#b1: tfy
Text
Ch. 7. Hiccup’s POV: Mid September
Media: Fanfiction
Rating: General
Warnings: No Warnings Apply
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J.K Rowling, Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons/The Big Four, How to Train Your Dragon (2010)
Characters: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Snotlout (Mentioned), Gobber (Dreamworks), Stoik (Mentioned), Original Female Characters, Original Male Characters, Original Non-Human Characters
Tags: Hogwarts AU, kid!fic, Boarding School, Fantasy Elements, Angst, Family Angst, Strained Relationships, Found Family, Growing Pains, there are feels but it ends on a hopeful note
Word count: 5,288 words
Chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24
AO3 Link
Summary:
Hiccup’s first week at Hogwarts and the surprise that follows it.
.°○.◇.○°.
A/N:
On god this chapter was a pain to edit. Still not satisfied with it, but at least now it's readable. :^/
The song I found that reflects the feeling in this chapter is this one. Honestly it's so perfect for Hiccup's current mindset I'm half tempted to make it the running theme for Hiccup up until his book (Book 4), where events are set in motion and the bulk of his character arc begins.
.°○.◇.○°.
School life was…strange.
For one thing, Hiccup’s days were a lot more structured than he was used to. If he wasn’t holed up in his dorm room, he was attending classes. If he wasn’t in class, then he was probably eating, and after that he’d probably just go back to his dorm to read or nap. Great Hall, classes, Great Hall, dorm. Rinse, wash, repeat.
He might’ve read a few boarding school stories, but it was something else entirely to experience it. There was hardly any of the promised excitement.
But there was a lot of space. Too much of it. Big, open classrooms, wide, cavernous halls, grass and trees and hills that rolled on and on to rim of the world in varying shades of green.
The sky over Berk was clouded most of the year, blanketing the land—most of the time, literally. Here, if he climbed to the tallest tower, he was sure he’d go falling up into the open blue sky and never be seen again.
…Better to live within the walls. So he didn’t get lost to a place he didn’t belong in.
Another glaring difference was that it was all very…quiet. Muted. True, the castle was filled with many people, hundreds of them, more than he’d ever expected he’d see in his life.
But that couldn’t even come close to comparing to dragon raids. Fire and brimstone and deadly carnage, that’s what he knew. Of seeing homes rebuilt as fast as they collapsed. Of always waiting for the next threat, and always wondering, somewhere in the back of his mind, about survival.
Here, those needs were warped, like they were made both larger and smaller, somehow. Survival was less of a concern than homework. Food and shelter weren’t a concern at all. Instead, each day was carefully sectioned off into bite-sized routine, and each one held a sense of order and stability. Something that wasn’t made to teach how to fight or kill.
Just what exactly was such a life supposed to do for children, practically? What were the adults hoping for by making them learn this way? Because whatever it was went against every Viking survival instinct he’d ever had hammered into his skull.
There was, however, a short bout of bullying attempts in the first few days, to add a touch of flavor to Hiccup’s otherwise bland-as-porridge life.
His cousin Steinn Jorgenson—Snotlout for those who knew him—had been the one who’d put in the most effort to bully Hiccup back home. He’d been sorted into Slytherin, with the others going off to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff respectively.
Of all the miserable luck that made up Hiccup’s existence, they must have somehow been running short of it the day they decided the schedules because not only was Snotlout separated from his two lackies this side of the ocean but that year the first year Slytherins did not share a single class with the Hufflepuffs. If Snotlout wanted to get any decent bullying done, then at best he’d have to go hunting in the corridors.
He tried. Back in the village, with it being so small and all eyes on the Viking Reject, Hiccup would’ve either had to get really creative or else stop putting himself in the middle of things to get Snotlout off his tail.
Here there was a sea of strangers, endless hiding spaces, and Hiccup being very short and unnoticeable in general, and all he had to do was spark a minor distraction away from where he was and duck out of sight. Misdirection and subterfuge, the hard-earned tools of the Hiccup survival manual.
(They were hard-earned because half the time he didn’t follow his own good advice.)
And really, it wasn't as if anyone knew what Snotlout was on about when he went yelling, “HICCUP!” through the corridors. By then if someone were to point him out in a crowd most would've addressed him as “Haddock”, “him”, “the short one”, “the quiet one”—or, most popularly—“Who?”
It took only a few days of this before Snotlout grew bored. He didn't have any other Vikings to impress anyways, so what was the point?
Hiccup wasn't trying to get involved in the things he wasn't any good at. He wasn't there to mess things up for the rest of them anymore. And that's…really all he was good for.
Hiccup the utterly useless…finally living up to his title.
Whatever spark Hiccup had inside of him died the day he stepped into Hogwarts. The need to prove himself, the will to find out more about the world, figure out ways he could solve problems and help and do something—it was all gone.
What was the point when he'd failed at the one thing he was supposed to do? What else was there when his home didn't want him?
In an unfamiliar ocean, he was a boat without sails…
The days followed each other, blending into a strange, gauzy haze. He attended classes he didn’t pay attention to, brought back homework he didn’t do, and went through the motions of being alive.
Better than thinking too deep about the hollowness inside. Or the ebbing flow of homesickness that lapped at it. He didn't have the right to miss the place that'd rejected him.
Two weeks passed like this. Hiccup sat in the back of History class, slumped over his desk and thinking of nothing. The students around him talked loudly, kept raising their hands and clamoring over each other, so the professor must've been doing something interesting.
But these weren't things he noticed. Instead, he followed a fly.
Another thing to get used to was the larger presence of insects in his life. They didn’t like the cold he came from very much; from his view there were a lot of them.
Even if Hiccup had recently taken to channelling the thoughts of a particularly old and stupid sheep, he could at least admit, privately, that he was bored enough to dredge up a mild interested in them.
It was a curious thing, viewing them through the lens of magic. They were simple creatures. They made repetitive sounds. Yet when a group of them came together, they created a mesh of interlocking harmonies like the drip of steady rain from icicled roofs.
These observations usually led him down the road to other questions. What would seeing them in other ways be like? Heat, smell, touch, and so on—how would they differ from one to the next? What might that uncover about them? What else was there to learn from them?
…But those questions required more effort, and he didn’t want to give it. He’d been doing the listening version for long enough that he barely had to think about it, so long as he had a fixed target.
So he sat in class, his head in his arms, for all appearances asleep. Out in the corridor the fly bounced against the wall. Tap…tap-tap…tap…
Its tiny body created an erratic beat as it kept hitting itself against the wall, repeatedly, on the same spot, regardless of the window it aimed for being closed.
It wasn���t until two people came walking down the corridor that it changed course and threw itself at them—could’ve been the sound of their voices, or the smell of sweat, or something similar. Could be that it grew a consciousness and decided that death by wall wasn’t the way to go, for all he knew.
The fly made to loop around the larger of the two forms. The person batted it away. But the fly was determined. It tried for another go.
This time the person landed a solid hit. Hiccup could almost imagine that he heard the dull thud of the fly smacking into metal—…
…Wait.
Metal?
…Was that…it was metal…not flesh, certainly not hand-shaped…it was larger…curved somehow…a hook…?
Hiccup sat up, suddenly more awake than he had been in weeks.
One of the voices was a professor’s—he knew her from somewhere, not sure where. While the other, with the metal hand, he could almost swear it sounded just like—
Hiccup was out of his seat and barrelling into the corridor before he’d even finished the thought.
The two outside had almost rounded the corner when the commotion from behind made them turn. The professor was tall and thin, wearing the formal, pointed black hat of one of the school’s witches. The one beside her wore no hat, his half-bald head shining ruddy pink, his blonde moustache neat and combed and braided, despite the worn travel cloak wrapped around him.
Hiccup ran to them. Without pausing, he threw himself into the wide, burly arms of one of the only people in the world he could come close to calling a friend.
.°○.◇.○°.
The good news was that Thursdays were half days for Hufflepuffs because Hiccup would’ve refused point blank to return to classes. As it was, the one he’d been sitting in was the last class before lunch and had been drawing to a close when he’d taken off.
While the adults sorted themselves out, Hiccup stubbornly clung to Gobber’s robes—because it was Gobber, it was really him—and ignored everyone and everything.
His professor was kind, he’d found out later. He told them that Hiccup had been a quiet and overall decent student who’d never given him trouble outside of then. When Gobber explained the situation, that he was from the same village and a close family friend, the two had fallen over themselves to be accommodating, mistaking Hiccup’s stubborn clinginess as shyness.
So it was that Hiccup found himself before a small wooden cabin a few hours after lunch.
The cabin was located somewhere north, right along the edges of the Hogwarts forests. If Hiccup stood in the backyard, he’d see the school greenhouses all the way on the other end of the wide expanse of grass. At his feet was the start of a decent sized vegetable patch that would wind around the cabin, a wire chicken coop in a corner, and several brown and white speckled chickens pecking the ground in between.
Inside, the cabin was pandemonium.
It was as if all the furniture were trying to unpack in the span of a minute. Clothes, bed sheets, and other manner of upholstery were flung about between a trunk and a set of drawers that appeared to be having an argument over who got what, while a broom and mop tried to shuffle between them. Small items like cups and scrub brushes and spools of twine jumped along the wooden shelves hammered into the walls. On the rafters, copper pots and pans clanked together while ropes snatched them out of the air and hung them alongside dried meats and vegetables.
Gobber moved through the chaos with the ease of his forge. He busied himself with the huge stone fireplace and what he was making, while Yik-yik, his old mulch lizard (a different but similar breed to Nessi) crawled nearby, occasionally poking his nose into the pile of dust the broom tried to sweep away.
Hiccup did his best to get from door to table. Amazingly, he did it without injury. This had less to do with him suddenly growing reflexes and more because the furniture avoided him, aside from the table bench that was a little too eager getting him to sit and made him nearly faceplant the table.
“Sorry about the mess, lad. Wasn’t expecting visitors today—I’m happy to have you, of course! Very thrilled—can you believe I got most of these this morning? And right in Scotland, too. They have this street, you see, hidden in…what’s the blasted…edin something…Edenborough! That’s the one. The fella at the shop said something about a quick “tidy-up” spell to get things sorted, but if you ask me I honestly couldn’t tell you what he was trying to—Oi! Stop that!” Gobber smacked the drawer out a tug-of-war match over an old tunic. “So you see, I’ve made do.”
He turned and sent a wave of plates flying through the air to noiselessly land on the large wooden table. A flick of his arm made sparks of magic spiral up the metal and transfigure the hand implement into a hook. He shoved it into the fire and pulled out a large, slightly dented tea pot. On his flesh hand, he balanced a plate and brought them both to the table.
The minute he set the plate down, Hiccup groaned. “Oh, come on.”
The steaming pile of crumpets continued to steam.
In his time at school, Hiccup had been introduced to every manner of English food and by that point he was well and truly fed up of it.
Oh sure, a chunk of sugar biscuit or a bite of deep-fried sausage was fine every now and then. He’d gotten a taste of some of that back at the manor. But over there most of his meals had been what he was used to.
He hadn’t even realized just how badly prepared he was to deal with what they had to eat this far south. Why did all the food served in the school had to have so much sugar and fat and dairy in them? How people could stand to eat that every day? It was wasteful, and surely eating such rich foods all the time was enough to make a person sick.
There were…a few parts he could bear with, at least. Like some of the breakfast choices including beans, bread, hard-boiled egg, and the like. But much of the other options were either mostly sugar or mostly butter.
The rest of the mealtimes were just as bad. They literally had sweets after lunch, every lunch—they called it “pudding”, apparently—and supper. This was normal here. Hiccup watched, horrified, as one boy shovelled an entire thing of fluffy white cream and glazed fruits into his mouth for three days in a row. It was enough to make him clean up quick and leave before the sweets came around from then on.
And now Gobber had betrayed him and taken to it, too. Blergh.
The traitor barked a laugh, unrepentant at Hiccup’s despair. “What a face! Yeh look sad enough to drink the ocean. What? You think I’m a bad cook now? Expect my food to kill you?”
“…No.”
“Exactly. Didn’t have you and your ol’ father over at mine most evenings for you to be telling me otherwise.”
Gobber poured a tea so strong it was nearly red into their cups, a smaller one for Hiccup and a tankard-sized one for himself. He set the pot on a folded up newspaper turned tea-cosy and shooed away a curious Nessi. “Go on. Give it a try.”
Hiccup sulked. Gobber continued to look amused, down to his braided moustache. Hiccup groaned again and snatched up a crumpet. It was hot and springy to the touch…spongy, almost. Huh.
Ignoring the small pots of jams and lard entirely, he took the tiniest, most reluctant nibble.
…It…wasn’t bad. Even good, in a way. There was a bare hint of butter, but didn’t fill his mouth and nose with oily smells. When it went down, it didn’t sit like a rock in his stomach.
Gobber held out a broken off half to him. It had a thin, brown-ish shine coating it. “Not jam, before you turn your nose up. Trust me. Just try it.”
