Full Summary:

1999. Britain is recovering from the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War, and Hogwarts has reopened for the first time since the Battle. Eight first-years find themselves drawn to each other through fate and folly. A series of disappearances around the nation draw suspicion to the new Hogwarts professors and an elusive man who phases between the muggle and magical worlds. As old memories resurface, connections between the children's past and present come to light, unraveling into secrets linked to an inexplicable source. Danger still lurks in every corner as a new generation takes center stage.

Volume I of The Arcana Quartet.

Story Information (Basically my tags on AO3 since I find them helpful as warnings and/or general information FYI's.)

Characters: Kala Dandekar, Wolfgang Bogdanow, Riley Blue, Will Gorski, Sun Bak, Capheus Onyango, Nomi Marks, Lito Rodríguez, Kwan-Ho Mun, Felix Berner, Hernando Fuentes, Daniela Velásquez, Minerva McGonagall, Rubeus Hagrid, Angelica Turing, Jonas Maliki, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Original Characters (some characters from my other seres, Veracity Verse, are making a comeback!)

Category: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts

Things to Note: BPO still Exists. Magical sensates exist. This story is told in multiple points of view!

Warnings: Past Character Death, Physical Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Bullying, Homophobia, Transphobia, Deadnaming, Misgendering, Racism, Suicidal Thoughts, Flashbacks, Claustrophobia, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Depression

This story is rated M for graphic depictions of violence.

Chapter 1: The Start of a New Age, Part 1

Kala nearly burns down Ollivander's. Riley wants the pain to stop. Sun teaches herself mildly dangerous spells. Capheus worries about his family.

A/N:

Hello again to old readers! Welcome, for those of you who haven't read my works before :)

I thought of some headcanons about the Sense8 characters in the shower one summer evening in July, 2017, and I thought I'd expand on them for fun. Over time they've multiplied and dragged on and on until they gradually consumed my waking moments. So here I am now with a series planned for just them.

Just a few things/disclaimers to note:
- There will be four volumes in this series, which take place while these kids are in first, third, fifth, and seventh year (respectively). Expect time jumps between volumes.
- There's no romance in Volume I here. One romantic plot begins at Volume II, the rest in Volumes III or IV.
- Endgames in this story are mostly in adherence to canon, except Kalagang is the endgame for Kala and Wolfgang.
- Nomi hasn't socially transitioned, so for this volume, sections from her own point of view uses she/her pronouns, but she'll be misgendered and deadnamed in other POVs until she comes out to those friends. She'll be out to all of Hogwarts in third year.

Enjoy!

7 August, 1999

HOGWARTS BACK ON TRACK: 1999 "THE START OF A NEW AGE" SAYS HEADMISTRESS McGONAGALL

One year after the devastation of the Second Wizarding War, and less than three weeks before start of term, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry announced that it will open its doors once again on the First of September—after a deemed 'successful' completion of the school year previous.

This comes as a surprise to most, with a public poll conducted by the Daily Prophet showing a sixty percent 'NO' vote to the question, Should Hogwarts School Commence Immediately After The War?. Several testimonials include: "They'd be barking mad to do that to those poor children", and "Do they even have enough staff to fill those missing positions?"

Much skepticism and criticism is directed against Minerva McGonagall, who is settling comfortably in her role as Headmistress following the late Albus Dumbledore. She, however, insists that continuance of children's education is imperative to the rebuilding of the Wizarding Nation.

"It's the start of a new age," she admonishes in a written statement. "Voldemort's reign has come to an end. To hide and cower in the wake of these events serve only to continue his legacy of fear and darkness. I am aware change does not happen overnight. But it must begin somewhere, and with education it shall begin."

This school year will expect the welcoming of over one hundred and forty bright-eyed wizards and witches, ready to embark on a seven-year journey to develop their magic abilities. Delivery of acceptance letters to eligible students via Owl Post or muggle messenger have commenced in the last week of June, and will cut off on the Seventh of August.

8 August, 1999

Kala.

The red curtain fluttered at the steady ripples pulsing from Kala's hand. One corner of the curtain lifted, allowing her a peek at the quiet muggle street below. Pedestrians were strolling past without the slightest awareness that magic was happening right above them. Kala flicked her wrist and the curtain flew wide open, letting the sun hit her room at full force, casting beams of light across her mahogany floor.

"Copycat," Daya muttered. She was standing at the half-open door to Kala's bedroom, rolling her eyes.

Kala stuck out her tongue and put down the copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them in her free hand. She did steal this trick from her little sister, but it wasn't like Daya didn't imitate any of her magic, so this was fair game.

"How long have you been standing there?" Kala asked.

"Long enough." Daya marched over and, without a warning, grabbed Kala by the hand and mercilessly towed her out of bed. "Now come on."

Kala followed with a sigh and headed downstairs, knowing that when Daya was adamant, she could never be left in peace. "Did dad make breakfast?"

