If you have been craving Harry Potter recently (I know I have since the last words of Deathly Hallows) then this is for you. If you have ever ventured over to Reddit then you will have heard of writing prompts, this sub reddit is absolutely perfect for anybody with writers block but it can be treasure trove for readers.
Source
So here’s the writing prompt: One day a muggle accidentally boards the train at platform 9 3/4 and must survive Hogwarts until winter break.
Reddit user Doomchicken7 answered this prompt in a mind blowing way that will leave you craving more. Now Iv’e read my fair share of Harry Potter fan fiction and I have to say nothing is a close to the original great work of J.K.Rowling as this. I felt as though I was immersed back at Hogwarts all over again and I’m incredibly eager for more as I’m sure you will be. There are 8 chapters at present with hopefully more on the way.
So get yourself a cup a tea and remember Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home.
Chapter One: A New World
Chapter Two: Early Days
Chapter Three: The Chamber Opens
Chapter Four: The Winter Term
Chapter Five: The Journey Home
Chapter Six: Christmas Holidays
Chapter Seven: Return to Hogwarts
Chapter Eight: The Detention
Chapter One: A New World
Source
“How much longer, mum?”
“For the fifth time, Matthew, it arrives at nine.”
I looked at the clock. Eighty fourty-nine. Why did mum always make us arrive early? We’d arrived on Platform Nine at King’s Cross Station ten minutes ago, it was another ten before the train arrived. Twenty minutes, standing in this boring station, by this boring column.
Tiredly, I leaned against column separating Platforms Nine and Ten-
and fell-
and tumbled out onto solid ground. What the hell?
I got back to my feet and looked around. There was an old fashioned steam train on the tracks, that hadn’t been there one minute ago. It was painted red, and the words ‘Hogwarts Express’ were emblazoned on it’s side. The platform, previously fairly empty, was now full of people in funny clothes – robes, I think they were called – the kind of stuff people wore when they wanted to be Gandalf on Halloween. Many of them were my age, or teenagers, and they pushed trolleys piled with belongings. Some had cages holding owls, and a few of them had cats lying on top of their trolleys.
I turned around, but my mum was gone. I pressed my hand against the column, but it stayed solid. I pressed again, then shoved my weight against it, to no avail. The other side gave the same result when I ran around and tested that, too.
I was stuck here.
A few minutes later, a concerned adult ushered me onto the train. Their hat was pointed, like a wizard’s hat from a storybook, and I was too confused and lost to explain my predicament. Onto the train I went, and I found an empty compartment. I sat down, and put my head into my hands.
Another person entered the compartment, shortly after the train left the station. A blond boy, similar in age to me, perhaps a little older. He was wearing unusual clothes, like many of the people here were. He sat down and greeted me.
“Hello.”
“Hi,” I said, then decided to ask some questions, “Do you- Do you know where this train goes?”
He gave me a funny look, raising his manicured eyebrows.
“To Hogwarts,” he said, confusion in his tone.
I cursed at myself for asking such a dumb question. That’d give away that I didn’t belong here, and then I’d be kicked off the train, in the middle of nowhere, on my own…
“Obviously,” I lied, “But, like, is there a station right there or is it, like, nearby?”
“It’s in Hogsmeade,” he said, “You’re not a mudblood, are you?”
The way he spat the word ‘mudblood’ made it clear that it wasn’t a good thing.
“No.”
“Well that’s good. My dad’s always saying how mudbloods are ruining things for us purebloods.”
I nodded like I knew what that meant.
“Damn mudbloods.”
He nodded in agreement. Clearly, I had said the right thing to impress him. Maybe I could befriend him – it would certainly help with the confusion and loneliness that I was starting to feel. There was silence for a while, before I asked another question.
“What’s your name?”
“Malfoy,” he said proudly, “Draco Malfoy.”
“I’m Matthew Mason.”
“Mason? I don’t think I’ve heard of your family…”
“We keep to ourselves.”
Over the rest of the train ride, I managed to work out that Hogwarts was a school. He claimed it taught magic, which I thought was cool. I’d always loved magic tricks – bunny out of a hat, card tricks, stuff like that – and a magic set was top of my Christmas list. I didn’t tell him that, though. I met his friends Crabbe and Goyle, huge boys with thick arms and beady little eyes. Everyone changed into school uniform – a weird black dress over a more normal uniform – at one point, and Draco sighed at me ‘forgetting’ mine. He gave me a spare set.
Upon leaving the train, I immediately noticed a huge man with wild hair shouting “firs’ years, this way”. Draco elbowed me and gestured over that way. He was a second year, so we parted ways. I walked over, and the giant led a crowd of kids my age onto boats. I ended up on a boat with a redhead girl, a strange blonde girl and a chatty brown-haired boy with a camera.
The boat sailed on it’s own – weird, for a rowboat – and a massive castle came into view. I knew it must be Hogwarts. It was an impressive sight, towering into the air, it’s lights like a swarm of fireflies stuck to the shadowy outline of the building. I wasn’t the only one saying “wow”.
We were led into the castle, and we queued outside some giant double doors, ready for the sorting. Draco mentioned houses – Slytherin for the best, Gryffindor for the brave but foolish, Ravenclaw for the nerds, and Hufflepuff for the dumb.
We went through into the room, and I realised when Draco said magic, he didn’t mean tricks. The ceiling was open, showing a beautiful, starry night. Candles floated throughout the air, the wax dripping and dissolving before reaching the four long tables full of students.
One by one, everyone was called up for their sorting. It wasn’t a battle with a troll. It wasn’t a magic casting test. It was a mangy old hat, that shouted out which house you belonged in. The camera boy from the boat, Colin Creevey, went to Gryffindor. The weird blonde girl, Luna Lovegood, ended up in Ravenclaw. And then it was my turn.
I didn’t question why I was on the register. I just thanked god for that stroke of luck.
‘My my,” the hat said into my head, ‘interesting. You didn’t get your letter, but here you are. Go and speak to Dumbledore after the feast. He’s the headmaster. Now, as for your house-‘
“GRYFFINDOR!”
As I got up to walk to the table full of cheering wizards and witches, I saw Draco looking at me with dissapointment from the Slytherin table.
