Fic: The Getting of Magic (X-Men First Class/Harry Potter fusion) Chapter 3

[lilacsigil]

Back to Chapter 2




Charles applauded when Raven was sorted into Hufflepuff. They looked like a friendly lot, and Raven was desperate for friends. She'd been stuck at home most of her life due to her tendency to let her appearance slip when she was excited. The boy they'd helped at King's Cross, Erik, was sorted into Gryffindor, and a little further down the queue, Cain was sent to Hufflepuff along with Raven. This made Charles frown: he was close to the end of the line, and had no idea where he was going. He didn't want Raven left alone in a dormitory with Cain if he could help it. Not that Charles wanted to be in a dormitory with Cain either, but he'd turned Cain into a statue once and nobody had been too cross about it, so perhaps he could do it again. If he was in another house, maybe a word to the Hufflepuff Prefects would be a good idea.

At least Charles wasn't dead last, as he usually was. An Asian boy and girl were behind him: they obviously knew each other, as they were speaking in their own language. Charles wished he knew what it was. He watched the Sorting continue: Hank McCoy to Ravenclaw, Angel Salvatore to Slytherin, Alex Summers to Gryffindor. Well, he'd know someone wherever he went, at least. The boy in front of him, Jack Winters, was Sorted into Slytherin almost the moment he put the hat on his head, and then it was Charles' turn. He resolved to concentrate on Hufflepuff.

"Here you are, lad," Dumbledore said, leading him to the stool and plopping the hat unceremoniously on his head.

"Hello, Charles!" the Sorting Hat said in his mind.

"Oh, hello! You do that mind-speech thing that I can do sometimes! Do you really have four brains?"

"Someone was listening to my song, I see. I have parts of four minds, which is not exactly the same thing, but I preferred 'brains' on a poetic level."

"I wasn't aware hats could write poetry."

"With a great deal of practice, the same as anyone else. Now, Charles, where do you think you belong."

"Hufflepuff, please!"

"Hmm. It would be a good fit for you – you are a very responsible boy who cares about other people."

"May I go, then?"

"No, no, I haven't decided yet. You have ambition, and bravery too, but I can see what makes you tick under all that social conscience: knowing how things work. RAVENCLAW!"

Charles staggered up as the hat was lifted from his head and headed for the Ravenclaw table, as they cheered his arrival. They sat him down at the bench between to Hank and a pretty brown-haired girl and settled down again fairly quickly: it had been a long wait and the Sorting wasn't quite done yet.

The last two – Shiro and Mariko Yoshida – were sorted into Gryffindor and Hufflepuff respectively and Charles was looking around to see if any food had appeared when a translucent woman in a long dress floated into the middle of the table.

"Hello, new Ravenclaws," she said, her voice whistling in a very odd way.

"First Years, this is our House Ghost, the Grey Lady," the female prefect said, proudly.

Hank snorted. "But there's no such thing as ghosts!"

The Grey Lady floated over to him, her legs and torso sinking through the table so her face ended up on a level with his. "You may consider me any kind of creature you wish, but I assure you, Mr McCoy, that I once lived, was slain, and yet continue to exist in this form. 'Ghost' is but one term, but commonly used."

Hank nodded enthusiastically. "I'm glad we can actually converse and you're not just going to float around startling people. It would be very interesting to discuss this with you."

"You'll be here seven years – plenty of time!" Filius called out, as the rest of the table giggled and poked at each other. "Yes, Hank, someone always wants to analyse the Grey Lady! There's a book of observations up in our Common Room so that you can draw on the wisdom of Ravenclaws past."

Hank flushed bright red but looked rather pleased anyway. Charles grinned – he was disappointed not to be sharing a House with Raven, but a house with her name seemed like the next best thing. He glanced over at the next table and Raven spotted him, waving frantically. He returned the wave and she grinned, her hair shimmering to bright red. Students around her gasped in amazement and the red-haired boy she was sitting with patted her locks, then she was drawn into a tangle of friendly little Hufflepuffs and Charles turned back to his own table. In the moments he had looked away, an enormous feast had magically appeared in front of them. There were steaming hot dishes of all kinds, from plates piled high with roast vegetables to great meat pies with slices already cut, and thyme-scented roast chicken. The etiquette appeared to be to dig into anything in front of you and load up your plate with the big serving cutlery, so Charles followed the lead of the others, as much as he felt awkward and rude doing so. He supposed it was probably the most efficient way to feed so many people at once, and at least they weren't doing what he'd heard about at other schools, where the youngest pupils had to serve the elder before they got to eat anything themselves.

Eventually, the savoury dishes cleared themselves away and were replaced with even more plates, of dessert this time. Charles had eaten so much that he felt his entire torso was stuffed with food. He somehow managed to get in a bit of chocolate ice cream anyway, and leaned away from the table a little to make room for it in his stomach.

The clear sound of a bell came from the teachers' table, and everyone slowly began to hush. When they did, the dishes vanished from the table, and an elderly man with soft, flowing white hair and a short beard stood up from his seat at the centre of the row of teachers.

"Ahem! Welcome back to Hogwarts! I hope you are all well-rested and your brains have become nice and empty, ready to be filled again."

Charles scowled at this – he certainly didn't have an empty head – and glanced around to see that his fellow Ravenclaws weren't too pleased by this turn of phrase, either.

"For those newly arrived, I am Headmaster Armando Dippet. I trust that your days here will be both happy and productive." He stopped to cough, but took only a few moments to sip his wine before continuing. "We have two new teachers this year: Persephone Merrythought is taking over her mothers' position in Defence Against the Dark Arts – many of you will remember her from her visiting lectures last year."

Dumbledore was watching Dippet very closely as he said this, though Charles didn't know why. If Professor Merrythought was the new teacher, shouldn't Dumbledore be keeping an eye on her?

"Our second new teacher is Daniel Shomron, who joins us from Tripoli. He will be teaching Astronomy, plus advanced classes in Legilimency for sixth and seventh year students only. Now, our caretaker Mr Pringle has asked me to remind you all that there is to be no magic in the halls between classes, and Groundskeeper Ogg has asked me to reiterate that the Forbidden Forest is, in fact, forbidden to all students unless in the company of a teacher or Mr Ogg himself. There are dangerous creatures living there which could quite easily eat a student, and we want to keep this year incident free." He cleared his throat. "Now, sleep well, and wake bright and early tomorrow for your first day of classes."

