publisher, etc. No copyright infringement is intended. All original characters created by the author remain her property.
Author's Note: If you haven't read the first chapter, a lot of my attempts at jokes are going to slip through your head without sinking in, so please read the first chapter.
Over Sea
The day of packing, filling out of forms, sparse farewells, Dumbledore and Snape led me to a battered car that looked as though its last day had come ages ago. Dumbledore insisted on driving, a youthful, mischievous gleam entering his eye. It was the only thing that wasn't comforting about him.
Dumbledore drove like a plastered fraternity boy coming home after an adreneline-pumping football game. Doobie (apparently christened so by it's last owner; I couldn't imagine Dumbledore naming his car "Doobie") was pushed to his brink, wheezing as he exceeded the speed limit by at least twenty miles an hour. But like when I was chasing Snape, objects just seemed to jump out of the car's way. A good thing too, otherwise at least five fire hydrants, two tethered dogs, five elderly pedestrians and a hot dog stand would have been flattened.
Snape, sitting tall in the passenger seat, was silent the entire ride. His knuckles were white from clutching the dashboard, and he seemed more relieved than I when we finally reached our destination.
A dingy, cheerfully lit pub labeled THE LEAKY CAULDRON.
Snape scrabbled out of the car awkwardly, obviously not used to traveling by automobile. I wondered if cars existed in the new world that I'd soon be entering. The air in The Leaky Cauldron was filled with the scent of cider and cocoa and aromas I'd never imagined before. Dumbledore bought a mug of something golden and foamy that gave off a comforting smell of warmth. He paid the bartender a curiously shaped silver coin. Snape shook his head at Dumbledore's offer of a drink. He turned to me.
"Would you like anything to drink?"
Thirsty, I glanced at the list of beverages. What the heck was gillywater? Butterbeer? What did they taste like? I glanced at a paper-white man, his lips curiously bright, dressed head to toe in a black cloak with a dark gray vest underneath. He was drinking what looked like incredibly thick, dark red punch. "Um...could I have a Coke?"
Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow and scanned the beverage list. "How about a glass of butterbeer?"
"A glass of what?"
He held out the foaming mug of golden liquid he'd bought earlier. He hadn't taken a sip yet, so I took a mouthful. It was slightly fizzy, and reminded me of sunshine and lazy summer afternoons. I could feel it travel down my chest, warming my body pleasantly as it fizzed its way down.
Dumbledore smiled at my pleased expression. "You can have the rest."
I shook my head and handed the mug back. It was wonderful, but too rich for my taste. I preferred lighter forms of refreshment. "No, thank you." The strap of my backpack was digging uncomfortably into my shoulder. I tried to shift it as unobtrusively as I could, but it's bulk was too awkward and it bumped into someone sitting behind me. I heard a hiss and clank as a mug dropped to the floor.
The buzz of conversation halted. I could feel the entire pub's eyes resting on me. I turned, embarrassed, to apologize. It was the man I'd seen drinking the punch. Some had flecked near my mouth, and unconsciously my tongue crept out to wipe it away.
A metallic, tingling taste invaded my mouth. I recognized it almost immediately; the man had been drinking blood. Eyes wide, I stared at the man in horror.
He was very tall, at least seven feet in height. His face was noble, gaunt, the face of a man of royalty, but there was a hard, cold glint in his eye. It was impossible to tell his age; he could have been anywhere from twenty to two-hundred. He shot me a look, and as he bent down to pick up the fallen mug I saw a tiny embroidered crest on the collar of his robe. It was a staff, entwined with ivy and what looked like a large raven. He set the mug on the counter, then turned once more to me.
"I - I'm really sorry. I had no idea you were there." As an afterthought, I added, "I'll pay for the drink if you like." I decided that buttering up to a man who drank blood as though it was water wasn't too bad an idea.
One corner of his mouth twitched up his face in a half-smile. "It's alright. I do not mind." His voice was refined and cultured, like that of a duke or a count. "You are, perhaps, lucky that I dismiss this incident so easily."
Shit. That didn't sound reassuring at all. Unsure of how to respond, I stammered, "Er, thank you?"
The man grinned, and I was startled to see two glistening, ivory fangs slip over his lower lip. "You are welcome." He tilted his head to one side and looked at me appraisingly, summing me up mentally. His hand suddenly flicked into my breast pocket and reached for the violet. "Where did you get this?"
