Author's notes: Frisk for this fic is Male, and do note that some scenes will be more like the film version. With that said, please enjoy the fic!
There was a child standing alone inside King's Cross Station. On it's own, there wasn't anything odd about it. Afterall, it was 1 September, back to school time and all, thus children and adults alike were navigating to their respective train platforms. This child, however, held a ticket with a platform clearly marked nine and three quarters. Nine and three quarters. A number that, on a train ticket, raised an eyebrow and confusion. Indeed, when he looked, first to the left, then to the right, the platforms were marked nine and ten respectively. To further compile on that, none of his fellow passengers-to-be seem to have the time, or concern to help a lonely child. It was an uncomfortable, familiar feeling over again though this time, not one of his own making.
Frisk sighed, wishing, not for the first time, that he wasn't going to Hogwarts, or indeed, Boarding School so soon. It wasn't because he had not been looking forward to learning magic, He did. It might not be the same magic he was used to now, but magic is still magic, whatever form it may take, dark sides and all. It was just that, after crossing half the world (from the Lion City to the United Kingdom), enduring the troubles of adjusting to new time zones and other related details, in hopes of a better childhood and after a special journey, he finally broke free from the shell crafted by his upbringing and had found friends in his life. Genuine friends who cared for him instead of whispering about him being odd. (Coordination developmental issues that made him clumsier than the average joe notwithstanding, or his status as a foreigner,) plus the bonus of finding a foster family away from home he could really consider himself part of. It wasn't a normal family, sure, with parents who are divorced, but that was healing, slowly. All that, combined with the strange new world of true independence, especially in terms of education, made for a reluctant Frisk. Plus, he only had six weeks adjusting to this new fact of life.
Just to make it worse, they couldn't be there. Maybe that made the departure easier to do. Papyrus had driven, in his new, red convertible; He had repeatedly apologised for having the car top up. But, since it is London and it is raining at that moment, nobody minded too much. Mum sat with him at the back and Sans was at the front seat with his brother. The walk into the station had to be done alone, all the goodbyes to be had done in the car. To the child going to boarding school for the first time, especially one who gained a proper, loving foster family recently, that wasn't fair. Not to him, not to them.
They should have been able to be there. That was how it should be, before they've even heard of the Ministry of Magic and how they weren't to traumatised "Muggles". (He hated that term. How could they keep magic, something that has the potential to help millions of people, away from folks who might need it? Especially when said options are ultimately a means to an end, tools being tools?)
Dad didn't like it. In his opinion, the difference between locked away and hiding wasn't that great. But he wasn't going to antagonize the humans on the surface. Not on the first week of being on the surface again and without the proper context anyway. They had wizard escorts for their many trips around London, which was how Papyrus got his driver's license and his car.
But, that was partially why he was even there. He wasn't an ambassador. He was too young and much too shy around crowds for that. Papyrus made for a better ambassador than he could be at the moment. However, he did have an invitation to attend Hogwarts, to join the "British wizarding world" and that, would perhaps help the monsters of the Mount Ebott Underground join the rest of human society in the long run. Frisk could not help giving a wry smile. He didn't want to be an ambassador, yet ambassadorship was fostered on him, to be proof that being around monsters wasn't going to alter them much, physically or mentally beyond acceptable human standards.
Though, that invitation would mean nothing if he could not get on the right platform. Frisk was brought out of this chain of thought by a bump from behind and a "sorry!". When he turned around, he noted that it was a ginger haired girl with black eyes who made the apology. With a quick raise of the hand and a smile in acceptance of the apology, Frisk was about to turn around and resume his search for the elusive nine and three quarters platform when his eyes took in the similarly packed trolley luggage. With a decision to bet on successfully finding that platform, Frisk raised the hand holding the Hogwarts bound ticket, eyes showing his confusion.
