Chapter One: I'm a What?
Smooth, translucent moonlight pooled in gentle beams through the small, twinkling glass paneling of a tiny balcony, briefly illuminating the darkened space inside with a pale half-light. The spacious bedroom was packed with shelves upon shelves of various literature and manga, mostly consisting of popular fantasy novels or some even involving parallel worlds, giving the room a warm, homey private library atmosphere. In the far-right corner sat a modest, oak worktable, and painstakingly placed in the center lay a scratched gray laptop.
A seventeen-year-old teenager relaxed contently on her twin mattress, wrapped tightly in a soft, fluffy comforter and a thick book held between long, black painted fingernails. Her pale, grey-blue eyes stared intensely down at the words, flickering left to right as she read with such speed only one with as much reading experience as she could hope to accomplish. It was late into the night, and she should have gone to bed hours ago, only, the half-finished book was calling her name like a particularly persistent lover.
She swiped impatiently at the choppy, overgrown black bangs hindering her vision, thoughtlessly pushing the long, straight violet strands underneath to the side of her neck with practiced ease. When she reached the last page, her heartbeat spiked, pounding with the bittersweet feeling of a great series coming to its inevitable end. Finished, she smiled sleepily, shutting the book and gently placed it back on her nightstand table. Snuggling back under her covers, she sighed with contentment and exhaustion. She was sure she would regret her choice later when she'd have to get up early for school, but for now, all she wanted to think about was sleep. As she fell quickly into unconsciousness, she had one last childish thought.
I wonder what happens to their kids?
Unbeknownst to her, the moonlight gradually expanded into the room, enveloping the seventh Harry Potter novel with dull, teal light, reflecting off the book as if it was glowing.
The distinct sizzle of frying bacon echoed loudly throughout the silent home, the heavenly smell wafting into my open bedroom doorway and rousing me from my coma-like slumber. I rolled sluggishly onto my side and stretched, my body internally struggling with my desperate need for more sleep or my growing appetite for food. A few minutes later and after a particularity loud rumble I eventually resolved myself to return to the waking world.
I knew I was going to regret staying up so late, I groaned miserably to myself.
I sat up in bed, yawning as I inhaled the delicious aroma of cooking breakfast. Reluctantly, I pushed away my warm blankets and dressed for comfort, throwing on a dark pair of my favorite gray skinny jeans and an oversized, worn black Nirvana tee-shirt. My bare feet padded silently across the cooled hardwood floor as I made a swipe for my bookbag lying against the far wall, but I paused when I reached the door's threshold.
Something was wrong.
I wasn't exactly sure what, but something felt...different. I turned around to study my room with renewed scrutiny. It still looked the same; my messy bed in the center, heavily unorganized worktable and computer in the right corner, tall, cherrywood bookshelves spanning most of the room. Except, some of the books looked weird. I walked towards the nearest bookcase and briefly scanned the titles.
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Hogwarts, A History by Professor Garius Tomkink
Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
From Egg to Inferno: a Dragon-Keeper's Guide
I stopped reading then, convinced I'm delusional and somehow hallucinating things. Did my mother perhaps order these antique books online, knowing my obsession for the Harry Potter series, and left them here as a surprise? Strange, they looked so real, with the bindings bent in different places and the titles clearly used. Not to mention, my mom would never randomly decide to splurge on, and I can only assume, very expensive Harry Potter fan-books. Especially with money being at tight as it always was.
Even outside looked different, I realized, gazing out my french windows. The buildings appeared new, and there was far too much green outside than I was used to seeing. Shrugging to myself, I decided not to dwell on it and continued down my hallway only to shuffle to a complete stop again. My mother never made breakfast. With a heavy knot of unease settling in the pit of my stomach, I stalked carefully down the now eerily empty hall towards my bustling kitchen.
"Mom?" I called timidly.