"Nope." Daya shook her head dramatically, walking down the steps two at a time. "Mom's already at the shop. She left a note on the table. She'll meet us in Flourish and Blott's at eleven. And dad was still in bed ten minutes ago—"she stopped by the foot of the stairs and added in a conspiratorial whisper—"snoring."

"We'll wait for dad," Kala said, trying to stifle the restless anticipation in her voice. In truth, every part of her wanted to run out of their London townhouse, across Charing Cross Road, and straight through the Leaky Cauldron to Diagon Alley.

It was Kala's birthday, and she was turning eleven, which was the best age to be before Hogwarts was to reopen in September. She was certain her face read like an open book, even if she tried to sound calm, even if Daya seemed more excited about this Hogwarts shopping trip than she was.

"You've never been a good liar, Kala," Daya teased, confirming what she'd suspected.

Two hours later, all stuffed from dad's aloo paratha and the chai mom had left on the stove that lit itself when they entered the kitchen, Kala and her sister found themselves in the middle of the restaurant where their dad worked, climbing out of the fireplace in the storage room. They were in a 1926 art deco style building which hadn't been open for decades. It was ransacked by Death Eaters during the Second Wizarding War, and the old owner, Mr. Bailey, seemed to have vanished. After a few months of half-hearted searching for the presumably dead man, the shop had been claimed by the goblins in Gringott's before Sebastian Fuchs, a German investor, purchased the old place and refurbished the interior. This building was rumored to be a congregation ground for ghosts from centuries past. Now it was Brimstone Boulevard, a multicultural restaurant in the heart of Diagon Alley, and the enigma of it all seemed to be good for business.

Kala's dad Sanyam, along with five other head chefs from around the world, collaborated to bring back their old family recipes with the help of their team. The Ministry had approved of this establishment because it was a good show of inclusivity, and the losses of war had found magical Britain in need of international assistance. Well-known cooks were recruited by Ministry scouts from overseas. So in April, Kala and her family found themselves purchasing a townhouse in muggle London, by the border of the magical world that they all drifted comfortably in and out of.

"Kala!" Capheus called, running over to the fireplace. He had flour smeared across his left cheek and what looked like chocolate sauce dripping down his apron, and he beamed at the sight of her family. "Happy birthday!"

"You too, Capheus," Kala smiled graciously.

"Are we doing happy birthdays?" Their friend Jela peeked his head over from the open door leading to the back kitchen, where the chefs labored away in the midst of the morning rush.

"Your birthday was two months ago!" Kala complained, laughing.

"Ahh." Jela tutted his tongue. "But I'm still getting a share of your cake tonight, yes?"

"Of course you are," Capheus said.

They walked through to the back kitchen, where Capheus' mother was kneading some dough. She waved at them, wiping the sweat off her brows with her forearm. Her shift was ending in an hour. They were meeting at Flourish and Blott's later along with Jela's family.

Sanyam gave Shiro a smile and beckoned Kala and Daya forward. They walked through the back kitchen, ducking and weaving between frenzied chefs and waiters and stewards during the morning rush. The sound of spatulas and spoons banging on pots and pans faded into the backdrop of Kala's mind as she got near the stoves. Kala tucked her hands in the pocket of her jeans, careful not to move in too close. Still, the swooshing fires and sizzling skillets beckoned for a taste of her magic. Her fingers twitched in anticipation. She hurried past, out of range, and slipped out the side door her dad had opened.

Daya followed her out, skipping excitedly as if it was her day to receive presents, as if her own birthday hadn't already passed in late March right before they moved out of Mumbai. Her dad belted out promises that he'd be back in an hour to help with the lunch rush to his associate head chef, a muggle-born man named Rahul, before closing the door. Rahul couldn't have been older than Kala's father. He had joined in the fight at the Battle of Hogwarts and had been awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class. That was all Kala knew about Rahul in the four months she'd been speaking to him.

Outside the walls of Brimstone Boulevard was a different kind of rush. People meandered around the freshly-paved cobblestone lane, stopping by each storefront to marvel at the new exhibits. It had taken over a year to repair the entire street, and today, Kala could tell a lot of the shoppers were seeing the new Diagon Alley for the first time. It felt like magical Britain was waking up after a long sleep. Like people were still trying to grab onto the bits and pieces of their sweet little dream they had earlier that evening, ignoring the nightmare that followed.

Kala overheard two old women in purple robes lamenting the loss of the old appearance of Flourish and Blott's. "This new storefront is just ghastly," one lady complained to the other, tutting her tongue at the glass-paneled walls that stood like tall windows, exposing both stories of the shop. "Such lovely little green window frames they used to have. Gone. All vanished. Evanesco, just like that."

