Despite what anyone tells you, there is nothing good about a fresh start. A fresh start, you see, means a new start, and a new start means having to do things all over again.
"Look at the bright side, honey," my mom coos. She tosses a bit of hair behind her shoulder as she surreptitiously glances down the street, then waves her wand with a flourish. "You practically begged us to let you study abroad last year. Now, you'll get to do it for real."
At that, I scowl and duck as my packed-to-the-brim trunk comes flying at my head.
True, I thought about doing an exchange program once, but my parents quickly squashed the idea of more than a week abroad without them. Sort of ironic, then, that I now find myself on the stoop of our new home in London, preparing to ship off to Hogwarts and squinting out into the mild summer sky. The blue is nearly as bright as my dad's new uniform for the Appleby Arrows, dotted with puffs of white that drift lazily through the slight breeze stirring in the city.
Ah, yes. The joys of having a professional athlete for a father. Sure, we've always lived more than comfortably, but we also have to live with the constant stress of never knowing where we'll be. That's the part that nobody ever thinks about: renegotiating contracts, waiting out trade season, wondering if you'll have to pack up and move your life on a moment's notice.
Which is exactly what happened two months ago. For the third time in four years.
I suppose we've gotten luckier than most. Some of my fellow sports kids friends move basically every year; some even move twice a year. It all depends on how the chips fall, and for us, that mostly meant Dad playing for the Laguna Beach Lynx. Then they decided to tear it all down and rebuild, so we got shipped off to Texas' Sweetwater All-Stars, and finally, last year, to the Fitchburg Finches up in Massachusetts.
And now, here we are, a literal ocean away, with Dad set to start training camp with the Arrows next week, and me set to start Hogwarts – well, today. And I'm still kind of pissed about it.
I mean, I get it. He's in his early thirties now and probably doesn't have a ton of time left as a professional player. He's got to think about big market exposure, endorsement deals, pulling in as much income as he can before his career's over. It made sense to move to the much bigger British & Irish League.
Who knows? Maybe it'll be fun. Just because transferring to Ilvermorny last year was a disaster doesn't mean that Hogwarts will be.
Right?
Right.
The least I can do is try. Besides, I've already been invited to join one of the school Quidditch teams, so it can't be all that bad. I've never really gotten a chance to play competitively before. All my previous schools fielded the sport more out of courtesy than demand.
So, I pull in a deep breath, wave goodbye to the home I've barely lived in, and slide into the backseat of the car. London whirls past the windows – flashes and swirls of places I'd barely gotten to explore, places I can't yet name – as I try to experience the summer I never got to have here on the short drive to the station.
No-Majs flit in and out between the hordes of magic folk when we arrive, apparently oblivious to the obvious commotion flooding the station. Kids of all ages run excitedly along the tracks, waving their parents along; owls hoot in a horrible cacophonous symphony; massive brown trunks make their way slowly to the Platform entrance.
Honestly, you'd have to be blind and deaf not to know that something's up. How the No-Majs don't figure out our secret, I'll never know.
But before I have time to ponder this further, Mom and Dad literally shove me towards the enchanted barrier between Platforms 9 and 10 – and all thoughts disappear at the sight of the Hogwarts Express.
I have heard of it before, come to think of it. Lisa Roth, a friend of mine from my first (and favorite) school, the Salem Witches Institute, did an exchange semester once and came back excitedly chattering about the train. I never thought it would look like this , though, shimmering with scarlet and gold in an ethereal light.
But I don't have much time to admire it, as my parents monopolize my time with goodbyes – a kiss and a hug, a promise to write – and then they're gone, disappearing back into the No-Maj world, leaving me all alone on the bustling platform with literally no one to talk to.
I let out a sigh and stand there awkwardly, surrounded by a strange symphonic swirl of giddy reunions and tearful goodbyes. It feels exactly like it did last year, when I started at Ilvermorny, terribly alone in a sea of familiarity. But hey, it's a "fresh start," right, Mom?
God, I don't want to do this.
The pit that's built in my stomach all summer long – a concoction of nerves, anxiety, and dread – feels about ready to burst as I lug my trunk behind me towards the train. A burly boy who looks around my age sees me struggling and hauls it up, but I don't even get a chance to thank him before he bounds off towards his friends, and I'm left alone once more.
