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flyaway-33 · 5 years

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Queen Rock Hogwarts: Chapter One

Queen Hogwarts AU based off of this headcanon.

Crossposted on AO3 under username Flyaway_33

Chapter One: I Want to Break Free

Roger was a small boy. He was at least a head shorter than all his peers and couldn’t keep up well in sports, simply just being too small and vulnerable compared to other boys his age. Though he was athletic and energetic, his size inhibited him more than he cared to think about. He knew he was different, small— weak, even, but he also knew he had abilities other kids didn’t have. First of all, he was incredibly musically talented, and second, he was a wizard.

He knew about magic but his father forbid it. Roger, his mother, and his sister were punished any time they mentioned or exhibited magic. Roger’s mother had hidden her abilities for years because she had fallen in love with a muggle and his father never knew until one day when Roger was seven, he began to exhibit magical abilities having broken his bedroom window just with a scream during a temper tantrum. Another time when he was upset with his sister because she lost one of his toy cars, he accidentally made a dish of water fly off the kitchen counter and spill over her head. His father witnessed both inexplicable events, and in a moment of bravery, his mother told him the truth: that she and both their children were magical. That was the first time Roger saw his father hit his mother, and the first time his father had grabbed him by the collar and called him a freak, forbidding him to acknowledge his abilities. His little sister, who at that point still hadn’t discovered her abilities was spared from the violence, and Roger had vowed then that, should she really be magical too, he would keep her safe.

Thus began the lying game. Winnie kept her children safe by teaching them how to control their abilities. They never spoke of magic because even the smallest hint of it would send their father into a violent rage. Roger and Clare’s abilities were ignored and discouraged. They were taught to pretend they weren’t special, that they weren’t different. They pretended that magic didn’t exist, because every time one of them lost their temper or were frightened and a little magic would slip out, they could be sure to be put in their place by their father. They pretended until Roger’s eleventh birthday when their father wasn’t home, an owl flew in through their open kitchen window and dropped a heavy letter on the table, immediately swooping over their heads and out the window, gone as quick as it had appeared. It was addressed to Mister Roger Taylor in flawless script and a wax seal with an unfamiliar crest stamped into it kept the envelope shut.

Five days later at Kings Cross was a hard one. Roger’s mother Winnie, who desperately created a facade that she was sending the Roger to a boarding school for troubled kids, had snuck both children out of the house early that morning so that she could take them shopping in Diagon Alley for the supplies Roger needed for the real school she was sending him off to: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was a culture shock for the frightened siblings and they were glued to each others’ sides all day as Winnie led them through the streets filled with odd sights, sounds, and characters. His mother and sister cried when they sent Roger, clad in his neatest, yet still too big, maroon sweater and khaki uniform pants off onto the looming Scarlett train at King’s Cross, but Winnie was relieved that her boy could go somewhere he could learn to be himself without being punished for it.

“Hello, darling. This seat taken?”

Roger sat alone in one of the train’s compartments facing the empty bench across from him. He was both frightened and excited all the same, and was bound and determined to make friends, so when the scrawny boy with dark tresses, buck teeth, and olive skin poked his head through the door of the compartment Roger gave his bravest smile and welcomed the boy in. The boy traipsed into the compartment revealing more of himself to Roger. He was a slight boy dressed in an emerald green polo and neat, black uniform pants. A rather large, silver embroidered serpent glittered menacingly from his left breast pocket and what appeared to be a small ruby glinted as its eye.

“Hi, I’m Roger,” he silently cursed his high, breathy voice as he stuck his hand out. The boy gave him a toothy grin and shook it once.

“Freddie.” He answered confidently. “I’m a second year Slytherin. Are you ready to be sorted? Oh, I just can’t wait to see everyone join their houses!” He exclaimed, plopping down onto the seat across from Roger. “It’s such an exciting event, finding out where you’ll be for the next seven years! Oh, you must be excited darling, aren’t you?”

“I’m not sure, I dunno much about any of this.” Roger nervously looked down at his sneakers, a ratty old pair of chucks. His feet didn’t even touch the floor of the compartment due to his small size, and he felt sub-par sitting across from Freddie’s immaculate outfit. “Just found out I was going to be allowed to come here five days ago, actually.”

“What do you mean you just found out? Are your parents muggles?” Freddie looked utterly confused as his eyes searched the tiny blond boy before him.

“What’s a muggle?”

“They must be,” Freddie sighed, his face falling into a brooding expression, “Its a non-magic person.”

“Oh, no, my mother is a witch, apparently. Dad is a muggle, then, I guess.”

“Apparently?”

“Yeah. We never really talked about it but she has… abilities… like my sister and me.”

