A/N: Merry Christmas, y'all! As a writer I rely so much on your feedback in the comments to keep my stories going, so leave some love please! As for any questions, they will be explained later as the story progresses. Enjoy!
Anastasia Quill thought she was prepared. The universe, however, had other ideas.
It was a sultry, sweltering summer, and the sun ravaged the streets of Shanghai, flooding houses and assailing passerby with merciless, scalding heat. If you squinted closely, you could make out visible ripples in the broiling air—heat waves that distorted the view and reflected the terrifyingly high temperature of the street.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you saw it—our protagonist couldn't feel anything but bone-chilling cold as she shivered, strapped in the seat of her plane. Anastasia pulled the flimsy airline blanket closer around herself, trying to coax her stubborn neurons into ignoring the chill—and failing, as doing so seemed to have the opposite effect. It was like the air was intent on sucking all the warmth out of her limbs. Her heart thrummed with trepidation as she surveyed the scenery outside her window. It wasn't that she was afraid of planes—there just was something about the heights and the abnormal air pressure that set her teeth on end.
"Welcome to New York! It's been waiting for ya!"
Oh, then there was the one extremely annoying passenger seated next to her.
The girl had been singing nonstop in a breathy falsetto ever since the plane had taken off. Her voice wormed its way, nasal and unpleasant, into Anastasia's eardrums despite the two layers of soundproofing she had taken great lengths to implement. Anastasia had no bias against people with more…animalistic tendencies. She liked donkeys. They were strong and hardworking, with just a touch of stubbornness that rivaled her own. She just didn't like seeing their traits represented by actual people.
And judging by the way people were eyeing the girl, now braying like said animal, they didn't very much either.
She turned to glower at her, then had to bite back a snort as her gaze fell upon the girl's face. Not only did she sound like a donkey, she looked rather like one as well. Under the cake-y makeup and the grotesquely bright pigments, her features resembled that of a saddle mule.
Okay, maybe that was a little harsh. Still, Anastasia felt like she had the right to a little constructive criticism. After all, she had been subjected to three hours of off-key Taylor Swift. Taking pity on her for her looks, she irritably ignored Donkey Girl in favor of leafing through her well-thumbed textbook, which she had disguised with a false cover. Thank god for modern, or as her professor had referred it to as, "Muggle" technology. Even now, Anastasia was struck with a sense of the surreal as she recalled their first encounter, vivid as if she was standing right in front of her.
When Anastasia had been approached by the austere lady, she couldn't decide if it was real or if someone was playing an elaborate prank on her. Admittedly a tad jaded for her age, she had already a plethora of dystopian novels under her belt, each one more horrifying than the last. The stories had accrued, attuning her youthful brain to accept the darker and more deceitful parts of society—the parts that would unflinchingly beguile a young girl into believing magic was real. Hence her defensiveness.
Then Professor McGonagall had swiftly dispelled her doubts by pulling out her wand and turning Anastasia's kitchen table into a live horse.
Definitely one of the more bewildering moments of her life.
Sufficient to say, that move had been enough to convert Anastasia to reluctant acceptance. With her parents' inexplicable permission—she wasn't going to accuse her newfound teacher of any brainwashing whatsoever—the professor had used a device called a "Portkey"("Ministry-sanctioned, and dreadfully expensive to procure—" the stern woman had explained. "You'll be traveling internationally by plane, of course—") to somehow transport them 4,598.25 kilometers, right into the heart of London. From there, she had traversed the streets of Diagon Alley, only to be dragged back by the collar from exploring the vibrant, flashy shops with the arresting displays in the windows. Sulking all the way through Gringotts, Madam Malkin's and Flourish and Blotts, her ire was only exacerbated when she entered Ollivander's.
Anastasia couldn't see the point in purchasing a wand. They were dull, pointless sticks of vulnerable wood that only offered a weakness for people to exploit. The alarming news that expulsion would end up in a snapped wand only served to amplify her dislike for the things.