"A friend gave it to me."
He pulled one of the petals down and I saw with a start that the vague shape of the same crest that was on his cloak was painted by Nature's hand on it. "Do you realize what power comes with this blossom?"
I stared at the flower. "Would you kill me if I said no?" I was deadly serious, but the man took it as a joke.
"No." Then, quietly. "I'm afraid I have no power over you." I looked at him sharply, surprised. He slipped the violet back into my pocket and whisked away.
The entire pub seemed to give way to a sigh of relief at his departure. The volume of conversation returned to normal. Snape took a look at my flower. "Do you know who that was?" It was the first time he'd spoken for the past several hours. Then, in answer to my incredulous look, he answered his own question. "No, of course you don't. The man who's glass you just knocked over -" he looked distastefully down at the pool of spilled blood on the floor "- is one of the few remaining vampires native to England."
I gazed at Snape, wondering if he was going mad. But then, as I ran the recent events over in my head, I realized that perhaps a vampire wasn't too impossible a possibility. What I said aloud was ". . . Really?"
"His name, if I'm correct, is Gregori Quinn. Not a bad man, really, but all vampires have rather...objectionable habits." He glanced again at the blood spilled on the floorboards.
Dumbledore looked at the blood. With a whisper, it disappeared into the cracks between the wooden floor. "Come. We have much work to do."
I followed him out the pub door, Snape three strides behind me. Dumbledore led us to the back of the pub. He tapped a brick with his wand. The wall slowly warped until an archway led into a long, crowded street. I walked through it in wonder, taking in my surroundings with bated breath.
Stores lined either side of the alley, the windows displaying some of the strangest things I'd ever seen in my entire life. I squinted at the apothecary shop. No, I wasn't imagining the unicorn horns shining in the light, a little label attached reading ONLY NINETEEN GALLEONS - TWO GALLEONS OFF! A little wicker basket lying next to it was full of slimy orbs, the sign in front reading NEWTS' EYES. Tiny bottles of a sparkling, glittery translucent substance dotted the ledge, labeled PIXIE DUST.
What looked like an ice cream shop stood next to it, the paint colorful and bright. A pang of homesickness shot through my chest as I was reminded of Mr. Leonard's shop. The florist's shop, with its exotic smelling flowers and buckets of moss, didn't help much as I wondered if Jim was packing up his booth, headed for home with Dog trotting by his side.
"Come." Dumbledore steered me towards a small shop entitled
My heart leapt in my ribcage. "I'm going to get a wand?"
"Of course," Snape barked. "What did you expect to use, a ruler?"
I stepped into the shop with an eager soul.
The inside was spotless, in some places so clean that it was painful to look at the bright, colorless walls. A young man, tall and gangly with buckteeth, freckles, and dirty-blond hair rushed over to greet us. "Welcome! What can I do for you today?"
"We need to supply this young lady with a wand, Eugene."
"Course! Right away sir." He bustled off to the back room. I gazed around at the store in amazement. The walls were completely barren of any sort of display. The only thing in the room was the counter.
A sudden cough made me whirl around. An old man with strange, silvery eyes walked into the room, leaning lightly on a cane. "Albus!," he cried out delightedly. "What brings you here?"
"What else but a wand, my friend?" Dumbledore pushed me forward lightly. "Malory, meet Mr. Olliviander. One of the finest collectors and merchant of wands who ever lived."
Mr. Olliviander chuckled pleasantly. "You flatter me, Albus." He coughed again. Silver, quick, and slightly disturbing, Mr. Olliviander's eyes bored into mine until I averted my gaze. He might have been a pleasant man for all I knew, but those eyes still didn't leave me with a good impression.
Eugene rushed back in, laden with several slender boxes, so many that they towered high over his head. They swayed to and fro precariously, and finally tumbled to the ground in a heap. "Uncle!," Eugene cried out. "I thought you went out."
"I did," Mr. Olliviander replied mysteriously. "Keep in mind that you're still an apprentice my boy. I still appreciate overseeing my wands' performance."
Eugene flushed slightly and opened the first box. An incredibly pale, thin rod of wood lay nestled on a bed of cotton. "Here," Eugene said, holding it out for me. "Birch, Fourteen inches, swishy. What's the stuff inside -- oh yes, I remember, phoenix feather. It's good for Charms, I think."