Hiccup eyed him, but did, and was entirely surprised when he tasted salt. There was even a hint of fish in there. He wordlessly accepted the other half while Gobber chuckled.
“They call that marmite over here. Heard all about it at the pub I broke fast in, even got the crumpet recipe from there, too. I’ve been meaning to make them all day. I could teach you to make it, if ever you’re interested.”
Hiccup shrugged, and Gobber knew well enough to consider that a yes. Taking a large swing of tea, he set down his mug and breathed out a whoosh of hot steam. “Ahh, that’s better. Nothing like sommen’ scalding to clear up the lungs. Were you paying attention when they mentioned what job I came here for? No? That’s fine, that’s fine. I’m the new groundskeeper.”
“Did they not have one before?”
“Yes and no. The professors took turns, although that Care of Magical Creatures witch you met back there was the one most involved, for obvious reasons—Ginna, her name was, if I remember it right. Been that way for a couple years now. They’d wanted to find someone who could work the job full time. So. Here I am.”
At the mention of Care of Magical Creatures, Hiccup nearly gulped his tea the wrong way. He had to cough and sniffle before he spoke again.
“…When you said Care of Magical Creatures, what do you…why would they…?”
“It’s not dragons, before you ask. I met them earlier.” Gobber nodded out the window. “They keep the beasts in a special enclosure just within the forest. When you’re older, you can choose to take classes that’ll teach you all about them and how to care for them…they value that, over here. Even the classes they’re teaching you now are more about learning to work with the environment, not fight it…” He turned to him. “…Strange to think about, innit?”
Hiccup immediately nodded. Very strange.
“You want me to take out there some time?”
“…Maybe.” Hiccup took another sip of tea. Something about the taste was reminiscent of fruit, though he couldn’t put a finger on what. “Wait—how long will you be here for? Because if it’s only a few weeks then could I ask you to—”
“Slow, slow, calm down. I’ll be here for longer than that…probably a few years, give or take. I can even stay long enough to see you graduate, if you like, and after that I can leave whenever I wish. No need to fret.”
“…Okay.”
While Hiccup took turns between drinking tea and finishing his crumpets, Gobber methodically smeared lard on his, balanced on the flat, spatula-like implement his limb had turned into. He transfigured it again into a small hook when he went to pour himself more tea, and studiously ignored Hiccup slow reach for one of the jars.
The activity in the hut had calmed down. The drawers and trunk kept to their corners, done with clothes to squabble over, while the mop and broom had nestled under the settled shelves. Nessi had finished saying hello to Yik-yik by then, and had left him to lie in the middle of the floor to return to Hiccup.
As she climbed up, Hiccup absently petted her. A thought slowly took root in his head.
Gobber had said he’d stay long enough to see Hiccup graduate, if he wanted…but he wouldn’t be the only one graduating.
“…Did they send you here to keep an eye on us?”
Of the many things that could be said of Vikings, there were two that stood out: Vikings were loyal to each other and suspicious of everyone else.
The village already had so few children in it. For the adults to send theirs to a foreign country…even if they’d travelled there with them, it would take more than just the word of their chief to convince them to do it.
Gobber didn’t even spare him a glance. “Is that even a question, Hiccup? I believe you already know the answer.”
He didn’t need to say that he’d likely be sending regular reports to his father, too.
Kicked out of the village, but still under its watch. Disappointed his father, but still under his judgement.
There was nothing Hiccup liked about this.
“Ooch look at that face. Am I really such a terrible sight?” Gobber chuckled. It fell flat. Eventually he leaned forward, elbows braced on the table. “What’s on your mind, lad?”
The problem with that question was that there was no good way to answer it. Nothing clean or short. Nothing that wouldn’t open the can of emotions Hiccup had soldered a lid on.
But no one seemed to care about what he wanted. Not Gobber, who could, who would, wait with unerring patience to get an answer out of him, one way or another. Because Gobber had the annoying knack of it. Had more than enough to get to know Hiccup just a touch better than his own father.
“I heard it, you know.” Hiccup blurted, surprising himself. His heart rate picked up. Out of the corner of his eye, he felt more than saw Nessi become keenly aware of him. “I know why my father sent us here. I…I don’t belong on Berk, do I?”
“Of course you belong on Berk! What made you think—?”
“Then why am I here and not there? Why send me all the way out here when I could be training to fight over there?”
The can of emotions cracked. Fumes spilled out.
“You know, don’t you? You know why we’re here. You’ve seen what the other kids are like—Snotlout, Astrid, the twins, even Fishlegs—all of them. Any one of them would make a better chief and better leader than me. It must be so embarrassing, fir the chief of Berk to have me as an heir. Maybe he thought it would be easier for everyone if he got me out of the way. Maybe he thought it would be better for other people to deal with me—for them to, to babysit me. And the only reason the rest of them are here too is to make it less obvious that their chief is so ashamed of me and that maybe staying somewhere else would be enough to change me…to make me better…so that…so I’m not…”
He swallowed. His hands shook. They trembled as he held on to Nessi, while she pressed her snout to the hollow of his neck, over his heartbeat.
“…I just…I don’t know what he wants from me anymore. Or if he expects anything from me now…I don’t know what I can do here.”
Hiccup didn’t cry. He didn’t like to. But Nessi’s steady chirring, her glands pressed to his skin and giving it their residue, began to slow his heart. He didn’t like that either. He wanted to stay upset, had every right to be upset. He didn’t want to calm down yet.
And if the way Gobber fumbled was anything to go by, then he was right.
“…You know…this school is a new place. New place, new people, all of it new. And you know what that means?”
He didn’t get an answer. Gobber pushed on. “It means new opportunities, things that could…could lead to other things! Options. Yes, you see, there’re many o’ those, and they’ll each give you different futures. Back on Berk, there would’ve only been so much for you—”
“Stay in your forge forever,” interrupted Hiccup, cutting short whatever planned explanation his father may or may not have fed him.
“—Well, there was that. I also meant being the chief’s heir, or—”
“Which I wouldn’t be because I’ve already failed.”
“—You haven’t failed, Hiccup—”
“Oh, really? Does this look like chief training to you?” Hiccup bit out. Gobber’s spine snapped upright. He narrowed his eyes.
This is wrong. He shouldn’t have said that. He had no right to take that tone, especially not with an elder.
But if Gobber wanted to parrot his father’s empty, meaningless excuses back at him—or, even better—wanted to cover up just how little his father cared by pretending there was any greater purpose to this, then he might as well also fulfil the parental duty of clipping Hiccup over the ear for giving that much attitude.
Instead, Gobber proved once again that he wasn’t Hiccup’s father, or that he’d spent years dealing with his chief’s stubborn hide to get done in by a mouthy child.
Gobber leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. Any awkwardness from before was long gone. “Very well, then, Mister Hiccup. I see how it is. You’re so smart now, are ye? So wise and old enough to know what’s to become of you, is it? Then clearly you’re old enough to make your own decisions now. You’ve been played a hand you don’t want. You’re part of a business deal you don’t like. So why not we make our own deal?”
Of all the directions this conversation could’ve gone, he hadn’t expected this.
“…A deal.”
“A deal. You want to do what a chieftain would do, and what does a chieftain do? Protect his people. Is what we’re doing now—with fighting the dragons and all—do you think it’s working?”
Hiccup hesitated.
“Well? Speak up!”
“…No, it isn’t.”
“Correct. We’ve been fighting them and fighting them and what’s it done? Improve our food stores? Build more families? No. It hasn’t done that. And I don’t know if you know this but—many years ago, it wasn’t like this. The kind of fighting you children have grown up with…it wasn’t always this bad. Maybe during the off-season when things became desperate…but not like what we have now. Someday we will run out—of food, of weapons, of fighters—and our best will not help us. If we don’t want that to happen, then something needs ta change. What we need…is something different.”
Here he looked meaningfully at Hiccup. Hiccup hiked his shoulders up, frown deepening.
“…you need different?”
“We need you. Think about it—what is the one thing you have that no one else does?” Hiccup opened his mouth, which was a sure sign that nothing good would come out, so Gobber pushed on. “Your brains! Your mind. You were always filling your head with knowledge, always going off to read books or learn something new or find another way to do things—”
“Which usually didn’t work and made everything worse,” he pointed out.
“—Yes, but that’s not the point. The point is that you are a thinker. You’re smart, and no one can doubt you on that. All your life you’ve been hungering for books, haven’t you? Well here you are in a place full of books! There are books here and professors here and so many other things that will give you the knowledge and talents and strengths that you cannot find on Berk or anywhere else in the world. There’s bound to be something that’ll help our village in all this, and if anyone can find it I know it’s you. No doubt about that.”
Gobber nodded, looking extremely satisfied with himself. “There! You wanted a purpose. Now you have it. What you do with it is your choice.”
His choice, he said. In all of this, he said that Hiccup had a choice.
But Hiccup hadn’t had any say in being born to a chief, or of accepting the responsibilities that came with it.
A part of Hiccup considered himself too smart (and too annoyed and bitter) to fall for the grand, hopeful speech laid out to him. If they were going to beat him down that hard then who were they to be surprised when he didn’t get up again?
And yet…the more he wondered about Gobber’s words, the more they lodged in his head. They stayed there long after he’d returned to the dorms.
The Hufflepuff dorms were underground, in a very warm and well-lit network of tunnels that hugged the mysterious, cavernous spaces said to be where the kitchens were. Aside from the yellow of House colours, one of the prevalent themes of the dorms was circles.
The entrance, located behind a wall of barrels, was a wide circle. The chairs, tables, cushions, and rungs were also circles. Round lamps hung from the high ceiling, in-between which were every manner of circular clay pots filled with plants that either spilled down over their rims or else climbed up the chains that suspended them.
Even the dorms themselves each had circular, wooden doors that opened inwards to show four wide, fluffy circles for beds, arranged in the circular room like the cardinal directions on the face of a compass.
When Hiccup returned, it was to find his dorm room empty. It was too early for supper. Chances were his roommates were in the common room, the library, or, most likely, enjoying what good weather they could outside—none of which Hiccup bothered to do.
His roommates were…okay. They seemed nice enough. Mostly, they left him alone. On the off chance that they did talk, mostly one or two sentences in passing, they seemed happy enough to speak with him, in an offhand, friendly strangers kind of way. That…was not something he was used to.
Regardless, he was glad they weren’t around. His thoughts and emotions were already hard enough to sort through. He preferred to do it privately.
Hiccup sat on a carpet, his nightstand (also circular) to his left and his bed at his back, the canopy drapes brushing his shoulders. Before him lay the magically expanded pouch from his shopping street misadventure. The books he’d already read he’d shuffled to the side, while the ones he hadn’t—the “misbehaving” books—he’d placed before him.
Ever since he’d started school, he hadn’t touched any of the books, not even the ones he’d only just started reading. But now he had a choice to make.
He didn’t know if Gobber was right in calling him “smart”, exactly—there were many, many bright ideas in his past that had resulted in one too many bridges burnt along the way. Very literally. But in the hours since then he’d figured out a few things.
What Gobber had said about helping their village through reading hadn’t just been about reading. To really find what he was looking for, first he had to learn. He could try reading every book he could get his hands on, but what was the point when he didn’t even know what he was looking for? What was the point when he hardly knew anything yet?
Even if he did find something promising, there was no guarantee he had the skills to use it, or that someone else would either. He’d have to learn those skills himself.
He’d need to learn the skills to use the knowledge, and he had learning to do to find the right knowledge. But more than that, he needed to strengthen his magic.
Because Berk focused on battle magic and healing magic. They were practical, the bare essentials of survival. But Hiccup wouldn’t find his answers in the “bare essentials”. He’d have to find more ways to use his magic, figure out how to grow it and change it and harness it in all the ways it can be harnessed, and then find a way to make that useful for whatever he might need it to be useful for.
Now was not the time to be clever, now he needed to listen and learn. He needed to keep his eyes and ears open and search for the ways that others would miss.
And once he found them…that’s when he needed to act.
Or he could not do that.
He could waste away the rest of his years. Show his father and his village what happened to those they threw away. No one was stopping him. It was his choice, after all.
…But what would happen if he did do it? What would the future look like then?
Only one way to find out.
Hiccup took one of the unread books and opened it to the first page.
.°○.◇.○°.
A/N:
- One of the bright spots in creating this chapter was that it let me shine a light (badum-tish) on Hiccup's placement in Hufflepuff and how that's reflected in him.
Because of the House he's sorted into in this universe, I chose his defining traits to be: diligence, loyalty, and compassion
You can see how that's coming into play here. As of now Hiccup is loyal to his family and his people. He wants to help them and do right by them, and what causes him to lose his purpose is when he feels they no longer want or need him. Being from such a small, close-knit village means that community plays a very big role in his upbringing, and it's when Gobber gives him a way to reclaim a place in his community that Hiccup finally finds the will to actively participate in his life again.
