a small space with shelves on every wall. There seemed to be a ladder system that could move around the tiny space to help Bo reach the higher shelves. In the center of the room was a glass table, though only the sides were perfectly clear; the top was covered in what Castor assumed to be gem shavings from wands made atop it.
"Right," Bo marched up to the walls without hesitation. He snatched up a box from the wall and opened it, taking the four rods inside cautiously and placing them gently on the glass table. "Close your eyes, little guy. We can't have you deciding based on visuals."
Castor nodded cautiously and closed his eyes, waiting for further instruction. "Good. Now reach out with your dominant hand - that's it - and let it hover. When you stay in one place for ten seconds, place your hand down."
Castor's hand hovered this way and that for a while, sometimes pausing, but never for long enough. Finally, when he was starting to get worried, he hit ten seconds and laid down his hand.
"Right, open your eyes. Nice pick," Bo added, whistling in appreciation. Castor noticed the different choices for the first time; the one his hand had landed on was the far left, a mottled, tiger-eye pattern on its surface. The other three had similarly wood-like colours, but one was on the brighter side, while another had a rose tint.
"We'll use that material for the rod," Bo decided, holding out a hand. Castor passed him the rod and Bo put it to one side, gathering up the remaining rods to put them back in the box. "Next is length, then we can choose a core material."
Castor nodded nervously, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other as Bo hurried off to another wall, snatching up a box seemingly at random. The process repeated with a set of different rods of varying lengths, and when one was eventually chosen, Bo rushed off and jumped onto the ladder, sliding off to the back wall and grabbing a case from the wall. Hopping down and placing a rod on the table, he then ducked down under the table and pulled a lever.
The front of the glass lifted up, and Bo walked to the other side to stand next to Castor. "Here," he pointed, "Close your eyes again and stick your hand in. Just pick whichever one feels right."
Castor shrugged, screwed his eyes shut, and stuck his hand in.
There were furs, smooth stones, feathers and hairs; there were strips of leather, horns and bones, he swore there was a leaf or two as well. For a moment, he was overwhelmed, but once he settled down he found something unique. As his hand went over it, he could feel that it had an imperfect surface, stringy and somewhere between soft and rough, but the more he felt it the warmer and more comforting it got.
"Thestral hairs, from the forest flock," Bo intoned, reaching in and taking it from Castor's hands. Abruptly aware again, he shook off his surprise and watched as Boniface gathered together the hairs and scurried off with the two rods and the hairs.
"I'll be back!" Boniface called, and that was all he saw of him for the next thirty minutes.
Castor had taken to surfing through the different wands and looking at the materials with an awed eye when Bo finally returned with a wand which seemed, at least to Castor, to be one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. Made of polished tiger-eye, it narrowed off to a slender tip, and he could see the slightest hue of black from the thestral tails inside seeping into the mottled colouring in swirls and jagged lines. Bo smiled knowingly and handed it to Castor, smirking as Castor held it reverently.
"Castor," Bo said, interrupting Castor's spontaneous inspection of the wand, "you need to push your magic through it so it bonds to you. Go on."
Castor took a steadying breath and exhaled, taking control of the boundless energy and carefully pouring it into the wand in his hands. The wand shuddered and began to glow, the pure energy flowing between his hands lighting up the room. It lasted only a moment before he felt a peculiar snap and a warm rush of power.
Boniface slapped him companionably on the shoulder, snapping Castor out of his shock. "Take your wand and let's get back upstairs," he suggested. "Gracie and that cat of yours are probably driving themselves to insanity waiting."
The moment Castor had figured out how to use his wand, his real training began.
While Gracie refused to let him train his metamorphmagus ability - something about needing a mentor lest he accidentally harm himself and have no idea how to go back - everything else started immediately. When he'd gotten home, a pile of books were waiting on his room's desk. Up until then, the only magic he'd been learning was mind magics to sort and protect his mind from any 'nosy ministry muck-ups'. But now he was learning what Gracie referred to as 'wand magics'; flashes, bangs and sparkles.
