Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Diana Cavendish wasn’t an ordinary girl.

She knew as much, of course. It was hard to be an ordinary girl when you were known as the war ender, saviour of wizard-kind, sole heir to the greatest wizarding family in Britain, The Girl Who Lived, the list goes on, really.

But with her nose in a decades-old spellbook, penning little notes between the margins as she waves a too-large wand, struggling with the deafening charm she hasn’t quite gotten the hang of, it could almost feel that way for a bit. So long as she stayed in her book, at her desk, in her room, she could study like any ordinary witch her age and struggle to cast the basic object animation spell she could’ve sworn she’d learned by now. 

“Locomotor Atra.”

She takes special care to pronounce the ‘t’ as a ‘t’ and not a ‘ch’ as she’d seen her cousins attempt to horrible affect years prior and to her relief, the pencil slowly begins to twitch, little flaps of wood branching out of it and sort of shuffling itself around on the table before she gets the hang of it. That’s when the real fun can begin and before she knows it, the pencil is twirling and dancing across the desk top, doing little spins in the air it propels itself into before landing on its side and bouncing back upright. Sure, it’s more or less just Diana pushing it around the air with her mind, but the sight is still pleasing, if not for its whimsy, then for its representation of yet another spell she can cross off of her list‒

“Mother had been hoping that you would have spent your afternoon on something useful. Clearly, she was mistaken.”

“…What is it, Merrill?”

The bubble of normalcy bursts at the turn of a key as a girl with platinum-blonde hair and frilled purple robes saunters into the room, wearing an almost smug grin as Diana’s pencil returns to its original inanimate state.

“Mother said that it’s lunchtime.”

Not particularly hungry but knowing better than to push the matter, Diana only sighs and tucks her wand into one of the deeper denim pockets sewn on the inside of her dress, gently guiding the door shut behind her as she heads down the stairs.

“You know, she really is going soft on you, she is,” Merill muses, taking long, deliberate steps in front of Diana as if she’s scared of them moving out from under her, “You’ve only made, what, a single one of our meals this week? Granted, I always preferred Anna’s cooking, of course, but you should be learning these things, I think.”

Diana idly considers the possibility of putting something foul in their food during her next tenure, but the tongue-lashing she might receive convinces her otherwise. Perhaps she could try practicing some sense-alteration magic? Anna did always go easy on the spices which, while comforting to the others, made mealtime rather dull to Diana. 

“Gustus Incendio,” she whispers, twisting the tip of her wand into the table as she wills the taste of spices and just a touch of garlic into her roast chicken. 

The meal remains relatively wordless, save for the idle banter of the twins as plates dwindle, leaving nothing but sparse crumbs in Diana’s case, though the twins leave almost their entire plates untouched before dashing up the stairs to do… Something.

No matter; with a flick of her wand, she lids the plates and floats them into her fridge, tapping the door shut before going about washing dishes.

“Anna? Which pots and pans did you use today?”

“Don’t worry yourself with that, Lady Cavendish. They’ve already been washed.”

There’s a silence as Diana makes a somewhat exasperated noise, turning to see a primly-postured Anna kindly smiling up at her, as poised as one can be when dressed in nothing but a potato sack.

“Anna, you don’t have to do my washing for me, okay?”

Anna’s expression falls a little, though her smile remains as she softly shakes her head.

“I had thought that you’d wanted to spend some extra time on your studies, before your trip to Diagon, my Lady.”

Diana can’t help but roll her eyes at that. Extra studies she could understand, but why prior to Diagon in particular? She was from a wizarding family, the Cavendishes at that; the idea of her needing Hogwarts assistance was laughable. Still, she couldn’t find it in her to fault Anna, always looking out for her, for wanting to help her and so, finishes washing her own plate with a light smile pulling at her lips.

“Please, remember to take time for yourself, Anna. You know how cranky Daryl gets when her breakfast isn’t made at precisely the right time.”

“Yes, of course, my Lady, whatever you say.”

There’s a feeling of discomfort, of being at a loss for words but a brief “of course” as Diana shifts up the stairways, briefly turning back to the dining room only to be met with the *CRACK* of disapparation, leaving nothing in sight save for the table, chairs, and statue of Beatrice sitting directly behind the head.

Beatrice Cavendish, founder of the Cavendish Healer’s Association. They’d set up clinics here and there throughout history, but were more focused on research, working hand-in-hand with their house elves to develop concoctions and cures of contagions and curses never thought of as conventionally craftable. Diana knew her family tree better than most historians and as far as she was aware, the Cavendishes had always prided themselves on the humane treatment of their house-elf partners.

So this sort of thing was fine, wasn’t it?

No use pondering that question too hard, though‒better to focus on her studies for now. Come September, she would go to Hogwarts like her mother, and her mother, and her mother, as had always been done. After all, with Hogwarts came Quidditch games, special ministry-sponsored events, and of course, the largest library in Britain. The spells that Diana could study while there could mean the revival of her family, or the saving of countless lives, or‒

A red-haired centaur gallops across the sky, sending waves of amazement through her core as brilliant explosions of colour line the night‒

For now, she would simply retreat to her room and study. She’d just managed to get her hands on a muggle chemistry book which Diana had found were in general, while sometimes looked down upon, quite useful in envisioning the processes with which spells operate. 

Now, if only she could find it.

“Objecti Revelio”, she chants, tapping her wand against the air as if striking a cowbell, causing a faint, green dust to settle upon…

“The bathroom?”

Strange, she had not remembered taking it there. Diana was studious, yes, but to the point of bringing a muggle chemistry book into a room with a running tap? The only people she knew who might do such a thing were‒

“Maril, Merrill, what are you doing with my chemistry textbook?”

The textbook, or rather, what remained of it lay on the ground between the two of them, too many gashes in it to count. Maril flicks her wand and the book slides across the floor, bumping against Diana’s feet.

“We’ve been practicing our severing charms,” she says, dusting off the turquoise shoulder of her robes.

“Not very effectively, it would seem,” Diana replies coolly, eyeing the cuts that end about a quarter of the way through the relatively thick book.

Though that response doesn’t seem to be the correct one as, before Diana can properly react, Merrill jabs her wand at her, shouting:

“Mimblewimble! Maybe that ought to teach you to keep your mouth shut, my lady.”

Diana simply turns on her heel and walks out of the room, ignoring the discomfort of her curled-up tongue as she points her wand towards herself, mentally enunciating every syllable of ‘Finite Incantatem’ in her mind before her mouth returns to normal and a quick: “Accio textbook” sends it flying into her hand. Or, at least, some of it. Come to think of it, while little flecks of material that had come off an object usually weren’t summoned alongside the object itself when charmed, Diana wasn’t quite sure as to what would happen if a significant portion of the object had been cut off‒

A scream from the bathroom confirms Diana’s worst fears as she rushes back inside, terrified at the prospect of finding a concussion, or broken bone, or‒

“You gave me a papercut!”

…To be fair,  it was a pretty nasty papercut, but Maril’s state was nothing that she couldn’t fix. Diana was even about to offer her help when several looming, deliberate footsteps sounded out from behind her.

“What happened here, girls?”

“Diana cut her hand open!”

“Why, you…”

Diana opens her mouth to contest, but before she can even get a syllable out, Daryl descends upon her like a hawk, hands practically bent into claws at her sides.

“You live under my roof, under my care, and this is how you treat my children?”

Actually, this house belongs to Diana; it’s just under Daryl’s leadership until she turns of age, but Diana knows better than to talk back. Talking back would just result in a longer lecture, or pocket money mysteriously disappearing in her sleep, or her textbooks going missing, or‒

“That does it. Give me your wand.”

Again, in all fairness, Diana hadn’t really been listening. But this is Diana’s wand; while the eight inch unicorn-cored rod of mahogany belonged to her mother, she can feel the connection she has with it, its refusal to leave her hand as Daryl outstretches hers, and Diana knows she can’t follow her aunt’s request.

“Daryl, you can’t‒”

“Give it.”

“But‒”

“Here. Now.”

Her mind is racing now, flitting between an imposing Daryl, two grinning twins, and her own wand, trying to think of something, anything to get her out, and while she wouldn’t like to hex her aunt, she can’t think of any better option, and‒

“Expelli‒”

Just as Diana’s about to cast fire at her, the doorbell rings and Daryl stops, then composes herself and the twins as Anna answers.

“Hello, and welcome to the Cavendish Manor. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

And while Diana had heard tales of fantastical and mundane creatures large and small, from the invisible tardigrade to the gargantuan Hungarian Horntail, no amount of picture books or encyclopedias could have prepared her for this.