Sounds contradictory for what happens later, I know. But trust me...there's a method to my madness. You'll see what I mean once the cards fall into place.
And speaking of cards and their ominous premonitions, there's some foreshadowing here I mean at this point you can assume that every chapter has foreshadowing in it. This entire fic is really just one big web of foreshadow lmao What does that mean? You'll see about that, too. (✿◠‿◠)
- On behalf of the previous version of this chapter, I need to apologize to the entirety of Scotland. I am so sorry for the cringe dialogue I wrote into this world; even if I’ve deleted now that doesn’t mean it was okay. I’ll keep trying to learn and do better.
#how to train your dragon#hiccup httyd#hogwarts au#fanfiction#my writing#fluff#kid fic#rotbtd#b1: tfy#rotbtd hogwarts au
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Ch. 2. Hiccup’s POV: Late July
Media: Fanfiction
Rating: General
Warnings: No Warnings Apply
Fandoms: How To Train Your Dragon (2010), Harry Potter - J.K Rowling, Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons/The Big Four
Characters: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Stoik The Vast, Original Non-Human Character
Tags: Hogwarts AU, kid!fic, Angst, Family, Strained Family Relationships, Heartbreak, Self-Loathing, Secrets, there’s a character in here that i didn’t put in the tags because spoilers, but know that they’re there, angst train choo choo
Word count: 3,043 words
Chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24
AO3 Link
Summery:
When Hiccup goes searching for answers, he overhears a conversation not meant for his ears. He finally learns why his family came to England.
.°○.♢.○°.
In a wide expanse of hallway located in the west wing of an old manor in Kent, there was a blob of shadow sneaking where it shouldn't have been.
That blob was, in fact, a ten-year old boy named Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III.
A…rather long-ish name, for someone so short. He was supposed to grow into it. Eventually.
Hiccup was a Viking, even if he didn’t look like it, and he grew up in a tiny village full of Vikings who did look like it. The village stood on a speck of stubborn rock surrounded by unforgiving ocean located in the middle of freezing and nowhere. The two most important things that could be said about the village was that it has as much sheep as it did people and that it won all the awards for the world’s deadliest pest problem: dragons.
Real dragons. With wings and talons and fire. That hunted the Vikings as the Vikings hunted them.
The only thing that stopped the village from either crumbing to the tide or else going up in flames was the fact that the magic running through the land and its people was as wild and strong and dangerous as the beasts that troubled them. It was what helped them survive, and they were proud of it.
Even if Hiccup wasn’t much of a Viking, there wasn’t anywhere else he could think of that made him think ‘home’. It was where his family, and their family, and all the generations before his had lived and where he’d expected they’d live long after he passed.
It was why he was so entirely confused when his father told him to pack his things a few days before and carted them all the way across the oceans to where they were now.
No prior warning. No explanations given. Just a gruff, “Hiccup, we’re leaving,” and then they were gone at sundown.
It wasn’t even that Hiccup hated going on a surprise trip. Up until then most of his adventures had been about sneaking off to the nearby muggle town for its library (and by nearby, it was a boat-journey away) or else running away (well, not quite; he wasn’t much of a runner) from the local Viking children trying to beat him up.
The problem here was that those Viking children had come along with them. By the time Hiccup had his things packed and ready those children and their families had showed up and, group by group, they’d magically teleported to England to be greeted first thing by a raging downpour. A full hour of cussing, shouting, and general chaos had landed them in this damp, musty building, with Hiccup being dropped off in his new room and essentially forgotten about ever since.
But that was going to change today. Today was the day Hiccup would get some answers.
Just as soon as he figured out where he was.
A lump in his pocket shifted and woke. It slithered out and climbed under the folds of his bulky jumper. Tiny claws poked into the material of his tunic, until they reached his shoulder and a soft chitter tickled his ear.
Slow and silent, Hiccup turned his head. Murky, brown-green yes, same as his own, stared up at him.
“Shhh.” He hissed. He didn’t dare risk going louder than that.
The little ‘gecko’ he’d named Nessi took no such care, but she didn’t have to. She answered him with a tiny chirrup and rubbed her neck against his. Then she clambered up into his hair. That’s where she’d stay until he found the time to eat, before she’d leave to find a meal for herself. At least he could always rely on her to be predictable.
That meant he’d already spent too long wandering.
Tugging the shadows tighter around himself, Hiccup closed his eyes and breathed out. With his eyes open, he saw the same things as anyone else—a long, square corridor with dark, threadbare carpeting and unadorned walls of deeply coloured wood.
But with his eyes closed, Hiccup could find a different view. One only he could see.
Outside it was raining. It created a thick blanket of background noise that kept in the sounds that came from within the building itself.
The floors and walls breathed in the water that filtered through the air. They creaked and groaned alongside their neighbours, some quieter, some not, depending on where they were. Farther out than that, in the opposite direction of where Hiccup headed, were the distant clamours and wandering feet of the other families who’d come along and were trying to sort out their new life to fit the new land they were in. Deep within the building came the murmurs of the house staff, muffled and folded into the walls like the gentle ticks of a well-worn machine.
Hiccup did not just hear all of this, he saw it too. In his mind’s eye, the sounds bloomed into existence like the inverted colours of a developing photograph. They made a rough map in his head of where exactly everything was in the mansion and where he was compared to them.
This trick was just one of many little things he’d taught himself to do with magic. He didn’t know how he did it, simply that he could.
At the moment there was one specific sound he was trying to find. One voice, something he’d been hearing since time beyond memory. Those were always the easiest sounds to pick out. The more familiar they were to him, the faster he could find them.
He found it then. The low timber of it caught along the edges of his mind and he wrapped a mental fist around it.
Hiccup opened his eyes without seeing and followed the voice, one hand stretched out and lightly brushing past the wall. The carpet muffled his feet and the shadows surrounding him did the rest. Not even the rats that scuttled behind the walls took notice, smelling neither boy or gecko.
It was when he turned the final corner that Hiccup blinked back to the rest of his senses.
His magic had picked up only his father’s voice. But his ears now picked up another. An unfamiliar voice in an unfamiliar accent.
That wasn’t right.
If something made a noise, then he should’ve sensed it. He’d tested the trick out for weeks and it’s what had always happened. Always, that is, until then.
Hiccup frowned. A problem for later. He had work to do. With tiny, careful steps, he edged closer and closer to the double doors. If anything else in the empty corridor heard the thumping of his heart, then they paid it no mind.
Definitely not the mysterious voice behind the doors. He—and it was definitely a he—was going on and on about something, Hiccup didn’t know what, either unaware or unconcerned with how loud he was.
Then his father’s voice cut through. “Enough. It is of no concern to me the history of the institution you speak of. I do not need to hear what virtues the English hold up to, for I know you have none.”
“Now now now, don’t speak so harshly, Mr. Haddock! Why, this very institution is where you will be sending your own child to.” The other voice chuckled. It had an odd, oily edge to it, that chuckle. The kind that fit under a bowler hat, a moustache, and a cigar, like in an old western film.
Hiccup suddenly pictured such a man, probably short and stocky, too, faced up against his mountain of a father.
“Coming from you, my child whom you speak of sounds more like a product than a living being. I do not need a product, Mister On—”
“Ehem.”
“…Very well. Mr. Walters, whatever else comes of this, I do not care for my son and heir being made into a puppet, or for such a fate to befall the other children of my tribe, brought here on the trust and loyalties of their families. Neither I nor my people have any use for those who have been made spineless and docile. By the end of this, Havárđr needs to be a leader.”
Hiccup startled at the use of his given name. For some reason, the floors did not creak.
It was strange enough to hear his father speak this way, all grand and formal like that. (Where had he learnt to? How long had he been able to?) Hiccup had never heard him talk like that, not with him or anyone.
Hardly anyone used his given name. Both the names—Havárđr and Hiccup—had belonged to his grandfather. They’d named him the first and called him the other, a relic from when he’d been born too early and almost too weak.
It wasn’t until his tenth birthday that he’d been gifted the Horrendous part of his name, along with a grand ceremony and his first dagger.
Inside, it had embarrassed him, since he was used to being shoved away from being the centre of attention. He didn’t know why they’d made such a fuss over just another birthday, or if anyone really expected him to do something heroic with the dagger.
Something told him he was now staring in the face of the answer.
The other voice kept going, as smooth as if his father had uttered a compliment. “And a leader he shall be. Hogwarts is one of the best the schools of magic have to offer. One of the very few spoken for by wizards, so you can be sure of its quality. Those who graduate from there have become ambassadors and leaders, have gained prominent careers and great success.”
“Now if only this school of yours could teach my son to be a strong Viking.” His father sighed. “Havárđr has the makings of it in him, I'm sure he does, but he just does not seem to care to try and use it. He does not favour battle magic, did not even lift a weapon until one was placed in his hands, and he refuses to learn how. He hardly ever talks to the people of our village, his own people, be they his age or no, unless duty forces his hand. Instead he goes running off to who-knows-where and not having a care towards helping others. How will he gain the respect of his people in the years to come? How will he gain their trust? What does he think to accomplish when he spends his days indoors or wandering the hills like one of the sheep?”
The words hung in the air. The words stopped his heart.
He shouldn’t be here.
He shouldn’t be hearing this.
But hadn’t he already heard this? Hadn’t Hiccup spent his entire life hearing some version of all this from everyone else?
They hadn’t said it in so many words. But he knew what the other adults muttered about when they didn’t think he could hear it. He knew what their children laughed at him about where they knew he could. Everyone had been worried for the son of the chief when he was born, and the worry had grown into disappointment as the years passed.
But for his father to just say that, to present it all like that. And to a stranger. Not to him, never to him.
There was a ringing in his ears. His feet wanted to run. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything.
The stranger on the other side went on, as calmly as if there wasn’t a boy in the corridor whose world was crumbling to pieces. “Hm. Well, I’m sure how your boy turns out will ultimately be up to him. The school will teach him well enough, since you’d put so much weight on ‘giving to the community’ and ‘the good of your people’. Can’t honestly say the path of a wizard would hold up the same. Although as far as other qualities are concerned, it truly is the best, in my humble opinion—which reminds me. Again, I should ask: are you sure? Are you quite sure you wouldn’t rather want…?”
“No,” said his father, with the finality of a death blow.
“…Well, I can’t say I didn’t try. If you’re sure, then. Although those ties have much to offer, should you ever wish to change your mind. Things like greatness and power is what wizardry is all about. But it’s fine. At least with this, you will have the benefit of an internationally acclaimed school teaching your young. That, surely, we can agree is for the best?”
A long silence followed this. Or at least, it felt that way. A part of Hiccup, the part that didn’t care either way about unimportant things like emotional distress, idly wondered if, had he kept his trick going, perhaps he could’ve ‘looked’ into the room. He could’ve seen where the two adults were, if they were sitting in armchairs next to the fireplace, or at a big, heavy desk that rested before an expansive window, curtains drawn to keep out the chill.
Or perhaps, they were instead facing each other, neither daring to turn away, like an old-fashioned duel. Was that why the silence felt so heavy? Or was that just him?
A sound like a tea cup clinking against a table broke the still air. A floor board creaked as someone inside shifted.
“…Mister Walters, we are neither of us fools. I know as well as you do that this serves a purpose for you as well. It is why—…it is the only reason, I am sure, why you and your kind have lent your aid.”
His father’s deep voice had gone even deeper, almost a rumble by then. It was a sharp contrast to the other, who laughed, quick and light.
“But of course it does. And the details of it shouldn’t concern you in the slightest, trust me. You see, you, my chief, are a leader, while I am a businessman. And a smart businessman always ensures that any given situation is to the best interest of both parties involved.”
“Indeed. And you will do well to remember that it is not in good practice to hide vital information from your business partners.”
A rustle of papers, followed by the dull tap of many small somethings lightly hitting a wooden surface. “Everything I intend is everything you see on this paper here, Mr. Haddock. See this signature? It means that any and all involvement we have in your child’s personal affairs starts and ends with our getting him and his friends into Hogwarts. While the rest of these plans are what we, partner to partner, equal to equal, have already formulated amongst ourselves, and those are what you will see in four years’ time.”
“…Very well, then. In four years’ time, we will discuss this again.”
“Excellent. Now shall we go over the other matters at hand? Because I’d been thinking…”
The talk turned to business related topics, with words like ‘subsidies’ and ‘land use’ and ‘monetary transactions’ and other such useless noise that had nothing to do with Hiccup’s life.
His feet uprooted. Without another glance, he left the corridor as quietly as he’d come.
One corridor turned into another. The wing that held the others were left well alone. Up a flight of stairs, down a dim corridor lined with windows on one side, to the room at the very end…
The door shut behind him. The shadows he’d brought fled back to the corners of the room, settling in alongside the eternal damp. Opposite a canopy bed too thick and musty to be comfortable stood a pair of windows that gazed out into a drenched, overgrown garden. They cast the room in a cold and muted light.
