A/N: Excuse me while I destroy my word count. Friendships are based on my memories as an eleven-year-old. Board game idea is credited to Taure - though it's not exactly the same. If anyone is interested, I can provide my notes on affinities/specializations, if that would be helpful. I apologise for the flat characters and lack of plot so far, they will one day be round and exist, respectively. Enjoy!
Aunt Petunia knocks at her door at nine o'clock exactly on the first day of September, as though she's worried that Haven might not be awake yet.
"I'm up!" Haven calls through the door. She has been awake since seven, packing everything she'd gotten in Diagon into her mother's trunk, and taking out all the things that don't fit. She has also been reciting McGonagall's instructions regarding how to get to the train, and stopping every now and then to flip through the pages of the various textbooks that are still laying on every surface of her room, hoping that she will somehow be able to absorb all the information about the magical world that she could possibly need by doing so.
"Alright, darling," Aunt Petunia calls back. "Make sure to come down for breakfast soon."
"Okay." Haven looks around her room. It looks like it's been hit by a tornado. Clothing and books and other miscellaneous necessities are thrown haphazardly into her mother's trunk, and are spilling out in puddles onto the floor, which is invisible beneath the vast quantities of stuff strewn across the floorboards. There is no place that has been spared: her room is sparsely decorated in the first place, boasting a bed and a desk and a bedside table and a cupboard for her clothes and not much else. The cupboard is the only place that is relatively clean, now that she has moved all of her clothing out of it and onto her bed. The desk, too, is covered with notebooks and pens and textbooks and regular books and her parents' journals and her copy of The Hobbit. She sighs, steps over the mounds on the ground, and opens the door. It is blocked from opening all the way, and so Haven pushes it as wide as it will go and squirms out, grunting when she bumps her hip on the handle.
Aunt Petunia is ladling hot cereal into bowls when she enters the kitchen, but she spares Haven a glance marked by the arch of her eyebrow. Haven tries to raise her eyebrow in reply, but fails, only succeeding in pushing both of them up her forehead and widening her eyes, resulting in a ridiculous look of surprise.
Her aunt sniffs in amusement. "Stop that. You look like you belong in an insane asylum when you do that. Eyebrow raising is something that must come naturally, darling, and I'm afraid that you just don't have the talent for it."
Haven frowns, automatically taking the bowl that Aunt Petunia shoves at her.
"What was all that ruckus about, anyways?"
"I was packing," Haven says.
"Say no more," Petunia replies. "I assume that nothing is where it should be, and your room is a disaster zone?"
"Nooo," Haven tells her, raising her eyebrows again, this time in mock offense.
"Don't look at me like that. I've seen you pack before, for vacations and the like. You can't even load your school bag without causing chaos."
"Yes I can!" she protests.
Aunt Petunia tilts her chin down, raising her eyebrows in disbelief. "You can when I supervise," she counters, "and barely even then."
Haven scoops a spoonful of porridge into her mouth and swallows it. She makes a face at the bland flavour and mixes cream and sugar into it. It tastes better after that. She grins toothily at her aunt, who makes a disgusted face.
"Swallow your food before opening your mouth, Haven. You're eleven, not five. And I'll help you pack; heaven knows it's the only way we'll get you to the train station on time."
Haven grins at her again, this time without food in her mouth, and puts her empty bowl into the sink.
With Aunt Petunia supervising - and whenever her aunt 'supervises,' she is really handing out marching orders - the process goes much faster. Haven manages to sort all her belongings into a pile she will bring to Hogwarts and one she will leave behind. Her clothes end up folded in her trunk, and her books are stacked neatly in a separate compartment. By the time she's finished, her floor is visible again, the cupboard is no longer devoid of clothing, and her bed and desk are made and neatly organized, respectively.
Haven enlists Dudley to help her carry the trunk downstairs. "Is this your reverse birthday or something?" he complains, scowling at her when she fails to lift her end of the chest high enough to avoid bumping on the way down. "Haven, lift up, quit letting it drag," he snaps the third time the wood clatters loudly against the steps, the sound oddly hollow.
Haven drops her end of the trunk, and Dudley overbalances for a second as he tries to compensate for the sudden lack of support. "Don't tell me what to do," she tells her cousin, and stoops down to grab at the handle, lifting her end of the portmanteau to her waist.
Dudley rolls his eyes at her. "You asked me for help, not the other way around. Maybe you should try remembering that, or next time I'll leave you to carry it by yourself."
She sticks her tongue out at him, but she does cooperate with his efforts to get the trunk out the front door and into the boot of the car. She runs back up to her room, checks the latch on Hedwig's cage, though she knows it won't do much if Hedwig is feeling particularly determined, and brings the metal contraption downstairs.