There was a loud, reverberating crack! almost as loud as a gunshot. I involuntarily screamed at the ear-splitting noise, falling unceremoniously on my ass. Abruptly there was a small, bizarre-looking creature bowing directly in front of me, and I had to quickly bite the inside of my cheek to hold back another terror-filled shriek. The thing was tiny with large, bat-like ears, huge, glossy green eyes, and it had gray, wrinkled skin. Wearing nothing but clean, tidy rags, it looked like...like...like a house-elf. His voice was low and solemn.
"Forgive me, young Mistress, Remy did not intend to startle you. Remy was sent by your mother to awaken you."
I was still frozen in dumbfounded shock. Remy bowed deeper at my silence, repeating his apology, and, with another hair-raising crack, disappears, presumably to do chores. I let out a strangled noise as I dragged myself to my feet. Just...What the hell? This can't be...I barged into the kitchen, fully expecting to see my short, petite blond mother who can explain that I'm not going crazy yet; instead, I find two total strangers.
The first was a tall, russet-haired man with chocolate-brown eyes and sporting stylish, horn-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in a dark, well-tailored gray suit, holding a newspaper and drinking a steaming cup of coffee at our glass kitchen table. With dizzying realization, I noticed the pictures in the paper moved, my horror deepening as I read its name displayed across the top in an elegant script — the Daily Prophet.
The other stranger was an equally tall woman with fair skin, cobalt blue eyes, and short, curly black hair. She was wearing some pretty, pine-colored dress that reminded me of the wardrobe adult female witches wore in the Harry Potter movies. There was a thin, gray wand held loosely in her right hand as she continually flicked it around the room. With a start, I realized breakfast was cooking all by itself as well as the dishes being scrubbed and washed via magic.
The space showed other small signs of a witch's influence, like the enormous wooden carved dragon clock in the center that occasionally spouted real flames or the multiple, framed, moving photographs of more strangers hanging on the walls. A quick glance showed me I seemed to be included in these photographs as well and I could easily recognize myself at various ages in the moving pictures. They each displayed specific, special moments in my life, events I clearly remember not happening, but in each those same strangers were present.
I leaned onto the nearby wall for support. This...this was too much. The woman turned when she spots me and enveloped me in a small shoulder hug. I stiffened at the unexpected contact and quickly controlled the intense urge to flee or hurt this strange woman touching me.
"Ah, lovely, Remy got you up. Good morning, sweetie," she sighed as she scrutinized my appearance. "I will never understand your fascination with muggle clothing but, here, take a seat."
With another easy flick of her wand, a kitchen chair shoots away from the table, gently knocking my legs out from under me and seating me before I can even voice my protest. Then, Remy is suddenly there, carry a large plate of scrambled eggs topped with bacon and a fresh pitcher of milk to the table as the woman joins us.
"So, are you excited?" She stared proudly at me, not even waiting for my answer as she continued. "I can remember my first day, and I was so terrified! I got sorted into Ravenclaw, in the end, but you know we don't care where you get sorted. Isn't that right, dear?"
The man looked over the top of his newspaper and gave my clammy hand a soft squeeze, sharing an affectionate smile with the woman. I twitched nervously in my seat.
"Of course not, as long as you're happy," he agreed.
The woman produced a high, girlish squeal.
"Can you believe it, John? Our only daughter, finally old enough for Hogwarts!"
She continued to smile fondly at me, and I simply stared. What? Hogwarts? But, that's not even possible, and besides, I'm seventeen! Who exactly were these people? Certainly not my birth parents, my real father was dead. With sudden suspicion, I squinted down at myself only to find, too late, I did seem different. I was way shorter for one, and my limbs were now much smaller, liked I'd been miniaturized.
My mind reeled, seriously, how did I not notice this before, I looked like an eleven-year-old girl! My vision started becoming blurry around the edges as I experienced the uncomfortable sensation of tunnel vision. I suspected I was about to faint. This. Cannot. Be. Happening. I must be dreaming, I had to be! Why else would I suddenly be thrown into the Harry Potter Universe about to be sent to Hogwarts? My 'mothers' face turned concerned as I remained deadly quiet, taking deep, measured breaths.