I held it, feeling rather foolish. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Just wave it around," Eugene replied, gesturing enthusiastically with his hands. Mr. Olliviander gazed at the wand.
I waved it around several times, with no special result, for several minutes until Mr. Olliviander coughed and said, "Er, I don't believe that one will suit her, do you lad?"
Eugene, who'd been lounging on the pile of boxes, leapt to his feet. "Right. Sorry." He took the wand away and handed me another one. This one was gold-tinted brown, and very polished. "Mahogany -" he glanced at his uncle "- I mean walnut. Supple, seven inches, dragon heartstring core. Good for..." His voice trailed off.
"Defense," his uncle interjected patiently.
"Oh, yeah. Good for Defense Against the Dark Arts."
I waved that one. Nothing.
Eugene, quicker this time than last, snatched the wand out of my hand after a couple swishes. He handed me another, a peach tinted gray, rather stout wand, with hardly any polish at all. "Ash. Eleven inches. Bendy. Unicorn hair."
Again, no result. I ran unsuccessfully through twenty-one wands in all. Mr. Olliviander seemed increasingly pleased as each one was discarded, shouting out encouragement, helping his nephew reach for new wands, correcting him when he erred (which was often).
Finally, Eugene handed me the twenty-second wand. It wasn't highly polished, but it gleamed gently in the light, a rosy color blushing from underneath the surface color. "Try this one here. Rosewood, nine inches. Dragon heartstring, good for Transfiguration. Quick."
A slight tingle of fiery warmth traveled through my fingertips as I held the wand. I raised it above my head and brought it swishing down through the air.
Sparks of light spurted from the end and ricocheted off the walls. Eugene whooped and fell backwards and Mr. Olliviander clapped his hands together. "Good show," he cried.
"Impressive," Snape said to me. "Very impressive, for an abnormality of society."
I looked at him sternly, then relaxed as I saw that he was joking. He looked as though he weren't used to it, so I flashed him an appeasing smile and gazed down at my wand. It looked as though it was glowing, faintly, but glowing nonetheless.
Mr. Olliviander put the wand in its original box while Eugene replaced the boxes in the back room. He sighed and addressed Dumbledore. "I do wish that boy's taste fitted mine. This room used to be full of boxes, cluttering every inch of the wall." He eyed his store wistfully. "The air used to be full of dust. Makes the performance more impressive, and it's easier to tell, but...Eugene always did value neatness." He frowned. "I just wish the room wasn't so blasted clean."
Dumbledore laughed and paid Mr. Olliviander for my wand, thanking him profusely. Mr. Olliviander bowed us from his shop.
I gripped the box hard as I began to ask Dumbledore something. "Er, Mr. Dumbledore?"
"Yes?"
"When should I pay you back for my wand and school supplies?"
He stopped and smiled at me. "And what makes you think that you have to pay me back?"
"Oh, but, but I have to," I stammered. The thought of not paying him back hadn't occurred to me, and I felt that I owed the man for finally relieving me from the clutches of my aunt. "I could ask my father for some money." My voice faltered on the word father. I still wasn't used to the idea of having parents.
Dumbledore's smile widened. "Very well. If it eases your conscience, I'll accept your payment." He gave me the receipt for the wand.
I tucked it into my pocket. "Thank you." Then, rather worriedly, I added, "I'm not sure if...I don't know if I'll be good enough for...I mean, I've never done anything like, magical before."
"Oh, I'm sure if you rack your memory hard enough you'll come up with something."
I looked at Dumbledore blankly. "Hasn't anything ever happened when you were angry or frustrated with your aunt?"
The eggs. "Well, I suppose. The eggs began frying in the fridge once, when she told me to make breakfast last Christmas."
"And what about that magnificent leap at the drugstore?," Snape interjected.
"What magnificent leap?," I queried. "All I did was run across the store -"
In one leap. I hadn't taken more than one step, yet I'd crossed the entire store.
Dumbledore laughed at my expression. "You'll remember many things as you're more fully trained."
"But...I'm just wondering, but what class do you teach?"
"I don't teach a class."
"But then..."
"I'm the Headmaster."
This still didn't explain what I'd been wanting to know. "That means you're really important, right?"
"People like to think so."
"So then why'd you come and get me?" Dumbledore gave me a quizzical glance. "I'm only one student. Why come all the way here just to get me? No headmaster would do that, not in any other schools here. It's favoritism, or something like that, isn't it?"
