This is designed to be a new experience for people who love the magical world J.K. Rowling created. The characters are not the same – There are new students, new teachers, some new histories. Much of the history of the Wizarding World will be kept the same (the founders, the spells, many authors and inventors, and historical figures). However, new creatures and spells may appear in parts.
This is a mystery and an adventure as explored through Clara and her friends: Thomas, the minimum-effort horticulturist; Harlowe, the unofficial groundskeeper's assistant; Jasper and Selena, siblings with a penchant for arguing and adopting stray misfits; Tod, the boxing boy from Manchester; Jasmine, a uniquely beautiful girl but quiet and difficult.
Enjoy the story, and stick around to meet these wonderful people.
On the first night she arrived at Hogwarts, blue lightening cracked open a black sky. Rain poured out of the darkness, splashing down into muddy cart tracks, ricocheting off leaves. A black, rickety carriage trampled out of the mud, onto the bridge, then clattered along the cobblestones.
"Butterscotch?" Professor Roselia offered, holding up a small, weathered leather pouch.
"No, thank you," Clara said, politely, as though her whole world hadn't been tilted on its axis only hours ago. Her voice was thin and high; Exhausted.
Inside the carriage should have been wet. The wind nearly blew the whole thing off its wheels, but Clara couldn't feel a lick of it on her face. No, inside the carriage was prickly warm and the air was still.
"We're nearly there," Professor Roselia said.
"Oh?" Clara heard what she said, but it hadn't clicked.
"Hogwarts School," Professor Roselia replied, slowly, over-enunciating the words, "Of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Out of the darkness rose an enormous castle. Bright golden eyes of lantern-lit arch windows stared out of every face and tower. Clara could barely make out the shape of it in the darkness. Then thunder slammed the sky and lightening crashed behind the castle. The sky lit up! Spindly towers were outlined before the sky above an oddly shaped keep that was crouched on the water like a black dragon.
In the rickety, warm carriage, with the rickety, warm old woman, Clara turned the words over. Hogwarts School… Of Witchcraft… And Wizardry… They spun slowly in her mind, thickening to an ooze, until the words felt like they might pop out of her ears and nose because they couldn't fit in her head anymore. Witchcraft, like cauldrons and cats. Wizardry, like robes and enchantments. School. A place to learn and, according to Professor Roselia's soft-spoken promises, to live.
"It's a good, safe place," she explained, for perhaps the fifth time that evening, "Full of people who care about your education, your future and your well-being."
"Is there food?"
Professor Roselia grinned. "Oh, yes. Loads."
Once across the enormous bridge, it was easier to see the castle through the horrendous rain. The golden arch windows that were so yellow and frightening from afar were golden up close. Clara could see that the castle was not black, but made of a warm brown stone, and though it was clearly enormous, the unusual shape that had unnerved her from afar was actually due to a base of naturally hewn rock from which the castle walls erupted.
"I'm going to live here," Clara said numbly.
"Yes, absolutely, and go to school here, too. Hop out, now, but watch your step!" The professor stepped out. She should have been drenched, but wasn't, and her soft springy ochre hair stayed perfectly dry. She held out a thin hand. Clara took it.
Immediately, heat spread from the professor's hand into her fingers. Clara's nerves prickled, resisting the relaxation, but a fluttery feeling spread up her hand, to her arms, up the side of her cheek and down into the arches of her feet. She slumped. All of a sudden, the nervous exhaustion turned into a bone deep comfort. "I'm so tired," she mumbled dreamily.
"Good," the professor smiled, helping her down onto the cobbles and into a great golden archway.
Surely, they must have walked, but if they did, Clara didn't remember it. She was in a round tower room. It had a huge chest of draws, a desk and chair in rosy woods, and a four poster bed with burgundy curtains and puffy white pillows. A quilt across the foot of the bed had green, gold, blue and red patches on it.
"My things…"
"Taken care of."
"My clothes…?"
"Taken care of," the professor repeated, with a flick of a short wooden wand.
