Chapter Text
You press your pillow to your face and wriggle under the cover, still damp from your night terrors and the glorious sweating that goes with it, and yet the noise still rings in your ears – the atrocious tapping on an owl’s beak against your window.
“It’s six in the morning, you spawn of the devil!”
You kick away weighed blanket, pillow and sheets, convinced that today is going to be an especially bad day – the kind of day where your father gets enthusiastic and bakes way too much cake, and you have to live through the look in his eyes when he has to throw the rests after dinner. Or worse, the kind of day where your father doesn’t bake.
Dragging your feet against the soft carpet, you make your way to the window; the owl just won’t stop its infernal noise while your stiff fingers fiddle with the opening. You eventually open the window abruptly, hiss at the animal and snatch the letter from its claws; it gratifies you with a condescending look. You stick your tongue out and turn your back at it. You stare at the letter, your name and address written in a fine calligraphy. The paper is old, even for a wizards’ standards, and when you turn it around to read the name of the sender, your lips instantly curl up into a shining smile.
~
“You think this is it? You think this is it?” You are quite literally jumping up and down of excitement. Kurloz is distributing the letters that the orphanage just received; everyone is grinning and clutching each other tight, you’re pretty certain that Terezi can’t actually breathe under Latula’s grip.
Sis, I think this is our mother fucking calling, signs Kurloz of his free hand while his eyes are already devouring the closed envelope and a ghostly smile settles on his lips.
“Broooooooooo” gasps Gamzee. “If that isn’t a motherfucking miracle then what?”
“If mine isn’t in braille I will lose my shit,” grumbles Terezi. The letters are too small for her to smell, and licking a piece of parchment isn’t exactly the best idea one could have.
You caress gently your name written in brown letter. Jade Harley, Harley institute, 3 Parkton road, S13AED Sheffield. This is it. This must be it. You pick a red and a yellow braids that had fallen in front of your face and wedge them behind your ear.
Your little circle sits in silence, each one of you holding the envelope at the tip of your fingers, glittering eyes and dumb smiles.
Kurloz regroups his hands and signs, fuck it. Sounds of ripped paper echo in the room, as trembling fingers fumble with the delicate paper and five enveloped are torn open at once.
You pull the paper out of the envelope and flatten it against your thigh, but your movements are impetuous and your hands are shaking.
You start to read the letter, frenzy, drinking every single ember letter with a passion that you rarely felt.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
~
Headmistress: Susan Pilwick
(Order of Merlin, third class, chief Bitwix, national fraternity of spelltesters, Empress of the Earthy Strident, International confederation of Wizards.)
“Susan Pilwick” you murmur.
“Who is it?” You mother is sipping her drink in the armchair in front of you. This is now her third drink since you walked in the room, and yet her lipstick is impeccable, her hair falls perfectly around her slim face, the fabric of her jacket doesn’t have a single fold, even her bright pink scarf rests on her shoulders in the most harmonious way. How is she always so disgustingly perfect.
“It seems to be the new headmaster.”
“Order of Merlin?”
“Third class,” you nod.
“Old-schooler then.”
“Evidently,” you slash. “Hogwarts is the beacon of the old ways, they wouldn’t put a Reformer to its head.”
You mother takes her time to finish her drink, and to your provocation retorts nothing but an indulgent motherly smile – god you hate this woman. She puts her now empty glass on the table and stretches dramatically.
“Well it’s about time, I thought they would never open this gorgeous school again.” She stands up gracefully, and places a hand on your cheek. “Hopefully you will meet young people there who will agree to be your friends.” A corner of her mouth stretches into a smirk.
You want to hiss at the deceit, to kick and growl, but you bottle up your growing anger and, without letting a single expression cross your face, answer “Miracles can happen. And you will finally be rid of my godawful presence. What a relief this must be to you, mother.”
She laughs; it’s a delightful and overly fake sound. “Daughter, you know that I love you more than my heart can bear.”
“Of course you do.” Your world are articulate, cold as a blade of ice. She doesn’t flinch, and walks slowly towards the kitchen, empty glass in hand.
You can’t wait to get the hell out of this place.
~
You fiddle with the tip of your burqa, a dry feeling in your mouth. Reading the letter that only you received in front of your brothers feels insanely wrong. You all had the same father – a brave wizard – but only you seem to have inherited the gene.