She stops in the sitting room to hug Uncle Vernon goodbye; he sets aside the morning paper and squeezes her tightly. "Don't go causing trouble for your professors," he tells her sternly. "And send us some post every now and then, understand? Pet will be dying to hear from you, especially once Dudders is off at Smeltings." He pats her back twice, and then goes back to his paper.
"Don't go getting all high and mighty once you start learning magic," Dudley says. "Just 'cause you'll be able to pull a rabbit out of a hat doesn't mean that you're better than me."
"Are you kidding?" Haven scoffs. "I'll wait until I can pull you out of a hat before I rub it in your face."
"You'll write?"
"Of course. And I'll tell you all about what I'm learning. We'll see who learns more interesting things at school this year."
He makes a face. "Ugh, don't remind me. I'll have to take maths this year. Does Pigstain even teach normal subjects?"
Haven stares at him for a moment, and then they both start laughing.
"No, but really. Do you think those… Purebloods, are they called? D'you think they can even add?"
"I'll be sure to let you know as soon as I find out. It'll be my first letter to you. Dear Dudley," she says, miming writing in the air, "to everyone's shock and awe, the esteemed Purebloods of this world have managed to develop the ability to add two and two. Love, your superior cousin."
"Time to go, Haven!" Aunt Petunia calls from outside.
"I'll miss you," Dudley says, offering her a hug that squeezes the life out of her nearly as well as Uncle Vernon's had.
"I'll see you at Christmas," she smiles, and hugs him back.
She presses her face against the glass of the car window as Aunt Petunia backs out of the driveway; Dudley stands in the open doorway, Uncle Vernon behind him, and they are both waving. Haven waves back.
The ride into London is relatively low-traffic, and they are pulling up in front of Kings Cross Station before she knows it. Aunt Petunia helps her cart her trunk and Hedwig's cage to a spot near platforms Nine and Ten, busses her forehead, and walks back the way they came, her back straight and her gait smooth, as though she's not leaving the closest thing she's got to a daughter in a bustling station with directions to get onto an invisible platform.
Haven turns to face the imposing barrier between the platforms, squares her shoulders, looks around to be sure that no one is watching, and makes a break for the brick wall, pushing the cart in front of her. At the last second, she closes her eyes tight, and keeps running.
She doesn't crash into anything solid, and it's almost a surprise.
A train whistle sounds, and Haven opens her eyes. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters sprawls before her; it is bustling with life as families wish their children luck, or help them drag their trunks onto the train, or as students mill about - some of them looking lost or lonely, and others rushing towards each other excitedly. There is an odd mixture of people wearing Muggle clothing or robes in various hues or the outdated style of dress Haven had admired back in Diagon Alley.
Haven looks at the ornate clock hanging above the entrance, which looks nothing like the solid brick wall it had seemed to be in the Muggle world. It is a quarter till eleven, and so she begins tugging her trunk and Hedwig's cage towards the bright red train.
It isn't that her case is heavy; it is bulky and awkward, but she would have no trouble picking it up if it weren't on the ground. As it stands, though, it is on the ground, and there is no plausible way for her to lift it alone.
"Why if it isn't Miss Haven Potter!" a familiar voice says on her right.
"Are you sure it's her, George? It could be an imposter," comes the reply.
"Dunno. Let's find out, shall we? Oi, you. D'you remember us?"
Haven turns around. Sure enough, it is Fred and George Weasley in front of her. "I do," she replies. "You're Percy's younger brothers, aren't you?"
They exchange a glance. "To think,"
"That we,"
"Have been relegated,"
"To Percy's"
"Younger brothers!" the one she thinks is Fred finishes, and they look at her with wide eyes.
Haven raises her eyebrows at them, unimpressed. "What can I say?" she asks airily. "The two of you are rather forgettable in the presence of a Prefect."
Most-likely-Fred scrutinizes her, before a smile crosses his face. "Oh, well played. Nicely done. You had us for a moment there! Good to see you again, Haven - can we call you Haven?" He sticks out his hand for a shake and proceeds to do so vigorously. George makes a grab for her other hand to do the same, and Haven finds her arms crossed over her body and pumped enthusiastically for several seconds.
Finally, the twins let go, and swoop down to grab her trunk. "C'mon, follow us!" George calls over his shoulder, and Haven steps onto the train.