The more than 8-foot tall man is barely able to fit through the door frame before slipping off his shoes and striding after Anna up the stairs and right up to Daryl. The twins barely even acknowledge him, though they do reluctantly step aside for him as he looms over Daryl, several heads taller than her.

“You seem to have grown since I last saw you.”

“Couldn’ say the same for yeh, Miss Daryl.”

He speaks in a bit of a gruff voice and thick accent that unnerves Diana, but she can’t find reason to fault the man who’s just saved her from assaulting her primary caregiver.

“Um… Who might you be?”

Instantly, his demeanor brightens as he crouches down to meet Diana’s gaze (or tries to, anyway; he’s still at least a couple heads taller than her, even on one knee) before presenting her an enormous hand.

“Rubeus Hagrid, groundskeeper o’ Hogwarts. O’ course, I know all about who y’ are, Lady Cavendish.”

Diana rolls her eyes, both at the honourific and the twins’ reactions to the tonal dissonance they’ve just experienced, but she doesn’t particularly mind.

“Oh, please, just ‘Cavendish’ is fine, ‘Miss Cavendish’ if you need, sir. Really, there are some things I’d prefer not to discuss.”

“Righ’. As yeh said, Miss.”

Merrill scoffs at the use of the word ‘Sir’, but Daryl silences her, marching forward to his side as she shoots Diana a glare that scrubs any semblance of playfulness from her.

“May I ask, Rubeus, would you be able to state your business with us?”

“Official business on Dumbledore’s orders. He said I should bring Miss Cavendish here along with me.”

“And why would you be bringing along an eleven-year-old who has not yet enrolled at your school on ‘official business’?”

“Well, perhaps it’s got somethin’ to do with the fac’ tha’ ain’ no one’s seen Miss Cavendish here anywhere in Diagon. Dumbledore thought it’d be best to send some staff. Like old-times.”

The last line he says drips with accusation, though Diana hasn’t the foggiest idea what he might be referring to, though while Daryl seems to, she doesn’t yet give her silence as she takes a step back, dusting off the spot that Hagrid touched.

“Well, you may rest assured that Diana already has everything required for her to succeed at Hogwarts provided to her by her generous older cousins who have graciously donated their old supplies.”

“There’s a new curriculum this year. Yeh’d have known if yeh’d read her letter.”

“I tried to tell you,” Diana mutters as Daryl shoots her a piercing look. After being dismissed, she’d figured she could probably get by with slightly inaccurate textbooks, but apparently, that was the wrong decision.

“All right, then. How much will it cost, then?” Daryl asks, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Miss Cavendish has more’n enough in her vaul’.”

“And could Dumbledore not have sent someone, ah, more professional to accost her?”

That seems to get Hagrid’s attention, his fingers twitching around the bright pink umbrella that Diana hadn’t even noticed until now.

“Deputy headmistress McGonagall is busy helpin’ a muggle-born witch. Right brilliant one, too. Heard she’s an animagus already. No’ even a first year yet.”

Wait, a muggle-born animagus? Who hasn’t even entered Hogwarts?! Before Diana can follow that line of inquiry, though, she hears Daryl mutter out a reluctant approval before the thundering cry of “Diagon Alley!” pierces her eardrums and Hagrid disappears through the fireplace.

“Well? Are you going to collect your supplies, or will you continue to stand there?”

Diana doesn’t need to be told twice, briskly marching off into the fireplace, yelling, “Diagon Alley!” before the manor vanishes in the flames flickering in her vision and the world turns to light.

Chapter Text

Today was the best day ever!

Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. Akko could think of a bunch of other super amazing days she’s had, but this was the best she’s felt in the last six weeks at least. Her mom’s been really, really busy with her campaign and her dad’s practically been running himself ragged supporting her. And Akko helped too! She’s washing the dishes now, and she’s working really hard in school, and‒

“Atsuko, dear, you’ve been staring at the menu for almost ten minutes now. Are you alright?”

And now, it’s over! Well, not totally over, but they at least had a quiet day all to themselves. Akko usually didn’t like that kind of boringness, but it was nice to just play board games, laugh at cartoons together, and go out to their favourite local chinese place for lunch. Her mom’s voice snaps her out of it, though, and she starts flipping through pages as fast as she can, searching for something she hasn’t tried yet.

“Hey, let her take her time, now. Your job is not starting for at least a little while.”

It might have been a little jarring to the average Brit, hearing Akko’s mother’s flawless English juxtaposed with her father’s heavy accent, but to Akko, it’s just Friday. The server arrives and they each place their orders, Akko horribly butchering her mandarin ‘thank you’, though the server gives a light laugh as he disappears around the corner.

“So? How is it?” her dad asks in Japanese, to which Akko nods several times in quick succession as she slurps up noodles at an almost alarming rate.

“Better than my cooking?”

Akko’s eyes trace the ceiling for a few moments before she shakes her head and gulps down her food.

“S’good, but could be a bit spicier. They’re super rich, though!”

Her dad elbows her mom with a grin, saying, “Maybe she’ll be a connoisseur when she grows up,” to which she replies, “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll start going on about that Chariot nonsense again.”

The noodles taste just a touch worse as Akko locks eyes with her mother, the usual smile she wears when eating turning to a more sour expression. How dare she say something like that!

“Hmph. Maybe these noodles would taste better if I turned into a rat. They’re more sensitive to spice.”

“Akko…”

Her mom opens her arms and Akko begrudgingly accepts the gesture, hopping up to have her mother hold her in an embrace longer than what the previous six weeks would allow.

“You know that I want what’s best for you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And that I love you?”

Akko nods into the crook of her neck, murmuring out another affirmation.

“And that no matter what, I’ll always fight as hard as I can to make this world a better place for you to live in?”

“But…?”

She frowns again, squeezing Akko a little tighter as her voice gets a little quieter, though it still sounds throughout the empty diner.

“But I want you to be able to support yourself. I want you to have enough to live on and whatever I do, life’s going to be a little harder for you. So don’t make it harder for yourself, okay?”

“And even if you want to become some musician, then we’ll still do our best to help out, right?”

After a moment, Akko accepts a kiss on either cheek from her mother, then a hug and kiss from her dad before going back to eat, though a part of her genuinely wants to try turning into a rat. You know, just to see how different it would taste. And she could totally do it if she wanted! 

But no, her mom had gotten pretty upset the last time this happened and while the news had somehow entirely forgotten about a girl turning into a rat on live television, Akko had, by this point, grown to appreciate the odder parts about herself.

After all, it’s not like they haven’t helped her out before.

###

“Whatcha doin’ there, Kagari?”

Her notebook hangs out of reach as two mean boys with ashy, brown hair dangle it above her head.

“Do we need to ask? She’s obviously drawing that stupid gay-ass witch again!”

Akko’s blood boils and she can almost feel a jolt of static electricity between the book and her fingertip, as if it’s trying to jump across that small gap to get to her.

“Jap-gari’s drawing her imaginary friend again? We’ve really gotta teach her to stop doing those gross-ass shitstains of drawings, don’t we?”

“Yeah, let’s‒”

“Hm, now, that doesn’t sound like you're being very nice right now.”

The two boys and Akko freeze as an echoing, almost ethereal voice fills the room and while the boys don’t recognize it, there isn’t a universe where Akko doesn’t immediately light up at hearing it:

“…Chariot?!”

First the head, then down to the shoulders and pushing herself up and out of the notebook by the arms, climbs a nine-foot tall woman who towers over everyone else in the room. She stands and Akko can hardly believe her eyes because Chariot’s getting down on one knee in front of her like a prince, and‒

“WITCH!!”

###

For some reason, no one ever mentioned that again and, to her chagrin, she hadn’t been able to repeat the feat again, and her parents only believed her after she turned into a rat in the middle of dinner. It actually took almost a week to turn back that time, because‒

“A‒ chan,  we need to get going if we don’t want to miss ‘The Addams Family’, okay? Your Okaa-san is already paying.”

Akko doesn’t need to be told twice, scarfing down the rest of her food. When they head out through the door, Akko half braces herself for reporters, or angry men shouting mean things at them, but the way home is mostly silence, save for the meowing of a cat that follows them from too large a distance for Akko to run up and pet it like she’d like.

Ah, nuts. Though Akko forgets seeing it fairly quickly as it disappears from her sight. Back in their neighbourhood, Akko runs up to the tire swing in their front yard, dragging her mom along as her dad goes open the front door.

Her mom hesitates before swinging, though, reaching into her purse: “Wait, dear, you wouldn’t happen to have the keys with you, would you?”

“It’s unlocked.”