It was, of course, a dramatic change. The entire street had been renovated since the war. Even the older shops that stayed from before were repaired from inside out, so much that their old appearances, the ones they were known for before the Death Eaters' demolition, were nowhere to be seen. Kala read in the Prophet two weeks ago that a lot of the new designs were inspired by muggle architecture around the country. The only place that hadn't looked too different besides Brimstone Boulevard was Gringott's, which stood at the very end, towering menacingly over the other buildings with its marble walls.

Along with the two purple-robed ladies, Kala found herself and her dad and sister being towed down the sidewalk by the crowd of pre-Hogwarts shoppers. The hustle-bustle of Diagon Alley, with all the yelling and robe-brushing and toe-stomping, was not unlike the crowdedness of Mumbai that Kala had grown accustomed to. But the weather was too chilly for an early August morning, the sky too dense with gray clouds threatening rain. She pulled up the zipper of her yellow field jacket, wishing her new home wasn't so different from the one she grew up in.

She missed Mumbai. She didn't think she would ever stop missing it. But she tried to put aside what she'd left behind and focus on the one thing she had been anticipating since her whole family had relocated to London four months ago: her very own wand.

The boy in front of Kala in line at Ollivander's was a head shorter than her. He looked excitedly around the shop, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was talking in rapid Spanish to his parents, who were dressed in muggle clothes and frozen to the spot, warily tracking the way the boxes of wands flew on and off the shelves with their eyes. The boy's glasses slid from his face twice—they were clearly meant for someone much bigger—but he nudged them back on without bother, crinkling his nose each time.

When it was his turn, he'd asked to pick the box from the shelf. Somehow, he had a very clear idea of what he was looking for, and Mr. Ollivander slid his ladder over and retrieved an ornate black box with silver words in Latin engraved across the top.

The tip of the wand glowed a bright blue when he waved it.

"Hmm," Mr. Ollivander said, bending down to get a better look at the boy's face. "Remarkable. And interesting. Very interesting."

"Thank you," the boy said. "I'm Hernando. It's nice to meet you."

Within two minutes Hernando was out the door, now a proud owner of a silver lime wand with a phoenix feather core. Mr. Ollivander was eyeing Hernando with a look of intrigue as he and his parents left the shop. Kala wondered if she'd see Hernando at Hogwarts. Her friend Jela had filled her in on all the houses the school had, and maybe she and Hernando would end up sharing the same common room.

Kala stepped forward and waited, not wanting to interrupt Mr. Ollivander's thoughts.

"Ahh. Excuse me," Mr. Ollivander turned to her after a full minute of staring at his door. "Hello. Welcome to Ollivander's."

Not everyone, it turned out, had quite as sharp an instinct as Hernando when it came to finding a match. The first wand ("blackthorn, dragon heartstring") Kala tried would have blown up Mr. Ollivander's bookshelf if not for a well-timed Aguamenti. The second one ("black walnut, unicorn tail hair") melted the wax on the candelabras over their head and dimmed the whole room before a Reparo restored everything. And the third shot endless sparks from the tip the moment Kala's finger grazed across the fine, polished rowan wood. Kala hovered her free hand quickly over the wand to put the sparks out before they could catch the hem of her shirt and burn it.

"I'm sorry!" She looked up sheepishly, feeling her cheeks warm. "I don't know what's gotten into my—my magic."

"You're always burning things, Kala," Daya chimed in, not bothering to hide her giggle.

Mr. Ollivander, to Kala's surprise, was beaming. "Wandless magic, my dear?" The curiosity was clear in his voice.

"It's the only type I can learn at home," Kala said, breathing a sigh of relief. It would have killed her if Mr. Ollivander were mad. "I've… I've had eleven years to perfect it."

Mr. Ollivander shook his head. "We all had eleven years to make something of our innate magical power, Kala. To channel it. Control it. But few of us do." He turned to Sanyam. "You've taught her well."

Sanyam put a hand on Kala's shoulder. "She taught herself. So did my youngest," he added, exchanging a smile with Daya.

While Mr. Ollivander scoured the shelves for another potential match, Daya made a show of putting the other wands back. She lowered herself, and, with one quick upwards motion of her hand, the three boxes were lifted from the ground. They hovered in the air, waiting for Daya's command. Daya jerked her head in the direction of the shelf with the empty slots, and in they went.

"Show off." Kala rolled her eyes, though she couldn't hide her smile.

Every magical child had the same degree of magical strength upon birth, but Kala's mom had told her it was their temperament that determined where their talents lie. Daya was inclined to motion, and Kala was inclined to fire. Sanyam had called Kala his little pyromaniac, but she had never accepted the title. Fire was the thing dark magicians in India used to summon demons. And Kala? Kala could never imagine herself approaching evil, let alone cast something that sinister.

"I think I've found the perfect wand for you."

Mr. Ollivander's voice brought Kala out of her reverie. She turned and saw him holding a blue velvet box with a silver bowtie.