Natalie focused mainly on the everyday spells he'd need. She had taught him Lumos, and then had him experiment with changing it in minute ways; changing the colour, dimming and brightening the light, extending it from his wand and altering how long it stayed after leaving it. Each spell seemed to have a hundred different uses beyond what the books suggested; in fact, they seemed almost designed to give you the least useful form of it.
"Well of course they're inefficient," Gracie said when he pointed this out. "If you want to control the populace, the Slytherin thing to do is slowly replace good knowledge with bad or useless knowledge. That's why Moldy Warts from your history textbook faced barely any resistance! You can't exactly defeat a soulless monster by turning porcupines into pincushions, can you?"
Far more interesting for him were the lessons from Gracie. While he loved his wand, Gracie refused to let him use it while learning things from her - at least the first time around. Her excuse for the increased difficulty was, as usual, entirely about sticking it to authority.
"If you're going to learn," she rolled her eyes, "you're going to start at the beginning and work up. So you've got to start without a wand, and only after you know this wandless, wordless if you can manage it, do you get to use wands. They sure do make things easier," she admitted, "but you can't let yourself become reliant."
And so he learned. He learned how to pump magic through his body, how to give himself speed, how to use his fingers in place of his wand and throw balls of literal magic at things. It was terribly exciting, and it was for that reason that they had a reinforced basement. Apparently there was a Kryptonite to magic - he couldn't actually pronounce the name of it, but the basement was surrounded by the light blue material - and that was where they launched their spells when training.
The learning was his life for at least two months.
4
On Halloween, Castor woke up to the first serious argument he'd heard since he'd started living with Natalie and Gracie.
As he walked down the stairs that morning, brushing his hands over the black and orange garlands decorating the banister, he could hear their voices. While it wasn't loud, it was still much louder and more serious than usual.
"Natalie!" Gracie groaned. "It won't be Halloween without Lavender! They can't force her to take classes on Halloween, can they? Why can't we go?" They were so engrossed in each other that they didn't even notice him on the edge of the staircase, listening in. "I'm sure Little Lock wants to go see her too! C'mon, please?"
Natalie sighed and gripped Gracie's shoulders. "Gracie, knowing Lavender, she's probably studying," she insisted. "And no, Hogwarts won't force her to attend classes on Halloween. They're going to be having a feast, remember? It hasn't changed since we attended."
Gracie huffed, pointedly turning her head away. "I still say we should go visit. We haven't seen her since she went off to start her summer training." She turned pleading eyes back onto Natalie. "Can't we please go, Natalie? I know the Library is important to you, but Lavender is important too."
"They need me at the library," Natalie said quietly, one hand rising from Gracie's shoulder to mess with a stray curl - one Castor remembered to bug Gracie to no end. "Look. We don't go trick-or-treating any more, and Lavender will be having plenty of fun without your chaos. I want to help the Library, and this is how I can do it. You can sort books too, if you want," Natalie chuckled. "Call it a date."
"Pretty boring location for a date," Gracie quipped. "Like, Libraries are cool and all, but really. It's Halloween. We should be visiting Lavender or riding around on my motorcycle-" She froze, finally catching sight of Castor sitting on the bottom step.
Natalie turned, and quick as a flash her hands were at her sides. "Um," she cleared her throat, "Castor. Yes. What do you want to do for Halloween?" She asked in quick succession.
Gracie rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, 'Lock, she's just a prude who was raised in a no-affection-whatsoever household," she announced. "So, what do you say? Want to visit Lavender?"
Castor looked between them and smirked. Then, rolling his eyes in a fashion not unlike Gracie, he mused, "The library sounds nice."
They ended up letting Castor manage the workload at the library while Natalie and Gracie went on a not-so-secret date. It was quite convenient that helping Natalie at home with their private library had given him experience; it was worth the effort to see the silly grin on Gracie's face as they raced off on her motorbike.
Castor pushed the dolly, filled with books, over to the next section, mentally reviewing where each book belonged. There were few visitors on Halloween, and even fewer staff. He considered for a moment the possibility of sitting down to read when he heard a yelp in front of him and backed away quickly.
A bushy wave of hair was pushed aside, and peeking out was a girl around his age. A pair of brown eyes observed him incredulously for a few moments.
