Hogwarts AU
Everything has been just as Fiona described it. Platform 9 ¾ . The Hogwarts Express.
I first see him at the station. I'd never seen him before—not at school, not at the club, not at any of the Old Family gatherings. Muggle born I'd assume. He's the only student at the station who's by himself.
Bronze curls, a ridiculous assortment of moles and freckles all over his face and a completely befuddled look on his face before Bunce comes over and chivvies him along.
Definitely Muggle born. Maybe that's why his parents aren't with him. Some Muggles have significant issues accepting magic is real.
I end up in a compartment with Dev and Niall, of course. We've been friends for years. I don't have that much of a choice with Dev, seeing as he's my cousin, but he's a good sort.
I saw Wellbelove with her parents at the station. I know her from the club. She plays tennis. She's quite good, actually.
She doesn't sit with us on the train. Gets into the compartment next to us with Bunce. I didn't know they were friends. I'm actually relieved Wellbelove sits with her. She's nice enough but I can't imagine trying to make conversation with her for the entire trip.
She stares at me too much. It's awkward.
It was just the three of us—me, Dev, and Niall-which is just fine with me. I was hoping it would stay that way but then the compartment door opens.
It's him. The boy from the station. Opens the door, stares at us but doesn't say anything.
We don't invite him in. Just stare right back at him.
He's a mess. Disheveled hair, chavvy track bottoms. His face has more freckles than I thought.
And he's thin. Too thin. His blue eyes look far too large for his face.
The silent staring ends when Bunce, all frizzy blue hair and officious attitude, grabbs his sleeve. "Come on, Simon. You can sit with us." She glares in our direction then tugs him away before slamming the compartment door shut.
"Who was that?" Dev asks.
"Bunce," I say with a laugh.
"Shut up, Baz. I meant the bloke."
"Muggle born," Niall says.
"That's obvious," I reply.
"Yeah, but he's the one Professor Mage found."
I look at Niall dubiously. "He's the one? The one Mage found in a care home? That most powerful wizard rubbish that's been in the Daily Prophet all summer? Father says it's bollocks."
"It's not," Niall insists. "Professor Mage found him because of all the phenomena that kept occurring at his care homes. Beds levitating. Doors slamming. Windows blowing out. All sorts of things. I can't do that." He narrows his eyes at me. "None of us can yet."
I can but we don't talk about that. You're not supposed to use magic unless you're at school. Hogwarts rules.
But Fiona's definitely an iconoclast and find rules offensive. She's taught me a few things over the years. But I think the scrutiny will be more acute, now that I'm actually enrolled at Hogwarts. I expect I'll get bombarded with censorious owls next summer if I try any of them.
Maybe Mordelia will have settled down by then and won't be howling all night anymore. That soundproofing spell Fiona taught me worked wonders.
I don't think about the Muggle boy—Simon—for the rest of the train ride. There's too much else to think about.
Like the Sorting Hat.
I'm not letting on at all but the Sorting Hat worries me.
Pitches are overwhelmingly sorted into Ravenclaw. It's the house that fits us best. Occasionally there's a rogue Pitch who ends up being Sorted in another house but that's rare.
I think Fiona ended up in Slytherin just out of spite. She hates to conform to expectations.
My mother was a Ravenclaw. Prefect. Head Girl. She went on to become a professor at Hogwarts. Defense Against the Dark Arts. She was set to be the next Headmistress. Youngest one in the history of the school and just one in a long line of Pitch Headmasters.
But it didn't happen.
I don't know why the Dementors came for her. I don't know why her Patronus didn't work. I just know that the Dementor's Kiss was too much for her. Most people end up in a vegetative state if they survive it.
Mother didn't. The Dementors sucked the life out of my mother.
And all the joy out of mine.
Dementors were never supposed to be able to enter the grounds at Hogwarts. That was the rule. But that changed during Headmaster Dumbledore's time. The Ministry allowed it and they've never managed to perfect a spell to keep them permanently out since. It hasn't happened often. Just one or two rogue ones here and there through the years since then.
Except that night with Mother. I don't know how so many of them got in. No one does. It's a mystery. My mother could have handled one or two Dementors easily. She was an expert in defending against dark creatures. It would have been child's play for her.
By all reports there were over a dozen that night.
No one can survive that many.
I was just a toddler when it happened. Father and I weren't even here that weekend. We'd gone to visit my uncle while Mother finished up her last-minute preparations for the new fall term.
I don't know what would have happened if we had been here. Father's powerful. Not as powerful as Mother was but he's a formidable wizard in his own right. I don't think that would have made a difference, though, not with that many Dementors.
There was an inquiry. No definitive conclusions. Professor Mage was made interim Headmaster and he's been in charge ever since.
Father thought about not letting me come. Thought about sending me to Durmstrang instead. Set Fiona off when he told her.