“Ah. I see.” Freddie gave him a strange look for a moment as though he were reading him like a book before his expression changed in an instant and the toothy, mischievous grin returned. “You’re a half-blood, then. Lovely. I’m pure blood, my parents are descended from a prestigious line of ancient Indian Parsi wizarding families.”

“Oh.” Roger hummed, unsure of what any of that meant. Was Freddie better than him because of his pure-blood heritage? That’s what it sounded like, but Roger wasn’t offended, he just wanted to figure things out before he made a fool of himself.

“Hey, Freddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you— uh, could you tell me about this, this school? I don’t know anything about it. I’m going into all this completely blind.” He felt tears welling in his eyes and a lump forming in his throat, but he forced it all back, determined to preserve his pride and protect himself in this strange new culture. He was terrified, but he knew he had to stay strong, he’d always had to hide his emotions at home for risk of accidentally triggering his magic, and that never ended well. Though he struggled to conceal his anger or frustration whenever those emotions welled up, he was excellent at hiding his fear and sadness. As a small, young boy who had only turned eleven five days ago he certainly had the steely emotional composure of a much older boy. Conceal, don’t feel.

“Of course, darling.” Freddie’s kind, warm eyes softened and raked over the small boy, a combination of pity and hopefulness shining through them. He’d noticed the brief emotion in Roger’s expression but he chose not to comment directly and instead Freddie spoke as though he knew everything he was feeling. Those brown eyes looked like they were peering into Roger’s soul. As he began to explain the school, he proceeded in a chronological order, explaining to the small boy what he would see as he arrived at the school, what the houses were, and what to expect in his first classes.

The two boys spent the rest of the train ride in deep conversation as Freddie explained everything he could bring to mind about the magical school as Roger sat listening, starry-eyed and asking a plethora of questions. They’d been engrossed in conversation for at least an hour when a lanky boy with a wild halo of dark pin curls surrounding his head unceremoniously threw open the compartment door and glided in. He was dressed in clean, dark black robes and a neat blue and bronze tie: not a thing about his outfit wasn’t perfectly in place.

“Hello. I’m Brian,” he stuck his hand out for Roger to shake as he peered down his nose at the child, “Second year Ravenclaw. And you are?”

“Roger. First year.” He took his hand and gave it a firm shake, hoping his feigned confidence would mask how overwhelmed he felt inside.

“Well, lovely to meet you, mate. Looking forward to seeing where you end up.” Brian then turned to Freddie. “Oi, you need to put on your robes, we’re nearly there.” Then back to Roger. “You too, Roger, but keep your sweater underneath, you’ll be sailing across the lake. Tradition for first years. Can’t have you freezing your arse off if we can avoid it, yeah?”

“Oh, okay. Th-thanks for the heads up.” Roger’s eyes had gone wide and he felt panic swelling in his chest. He couldn’t swim.

“Ah yes, the boats.” Freddie mused. “Brian and I met on the train last year and sailed over together. Nasty weather we had. He fell in and caught pneumonia, imagine that.”

“What?!” Roger squeaked before recomposing himself. “I mean… How did that happen?”

“Oh we were messing around,” Freddie laughed, examining his fingernails in an aloof manner. “My fault, really. He was trying to stop me from putting my head in the lake. It was a dare from another boy who ended up in Slytherin with me.”

Brian rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You won’t fall in, just don’t be an idiot and don’t interfere with other idiots. Go on now, get dressed.” Brian turned on his heel and waved his hand in a passive goodbye as he glided out the door.

“Bossy, isn’t he, Rog?” Freddie asked with a mischievous smile as he dug through his satchel for his robes.

“Mhm.” Roger hummed in affirmation as he got his own robes out. Where Freddie’s had the crest of what he’d told Roger was Slytherin House’s, Roger’s simply had the Hogwarts crest. He wondered where he would end up, seeing as he couldn’t label himself with any of the attributes Freddie had described for the houses when he was explaining Hogwarts. He guessed the sorting hat would just have to choose at random.

Roger stood among the other first years with his arms wrapped around himself, trembling from a combination of excitement and fear as he watched the largest man he’d ever seen in his life direct the children into a fleet of small row boats. The man was intimidating with his booming voice but he wasn’t what had him so worked up. It was his fear of drowning that struck fear into his heart as he was shepherded toward the dark, murky lake. He desperately looked around for anyone to talk to so that he could distract himself, and his eyes landed on a lanky, slouching boy who was standing by himself close by.

The boy had reddish brown hair that grew past his ears and wore a focused yet nervous look on his face. Roger was very social and wasted no time stepping over to him with a cocky smile to mask his fear.