The Hogwarts Express is unlike any train she's ever been on. As Fred and George lead her down the corridor, she takes note of the dozens of compartmentalized gauge cars, the dining car in the middle of them, and the baggage car at the end of the train. Fred and George drop off her trunk in the baggage car, and lead her back down the hall to the passenger cars. They must be bigger on the inside than the outside; most of the compartments are closed, and the glass looking into them is glazed and hard to see through, but one of them is open, and has several comfortable-looking seats with a great deal of floor space, and luggage racks near the ceiling.
"Impressive, huh?" George says, seeing her looking around. "The Hogwarts Express is a fairly new development; we used to Floo directly into Hogwarts or Hogsmeade, or take carriages, but a little over a century ago there was an accident out in the Muggle world. No one really knows how it happened, but somehow this train ended up in our world, and some Muggle-borns refurbished it. And the rest is history."
"I was wondering where the train came from, given that the rest of the Wixen world seems to be permanently immersed in the sixteen-hundreds."
"Lee's told us that the Muggle world is very different from our world; our family is Pure-blooded, you know, and so we haven't really been out into the Muggle world. That's the problem with the Statue; you're in a different world, really, and you never realise that everything outside has changed until you make friends with people who've lived outside their entire lives. Fred and I have plans to visit the Muggle world some day. Mum likes to say that we're too big for our world, but we like to think that that's just because the Wixen world is too small for anything interesting."
"But you have magic!" Haven protests. "Surely you don't find learning it boring."
"It's different when you grow up in a world where magic is constantly being used," Fred tells her. "It's just another thing. It's just a way of life. You probably feel the same about things in the Muggle world that we would find fascinating. Our father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts section of the Ministry; he collects Muggle inventions and keeps them in our shed. He finds the things of your world far more interesting than the things of ours, and it's because he's grown up surrounded by magic and spells and the subpar inventions that we've adopted from the Muggles only because of the influx of Muggle-borns in the past few centuries."
Haven says nothing. She may not understand Fred's apparent disinterest regarding the magical world, but she does understand becoming less enamoured with objects in her every-day life.
Fred knocks on a compartment door, and it slides open to reveal the tall and gangly, long-nosed, freckle-faced, red-headed Ron Weasley. "Ronniekins! Fancy meeting you here! Haven, you remember Ron, right?"
"Yeah," she says, waving at him.
"Well, we're going to leave you in his semi-capable hands while we visit our friends. We'll stop by at some point before we arrive in Hogsmeade to make sure he hasn't turned you into a rat to keep Scabbers company."
Haven eyes him warily, and he cackles. "Kidding! I'm just messing with you. Ron couldn't even turn you yellow, let alone into vermin." With that, he shoves her forward into the room and slams the compartment door shut.
Haven casts an incredulous glance at the door before turning to face Ron. "Is he always like that?"
"They both are," Ron tells her seriously. "I dunno if you've noticed, but they're the pranksters of the family. Mum is convinced that they'll both present as Jugglers or Tricksters when they turn sixteen."
"Are those specializations?" Haven asks curiously. "McGonagall mentioned a few, but I haven't started reading Magical Affinities yet; I was focusing on reading the texts for our classes."
"They are," Ron confirms. "No one really knows how or why, but on your sixteenth birthday, your specialization presents itself. Sometimes, several people in the same family will have the same specialization, but more often than not, there's a wide variety of who's what. Take my family, for example: Mum is a Hearth magician, and Dad is an Enchanter, but Bill is a Left-Hander, and Charlie is an Animist. The rest of us haven't presented yet, so we don't know for sure what'll happen, but it's unlikely - given our interests - that any of us will end up with the same specializations."
"Do your interests indicate what you might become?"
"Not always. But Mum has always been very family-oriented, so her ending up a Hearth magician makes sense, though she could have gone Ancestral, too. When Dad was in school, his best subject was Charms. Bill's always been fascinated by Warding, and he says he's always been better at counter-curses than actual curses. He's also very emotionally driven, which is a common theme amongst Left-Handers. And Charlie's always been fond of animals, and oddly good at Herbology. So I guess interests and talents can be indicative, but it's not always like that."
There's a knock at the door. "Come in," Haven calls, and grins when Hermione's face appears in the crack.
"There you are!" the other girl exclaims. "I've been looking all over for you. Or, I was, and then I ran into Neville - you remember Neville? -" she pushes the compartment door open wider to show the blond boy standing next to her, "and he's lost his toad - why do you have a toad, anyway? - so I told him I'd help him find it. And then we found you. No toad, though, sorry Neville. We'll keep looking, don't worry. Haven, will you help us? And your friend, too? I'm sorry, what's your name, again? You look familiar, but I can't quite place you." She says all this in a single breath, and Haven stares at her in astonishment.
