Author's Note.
Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you're not alone this year like me. My love life is as dry and empty as the Sahara Desert. Hahaha! At least I can laugh about my loneliness. Don't be like me!
This is my first fanfic, so please be nice. I am looking to become a better writer, and I am open to constructive criticism, in fact, I'm looking for it. I want to be a better writer, but please no flames. They don't teach me anything.
Disclaimer: I definitely don't own Harry Potter. Last I checked, J. K. Rowling does.
Faolin Wallace was eating dinner with his family when the woman that would upend Faolin's entire life arrived. Before that night, Faolin had been fairly regular, although he was extremely smart for an 11-year-old boy. He lived with his parents and his twin brother. They were a regular family in Belfast. Very little set them apart from other Irish families.
"And what did Mrs. Alonn say after that?" His mother asked as she reached across the table to grab more beans, nearly catching Faolin checking his text messages. He wasn't supposed to have his phone out during meals.
His twin brother, Cathal, shot Faolin a look, their identically vibrant green eyes met for only a second before Faolin looked away.
He's guessed what I'm up to. Faolin thought, subtly pocketing his phone. He usually does. Faolin always had to work extra hard to keep secrets or sneak around his brother. Cathal was just as smart as Faolin, maybe smarter. He was already skipping entire grades; even if he stopped skipping grades now, he would still graduate high school by 14.
"She said 'No, but Sam sure would like some with gravy and carrots!'" His father could barely finish the joke without laughing. The rest of the family exploded into laughter with him, except Faolin, who, having been on his phone, had missed most of the joke. He smiled and forced himself to laugh along with them, knowing perfectly well that no one would explain it to him.
The merriment finally died down as someone began to knock on the door. Faolin's mother got up to answer, still chuckling to herself. It was late, far too late for anyone with a sense of decency to be knocking on doors. They could at least use the doorbell.
"Who do you you reckon is knocking at our door this late at night?" Cathal leaned over to whisper in Faolin's ear.
"Your guess is as good as mine." Faolin was just working on that question when their mother returned, now accompanied by another woman who looked to be in her late forties, although this stranger moved with the same youthful energy and confidence of someone half her age.
"Hello," the stranger began. "My name is Evelyn Ramirez. I'm here to talk to you about your son, Faolin."
Evelyn had black hair that was just barely starting to show signs of aging, and deep blue eyes that were almost closer to indigo. Her skin was tanned and tough, but had very few wrinkles, and Faolin didn't miss how well-muscled her lean frame was. If Faolin had to guess, he'd say she was a veteran.
Strangest of all, however, were her clothes. Evelyn wore dark robes, along with a witch hat. She might've been dressed for Halloween, but it was the middle of July. She couldn't be that confused.
"What for?" Cathal asked, tilting his head as he did. "No one's done anything wrong here."
"Oh, I should hope not!" Evelyn sat down, although Faolin was pretty sure there hadn't been a chair there five seconds ago. "Are you Faolin Wallace?" Cathal shook his head.
"That would be me, actually." Faolin sat up, now distinctly aware that he was the point of discussion. She seems friendly enough, Faolin observed. Mrs. Ramirez handed him a sealed envelope, but he didn't look away, continuing to observe.
She holds herself like she's ready for a fight, ready for anything. Based on that scar on her neck, she's seen a good amount of action. She's old but doesn't look any worse for it physically, so age just means experience. And she's got something in the inside pocket of her robes. Faolin's mind kept collecting info, sorting it into neat piles in his head.
"Why are you here?" He asked.
Evelyn smiled. "I'm here because of you, Faolin."
"Me? What did I do?"
"Nothing yet. I'm here because you, Faolin, are a wizard."
Faolin blinked. "A wizard? Really? 'Cause last I checked, magic isn't real." Faolin forced himself to chuckle. His parents seemed perfectly happy to let him do the talking, as they often did.
"You don't think it's real. It's a belief we have worked very hard to cement in you muggles." Evelyn caught his look of confusion and corrected herself. "Muggle means a non-magical person."