"Sorry," he murmured, backing away slowly with the dolly in tow. It had been ages since he'd actually talked to anybody other than Natalie, Gracie, and their multitude of acquaintances, and even then he usually had them for support. The natural distrust he'd gained from being attacked made him eye her with slight suspicion, but he threw it off, instead focusing on maneuvering around her.
She stood up quickly and moved out of the way, giving him space to get by, but before he could move, she asked, "Are you okay? Your face…" Her eyes darted over his cheek and forehead, where the torch had tracked over his skin.
He blinked in surprise. He'd actually forgotten, between learning so much, working with Natalie and Gracie, and generally keeping up that half his face was burned. Of course it felt a little different, but he'd had two months to get used to it - and nobody he'd met had said anything about it, or even given him weird looks. Quietly, he nodded, squirming under her scrutinizing gaze.
"If you don't mind my asking," she said slowly, closing the large volume in her hands, "how did you get it?" She tilted her head and blinked, a perfect example of innocent inquiry.
"Thugs," he replied softly. He decided he didn't like talking much, especially if people would ask intrusive questions. He turned his head carefully away, putting his scar outside of her line of sight. "I was attacked. Electric torch." Words said, he hovered, carefully avoiding meeting her eyes.
"That wasn't very nice of them," she commented. While it was quite an obvious thing to say, he could hear the soft undertones of pity and sighed himself.
"No." he agreed flatly. His hand drifted unconsciously up to his face, resting on the scarred skin. It was oddly smooth, a result of the perfectionist touch of magic, but it would remain forever warped.
Remembering where he was, he put his hands back on the dolly and began to move again, but it seemed her questions weren't over. "Um, are you a staff member?" She asked his retreating back, forcing him to stop again.
"Sort of," he finally admitted.
"How? I mean, aren't you a little young?" she continued. He felt a spike of irritation, but immediately pushed it aside. He pulled on a mask of professionalism and explained.
"Um, I'm just standing in for my… guardian," he clarified.
She got a thoughtful look for a second, then seemingly nodded to herself. "I'm looking for books on telekinesis. Do you know where I could find any?"
Castor paused to think. The library, while fairly large, didn't have much on the supernatural beyond fiction. Thinking carefully, he asked, "What specifically are you looking to find out? Do you mean fiction about telekinesis?"
"Nonfiction," she explained. "You see… oh, nevermind, you wouldn't believe me. I just want to find out how something happened."
Castor found his curiosity piqued.
"Telekinesis, you say," he felt a slow grin forming. "You want to know how people could fake it, or perhaps perform it accidentally."
There was a drawn-out silence between them, which caused him to squirm and fidget internally. He could feel nervous energy building, but finally, she spoke. "Um… yes, actually. Do you know?"
He nodded. "I know one way, but I'd have to be sure. What happened?"
She looked somewhat floored. "Um, I was reading Matilda - you know, the Roald Dahl story. And I wondered what would happen if I… if I tried to levitate things, like the protagonist did," she gestured helplessly. "It was… it was silly. You won't believe me, but it… but it worked."
He nodded slowly, updating his mental tally for her 'magical likelihood' to one hundred percent. He internally shrugged and decided to go for complete honesty. "You won't find any books on that in the library, at least not a muggle one. But I might be able to introduce you to a particularly bogus book on levitation spells."
Her jaw did a rather interesting interpretation of a goldfish.
When she finally gathered her wits, she stuttered rather elegantly, "I… what?"
He smiled tolerantly. "I said, I can introduce you to a bogus book on levitation spells. I say bogus because it's regulated by an oppressive government. Unfortunately, we've not got the best selection."
She shook herself as if to believe what she was seeing, and he noticed her glance surreptitiously at her own hand before reshaping her expression to a bit more serious. "I… what's a muggle?"
"Non-magic," he stated simply.
"Non… magic doesn't exist," she proclaimed rather firmly. "It defies all sense-"
Castor saved her further stuttering by tapping her mouth in a shushing gesture. "Magic ignores the rules," he said, chuckling. "Magic doesn't work like you're used to. Few people with magic have any common sense, miss…?"
"Hermione," she stated absently, her mind obviously elsewhere. "Hermione Granger."
Castor smiled. "Castor Ptolemy Dee." Finally calming down, he said seriously, "You wanted to learn about levitation spells?"