"Platform nine and three quarters? Sure, this way!" said the girl, eyes twinkling. She led Frisk purposefully through the crowd and towards a wall serving as a divide between platforms nine and ten. After a check to make sure Frisk was still with her and a check to make sure the crowds were minding their own businesses, the girl moved at a brisk pace towards the wall and… disappeared into it.
Had it not been Frisk's first venture into a facet of the magical world, he would have thought he had gone mad. After a quick run through that everything was alright, making sure that he hadn't blinked at that crucial moment and that he was still breathing and every other "reality check" possible, Frisk did the roadside drill, and moved briskly into the wall.
He was rewarded with a brief sense of being out of sync with reality, like when he accompanied Sans on one of his "shortcuts", and emerged onto a traditional steam train platform marked nine and three quarters with nothing more a stumble from the experience. It was only through trainings from Undyne that prevented Frisk from falling over like a dumbass. Though it hardly mattered, since the only one who witnessed this was the girl who had shown her the entrance.
"Ginny!" a voice called out from further down the platform. "Where have you gotten to?" The girl gave a smile, then ran off to join the people who must be her family. Frisk tried to follow her, the girl being the one friendly face, the one person who actually talked to him since leaving his British family and friends, but the girl was swallowed by the sea of people.
Since he had no one to join, and no one to say goodbye to, Frisk was one of the first to board the Hogwarts Express. Having selected a seat and stored his luggage, Frisk sat down and leaned against the window, staring through the window, at the children saying hello to friends and goodbye to family. It only made him feel alone, much like the time he left his home country two years ago.
It was only inevitable that the students aboard the Hogwarts Express be discussing not one, but two prison breaks and doing so loudly. There had been an older boy with pale skin, blond hair and a sneering face, who emerged from his train cabin, saying loudly that his father had assured him that the recent escapees of the Mt Ebott barrier would soon be rounded up and returned to their prison shortly. "They were put down there for a reason, after all!"
He paused on the way to the dining car in order to sneer at the student sitting in front of him. He had put on his robes early, perhaps as an attempt to blend in with the rest. But, with his robes' lack of any house emblem, (though it did have a curious marking of three triangles, a circle and a pair of wings), there was no mistaking him as a first year. Plus, the wand gripped in his hands was no well polished Ollivander creation. It looked more like a simple branch than any symbol of true power. With a last smirk at the boy's cringe, he left to collect more sweets.
The Express chugged on, with Frisk staring outside, showing next to no emotion. On any other circumstance, he would be interested in viewing the surroundings, it being the first time he had gotten near the Scotland countryside after all. Around him, conversations raged. When they weren't discussing the destruction of the barrier which symbolised the release of the Mt Ebott monsters, they were discussing the escape of Sirius Black, apparently a mass murderer, or Quidditch, a sport that Frisk had no knowledge about. As such, there was no hope of joining any of those conversations.
"Would you like something to eat, dear?" asked the woman pushing the lunch trolley. What Frisk really wanted was for a slice of butterscotch and cinnamon pie, or something chilli crab related. But those weren't available. "Those do seem like an interesting mix of flavours.", she told Frisk. "Maybe on the way back." Frisk eventually settled for a roast beef sandwich and pumpkin juice, even though he wasn't sure how one juiced a pumpkin.
"That'll be seven sickles", she told him. Frisk struggled with that. In the underground, it was the sensible 10 silver coins to the one gold coin. The seventeen sickles to the galleon conversion was odd and confusing, but eventually Frisk was convinced he got the right amount. With a soft thank you, he turned back to the English countryside scrolling by.
Frisk became aware of his surroundings again when the train slowed down and the lights turned on. His curiosity awakened due to the conversations of the surrounding students being lowered down to a nervous muttering, telling him that this isn't a regular occurrence. The creature - he wouldn't call it a Monster - that flew in had no face. All it seemed to be, he thought, was a cloaked being with the hood up, that was one skull face away from being the grim reaper, or at least his agents, what with the smell of death that it held around it.