"They're a safety hazard," she had complained. "What if I fall over and poke my eye out?"
McGonagall favored her with a severe look that promised pain. "I assure you that no such thing will happen."
Anastasia wisely kept her mouth shut. Maybe it was due to her pent-up frustration, or the annoyance that raged through her skull, but every wand she tried blew up in her face or attacked others. McGonagall had to summon multiple shields in order to prevent being burnt, pulverized, or drenched in any way.
"Here, try this." The wizened wandmaker didn't seem intimidated at all. In fact, he seemed to relish the added challenge. Boxes of wands piled up into a miniature mountain as Anastasia went through wand after wand, reducing half the store into smithereens in the process. "Laurel, Thunderbird tail feather. 13 inches, very rigid. Just imported from America." She reluctantly took it and braced herself for the impending explosion.
No floods, no flames, and no flare-ups. Nothing. The only sensation that passed through her arm was a slight tremor, mainly from surprise. "That's it?" She asked incredulously. Ollivander frowned, moving to snatch it from out of her hands when—
Warmth rushed up her fingertips, thrumming with feverish energy. She thought she'd heard a distant roar, but it was all forgotten as there was a sharp hiss and the tip of the wand began to pour out a stream of iridescent fire.
Heat blasted her in the face and her hair stood on end from the impact. There was a sharp intake of breath from both adults in the room, but unlike the previous wands, the flames didn't destroy anything. Instead, they curled around her in a kaleidoscopic halo, illuminating her delighted face and tossing dancing splashes of mottled scintillation on the dingy walls.
In that moment, lightning was coursing through her veins instead of blood, and it felt electrifying. Was this what witches and wizards felt like when they did magic? She felt like she could continue all day.
"That's enough for now," a gentle hand was on her shoulder, pulling her back into reality. She looked up into McGonagall's stern face, expecting distress, but all she could find was suppressed awe.
Ollivander, on the other hand, showed no qualms about displaying how impressed he was. "Oh, bravo! That was quite the display of magic there. Oh yes, very good indeed…If I'm not mistaken, this is one of Wolfe's creations. Extremely powerful, but difficult to master.
"Laurel is a fickle wood, and I'm afraid I do not know enough about Thunderbird feathers to use them in my creations. All I do know is we should expect great things from you, Miss Quill. The wand chooses the witch, remember. Take care you do not fall short of its expectations."
His monologue was sufficiently vague and shrouded in mystery. Anastasia couldn't make any sense of it, so she just nodded and faked understanding. "Mr. Ollivander," she felt obliged to ask. He interrupted her before she continued, a twinkle in his gaze Anastasia would later recognize as Dumbledorian.
"Coincidentally, this one also has safety wards built into it." She could've sworn she'd seen a small smile playing on his lips as he pointedly looked her way. "They prevent accidental damage and also injuries, such as, ah, any eyes being poked out."
Anastasia had the decency to flush.
Outside, the portkey was waiting for them. Not wishing to upend the contents of her stomach into nonbeing—or wherever cryptic location portkeys went—she neglected to take a single bite while McGonagall ate lunch.
"Am I going to Hogwarts via…that thing?" She asked. Anastasia eyed the device apprehensively.
"No, unfortunately." The professor looked rather sick with her after an entire day of surprises. Anastasia was very familiar with the expression, having seen it often on her parents faces. "The ministry has regulations that limit portkey use. You'll have to use muggle modes of international transport."
"Like an airplane?"
"That, Miss Quill, will be entirely for your parents to decide." The stern professor handed her a crisp ticket. "There are no mundane routes that lead directly to Hogwarts, so you'll have to transfer to King's Cross midway—your ticket contains all of the information you need. I'd recommend getting an earlier flight so you'd be able to rest in between—it's going to be a long ride, after all."
McGonagall missed completely the brief look of utter horror that flashed across Anastasia's face as she contemplated the thought.