A feathery feeling filled Clara's body. Her dirty puffed jacket and sodden, grass stained jeans rippled and became soft cotton pajamas. Her whole body felt scrubbed and pink, like she had just stepped out of the shower.
The professor guided her gently backwards by the shoulders until Clara's knees hit the bed and she sat. Tipping sideways, Clara rolled into a ball. The heavy burgundy doona tucked her in, cramming itself in against her back and feet to block out the cold.
"Is this magic?" She mumbled sleepily.
"These are charms," Professor Roselia whispered, "And they are only the beginning. Get some sleep."
On that fateful August day, Clara had started the morning with a burst of productivity. She rinsed her clothes in the river and strung them out. When that was done and they were dripping in the sun, she swept gravel from the corners of her tent. Then she left with a book in her hand, setting off for the store down the road.
Before the girl left, she took her blue shoebox – the one with all her secrets in it – and buried it outside the tent.
The road into town was a forty minute walk, out of the national park and onto the main road. For that first half an hour, it was sheer peace: Alongside a trailing river that splashed with fish, out of the old growth forest with its moss and mushrooms and insects. As the river steered away toward the hills, the walking path intersected with a fenceline. She slipped through the gate, and a voice called out a greeting from the road.
Clara stiffened up like a cat rubbed the wrong way.
The woman who'd spoken gave her a warm smile. "I think you know why I'm here."
Clara shook her head and began to march right down the road. The woman jogged to reach her, falling into step. Her sensible heels tap-tap-tapped the concrete path. "Please, it's quite important – It's me or the police, little miss. I'm afraid you're being evicted."
"Then I'll move."
"Where to? Friends, perhaps?"
"Yep."
"Or another national park?"
Clara didn't say a word.
"How about I buy you some breakfast? We can discuss some options – legal options?"
Clara sped up her pace to get away, though her stomach rumbled.
"You're getting older – We could look at something other than fostering."
At that, Clara stopped. Her fingers tightened on the spine of her book – a book she'd stolen. She was hungry. She was tired. She didn't want to steal breakfast today. "Fine," Clara said, "Let's talk."
On Thursdays, the diner served pancakes with maple syrup and Nutella. Clara ordered them alongside hashbrowns and an enormous milkshake. The woman waited until Clara had gotten through almost half the stack before she started on her 'talk'. Clara was fairly certain that the woman had been waiting until the combined weight of pancake and oozy Nutella was actually pinning her to the chair.
"I'm a social worker. My name is Alison Vance. On this card, my name, email and number are all written down for you." She slid it over the table. "You just call me Alison, or Ally. Now, the police have received a few reports about a homeless girl camping in the national park. They've held off until now because there weren't any disturbances… But the ladies at the shop have seen you come in. They know you've been stealing. We need to get you set up in a more permanent home." She took a breath. "What's your name, hun?"
Clara had taken too long here. It was the river, with all its creatures, the chattiness of nature, that made it hard to leave. She shook her head. "What are my options?"
"Well, once I have an idea of your actual age, where you were born and who might still be around to care for you – gosh, all sorts of things – We can start considering them."
"Assume I have no one," Clara said, "Assume I'm in my mid to late teens. What are my options then?"
A deep, exasperated frown settled itself on Alison's face. "There are many foster families available, and-" She continued to talk over Clara's glare, "As much as you dislike it, I really think that's the best for you!" She leaned in with a new smile. "You need food, love. And a roof. And much more than that, an education." She paused. "There are orphanages, too. You could just live in a dorm. Focus on school until you're eighteen."
Clara gazed down what remained of her stack of pancakes. Whirls of Nutella, puddles of syrup, strawberries quartered and cream dotted. "…No," she said. It would only go wrong. "Thanks, Alison. Really, I'm not lying, but it wouldn't be good for me." Or anyone else, either.
Alison scooted forward to the edge of her seat. Her eyes were huge, a deep doe brown that all of her compassion poured out of. "Your choices aren't good. It's this, or it's bad. Come with me."
Finally, Clara's eyes shot up from her food to the door. Outside, the tell-tale-blue of police uniforms obscured the sunlight. They swayed and chatted to each other, waiting for something: For Clara to leave.