Evelyn reached into her robes and pulled out a wand that was exactly a foot long, made of laurel wood, if Faolin wasn't mistaken. She waved it at the table and spoke.
"Wingardium Leviosa." The tip of the wand began to glow softly.
And the table began to move! It rose slowly into the air, without so much as spilling Faolin's Pepsi. He jumped up, looking for the trick, but there was none! The table was actually hovering.
Faolin turned to Mrs. Ramirez as she set the table back down. "And I could do that?" He asked excitedly. Faolin's mind was racing through possibilities that magic could open for him.
"And you need a wand to cast spells?" Faolin asked.
"Usually, yes."
"And how are wizards regulated? It seems like a big opportunity for exploitation if muggles don't know magic exists."
"There is a government for our kind, the Ministry of Magic keeps wizards and witches in check. Even so, we usually stay separate from muggles." Mrs. Ramirez returned her wand to her robes.
She doesn't seem like she's lying. She has too many good answers, and no holes I can see.
"Oi, what about me?" Cathal asked. "Do I get to wave a wand and say funny words and make stuff fly?" There was a hungry gleam in his eyes that Faolin distinctly disliked.
"I'm afraid not, dear. You are a muggle through and through."
"Wait, why does he get to be a wizard then?" Cathal was almost yelling now. "He's my brother, what gives? What makes him different from me?"
"It has never been exactly clear why some muggle are born with magic. We don't know" Evelyn rose. "Mrs. Wallace, can you and your husband come with me? We have a lot to discuss."
"It seems we do." His father was the first to rise, clearing his throat. "We can talk on the porch." He walked out to the porch, stumbling once. After a moment's pause, His mother and Mrs. Ramirez followed.
Almost immediately after they left, Cathal got up, knocking his chair over as he did. Instead of picking it up, Faolin's brother stomped away to his room upstairs, grumbling all the way about Faolin always getting the better end of everything, which Faolin could hardly see as his fault.
Jealousy is hardly a good color on him. Faolin thought after his brother. Ahh well, It can't be helped. He'll calm down by morning. This last thought was juxtaposed by the sound of Cathal slamming his bedroom door closed.
His good mood slightly dampened, Faolin finally looked at the envelope Mrs. Ramirez had given him. He broke the wax seal and removed several pieces of paper. He unfolded the first one, which was written in green ink.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Minerva McGonagall
Dear Faolin C. Wallace.
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely, Evelyn Ramirez, Deputy Headmistress.
There were several other pieces of paper, presumably a list of supplies for school. He began to look through them, wondering where on earth he was to acquire half of these things. Wizards probably have their own way of doing things. Faolin was musing the existence of an entirely wizard-based store when his parents, along with Mrs. Ramirez, returned from the porch.
"Have you decided whether you want to attend Hogwarts?" She asked him. She looked over at Faolin's parents, who nodded slowly. Faolin grinned.
"I get to learn magic? Sign me up."
[Page Break]
Faolin made his first wizard friend on July 31, on the shopping trip to Diagon Alley with Mrs. Ramirez. He ran into the boy at the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts.
"Privyet, tovarisch, I'm Boris. " The boy said. Faolin smiled at him.
"Faolin." They shook hands. Boris was Russian in every sense of the word, from his accent to his ushanka hat. He had dyed blond hair and hazel eyes. He seemed pleasant enough, despite his tendency to talk about the superiority of communism.
Kieran, Faolin's cat, purred loudly, probably for attention. Faolin reached down to scratch behind the little black cat's ears.
"Hey, you don't know where I could find a wand, do you?" He asked Boris as they left the bookstore, squinting at the tiny print of his supply list. Boris pointed to a store down the block.
"Ollivanders. Best wandmaker in Western Europe. Although I don't know why we have to pay for such an essential product. You need a wand to cast magic. Why must we pay for one? Is it too much to ask for the Ministry to provide the essentials?" Boris seemed agitated, so Faolin decided to change the subject.
