Upon first glance, Flourish and Blots looked like any other monster, or mundane, bookstore. Pushing open the door, Papyrus brandished the book list Toriel had given him. "Here we go, Sans! We should divide and conquer this worthy task we have been presented with!"
"huh," Sans said, oblivious to his brother's declaration. "what's going over there?" And it was true, while the skeletons had garnered some stares and frightened looks on their trip from Gringott's to the bookstore, their actual entrance into the bookstore had gone unnoticed. Instead, there was a small group of people clustered around a cage filled with books... that were apparently snapping at people, and each other. "i'm going to go check it out," Sans said.
"Sans! You are so easily distractible." Papyrus exclaimed.
Sans turned to look at his brother. "what do you think i am? a numbskull?"
"AAAACK!" Papyrus exclaimed. "Books, Sans! Not puns!"
"okay, okay, okay," Sans said, his eye-lights glinting.
They began to move down the list, collecting the "Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)" and "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them". They had just located "The Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts" when a cry went up from the crowd around the cage. "It's loose! It's loose!"
"alright, now i have to see," Sans said, disappearing between shelves.
Papyrus shook his head, and pulled the defense book off the shelf, adding it to the small stack in his hand. "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi," Papyrus said, reading off the next one, when the shouts got louder and more excited. Unable to focus, Papyrus reluctantly followed the direction his brother had wandered off.
One of the books had gotten loose from its cage, and was busily trying to bite the hand of the distressed looking proprietor. "I swear it! I'm never stocking them again!" he said, trying desperately to recapture the piece of rogue reading material. The book bit at empty air again, and retreated under a shelf, snarling at everyone.
Papyrus carefully set down his accumulated stack of textbooks. "Allow me, the Great Papyrus, help you with that book!" he declared, folding his arms, as if expecting a dramatic wind to rustle the scarf he wasn't actually wearing.
There were some gasps and murmurs, and Papyrus strode past the stunned shopkeeper, and reached his hand into the gap between shelf and floor, aggressively going for the book. Papyrus was the only one surprised when his hand got bitten. "OUCH!" Papyrus withdrew his hand, shaking it out.
"A small setback!" he declared. The skeleton considered for a second, then he knelt down on the floor, putting his eye sockets level with the gap, getting a good look at the angry tome. The book's beady eyes stared back, getting a good look at Papyrus. Papyrus recognized something in those eyes. "You're scared," Papyrus would have whispered, if he were capable of it.
Papyrus put his hand back underneath, but instead of reaching for the book again, he set his bony fingers in front of it, easily within bite range. The book didn't react at first, which was a good sign. A moment later, he heard sniffing sounds coming from under the bookshelf. "That's right," Papyrus said. "Will you allow to touch you?"
The book didn't reply. But it also didn't growl again, so Papyrus had that going for him. Papyrus ran one bony finger over the very top of the book's cover. It didn't snap at him again, but it did maneuver itself a bit further away, turning its spine toward the opening.
"You put your back to me," Papyrus said, miffed. "Your back?" he repeated. "Oh! Your back!" He ran his fingers down the book's spine, and was rewarded with a soft cooing noise coming from the book. "You want your back stroked," Papyrus said happily. He continued at this for a minute or two. "It's dark down there, book," Papyrus said. "Let me pick you up," and with his other hand. Papyrus gently scooped the book out from under the shelf, continuing to stroke the book's spine.
There was silence from most of the small group of onlookers when the skeleton revealed his prize, and a few of the customers hurried away at the sight of the skeleton. Two of them, teenagers with bright eyes and blazing red hair, on the other hand, openly applauded.
When Papyrus held the book out for the manager to take, the book woke from its reverie to growl warningly. He backed off, "Ah, maybe you should just keep that one... I'm not sure what kind of dark magic a skeleton..."
"Hey," Sans spoke up from behind him. His eye lights had dimmed so much as to be barely visible. "Papyrus wouldn't use any 'Dark Magic'. Just because me and my brother are from Mt. Ebott..." he said, his voice trailing off.
"I'm... I'm sorry," said the flustered worker. "These books have me around the bend. My apologies mister... ah, Papyrus, right?"
"yep, Papyrus, and i'm sans. sans the skeleton. no hard feelings?" Sans asked, holding his hand out.
"No, Mr. Sans," the shopkeeper said, taking Sans's hand to shake. As soon as he gripped it, there was the distinct, terrible, sound of someone passing gas. Loudly. There was a howl of laughter from the two watching teens. Sans glanced at them, winking. The shopkeeper stomped off to collect his dignity. "Monstrous books, practical joke playing skeletons, this isn't my day..."
"Set up and delivery, George," one of the teens said, bowing at the masterwork. "Flawless execution, Sans!"
"It was very impressive. We ought to study more of muggle practical jokes, if for inspiration if nothing else, Fred," said the other, joining his match in the bow.
"thank you, thank you," Sans said, stuffing the whoopee cushion back into his pocket.