I suppose there's no point in looking for an empty car, right? I arrived with only a few minutes to spare, so I'm sure they're all taken with friend groups anxious to catch each other up on all the summer gossip. Guess I'll just pick one and hope for the best? I don't know, I'm quite bad at introductions and small talk and all that – oh, God , this is going to be a long ride to school – what if I get stuck with horrible people? – or even –
My spiraling anxieties go spinning from my head, though, as a group of boys around my age shoves past me in the narrow space, and I almost drop the damn trunk on my foot in the confusion.
I let out a huff of exasperation under my breath and, as if hearing it, one of the boys spins around to look at me. "Sorry!" he calls back, sending an apologetic smile.
And at that , the even taller boy next to him glances back over his shoulder. His eyes lock on me – brown, I think, although the less-than-ideal lighting makes it difficult to tell – but he says nothing. It lasts only a few seconds, maybe more, and he glances away once their other friend nudges him in the side.
Well. Okay, then.
Sighing, I turn back around and continue my slow struggle down the hall. There's a promising car down the way, with just one girl sitting inside. Better than nothing, I suppose, and honestly, my arm's about to fall off from carrying the stupid trunk.
The girl glances up in surprise as I knock softly and slide the door open, although upon seeing her up close I kind of wish I hadn't. Not because she looks mean or anything, but because – well, she does look rather intimidating. Drop dead gorgeous, long legs, big blue eyes. Girls who look like her – like they belong on a magazine cover – don't exactly help my already fragile sense of self-esteem.
But she has an empty car, so I swallow my nerves and take a step inside. "Do you mind if I sit here? I can't seem to find any open seats."
"No problem. You're new, aren't you?" she says with a slight smile, and I vaguely wonder how she knows that until it clicks in my head. Accent. Dead giveaway, of course. "Exchange or transfer?"
"Transfer." I nod as I drop my trunk onto the compartment floor, and she flicks a wand at it to set it up on the rack. "Thanks. I'm Aria."
"Dominique Weasley." She clears her throat, waving to the open seat across from her, and I sink onto it with a bit less grace than intended. "I did a term at Beauxbatons last year. First days can be overwhelming."
"Just a bit."
She smiles at that, and a bit of blonde hair sticks to her freshly glossed lips. "Well, I'm happy to be of assistance. What year are you?"
"Sixth," I reply, lurching forward slightly as the train shoves off with a short, shrill whistle blast.
"Same." One hand fiddles with her hair, unsticking it from the gloss, and tucks the wavy length behind her ear as the station fades away outside of the window. "That works out, then. I'll introduce you to my friends."
"Thanks," I say, hoping my desperation isn't too palpable, but she simply waves me off.
"No worries. Anything for a fellow blonde."
I grin back at her and turn to the window, feeling the knot in my stomach untie ever so slightly. So far, so good. The station fades from view as the train forges ahead, picking up steam with every second, and it's not long until London disappears into the distance as well.
Dominique makes polite conversation, filling me in on some tips for navigating the castle and asking about my previous schools, while green hills roll past us in an endless wave. She's nice, and talks a lot, so all in all, I can't really complain.
A knock echoes at the door to our car about an hour into the journey, and Dominique glances over, cut off mid-sentence, before waving at three boys standing in the hall. They look vaguely familiar, and as the door pulls open I realize why. They're the three from earlier, when I boarded the train. The same three who nearly made me amputate my foot with my trunk.
The taller one, the one I thought had brown eyes – hazel, actually, as I can see much better now – steps in first, running one hand back through a mass of unruly black hair atop his head. "Mind if we join you, Dom?" he asks lazily, but he drops down beside me without waiting for a response.
I glance over in time to catch Dominique roll her eyes and send him an annoyed scowl. "Well, Lila Andrews did say she would drop by, although I suppose she won't now that you're here."
"What did you do?" The second boy, the one who apologized to me earlier, asks curiously. He slides down next to his friend, and I think I see him send a wink at the third boy, who then takes a seat beside Dominique.
"Nothing!" The first boy protests, looking quite insulted at the insinuation.