"Hey, since you already got your wand, hornbeam with a unicorn hair core, right?" Boris nodded "And I already have a cat, why don't you buy an owl or a rat or something while I get my wand, and we'll meet back up here, okay?" Faolin tried for a disarming smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.
"Another thing I must pay for." But despite his grumbling, Boris went to get his pet.
Ollivanders was a basic building with 2 large glass towers on either side of the entrance, each 2 stories high. A sign above the door read: Ollivanders, makers of fine wands since 382 BC.
Faolin ducked into the store, taking in the sight. There were boxes, presumably containing wands, stacked haphazardly up to the ceiling, and going back as far as Faolin could see. There were thin aisles in between the stacks, but Faolin didn't trust them one bit. Even as he watched, a stack of boxes fell over and buried a section of the store.
"Oh, bother, bother." A portly man with a braided beard came running out of a side room towards the mess. Halfway there, he spotted Faolin.
"Oh, hello there young man!" The man grinned as he walked over to Faolin. "Come for your first wand, I suppose?
"Um, yeah." Faolin eyed the nearest stack of wand boxes, which was leaning precariously towards him.
"Well, son? Which is your wand hand?" Mr. Ollivander removed a tape measure from a nearby desk. "Right or left?"
I'm ambidextrous." Faolin held out his arms as Mr. Ollivander began to measure his hands and arms. The tape continued to measure him as Ollivander stepped away and began to carefully study some of the nearby boxes.
"And what would you say is your strongest attribute, young man?" Ollivander continued to sort through the boxes, occasionally opening one, removing the wand inside, looking at Faolin, then shaking his head and replacing the wand.
"My intelligence."
Mr. Ollivander handed him a wand. "Try this one. Walnut, dragon heartstring core, 11 inches, quite springy." The wand was almost white, with engravings of vines running along the entire wand. Faolin waved the wand hesitantly.
Immediately, the cuff of his sleeve burst into flames. He yelped and dropped the wand as he batted out the flames. Mr. Ollivander calmly picked up the wand and returned it to its box.
"No, no, I suppose not, eh?" He looked at Faolin again. "Tell me, when you walk into a room of new people, what's the first thing you do?"
"I suppose I try and figure out as many people as I can before I make contact. Try and figure out what makes them tick. It helps to keep some form of control over the situation." Faolin wondered why he was asking so many questions. The wand probably needs to be aligned to my personality, Faolin answered himself.
"Yes, the wand chooses the wizard. That has always been clear."
Faolin jumped, turning to see who had spoken. There was a girl about his age standing a few feet behind him, looking rather like she was trying to disappear into the stacks of boxes behind her. She had shockingly red hair and equally vibrant sky blue eyes. She had a sharp chin and high cheekbones, like him, and a button nose. She stared back at Faolin, looking quite terrified.
"Hey there. I suppose I spoke aloud?" Faolin asked, watching her with utmost interest. He was almost certain he hadn't made any noise, or Ollivander would've responded.
"Oh, um, yeah. You didn't mean to?" She seemed slightly less panicked but still nervous. "I-I'm Ciara, by the way." Her accent was distinctly Irish. "Faolin, right? I heard you mention it to Mr. Ollivander." Faolin definitely hadn't, but he decided not to press the topic, more out of curiosity than reason.
Mr. Ollivander handed him a wand of beech, which reacted to him as poorly as the first, worsening the mess of wands scattered across the floor.
Faolin turned to Ciara. "Where are you from?"
She seemed shocked that he was still talking to her. "O-Oh, Dublin," She replied shakily. "You?"
"Belfast." He tried again for a winning smile. He must've been more successful this time because Ciara smiled back.
"Mr. Faolin?" Ollivander asked. "Would you rather act, or react?"
Faolin considered the question. "Well, that depends on the situation. Sometimes it would be better to act, and sometimes it would be better to react, and I can only choose right if I'm familiar with the situation. So I guess I would say neither. It's always best to know," Faolin answered.
The next wand, a cedar one, blew up Mr. Ollivander's desk, throwing wood, nails and whatever was inside across the shop, knocking over yet another poorly stacked pile of wand boxes. This place is a public saftey hazard, Faolin thought.
