Sam
Later that day
Packing is literally the worst thing in the world. Like, I have to decide what I want to take home for a week, and I just have too much stuff. My suitcase probably fits enough clothes for the time till the rest of my belongings will be sent home, but other than that, what about my books? My CDs? My movie and tv show DVD collection?
It would be pretty cool if I had a magic bag that didn't end. Like Mary Poppins. Or the Doctor's TARDIS. That way I wouldn't have to decide what I want to take, I could just put the whole damn closet in the bag. And I could hide in it when Ella calls me to yell at me. But, I'm actually not a time traveler or something equally as cool, so I'll have to make due with my boring suitcase that has a finite amount of space.
Jason had helped me pack some of my stuff, but then he had to run off to basketball practice. Or maybe it was football. Honestly, with the amount of sports he does, I wouldn't be fazed if he was at tennis practice. So now, I'm stuck by myself – I mean, I am great company, but a girl does get sick of hearing herself talk after a while – trying to pack, which, as you can imagine, isn't actually going anywhere.
It' s actually a relief when the dorm phone starts ringing loudly, at least now I'll have an excuse for not packing, other than just 'I lost track of time'. Hopping off the bed, where I had been laying so uselessly, I head over to the night table where the phone had been charging, and answer the call.
"Dorm 34 speaking," I say the mandatory greeting, keeping my voice cool and bored.
A clearing of a throat that I've heard many times. The rustle of papers being moved. Then, "Sam, you have a visitor." Nothing else from the headmistress. Just one statement, then I'm left alone with the dial tone beeping annoyingly. Talk about dramatics.
Ella said that I have a visitor. There aren't many people it could be, considering I don't have many friends, and even if I did, who would come out here in the middle of the school year, on a Thursday evening, to visit me, of all people?
A single, fleeting thought crosses my mind. Maybe it's Dad. I dismiss the thought as quickly as it came, because I know by now being optimistic only sets you up to be disappointed.
If you don't care about anything, you're never disappointed. My mantra. Don' they attached. Don't get your hopes up. Don't give people a second chance. I've been telling myself that for a year. So why is it, that even as I stalk upstairs to the office, I can still hear a nagging voice in the back of my mind hoping that my visitor is my father?
I keep my hands in my pockets as an attempt to look aloof, trying to convince myself that I don't hope the visitor is my father, because, let's be honest. It probably isn't, and if I get my hopes up, I'm gonna be cranky for the rest of the day, which isn't fun for anyone. Maybe I got mail. Maybe it's the Doctor coming to take me away in his TARDIS. Maybe it's the Doctor delivering me mail that was sent mistakenly to his TARDIS. All of these options seem pretty cool.
But, as I throw open the door, flicking my red hair out of my face, it's not my father, or a mail carrier, or – unfortunately – the Doctor. No, sitting in the chair in front of the headmistress' desk is a woman who I've never laid eyes on before, but she looks a lot like Emma Watson.
I tilt my head to the side. "Who are you?" Ella's eyes bulge, and she opens her mouth to remind me of my manners, but the woman holds up a hand and Ella goes silent.
She purses her lips and says, "that's a little difficult to explain. Why don't you and I take a walk, Samantha?"
I only know three things about this woman who is my 'visitor':
1-She's from England
2-She's important – or at least is very good at faking it, considering she walked into Ella Kingsley's office, and was able to tell her to shut her trap.
3-Her name is Hermione Granger, as her name tag on the grey blouse informed me.
Other than that, I truly have no idea who this Hermione Granger is, but I'd be lying if I said I'm not curious to find out. Long, caramel coloured hair is tied back in an elegant updo, that makes her look sophisticated, but also casual enough. Kitten heels click on the floors of the hallway as we walk.
"So, I believe I should warn you, what I'm going to tell you in the next little bit, is going to shock you into another dimension. You probably won't believe me for a while, and that's okay, because when McGonagall told me, I wasn't exactly convinced easily."
I stop in my tracks. "Please get on with it, all due respect, I have a crap ton of cardboard boxes that need to be filled." This woman is crazy if she thinks I have all day.
Hermione stops also, looking me dead in the eye with s piercing gaze, so sharp it could cut off my hair. "There's really no way around it, so I'll just tell you; Sam, you're not normal. You can do things that most people can't. You're … gifted. "
I arch an eyebrow. "Like, I'm smart, or …"
She furrows her brow. "Not exactly, no. I think it may be easier to show you."