Natalie had a stash of magical books in the library, waiting to be moved to her apartment. Every so often, a magical person who had an IQ below average decided it would be a good idea to donate magical books to muggle locations. Natalie found and collected them, storing them away in hidden rooms.
It was just his luck that he knew where one of these hidden rooms was. He abandoned his dolly near the staff section and led a defiantly curious Hermione to a seemingly solid wall.
Standing in front of it, he put his hand on it and murmured under his breath, "Élégance Naturelle."
The doors made no ominous clacking sounds, mysterious whistling or bothersome rumbling as the ministry was so fond of doing, just to emphasize how blind muggles were. The door was silent as a ghost, simply glowing so gently it was hard to see, becoming insubstantial in a quiet moment. He nodded to Hermione and stepped through.
A few moments later, a hand poked through the wall, then a full body as Hermione stepped through disbelievingly. If she had thought he was lying before, she definitely believed him now.
The room had about three stacks of books, a few conjured wooden chairs, and a well-worn table, burned and marked in some places from frequent spellcasting over the top of it. There was a dull light present from a few permanent Lumos that hung around the room, the mild scent of burning wood clinging to the walls. Castor gestured to the chairs and began to sort through the stack for a reference book, giving Hermione time to wrap her head around the room and its sheer refusal of basic science.
"It's real," she said after a moment, still stunned.
"Well of course it is," Castor muttered, sighing. He finally gave up and instead summoned his gem wand, sitting down across from her. "So, you want to learn magic, I presume."
She eyed the wand for a few silent moments before tentatively nodding. "I… I guess I do, if I can," she admitted. "What's that?"
"My wand," he announced, waving it. It produced a shower of glittering blue sparks which flickered out before they hit the floor. "You know, magical focus? Wizards and all that?"
She nodded blankly. "Right. Wands. Of course."
He paused to observe her for a second, noting the stiff posture. "Take a moment," he offered. "It's not every day you discover your world is only half of what exists."
"Mmm," she agreed, glancing around. "Where's the light coming from?"
"Magic," Castor reminded her. Just so he actually answered the question, he held his wand up to the air and said blandly, "Lumos." The tip lit up the same green as his eyes, and after a moment of focus he separated it and cut it off, leaving a hovering orb of light.
"Right," she replied, shaken. "Magic." Her eyes began to drift around in a mild panic, and she began gripping her knees nervously, as if trying to remind herself everything she was seeing was actually there.
He finally took pity on her and poked her hand. "Point at the light I made," he said, gesturing to the still-glowing green orb, "and say, 'Nox'."
After a moment of hesitation, she pointed at it and said quietly, "Nox." The light dimmed slightly, but there was no confidence in her voice, so it didn't burn out entirely.
"It's supposed to disappear," he informed her. "Try again."
"Nox," she repeated, encouraged by her former progress. The light winked for a few moments before finally flickering out, leaving them with just the light clinging to the walls.
"There you go," he announced plainly. "Magic." He honestly found her reactions quite amusing; he could tell that her world was a firmly logical system, with everything having a reason. Discovering magic had left her at a loss for how to fit the new information into her logical world, like she had found a puzzle piece to her life that she was desperately trying to fit somewhere.
His humour ended when he heard footsteps in the distance. Sighing, he rose, the wall flickering as Natalie stepped through. Ever level-headed, she gave the room one glance and immediately guessed the situation.
Turning to Hermione, she smiled. "Hello. I suppose Castor has been showing you some magic?"
Hermione nodded silently, her eyes still unfocused, lost in her own mind.
"I suppose you must be a muggleborn," she deduced, stepping forward smartly. She glanced at Castor momentarily. "Cas, Gracie is outside waiting. I'll apparate home. I believe I need to help your new friend here understand a bit about what's happening. You should head home."
Castor nodded understandingly. Turning to Hermione for a brief moment, he said, "See you at Hogwarts." He then dashed off to take care of the dolly he had left behind, hoping Hermione's world wouldn't be shaken totally off its axis.