Then Faolin spotted a wand laying at his feet that must have come from Mr. Ollivander's desk, since it had no box. Faolon picked it up, feeling oddly drawn to it. The wand was thirty-two centimeters long, dark brown with three grooves sporaling up the shaft. The tip was capped with silver, and at the opposite end, an egg shaped sapphire with a two centimeter diameter was secured to the back of the handle by three silver talons wrapped around it. The ball of wood that seperated the engraved grip and the shaft was also trimmed in silver. It seemed to hum in hos grip, ready to do magic at a moment's notice.
"What's this?" Faolin stared at the wand, unsure if it would by appropriate to try it.
"Oh, that was an experiment by my father. Not a very sussesful one, though. I think the falirue is what prompted him to retire; my still see him as the best wandmaker in the world." Faolin raised his eyebrow at . This wasn't the information he wanted.
"It has an interesting dual-core, that is, there are two cores within the same wand: a Phoenix feather and a Thunderbird feather, contained in twelve-and-a-half inches of blackthorn wood. It's also an experiment about how using crystals can affect a wand. It doesn't really do anything. My father thought that the two cores cancel each other out. It doesn't do anything.
Faolin waved the wand at the mess around him, and oh boy, did it do something.
The wands strewn around the shop picked themselves up, flying back into their boxes and sorting themselves back onto the shelves and into mech neater stacks. In just a few seconds, all the evidence of Faolin wand testing disappeared.
"Why I-Well, um yes, t-that will do." Ollivander gave the wand a box and a cleaning kit, which he then gave to Faolin.
Faolin could feel Ciara watching him silently as he completed the purchase. He remained behind to watch her receive a wand. Ollivander took twice as long to find her a suitable wand, possibly because she only occasionally answered his questions. When she finally walked out of the shop with her wand, an eleven-and-a-quarter inch length of willow wood with a unicorn hair core, Faolin ran to catch up with her.
"I never got your last name." He asked, stopping next to her.
"Oh! I- um... It's Flynn." She was staring at him intently. He fought to keep his real question in the back of his mind until he could ask Boris or Mrs. Ramirez.
"Ciara Flynn." He tested the name. "You have a pretty name. I'll see you at Hogwarts in September?"
Ciara blushed. "Uh, yeah, I'll see you there." She walked off, leaving Faolin to find Boris. Afterward, Faolin and Boris spent the day hunting down their supplies for their first year at Hogwarts. Only when Faolin was sure Ciara was nowhere near them did he ask Boris the question that had been nagging him since Ollivander's.
"Hey Boris, is it possible to read minds?"
Boris turned to him. "Yeah, it's called Legilimency. Why do you ask?"
Faolin spotted Ciara's unmistakable red hair a couple of shops away, right outside Flourish and Blotts.
"Because I think I just met one."
[Page Break]
Mrs. Ramirez had guided Faolin through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾, and over the weeks before the start of term, she had given him rudimentary lessons in occlumency, the ability to defend one's mind from legilimens. As it turned out, Mrs. Ramirez was a legilimens.
Faolin refrained from telling her his suspicions about Ciara, instead simply insisting that he wished to keep his thoughts private (which was true), and that he hadn't gotten the name of the legilimens he had met in Diagon Alley (which was not true).
It occurred to Faolin as he boarded the train that lying to a mind-reader might be impossible. He was unable to ponder this further, as he was distracted by shouting in the train car he was in, along with a fair amount of banging.
"Hey, watch it!"
Faolin pulled Boris out of the way of a group of older kids barreling through the center aisle.
"You need to watch where you're going, mate." Faolin approached the nearest empty compartment, dragging Boris with him. They were almost in when Faolin saw someone was already inside. Someone Faolin recognized.
Ciara Flynn was sitting in the compartment, alone, reading a book. Faolin knocked on the open door.
She looked up in confusion at Boris, who was larger and more noticeable than Faolin. When she looked to Faolin, her features jumped as she recognized him, her expression morphing into something like hope, and fear.