"Well, even the strictest headmaster cannot ignore a personal request from one of the most powerful, respected wizards in the country. I'm only sorry we have to rush so. I should have come yesterday, so that we'd have an extra day at least."
"And who was this wizard?"
"Your father."
My voice congealed in my throat and I stared hard at my shoes, unable to speak. When my voice unstuck from my throat, I threw a look in Snape's direction. "What's Professor Snape doing with you?"
In answer, Snape drew out the limp bouquet of flowers that he'd purchased from Jim. "Like I said before, I'd been looking for these for a long time."
"What do you teach, Professor?"
"Potions." He sounded as thoug he wasn't satisfied with his subject, and I caught the briefest glimpse of a smile playing over Dumbledore's face.
Dumbledore handed me something -- an envelope, made of either thick paper or rather thin parchment. "I'm sorry I didn't give it to you earlier," he said. "It must have slipped my mind."
There was an emblem in the corner; a badger, lion, serpent, and an eagle, placed around a large, ornate H. The letter was addressed, in green ink, to
Malory Aidenn
Attic Room
9 Craig Lane
Water-at-the-Bridge
Kent
I opened it, brimming with curiosity. It was my acceptance letter, including a list of supplies I'd need for school. I'd already gotten my wand, and we were now veering into a shop that was crowded with books.
Some of the strangest books were crowded onto the multitude of shelves. One title held my attention: How To Make Your Relatives Less Aggravating: EFFECTIVE SILENCING CHARMS AND RECIPES FOR BANISHING POTIONS, by Kevin Ignoramus. It looked like an interesting bit of reading, but Snape steered me away. "We've got to get on and buy your textbooks."
The books felt like a load of bricks, but Dumbledore tapped them lightly with his wand and they became instantly lighter. A pewter cauldron underwent the same treatment, as did the beetle eyes, toad spleen, pixie wings, and infinite other Potions ingredients that Snape looked over for me, to see that the quality of the substances were pleasing. We also bought a pair of sparkling crystal phials, dragonhide gloves, and a set of bronze scales that clanked every time I shifted the bag.
Eventually, we traveled into a shop where I was to be fitted for my school uniform. Dumbledore and Snape assured me that they'd wait outside, and a plump, friendly woman set me on a stool and began bustling about, measuring me with at least five tape measures at once. "Headed for Hogwarts, are you dear?," she inquired, speaking around a mouthful of pins.
"Er, I suppose so." I answered, realizing that the tape measures were doing their job on their own. After a while, she stopped sticking pins into two bolts of black cloth she'd managed to form into the vague shape of a robe and cloak and told me, "You can hop off now. Wait in the room there and I'll give you the uniforms and cloaks in about five minutes."
I wandered into the room that she'd indicated. A girl was waiting there, fitted before me. "Hello," she said cheerfully.
"Hi."
"Are you a first year?"
"Um...I'm new."
My answer seemed to be good enough for her, for she rushed on without waiting for an answer. "I'm in Slytherin, name's Jill Orwen. Where're you from? I'm from Surrey. Are you excited?"
"Um -"
"I was SO excited when I was first going to Hogwarts, I remember. I was afraid I wouldn't be good enough, but all the teachers say that I'll probably be a prefect, since my grades are high enough. I always was a bright student, and the subjects are so easy for me."
"You're very modest," I said.
My sarcasm sailed right over her head. "Oh yes, my mother tells me I should be more proud of my accomplishments. What House are you going to be in?"
"Well -"
"Your robes are ready, my dears," the plump lady smiled, coming out with two sets of three robes and two cloaks. I took my set, thanked her, paid her the amount of money that Dumbledore had told me to pay, then left, glad to be away from Jill Orwen.
How we got to Kings Station is still a bit blurry in my memory. I think, whatever mode of transportation we used, I fell asleep for the most part, until I heard Dumbledore's voice murmur, "We're there, Malory."
I blinked groggily. The air was full of noise, slurred, metallic voices over the public announcement system, chattering from all the passengers boarding and coming off the trains, the trains themselves. I looked up at the headmaster. "We're taking a train? With all this stuff?" I waved towards the cart that was sagging from the weight of all my equipment.