They stare at one another for a moment before Akko’s mom brings a hand up to her hat and pulls out a blade longer than her legs as Akko’s dad starts towards her, taking her by the hand and leading her down the road, Akko’s mom following closely behind them as they break into a run. Akko’s heard so many threats on her family by now that it’s become easy to laugh them off, but this was the first time they’d ever actually had someone after them, and Akko knew that her parents and the police would keep them safe, they still had to round the corner before finding a police box, and‒

“Hm. It would seem as though I’ve forgotten to re-lock the door. My apologies, Kagaris.”

The three of them whirl around to see a middle-aged woman with a pointed hat and an ornate wooden rod in her grasp‒

“A witch?!”

“Stay back!”

Akko only hears that voice once every few weeks, when the hecklers get just a little too close, but she still hasn’t quite gotten used to it, recoiling as her mom points the blade directly towards the woman before them.

“Please, Doctors Kagari, I assure you, I mean no harm,” the lady in the robes says, holding her hands in the air, revealing an envelope in her hand. No one moves, the street suspiciously empty during their standoff, and before Akko or one of her parents can get in another word, there’s a deafening crack before the lady disappears before their eyes, reappearing several metres away.

“I am professor Minerva Mcgonagall of Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” she says, an almost playful tint to her voice as she walks back up to the Kagaris to significantly less resistance: “Your daughter, Atsuko is, as it seems, a witch.”

The only sound in the street is the whistling of the wind as Akko stands there, stunned. A witch? She, Akko, was a fully-fledged, wand-waving, crystal-ball holding, pointy-hat witch?

“I believe you owed me twenty pounds?”

Their gazes all turn to Dr. Kagari who’s now held an expectant hand at his wife who, after a moment of surprise, gave a long, loud sigh before fishing a twenty-pound note from her purse.

“You never would have held up your end until the day you died‒”

“Which is why I made the bet. Much harder to prove something doesn’t exist than something existing‒”

“Mom, dad, what’s this about?”

He’d seemed to have forgotten Akko was even there, giving a sheepish grin before explaining.

“A- chan, when we’d first heard of the incident at school,” Akko can’t help but smile a little at the mention of that, “your mother and I made a bet on whether or not you’d turn out to be some magician, or yo-kai touched, or‒”

“Like a demigod?”

McGonagall gives a chuckle at that, walking back towards the Kagaris’ house, beckoning them to follow.

“Well, I wouldn’t dare assume myself to have any sort of power as Hercules or the like, but I daresay magic is its own power far beyond that of any faith.”

“So, professor, what, exactly, is Hogwarts?”

“Hogwarts is a school for talented witches and wizards to hone their skills‒ah, but a demonstration might be more apt. You wouldn’t happen to be able to show me that twenty-pound note there, would you?”

“Tuition?” Her dad jokes and thankfully, professor McGonagall doesn’t seem to mind.

“No, your daughter has done quite enough to earn herself a scholarship. Thank you for the note, and, well, Incendio.”

Her father gives a yelp as the note bursts into flames before they quickly abate, leaving behind a perfectly intact bill. Wingardium Leviosa,” she says, floating the note high above their heads before “Accio,” sends it shooting back into her grasp, and as Akko watches, she can’t help but be just a touch reminded of‒

“…Chariot?”

McGonagall seems… not to know about her? But this is Chariot she’s talking about, of course she knows her! Everyone does, right?

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

Right?

“Shiny Chariot! You know, the performer? Did super cool magic things, and always made sure to tell us that a believing heart is our magic! That Shiny Chariot?”

Akko scans McGonagall’s face, searching for any sign of recognition, or heck, Akko wouldn’t be mad if this were some prank, but… nothing.

“Well, I daresay you have more than just ‘a believing heart’, Miss Kagari. All of what I just did and more can be learned at Hogwarts.”

Right. Right! School! Hogwarts! Magic! Worrying about Chariot could come later‒McGonagall was old, so she must not have heard of Chariot, that must have been it. 

“Are you still with me, Doctors Kagari?”

Akko’s dad seems to have detected her distress, now squeezing her hand tight as they walk through the door to their home, but her mom just nods, pinching her temple a bit.

“…Yes. Yes, I believe we’re still with you,” she says, hazarding a glance at the other members of her family. “What will happen if she doesn’t go?”

McGonagall takes on a much more sombre tone at that line of questioning, shifting a little as she adjusts her hat, clearing her throat before she answers.

“While it is not universal, the vast majority of wizards and witches who either underutilize their abilities or don’t utilize them at all tend to experience outbursts, typically when becoming emotional. Left untreated, this can lead to them becoming an obscurus; a dangerous being without a mind of its own.”

Without the wind, there’s nothing to fill the silence as Akko’s parents stare on in horror, but really, what’s there to be so scared about? If she just needs to use her magic enough, then…

“Then, I’ve got to go to Hogwarts, right?”

Three pairs of eyes snap to Akko and as always, it’s her mother who speaks first.

“…I suppose so.”

McGonagall and Akko’s dad breathe a sigh of relief before Akko’s mom continues, turning back to McGonagall.

“So, magic aside, how is this school run? You mentioned a scholarship‒is it private? What governing body runs the place?”

“Hogwarts is a private school, yes, though it is largely funded through its board of governors as well as some grants from the ministry of magic.”

“Ministry of magic?”

McGonagall smiles at the eagerness in Akko’s tone before continuing.

“The governing body of the magical world.”

“How’re they run? Monarchy? Democracy? Some kind of republic?”

Akko’s dad gives a groan, but Akko doesn’t mind listening as her mother probes at McGonagall who takes the questions in stride.

“The Minister of Magic is elected every four years, much like your government, though unlike yours, we utilize a form of, well, I suppose you’re likely more familiar with the terms than myself, ranked choice votes from all the candidates. The minister appoints heads of departments and the Wizenmagot who serve as our judiciary and legislative branch.”

“Lots of power to give to one person, hm?”

McGonagall sighs, hesitating before continuing, in a hushed voice:

“Between ourselves, it is relatively common knowledge that the minister is ultimately beholden to his donors, but as Hogwarts is an apolitical institution, I am not permitted to give my opinion on the matter.”

Akko snickers at that, even more so after McGonagall gives her a conspiratorial wink, but the atmosphere evaporates as McGonagall again takes a more serious tone.

“Now, you should be made aware that Akko will experience some amount of… prejudice, shall we say, for her status as a child of non-wizards, muggles, we call them.”

“So, there’s wizard racism.”

Akko’s mom shoots her dad an exasperated look, to which he only says, “That’s what it is, isn’t it?”

“In short, yes,” McGonagall says, tightly pursing her lips as she chooses her words carefully, “While I am unable to give comment to specific families or individuals, I can say that many of the old wizarding families are… fearful of the increasing tolerance of muggle-born witches and wizards under the tenure of its current headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Some have grown militant over it and there was a war fought over it, but it has since ended. Regardless, so long as Miss Kagari is within the walls of Hogwarts, myself and the staff can guarantee her safety from both those types of prejudice and others.”

“Okay. You get all that, Atsuko, dear?”

Akko nods as her dad flips through the contents of the letter McGonagall had since left on the table between them all.

“A question, where do we get these… things?” He says, clearly thinking of a different word but unable to find the right translation.

“Not to worry, Dr. Kagari,” she says, standing again, “Should your recently-cleared schedule allow for it, I will be escorting you to acquire your schooling items personally in a place called Diagon Alley, where most wizarding trade in the United Kingdom occurs. As I stated, you will not have to pay a galleon‒er, a pence for it.”

“Can we go now? Please?”

The Kagaris take one look at their daughter and give a collective defeated sigh before Akko’s mom gives a tired nod. Smiling, McGonagall says, “Alright, I can teleport us all there; we just need to link up, now,” and they all hold hands before a crack thunders out from their home, leaving nothing but dust behind.

Chapter Text

Diana’s heard brief mention of the Leaky Cauldron in passing; Daryl didn’t seem to have the highest opinion of it, describing it as ‘rank and foul-smelling, full of all sorts of troublesome figures’, and while she seldom finds herself in accordance with her aunt, she can’t help but agree a little. There were a few old women sitting in the corner, one of whom was smoking a long pipe, filling the air with the scent of tobacco. Once she manages to cast a bubble-head charm after a few attempts, though, it’s a little better and she can better appreciate the friendly way in which they wave at and greet Hagrid as he walks past the counter.

“The usual?” The bartender asks with a jovial grin, but Hagrid shakes his head.

“Can’t, Tom. I’m on official Hogwarts business,” he says, lightly tapping Diana on the shoulder, though even a light tap almost knocks her over.