But I wouldn't do it. I know Mother died here. She died defending herself and this school. She wouldn't want me to go to Durmstrang. I belong here. At Hogwarts.
I'm worried though. I started getting anxious on the boat ride. I'm not an iconoclast like Fiona. I don't want to be a Slytherin.
I want to be a Ravenclaw. Like Mother. Like Father.
But the Grimm side of the family is what's agitating me now, as we make our way to the Castle. Most Grimms are like my father. Powerful, dependable, brilliant. Ravenclaws.
There have been a very few rogue Gryffindors among the Grimms.
And a few Hufflepuffs.
That's what's worrying me. What if I don't get sorted into Ravenclaw?
I'm fretting about this as we climb the stairs to the Great Hall. I'm trying to keep my expression bland but my heart is racing and all I can think is what a disappointment I'll be to the family if the Hat puts me anywhere but Ravenclaw.
Professor Mage is waiting for us at the top of the stairs. He gives a brief welcome speech but I'm not really listening. I'm still thinking about the Hat.
He's finished and we're all fidgeting, waiting for the doors to open, when I catch sight of Simon.
He looks even worse than he did on the train. He's pale and he keeps running his hands through his hair. It's bad enough that Professor Mage notices.
"Alright, Simon?" He claps Simon on the back heartily.
"Yes, uh, yes, sir." Simon looks even more agitated at the attention.
Professor Mage just gives a very forced sounding laugh and claps him on the shoulder again, nearly making Simon stumble. "I'll be looking for you at the Gryffindor table after the sorting, Simon. Just the place for you." He swirls his robes as he walks away and I catch sight of a sword at his waist.
Who would wear a sword to a Sorting Hat ceremony? And not just any sword. I've read about that sword. It's in Hogwarts: A History.
It's Godric Gryffindor's sword.
I'm trying to puzzle that out as well as tamp down my instantaneous dislike for Professor Mage when the doors open and we are ushered into the Great Hall.
It's just like Father and Fiona said.
No, it's better.
Professor Mage stands at the front of the room, on the dais, next to a stool with a very old-looking, dilapidated hat on it. The Sorting Hat.
He gives another long-winded speech and I'm trying to listen this time. All my anxiety about this moment comes to the fore though. I can feel my palms sweating.
Ravenclaw. Ravenclaw. Ravenclaw. I keep repeating it to myself like a mantra. Maybe if that's all that's in my head the Hat will surely sort me there.
Professor Mage is still talking. He's going on and on about Gryffindor House. I thought the Headmaster was supposed to be impartial, not show favoritism for one House over another.
My father can't stand Professor Mage. Father says he never liked him, even before Professor Mage and Mother had their differences of opinion about curriculum and admission criteria.
He didn't like him any better once he was made Headmaster.
"He's very rigid in his beliefs, Davy is," Father had said.
"He's a self-righteous prig," Fiona had added.
Father hadn't disagreed with her.
I can see why now. I don't like him either. I can't really put my finger on it but he makes me uncomfortable.
I don't like the way he treats Simon either.
I may not know Simon at all but who lets an eleven-year-old find their own way to Kings Cross? He looks half-starved. If he found Simon and took him out of a care home shouldn't he have been the one to bring him to Hogwarts? Or at least put someone reliable in charge of him?
And I don't mean someone like Bunce. She's a child herself, just like the rest of us.
It feels wrong.
There's a lot riding on the Sorting Hat ceremony. Drawing attention to a student and reinforcing what House you think they should be sorted into doesn't seem fair or kind. Especially not for a Muggle born. Simon's likely got no idea what to think and now there's an expectation.
It appears Bunce likes it as little as I do. She's sidled up to Simon and has a grip on his arm. She's whispering something to him. I'm too far away to hear but I can see the glare she sends at the Headmaster.
I don't have the luxury to keep watching Bunce and Simon. The Headmaster has finally finished talking and we form a line to get Sorted.
I'm near the back. Right in front of Simon.
One by one we inch our way forward. Simon's eyes are wide and darting all around the room. I think he's nervous too. His hands are clenched at his sides and his jaw juts forward. There's a bead of sweat on his forehead.
He really is covered in moles.
Watching him is distracting me from how I'm feeling. Feeling bad for him is taking my mind of the Hat. I don't even hear what House Bunce gets sorted into but I'm sure it's Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. It's what would make sense.
Simon's shifting from foot to foot. His face is flushed. He doesn't just look anxious. He looks spooked. I don't quite realize what I'm doing but before I know it I've got a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey." I have to repeat myself to get his attention. "Hey."
His eyes latch onto me. Big and blue. And panicked.
I pat his shoulder gingerly. "It'll be all right. Doesn't matter what House you get Sorted into. You'll make friends no matter what." It's all drivel. I don't even know what I'm saying. I just don't want him to have that forsaken, terrified look in his eyes. I don't think even I believe what I just said.