"Go on."

Kala could already feel the power coursing through the wand as she undid the bow on the box. The wand tingled when she opened the lid and ran her hand across the wand. The wand's wood was a handsome mix of orange and dark brown, the streaky pattern twisting and forming into spirals at the handle. When she picked it up, she was surprised to discover the wand was warm, like it had already grown accustomed to her hand.

"Well?" Mr. Ollivander encouraged, "Give it a wave."

She pointed at the oil lamp on Mr. Ollivander's desk. Before she could remember she was supposed to stay away from anything that burned, the fire had already answered her call. She tried to shout out a warning, but the words died in her throat.

The flame didn't jump and rise and shatter the glass around it. It grew brighter.

"Sycamore. 10-and-three-quarter inches. Dragon heart string. Supple," Mr. Ollivander recited. "Perfect wand for experimental users of magic. Ideal for those who are willing to take bold risks for the sake of curiosity. But please keep things exciting. The wand might burst into flames if it's bored."

"I'm sorry?"

Mr. Ollivander smiled knowingly, but did not answer her question. "I have a feeling you will be formidable."

Daya laughed. Sanyam shrugged. And Kala was examining her wand with a newfound apprehension, turning it this way and that in her hand. The last word she would use to describe herself was formidable. She wanted to tell Mr. Ollivander to pick another wand for her to try. She wanted to tell him that this, surely, must have been a mistake.

But she knew it wasn't. This wand felt as every bit part of her as the magic coursing through her veins. As natural as commanding fire with her bare hands.

Riley.

It was impossible to stop feeling.

Riley knew the anxiety didn't radiate off of her. She felt it from the muggle man standing next to her on the bus with his rain jacket brushing against her arm. He was worried about money. She inched away and tried to redirect her attention elsewhere.

A gravestone. The sound of children wailing. A name. Alan.

Her mind never did know when to stop.

At the window seat next to Riley, Gunnar shifted closer. Riley's headphones creaked in protest as she laid her head on her papa's shoulder. He put his arm around her and stroked her hair. His hand felt like a buffer between Riley's head and the minds of everyone else on the bus. Gunnar was a muggle just like Alan, but raising a Legilimens daughter had given him the capability and compassion to understand the way Riley lived.

In such a close radius, the strangers on the bus were all exposed to Riley's Legilimency, as much as she tried to keep herself from intruding on their thoughts. She fiddled with the cord on her headphones, careful not to pry it off of the CD player clutched in her hand. The CD inside was spinning as What's Up by 4 Non Blondes played.

I said hey… what's going on?

Her head was hurting by the time Riley and Gunnar got off the bus and headed for their house, neatly tucked away behind a humble fence and a large oak tree. Gloucester Crescent was a quiet neighborhood where everyone stayed in their houses after dark. She took off her headphones and listened to the sound of the rain pattering against her umbrella. It was a lot gentler than voices inside people's minds.

"Diagon Alley has certain changed since the last time I was there," Gunnar said after they got inside their home, hanging his jacket on the rack.

"You've been there before?" Riley picked up their Hogwarts shopping bags and carried them inside the living room. "When?"

Their cat, Snowball, looked on curiously from where she was perched on the back of the couch as Riley took out her new robes. She'd gotten it tailored at Madame Malkin's this afternoon while Gunnar followed her around with a muggle camera, capturing still images of a moving, floating tape-measure. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and fastened the buckle around her collar before stepping in front of the mirror, examining herself.

Gunnar joined her at the mirror, standing behind her, his eyes gazing into hers through the reflection. Thirteen years ago, he thought. You weren't born yet. Your mother showed me around England.

Over the years he had learned to project thoughts directly to her. It was all a matter of deliberation. He'd look her in the eye when he wanted to tell her something, and she'd pick up on cue.

Riley saw glimpses of her parents holding hands on the cobblestone lane, gazing at the owls in the Menagerie and the floating broom display in Quality Quidditch Supplies… Diagon Alley looked the way it did in old photographs, not like what she'd seen earlier today. It was strange to know that the old Diagon Alley existed as a memory inside Riley's mind now as well as her father's.

The memory faded, and she was back to staring in the mirror, imagining herself in the castle with these robes and a yellow-and-black tie. The girl in the mirror stared back: light brown hair, hazel eyes, and a faltering smile. Riley was the spitting image of the moving photograph on the mantelpiece, of her mother in Hogwarts, waving at her from the tall stands of the Quidditch Pitch.

"You look good." Gunnar straightened the hood of Riley's robes, looking wistfully at her reflection.

"I'm only missing my wand."

They turned around to see Snowball had beaten them to it. She was yanking Riley's wand out of the tipped-over backpack on the couch cushion, her tail flitting left and right as she tried to grab it with her paw.

"Snowball," Gunnar warned.