The only other hint of colour came from a tray on the nightstand, a huddle of half-eaten fruits. Red, orange, and pale green—a rarity in the north.
Something about that flooded the feeling to his body, pushed the numb out. His hands were shaking. He…needed a nap. He really needed to eat. He shouldn’t have been this tired. It wasn’t good for him.
He shouldn’t have gone. He shouldn’t have listened. This was all his fault, this was his fault—
His legs buckled. Hiccup slid down like a puppet with its strings cut. Nessi dug her claws into his hair, then scampered down with an alarmed chitter. Chirping and squeaking, licking his chin and face, there were tears, she was scared—
His father’s words rang in his head. He couldn’t block them out, couldn’t make them stop, not even with his hands against his ears.
…does not to care to try and use it…he refuses to learn…not a care towards helping others…How will he gain the respect of his people…? How will he gain their trust? What does he think to accomplish…?
He wasn’t a Viking.
He was a failure.
That’s why they’d left the village. Because his father thought this place might fix him. Because at home he always messed up. He got in the way and messed up everything and no one wanted him and not even his father wanted him—
His father had taken him out of the village because of how completely useless he was.
The worst of it was that he’d tried. He’d been trying so hard, for years. Trying to help, trying to do better, to be good enough for once. He’d gone to the library to learn more ways to help. He’d drawn pages and pages of diagrams, weapons and tools to make in the forge, to help fight against the dragons. He’d wanted to make them and show them to everyone. He’d wanted his father to be impressed.
He could’ve done it, if he’d had more time. If he’d tried harder. Surely he’d have done it.
What can you do? No one cares. No one wants you. You’re so useless, what can you do?
Hiccup pressed his head to his knees, mouth clamped shut against the rising sob. He dug his fingers into his sleeves, gripped them tight, trying, trying to keep the pieces in him together.
It didn’t work.
#fanfiction#fan fiction#my writing#hogwarts au#how to train your dragon#httyd#hiccup horrendous haddock lll#rotbtd#cely writes#b1: tfy#rotbtd hogwarts au
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Ch. 5. Jack/Merida’s POV: August 31st
Media: Fanfiction
Rating: General
Warnings: No Warnings Apply
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J.K Rowling, Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons/The Big Four, Rise of the Guardians (2012), Brave (2012)
Characters: Jack Frost (Guardians of Childhood), Emma Overland (Guardians of Childhood), Original Female Characters, Original Male Characters, Merida DunBroch
Tags: Hogwarts AU, kid!fic, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Family, Boarding School
Word count: 1,520 words
Chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24
AO3 Link
Summary:
An almost meeting happens on the train
.°○.♤.○°.
A/N:
I wrote this while stuck on a family road trip back in December (and published it on AO3 right on time for Christmas lmao) Enjoy! :D
.°○.♤.○°.
The train blew a warning whistle. Emma hugged him tighter.
“Do you have everything?” Jack's mother asked.
Around them people rushed to climb on the train. Children leaned out the windows to say goodbye to their families one last time. It was a chaos of last minute well wishes and 'I love you's and Jack stood in the middle of it.
“Everything's already in the baggage compartment, mum. I'll be fine.” He reached up and pulled her into another hug, so that Emma ended up squashed between them. He really should be going.
“Eat well, and get enough sleep. Pay attention to your professors and do your best, and please, please Jack, don’t get into too much trouble, or at least try not to—no wait I've already said that.” His mother laughed, slightly panicked. She held him close and kissed his head. “Just—write to us soon. And tell us what it's like there.”
“I will. I love you.” How many times had he said that? He'd lost count.
In the end Jack did manage to pull away. He made it about halfway to the train before his sister bolted across the floor and threw herself at him.
“IloveyouIloveyouIloveyousomuch!” Her tiny arms squeezed around his ribs, and that, for some reason, nearly made him cry. He couldn't have pried her off even if he'd wanted to.
He didn't. Quick as she'd come, she jerked away and went back to their mother. She hid her face in their mother's robes and Jack didn't have time to see any more than that because the train was about to leave.
He clambered onto the train with the rest of the last minute boarders and quickly found a window to stick his head out of. He waved until his mum saw him and waved back. By then the train had started to move. The people he loved most in the world grew smaller and smaller, until the station was nothing more than a speck in the distance.
There was an ache in his chest. It would stay for a while. But when he let his mind wander, let himself think about where he was headed off to…there was also a thrill. A sense of anticipation for what would come next.
This was an adventure. This was his adventure. And Jack wanted to live it.
He was one of the last to find a compartment. Jack wandered around what he presumed to be the first year section, poking his head in at random until he met a group of boys who seemed nice enough and who invited him in.
And they were nice. He learnt that many of them had non-magical parents and relatives, with a few muggle-borns scattered in between, and that suited him just fine. They were fun and friendly and by the time the trolley carrying treats came around Jack didn't mind spending some of the money from his coin purse—a now much heavier coin purse—to get enough Every Flavor Beans to challenge them all to a game of who-can-eat-the-most-and-not-get-sick.
They got so caught up messing around that it was a wonder how any of them noticed the sun setting. But simply getting ready and putting on their uniforms wasn't anywhere near enough to make a dent in the restless, pent-up energy that had managed to spread to the younger years like a bad rumour.
Some of the students worked through it by chattering with their seatmates about the school they were headed to and their future classes. Others went to the other compartments to mingle with their future (or old) classmates and see what they were getting up to.
Meanwhile Jack was having a great time running through the corridors and driving the prefects up the walls. It was almost as entertaining as being back at Halley House and running away from the older kids whenever he and the other younger ones were out to annoy them.
He'd gotten all the way to one of the last train cars to stop for a breather. Last he’d seen his new friends were somewhere near the front catching hell from the rare teacher who’d happened to be traveling on the train, too. Not that it would matter much in the end. Soon he and the rest of them would find out which houses they were in and then they'd get to have even more adventures together. The thought made Jack grin as he leaned against a door.
From within there came a quick, muffled sound. That could've been the door creaking. Or he could've imagined it.
But then the sound came again. Jack held his breath.
…Was that crying?
The door he leaned against was open by the barest sliver. Slowly, he nudged it open just a little further and peeked inside.
In the compartment sat one girl and no one else—and on such a crowded train that was beyond strange. She had her back to him, facing the window. The only thing he could really see about her was the long, long mane of some of the curliest, reddest hair he'd ever seen on a person. It fell all the way to her waist and puffed out to hide the rest of her. But even that didn't hide the shudder that ran through her as another sob came out.
Growing up Jack had often been a very keen, if impulsive and hyperactive, boy. He was a good judge of character, and more than once it had helped him escape trouble when he knew just what to say and how to say it.
At that moment Jack was sure that if he walked in there he'd likely get yelled right back out before he could get a word in.
…But that didn't mean he was completely out of ideas.
A set of familiar voices came from up ahead. Jack made a quick, quarter-baked decision. Digging in his pockets, he found what he was looking for, pulled the door open, and stuck his head in.
“Hey! Catch this!”
He chucked it in and fled before either the girl or his friends could find him.
He didn't see the thing he'd thrown escape its packaging and jump at her. He was long gone when the girl let loose a startled shriek and batted it away.
The girl sat there as the creature—frog, it was a frog—went jumping around the compartment. A sudden wave of embarrassment hit her for screaming like that.
She was Merida. She was the girl who had three obnoxious little brothers who were always finding new ways to get into the worst kind of trouble. She of all people shouldn't have reacted like that to something as stupid as a frog.
Thinking of her brothers reminded her of her family, which reminded her of home and her current situation. And that made her miserable all over again.
She’d never wanted to come here. Of all the possibilities for her life, she had never, never, dreamed that she'd live to see the day she'd be attending an English school. If she'd known what her parents were up to she would've gladly taken a hundred—no, a thousand—of her mother's princess lessons if it meant she'd get to stay home surrounded by what she knew and loved.
Instead here she was far away from home with nothing but a trunk full of books in subjects she didn't know or care to know, off to attend an English school full of English strangers with their heads all stuffed with stupid, English rubbish. It was the worst kind of nightmare.
(Well, aside from, like, dying—or then again, maybe that wouldn't be terrible.)
Her eyes latched onto the still jumping frog. The fleeting image of the boy who'd thrown it in crossed her mind and brought a sharp stab of anger with it. She snatched the thing out of the air, shoved the nearest window open, and made to throw it out.
…Except…the texture wasn't right. She would know. Slowly, Merida drew her hand back.
The skin was brown, and it was smooth instead of slippery. She sniffed it. Sweet? Candy? Chocolate. Merida ate it in one bite.
The sweet gunk that filled her mouth contrasted the salty tears she'd tasted earlier. She wiped the snot that dribbled from her nose, and felt the sting from the red and irritated skin underneath.
While boarding the train she'd been fully intent on staying as stubbornly wretched as she could. She'd already made herself insufferable enough that no one wanted to sit with her and everyone had left her alone.
But as she stood in the middle of the compartment, the distant sounds of people getting louder and louder as the train finally neared the school, there was a lull in the storm raging in her head. For the first time that day her feelings were muted and confused. It was strange.
Nothing was turning out how she'd thought it would. She wasn't sure what to expect next.
#jack frost#merida dunbroch#rise of the guardians#brave (2012)#my writing#fanfiction#RotBTD#hogwarts au#b1: tfy#rotbtd hogwarts au
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Ch. 3. Jack’s POV: Late August
Media: Fanfiction
Rating: General
Warnings: No Warnings Apply
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J.K Rowling, Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons/The Big Four, Rise of the Guardians (2012), The Polar Express, Enchanted, Treasure Planet, The Princess and the Frog, Big Hero 6
Characters: Jack Overland (Rise of the Guardians), Emma Overland (Rise of the Guardians), Christopher (The Polar Express), Giselle (Enchanted), Dr. Delbert Doppler (Treasure Planet), Tiana (The Princess and the Frog), Honey Lemon (Big Hero 6), Original Cousin(s) of Hiro and Tadashi (Big Hero 6)
Tags: Hogwarts AU, kid!fic, Family, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, Worldbuilding, character study
Word count: 11,855 words
Chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24
AO3 Link
Summary:
Where Jack goes shopping for his school supplies in one of the most famous magical streets. (No, not the one you're thinking of.)
.°○♤○°.
A/N:
Decided this A/N was cringe so I changed it. Ehem. Let's try this again.
- First off, a big shout out to @/iamlongstockings and her very kind comments for motivating me so much that I decided to write not one but two huge, mammoth-sized chapters before I'd gone away for a few months. These chapters are for you. *finger guns*
- You know those streets that are seen in Tangled during that kingdom dance thing? Imagine that the street described in these chapters has the feel of that.
- This chapter and the next go far more into introducing the world I've set up. There will be hints of lore that'll be explained in further detail either later on in this book or else in others. Nothing definite, just taste. You can give any questions you have in the comments or else keep them with you and (hopefully) see them answered by this series' end. Or you can toss them at me on tumblr
- Here's the reason I'd put that "ocs running amok" warning in the intro. This is where it starts. It'll only get worse from here. If that's not your jam, then now's your last chance.
.°○♤○°.
The summer festival was days away and the magical side of the country looked like it.
Decorations in red, orange, pink, and gold spanned the wide street, easy to see even in the early morning light. Flowers in the same colours bloomed on the windowsills, the doors, and around every corner. Fresh posters declared games and events galore for the promised holiday, and in a few hours the hawkers would arrive to sell their holiday themed goods to the soon-to-be-busy market square.
On a nearby roof, a witch carefully adjusted a weathervane. The few soft, puffy clouds, barely visible in the distance, kept well away and the sky above her head hung a clear, eggshell blue. It promised to be a blisteringly sunny day.
Jack observed all of this and wondered once again how he'd ended up here.
In Halley House, school shopping took on an entirely different look compared to most others. It was a big event. And it had to be done a certain way.
It was taken as a fact that those who were of schooling age had to work together to get their supplies in order. Throughout the summer it became a kind of back-alley business for younger children to meet up with the older ones and trade for books and bags and robes, even promising to do chores if they had nothing else to offer.
And if the children lacked in friends or didn't go looking fast enough, then…too bad for them.
While this happened, the parents, guardians, or graduated students who had to be responsible for their siblings would “meet up for tea”. These meetings happened in late summer, and between tea and local gossip they'd all fix a date to descend onto several tiny market streets that ran like arteries throughout the nearby magic-muggle village and hunt down whatever was left of the second-hand goods.
School shopping was not an event to be taken lightly, or to be done without at least half of everyone involved.
Except Jack's call for schooling happened long before any of this could start.
Instead of spending the summer running after older children, or his mother inviting herself to one of these meetings, his first real clue that something was not as it should be came in the hands of a man named Christopher Armitage.
Mr. Armitage worked for the part of the magical government that dealt with school affairs. He'd sent a letter beforehand asking if they would mind terribly if he stopped by, for the matter he had to discuss could not be done properly through paper.