"Breathe, Hermione," she says. "This is Ron Weasley, and -"
Hermione cuts her off. "Oh! I remember now. You were in the Apothecary with your brothers when we were in Diagon. You were going to say something when Haven introduced herself, weren't you? What was it?"
"Of course we'll help you and Neville look for his toad," Haven says once Hermione stops talking. She has the grace to don a sheepish expression in an apology for her interruption.
"I don't really remember," Ron says. "Might've been asking if she was the Haven Potter. Ginny is always saying that I need to think before I speak so I don't accidentally insult someone."
Hermione frowns at him. "How many other Haven Potters can there possibly be in the world? That seems like a stupid question."
Ron glares at her. "Oh, bugger off. I just told you I don't always think things through before saying them. Seems like maybe you should try listening when other people are talking to you."
Hermione opens her mouth to say something scathing in reply, but Neville cuts her off. "Let's not kill each other over stupid things on the first day, yeah? We haven't even got to Hogwarts yet, and I still need to find Trevor."
Ron and Hermione exchange sour glances, but they don't continue their argument. Haven smiles gratefully at Neville. She likes both Ron and Hermione, so it would be nice if they could learn to get along with each other.
Finding Trevor takes no time at all. Ron, with a sense of purpose in his step, leads them to a compartment three doors down, knocks thrice on the glass, and slides the door open before the person inside can even finish saying "Come in!"
"Hey, Perce," Ron says, making his way into the compartment and sprawling across one of the seats. "Oliver," he adds to the burly blond-haired boy across from his brother. Haven can't help but notice how thick and dark his eyebrows - lowered in concentration as he flips a shiny badge into the air in tight little circles - are.
"Morning, Ron," Oliver says, and tosses the badge towards Ron, who catches it with fumbling fingers. "I made captain, now that Charlie's off to Romania."
Ron rolls his eyes. "I know. You were only at the Burrow every week this summer talking about it. You're worse than Percy."
"I should make you join practice for that," Oliver says threateningly.
"On one of the school brooms?" Ron asks. "Because, and I quote, first years are not allowed their own brooms."
"Eh," Oliver shrugs, eyeing him thoughtfully, "you're taller than Fred and George. You could pass for a third year. Try another excuse."
"If I end up in Gryffindor, I've heard enough about McGonagall to know that I'd never be able to get away with that." He grins at the dark look Oliver sends him. "Anyway, I didn't come here to talk Quidditch. Perce, I was wondering if you could help Neville find his toad."
Percy pulls out his wand, looking at Neville. "What's his name?" He nods when Neville tells him, and - flicking his wand - says " Accio Trevor!"
Within a moment, a rather large and warty brown toad has found its way into Percy's free hand. He hands Trevor to Neville, who thanks him profusely.
"Not a problem," Percy replies. "Any friend of Ron's, you know. And I'm always willing to help, so anything you guys need, just ask, alright?"
They all nod, and then Ron is herding them out of his brother's compartment and back to their own, which is not as empty as they left it.
Sitting on the carpeted floor are four people. They are two boys and girls around Haven's own age. One of the girls has wild dark hair, hazel eyes, and a very square jaw. The boys are both dark-haired, the shades bordering on black, but that is where the resemblances end. The first boy is almost ghostly-pale, with faint bruises beneath his cerulean eyes, while the other boy has eyes to match his hair, which is obviously curly despite its short length, and dark skin. The last girl has blonde hair and brown eyes and freckles which remind Haven of a wizened old man speaking jovially with a younger man in a shelf-filled room.
"Hullo, Daphne," Haven says with some surprise, instantly recognising the girl from Ollivanders.
"Oh! Hello," Daphne replies, smiling up at her. "Did we take your compartment? Only, it was empty when we found it. I hope we aren't intruding."
"It's our own fault for having left it so completely unoccupied," Haven says ruefully. "Mind if we join you?"
"Certainly not. Come one, sit down," she replies invitingly. She and her friends shift to make room on the floor. "These are Millie, Theo, and Blaise, by the way. And I'm Daphne, for those of you who don't know."
Haven and her friends take turns introducing themselves and exchanging handshakes with Daphne and her friends. "What are you doing?" Haven asks curiously, gesturing at the board in the center of the circle. There are various bits and bobs strewn across its colourful surface, which has the word Life written across it in all-capitalized red calligraphy.
"Oh, we were just setting up to play Life. Would you like to join us?"
"Sure. How do you play?"
"I've been told that this is similar to the Muggle version, which makes sense, as Wixen remastered that game for our usage. As far as I know, all the rules are the same, for the most part. Of course, we use copies of our currency - so Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. Instead of automobiles - is that what they're called? - we use broomsticks, which we imbue with our magic. At the beginning of the game, we set our magic-imbued brooms onto the starting square, and then we each choose a specialization from this card pile. It changes every time, depending on the players. I don't really know how it works, exactly, but the magic in the brooms is connected to the game, and the game personalizes itself to the players that way.