"Oh, we're taking a very different train, I can assure you." Dumbledore pointed to the barrier between stations nine and ten. "Just run towards it, as fast as you can, and push the carty in front of you. It's less nervewracking for first-years."
I didn't understand. "What do you mean?"
"Take the cart and run into the barrier," Snape said bluntly.
I looked at them. "You've gone mad."
Dumbledore smiled at me. "Malory, I assure you that I lost my sanity some years ago, so you've nothing to fear by now."
This made even less sense then the bit about the barriers, but I decided to take him at his word. I took a deep breath, then gripped the cart until my palms ached and sprinted towards the barrier. "MOVE!," I shouted as a group of hikers surged in front of me. They dodged out of my way, muttering seomthing about crazy underage kids, and the cart crashed hard into the barrier.
Or so I'd imagined.
My feet kept running, and I pried my eyes open with some effort to see if I'd died.
A large, crimson express train was belching smoke on the tracks, golden letters pronouncing HOGWARTS EXPRESS proudly at the front. The mewing of cats was almost deafening, and owls hooted in cages everywhere. A couple of toads hopped about the pavement, and I saw a couple of carriers containing sleek, clever-looking rats of every color.
Dumbledore and Snape emerged from the barrier. Snape took the cart and steered it towards the luggage compartment. "Take one of your robes," he said. "You'll have to change on the train."
I grabbed the robe nearest to me and climbed onto the train excitedly. Lost, I wandered about until I found a compartment that wasn't crowded with people. Only one sandy-haired boy with muddy blue eyes and long fingers sat dozing on one of the velvet seats. I cleared my throat, and his eyes snapped open.
"Sorry, but is this seat taken?" I pointed to the seat across from him.
Lazily, he yawned and shook his head no, rubbing his eyes with one hand. I set my robe down on the floor and studied the boy in front of me as his eyes drooped closed again. He was very tall, must have been at least six feet tall. I wondered how old he was. Something mewed loudly from the compartment above me, and I gave a little jump of surprise. The boy opened his eyes slowly then reached up and took out a small carrier. Carefully, he extracted a fuzzy, gray tabby kitten from within its depths. "Hullo, cat," he murmured, glancing at me self-consciously before turning back to his pet. The kitten mewed. "How're you today?" It yawned. He laughed. "Yeah, well, me too. Be quiet for a while and I'll let you out at lunch, alright?" The kitten mewed appeasingly. "Good." He set it back into its carrier and replaced it in its place above my head.
"What's your cat's name?," I asked.
"Cat."
The boy had, in one syllable, endeared himself to me. "What's your name?"
"Will Hugh. You?"
"Malory Aidenn." We shook hands. "Are your parents magic?"
"Yeah. I come from a kind of old wizarding family." He sounded as though the subject didn't please him. "What about you?"
"Well, yes, I suppose."
"You 'suppose'?"
"I didn't find out about it till a couple hours ago."
Will raised his eyebrows. I changed the subject. "What year are you in?"
He stretched before answering. "First."
"Really?"
"You sound skeptical." He looked ruefully down at the ground from his towering height. "'S 'cause I'm so tall, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Well, if you put it that way, you look too short to be allowed."
"Hey!" I was four seven, about a quarter of an inch away from that all-important eight inches, but my height was a tender subject between my aunt and I as she was the human equivalent of an overgrown goose whereas I was more of a field mouse in comparison with her long neck and dumpy body.
Will laughed. "Which House are you hoping to get into?"
"Well, to be honest, I don't know the Houses."
"Oh." Will sat up a little. "Why not?"
It seemed the subject of my family history was inevitable. I told him the shortest version of the past day's events that I could muster up, avoiding the heated argument with my aunt and the subject of Jim. That hurt a bit too much.
Will's eyes grew steadily wider throughout my narrative. He whistled quietly as I finished. "So I take it your father's Blake Aidenn?"
"Why? You've heard of him?"
"Me and half the magic community. He's like my role model, to be honest," he added with a sheepish grin.
So, that was my status. A girl who knew nothing of the magic world, and whose anonymous father was the known throughout half the community. "Hmm."
The train whistled loudly and lurched off to a start. The scenery began passing by slowly at first, then picked up speed until everything whizzed by in a green and gray blur, the pastures mixing with the cement.
My new life had officially begun with the first whistle of the train. I drew a deep breath and smiled at Will, my first friend in this strange, bewildering place. He smiled back.