The cat meowed at the sound of her name, but poked her nose on the tip of the wand. A purple spark shot out. She leaped back, gazing at it with newfound horror.

Riley chuckled and picked up the wand before her poor cat could light the couch on fire.

"Lumos."

Riley drew a line upwards in the air. Light emanated from the tip, a small, silvery orb. The light dimmed after three seconds.

"I missed this," Gunnar said.

It was the first time in three years that there was magic in the house. Riley's mother Ellen was a witch, too. She had grown up in Newcastle with angry and unhappy parents and a wish to get out, to never return. After graduating from Hogwarts, she'd saved up the knuts and sickles she'd earned during summers for a train ride to Iceland. Gunnar had fallen in love with her on her first night there, when he'd played his guitar at a bar called Húrra in Reykjavik, and she'd followed him out after his performance ended to tell him he was brilliant.

Gunnar had told Ellen, later on, that he'd always thought she was magical, though it took him three months to find out just how right he was.

"I miss her," Riley said, meeting her father's eyes.

When Ellen was alive, the house was always filled with moving, half-finished portraits of people and creatures and beasts. Some of them spoke to Riley in words she could not understand; some only watched her in silence, but Riley appreciated their presence nonetheless. When Ellen passed away, most, except one, of her paintings had been finished and claimed by the clients who'd commissioned them. The unfinished portrait of the thestral on top of the piano ducked its head in greeting as Riley turned to watch him. His wings were still pencil sketches, pale and flimsy against the silvery gray of his body and the dark forest backdrop.

Riley could not imagine a life without magic, without the voices in her head and the hidden world that she could see. But now she looked down and frowned at the wand in her hand, wondering if it may be better if she'd just give up all of it. Because magic was the thing that gave Riley life. And, eight years later, it was the thing that took her mother's.

"You'll like Hogwarts, Riles," Gunnar said, noticing the shift in her expression. "You've dreamed about this."

Was it too late to give up now?

"Yes," she said instead, forcing a nod. "I have. You're right. I'm going."

They spent the rest of the evening baking her birthday cake and heating up the left over shepherd's pie they'd ordered at the Leaky Cauldron earlier. When it was time to make a wish, Riley didn't know what to ask for. A year ago she would have wished to lie down, close her eyes, and never wake up. Now she couldn't even feel the sadness that she once tried to drown herself in.

Oh, Riley, she heard Gunnar think. Even in his head, his voice was breaking.

Her eyes were closed, but she could see what papa saw as he watched her from across the table. She could see the way the corners of her mouth twitched, pulling down the smile she tried to put on herself. Snowball had come over from the living room and curled up by her feet, rubbing her fur against Riley in comfort. Papa knew she wasn't okay. Riley knew that he knew. But she would try to do better. For his sake, she would.

Make it stop, she wished. Just stop.

Riley wished there were no curses in her world. No way things could have gone wrong in so many ways in so little time. No magic.

She had stopped believing in magic at eight years old when she realized it could not bring her mother back. And when she was nine—when her best friend had died, and she nearly had, too—she had concluded magic was only in her life to bring her pain.

Because by some cruel twist of fate, Riley's magic had decided to spare only her, when all she wanted was to die with Magnus.

She opened her eyes and blew out the candles. Snowball meowed softly under the table. Gunnar didn't say anything else besides "happy birthday". She knew he wanted to be the one to break the silence if—when—she was ever ready. Even without Legilimency, Gunnar could read her thoughts as well as she could read his.

"I'm eleven," she said. "Wow. It's… it's hard to believe."

This was truthful, at least. Turning eleven had been incredible. Riley felt her father relax a little in his mind. She wanted to tell him none of this was his fault; it was hers. But the words died in her throat.

So she urged herself to keep up trying to be happy for a moment longer. This was the Riley that papa deserved, the one he had moved out of Reykjavik last November for, even if it meant giving up his hard-earned seat in the orchestra. It had been his idea, one that Riley was desperate to agree to. He said he was happy as long as Riley was happy. She didn't need to read his mind to know he was telling the truth.

Riley hated that he was willing to go so far for her. She hated herself for running away from her past, because doing it didn't make her happy. Nothing ever would.

1 September, 1999

Sun.

Muggles went about their daily business between platforms nine and ten, unaware that a doorway to another world was right in front of their eyes.

It was too early for Sun to go in, even though she felt the thrum of magic coming from the other side of the barrier pulling her closer. The Hogwarts Express wasn't due for another two and a half hours. Father had insisted on Sun leaving the house at eight in the morning, passing word through their butler. He had stayed up in his study until dawn, negotiating collaboration strategies with his new client, Agustín Velásquez, who ran the biggest magical menagerie chain in North America.

Sun wasn't stupid. She knew father just wanted her out of the house.

"I'm hungry!" Joong-Ki whined, kicking the barrier with his feet. "I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry! Let's go already!"