She's by herself because she's afraid nobody will like her. Hunching over, trying to make herself look smaller than she is. She's used to being alone, but she doesn't necessarily prefer it.
She looks like she could use some friends.
"Hi, Ciara." Faolin smiled at her. Smiling at her was so easy. "Mind if we sit with you?"
Ciara shook her head, and Faolin brought Boris in. Ciara returned to her copy of The Hobbit. She seemed determined to ignore them. As an experiment, Faolin raised his mental defenses.
Ciara gasped softly and looked up at him in shock. Faolin winked at her. Her expression shifted into deep guilt.
"It's okay since I can stop it now." Faolin smiled at her.
"I'm confused, did I miss something?" Boris looked up from his own book, a copy of Karl Marx's Communist Manifesto.
"Ciara is the Legilimens I met in Diagon Alley. I've learned some basic Occlumency since then."
"I'm sorry, it just happens. I can't turn it off, and I can't hear anything other than what you're thinking at the moment. I've been able to do it as long as I can remember." Faolin could hardly hear her, she talked so softly.
"That's alright. It's not your fault you were born with this ability." Faolin patted her shoulder.
"You don't have many friends, do you?" Boris asked, setting his book down completely. He instead began to fidget with his ushanka, waiting for her reply.
"No. People always say I'm weird, and that I'm too shy."
"We'll be your friends." Boris continued. "If you'll be ours."
Ciara smiled slightly. "I don't even know your name-. Boris, Boris Ulanov." She smiled more. "I'm Ciara Flynn."
"Bori-, well, you already know my name." Boris shook his head. "So instead, let me talk to you about the equalization of the upper and lower classes brought by communism."
Ciara's look of bemusement at this sudden change of topic was so priceless, Faolin couldn't help but laugh. He laughed until Ciara started laughing too, leaving Boris staring at them in confusion.
"Guys, I'm serious. Capitalism allows the rich to stay rich and forces the poor to stay poor. Guys, stop laughing! Seriously, capitalism sucks. You must see that too, right? Guys!" But Boris's protests only fueled their amusement, until finally, a voice outside their compartment cut off the laughter.
"Well well well, boys, looks like the weird girl found some friends. Wonder what happens when they realize she can't talk."
There was a small boy standing in the doorway of their compartment. He was scrawny and underweight, but he had a smug look on his chiseled face as if he owned the world. Faolin felt an immediate urge to punch the newcomer right in his oversized hawk nose.
Hold that in. Try diplomacy first.
"And you are?" Boris challenged.
"Dante Belmont, but you can call me Big D.
Coming from my home in southern Italy.
I think you all should know, I'm the next big thing.
And I'm gonna run Hogwarts like I was king."
There was a stunned silence after this verse, broken by applause from Dante's gang.
"Okay, but did you really need to rap that?" Faolin definitely didn't like the arrogant air about this guy. The idea of breaking the little twerp's nose was becoming more and more appealing by the second.
"Hey, who do you think you are?" Dante waddled up to Faolin, his (fake) gold chains clinking around his neck. At 145 centimeters Faolin was no one's idea of tall. In fact, he was rather skinny himself. But Dante was at least 13 centimeters shorter than Faolin, and not at all athletic. If it came to a fight, Faolin was confident he could take Dante. His gang was a different story.
Dante reached up and grabbed Faolin's ear.
And for some reason, Boris just lost it.
"Gryaznaya kapitalisticheskaya svin'ya!" He yelled, pushing Dante back. Boris reached into his coat and pulled out a handgun, leveling it at Dante and his gang.
"Idi nahuy, mudak!" He yelled again. "Get out! all of you!"
"Whoa, calm down there, mate!" Faolin attempted to force the gun away from Dante while also pushing Dante out into the hall. "Maybe we shouldn't shoot him just yet!"
Most of the people in the room were simply staring at the gun in confusion, Dante and Ciara among them. Some, however, were having a similar reaction as Faolin, and were trying to urge their friends out of the compartment.