The memory coalesced with reality as Anastasia once again found herself staring at her wand, wedged in between the pages of her textbook. Where had that come from? She supposed she had left it there earlier as a bookmark. The words in the background caught her attention, and she finally remembered the original purpose of bringing her book out. She silently berated herself for allowing herself to get distracted.
Sirens, also known as "Antemusia", are the earliest recorded race of merpeople. They live in Greece, confining their presence to patches of rocky land called Sirenum scopuli. They are classified as XXXXX creatures by the British Ministry of Magic due to their dangerous nature and hypnotic abilities.
Like most merpeople that live in warm water, sirens are exceptionally beautiful as compared to colder water merpeople like Selkies and Merrows. Around seven feet, they have features resembling half-human, half-fish, half-bird hybrids (though they were not, in actuality, half-breeds). Like humans, merpeople came in a variety of appearances.
Sirens are a sapient species, and would qualify for full being status if they did not, as a race, reject the classification. Although their exact level of intelligence as compared to humans is unknown, they possess many traits beyond those of mere animals, as they have a developed language, Mermish, and are known to create music.
Sirens are renowned for their beautiful voices. Their songs are so perfect that, when sailors listen to them, they enter an almost hypnotic state. Enraptured, they follow the sweet sound of their voices and jump off the boats in order to hear them better. Thus, they perish, drowning in the sea.
Often confused with their Scottish descendants, the Selkies, sirens do not have an alternate animal form. They are not benevolent creatures and will not have any romantic or sexual relationships with humans. Do not attempt to approach or engage them. Encountering a colony of Sirens will be life-threatening, even for witches and wizards.
Siren hair, like Acromantula venom, is rare, highly valued, and virtually impossible to collect from a live specimen. It is a potent ingredient that grants the user the ability to breathe underwater and replicate the Siren's fatal song on its own and can be used in a variety of mind-altering potions, the most notable of which is the Inducement Draught, the potion equivalent of the Imperius Curse. In rare cases, they could be used as wand cores.
The origins of sirens in Greek mythology are rich and varied. Traditionally considered daughters of the river god Achelous and one of the Muses, their backstory often intertwines with themes of loss and longing. According to some myths, they were transformed into their current forms as punishment for failing to rescue Persephone from Hades. This narrative adds layers to their character; they are not merely malevolent beings but also victims of circumstance.
A brief glance out the window broke Anastasia's concentration. The sky was darkening already, the clouds molten under the dying sunlight. Closing the textbook, she stifled a yawn. Donkey Girl had finally ceased her braying and the world was blissfully silent once more. Anastasia stretched a bit and curled up in her chair. Ruefully, she recalled the itinerary her parents had informed her about. Somehow, they had managed to completely ignore McGonagall's advice and left little to no time for Anastasia to recuperate from the flight. That meant she had to get off her flight, go to Kings Cross, and catch her train immediately before it took off, all in a couple hours.
Easy, right?
Anastasia felt drowsy just from the thought of it. She supposed she needed to replenish her energy for the ride ahead, so she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed against intrusive dreams.
Good news: her prayers came true. The bad news? Well, read on.
When she woke up, her book was gone. Bewildered, she searched her vicinity. It was nowhere in sight. With a sigh, she resigned herself to bending down to investigate. Maybe she had knocked it over in her sleep.
"Looking for this?"
She froze. That familiar shrill voice…
Anastasia looked up from the ground and…Yep, there it was. Donkey girl had it grasped in her grubby hands, a malicious glint in her eye that Anastasia did not at all like.
"Yes." She admitted warily. "Thank you for helping me keep it safe. If you would be so kind to return it..?" Anastasia held out a hand, hoping fervently that the girl's apparent animosity was just a figment of her imagination.
Spoiler alert: it wasn't.
"Not until I see what you're so fascinated with, nerd." She sneered. "Let's see…'Avoid the Red Cap, a Dark dwarfish creature that lurks in places where blood has been shed and will attempt to bludgeon the unwary to death'—What kind of book is this?!" She flipped the book shut, losing the page Anastasia was reading earlier to check the cover. "1984 by George Orwell?"
