People. King's Cross Station was full of them. Every last person here just went along their business, all the while ignoring an eleven-year-old girl just casually pushing a luggage cart by herself. No matter how many times she cast a sorcery, the way it bespelled others always remained fascinating. If the citizenry ever found out how much their minds were being manipulated at a daily basis, she was pretty sure that witch-hunts would come back into fashion.
The platforms nine and ten came into her view. Both packed, but that did not matter. Not with the Ministry-maintained sorceries covering the entirety of King's Cross. The two platforms were divided by an old brick wall. The wall positively screamed with emotion; it had to be the secret passage.
When she came a bit closer, her suspicion was confirmed by a family of oddly-dressed redheads. Their trousers and pullovers, almost 20 years out of date, were in stark contrast to her black, ankle-length skirt and white-grey button-up blouse. She dared not approach for fear of being recognised. Instead, she observed them run straight into and through the barrier wall one by one. Seeing that the coast was clear, she mustered her courage and followed suit. She closed her eyes as she made contact with the barrier. Even though she knew that she must never turn a blind eye to fear, she couldn't help herself.
When she opened her eyes again, she was looking at the concrete floor, catching her breath. Whose idea was it to make children charge a wall like they were trolls? They'll get an earful from her if she ever met them.
There was no time to waste. She needed to board the Hogwarts Express now if she wanted any choice in travel companions. Even now she could see herself being badgered with questions. Where did she live? Who did she live with? How was it to live with Muggles? What was her favourite pastime? The list went on and on.
No. She wanted some peace, quiet, and a much needed nap. These last few days had been hellishly exhausting.
She left the bulk of her luggage with the nearest porter, only taking the trunk with the necessities for the journey. It was a small thing; easy to carry and just the right size for her meal, a change of clothes, the school uniform, and a couple of books. The wand was tucked away in the pocket of her blouse.
On the inside, the train looked quite cosy. A few other students walked in front of her, probably looking for their friends. The first two dozen compartments already had students in them, mostly from the upper years. She passed by two dozen more before picking a compartment. It was a smaller one near the end of the carriage. It was not exactly a magnet for passengers. She slid her hand over the rough wallpaper, one of her fingers getting stuck in a hole. Then she glanced at the seats. They lacked warm colours, obviously having bleached throughout the years. Clumps of wool stuck out in a few places. All in all, a compartment like this would be avoided, and thus it was perfect for her.
She took the seat next to the window that was facing away from the locomotive, leaned against its side, and closed her eyes. As her breathing slowed, she started to hear the idle chatter of the students still on the platform and the parents saying their goodbyes. Slowly but surely the voices on the outside quieted down. The stomping of many feet echoed throughout the train. Then the entire train rumbled. She heard the chimney loudly release steam, parents on the outside shouted their goodbyes once more, and then the Hogwarts Express was off.
There was still confusion emanating throughout the train, mostly from younger students as far she could tell. Compartment doors slid open and closed for a while longer as her colleagues looked for their friends. The commotion kept coming closer and closer to her. Soon enough someone walked past her own compartment. Success.
The sounds of sliding doors and stomping feet started to die down. The horde of students filled up all the compartments in this carriage and the one behind it. Perhaps they even filled up the last carriage, but she couldn't be sure. The constant shrieking of the rails deafened out everything from that was not nearby.
The monotonous sounds of a moving train soothed her, oddly enough. They eased tension and provided a focus for her nigh restless attention. For all its issues, the cosy little compartment was a fine place to rest.
Then the door slid open. 'May I come in?' asked a boyish voice. 'Everywhere else is full.'
What now? She was not in the mood for chit-chat. Better pretend to be asleep and ignore the boy. If he goes away, great. And if he sits down? Well, hopefully he was polite enough to remain quiet.
Upon receiving no response, and probably thinking that she was asleep, the boy closed the door. She heard him store his luggage and sit down. Judging by the place the sound came from, he was sitting next to the door on the row facing the locomotive. Some time later he took something out of his luggage, probably to make the time go by faster. She could sympathise, he radiated boredom like most kids would have were they in his place.
This relative silence continued for a while longer. Every so often the boy would open his luggage, and that was likely a trunk, and take something else out. At first it was a collection of something made out of paper, maybe cards or the like. After that it was his wand and a book. She was especially glad that she had chosen to sleep when he took out his lunch. She had no idea what it was, but he sure was a loud eater. The boy must have been eating with his mouth open. The mere thought disgusted her.
When the door opened for the second time, she was starting to get just a tad annoyed. Hopefully they wouldn't be staying for long.
