Chapter 1: The Girl in the Dumpster
The memories have been implanted successfully.
The objective should be followed.
The obstacles are surmountable.
The time should be optimal.
She will adapt.
She will fulfill our goals.
"Gwuh?"
What the hell kind of dream was that? I had never been one to remember my dreams, so the fading voices in my head had thrown me for a loop. Something about a goal or whatever? Keeping my eyes closed, I tried to replay my dream but the last scraps of it had already scattered. Oh well.
With that little novelty out of the way, it was time to decide whether to get up now or stay asleep for another hour or four. Decision made, I swept my arm around for the blanket, grabbed hold, and pulled it over me. I started to get a hunch that I made the wrong choice when my blanket felt like it was made of thin plastic and tore open as I pulled, covering me in trash.
"What the heck!?" I thrashed around in surprise after rudely waking myself, and hit my head on the surprisingly low ceiling. Said ceiling flew open and let the light in, cutting my thrashing short. A crescent moon, as well as some dim lampposts, showed me that I was in a container half buried in trash behind some building. I was considering ignoring my situation and going back to sleep for five more minutes, but something going squish under my knee told me staying here was a bad idea.
Well, not necessarily that bad. It wouldn't kill me or anything. I would just hate it, is all.
Pulling myself up, I swung myself out of a dumpster. I fell further than expected and landed on my back. I pushed myself up and looked around. Nothing looked familiar and no one was around.
Standing up, I walked around to get my bearings. I brushed some burger wrappers and french fries off my shoulders, helping me realize I was behind a fast food restaurant. Heading further down the road, I found a large river. There was London Bridge on my right and I recognized the Tower of London on my left. The river was probably the Thames so I guess I ended up in London somehow? A little worrisome considering I've never been there, but at least I knew where I was.
As I kept walking, I noticed everything around me felt way bigger than expected. The trees were enormous and the door handles were closer to eye level than I found comfortable. Walking to a park bench, I could rest my chin comfortably on its back. I don't remember that being a normal thing I could do.
"What the heck happened to me last night?" I asked aloud, with a cute, squeaky voice. A pit of worry grew in my stomach. Everything was weirdly big, and I had never heard the voice that just came out of my mouth before. I groaned and rubbed my face with my hands. My tiny, dainty hands. Why am I wearing silk gloves?
Looking over myself, I was also wearing a fancy jacket and a skirt with stockings, nothing I remembered putting on. Reaching above my head I also find the round brim of a hat. I shuffled in place uncomfortably, starting to get a little sense of what was going on. I took off at a sprint, aiming for the nearest public restroom I knew of.
I go back to the restaurant and run inside, ignoring the cashier. Rushing into the restroom, I park myself in front of the sink. Like everything else the sink is too high, but I didn't pay attention to that. When I looked at the mirror I confirmed what I was scared of. The world was not too big, it was me that was too small. There is a little girl with bright blue eyes and long, brown hair, looking to be around late elementary school age. Her face is pale with worry and for whatever reason, there is a top hat perched up on her head.
I blink and the girl does the same. She copies me when I wave my arms around. I try pinching my cheeks. It doesn't hurt, but I do feel a dull sensation of my face being pulled.
Turning around, I enter a stall then sit on the toilet to put my head in my hands. "What the flip." I am a little, elementary aged girl alone at night in the middle of a foreign country. I'm not sure of my exact age, but I'm definitely on the small side. Sitting on the toilet, my shoes don't comfortably sit flat on the ground. Any random person on the street can just pick me up and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it
The pit in my stomach grows heavier. My eyes dart to the corners of the stall, looking for hidden cameras. Could this all be faked? I couldn't see anything recording me. Quickly, I slam the stall door shut and lock it. I pull my feet up onto the toilet, paranoia creeping in. I don't know what happened, if someone did this to me or has been stalking me this whole time or if this was a catch and release thing. The possibility that I'm being followed makes my breathing speed up.
Maybe I'm dreaming? I hit my head pretty hard in that dumpster but I don't really remember feeling any pain? My cheeks don't hurt either. I can still feel things just fine, and I don't wanna try any harder to hurt myself.
I remember reading somewhere that you're not able to read in your dreams. Maybe I could try that?
I start patting my jacket looking for pockets to take inventory and find some on the interior. Reaching into the right interior pocket of my jacket, I pull out a stick. It looks to be made out of plastic, around under a foot long. Nice and cylindrical, it's black with white caps on both ends. Seems more like a cheap prop than anything useful. Not something I'd be able to use for food and shelter.
In my left pocket, I found a folded piece of paper. It is thick, official looking paper with a texture that screams high quality. There's a wax seal, keeping the letter neatly folded. The seal catches in the light and I can see a crest I swore I've seen before. I hesitated for a moment, worried this would confirm I'm not dreaming. I break the seal and read what is in it.
For a moment, relief washes over me. I can't read what's written down. This must be a dream. Alas, after a second my brain catches up. Somehow, the scribbles on the page became legible and I found myself suddenly able to read the letter.
What I read changed everything. I really didn't want this to be just a dream anymore.
Hogwarts School
of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)
Dear Ms. Advena,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
"Holy smokes."
I put the letter down and took the time to stare into space. It couldn't be real, could it? I looked at the paper again, inspecting it for anything out of place. Maybe the text looked a biiiiit printed? I couldn't tell in the fluorescent bathroom light. The school crest on the paper looked just like I remembered seeing it in various media.
Maybe one can read in dreams?