It flew closer, it's hood sweeping back and forth searching for something it couldn't see... or at least sense. When it didn't find what it was looking for, the cloaked creature seemed to focus on Him. He could almost feel his soul, pastel red and determined, that it is according to the Ebott Monsters, gird itself for battle. But if there is a silver soul, or a soul of any colour in the creature, he couldn't sense it. Any trace of a soul was lost in the deep black of its cloak.
As it approached, Frisk could feel a wave of memory flood over him. That of a boy left behind nearly two months ago. He could still feel the boy's shirt on his hands, the pain in his eyes, the cracking in his voice. It was the memory he saw most prominently in his latest set of nightmares. The tears flowed readily down his eyes, just as the boy cried in his memories. Frisk just couldn't resist closing his eyes at that point, even with the potential threat that the creature in front of him might be, to lose himself to that pain. The pain of leaving that someone behind, condemned to a life without love or hope or anything positive to live for.
In response, the branch, or rather, the wand it turned out to be from the outsider's perspective, glowed with the light of a wild fire. The cloaked creature paused in response to this, confused by this reaction by a child who, under normal circumstances, should have been incapacitated. A few seconds later, that light gathered into a ball of fire that struck the creature in the cloak, with a small explosion upon that impact. The creature, in shock and pain of it's own was launched out of the train car and impacted, hypothetical bum first and soon beat a hasty retreat. Nobody saw this. They were all lost in the sorrow left in the wake of the cloaked figure's appearance.
Malfoy was only partially right. That wand wasn't a professionally looking, highly polished wand found "off the rack" from Mr Ollivander's. Instead, for the first time in a generation, Mr Ollivander had created a custom wand. The knobby stick, a relic from Frisk's previous adventure, had been upgraded courtesy of being infused with a core he had never used before. Even though he didn't know it, when used for a sympathetic purpose, that wand might as well be one of the most powerful ones he had ever created.
Afterall, it wasn't every other student that had a wand powered by their magic guardian's fur.
When the train arrived at the Hogwarts connected station, Frisk took his luggage and lugged out of the train. He was about to head towards the carriages pulled by the creatures that didn't look completely like horses when he heard the call:
"First years! First years follow me! Your luggage will be taken care of."
The voice came from a man. A bearded, beady eyed, giant of a man who was somehow Taller than dad. And he was leading the first years onto boats that slightly remind him of the Riverman's boat, if only because of the lamp at the front. As the boats floated on, the sky cleared, revealing a sky full of stars. With Hogwarts coming into view, Frisk was reminded of the time in the crystal cavern, starring with Monster Kid (under a shared umbrella) at what they both agreed was the best view in the Underground. And, Hogwarts was even bigger than Dad's Castle.
There was a splash behind him. Someone had fallen into the lake. The giant of a man didn't seem alarmed though. Not long after, he could see why: The child was placed back into the boat by a giant tentacle. "Was this where Onion-san went to?" Frisk wondered. He hoped not. That was, to him, the most surreal conversation he had thus far. Frisk wrapped the robes he had closer together. Even with his acquired tolerance to the European cold, the Scotland weather along with the coolness from the lake made for a chilly combination.
When the boat ride ended, they disembarked and headed to the large main doors of the castle. There, the giant man was met by a positively pint-sized gentleman scantily taller than Frisk himself. "Hargrid." The shorter man greeted. "Professor Flitwick," he returned in surprise, "Where's Minerva?"
"Seeing to some ill students", the smaller man replied. "There has been an incident already. I'll be handling the sorting. They're waiting for us."
With that, Flitwick opened the large door. Said door led into a great hallway, with four long tables, two on each side and filled with what totalled a few hundred students. On the far side of that hall was a dais where the professors sat. In front of that dais was a stool with what looked to be a positively ancient stereotypical witch's hat with stitches that, together, formed a face on the hat. There were even ghosts inside. Far more human ghosts than Blooky or what he'd imagined Mettaton's original form to be. Torches also hung, untethered to anything he could see, and the ceiling also mirrored the sky outside though that, after what he had experienced before, was less out of the oridinary compared with the other details in that room. Together, the elements in that hall and the cacophony of sounds was overwhelming for Frisk. He wanted to back out of it. All those students staring at him and his fellow, similarly scared school friends/mates-to-be. It was the second most scariest room in the Hogwarts area to him. The scariest had been a shorter room before the hall with exactly one skeleton in it.