"The first thing you do after getting your money and being assigned a specialization is to choose if you're going to continue in school, or get a job. They are two different paths, and when you move your broom, the squares will write themselves. You see how they're blank right now?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that changes whenever a player lands on a square. The first person to land makes the square write itself, and after that it stays until the end of the game. There are some squares that are prewritten, like the Get Married square, or the Buy a House square, or the Choose a Career square, and there are two of those ones. Tax Collection is another prewritten square, and you'll pay money to the person being Gringotts.
"The aim of the game is to end up with the most money, and that's really all about luck and not skill. Also, as we go on, your broomstick may get progressively more full with spouses or children, but I think that's the same as the Muggle version if nothing else is.
"So. Shall we play?"
"It sounds like fun," Haven says agreeably.
"I'm in," Hermione adds.
Ron and Neville shrug, and Daphne pulls out eight broomsticks from the pile of pieces on the board. "Here you guys go," she says, handing them out, and following the broomsticks with the money for the game. "I'll be Gringotts, if no one minds." Everyone shakes their heads, and so she smiles. "Now, would you like a pink piece, a blue piece, or a purple piece?"
All eight of them choose either pink or blue, and when Haven and Hermione look curiously at Daphne, she says "Some people aren't either, you know? Or they're both, depending. It's nice to have the option, I guess, which is why the purple pieces are in there."
"So how do you imbue the broomsticks with magic?" Hermione wonders aloud.
"Oh that's easy. You just tap your wand to the broom. If you don't have a wand, you can use someone else's, which is how little kids play."
Once all the pieces are one the board, Daphne holds out cards to them. They each select one.
"I got Technomage," Ron says in surprise. "I've never gotten that before. Whenever my family plays, it's always Dad who gets Technomage if anyone does."
"It's not like these are our actual affinities," Blaise points out calmly. "It's just a possibility, and not necessarily a very good one. I got Musical, and Merlin knows I can't even carry a tune to save my life."
"I have Gaia," Neville says. "That's not so far-fetched. Gran says I have a way with plants."
"I got Ancestral," Hermione says in a put-out tone. "Magical Affinities says that Ancestral Wixen can use magic passed down through their families, and I'm a Muggle-born."
"Well I got Animist, and I'm not really one for nature," Daphne says. "Like we said. It's not really accurate. It's just an affinity that's within the realm of possibility for you. Maybe you have a magical ancestor and you just don't know it. Or maybe it's just the game trying to make itself more interesting."
"I think I'm going to continue on the path to school," Theo says, and Millie agrees with him. Hermione nods thoughtfully and nudges her broom next to theirs.
"I'm going for the job path," Ron says. "Last time I played I chose school, and I lost, so I'll try something different this time."
Haven decides on school, as does Daphne, and Neville, looking at Ron's piece with something like pity, does the same.
"And here I thought we were friends," Ron says jokingly, rifling through his pockets and pulling out a sandwich. He unwraps it, takes a bite, and swallows. "I'm hurt. Hurt, I tell you. I can't believe you're all leaving me to face the real world alone."
Millie rolls her eyes. "You can go first. Think of it as a consolation prize for your cruel abandonment."
"Alright then." Ron twists the spinner and releases it. It lands on the number two, and he groans. "I'm off to a great start, aren't I?" His broom moves forward two squares, and - like magic - words ink themselves between the lines of it. Get Hit By Stray Spell. Go to St Mungos. Pay 50 G. "Merlin's pants!" Ron exclaims. "Take all of my money, why don't you? It seems I'm just destined to be poor!" He hands over his fifty galleons to Daphne with exaggerated movements. He widens eyes at her. "Might Gringotts consider extending a partial refund?"
Daphne raises an imperious eyebrow at him, extending her hand. "No."
Ron sags.
"Wait!" Hermione says as Millie reaches for the spinner. "Doesn't he have insurance to cover his fees?"
Everyone looks at her blankly. "Insurance?" Theo asks.
"You know, companies that you pay, and then in the event of an emergency, they help you pay off the fees? Lots of my parents' patients have insurance that covers their bills when they get their teeth cleaned." She looks around, and deflates. "Is that… not a thing here?"
"I'm gonna guess that's a no," Haven whispers loudly, and flaps her hand in the air. "Anyways, Ron doesn't have insurance to cover his fees. Neither do the rest of us. Let's continue the game."