He sat down, to mild applause, and people started to get up from the tables.

"All First Years, please remain seated!" Filius called out, and the female prefect hurried around to their side of the table to make sure that none of them were wandering off.

"I'm Chava Prydeman," she said to the seven First Years – three boys and four girls, the only house with more girls than boys in First Year – "Filius and I are the people to speak to if you have any problems at all. Don't be shy – it's our job to help you."

Everyone else poured out the doors, leaving only prefects and little knots of First Yearsin the Great Hall. Filius floated up to the table so that he could speak to all of them at once.

"Now, who do we have?" He pointed to each student in turn. "Moira Kinross, Tanya Trask, Larry Trask – Are you two related?"

"Yes, he's my little brother. Eleven months difference," Tanya replied. Larry, who wore an enormous bejewelled medallion around his neck, nodded in agreement.

"My brother's in Ravenclaw too," Chava told them. "It's not always the case that siblings stay together, though.

Filius continued. "A protective amulet, Larry! Very nice. Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy, Tessa Fox and, last but not least, Amelia Voght. You'll all be taking classes, living and studying together for the next seven years, but don't think that precludes you from making friends in other houses. Variety is the spice of life, as Headmaster Dippet likes to tell us! Our Head of House is Professor Beery, who you'll meet in Herbology. He couldn't be here tonight because he has a rare cactus blooming, but he asked me to pass on his regards."

Chava took over. "The most important thing to remember getting around Hogwarts is that everyone gets lost. The building remodels itself for reasons that we don't understand, so if you find you've gone astray, ask a painting for directions."

"A painting?" Hank couldn't stop himself, again.

"Wizard painting is a little bit different to regular painting, as you'll see."

Charles noticed that she didn't say "Muggle."

"All right then! Come along, Ravenclaws!" Filius held his wand up, with a cry of "Lumos!" and it began to glow as he floated down off the table and led them out of the Great Hall and towards an enormous staircase that Charles was sure he would have seen when they came in for Sorting, if it had been there.

They climbed up the stairs, then onto the base of a tall spiral staircase. They began to climb, up and up, Charles could feel the staircase gently moving upwards with them.

"Excuse me," he asked Filius, "How far up are we going?"

"Oh, right to the top of Ravenclaw Tower! Don't worry, the staircase will take us most of the way. I'd wear my legs out, otherwise!"

The staircase stopped moving, and they quickly ascended the last dozen steps up to a door with no handle. It had only a large bronze doorknocker in the shape of an eagle.

"Other Houses have passwords to enter their common rooms, but Ravenclaw has something a little different. It can be tricky to start with, but don't worry – if the eagle doesn't let you in, wait for someone else to come along and help you. If the eagle is feeling cranky there can be a dozen people hanging about on the landing!" Filius stepped forward and lifted the doorknocker, letting it fall with a loud clang.

The eagle peered at Filius with one beady eye, opened its beak and spoke, in a creaky voice.

"What gives life and death to the flower?"

"The sun," Filius replied instantly and the door creaked open.

Inside, the common room wasn't cold and forbidding as Charles had been expecting, but a lovely round room that looked like it had escaped from a library. The walls were lined with books, interrupted only by tall windows with bronze and blue curtains; there were comfortable couches and armchairs, plus writing desks, scattered artfully over the midnight blue carpet. A tall marble statue of a woman overlooked everything, standing near an open fire at the far side of the room, with a huge, squashy couch and a thick rug in front of it. The older Ravenclaws were mostly lounging around the fire, but cheered when Filius and Chava led in the new students.

"Yeah! New Ravenclaws!" yelled one boy.

"Don't forget, Fifth and Seventh Years get dibs on the study desks!" a stressed-looking girl added, sitting at one.

"Why Fifth and Seventh Years?" Charles asked. It seemed as if Ravenclaws liked questions.

"Exams!" chorused half the room.

Chava herded the group together again, since they were all sidling off towards various bookcases. "Off to bed, the lot of you. You've got Transfiguration and Herbology tomorrow, so brush up on your texts tonight if you're not quite tired yet."

"But I've read them already!" said the brown-haired girl, Moira.

"Anyone else read them already?"

All seven First Years raised their hands. Most of the room laughed again, except for those already concentrating on reading or playing chess.

"All right, all right, I give in. One book each, and off to bed. Quickly!"

They all scurried for the shelves and grabbed the first interesting book. Charles found himself with "Magic and Myths of South Wales", which had a rough leather cover stamped with gold dragons.

Filius collected the three boys and took them out one door; Chava took the girls. Up another short spiral staircase, they went past six doors before reaching theirs.

"Do we change rooms every year?" Larry asked.

"No, no, the room changes with you. My dormitory started up here and moved down every year since. Here you are!"

The room had three enormous curtained beds, each with a nightstand-cum-bookcase beside it and a large trunk at the end; there was a single enormous wardrobe beside the door and three desks underneath the windows. The room was very well lit, globes of light hovering beside each bed and over each desk, plus another hovering beside the other door.

"That's your shower and WC through there – the light by the door will go out when you're all in bed and come on if you get up. As for the other lights, tap them with your wand to switch them on and off."

"Do we need to do, um, a spell?" Hank asked.

"No, no, not yet. You'll learn one soon that will be useful for that, though. Then you'll be able to turn them all off and on at once."

Their luggage was stacked neatly beside the tall wardrobe, and Charles was most relieved to see it at full size. He'd been starting to get worried that all his clothes would remain tiny until Dumbledore came to fix his spell.

"Claim a bed each, be considerate if you're reading or studying late – that's what the curtains are for – and I'll knock at your door at seven tomorrow. Good night!"

With that, he lived up to his surname and flitted off down the stairs.

Charles beamed at the other two. "I've already met Hank, but not for very long, but it's nice to meet you, Larry."