Frisk regained his composure just in time to hear and see the hat sing a song about the four houses of Hogwarts. A song he didn't hear much to remember about."Now, when Professor Flitwick calls out your name, please come up and we'll sort you to your proper house," Professor Hagrid told them as Flitwick took his place on a large stool. "Applegate, Kristina…"
One by one, the students' names were called. They walked slowly to the front of the hall, had the ancient hat placed on their head, which would eventually call out the house that student was sorted to. Then the student would walk off to the table were the members of said house sat.
All too soon, Professor Flitwick called out "Dreemurr, Frisk".
It was the moment he had been dreading. Already, he could hear people whispering, wondering what kind of surname "Dreemurr" was. Though, out of the storm of discussions, Frisk could swear he saw a young lady who looked as though she recognised it. Frisk walked slowly towards the area in-front of the dais and looked up at the professor. Flitwick's expression was kindly in the way only teachers could be. He knew the incoming students were nervous, as Frisk is at that moment. It had been far easier confronting his would-be father the first time, than to face up this public spectacle.
He looked in the direction of the dais. Most of the professors did not showed any interest in the sorting, busy talking away amongst themselves. In the center of that gathering was the Headmaster, giving him a decidedly interested expression. He noticed his gaze and returned it, smiling benignly.
Professor Flitwick gave a small cough, returning him back to the moment. The professor indicated the empty stool with his free hand, and Frisk sat on it. Then he lowered the sorting hat onto the student's head.
"Hmph," said a voice in his head. Frisk sat still, curious as to what the hat would say. "The first instinct is to say Gryffindor, as you've done many brave things in your past. But, you don't think yourself as brave." Frisk flashed back to foster mom and dad, none of whom knew the truth about a certain golden flower…
"You like puzzles. You even enjoy them." Papyrus' smiling face flashed to the front of his mind at this… "But you don't crave knowledge for knowledge's sake so Ravenclaw would not suit you.
There's this part of you that desires power. But why? Ah.. to help others," the sorting hat said after a pause. "A specific other, to be sure. But others."
After the train ride, Frisk had wanted to push the image of that boy away from anywhere near the from of his mind, but that image still came up front. "But you don't desire it. So Slytherin? It's not the house for you."
"In fact, you mostly value compassion. You believe, that the worst person in the world, could change. That anyone could be a good person if they would just try. Admirable. But, you'll find that train of thought tested here. I think Helga and Godric would both find you a valuable addition to their houses. It would require an extraordinary amount of bravery, and humility, to offer compassion to… More than an opponent. An enemy. Would you fight though, if you needed to?"
There was silence after that. More images came to mind. The battles against Asgore and that… thing. Memories of events that technically did not happen. Though, if the hat caught that chain of thought, it didn't say anything.
"You would, won't you?"
The child was made aware that this was probably the longest sorting of any student so far.
"I've decided, and I believe you have, too, that the best option for you, is to be in house…"
Author's note: Consider this to be my take thus far on a post-Pacifist run crossover with the Harry Potter universe, set at the time of Prisoner of Azkaban. Currently, to set this one apart from the one TheZorker did, I'm typing this one from the perspective of a Frisk with Dyspraxia, along with certain quirks from my own experiences. If anyone wishes to contribute their perspectives living as/with a person with a special need/disability, please feel free to PM me alongside anything else you may wish to say.
Also, I would like to say that I'll be quite busy from here on out as I'll be helping to prepare some media related stuff for my country's National Day. I'll do my best to update whenever I can, but the update dates would be quite erratic for the time being. Thank you for your understanding and have a great (rest of the) day. Peace out.