Millie shrugs and turns the spinner. Her broom floats forwards, and another square is inked onto the board. Ron groans miserably when You Are Made Prefect. Collect 10 G is followed by You Receive Nine Os On Your NEWTs. Collect 15 G and 27 S. When that is succeeded by the square You Receive An Award For Special Services To The School. Collect 50 G, he collapses backwards onto the floor, his arms splayed wide.
Haven stifles a laugh, and reaches for the spinner. Before she can turn the dial, three polite knocks rattle the glass door. Daphne stands gracefully and walks over to it, sliding it open. "Draco," she says, sounding neither pleased nor irritated. "What are you doing here?"
"None of your business, Greengrass," Draco replies. "I'm looking for someone. Do you mind letting me in so I can see if they're in here?"
"Why don't you tell me their name, and I'll let you know?"
"I don't know her name," Draco replies, sounding frustrated. "Will you just let me in so I can look? Please?" he adds sourly when she makes no move to step aside.
"Since you asked so nicely," Daphne replies snootily, opening the door wider so that he can come in.
Haven realises upon seeing his silvery hair and pinched features that Draco is the boy from Madam Malkins, who Marcus and Cassius had called Malfoy. She exchanges a glance with Hermione, who arches an eyebrow at her.
"There you are!" Malfoy says in relief. "I've been looking all over for you. It has been brought to my attention that it was terribly rude and improper of me to insult you for the conditions of your birth, and I'd like to apologise." The way he forces the words out makes them sound stiff and reluctant.
Haven stares at him until he squirms uncomfortably. "You don't sound very sincere," she observes, and his expression shifts from vaguely apologetic to affronted.
"I am!"
"If you really meant that, you wouldn't have said anything about it in the first place. And I notice you never said it was wrong of you to say such things, only that it was rude and improper."
He sneers at her. "Clearly, your upbringing means you haven't the first clue about propriety. It seems I was right after all to assume you were less than me." With that, he turns on his heel and walks away, slamming the compartment door shut hard enough that the glass shivers in its frame.
"I hope you realise what you've gotten yourself into," Theo says softly. "Draco's father is very respected amongst Pure-bloods. He could probably get them to turn on you with ease. I know he wouldn't have much trouble convincing my father, at least."
"Draco probably won't mention this to Mr Malfoy," Daphne disagrees. "He's a Daddy's boy through and through. Mr Malfoy was probably the one to suggest that he apologise; he and Mrs Malfoy have been working hard since the end of the war to prove that he was wrongfully incarcerated. He wouldn't want Draco going around and screwing that up, you know? If Draco mentioned this, Mr Malfoy would probably be disappointed in him. You've seen how he gets at galas when his father is angry with him."
"That's true enough," Blaise agrees. "He always gets sulky and self-pitying. He probably won't say anything. I'd keep an eye out, though. Draco doesn't like being shunned, so he'll probably be out to get you for your refusal."
Ron snorts. "Malfoy probably doesn't realise that antagonising someone doesn't make them more likely to forgive you. Spin, Haven, it's your turn."
She does, and her broom floats forward to a square that writes You Are Banned From The Quidditch Team. Lose Your Next Turn.
"I think it's more likely that, now that she's rebuffed him, he won't much care whether she forgives him or not in the future." Millie says thoughtfully as Theo leans forward to spin the wheel. "Congratulations, Haven. We haven't even got to school yet, and you've already got yourself an archenemy."
Neville takes his turn, saying "It's not like she'd have wanted to be friends with Malfoy, anyways. Even if he hadn't insulted her."
"Why not?" Haven finds herself asking.
"His father was a Death Eater," Ron says. "That's part of the reason the Malfoys and Weasleys don't get on. Part of it's that they stole our money centuries back, but part of it's that Malfoys tend to back Dark Lords. They backed Grindelwald, in the twenties, and they backed You-Know-Who in the seventies. Malfoy Senior's sister-in-law was part of the raid that killed my uncles, though she's a Black and a Lestrange more than a Malfoy."
Neville shivers, and Haven can't tell if it's Ron's words, or the grating sound of Hermione turning the spinner.
"What, so just because someone's parents were Death Eaters means that they can't be friends with Haven?" Theo asks defensively, and his friends look at Haven calculatingly.
"No," Neville says. "It's that Malfoy has been indoctrinated. He hates Muggle-borns and Half-bloods. But that's how the Malfoy family's been for ages. Anti-Muggle, you know? Some Death Eaters weren't willing, or they didn't buy into You-Know-Who's beliefs."
Theo relaxes. "Good. Because my father's a Death Eater, but I rather like talking to you all. I'd hate to be banned from being friends because of my father's choices."