I sat down next to Colin Creevey. The rest of the sorting went by quickly. The redhead girl from the boat, Ginny Weasley, was sorted into Gryffindor.
There was then a feast, which I wasn’t able to enjoy. I was too busy trying to work out what was going on. Things had been confusing enough on the train, but they just kept getting more and more confusing. Just as distracting was how worried Ginny and her brothers were – apparently one of Ginny’s brothers had gone missing, as well as his friend Harry Potter.
After the feast, we were led towards the Gryffindor dorms. When I saw an opportunity, I slipped away and started looking for Dumbledore.
The castle was insane. The staircases shifted at random, ghosts drifted through the air, and the portraits hung on the walls talked to each other and moved around. It was everything you’d imagine from a castle in a storybook, and then some. I asked one of the portraits – Sir Cadogan, apparently – where Dumbeldore was, and he led me through the castle, on what he called a ‘brave quest’.
He stopped by a gargoyle, panting. Could paintings get out of breath? Apparently so.
A minute later, Dumbledore arrived. He was an old wizard, and he looked the part, in flowing purple robes, a pointed hat, and a long, silver beard. He looked at me with curiosity through his half-moon spectacles. He was carrying the sorting hat.
“Mr Dumbledore, sir?” I said.
“Ah, you must be the one the hat was telling me about,” Dumbledore said.
The hat confirmed his suspicions, and Dumbledore led me into his office, a circular room full of curious devices.
“You are not a wizard,” Dumbledore said, “But neither are you a muggle.”
He picked up a glass sphere, half full with black liquid. At his touch, it turned blue and started bubbling. He passed it to me, and the liquid turned gold and went choppy, like the sea in a storm.
“I’m afraid that you won’t be returning home,” said Dumbledore.
“Why?” I asked.
A pained expression crossed the old wizard’s face.
“That, I cannot say.”
He passed me a wand from a drawer on his desk. Unlike the others wands I’d briefly glimpsed, this one was embedded with tiny spheres, like the one I had held.
“This wand will draw on your energy,” he explained, “You can use it for basic spellwork.”
“I thought you said I’m not a wizard.”
“You aren’t. You are something different, and there are many out there who would take you, and study you. For your safety, you must use this wand. Pretend to be a wizard. I’ll have your school supplies ordered for tomorrow morning. Now, return to your housemates.”
Sir Cadogan was waiting outside of Dumbledore’s office. Once again, I asked for his help, and once again, he led me on a noble quest across the castle. My wand was in my pocket, and so was my hand. When I touched the wand, the spheres lit up, and I felt power surge through my arm. It was an addictive feeling, and I wondered if drug addicts felt a similar thing when they took drugs. If they did, I couldn’t blame them.
Sir Cadogan stopped, out of breath again, in a portrait with an overweight woman. He spoke to her in hushed tones, and the portrait swung open, revealing a room beyond it. The Gryffindor common room. There was a crackling fireplaces at one end of the room, and chairs, sofas and tables filled the rest. It looked like a really warm, cozy place. It was empty except for an older student, with a shiny red badge saying ‘prefect’.
“There you are!” he said, walking over to me, “Where have you been?”
“I had to talk to Dumbledore,” I said.
He didn’t look convinced, but he decided to let it go.
“Well, get to your dormitory. Stairs on the left, first door you reach.”
I headed up.
Back To Top
Chapter Two: Early Days
Source
Sunlight shone in through the windows, casting light across the room. The light brought with it warmth, and my eyes opened. I had just had the strangest dream, of castles and wizards and living paintings. I sat up in bed and rub the sleep out of my eyes.
The room swam into my vision, and I realised it hadn’t been a dream.
I couldn’t believe it, but at the same time, I knew it. It had been far too detailed, far to vivid, far too real to be a dream. That didn’t make it any less shocking. Yesterday I was living a normal life, today I woke up at a school for wizards. It was all very overwhelming.
At the foot of my bed was a suitcase. I opened it to find it full of thick tomes, with titles varying from ‘The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1’ to ‘Magical Me’. Another suitcase was next to it, and in that was more sets of uniform, half a dozen bottles of ink, and a collection of feathers – no, not feathers. Quills.
“We’ve got Charms first,” said Colin from the bed next to mine.
“Cool,” I said.
“It’s taught by Professor Flitwick,” Colin said, “Do any of you know about him? What’s he like?”
“I bet he’s charming,” a brown haired boy named Jamie Roan said.
A groan escaped the lips of everyone else in the room, myself included. I was tempted to check my ears for bleeding – the pun was that bad. It turned out no one knew much about Flitwick. Of the five of us, three weren’t from wizard families, and the other two had never met Flitwick. We all got dressed into our uniforms, complete with pointy wizard hats, and headed downstairs. The girls from our year were already there, waiting for us. We made our way towards the Charms classroom – our timetables had maps on the back. Of course, a map’s only so good when the stairs are moving around randomly, and doors are vanishing and appearing. That’s why when we got to the classroom, we were late.
The lesson was amazing. I’d never enjoyed school before, but that was when school taught maths and english. Now school was teaching magic? It was my new favourite thing. Flitwick, a short man perched atop a tower of books, was a great teacher. He showed us how to hold our wands correctly, and then demonstrated a levitation charm.
The classroom was full of noise and energy. Everyone was swishing and flicking their wands and chanting the words ‘wingardium leviosa’. The feathers we were casting at were staying mostly still. Ginny Weasley was the first to get her feather to move, when she made it wobble slightly. That encouraged everyone, and soon after Celeste Dawlish managed to get her feather to fly.
“Wingardium leviosa!” I chanted for the fiftieth time.
I swished my wand from left to right, and the spheres shone brightly, the liquids like the sea in a storm. I flicked the tip of the wand upwards, and I felt power surge through my arm. The feather lifted from the desktop and hung in the air in front of me. In my excitement, I lost focus and the feather floated back down. I was ecstatic! I’d done it! I’d done magic!
When I was eight, my mum took me to Disneyland and I rode Space Mountain. At the time, I’d thought that nothing could ever match the thrill and exhilaration I felt on that ride. I was wrong. Casting a magic spell had blown that out of the water. It had been, quite literally, a dream come true.