"Chelsea, are you all right? There's no need to be nervous, everyone's scared at first."
"I-I'm fine," I lied with a shaky voice. Get it together, woman. You cannot afford to have a panic attack in front of these people, you need to figure out what happened.
Purely out of habit, I grabbed a small portion of warm food from one of the plates and nibble on a piece of bacon. This action seemed to reassure my 'parents' as we all begin eating our breakfast in comfortable silence. I ate numbly, hardly tasting the delicious meal go down my dry throat. Right, I don't think I'm dreaming, better face that reality. I had already pinched myself, hard enough to leave a decent bruise, and still, this dream wasn't ending.
Alternatively, if I wanted to think more darkly, it's entirely possible could have died in my sleep. Or worse, this was some cruel, elaborate coma I'd never be able to wake up from. That all seemed highly unlikely, though.
So wait, was I really in the Harry Potter Universe? A part of me was thrilled with the prospect, extremely excited at the opportunity to live out, to experience what I had only known through pages and words. Yet my other side, the saner side, reminded me of all this world's potential dangers. And, hello, Voldemort being the clear top of that list. But then again, was he even born yet? Or did he die, curtsy of our resident Savior? Where did I fit, exactly, in that time frame? My head throbbed with a clear warning, and I was left suddenly craving an Advil.
"Chelsea, would you go grab your school trunk and bring it to the door, please?" My 'mother' said, drawing me away from my spiraling thoughts.
"Uh, yeah, sure." Act normally, you idiot, I ranted at myself.
I jumped up from the table, a little too forcefully and my 'father' sends me a worried look when I wince from ramming my knee painfully in the process. I slumped towards my bedroom and when I get there, I shut my door and locked it, falling backward onto my misshapen blankets. How was any of this even possible? People don't just go to sleep then randomly wake up in novels. I mean, sure, I'd thought about how much fun that would be if I could, but...but that was the whole damn point! I'd thought it, never seriously believing it could really happen. I tugged a clump of my hair in frustration, vaguely noticing it was still black and purple as I struggled to stay sane. So, situation check.
My physical body had somehow turned back into being my eleven-year-old self, except I still had the mind and memories of a seventeen-year-old. I was stuck in the Harry Potter Universe, clueless about how I got here and even more clueless about how to leave. And lastly, I was being sent to Hogwarts by my fake parents, probably today. What in the actual fuck?
For now, I guess I had no choice but to 'go with the flow' as they say. My 'parents' seemed nice to me at least, genuinely happy to see me attending Hogwarts. I'm...I'm going to Hogwarts. The shock and following explosion of emotions that follow that fact catch me off guard. Despite my crushing anxiety, my utter confusion at my situation, despite all the possible threats I'm well aware exist here...I was attending Hogwarts, and I felt absolutely ecstatic. Who wouldn't, it was every kid's secret dream, but then reality comes sweeping back with a cold, harsh truth.
Could I die here?
I sincerely didn't want to find out. In an attempt to distract myself, I searched around for my school trunk, eventually spotting it in a corner in front of my tall, full-length black mirror. I strolled over to it, studying my odd reflection for a full minute. I was still me, just shorter and younger. My cheeks even had that round, baby quality to them. Weirddddd.
Bending down, I opened the trunk, unsurprised to find all the things I would need already packed in neat, separate piles. Well, someone sure was prepared, I idly wondered if my 'parents' had packed it for me. Inside contained the usual; quills, rolls of parchment with bottles of ink, a small cauldron and an ingredient kit, brass scales, some crystal phials, three sets of standard work robes, and the usual copies of required books for first years. Right, just go with the flow, Chelsea. If for anything at least for the sake of your decreasing sanity.
I walked across the hall to the bathroom to wash my face and quickly brush my messy hair, wincing slightly as I ruthlessly pulled the brush through the tangles even as rouge multicolored strands occasionally fell through my fingers to land on the tiled bathroom floor. At this point in the morning, I'd put a little makeup on for the day, but seeing as how I was now eleven and didn't need any, I returned to my room and carelessly tossed the hairbrush into the trunk.