"Hey Dante," Faolin called after him. "The thing is, if you take away a wannabe gangster's chains, all you have left is a nitwit in baggy pants. You gombeen." Faolin quickly raised his wand and shouted one of the few spells he had managed to learn in the weeks between Diagon Alley and the start of the term.
"Accio chains!"
And the chains flew into his hands, snapping right off Dante's willowy neck.
"Colloportus!" He followed, locking the door to the compartment. He walked to the other side of the room and threw the chains out the window.
"They weren't even real, anyway." Faolin confided as Boris put his gun away.
Ciara and Boris looked at him.
"You fecking eejit," Faolin said to Boris. "Why do you have a gun?"
"A good slav is always prepared to defend his comrades."
"Yeah," Faolin agreed. "But aren't you a wizard?"
Boris turned beet red, and all at once, the three of them began to laugh harder than Faolin ever remembered laughing in his life.
[Page Break]
The Great Hall was massive.
It made sense that it would be massive. It was a great hall, after all. But the size of the hall was simply mind-boggling. It was at least twice the size of Faolin's house!
Also, the ceiling was apparently enchanted to show the sky, because when he looked up, all he could see were stars, as well as the abyss that surrounded them.
Boris bumped his shoulder. "Eyes forward, comrade."
Faolin looked at the rest of the room. There were four tables, each with about 200 people. The tables seemed to be sorted by color, one was red, one was yellow, one was blue, and the last was green. The occupants all wore the color of the table they were sitting at.
Some kind of sorting system, probably makes it easier to keep order. Faolin thought, before turning his gaze to the front of the room.
There was a large table at the end of the hall, on a raised section of the floor. There was an ornate podium in front of the table, accompanied by a simple wooden stool.
The center of the end table was taken by a stately looking older woman in dark green robes and a large pointed hat. Sitting directly to her left was Mrs. Ramirez, in a slightly smaller, but still massive, red, throne-type chair. A large nameplate on the table in front of her read Evelyn Ramirez (Defense Against the Dark Arts). She was chatting with the person to her left, a woman also appearing to be in her forties, in a yellow throne. This woman had golden hair and sky blue eyes, and her nameplate read Professor Penny Haywood (Potions). Penny looked extremely happy to be where she was. Or maybe she was just happy to be talking to Evelyn.
To the right of the green-robed woman, in a blue throne, was another woman with black hair and dark skin, although Faolin couldn't see her eyes because she was reading a book with more passion and energy than is usually found among readers. Her nameplate read Professor Rowan Khanna (Charms).
The final throne was green, to the right of the reading woman. This chair held a man with dark brown hair and a seemingly permanent scowl. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, making him the youngest occupant of the table. According to his nameplate, his name was Felix Vincent, and he taught transfiguration.
There were more adults sitting in the wings, but Faolin didn't get time to observe them, because the lady in the green robes had come to the podium, which was shaped like an owl with its wings spread, perched on a crystal ball.
"As much as I would love to welcome you all back to Hogwarts, I must first welcome our batch of first years." She turned to the crowd Faolin was part of. About 140 of them, all 11-year-olds were standing in between where the teachers sat, and the student tables.
At that moment, the headmistress (for surely that was what she was), set a ragged wizard hat on the stool. It was much like the hat she was wearing, but older, possibly as old as the school itself.
"Here comes the sorting ceremony," Boris said next to him.
Then, just when Faolin had decided he would let nothing surprise him, the hat did. It began to sing. A tear near the brim moved like a mouth.
Every year on September 1st,
I'm called forth to do my duty.
To the Hogwarts welcome banquet,
To show you my inner beauty.
You may think I'm worn and ugly
And that I should be thrown away.
But I will decide your future,
You shall witness it here today.
It's no easy task before me,
For I alone must decide,
By looking deep into your mind
In which house you ought to reside.
Fair Hufflepuff; Wise Ravenclaw;
Shrewd Slytherin; Brave Gryffindor.
Four wizards who chose for themselves,
But no longer, they are no more.
What fair Hufflepuff valued most
Was gentle determination.
And wise Ravenclaw believed in
Knowledgeable inspiration.
