Terms:
Jiemei = Chinese for "sister", an term usually given to female friends, or strangers in this case to appear friendly.
Tongzhi = Means "comrade," or " people who cherish similar aspirations." An overly formal title that is often used in patriotic situations.
To have thick skin means to be shameless, cheeky or brazen. Take your pick.
"Welcome to New York! It's been waiting for ya!"
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 Quill 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.
"It's a new soundtrack, I can dance to this beat! Beat!"
Anastasia wanted to beat her.
The girl, conveniently seated in the aisle across from her, 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. She cringed again as the girl went horribly off-key for like, the thousandth time.
Seriously, sister needed some help.
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.
Anastasia's left eye twitched. Her eyelashes fluttered as she fought off another bout of dizziness. Did she mention that she really hated airsickness? Well, now she did. Coupled with the singing and the nausea, the plane ride was nothing short of torture. There had only been two words circling in her brain the entire flight—capitalized, in bold, and on repeat:
Why me?!
She turned to glower at the girl. Her eyes fell upon her face, and she had to bite back a the cake-y makeup and the grotesquely bright pigments, her features resembled that of a saddle mule. Oh, the irony. Not only did she sound like an ass, she looked like one as well!
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. She closed the textbook she had been reading—Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them—with no small amount of regret. She hadn't been able to focus on a single word since the singing started, and she doubted that would change now. She sighed. What to do now?
Anastasia, admittedly, was underprepared for the trip. She had only been informed of its existence a couple months ago, with only vague instructions on getting to her destination. The circumstances under which she was, however, were even more unbelievable, even as she recalled it at that moment.
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 skepticism.
Then the Professor had swiftly dispelled her doubts by pulling out her wand and—amid her explosive swearing—turning Anastasia's kitchen table into a live horse. Finally, after bout after bout of tumultuous internal conflict, (and even more swearing) Anastasia was forced to accept the harsh reality.
She was a witch!
And even worse—she had to go to school. What sort of witch had to go too school?!
Most importantly…she didn't want to be turned into a horse ahhhhhhh!
She agreed, with tears in her eyes, to McGonagall's terms. With her parents' inexplicable permission—more scary witchy brainwashing!—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' 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.
It was heartening to know that, if she failed wizarding school, she could always go into the grenade industry. All she needed to do was hold an wand and viola! A human weapon of mass destruction, at your service. 100% natural, no additives whatsoever!
"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, unyielding. 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. She looked up into McGonagall's stern face, expecting distress or any other emotion that would inevitably lead to more horse-turning, but there was nothing of the sort.
Ollivander, on the other hand, showed no qualms about displaying his. "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."
And with that enigmatic speech, he kicked them out of his wanted to swear again.
What sort of person says a bunch of things without elaborating? It was as despicable as an author ending a novel on a cliffhanger, aiyo!
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.
Anastasia was jerked out of her memories as a persistent poking in her shoulder startled her back to reality.
"You dropped this." A nasal voice sounded from next to her. It was Donkey Girl, who had, fortunately, stopped singing and had Anastasia's wand clenched in her fingers. Anastasia felt a small surge of gratitude. Maybe Donkey Girl wasn't as bad as she looked.
"Thanks, Jiemei*." She reached for her wand, only for the girl to withdraw her outstretched hand. Anastasia frowned. She repeated her words, saying it more forcefully this time, in case the girl had misheard her. "Thank you for helping me keep it safe. If you would be so kind to return it..?"
"What is this?"
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. I said, what is this?" The girl didn't seem to be kidding.
"Return it and I'll tell you," said Anastasia, with the sort of fake smile she reserved for nosy adults, crazy people, and donkey-faced teenage girls.
"Tell me first."What part of return it did she not understand? Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she reminded herself that her most important possession was in the girl's hands. Don't antagonize the current possessor of your wand, no matter how much of a idiot they are.
Anastasia racked her brain for a plausible excuse to satisfy her. Her eyes fell on the tome conveniently perched in her lap.