“Bless my soul… Diana Cavendish…” He seems to catch himself, though, his jubilance fading to sheepishness as he continues, “Ah, apologies, I know you don’t like getting called out, I forgot.”

…What? Where could he have heard that? Diana had barely left the home in the past five years and she certainly did not recall making any public statement on the topic.

No time like the present, then.

“No, no, it’s absolutely fine. Here,” she said, giving the bartender her hand to shake which he, in turn, firmly clasped in both of his, shaking it vigorously with tears in his eyes. No sooner did he pull back before there was a great scraping of chairs and a queue of sorts began to form in front of Diana.

It was almost surreal, having so many people offering their gratitude for an action that Diana had no conscious part in. Her mind flits back to that night, that fateful flash of green streaking across her vision as a certain Doris Crockford shakes her hand‒

“Ms. Cavendish, I’m afraid that my patience is running thin. Step aside, now , and be spared.”

Her mother didn’t move, not daring to dive for her wand on the other side of the room, but unable to let Diana out of her sight.

“This is your last chance, Voldemort,” the name is venom in Diana’s mind as she cowers under the covers, desperately praying that this is all a bad dream, that everything will be okay, or that her father will appear behind this man and shoot a spell into his exposed back, “Leave now.”

His laugh is dark and taunting, almost a snarl as Diana hears the swishing of a wand, and‒

“You leave me no choice, then. Avada Kedavra‒”

“‒Diggle’s the name, Dedalus Diggle.”

Diana shakes the image out of her mind, hoping, then confirming that her pallor has gone unnoticed by her onlookers before redoubling her grip and grin, then pulling away with a brief: “We’ve got to get going now; lots to buy.”

She doesn’t deserve the attention. She knows that much, that the source of her fame is using her own mother as a human shield, that there is no honour in having others sacrifice themselves for you. But even considering that, she could see the sheer joy and gratitude emanating from the faces of everyone who met her and recognized her, and who was she to take that away from them? Like it or not, she had, albeit unintentionally, saved the wizarding world and she would accept its gratitude in her mother’s name, if for no other reason.

And expectation isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Expectation breeds motivation, breeds discipline, breeds every bit of magical expertise that follows therein, and Diana does not intend to be known for her actions, or lack thereof, as a six year old for longer than she can help.

“Where are we to, then, Hagrid?”

“Gringotts,” he says, pausing in the street as another passerby goes to shake Diana’s hand.

It made sense to Diana: they’d need gold to purchase anything else for the day. She’d heard tales of the place, stories of ill-informed robbers meeting their doom at the hands of the iron-fisted goblins or the impenetrable wall of enchantments that defended its halls. Contrary to Daryl’s distrust of them, Diana couldn’t find a single instance of fraud or other financial crime under the tenure of the goblins; considering the vast documentation on the fraudulent financial institutions of wizards, it was no wonder that Gringotts had succeeded despite racial prejudices.

“Mornin’,” Hagrid says as they stride past the odds and ends of Diagon and into Gringotts, two goblins bowing to them as they do. “We’ve come to take some money outta Ms. Diana Cavendish’s safe.”

“You have his key, sir?”

“Righ’ here,” he says, pulling a small, emerald-encrusted silver key out from his pocket.

The goblin takes it from Hagrid’s hand, then taps it with the tip of his finger, making the emeralds glow a brilliant green, creating a hole in Diana’s vision before they stop, returning to normal.

“That seems to be in order.”

“An’ I’ve go’ a letter here from Professor Dumbledore. It’s about the You-Know-What in vault seven-hundred and thirteen.”

Diana recognizes the spell as the same one the goblin had just cast on her key and the result appears the same as they look the letter over before handing it back, saying, “Very well, I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!”

Griphook is a little taller than the goblin that called him, equally well-dressed in a sort of business casual outfit. He leads them down to a narrow passageway, illuminated by torches, and Diana can’t help but marvel at the architecture as they speed down the tracks. Had all this really been built over half a thousand years ago? And it was still standing?

Her thoughts are interrupted, though, by a particularly loud groan from Hagrid. She looks up with him to see him clutching his stomach in discomfort before asking: 

“Would you like me to do a stomach-calming charm?”

But Hagrid shakes his head, saying, “It’s fine, I can handle this myself. Now, don’t ask anything else.”

Diana obliges and the cart ventures deeper, past the mid-sized vaults, deeper past some of the more high-security vaults, and deeper still until the little flecks of sunlight that once were disappear, enshrouding the three of them in darkness. Griphook snaps his fingers and torches light up along their path as the cart lurches this way and that before diving down through what must be the Thieves’ Downfall‒or so Diana thinks as she waves her wand, blowing hot air over herself.

The cart comes to a stop and they’re led across an even narrower passage that Hagrid can’t cross. “Le’ me know when yer done,” he says, leaving her and Griphook to venture across to her vault. They don’t say a word, Griphook silently inserting and turning the key to her vault door and simply gesturing for Diana to enter.

The vault is clearly far too large for the still sizable pile of gold in the middle of it. It was likely enough to live off of if Diana was both smart and modest with it, but to restore the Cavendish family?

She’d have a lot of work to do.

“Now, this is all entrusted to you,” Griphook says, in a very business-like tone. “Your mother has instructed us to give you an allowance of fifty galleons a year until you are of age, at which point you will gain access to the rest.”

“Right. Thank you, Griphook,” she says, before waving her wand and chanting: “Accio Fifty Galleons.”

But then she feels her spell fizzle out and she’s about to try again when she hears a low chuckle from behind her followed by Griphook saying:

“Not bad spellwork, Miss, but you won’t be able to summon any gold while in these walls. Here,” he says, floating a stack of galleons into a pouch before handing it to Diana. She thanks him again and they reunite with Hagrid. Before long, they’re hurtling back up to vault 713 and Diana watches as Griphook strokes the solid stone wall at its entrance with his finger, causing it to open.

As Hagrid enters and exits with a package that fits in his fist, Diana can’t help but feel a little curious. She has no illusions that size is in any way a determinant of a magical artifact’s power, but the fact that this nondescript package was at risk even at Gringotts intrigues Diana, she’ll admit. 

“Might as well get yer uniform,” Hagrid mutters, gesturing to Madame Malkin’s as they exit Gringotts (Daryl had always preferred Twilfitt and Tattings, but Diana figured this would do). “Listen, Diana,” he says in a more hushed tone and Diana lends him her ear: “Would yeh mind if I slipped off for a pick-me-up at the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts,” before he starts marching back down Diagon, and‒

“Wait, you’re leaving a student unattended to get a drink?!”

Hagrid stops in his tracks, at first shocked, then apologetic as he slinks back to Diana’s side.

“No, o’ course not,” he mumbles. “Sorry, Miss Cavendish,” He adds before they make their way to Malkin’s without another word.

“I’ll wait for yeh outside. Wouldn’ wan’ to disturb yeh,” He awkwardly concludes once they get there and Diana has half a mind to keep him there just to keep an eye on him, but she relents. He’s an adult and there’s no helping a patient that doesn’t want help.

“Hogwarts, dear?” 

Diana puts the encounter out of her mind for now. That was probably just a one-time thing, after all. She can’t imagine Dumble putting his trust into someone who consistently encounters issues regarding this.

“Yes, the robes I had were a tad large on me, so I figured I’d get measured again.”

The kind-looking aged witch whom Diana presumes to be Malkin says, “Perfect; Right this way then, I’ve got another young lady about your size fitted up already.”

She follows Malkin down to the back where she does, in fact, find another witch about her size with auburn hair tied back in a ponytail, smelling faintly of perfume.

“Oh, hello there,” she says as Malkin slips a black robe over her head. “You must be headed to Hogwarts too?”

“Indeed,” Diana responds, slightly unnerved by the intense gaze that the auburn-haired girl gives her, though she puts it out of her mind, focusing on staying still to ensure the quality of her robes, and‒

“Are you, by chance, Diana Cavendish?”

Huh. She shouldn’t be surprised that people her age know of her‒six is plenty old enough to have started forming memories. It’s a little unsettling, but Diana takes it in stride, simply saying, “Yes, that’s me.”

“Oh. My. God!” she exclaims, earning a stern reprimand from the witch working on her, to which she immediately apologizes. “I’m Hannah England, and, and I just‒ thank you! Thank you so much!” She’s almost scrambling for breath and it’s a little jarring to hear her talk with such an animated voice while her body remains completely still.

“My parents were under the imperius curse and you freed them!”

“Please, thank my mother,” Diana replies almost coldly, a little overwhelmed at being thanked so personally. “And my father. They’re the ones who actually stopped him,” though she still isn’t quite sure how.

“Ah… Sorry about that.”