"Sans, could you pick up..." Papyrus thought about what he was about to say, "the books, and carry them to the counter for me, please? Toriel will be here shortly, and my hands are full at the moment." He was still stroking the monster book of monsters.
"We'll get them!" the twins said together.
Sans, Fred, and George spent the next few minutes talking about different jokes, practical and otherwise, despite their offer to help. Papyrus, alone, fetched the last few books, one at a time, placing them on the growing stack on the counter. "Lazybones," Papyrus admonished.
"just doing my part for human-monster relations," Sans said.
Fred and George were called away at that point, and a couple of minutes later, Toriel and Frisk walked in.
"Ah, I see you've gotten the list together, and what's that in your hands, Papyrus?" Toriel asked.
"The monster book of monsters," Papyrus said happily. "Would you like to see, Frisk?" Papyrus held out the book, which growled again. "Hey. None of that. Any friend of the Great Papyrus should also be a friend of Frisk. Hold out your hand and introduce yourself," Papyrus said in a stage whisper.
"It's alright," Frisk said softly, "And it's true, any friend of Papyrus is a friend of mine," she gently took the book in her own hands, and took over Papyrus's job of stroking the spine. The monster book cooed happily.
"Just keep it," the counter attendant said tiredly, as Toriel went to pay for the collection of school books. "I don't think we could put it back in the cage even if we wanted to."
"Thank you, human!" exclaimed Papyrus, "I will enjoy perusing its text, and hope to find skeletons in it!"
Frisk had planned to start practicing her transfiguration homework afterward, to give Professor McGonagall a good impression of her. But before Frisk could even pull her wand out, she had been approached by three fellow Gryffindors: A shorter boy with dark hair and pudgy face, the boy with the lightning scar, and what looked like a Weasley boy. "Hello," the first one mumbled. "I'm, uh, Neville. Neville Longbottom. That's Harry Potter, and that's Ron Weasely."
"Hi," said Frisk, smiling.
"I, well, I just wanted to let you know, there's a couple of us who, uhm, who had to grow up without parents. We, Harry and I, both I lost ours to... to you-know-who."
Frisk looked at Neville blankly. She had no idea who.
"Voldemort," Harry said darkly. Both Ron and Neville visibly flinched.
"Please," Ron said weakly, "Don't use that name."
"What Neville's trying to say," Harry said, "All of us know what it's like, if you need help, please ask. Gryffindors need to stick together, right?"
"Right," chorused Ron and Neville.
"Thanks," said Frisk, and she really meant it.
Over the next few days, Frisk was gradually introduced to all the first-year courses at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. The class she was best at was Charms. Professor Flitwick was a good teacher, and ready to both help a student out with wand positioning and a joke to calm the nerves of a student whose charm had backfired. Frisk liked him immediately.
On the other hand, she had the most nightmarish time with her flying lessons. It wasn't that she disliked Madam Hooch, far from it, but she'd become convinced she was meant to keep two feet on the ground. And her broom (a school supplied one, as she wasn't allowed to bring her own) apparently agreed. She had spent a good fifteen minutes demanding her broom 'Up' at all before it decided to acquiesce, at which point most of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had taken to the sky. "Don't worry about it overmuch, Ms. Dreemurr," Madam Hooch had told her. "Not everyone can be a natural flier. We'll pick it up there next week."
Astronomy was Wednesday night, the only time they were allowed out of the common room after curfew. While Frisk enjoyed looking up at the stars, and the cool dark, especially as she had to spend most nights indoors; the coursework itself was rote memorization. Frisk detested it on general principle. Professor Sinistra tried to make it interesting, but it was History of Magic all over again, as far as she was concerned.
In Herbology, though it was nerve wracking at first when Professor Sprout announced they'd be studying a talking plant from the underground, Frisk was very relieved to find they were going to be spending the first few weeks studying the echo flower instead. Although she was irritated to realize she had fallen for the same bait and switch that Sans had pulled on her at Grillby's, even if it was unintentional this time.
Frisk was going up from Herbology to her next class, Defense Against the Dark Arts, when she had to stop suddenly. A Gryffindor student, carrying an armful of books, positively raced past her going to the left. She wasn't the only student Frisk had seen late for class, so she didn't pay a lot of attention to it at first. But, not fifteen seconds later, the same student passed her in the next intersection, going the opposite direction. After staring for a couple seconds, she realized she even recognized her. It was Hermione, the girl who'd put up the hand in the common room the other night.
Frisk was curious, but not curious enough to want to be late to her first class with a teacher she'd not met yet. If Charms was the class she was best at, Defense Against the Dark Arts might have just been her favorite. Frisk had heard the rumors of some of Professor Lupin's other classes, and she didn't want to be late.
"Are we going to see a Boggart?" Violet Mills asked excitedly, once Lupin had taken attendance and introduced himself.