Three words to describe Slytherin,
Are ambitious, sly, and cunning.
Sometimes the means he would take to
Get results were rather stunning.
And finally, brave Gryffindor
Was courageous, noble and brave.
He preferred that all his students
Stay chivalrous unto their grave.
Four houses, all great and mighty,
All excelling in their own way.
I know that the four Founders all
Would be proud to see us today.
So now I'm here again for you,
They have not found a better way!
So put me on upon your head,
Let's get the sorting underway!
There was applause as the hat finished it's song before the headmistress began to call names.
"Belmonte, Dante!"
The sleazy midget from the train waddled up to the stool. He had only just donned the hat when it cried out.
"SLYTHERIN!"
Applause erupted from the Slytherin table. Dante ran to join them, his black robes shifting to the Slytherin green as he did.
"What house do you want into?" Faolin wasn't sure if he should be talking, so he kept his voice down as he asked
"Hufflepuff," Boris replied without hesitation. "Can you really see me being anywhere else?"
"Not any more than I can imagine not being in Ravenclaw," Faolin admitted
"Yeah, you'll be a shoo-in." Boris agreed.
"Desjardins, Alexis!"
A French-looking girl with brown hair ran up to the podium. The hat hesitated for a moment before proclaiming its decision.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Flynn, Ciara!"
Ciara flinched, making Faolin jump. He hadn't even noticed she was there, reading the Hobbit. She looked characteristically terrified.
Poor Ciara, having to be sorted in front of a thousand students. When she's as shy as she is? No wonder she's panicking. Faolin gave her a little bump.
"Go on. It's not like you can stop it." He smiled at her again; it was so easy. "Everyone's getting sorted, the only thing people can make fun of you for is hesitating.
She smiled back, and after a moment's hesitation, ran up to be sorted. She flinched when the headmistress placed the hat on her head, and she yelped and nearly fell off the stool when the hat made its choice.
"RAVENCLAW!"
She recovered herself, then fled down the stairs to hide among her new house.
Faolin and Boris resumed talking about the four houses as the sorting ceremony continued, but Faolin did not let the happenings of the ceremony escape him, and he continued to keep an eye on the hat the entire time. He saw Chike Kayode become a Hufflepuff. He saw Helgi Solberg become a Gryffindor, which seemed to upset him for some reason, even though Gryffindor was supposedly the most prestigious house. Maybe he was always upset.
Finally, it was Boris's turn.
"Ulanov, Boris!"
Boris chuckled. "Alright, time to go get put into Hufflepuff."
He ran up the stairs, leaving only Faolin and a Chinese girl standing before the podium. Boris sat on the stool and the headmaster placed the Sorting Hat on his head. Faolin, as well as everyone else in the great hall, leaned forward waiting for the sorting hat's verdict.
And they waited.
And they waited.
And they waited.
The hat seemed to be muttering to itself, considering. They must've waited at least 7 minutes for the Sorting Hat to finally announce its final decision.
"SLYTHERIN!"
Boris looked shocked. Faolin was too. Hadn't they just been talking about how much of a Hufflepuff Boris was?
Still looking shocked, as well as confused, Boris trudged over to the Slytherin table. He sat down, his robes taking their time to turn green. His housemates welcomed him somewhat reluctantly. What makes Boris more suited for Slytherin than Hufflepuff?
Faolin didn't have time to explore that mystery just yet, however, as he was next for sorting.
"Wallace, Faolin!"
Faolin walked up to the stool and sat down, now less trustful of the Sorting Hat's judgment than before. The headmistress placed the hat on his head.
Hmm, what have we here? Yes, I see… The sorting hat spoke, probably in his head, since no one was reacting to the hat's words. Besides, it hadn't spoken for anybody else, except to announce its choice.
"RAVENCLAW!"
Faolin jumped off the stool, relieved to have been sorted into the house of his choice. Ciara looked up from the Hobbit to welcome him, scooting over to let Faolin sit next to her. He sat, listening as the last girl, Jia Yeung, became a Hufflepuff.