Sun's little brother was unexpectedly loud, even for a seven-year-old. Sun didn't need to look around to know people were staring. Young-Soo, their chauffeur, gave the muggles an apologetic glance, embarrassed that such an outburst should be seen in public. He didn't scold Joong-Ki for his tantrum. If it were Sun instead of her brother, he would have.

"We'll escort your sister to her train first," Young-Soo tried to insist, pushing Sun's single suitcase closer to the barrier.

"No!"

"That's okay." Sun stopped Young-Soo before he could step through the barrier. "The platform's right here. I got it."

Young-Soo frowned as if to decide whether Sun's father would be happy he didn't see her to the train. The moment was punctured by the sound of Joong-Ki foot stomping against the ground. Thump. Thump.

"Okay." Young-Soo caved as Sun knew he would and nudged the suitcase towards her. Sun could tell he was eager to get Joong-Ki away from the scene, maybe even bribe him with food that father would not approve of to keep him quiet. "You, umm… Have a good year."

"Thank you." She made her way to the barrier. "Goodbye."

Sun walked through the barrier without fuss, tapping her heels against the marble to hear her footsteps echo through the platform. The train sat there with the doors and windows open, waiting. A family was saying a tearful goodbye beside her: the mother was straightening the collars on her daughter's freshly pressed shirt, and the father was crouching down, whispering something to his daughter that made her laugh. Sun walked turned away before they could catch her staring.

Inside the nearest carriage, two house-elves were standing in front of a dozen suitcases already stored on the shelves, waiting to help everyone load their belongings. Sun handed them her suitcase. They tossed it and let it land neatly on top of the heap, then turned back.

"I only have one case," she told them.

Packing had never been a hassle for Sun. Most children her age complained about organizing their belongings for boarding school, about choosing what they absolutely must take with them and what twenty other toys and gadgets and books to leave behind. Sun's room contained only the essentials, all meticulously displayed in her spacious, spartan bedroom that overlooked the Brighton Pier.

She thanked the house-elves for their help before walking over to the last compartment where she could be alone with her thoughts. She sat by the window and gazed at the platform wall, wishing more families would appear so she'd at least have something to look at. After five minutes, she was forced to admit defeat. She was there too early.

Maybe she should leave the train. Muggle London was well within her reach, and she had not seen this side of the city since her mother had passed away. The dojo on Euston Road was only a ten minutes' walk. Perhaps her teacher would still be there, even though she'd left abruptly the last time they'd seen each other, when father had stormed in in the middle of a tournament and dragged her out by her blue belt.

Would Master Kim want to see her after what happened? What could she have said? Because no, she had not been practicing Tae-Kwon-Do, not unless you counted the first day she was locked inside her house, when she had thrown her fist down at her wooden desk, hard, and broken it in half in a fit of blind rage. Her desk was repaired with a simple wave of father's wand and a nonverbal incantation. The wood panels that had made up Sun's desk merged back into place as sturdy as ever, but there was a gap down the middle with jagged ridges and missing chunks all around.

Father was an impeccable spellcaster unless he chose not to be. This was her punishment, a mark of her so-called savagery.

Sun had spent the remainder of her pre-Hogwarts days having arithmetics and English and Korean and theories of magic and etiquette drilled into her brain by various tutors. The purpose was to make her "relearn the manners" she had "so clearly lost". And when she was alone, she sat in her room silently, flipping through the numerous books on her shelves without reading. She could feel the house-elves watching her per father's instruction, though it was impossible to catch them in the act.

Perhaps it was better not to visit the dojo. She didn't know how she would feel if she were to see everything she'd missed.

Three more hours to kill.

Sun shuffled through the contents of her backpack with the undetectable extension charm. Her fingers grazed across a roll of parchment. She took them out, unrolled several inches, and fumbled around in the bag some more until she found her quill and her favorite inkwell. The inkwell was capped with a niffler figurine lying on its belly, sifting through a bag of gold.

She had picked it out specially on her trip to Diagon Alley alone on her birthday and hidden it deep in her backpack where father did not search. Somehow, this indulgent little thing had caught her attention, and she'd bought it even if she could get in trouble for it. Her quill hovered over the parchment as she pondered over what she could write, and who she could write to. In the end she gave up, shook her head, and twisted the niffler cap shut. She put everything away. There was nothing she had to report to father just yet. No important person she had met that he would have approved of.

She heard chatter near the front of the train, laughter echoing down the hallway, beckoning her to come participate in the conversation. No doubt the dozen students who were here had made each other's acquaintance. But she closed the door. Father always said that company was a positive influence if well-chosen. He had not told her to make friends. Which was just as well—no one wanted to hear how she'd spent the summer perfecting all the wand movements in the first Standard Book of Spells. It was best that she got used to being alone.