"What have you done?" Clara asked numbly. She felt as though her mind were ticking over, slowly tumbling, like she was seasick.
"Nothing, I promise. They were coming anyway. They called me to see if I could help. You can't keep stealing food and camping in national parks. But if you come with me, they'll drop the charges!"
It was absurd, but Clara felt betrayed. Food and a smile. Was that really all it took to gain her trust?
One exit. Some windows, but there were patrons and tables in front of them. The police would round the little building in moments. Besides, they might already know where her tent was hiding, if anyone had reported her camping in the park. The cops might already have her things.
Clara's breath got faster in little hitches. Hunching down, she wrapped her arms around herself and said nothing as Alison begged her to agree, begged her to say something.
Then everything started to spin.
At first, she thought it was just her world privately imploding. Then the screaming started. Clara watched the world turn slowly on its axis. A woman tried to climb her table, but everyone was pinned in the air by the same gravity that usually held them on the ground.
At the sound of their screams, a police officer slammed open the door. He ran out onto the ceiling, realising halfway what was wrong. He reached for the screaming woman, grasping her hands, but even when she jumped, she couldn't get down on the upturned ceiling.
Alison glanced around the upturned world, her eyes falling back down on Clara, who was read and gasping. "Oh," she said. Then she pushed the card into down into Clara's hands. "Go!"
Clara run, out of the upside down diner. At the lip of the exit, she hesitated, eyes swimming as she stared up at the ground outside – That was effectively above her head. As she stared up at the dusty ground, a woman walked up to the building and smiled up at her. "Hello Clara," she said, tipping her delicately pointed hat. "Allow me."
In the morning following Clara's unusual delivery to Hogwarts, bright light flooded the tower. The covers rolled away from her, even as Clara complained, clawing at the the cushions, but she only managed to drag them with her as the blankets set her down, upright, next to the bed, on chilly tiles. "Oh!" She huffed, still half asleep, hugging a pillow. The deep comfort of her sleep kept her dumb for a few seconds longer, before her eyes snapped open. The full reality of her situation lurched within her to be realised.
Next to her, the doona yanked itself upwards. The pillow leapt out of her arms, rolled across the bed, and tucked itself up against the headboard. With a final flick, the bed covers pulled taut and unwrinkled, as though no one had slept in them at all.
Clara stood, wobbled, and gazed around the room.
A pile of grimy camping gear was piled lopsidedly next to the wardrobe, under a window set deeply into the stone wall. Clara rushed to it. Digging through, she laid out each item in a line, taking stock.
Her little blue tent, turned black with mud. It showered her in gravel when she pulled it out of the pile. A wrinkled yoga mat. Two plastic bags full of clothes: One bag of clean, one bag of dirty. Not that either bag smelled particularly nice. A phone, a laptop, some keys. Chargers. Bags of nuts and jerky. A small solar panel of blue squares.
And a blue shoe box.
Clara sighed, holding the box on her lap. Everything was still there. All the important things. First, she tried her phone. It lay dead in her grasp. Her laptop was the same. She looked around for an outlet, and found none.
A knock on the door startled her and the box slid off her knees. Clara quickly shoved her little blue box under the bed, eyeing the covers. What if they gave away her secret? "Hello? Hi, could you let me in? Uhm, when you're ready of course."
Clara peered down at herself. "Hello," she croaked back. Clearing her throat, she added, "I need to get changed. Is that okay?"
"Oh, yeah, of course. Uhm. Tell me when you're done." The personality on the other side of the door sounded awkward, which gave Clara an odd sense of comfort. At least someone else felt out of place in this situation, too.
When she peeled off her pajamas, the magic proved to be temporary. Her thin cotton pants became sodden jeans and when she pulled the shirt over her head, it was her parka that she found in her hands. "Magic," she whispered, dropping her clothes. The boots she had worn on her way to Hogwarts were mysteriously lined up next to the door, as though they'd always lived there. Clara half expected them to walk themselves over to her and hop on her feet, but they were still. She was still clean, which she felt glad about, but also a little disturbed about the magical intricacies of making her entire body as clean as soap.