“Dear Ms Maryam; We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
Your mother gasps and drops the silver glass that she was dusting; your father erupts into a manly laugh, while your three brothers exchange quick looks. The oldest claps his hands with enthusiasm.
“I knew you had it in you, girl!” He embraces you with all of his strength. “I am proud of you.”
You blush. “I did not fabricate my DNA. Why congratulate me for something that I had no part in?”
“Kanaya this is soooo great!! You’re gonna meet other wizards! And make tons of creepy friends! You better bring us some of those wicked sweets.” Asim punches your shoulder gently. “Lucky you, little sister.”
“Well we can all go on the Diagon Alley to buy everything your sister needs!” this seems to cheer up your other brothers a little. “Hahaha, they finally opened the damn school! You’ll see, those will be the best years of your life! I’ve heard wonders of this school at the ministry. Wonders!”
You know that your father will be restless for a while.
~
You rub your sweaty palms against the fabric of your jeans. You were never good for first contact with muggle families. “So, where was I. Uhm. Yes.”
You pull a crumpled sheet of parchment from your inner pocket and hand it to the peculiar pair of boys standing in front of you. “This is the list of all the necessary books and equipment that you’ll need for this, uh, year.”
They both stare at the sheet without any expression. The younger one, the wizard, is holding a frozen steak against his cheekbone covered in a purple bruise. He has a scar, still fresh, that starts from his right eyebrow and gets lost in the mop of grey hair; a drop of blood trickles from inside of his crooked nose, but he sniffs it back in. You can’t quite catch his expression, since his eyes are covered by pointy sunglasses – same as what seems to be his older brother.
The taller one, whose face is bruise-free apart from an old scar on his cheek, nudges his brother, who immediately takes the list from your hand. They stare at the yellow paper for a while, until the adult’s attention shifts to the younger one’s face. He places his gloved hand on the top of his sibling’s head, uneasily, awkwardly.
“Congrats, little bro. You’re a wizard.”
The kid only nods. You don’t think you’ve ever felt this ghastly – and Merlin knows you’ve been through much before being accepted as a professor of herbology.
~
“Term starts on the first of September? You’ll miss your Tia’s wedding!”
“Aaaaaaaarg! Who cares about my stupid aunt!” you pull back the letter from her hand.
“I wonder if we could make you miss a few days of school. The whole family is going to be there! Even Abuelo, he’ll be coming from Puerto Rico with Ricci and Boby and their families. I think Boby has a new wife? I haven’t seen them in aaaages!”
You have to clench your teeth and dig your nails into your palms to stop yourself from roaring something along the line of “I don’t give a single shit about those fat assholes and their slutty wives”, which you knew would be immediately be followed by a severe beating with her leather belt – she’ll probably even use the buckle this time, and you know from experience that the buckle really fucking hurts – and a few days without much eating going on.
You’re more than happy to turn your heels around and run upstairs, to the dark comfort of your room. You throw the fragile letter against your wooden desk, and throw yourself on your bed where you can bite your pillow and let a muffled scream out. You pant a little, decide to get your shit together, and turn on your back.
You’ll be an amazing wizard. So much better than your ugly mother. Better than the bunch of magical whining kids living in the orphanage down the road. Better than your ancestor, a glorious pirate roaming the Caribbean, commander of a gigantic fleet of wizards-pirates, a tradition that pursued in the community for many generations. Better than Terezi.
Obviously.
~
Yours sincerely,
Deputy Headmister
Penelope Clearwater.
Shit, you just ripped the parchment. That would probably be because you’re holding it too tightly, dipshit. Oh yeah, good point.
You let a few red and blue sparks run up and down your fingers freely. You have rarely felt such a feeling of utter content.
Content? You asshole. Abandoning his only family – family that just so happens to be gratified of severe mental issues – and he feels ecstatic. You’re the worst.
You need to grow old. You need an education. Friends. Hah! Who would want you? You laugh bitterly. Who knows. Some people may be desperate enough.
What about your uncle? He can’t live by himself, genius.
I can’t live secluded anymore. I need a life. This is it.
Deserter.
You’ll call the clinic in the morning. Seems like your uncle will have to move to a new home.
Because on the first of September, you’re riding the fucking Hogwarts express into the sunset.