For a moment, when she woke up the next morning, Isabel couldn't remember where she was. Then she remembered. Hogwarts. A school for witches and wizards. She cracked an eye open and looked around. Yes. She really was here. She crawled out from under the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed going over the overwhelming number of people and things she had seen the night before. She thought about the big hall filled with young witches and wizards and wondered how she had failed to notice before this that there were witches and wizards in the world.
She didn't have much time to think about it, however, for just as she pulled on some clothes there was a sort of knocking on her "door" or rather the painting that served as a door. Pulling a hand quickly through her hair she walked over and pushed the painting outward. A very bright-eyed Argus Filch stood in the corridor beyond.
"I thought you might like someone to show you the way back to the Great Hall for breakfast," he said in a voice that seemed entirely too cheerful.
A morning person, Isabel thought grimly as she stepped back and motioned him through the opening. "Thank you. If you don't mind waiting a moment, I'll just hurry up and finish getting ready."
Filch nodded his assent and Isabel went back through to the bedchamber closing the door firmly behind her. She rummaged through her suitcase and found her hairbrush. She ran it through her hair with one hand while, with the other, she continued to search the bag for her toothpaste and toothbrush. Once she had located them she dropped the hairbrush on her bed and took the toothbrush and paste over to the stone basin fixed to the wall in the corner of the room. There was a spout in the shape of a gargoyle but no faucets. She put her hand under the gargoyle's mouth to see if there was any hint of moisture indicating this was, indeed, a spigot when water suddenly gushed forth. Isabel jumped a little then thrust her toothbrush under the spray. Obviously she had a lot to learn about the magical world. After a rather quick brushing that would have distressed her dental hygienist no end, Isabel grabbed the black robe she had dropped in a chair the night before and joined Argus Filch, pulling it on as she went.
The Great Hall was somewhat less crowded than it had been the night before. Apparently students and staff came and went as they pleased for regular meals. There were only a few persons at the staff table, none of whom Isabel yet recognized. Filch introduced her to a plump, untidy woman called Professor Sprout who patted the seat beside her then passed a tureen of oatmeal.
"How are you getting on, dear?" Sprout asked kindly
"Fine, I think. Thank you. I imagine I'll find my way around eventually."
Sprout smiled, "Well, it's a bit of a challenge for our new students and most of them don't have to deal with the disorientation you must be feeling."
Isabel felt a sense of relief at these words. They seemed to indicate Sprout knew her situation. She had failed to ask if the staff knew who she was and was grateful they did. It would make things much easier.
"I must confess," Isabel said making sure no students were close enough to hear, "It feels like a strange dream." Sprout nodded and opened her mouth to reply when a wizard in a very out-of-fashion suit and tie beneath his robes sat down across from them and immediately began chattering to Isabel excitedly.
"Ms. Clay, Very good to see you. How are you this morning? Sleep well in a 'strange bed' and all? Of course, to you it must have been a strange bed, indeed! Still, I'm sure you must be fine, mustn't you? You look fine, quite healthy. My name is Hume Oddbody I'm professor of Muggle Studies you know. You do know that 'muggle' is the word for non-magical persons like yourself, yes? There is so much that I'd like to ask you. It's a shame really we can't let the students know all of your, um, details right now, I'd love to have you speak to some of my older students. But that can't be helped, now can it? Still, perhaps later in the year. I see you made it down to the hall again, that's very good. So, tell me Ms. Clay, how are you getting on without electricity?"
Just as suddenly as he had begun the river of conversation, Oddbody stopped, apparently waiting for a reply. Isabel supposed he was waiting for an answer to the last of his questions.
"Er, well, I hadn't really noticed there wasn't any." she offered.
"Really? You didn't notice? Fascinating. You know it's a common assumption in the magical community that muggles are quite, quite dependant upon electricity for even the most basic needs of their daily lives. Tell me, how is it that-"
Mercifully, Professor McGonagall walked up just then.
"Pardon me, Hume, for interrupting, but I need Madam Clay," she said, turning to Isabel, "If you don't mind?"
Isabel stood immediately with rather more speed than would normally be necessary, "Not at all. Nice to meet you both. Professor Sprout, Professor, er- Oddbody, Have a good day."