Faolin half-listened to Mrs. Mcgonagall's introductory speech, introducing the new students to Hogwarts, laying out the rules, and telling the older students what had changed since last year. Mrs. Ramirez had been made head of Gryffindor house, and their new flying coach was a boy named Oliver Woods.
Then they ate. Or rather, everyone else did. Faolin didn't eat much, and from stolen glances across the hall, neither did Boris. Even Ciara ate more than them.
I hope he'll be alright. Boris seemed distraught.
Faolin continued to worry about Boris, but was unable to pursue the mystery of his house that night. Between a tour of castle grounds and introducing himself to all the older Ravenclaws, making sure to figure them out and make a good first impression.
It was only late that night when he began to find a traceable path of reasoning, but before he could follow it, sleep enveloped him, sweeping away all of his troubles until morning.
[Page Break]
It wasn't fair.
Why did Faolin get to be a wizard, and get whisked off the magic-school, while Cathal had to stay completely normal? They were twins. If anything, both of them should be magic! But no, Cathal had to be normal.
Well… not completely normal. Cathal conceded to himself. He was the smartest person in Belfast, he was confident of that. He might be the smartest person in Ireland.
Surely smarter than Faolin. However magical Cathal's brother might be, he hadn't skipped any grades. Before his revelation as a sorcerer, he had been going to attend the public middle school. This year, Cathal was going to high school for classes in chemistry, physics, biology, calculus, programming, and engineering. His first day had been today. Cathal was a genius. Every IQ test and practical piece of evidence said so.
Cathal waved away his cat, Dono, who was lonely since Faolin left with his brother, Kieran. Cathel felt bad for doing it, but he had to do something, anything to make himself feel worthwhile, even if he knew there was no making up for a lack of magic.
Cathal ran his hand through his auburn hair, the biggest difference between him and Faolin, who had medium brown hair. Cathal wondered what decided what muggles would be born wizards.
They were nearly the same. So why did he get left behind? Because the ability to learn magic was innate, Mrs. Ramirez had said. Because Faolin had to be better than Cathal at something, Faolin had said.
Well, there was some reason to Faolin's argument, Cathal thought. He turned off his 3d printer, instead of turning to his computer, where his attempts to create sentient AI resided. He was close, closer than anyone had ever been.
He had reached random thoughts, and he was working on the ability to create a tangible train of thought. The only thing he hadn't tried was getting it to be self-aware and curious. He could program an algorithm to claim to be self-aware, but getting it to actually be such was infinitely harder.
He booted up his most recent algorithm, LARK. He fiddled with the program for an hour or so, but his heart wasn't in it. Cathal was too distracted.
Frustrated, he pushed himself away from the desk. He thought about his lack of magic. Would magic help with this problem? He racked his brain, trying to remember what Faolin had told him about magic before he left.
Magic has layers, like an onion. The top layers are simple things, like levitating stuff and changing color. The deeper layers are more seemingly non-scientific things, like changing weight without changing mass or density, or turning one thing into an entirely different thing, but there's still a science.
Layers… AI…
Cathal sat up, nearly braining himself on the bunk bed he now had to himself. Was it possible to layer his AI? Instead of cramming it all into one jumbled-up algorithm, could he break it down into several much simpler, mutually-dependant algorithms, running simultaneously?
Cathal cleared out LARK, not even taking the time to save its changes. He brought up his notes on his previous attempts, then stopped.
What would he call it? Cathal thought about it for a long while before he reached a conclusion. Magic had inspired him, but not helped him. His AI belonged to science. Cathal smiled as he typed in the name of his new project: ATOM.
Author's Note.
There it is, done, the prologue of The Feather of Truth. Thank you so much for staying to the end, kind reader. It really means a lot to me. It took a solid week of blowing off my homework to finish, but it was totally worth it. This is surreal for me. I'm posting something I wrote to the internet. My dream is to become an author, and this is the next best thing, homework be damned.
Once again, thank you for reading, and I hope you all have a wonderful day. Or night, if you're reading this in bed at 1:00 AM. I've been there.
Stay on top, Lads. -ZS