Transfiguration was equally brilliant. It was taught by our head of house, a stern Scottish woman named McGonagall. She was something called an animagus – a human who could turn into an animal. She demonstrated by turning into a cat. When she was a human again, she turned Jamie’s desk into a pig.
We didn’t get to do that yet. Instead, we were given matches, and we had to turn them into needles. It was a lot more complex than charms. Rather than one simple spell, it was several put together. First, a shaping spell to give the match the needle’s shape. Then a material altering spell, to change the wood into metal. And finally, a sealing spell to make the effect last once I moved my wand away. It was very difficult. Colin put too much power into the spell and blew his match apart. By the end of the lesson, I was able to change the shape of the match, but nothing else. No one managed the full spell.
Up next was potions, taught in the dungeons by Professor Snape. We shared the lesson with the Slytherin – Gryffindor’s greatest rivals. We were there first, and the Slytherins arrived shortly afterwards.
“Hello!” Colin said brightly.
“Eww,” said a Slytherin girl, “The muggleborn’s talking to us.”
That drew laughs out of the Slytherins.
“I’m surprised it’s smart enough to talk,” another Slytherin said.
More laughter.
“Leave him alone!” Ginny snapped, stepping forwards, “He’s probably smarter than all of you put together!”
“My cousin Draco told me all about you Weasleys,” the Slytherin girl said, “Poor as beggars and breed like rabbits.”
Ginny drew her wand, and within seconds everyone had their wands raised and aimed. I was trying to work out how wingardium leviosa could be used in battle.
“Fighting in the corridors?” droned a voice from the left.
A tall man with a hooked nose strode into view, draped in a cloak that was the same dark colour as his greasy hair. Professor Snape, no doubt.
“Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Weasley,” Snape said.
“But sir,” Celeste complained, “They were insulting her family!”
“Do I need to take more points from Gryffindor for cheek?” Snape asked.
“No, sir,” Celeste said, dropping her gaze to the floor.
The lesson confirmed what I already suspected – Snape was biased. He grilled us Gryffindors with impossibly hard questions, and took points ruthlessly. He then gave the Slytherins easy questions, and showered them in points. He sneered at us and criticised our potions, then gave helpful advice – to the Slytherins. I left the lesson having learnt more about Snape than potion making.
In the dorms after dinner that night, I looked at my wand. The spheres of liquid were almost empty. Clearly spellcasting had drained them. As I watched, they gradually started to fill up again.
“That’s a weird wand,” Colin said.
“I know,” I said, “Dumbledore gave it to me.”
“Why?”
“It’s a- long-”
The spheres were full. That was the last thing I noticed before darkness closed in and I fell back onto my bed. A second ago, I had been fine, but now I was exhausted. I closed my eyes and gave in to sleep.
The next day, I was still tired when I woke up. Not only that, but my head ached and every sound hurt my ears. Dumbledore had said that the wand would draw on my energy. He didn’t say it would be so severe. I forced myself to sit up and open my eyes. Headache or no headache, I still needed to go to my classes.
I went down to breakfast and dug into as much food as I could get. I wolfed down sausage after sausage, egg after egg, and slice of toast after slice of toast. Filling my stomach helped with the headache.
“I wish we could try out for the Quidditch team,” Jake Stephens, a boy from my dorm, said.
“What’s Quidditch?” I asked.
“Only the best sport ever!” Jake said.
“How does it work?” I said.
I listened earnestly as Jake, with help from Ginny, described Quidditch. It was a game played on flying broomsticks, where two teams tried to score in each other’s hoops with a ‘quaffle’. Meanwhile, two ‘bludgers’ tried to knock every off their broom. The match ended when a flying golden ‘snitch’ was caught.
“… and that’s Quidditch!” Jake said at the end of the explanations.
“Wow,” I said, “It sounds awesome.”
“It is,” Ginny said.
Her brother, Ron, looked over at her; “When have you played Quidditch?”
I ignored the siblings to talk to Jake.
“Why can’t we join the team?”
“First years aren’t allowed to. Some crap about health and safety.”
“Can we fly at all?”
“Sure, but only in stupid lessons…”
I had a look at my schedule. Our first flying lesson, which would be shared with the Slytherins, was just after lunch. I couldn’t wait.
It was a sunny day. That, and the fact that I was about to fly, made my headache fade to a point where I forgot it existed. We were gathered outside of the castle, us first year Gryffindors and our Slytherin yearmates. We stood in two distinct groups, glaring at each other. The argument yesterday was clearly the start of a rivalry that would last a long time.
The flying teacher, Madam Hooch, approached us.
“Today, you will be learning to fly,” she said, “This can be very dangerous, so I expect you all to follow my instructions closely. Clear?”
“Yes, Madam Hooch.”
“Now, I want each of you to stand by a broom.”
She didn’t need to say it twice. We hurried over to where the brooms were laid out, and took our positions by one broom each.
“Hold your hand out over your broom, and say ‘up’.”
I did as she said, but nothing happened. Jake and Ginny both had their brooms fly up first time. Most of the others took a few tries. But no matter how much I tried, my broom would not obey me. A horrible thought struck me. I’m not a wizard, maybe I can’t use brooms… I could hear the Slytherins laughing at me. Part of me wanted to attack them, to strike them down, to- I shook my head to clear them invasive thoughts.
“Just pick your broom up, Mister Mason,” Madam Hooch ordered.
I stooped down, put my hand around the broom, and rose back to my feet. Unlike the wand, the broom felt normal. There was no rush of power through my body when I touched it. I hoped it was like that for everyone, but the pessimist in me told me otherwise.
“Now, mount your broom,” Madam Hooch said, demonstrating, “Like so.”
I swung my right leg over the broom, and moved it to the position Madam Hooch was demonstrating. Jake tapped me on the shoulder and whispered some advice, and I adjusted again.
“Now, kick off from the ground. Do not fly off.”
I bent my knees slightly, then pushed up. I left the ground, and for a second I was hanging in the air. And then- thud. Dirt rose around my feet as I landed heavily back on the ground.
“Typical muggleborn,” the Slytherin girl from yesterday said in a stage whisper.
I clenched my free hand into a fist and stepped forwards, but Jake grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back.
“That’ll be ten points from Slytherin, Miss Slater,” Madam Hooch said, “Mister Mason, keep on trying. Not everyone can get it first time.”