Over the next few days, Castor observed from around corners and listened with his ears pressed to the door as Gracie and Natalie slowly introduced the Grangers to the magical world. From his research (which many would argue was straight-up spying), he had figured out some simple, general facts about his new acquaintance, though he hadn't spoken to Hermione directly since he'd discovered her in the library on Halloween.
Her parents were dentists and quite strict. Regardless, she adored them, and he found it terribly amusing that she couldn't quite figure out if Gracie was an adult or a teenager. She was, as he'd expected, a bookworm with a solid grip on logic as well as a somewhat encyclopaedic memory. She could recite her textbooks, recalled answers at a moment's notice, and seemed desperate to impress others.
He didn't expect her to join his previously private lessons, and wasn't exactly happy, but he would live with it just to see her hilarious reactions to the things Gracie tried to teach her. He could still remember vividly their first class together…
Natalie walked into the room, but it was a second presence that had Castor freezing up momentarily and whipping around to face the door. He calmed down when he recognized Hermione, instead opting to raise an eyebrow at his more responsible guardian.
"Oh," Gracie said sheepishly. "I almost forgot - Castor, Hermione will be joining us in our lessons until school starts. I hope you don't mind."
Castor rolled his eyes and said nothing. It wasn't exactly like he had a choice - raising hell over it wouldn't earn him anything, and anyways, it would be interesting to compare his progress to someone other than Gracie, who knew everything like the back of her hand. Natalie nodded encouragingly, and Hermione entered, hugging some simple school supplies to her chest.
"Um, hello again," Hermione said, gaining confidence. "Castor, right?"
"Hermione," he replied, nodding.
"You should put down those supplies for now," Gracie interrupted, jutting a thumb towards the bookcases. "We won't be needing any plans or pencils."
Hermione went blank for a moment before shaking her head disbelievingly. "Um, I'm sorry I didn't ask before - what does this class entail?"
Gracie shrugged. "Fun things."
Castor sighed, reaching out and taking Hermione's things off of her and placing them on the bookcase in the cleared room. "What she means," he clarified, "is that she has a list of interesting things she knows, and every time she gets bored she plucks one off the list and drags us off to learn. You can make notes," he added, "but it's best to wait until the end of it."
Hermione nodded faintly. "Okay," she agreed softly. "We'll have tests?"
Castor shrugged. "Nah. We'll do refresher rounds every once in a while, but we mostly just bounce from subject to subject randomly and have fun doing it."
It was quite clear to him that Hermione had expected a classroom-style, textbook and test type set-up, instead of the randomness and general whirlwind of activity that was Gracie. He felt a spike of sympathy, but figured she'd quickly begin to enjoy the lack of stress and general freedom Gracie's classes offered.
He snapped, conjuring a chair, then snapped again for another. "Sit down, at least until we get started," he suggested, flopping down himself.
She nodded and sat down herself, struggling to maintain a sense of calm.
Gracie glanced over the both of them, gave Hermione a critical look, and nodded. "Alright. Today is Magical Arts. Oi, Castor - music or painting?"
"Painting," he replied dryly. "But you should ask Hermione."
She paused. "Erm, Painting, I guess," she agreed. Castor breathed a silent sigh of relief - painting was much easier than music for him. He was tone deaf and he did not want his first class with someone else to be spent with him stoutly refusing to play any music.
Gracie clapped, and a pair of easels appeared. A clap-snap, and paintbrushes appeared, followed by a palette which had one solid white paint, both falling into the student's laps.
Hermione gave it an incredulous look. "There's only one colour," she said disbelievingly. "And how did you make them appear out of thin air?"
"Different colours come later," Castor informed her dryly, "and Natalie teaches Conjuration on Tuesdays and Mondays. I'm sure if you ask, though, she can lead you through some basic ideas."
Hermione nodded. "Right." By this time Gracie had set up her own set of painting supplies and was eying up her canvas as if it had done something deserving of a sweet, cold revenge.
Finally, she nodded, and grinned at them both. "Well, Hermione, have you ever been to a haunted house? Seen any horror movies?"
Hermione shook her head slowly. "I've read books," she offered.
Gracie shrugged. "Great. So, ever seen those creepy paintings where the eyes move and all that?"
Hermione nodded reluctantly.