"That's stupid." Hermione says flatly. "It's not your fault that your dad sucks."
"Too true," Ron says, spinning. "My Mum's great-aunt is an absolute terror; she doesn't much like Muggles, but everyone else in the family is perfectly fine about them. It just goes to show that not everyone in a family is the same, I guess, unless it's the Malfoy family. I mean, have you seen them? They even look the same! Oh! Where are the job cards? I landed on a decent square."
Daphne holds out the cards, and Ron picks one. "Undersecretary of the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artefacts? Really? I get like five Galleons on pay day. This sucks." Nevertheless, Ron holds his hand out to Daphne for his money when his broom advances forwards to the Pay Day square.
They play in silence for a while, until Theo - who somehow makes it to the square first - lands on Get Married.
"What colour would you like for your spouse?" Daphne asks, already reaching for the pieces.
"You get to choose?" Hermione asks in bewilderment.
"Of course," Daphne says. "Are marriages still arranged in the Muggle world? I've heard that it's more advanced than we are, but that seems silly."
"Well, in some places, marriages are still arranged. But that's not what I meant. You get to choose the colour?"
"Well, yes. Why wouldn't you?"
Hermione looks uncomfortable. "It's only recently that homosexuality was declared to no longer be a mental illness."
"That's stupid," Millie says. "I didn't realise Muggles were so far behind in that regard. People have been able to marry whoever they want for centuries, at least. Maybe even millenia. Apparently Rowena Ravenclaw had two fathers, and that was back in the nine-hundreds."
"So in that respect, the Wixen world is more advanced," Hermione says thoughtfully. "How interesting."
The Trolley Witch comes around with her cart just after Ron has managed to beat them all at Life for the third time. "How," Haven asks, shaking her head, "did you manage to end up with the most money when your first move put you in debt. It's happened every single time, too, regardless of what specialization or job you ended up with."
Ron shrugs, stuffing a Pumpkin Pasty into his mouth and leaning back into the seat he'd moved to. Haven pokes through her own pile of candy, and selects a Chocolate Frog. She manages to catch it just before it can jump out of the open train window, and she bites off its head. "Dunno. I guess it just happened," Ron tells her, grabbing a Sugar Quill and offering another to Hermione.
"Well aren't you lucky," Daphne says jealously, making a face at the bean she'd put in her mouth. "Cinnamon. Super strong. And if it weren't for the fact that the game has Anti-Cheating Charms on it, I'd think you were cheating, Ron."
"Hand me one," Haven says. "I've just gotten another Dumbledore card. I'm not so in love with chocolate that I feel like eating another Chocolate Frog for a different card at the moment. There's only so many times a girl can read about discovering a use for Dragon's blood, or work on the Philosopher's Stone with Nicolas Flamel."
Daphne hands her a bean. It is - to Haven's disgust - chocolate flavoured.
"Nicolas Flamel is really well-known," Hermione says. "Even we have books about him, and the magical world is separate from the Muggle world."
Millie looks up. "You do?"
"Well, I think so. Maybe not about him exactly, but there's a book called The Alchemist, and I've definitely heard of Nicolas Flamel before I learned about the existence of the magical world."
"Huh. That's interesting."
"What's interesting?" Hermione's inquiry garners no reply on the subject, because the compartment door slides open once again.
This time, it is Fred and George peering with beady eyes through the opening. "Good to see you've made some friends," Fred says.
"Percy has enlisted our services to tell you that we're nearly at Hogwarts," George adds.
"And so here we are,"
"Telling you that,"
"We're nearly at Hogwarts."
"You might want to change into your robes soon. Bathrooms are to the left and down the corridor if you're shy," George finishes, and the compartment door slides shut the moment they pull their heads out.
Daphne looks around at them, and points at the boys. "You four can go to the bathrooms to change. We'll be right here. Knock when you get back so you're not barging in on us. Go on," she says, flapping her hand at them, and they quickly scoop up their robes and head out of the compartment.
"Okay, let's do this quickly."
Within minutes, the four of them have managed to change into their robes and smooth out their hair - though it is only Daphne who manages to get much smoothing done. They are back in their seats with their street-clothes packed away long before the boys return.
"So what happens when we get to Hogwarts?" Hermione wonders.
"We get Sorted, and then there's the Welcome Feast, and then we head off to our houses. On Monday, we'll get our schedules and start classes," Ron says.
"How do you get Sorted?" Hermione presses.
"I'll do you one better," Haven tells her. " Why do you get Sorted?"
"It's a secret," Daphne says. "My father tells me everything, but he's refused to tell me how we get Sorted. And no one really knows why we get Sorted, but historians think that the Founders did it to go along with Salazar Slytherin, who wanted to honor his brother's death. But that's just a theory, and not necessarily the truth."