Show me what, exactly? I have no idea. I'm honestly still hoping for a TARDIS or something. But, I get the feeling that's not exactly what this Hermione Granger has in mind.
Without further warning, Hermione grabs hold of my arm, and simply says, "hold on tight," before she whirls around and I'm whipped into oblivion.
Spinning.
I'm spinning. Fast as a rocket, but slow as time can feel as well. Maybe I'm not spinning, maybe I'm falling.
Yeah, I am definitely falling. Or spinning. I still can't tell. It feels like I've been spinning for hours on end, like in a movie when someone casts a spell and the protagonist is falling through an abyss for what seems like an eternity.
Magic. That's what is always is in movies. Maybe it's magic.
Suddenly the spinning stops, and I stumble into a crowded street. I look to my right, and Hermione is still standing there, her hand on my arm. She looks over at me, grinning slyly. "I told you to hold on."
A clock rings loudly, once, twice, and I look up to see the source of the sound. My stomach lurches when I realize where we are.
"Hermione?" I groan. "I think I'm gonna be sick." She grimaces, and suddenly – is that a wand I see her wave – there's paper bag in my cold hands.
We sit down on a bench and stay in silence, me breathing into the paper bag, and her waiting patiently.
"I was sick my first time too, you know." I look over at her, curiously. "What we jut did, it's called apparating. And you can do it too, once you're old enough, and have proper training."
I have literally never been more confused in my life. And that's saying a lot, considering I was never the brightest in math class. "Are you telling me, that I can teleport?" I ask slowly. "Is this the matrix or something? Is the whole world a digital reality I can bend to my will?"
Hermione chuckles lightly, and says, "not quite the matrix, no. However, you are a witch. Meaning, you can bend reality to an extent. Though there are laws to magic."
I press my lips together. "Witch, as in fancy wand, and broomsticks, and black cats?" Not gonna lie, that would be pretty awesome.
"Well, The wands aren't exactly fancy – they basically just look like a stick – and to be honest, broomsticks are overrated, unless you like quidditch, and no one wears black hats except the old fashioned teachers, but other than that, yes, you're a witch."
This woman is telling me to abandon all logic, science, common sense, and believe in magic. In any other circumstance, I would probably laugh in her face and tell her that she's whack, but considering she just teleported is from Toronto to freaking England, I would probably believe her if she told me that I'm actually an alien born on Jupiter, and I have telekinesis.
"So, what was the training you were talking about? Is it like, a headquarters where I have a really cool instructor and I get turned into an awesome witch who can take people down by blinking?" I ask. I can question my existence later. Now, I want to know everything.
Hermione lifts a brow and replies, "no, actually. It's a school. Called Hogwarts – never mind the name, I know it sounds ridiculous – and it runs from age 11 to age 17. Normally, since you live in North America, you would go to Ilvermorny, but there's been a bit of an overflow, and Hogwarts is more than large enough for a couple hundred extra students.
"The classes include transfiguration, charms, potions, care of magical creatures, history of magic, and then there are many electives you can choose from as well. The school is located in Scotland, but you'll take the train from King's Cross station on September 1st."
I nod, taking all the information in. "What about like, math, science, regular classes?" Don't get me wrong, magic classes sound awesome, but there are still some basics that I should probably know. I'd like to know how to find the variable before I die, thank you very much.
"Yeah, Hogwarts doesn't actually have those classes. You and me, we have normal parents – people like us are called muggleborns, a Muggle is someone without magic – but most students were raised in magic families. There are a bunch of online courses you can take to keep up with your regular studies, of course, when I was your age, the internet didn't really exist, so I had to buy all my textbooks and do it myself."
"What, so most wizards and witches just don't know math and science?" I ask baffled. The idea seems pretty illogical for a group of people with magic.
Hermione shrugs loosely. "Some do, but that's usually just cause they're curious about the world around them, not because they're required to learn it."
So far today, I have been expelled, teleported – sorry, apparated – to England, been told that I am a witch, found out I was accepted into a magic school in Scotland, and am now having a conversation about being a Muggleborn with an Emma Watson look-a-like. Talk about a busy birthday.
Suddenly an idea occurs to me. "So, where would I get textbooks? Im assuming they wouldn't be at my local bookstore. Is there some sort of magical, hidden wizard mall?"
Hermione grins slyly. "I thought you'd never ask."
Aaaand I'm spinning again. As we come to a lurching stop once again, my stomach doing backflips like Simone Biles on a trampoline, I wonder how many times of this – what did Hermione call it? Appa something or other? – it will take before I don't want to puke my guts out every time I come to a stop.