'Have you seen a—' The girlish voice cut off mid way through the sentence. 'Sorry,' she said, much more quietly this time, 'I didn't notice your sleeping friend. Have you seen a toad? A boy called Neville has lost one.'
'No. I didn't see it.'
The girl sighed before speaking again, 'Alright. I'm sorry for bothering you.' She left the compartment and closed the door.
Thankfully, that went by quickly. She had been tempted to interrupt them and try simply summoning the toad, but she opted not to. The interruptions had soured her mood and there was no telling what state the poor toad would be summoned in. The last thing she wanted to do was murder someone's pet. Not the first impression she wanted to make. That was all there was to it.
However, soon after the girl had left, someone else barged into the compartment. She really wanted to yell at the inconsiderate sod, but her powers, although less volatile than in the past, stopped her.
'Is Violet Potter in here? We've been looking for her all over the train.'
Her heart skipped a beat. Why was this boy looking for her? She did not sense anything nice from him. His two companions, though, did not seem to be feeling anything at all. This could spell trouble.
'We skipped this compartment because it looked like a dump, but she is none of the others. Is that her there, with the black hair?' he asked, his voice airing demand and arrogance.
'I don't know. She was already asleep when I came in,' said her companion. 'But you better quiet down, unless you want to wake her up.'
The newcomer stayed silent for a moment. He was afraid of something. 'We are going to be arriving soon. You two should get dressed,' he said, and then left with his companions in tow. Annoyance.
Her companion stood up, did something near the door, and then closed them. He stood still for a few moments, unsure of what to do. A mixture of fear and excitement. In the end, he walked closer to her and she felt his hand on her shoulder.
'I'm sorry to wake you up,' he started, 'but we're arriving at Hogsmeade soon.'
Time to act out the role of the ignorant girl that has definitely been asleep. She cracked her neck, rubbed her eyes, and let out a soft yawn.
'Hmm, what did you say? And how did you get in here anyway?' The smooth fabric of her skirt brushed against her hands. What a change from the old and worn seat.
'Uh, I walked in after we left King's Cross. I tried to ask for permission, but you were already asleep. I just sat by the door the entire time, honest! Others wanted to asked about things and wanted to come in, but I made them leave. Well, kind of. I just told them you were sleeping.'
Well, at least he was honest about it. She stood up to take a better look at him. The freckles scattered across his face went well with his thick, red hair. He was pretty tall for his age and his arms were long and gangly.
'My name is Ron, by the way, Ron Weasley.' He stretched out his open hand.
She shook it. 'Violet.'
His eyebrows shot up when she told him her name. He probably figured out what her last name was. Oh joy. Well, at least he appeared unsure enough of it to not chance embarrassing himself in front of a stranger.
'Well, uh, Violet, we should change into our school robes. We're almost at Hogsmeade,' he said.
His cheeks were red. Poor Ron was unsure of what to say. She should throw him a bone. 'I'll change my clothes first, so you better wait outside until I'm done.'
He nodded and sped out of their compartment. She took her school robes out and put them on in a matter of minutes. She would have been dressed sooner if the uniform wasn't so damned complex. All these pointless layers of clothes were too much for her taste. She tidied herself up a bit more and then swapped places with Ron. Soon enough they were both dressed and the train was slowing down. Half a minute later and the train had stopped moving. They got off of it quickly, heading toward the mass of young witches and wizards.
The scene was quite something. The Hogwarts Express was still puffing smoke as they all stepped onto the tiny dark Hogsmeade station. It was early evening and the Sun was already nowhere to be seen. In the distance stood a giant man. Definitely Hagrid.
'Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!'
His big, jolly self towered over them.
'C'mon, follow me! Mind yer step, now!' he bellowed.
Slowly but surely, they followed him onto a steep, narrow path. It was a dark place full of evergreen trees. A not so small number of students shivered from the cold, evening air.
'Round this bend here yeh'll get ter see Hogwarts fer the firs' time,' he said.
There was a chorus of oohhs, aahhs, and other similar expletives.
The dark and narrow path soon led them to the edge of a large black lake. Standing above it atop a high mountain on the side sat Hogwarts. Its many turrets and towers rose tall into the night sky. The myriad of windows shined with a starry light.
'No more'n four to a boat!' Hagrid called again, standing in front of a small fleet of dinghies. After they had all gotten in, he took one last look at the coast before pointing his umbrella at the castle and yelling, 'Forward!