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection made wonderful company, anyhow. She found the chapter on basic hexes and opened her bag, holding out her hand expectantly. Her wand flew out, and she caught it reflexively like she had done every night after her father and brother had fallen asleep. She was only supposed to study the theories and the wand movements, to perfect the pronunciation of incantation without attempting to do a full spell. Father had told her she was only to use magic at school. But he did also tell her to try and get ahead.

With a smile, she tossed a sickle into the air and pointed with her wand.

"Impedimenta."

The sickle halted on its drop down and hovered in front of her nose, moving slowly enough for her to catch it in midair. She tried out the next three spells on the chapter on speed-manipulating charms, and they worked as expected, as always. She went through the other two chapters (Shields and Basic Telltale Signs of Cursed Objects) she had taught herself before starting on a new section: Minor Hexes and Jinxes.

She had a feeling this one would be her favorite.

But she had to make space to practice. One by one, she put her inkwell and her quill and her parchment and envelopes back inside her bag and zipped it up before putting it under her seat, safely out of reach from the mildly destructive spells she was about to attempt. The rest could wait. She would write to father after she had been sorted into Slytherin, like he had hoped.

She expected he would not reply.

Capheus.

Capheus had been looking forward to this day since he'd gotten his letter on August 8th, and the crowd was as big as he'd expected.

The Kamals were saying their goodbyes beside the wall where they made their entrance into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The crowd consisted of five boys, three of whom were dressed Hogwarts uniforms, and two parents, who were taking turns lecturing the boys on things they'd forget in five minutes' time. Jela was the youngest of the boys, and he was tapping his foot, gazing at Capheus' family, then at the nearest door to the train, then the clock, then back at his parents.

Capheus' mother Shiro had her hand on his shoulder as they pushed his suitcases forward. His sister Amondi was trailing behind them, tugging on the long sleeves of her pink turtleneck as she suppressed a yawn. The train was right by her side, but she turned away, choosing instead to catch up to Capheus and his mother as they unloaded his things.

"I won't see you 'till Christmas," Amondi said when they finished unloading his things.

Three girls walked by––first years, too, by the looks of it––and one of them gave Capheus a small nod. Amondi watched the girls out of the corner of her eyes, lips pursed.

Capheus crouched down to Amondi's height and looked her in the eye. "I won't forget to write," he reassured.

"Promise?"

He looked up at his mother, who was quietly watching the scene. She nodded in Amondi's direction with an encouraging smile. He held out his hand. Amondi shook it.

"You'll tell me about the dragons?" she asked.

Capheus chuckled. Amondi had been going on and on about magical creatures at Hogwarts since her birthday in April, when her dad had mailed her a popup book full of paper-cut dragons that roared and flapped their wings at their human observers.

"If I run into one, I promise you'll be the first person I'll tell."

"I hope you don't mean that."

Capheus turned at the sound of Jela's voice. He laughed, clapping his friend behind his shoulder. "I won't have to tell you anything, Jela. You'd be right there with me."

"Lucky," Amondi complained, shooting Jela a glare.

"She's going resent you for that, you know," Shiro joked.

"Are you?" Jela asked.

Amondi gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look.

"'Course you're not," Jela concluded. He backed up slowly and ducked between two families passing by. His family was waving him over for some last-minute nagging. "You love me."

"You should go." Shiro gave Capheus a nudge. He saw Kala waving from an open window up ahead. "Find your seat. We'll wait here."

Capheus looked at the overhead clock that hung from the arched roof. It was almost eleven. His mom had a shift at Brimstone Boulevard in fifteen minutes. He climbed into the train and quickly found the compartment that Kala had saved and dropped off his bag. Daya was inside with her sister, touching every surface with a look of envy.

There was enough time for a final goodbye. The station was filling up now, and soon it would be impossible to go anywhere without being swept in a certain direction by the crowd. He mumbled "excuse me" to three boys chatting near the door and squeezed past, pushing his way to where Shiro and Amondi waited near the door.

"I'll miss you two," Capheus said, throwing his arm around them both.

Amondi was scratching her neck through the fabric of her clothes, a bead of sweat running down the side of her face. He patted her head and gave her a sympathetic look. Turtlenecks weren't meant to be worn in September, much less in a crowd at a train station. But the high collars and long sleeves were a necessary evil to hide the scars across her arms and neck from prying eyes.

"I'll miss you, my zebra," Shiro said. "Write to me after the sorting?"

"I'll tell you all about the boat ride," he promised.

Shiro broke out of the hug and pulled Amondi closer as another mother pushed past her to catch up with her son, waving a hat that he'd dropped. "Sounds like it'll be quite the experience," Shiro said. "Nothing like being flown to the mountains."

"I'm sorry I'll miss that," Capheus said, his voice lowered.

When Capheus and his mom still lived in Kenya, he used to dream of finding a Dream Messenger when he woke up on his eleventh birthday, certifying that he was a wizard bound for the Uagadou School of Magic. Now the sound of the school's name left a sharp twinge in his heart. He should have been able to go. He should.