It was through him that they learnt that Jack had been accepted to study at Hogwarts, one of the most prestigious magical schools on the English continent, long before Jack's letter was even set to arrive.
There were not many in Halley House who received such letters. Jack would be the first he knew of.
There would be no more thoughts of him going to one of the local magical schools, hidden within the folds of rolling country hills under layers of protective magic. Those weren't even entirely boarding schools. They were a common feature of the working class and, as such, spent about half the school year letting the students stay and teaching them while the other half sent them back where they came with reading and homework meant for them getting homeschooling from their families and each other. This was why the notes of older students were worth more than money.
This didn't mean that the working class students who graduated from those schools were destined to stay in the working class. That's not how witch society worked.
And Hogwarts was technically still a school that brought future witches and mages into the world. Hogwarts graduates were always put on the path of grand, impressive jobs, whether they took them or not.
Not as bad as finding out you're a wizard. That meant no one ever saw you again.
(There were rumours about that, about what happened when a wizard was chosen. Blinding light, trumpets and thunder, a golden carriage flying down from skies that looked as if they'd been cracked open like a nebulous, star-filled egg.
Not that those rumours held any weight. And if there ever appeared a wizard willing to share, then the common opinion agreed that correct way to respond was to take off running, with your fingers in your ears.)
But even if Hogwarts was perfectly fine and fancy, even if there was nothing wrong about children going there, that did not erase the fact that everyone knew the wizards had something to do with it.
That was a lot for a newly 11-year-old Jack to deal with.
A sudden tug pulled Jack's attention back.
His sister finished tying a ribbon around his wrist, grinned up at him, and went skipping away.
The ribbon was a brilliant red. It clashed horribly with his drab outfit of a too-many-washes-to-really-be-white tunic, a sleeveless brown overshirt, and brown trousers worn enough to be fraying at the ends.
…At least it was traditional. Best way to blend in on a famous magic shopping street.
Meanwhile Emma had found a light pink ribbon that near perfectly matched the shade of her nicest pinafore. She danced with it, the shiny cloth twisting in the air every time she spun, breathily humming to herself and happy with the world. Lucky her.
Mr. Armitage had not dressed to blend in. He wore a muggle suit coloured a sombre, ministry-blue. His blonde hair was as neatly combed as any self-respecting government employee's should be as he sat chatting with Jack's mother at an outdoor table of a tiny café.
And if the way they kept glancing over at him and Emma was anything to go by, they were just about done with their early morning tea.
Mr. Armitage nodded and stood up. Emma immediately shot over.
“Are we done? Are we ready?” She asked, bouncing on her heels.
“Almost. Just one more thing.” Mr. Armitage turned to their mother. “Would you like to accompany us?”
Jack also turned to her. She looked tired.
She always looked tired. There could be any reason why. But some part of Jack—a very large, very loud part of him—wondered if it had something to do with his new school. She'd been shocked when they'd first heard the news (of course she been, anyone world be), but had congratulated him well enough, had hugged and kissed him and said how proud she was.
But she'd spent a long time awake that night. And sometimes when he brought it up, she'd smile but her eyes would be sad (and he didn't know why and she never told him why and no one ever told him anything—)
“Well, Jack, what do you think?”
“What?” Jack said, intelligently.
“This trip is for you. If you'd like me to come along, then I will, but it's your choice. Which would you like?”
Ideally, Jack would be happy if his mother went shopping with them. This was his first time on one of the four major streets. They were lucky it was only a few hours from where they lived, and they could make it into a day trip. And he be getting so many new things that day. “New” was not a thing any of them were used to.
But Jack had made plans for that day. Plans that if his mother knew of she would not like.
Jack could do better than get caught first thing in the morning and he wasn't about to disgrace himself like that.
And anyways, she'd be coming with them for sight-seeing later. She might as well have the time to rest.
So what Jack did was go up to her and shuffled his feet.
“If it really is alright…I'd like to go with just Em' and Mr. Armitage to get my school things.”
He didn't try to play up the nervousness, didn't do something as obviously fake as wringing his hands. He wasn't a hand-wringing kind of boy and both of them knew it.
Her mother reached up and cupped his face. “Of course it's alright, darling. You have fun and I'll see you for lunch.”
“Thanks, mum. We’ll be back soon.” Jack kissed her cheek. Then he went to Emma and took her hand. “We ready to go?”
“Ready!” She pumped their hands.
“Then we’d best be off. Good day, Ms. Overland.” Mr. Armitage gave a quick bow, hand over his heart, and then put on his hat.
Jack and Emma waved to her as they turned the corner down the street, until they lost sight of her.
“Where are we going now?” Despite how curious he was to look around, Jack made sure to keep pace with Mr. Armitage.
“First the bank to see about the money. Then on to the main street where we’ll get started with the shopping.”
The next turn widened into the main part of the street. Shops had just begun to open for the day. A few people were out and about setting up last minute decorations. At that time of day, the faint smell of fresh pastries wafted freely through the air, interrupted only by the scent of all the flowers.
Come the height of the festival, there would be singing, dancing, and lights from colour-changing lanterns and sparkling magical illusions. It was plenty fun in the village, the adults making things lively enough for Jack and the others to have a good time, but the celebrations that would happen here would be grand.
The bank they came to was not what he’d expected. It wasn’t particularly impressive or brooding or anything else of the sort. No stone gargoyles crouched over the windows and there wasn’t a marble column in sight. Instead, the squat, plain building stood at exactly one normal ground floor height and that’s it. One could climb up a window to reach the roof no problem. The other buildings surrounding it made it look squatter and flatter than it actually was. It looked more like either the biggest building in a particularly boring village or a minimalist museum owned by a muggle on a budget.
They entered through an unadorned door and were met with cream walls and polished wooden floors. Even at such an early hour, there were people milling around the wide front area, some sitting in chairs set up along the walls, waiting for their number to be called by those working at the front desk.
It was them who caught Jack’s attention first. For obvious reasons.
Nearby, Emma squeaked. “Faeries!”
They were quite obviously faeries, even if they weren’t the dark forest and tricky mischief variety. Were it not for the translucent wings and twinkling golden dust, they could’ve almost been mistaken for the humans they worked alongside.
Mr. Armitage, each of his hands holding one of theirs, gave them a light squeeze. “They are, and you’re both very lucky they’re fond of children. Mind your manners, you two.”
He walked them to the front counter and stated their business to the man who sat there. Jack was just tall enough to see over desk and find the man’s nametag, which said “Mr. H. Winters”.
“…Ah, yes. From the ministry. Hm. Yes…yes, everything seems to be in order, I believe.” He handed a roll of parchment back to Mr. Armitage, where it was tucked away into his suit jacket. “Now, then, whose funds is it that you’ll be needing today?”
“The ones that have been kept aside for Mr. Jackson Overland.”
Adjusting his spectacles, Mr. Winters opened a few drawers and came back up with a thin sheaf of papers and a simple, golden key. He flipped through the papers and nodded. “Here they are. Shall I ask one of the staff to bring you the money or would you like to go collect it yourself?”
Mr. Armitage glanced down. Jack stared up at him, open and curious. From the corner of his sight, he could just barely see Emma leaned against the man’s side and giving him what was most likely a pleading face.
“If it can be arranged, I would prefer to go to the collection centre along with these children.”
“Very well.” Mr. Winters swung open a small door next to the desk and called out. “Deeya, would you mind taking the customers with you, please?”
“Gladly,” a musical voice answered.
The voice resolved itself into a faery. The specks of golden dust from her wings twinkled on her dark skin and hair, while the rest of it dissolved into the air, making it seem like she faintly glowed. Tiny, golden bells hung from her ears, as pretty as the smile she wore along with the deep green robes and golden sash of the other bank employees.
Deeya took the key, caught sight of them, and without a word held her hand out to Emma. Emma looked just about ready to float off of the ground.
Shuffling past the desk led them to a second, average-looking wooden door in the back. As Deeya led them to it, she spoke to Emma, serene and soft as a summer breeze.
“Do you know why this bank is considered one of the best in the magical world?”
Emma shook her head no.
“It is because only faeries can truly access it. You see, amongst the Fae are many different races, each with their own powers and affinities. We who run the magical banks in England hold an affinity for precious stones and metals. We draw magic from them, and value those who treat them with the respect they deserve. That…and we have a special way of storing it.”
With a flourish, Deeya opened the door.
Bright light poured out. Still holding Emma’s hand, Deeya walked into the light. Jack and Mr. Armitage followed after.
Absolutely nothing would have prepared Jack for what he saw next.
Imagine, if you would, a hollow globe made up of golden bands. Inside of it are moving parts and compartments, so miniscule and delicate that it is hard to tell what exactly they could be. Now imagine that structure expanded, grown bigger and bigger, until it grew so big as to fit several buildings inside of it, could perhaps fit half a city within it.
That was the space they stepped into. They stood on a wide, golden lamp that had no railing or anything to hold onto. All around them the air was filled with hundreds of thousands of fairies. They came in almost every shape and size, from the height of a butterfly to as tall as Deeya herself, and almost all had something gold on them. Jack made a guess that the actual money and goods were stored along the walls, but those walls were so far away that it was hard to see them clearly, let alone catch any details.
It was as if they’d entered into a pocket of space that didn’t fit into the rest of reality. How could such a space possibly exist? How was any of this possible?
Magecraft, said a voice in his head.
No. Faeries, answered another. Even he knew that magecraft had its limits.
(But what exactly were those limits? How would he know them? Who was he to say what mage magic was truly capable of?)
“This is the collection centre. Here you will find many doorways that open to different locations on the English continent and even a select few scattered throughout the rest of the world. You can only access this place through those doorways and it can only be navigated by faeries such as myself—and, well, I suppose other flying creatures as well.”
Without warning, Emma dashed off to one of the far edges. A jolt of panic struck his heart. But before it could get any further, she abruptly stopped, her hands pressed flat against what looked like empty air.
A large hand nudged his back. Jack tilted his head up and found Mr. Armitage’s upside-down smile. He gave his shoulder an encouraging pat.
Jack looked back. Taking a deep breath, he slowly walked to the edge, hands held out before him. Yes, he was more on the reckless side of things, but this was also his first time in a faery bank and he didn’t actually want to die.
His hand suddenly brushed a cold surface. Jack yanked it back. He stared. Then he carefully reached forward again.
It wasn’t glass. But it was cool and smooth. When Jack put both hands to it and pressed, the thing did not yield.
Now that he looked properly, there were a few humans up in the air. Each held the hand of a faery. When one such pair went through the barrier—it parted around them like water—the human also had a faint glow around her like her faery companion. She gave the faery a short bow and they walked out the door.
Something in Jack’s stomach fluttered. Would they have to do that, too?
“Would you like me to take you to the vault, sir?” Deeya addressed Mr. Armitage behind them.
“No, thank you. I would much prefer it if you could bring the money here.”
“Certainly. If you would excuse me—oh. Oh, goodness, hullo.” From the cloud of her hair, Deeya plucked out the whisp of a faery that had flown into it. His wings fluttered quickly as he clung to her finger, tiny and pale. “Are you well?”
Jack might not have been able to see to the other side of the collection centre, but he did see the faery nod. Deeya smiled and waited for him to stand on her palm before she withdrew the key. “My colleague here will go to the vault and return with the required amount. Do you know how much you need?”
“Ah, yes, yes, of course. One minute.” Mr. Armitage searched in his pockets and took out a small piece of paper. The faery accepted it from him and abruptly took off, leaving a cloud of golden dust in his wake.
Not long after, he returned with a bag of coins easily twice as large as him floating behind. Mr. Armitage accepted the bag, thanked the two faeries, made sure Emma and Jack did the same, and the group returned to the bank proper.
Jack stayed quiet during the paperwork, at one point having to sign a document they presented to him. He stayed that way until they stood outside once more.
“Right then, you two. As you know, this street is called Touchstone Avenue, one of the four famous streets, with several smaller side streets branching off from here. But we don't need to worry about them—well, aside from the one we left earlier, but regardless. All the places we'll need to visit today are set up along here. And if you wander to our right, instead of left to the main square, and all the way until you reach the great archway you can see over there, where will you be?”
“At the entrance of a cemetery in Nottingham, located in Nottinghamshire, England.” Emma promptly stated. That year her class had decided to take a stab at local geography and as soon as she’d understood where they’d be going for their day trip she’d made a point to prepare.
“Very good. If you ever find yourself lost, just look for this main street and you'll end up in Nottingham no matter what. Are there any questions?”
Jack tugged on his sleeve. “Are we going to use all of that today?” He pointed to the bag of coins Mr. Armitage still held.
Mr. Armitage's brows furrowed but still he answered. “I should think not. Part of it will be spent here but there should be plenty left over for when you might need it in school this year.”
“Can I see?”
“Of course, Jack. It's yours now.” Mr. Armitage gave him the bag. It weighed heavy in his hands.