"Thanks! It's weird to be in the same house as my sister. I mean, we get along fine, but I thought I'd be getting away from her being here. She's really bossy."

"My sister and step-brother are both in Hufflepuff, so I hope she's alright," Charles frowned. "Still, boys and girls are well separated, so she should have somewhere safe to go."

"Is Cain mean to her?" Hank asked. "I'm an only child, so I don't really pick up on those things."

"His dad was horrible to him, so he'd take it out on me and on Raven. But maybe without his dad around, he won't need to?"

"He sounds American, like you, Hank," Larry said.

"Professor Dumbledore was in America finding students, and he found me," Hank shrugged. "I suppose Cain, Charles and Raven are the same. You sound British, Charles."

"Oh, yes, I grew up here until I was eight or so. My mother went to Hogwarts too, but she was a Slytherin."

"My mum was a Gryffindor and my dad was a Ravenclaw," Larry added. "It's pretty mixed up. There's some families where everyone's in the same house for generations."

Hank pushed his glasses up his nose. "So wizards tend to have wizard children?"

"Usually, but sometimes they have a squib instead."

"What's the difference between a squib and a Muggle, then?"

Hank had asked a good question – Charles had never thought about that.

Larry had obviously thought about this question, though. "Squibs have magical heritage but no magical ability. Muggles have no magical heritage and no magical ability. Muggle-born wizards have no magical heritage but magical ability."

"How do they predict that? I mean, are there inheritance charts?"

"I dunno – probably the Pureblood families have them. Those are the really old families with magic for generations."

Filius popped his head back in the door. "Bed!"

All three of them laughed, embarrassed, and chose a bed each, and put a few belongings into their trunks or wardrobes.

"Oh look! Our ties are in the wardrobe!" Hank held them out, and all three of the instantly felt the need to put on the blue and bronze, so they did.

Larry suddenly dove for his suitcase. "I've got a camera! Let's take a photo, for posterity."

"We don't have any posterity," Charles laughed.

"We'll have to get some then!" He set the camera up on the desk, peeping through the viewfinder to set it up just right, then ran over and joined Charles and Hank. "Snap!" he yelled and the camera took its photo, blinding them momentarily.

"I wonder where we send it to be developed?" he asked, but Filius had peered around the door again.

"Don't make me tell you again, please! I don't want Ravenclaw to have a poor showing on your first day of classes because you're short on sleep!"

"Yes, sir," they chorused, and all scrambled for bed. Charles was sure he'd never be able to sleep, but within moments he felt himself sliding under, his bed warm and his pillow cool, wand close to hand on the nightstand.

---

Raven woke up in her gigantic bed and jumped straight out of it in sheer excitement. The alarm clock on Petra's nightstand was ringing and Raven switched it off.

"Thanks," came Petra's sleepy voice.

Raven ran over to the other bed. "Mariko, Mariko! Time to get up!"

The curtains on the other bed were still closed, but Mariko's head popped out through the curtains. "Oh! Raven! Your hair looks so neat, even after you've slept on it!"

Mariko and her cousin Shiro were from Japan and – in a complicated agreement that Raven didn't really understand – had been sent to Hogwarts because there was some kind of political problem involving Mariko and Shiro's grandfather. The part Raven did understand was that their mothers were glad to see them safely out of the country: Japan was in ruins and all kinds of terrible things were happening, even to Wizarding families.

Mariko's hair was long enough to sit on, and, first thing in the morning, certainly wasn't tidy like Raven's. "Do you want me to brush your hair, Mariko? I used to brush Mother's hair when she was really sick and she said I was really gentle."

"Thank you! I had a nanny to do it at home."

"Can I help?" Petra asked. "I really want long hair but my mum says it's not practical."

"You should grow it anyway! She's not going to see it until term holidays!" Raven giggled. She never liked to have someone telling her how to look.

After they'd run around having showers and going to the cosy little bathroom beside their dorm, they had Mariko sit on one of the squashy chairs and Petra and Raven each brushed out one side of her long hair. Despite a few tangles, Mariko didn't complain, and Raven happily played around with different hairstyles for her. They'd settled on long braids pinned up at the top of her head like a pretzel when there was a knock at their door.

"Good morning, girls! Are you ready to come down for breakfast? Bring your books – you've got Herbology first and the greenhouse is a fair trek from here." Zenobia Smith was one of the Hufflepuff prefects and Raven thought she was amazing. She was a big, athletic girl with short pale hair and was the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team. What had won Raven's eternal loyalty was that when Raven was sorted into Hufflepuff, Zenobia had jumped up and hugged her in excitement.

"We're nearly ready!" Petra quickly brushed her own hair and grabbed her satchel: Mariko had sensibly insisted that they pack them the night before, so that they wouldn't forget anything in the morning. Raven was still astonished they were expected to write with quill pens, but she'd packed hers and a spare – and an exciting pocketknife that had come with the set of pens – and her textbook. Charles had been up all night the night before the train reading his. Raven had been astonished that even Charles would be that boring. He wouldn't take her anywhere, and she wasn't quite game to go out after dark on her own, considering Mr Shunpike's stories about child-eating beasties, but at least she'd got to sit in the pub downstairs and drink a delicious drink named Butterbeer. She'd met a few other students, too, including Petra. Petra's family was Danish, but her father had been working in London at the time war broke out and it wasn't safe for them to go home. They'd gone now, but not before Petra received her letter to Hogwarts.

"I certainly wasn't going to turn that down, even if Professor Merrythought had to visit to convince my parents," she'd said. Neither of her parents were wizards, but her great-aunt on her mother's side was, which rather softened the surprise.

Petra had been thrilled to be sorted into Hufflepuff – like Raven, she hadn't had much chance to make friends in the past, in Petra's case because other children mocked her accent and called her a Jerry – and she, Mariko and Raven were getting along very well already. There were five boys in their house as well, and, although Raven would never tell anyone, she'd been very relieved to find out that boys weren't allowed in the tunnels of the girls' dormitories. More than once in the past she'd woken up to Cain pulling her out of bed by her hair and yelling at her for something she had or hadn't done. The other boys seemed nicer, though: Sean, the Irish boy, and Jamie Madrox, from Scotland, were funny, and Lucas Bishop was a bit shy but from Australia, which overruled any negative qualities in Raven's mind. She didn't know about Fred Dukes yet, but she thought it was probably a good thing that there was at least one other boy bigger than Cain in their year. Or maybe they'd team up. That would be bad.