Anastasia wanted to slap herself. She had picked the most innocuous cover she could find back then. At that time, it seemed like such an ingenious idea. Now, as Donkey girl squinted at her book, she wasn't so sure.
Anastasia could literally see the girl thinking, the pained expression on her face twisting as she scrunched her eyebrows together. Despite her visible effort, it still took a full minute for the disguise to register in her brain. "You're using a fake cover."
"So what if I am? It's not a crime." Anastasia stubbornly tilted her chin.
"What a weirdo…" The girl rolled her eyes. Lit up with giddiness. "What's this?" She was holding up her misplaced wand.
Anastasia's stomach plummeted.
"It's a…bookmark." She lied, forcing herself to look nonchalant. "Give it back."
"That has got to be the ugliest bookmark I've ever seen." The girl's nose wrinkled, and before Anastasia could react, she made to snap it over her knee.
"No!" The ugly cry of alarm was ripped out of her throat before she could help it. Thankfully, the wards in place held, but they couldn't control the frantic beating of her panicked heart.
"Oops," the girl drawled. "Quite sturdy, isn't it? Don't worry, if I break the thing, I'll pay you ten times the price. God knows what you could do with the money. Maybe buy yourself a better wardrobe?" The girl went on, waxing poetic about the atrocity of her attire, but Anastasia couldn't hear anything over the roaring in her ears. White-hot fire coiled in her gut.
"And those pants look like they came from—argh!" There was an audible zap and the girl dropped Anastasia's wand, yelping like an injured canine. The wand, instead of falling to the floor, flew into Anastasia's waiting hand, faintly humming, almost purring with contentment and smug…satisfaction?
Don't personify the magical stick. She chided. Focus on the problem at hand.
Watching Donkey Girl flail in pain, she couldn't help the vicious glee that bubbled like lava in her stomach. But it was far from enough. She had tried to break her wand. She would pay for what she had done.
Anastasia watched as Donkey Girl's mouth started to elongate, darkening and spouting hair. Her teeth lengthened and jutted out from her chin. Her fingers melded together, fusing into hooves, while her ears flopped at the sides of her head. As the final cherry on top, a faint braying noise emanated from the girl's throat as she surveyed her new appearance, which was, frankly, not so different than before. Anastasia would even say it was an improvement—
Oh no.
Hadn't McGonagall said something about the Statute of Secrecy and how she wasn't allowed to perform magic in front of muggles? Well, not had Anastasia performed it in front of one of them, she had also performed it on her. She wasn't well-versed in Wizarding law, but she was pretty that counted for expulsion.
She couldn't get expelled before the first day of school!
Swallowing back the hot panic that flooded her, she tried to will Donkey Girl's head back from a donkey into a human. It stayed a donkey. Her eyes widened in dismay as the girl seemed to regain her wits and reached for the attendance button.
No!
"The light above her seat lit up.
I'm doomed…Anastasia thought, squeezing her eyes shut in despair. Was this what happened to superheroes that used their abilities for evil? With great power comes great responsibility, indeed. She let out a giggle that sounded slightly hysterical, even to her own ears.
"Are you alright?" She reopened her eyes to embrace her fate. The flight attendant sounded slightly annoyed as she faced Donkey Girl, who was…
Huh.
Anastasia blinked, flummoxed. Maybe she had been hallucinating, after all. Donkey Girl's face was perfectly normal again, save for the ugliness and the bad makeup. That even magic couldn't fix.
"She..she..she," Donkey Girl, for once, seemed at a loss for words. The flight attendant looked like she was getting impatient, so Anastasia stepped in and helped her.
"She just wants to say thank you for your service." She said, smiling sweetly. "And also an apology for being so rude earlier with her singing."
As the perplexed attendant left, Donkey Girl affixed her with a dirty glare. Thankfully, she didn't do anything to Anastasia for the rest of the flight, giving her ample time to recover from the emotional rollercoaster she had just been subjected to.
It was with a weary heart that Anastasia later boarded the train to Hogwarts.