"Exactly. He did nothing. Not write her, not take her to Diagon Alley -"
"We're not dating, Dom, I'm not obligated -"
"Oh, shut it, James, it's common courtesy -"
"We don't even fancy each other -"
"Well, that's not the point!" Dominique exclaims wildly. The boy beside her lets out a cough that sounds suspiciously like a laugh and turns to face the window before she can catch his eye. "She's still cross with you."
"Maybe we'll conveniently sit with Grace and her group at the feast tonight. That'd please Lila, I expect," James (I think that's what she called him?) says with a shrug. The other boy on our side of the car hits him on the shoulder for that, but it goes ignored. "Anyway, who's your new friend?"
"Oh, right, sorry," Dominique says sheepishly. She bites down a bit on her lip, as if figuring out what to say, and the nerves tighten in my stomach, fluttering anxiously. Oh, God, she's probably forgotten my name already – "Aria, sixth year, just moved here from the States. My cousin James and his friends – okay, mine, too, I suppose," she tacks on after a grunt of displeasure from the boy next to her, "Jett Nolton and Connor Finnigan."
The boys' heads swivel to face me at that, and I feel my cheeks flush with a tinge of heat. "Hi," I squeak out, wiggling my fingers, and that boy who apologized for them earlier gives a friendly wave back. He's definitely my favorite so far. What was his name? Jett?
"So, new girl," the one beside me begins, and I glance over to meet his gaze. "Are all Americans as pretty as you?"
I'm sorry, what? My brows furrow as I blink in confusion, staring blankly into his eyes, and the boy beside him – Jett, I think – lets out a poorly disguised laugh.
"James!" Dominique hisses, but he pays her no mind, keeping those hazel eyes locked on me intently. "She's barely been here for an hour! Godric, you're such an idiot -"
"Okay, fine," he mutters, swatting absentmindedly at the girl harping on him. "And I'm not an idiot, Dom –"
But it doesn't matter, as she shoots back another snarky comment, and before long the two of them have a full-on bicker going over – well, frankly, I don't really know what, because the subject keeps changing.
The arguing must go on for a full five minutes, if not more, and it doesn't end until the sharp rap of a knock on the door pulls everyone's attention to the glass. Two boys stand on the other side of it. One looks unnervingly like the boy next to me – the same messy black hair and tall frame, but with slightly softer, younger features – while the other could nearly pass for Dominique's twin.
"Have any of you lot seen Aiden Wood?" the black-haired one inquires after shoving open the door. They make no move to step inside, though, and a chorus of sorry, no rings around the car.
"Why d'you want Wood?" the boy beside me, James, asks lazily. One hand drags back through the inky mess of hair on top of his head slowly, and I see Dominique roll her eyes at the motion from across the car.
"Quidditch."
"Well, yeah, I guessed as much. Probably holed up with Samuels and MacAvoy somewhere, isn't he?"
"Probably, yeah."
"I'll help you look, then. Was about to go for the trolley, anyway." At that, the boy beside me stretches up, followed by the other on our side. The third boy, the one next to Dominique, shoots some sort of unreadable expression at them from across the car, but follows suit shortly after.
"Nice to meet you, Aria," Jett, the polite one, says while his other friends step out of the compartment.
Two dimples pop against his warm grin, and my cheeks flush a bit as I return the smile. And it's not because he's attractive – although he definitely is, they all are – but because – I don't know. I guess because it feels like – like I'm actually a person, not just the new girl.
A companionable silence settles over our car as the door slides shut behind the boys, broken only by the rhythmic clack – clack – clack of the train. People wander in every so often, of course, catching up with Dominique or rapping on the window with a friendly wave, but after about the second hour, I can barely remember to keep my eyes open as the neverending green hills roll past us.
I don't know how long I drift off into my dreamless sleep – it could've been five minutes, it could've been five hours – but I do know that my eyes fly wide open when a sharp gasp echoes around the car. Blurry-eyed, I sit up straight, yawning, and meet Dominique's wide, bright blue gaze across from me.
"Sorry!" She throws a hand over her mouth, as if trying to hold back another gasp, while the other flaps a copy of Witch Weekly towards me furiously.
And much to my surprise, I find my own face staring straight back at me.
Dominique chews her lip as I grab the paper in curiosity. Yep, definitely me. And my dad. I mean, it's not that surprising given my dad's profession, but you never quite get used to seeing yourself splashed across full-color prints.