With that she quickly made her way around the table and followed McGonagall out of the hall.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but I need to escort you to our hospital wing before classes begin. I would have waited a few moments but-"
"You thought I could do with a bit of rescuing?"
"You did look rather at a loss. Hume Oddbody is a fine professor but sometimes his enthusiasm is a bit much to cope with." McGonagall said fighting a smile at the corners of her mouth.
At McGonagall's brisk pace it didn't take much time for them to make their way to the hospital wing. There were so many twists, turns, doors, stairs and strange corridors, however, that for the life of her Isabel didn't think she'd ever find her way back on her own. Once they were in the hospital wing and she had introduced Isabel to Madam Pomfrey, McGonagall turned and left as briskly as she had entered. Isabel looked after her for a moment then shook her head slightly. McGonagall seemed to do everything rapidly and efficiently.
As she sat, Isabel quickly looked around to see what sort of place a wizard hospital might be. There were several beds lined neatly along the wall with sets of screens folded against the wall between a few of them. Mercifully, there didn't seem to be much else of note in the room, especially anything resembling medieval medical instruments. Of course, they wouldn't necessarily be on display, would they?
She didn't realize that she was perched nervously on the edge of her chair until Poppy Pomfrey looked up from a sheaf of papers she was consulting and said, "Really, dear, you can relax." Her words were rather brusque but they held an unmistakable hint of kindness.
Isabel shifted and forced a small laugh, "I'm sorry, it's just that I've never much liked needles."
Pomfrey almost dropped her papers, "Needles!? What, in Merlin's name, do you think we do here?"
"Well, um, don't you take blood when you do medical tests?" Isabel asked, feeling uncertain, "You use a needle, in the vein, for that you see," she finished weakly.
Poppy Pomfrey had gone slightly pale and had to steady herself with a deep breath before responding, "You've had this done?"
"Well, yes. I suppose most everyone has at one point or other."
Pomfrey was shaking her head, "I've heard of such things, of course. Still, it sounds - barbaric."
Isabel was not inclined to disagree with this assessment but Pomfrey's response left her with another question.
"If you don't do blood tests how do you know what's ailing someone when the symptoms don't tell you all you need to know?"
"The symptoms usually do tell the tale. We treat the symptoms and, if one treatment doesn't work that fact often tells us what else we need to know and a more effective treatment is applied."
"So you have to endure a whole raft of treatments until you hit the right one?" Isabel asked with a grimace. "I'm not sure a needle isn't better" she said softly to herself.
Pomfrey's eyebrow sailed toward her hairline. Then, just as quickly as it rose, it fell and Pomfrey was chuckling. "Our treatments don't involve things like needles, dear. In the majority of circumstances the worst one has to contend with in an ineffective treatment is a foul-tasting potion."
"Oh. Well, I don't suppose that sounds too bad," Isabel said in an unconvincing tone. She was saved, however, from casting about for something else to say by the opening of the door. She couldn't help smiling at the sight of Albus Dumbledore with his crinkling eyes and flowing beard. Had it only been yesterday that she had entered this surreal world and met him? She repressed a small shudder at the thought of how close she had come to having a hole magically bored in her memory.
Dumbledore looked at her curiously, "Madam Clay, are you quite alright?"
"Oh, yes, certainly. In fact, Madam Pomfrey was just assuring me that your medical treatments don't involve many sharp objects; although she did warn me about the occasional 'foul-tasting potion'."
Dumbledore smiled appreciatively, "Quite so. Quite so. Although," he added, "I would wager Poppy's potions are easier to swallow than most."
Pomfrey colored slightly murmuring "Thank You, Albus."
"Well, Madam Clay-" Dumbledore began, but Isabel held up a hand to interrupt him.
"Please, if it's not overly familiar for you to do so, could you call me by my Christian, er, my first name?"
"I would be pleased to do so when not in the presence of students - if you, in turn would call me Albus on those occasions."
Isabel wasn't sure she could address this venerable figure as anything other than "Sir." But it seemed a reasonable request.
"Thank you, S-, er, Albus."
The eyes crinkled again and Dumbledore continued, "Isabel, there isn't much that magical medicine can tell us if you are in good health. Certainly, there will be no sharp objects nor will there be any foul-tasting potions... at least today," again the eyes crinkled.
"Alright, what do you need me to do first?" Isabel asked.
"Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey spoke up, "As long as you are here, might I suggest you conduct your interview now while I attend some work in my office. I can administer my exam afterward."
"Thank you, Poppy, that is most considerate."
As Pomfrey walked back to her office Dumbledore moved a chair and sat opposite Isabel. He said nothing but regarded her with such intensity that Isabel felt he could see into her soul. She found herself unable to hold his gaze; so she looked down at her hands and tried not to fidget with nervousness. As the moments passed, Isabel was surprised to find herself relaxing much as if Dumbledore's gaze were a warm shaft of afternoon sunlight. She did not know how long they sat in this way. Finally, however, Dumbledore spoke,
"There is something in you, although I confess I cannot say if it is magic or not."
Isabel nodded, sorting out her thoughts. She supposed she was pleased he had seen something in her. Still, she didn't know what to say to this.
"May I ask you a few questions?"
"Of course."
"Were you born outside Britain?"
"No. I was born in London."
"Ah. Well, if you do possess magical ability Professor McGonagall will be quite grieved to hear of the failure of a certain quill," Dumbledore noted. Isabel had no idea what Dumbledore was taking about, "Pardon?"
"Of course you would not be aware, Isabel. Professor McGonagall has a magic quill which inscribes the names of British children with magical ability upon the occasion of their birth in a book kept for that especial purpose."
"Oh," Isabel said fighting the sense of unreality that had surrounded her since yesterday. Perhaps it would be best not to ask more questions but to simply let Dumbledore ask the questions.
Dumbledore did not miss a beat but continued, "Were you raised by your family of birth?"
"As far as I know. I mean, initially at least."
"Now I'm afraid it is I who does not understand."
"My birth parents died when I was eight. After that I was a ward of the crown... until I came of age, of course."
"I see," Dumbledore said kindly, "I am sorry to hear of this."
Isabel shrugged, "It was a long time ago."
Dumbledore regarded her kindly for a moment, then continued, "Isabel, have you thought of any strange events or psychic disturbances since our conversation yesterday afternoon?"
"Sorry, no. But, then, I haven't had much time for contemplation."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said as he reached into his robes and pulled out a wooden wand and handed it to Isabel. The wood was surprisingly warm in her hand, probably from being in Dumbledore's robes.
"Our Professor Flitwick tells me that this is an excellent multi-purpose wand. Would you grasp it firmly and raise it into the air?"
Isabel hesitated. Oddly, after everything else, this made her feel silly. Still, it wasn't as if everyone around this place didn't seem to have one of those. Yesterday she'd learned some of them weren't shy about pointing the things at others. So, she gripped the wand and swung it purposefully upward in an arc. For a brief moment Isabel had the impression the wood had come alive in her hand. The feeling was gone as fast as it had come. A moment later she wasn't sure she had felt it at all. Nothing else happened, although Dumbledore was again looking at her intently.
"Sorry." Isabel said with a shrug. She handed the wand back to Dumbledore who slid it into a long thin pocket just inside his robes. The purpose of these pockets had escaped her before this. Well, at least that's one mystery solved today, she thought.
"I've had an owl from the ministry," Dumbledore began, but apparently saw the look of confusion on Isabel's face and started again, "I've had a letter from the Ministry of Magic this morning. Yesterday they tried sending several different muggles with relationships to the magical community through the barrier at King's Cross. None were able to penetrate it, so you are still an anomaly."
Isabel didn't know whether to be disappointed or happy at the news that her crossing the barrier had nothing to do with a failure of the barrier itself. On one hand, she liked and respected these people and wanted them to solve this mystery which was troubling them. On the other, if it had merely been the barrier she would probably be headed back to the "muggle" world at this very moment - and she wasn't ready to leave just yet.
"S- Albus, may I ask you a question?"
"Certainly."
"There are, occasionally, people born to magical families with no magic power, correct?" Dumbledore nodded, "Well, what do you do to test magical ability when you suspect someone from a magic family isn't, well, magical?"
"An excellent question. Since spontaneous magic will happen to young witches and wizards under extreme stress or other strong emotion - such as fear or anger - I'm afraid most families try to scare or startle the child in hopes it will spark some evidence of magic."
Isabel's eyebrows rose, but she said nothing, afraid anything she said might be offensive.