Breakfast was a magnificent feast nearly as good as dinner. Raven was quite surprised to see people eating fish for breakfast and stuck to eggs with toast and honey herself. She managed to catch Charles' eye and wave to him across at the next table. He waved back and spoke to someone else, then ran over to her.

"Raven! Are you okay? Is Cain bothering you?"

"No, Charles, don't be silly. Everything's fine. This is my friend Petra, and this is my friend Mariko."

"Pleased to meet you," Charles said with a smarmy grin and Raven kicked him in the ankle.

Charles turned slightly, as if to show his lack of interest in what Raven's friends thought of him. "What classes do you have today? Are we in the same class?"

"Um, Herbology in the morning and Potions in the afternoon."

"Oh, we're together for Herbology, then! I'll see you there."

"Bye!" Raven gave him a little shove back to his own table and sat down again.

"That's your brother? But you have different names!" Petra complained. "I mean, I know Cain is your step-brother…"

"Yes, but I'm adopted. Charles wrote my name in the family tree and that's who I am. It's about all I can remember, actually."

"Maybe you're cursed!" Sean Cassidy leaned over to join in their conversation. He was eating a large pile of bacon and nothing else.

"Wouldn't Dumbledore have known if I was cursed?" Raven asked him, rather fascinated by the idea.

"Maybe part of the curse is that he can't tell you! My grandfather got cursed once, and his nose turned purple and grew five big warts, right down the middle! No-one mortal could help him, so he had to ask the fairies."

There was appreciative silence for this horrible and colourful fate.

"Right-o, everyone off to class," called Edgar Bones, the other prefect, and everyone started shuffling to their feet, in Sean's case cramming in another three rashers of bacon as he went.

The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs all found each other quickly, and Chava the Ravenclaw prefect came over with a big, freckled, ginger-haired man in tow. He wore immaculate white robes, which only highlighted the dirt worn deeply into his fingers. He also had a flowering moss growing on his left hand, little white blossoms bobbing as he gestured.

"Hello, pupils. I'm Professor Beery, Head of Ravenclaw House." He had a fairly strong Northern English accent which Raven found a bit hard to follow, though Mariko seemed even more lost. "Follow me out to the greenhouse and we'll introduce ourselves there."

At least he didn't look like he'd be cross if Raven had to ask him something. They all trailed after Professor Beery out of the castle and through a courtyard that had two doors at the far end, but when they reached the doors, there was only one. Professor Beery didn't seem to find this odd, and led them down to an enormous greenhouse.

He stopped outside the door. "First, safety! While I certainly intend to keep the most dangerous plants away you, do not touch any plant without my permission, even if it looks completely harmless. Especially if it looks completely harmless."

Charles and Hank McCoy laughed, but no-one else did.

"This is not a joke, Mr Xavier, Mr McCoy. There are plants in there – the less dangerous plants – that will see you in the infirmary for a week. And don't imagine the teachers go easy on students who cause themselves problems like an overgrown head, or slowed perception of time, or their fingers joined together. No, they'll know that you brought that on yourself."

"I wasn't asking anyone to 'go easy'," Charles retorted. Raven grimaced – Charles always had the idea that he was some sort of adult, and most adults didn't like that. Fortunately, Professor Beery seemed to find it funny.

"We'd see how you feel if your hair was turned into poison ivy, Mr Xavier. In the meantime, I'll put you in charge of handing out the protective gloves." He directed Charles towards a wooden barrel outside the greenhouse and turned to the rest of the students. "I expect you to bring these gloves to every lesson, otherwise you'll be required to observe rather than participate. Don't be alarmed when you put them on – they'll grow or shrink to the right size for you."

Everyone lined up for Charles to hand out pairs of thick but flexible leather gloves, which he drew from the barrel with a pair of oversized tongs. Raven was near the end of the line, and heard students gasping in surprise as Charles dropped the gloves into their hands. The moment hers touched her skin, they wriggled around like mice then relaxed into an enormous, floppy pair of gloves. Raven frowned and went into the greenhouse, the tips of her fingers barely reaching the base of the fingers of the glove.

Once everyone had made it in – Raven glanced around and everyone else's gloves fit properly – Professor Beery handed heavy silver trays down the long bench, followed by tiny gardening tools.

"This term's project is going to be the creation of your own magical herb garden. We'll grow plants that thrive in similar conditions – different climate zones within the same tray is a little advanced for you right now – but the first thing we need to learn about is what kinds of soil best supports magical plants. Miss Darkholme, why are you fidgeting?"

Raven wriggled uncomfortably as everyone stared at her. "I'm sorry, Professor, but my gloves are too big."

"My goodness, really? Ah yes, you're the metamorphmagus, aren't you? Your own magic must be interfering with the gloves. Pop them on the bench for the time being and I'll fix them for you before you start to layer the soil."

Professor Beery showed them several different kinds of soils and the kinds of plants that could grow in them, asking them to choose between a moist or arid garden before they chose their soils, and the correct kind of drainage. Raven was most fascinated by one particular ingredient: the fertiliser.

"At Hogwarts, we are very fortunate to be close to the second largest wild unicorn herd in the British Isles. This provides us with access to the best of all magical fertilisers: unicorn dung."

There were giggles around the table, and Hank McCoy opened his mouth, looking cross, then thought the better of it and shut it again.

"Yes, unicorn dung. Properly prepared, it will provide magical energy for your plants to slowly leach from the soil. Unlike dragon dung, it is not overwhelming to smaller plants and is particularly useful for leafy herbs."

Fred Dukes raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr Dukes?"

"Do we have to go and collect it? Uh, I mean, we'd have to do that early in term because you have to let it dry out first, if it's like horse manure."

"Excellent reasoning, Mr Dukes, and five points to Hufflepuff."

Raven jumped up and down a bit in excitement: she hadn't realised that the teachers would give out points like that. Cain and Sean Cassidy slapped Fred on the back, and he looked both embarrassed and delighted.