“Everyone else has…” I muttered under my breath.
As the lesson went on, and everyone else started to fly around, I got more and more desperate, until I had an idea. I pulled out my wand, waved it at my broom, and chanted wingardium leviosa. I flicked the wand upwards and the broom lifted, with me on it. It was difficult, but it was working. I was flying.
“Wand away, Mister Mason.”
Well, crap.
“Don’t worry about it, Matt,” Colin said.
“I can’t fly. At all,” I said.
“You just need practice. I used to be awful at photography, but now I’m great at it!” Colin said.
“This is more like not being able to touch a camera without it turning off.”
“Ron used to be that bad,” Ginny said.
“Yeah right,” I mumbled.
My mind was soon taken off of it by our first lesson of Herbology, shared with the Ravenclaws. Professor Sprout, a short, plump woman, gave us a tour of some of the greenhouses. Each and every one of them was full of amazing plants that I’d never seen before. There were mushrooms that hummed peaceful melodies, flowers that turned to face you as you walked, and that was just what we would be studying this year. I could see giant plants bursting free of the more distant greenhouses.
At home, I’d always helped my dad with the gardening. I’d joined the school gardening club too, and every Thursday I would spend an hour after school ended in the school gardens, planting, watering, and re-potting. The specific knowledge was useless here, of course, but the basic skills carried over. I got the feeling that Herbology was a class where I could do well, and that excited me. I’d show them racist Slytherins that muggleborns can do well at Hogwarts too.
I missed my parents.
Of course, I wasn’t the only one. For most of us, it was our first time spending long periods of time away from home. Colin was even more homesick than I was. What really sucked, though, was that I couldn’t write home.
I’d written a letter to my mum, telling her that I was okay, but had to attend a boarding school in Scotland. Dumbledore had written a similar letter. But when I took it to the Owlery, things started to go south.
“Hey, Jake?” I said.
“Yes?” he said.
“Can I use your owl please?”
“Sure. Tawny one right there.”
I walked over to the owl and held out my letter. The owl glared and, with a flap of it’s feathered wings, launched itself across the room. My second and third attempts went the same way.
“I don’t think she likes you,” Jake said.
“She doesn’t give a hoot about you,” Jamie quipped.
“Clearly,” I sighed.
“Use my owl, Matt,” Celeste offered.
Her owl didn’t like me any more than Jake’s did.
“I don’t understand,” Celeste said, “She’s never ignored a witch or wizard like this…”
Another reminder that I wasn’t a wizard, another reminder that I didn’t belong here. I was a muggle with magic, as weird as that sounded. I tried not to let it get to me. I could do magic! That was worth being ignored by owls and unable to fly, wasn’t it.
‘You’re an imposter,’ a small voice hissed in the back of my mind.
September came to a close, and the calendars throughout the castle turned to October. The sun was chased into hiding by dark butts, and a damp chill spread over the grounds. Classes continued regardless, and the trek through the cold and rain to the herbology greenhouses fast became no one’s favourite thing. In fact, there was only one thing worse than it – Defence Against the Dark Arts.
For a subject with such an exciting name, it was awful. Our teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart, was a man with a long career facing the forces of darkness and coming out on top. However, that didn’t make him a good teacher.
“Hello, first years,” he had said in our first lesson, flashing a charming smile, “I’m Gilderoy Lockhart, but of course you already knew that. Three time winner of Witch Weekly’s Best Smile Award.”
He waved his wand, and question papers floated onto each of our desks.
“What is this stuff?” I muttered, scanning the questions.
“A quiz about Lockhart,” Colin said, “to see if we’ve read the books.”
“Yeah,” I said, “But how is his favourite colour relevant?”
“Something the matter, Mr Mason?” Lockhart asked, walking over.
“Yes, sir,” I said, “When I’m face to face with an evil wizard, how is knowing your favourite colour going to help?”
I lost points for Gryffindor for asking that question. The boys quickly forgave me, having all been thinking the same thing themselves. The girls, however, didn’t approve. They all loved Professor Lockhart, for some reason. I hoped they’d come to see how useless he is sooner rather than later, but when I saw them swooning over him, I doubted that would happen.
“Who’s worse?” asked Colin after another awful lesson, “Snape or Lockhart?”
“They’re different kinds of awful,” I said.
“You boys are mad,” Celeste interrupted, “Lockhart is brilliant!”
“Here we go again,” Jamie muttered.
“Lockhart hasn’t taught us a single spell,” Jake said.
“We don’t need spells, we’re eleven,” Celeste said.
I tried to zone out of the argument. After every DADA lesson an argument just like this would be had, and there would never be a winner. The first few I had taken part in, arguing that Lockhart was useless, but I had come to realise it was a waste of breath.
Back To Top
Chapter Three: The Chamber Opens
Source
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE
The words were smeared on the wall, in towering letters of red paint that must’ve been at least four feet tall. Along with the flaming torches that illuminated them, they were reflected in the water on the floor below, with a demonic red glow. Accompanying the glow, was what could only have been the work of a demon. Hanging by her tail was the caretaker’s cat, stiff as a board and deathly still. Her eyes stared blankly ahead.
Most of the school had come swarming out from dinner to see, standing at the scene, three Gryffindors from the year above mine. Harry Potter, famous for defeating You Know Who (a Dark Wizard who was so fearsome, no one could utter his name) twice; Ron Weasley, older brother of Ginny Weasley; and Hermione Granger, the bushy haired bookworm. My first instinct was to suspect them, but I quickly pushed them thoughts aside. I knew Ginny well enough to know no one from her family would be involved in something so overtly dark and evil.
“Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, mudbloods!” said Draco Malfoy.
I gasped. Draco approved of this… this horrible murder of an innocent animal? And, even worse than that, he wanted the same to happen to muggleborns? I could barely believe it, that the boy who had been so nice to me on the train, even lending me some robes, could condone evil. I had know he was racist, but to this degree?
“What’s going on here?” What’s going on?” the caretaker, Mr Filch, pushed his way through the crowd of students.
He reached the front, and his beady eyes settled on his cat.