“No worries,” Diana quickly spits out, feeling discomfort rapidly set in at the mention of the topic. “By the way, where are your parents?” She deflects to a different line of thought which Hannah, thankfully follows.

“My father’s next door buying my books and my mother’s up the street looking at wands.”

“Well, that’s no good. You’ve got to be there to try them out, don’t you?”

“Yes, but she was looking at some of the add-ons. You know, grips, rune carvings, and such.”

“Yes, but wouldn’t you want to be there to try them out too?”

Hannah thought about that for a bit and the two of them don’t exchange any more words while being fitted, but as she steps out, she gives Diana a wave and Diana gives a light smile back.

Hagrid is waiting for her by the time she exits, though Diana smells the distinct scent of butterbear on him as they head to the bookstore. Thankfully, the reading list hasn’t changed much, but Diana’s copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi is outdated, so she reads through it a little before verifying that the only difference is the removal of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans as a sponsor at the back.

The rest of the supplies are neither here nor there, Diana stocking up on various alchemical ingredients and replacing her iron cauldron with pewter. “Just yer wand left,” Hagrid says, “oh yeah, an’ I still haven’t gotten yer birthday present ye’.”

Diana immediately shakes her head. 

“No, you’re Hogwarts staff! You couldn’t possibly do that!”

He waves a dismissive hand at her, saying, “Think o’ it as a gift from all the wizards who tried to send yeh stuff. Should’a had a PO box, come to think of it.”

Diana can’t find it in herself to argue any more, but upon entering Eeylops Owl Emporium, she again finds herself hesitating.

“I can’t feed it, Hagrid,” she says, but again, Hagrid shakes his head. “It’ll feed itself. Get rid o’ some rats and bugs around the house for yeh. You’ll just have to clean its cage ev’ry now an’ then.”

“Daryl won’t allow it. She’s forbidden me from owning pets and in all likelihood, she’ll end up killing it somehow.”

So Hagrid relents and they continue down towards Ollivanders. It’s a narrow and shabby-looking shop, but its appearance doesn’t deceive Diana; she can feel the magic radiating off of it like sparks of electricity suspended in the air, making her hairs stand on their ends as she opens the door.

There were other wand stores, but with the school providing funding for its students, there was hardly a reason to buy from anywhere else. Ollivanders was the standard‒that’s how it had been for over two thousand years and that was how it would likely be for years to come.

Both her parents had got their wands there and while her father’s had been destroyed that night, she kept her mother’s with her. If she had to part with this wand…

No, she’d have to get her own as every wizard or witch who walked the hallowed halls of Hogwarts had before her. Steeling herself, she reached for the door, and‒

She catches a glimpse of an Asian girl about her age waving a wand far too wildly for any degree of safety to be assured before something hits her in the face and everything goes dark.

####

Akko hadn’t been entirely serious when she’d said that it was the best day ever before. It was just one of those things you say when you’re really happy, or something really good happens to you! You know, that sort of thing.

But with goblins, owls, magic galore, broomsticks, cauldrons, and more, books that made Akko actually want to read them, procedures hinted at just enough to make her want to see them, Gringotts, bookshops, ice-cream stores, and now…

Wands.

Her parents had rudely shut down her idea of buying an owl, but Akko got over that pretty quickly when she’d heard that she was getting a wand.

She enters the store alone, since “the choosing of a wand tends to be a process with some degree of, er, collateral damage. Best to keep yourself safe,” according to McGonagall. It was a little upsetting, but again, that’s quickly overshadowed by the fact that she’s about to get a wand!

“Um… Hello?”

“Ah, another Muggle-born.”

Akko jumps at the noise, looking up from the dusty wooden boxes that lined the walls to the old man behind the counter.

He seems alright, though, and Akko walks fast up to the counter where she’s greeted by… not a smile, really, but at least a sort of: ‘yes, I see you’ look.

“You must be‒”

“Atsuko Kagari! I’m here to buy a wand!”

“‒a muggleborn,” he finishes, but not in a mean-sounding way. Akko supposed there wasn’t some other nicer word to use, but any of those thoughts fly out the window as the person who she assumes to be Ollivander tells her to “Hold out your shoulder” before taking her measurements.

She proudly declares that “I’m ambidextrous!” when questioned about her wand arm, though the she doesn’t quite catch anything else that Ollivander says as she imagines shooting fireworks, or transforming into giant animals, or‒

“This one. Dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches long, made from rather inflexible oak wood.”

Excitement courses through her as she reaches for the wand, getting ready for light to shoot out the tip, or smoke to start billowing through the room, or‒

“Curious, curious indeed. Wands that reject the wielder tend to do so more… violently.”

Nothing happened. And apparently something was supposed to happen regardless? Akko barely had time to process what she’d heard before Ollivander was shoving another wand into her hand.

“Unicorn hair, seven and a quarter‒no, that won’t do either.”

This time, it brushes against her hand for just a moment before Ollivander snatches it away, saying, “No, this won’t do either. Not to worry; plenty of witches spend the whole day in my shop and if that’s what it comes to, that’s what we’ll do.”

That’s not really comforting, but Akko has to laugh a little at that. Surely they won’t actually be here the entire day, right? And even if they do, she’ll get her wand by the end, right?

###

“I don’t suppose you have any theories as to what might be occurring, Professor?”

McGonagall hands Akko her hundred-and-twenty-seventh wand of the day which Akko gives a brief wave before it does nothing for the hundred-and-twenty-seventh time and she resists the urge to snap it against the nearest table.

“Not a clue. You've tried the alternative cores, correct?”

“Yes, Kelpie hairs, thunderbird feathers, I think I’ve tried just about every core in my shop, but not one has reacted. A curious, curious case indeed.”

A curious case. That’s what Akko was, not a witch who needed a wand, or someone who could show the world what a muggleborn could do, but just ‘a curious case’. Maybe McGonagall was wrong and she wasn’t a real witch after all.

Her parents weren’t here, but Akko could feel their worry through the walls. Or maybe that’s just her own worry. Either way, when Ollivander sharply turns his gaze at her, she barely reacts besides slowly looking up to meet his gaze.

“Miss Kagari, would there happen to be any magical creatures that are close to you?”

Of course not. What was the point of that question? She obviously didn’t have an owl, or some other magical pet. Heck, even her parents weren’t magical. Wait, do owls even count as magical creatures? The only type of thing she knows is magical would be, well‒

Oh.

Oh!

“Miss Kagari, if you didn’t hear‒what are you doing with those nail clippers?”

###

Thankfully, seeing as Akko was due for a trim anyways, her parents weren’t all too upset at the sizable chunk of hair now missing from Akko, quickly waving off McGongagall’s profuse apology. Now waiting inside for Ollivander to finish cobbling together a wand, Akko is far more content, lightly swinging her feet back and forth as she sits on her hands.

“I don’t get it. Why didn’t Mr. Ollivander just ask for some of my hair from the start?”

“While hair from the witch or wizard is technically a viable core, they tend to make rather volatile partners if not enough care is used when handling them,” McGongall says, matter-of-factly. “But I suppose volatile is better than nonfunctional, at any rate.”

Akko was, of course, inclined to agree. After all, weren’t cool explosions and stuff a part of magic? Though her mother seems to detect this line of thought somehow, shooting her a stern glare.

“Your wand is ready, Miss Kagari. Now, if the rest of you would kindly exit the store‒”

“Perfect!”

Before anyone can react, Akko takes the wand from Ollivander’s open palm and the moment it touches her hand, she feels a wind whip through the store, sending boxes to the floor, rattling the lights as McGonagall hastily throws up a barrier around herself and Akko’s parents, and Akko feel energy beginning to surge at the tip of the wand, threatening to free itself at a moment’s notice and while Akko remembers she’s in a store, the path to the entrance is clear and she lets the energy loose, hurtling off towards the door that’s now slightly ajar‒

…When’d the door get opened?

Chapter Text

That day was, if nothing else, certainly eventful.

“Well, here we are. I trust that you’ll have no difficulties with entering platform nine and three quarters?”

“It really is quite stupid that we can’t just floo over.”

“Just Dumbledore and his ‘security concerns’ stinking up the place.”

Merrill and Maril trot off towards the station without another glance back, hopefully leaving their bad attitudes behind in the car. It just so happens that Diana has no compulsion to remain, so she quickly goes to retrieve her bag, and‒

“Diana,” Daryl says, devoid of emotion.

“Yes, Daryl?”

“Put your hood up. You should avoid attracting too much attention.”

Of course, Diana does as she’s told while Daryl has line of sight of her, tearing the accursed hood right off the moment that she walks through the gates of the station.