"Hogwarts is a very good opportunity. Cherish it," Shiro whispered in his ear. She reached for his hand and gave it a tight squeeze. A message. We must look forward.

"I know, mama," he conceded. In a lower voice, he added, "The ninth is almost here. Be careful. Write if you need anything."

"We'll be okay," Amondi told him, puffing up her chest as she looked up at him. "I'll take care of us both."

It was difficult to picture, but the idea of it made Capheus smile anyway. "I know I can count on you," he said. Amondi beamed. "Take care of yourself, too. I'll talk to you soon."

Capheus found his way back to his compartment again just as Kala was leaving to say a final goodbye to her family. He stared out the window and watched as Kala was pulled into a group hug by her parents and a now-crying Daya ("I wanna come, too!"). Jela was nowhere to be seen––probably raiding his brothers' compartments, demanding that they share some of their sweets and chocolate frog cards. Capheus leaned his head against the back of the comfortable seat, watching his mother's retreating figure as she, Amondi, and Jela's parents walked through the barrier.

His gaze shifted to the adjacent wall next to the barrier, and he frowned. There was a poster there that he hadn't noticed before. It was pinned on the bulletin board along with photos of students who had died from the Battle of Hogwarts, and a news article about the school's reopening this September.

Have you seen this wizard?, Capheus read, sticking his head out the open window to make out the words. Fenrir Greyback. Werewolf. Ally of Death Eaters. Do not approach! Notify the Ministry of Magic immediately by owl. Any information leading to the arrest of this man shall be duly rewarded.

The moving photograph of Fenrir Greyback snarled as it noticed Capheus watching. Even from this distance, Capheus felt a chill run through his body. This man was notoriously savage and known to attack children, and the first thing on his wanted poster wasn't the fact that he had joined Voldemort's operations willingly. It wasn't the fact that he had chosen to aid a rank of wizards and witches willing to commit genocide in the name of blood superiority. It was his status as a werewolf.

Capheus had been here in Britain when Aurors were making arrests left and right, trying to capture every last person rumored to have been in Voldemort's ranks. He had been here when he'd heard the news that Fenrir Greyback had continued to evade capture. Families had kept close eyes on their remaining children in case he decided to prey on them. Many concerned parents had used their children's safety as a way to demand that the Ministry update the protocols on the werewolf registry so that other "dangerous rabids" would be kept under close watch.

"Nothing's going to happen to your family, Capheus," Kala promised, joining him at the window. He hadn't heard her come back in. She waved at her family one last time before they crossed the barrier along with a few other parents. "My parents will make sure of it."

"I know." He turned to Kala, crossing his arms. "I just..."

He stopped there, wondering what he could possibly say. Kala nodded before he could add anything else. She knew what the stakes were for his mother and Amondi. She understood that the registry wouldn't make things better for most of Britain, contrary to popular belief; it would only make things worse for the werewolves who weren't criminals.

Imagine if Greyback got his hands on that list of people, people he could lure into his pack.

"The narrative is biased." Kala tossed her backpack on the seat next to her, sharing his anger in sympathy. "Remus Lupin was a wonderful professor, and a war hero, and a werewolf. They chose to avoid the werewolf part of his story in his obituary."

"All the werewolves people know are the dangerous ones," Capheus agreed.

September 9th would be the first full moon where Capheus wouldn't be there to help, and he was scared for his mother and Amondi. What if something were to happen when he wasn't there? What if someone heard them transform, heard them thrashing and biting and growling in the middle of the night, and the soundproofing charms around their apartment had worn off? What if they were taken away, leaving Capheus with no family?

His mother was the kindest woman he knew. Amondi was a seven-year-old with a dragon obsession, far from dangerous. But none of this would matter to the people who didn't know them as people before they knew them as werewolves.

If anyone had caught them, they would be treated like beasts, just like Greyback.

Things weren't supposed to be like this, Capheus thought repeatedly in his mind. The voice of his mother, the one that was telling him to look on the bright side, was fading as he scowled at Greyback's face. He wished there was some way to turn back the clock.

A/N:

Big shoutout to:
- My lovely beta greenmountaingirl who gave me great advice on how to make this story as fabulous as possible and made the cover for it on FF (plus a moodboard version for my tumblr posts) AND helped me with the summary.
- My sensitivity reader Tximista who has very kindly agreed to look over all my Nomi POV sections and any parts of the narrative involving her identity and coming-out.
- My tumblr sis jooooooo_e who wrote the article on Hogwarts reopening and gave me permission to use it in this story.

YOU ALL ARE LOVELY HUMAN BEINGS! *HEARTS*

Plus, they all post wonderful stories on AO3 (unfortunately not on FF), so CHECK THEM OUT PLEASE AND THANK YOU :D