"That's me," I affirm absentmindedly, tossing the magazine gently back at Dominique. It's pretty much just a fact of life now that wherever we go, cameras often follow. It wasn't so bad back home – Quidditch just isn't that big in the States – but my very short two weeks in London had already proved the British press to be a different beast. I don't think we managed even one outing to the Wizarding Sector without a few pictures snapped.
"Former Fitchburg Finch star Hayden Fields was spotted out and about London earlier this month, accompanied by his daughter, Aria, age sixteen," Dominique reads. I can't help but notice how her voice catches slightly on my dad's name, and that familiar rush of heat flushes my cheeks. "Long considered a top Chaser in the American Quidditch League, Fields agreed to a lucrative five-year contract with the Appleby Arrows earlier this year, as first reported by Witch Weekly. Fields' daughter will attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this fall."
Dominique glances back up at me, eyes still wide, and I shift my gaze back out to the rolling countryside, now blanketed in the burning crimsons of sunset. So much for being normal, I guess. If she's read about me, others probably have, too. As if it's not already hard enough to be the new girl.
"You're Hayden Fields' daughter?" Dominique asks in surprise. I glance back at her to nod slightly before turning back to the window, hoping she'll take a hint. "My cousin James would not shut up about him signing with Appleby."
"Great," I deadpan. "I'll get him an autograph."
Dominique snorts, but the door to our car slides open before she can shoot a reply back. "We all need to change," a girl with reddish hair announces, fiddling slightly with a silver pin on her robes. "We'll be arriving in Hogsmeade shortly."
"Thanks, Sophie," Dominique says brightly as the girl shuts the door. "Oh, damn. Should have introduced you." She flicks her wand towards our trunks, pulling them down gently, and starts digging through hers aimlessly. "She's a sixth year Ravenclaw as well. Guess you'll meet her soon enough, though."
"I suppose so," I mumble under my breath.
Nerves flutter beneath my skin, the thought of endless introductions a pit of dread in my stomach, as Dominique snaps the drapes to our car shut for privacy. She gracefully steps into her uniform and dress robes, embroidered with a deep emerald green that somehow only brings out more of her beauty. I, meanwhile, nearly topple over into the lurch of the train as I pull on mine.
"You'll get used to changing. I've had practice," she says with a soft smile. I can hear the hall next to us filling to capacity as students tumble out of their cars, and Dominique flicks our trunks back into storage before pulling open the doors for us. A river of black peppered with yellows, blues, greens, and reds streams towards the train's exit, and she steps into it confidently, waving for me to follow.
I, however, am not quite so confident, and that moment's hesitation costs me. Dominique blends into the stream, flowing down with the current, and I draw in a deep breath before cutting out into the hall. Clearly, this is just how I should start my Hogwarts career: alone and jostled by first years pushing into line behind me.
Except, no – those aren't first years. The voice sounds like –
"New girl! What a pleasant surprise."
I turn just the slightest bit to look back over my shoulder, and glinting hazel eyes immediately manage to catch mine. James' two friends – Jett, the polite one, and the other whose name escapes me, stand behind him, holding a muttered conversation that I can't quite hear, although I swear one of them just said "Dominique."
"Aria," I correct him, but James simply swats me off, apparently unconcerned.
"Let's grab a carriage, yeah?"
"Carriage? I – oh ." The protests slip off my lips as I step off the train and onto the platform, where a line of students load into carriages. Which would seem fairly normal, except the carriages apparently have no horses.
James laughs at the look on my face – or maybe just at my face, who knows – and pulls open the door to the nearest horseless carriage. "After you," he says, and I climb up, followed closely by my new-found shadow and his two other friends, still holding their whispered conversation. "Right, so, I'm really sorry to inform you of this, but apparently my lovely cousin Dom has taken a liking to you, and you're now going to be stuck with her forever."
"And that's a bad thing?"
The carriage lurches into motion just as we all take our seats – James to my left, and his two friends across the way from us. He shrugs slightly, undeterred by the way my eyes sweep over to the carriage window, locked onto the landscape outside, and lightly kicks his friend in the shin.
"Maybe not if you're Connor."
Right. Connor. I don't know quite what he means by that, but at least I've got his friend's name now.