“My cat! My cat! What’s happened to my Mrs Norris?” he screeched, before turning to face Harry, “You! You’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her! I’ll kill you! I’ll-”
“Argus,” an old voice rang out, loud, but without anger.
Dumbledore marched onto the scene, flanked by many of the school’s teachers. He swept past the Gryffindor trio and Mr Filch on the way to the deceased cat.
“Come with me, Argus,” he said, picking up the cat, “You too, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger.”
Lockhart volunteered his office, and led the way. Dumbledore, Filch, McGonagall, Snape, and the Gryffindor trio followed. Flitwick ordered everyone back to their houses.
Ginny was incredibly upset. Back in the common room, she was sat at the end of a sofa on her own, her face pale and her eyes moist. Almost everyone else was gathered closer to the centre of the room, discussing rumours and suspicions. I wasn’t able to get into those conversations. The voice a the back of my mind was telling me that everyone was wrong. So instead, I went and sat next to Ginny.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She nodded silently, not making eye contact. Her red hair fell over her face.
“You know… You’ve got nothing to be scared of. You’re pureblood,” I said.
“Ron and Harry might get expelled,” she said, her voice shaking.
I could see why she was worried. She’d told us all about the mischief them two were getting into – fighting trolls, smuggling dragons, defeating You Know Who… And now they turn up alone on the scene of the crime, so to speak? To an outsider, they were the obvious suspects. But anyone who knew them knew they were good people, who’d never do anything like that. And without evidence, there was no way they’d get expelled.
“I’m sure they won’t be. I mean, they haven’t done anything wrong, have they?”
“It wasn’t them,” Ginny insisted, “They wouldn’t.”
“It’ll all be fine. Dumbledore’s, like, the greatest wizard in the world, right?”
Ginny nodded. In History of Magic – a boring lesson, by the way – we had learnt about how Dumbledore defeated the Dark Wizard Grindlewald, who was basically the Hitler of the wizarding world. He was also head of the wizard courts, and headmaster of the only wizarding school in Britain. If anyone could keep us safe, it was him.
“Exactly. He won’t let anything bad happen.”
“Last year Harry had to fight You Know Who,” Ginny said.
“He’s gone now, though,” I said.
Ginny shrugged.
“Go and get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning,” I advised.
She got up and climbed up the stairs towards the girl’s dorms.
Potions was our first lesson the next day. It couldn’t have been more badly timed – none of us wanted an encounter with the Slytherins after yesterday.
“Isn’t it a relief?” a Slytherin girl – surname Slater – said loudly.
“What?” asked another Slytherin girl.
“That the Chamber’s open. We won’t have to put up with mudbloods anymore,” Slater said, sweeping her eyes across us muggleborns.
I reached for my wand, but Jake grabbed my arm and shook his head. Reluctantly, I took my hand out of my wand pocket and returned it to my side, glaring at the Slytherins the whole time.
“Shut up!” Ginny shouted, clenching her fists.
“You’ll be got too, muggle lover,” Slater taunted.
In a flash, Ginny whipped out her wand and aimed at Slater. She waved it and shouted a spell I’d never heard before. A bolt of purple light flew into Slater’s face before she could defend herself. Bogies burst from her nose, rapidly growing in size, propelled by miniature bat wings. The bat-bogies swarmed Slater’s face. She screeched and stumbled backwards, swiping at them to protect her face.
The rest of the Slytherins were drawing the wands in defence of their classmates. I drew my wand and soon minor hexes were flying through the air, ricocheting off of each other and the walls. A dull grey bolt flew straight for me-
and I hurled myself to the side, out of it’s way-
and right into Professor Snape.
“Ten points from Gryffindor,” he snarled at me, then looked up at the chaos.
“Wands away,” he said, voice taking a more dangerous tone, “or it will be fifty points from each of you.”
The wands were put away quickly. Half of the class had been hit by curses. One Slytherin was on the floor, his legs flopping about wildly every time he tried to stand up. Colin’s teeth had grown massively, forcing his mouth open due to their sheer size. Slater was still struggling with the bat-bogies, while Celeste’s face was covered in magical warts. Snape applied the counter-curses.
“If there is any more of this fighting, there will be… consequences,” said Snape, “Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” we all chanted.
I was glad Snape hadn’t taken more points from Gryffindor. Then again, he’d have had to have taken from Slytherin too, and if there was one thing Snape hated, it was taking points from Slytherin. That, and washing his hair. Therefore, he never did either of them.
“Jake, do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?” I asked my class partner.
“A bit,” he said, “Growing up, I heard a few stories about it. Basically, when Slytherin had a falling out with the other founders of Hogwarts, he built the chamber. He put some kind of horrible monster inside of it, so that his rightful heir could use it to ‘purify’ the school.”
“Purify?”
“Get rid of all the muggleborns.”
“That’s so racist,” I said, chopping some roots and dropping them into the potion.
“Yes it is. But that’s Slytherin, isn’t it? He left the school because muggleborns were allowed, and his racism has passed down to everyone in Slytherin.”
The potion bubbled angrily, reflecting Jake’s tone of voice.
“Mr Mason, Mr Stephens. What do you call this?” Snape asked, swooping over like a bat.
“I don’t usually give my potions names, sir. Only humans,” I said.
“Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek,” he said, turning his attention to my potion, “Did you, by any chance, add the roots before the sap?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jake before I could lose us any points with a scathing remark.
“You can both read, and the instructions are on the board. And yet, you fail. Perplexing.”
I waited until Snape was gone, then mumbled insults under my breath. Jake added a few of his own.
Ink spread across the parchment as my quill scratched away, inking out line after line of text. Snape, the nob, wanted four inches of parchment about beozars, and he wanted it tomorrow. He’d given us a week to complete the homework, but, naturally, I had left it until the last moment. Jake and I were both in the library, desperately trying to get the work finished before our potions lesson the next morning.
I looked at Jake through the stack of books we were using for reference. He hadn’t managed to write any more than I had. An expression of frustration was plastered onto his face, and I probably looked similar. The main thing I had learnt from this was that I hated goats and the stupid bloody beozars in their stomachs.
“Why did we leave it so late?” I asked.
“I dunno,” sighed Jake.
I looked back to my parchment, but was distracted by the sound of rapid footsteps. A second later, Jamie came sprinting into the library, flying past the librarian and straight up to our table.