"Indeed, as a child, one of our fifth year students is said to have been, uh, accidentally dropped out of a window by an uncle who was trying to do that of which I've spoken."
Isabel's mouth dropped in alarm. It was worse than she thought.
"How badly was he hurt?"
"Fortunately, he was not hurt at all. He bounced. But you can see the disadvantages of trying this method on someone who turns out NOT to be possessed of magical ability."
Isabel's voice was grim, "Indeed. I'm sorry, but for my own piece of mind I think I must ask this. Should I expect staff members to sneak up behind me and yell 'Boo!'?"
Dumbledore chuckled, "No. No, indeed. I suspect one or two might be tempted but I can assure you none will."
"Thank the Lord," Isabel said - and she meant it.
"Indeed," Dumbledore murmured with an odd expression on his face. He seemed to be speaking more to himself than Isabel, "Indeed." After a moment he rose saying,
"It is time to take my leave of you, but I leave you in Madam Pomfrey's capable hands."
As promised, Pomfrey's exam had no sharp objects. In fact, it was rather simple. The nurse made a very close examination of Isabel's hands and eyes. She applied various stones and other objects to the skin on her inner arm and, finally, she took out her wand and touched it to Isabel's head, hand, and heart. She clucked her tongue the whole time, but said nothing.
For her part, Isabel tried to be patient, which became increasingly difficult as more and more things were tried with no discernable effect. When Pomfrey appeared to have finished Isabel couldn't help asking, "Well?"
"You appear to be in good health. I'd say you have a strong spirit to go with your strong will. But," she said with a small sigh, "I can't say anything more or less than that."
"Okay. What does that mean? What's next?"
"That is up to Dumbledore and any of the staff who can think of something helpful. Our History of Magic Professor is doing a little research. I must say, though, that if he couldn't think of anything of the top of his head there probably isn't anything to be thought of."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"Professor Binns has committed most known facts of magical history to memory. If he doesn't know a fact already it probably doesn't exist."
"Ah, I see. But wait! What about muggle history? What if some medieval witch detecting methods really worked?"
"Well," Pomfrey said slowly, "I suppose that is possible. Although, I rather doubt it. Still, I will pass the suggestion along."
Isabel opened her mouth to ask another question but was forestalled by a considerable commotion in the corridor. Pomfrey strode over to the door and flung it open to reveal a young student hopping on one foot and howling in what appeared to be agony. Two somewhat older students stood on either side obviously trying to support him between them. They both looked quite relieved at the sight of Madam Pomfrey.
One of the older students, a girl with bright red hair, said, "First year. Leffler, was it? Got caught in a trick stair. Hurt himself trying to wrench his leg free. Think it might be a sprain," she finished a bit breathlessly as she gratefully handed Leffler over to Pomfrey.
"Thank you Miss Weasley, Mr. Longbottom. I shall take it from here." Pomfrey said, as Isabel rose to help Leffler to the nearest bed. As the door swung shut Leffler stopped howling but continued to whimper, instead. He did manage a yell when Pomfrey manipulated his ankle during her exam. Isabel watched closely, eager to see what Pomfrey would do. Isabel was both amazed and disappointed with what followed.
"You've got a bad sprain and a hairline fracture, Mr. Leffler," Pomfrey informed the hapless student. She then took out her wand and murmured something Isabel was unable to catch as she tapped Leffler's ankle with it. As soon as she did, Leffler stopped whimpering and brightened considerably.
"There you go." Pomfrey said patting him on the arm. She waved her wand again and produced a damp face cloth. She handed this to Leffler saying, "Why don't you wipe your face before you return to class, dear?" Leffler dutifully scrubbed away the tear stains, thanked Madam Pomfrey and hopped down from the bed. He scampered out to the corridor without even a trace of a limp and was gone.
"Wow. I'm beginning to wish you had been my school nurse," Isabel said appreciatively, "When I broke my arm I was in cast for weeks and weeks."
"It was your left arm, wasn't it?"
"Why, yes." Isabel answered, surprised.
"All in all they didn't do a bad job with it."
Isabel looked down at her forearms. How did she know the left had been broken? There didn't appear to be any difference between them. She felt each one with the opposite hand. They didn't feel different, either. Just how much can she see? She wondered.