"Oh, shut up, James," the boy in question moans, shooting a dirty look across the carriage. He sounds different than the other two, with a lilting Irish accent that almost seems to roll in time with the carriage wheels.
"Well, you've only been -"
"Shut up," Connor hisses again, and their other friend, Jett, leans back in amusement, folding his arms across his broad chest.
"Honestly, Connor, just -"
"Drop it."
"Okay, fine," James says, shrugging slightly. "Some Gryffindor you are."
Jett snorts at that while Connor scowls, his vivid blue eyes turning angrily to look out the carriage window.
Thankfully, though, we grind to a halt before the tension escalates, and everyone piles out instinctively before heading up the loose stone path towards the castle. Well, everyone except for me. As soon as I catch sight of the glittering black spires, twisted turrets, the bridges and shimmering lake – well, I freeze, eyes tracing over every detail of the Gothic wonderland before me, and just kind of let it take my breath away.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice beside me says, and I glance over to find Jett at my side, also soaking in the castle. "Six years now and I'm still not over it."
"Definitely a view I could get used to," I agree as we begin trekking up the long, sloping lawn.
"See that over there?" he asks, pointing to a tall tower climbing up into the clouds. Candlelight winks out at us from inside the windows that line it, shimmering like stars in the distance. "That's where Merlin had a famous duel with his school rival, and he fell backward over the top of the tower. Survived with some sort of cushioning spell, but dueling's been banned ever since."
"Really?" I ask in disbelief.
"No." He lets out a bark of laughter, one that seems to echo over the rolling grounds before us, and James turns around to look at us curiously. "But it would be a cool story, wouldn't it?"
"I –"
"Jett, hi!" A loud voice slices through the space between us, cutting off my reply, and I turn to catch sight of a pretty girl around our age waving from a few feet away. Her shiny brunette curls almost seem to reflect the jewel tones coloring the sky, and she absentmindedly tucks a stray strand behind her right ear.
"Hey, Grace," he says easily, tossing an arm around her shoulder as she approaches for a light hug. "How was your summer?"
"It was so fun, we took a family holiday to…" But her voice trails off as her quickened pace pulls the two of them further and further away. A small group of other girls follows behind them in a pack, and I just barely make out red and gold accents adorning their uniforms. The same colors Jett had on, I think.
I glance around half-heartedly for a familiar face, although I suppose I know I won't really find one. I lost Dominique back on the train and the boys are already up ahead, catching up with that group of girls, so it's just me. And I feel that nervous pit again, this time practically eating at my stomach, but I swallow it and simply follow the flow of students up towards the castle and into a massive dining hall, where I wander towards the long table beneath billowing blue and bronze banners.
The younger, dark-haired boy who looks like James sits a few feet down the table with a small group of friends, and all the way down at the far end, I think I see the girl who told us to change earlier on the train. But I don't really know any of them, save for recognizing faces, so I simply take an open seat at the end of the table closest to the doors.
The buzz of pre-meal chatter warms the hall, practically dripping over the tables, as friends laugh together, all evidently excited for the start of the school year. I'm seated between a second-year whose name I don't quite catch and a group of mumbling fourth-years, but neither seems particularly interested in speaking with me, and I can't say I blame them.
So I just sit there, awkwardly looking around and desperately hoping that no one notices the weird new girl sitting alone, until the headmaster finally takes his place at the table before us.
I suppose it's the same in every school, isn't it? A long, boring speech at the start of term, declaring us all the best students in the world. Everyone back home will do the same thing sooner or later – throwing clothes into trunks in a frenzy, hugging and squealing as they reconnect after long summers, sitting in boredom at tables before dinner.
Even here, even halfway across the world, even though I don't really know anyone, it's just as easy to read the room as Ilvermorny, and Salem before that. The way eyes naturally gravitate to certain groups, watching magnetically, hoping to pick up on something small that lets you feel what it's like to be popular, if only for a fleeting second.
I definitely know what it feels like to want that. Especially when you're new, when you stick out like a sore thumb, it's so easy to want that. To fit in, to sit with the popular kids, to get the admiring looks and girls whispering about you in the bathroom stalls.
And I know better this time, but I still wouldn't mind a friend or two.