"Okay," she called, when she was dressed in a wrinkly pink shirt, a men's too-long navy zip up hoodie and her muddy boots. "Come in."
A girl Clara's age opened the door. She was pale, with curly auburn hair and a heart shaped face. The tips of her nose and ears were bright pink. Together, they held up equally pink glasses with huge square frames. "Hello!" She said, "I'm Harlowe and its very nice to meet you!" Her words came out all at once, crashing into one another, as her eyes bounced up and down at Clara's dirty state. "I heard you had a rough time getting in, and well, I suppose, Professor Roselia would have told you a bit about the place. But it's an awfully big place." She smiled, huge and welcoming. She entered, inspecting the row of camping gear on the floor. "Well. Uhm. Is that your… Are they your robes?" She wondered, pointing to the tent on the ground.
"No," Clara laughed, but it wasn't a joke, because the girl only stared at her. The girl actually was wearing robes, in the traditional witch or wizard sense. They were pale brown and hooded, with a soft green dress underneath. "I don't have any robes."
"Oh. Well, we can get that sorted today, can't we?" Harlowe said optimistically. There was a silence. Clara felt as though there was a strange language barrier between them. They were both speaking English, but nothing was getting through.
Harlowe's shoulders dropped and she took a great breath. "Let me start again." She went to the bed and sat down, patting the space beside her.
Clara sat across from her on the bed, hoping it wouldn't chuck her out again.
"How are you feeling?" Harlow asked softly, blinking her big brown eyes.
"Fine."
"Oh. Well, Professor Roselia said you'd been through a lot… I thought you might feel a bit strange."
Clara grimaced. "Just a bit," she admitted, eyeing off the bed. "Things that shouldn't be alive, are. I don't know how I got here, really."
"I see. This must be really weird for someone born to Muggles – Non-magic folk, I mean." Harlowe reflected Clara's sentiments with compassion. "How long have you known you were a witch?"
Surely, Clara knew that there were words to explain that she wasn't Muggle-born – That she had known she was a witch her whole life – That magic was not unfamiliar to her and instead, it was like reuniting with a person you'd known a very long time ago, whose personality had changed in the meantime, so that you no longer fully recognised each other. But whatever those words were, she couldn't bring them to her lips. It was too hard. Clara sighed. "I've known a while." She hesitated, and offered, "Most recently, a few days ago, I turned a restaurant upside down."
"A restaurant? Like, the whole thing? Destroyed?"
"No, no, not like that! Upside down… You know. The floor was the roof, and the roof was the floor, and people were dining upside down. Nothing fell! But they started screaming anyway." Clara sounded sheepish.
"Oh! Well that's fine, then. No harm, no foul!" Harlowe said. "No one got hurt, did they?"
"Oh, no. Professor Roselia arrived, actually. Told me to go pack up my tent and get ready to go. She got it all back the right way up."
"That's fantastic. I always wanted to live in a tent, actually, they're great. I use them on the outer grounds all the time."
Clara thought that was a strange thing to say, but didn't argue.
"Did it take you a very long time to pack?" Harlowe wondered, "They were expecting you a few days ago. That's why this is all here, you know, to set you up before we move into dorms."
"Oh, uhm, yeah. Lots to pack." Clara smiled, but it was thin and wan.
Harlowe moved over to the line of camping gear. "Is this your tent? It's very different from my ones. I've always wondered what a Muggle tent is like. Do you mind if I take a look?"
"Sure."
Harlow picked it up and did the strangest thing. She cracked open the zip and stuck her head inside, raining gravel down on her hair and the stone floor. For a minute, there was silence. She pulled it down further, until she was almost wearing it. After a while, she asked, "Is this it?"
"Yep. That's a tent." Something occurred to Clara. "Are witch tents very different?"
Harlowe peeled the tent off her head and placed it down again. "Bigger," she said lamely, with a new gravity to her expression. "Is this what you were living in?"
Clara reluctantly nodded.
"I see." Harlowe pushed a big smile onto her face. "You're going to love the common rooms."