So what if people stare at her? Let them. Every person in this building is only alive thanks to the sacrifice of her parents, after all. Still…

“Bless my soul… Diana Cavendish…”

“I’m Hannah England, and, and I just‒ thank you! Thank you so much!”

Even if she had no part in the actual fall of Voldemort, who was she to take away the joy on their faces whenever they saw her? Honestly, if her presence can rally the wizarding community together, then is it not her duty to provide it?  Besides, it isn’t as if she’s hurting anyone by accepting their gratitude. Not that it isn’t nice to be treated with respect on occasion, but that’s besides‒

“Oh, I think she’s finally waking up!”

“Miss Cavendish! Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?”

She remembers seeing the faces of Hagrid and that shorter asian girl hovering over her for about a moment before the girl exploded into her view, their noses practically touching, sending a flood of colour into Diana’s cheeks as she flinched in surprise.

“I’m Atsuko Kagari, but you can call me Akko, like all my friends! Not that many people call me that‒oh, here, let me help you up!”

Her voice almost pierced her eardrums with how upbeat it was‒had Diana heard anyone speak louder than that before? Daryl’s tantrums could give this ‘Atsuko’ girl a run for her money, but they were more akin to terror-inducing thunderclaps while this moreso reminded Diana of the sound of a chipmunk inflicted by a chattering charm.

“Your hair’s super pretty! How’d you get it like that? Did your parents let you dye it? Mine would never do that. They always go on about ‘maintaining my hair quality’ and how I ‘won’t be able to keep up with the work’, but yours are probably way cooler! Are you a muggleborn like me? Oh, actually, what’s your name?”

She’d barely managed to catch a word between Atsuko talking about her parents and asking her name, unable to keep up with her mile-a-minute pace of speech. Was someone holding a wand to her head or something?

“I’ll have you know that she’s Diana Cavendish,” Hagrid says, squinting at Atsuko, making a deliberate pause on Diana’s name before continuing, “And I’m her escort today. Rubeus Hagrid. You wouldn’t happen to be finishing up here, would you, Professor McGonagall?”

“As a matter of fact, we are. Come along now, Ms. Kagari.”

“Aw, I wanted to test the wand out some more.”

“You’ll have plenty of time for that during the school year. Come along, now.”

She’d been thankful that she hadn’t needed to respond, even ignoring the too-wide grin that Akko gave her on the way out. Even the way that Daryl addressed her bore a sort of begrudging formality, leftover from the way she addresses her in public. Akko didn’t have a lick of that, jumping at her with all the uncouthness of a mud-caked dog. Did she even know who she was talking to? 

…Probably not, she realizes, remembering Atsuko asking about if she’s “a muggleborn like me?”

Not one to be held back by such brief encounters, however, she quickly made her way through the station, finding herself between platforms 9 and 10 in almost no time at all. There’s the occasional glance every so often, a lady with a massive suitcase here, a child with orange hair grumpily trotting alongside their mother there, and a larger girl flanked by two tiny cloaked figures, each of them a whole head shorter than her all passed Diana by, none failing to stop and stare at her for a moment before looking away.

Though Diana doesn’t pay them too much mind as she briefly checks around herself before stepping through the pillar as if she’s already done so a thousand times.

The platform is exactly the same as Diana had found it to be when she’d first ‘accompanied’ (been forced to come for the sake of public appearances) her cousins. Crowded, noisy, and all-too-easy to get lost in. Thankfully, the Hogwarts Express is almost impossible to miss, towering above everything else and it only takes a little bit of pushing and shoving to get inside.

She hears whispers everywhere she goes, voices in and out of her head bouncing around her, asking: “Is that really…?” or, “Have you seen her scar?” or even, “Why is she alone?”

Truth be told, Daryl had been in an even more foul mood recently, though thankfully, this manifested in the form of veiled comments at mealtimes (or less veiled‒she’d referred to Hagrid as a ‘pigheaded brute’ at least a few times) or ‘forgetting’ to bring Diana to public meetings as opposed to destroying her things. The former didn’t bother her quite as much after all this time and the latter simply gave her more time to practice.

Speaking of practice, Diana’s never been one to waste an opportunity. Equipping her wand, she draws a quick spiral motion with its tip pointed at the door handle, chanting:

“Colloportus!”

Diana smiles at the click of a nonexistent lock snapping shut, basking in the familiar feel of her mother’s wand in her hand. She’d been expecting to have a new wand by now, one she would have had to get used to over the course of the next few months, if not weeks, but…

“Diana Cavendish,” Ollivander (Diana had no confusion regarding the identity of this man) had begun, standing behind the counter. “I thought I’d be seeing you again.”

“But of course,” Diana had replied, smiling a little at the memory of how startled her cousins had been when he popped out from behind the counter during their wand-buying visit.

“Well, I don’t suppose you want to be kept waiting. Have a seat; I’ll take your measurements.”

Diana did as she was told, and then he was off, measuring her from head to toe, shoulder to shoulder and knee to elbow as she was surrounded by flying tapes, Ollivander swiftly writing down every value with the help of several quills that flitted about the parchment behind him.

“Your hands are rather large,” he had said, tracing the lines of her palm, “and the palmistry is almost identical to your father’s.”

“Really, now?” From what little Diana had read of muggle literature, palm lines weren’t hereditary, but she supposed that anything could be possible when magic’s involved.

“Of course, you’re the spitting image of your mother, though I don’t suppose that you’re unused to hearing that?”

“No, but it’s alright‒welcome, actually. I still have her wand.”

“You have her wand?”

All at once, the measuring devices froze midair, flying back into all the little cabinets they’d exited from as Ollivander approached her, coming until he was uncomfortably close before saying:

“Well, we should have a look at that.”

His breath was muggy on Diana’s face, smelling of herbs that Diana still can’t name, and she fumbled in her robes for her wand, hastily shoving it towards Ollivander to get him away, if nothing else.

“Oh, no, I don’t want that. Cast a spell or two. See how it responds.”

Well, she’d known that such a request would be easier than anything to pull off. Her mother’s wand was practically an 8-inch extension of her, the unicorn hair listening to her and responding in kind far more than anyone else in her life as she gently guided its path in an upwards motion, standing and pointing it at the chair she’d just been seated in before chanting out:

Wingardium Leviosa!

She easily lifted the table up above her head, nearly sending it into the ceiling before shouting: “ Lumos Infundere ,” making it emanate a cool white glow in the room. As she sets it back down and calls off her spells, she pointedly doesn’t react to the relaxed clap that Ollivander gives her.

“Not bad. It takes most witches far longer to concentrate on multiple spells at once.”

“It’s nothing,” or rather, it would be more odd if a Cavendish hadn’t been able to do that.

“Well, it looks like your visit today was a bit of a waste of time. It seems as though you have a wand that’s serving you perfectly well already.”

“But wouldn’t it be better to get a wand that fits me better?”

“Under normal circumstances, with a child practicing magic with their parent’s wand, yes, but, well… Your situation is not too uncommon for orphans.”

A shiver ran down her spine as Ollivander came uncomfortably close again and Diana had to bite her tongue to stop herself from flinching as he ran his dry, crackled fingers across her scar.

“And I can’t imagine that whatever protection your mother placed on you has run its course. Perhaps it may be for the best if you keep that wand close by.”

She doesn’t really like to remember that day‒she’s found it difficult to stay with her spice cabinet for too long ever since‒but she can’t help but turn the wand back in forth in her hand , scanning it for any indicator of dormant magic that she hasn’t seen in the past 5 years.

…Nope, none at all. Just the same old comfort of a slightly thin wooden handle resting easily in her hands. 

In any case, she should get back to practice. Her locking charm’s long since worn off, the door now hanging slightly ajar, and Diana thinks to test herself a little, try closing the door and locking it at the same time, enunciating:

“Collo‒”

“See? I told you, Barbara, I wasn’t seeing things! It’s really her! Diana Cavendish in the flesh!”

“Wow, it really is‒hey, Arthur, stop that!”

Diana manages to keep any startled looks out of her face as two people her age, one with immediately recognizable black hair and another with the distinctive features of the Parker family practically kick down the door after sliding it ajar, sending the Parker’s pet bird of some kind into a frenzy, furiously rattling the bars of the cage it’s in.

“We’ve already met, right, Diana?”

“…Of course,” Diana answers, shaking her extended hand as the two of them enter the car. “And you must be Barbara?”

“Mhm,” she says, seemingly able to get ‘Arthur’ under control. “Would it be okay if we sat with you?”

“Plus, it would be a waste if no one ended up sitting with the Diana Cavendish, right?”

Well, it isn’t as if she’d had any plans with anyone else in particular. So long as they don’t get in the way of her practice…

“I suppose I can entertain you for a bit.”