Going through my dressers, I pulled out a few more 'muggle clothes' along with five older manga's, three of my favorite books, and a small bag of basic toiletries containing my toothbrush and toothpaste. With hardly any space left on a whim, I grabbed my small, black jewelry box and stuffed it into the right corner. Feeling oddly satisfied, I plopped on the top and snapped it shut. Done, I dragged it halfway down the hall but jumped nearly a full foot in the air when Remy just appears. Without a word, the little elf takes my trunk and steadily started pulling it to the front door. The chest easily dwarfed him, but he made no complaint.
"Ah, Remy, it's alright I can do it," I told him.
"Oh, no. No, young Mistress," he protested quickly, looking panicked. "Remy is honored to do at least this much for your beginning at Hogwarts. Such is a house elf's job."
Well, when he phrased it like that, I almost felt special. Torn, I debated with arguing further, but knowing it would be far easier to let him be.
"Thank you, Remy," I said sincerely. Remy shot me a surprised look.
"Of course, it is a great honor to be serving the ancient pureblood family, the Sinclairs."
He bowed deeply then vanished again, the echoing crack! making me wince involuntarily. Pureblood? Well, I knew the woman was a witch, but I hadn't realized the man was also a wizard. I didn't recall ever hearing that last name in the books. I shrugged to myself, indifferent to my supposed superior stature, and figured that it must not be relevant. My 'mother' and 'father' both joined me in the open hallway at the front door, dressed in light brown raincoats.
"Ready?" My 'mother' said. I leaned down and quickly slipped on a pair of old, black converse before straightening back up, stuffing my hands in my pockets.
"Um, yeah." Really, what was I supposed to do now?
"Excellent. Here darling, wear this, it's nippy out today," she advised, handing me a familiar red-checkered flannel covered with pockets and I smiled despite myself.
"Thanks,'' I said and mean it as I pull on the jacket. I reached down for my trunk, but my 'father' stops me.
"Don't worry, Remy will deliver it to your room once you're sorted."
I nodded slowly.
"So, where are we going?" We still had at least another two hours until Hogwarts Express was scheduled to leave.
"We," my 'mother' began, smiling brightly. "Are going to buy your first wand."
I half-frowned in confusion.
"My wand? Why don't I have one yet?" I said.
My 'mother' looked uncomfortable, so my 'father' hurried to explain.
"We know it's last-minute, but with all the extra work at the Ministry lately, we just haven't had the time. But don't worry, you'll have it before you board the Hogwarts Express."
I shrugged again, looking forward to seeing the legendary Diagon Alley. Curious, I inquired, "What are your jobs at the Ministry?" This outta be good.
"Haven't we told you before?" My 'mother' said. At my blank expression, she tsked. "We work in the Department of Mysteries," here she winked. "If we told you exactly what we did, we'd have to kill you."
I laughed goodnaturedly.
"Now, grab my hand and hold on tight, were apparating."
I immediately clutched her entire arm in a tight, vine-like grip. I'd read about way too many painful insistence's with splitching and didn't intend on risking it. She chuckled at my overreaction.
"Hold on," she cautioned severely, and suddenly I felt as if I was being pressed tightly on all sides. My eyes were pushed harshly against the back of my skull, my chest squeezed painfully, and for a second, I couldn't breathe. Then, just as suddenly as it happened, the intense pressure faded, leaving me panting next to my 'parents' and fighting to dispel an intense wave of nausea. Next to me, my 'mother' looked worriedly into my face.
"Are you all right, Chelsea? I know it's not very pleasant but necessary."
"I'm..." I took a shaky breath. "...fine."
I straightened my spine and breathed out slowly through my nose, glancing around the small, shabby alleyway that we had apparated in. Reading about side-along apparition was one thing, but experiencing it? It sucked balls.
