Hogwarts Reimagined

Content warning for misgendering, anxiety, mild cisgender clumsiness, storms

It felt that the remnants of the summer passed in a blur, so quick Harry could hardly catch her breath. All at once September was upon them, bringing with it the beginning of term at Hogwarts.

The morning of the 2^nd was all a rush, and Harry soon found herself in the back of the Grangers’ tidy station-wagon next to Hermione, with her cat – named Calypso Morgana, after two famous sorceresses – in her crate between them. Hermione didn’t have a pet of her own, so she had been fascinated by Callie and with Harry had gleefully pored over the books on historical witches in search of a name.

While the drive from Hampstead Garden to Kings’ Cross Station was a short one, the London traffic was terrible due to schools and workplaces reopening and so they set off an hour earlier than need be to ensure the girls didn’t miss the train. Both were stiff and awkward with their uniform robes over their usual clothes as they stepped out of the car, both traded anxious glances as they retrieved their trunks from the boot of the car. Only Hermione hugged her parents goodbye, though Harry didn’t flinch when Evelyn squeezed her shoulder – progress, she thought happily as she petted Calypso with a finger through the bars of the crate.

The Grangers left both Harry and Hermione standing before the pillar that separated platforms four and five, as instructed. While there was no official statement about non-magical people inside the platform, they had been warned that it might be ill-received. Determined to give both girls the best possible chance at Hogwarts, Hermione’s parents had left the girls to blend in with the crowd of students. Harry couldn’t think how they’d get near the platform, but Hermione seemed unconcerned as they filed along with the crowd toward the pillar divide.

Despite the station being crowded, they were never held up. Harry stood on tip-toe, straining to see over the crowd, and when she got a glimpse of the answer she tugged at Hermione’s arm, amazed. “They’re walking through the wall!” she whispered, amazed again at what magic could do.

Hermione was less so. “It’s an illusion. They have to keep everyone else out somehow, right?” she whispered back, tugging Harry’s pointing hand back to her side. As ever Harry stiffened at the touch, but her flinch response was getting better after the month she’d spent with the Grangers. “C’mon, don’t point, we’ll get there in a bit,” Hermione reassured her. She squeezed Harry’s hand before letting go, having felt the other girl’s nerves in the brief contact.

The day was warm under the clear plastic roof of the station, stiflingly so, and Harry felt as if she had dozed off and fallen into a dream as she and Hermione were ushered through the barrier and on to platform Four and Three Quarters.

The divide between the magical world and the one they had just left was not so stark here as in Diagon Alley, with all but a handful of passersby appearing human. It could have been mistaken for any other boarding school train, had it not been for the many caged owls and a greater-than-usual array of pet toads. As it was, Harry and Hermione fit in easily enough with the milling crowd and soon found themselves relieved of their trunks and swept aboard the scarlet school train.

For lack of instruction, the two girls found an empty compartment and settled themselves in it. Harry set Calypso’s crate on the seat beside her and fished the kitten out, allowing her to burrow into her chest. She leaned back against the wall of the train, contentedly petting the mottled kitten, and was so peacefully absorbed that she didn’t notice when others joined them.

The compartment door sliding closed startled her back to awareness. Callie burrowed deeper into Harry’s robes, and Harry herself blinked away sleep to focus on the newcomers. A taller-than-average redheaded boy with too-short robes and two pretty Indian girls, clearly twins, had joined them in the carriage compartment. One girl had a brilliant enamel butterfly clipped into her hair and Harry stared at it, envious. The other girl smiled brilliantly, and both sat down either side of Harry leaving the redheaded boy to squish awkwardly into the corner near Hermione. “I’m Parvati,” the butterfly-wearing girl introduced herself, and gestured to her sister. “That’s my sister Padma. Your hair is so pretty! I would die for natural highlights like that.”

Harry blushed, running a hand through her hair. She didn’t think she was imagining that it had grown longer. “Thanks,” she mumbled, a smile tugging at her mouth. Her face crinkled up in joy and she hid her face in her hands for a moment, then lowered them and grinned openly. Parvati’s casual comment was an introduction to socialising in a girlish way, with light small-talk and friendly compliments. Harry had never experienced anything remotely similar, and the feeling it brought settled on her like a warm, persistent glow, bringing a sensation of validation and inclusion that even before realising who she was, Harry had never been familiar with.