The cheer that they give is probably the second loudest thing that Diana’s ever heard, Hannah and Barbara sitting beside and across from her respectively. 

…Now Diana had been planning on continuing with her practice, but it’s a little hard to do while they’re both staring at her so expectantly. Honestly, it’s almost certainly nothing but a bit of nerves, so really, she shouldn’t have any problem just shaking them off‒

“So, how do you have a pigeon, Barbara? Did it get grandfathered in?”

Just a little conversation. To break the ice and all. And then she’ll get back to practicing.

Besides, this is somewhat relevant to Hogwarts, isn’t it? There aren’t many animals that don’t fit in the usually required toad/cat/owl trio, so to see one is worth questioning.

“Yeah. He used to belong to my parents, but they just called him ‘bidulgi’‒that’s ‘pigeon’ in Korean‒so they let me rename him.”

“And where’d you get ‘Arthur’ from‒”

“Anyways! What were you reading there, Diana?”

“Oh, uh,” Diana takes a moment to register the change, “Just the standard book of spells. Now‒”

“Wow, you're aiming for Ravenclaw, then?”

The entire time, it seems like Barbara’s trying to say something, but whenever Diana looks over to address Barbara, Hannah interjects. Ah, well.

“I wouldn’t say that I’m aiming for any house in particular, no. Though, I suppose Ravenclaw would be nice,” she says, recalling how Merrill had once made fun of the Ravenclaws for spending all their time “cooped up in their special little tower” full of books.

“Yeah, Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad, but imagine if you ended up in Hufflepuff. I think I’d take the first train back.”

…Hufflepuff? 

For a few moments, Diana thinks that Barbara’s joking, but then Hannah starts nodding along and Diana can’t catch a hint of irony in their expressions.

“And I’d probably throw up if I was put with all those pigheaded brutes in Gryffindor‒”

“All of the houses have their merits. When creating a spell, it’s the Ravenclaws who draw and imagine its principles, Hufflepuffs who work hard at refining it, Gryffindors who first use it, and Slytherins who ordered it to be done in the first place. Without any of them, the process fails.”

…So.

Diana still stands by what she said, but seeing the silent stares of Hannah and Barbara does still make her shrink back in her seat, ready to be knocked right off her high horse as‒

“Well, if Diana Cavendish is saying it…”

Hannah’s the first to break the silence, though Diana can still feel an air of tension in the room.

“I think she’s right. We all have different talents.”

“Right! I mean, I still wouldn’t like to be a Hufflepuff, but… I guess that pigheaded brutes can be useful sometimes…”

Diana hadn’t intended that to be her message, but she supposed she’d accept it for now.

“Still, I’d prefer it if they were more strict about the kinds of people they let in. Father says that muggleborns have been stinking up the place more than ever.”

Again, Diana opens her mouth to contradict Hannah, but then she remembers what happened last time she met a muggleborn and instead, decides to simply state:

“I suggest you work on studying up, then. Wouldn’t want one of those ‘muggleborns’ to end up with better grades than you.”

“Oh, yeah! And it’s super cool that you defeated You-Know-Who! Even if the school’s gone a bit far in the other direction. Father says that this sort of thing would never happen in Korea.”

“Anyways,” Diana says, pulling her second-year standard book of spells from her bag, “on that note, why don’t we do some revision?”

“Of course!”

It’s a little odd, seeing both these girls whip out their own materials so quickly, but Diana supposes it’s alright. After all, at least they’re focusing on something befitting witches of their status.

Though Diana can’t help but wonder‒what is it really like for muggleborns? She’d assumed that Daryl and her cousins were just mean exceptions to the relatively professional families she’d met, but if two otherwise seemingly good people like Hannah and Barbara were so against the idea of muggleborns at the school, what would the future environment be like? And she’s been studying magic all her life, but muggleborns don’t find out about their powers until they’re about 11. Even something like finding platform nine-and-three-quarters could be difficult. 

Still, there are always resources for them. For one, basically any wizard worth their salt, even Daryl, would help a student in need. To miss the bus, you’d have to lose your ticket or be so close to the deadline that you miss any other wizarding family.

And there’s no way anyone would be careless enough to do that.

####

Ooh boy, ooh crap, why did no one tell Akko how quickly time moves?

It’s not like she went to sleep particularly late last night! Sure, she stayed up a little, but that was because she was fixing an explosion from her practice! Not that there was much to fix‒her faulty Reparo on her pencil case didn’t leave a whole love behind‒but she had to keep trying at least until she got some sort of spark.

And, uh, she did make a spark. Just, y’know. With Reparo.

So, she slept in a little! Fine! Happens to the best of us! All she had to do was to spend a little less time getting ready in the morning, and‒

Okay, so she’d forgotten to pack some of her things, but as long as they could get right to the station, and then get delayed by a bunch of paparazzi kusssoooooo‒

It was a bit of an Odyssey, but after several hours worth of delays and far too many probing questions from the media successfully dodged (“No, I am not sending my daughter to work overseas! What kind of barbarian are you for even suggesting such a thing?!), they made it to King’s Cross mostly okay.

Which brings us to now.

“What, you want to stay with me, dad? C’mon, I’ll be fine! And it’s not like you’ll know much more about the boarding process than me!”

Now, at about 10:55, Akko’s starting to panic a little. It shouldn’t be too hard to find some help! Just listen around for people saying things like ‘magic wand’, or, ‘muggles’, or‒

“Sucy, did you have to pack so much stuff?”

“Gotta have stuff to experiment with, gotta have space to store the stuff.”

“Then why is it so heavy?”

“I told you, it’s about ten litres of cow’s blood to substitute for an ounce of dragon’s blood.”

…Dragon’s blood?

Perfect!

“Hey, you two! You’re headed to Hogwarts too, right?”

They don’t look normal either! There’s one with skin paler than anything Akko’s seen with bright orange hair beneath her headscarf while the other has skin that’s almost purple, a gaunt face punctuated by pinkish brown hair and red eyes. 

“You must be here for the Hogwarts express! And you’re heading to the sorting? I just learned about it in one of the textbooks. It’s super cool! But honestly, I’m more excited to start classes. And I’m glad I met you too! I was a little nervous about heading there on my own, but now you’re here, so it’s better! Oh, wait, how’d I forget? I’m Akko! I saw a Shiny Chariot show when I was six, and I’ve wanted to be a witch ever since! My parents didn’t think that witches and magic even existed, but look at me now! Oh, and Professor McGonagall didn’t seem to know about Chariot either, but she’s, like, really old, so it’s okay. Plus, her crowds were never that big, so really, that makes it all the more special. Oh, also, what are your names?”

“Ah, um…” 

The one in the headscarf stands there for a few moments before tentatively raising her hand as she says, “Lotte Jansson…”

“Lotte! It’s good to meet you! And…?”

The other one doesn’t seem to say anything, simply eyeing Akko up and down, speaking to herself in a voice too quiet to hear.

“…decent amount of energy too…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Say, you must be the muggleborn student this year, right?”

Thankfully, this girl seems to be easier to hear when she’s not mumbling. 

“Yeah! Wait, is there, like, a limit on them, or something?”

“No, but there aren’t any others in our year. Say, are you thirsty?”

“Actually, yeah, I am.” Akko hadn’t had much to drink after her breakfast of relatively salty rice balls.

“Here, take this,” the girl says, handing Akko a water bottle.

What a kind gesture! Akko had thought she’d looked a little mean, but she has a good heart under that exterior. The water tastes all the better with how little she’s had to drink today, sending a shiver down her spine, almost feeling as though an egg had been dropped on her head.

“Hm. It’s a little weird… but good! Where’d you get‒”

“Sucy, it’s eleven o’clock!”

…Eleven? Is that supposed to mean something‒

Kuso.

“Ahhh!! We’re late for the train!” Akko cried, jumping up and down and flapping her arms in distress. “What do we do? Should I send an owl to Professor McGonagall? But I don’t have one!”

“Throw this at the ground.”

A lifeline? The pale girl, ‘Sucy’, hands Akko another bottle and despite Lotte’s look of worry, she can’t see a better option than simply doing as she’s told, so she takes the potion in her hands, shakes it for good luck, and flings it at the ground with all the strength she can muster, and…

She prepares for glass to fly everywhere, but instead, the bottle itself burns to a pile of ash as a green flame bursts forth from the spot where it landed, flickering and burning without heat as images flash within it, images swirling in Akko’s vision, a sewer, Chariot, a broomstick, Chariot again, and a sword, larger than she is now, until it all stops and the flames take the form of what almost looks like a mirror, a reflection of herself mimicking her every move within.