“Matt, Jake, come quick,” he panted, “It’s Colin.”
With no further explanation, he turned back the way he came and set off again. I put the lid onto my inkwell, shoved everything into my bag, and followed him, Jake hot on my heels. We caught up to Jamie quickly, and he led us towards the hospital wing. The rest of the Gryffindors from our year were already there, gathered around a bed. Ginny was crying. Jamie, Jake and I reached the bed.
Colin was lying there, stiff as a board. His arms were raised, as though he was holding his camera, but it was nowhere to be seen. His eyes were open and unblinking.
“What happened?” Jake asked.
“He was petrified,” Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, said.
“What?” I said.
“He’s frozen like that until we can cure him,” she said.
“How long-”
“By the end of the school year.”
I looked down at my friend, and prayed for the cure to come sooner.
Back To Top
Chapter Four: The Winter Term
Source
Without Colin around, it was quiet. He had always been the noisiest one of us, the most talkative one of us. Now he was gone, there was a large, silent hole where he would usually be. Every silence that otherwise would have felt normal was oppressive.
For example, the silence that reigned as we walked towards our Herbology lesson, the day after Colin was attacked.
“Any of you hear that the Chudley Cannons won last night?” Jake said halfheartedly, “I almost dropped dead from the shock.”
There was a pause.
“Who against?” I asked, trying to fill the silence with noise. I didn’t care for the answer, or for anything to do with Quidditch.
“Caerphilly Catapults,” Jake said.
We left the castle through a side doorway, and followed the path through the school’s gardens. Flowers of every colour waved in the wind, like a rainbow reflected in the waves of the sea. It was a very peaceful place, and it didn’t fit at all with the sombre mood in the castle. The path eventually turned a corner of the castle, opening out into the grounds.
The second year class was leaving the greenhouses as we arrived. One of them broke off from the group and approached us, and two of his friends followed. As they got closer, I recognised them as Ron Weasley and his two friends, Harry and Hermione. I didn’t think I’d ever seen them three separate from each other.
“We heard the Heir got Colin,” Ron said.
Jake nodded, while Ginny sniffed and looked at her feet.
“Ron!” hissed Hermione under her breath, “So tactless.”
She then turned to talk to us.
“We’re repotting Mandrakes in class. They’re used in the potion that can cure Colin, and they’ll be ready before the end of the year. School year, that is.”
“Why can’t we just buy some grown ones?” I asked the question that was on everyone’s hands.
“Well- I don’t think there are any. They’re not exactly nice to grow, are they? So no one bothers with them – other than Hogwarts, of course,” Hermione said.
“Thank you for telling us,” Celeste said after a few moments of silence.
“You’re welcome,” Hermione said.
We went into the greenhouse with higher spirits than we had approached it with.
“I swear, the castle’s layout changes every day…” I complained.
Getting lost in Hogwarts was easily done. To say the castle was huge would be stating the obvious. It towered far into the air, its many towers just adding to its height. Each floor was packed with twisting, turning corridors, leading to distant rooms. I imagined a map of the castle would look more like an artist’s illustration of a spiderweb, with the number of corridors all throughout the building. It made the seemingly simple task of getting from the library to the great hall into an epic, Tolkien-esque quest.
“It does,” said Jake.
“Well that’s stupid,” I said, “Who ever thought that was a good idea?”
“The same people who built the Chamber of Secrets,” Jake said, “Didn’t think it through, did they?”
“Why hasn’t anyone ever gone into the Chamber and killed the monster? Like the wizard police?” I said.
“Wizard police? Aurors, mate,” Jake laughed, “Anyway, no one knew it was real until just now. Of course, everyone had heard of it, but we all thought it was just a bedtime story, you know, like the one with the brothers who cheated death.”
“We know it’s real now though,” I said, “Why has nothing been done about it?”
“We don’t know where it is. What can we do? Even the ghosts don’t know – trust me, I asked them,” Jake said.
I stopped, surprised.
“The ghosts talked to you?” I asked.
“Yeah, and?” Jake said with a slight raise of his eyebrows.
“They never talk to me,” I said.
“Probably scared off by your stench,” Jake teased, sticking his tongue out.
“Oi!” I said, punching his arm.
“I’m kidding, mate.”
As we were walking, it started to dawn on me why the ghosts wouldn’t talk to me. I wasn’t a wizard. I never got used to thinking that. I was doing magic – how was I not a wizard? It couldn’t just be the wand – after all, it was me charging the wand. So I was able to do magic, and it was me doing it. Yet for some reason the ghosts, the flying broomsticks, the magical delivery owls – all regarded me as a muggle. It was confusing, and often frustrating. But I’d take it over no magic at all.
“Kill… Rip… Tear…”
I stopped suddenly, reaching for my wand.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Kill, rip, tear, in a hissing voice.”
“No,” Jake said, furrowing his eyebrows and moving his hand towards his pocket.
I kept my wand raised and looked around, heart thundering in my chest.
“Relax, Matt,” said Jake after a few seconds of silence, “Probably just the Weasley twins playing a prank on you.”
That made sense. The twins were notorious pranksters, and recently they had been doing monster-related pranks in honour of the chamber of secrets. They’d cover themselves in fur and boils, them jump out at us from around corners roaring and screeching. It was in bad taste, but there was no malice in it – although continuing despite how upset it made Ginny was out of order.
“You think?” I asked.
“Sure. You know what they’re like,” Jake said.
I relaxed.
The latest rumour going around the school was that Harry Potter was the Heir of Slytherin.
Harry Potter, a Gryffindor. Heir of Slytherin.
I didn’t believe it, and couldn’t believe how anyone could. Surely the Heir of Slytherin had to be a Slytherin? Apparently, though, such logic was in short supply in the Wizarding world, and the whole school now hated Harry Potter.
There was evidence for him being the heir. In duelling club, he had spoken to a snake that had been attacking a pupil. People said he egged it on, but to me it looked more like he was telling it to back off – and in the end, everything had been fine. The snake hadn’t bit anyone. He had also been the first one on the scene when it was opened. But that was very flimsy evidence to hate someone on, and so I didn’t buy in to the whole ‘let’s hate on Harry’ thing.