With her motion, Harry had brushed her hair free of her face, unintentionally revealing the branching scar that reached from her hairline to her eyebrows. Hermione’s family, given their non-magical status, had been blasé about the scar after an initial shock but to the magical community, clearly it meant something else. The redheaded boy, previously silent, was wide-eyed and he pointed one bony finger at Harry’s forehead. “You’re him, Harry Potter. The boy who lived.”

___________________________________________________________________

The redhead’s words rang as if through a heavy fog. Hagrid had sheltered Harry from the cloying crowd in the Leaky Cauldron, so this was Harry’s first real introduction to what she meant to the magical world. She hadn’t been quite so ready for expectations, let alone an entire mythos; and it put a dreadful wrench in her plan to simply blend into Hogwarts as any other girl.

Children were curious, and that curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied by a deflecting lie such as she had told the deputy headmistress. Harry blinked numbly at the redheaded wizard boy, her mouth opening and closing like a fish in stale water as she tried and failed over and over to think of something to say. All that occurred to her was the truth, but her safety…

Calypso chose that moment to pop out of Harry’s robes, sticking her disheveled head up under the girl’s chin. Comforted by the warm bundle, Harry had a calmer moment to think. She had Hermione, unlike the last time she had been faced with this. Hermione understood. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to blend in, but if the boy’s reaction was any indicator, such a hope had been a vain one.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Harry shook her head. A wry smile touched her thin face as she considered her words. “Call it an accident of birth.” she replied. “Some people thought I was a boy when I was born. I’m just, not one. But for the rest… yeah, I’m Harry. Last I checked I was still alive. And it’s rude to point.”

The boy retracted his accusing finger hastily, hugging himself with his arms as a flush near as bright as his hair spread across his heavily freckled face. “Sorry,” he muttered in embarrassment. “I didn’t think- wizards don’t really do stuff like that…”

Hermione sprang to Harry’s rescue, heated sparks flashing furiously in her dark eyes. “What do wizards do, exactly? Other than press everybody they don’t approve of into slavery or inferior life?” she snapped. If it were possible, the redhead flushed deeper with shame, and slowly the tips of his slightly-protuberant ears turned a very similar scarlet to the train in which they rode. As so many did with Hermione, he had no answer.

The matter settled, Hermione pointedly scooted away from him and closer to the cluster of other girls seated around the bench. The twins too fixed him with a disapproving scowl, and Harry realised it was up to her to rescue the hapless clown from social pariah-hood for the remainder of their trip. He seemed clueless, rather than malicious, and he did seem to be genuinely ashamed of his rudeness – Harry suspected a rather fearsome mother with a particularity for manners.

“Well, you know I’m Harry, and that’s Hermione. What’s your name?” she offered, extending an olive branch – or perhaps a life raft might be more apt. The redhead breathed a relieved sigh, then grinned a little abashedly at the girls. “Ron. Weasley, that is. Sorry you probably already – anyway. I’m sorry I was rude. I really do know better I was just surprised. My cousin’s like you. I didn’t know it came in magical people too.”

Harry hid a smile at the awkward delivery. Clearly the magical society was pretty archaic where diversity was concerned – not, she reminded herself, that she had much idea herself about such things either before her friendship with Hermione.

Padma, previously quiet, joined in at this too. “They taught us a bit in school, because there was a… trans, am I right? Anyway, a trans girl in our year, and she was getting bullied pretty bad.” she said. Harry sighed – bullying wasn’t exactly unfamiliar. She shrugged noncommittally, and shared an anxious glance with Hermione. Parvati squeezed one of Harry’s hands cheerfully. “Don’t worry – we’ll look out for you!” she promised. A faint reassurance, but Harry’s heart warmed at the idea of having real friends on her side.

