Status: Not updating right now. Will do so at some point, however.
If You Send a Girl to Hogwarts
What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?
I dragged my suitcase into the Mariott I would be staying at for the night. I took the key and headed to my room. I’d had no idea that Diagon Alley was so big. And why on earth did I decide to carry my bags with me the whole time? God, that was dumb. I was so glad this hotel was so close to King’s Cross. I could walk. I didn’t even bother showering, I was so tired. I dropped my rolling suitcase and fell on the bed and into the great abyss called Sleep.
I am walking through a long corridor. Torches light my way. The corridor ends in a dead end. I walk up to it and say ‘Venificus Cruor’. The wall opens, revealing a darkened room full of lit candles. A table with straps stands in the middle. A tall, slender girl with blonde hair and striking blue eyes paces back and forth in the room, repeating what sounds like ‘This Life for Theirs’ over and over again. She looks over when the wall-door opens. Two men in black, point-hooded robes appear out of nowhere and take me by the arms. They strap me to the table. I don’t struggle. The blonde girl walks over to another table I haven’t seen and picks something up. She walks into the light. I finally see that the something is a rather gilt knife, with rubies and sapphires encrusting the silver handle. The men flip my wrists over. The girl proceeds to cut me, all the while whispering ‘This Life for Theirs’. I feel no pain. When one wrist is completely disconnected, she switches to the other. When that one is finally disconnected, she switches to my ankles. Now, she has started chanting ‘Thomas Marvolo Riddle’ over and over. The other men have taken up chanting ‘This life for theirs’. A blur begins to encroach on my vision. I see a speck of orange light. It touches something, and then grows much brighter. I smell something rotten and evil. Like death. Or sickness, maybe. I feel something tighten around my heart, like a noose was pulled round. Bile rises up into my throat. I say “Lord… Voldemort…lives!” in a voice that isn’t mine. Everything goes dark.
Bathroom.
That’s all I thought as I sprinted to the water closet to throw up. I was glad I’d put my hair into a ponytail the day before. When I’d finally finished unwillingly emptying my stomach, I looked in the mirror. I was a bit paler than usual, if anything. I pulled my hair out of its tail and began brushing it out. After picking out my clothes and double checking everything, I left.
It was raining outside, so I pulled up my hood and stuck my wand (Holly, thirteen inches, rather sturdy, with a hippogriff feather core) in my inside pocket. I was kind of glad that I didn’t have a big, flashy trunk that I had to worry about coming unhitched. I internally thanked whoever was above for zippers and rolling luggage.
People were bustling about in the huge railway station. I fingered my ticket and looked at the clock. 10:55 a.m. Shit. I began running. Five minutes to find the train, a seat, and all that. Not three seconds after that’d run through my brain, something hit me.
Literally.
I felt my wand fly out of my pocket as my head met the floor. I sat up, rubbing my head. The girl who’d apparently slammed straight into me got up, frantically scrambling to get her things together. She was a lot shorter than me, probably five-two. She had shoulder-length blonde hair which was only a few shades darker than her own skin. Nearby, a tawny owl in a cage had rolled a few feet away and was squawking its brains out. Somehow, the wires in my brain connected.
She’s a witch, I thought, scrambling over to her. “You need any help?” I asked, offering my hand. “Yeah,” she replied. Definitely British. “Could you sit on the trunk for me? Damn books aren’t letting my clothes fit…”
“Yeah, sure.” I said, obliging. Nearby, two sticks had magically met each other and fallen in love! No wait…
“My wand!” I exclaimed, grabbing the longer of the two. She looked at me like I was crazy, but then her face changed. “You’re a... you know… yeah?” She asked, picking her own wand up. “Yeah. Apparently I’m supposed to be in fourth year, even though I’ve never been here in my life…”
“Tell me about it later.” She glanced at the clock. 10:59 a.m. “We have somewhere to be right now.”
We both picked our stuff up and ran like hell through the barrier. I didn’t even blink; I felt the anxiety of –before-the-crash, but I didn’t even flinch. Before I knew it, we were on the train and dragging our stuff behind us.
“Oh!” exclaimed the girl. “I never asked your name. Mine’s Maya Sanchez.”
Odd name for a British person, I thought, but I guess that’s the wizarding world for you… “I’m Abbey Hooper. Nice to—”
“Sanchez!” Screamed a nasal female voice, which was also British. We both turned. Two people stood in front of us. There was a chick. She had this almost-white Draco Malfoy hair. I didn’t mean to judge her before I knew her, but she looked like a total BITCH. And next to her was…
Morrigan?
