This story was on a newer account of mine, which I have lost the login and email information of. Oh well. But I did find this one which I wasn't aware even existed anymore, so that's lucky! Upon remembering that I had this story, I wanted to continue writing it, and realized it couldn't be accessed. So, here it is, I guess?
If you enjoy it or have any critiques to help me improve, please leave a review!
It was almost as if she were falling into a dream when Freja would close her eyes. She felt as if she were falling, but gently, like the atmosphere around her was safely cradling her and protecting her from harm. She felt these silky threads brush against her cheek and she would smile, because she knew that everything was and would be alright. She was going to be okay.
It was fine because this Sunday was like any other before it. Boring. Quiet. Familiar. Safe.
Her alarm clock suddenly startled her awake. She sat up abruptly, the sun shining through the old windows of her tiny flat. She was buried in the soft blankets of her bed, her short yellow hair a tangled mess. She groaned and threw her blankets to the floor in a heap. Standing up she reached towards the ceiling and then to her toes, her joints cracking into place. Freja was not a graceful sleeper.
She looked about her room and ran her hands through her tangles. She scoffed. "Today's my job interview… better get ready." Her heart skipped a beat. She was excited and nervous.
Slipping her feet into her slippers she made her way down the hall to the bathroom, radio still blaring the morning news: A traffic report, the weather, and a Chris Isaak song to greet the day. Thinking about her breakfast, she flicked the light onto the bathroom and cast a glance at her reflection, before undressing and taking a quick shower.
She finished bathing, and pulled a comb through her tangles. Wincing slightly she grinned and bore it. It was like any other Sunday before the last. A morning beginning in tangles. Returning to her room she threw on some appropriate clothing for an interview and chilly weather.
Glancing at the radio clock she groaned. No time left to make an appropriate breakfast. A toaster pastry will have to do. She slammed her hand on the top, paused, and made a it a point to turn off the recurring alarm.
She grabbed her coat, keys and breakfast and headed out the door. Out on the busy streets she nodded and smiled at the passerby, a quick "good morning" to those she recognized. She passed a raggedy looking man, made her way past him, and thought better of it. A few minutes of her time with him wouldn't make much of a difference. She made idle chit-chat with him and offered him her breakfast which he accepted. They said their 'Good-byes' and Freja made her way back to the stairs of the underground to catch her train.
She was thinking of her day, her interview, and what she could possibly say as answers to possible questions. She did not notice that the raggedy individual had followed behind her.
The underground was as cold as always and greeted her with the same musty smell she was all too familiar with. She sneered, but it was her only means of transportation. It was fast, convenient, and inexpensive.
She suppressed a gasp when a subway cart rushed past her and came grinding to a halt. She had been lost in thought and let out a relieved sigh. It was not her car to get into so she stood still and continued to wait.
Nervousness crept into her mood and she furrowed her brow. What if the interview went wrong somehow? She really needed this job. She looked around and raised an eyebrow. The man from before was standing and waiting. Perhaps for the next train? Standing behind the yellow line as she was, she noted that it appeared he was fumbling with something in his hands.
More people began to fill the underground. They were all quiet save for a couple of rough looking and loud youths. Freja turned from them, in an attempt to mind her own business. She knew better than to not give them any reason to bother her. As did anyone. They were known for causing issues. For being violent.
Everyone minding their business however did not stop the vagabond man from being noticed by them. Standing on his own, behind the yellow line. Behind the tracks.
On top of everything else, the youth were especially known for their feelings about people like the ragged man. They began taunting him and calling him names. Freja continued to mind her own business. She continued to wait.
They began to get physical. Freja distinctly heard one of the youth say something peculiar. Something along the lines of "...a branch? You're crazy, mate…' and heard a SNAP. The man started bellowing with rage. The man lunged at the youths, and the youths shoved back.
And the man fell onto the tracks.
Panic immediately set into Freja and she ran over to the commotion. "Stop!" She yelled. And the youth mocked her, hurling insults and vulgarities at her. She did her best to ignore it and she looked down to the man on the tracks. He was holding his hip and groaning. He was injured, and, Freja noted, was stuck with his arm bent under a loose track.
No one else around her made any moves. Some had their backs turned away, trying to ignore the issue and failing. Freja was frozen. She didn't know what to do. It was as if her actions were not her own as she stepped over the yellow line and onto the tracks herself. She heard the crowd gasp.
No one else made a move, but Freja would be damned if she didn't at least try to help the man in some way. But try as she might, there was no freeing the man. She pulled and she lifted but none of her actions made any improvement.
There was a loud horn and bright lights, as the next train rounded the corner. Freja shut her eyes as tightly as she could.