Once I've regained my sense of balance and the world is no longer spinning, I look at our surroundings properly. To be honest, it doesn't exactly look like I expected a secret magical wizard mall would. In fact, it looks like it's just regular old England. There's a coffee shop, a bookstore, and other everyday stores.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I notice something weird. In between the coffee shop and the bookstore, there is a small – I think it's a pub? – building that say 'The Leaky Cauldron'. That isn't what is odd though. What is weird, is that for some reason everyone seems to not be able see it. Their eyes slide right from the first shop to the next, as if the pub is invisible. No one walks in, no one even glances at it.
An idea occurs to me. Turning to Hermione, I ask slowly, "Is… is this place – The Leaky Cauldron – is it only visible for witches and wizards?"
Hermione claps slowly in approval. "Well done. Most people don't realize that on their own." She gestures to the small pub. "Shall we?"
She walks surely though the door of The Leaky Cauldron and disappears in the pub. I wonder what people see when she walks through that door. Do they see a woman walking through brick walls? Or is she obscured from their vision like the hidden building? I make a mental note to ask her, and then follow her through the creaky, brass doors.
I am instantly surrounded by the sounds of laughter and conversation. Looking around, the majority of the people are dressed in long black robes. The bartender is levitating a book so he can read as he mixes drinks.
Crap. Where the heck is Hermione? Don't tell me I've lost my ride home. Though I would be lying if I said that I would hate to be stuck in England. Of all places to be stuck in, England ranks pretty low on the 'how much does this suck' scale.
My heart swells in relief when I see her across the bar, arguing with a blond man. Judging by their body language, this is not just a bar fight – there is clearly some history between the two.
I know I shouldn't, but my curiosity gets the better of me and I quietly walk closer to the pair, keeping my head down to avoid being noticed. Once I'm close enough, I stop and listen to their conversation.
"It's not safe, Hermione. Someone could get hurt," he hisses, a pale hand clenched at his side.
"Oh this is not the time for you to be expressing your- your blood prejudices Malfoy!" She spits right back at him.
He lets out an exasperated sigh and snaps at her, "this isn't about goddamned prejudices, it's about lives. Do you and Potter realize that? Do you realize that bringing in these kids it might end in more disappearances? Or are you two so focused on your own little scheme that you fail to see the consequences for everyone involved – again?"
Hermione closes her eyes firmly and says shortly, "now isn't the time to be discussing past events, Malfoy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a soon to be student to attend to." Without another word, Hermione turns away from the man, and walks briskly towards the entrance, where she had left me.. Oh shoot. I probably wasn't supposed to be hearing me. I frantically try to rub the other way, but there are too many people in the small confines of the pub, and I end up tripping on somebody's foot and falling flat on my face.
"Ow," I mutter, laying sprawled on the hard wooden floor. It suddenly occurs to me how out of place I just look, in my ripped jeans and black tank top, amongst the room full of wizards in black robes and dress pants. I probably look even weirder considering I'm now on the floor for everyone to see.
It also occurs to me that the sounds of tinkling laughter and conversation has dwindled, and the pub is now completely quiet. If people weren't looking at me before, they certainly are now.
"Sam?" I hear Hermione say. I roll over onto my back and see her standing over me, a slightly amused, slightly annoyed expression on her face. Getting up, I dust off my shirt and jeans.
"Hi?" I offer weakly, reaching up to run a hand through my hair in an attempt to seem aloof. I don't think it works.
Hermione frowns slightly, and grabs my elbow, tugging gently to signal me to follow her. She leads me to an empty corner and says quietly enough that no one else can hear, "I'm really sorry Sam, I have to bring you home. Something came up, and I just remembered I was supposed to get you back 30 minutes ago."
"But – "
"Listen, there's a website, called 'Diagon Alley'. Go on it, order all your supplies. I'll email you a list. Except for your wand. You can come back July 6th, we'll be doing a whole tour for muggleborns in Diagon Alley. You can buy your wand then."
Website. Diagon Alley. No wand. July sixth. Got it. And before I know what's happening, Hermione has grabbed my elbow again, and I'm punched in the gut with the now familiar spinning feeling of apparating.
We come to a stop. I close my eyes and lean on the nearest wall to regain my balsnce.
"It was nice to met you Sam," Hermione says. Then she's gone without a trace, and I'm left alone in my big empty dorm room once again.