Aside from the initial blip, the remainder of the trip passed uneventfully. They traded gossip about what to expect about Hogwarts, and for Harry’s benefit, explained a little more of the houses and school culture. An old woman with a snack trolley passed them, and Harry bought a small measure of sweets to share with her newfound friends – clumsy Ron included. They laughed over the bespelled chocolate frogs’ antics and then the lot of them settled into quiet study, all secretly anxious about what their new teachers might expect of them. Parvati and Padma had attended a small magical school in their community prior, while Harry and Hermione had gone to standard non-magical primary schools; however Ron hadn’t been to school before – something about there being no early schools where he grew up. He’d done some basic schooling by mail but was far less familiar with academia than the rest of them, and so the girls found themselves teaching basic points of history and general knowledge. It reassured Harry that perhaps she might not be so far behind in all this, if magical schooling for younger children wasn’t all that common.

All too soon it seemed, the train stopped. There had been a few short stops along the way to take on more students, but from what she could see outside through the rain, night had fallen and from the rustle of activity and muffled shouts, Harry guessed they had reached their final destination. She returned Calypso to her crate and clutched the handle tightly, brown knuckles turning white under her grip. All her previous anxiety came flooding back and she had to close her eyes tightly as the room began to spin around her. A steadying breath and Hermione’s hand on her elbow settled her somewhat, but still her heartbeat was unsteady like a fearful racehorse held barely in check, her palms clammy on the wicker handle, lank strands of hair clinging to her dewy forehead.

Harry lowered her gaze and concentrated on placing each foot carefully as she trailed behind Padma and Parvati, joining the throngs of students as they filed off the train like so many dutiful ants in their black robes. The crowd descended into shouting outside as older students dashed for cover from the downpour, while the first-years cast around worriedly for some kind of instruction.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years, file out, over here!” a thundering voice sounded out through the rain, carrying across the milling crowd of students despite the weather. Harry’s heart leapt as she recognised the thick West Country accent. She followed the other girls at a shambling run over to where the towering figure stood lamplit in the storm, a grin growing on her face as she craned her neck to look up at him. “Harry, ye made it!” Hagrid greeted her, beaming through his heavy beard. “Cat and all,” Harry affirmed cheerfully, holding up the cage as Callie complained loudly about her confinement and the wet.

The other first years assembled like so many sheep before the giant man, blinking up at him as they shivered, from the faint lake-blown chill or nerves alike, and huddled together in a feeble effort to escape the rain.

Hagrid coughed and cleared his throat. “A-hem. Everybody, pick a boat. Four to a boat, no runnin’, nice and calm please. ‘S a Hogwarts tradition.” he instructed, gesturing grandly to a bobbing fleet of coracles in the wind-tossed black water. He had a boat of his own, low-slung and holding a lantern at its’ tall prow unlike their own rounded vessels, and he led the way on as others followed with cautious steps. Despite the waves, the boats were held steady for them until they were released from the dock into the fleet behind Hagrid.

Harry was a little confused as for a moment Hagrid disappeared from view, fossicking around beneath the boat’s benches for something. He reappeared, holding cradled in his hands. “Anybody lost a toad? I know ‘e‘s not one of mine,” he called out to the students. One shamefaced boy raised his hand, shaking it in disgust as rain ran down inside his sleeve. He flushed a dull purple in the low light, what little Harry could see through the sheets of water. “Mine, sir.” he mumbled, his words drawn together by a heavy Scottish brogue. His boat slid forward smoothly until it drew alongside Hagrid’s, and the toad was returned without further concern.

With all students safely aboard, they set off across the lake led by Hagrid’s lamplight and the power of whatever spell that drew them. Tradition or not the journey was wretched, and all parties were thoroughly drenched by the time they reached the far shore. Sand clung to their sodden boots as they disembarked, and they trudged up the hill behind Hagrid toward a towering castle.

Forty students huddled in the doorway, vainly sheltering from the weather. Harry held her arm over her head and squinted through the raindrops coating her glasses at the heavy wood door they faced. Hagrid turned away from the students toward the door, raising a soaking fist as he held the lantern aloft with his free hand, and knocked resoundingly upon the door.