Hello! This is another really weird, really old one from me. Written as an entry for CobertWeek 2017 Day 1: Magic, but I lost the draft and forgot all about it. I finally finished it and thought maybe some people would be interested in a DA x HP crossover! Anyway, on with the show!
She doesn't really have much in the way of expectations, and she supposes that it's just right. Sure she has hopes - those that have stubborn;y planted themselves inside her heart and blossomed inside her chest, despite her efforts to squash them - but she doesn't really have any expectations. At least not for change, never for change.
From where she stands, there isn't much that's changed, neither is there anything new at all, and that doesn't even come to her as a surprise. She has come to accept it, expect it even, had known it from the very start, long before she had boarded the ship that brought her to London, an ocean and a few thousand miles away from home.
The looks still get to her, because she knows they are still looking. The whispers and the murmurs still make her conscious, because they still whisper.
Different country, same problems.
She knows she is different though, knows as much and that he difference applies to both the world she's always known and the world she has recently come to know. She's neither special nor normal, and therein lies the difficulty. She's half included in both worlds, and she knows that, knows she doesn't belong here, and not there either.
Did her parents listen to her though? Of course not. Did they believe her when she's said to them that a continent apart would not change the way that people like her are viewed? Definitely not. It certainly hadn't for the ones before her, but did they listen? Did they hear her when she said she doesn't belong here?
And although she's hoped, oh how she has hoped, she'd always known that no, she does not.
Her parents had not considered what she had to say, had not even bothered to ask and had decided on her behalf instead. They had the money to make it happen, too, although she doesn't think there's much need for it. Things have been done and some rules have been bent to accommodate her parents' request.
All her feelings had been set aside and ignored.
She breathes out a sigh as she looks up at the ceiling - that of which mimics the sky outside. It is dark and cloudy, no stars peppering the black sky and it seems like it will be raining some time soon. She knows it rains a lot here, she's been properly briefed about the weather before she'd even left home.
She turns her attention from the ceiling to the doors. The students are now starting to gill the great hall, and there are hundreds of them, all in black robes, all chattering lively and excitedly. The buzz of many different conversations fill the din, and the staff are coming in with the students and are trying their best to bring back the peace and order. The ghosts, the likes of which are not new, but are entirely unfamiliar to her, are of no help as they float above freely, roaming as they welcome students, adding more to the noise.
She feels part indignation fill her as the first years start to file inside the hall. She really shouldn't, she tells herself, and she knows it too. It's hard not to be bitter though when she knows that they are all in the same position. All of their faces shine in equal parts excitement and fear, and she tries very hard to bite down at the dread she feels.
She should have been with them, she thinks, should have been delivered the same way they had been. The headmaster, bless him, thought it appropriate to let her come to the great hall with the little bit of dignity she could afford. He had insisted that she rode to the cancel the same way higher levels do. She is glad for the attempt to minimize the embarrassment, although she knows it to be futile.
It doesn't matter really, she thinks as the Professor (Professor Mcgonagall, she remembers distinctly) starts to get the first year to line up. The professor had been the same one she'd had a conversation with in the Leaky Cauldron. She also knows the Head Master, Professor Dumbledore - she'd been introduced upon her arrival here.
Professor Mcgonagall had been pleasant enough, asking her what she's learned so far and reassuring her that she will be able to catch up quickly, as the professor and her parents had discussed the terms of her transfer. It had contained a fair bit of confidential information and several cases of name calling and bullying to move schools for being who she is - a witch born from non magical parents.
"Levinson, Cora," Mcgonnagall calls out her name and she looks up at the professor to find her holding up the hat they used to determine the house where a student belongs to. They don't have such a hat in Ilvermorny, but they had other ways to sort out the students in the four houses: Wampus, Horned Serpent, Puckwudgie, and Thunderbird.
She had been a part of the Horned Serpent herself, before she'd transferred here at Hogwarts. She doesn't have a clue where she will be placed here, although she does know the four houses (Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin). She isn't sure what qualities best suit each house, but she does know one thing: she does not belong to Slytherin.
Come to think of it, she barely even belongs here.
"Ravenclaw," the slightly battered hat yells to the crowd, and it is only then that Cora realizes how quiet it's become since she has taken the stool.
Impossibly, it is even quieter now, and Cora feels every eye turn to her, looking at her, curiously judging her. It is only when Dumbledore claps that the rest of her newly assigned house follows, albeit reluctantly it seems.
The claps come though - soft, unsure and unsteady, almost unwilling in their intensity, but they come regardless, and she releases the breath she hasn't realized she's been holding.
Still, she thinks as she moves and walks to the tables where the Ravenclaws are - Hogwarts does not feel like home, and she'd been a fool to hope that it would be.
. . .
He had not really wanted to come back. To be honest, apart from learning and mastering the magic he's always had simmering in his veins, he doesn't see much point to it.