"It's…a bookmark."
Immediately after the words left her mouth, she cringed. What a lame reason!
Fortunately, the girl seemed to fall for it. Her nose wrinkled and she eyed the stick with an expression of pure disgust. "That has got to be the ugliest bookmark I've ever seen."
Anastasia, "…"
Ouch.
"Yeah," she swiftly agreed. "You wouldn't want it to dirty your hands, right? Give it back to me."
Brownie points for the excuse. Now the girl would have to give it back, lest she confess to fraternizing with the so-called "ugliness".Anastasia had dealt with spoiled rich kids before. She knew the drill. Agree, exaggerate, and humiliate—she had done it a million times already.
Several of her classmates had once made the mistake of picking on her in primary school because, apparently, her parent's net worths didn't add up to anyone's firstborn. That was the reason they gave. Personally, Anastasia just thought they were looking for trouble. (She naturally was happy to oblige.)The students, in a fit of infinite wisdom, decided their chosen method would consist—deep breath—of going out of their way to deliberately avoid her. They claimed many things: she would corrupt her with her alleged destitution, she wasn't fit to touch their possessions, blah blah blah, the works. If she did so by accident, they would immediately declare it tainted and have it replaced.
There was an old Chinese idiom called "Picking up the boulder to smash your foot with." Their tactics were the perfect example of why it was invented. Anytime they did something of the sort, Anastasia would "taint" something even more expensive of theirs, preferably something expensive to the point that it was they wanted keep their dignity intact in front of their fellow classmates, they would have to throw it away. If they didn't, Anastasia would goad them into doing so.
They fell for it. Every. Single. Time.
Did Anastasia feel bad about toying with schoolchildren? Sometimes. But when the children, with drooping faces, unanimously apologized and offered to be her loyal subjects about a week later, she didn't hesitate to accept.
She was a girl with very thick skin.*
That was also the tactic she used with Donkey Girl. With any luck, she wouldsoon relinquish her wand and declare it unfit to be in her presence. And she would be grateful that she did so.
Three, she counted in her head.
Two. Anastasia could see the hesitation in her contact-covered eyes.
One.
…
"Nah, I think I'll hold on to this."
What?!
Why didn't she follow the routine?!
Didn't they said it was 100% guaranteed to work? She wanted a refund!
Anastasia gaped in disbelief as the girl continued. "It's not every day you see something so…disgusting. I have to show this to my followers," she giggled, an ugly sound, and began taking pictures of it with her phone. Anastasia's stomach plummeted. Great, she thought. Just what I want. Pictures plastered all over social media.
"Give. It. Back." She made a futile grab for it, but they were too far away. Her fingers closed on thin air and she could only glare helplessly at the girl.
"Oh my god. Is it seriously that important?It doesn't even look expensive!" The girl had a funny way of pronouncing words. Sometimes, she would go higher an octave, and her voice would break in the middle of a word. Other times, she would put on a very…plastic British accent that, by the sound of it, was supposed to make her sound refined but only ended up making her more annoying. "But then, I suppose people like you wouldn't be able to afford anything decent. Tell me, how much does it cost? My father will pay ten times the price."
"It's not something you can just take," Anastasia was trying to remain polite, but internally, she had already cursed every one of the girl's ancestors within eight generations. "Return it, or I'm calling security."
"Return it, or I'm calling security!" She mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "Honestly, how boring can you get? I'm asking you to name your price. Be honored I've even taken notice of your funny little stick."
"What do you even want my…funny little stick for?" Not commenting on the odd phrasing, Donkey Girl was very obviously rich. Her clothes and makeup, no matter how ugly they were, were clearly of the highest quality. It was rather strange she'd be interested in lowly old Anastasia's wand. The mystery was quickly solved, however, as Donkey Girl fished around in her designer bag and pulled out a bright-red property ownership certificate.