When Jack pulled the drawstring open, most of the contents turned out to be golden galleons, with a few silver sickles scattered in between. That was more gold than he'd seen in…weeks, apparently.
(And before that, the answer had been never.)
Jack nodded, his mind made up. He tugged Emma to his side and, upon telling her to hold out her skirt pockets, began piling coins into them.
“Okay, so if you take home about half of these then there should be enough left over for me to get the potion ingredients and other things with. And then with whatever's left of that—”
“Wait, wait, wait, Jack—” Mr. Armitage grabbed his hands. Jack would've ripped them away if he didn't think he'd spill the coins. “What are you doing?”
“I'm dividing my money.” Jack tugged on his hands and Mr. Armitage easily let go. He clutched the bag of money—his bag of money, it was his, not anyone else's—close to his chest. “It's mine now, right? I can do what I want with it, right? If I don't really, really need some of this, then I'll give it to my family. They need it more than I do. It's not like I'll have to pay for food over there. I've already thought it up. I'll spend what I need to on ingredients and tools—you know, since they have to be good quality to last—and then I can get the rest somewhere else.”
“Jack, listen—”
“There's a street we have. In the village. We can go to one of the stores there and get the books cheap—”
“Jack—”
“—and I can borrow the robes from one of the older kids, I know they still have some. They'll just need a little mending but after that—”
“Jack!”
Jack shut his mouth and glared. By that time the crowds had thickened just enough that the street didn't look entirely deserted. From the faint murmurs, they'd begun to attract attention but he refused to look away. So what if they stared? Let them. As if he cared one wit what anyone thought.
Mr. Armitage lowered his hands, sighing. “I apologise for yelling, but what say we talk about this somewhere else?” Jack opened his mouth to argue but Mr. Armitage put a hand up. “I'm not taking away your money. I promise I'm not. And I will listen to you. All I ask is that you also listen to me. Fair enough?”
It wasn't unreasonable, Jack hated to admit it. He was still convinced that there was nothing anyone could say to change his mind, but if Mr. Armitage was offering to listen to him…
To the side, Emma stared between the two. Her eyes were wide and scared, her hands still gripped in the worn edges of her skirt. She'd gone out with them that day thinking they'd all have a good time. She hadn't asked for any of this.
Jack looked at her and felt a sliver of shame crawl into him. But just a little.
Mouth still set in a stubborn line, Jack returned the coins he'd given Emma. He pulled the drawstring shut, took Emma's hand, and followed Mr. Armitage as he led them around the corner of the bank building.
The side of the building was a washed out white, the paint cracked near the edges. Over there the ground was made of packed dirt instead of cobblestone. It muffled their steps. A quiet stillness hung in the air. Somehow, the outside bustle and excitement did not seem to reach this place.
Since the first time Mr. Armitage had introduced himself to them, he’d come by to visit regularly. Mostly it had to do with adult business, like where the money for schooling would be coming from and what they could expect to deal with later and so on and so forth, but at other times he’d entertain Jack and Emma, even if he didn’t have to.
Mostly, he’d just listened to them. That’s not something a lot of adults did well. He…was really good at it. He was also good at giving answers, and telling a good story. But even then, he always seemed to be listening, noticing every little thing in that strangely observant way of his. Strange, patient, and kind: that’s him.
Strange, patient, and kind was what he looked like as he knelt down before Jack, so that Jack stood taller than him. But Jack refused to look at him. He kept his eyes on the weeds that poked between the grass near Mr. Armitage’s knee.
Jack refused to speak, too. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Mr. Armitage had no right to put him in trouble. No one could put him in trouble unless they were his mother.
But Mr. Armitage didn’t start scolding him. Instead, he sighed.
“Jack…what happened? Do you want to explain?”
"There's nothing to explain." Jack crossed his arms. He deemed enough time to have passed to look up and not bruise his pride. “I know I'm right.”
“About what?”
About what? About what? Of all the things to— Mr. Armitage should’ve known all this. He was the one who said he often visited other families like Jack’s and helped them, too. He was the one who’d spent months with them, had seen just how ‘well’ they were doing. How could he of all people not understand something so obvious?
“I know I need to divide my money properly. I know that I should put it where it'll help the most. I know that everything I need can be found somewhere else. If I knew that I'd be getting this much money from this—whatever this is—then I would've never come here at all.”
“Why not?”
"Because I don't belong here!" Jack finally snapped. “And I can't pretend I do either! Do I look like someone who wants to walk around looking like something I'm not? I don't! Those people—the kids and teachers and all of them—at this fancy school I'm going to can just learn to deal with it if they care so much about admitting someone like me.”
Mr. Armitage should’ve been angry. He had every reason to be angry, at Jack being difficult, at him going off like he was and being so rude to the adult in charge of him.
But he didn’t look angry. It didn’t make sense.
“But they do care about you. It's why you were given that much money to begin with. To even things out for you.”
“I don't need other people's charity.”
“You are not a charity case—no, no, listen to me—” Mr. Armitage pressed on, even as Jack tried to interrupt, “if you really were a charity case to them then do you honestly think the school would've given you so much? Think about it.”
It was like dropping an ice cube into a cup of hot water. It did not stop the steam, but ... it made Jack pause.
Mr. Armitage saw that and continued. “If they were only letting you in out of pity then they wouldn't have invested so much in you. Hogwarts wants you to do well. They want you to have all that you need to get a bright future for yourself.”
That…sounded wrong.
That’s not how Hogwarts should’ve worked. Everyone knew that wizards were involved with Hogwarts. Everyone knew that Hogwarts was full of the rich and powerful and the like. Because these were wizards. Absolutely none of what Mr. Armitage said sounded like anything one of them would want.
What Jack didn’t admit out loud was that he didn’t like that he was going to Hogwarts of all places, let alone that it was a rich, posh school. The other children had teased him about it ever since they’d found out. They’d said he’d go mad there, said they might as well get his funeral started since they’d never see him again. And those were the nicer things.
If it really was such a bad thing going to that school, then he didn’t want to go there anyways. He didn’t want to put in any effort or do well at it if all it got him was other people being annoying.
But Mr. Armitage wasn’t a wizard.
And yet…he was the one the government had sent, when the school had requested someone to go. A government created in a witch society.
Jack’s grip tightened.
“…I didn’t do anything wrong. My family needs this. I don’t.”
“…You are right to say that your family would have use for it, I will not deny that. Then, you tell me. Suppose you gave that to your family’s funds. How long do you think it would last?”
Jack hadn’t gone that far in his plans. He had to pause to think about it. “…Well, we do need to stock up on more dry foods. And the winter clothes need replacing this year. And we need to find someone to do repairs, like for the boundary wards in the bathroom and sitting room, and to de-worm the kitchen again, and…and…I don’t know?”
“That’s fine. Give me your best guess.”
“…Uh…three months, maybe?” Jack shrugged. He didn’t like that he really didn’t know, and that he’d never thought to ask his mother.
“Three months. This bag is supposed to last you a full year. Come next year and you’ll get another bag with the same amount. You spend as much as you need with this one, and I am perfectly sure that you will have some of it left over. Keep that money. Put it somewhere you can find it when you are in need.”
“But that’s a whole year away. I need it now! I want to do something now! I don’t want to go to school and know how bad I’ve left everything. What else am I supposed to do?”
If Jack didn’t have his hands full he would’ve thrown them up. This was getting ridiculous. He didn’t want to hear any of this “you’re helping them with a good education” or “you’ll be able to help more when you’re an adult” or other such empty assurances. They didn’t do anything to assure him. Either Mr. Armitage suggested something practical or Jack would stop listening and walk out.
He would’ve done it right then. He wanted to. What stopped him was when he saw Mr. Armitage’s eyes. He looked…so sad. Like someone had broken his heart.
“…I’m sorry.”
Jack froze, for no other reason than shock.
“I’m so sorry, both of you,” he looked between Jack and Emma, “I’m sorry you have had to live with this burden. It is a terrible thing, and no one should bear it, especially not you. My words aren’t helping you, I understand that. I wish…”
Mr. Armitage put his hand to his heart, his voice trailing off. He closed his eyes. After a moment, he nodded and opened them again.
From within his suit, he withdrew a tangle of thin, braided leather. On its end hung a small bell, glittering and golden in the morning light as if brand new.
“You see this?” He asked. “This here is a present that someone very dear gave to me a long time ago. Listen.”
He shook the bell. At first they heard nothing, only a faint hum.
Emma stepped forward, her hands extended. Mr. Armitage let her hold the bell and Emma shook it again.
“…I hear it!” She smiled. She made Jack lean closer and shook the bell for him.
Jack waited. Then he heard it. A single note, high and sweet and clear as a sunbeam. “…I hear it too.” He took the bell from Emma and rung it himself, and again the sound came.
“Then there is still hope.” Mr. Armitage said. “That person gave it to me when I needed something to believe in. Someone believed in me back then. And in that school someone believes in you, Jack. If I could keep my hope in them for all these years then I have no doubt that you—both of you—can keep that same hope alive in yourselves, too.”
They were more empty words. Not even a minute before and Jack would’ve refused them.
But something in his heart had melted. A hard, little knot of worry and fear and sadness and the ache of bones older than his creaking under the hand of a winter without end, it simply…vanished. It left him lighter, made it a little easier to breathe. To be happy. He hadn’t even realized how unhappy he was until that weight was gone.
Jack wasn’t stupid. He could guess that the bell in his hands had something to do with it. But it was very hard to be upset about that when he felt so oddly free.
It was hard to think that he’d been so scared and angry before. Scared that the money that was supposed to be his would be taken away, angry that he wasn’t being allowed to use it as he wished. He didn’t want to keep feeling like that, no one did, but he knew they would find their way to him again. Because nothing this good ever lasts.
But someday when he was older, when he looked back on this moment, would he be happy of the choice he’d made?
Mr. Armitage was trying to help. There were strangers out in the world, in a government that’d sent him and a school full of strangers who’d asked for him, who were all trying to help. Perhaps…perhaps he could believe them. Just for now. Just for a little while. For as long as the hope lasted, he would try to believe them and their help.
Jack looked down at the leather bag. A twist of guilt pinched his gut. It felt wrong to call that money his. It felt wrong to use it for himself. The feeling was familiar, but it was muted.
He’d…find a way to deal with it later. He’d think of another way to fix this. He would do it. But for now…for now he’d let this lightness have its way.
Jack gripped the feeling for a moment. Then he held up the bag.
“…I will agree to buy my supplies here. I will agree to go along with this for now. But if things change and I feel like I don't have a choice, then I'll do what I think is best for myself and the people I care about.”
“That is all I ask.” Mr. Armitage accepted the bag and bell.
He tucked them away and stood up. Together they walked out from between the buildings and took the left turn to the main square.
In the centre of the main square stood what was the first and possibly the largest statue that Jack had ever seen. Or rather, it was the first statue he’d met in person that extended so far above his head that if it were to spring to life one day then its iron foot would squish him as easily as the miniscule insect he felt like. The thought made him a little weak in the knees.
The statue was that of a mage. One of the most powerful mages to have crafted history.
She stood as tall as the highest of the buildings and wore miner's gear and a cape that floated in an imagined breeze. Her left hand held a lantern aloft, while her other clenched around a wand. The dulled grey of the metallic surface that had spent countless years exposed to the seasons only served to make the lines harsher, make it seem as if she’d been carved out from the stone she stood on. From the edges of the platform grew four signposts in the four cardinal directions, stretching out into graceful arches tall enough for an adult to easily walk under.
“That is the statue of Lucia, The Lady of the Light, one of the four great architects—which I’m sure you’ve heard plenty about. One interesting tidbit you should also know is that if you tap your wand to one of the signposts and walk under it, you will be transported to one of the other four magical avenues in the United Kingdom." Mr. Armitage walked them right up to the statue’s base. He obliged Emma when she asked for a boost so she could swing from one of the sign posts.
Jack stared up at it. Even from standing so close, he could make out the witch's strong jaw and deep-set eyes. The look in them made her appear solemn and stern. He wondered just how much she must've gone through to give her such a look. He wondered if someday he'd ever look as impressive as that or if he'd still remain a spindly twig even after he'd grown up.
Soon after, Mr. Armitage led them away. The first place they went to was a robe shop that called itself “Enchanting Robes for Enchanting Occasions”.
The sight of the front entrance was enough to make both siblings balk.
“This is so weird, this is so weird.” Jack muttered. Mr. Armitage had to all but march him in, the firm grip he had on Jack's shoulder carrying a promise of getting a lot firmer if he didn't cooperate. Meanwhile Emma seemed to be trying her best to both walk and mould herself into Jack's back and that was not helping his situation at all.
“Given that you'll be attending Hogwarts, I assure you that it will only get a lot worse from here on out. You'll just have to get used to it.” Mr. Armitage stated crisply. Then the shop keeper found them and he was all smiles.