As soon as he said that, the dinghies moved all together, all at once towards the castle. They sailed across the smooth lake in silence. Most of the students gazed at the castle in starstruck amazement. Not her though. While it was a beautifully constructed place in its own right, it could not hold a candle to the otherworldly architecture of Azarath. She found Azarath's crimson roofs and marble walls far superior to the pale blue tiles that lay on the castle's towers. The mixture of architectural styles that had accumulated over its long lifespan sure was something, though.
'Heads down!' yelled Hagrid when they neared the cliff. They all bent down as they passed through overgrown ivy that hid a dark tunnel, which took them to an underground harbour that seemed to be located right under the castle. There they climbed out of their boats and onto wet rock.
Hagrid then took them over a short flight of stairs that lead to a heavy, wooden door. He took a moment to brush of some dust and grime that had been gathering on his coat before knocking on the door three times with his large fists. The knocking echoed across the underground harbour and they all stood in complete silence. Then, the door opened all on its own.
Waiting for them on the other side was an elderly, dark-haired witch in emerald-green robes. Her face was very stern and not unnaturally so. Elder Azar had worn that exact expression at times, but that was only when the topic of study was very important. She had long since been immunised to that trick. This witch would not intimidate her.
'The firs' years, Professor McGonagall,', said Hagrid.
'Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.'
Professor McGonagall pulled the door wide open and led them into a small, empty chamber of the hall. The other students, herself included, took the opportunity to look at the castle's interior. Stone walls, marble staircases, torches for lighting, and a ceiling too high to see. These stone halls had nothing on Azarath.
Once the students had finished crowding in and took away most of breathing room, Professor McGonagall finally spoke to them. After the first two sentences, it was clear to her that this was an introductory speech and tuned it out. Her subconscious memory would pick it up anyway, so she could spare herself the bore. Houses, house points, sorting ceremony. It was all more or less detailed in a myriad of books. Hogwarts was more than a school, after all. It was a point of national pride. Curiously, she had found no information about the means by which the students were sorted.
When she was done with her short speech, McGonagall told them to smarten up while they still could, and then left. She said that they were preparing for their entrance. Patience being a key aspect of her training, she had no problem tuning out the idle chatter of the sardines around her. There was an odd silence for a minute or two, but ghosts were not a new concept for her. Not after her nightmares.
'Move along now,' said a sharp voice. 'The Sorting Ceremony's about to start.'
Professor McGonagall had returned. 'Form a line and follow me,' she told them.
Her legs moved as smoothly as fish in water, unlike those of her many colleagues. She got in line after Ron with a blonde girl behind her, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of great doors into the Great Hall.
Now, this was impressive. Thousands upon thousands of candles floated in mid-air over four tables that stretched from the doors to the end of the hall where a fifth table stood horizontally across them. There, the teachers sat, looking over the other students from the older years. Amongst the many faces were a few misty-silver ghosts, floating around the tables and talking with student and teacher alike. High above them all stood the night sky, dotted with stars. She had no doubts that it had taken many experienced wizards and witched to enchant the ceiling to reflect the true sky.
The last thing that caught her eye was the ragged, brown hat that stood on a round stool next to Professor McGonagall. Everyone else stared at it too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched, a rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat began to sign. It was a simple and charming song. She found it quite enjoyable. Everyone else must have enjoyed it far more, though, because the entire hall burst into applause as soon as the singing stopped.
So that was how they sorted students here. How did it work? They obviously had to put it on, but then what? It was clearly somewhat sentient, so would it ask questions? Or, perhaps, could it read minds? If so, how much could it see? How deep must her thoughts be to remain private? No, there was no way it could actually read your life like a book. Nobody would stand for such an invasion of privacy— the old and noble families most of all.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward holding a roll of parchment so long that it brushed the floor. 'When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,' she said. 'Abbott, Hannah!'
The girl in question stepped out of the line, blonde pigtails flailing behind her, put on the oversized hat, and sat down. They all waited a few moments for the hat to make its decision.
'Hufflepuff!' it shouted.
That process repeated for every first-year student. A name would be called, the student would put on the hat, it would announce its decision, the house in question would welcome them with a cheer— except Slytherin, who restrained themselves to polite clapping. That is, until her name was called.
'Potter, Violet!' echoed through the hall. She stepped forward. Whispers rose up almost immediately.
'Violet Potter? That Violet Potter?'
'Isn't she supposed to be dead? A bout of accidental magic gone horribly wrong?'
'No, she was sent to a Ministry safe house. Apparently a dark wizard had attacked her.'
'I heard that she wasn't even on the train. My younger brother spent half an hour looking for her!'
'Can you see her scar? The books say she was horribly disfigured as a result of the killing curse.'