Anastasia, "…"
I've had enough of these obscenely rich people! If you think you have too much money, there's a living charity case right in front of you! Please, if you want to throw money around, throw them at me!
"See this?" Donkey Girl dangled the book in front of her. "This is the new holiday cabin my father bought for me. I'm thinking of redecorating it in a rustic aesthetic, and even a broke nobody like you would know the first step to a rustic cabin is an adequate fireplace. But the wood is always so chunky and unpleasant…"
Oh no. Anastasia had a feeling nothing good would come out of it…
"…so your ugly bookmark would be perfect for it!"
..told you.
"Hey, hey hey. Wait a minute! I haven't agreed to sell it to you yet!"
Donkey Girl ignored her. She was looking at the wand like it was already hers. "It's a bit long, though…maybe it it was halved? I'll have to call my dad's carpenter…"
She mimed breaking the wand into two.
That. Was. It.
Something snapped inside of her.
Who did the girl think she was?! A fricken princess? Who was she to come flouncing in with her horrible singing and horrible makeup and horrible, horrible attitude?
Anastasia had had enough.
She didn't see the stirrings of the passengers at Donkey Girl's loud words, or hear the ramblings of the girl as she bragged about her newest house with its chic, expensive fireplace. All she could see was the girl's grubby hands fingering her prized wand, all she could hear was her incessant, shrill giggles as she contemplated destroying it, and all she could think of was how McGonagall would expel her if she got her wand burned before her first day at Hogwarts.
Make her shut up, she screamed mentally.
Maybe it was the sky listening to her prayers, or an innate form of magic she was yet to read about, but she got her wish. 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. The only thing more satisfying than seeing her this way was hearing the panicked braying noise that emanated from the girl's throat as she surveyed her new appearance, which was, frankly, not so different than before.
Donkey Girl had literally become, well, a donkey.
Anastasia was ready to cry with laughter. Served her right for taking her wand! How did it feel to be on the receiving end now, huh?And the animal! She herself couldn't have chosen something more apt. Looked like even the heavens couldn't stand Donkey Girl's braying!
The donkeysquawked in alarm, trying to turn around and wake up the passenger next to her. Oh no you don't, thought Anastasia viciously. One look was all it took and sound stopped emanating from the girl's throat.
Anastasia at this point was feeling quite pleased with herself. She had successfully enacted revenge on her tormenter and frankly, the girl had deserved it. But if there was one thing Anastasia had learned from her numerous dystopian novels, it was that bad things always happened to main characters who used their powers for evil. And like with all good storybook protagonists, she had forgot three little things.
1. Donkey Girl was a human.
2. Humans were not supposed to have donkeys for heads.
3. She had forgotten to silence and/or cut off her means to dial for help.
The fatal trifecta!
Anastasia's eyes widened in dismay as the girl seemed to regain her wits and slammed her hand (or was it hoof?) down on the attendance button. It was too late as Anastasia finally realized that she was forbidden from using magic in front of strangers. She wasn't well-versed in Wizarding law, but she was pretty sure that counted for expulsion. Cursing herself for allowing Donkey Girl provoke her, she frantically searched for a way to reverse the transformation before the flight attendant arrived.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
The only problem was, she didn't know how exactly she had done it! She put her head down in her hands and groaned. What would McGonagall think of her, getting herself expelled before the first day? What would her parents think?
Think. There has to be a way!
She peeked hopefully at Donkey Girl again. Maybe the mysterious force that had turned her would take pity on Anastasia and turn her back. Unfortunately, the donkey was still a donkey, and her brief glance connected with a glare the size of Jupiter.
…On second thought, it was probably better if she stayed a donkey.
The curtains were rustling now, and Anastasia could see the attendant's head emerge from them. She braced herself for her impending doom, squeezing her eyes shut and gritting her teeth. At least she didn't go down without a fight. It was a bit dissatisfying, getting expelled for a bit of petty schoolyard revenge, but she supposed that life was a box of chocolates. Even if she bit into a horrid, donkey-meat-filled one, she still had to eat it.