"Perfect! That's what we're doing, but cooler, and less corny," Gracie explained. "Unless, of course, you paint a cornfield. But that's besides the point. Think of a moving scene - you know, grass waving, wind blowing, flags flapping in the air, that sort of thing. Anything moving that comes to mind, really."
The pair of them nodded, and Castor closed his eyes, letting his mind form an image - of the suitcase in which Gracie's friend raised his familiars. The farmhouse, the waving grass, the tall spruce trees where some of the owls made their home, glowing eyes peeking out to watch him from dark hollows…
"Castor, slow down, will you?"
He blinked. "Sorry, Grace. Got lost a bit."
Hermione, completely lost, glanced between them and finally gave up, returning to her thinking.
Gracie seemed satisfied, because a moment later she announced, "Right - start with the main the important things - animals, people, the like, on the canvas. They don't have to be in place."
Hermione looked somewhat incredulous, but Castor did not hesitate. He started with Bowman, hunched and eager, yellow eyes flashing. He finished quickly, the paint warping to the correct colours in the blink of an eye, and he moved on to the Kneazles, paying attention to their fluffed chests and unique faces. Fifteen minutes later, his page was crawling with cats and crups and owls, peering in from every corner of the page. Mice, Puffskeins, cobras and little birds of all shapes, colours and sizes crawled around his page.
He took pause and glanced over to Hermione's canvas to see how she was doing. It seemed she'd figured out the paint would change to her liking, because she had some grass and a grey squirrel sitting to one side. Her sky was a dark blue, and seemed a bit swirly - he recalled something similar from his muggle art textbook and nodded.
"It's nice," he offered simply. She paused and looked up, blinking at her creation and then at his for the first time.
"Oh, um, thanks," she murmured, and it suddenly struck him that she was unused to being praised. The fervor with which she tackled tasks quite quickly began to make sense to him. She wasn't trying to show off, or even to be particularly better than anybody else; she just wanted to be enough that people believed in her worth.
He closed away the memories of the Dursley household which threatened to surge forth, thoughts of years desperately hoping he would be able to earn their acceptance locked tightly into a box. It was with mild panic that he swatted away a recurring thought that occurred to him every now and then, and he quickly refocused on his own canvas, letting his mind think instead of cats and owls and mice.
The whisper of him that wanted to destroy those memories of the Dursleys forever went silent when Gracie suddenly stood up.
"Right, next step!" Gracie announced. "We're going to stick another canvas next to your current one, finish the background, and then guide your main images back onto the page."
Hermione blinked in surprise, opened her mouth to ask something, then closed it. Castor held up a hand for Gracie to wait and took a calming breath.
"Hermione?" he began tentatively. Once he had her attention, he began to explain. "How this works," he started slowly, "Is that magic can jump, a bit like electricity. So the magic is allowing the paint to stay in the right shape and colour and then can guide it from one canvas, jump over to another, and then jump back when a background is painted. Of course, magic isn't electricity…" he shrugged, "but the concept is similar."
Understanding lit in her eyes, and he felt a rush of satisfaction. "So that's how it works," she muttered. He could see the gears turning in her mind, a bit of magic's puzzle piece fitting in with the world she knew. He nodded to Gracie, who gave him a surreptitious wink and began again as if nothing had happened.
The classes throughout the days continued similarly. After the third class - as well as the third time Hermione was forced to imprison her oh-so-valuable planner and pencil case on the bookshelf - she stopped bringing her extra tools, and instead just carried a notebook everywhere. Harry suspected she'd had Natalie teach her to conjure a pencil, because she always seemed to have one handy.
It was slow going, but over the next month, Hermione began breaking out of her obsessive use of planners and textbooks. While he himself could probably use a bit of the opposite, it was clear to him that she was finally learning after years of plain, simple memorization.
It was odd having a class companion, but reflecting on it, it was nice. It made him all the more eager to enter Hogwarts, even if he didn't have the courage to approach people himself.
It was nice, he decided, having a friend.
A/N: I love this story. The characters I made, for once, were strong. I'm still trying to build the characters, and changes will surely happen - but I regardless love this story and what it will entail as time goes on. As of yet, the current chapters are just warmup to the main events, but I still think this is one of my more interesting and unique stories.
I hope you enjoy.
-MDH