"I'm afraid not," Lupin said, and acknowledged the class's sigh of disappointment. "Not in the first week. I think we shall save that for a special occasion. Instead, let's talk about something simpler, the Will-o'-the-Wisp," Lupin began, and led them on a spirited, enjoyable discussion in which all of the class was dragged into talking, even Frisk.
On Saturday, even before she started her homework, she absolutely had to write a letter home. She described the castle, her classes, even the food. She included Luna's request for an interview with the Quibbler. But most of all, she mentioned how home sick she was. "I had just gained a family," she wrote. "And I've been forced to leave them behind. I hope you, Dad and the others are all doing well. Love, Frisk." She put it in an envelope, and departed for the Owlery to have it sent.
Along the way, she was intercepted by a very nearly skeletal looking cat with large yellow, lamp like eyes that simply stared at her. Frisk was used to cats wandering the halls of the castle. The resident cat of Gryffindor tower, a large orange cat (possibly a maine coon, or very small tiger) called Crookshanks had come to investigate her lap a few times over the course of the week. Frisk detoured out of her way to introduce herself to this one.
The hissing the cat gave in response, however, surprised her. "It's alright, cat," she said, kneeling down, holding out a hand. The cat hissed again, looking at Frisk's hand warily.
"Hey! What are you doing with my cat?!" came a raspy shout from behind her.
"I... I was just trying to say hello," Frisk said, turning around awkwardly on the floor and blinking up at the angry looking gaunt man with long muddy blond hair.
"Likely story! I know how you students are. Your fondest wish is to give poor Mrs. Norris a good swift kick, isn't it!"
"But I'm on the ground..." Frisk protested. "How could I kick... I, I like cats."
"Go on, get wherever you're headed! C'mon Mrs. Norris," the man said, and he and Mrs. Norris stalked off. Frisk stared after them, utterly bewildered. It took her a few seconds to stand, and remembered that she was heading up to send her letter.
The owlery was a massive room with owls of every type that Frisk had heard of, and many she hadn't. She managed to get the attention of one of the school's barn owls, and with the promise that Toriel would give him a snail treat (that barn owls eat snails was one of Toriel's 'Snail Facts'), she tied the letter to its leg, and let him go on his way. Afterward, Frisk headed back to the common room.
The rest of the weekend was spent with homework. Was it really homework, Frisk wondered, if she did it in the same building it was assigned? These were the kind of thoughts Sans had put in her head. She also spent a few hours out of doors near the lake. That there was a second tentacled monster other than onion-san had intrigued her. It was even, reportedly, friendly, and she felt she had to check it out.
She got a reply back during Monday's breakfast, a medium package with a very long letter, with additions from all of her friends from the underground. Mom included her contact information, saying she'd be happy to do a Quibbler interview. The package contained, wrapped in large amounts of plastic wrap, not pie; but cinnamon cookies with butterscotch chips. While she would share some with Luna and Ginny later, she couldn't resist having one right then and there.
It tasted like home.
The second week went much like the first. Astronomy and History of Magic were still boring, Transfiguration was still hard, and Professor Snape still appeared to hate everything to do with Gryffindor.
But it was flying that was still Frisk's hardest course. After, for what was probably the hundredth time, asking for the broom to come 'Up', Frisk took a second to clear her thoughts. In that time, one of the members of Hufflepuff landed her broom behind her, and broke into Frisk's thoughts.
"It's your voice," she said.
Frisk looked around. It was a taller girl with short brown hair and hazel eyes. "It's your voice," she repeated.
"What do you mean?" Frisk asked.
"It sounds like you don't actually want it to come up, and your broom is picking up on that," the girl explained. It had a lot of truth to it. "Take a second, and say it with confidence."
Frisk took a deep breath, focusing on the broom with her eyes. "Up!" she told it. And finally, the broom acknowledged her. She boarded it cautiously, trying to get a feel for it.
"Here," the Hufflepuff said patiently, "I'll stay with you. Don't worry about falling. That's what Madam Hooch is here to help with, right?"
"Right," said Frisk dubiously. And over the rest of the lesson, Frisk did fall, twice. But never far, and more discomforted by the embarrassment than the pain. The Hufflepuff stayed with her the whole time, encouraging her.
When Hooch called for the brooms to be put away, Frisk stood with her benefactor. "Thanks, what's your name?"
"Opal," the Hufflepuff said, "Opal Oxtoby. I hope to be on the Hufflepuff quidditch team next year. Probably as a chaser."
"I'm Frisk Dreemurr," Frisk said, smiling, "and I have no idea what you just said."
As the bell rung, and they headed up to the castle. "Oh, Quidditch?" Opal said, her eyes sparkling. "Best game in the world. If you have time on Saturday, come down to the pitch, and we'll be able to watch one of the teams practice. And, if Madam Hooch lets us, we can have some extra flying practice,"
"I'd like that, Opal. Thank you," Frisk said.
They went their separate ways. For the second time, Frisk was interrupted by Hermione charging down two different halls, in two different directions, no more than thirty seconds apart. She stared after the older Gryffindor, the confusion evident on her face.