"You did wonderfully," she praised me, smoothing down the top of my hair. My 'father' rubbed my back in comfort, and I found myself leaning into it. It was helping the nausea fade, and frankly, it felt nice.
"I puked my first time," he announced casually.
Amused, I responded, "Did you really?"
"Sure, most people do the first time, but you'll get used to it eventually."
Not until my seventh year. That seemed so long away, and I highly doubted I would even still be here by then. Surely seven years was plenty of enough time to find a way back, right? I decided not to think too hard about it. I know, I know, avoiding my problems won't make them go away, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.
I obediently followed after my 'parents' as they ushered me expertly through the bustling, crowded streets of Diagon Alley. Amazed, I gazed in pure awe at all the colorful shops and, more often than not, the unusual people. Some shops I recognized, like Eeylops Owl Emporium, owls of every species and color either resting, flying, or sitting in cages in the front of the shop, even more than I could count hidden inside. Stationed nearby was the also famous Flourish and Blotts where most Hogwarts students purchased their school books. A small line of familiar-looking kids stood by the entrance. Probably some last-minute shoppers. We even managed to pass the infamous Leaky Cauldron. I half expected to see the half-giant Hagrid appearing along with a younger Harry, umbrella wand and all.
This...this was so awesome. Infinitely better than reading! While I was having a mini fangirl moment, my 'mother' quickly stopped, pulling me aside from the mass of moving people. I refocused on my immediate surroundings and saw we were now in front of Ollivander's Wand Shop. My heartbeat skipped with poorly concealed excitement at the thought of finally owning my very own wand. My 'father' lightly kissed my 'mother' on the lips then moved to kiss the top of my head.
"Be back soon, girls, I have to make a stop at Gringotts."
Slightly touched, I waved a quick one-handed farewell along with my 'mother'. We trekked inside the shop, a little bell chiming over the door announcing our presence. The room was virtually empty save for a single, cluttered, long brown desk and behind the counter were hundreds upon hundreds of various sized boxes were stacked almost as high as the ceiling.
"Just give me a moment!" A deep voice called somewhere from the depths of the wands. My 'mother' and I shared similar looks of bemusement while we waited. Finally, an elderly man with short, white hair and pale, silvery-blue eyes stepped out of the mess and addressed us with a professional smile.
"How may I help you?" he asked my 'mother' politely, sending my hair and clothes an inquiring stare.
"My daughter needs a wand. I know it's a bit last minute, but could you find one for her?"
His eyes twinkled, and I got the impression he greatly enjoyed his job.
"Certainly, certainly. Come here, child, let's see if we can find the perfect match."
I stepped up to the front desk and waited as he pulled out some strange-looking measuring tape with silver markings.
"Now, which is your wand arm?" he asked me patiently.
"Um, left. I'm left-handed," I answered. After he measured my arm, wrist, elbow, and shoulder, he quickly started pulling out boxes one by one only to shove half of them carelessly back in place, if you could call those unorganized piles a 'place,' continually muttering to himself. This went on long enough that I was starting to wonder if he'd gotten distracted by something else.
"...unicorn tail?...no, no...let's see...dragon heartstring?...not quite..."
"Aha!" he shouted triumphantly. "This."
Gingerly he placed an old, beaten black box in the center of the table. I raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. Didn't wizards typically go through at least three or four different wands before finding the supposed 'match'?
"Go on," Ollivander encouraged, undeterred by my clear skepticism.
Hesitantly, I carefully pulled the top of the box away, revealing a long, slightly springy ebony wand resting on purple velvet. My excitement grew it...it was beautiful. Ollivander watched my admiring gaze with a knowing smile.
"Yes, it's beautiful, isn't it? Nine inches, made from silver lime wood, very scarce stuff and implanted with a phoenix core."
Mesmerized, I picked up the wand with my left hand and stroked its shiny, smooth sides. Suddenly I felt a strong surge of warmth shoot down my hand into my body, encasing me with a soft, warm glow. I glanced up to see Ollivander watching me with wide eyes only to notice I was literally glowing, the wand wrapping a small protective light around me. I closed my eyes at the peaceful sensations I was experiencing and, after a moment, opened them again to see the end of the wand shoot out tiny purple sparks until all magic ceased.