“What a welcome, eh?” He chuckled, desperate to start a conversation, but his voice shook ever so slightly. ‘Damn it, Roger.’ he thought to himself, clenching his jaw as he waited for a response.

“Yeah, quite lovely,” replied the boy sarcastically with a very obviously northern accent. “Though I’d much rather join the general population in those charmed buggies.

Roger glanced over to where Freddie had split off to where large carriages seemed to be pulled along by nothing. It sent a shiver down his spine, but the prospect of being in a self propelling carriage seemed much less frightening than the idea of being thrown overboard and drowning, so he nodded in agreement.

“The name’s Roger.” he grumbled as he tightened his arms around himself nervously.

“John.” The other boy hummed. “You alright there, Roger?”

The boys had been directed into the last row boat with a few other first years, but there were no oars to be seen. Roger gulped as his trembling worsened, but he kept his expression stony, his jaw set, as they stepped on. “I’m— I’m fine, John.”

John’s expression softened. “No need to be scared, mate.” He said in a low voice so others wouldn’t hear. “Its just magic.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Yes you are. If it makes you feel better, I’m scared too.”

Roger raised his eyebrows and glanced over at John in question.

“I’m scared I won’t make friends.”

“You’ve just made one. I’m scared of falling in and drowning.”

John smiled at roger’s sentiment. “You won’t. We lucked out with the weather. Just sit, we’ll be there soon.”

Their boat began to glide forward completely unaided and Roger held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He peeked one eye open as cool air blew through his hair in an almost soothing manner, and he relaxed as he realized how steady the boat felt beneath him. His confidence grew and he leaned his face into the wind, his eyes heavy, savoring the sweet earthy smell of the air, so unlike the sea breeze back home. He felt strangely comforted by the new scent and had a strong sense of hope in his heart. This was a new beginning.

The whirlwind of emotions Roger felt when he stepped foot in Hogwarts for the first time nearly knocked him off his feet. After years of hiding his magic while his father literally fought tooth and nail to keep him ‘normal’, he’d felt like he was finally home. He was finally free.

A head shorter than all the other first years, he got lost in the sea of excited children on the way up to the front of the great hall. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of the immense ceiling that seemed to vanish into the stars of the clear night sky, lost in the awe and wonder of all these new magical sights and sounds. There was uproarious chatter of housemates reuniting after a summer apart, and what appeared to be ghosts floating around the Great Hall greeting students as the first years were led to the front. He was overwhelmed, taking it all in as sorting began and he neglected to pay attention until a familiar name was called and his new friend left his side.

“John Deacon” rang the shrill witch’s voice from beside the stool where the sorting hat sat in waiting.

A fold in the hat seemed to open up in a smile as the hat settled on John’s head. “Hufflepuff!” It shouted in a clear, booming voice.

Great. All his friends were in different houses. What was he supposed to hope for? Roger scanned the hall in search for Freddie and Brian as John shuffled toward the Hufflepuff table which was adorned with cheery yellow banners with equally as cheery students welcoming him in. He spotted Brian’s curly mop at the Ravenclaw table swathed in a sea of blue, but had a harder time finding Freddie as the Slytherin table was farther away and Freddie had a significantly less noticeable silhouette. He looked hard at the far table, narrowing his eyes in attempt to focus them enough to pick out his friend as he silently cursed his poor eyesight. He noticed a shape at the end of the table that resembled Freddie. He and another figure who appeared to be a young girl with auburn hair were greeting first years warmly as they joined the house.

Roger was soon lost in thought once more as his gaze traveled over the students and professors surrounding him. Names were called, children sorted, and the cloud of first years soon dwindled down to just Roger and a few other boys. The one beside him was the closest Roger could see to being almost as short as him, which was a bit of a comfort. He had a curtain of straight, black hair hiding most of his features from the side, and he had been eerily quiet and still during the sorting. Roger glanced at him curiously, as the boy seemed to not care at all as his name was called “Severus Snape” and he was sorted into Slytherin before the hat was even fully on his head. He seemed to have known where he was going and had a near painful air of indifference.

Then Roger remembered that S was right before T, and that meant—

“Roger Taylor.” He was next.

His mind went blank as he set his jaw in determination and straightened to his full height, head held high. With as much feigned confidence as he could muster, he marched up to the stool and hopped up onto it as the witch lowered the hat onto his head, his feet swinging above the floor in false merriness as he waited for his answer. The hat must’ve been thinking, of course. Roger didn’t know where he belonged either, he couldn’t blame it. But then—

“Gryffindor!” It shouted with grandeur. The table draped in scarlet erupted with cheers and Roger jumped down off the stool as a small smile played at his lips. What had Freddie called this house? The courageous ones? His smile grew as he approached the table. He was home.

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