The shop was run by a kind, cheerful, and erratically pretty woman named Giselle. No one had to worry about trying to separate Emma from her brother because the moment the older woman grabbed a-hold of Jack, she fled to hide behind Mr. Armitage. Like a traitor.
Giselle ushered a very flustered Jack onto one of the stools and spelled a measuring tape into taking his measurements, talking all the while about how lucky they were to have come before the actual morning rush or else there would've been such a big line and she wouldn't have had the time to talk to them like this, but then again the days between the school season and the time of the festival were always busy and she was certainly grateful for it but a peaceful morning every now and then was such a welcome thing, and on and on and on…
In between her bubbling flow of chatter, Mr. Armitage talked with her like it was perfectly natural and he wasn't overwhelmed or intimidated at all—unlike Jack—adding a word in here and there, about little details, like what good and remarkable children Jack and Emma were, how in all the time he'd known them they always tried to look out for each other and their oh so hardworking mother.
He mentioned those things casually but it was enough to make the seamstress go into a frenzy of emotion. The one saving grace that stopped the whole fiasco from becoming a mortifying fiasco was the fact that hardly any other customers were in the store and none of the those who were happened to be in hearing range. Or they’d already learnt to tune her out.
Not only did they get the orders for all of Jack's school robes and uniform ironed out, but by the end of it he had two new casual robes and an additional woollen cape, free of charge. They'd even purchased Emma a pretty set of winter robes and her own little cape to match.
“This feels like cheating.” Jack said. He watched as Mr. Armitage carefully tucked the folded robes into a corner of the carpet bag he'd brought with him. Next to them, Emma was still twirling around in her new cape and admiring herself in a window after she’d promised she’d let him pack it away in a minute.
The carpet bag was what truly marked Mr. Armitage as a mage, given he was the one who’d sewn in the runes used to lighten the load and expand the space within. That, and the runic tattoos that Jack could just barely see climbing up his wrists.
He’d only seen them properly once, and not even the full extent of them. They were very cool, though some of the mystery had gone out when he’d been allowed to touched them and they’d done nothing.
(They had to do something. He knew they did. But for some, infuriating reason Mr. Armitage decided that that was what he’d use to annoy Jack with, coming up with a new, bizarre reason every time he asked. Going to Uncle Vladimir didn’t help. Both of them seemed to be in on a joke that Jack still didn’t know and it was so vexing—)
Mr. Armitage chuckled. “Not exactly. In spite of appearances, I can assure you that Madame Giselle has been doing this for far too long to fall for such a thing. She knows the kind of children I work with and just so happens to be an incredibly kind soul.”
Jack was grateful for that and for her helping them, he really was. He was also sure that he could probably find it in himself to be more grateful just as soon as his cheeks stopped feeling so hot.
Next they went to a place that sold things like cauldrons, dragon hide gloves, weighing scales, glass bottles, and other such equipment that any self-respecting potioneer would need.
They got the standard potions ingredients at an apothecary—this one much larger than the one his mother had once worked the register for—with the wares all laid out on the shelves and display tables. Some were in trays, some pickled in jars, and a few of the livelier ones (Fresh ermine fur! Brush them yourself! Ermines not included in purchase) in cages.
While Mr. Armitage paid for them, Jack took extra care to make sure that the parcels containing the more fragile ingredients (not as many eyes or tongues as he’d expected, funny enough; most of them were dried and sealed in jars) were safely stored in the confines of the modest brass cauldron he'd picked out.
By the time they stepped out of there, the sun had rose high enough to signal the start of the mid-morning rush. The street was bustling with people who had come either for last minute school shopping or to prepare for the upcoming festival or even both, if what Jack heard in passing was true. After buying rolls of parchment and ink bottles from a store crammed right on the edge of the main square they—and by they, it was really Mr. Armitage—shouldered through the foot traffic that spat them into a large bookshop that was only a little less crowded inside than it was outside.
A bespectacled man stood up from behind the desk. “Hello! Hello and welcome, dear customers! And if it isn't young Christopher! To what do I owe the pleasure, lad?”
Mr. Armitage smiled warmly as he shook the hand offered to him. “Hullo, doctor. We’re out shopping for school books today.”
“Of course, of course. And I see you have some new faces with you.” The man gave them a once over. "First year at Hogwarts, I assume? Right this way, then.”
Between the milling customers and the stacks of books sorted into neat piles on the floor, they were led to a place near the front window display where there was already a crowd of parents calling out for their own books. Nudging one of the shop assistants aside, he made quick work of grabbing the ones he needed, not even bothering with a list.
He was just about to hand the stack over to Mr. Armitage when they all heard shouting. At the other end of the store stood a growing knot of people and various octaves of decidedly angry screams came from within it.
“Oh, bother. Not again. That would be the monster books, I’m afraid. If you'd excuse me—” He paused when Mr. Armitage waved him off.
Putting down the carpet bag, Mr. Armitage rolled up his sleeves—and Jack got an eyeful of that arm—and pulled out his wand. “Not to worry. I'll see what I can do. Jack, Emma, I won’t be long. Please stay here until I come back.” And then he was off, quickly disappearing into the growing chaos.
They watched him go. The shop owner sighed and put down the books.
“Such a responsible lad. Always has been.” He took off his spectacles and began to clean them.
“Are you really a doctor?” Emma asked.
The man regarded her with an air of amusement. “Like the muggles have? Goodness no. I am a Dr. Delbert Doppler of the entirely bookish variety, young lady. I also happen to be a licensed priest—and not the Christian one, before you ask—but that's more a result of me being an In-Betweener, as the youth call it.”
“You're a squib?”
“…And there’s another term, yes. Although technically it is somewhat inaccurate for the general state of affairs. And blessed I am every day to also be the husband of my lovely wife, Captain Amelia, and the proud father of our children. By the way, has anyone ever told you about her? She's the captain of a star fleet so that means she goes on adventures for a living.” As soon as he mentioned his wife, he started talking like someone who'd just been waiting for anyone passing by to get him started on his favourite topic.
While he entertained a dazzled Emma with talk of his space captain wife, Jack looked out the shop window.
When he wasn’t the one being swamped in the excitement, it was so much easier to see what was going on. They’d set up a temporary stage at the mouth of the square. A crowd had begun to gather around it, like something would be happening soon but he couldn’t see what.
Vendors had finally decided to make use of the foot traffic and set up their stalls. Not as many as would come later, but they were decorated just as brightly, in the same ribbons as the kind Emma had been waving around earlier. Last he remembered she’d left it tied to one of the signposts.
Jack craned his head, trying to see if he could find it. Except the statue had more children running around it, climbing up its base, tying their own ribbons to the different signposts. Jack blinked and for a second he was almost certain he saw a man disappear under one of them. But with all the people he could’ve just as well imagined it. How was it so crowded?
"Why, it's like this every year."
Oh. He’d said that part out loud. Jack looked up to find Dr. Doppler regarding him curiously.
Jack shrugged. “It’s our first time here, so…” Which was another way of saying he was a country boy who couldn’t properly remember being more than an hour away from home, and a crowded, busy home did not nearly compare to a crowded, busy, overwhelmingly stranger-y market.
Dr. Doppler’s eyes twinkled. “Stick around then and you’ll be in for a treat. Every year the celebrations for the summer festival that happen on this street are one of the biggest in all of England. There’ll be special events happening in all the major shops, treats galore, and a live performance at the end of the day, with magic fireworks to match. You’ll see more show variety magic everywhere here, come to think; amazing the things people come up with for celebrations. And, in addition to that, for all the five nights we light the lamp of our lady and it stays lit until the festival’s end.”
Dr. Doppler picked up one of the fallen books and held it out to Jack. It showed a picture of a stylized sun in its centre, with smaller symbols surrounding it. “This book goes into more detail about the historic festivals like this one. You can take my word that it’s one of the best for starting out.”
Jack opened the book. He waited while Emma flipped through the pages before returning it. “…When you say ‘the lamp of our lady’, do you mean the one for the statue of Lucia?”
“Lady Lucia Garcia Rosa Obrador, The Lady of the Light. Also known as The Architect, The Visionary, The First Stone Weaver. Considered to be one of the greatest magical engineers of our time, her bloodline runs strong and her descendants live on to this day. If you know your history, then you might have heard that she’s the one who built this street and created the signposts.”
“That's amazing!” Emma said, her face now pressed to the window.
“It is. And if you ever want to grow up to be like her then you'll be needing a strong basis in Arithmancy, my dear. Can't go bending space and stone if you don't know that.” Dr. Doppler gently tapped her head with one of the books before returning it to its stack.
“I wonder if I’ll be learning more about her this year.” There were storybooks, and many far-flung tales, about her and the people she changed the world with. She’d played a major enough role that there couldn’t not be some mention of her. But the history he’d learnt had only covered the basics.
“You're bound to, sooner or later—hm? What's that?” One of the shop assistants muttered something to Dr. Doppler. “We're running short on the seasonal books? Already? Oh bother, where is that boy? I'd asked Jim to help with the new shipments. Nevermind, nevermind, you take your break, Audrey. I'll handle it from here.”
He shooed away the assistant and peered into the shop's interior. “Now where is that lad? He should've finished up by now, at least.”
Jack squinted through the crowd. Then he pointed. “Found him.”
It was indeed Mr. Armitage, looking slightly ruffled around the edges but otherwise no worse for wear. He eventually reached them and after checking in with Jack and Emma, he thanked Dr. Doppler. In short order, the three had their books gathered up, paid for, and by the flow of the crowd were herded out the doors.
“Well, I got my morning exercise in, so that's fun.” Mr. Armitage shook out his wrist and Jack pretended not be intensely curious. “What's the next thing on our list, children?”
“A wand. It says here we need to get Jack a wand.” Emma pointed to the supply list, like the dutiful List Owner she’d been entrusted to be.
“There’s only one place for that around here. Follow me.” Mr. Armitage retook Jack and Emma's hands and the trio walked back into the street.
They made it out of the square, in the direction of the robes shop and opposite the bank. The further along they went the thinner the foot traffic grew, if only a little. The street took a long, winding turn, until a couple shops down there appeared a high, mossy brick wall marking the very end.
It was to one of those shops that Mr. Armitage led them. Small and unobtrusive, it was easy to miss between the two buildings that neighboured it. Over the door hung a painted sign that read Edevanes: Wands of Quality.
A bell rang as Mr. Armitage opened the door. Inside, the shop was cool, clean, and blessedly empty. The floor and walls were made of a light, almost yellow, wood and what few furnishings there were carried a pleasantly green colour scheme, though most of the space was reserved for rows and rows of shelves.
A few minutes after the bell rang they were greeted by a warm, pleasant voice. “Who is it?”
Mr. Armitage set the carpet bag down. “It is Christopher Armitage.”
From out of the shelves emerged a slender witch dressed in flowing green robes. What struck Jack the most about her were the deep brown eyes that peered out at them from her heart-shaped face. They lit up the moment they caught sight of Mr. Armitage.
She walked up to them and gave him a brief hug. “Hullo, Chris. It's good to see you again.”
“I'm happy to see you as well, Tiana.” He returned her hug and stepped back. “I wanted you to meet two of my current charges.”
Tiana looked to where he directed and saw Jack and Emma still standing in the door. They were at once treated to a dazzling smile that made dimples in her cheeks.
“And what would your names be?” She asked. If she was at all disturbed by their open staring she didn't show it.
Jack decided to take the lead and stepped forward.
“My name is Jackson Overland, but normally I go by Jack.” As was proper manners, he stuck out his hand.
Tiana politely shook it. “My name is Tiana and I am honoured to meet you. Are you the one I will be giving a wand to today?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Splendid.” Tiana nodded. Then she turned to Emma. “And who might you be?”
Emma, who at that moment was partially hidden behind Jack, had decided to be shy.
Jack could understand why. The shop was clean and well-kept, the robes the witch wore were pretty, and the witch herself even more so. Compared to Emma, who stood in her faded clothes and limp brown hair, and it wasn't all that hard to figure out the reason.
“…'m Emma.” She mumbled, her voice nearly retreating into her.
Jack gave her an unimpressed look. Emma blushed and stepped out.
Making a show of dusting her skirt off, she introduced herself properly. “My name is Emma Overland. It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am.”
“And it is wonderful meeting you as well, Emma.” Tiana took the hand that was offered to her in both of hers. Her fingers were unadorned except for a single ring, set with a deep green gemstone and surrounded by tiny diamonds that glittered in the light.
She smiled when she saw Emma staring at it and held it up for both of them to see. “This is my wedding ring. Isn't it pretty?”
“It's very pretty.” Emma nodded, mesmerised.
“Thank you. It was given to me by a prince.”
“A prince?”
“It's true.” Mr. Armitage said as Tiana stood. “I would like to introduce you both to Princess Tiana Edevane ot Maldonia, married to the crown prince of Maldonia.”
That did the trick. Shyness gone and forgotten, Emma’s face alighted with joy.
“Does that mean you live in a castle?” She asked, bouncing on her toes.