"It makes sense, in a way," Ron says. "Bill's told me a lot of stories about the founding of Hogwarts. Obviously we don't know much after a thousand years, but in a lot of the stories I've heard, Salazar Slytherin wasn't the cunning one in the family. Not that he never was, just that his brother was more cunning. But who knows, Slytherin is said to have really gone off the rails after his brother's death."
"And, if you think about it, a lot of people go into Houses that help them develop the qualities of that House. Not everyone, but, oh, take Merlin, for example. He was a Slytherin, but he acted like a Gryffindor. Slytherin helped him develop the cunning he didn't already have," Blaise says.
"I've heard that Slytherin is the House for dark wizards and witches," Hermione says.
"Well, maybe. But dark doesn't mean evil, you know. It's more to do with your affinity. There's an affinity called Inyanga, which is like dark Healing, I guess, but is Healing magic evil, do you think? And, if dark is evil, then Godric Gryffindor was evil. His specialization was Gaia, and that's classified as black magic. Salazar Slytherin was an Alchemist, which is white, too. I think it's just that Slytherin attracts the darker cores. It should be in Magical Affinities, and I'd recommend reading that, because I'm sure I'm not doing this explanation justice," Theo tells them.
"And," Millie says, "Slytherin's got a bad rap because that's the House You-Know-Who was in. And, he apparently claimed he was descended from Salazar Slytherin, so that's done the House no favors. But just think: Slytherins aren't the only ones to have joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. There was Barty Crouch Jr from Ravenclaw, and Sirius Black from Gryffindor, and Lysandra Yaxley from Hufflepuff, though she wasn't much of a surprise given that the rest of her family joined him. There's also Professor Snape. He was a Slytherin, and was apparently spying for Dumbledore during the war. It just goes to show that not all Slytherins are bad, and not everyone from the other Houses are good, either."
"That's a fair point," Hermione says musingly. "It's like anywhere else, I suppose. Or even like people. No one is entirely good or entirely bad. It's just that you only really focus on one or the other."
"Exactly," Daphne says with satisfaction. "And that's part of why I want to be a Slytherin; I want to prove that they're not all bad. I want to do something great, so that the world has to look at me and see where I've come from, and so that they have to realise that they've scorned an entire House because of a couple of generations of crazies."
"Well, Daph," Blaise tells her, "you're certainly ambitious enough to pull it off."
"We'll help you," Haven says suddenly, looking around at the others. "We'll help you show everyone that there's more to Slytherin than so-called dark Wixen."
"Even if you're Gryffindors?" Daphne asks slyly.
"Of course. Why should that matter?"
"Gryffindors and Slytherins are not known for their ability to cooperate."
"Then they've been doing it wrong, haven't they?"
They all smile at each other as the train slows down and stops.
"I guess they have," Blaise says.
They make their way to the doors and step off the train, where they see a giant of a man beckoning the first-years over to him. They exchange glances, and head in his direction.
"Alrigh'," the man - who has thick brown hair, and kind eyes, and a beard the size of a large animal on his face, and introduces himself as Hagrid - says. "Ev'ryone get on a boat. Four people each, an' no more, else you'll capsize."
Everyone scrambles onto the vessels. True to Hagrid's words, the first time more than four people try to get in, the boat flips over. Haven gets in with Ron, Daphne and Theo. Hermione, Millie, Neville and Blaise board the boat next to them, and they push off into the lake.
The ride is smooth, and the air dry and warm. It takes perhaps ten minutes for Hogwarts to come into view, and it is beautiful when it does, with all of its towers and glowing windows and glinting spires. Before she knows it, the boats are bumping gently against the stone steps, and Hagrid is encouraging them to disembark.
They follow him up the stairs, and down the halls that open out onto air and a steep drop, until he stops in front of a massive set of doors and knocks four times. They swing open to reveal a shadowy figure.
"I'll take them from here, Hagrid," says Professor McGonagall, waving them all inside the entrance hall. The doors close behind them, leaving them in darkness until, one after another, the candelabras and sconces on the walls are set alight, casting ghostly shadows across the room. They follow her down the corridors until they reach a set of sealed doors. "Welcome," McGonagall tells them grandly, raising her arms in an expansive gesture, "to Hogwarts!"
The doors open, and she slips inside, leaving them behind with only an "I will return shortly to collect you all."
Haven exchanges glances with the other first-years, and settles in to wait. McGonagall is not gone for even two minutes before Malfoy approaches, gets up in her face, and says "You didn't tell me that you were Haven Potter!"