Professor Beery continued. "The answer is no: the Forbidden Forest can be a dangerous place and I wouldn't take First Years in there. You haven't learned to defend yourselves yet. We have unicorn manure ready for you to use. Each of you should take your tray and use the wooden slats to set up divisions – six or eight, depending on how much space each plant needs – and then start preparing your soil according to the charts above the soil bins. Don't be afraid to talk amongst yourselves and ask me if you have any questions."

The students grabbed for the plywood dividers and Professor Beery beckoned Raven over. She took her oversized gloves and trotted to the far end of the bench. Unlike the rest of the greenhouse, with a riot of different plants all arranged for the right temperature and right amount sunlight and water, one side of this part of the greenhouse was entirely dedicated to growing a single kind of small tree. There were a dozen of them, all about Raven's height, or a little taller, with leaves about the size and shape of her fingers.

"Put the gloves on the bench, Miss Darkholme – we don't want them to adapt to my hands!"

Raven did, then asked, "What are all those plants? The ones that look the same?"

Professor Beery tapped a glove with his wand, revealing a glowing line of stitches around the edge. "There, those should fit you now. The plants are Myrica gale, or bay-rum berry. It's an important component of a scrying potion that we had to use a great deal during the War."

"Is that like spying?" Raven pulled the gloves on: they squeezed a little too tight for a moment, then settled to a perfect fit, the glowing subsiding to a pale yellow line.

"A little, yes. Most of Europe was a very dangerous place for wizards to go, if they opposed Grindelwald, or if they had too great an attachment to Muggle friends and relatives. We tried to at least get children out of the warzone, but it became more and more difficult as time went on and Grindelwald's powers grew – hence the need for scrying at a distance."

Raven looked at the row of trees. "That's a lot of scrying, I suppose."

"Indeed. The leaves and berries are certainly useful in other potions and incantations as well, but I doubt we will continue to devote so much space to the leaf-yield of this tree now. We'll plant them outside, I suspect. They'll do well."

"I'm glad you don't throw them away!"

Professor Beery laughed. "Of course not! That would be terribly disrespectful."

It was surprisingly complicated, setting up a properly drained herb tray, and by the time Professor Beery dismissed them for lunch, Raven was tired, hungry and sweaty from the humid air. She certainly wasn't as hot and sweaty as everyone else – Charles and Cain were both bright red and Petra looked like she was about to pass out.

The crisp, fresh air outside was a bit of a shock, but perked everyone up again. Bigger kids were running everywhere, so the two groups of First Years stuck close together – and close behind Fred and Cain – as they tried to avoid being trampled on their way to the lunch hall. As they went in, Mariko tugged Raven's sleeve.

"Are we allowed to go, to you know…" She blushed.

"The bathroom?" Raven glanced around and saw the outline of where a sign had been on the wall, the "female" outline still clear. "Oh, there, come on."

Petra and two Ravenclaw girls, Moira and Tanya, came with them, and they went down a rather cold and clammy hall, which was completely deserted.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Petra said hesitantly, but then Moira spotted another sign.

"No, look, it's this way. Hurry up, I'm busting."

The bathroom was around the corner, and unfortunately was as dingy and clammy as the hallway, and looked like it hadn't been cleaned in a while. Still, there were toilets and big trough-like sinks around a weird statue and soap still on the ledges, so they must be in the right place.

"Yuk, they should clean this place with magic," Tanya muttered.

Moira was apparently as busting as she said, because she didn't hesitate at all, but barged past Tanya and Raven and into a stall. "There's a bit of water on the floor but it's not smelly! And there's plenty of paper!" she called out.

The other girls hurried off into a stall each, not wanting to miss out on lunch, but as Raven was about to sit down, a dreadful shriek came from her toilet. Raven spun around but she couldn't see anything.

"Did you hear that?" she yelled to the other girls.

"It's probably just the pipes!" Moira shouted back. "They make horrible noises in old places like this!"

"They should fix that with magic!" Petra added, and everyone giggled.

Raven eyed the toilet dubiously and moved to the next stall instead. Again, as she was about to sit down, a horrible moaning noise emerged. Raven ran out of the stall. "It happened again!"

Moira was washing her hands. "Go to my stall, then, Raven, it didn't make funny noises."

Raven did, and for the third time leapt away as a long, low moan came out of the toilet. "Raaaaaveeeeeeennnnn…"

"Ah! It knows my name!" Raven scrambled over to where Moira and Mariko waited near the door.

Moira pursed her lips. "Oh, you're being silly. I'm going to go and look." Moira stomped over to the toilet and looked in, only to be hit by a jet of water from the toilet.

Raven and Mariko screamed, though not as loudly as Moira did. Petra and Tanya ran out of their stalls to see what was happening, in time to see a furious, dripping Moira draw her wand and point it at the toilet.

"Whoever's doing this, get out of that toilet or I'll blast you to smithereens!"

Raven was pretty sure that Moira had no more idea how to blast someone to smithereens than Raven herself did, but she sounded awfully convincing. Moments later, a translucent, greenish head popped out of the toilet bowl.

"Out!" Moira bellowed, and the rest of a transparent body followed. It was a girl only slightly older than them, with pigtails and thick glasses, hovering in mid-air.

"You've no bloody right to run around playing tricks on girls going to the toilet!" Moira shouted at the girl.

"She's a ghost!" Mariko squeaked. "Don't make her angry!"

"You'd better not make me angry!" the ghost said in a strange, hollow voice. "I'm very scary! Did you see that blue girl run? What kind of girl is blue anyway?"

Raven folded her arms. "I'm a metamorphmagus, don't you know? And who are you?"

"I'm dead!" the girl shouted and flew in a great loop around the ceiling. "Murdered!"

Moira yelled. "Well, maybe you should stop flying around making a fool of yourself and do something about it!"

The girl floated down again. "Really? You're not scared of me? But I'm a ghost!"

"You're a blithering idiot, that's what. I'm Moira. What's your name?"

"Myrtle."