Tiana chuckled. “Not at all. I visit sometimes but I mostly live here.”
Emma opened her mouth to ask another question but paused. Her brows scrunched up in thought.
“If you get to be a princess…then why are you a wandmaker?”
“Because this store, as well as the gift of wandmaking, belong to my family.” Tiana said, sweeping a hand out to the store. “My family, Edevane, has been making wands for millennia. Ever since I was young, I have always wanted to learn the craft. This is my family's legacy, and even after I married I still wished to keep it alive.”
Tiana turned back at Emma. “If it's any consolation, I can tell you first-hand that it is possible to be a princess and also follow your dreams. Now then, come!” She clapped her hands together. “Enough of this dilly-dallying. We don’t know how long this might take so let us get on with it.”
Tiana waved Mr. Armitage and Emma over to the plush stools huddled near the door. She passed by her desk and pulled out a tape measure with silvery markings along its edges, and then with one slim hand she reached out and took Jack's chin.
For a moment Jack felt immobilized. The hand on his chin held him steady, as dark and deeply brown as the eyes that seemed to peer right into his soul. It lasted hardly a second but it felt much longer.
Tiana made an amused, huffing sound. Her hand withdrew. “You have a solid streak of mischief in you, child. I would call it an obvious Dogwood if it didn't feel so predictable. Arms out, please.” She took up her tape measure and began to measure him. “But then again, that mischief I saw was tempered with goodwill and responsibility.”
“You saw it?” Jack asked. Had she really been staring into his head?
“In a sense, yes. I have a talent for this kind of thing. Always have. There are also other things I saw in you, both within and without. Clever eyes, kind heart. Loyalty, certainly. Aspen might do. Or perhaps Reed…”
That last part she said to herself as she wandered off into the shelves, the tape measure continuing to measure without her. She soon returned with an armful of thin, long boxes.
“Here we are. Now before we begin, I shall go over the basics.” Tiana laid the boxes on the floor. From out of her robe sleeve she slid out her own wand.
“To keep your wand attached to you, what you want to do is take the base of your wand such that the wand is pointed away from you, like so,” she did this with hers, “tap it to your wrist—inner or outer, whichever works—then circle the base around your wrist, tap the spot again, and you're done.”
Tiana let go, but instead of her wand falling to the ground, it hung mid-air as if suspended by an invisible thread. “This is a weak spell that anyone regardless of age or ability can perform, and it can be broken by just giving the wand a good tug. This is also a standard issue spell that will ensure your wand doesn't go flying out of your hand. I have seen far too many wands go flying into shelves, people, and even myself and I do not wish to see that again if I can help it. Please also take care not to poke yourself in various body parts or in any of the furniture while you're testing out these wands. Did you get all of that? Lovely. Let's try these out.”
Tiana opened a box at the top of the stack. “Dogwood, unicorn hair core. Twelve inches. Springy and rather flexible.”
It was in Jack's hand for hardly a second before she snatched it away.
“Just as I thought. Predictable.” She tsked, returning the wand and pulling out another. “Walnut, unicorn hair core. Nine and a half inches. Try this on for size.”
This time Jack got to hold it for longer. He waved it around some but all that came out was a weak shower of sparks.
“…Better than nothing. But not good enough.” Tiana offered a different wand, this one bone white. “Aspen, dragon heartstring core. Ten inches. An agreeable wand, good for detailed spells.”
Jack held it and didn't feel anything. Nothing happened when he waved it.
They went through six more wands before Tiana stood up, muttering to herself.
“Perhaps…or it could be…but would it work?” She went back to the shelves. A few minutes later she returned with two boxes.
She opened both of them and pointed to one. “Chestnut, dragon heartstring core. Nine inches.” She pointed to the other. “Cedar, unicorn hair core. Eleven inches. Give them a try.”
Jack took the first one but it felt the same as the others. He gave it back and took the second.
That was when he felt it. A warm feeling travelled up his arm, bubbly and energizing. He drew the wand down and slashed it up in a bright arc of white and golden sparks.
Tiana beamed. “There we go. That's more like it. What do you say, Chris?”
From near the door, Mr. Armitage and Emma clapped. “I'd say we’ve found a winner.” Armitage said.
Jack smiled so hard his cheeks hurt. He felt amazing, exhilarated. He couldn't wait to start learning the spells his wand would cast.
But for the time being he let Tiana take it. When she held it, it was with gentle hands and far away eyes. “…It does suit you, now that I think about it.”
“What do you mean?” Jack asked.
“It's just…I know the unicorn from which the hair within this wand came from.” Tiana looked down at him. Her smile was just a touch amused. “He…had a personality in him, let's just say. It fits. A fine, clever wand, just like its user.”
The other wands were cleared away by shop assistants made out of odd, little wooden animatrons. Jack's new wand was packed into a box lined with velvet and paid for with seven galleons.
While they were finishing up the purchase, a few other customers clamoured into the store. Jack made absolute sure his new wand was kept safely away before he allowed Emma to drag him out the door.
“Finally! I'm hungry.” Emma whined. Now that she said it, Jack realized he was too.
By then it was just about midday and the street was well and truly packed. The weathervane from before had done its job and the sun rode high in the sky, uninterrupted and blazing. The summer air brought the distant sounds of music. It also brought the scent of food, thin enough that it was hard to place exactly what it was, only that it came mixed with the smell of dust, sweat, and heat off the cobblestones.
Mr. Armitage checked his wrist. “The watch says it's now quarter to twelve. Our shopping is just about done, and your mother should be expecting us. Shall we go find her?”
“But can we still eat here?” Emma asked, leaning dramatically into his side.
“Yes, yes, of course we can. There's a nice inn we can go to where they—…oh.” Mr. Armitage trailed off. One of his hands came over his eyes and he squinted into the distance. “…Oh my.”
Jack twisted his head around to try and see what he was looking at. Next moment his eyes went wide. “Is that—”
“IT IS!” Emma shrieked. Her near mad dash into the street was ended by Jack and Mr. Armitage each grabbing an arm.
Across from them was none other than The Lucky Cat Café.
In the magical side of England, The Lucky Cat Café was something of an urban legend. The sweets and treats sold in the café were rumoured to be the stuff of legends—delicious, intricate, and each and every one unique in all the ways that no one else could replicate.
But in spite of its popularity and high demand, the café had one peculiarity. It was a café that would pop up for a few days in a single location only to disappear into thin air and not be seen again for months on end. No one could ever predict when or where it would show up after that, not even those who considered themselves familiar with the café and its owner. The one thing that stayed constant over the years was the fact that it would inevitably show up on one of the five magical streets during festivals and holidays.
And wonder of wonders, it was that very same cafe that occupied that very street for that year's summer festival.
Mr. Armitage tried to keep up with the two as they dragged him there. “Slow down, slow down! The cafe isn't going anywhere.”
“Yet.” Jack said.
Emma windmilled her free arm. “We're getting cake!”
“A whole cake.”
“For mum!”
“And we'll all share.”
“Can we get strawberry? Let's get strawberry!”
“Let's see what's there first.” Mr. Armitage interrupted.
They finally reached the cafe entrance and together Jack and Emma pushed open the glass doors. It was a momentous occasion.
To everyone’s surprise, the cafe was nowhere near as packed as it should've been. Only half the quaint little tables were occupied, one of the customers being a man Jack vaguely recognised seeing in the bank earlier. Three people stood in line at the counter.
Now that they were inside, Emma left them and shot right to the nearest display case, nose pressed to the glass.
“So pretty! So pretty!” She gushed.
“Thank you! Which one would you like?”
Behind the counter stood a young-ish looking adult with pink spectacles and dark blonde hair done up in a bun. The name tag over her apron read “Ramona/Honey Lemon”.
Jack walked up to them while Emma shuffled her feet, undecided.
“…Which ones are good?” She asked.
Ramona—according to her name tag—smiled down at the two of them. “I'd say all of them. I helped make them.”
Jack felt more than saw Mr. Armitage lean over him to get a look at the offered sweets himself. “Are you the one who runs this café?”
“Nope! I'm just a friend of the family. Ms. Hamada is out at the moment so I'll be helping you with your orders today.”
“You talk strange. Are you not from England?” Jack asked her. Mr. Armitage made to chide him but Ramona simply laughed.
“It’s that obvious, isn't it? Yeah, no, I'm not from anywhere here, just visiting from America. I crossed over the pond for the summer and then I’ll be gone again. Now, what can I get you kids?”
They spent a good, long while looking over the display cases. Cakes, biscuits, sweet rolls, fudges and toffees, piles of candies that Jack couldn't recognise (according to a display card, one of them was called “dango” and they came on a stick), and a number of colours for each—there were so many things to choose from. Ramona pointed out a board behind her that gave that day's special, but on hearing “coffee walnut cake” both children made a face.
They decided on a fluffy looking mixed berries and cream cake and about 2.5kg worth of bite-sized caramel squares. For the sake of Emma, who made sure to remind them that she was only six years old and had spent the entire morning being very good and very patient, Mr. Armitage asked if the children could have a “smoothie” at one of the tables.
“Whatever that is.” Mr. Armitage said, while his two charges sniggered.
“It's made with milk and fruits. It's very good.” With a wave of her wand, Ramona made some chopped fruit fly into a metal tumbler. She sealed it and tapped her wand to the outside. “Isn't that right, Haru?”
This she directed to the teenage girl who sat at the register. Her name tag read “Haruna/Mint” and with the line of waiting customers being long gone she perched on the stool behind the desk counting up the earnings, her pen idly wandering over the paper by itself.
“Hm? What?” She looked up. “…Ah, yes, it's good.” Then she went back to counting.
Ramona chuckled and shook her head, pulling out a tall glass. “By any chance, have you come here for school shopping?”
“We did. How did you know?” Jack asked.
“Well it's not your sister who needs it and you look about old enough. You hear that, Haru? Your new junior's shopping here.”
Suddenly, the teenager took on a new light. She was a Hogwarts student? On the same street as him, on the same day he’s here. What were the odds?
A mix of emotions bubbled up. Surprise? Delight? Confusion? Curiosity? Jack didn’t know. What he did know was that his first reaction was to open his big mouth pelt her with questions.
“You go to Hogwarts? How long have you been going? What year are you in? What's it like there? Will I see you there? Wait—how did you get in, because I—”
Jack finally noticed the girl staring at him like he’d grown another head. He realized too late that 1) he hadn’t even introduced himself, 2) he was being rude, and 3) he probably sounded like an idiot.
“I—I mean, you don’t have to answer any of that, of course you don’t, I mean I probably didn’t make any sense—not that I’m saying you—um, I, I think I should’ve told you my name first, or at least…I…I’m sorry…”
Haruna made no comment. She just continued to stare, until Jack petered off and looked away, warm in the face.
The distinct sound of a pen clacking against a hard surface made him look up again. Haruna leaned forward at the register, until her face was just a little higher than his. A few whisps of hair swayed at the motion, loose from her ponytail.
“…If you end up in Gryffindor, then maybe you can ask me again.” She held up a brown paper bag of caramel squares between them and raised a single, pointed eyebrow. “Good luck.”
Jack didn't know what to make it that. So he quietly took the offered bag and shuffled back to the others.
They sat at a table near the wall and he and Emma made quick work of the smoothie. (“It's apple, want to try?” “No thank you, children, I'm fine.”) By popular vote it was decided that the cake had a better chance of staying whole inside the carpet bag than out and that Mr. Armitage would personally hold the caramel squares to avoid the other two possibly snacking on them.
They walked outside, hand-in-hand, slowly making their way up the road and past the main square. After that it was a matter of searching for the right side-street to take them back to where they’d started.
In spite of the busy morning, the feeling of ‘lightness’ still had its hold on Jack. It filled his head with thoughts of how relieved he was that the shopping was finally done, how he was looking forward to the rest of the day spent having fun with his family.
Mr. Armitage peer down at him. “You look happy.”
“I am happy.” Jack said. And, surprisingly, it was true.
“I’m glad, then. That’s good.” He squeezed his hand, a reassurance. “Does that mean you might try and get used to all this?”
Jack looked around. He looked at the colourful shop fronts, the decorations that hung everywhere, the bright flowers that perched over the doors and pinned to the occasional hat of a passer-by. From a nearby stall rose the smell of fried food, salty and sweet and fragrant.
“…Maybe.” He shrugged, and left it at that.
.°○♤○°.
A/N:
- Here's a picture I drew of Jack and Emma's outfits.
- What's this made-up festival you ask? What is this made-up street? Why is any of this significant? Wait and see, wait and see…
- In Hindi, Deeya means lamp. I thought it a good fit.（*＾-＾*）
- I think my favourite parts of this chapter were the wand selection and that bit of lore about The Lucky Cat Cafe. Which ones were yours?
#jack frost#rise of the guardians#rotg#rise of the brave tangled dragons#hogwarts au#fanfiction#fanfic#fluff#my writing#kid fic#b1: tfy#rotbtd hogwarts au
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