Between that dumb rumour, and endless talk of Quidditch, I was getting bored. I missed being at home, when the most scandalous rumours were the neighbours wanting a divorce, and the sports results were for football teams. I missed my friends, who I would hang out with every day. I missed my bedroom, with my own bed and the privacy I had. Most of all, though, I missed my parents. My mum’s great cooking and my dad’s awful jokes. My mum’s helpful advice and my dad’s useless ‘when I was your age’ stories. Everything about them, really.
“Matt, are you alright?” Jake asked.
We were sitting around a table in the common room – Jake, Jamie, a boy named Toby, and me.
“I’m fine,” I said, “I just miss home.”
“Winter break’s coming soon,” Jamie said, “Go home then.”
He was right. It was almost Christmas, which meant it was almost time for the mid-year holiday.
“I know. I will,” I sighed.
“Problem solved,” Jamie said, leaning back in his chair.
“Why’d ya even wanna go home?” Toby asked, “It’s amazing here! We get to do magic, what more can ya want?”
“I miss my parents,” I said, ignoring Jamie’s mutter of ‘mummy’s boy’.
“Oh, right, ya can’t write to them can ya?” Toby said, nodding his head, “The owls hate ya. That must suck.”
“It does.”
“Chin up buddy, ya get to see them soon and talk to them, and that’s better’n any owl.”
“Bring a ball back with you,” Jamie said, leaning forwards again, “We need to show this lot footie.”
That brought a smile to my face. It had been too long since I’d played football. The only sport mentioned here was Quidditch, which to me was only a painful reminder that I couldn’t fly – as if I could ever forget that disappointment.
“I don’t see what’s so good about this ‘football’. Ya can’t even fly when ya playin’ it,” Toby said.
“Trust me,” I said, “One game and you’ll fall in love with it.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
“We will.”
“Speaking of games – anyone up for some wizard’s chess?” Jake asked, gesturing to the set he had brought down from the dorms earlier.
Wizard’s Chess was very interesting. It was identical to muggle Chess in terms of the rules, but the difference was the pieces. Whereas muggle Chess used inanimate figurines, Wizard’s Chess used pieces which were alive. They gave advice to the player, or hurled abuse at them, as they marched across the board as instructed to. People would usually have their own set, because it was far more fun if your pieces trusted you. Not only was it interesting, it was kind of scary. The pieces were alive. They had thoughts, clearly – and their fear of being taken and anger at bad players showed they had feelings. So was it right to enslave them (even though they wanted it) and use them as toys? I forgot them thoughts as I watched Jake’s pieces smash through Toby’s for an easy win. If there was one thing Toby was awful at, it was chess. That, and pronouncing his words properly.
I was offered a go, but I turned it down. I had the feeling that the chess pieces would treat me the same way as flying broomsticks, and didn’t want to be embarrassed once again. Instead, I sat back and looked forwards to bringing a ball to Hogwarts and embarrassing the wizards with my footie skills.
Back To Top
Chapter Five: The Journey Home
Source
Author’s Note: In this chapter, Matt has a thought that might be considered slightly homophobic. Bear in mind that his views are not mine, and that he’s an eleven year old in the 1990s.
I’d never been good at lying to my parents. That was worrying, considering I would soon have to tell them the greatest lie I would ever tell. I had to tell them that I suffered from an incredibly rare disease called Tylor’s Syndrome, and that I was now attending a boarding school in Scotland where I would be treated. As crazy as that sounded, it made more sense than the truth did. I could do magic, but wasn’t a wizard.
The train was leaving in an hour. It would take several hours to get to London, and my dad would pick me up and drive me home. There would be no talking then – he hated talking while driving. Although, his curiosity might make him change his stance on that… Then, I would finally get home, and the questions about why I had to go to this school in Scotland would begin, and I would respond by letting the lying begin. It almosted ruined my excitement for seeing my parents and home again. Almost, but not quite.
As I waited, my mind went back to my second meeting with Dumbledore, after the one on my first night at Hogwarts.
I was called up to his office, and once again the potrait of a knight, Sir Cadogan, helped me to find my way. All of the other portraits ignored me, and I wasn’t sure why Sir Cadogan was an exception. I made up my mind to ask Dumbledore in the meeting – if I got the chance to.
The office was exactly as I remembered it from my first visit. The room was a semi circle in shape, with the entrance on the flat side. Portraits of important looking wizards lined the far, curved wall. A large desk was sat in the middle of the room, covered in papers, books, parchments, and curious wizardly devices. Shelves against the flat wall held countless small trinkets that I didn’t have a doughnut’s chance in a room full of fatties at identifying. On the far side of the desk sat Professor Dumbledore.
He was your stereotypical wizard. His robes were a deep purple colour, but rather than making him look gay, they gave him a very regal look. His wizard’s hat was the same colour, but rather than atop his head, it was on the desk. His hair was long and white, hanging down the sides of his face and blending in with his equally long, equally white beard. He wore half-moon spectacles, and his eyes were full of a lifetime’s memories, some happy, some sad. My cousin Ben was constantly going on about Gandalf from Lord of the Rings, and Dumbledore reminded me of his descriptions.
“Ah, you have arrived,” Dumbledore said.
“Um… Yes, sir,” I stuttered, butterflies in my stomach.
Dumbledore gestured to a chair on the other side of the desk to him.
“Take a seat, Mister Mason,” he said.
I stepped forwards, and with shaking hands, pulled the chair out. I sat down and clasped my hands together, breathing in deeply. I was nervous, and there was no hiding it. Had Dumbledore decided he was tired of having a non-wizard at his school. Was he going to send me home – or worse, kill me to keep word from getting out? Thoughts raced through my head.
“Lemon drop?” Dumbledore asked, offering me a sweet.
“N- No thank you, sir,” I said.
“There is no need to be nervous,” he said, noticing my tone of voice, “No harm will befall you.”
“You’re not kicking me out?” I asked.
“No. Unless, perhaps, you’ve been doing something you shouldn’t?” he said, arching an eyebrow.
“No, no! I haven’t been, sir. I wouldn’t!” I said.