But maybe he does. He blinks at me for a moment and his hunched shoulders drop a bit. I hear his whispered "Thanks."
I look up ahead. There's only a few left before it's my turn.
I turn back to whisper to him. "I'm Baz. I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself on the train."
"'S alright. I must have looked like a right git opening the door and staring at you. It's just all so . . . so odd, yeah?"
Not really odd to me but I just say "yeah" back to him. He gives me a wobbly smile and then I hear the name "Patel" called and I know I'm next.
Whatever-his-name Patel gets sorted to Slytherin and then it's my turn.
Professor Mage narrows his eyes at me. "Mr. Pitch." It's not a friendly look and I'm not sure what I've done to make him dislike me so immediately. Maybe it's just that the feeling's mutual.
I'm sitting on the stool and the Hat drops on my head. It covers my eyes and I hear its voice as soon as it lands on my head.
"And what do we have here? A Pitch, it seems, to start the new year. History follows you, as is your due. But it's clear as day that you will forge your own wa,. Hmm. You may repeat Ravenclaw as much as you choose, it's a good House-win or lose. But Ravenclaw isn't your only calling, now stop your face from falling. I sense loyalty, courage, intelligence, and wit, all of them found in you—you can count on it. Give me a minute to rest as I try to figure out which one suits you best." The Hat goes silent and I keep repeating Ravenclaw in my head, hoping it makes a difference. The Hat said I could.
My heart is racing and I'm rubbing my hands on my trousers. The minutes pass so slowly.
The Hat said it's not my only calling. Not my only calling. What does that mean? What other House is it thinking of putting me in? I'm too scared to think of any of the others. Too scared to let any other name cross my mind. My stomach clenches.
The Hat hums and then speaks again. "The choice was not easy, but I must decide now before you get queasy. Trust my judgement on this you are more than enough and that is why you are Sorted to HUFFLEPUFF!"
Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff? The Hat gets pulled off my head and cheers erupt around me but all I hear is a roaring in my ears.
The Hat put me in Hufflepuff.
I'm such a disappointment to the Pitch name.
I know Hufflepuffs are kind and loyal and caring but I'm supposed to be in Ravenclaw. I'm supposed to be like Mother.
That's what everyone's always said. That I'm so much like Mother.
Professor Mage has to almost shove me off the stool. I'm in stunned shock. I totter over to the Hufflepuff table and am greeted with back slaps and grins. I'm speechless.
I need to focus on something, anything, to get my bearings. I look up at the treacherous Hat again and Simon's on the stool, the Hat shoved onto his head.
His hands are clenching and unclenching on his knees and I can see a muscle in his jaw twitch. It's painful to watch. Did I look like that?
My eyes dart to the Headmaster and I'm riveted. He's staring at Simon and he's mouthing the word Gryffindor over and over, almost like he's casting a spell.
I don't like it.
It shouldn't mean that much to him, what House a student is sorted into, shouldn't mean that much at all. His job is to care for all the students, treat them all fairly. Not play favorites.
The Hat is taking a long time. The minutes tick by and the silence in the Hall grows. Professor Mage's eyes are narrow and his face looks pinched. He's clenching his hands, just like Simon.
And then suddenly the Hat roars out "HUFFLEPUFF!"
There's a collective exhalation, as if we were all holding our breath. Maybe we were.
Professor Mage looks livid. He's crushing the Sorting Hat in his hands and I can hear it squeaking. Simon looks even more terrified than before. He's running his hands through his hair and I can read his lips from here.
He's saying "I'm sorry" over and over.
There are more students left, at least four or five, but the Headmaster hasn't pushed Simon off the stool. He's just staring at him, face contorted with suppressed rage.
I don't why I do it. I don't know what makes me take those few steps, back up onto the dais.
I put my hand on Simon's shoulder. "Hey," I say.
He darts a glance at me. His eyes are bloodshot. I think he's going to cry.
No one should have to cry about their Sorting.
Not even me.
The Hat's been doing this for ages. It knows more than we do. At least I think it does. It has its reasons for doing what it does, that's what the books say.
I'm not happy about Hufflepuff. But I'm going to make the best of it. I have to. What's done is done.
I tug on Simon's sleeve. "Come on, then. You're with me. This way, Simon. Hufflepuff House."
"I'm supposed to be in Gryffindor," he whispers, as I pull him off the stool and towards the cheering table. It's more subdued than it was for me. The Headmaster's displeasure is palpable.
"Rubbish. You're supposed to be where the Hat sends you. And it sent you with me. To Hufflepuff. I guess this means we're meant to be friends." I put my hand out and after a minute he reaches for it and we shake on it.
And then he smiles.
Title from The Beatles song Get By With A Little Help from My Friends