Ugh, what was that metaphor?!
Delete, delete, delete!
She breathed out a sigh of relief as her mind cleared itself of the rubbish. Unfortunately, it also left space for other things. Anastasia could hear the clacking of the attendant's stilettos on the airplane floor now.
Was the Minister of Magic going to come apprehend her in person? No, he was probably too busy to care about an unimportant first year like her. He would probably send one of his employees, or just not bother and mail her a letter. She imagined the cold, apathetic script, clutched in the talons of an owl: Sorry, but we are to inform you that you have been expelled.
"Is there something you need, miss?"
A ticket to Purgatory? Yeah, please.
She resigned herself to opening her eyes, directing her gaze anywhere but to Donkey Girl. The flight attendant, however, didn't appear to show any reaction to the donkey-headed girl, and that only piqued her curiosity. Her eyes involuntarily flicked to Donkey Girl's face.
Huh.
Huh?!
She blinked. Frowned. Was she dreaming? She even tried to slap herself in the face, but was held back by the quick-thinking flight attendant. ("What are you doing?!")
Donkey Girl's face was perfectly normal again. (Save for the ugliness and the bad makeup. That even magic couldn't fix.) She looked every bit as confused as Anastasia was feeling at the moment. Said girl was, at once, at a loss for words. She turned beet red and started stammering something about donkeys and witches, but Anastasia beat her to the punch.
"This Tongzhi* here has a possession of mine she'd like to return. Only, she's a bit afraid of turbulence and needs persuasion to get out of her seat. Would you please…?"
"Yeah, yeah." The flight attendant looked down at Donkey Girl, as if to say did you? Perhaps it was the lingering shock of being turned into a donkey, the girl acted like a decent human being for once and actually did what she was told, albeit reluctantly.
"Thank you," said Anastasia coolly, snatching it out of her hands and giving her wand a thorough, aggressive wipe-down to hide how much her hands were shaking.
"That would be all, thank you," she smiled up sweetly at the flight a harrumph, she shot Anastasia a dirty look, then stalked off, muttering about teenage delinquents wasting her time. Anastasia couldn't care less. She was too relieved that no one had come to expel her.
Finally, peace at last. Anastasia took advantage of the fact that Donkey Girl was no longer trying to serenade anyone and buried her nose in her textbook, just so she wouldn't have to look at the offending donkey—er, sorry, person. It wasn't as effective as her dystopian novels, but it was still of comfort to lose herself to the fantastical stories of Newt Scamander.
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 beautifulas 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 use a allure-based Legilimency, similar to the Veela's, that causes all that listen to them to 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. After the witch-hunts of the 17th century, however, they have adapted their songs to only affect magical beings to avoid being hunted down by Muggles.
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.
"The plane will be landing in an hour. Please fasten your seatbelts and prepare your luggage. We are approaching London Airport." The metallic voice blared out of the airplane speakers, startling Anastasia out of her book-induced haze.
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?
Easy your sister!
It was only when she boarded the Hogwarts Express that Anastasia remembered that pictures of her wand were still in Donkey Girl's phone.
[ end of chapter one ]
A/N: *Deep breath* -Aaaaand this is why schoolkids make bad bullies. *Bows.*
Seriously, bullying is bad. Don't do it.
On a slightly happier note, how was Chapter 1 so far? Let me know in the comments. As a writer I rely so much on your feedback to keep my stories going, so leave some love please! A few clarifications:
-I know Welcome to New York technically hasn't been created in this timeline, but I couldn't help adding a couple modern elements in the story. Sorry, not sorry.
-The donkey head idea was all A Midsummer's Night Dream. I'm sure you're all familiar enough with Shakespeare's works to give him credit.
-I might've butchered most of the siren lore in my text. Feel free to correct me if I make any mistakes :)
Hope you enjoyed it! See y'all next time!