Slipping the stick (my wand?) back into my pocket, I went back to the sink. You had to be eleven to get that letter, right? I must suddenly be an eleven year old little girl in London, so why couldn't magic be real? It has to be, right? How would anyone go about faking what I was looking at now?
With a lot of work, and a giant stage set, maybe.
Thinking irrationally, I lifted the mirror off the wall a bit to look behind it. Yup. Definitely a mirror and not a monitor. Flatscreens aren't a thing in the 90s yet, are they? Not that I'm really in the 90s. They'd probably have needed some tracking software so a fake mirror would track my movements and copy them to that little girl on the screen in real time. Maybe there was a free version online somewhere? Why does that sound more insane than time travel and secret magic!?
I pulled out the letter once more and looked at the signatures. Yup, Dumbledore is still headmaster. They wouldn't let a dead guy run the school, would they? I am in the 90s. Flung decades into the past. The magical past. Where Harry Potter is real. Probably. Hopefully?
While the page was open, I noted the date again. Reply by the 31st, huh. While the pit in my stomach had been forgotten with the news of maybe magic, a hint of worry started crawling back up my spine. I left the restroom and headed towards the front.
In the corner of the room, sitting on a stand hanging from the ceiling, was a big, bulky, CRT TV. There seemed to be some late night news playing right now. I paid attention to see if I could get a hint of what was going on, see if they mention a date, but something was wrong with the audio. The newscasters were moving their mouths, but all that was coming out of the TV were some warbling sounds. Before I could ask the cashier to see if he could fix it or change the channel, the audio went out. There was a split second of silence before I could hear some static that faded pretty quickly. Whatever happened fixed the TV and I could hear what turned out to be celebrity gossip in plain English.
Not that it helped me any, it was just gossip. Something about a duchess and a Texan? Sounded scandalous, but I didn't really care and it didn't tell me anything about when it was so I went to just ask the cashier.
The cashier was a teenage boy that was just standing there. He was staring into space with a vacant look in his eyes. He didn't look like he would be part of a conspiracy to hunt me down for whatever nefarious reason, he looked like just another guy going through the hell that is the service industry.
As I was now, he towered over me and thus didn't notice when I walked up. I waved at him, but he kept staring into the distance, the vacant look in his eyes too powerful for motion to break. "Uh, excuse me." I glanced at his name tag, "Jeff?"
"Wu-huh?" He started coughing after he took a phlegmy breath and swallowed his spit into his lungs. Wow, he was out of it. I stood patiently as the teen in front of me killed himself with his own breath. Eventually he recovered and took a much deserved breath. He turned to look at me. "Oh, hey! You're a magician!"
"I'm a what?" I couldn't have blown my identity as a possible witch that fast, could I? I was supposed to keep it a secret or something! There were rules supposedly! With all the reeling from the past few life altering news I got back to back, I ended up being too focused on the being a little girl part to see if I passed as a muggle.
Though looking back on it, the age thing did do a lot to distract me in the mirror from noting that my jacket was a fancy tuxedo jacket with a crisp button up shirt, bowtie, and top hat to tie it all together. I did look kinda like a little girl ready to go trick or treating as a stage magician. The boy was still waiting for a reply. "I mean, yeah, sure." Kinda?
"How can I help you, little lady?" Should I try to fake a British accent from now on? Everyone else is likely to speak it. "What would you like to order?"
"Oh, I'm not hungry right now," I Britishly say. Not just because I'm not actually hungry, but because looking through my pockets I didn't find any money. Worrisome, but if I could make my way to that school I should have food and shelter covered until next year. "I wanted to ask what the date was? I forgot."
He scratched his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. "Uh, it's the 30th, I think. August."
Oh damn, that doesn't leave me much time. I have to find myself an owl. "Thank you, my good sir!" I waved goodbye and ran out the door, not stopping when I heard the boy call back to me to hold on. Probably worried about how I'm unsupervised. I shift into a sprint. I would not let Child Protection Services stop me!
I run deeper into London ready to hunt down some wizards. I make it a good way into the streets before I slow down. Stopping next to a bus stop, I inspect the map and look for important locations. I also ponder my next steps and plan ahead.
The entire time, I was holding my letter. Had I had a pen, I would probably have used it to write some instructions or directions, but luckily I had a great memory. I look at the map and take a mental picture. I do the same thing with my letter.
I could picture the letter in my head, every word, and it brought me a hint of joy every time I reread it. Though there was a part that stuck out to me.
Ms. Advena.
Is that my name now?
I flip the letter over to read the outside. There's the Hogwarts crest up top, and the wax seal on the bottom. In between them, there is a name written in ink.
Ms. Stella Advena.
The Skip Behind the Restaurant.
Near London Bridge and the Tower of London
London, England
Address is weird. Skip? Is that English-English for a dumpster? How'd the letter find me there? Heck, how did I find myself there? Who am I even, actually? Well at least this body has a name it looks like. Stella Advena. That's a pretty cool name, I like it. Cool name, little girl that I currently am.
The lighting from a lamppost gave me a good enough reflection of the 11 year British(?) girl. I met her and I couldn't help but wonder what would happen next.
The thought of learning magic excited me, but I should probably consider what I'm getting into more closely. Some messed up stuff happens in the books after all. Not to mention I've no idea what I'll be doing there at all. Should I just coast by and enjoy myself? Maybe I should just get out of Dodge, go learn magic in France or something.
Something in me hated the idea. Like a voice I'm my head telling me that I need to go to Hogwarts no matter what.
Like I have some goals to fulfill.
My reflection furrows her brows as I ask myself, Who are you, Stella?