Raven stepped forward, to stand by Moira, not so close she got dripped on. "Good, now we're on a first name basis. I'm Raven, and that's Tanya, Mariko and Petra. We're going to have lunch now, but we'll come back later. All right?"

"All right…" the ghost moaned, and dove into the toilet.

The girls dashed out of the bathroom and halfway down the hall before they ran into Zenobia Smith and two other big girls, who were running towards them with their wands out.

"Zenobia! Help! There's a ghost!" Petra yelled.

Zenobia grabbed her by the shoulder. "Is there anyone left behind?"

"No! Moira and Raven talked to the ghost!"

Zenobia pointed her wand at Moira and said "Adsiccavatos". "That's Myrtle – she was a Ravenclaw in the year below mine and she was killed three years ago. Another student was sneaking giant spiders and all kinds of dangerous things into the castle, and they got loose, and well. Poor Myrtle."

Moira shook herself like a dog, but she was quite dry now. "Does this happen a lot?"

One of the other girls laughed, nervously. "Oh no. Just to poor Myrtle. There were some other students who were temporarily Petrified, but they were all fine."

"And Myrtle kept haunting one Ravenclaw girl – the girl who found her body, no less – until she had to pack up and go to Beauxbatons last year. They had to exorcise Myrtle."

"She's still there, though," Moira replied, sceptically.

"Oh, yes, you can't make ghosts go away, but you can detach them from people. Most of the ghosts here are hundreds of years old, so I don't think Myrtle gets along with them very well."

"Enough of that!" Zenobia Smith put her wand away. "If we don't get to lunch right now, we're going to miss out. How did you girls end up in this bathroom anyway?"

"You can still see the shape of the sign," Raven told her. "It was my fault, I saw it."

"It's not your fault, Raven, you didn't realise." As they walked to the Great Hall, Raven showed Zenobia the still-visible sign and Zenobia tutted. "All right, I'll tell Mr Pringle. Go and get something to eat, then duck upstairs for your Potions books, okay?"

"Okay!" they chorused and ran off to join the rest of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

---

Erik liked the castle. There were lots of doors – and windows easily big enough to climb through – in nearly every room, which made him think that Dumbledore's claims that this was a school, not a training ground were true. Anywhere military would have a lot more discipline than this, and certainly wouldn't let children roam all over the place. Even the dormitory he shared with four other boys had big windows that opened to a view of the lake, although one of the two doors led only to a bathroom and toilet.

Armando was one of only two English boys in the dormitory, as it turned out. The other was Karl Lykos, a skinny straw-haired boy who had mumbled something about liking to be outside first thing in the morning and, indeed, had been gone at first light and returned with Ignatius Prewett, the male prefect, half an hour later. Shiro Yoshida, an arrogant and coolly polite student from Japan, told them that he had heard England had many adherents to old religions such as druidism, and Karl was probably greeting the dawn. Erik was deeply dubious about this theory because if druidism was so popular, why would Karl go alone?

Alex Summers was an American, with the kind of simmering temper that Erik was expert at identifying, if not always at avoiding. He'd greeted Armando's friendly enquiries with a grunted, "Dumbledore brought me," before getting in his bed and drawing the curtains. For all Shiro's talk about his martial arts proficiency, Alex was the one Erik would bet on in a fight; also the one he'd bet on to start a fight. Armando seemed to like him, though.

Their first class of the day had been Charms, shared with the Slytherins, and it was both strange and satisfying to finally channel all that random, twitchy magical energy into something useful. Erik was the second in the class to be able to produce a light with the Lumos spell – after that annoying girl Selene gained five points for Slytherin – though it was taking a great deal more work to keep it steady and not wink out the moment he wasn't concentrating on it. The teacher was a narrow-faced, older man named Adalbert Waffling, who had also written their textbook, and for all he looked like a mean old coot, he was surprisingly calm and helpful, even to Alex Summers who kept panicking every time he made a spark appear. By the end of the class, everyone could at least produce a glow for a few moments. Erik was surprised to find he'd quite enjoyed himself. He was among the oldest in this class and one of the tallest, though Cain that other Hufflepuff boy were certainly the biggest in their year. It was important to learn as much as possible to arm him for the outside world, as Dumbledore had said, but Erik thought he might have to review his strategy on whether doing it as fast as possible would be the best way.

"Hey!" A small Slytherin girl ran up to him as they walked towards the dormitories to drop off their books, through hordes of other students.

"What do you want? Angel Salvadore, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I wanted to, you know, say hi. I heard you're friends with Raven from Hufflepuff."

He glared at Angel. "Well, you've said it. Go bother someone else."

"Okay, see you around." She ducked over to the other Slytherin girls, who seemed to be making friends with the two Gryffindor girls, and giggled. Erik felt most disconcerted.

"Hey, what did Angel want?" Armando took her place at Erik's side, fortunately not leaning so close to him.

"Do you know her?"

Armando grinned. "I've met pretty much everyone in our year by now, haven't you? I've got a few more Ravenclaws on the list and then I will have introduced myself to everyone."

"Why?" Erik was genuinely confused by Armando's interest in people, especially following Angel's greetings.

Armando seemed just as surprised. "Don't you like making friends with people? I mean, I wouldn't say I'm friends with everyone, but if you don't meet them, you won't know."

"If you don't meet your potential enemy, you won't know, either."

"Yeah, but an enemy can hurt you from a distance. A friend you've got to keep close."

Erik couldn't argue with that: after all, he'd never met most of the people who decided to kill all the Jews, but they certainly hurt him. It was individuals who had helped him.

He thought about what Armando had said all through lunch, which consisted of thick ham and vegetable soup and hearty sandwiches on soft bread two centimetres thick, followed by peculiar but sweet peppermint cupcakes. A few people tried to talk to Erik, but he didn't really have enough concentration to respond to them, not in the busy, crowded Great Hall, with people and food and occasionally ghosts travelling in all directions. At least the Gryffindor table had one side close to a wall, so he didn't have to try to be so aware of what anything going on behind him.

The next class was Transfiguration, taught by Professor Dumbledore, and Erik was excited about it: he had seen Dumbledore do amazing things, and wanted to learn about his power. Not to defend against or surpass him –he was probably the only living person about whom Erik would say that – but to be as powerful and dangerous as he was.