'No, but she does have a really pretty face.'
To give them credit where it was due, coming up with a believable explanation for the signs of a struggle, one quite obviously magical in nature, was a challenging task. Still though, some of the things she was hearing were a bit much. Oh well, not that she cared. They would all have plenty of time to gossip shortly. She had a feeling that her sorting would take a while. There was no way that the hat was made with someone like her in mind. With that thought in mind, she sat on the stool and put the dusty, old thing on her head, ignoring the curious looks everyone was giving her.
As soon as the hat slipped over her eyes, she heard a voice in her head, 'Hmm, I'm not quite sure what to do with you. If I didn't know any better, I would have assumed that you were older than the bunch that I just sorted,' it said. 'That doesn't make it any easier for me to sort you, does it?'
Well, she did not care where she was put. It's not like it would matter in the long run.
'That doesn't help either. You should go see the nurse as soon as you can. A four-way split between the houses is not a sign of good health.'
She really should have expected that, what with her nature and all that.
'Now, you have plenty of courage in you. You fight honourably against a foe you deem insurmountable. You have a brilliant mind, one of the finest I have seen. I am sure that the Headmaster would appreciate your quips. Yes, the work you put into your efforts gives you credit. However, a grand seed of ambition lurks deep down in your heart. Slytherin could help it sprout, and guide you to the success you so desire.
'Ah, I see you deny the truth about yourself. Well, let me tell you that I see all aspects of your personality, no matter how deep you try to bury some of them. I see all of your emotions, even if you refuse to see them yourself. Now, this problem of yours might make my job easier. Tell me, where do you think you belong?'
Belong? She did not belong anywhere on this world. Not fully. The only thing she wanted was to be left in peace, away from children too young to understand her burden. If only she could have skipped the first few years, that would have been for the best. Perhaps then someone would have the capacity to understand.
'Seclusion, eh? I cannot say that I agree with what you think of yourself and your peers, but you truly seem to believe that Gryffindoor and Hufflepuff would force you too have fun. Yet still you stubbornly refuse to accept the fact that fun might be just the thing you need.' The hat huffed and puffed before continuing, 'You fear the Slytherin part of you. You think it will turn you into someone you do not want to become. Bah, nonsense I say— stubborn to the end, eh? In that case— better be Ravenclaw!'
She heard the hat shout the last sentence to the entire hall. After taking off the hat, she noticed that everyone was staring at her in complete silence. She took her first few steps towards the Ravenclaw table and it immediately erupted in celebratory cheer. Nobody else had gotten a louder one. An older boy stood up and vigorously shook her hand and pulled her down on the seat next to him. She received a few more enthusiastic handshakes from the students around her. Hagrid gave her a thumbs up, a short man waved at her, and the others either stared in silence or smiled. There was nobody in the hall that was not looking at her. It was… nauseating.
The Headmaster stood up. 'Quiet down, please,' he said. 'Before we continue with the sorting, I would like to congratulate young miss Violet Potter for her record time spent under the hat; ten minutes and thirty-four seconds. I am honoured to be the Headmaster during this truly exceptional occasion. That is all, thank you.'
After he sat down, the sorting ceremony continued. Her housemates had plenty of questions, she could sense it. Thankfully, she could play up the role of a shocked first year for this night at the very least.
One Blaise Zabini was the last student sorted, being made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away. The golden plates in front of her were empty and she hadn't eaten anything since this morning. Seeing the Headmaster get up made her hope that he would say what was needed quickly so that she could finally have a bite to eat.
'Welcome,' he said. 'Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!
'Thank you!'
He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Then the food appeared on the plate and everyone put their jaws to work. She took a bit of everything and sated her hunger. Nobody bothered her during the meal and the subsequent desert. Was that because Ravenclaw students were polite by nature, or because she was so focused on the food that she did not hear them trying to get her attention?
The food disappeared once everyone had finished. Headmaster Dumbledore took the opportunity for another speech, this time a more serious one so she had to pay attention directly. Amongst the regular boring rules there were a few interesting exceptions, albeit ones she had no intention of exploring. She had her own problems to deal with. After that came the school song and then the prefects lead them to their tower. Her fellow first years climbed the stairs with some difficulty since they were all stuffed full of food and ready to fall asleep. A few odd paintings said hello here and there, but that was as interesting as things got.
Soon enough they reached Ravenclaw Tower. The entrance was a door that had no doorknob or keyhole, but a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle. The prefect used the knocker, whose eyes sprung open. Then, it spoke, 'Which came first, the phoenix, or the flame?' it asked.