"I'll take this one," I said happily. Ollivander blinked.
"Sir?" What, I totally just had a Harry Potter moment right there, with the dramatic scene of the wand choosing the wizard and all that jazz. So why did he look stunned? My 'mother' joined my side, also looking distressed.
"What? It picked me, right?"
Now Ollivander was watching me with a slightly awed, serious face.
"Oh yes, it definitely chose you," he intoned lowly.
"Why did you pick this wand?" My 'mother' demanded him, voice sharp. She seemed to glare down at my wand, almost as if she hated it. There was a small note of recognition in her dark blue eyes that I couldn't place.
Ollivander shrugged. "I just had a feeling..." he answered vaguely, still watching me closely.
"Is something wrong?" I asked, frowning at them. My 'mother' hesitated, and Ollivander used his chance.
"Nothings wrong, it's just... it's highly unusual. If it wasn't unique enough that the wood used to make that wand is extremely rare and has extraordinary Seer and Legilimency abilities, the phoenix hair inside is also incredibly rare."
"What do you mean?" I repeated.
"The particular phoenix hair is from one of the oldest phoenix's alive today, the only hair. And that bonding. My, I haven't seen such a strong bonding since I saw Mr. Potter a month ago." At the mention of Harry, my mind begins to turn furiously. He was talking about Harry and recently? That means I was starting during the sorcerer stone year! Harry's first year! Still distracted, I remembered something odd he'd commented on before.
"Mr. Ollivander, what did you mean by 'such a strong bonding'? Doesn't, well, isn't that normal?"
Was I misled? I had assumed wands naturally bonded with you like that.
"Not like that, not so strongly. That wand has been here for years, even before I started making wands, Miss. Sinclair. I've only had two people other than yourself try that wand. Both were rejected, rather violently."
I was lost to a sea of conflicting thoughts. We might be able to meet Harry! My inner fangirl screamed unhelpfully. The wand glowed dimly in my clenched hand, sending me comfort, focusing me. I looked directly into Ollivander's intensely curious gaze, breaking the uncomfortable silence that even my 'mother' didn't seem to know how to break, she'd seemed just as lost in thought as I'd been.
"Well, it's mine now," I smiled when the warmth grew, as if it was pleased with my claiming. "How much?"
Ollivander pursed his lips.
"Free of charge."
"What?" This time it was my 'mother' who spoke, at last finding her voice. "I can't do that, is it costly because of the rarity?"
Ollivander waved a dismissive hand.
"No, just think of this as a personal favor to me. That wand has waited for its true owner for a very long time and I would feel very offended if I demanded some ridiculously high price for something that has clearly waited so patiently."
My 'mother' looked like she wanted to argue, but at Ollivander's sincere face, her words trailed off.
"Thank you," she said stiffly. Then we were leaving, strolling out of the store with my new wand tucked safely in the back pocket of my jeans. My 'father' was waiting outside for us.
"So, how did it go?" he questioned as soon we drew near.
"Apparently, I have some, like, super rare wand," I told him cheerfully.
He raised an amused eyebrow, directing his next question towards my 'mother'.
"Oh? And how much did this cost?"
My 'mother' quickly filled him in on what happened in the store and everything Ollivander said. He seemed disturbed when she finished, and they kept sharing meaningful looks over my head when they thought I wasn't watching, but I just politely ignored them. I, personally, was delighted with my wand. I loved the immediate bond and that it could fill me with comfort when I was freaking out. It's just what I needed to stay focused so I could return home, not to mention it was beautiful. I had a strong feeling it would come to be very important in future conflicts to arise, especially for me.
Authors Note: Just letting everyone know, the stuff about her wand actually exists in the Harry Potter Universe. Trust me, I researched types of wands while writing and came across this gem and immediately thought, perfect!