I am walking through a long corridor. Torches light my way. The corridor ends in a dead end. I walk up to it and say ‘Venificus Cruor’. The wall opens, revealing a darkened room full of lit candles. A table with straps stands in the middle. A tall, slender girl with blonde hair and striking blue eyes paces back and forth in the room, repeating what sounds like ‘This Life for Theirs’ over and over again. She looks over when the wall-door opens. Two men in black, point-hooded robes appear out of nowhere and take me by the arms. They strap me to the table. I don’t struggle. The blonde girl walks over to another table I haven’t seen and picks something up. She walks into the light. I finally see that the something is a rather gilt knife, with rubies and sapphires encrusting the silver handle. The men flip my wrists over. The girl proceeds to cut me, all the while whispering ‘This Life for Theirs’. I feel no pain. When one wrist is completely disconnected, she switches to the other. When that one is finally disconnected, she switches to my ankles. Now, she has started chanting ‘Thomas Marvolo Riddle’ over and over. The other men have taken up chanting ‘This life for theirs’. A blur begins to encroach on my vision. I see a speck of orange light. It touches something, and then grows much brighter. I smell something rotten and evil. Like death. Or sickness, maybe. I feel something tighten around my heart, like a noose was pulled round. Bile rises up into my throat. I say “Lord… Voldemort…lives!” in a voice that isn’t mine. Everything goes dark.
Bathroom.
That’s all I thought as I sprinted to the water closet to throw up. I was glad I’d put my hair into a ponytail the day before. When I’d finally finished unwillingly emptying my stomach, I looked in the mirror. I was a bit paler than usual, if anything. I pulled my hair out of its tail and began brushing it out. After picking out my clothes and double checking everything, I left.
It was raining outside, so I pulled up my hood and stuck my wand (Holly, thirteen inches, rather sturdy, with a hippogriff feather core) in my inside pocket. I was kind of glad that I didn’t have a big, flashy trunk that I had to worry about coming unhitched. I internally thanked whoever was above for zippers and rolling luggage.
People were bustling about in the huge railway station. I fingered my ticket and looked at the clock. 10:55 a.m. Shit. I began running. Five minutes to find the train, a seat, and all that. Not three seconds after that’d run through my brain, something hit me.
Literally.
I felt my wand fly out of my pocket as my head met the floor. I sat up, rubbing my head. The girl who’d apparently slammed straight into me got up, frantically scrambling to get her things together. She was a lot shorter than me, probably five-two. She had shoulder-length blonde hair which was only a few shades darker than her own skin. Nearby, a tawny owl in a cage had rolled a few feet away and was squawking its brains out. Somehow, the wires in my brain connected.
She’s a witch, I thought, scrambling over to her. “You need any help?” I asked, offering my hand. “Yeah,” she replied. Definitely British. “Could you sit on the trunk for me? Damn books aren’t letting my clothes fit…”
“Yeah, sure.” I said, obliging. Nearby, two sticks had magically met each other and fallen in love! No wait…
“My wand!” I exclaimed, grabbing the longer of the two. She looked at me like I was crazy, but then her face changed. “You’re a... you know… yeah?” She asked, picking her own wand up. “Yeah. Apparently I’m supposed to be in fourth year, even though I’ve never been here in my life…”
“Tell me about it later.” She glanced at the clock. 10:59 a.m. “We have somewhere to be right now.”
We both picked our stuff up and ran like hell through the barrier. I didn’t even blink; I felt the anxiety of –before-the-crash, but I didn’t even flinch. Before I knew it, we were on the train and dragging our stuff behind us.
“Oh!” exclaimed the girl. “I never asked your name. Mine’s Maya Sanchez.”
Odd name for a British person, I thought, but I guess that’s the wizarding world for you… “I’m Abbey Hooper. Nice to—”
“Sanchez!” Screamed a nasal female voice, which was also British. We both turned. Two people stood in front of us. There was a chick. She had this almost-white Draco Malfoy hair. I didn’t mean to judge her before I knew her, but she looked like a total BITCH. And next to her was…
Morrigan?
♠ ♠ ♠
Yeah, you remember that thing two chapters ago? The whole next-chapter-will-change-your-entire-view-of-this-story thing? Yeah, I think I forgot about that when I posted that last bit...ANYWAY! I know it has been forever, but that's only because I've been obsessing over one of my stories... It's called New Earth, and I have fallen in love with it. I would love it if you guys would check it out, leave a couple of comments maybe?
Also, please check out my sort of mystery-thriller story, Spirit: The Strange But True Story of Alex Woode and I really love it a lot :)
I NEED COMMENTS LIKE I NEED AIR.
<33 Abbey