'A circle has no beginning,' answered the prefect. The eagle's eyes snapped shut and the door opened.
The Ravenclaw Common Room was quite an airy room. It was built in a shape of a very wide circle with graceful arched windows that punctuated the walls. Blue and bronze silks hung from them along with some portraits here and there. The midnight-blue carpet covered in stars was reflected onto the domed ceiling. The furniture, too, was blue. All the tables, chairs, armchairs, and even the lone divan was full of the colour. She could even see a library, hidden in a niche. What treasures did it hold?
'Your luggage has already been brought up, so you are free to lounge around a bit or go to bed immediately. You will find the dormitories behind the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw.' He pointed to a tall statue depicting the founder of the house, made of the finest white marble. It stood in front of a large door.
Slowly but surely, most students paired up with their friends and went to find their beds. She was about to join them, but the prefect grabbed her shoulder.
'Hold it, Potter. I am afraid that the day isn't over for you just yet. The Headmaster insisted that I escort you to his office immediately after I was done with my duties,' he said.
She sighed. This must be about her whereabouts, like Hagrid had said. Apparently what she told him wasn't enough to please the Headmaster.
'I understand.'
The prefect nodded. 'Follow me, please. It's a short trip.'
The two of them left the Ravenclaw Tower. The prefect led her through a long hall, followed by a series of moving staircases. The whole experience had an eerily familiar air about it. It was very much like when she and Aderian had skulked around Azarath. It was her first time in the city, much like this was her first time at Hogwarts. The path to their destination was not nearly as confusing as last time, however. They stopped in front of a statue of a gargoyle.
'Sherbet lemon,' said the prefect; the gargoyle moved to reveal a circular staircase. 'The Headmaster's office is upstairs. I'll be waiting for you here.'
She nodded and climbed the stone stairs. At the very top stood a door with a plaque that read 'Headmaster's Office'. She decided to knock.
'Come in, Violet,' answered the Headmaster, and the door swooshed open.
The office was pretty devoid of pretty much everything except a table and three chairs, two of which were already taken. Headmaster Dumbledore sat on a tall one behind the desk, while a short man wearing a bowler hat occupied a shorter one on her right-hand side in front of it. She was pretty sure that was the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. His face had been plastered everywhere in Diagon Alley.
'Headmaster. Minister Fudge.' She bowed to both men. Both of them looked very pleased.
'I am so sorry to keep you out of bed, my dear, but the Minister and I need to ask you some very important questions.'
'Indeed,' said Fudge. 'You gave us all quite a scare when you vanished from the care of your relatives. They refused to say where you went, even under Veritaserum and the residue of your accidental magic could not be traced. Under those circumstances we had no choice but to keep an eye open. Frankly, the one thing that kept this story under wraps was your name in the Hogwarts' birth register. If you had died… well, let's not talk about that.'
'Quite so, quite so. Now, onto the questions. I am sure that we all wish to go to bed,' said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. 'We would like to know what happened that day and where you went.'
'I had an argument with my guardians and I… uh, what is the word? Yes, apparated. I apparated and hit my head. That's what the monk who found me said.' That should be a believable lie.
Both men looked quite invested in her story. 'A monk? One of those muggle hermits? And why did you not go back to your family?' asked the Minister.
'Go back? Minister, my family does not like magic. That is what the argument was about in the first place. I said I did magic, they said magic wasn't real. Things got worse from there.' She noticed that Fudge looked quite disturbed, and Dumbledore even more so. 'They didn't hit me, if that's what you are worried about.'
They both sighed in relief. 'Well, I had insisted that muggles could not be trusted with The Girl who Lived, be they family or not. Your story supports my position; at least we can spare other infant witches and wizards the suffering.'
Headmaster Dumbledore looked displeased, but he pushed on with another question, 'What of the monk? Who was he?'
'Aderian, a monk of Azarath. The Monks of Azarath raised me.'
Another sigh of relief. 'Well at least they aren't muggles. An odd bunch, but quite capable. I think that also answers the rest of the questions we had for you. We know how they operate,' said Fudge.
'You may go, Violet. Thank you for your time. I'll be sure to excuse you with your professors tomorrow in case you sleep in.'
She bowed again and left the room.
'Oh, and if you ever wish to move in with a proper family, be sure to let me know. I am sure that I'll be able to arrange something for you,' called the Minister.
The door shut behind her. Adoption? Not happening. Who knows to whom she would be handed off to?
'Done already?' asked the prefect.
'Yes. It was just a couple of questions. Nothing special.'
The prefect shrugged and led her back to Ravenclaw Tower. She slept until dawn.