Of course, Mama had insisted and his father had backed her up - for how will he become a member of the governors of the ministry once Papa retires if he doesn't go to school and get so many OWLS and NEWTS. To be honest, he'd much rather be an auror himself but he knows more than anyone that he will never be - not on his mother's watch, no of course not.
He sighs. There is so much he wants to change about his life but it isn't to be. Families like his are pretty much set, and everything else in his life controlled. He cannot even make friends with the people he wants to make friends with. The only saving grace is that he is in Hogwarts and that means he is far away from home and his mother cannot micromanage everything.
Except, his sister is here now too, so maybe he won't be as free as he always had been.
The thought brings him disappointment. He can just about imagine the letter Rosamund would write to Mama.
"Robert has been cavorting with that Bates boy and another one named Carson from his year! One's a half blood and the other is a muggle!"
And then mother would probably forbid him from being around his best friends. It's already bad enough that he's been placed in Gryffindor and not in Slytherin, like his mother and father. His only consolation is that Rosamund isn't Slytherin either - she's Ravenclaw at least.
Robert sighs again as he walks down the halls on the way to the dormitory. He had been sneaking around, of course, to roam around the castle. He isn't supposed to be, he knows, but it's easy to do it with the invisibility cloak in his possession.
After all, it's not wrong until he gets caught.
A symphony of lights catches his eyes as he passes by the window overlooking the grounds, making him wonder. The person who's still out and doing that racket must have balls of steel to do it at the dead of the night even if they had been warned specifically that no student should be out of bed after eleven - visibly, anyway.
Curious, he makes his way to the source of the dancing lights. As slow as he can manage and as quiet as the soft breeze, he makes his way to where the lights jump up and down and all around.
He is loathe to startle the person, and so he watches in silence. He just looks and doesn't say a word.
He realizes, starkly, that it is that American Girl from dinner who has transferred here from Ilven-Ilver-something who is making the magical dancing lights. He also realizes that he's at a vantage point to watch her and she won't see him. Lucky for him.
He waits till she gets bored, amazed by her ability. She's in her second year, only a year below him, that much he knows. It already seems like she's a very talented witch because he knows that a couple of witches and wizards in her year still cannot do that much. It makes him wonder why she has moved to England, but he knows he won't be able to ask her that.
He doesn't know how long he's been there watching her, but heavy footsteps alert him to the fact that they aren't really supposed to be up and about, and for that they will be punished - mostly her. She seems to realize that she's in trouble, too, because he sees the panic flash clearly across her features.
He doesn't know why, does not even understand. He wouldn't even begin to try to understand why, but he only does it. He throws the invisibility cloak over her form, pulling her close so that they can both be under it. He waves his wand to cast a spell to keep her voice from being heard as she yelps in surprise.
He watches as Argus Filch, Hogwarts' caretaker, passes them by, and the horrible man looks around in pure suspicion. Robert holds on to his cloak and keeps his spell in place until Filch is gone.
Before he can say anything, the girl - he fails to recall her name because he admittedly hadn't been paying attention to the sorting - stomps on his feet. He curses, crouching to hold on to his severed toes, dropping the cloak to the ground.
She looks angry as hell.
"A thank you would be nice!" he spits at her in an angry whisper. Why would she try to crush his toes when he only ever tried to help? He glares at her as he awaits her explanation...or apology whichever.
"You! You not only startled me but you also had the audacity to hex me with a silencing spell!" she half yells, half whispers at him -if there ever was such a thing. Her cheeks are red from anger and her blue eyes sparkle in the moonlight as they glare back at him. A thought seems to cross her mind as her features change from anger to horror. "And good heavens, how long have you been standing there watching me?!"
He bites down on his lips, trying not to look too guilty. He saved her from detention, god damn it.
"I should have just left you to deal with Filch," he mutters although he doesn't really mean it. He doesn't hate her enough to feed her to the wrath of Angus Filch. "See how you like him."
She harrumphs and crosses her arms against her chest angrily. She is still flustered but he reckons it's not out of anger anymore.
"Look, I'm sorry for startling you -"
She cuts him off with "And spying on me."
He nods. "And spying on you. My name is Robert Crawley, I'm a third year here."
"You're Rosamund's brother?" she asks him shyly now. Her fierceness seems like yesterday's news.
His sister had made a friend...an American one at that.
He nods. "Unfortunately," he says dryly.
She giggles softly at that. "Well, Robert, thank you for saving me."
"You're welcome…" He lifts his hand to scratch the back of his head. "I didn't get your name."
"Good, because I didn't give it to you," she counters with a teasing smile before she turns back to him and starts to walk away. She takes one last look at him and waves. "Thanks again, Robert, good night."
He smiles, a little bit bewildered, a little bit amused. He shakes his head, unable to help feeling a little bit bamboozled.
Hope you guys like it! Let me know what you all think