“Then you shall be remaining at Hogwarts. Now, as to why I have called you here – you will need to tell your parents a lie, when you next see them. It pains me to make a child lie to his parents, but alas! It must be done. You must tell your parents that you suffer from Tylor’s Syndrome, and that this school is the only school that offers treatment. There is more, but you shall find that in a letter on your bed this evening,” he said.
“Why, sir?” I asked, “All the others can tell their parents the truth.”
“The answer lies in your unique nature. Muggles who are not close relatives of wizards are not permitted to learn of our world. As you are not a wizard, that means your family cannot know the truth,” he said.
“You said that last time as well, sir. That I’m not a wizard. And so did the hat, when I was sorted. But – how? I can do magic,” I asked, leaning forwards in my chair.
Dumbledore sighed, and an odd expression passed across his face. His eyes fell to the desk, and he mouthed words I couldn’t discern.
“I am afraid that I cannot tell you,” he said, his voice heavy with regret, “In time, you will be told, but the knowledge is something you are not ready for. It is better for you to have a normal childhood.”
“But sir! It’s about me, I deserve to know!” I protested, growing more confident.
“Not while you are so young,” he said, shaking his head.
“Please! I really need to know, and-”
“Enough.”
His voice was calm, but powerful, and I knew not to ask again.
“Sorry sir,” I said, dropping my gaze to the floor.
“That will be all, Matthew,” he said.
I realised I had forgotten to ask about Sir Cadogan.
“Unless, that is, you have any questions to ask of me?” Dumbledore said, as though he had read my mind.
“I have one, sir,” I said, “All the portraits ignore me – I know it’s because I’m a muggle, not a wizard – but Sir Cadogan doesn’t. Why?”
Dumbledore chuckled.
“Sir Cadogan is an odd sort,” the old wizard said, “His interactions with you are just another peculair trait of his.”
“Oh, okay then,” I said, “Goodbye, sir.”
“Farewell.”
The Hogwarts Express could only get as close as Hogsmeade, because there was no train station in Hogwarts. That meant those of us going home for Christmas needed to get a carriage from Hogwarts down to the town. It was walking distance, but the rules were rules, and so the carriages were mandatory.
I said my goodbyes to all my friends, promised Jamie to bring a football, and headed out of the castle, my suitcase rolling along behind me. It was snowing lightly outside, and had been for a few days. The castle grounds were coated in white snow. It was beautiful to behold, such a wonderful landscape turned into a winter wonderland. It was a shame to be leaving such a view behind so soon.
The carraiges were nothing special. However, the animals carrying them were – they didn’t exist. There was very clearly nothing pulling any of the carriages. I got on to the nearest one, hauling my suitcase up along with me, and sat down. It was one of the last carriages, and it was empty except for me, a fifth year Hufflepuff, and that weird Ravenclaw girl – Luna Lovewell, maybe? No, that wasn’t it… Luna Lovegood! She was a small girl, with dirty blonde hair and unfocused eyes.
“Hi,” I said as the carriages got rolling.
The Hufflepuff ignored me, looking at a letter in his hands.
“Hi,” Luna said.
“It’s great how the carriages are pulled by magic,” I said, trying to make conversation.
“They’re not. The Thestrals pull them,” Luna said, looking at the space in front of the carriage where the animal pulling it would have been.
“Thestrals? Luna, there’s nothing there,” I said.
“Not everyone can see them. Only those who have seen death,” she said with a shrug, “I guess that isn’t you.”
I shook my head.
“Who’s death did you see?” I blurted out thoughtlessly.
“My mum’s,” she said.
“I’m sorry! It was rude of me to ask,” I said, hanging my head in shame.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind. I was very little when it happened. It was a potions accident,” she said.
She went back to her newspaper.
“What paper is that?” I asked.
“It’s The Quibbler,” she said, “Daddy writes it. It’s the only real news source – the Prophet don’t even write about the Rotfang Conspiracy.”
“Right,” I said, skeptical, “And what is the Rotfang Conspiracy?”
“I thought everyone knew,” she said, looking slightly surprised, “It’s a conspiracy to bring down the Ministry of Magic, using a bit of dark magic, and a bit of gum disease. It’s all very sinister.”
The Hufflepuff looked at Luna with confusion.
“Ooo-kay then,” I said, deciding not to talk to the obviously insane girl any more.
The Hogwarts Express looked magestic. It was wearing a fresh coat of red paint, and it stood out especially against the backdrop of wooden buildings and white snow. The words ‘Hogwarts Express’ were emblazoned on the side in glittering gold. I’d always liked trains, ever since Thomas the Tank Engine, and the Hogwarts Express was no exception.
I boarded the train, and found an empty compartment. I took a seat, tucked my suitcase under it, and sat back. The train came to life and rolled off down the track and out of the station. The village of Hogsmeade, and Hogwarts castle beyond it, faded into the distance as the long journey to King’s Cross Station in London began. I was looking forwards to going home, while simultaneously dreading it. It was an odd combination.
The scenery was beautiful. Towering mountains coated in snow and frost rolled by outside of the train’s windows. Lochs, frozen over in the winter weather, spread out across the landscape before vanishing as the train roared past at high speeds. The sun in the sky shone, the light reaching down but not the warmth.
I was broken from them thoughts when the compartment door slid open and a first year Slytherin boy stepped in. He was slightly taller than me, and his dark hair was longer than mine, reaching to his shoulders. His eyes were a light shade of brown. A fading bruise spread across his cheek. I searched my mind for his name. Marcel Trivvers.
“What do you want?” I asked, rising to my feet.
“Can I sit in here? Please?” he asked.
“No,” I said, “Piss off, Slytherin.”
“What? Why? I never said anything nasty to you!” he protested, shrugging theatrically with the second word.
“Yeah, but you laughed along, didn’t you? You’re just another slimy Slytherin,” I sneered, “Now leave.”
He glared, and then stormed out, muttering about mudbloods. God, I hated Slytherins. They were always starting trouble with us Gryffindors for no reason. Why couldn’t they just leave us alone? I’d be a lot happier if they did.
The rest of the journey was uneventful, and soon enough the train was stopping at King’s Cross. My dad was waiting with his car in the car park. I was nervous.
I would soon be seeing my parents again. And then I would be lying to their faces.
Author’s Note: You get just as many questions as answers, and a cliffhanger. Sorry!
Back To Top
<a name="chap