The Transfiguration classroom was similar to the Charms classroom, rows of desks in an open and sunlit room, though one of the Ravenclaw girls, Moira, was huffy about that, as it had started raining outside.

"It's magical sunlight, not real sunlight!" Charles was telling her as Erik walked in. "Like Professor Beery was saying, it lights and warms, but it won't provide what plants need to grow, or tan your skin."

"Yes, obviously – I was right there when he said it!" Moira shouted at him, and stomped off to take a seat with the other girls. Ravenclaw had four girls, more than any of the other houses, and they called Gabrielle and Suzanne over to sit with them.

That left the boys of both houses shuffling for seats, and Erik ended up between Shiro and Charles.

"Erik! Lovely to see you again. Sorry we lost you on the train." Charles beamed and extended a hand, which Erik bemusedly shook. Charles then reached over to Shiro and shook his hand. "And you're Shiro Yoshida? You were right behind me when we were Sorted."

"Nice to meet you," Shiro said, flatly.

Dumbledore swept into the room, in pale blue robes with shining gold trim, embroidered stars sprinkled over the shoulders of the robe as if they'd casually fallen there. "Good afternoon! Welcome to Transfiguration!"

He wandered to the front of the classroom and surveyed the room. "I see we have Ravenclaws and Gryffindors today – wonderful! Can any of you tell me the three basic forms of transfiguration?"

All of the Ravenclaws shot up a hand, as did Suzanne and Karl from Gryffindor.

"Wonderful! Let's start with you, Miss Voght – what are the first two types?"

"Permanent and impermanent, Professor!"

"Excellent. And Mr Lykos, what is the third?"

"Integral."

"Superb! Five points to Ravenclaw and five to Gryffindor." Dumbledore pointed his wand at a teacup that sat on his desk. "An example of impermanent transformation: Sheen nooni qadah!"

The teacup turned into a small, confused-looking tortoise. It crept along the desk for a few moments, then its shell began to take on the flowery pattern of the cup and a few seconds later it was a teacup again.

Charles had his hand up. "Professor, was that tortoise alive?"

"A pertinent question, Mr Xavier, and one that philosophers have not yet answered. The only reply that I can give you is that there is no consciousness in the teacup, before or afterwards."

"Professor, what if it's a permanent transformation? Then would the tortoise be alive?"

"Five points to Ravenclaw, Mr Xavier. You have pointed the class to a core difference between permanent and impermanent transformation: a transformation from an inert object into a living thing is always impermanent." He smiled, teeth flashing from under his beard. "Of course, the next question is the opposite: when you transfigure a living thing into an inert object, the transformation is also impermanent."

He pointed at a metre-high statue in the corner, a withered little stone tree in a stone pot.

"This is a crab apple tree, and it is the longest lasting impermanent transformation in Britain: there are older in Xian, Jerusalem and Athens. It has been stone for eleven hundred years. Nonetheless, it slowly moves and grows; at its fastest, it grew nearly an inch in ten years. It was transfigured into stone by the druid Cerdic, who was angered by its sour fruit."

Shiro raised his hand and Dumbledore nodded towards him, giving permission to speak.

"In Japan, there are living trees older than that."

"Indeed there are, Mr Yoshida, although they are not the topic of our discussion today. From our discussion of impermanent transfiguration, can you infer the conditions required for permanent transformation?"

Shiro thought for a moment, then replied, "An unliving object transfigured into another unliving object, or living to living?"

"Well done, and five points to Gryffindor. Now, you've learned the conditions for permanent and impermanent transfiguration, so we're going to move on to the third: integral transfiguration. This kind of transfiguration involves simply rearranging the components of an object, whether it is changing them or disassembling a complex object into its parts. Miss Chan, I believe you may be able to tell us something about this."

Suzanne looked startled. "Um, before my Hogwarts letter came, I accidentally turned some coal into diamonds. Tiny little diamonds."

"Carbon!" Hank McCoy said, quite loudly.

"Indeed, Mr McCoy, though I would prefer it if you raised your hand: coal and diamonds are made of the same substance. This level of change is actually a very difficult transfiguration but, as I am sure many of you have experienced, the magic that you produce unwillingly and under emotional stress can be very strong indeed. Most adult wizards cannot do what Miss Chan did but learning to channel and direct their power has many other benefits. The most important, of course, is that you will be able to call upon your magic at will, and to direct it in the way that you wish."

Dumbledore's face turned quite serious for a moment, then he smiled again. "And on to today's practical lesson. I want each of you to transfigure a match into its components, without setting it on fire. I've Charmed your desks to be fireproof, and ordinary fire won't burn a wand, but watch your fingers!"

With a wave of his wand, ten matches appeared on each student's desk. Erik frowned at them. He remembered a test like this, not with matches, and not with a wand or other students or any kind of explanation.

"Please observe and copy," Dumbledore told them. "Wands out!" He demonstrated a sharp downward motion to an abrupt stop, which the class copied. "Very good! Keep the cut-off firm. Down and stop!"

Erik could hear Hank McCoy grumbling behind him. "But it shouldn't make any difference!" but ignored him. Erik didn't care why it worked, as long as it did.

"There, and as the wand stops, Dilapsasi." The match that Dumbledore held up disintegrated into a swirl of dust and splinters. "Ouch." He sucked his finger. "And please don't follow my example and end up with a splinter in your finger. Off you go, I'll be wandering around seeing how you do."

Erik took one match from his ten, concentrated hard and brought the wand down with an abrupt, "Dilapsasi". The match rolled onto its side, but didn't change.

"Oh, that's very good, mine didn't move at all," Charles said, leaning over to watch.

"Let me concentrate," Erik snapped. He thought back to when he'd done this – well, something very like it – without a wand, without the focus of a word, with sheer power, and felt a sharp ache through his stomach and chest, just like it had been then.

He thrust the wand downwards, hissing the word, "Dilapsasi" this time, and all ten matches exploded, sending flaming debris in all directions.

"Deflammare!" Dumbledore called and the flames immediately vanished. Erik looked to both sides to find that he'd destroyed the matches belonging to Shiro and Charles, too.