It was almost as if she were falling into a dream when Freja would close her eyes. She felt as if she were falling, but gently, like the atmosphere around her was safely cradling her and protecting her from harm. She felt these silky threads brush against her cheek and she would smile, because she knew that everything was and would be alright. She was going to be okay. It was a Sunday just like the others before it. Boring. Quiet. Familiar. Safe.
Only it wasn't. Because on this Sunday, when Freja Lowes closed her eyes, and she felt the silk threads brush against her cheeks…
…Freja Lowes had fallen beyond the veil, and she died.
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There was silence at first. Wind shook the leaves in the trees surrounding this open section in the middle of nowhere. It had rained recently and light tapping of water dripping onto whatever surface it touched echoed in the lonely wood. A gathering of wildlife stood still, nibbling at fresh sprouted grass. It was beautiful and peaceful.
And then suddenly, with a loud bang and crash, and the humm of a bell, the peace was disrupted. The wildlife scrambled away as a figure fell out of thin air, violently hitting a few branches on their way down with a sickening crack. The figure remained laying in a heap on the damp earth, not daring to move a muscle. They let out a guttural cry, and a gasp of breath, woke for a moment before passing out again.
They wouldn't have noticed, nor probably cared, when a large figure appeared from the shadows of the trees. The figure stood over the poor stranger, before scooping them up and carrying them off who-knows-where.
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The smell of something burning and the crackle of a fireplace woke the stranger with a start.
Freja weakly sat up from what was an itchy bed and carefully pushed what she thought was a heavy coat from her trembling body. She was confused. Where was she?
…who was she?
She saw out of the corner of her eye something big move. She yelped out loud at the sight of the large man. She had never seen someone so tall and wide.
The large man turned. He had a pipe in his mouth and was puffing from it animatedly. He removed the pipe and curled his mouth into a smile. At least, Freja assumed it was a smile. She could not tell due to his gnarly beard.
"Aye. You've woken up." He said, as he stood. He picked up a mug and handed it to her, and Freja took it cautiously. It was warm, yet she continued to look at it suspiciously, and her raised eyebrow was not missed.
"Worry not… It's tea." Freja took a sip, then pulled a face. "Though I shoulda warned you, I'm not handy around the kitchen."
"Heh…" Freja awkwardly began, finally finding her voice. "Umm… I'm sorry… who are you? Where are we?"
"The name is Rubeus Hagrid. Keeper of the keys and the grounds of Hogwarts." he answered proudly. "I've already sent for Headmaster Dumbledore. He will be down shortly to meet you."
Freja cocked an eyebrow. She felt so confused.
Headmaster? So this is a school? Even though Hogwarts doesn't even SOUND like a real thing…
"Headmaster? Is this a school? Am I a student here?" she asked the man called Rubeus Hagrid. She wondered if he knew who she was. She didn't even know who she was. "I can't… I can't remember anything. At all." She frowned. And Hagrid followed suit.
"Aye…it's alright. I think you're a bit too old to be a student here. And you appear to be a muggle at that." She shot him a puzzled look. What the hell is a muggle? "It is also summertime. School is not in session."
Summer? Freja could of SWORN it was nearing the end of March. She looked down at her attire. Long slacks and a turtleneck…
"Where is here?" she asked.
The man opened his mouth to answer when a brief rapping at the door interrupted him. "That must be the headmaster now. Just one moment, Miss."
The door opened and inside stepped a tall, slender and elderly man. He was dressed in what appeared to be a purple silky bathrobe. He donned spectacles and had long white hair, and an even more gnarly looking beard than Hagrid had, braided and tied with gold ribbon. The man called Headmaster Dumbledore greeted Hagrid like an old friend before turning to the young woman, who was still anxiously gripping the mug of tea. Blue eyes met her own.
Eyes that were kind, wise and sad.
"It's a pleasure to meet you." He spoke with a powerful, clear, and soft voice. "You've suffered a great deal, dear. What's happened to you?"
She didn't say anything at all at first. Then opened her mouth to speak. She did not recognize her own voice. "I… I don't know what happened… where… who?"
She gripped her throat gently, and felt tears streaming down her cheeks.
'Freja'
"All I really remember is my name… Where am I?' Pain started to set in. "And everything… hurts."
"You are at the groundskeeper Rubeus Hagrid's hut, on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Dumbledore said matter of factly. He eyed her up and down, and locked eyes with her. He frowned and nodded knowingly.
"Miss Freja, you've been through quite a lot." Freja felt like someone tossed a cold glass of water on her. "Let us get you healed up, shall we?"
Freja attempted to stand, yet couldn't find the strength to do it. With the assistance of Hagrid, the trio made the trek to a dilapidated castle. But then, with the swish of a peculiar looking branch carried by the old man, it felt as if a veil was lifted from her, and the castle's true look was revealed to her.
"We have a lot to talk about… but for now, let us focus on getting you better, shall we?" Dumbledore said.
Freja just nodded gently in agreement. It was all she could do at that moment.