“Woah… What is this?”

“A portable floo entrance I’ve been working on,” Sucy replies almost instantly, smiling deviously, seemingly admiring her handiwork. 

“Floo?”

“Just say where you want to go and it’ll take you. Here, I”ll go: ‘The Forbidden‒”

“Hoguwaretsu!”

Suspicious portals aside, Akko is not going to be late to the sorting! So what if she can’t find the train? So what if there’re a million things in her way? She’ll knock them aside and stand tall on the pile of them all, and she will get to the sorting ceremony!

She feels her feet swept out from under her, as if her whole body is being squeezed through a wire, being led feet-first at lightspeed, as if the mode of travel is actively trying to reject her until…

It’s not a soft landing‒Akko probably would have scraped her elbows and knees if she hadn’t been wearing long sleeves, but she’s mostly unharmed, even if a little winded from the whole experience. The ground is actually surprisingly soft for what should be a wooden banquet hall, moving beneath her as if breathing‒

“Oi, get off of me.”

“Ack!”

Akko springs to her feet, eliciting a groan of renewed pain from Sucy as she climbs to her feet before dusting herself off. 

“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t‒”

And then she looks around. And she sees trees, grass, and darkness, not an entrance hall.

“Where are we?”

She can’t hardly even see Sucy, who’s mere inches away from her and it’s almost impossible to make out anything beyond that in the dense darkness of the forest.

“Ow, ow, ow…”

“Lotte?”

Thankfully, Lotte makes her presence known relatively quickly, and Akko soon helps her to her feet, finding her to be surprisingly heavy for someone who’s even shorter than her.

“This,” Sucy says with all the gravitas of a Disney villain, “is the Forbidden Forest.”

“The Forbidden Forest?”

“The Forbidden Forest,” she repeats, teeth like fangs as she grins a creepily wide grin, “Lots of muggles ended up lost and dead here before the founders of Hogwarts put protective measures around it. Not to say that an unskilled witch couldn’t go missing…”

“Oh no, we’ll be late for the sorting!”

“I-I think we’ve got something bigger to worry about here!”

And as Akko looks up from Lotte and Sucy, her eyes having adjusted somewhat to the darkness, she starts to make out the hulking outline of what seems to be a mass of vines whipping around a central flower amidst the treeline, slowly making its way towards them.

“W-what the…?”

“Akko,” Sucy says, pulling the other too close, “Right now, I need you to point at that plant and yell ‘Incendio’ as loud as you can. Can you do that for me?”

A fire spell. Akko hadn’t done it before, but she supposes she hasn’t had much trouble making things explode, so…

“I-Incendio!”

Nothing. 

Huh.

Is she really that poor a witch? Back at square one, unable to use any magic?

“Louder. And make yourself really big when you do it.”

Draw more attention. She can do that. She takes in a deep breath, assuming a wide stance and waving her arms wildly as she shouts:

“INCENDIO!!”

…Wow.

Nothing.

Maybe she doesn’t belong here.

Maybe Professor McGonagall made a mistake and she’s just a useless idiot who should hop on the first train back home and get back to being normal.

“Akko, don’t just stand there, run!”

Lotte’s voice shakes her out of her stupor and the thundering of the shambling mound towards her keeps her out of it. For now, she’ll focus on staying alive, quickly accelerating to a sprint towards a spot in the forest where there might be a little more light.

“That’s a Venomous Tentacula! They’re really prideful, so if anyone tries to burn them, they get really hostile!”

“They know what ‘Incendio’ means?!”

“Hey, would you mind running a little slower? It’s hard to latch onto this thing.”

“Sucy, that was really mean! You didn’t say you’d be using us as bait!”

Lotte knew about her plan? What even is her plan?

“What else would I have brought this one for? Now, hold still, I’ve just gotta‒there. Harvested some‒oh, crap.”

Her voice sounds far away, as if being transmitted directly into her brain even as she stumbles over the thicket and loose roots in the ground.

“How are you doing that?!”

“Nevermind tha‒ ow…”

“Sucy!”

They’d somehow made it to a small clearing and with the little more light she had, she could see several barbed vines whipping into her as she’s positioned right over the flower which opens up to reveal a gaping maw, lined with even more hook-shaped teeth that would sentence her to death if she were swallowed.

So this is it. Akko watches as the first witches she met on her way to Hogwarts gets eaten, then either gets eaten herself or walks into the sorting covered in dirt, unable to cast a single spell.

If she has to go back like this, maybe it’s better if she doesn’t‒

No.

She knows what she felt when she held her wand for the first time, that feeling of rightness the moment it touched her hand, or the awe when her drawings had come to life, or the freedom of her mouse form, there’s no way that she’s not a witch! And more than that, even if she can’t cast a spell right now, she’ll go to school and she will not die here! 

“So what if there’s magic racism? So what if I suck at magic? I’ll study hard, and practice hard, and become the best witch in the world!”

“That’s very good for you, Akko, but I need some help here!”

Ah, she really needs to stop spacing out. With Lotte now trapped by the plant, Akko frantically starts looking around for something, anything to use, and‒

“Is that…?”

She doesn’t believe her eyes, but it’s there. Bright white and encrusted blue pearls, shining against the black forest, Akko almost hesitates before a vine crashes down behind her, sending her tumbling into the Shiny Rod, scrambling to take it in her hands.

A vine slams down between her and the Rod and she’s forced to back off and take cover behind a tree, and she needs to think, because she isn’t quite sure how she knows this, but if she can get to the rod, she’ll be able to find a way to defeat this thing and save them all. Think, what can she use? There’s brush, some brambles here and there, a twig barely holding onto a tree just a little bit away…

“If anyone tries to burn them, they get really hostile!”

Perfect.

Taking out her wand from her pocket, she focuses as hard as she dares on the all the images of her spells backfiring, of trinkets, or playing cards, or mugs bursting into flame, and she inhales, then shouts with all her might:

“Reparo!”

The branch bursts into flames and as expected, the Venomous Tentacula lunges for it, giving Akko just enough time to slip past it, and‒

The moment that she grasps the Rod, she feels a shock up her spine as she’s filled with hope and all of a sudden, she knows exactly what she needs to do to get to school and save her friends in one fell swoop. Memories of that fateful performance flash through her mind, the image of an arrow soaring through the sky before it rams into a massive dragon, a massive explosion dazzling as it fills her field of view, and while Akko remembers the phrase ‘Shiny Arc!’ better than anything else Chariot’s said, the Rod tugs at her and she knows that those aren’t the words she needs to say. She points the Rod directly at the plant and chants:

“Noctu, Orfei, Aude, Fraetor!”

The Rod transforms into a bow twice Akko’s height, yet it’s light as a feather in her grasp as she pulls the string back, another vine barrelling towards her as she does as she releases the string at the last possible moment, and then…

The plant bursts into green flames, disintegrating into ash, and before Akko can react, she’s sucked into a similar environment that Sucy’s potion had forced her into, slightly greenish lights all around her with images she can’t comprehend swirling about her, only now, she’s floating in a much more spacious tunnel as whatever method of transport she’s using welcomes her with open arms.

“Anyways, as I was saying, you should loosen up your wrist a little so that‒Ah!”

Her landing isn’t much softer, though, as she tumbles into yet another surprisingly soft landing for what sounds like a passenger train running at full speed. Rubbing her eyes, she finds herself having landed squarely on top of‒

“Oh, Diana! It’s good to see you again! You would not believe‒”

“Get. Out.”

…What?

“You heard her. Did your parents not teach you how to listen?” asked a snobby-looking white girl.

“Of course they didn’t, they’re muggles. Now, shoo, we were just practicing our magic with Diana,” said an even snobbier-looking girl.

“Hey, you can’t just tell Diana what to‒”

“Leave.”

And seeing the look of utter disgust on Diana’s face, Akko can’t find it within herself to fire back, simply slamming the door open, then shut as she storms out.

“Oh, Sucy, Lotte, hi!”

Well, who needs some snooty witch as a friend anyways? 

As Akko pulls Lotte and a far-more reluctant Sucy into a celebratory hug (“We made it! Hurrah!”) they are eventually scolded by a witch pushing along a trolley about ‘causing a disturbance’ before being led to the last open booth.

“Akko, could you drink this next?”

“What is it?”

“Venom she harvested from the tentacula.”

“Aw, why’d you have to spoil it, Lotte?”

“What does it even do, anyways?”

“Well, first, you’ll feel a bit of burning, then your skin’ll turn bright purple…”

And as Akko falls into an easy conversation with the other two (who mostly just listen, but that’s fine), she figures that she’ll be alright after all.