"Mr Lehnsherr, what an excellent start!" Dumbledore sounded immensely pleased. "Five points to Gryffindor!" He strolled to the front of the classroom and more matches appeared in front of Shiro, Charles and Erik. "Mr Lehnsherr has given us an excellent demonstration of strength above finesse: something quite normal for wizards and witches of your age. Others among you may find that you have a great deal of skill, but find it difficult to put your shoulder into it, so to speak. Yet more may find that the standard spells do not suit their personal methods and begin to develop their own.

"Over time, with help from your teachers and older students, all of you will begin to understand where your personal strengths lie as a wizard or witch, and you will be able to choose subjects according to where those interests lie. In First Year, though, we require everyone to take the same foundational courses so that you may get the broadest possible exposure to various forms of magic. Now, there's another five points waiting for the student who first manages the transfiguration without explosions, so I suggest you all get to work."

Erik thought that he should feel embarrassed, but instead he was pleased to at least be strong, if he couldn't be accurate. Other students hadn't accomplished much at all, though by the end of the lesson Charles, Moira and both Trask siblings had at least managed to separate the coating on the match-head from the wood.

"An excellent class, all of you. I'll see you again on Thursday, but in the meantime, homework!"

Several students groaned, and others looked pleased.

"The definitions of the three forms of configuration, each with an example, maximum of six inches of parchment, brought to me at the start of class on Thursday."

Tanya Trask's and Hank McCoy's hands went up.

"Yes, my dear Ravenclaws, I said maximum. Brevity and clarity are virtues."

Their hands went down again.

"Ah, your prefects are here to collect you. We shall bid a sad farewell!" Dumbledore made a shooing gesture. "Go!"

Everyone got their books and pens together, the matches disappearing from their desks, and started to head for the door.

"That was amazing," Charles told Erik. "It's a bit odd to be in a class with eleven-year-olds – you look older. I'm thirteen already."

"You are?" Erik was surprised: Charles wasn't very tall, and Erik found it difficult to tell children's ages on anything other than that. "I'm nearly fourteen."

"Hank and Cain are older, too. Filius said that we'll have free time from now until dinner, and then some more time after dinner – do you want to meet up in the library after dinner? I mean, we can study and get ahead, and then the Headmaster might put us in a class of the right age."

Erik shrugged. "I haven't learned anything about magic before. I'm starting from the beginning."

"Oh, yes, you're Muggle-born, aren't you? I completely forgot. But you did so well in class today, and, honestly, the things we're taught at home until we're old enough for school don't have much to do with magic. More reading and maths, that kind of thing."

"I'll be there if my House doesn't have something else planned. It sounds like you'll be there anyway."

"Oh yes, I'm so excited about finally getting to the library!" Charles beamed, then hurried over to the other Ravenclaws, who were heading off down a different corridor, following Chava Prydeman.

Erik followed Tessie Prewett towards the Gryffindor common room and thought about what Charles had said. It was odd to think that Charles, so friendly and engaged, had assumed that Erik had a Wizarding background. If Erik had, he would most likely already have been at school for two years; either that or dead, he supposed. Dumbledore had told him about all the people Grindelwald had killed for standing up to him. The basis of their war – that Grindelwald thought wizards should rule over Muggles – confused Erik, as he didn't understand why wizards shouldn't rule over Muggles. Wizards were far more powerful than Muggles, after all. Wizards removed Muggle-born children from their homes and raised them as wizards: was that so different from what Grindelwald wanted? Still, Erik agreed that Grindelwald's tactics of killing wizards who opposed him and wizards who tried to save Muggle family members were wrong and should be stopped. There weren't enough wizards to waste by killing each other, and if Grindelwald had gone about his business without the murder, he probably wouldn't have been taken down. Then again, some of the things Erik had heard people say to Dumbledore made him think that perhaps Grindelwald had really enjoyed the terror and killing, regardless of his stated goals, and Erik was certainly familiar with men like that.

The Gryffindor common room was a friendly space, which Erik had liked immediately. It was a big room built around a fireplace, full of mismatched furniture, well-worn books, chess boards, stray student detritus like scarves and wooden bats that were apparently for the game of Quidditch, and there was always food around. A jug of perpetually hot water and a jug of perpetually cold milk on a sideboard let them make up cocoa or tea, and today there was a large wooden board with slices of buttered date loaf on it. There were so many slices that Erik felt no hesitation at all in going over and eating three, and no-one paid the slightest bit of attention to him doing so.

"First Years!" Tessie Prewett shouted, "Get yourselves something to eat! It's another two-and-a-half hours to dinner!"

Those that hadn't quickly did, and Tessie proceeded to show them more of the Common Room than they'd seen last night: a cupboard full of supplies if they needed ink or parchment or new quills, a noticeboard which only had two notices on it right now – one about Quidditch tryouts and one offering tutoring in Arithmancy – and a chest-of-drawers stuffed full of spare clothes left behind by former students.

"The warmest socks and gloves I've ever were out of there," Tessie reminisced, though the common room was so cosy that winter seemed a long time away. "Feel free to take anything you need – once you start learning to ride a broomstick, you can go through an awful lot of clothes!"

Erik wasn't sure if he liked the sound of needing more clothes, but then, he'd seen a painting downstairs of a woman in helmet and goggles riding a broomstick high in the air. Flying would be a good skill to have.

Shiro approached Erik. "We should start that homework. We might not have time to do it later."

"Fine," Erik said and retrieved some parchment and ink from the cupboard, handing it to Shiro, Armando and Suzanne, who'd joined their group. "Let me get some cocoa first."

He and Suzanne both did, then sat at one of the many small tables that dotted the room, which left barely enough space for everyone to get their parchment on, plus a shared ink bottle and the mugs of cocoa. There were a few others, especially the oldest students, reading or doing homework in various spots around the room, but certainly not the majority. He sighed and dipped his quill pen in the ink, rather glad that he'd had a chance to learn to write with one when he was in Ireland. They were always so scratchy and difficult.

"In Japan, we use brushes," Shiro informed them, though here he was confined to a quill pen, just like everyone else.

On to Chapter 4